Epic Lies (Epic Fail Book 2)

by Trudy Stiles

  “I’m between mile eight and nine,” I say, straining to see the mile markers.

  “Darn, there isn’t another exit for at least five miles,” he says to me, and I shift uncomfortably in my seat.

  “Thanks for reminding me,” I groan. I just finished the last sip from my oversized Starbucks’ Trenta black iced-tea lemonade. Shit.

  “Be careful and call me when you get home, okay?” I hear my mother’s voice in the background. “Love you, Giselle!”

  “Love you too, Mom. And I’ll call you when I get home, Dad.” I grin and hang up.

  I shift my car into park and switch my windshield wipers onto high. Rain slams onto my roof, and large hail bounces off the hood of my car. The sound is deafening and terrifying at the same time. It’s so loud that I barely hear the motorcycle pass me on the right hand side in the shoulder. Wow, that sucks.

  I watch as the driver stops under the bridge just ahead of me and jumps off his bike. He’s attempting to shield himself from the splattering hail, but it’s useless. The bridge provides little protection from the rain as it’s coming down sideways at this point. He removes his helmet, and his dark hair becomes instantly soaked. He’s looking up into the rain as it pummels his face, trying to find a clearing in the sky. According to my father, this storm isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

  A loud crack causes my ears to pop, and the biker jumps straight up into the air as thunder booms, enveloping my car. Holy shit. Did lightning just strike nearby?

  I watch as the biker climbs the embankment underneath the bridge, but water is pouring down toward him. He’s really struggling, and it’s so dangerous out there. Why isn’t anyone letting him take shelter? Maybe he’s a serial killer, and they can sense danger. Water blurs my vision as my windshield wipers are rendered useless from the teeming rain.

  Another loud clap of thunder rumbles, and this time it seems to be rolling over us. The biker looks around, desperate. He doesn’t want to be outside any more than I want to be sitting here stuck in traffic about to die from another lightning strike. He pulls the collar of his leather jacket high up to his ears.

  Without thinking, I beep my horn, and he quickly looks over at my car. I wave my hands, telling him to come my way. My father would kill me if he knew what I was doing. Hell, what am I doing? He looks at me curiously. Another boom of thunder rocks my car, and he makes a mad dash toward me. I unlock the doors, and he’s suddenly in my passenger seat, soaking wet.

  “Holy shit,” he says, panting. “Thanks for letting me in.” He drops his helmet to the floor between his legs and turns to face me. His dark eyes pierce into me, and I shudder. Tall, dark, and handsome doesn’t even come close. His hair is saturated, water dripping over his thick, black eyebrows, down his cheeks, and to his chiseled jaw. His lips are parted, and he’s still breathing heavily. This man is pure perfection. And he could be a serial killer. Yet, there’s something familiar about him. Do I know him?

  I fumble for my phone and turn off the Bluetooth. I hit speed dial for my best friend, Mia, and place the phone against my ear. As it’s ringing I say, “Can I have your driver’s license, please?” He furrows his brow, looking extremely confused, but reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a wallet attached to a chain.

  “Hey! You were supposed to be here like an hour ago,” Mia says, without saying hello. We’re not only best friends, but we’re also neighbors. Our townhouses are next to each other and we share a patio in the back.

  “I’m stuck in traffic… and a bad storm.” The stranger holds out his license, and as I reach out to grab it, our fingers touch, sending a jolt straight through me. Thunder crashes around us, and he shudders, dropping his hand to his thigh.

  “I also just picked up a hitchhiker or something like that. His name is…” I bring the license in front of my face, and I’m grabbed by how incredibly hot he looks in the picture. My own license looks like I slept in the garage on a steamy, humid night. My hair is frizzy, and I have a stunned looked on my face. Not attractive at all.

  “Dax Anderson.” I read her his address and say, “Now if anything bad happens to me, you know where to send the cops.” He runs his hands through his soaking wet hair and shakes his head, laughing.

  “Dax Anderson?” she screeches into the phone, interrupting my thought. “Where the hell are you?”

