She’d given him her alarm code intentionally, right at the start. The subtext being a very clear You can discreetly let yourself out when this hookup is over.
So, not a bastard, not even close.
As she staggered into the bathroom to pee even as she drained the water bottle, it all came back—Luc in her bed—crashing through her with a reverberating echo that expanded all the way down to her fingertips and her toes.
Except he wasn’t really Luc, he was someone named Rio, who just happened to look exactly like the purely fictional man she’d stupidly fallen for. She’d been face-to-face, in-person catfished by the son of a bitch. So of course, after finding that out, she’d then gone and had a shit-ton of wine. Which had made hooking up with him seem like the brilliant idea that it wasn’t.
Holy crap, she was too stupid to live.
But dear sweet god, the sex had been unbelievably, off-the-charts great.
Still, like all good things, it had come to an end, leaving her deliciously replete and exhausted. And more than ready to slip into a deep and blessedly oblivious sleep, leaving all of this stressful bullshit—including her equally too-stupid-to-live brother—behind.
Kiss me one last time...
Fake-Luc hadn’t blinked when she’d asked. He’d merely delivered that last bit of the choreographed fantasy with the same sweet perfection that he’d brought throughout the entire erotic dance.
And when he’d let himself out of her room—and presumably, hopefully out of her life for good—she’d been too tired to cry herself to sleep.
Nah, no need for that. Plenty of time to cry today. Starting right now.
Another lying liar had lied his way into her life, and why was she even surprised anymore? It was rampant these days—the idea that honesty and truthfulness were no longer valued. You want something? Say anything—full-on make shit up—to make it happen. The end justified the means.
Sometimes she felt like the last person left on earth who cherished honesty and honor and loyalty and... Fuck!
Casey brusquely swiped the stupid tears from her stupid eyes, splashed cold water onto her face, and focused on the positive. She’d had great sex and hadn’t hated herself—well, at least not in the moment. Plenty of self-loathing right now, for sure, combined with this healthy dollop of devastating heartbreak, but she hadn’t let it ruin the orgasmic moment, so yay...?
Yay.
She stared at her tired-looking face in the bathroom mirror, at her sleep-crazy hair, at her still-bleary eyes. Absolutely yay. Although she’d feel way more like adding an exclamation point after she got a little coffee and Tylenol into her system. A shower, too. But coffee first.
Casey found her PJs on the floor where she’d dropped them last night, pulled them on, and went out into her living room—
“Hey! You’re up.”
“Holy shit!” She jumped about a mile.
Fake-Luc was still here, lying back on her sofa like the world’s sexiest throw pillow, so she hadn’t see him at first glance.
“Whoa, sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you.” His already welcoming smile broadened at her outburst as he effortlessly sat up. His feet were bare and he’d put his T-shirt on inside out, which somehow really worked with the whole crazy-fit body-underneath-the-T-shirt thing that he had going on. A body that she could picture so much more effortlessly now. Speaking of effortless.
Casey realized that her own entire unflattering outfit was also inside out, although on her, the look was surely questionable. With her insane hair and her too-much-wine-last-night pallor and the dark bags of despair and remorse beneath her eyes... It took every ounce of her self-control not to reach up to attempt to bring some order to the chaos atop her head. She clenched her fists instead, angry at herself now, too, for still not wanting to look shitty in front of this man.
Goddamnit. Why was he still here? Why did this have to be so hard? Why was she so damn self-destructive that his still being here—seeing him like this, so stupidly Luc-like—should make her feel so completely emotionally demolished? She grabbed hold of her bubbling anger and stirred, hoping it would save her. “I thought you’d left.”
His smile dimmed. “No, I slept out here so I wouldn’t disturb you. You were tired so maybe you didn’t hear me when I said—”
“No, I heard you,” she said. “I just thought...Well.”
His smile was gone now as he waited to hear what she’d thought.
So she told him. “I thought you were lying,” she said. “You know. Again.”
He got very still.
“Look, Rio,” she made herself use it—his non-Luc name—but it felt weird in her mouth, and it made her stomach twist and her head pound even harder. So she channeled Dana—the irreverently sarcastic, kickass character she’d played for all those years—and added some snark. “If that’s really your name.” Her anger was blazing now, especially after opening the door to her inner Dana, and she welcomed it.
“It is,” he said, standing suddenly. “Jesus. Casey, last night was amazing. How did...? I think I somehow missed something because—”
