Page 27 of This Beautiful Lie
“Okay,” Tuesday said, grabbing the tequila bottle by the handle. “Are we making these margaritas the good way, or the responsible way?”
Katie snorted, more tipsy than I’d seen her in a long time. “You do realize we have tiny humans watching us now, right?”
Tuesday rolled her eyes and dumped a generous pour into the blender. “Okay, half-responsible,” she argued.
God, I needed this. Needed to be safe, and, tucked away with friends who would distract me. I pulled in a slow comfortable breath and grabbed the lime juice from the counter and poured in a large chug while Katie added the triple sec.
The three of us had this down to a science, even though we never measured a single thing. We’d gathered around this blender on too many occasions to count—on summer nights when the air was still hot, after ball games when dirt still clung to our shoes, or on days when being together was the only thing that made sense. They always turned out perfectly, though I don’t think any of us would say a word if they didn’t.
I dropped the ice into the blender, hit the button, and the machine roared to life. Katie started slicing limes and placing wedges into neat little stacks on the cutting board. Tuesday queued up a song on the speaker, then began wiping down the counter like she suddenly needed something to do.
I moved to the cabinet above the fridge, stretching up on my toes to grab the glasses—but when I turned back around, both Katie and Tuesday had gone quiet. They were whispering, heads tilted toward each other, stealing glances at me like I was a puzzle they needed to solve.
“What?” I asked, flipping off the blender so I could actually hear them.
Tuesday cleared her throat, then drew in a breath like she was bracing to reveal some kind of scandal. “Sooo,” she said,drawing out the word in that tone that always meant trouble. “What’s the deal with you and Dean?”
My spine straightened. It shouldn’t have. I should’ve been expecting this—should have realized that Jake would have gone straight to Katie after the scene with Dean in the kitchen. “Nothing,” I said too quickly. “Why?”
Katie laughed, not unkindly, but with a spark of knowing that said she didn’t buy my lie for a second. “That didn’t sound like nothing. Spill it”
I grabbed the glasses and started dipping the rims into salt, letting the motion buy me a few extra seconds. “I have nothing to hide,” I said lightly.
But even to my own ears, I sounded like a bad actress.
From the corner of my eye, I caught the glance Katie and Tuesday shared—one of those wordless exchanges that saidbullshitlouder than either of them ever could.
“That’s not what Jake said,” Katie muttered under her breath.
My spine tensed. I wasn’t sure what I hated more—the fact that Jake had talked about me, or the fact that I hadn’t been there to defend myself. I reached for the pitcher, taking my time to pour each of us a full glass, forcing a laugh I didn’t feel.
“He was a client,” I said finally. Clean. Simple. Mostly true.
Tuesday cocked her head. “That’s it? You didn’t date? He didn’t ghost you or forget to call?”
I barked a laugh that came out a little too sharp, too forced. “No. Why?”
“Because Jake said things were… tense,” Katie added the last word, watching me closely.
“And you’ve been giving him death stares all night. I’ve had to stop John from going over there at least twice because he wants to punch the guy. He’sconvincedDean’s done somethingto wrong you,” Tuesday added, like she was pointing out spinach in my teeth.
I almost choked on my margarita. “Seriously?”
They both nodded, twin expressions of amused concern stretched across their faces.
I stared down at the salted rim of my glass, wishing I could pour the whole thing over my head instead of drinking it. “Sorry. I… I must be stressed.”
That was weak. Even I didn’t buy it. But I needed something—any reason to change the subject.
Tuesday didn’t let me off that easily. She leaned across the counter, her elbows pressed into the granite, eyes glinting with amusement. “Maybe Dean could help you with that.”
Katie snorted into her drink. “Seriously. That man is damn good-looking. If I weren’t married…”
“Okay.” I raised my hands, palms out as if to surrender. “We arenotdoing this.”
“Oh, we’re definitely doing this,” Tuesday said, chin in her hand like she had popcorn ready. “Because you’ve been weird ever since you got here.”
“I haven’t beenweird.”
