Next to me, Dylan’s deep in conversation with Phil about city swing votes and the political history of water rights – which means he’s four seconds away from quoting theGuardianand launching into a rant about gas companies dodging tax.He laughs at something Phil says, a little too brightly.I think Dylan compliments his shirt.Or maybe his watch?I don’t know – my attention keeps drifting back to Luke.Lauren’s the one laughing now.She then bites her bottom lip, and I resist the urge to throw a bread roll at both of them.
‘I’ll be right back,’ I mutter, already on my feet.Dylan hums in acknowledgement, still mid-monologue about fossil fuel subsidies and something about ‘charisma in local governance’ – whatever that means.
I duck behind the main house, my head down, and enter through the back porch, making a silent, shame-ridden beeline for the kitchen.The fridge is cracked slightly open – bless whoever raised feral kids with no food discipline – and there it is.Glorious.Glistening.Slightly picked-over ham.I rip off a chunk and shove it into my mouth as if I’m stealing state secrets.
‘Is your name even Jamie?’
The voice slinks in from the dark.I freeze – mid-chew – and turn.
Luke leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, a look on his face that saysGotcha!andI wish I didn’t carein equal measure.
‘Yes,’ I say, swallowing.
‘The reason I ask that is that I’m starting to believe everything that comes out of your mouth is a lie.’
‘If I offend you so much, why do you keep following me?’
He smirks.‘It’s like watching a car crash.’
I roll my eyes.‘What do you want?A medal?’
‘No,’ he says, pushing off the doorframe and walking towards me.‘Just curious how much of you is a lie.’
I pop another piece of ham into my mouth.‘Pretty much all of it.’
‘Bold strategy.’
‘It’s worked so far.’
‘Hardly.’
‘Why do you even care—’
‘Careful,’ he warns, close enough for me to see the shadows under his eyes.‘I’m not in the mood.’
‘Good,’ I snap.‘Neither am I.’
Our breaths are shallow, the words hotter than they should be.
I hate this.
I hate that he’s still looking at me like he sees through all of it.Through Dylan.Through the lies.Through me.
‘I don’t even like you,’ I say, even as my body leans in.
‘Liar.’
‘You’re insufferable.’
He leans in, barely any space between us at all now.‘Another lie.’
‘You think you’re so noble.So tragic.’
‘You’re a terrible person.’
‘Oh yeah?And what are you going to do about—’
And he kisses me.