  “On the interstate, and I’m stuck in at least a three-mile backup. Mr. Anderson was stranded on his motorcycle in the pouring rain, and I let him hop into my car. I probably saved his life.” His grin grows wider, and his face softens.

  The cell phone starts to crackle, and I hear what seems like every other word from Mia, “Dax…do…he…fail…Oh. My. God.”

  “Mia? You’re breaking up,” I say loudly into the phone. “I’ll see you when I see you.” Before I can hang up, the call is dropped. Another bolt of lightning streaks in front of my car, and I gasp, dropping my phone onto the floor. Thunder claps and booms all around us.

  “So you think I’m a serial killer?” he asks amused as the rumbles shake my car.

  “Just covering all bases,” I reply and wonder what my father would say if he knew I picked up a stranger. A hot stranger who could do really bad things to me if he wanted to.

  He reaches across the seat, and I flinch a little. “Can I have that back?” he asks, gesturing toward the license I’m still holding in my hand.

  “Oh, yeah.” Once again, our fingertips brush against each other, and I blush. Without looking away, I reach down and pat the floor, attempting to find my phone. His hand is suddenly next to mine and brushes against me.

  “Do you always act this strange?” He smirks. “Here’s your phone.”

  I am acting strange. This is so out of character for me. I swipe the phone from his hand and tuck it between my legs. He raises his thick eyebrows.

  “I don’t normally pick up strange men from the side of the road,” I respond and feel like curling up into a ball.

  “You’re a life-saver,” he says. Another crash of thunder rocks the car, and the rain falls harder, if that’s even possible. He attempts to look through the windshield, but it’s now completely fogged up. He reaches out and presses the de-fogger button in the console and lowers the temperature in the car. “I hope you don’t mind,” he says.

  “Of course not.”

  “Seriously, I don’t think I would have survived out there.” He peers out the passenger side window. “It’s raining so hard I can’t even see my bike.”

  “Why would you ride your bike in this kind of weather?” I ask, dumbfounded.

  “An hour ago, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky,” he states.

  Doesn’t he have weather alerts on his phone? Maybe I’m the only dork that gets alerts for every type of weather event. God.

  I shake my head in silent judgment.

  “What happened up there, anyway?” he asks, craning his neck to see the miles of cars parked in front of us.

  “My dad said that a tanker overturned about three miles up the road, spilling hazardous materials all over the place.”

  “Perfect,” he says and clenches his fists. I immediately tense up as his demeanor changes.

  “Is there somewhere you need to be?” I ask.

  “It’s nothing. They can wait.” He takes out his phone and swipes on the screen. His thumbs move quickly over the letters, and he hits send. We sit quietly for a few minutes, and he says, “You know my name. Now I think I should know yours. You know, in case you’re a serial killer.” He winks, and his grin widens.

  “Giselle,” I answer.

  “Just Giselle?” he asks curiously.

  “Giselle Andrews,” I say hesitantly.

  “Nice to meet you, Giselle.” He reaches out and offers me his hand. I tentatively place mine into his, and he squeezes. His hand is damp and cold.

  “You’re freezing,” I say, but don’t let go.

  “I’m also soaking wet,” he responds and continues to hold on to me.

  “Ye
s, you are.”

  “So where are you heading today in this fabulous weather?” he asks, looking out at the window toward his bike.

  “I’m on my way home.”

  “And your home is?”

  I hesitate before answering. “Radnor.”

  He nods. “I’m not too far from there, but you already know that.”

  His driver’s license. “Yeah,” I say.

  Rain continues to pummel my car, and I hear emergency sirens coming from behind us.

  “So,” he says and turns to look at me again.

  My nerves are setting in, and this awkward conversation isn’t making things any better.

  “What do you do for a living?” I ask him. Not getting any easier.

  “Oh, yeah. I’m—”

  The emergency sirens are much closer now, and louder. Fire engine horns are blaring, and I see by glancing into the rearview mirror they are barreling up the shoulder. And they aren’t going slowly.

  We both turn to the see the first fire truck plow into Dax’s motorcycle, and the one behind it didn’t slow down to assess the damage. Groans escape his mouth as several state troopers speed along the shoulder. His bike is now up on the slope underneath the bridge in a mangled heap.

