Page 49 of Once Upon a Lie

“I can’t believe you ordered pizza after all that,” she says, breaking the silence and pulling my attention outside of myself.

“You needed to eat something,” I answer. “Breadsticks heal trauma. It’s science.”

“Trauma?”

“Yeah.” I nod. “Trauma. There’s no other way to slice it, Valentina. Today was a mindfuck of trauma.”

“Yeah.” She stares down at her hands for a long moment. “Can you do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

“Call me Teeny. Valentina feels too formal for . . . friends. Right?”

My gut twists in both excitement and guilt. I nod. She goes quiet again, resuming her mindless stare at her hands.

“Are you okay, friend?” I ask like a total fucking heel, moving a little closer to her on the couch and briefly placing my palm over her fidgeting hands. “I mean, really, are you okay?”

It doesn’t matter that I care. I still feel icky.

Her lips twitch, but she doesn’t quite smile. “I don’t know how I’ll feel tomorrow morning when I wake up and find out my condo is still bulldozed, but right now I’m feeling okay.”

I clear my throat. “Do you have somewhere you can go tonight?”

She shrugs, eyes on the TV now. “A couple places, I guess.”

“Family?” I ask casually, pretending I’m not filing every word away in my head. “Mom and Dad nearby? Siblings?”

“Oh, yeah,” she answers, leaning back. “But I wouldn’t go to my mom and dad’s.” She shrugs. “And I guess I could call my brother, Nico, but his bachelor pad is a studio loft. The living room is the bedroom, and I swear, his fridge always smells like moldy cheese.”

That makes me look at her. “Why wouldn’t you go to your mom and dad’s?”

She sighs. “My dad would use it as an excuse to forcibly move me out of this building for good and into something nicer. He thinks downtown Nashville is unsafe for a woman.” She scoffs. “Not to mention, he’s been trying to set me up with this guy that works for him for ages. Hell, he’d probably try to get me to go stay with that guy instead of sleeping at their house.”

A flicker of curiosity hits. “Guy that works for him?”

“Yeah. Leonidas.” She looks over at me and scoffs. “Do I look like a girl who dates a Leonidas?”

I laugh before I can stop myself. “You mean like the guy from 300? This is Sparta! That Leonidas?”

Her brow furrows. “The what?”

“The movie,” I explain. “Big Greek warrior. Yells a lot. Wears a cape. Kicks people into pits.”

“Actually, yes. This Leonidas is exactly like that. And boy, doesn’t he sound charming?”

I laugh. “Let me put it this way . . . I’m understanding the devotion to avoiding Mom and Dad’s.”

She laughs for real this time, and it’s a soft, unexpected sound that hits me somewhere it shouldn’t. For a second, I forget I’m supposed to be working her and consider the feel of working with her to come to climax.

Focus, you fuck.

She glances toward my balcony doors, and I find my voice—or maybe my dick finds it for me, I can’t be sure. He doesn’t care that he’s got no chance. Pump him full of a little blood flow, and he becomes an eternal optimist. “You could stay here.”

Her head turns, and her eyes are wide in surprise.

“The couch,” I add. “Or my bed, and I’ll take the couch. No funny business, I swear.”

My dick frowns, of course, but he needs the tough love.