Page 99 of Once Upon a Lie

10:30 p.m.

“Oh my God!” Teeny yells excitedly, pulling me past the bouncer of Honky Tonk Parade so excitedly she doesn’t even notice the look of recognition on his face. I pull my ball cap farther down over my eyes and tuck myself behind her, hoping to blend into the tumultuous sea of a bar where I’ve basically spent all my formative years watching the Karaoke Cowboy—my best friend, Dom—do all the things she described and more.

The bar is wall-to-wall chaos—people in masks and body paint, fake blood smeared across white shirts, a guy dressed like a priest grinding with a devil under a neon Bud Light sign—and if I look the wrong way, I just know I’m going to see someone I know. The last thing I need tonight is someone who knows me stirring up questions I can’t answer.

I considered telling her the Karaoke Cowboy she’s excited to see is retired—married with kids and living the low life these days—but I know that would only lead to questions about Dom and me and the police force.

I settle for distraction instead, positioning us in a dark corner booth in the back and pulling her in for a kiss. She melts into me completely, digging her hands into my hair and moving her tongue along mine.

The kiss, her, it feels good. Too good.

Immediately, the idea that this being a way to hide our faces was the only thing to consider takes a nosedive. Now I’m half hard, and the sex I’ve been carefully avoiding for the last few days is the first thing on her mind.

“Let’s go to the bathroom, Mr. Miller,” she whispers flirtatiously, and it’s all I can do not to cave.

I take a deep breath and push myself back, offering something else instead. “Should I go get us drinks?”

Disappointment dampens her features, and automatically I feel like an asshole. I know I’m trying to protect both of us, but it sure feels like I’m the fucking villain more and more these days.

If I don’t hold back, I suck. If I do, I suck then too. I don’t think I can win, and the fact that I’m wanting to so badly is a sign that I am in so far over my head, I’m hanging upside down and licking my own asshole.

Sitting back quickly, she crosses her arms over her chest. It’s not petulance—it’s disappointment—and I go from just feeling like a dick to being one by ignoring the very obvious emotion. “A beer? Wine? Or something else?”

I know I should ask her if she’s okay—apologize for the nonsensical way I’m acting. But I know if I do that there will be other questions, and without a shadow of a doubt, they’ll be ones I’m not allowed to answer. And I cannot sleep with her again. I want to—God, do I want to—but the first and the second times were bad enough. Anything from this point forward feels like I’m being complicit in hurting her.

Fuck, I need a beer.

“Just a Coke,” she says, adjusting herself in her seat and forcing herself to smile. I touch my lips to hers in a pathetic attempt at some form of consolation, but if anything, it makes me feel worse. I try to come up with something to say, but when I can’t, I slide out of the booth and make a beeline for the bar with my head down instead.

Of course, even the simple action of ordering drinks in a bar where everyone knows your name like Cheers without stirring up a flood of recognition and extraneous conversation is tricky at best, so I take precautions by ordering from the bartender I know doesn’t know who the fuck I am even though he takes forever, and then turn back for the table with our drinks in hand. I bump into a man’s back first, and then Teeny, who evidently got tired of sitting by herself in the corner while I was waiting for the slowpoke to pop the cap off a beer.

I open my mouth to apologize to her, but when the man turns around, my life flashes before my eyes.

“Shane?” Crew asks, his eyebrows at his hairline as the sound of my name on his lips alerts James, who spins around to look at me.

“Holy shit, Shane!” James crows.

James and Crew and Dom and I have all been friends for years and have frequented this very bar together hundreds of times. Since I was fake fired from Metro, I haven’t spoken to either of them—because I haven’t been allowed.

My stomach plummets.

Fuck. I know this interaction isn’t going to go well. They’re going to have questions. Lots of them. Ones that will be seriously uncomfortable to answer in front of a woman I’ve been simultaneously falling for and lying to for weeks.

I say a million curses in my head to keep myself calm as I greet them. “Oh, hey, guys.”

It’s too casual. I know it the moment I say it, but I can’t take it back.

“‘Oh, hey, guys’?” James repeats with an annoyed snort. “I’ve called you, like, fifty times in the last month, man, and haven’t heard a word. What the hell gives? You got fired from the force? You and Dom are on the outs? I swear I feel like I’ve entered the twilight zone.”

Teeny looks anxiously between them and me, and I hand her the soda I got for her before using my newly freed hand to pull her over in front of me. “Valentina, these are my friends James and Crew.”

They extend their hands as she turns, excited, and I press my lips together before proposing the haziest apology known to man. “Yeah, sorry I didn’t answer your calls,” I offer. “Yours too, Crew. I was actually planning to get back to both of you this week.”

Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.

“So, what happened?” Crew insists, not accepting my avoidance. “They fired you? I read in an article there was evidence you were abusing the badge and altering evidence and shit. Like, some money went missing?”

These are the absolute last kind of questions I need right now. He’s not accusing me, but if I were on the other end of this dialogue, I’d want answers too.