Beautiful Liar (The Reed Rivers Trilogy 2)

“Liar!” she shrieks.

She pushes on my chest and whizzes past me, racing past the hoods of my cars, and I follow her, my panic spiraling.

“She asked me to give her a goodbye kiss, for old time’s sake, and I did it,” I blurt, keeping step with her. “How could I say no to that? But it meant nothing to me.”

She whirls around in front of my Porsche, her eyes aflame. “I don’t believe you only kissed her as far as I can throw you. But let’s pretend you’re telling the truth, for a minute. How could you say no?” she asks, echoing me. “How could you not say no, Reed?” Tears fill her eyes. “You said it made you crazy to think of me kissing anyone else. You promised exclusivity was a two-way street, and I believed you. You said you’re not a cheater! You said that to me, and I trusted you!”

Anguish grips me. Why did I do this? Why did I fuck up the best thing that’s ever happened to me? I want to rewind the clock. Take it all back. I have to fix this. “I’m so sorry, Georgie. I admit I fucked up. But you have to believe me, I only kissed her, and it meant absolutely nothing to me. In fact, I told her—”

“Even if you ‘only’ kissed her, which I don’t believe, does that really make it okay in your book? If I secretly disappeared with someone... Let’s say Savage. He’s hot as hell. Let’s say I disappeared with Savage into your garage, in the middle of the party tonight, without telling you, and I made out with him in here until my lips were swollen and my lipstick smeared and my face bright red and my hair tousled—but it meant nothing to me!—that would be perfectly fine with you? That wouldn’t break your heart, after everything that’s happened between us this week?”

“Georgie,” I choke out, the enormity of what I’ve done slamming me. “Please, put yourself in my shoes. The example of Savage isn’t the same thing. I’ve known Isabel ten years. She’s getting married and wanted one last kiss. It was a goodbye kiss, Georgie. It’s unreasonable for you to expect me not to give her that, after ten years of knowing her, when I’ve only known you a matter of weeks.”

She looks crushed. Furious. Heartbroken. “Obviously, this past week meant a whole lot more to me than it meant to you.” She throws her hands over her face. “God, I was so stupid to let my guard down with you. I was so stupid to think this week could have meant anything to you.”

I feel like my heart is physically cracking in two. “Georgie, don’t say that. Please don’t doubt how much this past week with you has meant to me. It’s been the best week of my life. Every minute with you, Georgie—”

“Save it!” She marches away, whizzing past my cars, all the way to the back wall filled with sports equipment, which is where she whirls around to face me. “How’d you meet her, Reed?”

“Who?”

“Isabel!”

“I told you how I met her. At CeeCee’s birthday party.”

“Josh didn’t introduce you to Isabel?”

I pull a face of confusion. “No. Why are you asking—”

“Josh didn’t introduce you to Isabel at one of his parties?”

“No. I introduced Josh to Isabel at one of Josh’s parties. Why are you asking me this?”

“Because Isabel told me she met you through a mutual friend. And when I asked the name of the friend, she said Josh Faraday. She said she went to one of Josh’s parties, and he introduced her to you that night.”

My stomach is twisted into knots. My breathing is shallow. Fuck. “Isabel is mistaken,” I say. “Which is understandable, since it was ten years ago.”

Georgina throws up her hands. “Why are you both lying to me about this? It’s something so meaningless and insignificant! I don’t get it!”

“We’re not both lying. I’m telling the truth, and Isabel is simply mistaken. Why are we even talking about this?”

“Because it’s just further proof that every word out of your mouth is a fucking lie. You didn’t take Isabel into your garage, in the middle of your party, to kiss her goodbye. You fucked her goodbye. And you didn’t meet Isabel at CeeCee’s birthday party, either. I saw the photo spread in Rock ‘n’ Roll from CeeCee’s party, and in one of the shots, behind Justin Timberlake, you and Isabel were arriving together to the party. Reed, you were getting out of the limo with Isabel. Ergo, you did not ‘meet’ her at that party, as you’ve told me. You cannot meet someone you’ve arrived with. Ergo, you lied to me about that. And you’re lying to me about this.”

I feel like I’m going to throw up. “Isabel and I were on a blind date that night,” I blurt, desperation seizing me. “We hadn’t met before that night, but I’d seen her photo. She didn’t want me to pick her up at her house. So, she asked me to pick her up in the limo a mile away from the party. I think I picked her up in front of a McDonald’s. And that’s why that photo showed us arriving together. But, in my mind, when I told you I’d ‘met’ Isabel at CeeCee’s party, I was telling the truth. I mean, technically, we met a few blocks away, yes, but I wasn’t intentionally lying to you. It was just too complicated to explain the logistics. Yes, she was my date that night. Yes, we arrived together. But I swear to God, I also met her that night. I was telling you the truth about that night, Georgie. And I’m telling you the truth about tonight. I’m sorry I kissed her. I shouldn’t have done that. But, trust me, if you’d seen the way it went down, you’d understand it didn’t take anything away from the amazing week we’ve had—and the amazing summer—”