Little White Lie

by Lea Santos

  Gia held up a finger. “I’m serious, Em, don’t look.”

  Emie ignored the warning, pounding her way down the stairs to snag up the phone on the fourth ring. “Hello?”

  “Hey, chickie.”

  “Iris! We haven’t talked in forever.” Slowly, with trepidation squeezing her lungs and horror flick background music playing in her head, Emie turned in measured increments to face the hall mirror. She cajoled herself:

  Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

  Maybe Gia decided to go for subtlety.

  Maybe—

  The first glimpse was like a punch in the gut.

  Dumbstruck, she sucked in a breath. The only thing that could make her look more gruesome was the addition of black lipstick, which came next. “Oh. My. Fucking. God.”

  “What’s wrong, Em? Don’t say that in front of your mother, by the way.”

  “This can’t happen. You have to see this,” Emie rasped. She wadded the bottom of her shirt in her fist and glanced behind her to make sure Gia wasn’t within earshot.

  “Why are you whispering? See what?”

  Panicked, she searched her brain for a feasible escape route from this nightmarish makeover plan. Sleazy was one thing, but she never expected it to be this macabre. Somehow she had to convince Gia this wasn’t the way she should look. An idea struck her. “Are you busy?”

  “No, that’s why I called.” Iris sounded mystified. “I thought I’d stop by and chat later if you’re free.”

  Emie licked her lips, her head bouncing like a frenzied dashboard Chihuahua. “Good. Yes. Excellent. Holy, holy shit. Come soon. Come now.”

  “Emie Jaramillo, you’re jabbering. What is going on?”

  She sucked a breath and blurted it all in one jumbled exhale. “Gia did my makeup and hair, kind of a dress—” hiccup “—rehearsal for Friday’s party. Anyway, do you remember that old Cher song, ‘Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves’?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, right now I look like all three of them rolled into one ridiculous—” hiccup “—caricature. Mixed in with a little science-fiction glitter for good measure.” The description was an understatement. No way could she show her face in public looking like this. She glanced into the mirror at the unrecognizable hooker-slash-vampire staring back at her. Her stomach cramped. She fought back a whimper.

  “Uh-oh. You’re hiccupping. It can’t be good.”

  “It isn’t!” she half gasped, half slurred.

  “Okay, wait,” said Iris, ever the voice of rationality. “Did you somehow give Gia the impression it was a costume party?”

  “No, of course not.” Panic bubbled inside Emie. She bounced, shaking her hand with urgency. “Stop asking stupid questions and come—” hiccup “—over. You have to convince Gia this looks ridiculous. Maybe if she hears it from you, considering you’re—”

  “All right, all right,” Iris soothed, sounding apprehensive. “But what if you’re wrong and I like it?”

  “Trust me.” Her throat clenched. “You’ll hate it.”

  A sigh. “I’m on my way.”

  Emie hung up and ordered their food, adding an order of Kung Pao chicken—Iris’s favorite—in case she hadn’t eaten. She took the sympathetic restauranteur’s suggestion to order her sesame beef extra hot because the chile supposedly cured hiccups. After arranging her expression in a semblance of casual innocence, she pressed a palm to her trembling torso and headed up the stairs to meet her black-lipped fate.

  In the bathroom, Gia blocked the mirror. She cupped a hand next to Emie’s face like a horse blinder while she got resituated on the sink. “You didn’t look, did you?”

  How could she lie without flat-out lying? “I, um, caught a glimpse in the hall mirror but—” hiccup “—didn’t get a close look.” She changed the subject before Gia had a chance to dig deeper. “Iris’s going to join us for dinner, do you mind?”

  “Of course not. We’re almost done here.” Gia’s gold-flecked eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why do you have the hiccups?”

  “M-medically, I think it’s when you swallow air.”

  “That’s a belch.”

  “Whatever.” Emie licked her lips. “Let’s finish before she gets here. What do we have left? Just the terrier lips?”

  Gia flattened her mouth into a line and chastised Emie with a glance. “Just the lip color, yes.”

  She rummaged out a tiny brush and began to blacken it with the offending lip gunk. Emie watched with mounting stress. Did Gia really like this look?

