Lie to Me by Natasha Preston
Yep, cutting off right now.
I take the drink from her hand and put it on the bar.
"Is she okay?" Heidi asks, stopping on her way back to the guy she's been with all night.
"She drank all of the Prosecco and is now suffering the consequences," I reply as I catch Savannah in my arms when she stumbles forward toward me.
"We should dance, Kent," she says, raising one arm in the air. "I want to dance with you, and then I want you inside me!"
"Okay," Heidi responds, "I'm out of here."
"You are very drunk, babe."
Giggling, she theatrically nods her head, her chin almost touching her chest. "I know."
"Savannah, dance with me!" Nan says, taking her hand and pulling her away from me.
"Nan, don't let her fall!"
Nan waves her hand and doesn't even look back at me. My girl and my nan sway to the dance floor because neither of them can walk in a straight line anymore.
"You look happy," Mum says, stopping beside me as I watch Savannah.
I tear my eyes away from the blonde who's got me by the balls and smile at my mum. "I am happy."
"Good. That's all I've wanted for years. Savannah is lovely. I'm glad you found her."
"I don't even want to think about where I'd be if I hadn't."
She smirks. "You'd be chasing women around this room like Max and Toby."
"No way in hell I'm going back there."
"I'm glad of that, too."
"I fucking love her."
Mum wraps her arm around my back. "I know. And don't swear."
25
Savannah
Everything hurts.
Groaning, I roll over in bed and hear Kent chuckle. Wanker.
It must be morning. I can see some light behind my eyelids, but I have no idea how far into the morning it is.
My head throbs, and I feel it worse between my eyes. I'm not opening them.
"Morning, babe," Kent says, drawing shapes on my naked back with his fingers.
I still don't open my eyes, but I don't miss the humour in his voice.
"Is this what it feels like to die?" I mumble into the pillow, gripping my head with the hand that's not caught under my lifeless body.
"You can cross drunken puking off your bucket list."
Oh God. I groan again, trying to recall the incident, but there's nothing. After shots and dancing with Kent to "Sex on Fire," I don't remember anything. Not a single thing.
Shit.
"No." I don't want Kent to have seen me throwing up. Where did this happen, too? Please, please, please let it be in our hotel bathroom. If his family saw this ...
Laughing, Kent throws his arm over my waist and kisses the top of my head. "Don't worry; I held your hair back."
Great, he saw.
"Oh my God," I slur.
"You really put it away last night. I'm kinda proud."
Yeah, but apparently, it all came back out.
"Enjoy it because I'm never drinking again."
"Of course you're not."
I lift my head off the pillow, and it's instantly the worst mistake I've made in my whole life--besides drinking. My head pounds as I drop it back down.
Best not to move.
"I need water and pills. Or to die," I whine.
Laughing, Kent kisses my head again. "I'll be right back. Let's sober you up, so we can go eat."
"Fuck off," I moan.
There's nothing I want to do less than eat right now. Before I do anything, I need pain medication and to burn off all the alcohol. Evil stuff.
I shut my eyes and feel myself being pulled back into glorious sleep when the bed dips.
Great, he's back.
I'm crazy about him and all that, but right now, I want to sleep for about another six hours.
"Can you sit up?" he asks.
"No."
"You need to take these."
I assume he has pills for me to take, but I can't open my eyes or move.
"Savannah, you need to sit up. I can help."
"No, you'll move me too fast."
He laughs. "I'll move you slowly."
I push up, wincing as pain slices through my skull. Twisting myself, I sit up against the headboard and crack my eyes open. Thankfully, Kent has kept the room as dark as he can. I look across at him ... smirking.
"This isn't funny."
"Depends on where you're sitting, I guess." He holds his hand out. "Swallow."
I take the pills and pop them into my mouth. Kent gives me the water, and I proceed to drink it like I've not had anything in a week. My throat is so dry, the water feels like razors, but after a few gulps, the pills slide down. Now, I wait.
Kent takes the glass from me and puts it on his bedside table.
"Please tell me I didn't do anything embarrassing last night," I plead. "Well, apart from being sick."
"You were perfect. My family loves you, even the drunk version of you. The puking didn't start until we got up here."
"Thank God," I whisper, closing my eyes.
How long until those pills kick in?
"I think you must have vomited about three litres of Prosecco."
"Okay, I accept that you saw me being sick, and I love that you're still here right now, Kent, but we can't ever talk about it."
His mouth kicks up at the corners. "Why not?"
"Because it's embarrassing and gross. Can we pretend it never happened?"
"Sure. As soon as I've ditched my puke-stained shirt, I'll forget it."
My eyes widen. Oh fuckity fuck! I was sick on him?
"Shut up. Tell me you're lying."
He frowns, his eyes darkening, and he growls out, "I'm not lying."
Bad choice of word. He hates lies.
"Tell me you're just trying to wind me up."
"Sorry, babe, no can do."
No!
"Why are you still here? Seriously, there must be something wrong with you."
"Savannah, it doesn't bother me. I mean, I don't think we should make a habit out of it, but I don't care. Plus, the shirt came with the hired suit."
"You keep the shirt when you hire a suit?"
