The Lying Season

by K. A. Linde

  “Oh geez.”

  “So, anyway, I told him I didn’t want to be used and to leave me alone while he had shit to figure out.”

  “Damn,” English said. “No wonder you’ve been so pissed.”

  “Yeah. Well, he tried to talk to me at work today. But I blew him off. I don’t know what to say to him. And Danny called, and I think he’s supposed to call sometime tonight. I don’t even know what to say to him.”

  “Okay, slow down. Too much at once,” English said. She snatched my spoon from me and dug into the ice cream. “So, Sam is single. He wants to talk to you. And he kissed you.”

  “Correct.”

  “But Danny also called and presumably wants to go on a date.”

  “Also, yes.”

  “Hmm…”

  I took my spoon back and dug in for another bite of the ice cream. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “You don’t know, or you don’t want to admit it?” she asked intuitively.

  “In a perfect world?”

  She nodded.

  I took a deep breath and continued, “I’d try it out with Sam again.”

  “I see.”

  “I know that you don’t like him.”

  “I never said that,” English said. “What I said was that I didn’t like what had happened in the past. That he’d broken your heart. I didn’t want to see you get hurt again.”

  I shrugged and had more ice cream. Maybe there were answers in the cookie dough.

  “You don’t want to date Danny,” English decided.

  “Not really. He was nice. I mean, I gave him my number. But he just wasn’t…it.” I sighed. “I know I’m still messed up from Thomas. It’s just hard to let go.”

  “But you can with Sam?”

  I nodded reluctantly. Because I could. Even though things were screwed up with Sam now. It had been so perfect and easy when we were first together. There was so much history there that it’d felt like we were drawn together. Before I’d known about Claire, it was as if we were magnets. Even after, I’d be lying to say that we’d just been friends. That was a clever lie we’d been telling each other. Because that kiss had said it all.

  “Okay”—English shifted to face me—“I’ve been against Sam from the start. But I think you need to give this another chance.”

  “What?” I gasped through a mouthful of ice cream.

  “Hear me out. Sam was always that guy for you. No matter how broken you were or how mad you were at him…you still wanted him. You still wanted to make it right. And you’ve changed so much since I first knew you. Maybe he has too. I think you should go for it. Because if you don’t, you’ll always wonder, What if…You’ll compare every guy to him. Wonder if he’s waiting on every street corner. You need to find out if he’s really the guy you want. Even if it means putting your heart on the line.”

  “I don’t know, English. How do I put myself out there again? That level of vulnerability”—I shuddered—“it feels like a risk.”

  “A calculated risk. You look at the odds and decide if the pros outweigh the cons. You know what the chance of failure is. You’ve already seen failure in this. It’s not an election. You don’t have to plan out all the moves. You don’t have to decide a year out what the first Tuesday in November will look like. You just…try.”

  “That easy, huh?” I asked my friend who knew all about jumping, talking to the girl who had never taken a risk…let alone with her heart.

  “The easiest and hardest thing you’ll ever do. Let go. Live.”

  I sighed and bit my lip. “Maybe I will.”

  22

  Sam

  I hefted a box into my arms and tossed it onto the top of the stack I’d made in the one spare corner of my apartment.

  “That’s the last of it,” I said to my now-empty apartment.

  After how hard I’d fucked up with Lark, I’d come home to my apartment and seen Claire staring back at me from every available space. She wouldn’t be back until the end of the summer, when we’d have to decide what to do about our shared place. But I couldn’t keep having her stuff in my face.

  If I was going to live here for another couple of months, I couldn’t see her every day. Not like this. Not if I was going to move on.

  Even though it had been nearly two in the morning, I’d started packing. And I’d kept packing all week in the time I had after I got home from work.

  And that was the last of it.

  It meant the walls were blank, the side tables and coffee table were free of miscellaneous junk, her set of drawers and half of the tiny closet were empty. I’d had to go get new sheets and a comforter. I’d placed my wood carvings around the room to try to make it look like Claire wasn’t the only one who decorated. But it was still bare.

  All that mattered was that it no longer felt like Claire.

  After the day I’d had, the confrontation with Lark, and packing, the last thing I wanted to do was go to Camden Percy’s penthouse and play poker. But Court had insisted that I had to show up for their monthly game.

  I’d tried to argue that I couldn’t show because I didn’t have the ten-thousand-dollar buy-in. Of course, Court had agreed to spot me the money. Not like I could ever pay him back if I lost it all. Which I thought was unlikely since my brother, Jake, and I had grown up, playing poker. But still…

  I ran a hand back through my hair and then hopped into a quick shower. I changed into slacks and a button-up, and then I took the subway into Manhattan. I’d never been to Camden’s place before. He lived on the top floor of Percy Tower, and it was very easy to locate.

  It was still disorienting to think that I was even being invited to the top floor of Percy Tower. Me, a nobody who had done construction work for most of my life in rural North Carolina. Even three years at Duke Law hadn’t prepared me for taking an elevator that opened up into someone’s house.

  But that was exactly what I did.

