Little Lies

Kodiak opens the driver’s side door and bends over to slide the key in the ignition and roll down the windows before he closes the door again and leans against it, talking to yet another girl.

Suddenly my car is filled with sound. But it’s not music. It’s one of my audiobooks. Specifically, a smutty audiobook. And it’s right in the middle of a particularly smutty chapter. Because that’s what I was listening to last night when I went to bed, and my phone automatically syncs to the sound system.

Some people read books or listen to music before bed. I listen to sexy books. It’s way better than porn. The guys are always super attentive, and the women always have seven billion orgasms. And the hero always gives great oral. It’s the ultimate fantasy. Except last night I decided to try out a new genre: reverse harem. It seemed like it might be female-empowering, which is alluring when you’re me—not the actual reverse harem-ing, but feeling empowered.

“You wanna ride our cocks, baby?” the very sexy, gritty male voice blasts through my amazing sound system. “Both of our cocks?”

“Oh my God.” I frantically search for my phone, but it falls to the floor and slides under the seat. Of fucking course. I slap blindly at the dash, trying to find the volume button, but instead of turning it down, I turn it up, right as graphic penetration happens.

I finally find the volume control and mute the damn thing, but it’s too late. Anyone within a mile radius has heard the literary porn. My mortification is extreme. I sink down in the seat, hiding behind my hair, the sound of laughter outside the car like needles under my skin.

I feel like I’m a kid again—standing in the middle of the playground, someone making fun of me, calling me weird. Why doesn’t she talk above a whisper? Everyone looking at me. Laughing. Until River stepped in. Or Kodiak, before he hated me.

But River’s not here. And Kodiak can’t even stand to look at me. Why he offered to drive me home is another huge question mark. Unless he’s just looking for an opportunity to torment me.

My face is on fire. My entire body breaks out in a cold sweat. I can’t get out of the car, not with all these people around. It makes me feel trapped, and I hate it.

Kodiak finally opens the driver’s side door. “You find your spares?”

I shake my head, refusing to look at him.

“Is that a no?”

I purse my lips and remain silent.

Kodiak sighs. “I gotta take this one home. See ya Friday.”

He gets in, closing the door with a slam. He takes his time adjusting the mirrors, and it hits me how close he is. Some things haven’t changed in the past two years: same deodorant, same body wash, same cologne, same hair product, same asshole.

My eyes burn with the threat of tears, but I refuse to let them fall. I will not give Kodiak the satisfaction of seeing me cry ever again. I hate him so much for so many things, but this unnecessary humiliation is currently at the forefront, the things he said to me two years ago a very, very close second.

“Didn’t realize you’re into the whole tag-team thing.” His voice is flat, apathetic.

I focus on remaining still. On breathing.

“Is that what you and all the drama geeks get up to backstage? You find a nice quiet spot behind the curtains and get yourself good and fucked?”

I want to say something scathing, like I’m surprised that’s not his thing, since his dad was into threesomes back when he was Kodiak’s age. Although, the version of Kodiak’s dad I know is a really good guy, and doesn’t seem like the type who would bang two girls in a hot tub. However, there’s a really, really old video floating around on the internet that proves it’s true.

There are also about a thousand pictures of my dad with his tongue in different women’s mouths. Apparently he didn’t sleep with all the puck bunnies, he just made out with them in public. Including my mom. Having a famous parent can be a real pain in the ass, and far more informative than is normal.

My throat is tight, and anything I say is going to come out a pathetic whisper, if at all. So instead, I clench my fists to keep from fidgeting and try not to focus on Kodiak’s hurtful words, or the memories being close to him incite.

“You got words for everyone else, but none for me?” he taunts.

I stare straight ahead, unwilling to look at his horrible, beautiful face. I weigh my response before I speak, trying to inject some steel into my spine, so it doesn’t come out a weak whisper. “Why would I give you my words when all you do is twist them into something ugly?”