  “What the fuck?” he shouts. “What in the actual FUCK?” He slams his fist into his thigh.

  My hand covers my mouth as we both peer out the window at his former motorcycle. “Oh God,” I say.

  “They didn’t even stop! I mean, I could have been on that bike. Fuck!” He gestures wildly, and his breathing hitches.

  “I’m sure they would have stopped if they saw a person, right?” I try to assure him, realizing that I totally did save his life.

  His fists are tight, and he leans his head against the window, his warm breath causing it to fog up. “It’s brand new. I picked it up yesterday.”

  “I’m sure your insurance will cover it?”

  “I shouldn’t have bought the damn thing in the first place. Whatever. Fuck it.” He pulls his phone out again and begins typing a message and laughs out loud as he hits send. His laughter fills the car as it turns into hysterics. It’s contagious, and I begin to laugh, too. Tears stream out of the corners of my eyes, and I gasp for air. Why are we laughing so hard? His bike just got destroyed. He could have died.

  His phone rings, and he answers it immediately. “Dude, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” He chuckles as he explains to whomever is on the phone what just happened. “Exactly! Well, that’s the last time I’m buying a motorcycle. Chalk that up to life lessons. Oh, I’m going to be really late. This traffic jam hasn’t budged at all. Can you tell the rest of the guys? Tell Garrett that I tried, but shit happens. You can send anything you want me to listen to right to my phone. Thanks, man. Tell Tabby I’m sorry I missed seeing her and the kids. Later.”

  He disconnects the call and drops the phone on his leg. “Sorry about that.” He turns to me, and his smile once again warms me.

  “You don’t smile much, do you?” I blurt out as I stare at the soft creases on either side of his mouth. His teeth brush against his lower lip, and the smile fades.

  His gaze falls to my lips and quickly back to my eyes. “What would make you think that?”

  I blush and shake my head. “Your laugh lines are soft. Smooth. Like they’re brand new.”

  He touches his cheek where my eyes are fixated, and then lowers his hand. “No. I don’t laugh a lot.” His admission makes me sad, and I’m thankful that I was able to witness his hysterical laughter just a few minutes ago. “But somehow that was the funniest thing I’ve seen in a long time.” He points to the disfigured bike. “I mean after I got over the initial shock of it all.”

  I suddenly want to know everything about him. Why doesn’t he smile? Did someone hurt him? Are his lips as soft as his cheeks? I need to stop. I don’t even know him.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

  He brings his hand up, and his rare smile is back. “It’s okay. You seem very perceptive, Giselle.” My name floats from his mouth, and I’m hypnotized. I don’t think I’ve ever heard my name spoken with such masculine softness, if that is even a thing?

  He reaches down between his legs and pulls the lever to slide his seat back. As it clicks into place, I jump a little. He places his right foot on the dash and leans back, obviously getting comfortable. “Is this okay?” he asks and looks at his wet boot, resting on my clean dashboard.

  “Sure.”

  The rain continues to batter my car, and I lean back, as well, to try and get more comfortable.

  “Tell me about yourself,” he says. “Like what on Earth would make a girl like you let a complete stranger into her car? Do you do this all of the time?” He looks worried, as if I’m naive and innocent.

  “Never!” I exclaim too quickly. I’ve learned to not trust many people, and that’s how I’ve lived my life for a long time.

  “Good. You shouldn’t make a habit of this. The next guy might not be as nice as I am.”

  “So, you’re a nice guy?” I ask.

  He shrugs, “I guess, compared to some.”

  “Good to know.” I smile.

  “So, you were about to tell me all about yourself,” he reminds me.

  “There’s not much to tell. I’m a simple person, with a simple life.” I lie.

  “That’s very hard for me to believe,” he says. “So tell me what you’re doing tonight?”

  “I have a date planned with my best friend. We’re going to watch a few movies, pajama style.”

  “Sounds like fun,” he says and raises his thick eyebrows. Those eyebrows…

  “What movie?” he asks.

