A Lie In Death

By Caroline Labreche

A psychotic blonde, a gnarly fighter, a silent shadow, an arrogant liar, and a sharpshooter all make a plan to help end the world, and all they're missing is a stubborn red-headed girl who can tell when someone's lying.

Eleanor thought her bigg

• Language: English
• Publisher: Above Publishing
• Release date: Aug 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9781088278956

Book preview

A Lie In Death

A TruthTeller Trilogy

Caroline Labreche

For my sister - I love you always

Contents

Title Page

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Acknowledgement

Prologue

Eleanor - Four Months Earlier

​Imogen, if you don’t pass me the popcorn right now I will combust. I sigh dramatically, throwing myself back against the couch, hand fluttering to my forehead with as much flourish as I can muster. Which, coming from me, is quite a lot. She raises her eyebrows when she glances over, the bowl of popcorn sitting innocently in her lap.

​Nel, I think you’re missing the magic word. Daphne teases, reaching over and tossing a handful of the buttered perfection into her mouth. I roll my eyes as she and Imogen giggle at my expense. They know that groveling isn't my strongest trait.

​Oh, my sweet, sweet Imogen. Please, please put me out of my misery and pass me the popcorn bowl. The popcorn, by the way, which I popped for us. My true labor of love. You deny me from it? I cry, going into my Victorian-era-damsel-in-distress voice. Daphne and Imogen look at each other before both bursting out laughing. I guess it works because Imogen finally hands me the bowl.

​Was that so hard? She asks, still laughing.

​It was the hardest thing I have ever done. In my whole life. I sigh wearily, grabbing as much popcorn that can fit in my hand. I shove it all into my mouth, knowing I look stupid with my cheeks puffed out, but I couldn’t care less. Imogen scrunches her nose at me and Daphne makes a vomiting sound all while I’m happily chewing.

​You know, I don’t have your talent for telling when someone lies, but goddamn if I did, it would always be triggered with you around. Imogen reaches across the couch, hand aiming for the bowl. I jerk it back out of her reach, popcorn flying around us.

​My talent?! You mean my incredibly awesome superpower? Once again, her eyebrows arch up. And not for the first time, I find myself wishing I could do that. That was the real superpower.

​Watch it, Nel. You’re spilling your ‘labor of love’. Daph huffs, picking up pieces off the couch cushions. Also, I wouldn’t call a tiny voice that whispers in your mind when someone’s lying to you a superpower…I think therapists have another term for that. Daphne says, giving me a teasing smile. I throw a fistful of popcorn at her and her eyes widen, looking at the mess I keep making while simultaneously plucking kernels out of her blonde hair.

​Don’t mock me! It’s saved both of your butts one too many times. She pauses from cleaning up the warzone, bumping my shoulder with a grin. And it’s not a tiny voice. It’s just…a feeling. I say, wanting to clarify, hoping to make myself sound less…crazy.

​You know I’m just teasing you. How else would Imogen have known that Nick didn’t really like her and was only using her to get back at Emily? Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes, scoffs included.

​Are we still on that? That was in 7th grade…like five years ago. I laugh as Imogen looks at us with puppy dog eyes.

​That was a traumatic time for me, Eleanor! Only asking me out for a parent-supervised trip to Fro-Yo Land just so Emily would be jealous? How dare he! And at my pivotal young age? Now it’s your turn to not mock! Imogen gasps, pulling a performance worthy of, well, me: hand to throat, a look of pure pain in her eyes, the quivering lip. She’s even got the glassy-eyed ‘I’m-about-to-cry’ look down. I’ve never been more proud of her.

​Gen, as we are literally about to be seniors…in high school…I hate to say it, but I need you to get over it. If it helps, I’ll personally drive you to Fro-Yo Land myself whenever you want.

​Though I will hold you to that, I will never, ever get over it! She cries, flinging herself on the floor, flailing like a fish. I loved him and his over usage of Axe body spray! You just wouldn’t understand!

