Page 6 of Filthy Liar

It’s disappointing and doesn’t really make sense based on everything I thought I knew about him, adding more fuel to my ‘Fynn Hadaway isn’t awful’ fire. “I changed my mind.”

There’s no way I’m telling Crystal he was the one who didn’t want to play bouncing mattress Olympics. I think it’s better to keep my suspicion that Fynn Hadaway might not be what Sweet Side’s socialite princess Jessica Barnaby says he is to myself. Crystal has already decided he’s the devil incarnate, and I’m suddenly not too interested in trying to make her think differently. I’d rather lay in bed and replay the short bit of time I spent with him in my head.

“That’s a good idea.” She scoops out a giant bite of Chunky Monkey and shoves it into her mouth, continuing to talk around the ice cream. “Men love a woman who plays hard to get.”

It takes everything I have not to roll my eyes because this afternoon she was trying to convince me men loved a woman who put out on the first date. And I was hoping she was right. For a number of reasons.

One of which being the body on Fynn Hadaway.

Now Crystal’s gone in the complete opposite direction, claiming I need to play hard to get to catch the man who can make all my problems disappear.

All I have to do is convince him to marry me. But considering I couldn’t even get him to sleep with me, that’s likely going to be a tougher sell than I was hoping. At least it will be for me. I’ve managed to make it nearly three decades without bedding a man. I’m not sure why I thought I’d suddenly be persuasive enough to not only get one to sex me up, but also wife me up.

After kicking off my shoes, I hook the heels over the fingers of one hand, my shoulders slumping in exhaustion and defeat. “I’m going to bed. Enjoy your ice cream.”

Crystal waves her spoon at me as she switches on the television, her full attention already trained on the screen. “Night.”

I flip on the light to the tiny bedroom housing all the belongings I’ve managed to acquire since rolling into Sweet Side a month ago. It’s not much. A mattress on the most basic of bed frames. A nightstand with a lamp I bought off someone moving out across the hall. A few outfits hanging in the closet right next to the pièce de résistance…

The wedding dress I showed up in.

I thought about selling it, but wearing the thing for twenty hours in my car while chugging Red Bull as I sped down the interstate, left it looking less than pristine. I’d be upset over twenty-thousand dollars’ worth of lace and pearls going down the drain except I didn’t even want the damn thing in the first place.

Or, honestly, the groom that went with it.

I set my pumps into their designated spot in the minuscule closet and peel off the skin-tight shirt Crystal claimed would make me irresistible to a man like Fynn Hadaway. One more thing she was wrong about. Fynn Hadaway most certainly didn’t find me irresistible. In fact, he seemed to find me quite easy to resist.

Maybe I’m not his type. I’ve seen his ex in all her six-pack-ab glory. The chick counts macros like an insomniac counts sheep. She’s tall and tan and blonde and rich and popular. In short, everything I’m not.

I poke the ample swell of soft flesh spilling over the top of my low-cut bra. Maybe he doesn’t even like big boobs. Some guys don’t.

I’ve heard.

Jessica Barnaby definitely does not have big boobs.

I blow out a breath and plop down onto the twin-sized bed taking up almost half the floor-space of my tiny room, falling back against the mattress to stare up at the ceiling.

Shit.

Now I’m depressed. Dragged down by one more man and his inability to see me for what I am. What I can offer.

But I’m not just depressed. I’m also feeling more than a little guilty after meeting Fynn in real life. Maybe I shouldn’t have gone to that bar. Shouldn’t have even come up with this convoluted scheme, no matter how handsome Fynn Hadaway is or how perfectly he fits my needs. At the end of the day my plan was to use him, in more than one way. Neither of which I see happening now.

It puts me right back at square one and my time is running out. Quickly. Soon, I’ll be low on cash and the second I use one of my cards the bloodhounds will be set free.

I wish I could say I’d be strong enough to hold my own if that day comes, but the past thirty years have shown me that’s not going to be the case. I will cave, the boundaries I desperately want to set collapsed by the weight of my inability to stop trying to earn the gratitude and appreciation I know I will never get.

“Hey, Val.” Crystal bumps my door wide open and comes right in. She gives me a devilish smile and holds up my new cell, tipping it side to side. “You should text the filthy liar. Tell him how hot you think he is.”

I jump up from the bed and snatch my phone from her hand. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

She stretches her lips back in an exaggerated cringe, showing the straight line of her perfectly white teeth, sucking a breath between them. “It might be too late.”

I drop my head to stare at the screen of the inexpensive phone I’ve been using for the past few weeks. Sure enough my text app is open with a message to Fynn sitting at the top of the list.

You looked really hawt tonight.

I drop down, butt bouncing against the mattress. Son of a bi—

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