The Lying Game Complete Collection - Sara Shepard Page 0,35

ear for a few seconds more, the guilt gushing inside her like a broken fire hydrant. She’d never lied to Alex before, especially about something so momentous. Not that she really had a choice.

A snapping noise made Emma freeze. Was that . . . a footstep? She slowly turned around, the silence ringing in her ears. The night had grown dark and still. A red security system light blinked from the dash of an SUV at the curb. Something moved by the front wheel, and Emma leapt back. A sand-colored lizard skittered from underneath the car and raced around a large wheeled trash bin.

She ran her hands down the length of her face, trying to calm down. The park loomed at the end of the street, a large expanse of well-manicured grass, playgrounds, and ball fields. She jogged the rest of the way, the tennis bag jostling against her hip. A couple of sweaty, shirtless guys were packing up their gear on the basketball court. Two joggers stretched by a large green trash receptacle.

A silver parking meter–style machine stood outside the chain-link entrance to the tennis courts. SEVENTY-FIVE CENTS FOR THIRTY MINUTES, said a small sign on the post. Emma glanced around nervously. The basketball players had left abruptly, taking most of the noise with them. Wind swished in her ears. There was another tiny sound to her left, like someone swallowing. “Hello?” Emma called softly. No answer.

Get a grip, she told herself. Squaring her shoulders, she shoved a couple of quarters into the narrow slots of the meter. Floodlights snapped on overhead, so blinding that Emma winced and shielded her eyes. She opened the chain-link door and looked out onto the blue-green courts. And then . . . she saw it. A guy splayed face-up in the middle of the court, his arms and legs stretched out in an X.

Emma screamed. The guy shot up, which made Emma scream even louder and toss the racket toward his head. It clanged against the court and landed near the net. The guy squinted hard at her face.

“Sutton?” he said after a moment.

“Oh!” Emma said. Ethan.

Ethan scooped up the tennis racket and walked over to her. He wore a black T-shirt, blue gym shorts, and gray New Balance sneakers. “I am so glad it’s you,” Emma said.

Ethan wrinkled his nose. “Do you always hurl tennis rackets at people you’re happy to see?”

Emma took the racket from him. “Sorry. You scared me. I thought you were . . .” She trailed off. My sister’s killer. An evil note-writing stalker.

“The bogeyman?” Ethan filled in.

Emma nodded. “Something like that.”

The jogging couple ran past. A low-rider car trundled by on the street, letting out a honk to the tune of The Godfather theme. Emma looked at Ethan again. “What were you doing lying in the dark?”

“Stargazing.” Ethan gestured toward the sky. “I come here almost every night. It’s a great place for it because it’s so dark here. Until you came along, that is.” He leaned against a stone-covered water fountain just outside the courts. “What are you doing here? Spying on me?”

Emma blushed. “No. I wanted to practice tennis. My game has gone from an A to a D-minus over the summer.”

“Hoping to show Nisha who’s boss?”

Emma jolted up. How did he know that?

Ethan grinned, as if reading her mind. “Your rivalry is legendary. Even I’ve heard about it.”

Emma inspected Ethan’s sharp cheekbones, deep-set eyes, and muscular shoulders. In German class, Ethan had stared out the window the whole time, not speaking to anyone. He was the only person Frau Fenstermacher hadn’t picked on. In the hall, he’d walked by himself, big Bose headphones clapped over his ears. Girls shot him appreciative glances as he passed, but he gave each of them shy shrugs and continued on.

“So do you want a practice partner?” Ethan interrupted her thoughts.

Emma cocked her head. “You mean . . . tennis?”

“No, croquet.” He smiled and gestured toward the parking lot. “I have a racket in my car. But if you don’t want to . . .”

“I’d love to.” Emma smiled. Nerves snapped and danced beneath her skin. “Thanks.”

“Okay.” Ethan’s expression was sheepish, maybe even a little nervous. They turned and both tried to walk through the chain-link exit at the same time. They collided into each other, Emma’s side hitting Ethan’s hip.

“Oops,” Emma laughed. They both stepped back at the same time. Then Emma moved forward through the exit once more. So did Ethan. They bumped again. Emma stepped on