He shakes his head. "Not this time."
"I want the ground to swallow me whole."
"Forgive me, but I think I enjoy you hungover."
I deadpan, "I think I hate you."
"I don't think you do."
Right now, I'm not too crazy about him.
"Are you ready to eat yet?" he asks just as my eyelids flit together.
My stomach churns at the thought. "No."
"You should soak up that alcohol."
"I know ... just not yet."
Kent scoots closer and slides his arm around my back, pulling me against his side. I lay my head against his and sink into his embrace. Okay, so I still feel like I might die, but I love it when we're this close to each other.
I never thought Kent would be much of a cuddly person, but I have been pleasantly surprised. It rocks because--and I know this is going to sound super dramatic--but I don't ever want to let go of him. He's like the big, shiny prize after surviving a monumentally shit three years. Like, well done for building a whole new life after your unforgivable betrayal; here's a man who would give a Calvin Klein model a run for his money.
It's very much appreciated.
Kent lets me doze on him for the next hour, but then his stomach starts to rumble, and my guilt over starving him takes over the need to remain very, very still.
I roll off his chest and sit up in bed. My head swishes sideways.
"What're you doing, babe?" Kent asks.
I feel the bed dip behind me, like he's rolled onto his side to face me.
"It's time for food. I just need a minute to adjust to being vertical."
"Do you want me to help you in the shower?"
I crane my neck to look at him, keeping my torso still because my stomach is super delicate. "There is no way I can do that right now. You'll hav
His mouth hooks into a smirk. "Out of the gutter, Savannah. I meant, help you wash, and that's it."
"You wouldn't get carried away?"
"Some of us have self-control."
"Some people, yes. Us, no."
He collapses down on his back. "All right."
"No," I whine. "I need you to help me."
As he keeps his head perfectly still, his eyes slowly roll toward me. I smile.
"You suck at hangovers."
"I believe getting me wasted was your idea."
"And I don't recall hearing you protest too hard."
With a sigh, I ask, "Are you going to help me or not?"
Kent kicks his legs over the bed and gets up. I plant my feet on the ground and use my arms to help myself rise. My head spins, and I squeeze my eyes shut.
Don't puke again.
Oh my God, I can't believe I was sick on him. My first boyfriend since Simon and the big betrayal, and I fucking puked on him. Just perfect.
Kind of his fault though.
Kent takes my hand and leads me into the bathroom. He opens the shower door and turns on the water. Steam rises from the spray. I'm already naked, so I don't have to worry about trying to wrestle clothes off my uncooperative body or, even worse, having Kent undress me like I'm a child.
I stumble forward and drop his hand as I step under the spray. Kent gets in behind me and flicks open a bottle of shower gel. Closing my eyes, I tilt my head back as he tenderly washes my whole body and then moves to my hair.
Yep, this man is perfect.
Chuckling, he presses his chest against my back and holds me, the water spraying our bodies. I could stay here forever.
26
Kent
When Savannah and I got home, we spent the whole day lying around in my apartment while she got over her hangover. I've decided against ever assisting her in getting that drunk again because she cannot handle it. Alcoholically, she's old. In your early twenties, you're supposed to be able to bounce straight back in the morning. It's now nine at night, and she's still feeling a little delicate.
She is lying on my chest as we binge-watch Peaky Blinders. This part of her hangover I don't mind. Anytime I can have her lying all over me I'll take. Her body fits against mine perfectly--whether we're clothed or not.
I can feel her chest rising and falling with each breath. Her head is tucked under my chin, her hand lying over my racing heart. I run my fingers through her coconutty, long dark blonde hair, and she moans quietly.
"I like that," she murmurs.
"I know; you've been liking it for the last hour." I'm not complaining.
"Well, don't stop."
"First time you've said that to me when I've not been inside you."
She's facing the TV, but I know she's rolling her eyes. "I don't want to go back to work tomorrow. I want to stay here and have you play with my hair."
"Let's get this straight; I'm not playing with your hair."
Her petite body shakes above mine as she laughs. "Okay, well, however you want to put it so that it sounds manlier, I want to stay here for you to keep doing that."
"Call in sick tomorrow. You won't be hungover then. We can spend all day having sex, and then I'll do manly things to your hair," I reply with a ghost of a smile.
She sighs. "I can't do that. And you couldn't have sex all day."
"Want to bet?" I've been hard all day, and I want her all the fucking time, so I'm confident I wouldn't get bored of being inside her.
"Hmm, I think I'll make that bet next weekend."
Good.
"Did any of your family say anything about me after yesterday?" she asks.
"They all love you, babe. Everyone thinks you're a hilarious drunk."
"Great, that's just the impression I want to make," she retorts sarcastically. "Next time I see them, I'm not drinking."
"I don't think they'll let that happen. Brooke is already plotting to get you drunk when we're next at my parents'."
Groaning, she presses her face into my chest. "We can never go back there again."
"Sorry, no getting out of it. They're all crazy about you, too, so you're part of the family now."
Her body freezes.
Shit. The words spurted out of my mouth before my brain had a chance to engage.
She doesn't have family anymore, so I planned on bringing her into mine much more softly than just telling her she was stuck.
