Dirty Red (Love Me with Lies, #2)

by Tarryn Fisher

Caleb had a scar near his eye. I’d tried to get him to see my plastic surgeon about it, but he’d refused. Scars should stay where fate put them, he’d said.

“You never quite stop loving someone when you’re in that deep.”

That was the absolute worst thing about love; no matter how hard you tried, you could never forget the person who had your heart.

“Seems like a long time to ask a college-aged guy to wait. The only way I see someone doing that is if they are crazy in love…addiction love.”

I’d taken a psychology class in college that studied body language. One of the lectures had been called The Art of Lying. We had been required to run an experiment along with reading the chapter, in which we’d ask a person who was not in the class a series of questions. Much to my delight, I’d discovered that a person who is recalling a real memory looks up and to the right, whereas a person who is utilizing the creative part of their brain—to lie—looks down and to the left.

“Love is simple,” he’d said. “The more pomp you add to a wedding, the less sincere it becomes.”

One thing to know about me: I dig. If I can’t find it—I dig deeper, harder. I dig until I find it. The only thing I couldn’t dig into was my own mind. I didn’t want to see it.

A look. How long can a look be…truly? A look can be a second long, a freaking, harmless second, and it can tell long, complicated stories. You can see three years in a second-long look. You can see longing, too. I hadn’t known that until I saw it for myself. I wish I hadn’t seen it. I wish I could never see another look transferred between two people with history.

You have the type of eyes that have claws in them.”

Human eyes are the sign language of the brain. If you watch them carefully, you can see the truth played out, raw and unguarded.

“Love is illogical. You fall into it like a manhole. Then you’re just stuck. You die in love more than you live in love.”