Page 64 of The Five Year Lie

“I’m probably rusty,” he says. “But you should know I spent a lot of the last five years in various deserts, throwing cornhole and playing poker to pass the time.”

“Oh hell.” Ray chuckles. “Remind me not to invite you to poker night, then. Practice shot?”

“Sure.”

The evening sunlight slants over the yard as Drew’s first bag arcs toward the board. It lands with a satisfying thud and skates toward the hole. It goes in.

Ray hoots. Then he throws and misses. “Uh-oh, kids. I might be in trouble.” Laughing, he collects the bags.

Drew forgets about his aching back and focuses on the game.He sets up a block with his first shot. Then he throws three airmails in a row.

Meanwhile, Ray manages a single bag and a whole lot of colorful, nonserious cursing. It’s a rout, in Drew’s favor. Ray asks for a chance to redeem himself, and so Drew repeats the performance. By the time he’s won for a second time, the whole company is watching.

Whoops. So much for remaining mostly invisible.

“Nothing to see here,” Ray grumbles cheerfully to the other programmers. “Have some more cheesecake, and look away from my humiliation.”

Drew accepts some good-natured congratulations. Then he excuses himself and heads for the bathroom, inside the house. Except there’s a line for the downstairs half bath.

“Try upstairs,” a caterer prompts. “First door on the right.”

It’s excellent advice. He finds the upstairs bathroom unoccupied. He’s zipping his fly up again when the bathroom door opens and Ariel slips inside. “Hey, soldier.”

“Whoa, baby! Awkward timing.”

“Nobody noticed me coming up here,” she whispers. Then she wraps her arms around him as he washes his hands. “This party has lasted a thousand years. Except for the part where you crushed Uncle Ray at cornhole.”

“That was fun. I noticed your father didn’t challenge him.”

She snorts. “The full range of the Cafferty family dynamics are on display today, aren’t they? Ray and my dad don’t even speak to each other if they can help it.”

“How did it end up like that?” he whispers to her face in the mirror.

She shakes her head. “I don’t really know if they always hatedeach other, or if it’s a recent development. But you’ve met my father. Would you want to own half of a business with him? And now that they’re successful, there’s no way out.”

He turns around and pulls her against his chest, and then changes the subject. “There’s a cute picture of you in pigtails in the upstairs hallway. Looks like you won a tennis trophy.”

“I won a lot of them.” She kisses his neck. “And then I quit during high school.”

“Because... you hate winning?” He rubs her back, because he can’t help himself. “Or did you inherit the bad Cafferty knees?”

She shakes her head. “Because I realized my dadlovedme winning tennis tournaments. He loved bragging about me. And I didn’t want to give him the pleasure.”

His hands go still on her back. “Oh, sweetheart. That’s kind of...”

“Self-defeating? You think I don’t know that?” She plants her chin sharply on his shoulder.

“Sorry.” It’s so confusing to be constantly humbled by a fierce artist whose hair smells like lemons. “I would love to get out of here. Another hour, maybe? I heard something about fireworks. You could come over later.”

“How about now?” she counters. “I prefer our own kind of fireworks.”

She doesn’t have to twist his arm. He’s already tasting the underside of her smooth jaw and breathing in the scent of her skin. Kissing her in her father’s bathroom is stupid and risky and goddamn inevitable.

But he’s incapable of saying no to Ariel. The pull he feels toward her is like an affliction.

She makes a soft sound and melts against him, lifting her face to his. And then they’re kissing for real. It’s been a few days, and he’s hungry for it.

Until they hear a distant voice calling her name. “Ariel! Where are you, honey?”