  “So, a hint.” She posed gracefully. “H-how do I—” hiccup “—look?”

  Gia stood back and grabbed Emie’s chin, turning her head this way and that, studying her. “Definitely exotic.”

  Emie blurted a nervous laugh. Her palms were sweaty. “Well, good, that’s what we wanted.” She toyed with the flyer that had come in the lipstick box while Gia held her chin and painted the funereal shade on her mouth. Finished, Gia grinned, then began gathering the products. Emie focused on reading the lipstick flyer, which listed instructions and marketing claims in English, German, French, Spanish, and an Asian language she didn’t recognize. Who’d need instructions for lipstick? she wondered. “Can I look now?” she asked.

  “Not yet. Let me, first.” Gia breached her personal space and scrutinized her up close. “You look great, Em.”

  Was the woman delusional? Emie’s eyes read faster. “Oh, thanks.”

  Gia’s knuckles moved to rest on either side of Emie’s hips, effectively trapping her in place. Her musky female scent, like warm vanilla and hot sex, surrounded Emie. Something moved between them with the power of the earth’s tectonic plates shifting. Oh, God.

  “I personally think you always look great.”

  Uh-huh. Sure you do.

  “But this is good, too,” Gia murmured.

  “Are you sure?” Emie tensed, inadvertently squeezing Gia’s hips with her thighs. Those sexy eyes smoldered, and Gia moved closer until their faces were mere inches apart. The end of Gia’s ponytail fell over her shoulder.

  Hijola, Gia was going to kiss her.

  Emie knew it, could feel it like a déjà vu, like it had already happened and she was reliving it in Technicolor and surround sound. They’d just managed to get their friendship on track. Gia couldn’t possibly kiss her.

  God, please kiss me.

  Her tongue seemed to vibrate with desire, to tingle with the need to taste this woman. Unable to stop herself, she raked her newly blackened lips through her teeth.

  Gia’s gaze dropped. Smoldered. “Hey, now,” she drawled. “You’re going to chew all that lipstick off, querida.”

  Emie held up the accordioned product flyer. “Uh, it’s chew-proof, according to”—she held her breath and staved off a hiccup—“this. Though I’m sure they didn’t do a scientific study to prove such a claim.” Wow. And she’d always thought the concept of a person’s heart being in her throat was metaphorical. She swallowed—barely.

  “Know what else it says, Em? That it’s kiss-proof.”

  An airless chuckle strangled past the heart that was blocking her normal throat function. “Definitely no scientific studies to prove that one, I’d bet.”

  Gia’s gaze rested on her mouth. Emie could see the pulse in the side of Gia’s long, sexy neck, could feel her warm breath tickle her lips. “Probably not,” Gia murmured, moving closer…closer still, “but, baby, there’s definitely something to be said for testimonial evidence.”

  Chapter Eight

  Emie reached out intending to press against Gia’s chest and prevent the kiss, but her brain had other plans. Before she could stop herself, she had gathered a fistful of Gia’s shirt and pulled her roughly closer. Their mouths came together with a passion so innate it was inevitable. A moan tore from Emie’s throat, or maybe Gia’s. Emie couldn’t tell which, but the sound was guttural and spontaneous. Surprised, yet…not. A promise.

  Gia’s warm sugar tongue eagerly explored her mouth, and godd
amn, the woman could kiss. Emie’s hands snaked around to Gia’s nape, releasing the ponytail from its rubber-band confines. She’d been wanting to do that for a long time. She drove her fingers into Gia’s shiny hair and scrunched it in her fists, indulging herself in the silk of Gia. The position raised her breasts to meet Gia’s, and she pressed closer, knowing nothing beyond her blinding need to rub their softness together, to seek the hard points of Gia’s nipples with her own. Everything within her throbbed, opened, wet and hot. Her libido switched her brain on autopilot and released her to the wild, sensual ride.

  Gia’s mouth lifted, but not too far. “Sweet God, querida, I want—”

  “I know.” The words shook with wonder and surprise.