​I’m sorry did you just use the phrase ‘over usage of Axe body spray’? Daphne asks, grinning like mad. Imogen ignores us, continuing to flop around, looking less fish-like and turning more possessed-like. I can’t believe those words came out of her mouth. Daph mock whispers to me, pretending to be shocked.

​I mean…it did follow him around like a tiny little middle-school-pheromone cloud. You just always knew where he was. I loudly whisper back, keeping my face serious while poking Imogen with my foot. Daph laughs, reaching over for some more popcorn while Gen continues to dramatically flop around.

​They definitely weren’t wrong though. I’ve gotten us out of plenty of awkward situations before with my hidden-talent-superpower-whatever. It’s always been there, like a little mental nudge when someone isn’t being totally truthful. I used to just think that I was really intuitive until I began to pick up on what exactly someone was lying about. Usually, I can pinpoint what it is, down to the wording, but if someone’s being vague about their answer it just settles in my brain weird. It’s been both a blessing and a curse. I’ve learned very quickly to not ask questions if I’m not ready to really know the answer. The number of times Mom has lied to me about how cute she thinks my outfits are really start to bring a girl down.

I’ve only told Imogen and Daphne about it. They’ve been my built-in best friends since we were born, and we have our parents to thank for that. All of our parents have been friends forever: a beautifully tight-knit group of people with terrible jokes and an unmatched protective streak. Summer night barbecues, sleepovers, and carpooling to both school and dance classes were pretty much the foundation of our friendship. We’ve always been inseparable, always at each other’s houses, always stealing each other’s clothes, and always being there for one another.

When I started feeling like I was going crazy with this little ability, I did the most natural thing in the world: I told them about it. I was nervous and thought that they weren’t going to believe me or just think I was crazy. Luckily for me, they both took it in stride and ever since we’ve been using it to navigate the wild world of public schools. Imogen and Daphne made me feel normal about it, even if it’s probably not, and for that, they have my eternal love.

How are we already out of popcorn? I grumble, finally calming down from our laughing fit, my hand coming up empty from the bowl.

Maybe because you keep throwing it around like it's confetti? I stick my tongue out at Daphne and peel myself up off the couch. I take one step and cringe, feeling the crunch of popcorn beneath my foot.

Whoops. I say, attempting to pick up all the little pieces as Daphne watches me with her classic ‘I-told-you-so’ look.

Regardless, I’m going to make more, you guys coming? I ask, giving up on my clean-up attempt and making a mental note to grab the vacuum later. Prodding Imogen with my foot, I step around her, as she’s still sprawling out on the ground. Her only response is the biggest groan as she slowly stands up, Daphne following suit. We make our way to the kitchen to find Imogen’s mom sitting at the table with her laptop. She looks up as she hears us come in, smiling as she pushes her glasses up onto her head.

Hey, girls! Out of popcorn already? Mrs. Clark asks.

Hey, Mrs. Natalie. And yes, you know we are monsters for the delicacy that is microwaved popcorn. I say, showing her the empty bowl that was most definitely full not even thirty minutes ago. 

Is it really a sleepover without us going through at least 50 packets? Imogen asks, going around to kiss her mom on the cheek.

Daphne, honey, you have popcorn in your hair. Are you making Nel mad again? Mrs. Natalie teases, her eyebrows arching as she looks between the two of us. That dang signature Clark eyebrow raise is at it again.

Wow, my reputation as someone whose go-to weapon is popcorn is really getting around, huh? I joke, rummaging through the pantry and finally spotting the box of popcorn. I pull out a plastic-wrapped package and rip it open, putting the little brown bag into the microwave.

Well, if you wanted to be more discreet about it, you wouldn’t leave evidence all over the floor. Mrs. Natalie winks at me playfully. I blush, quickly turning my attention back to the microwave. Imogen and Daphne giggle.

Traitors.

