Tell Them Lies (Three Little Words Book 3) Read Online Free Page B
Author: Karla Sorensen
and stopped right where his mom sat. "It was wonderful to meet you, Maggie. I hope you enjoy the class."
His mom pushed up from her chair with a slight grimace, and Liz leaned down to help her stand, then accepted another hug. She helped his mom stand up. And hugged her again. Kieran wiped a hand across his mouth, struggling to tamp down the flood of guilt and self-loathing at lying to her.
"Make sure Kieran brings you around, okay?" his mom called out when Liz started walking away. She turned, giving Kieran a shuttered look, and then smiled at his mom. No response. Just a smile. She hadn't lied. That was just him.
And now he had to figure out the frick he was going to do about it.
----
S he couldn't breathe . Oh, maybe she was dying. Maybe this is what a panic attack felt like. Taking quick steps to get behind the reference desk in the middle of the main library space, Liz concentrated on pulling in even breaths.
Why was he here ? And why had she done what he'd asked?
She knew why. It was his face. It wasn't the same face he'd worn at the grocery store, the slightly arrogant, skate-by-on-his-charms face. No, this face was intense and earnest and a little scared. His mother was clearly sick, it was obvious in the slightly grayish tinge to her skin and the frailty of her body, loose, wrinkled skin looking like it was two sizes too big for her frame. Her eyes were clear, but everything else looked tired.
Slumping into the chair, she let it swivel around so that she was facing the back wall of the library. Each book case perpendicular to each other, stretching up until there was only a few feet of space between the top of the dark wood and the ceiling. The windows, long and rectangular, framed the end of each row, and she could see into the park that occupied acres and acres of land behind the building that had been her work home for six years.
Ninety minutes. That's all she had to get through until she could talk to him.
Wait, was that a good thing? Maybe she should be dreading it. Maybe he was a serial killer.
She shook that thought right out of her head. It was ridiculous, to judge him because he had tattoos and dressed like a bum to the grocery store, conning unsuspecting women out of their ice cream.
"Excuse me, could you help me find this book?"
Liz pushed her chair around and smiled at the awkward teenage boy shuffling at the front of her desk. She motioned for the slip of paper he was holding, and then moved to stand.
"Right over here, follow me."
And she dug in, keeping her mind and her hands busy, trying so valiantly to not watch the ticking black hands on the wall clock. They got louder and louder though, as the small hand inched towards the eight. She shelved books from the return bin, she cleaned up the children's area, she may have hidden in one of the computer areas when the quilting class was let out, so that Maggie didn't come to ask her life story or anything.
When the building was emptied out, she and Ramona, one of her part time workers, made sure everything was picked up and ready for the next day. Ramona waved over her shoulder as Liz locked up the doors, and pulled the belt on her coat tighter than necessary.
He was out there. She knew it. Looking at her reflection in the glass door, turning copper-colored because of the setting sun behind her, she saw so much in her own face. Her eyes were wide and her cheeks were pinky-peach with nerves. She wanted to bolt, that was for sure.
But she didn't. She sucked in a long, fortifying breath, and turned around.
And he wasn't there.
She laughed at how silly she was being. He was just a guy, trying to explain why she'd gotten roped into every romantic trope she'd ever read.
Please, lie to my sweet, sick mother and pretend to be my wife.
Please, you just need to get my parents to think we're madly in love, and then we can go our separate ways.
Walking over to the wrought iron bench that was bolted to the concrete along the brick wall of the
His mom pushed up from her chair with a slight grimace, and Liz leaned down to help her stand, then accepted another hug. She helped his mom stand up. And hugged her again. Kieran wiped a hand across his mouth, struggling to tamp down the flood of guilt and self-loathing at lying to her.
"Make sure Kieran brings you around, okay?" his mom called out when Liz started walking away. She turned, giving Kieran a shuttered look, and then smiled at his mom. No response. Just a smile. She hadn't lied. That was just him.
And now he had to figure out the frick he was going to do about it.
----
S he couldn't breathe . Oh, maybe she was dying. Maybe this is what a panic attack felt like. Taking quick steps to get behind the reference desk in the middle of the main library space, Liz concentrated on pulling in even breaths.
Why was he here ? And why had she done what he'd asked?
She knew why. It was his face. It wasn't the same face he'd worn at the grocery store, the slightly arrogant, skate-by-on-his-charms face. No, this face was intense and earnest and a little scared. His mother was clearly sick, it was obvious in the slightly grayish tinge to her skin and the frailty of her body, loose, wrinkled skin looking like it was two sizes too big for her frame. Her eyes were clear, but everything else looked tired.
Slumping into the chair, she let it swivel around so that she was facing the back wall of the library. Each book case perpendicular to each other, stretching up until there was only a few feet of space between the top of the dark wood and the ceiling. The windows, long and rectangular, framed the end of each row, and she could see into the park that occupied acres and acres of land behind the building that had been her work home for six years.
Ninety minutes. That's all she had to get through until she could talk to him.
Wait, was that a good thing? Maybe she should be dreading it. Maybe he was a serial killer.
She shook that thought right out of her head. It was ridiculous, to judge him because he had tattoos and dressed like a bum to the grocery store, conning unsuspecting women out of their ice cream.
"Excuse me, could you help me find this book?"
Liz pushed her chair around and smiled at the awkward teenage boy shuffling at the front of her desk. She motioned for the slip of paper he was holding, and then moved to stand.
"Right over here, follow me."
And she dug in, keeping her mind and her hands busy, trying so valiantly to not watch the ticking black hands on the wall clock. They got louder and louder though, as the small hand inched towards the eight. She shelved books from the return bin, she cleaned up the children's area, she may have hidden in one of the computer areas when the quilting class was let out, so that Maggie didn't come to ask her life story or anything.
When the building was emptied out, she and Ramona, one of her part time workers, made sure everything was picked up and ready for the next day. Ramona waved over her shoulder as Liz locked up the doors, and pulled the belt on her coat tighter than necessary.
He was out there. She knew it. Looking at her reflection in the glass door, turning copper-colored because of the setting sun behind her, she saw so much in her own face. Her eyes were wide and her cheeks were pinky-peach with nerves. She wanted to bolt, that was for sure.
But she didn't. She sucked in a long, fortifying breath, and turned around.
And he wasn't there.
She laughed at how silly she was being. He was just a guy, trying to explain why she'd gotten roped into every romantic trope she'd ever read.
Please, lie to my sweet, sick mother and pretend to be my wife.
Please, you just need to get my parents to think we're madly in love, and then we can go our separate ways.
Walking over to the wrought iron bench that was bolted to the concrete along the brick wall of the
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