  Gia palmed Emie’s hips and pulled her closer until the insides of her thighs made contact with Gia’s hipbones, until nothing separated them besides denim and desire, a few scraps of clothing and moist, familiar heat. Gia captured Emie’s mouth again. She traced Emie’s lips with her warm tongue, plundered, and pulled back. Her urgent capable hands caressed Emie’s upper arms, her back, her thighs. Emie’s tongue made a tentative approach, and Gia sucked it gently into her mouth. Emie gasped.

  Their eyes met. Held.

  Time stopped. Breathing ceased.

  Then another wave of passion rolled over them.

  Emie never imagined a simple kiss would be this good, this right. Gia felt so soft and warm, so brazenly female, Emie couldn’t get enough. She yanked impatiently at Gia’s T-shirt, pulling the tucked front of it from her waistband. Emie’s palms sought the bare, unbearably smooth skin she’d admired from afar for what seemed like forever. When she caressed her hands over Gia’s toned, rippled stomach and flicked the pads of her thumbs over Gia’s distended nipples, Gia simultaneously sagged and groaned, melting against Emie. Emie explored further, digging her fingers into the width and curve of Gia’s lats.

  Gia eased her farther back until her head met the mirror—a little harder than planned. Emie’s hand went to her head. She chuckled.

  “I’m sorry.” Gia laughed too, but Emie quickly swallowed the sound with her ravenous mouth, and Gia made zero complaints.

  Overcome with the need to rock her hips, Emie clambered closer, none too gracefully, and knocked a hairbrush off the vanity. It clattered on the tile, followed quickly by the soap bar and toothbrush holder. She didn’t care. Gia didn’t seem to, either. She pressed the epicenter of her throb into Gia’s stomach, near the exploding point. Those long artist’s fingers found their way to her breasts. Gia cupped and lifted her, deftly undoing the front clasp of her bra and pushing it away from her flesh. Emie arched her bare breasts into Gia’s palms and hung her head back to allow Gia’s hot lips access to her neck.

  The doorbell rang.

  Who cares? Go away. Busy. No one home.

  It rang again.

  Emie’s eyes flew open. Oh no, Iris. Iris, who had been instructed to convince Gia that Emie’s Mistress of the Dark look was unacceptable. But Gia obviously liked the way she looked, and Emie definitely approved of the way Gia felt.

  Shit. Shit. Shit!

  Change of plans.

  She had to get to Iris before Iris got to Gia.

  “Stop. G, stop! Wait!” Gripping Gia’s shoulders, she pushed her back and managed to knock a few more toiletries to the floor.

  Gia looked stunned, distracted. “But I—”

  “I h-have to—”

  “Wait, Em. I—” she whispered, in a husky tone.

  Gia leaned toward her again, but Emie gripped her shoulders to stop her. She was panicked, thinking Iris might use her spare key and inadvertently ruin things just when they’d started to get good. “No…I can’t. Just let me get off the—”

  She half fell off the vanity, straightened her clothing, grappled for her bearings and her bra clasp simultaneously. Feeling lust-drunk and crazed for Gia, she smeared at her mouth with the back of her hand. She couldn’t find words to explain. “It’s Iris.” Her gaze dropped for fear Gia would see the truth in her eyes. How pathetic am I? I’d do my face this awful way just to have you want me. “I have to…go.”

  Emie brushed past her, out the door, down the hall.

  *

  Just like that, she was gone.

  The stillness sucked Gia in like a vacuum. Blood raced in her veins. Her brain buzzed with painfully acute desire. With shaky hands, she stooped to pick up the items scattered over the bathroom floor, willing her uncooperative body to return to its normal state. She situated the toothbrush holder on the vanity, aligned the hairbrush neatly next to the basin.

  Hard as she tried to ignore it, a sense of spiraling disaster swept through her. Remorse. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead on the front of the vanity. God, she shouldn’t have kissed Emie. Hell, she’d practically ripped her clothes off and devoured her, and she knew how little experience Emie had in that arena, how little she wanted that experience. Whatever happened to Gia’s gentleness plan? To taking her sweet time? She’d clearly pushed too hard, too soon. The panic in Emie’s eyes as she’d escaped from the bathroom said it all.

  You screwed up, G. She wanted your friendship.

  You took advantage of that.

  Gia stood and braced her hands on the countertop. She hung her head, letting her hair fall like a screen around her face. “Damnit.” She’d wanted Emie to know she’d take her any way she could get her. Neighbor. Friend. Lover.

