He leaned back a fraction, gazing at me, and I thought he knew just how terrible I was at lying. I thought he knew it all, but my stress died the second he held his hand toward me, his pinky finger extended. “Pinky swear.” “Pinky swear?” I repeated. “Yes, it’s the law and an unbreakable promise, as you said before. I will only believe you if you do.” I couldn’t stop the grin or the god-awful feeling I had when I hooked his finger with mine and lied and lied and lied. I was a cruel, awful bitch. And I loved him.
