Free Little White Lies by Katie Dale Page A

frown. Maybe Kenny’s right. It would explain why Christian keeps turning me down when I ask him out....
    “Or maybe it’s not an alibi at all,” Vix suggests. “Maybe Christian’s got a secret identity.”
    “A secret identity?” I laugh nervously. “What, like Superman?”
    “No, like a spy,” Kenny counters. “Perhaps he’s leading a double life. People do.”
    His sparkling eyes meet mine and I glare at him. What is he
doing
?
    “Of course!” Vix hisses. “Maybe he’s an undercover policeman. Or royalty! Royalty get away with everything, don’t they?”
    “Do they?” I raise an eyebrow.
    “That would explain Christian’s black hair dye too!” Vix beams. “
And
why he doesn’t like having his photo taken!”
    “Vix,
loads
of people dye their hair,” I reason.
    “Indeed they do.” Kenny winks at me. If there wasn’t a bar between us, I’d kick him. Hard.
    “Besides, Christian told you why he dyes his hair,” I add.
    “Yeah, cos he’s vain.” Vix smirks. “Speaking of which, I see you’ve glammed up again. Pulling out all the stops, eh?”
    “Is it too much?” I run my hand over my curled hair anxiously.
    “I’m just teasing.” Vix grins. “You look great, doesn’t she, Kenny?”
    He nods. “Bit over the top for bar work, though.”
    “What are you guys talking about?” Christian asks, walking over to us.
    “Nothing,” I say quickly.
    “Secret identities.” Kenny smiles. “What’s yours?”
    Christian frowns. “What?”
    “If you could choose a pseudonym, what would it be?” I bluff hastily. “You know, like Elton John or Michael Caine or... Tinie Tempah.” I remember the CD I spotted on his bookshelf.
    “I’m not sure I could pull off Tinie Tempah.” Christian raises an eyebrow.
    “Well, no, I think you’d have to be a rapper—and a good one, at that—to pull it off like he does, but anyway, bad example,” I babble, my cheeks growing warm as I try to dig myself out of the hole Kenny’s dumped me in. “If you could choose your name, what would it be?”
    “I dunno, I’ve never really thought about it.” He shrugs. “ ‘What’s in a name,’ right? Anyway, it’s four o’clock. Our shift’s over.”
    “Great.” I smile. “And as it’s still early, you must have time for a drink today, right?”
    “I’m sorry—I can’t,” he says.
    Another rejection. This time I mentally kick
myself.
    “More must-see TV?” Vix raises an eyebrow.
    “Not today—I’m meeting a friend.” He smiles. “See ya.”
    We watch him leave.
    “We should totally follow him,” Vix says, her eyes sparkling as I grab my jacket and we head out to the car park. “There’s a story here, I can
smell
it.”
    “Uh-uh. No way.” I shake my head.
    “We can’t, anyway—we’ve got salsa, remember?” Kenny smiles.
    “Course I remember.” Vix beams at him. “I’ve been looking forward to it all day.”
    “Wait.” I stare at her.
“Salsa?”
    “Yes!” Vix grins. “Kenny knows this great little tapas bar that does Salsa Sundays—with free sangria! Cool, huh?”
    “Shame you can’t come, Lou, with your bad ankle and all,” Kenny says.
    “Oh, it’s much better—it hardly hurts at all now,” I insist.
    “Still, dancing’s probably not the best thing for it just yet,” Vix says. “Better take it easy for a few days.”
    I grit my teeth. “Well, do you want a lift?” I offer, stalling for time to come up with another obstacle.
    “No thanks, I’ve got my car,” Kenny says, nodding at a black Mini Cooper as we step outside.
    “But you’ve been drinking,” I protest.
    “Actually, I thought we could walk.” Vix grins. “It’s more romantic. Hi, Heidi!” Vix waves across the car park to where Heidi’s chatting to Christian, who’s kneeling by his motorbike. “Feeling better?”
    “Much!” Heidi beams. “Must’ve been one of those twenty-four-hour bugs. Christian says you covered for me, Lou—thanks! And welcome to the