  Lover. Desire surged.

  No, that wasn’t going to happen. “Damnit,” Gia bit out again, raking the hair roughly back from her face. She straightened and stared at her reflection in the mirror with revulsion. Pushing people around to get what she wanted. Still. After all these years of telling herself she’d changed. Grown. Who the hell did she think she was kidding?

  She’d fix this if she had to apologize, grovel, beg. She’d convince Emie it shouldn’t have happened and assure her it would never happen again. She’d make it up to her, whatever it took. She would. Absolutely.

  No matter what.

  *

  Emie fumbled with the deadbolt and yanked the door open. “Come in,” she barked. “Hurry up.”

  “What a lovely greeting,” Iris quipped. Her features morphed from amused to mortified with one glance at the makeover results. “Lord have mercy, girl, you look like Night of the Living Dead.” She crossed herself hastily.

  “It’s horrific, I know. But I don’t care.”

  “Huh?”

  “Shh. Just come on.” Emie grabbed Iris’s forearm and dragged her into the house. They stumbled through the living room toward the guest bathroom off the hallway. She shoved Iris in, slammed and locked the door behind them, then pressed her back against it. “Jesus,” she exhaled, closing her eyes. Her hands curled into fists. “I can’t believe that just happened.”

  “Quit freaking out and let me look,” Iris said, her mind obviously on a different track. She grabbed Emie and centered her in front of the mirror, then stood behind her staring over Emie’s shiny spikes at their reflection. Iris chewed the inside of her cheek, a disturbed wrinkle marring the perfection of her forehead. “Okay, first off, the lipstick should be on the lips, not spread around them.”

  “I don’t care about the damn makeup,” Emie rasped, peering guiltily at her confused friend while smearing the black from around her mouth with a tissue. She glanced in the mirror again. Holy hell. It looked like she’d been cleaning out the fireplace with her lips. So much for kiss-proof. “I knew they couldn’t prove that scientifically,” she muttered.

  “Scientif—what?” Iris asked.

  “Nothing. Never mind.” Emie whirled, steadying herself with her palms on the sink edge. “Listen. New plan. You have to tell Gia you love it. That it looks great. I don’t want her to know how much I hate it.”

  Iris’s jaw dropped and her green eyes rounded with shock. “Girl, have you lost your mind? You can’t go to your office party looking like this. You have more dignity than that.”

 
“I know, but—”

  “No, you obviously don’t know.” Iris gripped Emie’s chin turned her face toward the mirror. “Look at it, for God’s sake. I thought you told me Gia was a professional. What in the hell happened?”

  “She is a professional.” Emie batted away Iris’s hand and gnawed her lip before deciding against it. She didn’t want black teeth as well. She slumped onto the toilet lid, toes and knees pointing inward. Elbows on her knees, chin in her palms, she said, “I don’t know what happened. I can’t explain it.”

  “Try.”

  Emie inhaled. “All I can tell you is…Gia and I have managed to become friends.”

  “Yeah, Paloma told me that part. What’s that got to do—”

  “Just listen. Everything was working out fine between us. Then she made me up to look like this”—she framed her face with her hands—“and all hell broke loose.”

  “Hell?”

  “Well, good hell.”

  Iris clicked her tongue and frowned at Emie. “Don’t let your mama hear you say that, either.”

  Emie ignored her. “Iris, listen. Gia kissed me. Really kissed me. Like, Jesus, like I have never been kissed in my whole…” She choked up and shook her head, unable to finish.

  Iris pulled her chin back in shock. “And that’s hell?”

  “Good hell, remember?” Emie swallowed, sensual excitement ribboning through her as she remembered just how good.

  Iris busted into a Colgate grin. “But she kissed you?”

  “Hoo-boy, did she ever.” A feeling of wild passion reeled back and slapped her, and it took her a moment to gather her wits enough to go on. When she could speak again, Emie reached up and clutched her T-shirt at the neck. “She kissed me,” Emie said again, “just before you got here. Hence the raccoon mouth.”

  “Em, that’s so great. But I don’t quite understand why you’re looking so glum.”

  “It’s complicated, I don’t know.”