Working late tonight? Also, where’s Dad? Imogen asks, jumping up to sit on the counter next to me. Daphne makes her way to the fridge, grabbing sodas for us.

Yeah, I’m trying to get a new intern hired for this upcoming summer. I’ve just been a little too overworked with all these new patients. Imogen’s mom is a psychologist, and a very good one, but also the only one in town so she was a very busy lady. And your father is out at the ranch. Stuff came up. I lean back against the counter, the microwave humming behind me. I look between Imogen and her mom, sensing a weird lie coming from Mrs. Clark, but it’s too vague for me to pinpoint. I always feel that way when they talk about the ranch. I never ask, even though all I want to do is pry, since Imogen never really brings it up. I’ve always just assumed that it’s a private family thing.

Just because I know someone's lying doesn’t mean I always need to know the truth…even if I’m nosey. Like, really nosey.

Ah, is everything okay? Imogen asks hesitantly, trying to keep her tone light though I can sense she’s tense. Daphne is still rummaging through the fridge even though the sodas are right in front of her.

Nothing he can’t handle, my love. Mrs. Clark replies, smiling up at her. She nods, smiling back, her body relaxing next to me. Daphne finally spots the sodas and grabs three cans before shutting the fridge with her hip. She slides one down the counter towards me and I catch it, just as the microwave beeps behind me.

Ugh, the urge to ask is killing me. It always does. Imogen rarely talks about the ranch itself, but she goes up there pretty often. Daphne’s mentioned it a few times as well, but that’s only because her parents have helped the Clarks with the financial side of things. Daph’s dad is a crazy good accountant and math whiz. I guess running a ranch is a financial nightmare. Or a good investment. I can never remember which.

When I’ve asked, Imogen has always described it as a huge plot of land in her family’s name: boring and mundane. I, on the other hand, have always imagined it as a massively sprawling area of bright green grass with a beautiful rustic barn, and lots of cows, horses, and hay. Everyone is wearing stylishly chic farm attire and no one is ever sad.

She’s never invited me to visit, or Daph for that matter, which is fine but it just makes it all the more suspicious. Or I’m just overthinking it and it’s actually so boring and Imogen is sparing us a terrible outing.

But I doubt it.

Popcorn’s ready! I say instead of shouting out every question that’s burning in my mind. I pour out the popcorn into the bowl and give it a good shake, making sure that the butter is well-coated.

Which movie will you ladies be watching tonight? Mrs. Clark asks, eyes going back to her laptop screen, half listening and half focusing on her work.

Probably some goofy rom-com. You know us. Imogen says, hopping off the counter and reaching for the bowl.

Hey, hands off until the movie starts or else we’ll be back in here before the opening scene. Daphne playfully says, swatting her away and shoving a soda can into Gen’s outstretched hands instead.

You girls have fun! Yell if you need anything! Mrs. Clark says as we head back to the living room. Imogen’s more subdued on our walk down the hall, and still seems anxious while we settle back on the couch: Daphne on the left, me in the middle with the popcorn, and Gen on my right.

You okay? Worried about your dad still? Daphne asks, remote in hand. Imogen leans her head back and looks up at the ceiling, shrugging.

Yeah, late-night visits at the ranch always worry me. He always takes on too much, they both do. She sighs, closing her eyes and tilting her chin back further, tension causing her forehead to wrinkle. Daphne nods and reaches out, placing her hand gently on Gen’s arm.

I’m sure he’s okay. Both of your parents are amazing people with kind hearts. If they can help in any situation, they always will. I think that’s really admirable. She says softly, smiling encouragingly.

Yeah, I just worry for them. There always seems to be some problem or another. Hopefully, I can start helping soon, so it won’t always fall on my Dad. I really can’t fathom what all is required for ranch upkeep, but it seems to be a never-ending stream of visits. I guess cows were a lot of work.

