Read Things Liars Fake (#ThreeLittleLies #3) for Free Online Page A

serious, we both ultimately wanted the same things out a relationship—marriage, kids, and a house outside of the city.
    But there was always something missing; something exciting.
    Everything with Char was… fine . Predictable.
    Vanilla.
    Boring?
    Missionary sex, buttoned-up cardigan sweaters—even on the weekends—unless she was wearing her Northwestern sweatshirt to do her gardening. Yawn.
    Char was cute, if not a little… plain. Straight brown bob trimmed exactly every six weeks, serious brown eyes, she reserved her mega-watt smiles for the partners in her law firm, her close friends, and occasionally—me.
    Bottom line: the sight of her entering a room didn’t get my dick hard.
    The staid climate of our relationship wasn’t doing it for me anymore. There was never any anticipation. Never any spontaneity.
    Never any fun.
    Sure, I’ve been on a few dates since breaking it off with Charlotte; with more quiet, serious girls. Girls who sipped wine and stopped at one glass. Girls who counted networking as a hobby, drank three double shot Starbucks a day so they could work late, and gave tight smiles instead of laughing.
    Fucking depressing.
    And for whatever reason, my asshole cousin finds it hilarious to bring up my relationship status at every opportunity. No idea why. Like having a date is supposed to define my character. Like having a date makes me more masculine.
    Honestly, I’d rather be completely alone and a decent guy, than a douchebag with a shitty date.
    Elliot is a dickhole.
    My thoughts stray to Daphne, her long silky hair and green eyes. The black framed glasses. Her glossy pink lips tipped up into a sly smile. Her sexy, easy, musical laugh.
    I palm the computer mouse, scrolling it around its pad, waiting for my Dundler Mifflin screensaver to disappear, and pull up Google.
    Type in Dorser & Kohl Marketing.
    The firm’s website pops up in the search results, and I click on the link, scrolling through the site for employee profiles until I find hers.
    Daphne Winthrop: Junior Vice President of Public Relations.
    Buttoned to the collar in a blouse, she’s leaning against a stone building, arms crossed. Black blazer and pressed slacks, profile shot is classy, conservative and professional.
    I read her bio; Age, 26. Graduated from State with a BA in Business. Alum of two professional fraternity organizations. Volunteer coordinator for a women’s shelter. Hobbies: travel, skiing and reading.
    It says nothing about StarGate, alternative Universes, or fangirling over vintage Sci-Fi movies. In fact, everything about her bio reads as ‘my usual type.’
    Exactly my type.
    Only I know differently.
    My hand hovers over the mouse, and I scroll until I find her contact information. Eight seconds later I’m staring, in color, at her phone number. Should I call? Text? Or send an email?
    What the hell am I going to say? Hi Daphne, this is Dexter Ryan. Remember me from last night? I’m going to need you at that engagement party my aunt was yammering on-and-on about. Turns out my family is riding my ass. They’re driving me crazy, and you’d be doing me a huge favor if you pretended to be my girlfriend for an evening …
    Right; because that doesn’t sound fucked up.
    And yet, I don’t abandon the idea entirely—not with my buddy Collin running around in my head shouting ‘Balls to the wall, Dex. Balls to the fucking walls!’ Collin, who pursued his girlfriend relentlessly, and who doesn’t give a shit what people think of him.
    He’d call her without hesitating and expect me to do the same. Shit, he’d dial the phone for me.
    But unlike Collin’s girlfriend Tabitha, this gorgeous girl is not going to want me to call her.
    No way.
    I palm the phone in my hand and push the glasses up the bridge of my nose, leaning back in my desk chair and swiveling it around a few times before setting the phone back down. My computer pings with an email notification and I rotate my chair back towards the desktop, click open