One Tiny Lie

Connor gives Ty’s shoulders a tight squeeze. “We all come here to eat most days but Ty practically lives here. He’s part of the officer corps. Probably why this place is so wild. I don’t know how he passes a single class.”

Jutting his chin toward a textbook that’s laid out open on a chair nearby, Ty’s face is a mask of confusion. “I don’t know what you mean. I get some of my best work done here.” Tossing the empty pitcher to the ground, Ty holds up two Ping-Pong balls. “Ready?”

Connor shrugs, looking to me. “You in?”

Scanning the table again and the balls, I ask, “What is this . . . beer pong?”

Ty bangs his pint glass down to announce with a grin full of mischief, “A Beirut virgin! I love it!” He jabs a pointed finger at me. “Never call this beer pong. And no wussing out or I’ll kick that beautiful butt through the door!”

“Why do I have the feeling that I’m screwed,” I grumble, taking in all those cups of beer. But I also know that Ty’s threats are not idle, and trying to escape will likely involve humiliation in front of the entire club.

“Crazy Scotsman,” Connor mutters under his breath, but his eyes are twinkling. Roping his arm around my waist, he starts chuckling. “Don’t worry. I’m good at this game. You’re safe with me.”

I give his forearm a light squeeze before he lets go, an ounce of relief washing over me with the reminder. I know I’m safe with Connor. If I were with Ashton, it would be a very different story. He’d probably lose just to get me plastered. Either way, my gulps will be the smallest sips known to mankind.

“What is this, two-on-two? Who’s your partner, Ty?” Connor asks.

“Who do you think?” comes the giddy response a second before a wagging honey-blond ponytail and a grin appears.

“Reagan! Thank God. Save me from this.”

“No can do, roomie.” She pats my back with a lazy hand while accepting a full pint from Grant with the other, shooting him a playful wink. I’m thrilled to see Reagan here tonight. Since the conversation at her parents’ house, she’s been unusually quiet around me. She may be mad at me for not mentioning my parents. I can’t tell and she hasn’t brought it up. But tonight she seems normal, and I’m glad.

Everyone’s here except . . . Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, I discreetly survey the room, looking for that tall, dark form.

“He has a big test tomorrow,” Reagan murmurs with a knowing smirk. “He’s not coming.”

“Oh.” I leave it at that, though I can’t ignore the disappointment creeping through me. And then I silently scold myself. I’m here with Connor. Connor. Connor. How many times do I have to repeat that name before it sticks?

“Okay, Gidget!” Ty calls out. “Get over here. Connor and the virgin are goin’ down tonight!”

My face flushes as heads turn in my direction. “I’ve never played this game before!” I clarify in a loud voice, though Ty’s not wrong in any regard.

“Heads, we start,” Ty announces as a coin flies up into the air. They win the toss and a crowd quickly forms. Apparently, Beirut is a spectator sport. I soon find out it’s because you get to watch people get really drunk. Really fast.

Connor explains the basic rules—if your opponents sink a ball or you completely miss the table with your ball, you drink. Well, there are two problems with these rules for me. One: our opponents are outstandingly good, and two: I am outstandingly bad.

Even with Connor’s talent at sinking balls, it’s not long before Ty and Reagan are in the lead. And when alcohol-induced relaxation spreads through my limbs, my aim gets even worse, to the point that people step away from the table when it’s my turn, to avoid a ball to the groin.

“You really aren’t getting better at this with practice, are you?” Connor teases, pinching my waist.

I stick my tongue out in response, slyly studying Connor’s ripped arms and perfectly shaped backside in a rare pair of jeans as he assesses the table, a look of concentration on his face. Almost brooding, but not quite. It’s attractive. Enough so that I’m annoyed when it’s interrupted momentarily by a cute blond placing her arm on his bicep. “Hey, Connor.” Her smile is unmistakably flirtatious.

“Hey, Julia.” He flashes those winning dimples at her but then he’s immediately back to the game, studying the shot, obviously disinterested in her. Obvious enough for me and certainly for Julia, who appears crestfallen.

By the time we reach the last cup—Ty and Reagan winning—I’ve given up on following along. I just drink when Grant—the self-appointed referee—yells the order at me.

Connor lays a kiss on my cheek and murmurs, “You’re a trooper. I think you need to get outside for some air. Come on.” With an arm wrapped around my waist, partly for affection but also for support, I’m sure, Connor leads me up the stairs and through an exit to a quiet space.

“This is nice.” I inhale the cool, crisp air.

“Yeah, it’s getting hot and sweaty down there,” Connor murmurs, his hand pushing my hair off my face. “You having fun?”

I’m sure my grin speaks for itself but I answer anyway. “Yes, this is a lot of fun, Connor. Thanks for having me here.”

Planting a kiss on my forehead first, Connor then turns to lean against the wall next to me. “Of course. I’ve been dying to bring you. Especially now that we know your dad was a member.”

I smile wistfully as I lean my head back. “Was your dad a member?”

“Nah, he was part of Cap. Another big one.”

“Didn’t he want you to join that one?”

Slipping his fingers in between mine, Connor says, “He’s just happy that I ended up at Princeton.”

“Yeah.” Just like I’m sure my dad would be . . .

Connor appears deep in thought. “You know, I never appreciated how good I had it with my dad growing up until these last few years.” There’s a long pause and then he adds, “Until I met Ashton.”

I had been so distracted by Beirut and the girl hitting on Connor that I’d actually managed to stop thinking about Ashton for a while. Now he’s back and I feel uneasy. “What do you mean?”

Connor sighs, his face twisting as if he’s deciding how to answer. “I’ve been around Ash when his dad comes to see a race. He’s a different person. I don’t know how to explain it. The relationship is just . . . strained. That’s the impression I get, anyway.”

Curiosity gets the better of me. “Well, haven’t you asked him?”

A snort answers my question before his words do. “We’re guys, Livie. We don’t talk about feelings. Ashton’s . . . Ashton. I know you think he’s a dick, but he’s a good guy when he wants to be. He’s had my back more times than I care to admit. You remember that story about me in the rowing boat? You know . . .”

“Ass up? Yes, I remember.” I giggle.

Dropping his head with a sheepish grin, Connor admits, “I think Coach would have kicked me off the team if it hadn’t been for Ashton. I don’t know what he said or did, but he bought my pardon somehow. I know I joke about Ash being a lousy captain but he’s actually a good one. A great one. The best we’ve had in my three years here. All the guys respect him. And it’s not just because he gets more action than all of us combined.”