Is this going to be a big deal for her? Especially since it's so soon.
I can't believe we've been together not quite two months yet; it feels like so much longer. As soon as I realised that I liked her, that was it. I was hooked, obsessed, infatuated.
"You okay?" I ask, wrapping both arms around her back, so she can't bolt.
"You count me as part of your family?" Her voice is weak, and I'm not sure if the thick emotion in it is a good one or not.
I tighten my arms, willing her to understand how much she means to me. "Yeah, I do. After Freya, I never thought I would want to let someone into my life, my home, and my family so completely again. There's not been a second since we got together that I've wanted to keep you at arm's length."
She lifts her head, and her grey eyes fill with tears. "I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said."
"Probably is actually."
"Take me to bed, Kent. I don't care if I'm tired or still a bit fuzzy. I really need you."
Shoving myself to a seating position forces her to kneel on the sofa. I take full advantage, hook one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, and carry her to my room. I don't plan on coming back out until morning.
At the crack of dawn, I carry the tray of breakfast into my bedroom. Savannah is sitting up with her back leaning against the headboard. She's awake and now wearing my T-shirt from yesterday.
"That smells good," she says, eyeing the tray.
I've made coffee and pastries. Or rather, I've made instant coffee and warmed croissants in the oven. Either way, Savannah is smiling like I've just made her whole life.
"Of course it smells good. I'm basically Gordon Ramsay."
"Well, you do say fuck a lot."
Laughing, I climb onto the bed, put the tray down in front of us, and kiss her. "Should I have done something else with this? Like fruit?"
Lifting her eyebrow, she tilts her head in question. "Do you have any fruit?"
"No, I don't like it."
"That's what I thought. This is perfect anyway."
"Are you going to tell me you've decided to take the day off and spend it with me in bed?"
She picks at a croissant. "Kent, I need my job. We're not all rich, you know."
Smirking at her, I reply, "I told you, I'd give you a job with me."
"I like working with Heidi, and I'm not getting myself fired because your sex drive is through the roof."
"Please, you initiate sex just as much as I do."
"That's untrue," she argues.
"It's not. I might talk about it more, but the one making the first move is usually you. Not that I'm complaining." I give her a stern look. "Don't you ever stop doing that. I love that you want me inside you so much."
She glares, holding a chunk of pastry midair, trying to think of a comeback. There's nothing she can say because we both know the truth. Savannah is as into me as I'm into her.
"Whatever," she mutters and shoves the food in her mouth.
She's conceded. That used to be her thing, but since we got together, she will argue until she drops from exhaustion.
"Wow, I've not seen you back down in a long time."
"I can admit when I'm wrong, Kent." Her voice is tight, like it hurt her to speak those words.
Grinning in amusement, I shake my head, and the words fall from my mouth before my brain has engaged, "Fuck, I love you, Savannah."
Her mouth parts, and she gasps.
Clearing my throat, I reach across and run my fingertips d
"Do you want to take it back?" she asks in a whisper.
"Definitely not. I've fallen so in love with you, I can barely think straight."
Dropping her eyes, she puts her croissant down and then looks back up. Her grey eyes shine. "I love you, too, Kent."
Fuck me, I thought hearing those words before were everything. Coming from Savannah, it's unexplainable. I take a breath, my chest caving.
"Yeah, I know how you feel," she breathes.
"Tell me you don't want to sit here and eat." My heart feels like it's going to break through my chest. It hurts in the best way possible.
Slowly, she shakes her head. "Not hungry anymore."
Thank God for that because I can't wait. I move the tray to my bedside table because fucking her on breakfast and scalding her with the coffee isn't the mood I'm going for.
When I twist back, she launches herself at me. I laugh as we hit the mattress, her body pressing into mine.
Savannah and I spend the next two weeks in a loved-up haze of sex. It's amazing.
I pull up outside Toby's house after dropping Savannah at work.
I can't believe it's been two weeks since I realized at the wedding that I loved her. Everything was so fucking perfect. She fit in with my family like she was supposed to be there, and my God, she looked so beautiful, it hurt. I couldn't take my eyes off her, and when we were dancing and those pretty grey eyes were staring back at me, I knew.
She is everything.
Since then, at every opportunity, she tells me she loves me. I'll never tire of hearing her mutter those words or the way she looks at me while she's saying them.
"All right, mate," Toby says as he opens the front door.
"Hey, bud, I need a beer."
"It's nine in the morning, Kent."
Lifting my eyebrow, I stop beside him on my way in.
He raises his hands. "Yeah, I just heard myself, too. There's plenty in the fridge."
I close Toby's door and head to the kitchen. His place is huge, but he takes the term minimalist to a whole new level. See, Toby doesn't like to tidy or clean, so he has nothing to personalise his house. It's plain and empty, and he has a cleaner come twice a week. The lazy shit.
Raiding his fridge, I grab two beers and pop the lids.
"Thanks, man," he says, taking a bottle from me. "So, it's Savannah's birthday this weekend?"
"Yeah."
"You get her something nice?"
"Not yet. I have plenty of time."
"Three days. That's not a lot of time."