That would be good! Especially if it would help to ease your mind. Maybe you can ask about it this summer? I’m sure any help you can provide either of them would be really appreciated, especially since your mom also seems to be juggling a lot. I suggest, trying to come up with something, anything really. Though I’m not totally filled in on the whole situation, I still hate seeing her stressed out like this. Imogen’s just like her parents: thoughtful, kind, and always willing to help and aid anyone at any time, which often means she’s fussing over not being able to do enough for those she loves. 

Yeah I mean, they take on so much. They’re only human right? Gen finally says with a sigh, lifting her head back up to smile at us. I pause and blink at her, startled.

Uh oh. My mental alarms start ringing. Imogen’s just lied to me. It must have shown on my face because she sits up straighter and snatches the remote out of Daphne’s hand.             

You ready to watch the movie? I heard it’s really good, and we love a good rom-com. Rom-coms are our favorite. I’m excited to watch it. Are you all set? Have the popcorn? Daphne, you brought the drinks, right? Good, I mean you can’t have a movie without popcorn and drinks! She rambles, her words tumbling out of her mouth so quickly. She’s not looking at either of us, eyes glued to the screen as she clicks on a bunch of random things. Before I can even comprehend what’s happening, she has the TV turned on and she’s pressing play on a movie I think we’ve already seen before, shutting the lights off, and shoving her mouth full of popcorn.

I glance over at Daphne, who looks incredibly uncomfortable at all that just happened. As the opening scene starts, we're all sitting in an awkward silence. Daph starts fidgeting, she hates awkward and uncomfortable situations and this is definitely a big one. She slowly starts chatting, starting her steady commentary that always accompanies us when we watch a movie.

I can only sit there, staring at the screen as the protagonist spills coffee on her new boss, really not processing anything. Daphne’s commentary flies in through one ear and out through the other, my brain still wrapping around the fact that Gen lied. Imogen gave me no time to think, or ask about her lie, which she most certainly knows I’ve picked up on from the way she’s behaving.

She’s sitting ramrod straight, her soda can clenched in her fists, her eyes glued unmoving to the screen. What I can’t get over is that it can’t be right. Maybe my detector’s wrong, because at this point it isn’t even logical, the thing she’s lied about. It has to be, it’s the only thing that makes any sense. Maybe my detector has finally snapped because there’s just no way.

Imogen just lied about her parents being human.

Chapter One

Eleanor - Present Day

​It’s officially the best time of year: school supply shopping day. I roll out of bed and push my curtains back, smiling. The sun’s out, the sky is blue, and if I listened hard enough I’m sure I could hear the birds chirping happily. It’s like the world is excited for me to go shopping.

​Fresh school supplies have that kind of effect.

​I shuffle into the bathroom and wash my face, brush my teeth, and comb through my hair, pulling out the tangles that never really seem to disappear. I quickly dress in a pair of jean shorts and a tank top, dreading the heat that I know will greet me outside, even though it’s September. At least the nights are starting to get cooler. I look myself over in the mirror before sighing and deciding to pull my hair back into a ponytail. I didn’t really want to deal with it all frizzy from the humidity, and plus, it needs to be out of my way as I push kids down to get to the last purple binder.

I’m totally kidding. But also not really.

I open my door and quickly head down the stairs, sliding into the kitchen. Dad’s sitting there at his usual spot at the table, already typing away on his laptop.

​Ah, it must be school supply shopping day since you’re up and dressed before noon. He says, looking up from the screen as I make my way around the counter. I roll my eyes as I lean down and kiss his cheek.

​He’s still in his pajama bottoms but has a button-down shirt tucked in. He has his legal pad out next to his laptop and his favorite pen uncapped and ready for note-taking. His red hair (I have him to thank for my own vibrant shade) is all messy from sleep and he has his reading glasses perched on his nose. A very classic Sunday morning outfit for Logan Davis.

​Ha ha, let’s make fun of the teenager for sleeping in.

​Listen, as a dad I have the right to make horrible jokes and tease you on very simple, stereotypical issues.

