The Lying Game Complete Collection - Sara Shepard Page 0,513

stiffen slightly. “What’d baby brother do now?” I ask, sifting idly through a bunch of bangle bracelets.

“He just texted to ask if I was going to Nisha’s party,” Madeline says, in a horrified voice that suggests he’d just texted to ask her if she was planning to shave her head. “Can you believe him?”

Char, who has just emerged from the dressing room with the yellow dress slung over her arm, gapes at us. “But he’s only a sophomore!”

“Seriously.” Madeline shakes her head at her phone as if Thayer can see her.

“Wait, he asked if you were going as if you hadn’t already been invited?” I sputter.

Madeline nods. “As if he’s the cool one, not me.” Then she points at a bracelet I’ve picked up from the table. “I love that.”

“It’s yours.” I wink at her, and she widens her eyes back, grinning, knowing what I’m going to do. But my mind isn’t really on the five-finger discount. It’s on Thayer 2.0. Who is this guy? Unbidden, the image of his chiseled abs and defined calves floats in my mind. I force myself to push it away.

“He definitely thinks he’s the man since coming back from soccer camp, huh?” I say. “Like he’s the only guy who’s ever played a sport before.”

Madeline rolls her eyes. “Thayer had some kind of crazy transformation while he was away. Suddenly he thinks he’s a sex god or something. Apparently he had a serious girlfriend while he was there. She was super into him, and now she won’t stop calling. He claims she’s stalking him.”

“Please,” Charlotte says as she sashays toward the register. “I’m sure he doesn’t mind being stalked.”

I smile, but I’m not so sure about that myself. Thayer used to be so quiet—at least, that’s what I thought of him. But it’s starting to seem like I had the wrong idea about Thayer all along.

As Charlotte winds around the racks, she plucks up a La Perla bra-and-panties set and adds it to her pile.

“La Perla?” The corners of my mouth twitch. “Planning a hot night with Garrett?”

Charlotte’s cheeks flare a bright pink, but she doesn’t deny it. As the salesclerk rings up the purchase, I slide the bracelet up my sleeve, easy as that. Then I look at Madeline. “So Thayer isn’t into Stalker Girl, then?” I try to sound nonchalant, like I don’t really care.

Madeline leans against the counter. “I don’t know what their deal was this summer, but I definitely don’t think he’s into her anymore,” she says, eyeing me. “Honestly? I think he might have a crush on you, Sutton.”

I feel an unexpected little zing in my stomach. Then I freeze, trying to suppress my reaction. “Aw, how cute,” I say teasingly. “But Sutton Mercer doesn’t do younger guys. Thayer should know that.”

My friends nod and turn away, but my heart is pounding. Yes, I’ve known Thayer liked me before, but suddenly it feels different. Only, am I insane? Thayer might be hot now, but … he’s still Thayer. Madeline’s younger brother. Laurel’s best friend. Quiet. Sensitive. The opposite of me. Thayer’s the guy who’s spent hours at our house on weekends, playing cards—cards!—with Laurel the Lame, the guy who sneaks over late nights to hang out in our backyard shed that we’d made over into a quasi-clubhouse. He’s a kid. Not in my league.

Still, a hazy memory flits through my mind: last summer, Thayer and Laurel passed through the kitchen while I sat at our round oak table, thumbing my iPad. I barely glanced up at them as Laurel opened the refrigerator and pulled out a tall glass pitcher of iced tea. But that didn’t stop her from approaching me brightly. Her ponytail swung like the pendulum of a clock.

“Want some?” she offered, hopeful and perky. I barely mumbled an acknowledgment, ignoring her hurt expression. I felt Thayer watching me, but it just annoyed me back then. When I looked up, his hazel eyes were trained on me, as though he could see what I was thinking and was disappointed.

“What?” I snapped.

His lips twitched, and he turned away silently. I’d glared at him as he and Laurel went outside toward the clubhouse, wondering what that look had been for. Did he think I needed to be nicer or something? Who was he to tell me what to do? And why, most of all, did I care what he thought of me? But the look stuck with me for days. Maybe Thayer had been challenging my authority for a while