Page 112 of Filthy Lies


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“Love isn’t logical,” I reasoned. “You love them.”

“More than life itself,” he agreed.

“That’s not logical,” I repeated.

“No. But that’s why I hesitated. Smart ass. I UMMED. Remember?”

My lips quirked. “Explain, Mr. Logic.”

“Remind me why I got on a plane for you again?” His huff told me he was teasing, but I couldn’t have misinterpreted his words anyway. Not when my feet shuffled around and he clamped his calves around them to keep them in place. “I didn’t believe in things like kismetbefore. I don’t wholly now, but—”

“What changed?”

“I think you already know the answer to that.”

His voice had darkened, deepened. I gently nipped my bottom lip, bobbing my teeth around the soft flesh I’d trapped.

Me.

He was talking about me.

And I was talking about him.

“When this is over, I want you to meet my family.”

His words didn’t just ram their way home, they slipped under my skin, sank into my muscles, and dispersed through my bloodstream.

“They’ll hate me.”

“They’ll be wary around you until they see why I like you.”

“I’m not even sure why you do,” I said calmly. “I don’t know if I would like me if I were standing in your shoes. It’s one thing to say that we challenge each other, but—”

“But what? Don’t you think that’s the basis of a friendship?”

“I guess.”

“And don’t you think that the basis of a friendship should be at the heart of every relationship?”

“Maybe.” I rolled onto my side and propped myself up so I could look down at him. His words sent hope flaring inside me and that was the deadliest, most addictive drug alive. There were many things I could have said or done, many apologies I could have made and offered. Instead, I stuck with a truth I knew would resonate with him. “I promise I won’t run again.”

His hand reached for mine. “That’s my favorite kind of promise.”

26

CONOR

“Okay, hit me with it.”

She stared down at her decaf coffee. “There isn’t that much to hit you with.”

“Lies,” I rumbled, but I saw the despondency in her expression and the slight slump to her shoulders.

The day hadn’t started how I’d imagined. Not only because she’d still been there when I’d woken up and ithadn’tbeen a dream, but also because it had been five PM when we’d finally dragged our asses off the couch.

She’d headed to her shower, I’d gone to mine, then we’d met up in her suite because it had a bigger living area.

By the time I’d finished showering—and checking my products for oranges of which there waszerocitrus scent in any of them—two types of coffee, croissants, some preserves, and a spread of ham and cheese had arrived at her suite.

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