​Oh? So you agree? That your jokes are horrible? I tease, beelining for the coffee machine on the counter. Thankfully Dad’s already brewed a pot, but from the abysmal amount left, it seems he’s been up for a while. I grab a mug from the cupboard above the machine, pull the pot out, and pour the last dregs. A splash of milk and some sugar and I’m in heaven. I turn back to Dad to see him with a hand up to his chest, a wounded look on his face.

​Ouch. Low blow kid.

​Sorry, I guess I’m just grumpy when I wake up before noon. He laughs, shaking his head and running his hand through his already messy hair, fluffing it up even further.

​You get your wit from your mother.

​And my good looks from you. I smile at him, and he winks at me. I turn back to the machine, going through the almost meditative steps: filter, ground beans, water, and the ‘on’ button. The machine buzzes to life and the beautiful aroma of coffee fills the kitchen as a steady drip starts to flow into the pot, refilling it.  

​Hey now, don’t give him full credit for what he only did half the work on. Mom says, coming into the kitchen. She has on jeans and a light blouse, her strawberry blonde hair pulled back into a neat bun. With the shades of red in this family, it really is no surprise my hair looks the way it does. She kisses me on the cheek and goes for my mug of coffee. Anticipating this, and moving quicker than her, I twirl around and skip to the table.

​Eleanor, you do not need coffee. She sighs, ironically grabbing herself a mug. It says ‘Best Dad Ever’ on it. 

​Mom, I’m 18.

​Hm, according to my memory, I wasn’t writhing in pain pushing a small baby out of my body for another….24 hours. She jokingly looks around for the clock on the microwave, her tone way too casual for what she just said. I make a face at her as she leans against the counter, waiting to fill her mug as the coffee continues to brew.

​First off, that’s gross, and second off, tomorrow is practically the same as today. I grin, taking a big gulp from my cup, taunting her.

​Is that how we are logically working from now on? Dad asks, amusement shining in his eyes as he watches our conversation like a tennis match. His glasses are slowly sliding further and further down his nose. See what you can get accomplished before noon, Nel? Changing logic and stressing your parents out all in one. He gives me a pointed look over his laptop.

I laugh as Mom joins us at the table, having finally poured herself a cup of my fresh coffee. I’m pretty positive I’m the best coffee maker in the family, they just won’t admit it. She leans over and pushes his glasses up, grinning at him.

​What’s going on here, Logan? She asks, leaning back and waving a hand towards Dad’s get-up. You do have an office, right? He narrows his eyes at her, but a small smile is tugging at his lips.

​If you must know, I have a new client. Maybe. Possibly. I need to video chat with them and figure out what’s going on. It’s a referral, and it seems like it’s going to be a messy divorce. He sighs, tapping his fingers along his notepad, the ink smudging a little.

​On a Sunday? I ask, trying to steal a peek at his notes. He narrows his eyes at me and quickly flips the pad over and lowers his laptop screen down.

​Divorce never sleeps, Eleanor. He says, trying to look stern. I giggle at him. The ruffled hair plus the glasses plus the pajama bottoms make it impossible not to laugh when he’s attempting to use his lawyer voice.

​Very scary, honey. But, if you want to keep this client I recommend maybe a shower. And a clean shirt. Mom says, smiling at him over her coffee. Love shines in his eyes as he scowls at her.

​Don’t tease me, Morgan. I could take you down. She gasps, trying to suppress a grin.

​You wouldn’t dare. She leans across the table and they kiss. I gag at them, taking a sip from my mug. Leaning back down, Mom smiles over at me.

​So what’s the game plan for today? Are we picking up Daphne and Imogen on the way to the store? Should we stop and grab lunch? Mom asks, stirring some more sugar into her coffee as Dad’s attention shifts back to whatever is on his screen.

​A big yes to lunch, please. And no to picking the girls up. It’s just us this year. Imogen is at the ranch with her parents today. Daphne is going shopping with her little sister since she’s starting first grade tomorrow. Her mom wants it to be a ‘family’ experience. I sigh, resting my chin on my hand. I’m a little bummed that they aren’t coming with us. It’s always been our tradition to go together.

