Things Liars Fake (#ThreeLittleLies #3) Read Free Page B

should go do that. The previews have probably already started and those are my favorite part…”
    Stop talking Daphne!
    Dexter nods and grapples for a few more napkins.
    Oh brother; between the two of us, we have enough napkins to last us through Armageddon.
    “Alright, well…” We both move gracelessly at the same time, in the same direction, doing that awkward side-stepping dance you do when you’re trying to get around someone, but failing miserably.
    “Here, let me at least carry something for you,” Dexter offers, reaching to take the beverage tray out of my hands.
    “Thank you.” I laugh nervously, a horrible hot, furious blush creeping up my neck. “We go this way, I guess.”
    Walking towards the same hallway, it’s obvious neither of us knows what the proper etiquette is when you run into someone at the movie theater when you’re flying solo, and seeing the same movie. I’m aware of his every movement; every sidelong glance he surreptitiously gives me along the way.
    Without speaking, we lumber down the endless, empty hallway, kernels from my popcorn bucket occasionally falling weightlessly to the carpet below. I look behind me down at the trail; I’m such a Gretel.
    When we reach theater twelve, Dexter beats me to the door, his arm shooting out to grab the door handle, pulling it open, and waiting for me to walk through first. It’s such a gentlemanly thing to do.
    Something a date would do, I can’t help but muse with longing.
    The theater is packed, dark and—dammit, the previews have started! Disappointed, my eyes scan row after occupied row, seeking out in the dim one empty spot— any empty spot not near the front. I would rather poke my eye out with a stick than sit in the front row, and luckily, I find several halfway up.
    I feel Dexter hesitate on the steps as he approaches me from behind, just as I sense him internally debating his options; should he say good-bye and go in search of his own seat? Or should he tag along and sit with me, not knowing if he’ll be welcome?
    How do I know he’s thinking this? Easy. Because I’m feeling it, too. Should I invite him to sit next to me? Would that be awkward? Probably, but wouldn’t it be worse knowing he’s a few seats behind me, staring at the back of my head?
    Slowly, guided by the illuminated track lighting on the stairs, I climb step after step. Ascending to the middle row, eyes seeking—scanning in the dark, until…
    There, three rows up, are two seats.
    Together.
    What were the odds?
    Over my shoulder I softly whisper, “Those?”
    “Sure.”
    Together we shimmy our way towards the empty seats, making apologies, sidestepping purses, popcorn buckets, and legs in the dimly lit space.
    Once we’re seated, settled in, Dexter removes his pea coat, and I watch him unhook each double toggle button from the corner of my eye. His heavy coat comes off and the woodsy, male smell of him reaches my sensitive nose.
    Good lord he smells freaking fantastic. Like a fresh shower and fresh air and wintergreen toothpaste.
    The truth blindsides me: I’m insanely attracted to this guy.
    He’s such a dork.
    But so , so cute.
    I stuff a handful of popcorn in my mouth to occupy myself—it weighs down my tongue like sandpaper—and when I crunch down, the speakers in the theater choose that moment to go dead silent, filling the silence around us with the sound of my chewing.
    Mortified, I pause.
    Chew.
    Pause.
    Oh my god, I’m so loud .
    Chew.
    I give Dexter a weak, popcorn-filled smile before my head falls back on the headrest and I smother a groan by shoving more popcorn in my face.
    I hate myself right now .

 
     

     
    D aphne Winthrop.
    The woman I spent half my weekend stalking on social media after meeting her at Ripley’s Wine Bar because—let’s face it—she is beautiful.
    She’s also way out of my league.
    Outgoing, charismatic and sweet, I try not to watch as she nervously shovels handful after handful of buttered popcorn into her