  And I tried to pick my jaw up off the floor when I entered Camden’s residence. It looked like I’d just entered a palace. Like I was on my way to visit the king. Everything was lavish and lush and extravagant. The living room opened up to a vaulted ceiling, which I had no idea how that was even possible from an architectural standpoint. I’d built a lot of houses in my life, but this was something else entirely.

  It had a wraparound staircase that led to a second floor. Paintings taller than my person on the walls. Gilded place settings on a dining room table in its own separate room. And just so much space.

  Space was a luxury in New York. To have this much open and emptiness…it was incredible. And terrifying. Because I’d thought Court’s place showed wealth. I hadn’t realized there was a level above. A level for someone who put his mind to running the Percy hotel company, while Court stayed out of the Kensington business affairs. From the looks of this place, Camden Percy could Scrooge McDuck dive-bomb into his money.

  “You’re gawking,” a voice said as high heels clicked onto the foyer.

  I’d expected Katherine and was surprised to find it was English. “Uh, yeah. How could anyone not gawk at this?”

  “You get used to it after a while.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. “I don’t see how I could ever get used to this.”

  “You say that now.”

  “So, uh, do you know where this poker game is happening?”

  She nodded. “I do in fact.”

  Her expression said that she wasn’t prepared to tell me. That she had something else on her mind. It seemed likely that there was only one other thing she would want to discuss. And I doubted it was Court.

  “I’m a fixer,” English finally said. “I make problems go away.”

  “I understand. You can make me disappear.”

  She shook her head. “You misunderstand me. I don’t want to have to fix her. She can’t sustain another heartbreak.”

  I tilted my head in confusion. “I don’t think that she’s in any danger of heartbreak.”

  “
That is yet to be seen.”

  “She won’t even talk to me,” I told her. “I tried.”

  “Well, we’ll see,” she said and then turned and walked away.

  We’ll see? What the hell did that mean? That Lark might talk to me now? Why were women so confusing? Why couldn’t they just say what they meant?

  “Are you coming?” English asked.

  I breathed out in exasperation but followed her through the enormous penthouse and into a billiards room with a glossy wooden poker table at its center.

  “You made it,” Court said, shaking my hand. “Easy enough to find?”

  I almost laughed. “Yeah. Very easy.”

  “See, English,” Court said. His eyes narrowed, and his voice sharpened when he talked to her. “Everything is fine. Just the four of us with a friendly game of poker. Some scotch and a few Cubans. You can leave now.”

  She just blinked at him. “I can see that, Court.”

  “You don’t have to babysit.”

  “Trust me. I don’t want to do anything of the sort. But you are notorious for bad decisions. I’m just going to stay long enough to make sure this isn’t one of the many. You might think that the heat is off of you, but the public is vicious. If you turn away for one minute, you’ll be on TMZ in a heartbeat.”

  Court ground his teeth and then ushered me over to the table. I took the seat between Court and Gavin.

  “You’ve played before?” Gavin asked with a grin as he played with his chips.

  “Once or twice back home.”

  “Excellent,” Gavin said with a grin. “Blackjack is more my game. But I like a friendly game of poker every now and again.”

  “You’re shit at blackjack,” Camden said. He deftly shuffled through the deck once and then twice.

  “No way. Remember that time we went to Vegas in college?” Gavin asked. “I won fifty grand.”

  “You never remember that trip right,” Camden said. He arched an eyebrow. “Court and I spotted you a hundred each. You came out with fifty total. Then you tried to get married to a stripper.”

  I laughed at the story as Gavin waved it off.

  “It would have been annulled anyway. And she was hot!”

  “You were wasted,” Camden reminded him. “And you have the worst beer goggles.”

  “Court, come on. Back me up!” Gavin said.

  Court just shrugged. “Camden isn’t wrong.”

  “Fuck you both. I’m going to clean up here, and then we’ll talk.”

  Camden looked up at me with a faint grin on his face. “This should be fun.”

  I smiled back, ready to see just how bad Gavin actually was. And also surprised to see that Camden was almost…normal. Here, in his own house with just his friends, he didn’t have to put on airs. It was almost like what Court had said about how Camden didn’t have to pretend for him. They had each other’s backs. And now, somehow, I’d been pulled into it.

  About an hour into our game, we’d gone through half a bottle of scotch, and Camden had pulled out the cigars. English finally got up from where she’d been seated, typing away on her phone.

  “Okay, boys, this is boring as shit. Court was right,” she said, stifling a yawn.

  “We can make it more fun for you,” Gavin said. He patted his knee as if to tell her to sit down.

  She raised one eyebrow. “I’ll have you know that I have a black belt. I’d reconsider that offer.”

  Gavin guffawed. “You could probably kick my ass.”

  “Yes, I could.” She turned her attention back to Court. “Let me know if you need me.”

  “Don’t worry. We won’t,” he said, turning away from her and back to the cards.

  She shrugged and then walked out of the room. Gavin followed her ass the whole way out.

  “Phew, she’s smoking hot,” he said.

  Court furrowed his brow. “Don’t even fucking think about it, dude.”

  “What? Are you hot for teacher?”

  “That doesn’t even make sense,” Camden said.

  “She’s a huge pain in the ass,” Court ground out. “It doesn’t matter if she’s hot. Also, she’s married.”

