The Lying Game Complete Collection - Sara Shepard Page 0,560

Garrett to stand, too. “I’m bored,” I say. “Let’s race.”

“A swimming race?” Garrett’s eyes twinkle. “Okay.”

“Once around the middle fountain.” I extend an index finger to clarify. The streams of water spurting from the center of the pool shimmer like an oasis. “First one back here wins.” I adjust the straps on my white crocheted bikini in preparation, bouncing on my toes. Suddenly, I’m itching to compete—and win. I want to keep my muscles limber for the next and final Lying Game challenge, whenever Mads and Char decide to drop it on me. Laurel and I are tied, so whoever wins the last challenge will win it all. And the winner has to be me.

All at once, Garrett bursts into movement and pushes me backward lightly, teasing. “One, two, three . . . GO!” he shouts, a devilish look in his eyes. He dashes for the pool, a blur in blue-and-red madras.

“Oh, you are so dead!” I dart after him.

He races to the deep end of the pool and plunges in. I dive in after him.

The water hits my skin like a cool wave of satin. I head in the opposite direction around the fountain, determined to complete a lap faster than him.

I flutter forward, the current of the fountain bubbling to my left. Garrett’s blond hair waves underwater as he heads toward me. I kick faster, picking up the pace. Just as Garrett moves directly into my peripheral vision, his fingers brush against my leg. I squirm, and they clamp down on my ankle. He pulls me toward him, wrapping an arm around my waist, and we break the surface together, the spray from the fountain dotting our shoulders like a light rainfall.

I smile at the drops of water clinging to his eyelashes. “You play dirty.”

He grins and pulls my face closer to his. “Do you have a problem with that?”

I shake my head. “You win. Here’s your prize.” I lean in for a kiss. I let my lips linger on his, tasting the slight tingle of chlorine. Then I pull back and dunk him playfully.

He bursts from underwater sputtering. “Okay. Now, we’re even.”

I paddle toward a raft that’s parked along the edge of the pool and pull it in, climbing on top. “To the victor go the spoils,” I say, leaning back and closing my eyes.

“Victor? I thought we were even,” Garrett protests.

“We were.” I drape an arm over my eyes languidly. “But then you lost the rematch to the raft. Sorry.”

He laughs and splashes a light drizzle of water over my shoulders, making goose bumps break out on my arms, although they’re quickly warmed by the blazing sun. For a few minutes, it feels like paradise. I don’t think about anything that’s wrong. I don’t think about losing my club to my sister. I don’t think about how it’s Sunday and we’re going to have to drive through the night to make it back to school tomorrow. I just hold Garrett’s hands and float off.

“I wish I could stay here forever,” I whisper.

“Me, too,” Garrett says, and then he leans into the raft and kisses me again.

An hour later the sun begins to set, painting vivid, fiery streaks across the sky. I shrug into a Juicy terry-cloth cover-up, ready to head back to my suite and maybe chill with some trashy reality TV before dinner. Garrett pulls a T-shirt on and steps into his sandals. “Walk you back?”

“Sure,” I say, offering him my arm.

We make our way through the soaring lobby of the hotel, my flip-flops slapping against the marble tile. Soon enough, the elevator doors slide open, and we walk down the hallway to the Emperor Suite. I slip my key card into the lock and swing the door to the suite open. Something in the room seems . . . different. After a moment, I realize what it is.

“My leather jacket is gone.” Then I walk into the suite and check the bed. “So is my tote.” I’d used it for the spa.

I peek in the closet, then under the bed, thinking the cleaning staff might have moved them there. Both are empty. “Were you robbed?” Garrett asks. “Should I call security?”

“Hang on,” I say faintly. I scan the room more closely. It’s only my things that are missing: my yellow, floral Kate Spade makeup bag, which I’d left strewn, half-open, eyeliners and eyelash curlers spilling all over the round, dark wood table in the dining nook; my Kindle Fire, which had been on the