  “You’re going to think I’m a nut,” I say, shying away from revealing the movies to a total stranger.

  “Try me,” he says and gets more comfortable in his seat.

  “Bowfinger,” I say and blush.

  He laughs out loud and sits up straight. “That is legitimately one of my favorite movies. Fucking hilarious! That scene where Steve Martin makes Eddie Murphy’s character cross a busy street to buy Starbucks is just priceless.” I start laughing, and before I can control myself, I snort. I cover my mouth, embarrassed, but I can’t stop laughing.

  “Oh my God. My favorite scene!” I can’t believe someone else likes this movie as much as I do. I also can’t believe how much I’m getting pulled into his perfect smile. His lips. Eyes. Everything about his face is perfect. Captivating.

  “Then we’re going to watch Labyrinth,” I say, proud of our movie rotation tonight.

  “Labyrinth? Really? Isn’t that a Muppet movie or something like that?” He sits back into the seat and turns so he’s leaning on his shoulder.

  “It is a Jim Henson movie, but it has nothing to do with the Muppets. Although, come to think of it, The Muppet Movie is amazing.” I pause. “David Bowie’s in it and plays a goblin king. It’s amazing. Magical.” I look out of the window and can practically hear him singing “Magic Dance.”

  “Well, if David Bowie is in it, it must be good,” he says sarcastically.

  “You have no idea what you’re missing,” I retort.

  “I’ll have to check it out. I mean, if you like Bowfinger, you must know what you’re talking about.” He pauses, “I’m sorry you’re going to be late.”

  “It’s okay, Mia will understand. She won’t start without me.”

  I notice cars begin to inch forward ahead of us. I wipe my windshield to see through the fog and see that cars are being diverted through the median up ahead and being forced to make a U-turn. We slowly approach the median, and I’m able to turn around and head in the opposite direction.

  “I need to get you home, since your bike is totaled.”

  He exhales deeply. “I’m in Villanova, but you can drop me anywhere along the Blue Route, and I’ll be able to get a train or a cab back home.”

  “No, I’ll drive you. I insist.” I grip the steering wheel tightly as the wind tries
to blow me off of the highway.

  “Can I have your phone?” He stretches his hand across the center console and looks down between my legs where I shoved it earlier.

  I blush and reach down, my thumb getting caught in the hole in my jeans just above the knee. He raises his eyebrow.

  He glances at my legs and back up to my eyes, extending his hand.

  “Why?” I ask, giving him my phone.

  “I want to enter my address into your phone so we can navigate back to my house. What’s your passcode?”

  “I can enter it,” I say and reach back for the phone.

  “You’re driving, that would be unsafe.” I can see his wide smile out of the corner of my eye. I’ve never given anyone the passcode to my phone before, so I hesitate.

  “Zero, eight, two, four,” I say and tighten my grip on the steering wheel. August twenty-fourth. A date I’ll never forget. I see him type it into my phone, and he quickly finds the navigation app. I hear C-3P0’s voice come through Bluetooth, telling me to stay on the highway for “Another two miles, Master.” Dax chuckles, “Star Wars fan, too?”

  I nod.

  I’m suddenly uneasy sharing my passcode with him. “You like even numbers?” he says.

  “What?”

  “Zero, eight, two, four. All even numbers.” He sounds a little odd, his voice tight.

  “Yeah, something like that,” I reply, and C-3P0 interrupts. “Exit to the right, now, Master.”

  We drive in an uncomfortable silence as I’m guided through the directions by my favorite Star Wars android. I notice we’re weaving through a gorgeous residential area with immense homes and perfect tree-lined streets.

  “Nice neighborhood,” I say. Really nice. Like, Rockefeller nice.

  “I just moved here.”

  I picture his wife and bazillion kids waiting in the driveway for him as C-3P0 tells me, “We have reached our destination, Master.”

  I pull into the long driveway and stop in front of a four-car garage. “Wow,” I gape.

  The rain has stopped, and he opens the door to leave. “Thank you, Giselle. You really did save my life back there.” He swings his legs out and turns back to me. “I owe you. Let me do something nice for you. Maybe buy you dinner or something?”