xxxii. to lie to a spy

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xxxii. TO LIE TO A SPY

How do you lie to a spy prodigy?

Long answer—you first try to straight up deny it in the first place. When that (inevitably) fails, you try to divert the topic. Once you are almost caught, you force your eyes to water, increase your heartbeat, and for the cherry on the top of the cake, pretend to be upset.

Short answer—you take advantage of the fact he cares about you.

Ace sits arms crossed on the edge of my bed, still waiting for an acceptable reason as to why I intoxicated him. I rack my brain for any possible excuse.

Because I thought it would be funny? No, that doesn't explain why I was out.

Because I wanted food? No, that doesn't explain why he had to be drunk.

Because I'm actually stuck in a simulation? No, that's the plot of the Matrix.

Alright, alright, alright. Think, brain. Think. Don't fail me now.

Ace looks at me expectedly. "Don't try to lie to me," he warns. "You know I'll just see right through it."

My hand runs through my damp hair; strands fall to my face as I let out a sigh. "The truth is, I wanted to take a walk without you, the others, or the agency tracking my every move. Everything's falling apart; I needed control over this one night."

Ace closes the distance between us until our bodies are about a foot apart. I find myself grasping at the towel I am still wearing tighter, unwittingly, and he takes a hand in mine.

"I'm sorry Cupcake. The agency should have done better."

His golden eyes are laced with genuine concern. I mean technically, I wasn't lying, more like just not telling the entire truth. Even then, his presence and words brought me a sense of comfort that I didn't know I needed. It was always like that around him.

Ace brings my chin up to meet his eyes. Perhaps he believed me, perhaps he didn't. I usually couldn't read him, and tonight was no exception. Nevertheless, he drops the subject.

"You should probably get dressed," he smirks while looking me up and down.

Red rushes to my face. Right, I was still just in a goddamn towel.

"Why are you awake?" I ask, scrambling for my pajamas, "you seemed pretty drunk just a couple of hours ago."

"I've just always had a high tolerance and quick hangover time. With sleep too, I just don't need much of it."

"Must be nice. I need a solid ten hours otherwise I have the temperament of a sailor."

Ace raises an incredulous eyebrow at me. "So you mean if you get more sleep, you won't be such a pain in the ass?"

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