​Oh right, little Lucy is getting so big now. Mom coos. She loves Daph’s little sister with her big blonde curls and blue eyes. Daphne has two little sisters, and Mom dotes on them like they’re her own. I think my parents would have loved to have another kid, but Mom had so many complications with me that it wasn’t in the cards for them. Well, it seems you're saddled with me, honey. I smile and reach for her hand, giving it a squeeze.

​There is no one else I would want to push elementary-aged kids over to get the glitter pens with than you, Mom. She laughs, squeezing my hand back. Dad looks up at us in alarm, fear in his eyes.

​You both are a lawyer’s nightmare. He grunts before attempting to go back to work, but he pauses and looks back up, narrowing his eyes at us again. And, you know you wouldn’t actually have to push people down if you didn’t always wait til the DAY before school starts to get stuff.

​But where is the fun in that? The messy aisles? The stressed parents? At least one or two tantrums? Come on, we wouldn’t want to miss that. Not to mention that we are a powerhouse to be reckoned with when it comes to those little gel pens. It’s serious business, honey, you wouldn’t understand. Mom pauses in her rant, eyes glowing with excitement like she’s already imagining the chaos. Oh, also, do you need more Post-It notes? She asks, taking her phone out and starting to type a list. I can also pick up some groceries while we’re out. You’re still grilling tonight, right? Or does divorce get in the way of barbeque?

​Dad looks like he has whiplash from trying to keep up with Mom.

First off, you amaze me every day you crazy woman. Secondly, nothing gets in the way between me and my grill. And thirdly, yes, I do need more Post-It notes. Please not the pink ones this time, I hate those ones. Dad grumbles, going back to his laptop. My little lie detector goes off and I have to suppress my grin.

---

Okay, what are we missing? Mom asks, skimming all the stuff we have in the cart. I’m in charge of the list because trying to watch Mom multitask operating her phone while scanning the aisles is just too much for me. I tick off all the things we have so far, matching them up on the list.

Hm, it seems like we’re missing highlighters, staples, Dad’s Post-Its, barbeque sauce, and a gallon of vanilla ice cream. I rattle off. Mom stops short, putting her hand on her hip.

I don’t recall adding ‘a gallon of vanilla ice cream’ to the list. She’s trying to peek over at her phone, attempting to read what’s on the screen. I snatch it back against my chest with a grin.

You must have been so distracted from kissing Dad this morning that you totally forgot about it. I say, mimicking her pose, jutting my hip out a little bit more.

Eleanor Kate. Uh oh, not the middle name. I need to change tactics. I look up at her with puppy dog eyes, jutting my lip out, trying to summon some fake tears. I hold her phone back out to her, limp wrist and everything. 

Oh, the drama of it all. I swear, who raised you? She sighs, trying to stay stern even though I can tell she’s cracking.

The best people on the whole entire planet?

Good answer, kiddo. Okay, how about we split up? I’ll go hit the food aisle and grab the sauce and the ice cream, and you go ahead back down the school supplies aisle? I’m surprised we missed so much. It must have been the adrenaline. Meet back here?

Eek! You’re the best ever. I kiss her cheek. Also, I’m totally getting Dad the pink ones. His law firm needs a little color.

She laughs before grabbing her phone back from my hands. Meet back here okay? She says again, pushing the cart to the left, towards the food. I nod and head to the right, towards the school and office supplies.

Rounding the corner, I have to pause a second to bask in the carnage. The aisle looks miserable: binders and folders thrown around in all different directions, pens on the ground, and pencil pouches strewn about. Being the day before practically every school starts in the county, it’s no wonder this area looks like a war zone. A beautifully chaotic war zone. I maneuver around, scanning the rows for the highlighters, careful to not step on any of the strewn-about supplies. I finally find them near the end of the aisle with only a few packs left.