  “Never stopped you before,” Gavin said with a shit-eating grin.

  “Yeah, well, it’s stopping me now.”

  “And what about you?” Camden asked, diverting attention away from Court. He was looking right at me.

  “What about me?”

  “You and Lark have it bad.”

  I shrugged. “Did you tell everyone, Court?”

  Court laughed and leaned forward on the table, lighting his cigar. “I didn’t tell Camden shit. It’s just that fucking obvious.”

  “Wait…you and Lark?” Gavin asked with wide eyes.

  “Except to the most oblivious dude on the planet,” Court added.

  “So, are you going to do something about it?” Camden asked. His eyes stared pointedly into mine. Like he had his magnetism that made you want to answer. “When you want something, you take it. However you have to.”

  And for a moment, it felt like he was talking about himself. Not me at all.

  “Yeah…maybe I am,” I conceded.

  “That’s right,” Court said, clapping me on the back. “You get your girl.”

  Camden nodded. “Also”—he glanced down at the chips—“did you fucking hustle us?”

  My laugh was real this time. I had three times the number of chips as anyone else. Court and Gavin had almost nothing at this point.

  “I did say that I played some at home.”

  Camden’s smile grew. “Well done. I don’t think anyone has ever beaten me at poker like this before.” He brought his cigar to his lips and leaned back in his chair. “Court, you chose well. You’re welcome next time.”

  In that moment, it felt like I’d just been tapped into a secret society. Except this might be even more elite.

  And while it felt good to be accepted…my mind was on Lark. Something about what Camden had said struck a chord in me. Now, I needed to figure out how to get what I wanted.

  23

  Lark

  “What the hell?” I groaned.

  I opened my bleary, tired eyes and reached for my phone, which was buzzing on the nightstand. Finally, it stopped. I flopped back onto the bed and searched desperately for the dream that I’d been in. But it wouldn’t return.

  Then suddenly, I heard a banging on the door.

  “Ugh,” I muttered as I pulled myself out of bed.

  I rubbed a hand over my face and hurried through the apartment to the front door. It looked like English was sleeping through this racket. If it was another drunk ass who had the wrong apartment, I was going to fucking kill someone. I could see why my parents wanted me in another apartment. If this kept up, I might actually agree with them. My sleep was too fucking valuable.

  I ripped the door open, ready to curse the asshole up and down for waking me. But instead, Sam stood there, taking up the entire doorframe. He was in navy slacks and a white-and-blue button-up with mussed hair and hazy eyes. He smelled like tobacco and bourbon. And my mouth went suddenly dry at the sight of him, as if conjured straight out of my dream.

  “What are you doing here?” I blurted out.

  “I came to see you,” he said, all smooth words and long vowels. He’d had plenty to drink, enough to make him lean against the doorframe, but he wasn’t drunk.

  “I said that I wasn’t ready to talk to you.”

  “I don’t want to talk,” he said.

  Then his hands were in my hair, and his lips sensually fitted to mine as if they had always belonged there. His tongue trailed along my bottom lip, asking for permission to enter. A moan broke free at the pure power of him. He stole the breath from my lungs and the thoughts from my mind and power from my body. God, I fucking wanted this and him and everything.

  He skimmed my shoulders, my sides, my waist. I shuddered at his touch. At the feel of him and how long I’d waited for it.

  “Sam, yo
u…you have things to figure out,” I said, gripping his shirt hard in my fists. I wasn’t sure if it was to bring him closer or push him further away.

  “I figured them out.”

  “You did?”

  “You. I want you.” He nibbled along my jawline. “Just you, Lark.”

  “Oh god,” I breathed and then yanked him into the apartment.

  He toed the door closed behind him.

  Our lips crashed back together, hungry and possessive.

  “Yes,” he growled against my lips. “Yes.”

  And I came apart.

  “Please,” I groaned.

  “Anything.”

  What did I want? I wanted him. I’d just admitted that to English…and to myself. I’d just decided not to go on a date with anyone else. To figure out what was happening here. Even though we’d ended terribly in the past, that didn’t mean we had to be history repeating.

  It was a fresh start. Turning over a new leaf. A blank slate. All those things and more. It was me and Sam. And in every way, we felt right.

  Against the odds, we’d found our way back to each other. It was easier to stay mad at him. To harbor that inner fire that said this couldn’t be mended. We’d hurt each other too bad. Irreparable damage had been done. My paper heart had been cut up into little pieces, and no matter how I tried to tape it back together, it would never be the same. But there was hope.

  Hope that we could survive what had happened and move on. That he could love that taped-together paper heart again. Find a few scattered pieces and put them back into place the correct way.

  It was that hope that had me leading him back to my bedroom. Heedless that English was asleep in the guest bedroom. No protests left his lips.

  “God, I missed you,” he breathed against me instead. “So fucking much.”

  My insides melted at his words. “I missed you, too.”

  “And this…I don’t remember you sleeping in this.” His hands trailed the bottom of my silk nightie.

  I’d completely forgotten I was in this tiny, scandalous thing.

  “It was cold in Wisconsin,” I reminded him.