Page 63 of Kiss Now, Lie Later


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“All right.” Becca buys my explanation readily enough, and I feel a twinge of guilt. How many times have I lied to my friends and family today? Dozens? Over the past few months? Hundreds? It’s an unsettling realization. “Happy Birthday, Maeve.”

“Thanks, Becca,” I respond. “See you tomorrow.”

She nods and leaves me alone in the empty locker room. I dry off and pull on the outfit I carefully selected for tonight before putting on my down jacket and shielding most of it. At leastI’llknow I look good.

I grab all my soccer gear and head out into the parking lot. Only a few cars remain, barely visible under the sporadically spaced lights. One is flickering, and I hurry along, eager to reach my car. Wes was right. I do freak myself out listening to those true crime podcasts. I reach the safety of my car and toss my bag in the backseat before turning the key in the ignition. The engine roars to life and I blast the heat in an attempt to dry my damp hair. I pull out of the parking lot, embarking on the now familiar route to Wes’s uncle’s cabin.

The black SUV is already waiting when I arrive at the cabin, and I eagerly jump out of my car as soon as I park. I round the back bumper and then freeze.

Wes is leaning against the trunk of his car, holding a bouquet of flowers.

“Happy birthday, Stevens.” He flashes me the dimpled smile that gets me. Every. Single. Time.

I swallow the lump in my throat and force my feet to keep walking forward. “You remembered,” I whisper as I reach him.

He hands me the colorful bunch of blossoms and gives me a quick kiss. “Of course I did,” Wes replies. “Now come on, the pizza is getting cold.” He heads toward the driver’s seat of his car, and I climb in on the passenger side. Sure enough, his car is filled with the delicious aroma of hot pizza. “I was thinking we could go to the park,” he tells me. “But it’s colder than I was hoping.”

“I’m willing to risk frostbite,” I tell him. I’d sit on an iceberg if it meant I could be alone with him.

Wes chuckles. “All right, then.”

We haven’t been back to the park where we met over the summer in a while, and I’m surprised by how nostalgic I feel as Wes parks in the lot and we climb out. This was where I first fell in love with him, even if I didn’t realize it at the time. Wes grabs a thick blanket, paper plates, a stack of napkins, two cans of cola, and a pizza box from the backseat, and I trail after him, impressed.

“Were you a Boy Scout or something?” I ask as he spreads the blanket and sets everything else down on top of it.

Wes grins. “No, I just copied what you brought for my birthday. Blanket and food.”

I laugh at that as I settle down on the soft fleece. “So? How was Lincoln?” I ask as I grab a slice of the steaming pizza. I blow on it for a minute before taking a bite. The gooey cheese contrasts the crisp crust perfectly. I haven’t seen Wes since he returned from his college trip, and all he sent me wasGoodwhen I texted him asking how it went.

“It was good,” he replies.

I roll my eyes. “So you said in your text. That doesn’t really tell me anything, Wes.”

“I know,” he admits, as he sits down and helps himself to his own slice of pizza. “The truth is, I don’t know how to feel about it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I liked it. I liked it a lot.”

“Isn’t that a good thing? A great thing?” I respond.

“I guess. You should’ve seen my father. He was thrilled. Showing us all around, bringing me to all these places. He was…”

“Acting like a dad,” I supply. It means something different to us, and I know he’ll understand my meaning.

“Yeah. Exactly,” Wes replies. “I didn’t want to go there just because he wanted me to. Now… I don’t know if Ireallywant to go there, or if it’s because he wants me to. If the same reason I didn’t want to go is the reason I might want to now. Does that make any sense?”

“It makes perfect sense.”

“It’s in Michigan,” Wes adds. The words are innocuous enough, but his tone indicates he considers the location to be a downside.

“Do you have some sort of issue with wolverines I don’t know about?” I joke.

Wes snorts. “It doesn’t have anything to do with the state’s nickname.” He pauses. “It’s not close to any of the schools you’re considering.”

I stare at him, stunned. Finally, I regain my voice. “I, uh, I actually applied to Lincoln,” I admit to him.

“You did?” Wes is the one who looks shocked now.

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