Here’s the hard part: did I want to be basic this year? Stick with the classic colors of yellow, orange, pink, and green? Or, should I go crazy for senior year? Get a pack with a purple and blue one? This could make or break my whole year. I mean, I’m only a senior in high school once…I hope.

Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone this focused on highlighters before. I jump as a voice comes from behind me, a little too close for comfort. I turn around and look up…and up and up.

He’s standing next to me, but he’s at least a good couple of inches taller than me, the top of my head just aligning with his shoulders. His navy blue eyes sparkle with amusement as he looks at me, his full lips smirking. His dark hair’s curling around his ears and forehead, looking perfectly tousled. He’s wearing a black shirt that hugs him beautifully, his broad chest straining against the fabric. Black jeans and black boots complete his look. He looks like a mini-god. I blink at him, my brain definitely not processing that someone this attractive is talking to me. Or that someone this attractive actually exists.

I’m sorry? I say, no logical thought forming in my head. He needs to stop looking at me that way. Or just looking at me in general, really. It would be easier to talk to him if he turned around. Oh, I bet his butt looks-

The highlighters? He says, letting the question hang, breaking off my thought. His smirk deepens like he knows that all I can think about was how soft his lips look, or that I was just thinking about his butt. I can feel heat spreading across my cheeks.

Jesus, I need to pull it together.

Oh, well, yes. I mean, they’re crucial to any academic success story. I just need to figure out if I want to go crazy this year or not. I say, definitely over-sharing, feeling my blush fully cover my face now. Did I really just say that highlighters are the determinant of if I have a wild year or not? Seriously?

​Well, nothing says a good time like a purple highlighter. I narrow my eyes at him, certain my whole face is a terrible shade of crimson. He’s totally making fun of me.

​I turn my back to him, reaching out to grab the basic pack of highlighters out of pure spite.

​Uh oh, little miss crazy isn’t so crazy anymore. Oh, that’s it. Hot or not, I’m not putting up with any of his crap.

​Listen here, kid. I don’t know who you are or why you decided to get into my business, but you need to back off and leave. I huff, crossing my arms, the pack of highlighters dangling from my hand. A mini-surge of pride goes through me at the shock that flashes in his eyes. I'm rarely confrontational but he’s just being rude. His eyes scan my face, his smirk turning into a full-blown grin. Which is exactly the opposite of what I wanted.

​Did you just call me ‘kid’, sweetheart? He leans down, taking a step forward. I step back, my ankles bumping into the lower rows of the aisle, school supplies digging into my back.

​Did you just call me ‘sweetheart’? I’m feeling a terrible mix of being both flustered and angry. I don’t know how, but he made it sound both patronizing and sexy all at once.

​What would you prefer that I call you? He practically purrs, leaning forward and getting into my space. I take a deep breath, which is a huge mistake. He smells good, like mahogany and teakwood. I try to hold my breath, and my ground, neither of which is working well for me, especially since he has me trapped.

​I would prefer it if you didn’t call me anything at all. I spit back, my voice sounding weird, even to myself. Flustered mixed with anger makes me just sound…breathy. He chuckles a deep, rich sound. 

​Liar. My heart stops for a second, and I take a startled breath. His response comes way too quickly, the teasing tilt to his voice making the word sound like a caress. It’s like he can’t help it like teasing me is practically second nature to him. Of course, I’d been lying, but I’d never been called out like that before, with such arrogance and confidence.

The longer I stare at him, the more aware of him I am, of how close he is and how beautiful his eyes are. Of how he towers over me, of how much stronger he is than me. An odd feeling of recognition slithers through my brain.

Sorry, have we met before? The longer I look at him, the more…familiar he feels to me. Like this isn’t the first time we’ve been in this situation, but the memory is just foggy. I blink a few times, trying to clear my head. I’m pretty sure I would remember a dickish attitude like his. "Sorry, ignore that. And I stand by my earlier statement. Also, stop looking