Page 154 of Tell Me Pucking Lies

“They go to Blackridge.” I’m trying to keep my voice casual, downplaying it, but I can feel myself blushing. “We just... hung out.”

“Hung out.” Thea’s tone is flat, disbelieving. “You disappear, you won’t answer your phone, Koa’s acting weird as hell, disappearing and reappearing, and you expect me to believe you were just ‘hanging out’ with some Blackridge guys? Blackridge guys who?”

“It’s really not a big deal.”

“Lexi.” She reaches across the table and grabs my hand. “I know I fucked up. I know sleeping with Axel behind your back wasn’t fair or cool, and I know I’ve been a shitty friend. But you can tell me what really happened. Whatever it is, I’m here. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

I look into her eyes—genuine concern, real guilt—and something in me softens. She made a mistake. We all make mistakes. But part of me is still hurt, still remembers how she dismissed my feelings about Axel, how she chose him over our friendship, over saving his life.

I can’t tell her everything. Can’t tell her about being kidnapped, about the mansion, the cabin, about Atticus and Revan and the way they made me feel things I shouldn’t feel.

So I smile. Bright and fake and reassuring. “Yeah, I’m totally fine. Promise.”

She studies me for a long moment, and I can see her deciding whether to push. Finally, she sits back. “Okay. But if you need to talk...”

“I know.” I finish my sandwich and stand up. “Want to grab me another one? I’m still starving.”

She laughs, the tension breaking. “Sure.”

We talk about safe things after that—her psychology midterm, my paper on Hemingway, the terrible coffee in the campus Starbucks. Normal things. College things. It feels like putting on a costume that doesn’t quite fit anymore.

My afternoon class is Statistics, which I normally hate but today feels like a blessing. Numbers don’t lie, don’t complicate things, don’t make you question everything you thought you knew about yourself.

I’m pulling out my calculator when my phone buzzes.

Unknown number:[Image attached: a tattoo on pale skin, intricate black ink forming a design I can’t quite make out]

Unknown number:For my American girls.

My heart skips. Atticus.

Me:Add a tally mark system so I know where I place.

The response is almost immediate.

Atticus:You’re at the top of the list, American.

Heat floods my face. I’m blushing in the middle of Statistics class, and I hate it. It’s a text message. It doesn’t mean anything. But I also can’t stop the smile that tugs at my lips.

I force myself to put the phone down, to focus on the professor’s explanation of probability distributions. But my mind keeps wandering back to that cabin, to the way Atticusdidn’t want me to orgasm and then did it anyway. The look in his eyes when he saw how good he made me feel. It’s stuck in my head on replay.

By the time classes end, I’m exhausted. My feet hurt, my brain is fried, and all I want is a hot shower and my bed. I’m walking toward my dorm when I see a black car rolling into the parking lot. My blood turns to ice. The shape, the size—it looks exactly like Koa’s Charger. He’s here.

Part of me is terrified. I watched him take on Revan and Atticus, watched the violence he’s capable of, and I don’t know if he’ll be angry. If he’ll punish me. But another part of me wants to see him. Needs to make sure he’s okay after that fight, needs to understand what Revan meant about not trusting him.

The car gets closer, pulling into the lot, and I hold my breath.

It’s not a Charger.

It’s a black Camry, and the driver is some guy I’ve never seen before. Relief and disappointment crash through me. Wishful thinking on my end. I want to see him.

I hurry to my dorm, taking the stairs two at a time. When I get inside, I drop my bag and head straight for the bathroom. The shower is hot enough to burn, and I stand under the spray for a long time, letting it wash away the tension in my muscles.

But it can’t wash away the memories.

I can still feel Atticus inside me, the way his hands gripped my hips with an intensity that bordered on worship. He wasn’t as experienced as I expected—there was a fumbling quality to rubbing my clit like it’s something he’s never done before.

And Revan. God, the way he looked at me when he walked into that room, like he was claiming his stake. It made me feel powerful and powerless all at once.