More Than Lies (More Than #1)(127)

Shawn has only been tattooing for a few years; although, sometimes it feels much longer. He dropped out of college his first semester to become a full-time tattoo artist here at Wicked Ink. Now he’s the owner.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you? Because it’s not me, or my morbid need for your torture.” He gives me a look that tells me he doesn’t find my humor very funny.

“I’m fine.” His words come out as a bite. His voice intimidates most people—even grown men. To me, he’s still and will always be my kid brother; who if he needs it, I will drop on his ass when he gets out of hand. He’s lucky I didn’t find out about the mess he put Taralynn through until long after it had been said and done. He was the one that told me everything. Had I not been so drunk, I probably would have whooped his ass one good time. The punk would have deserved it too—still deserves it, if you ask me.

“You’re not fine, Shawn. You’re stressed, and you look as old as I feel.” At twenty-eight years old, I feel as if I should be in my late thirties. My little brother is six years younger than me at twenty-two. He has dark circles under his eyes as if he isn’t getting enough sleep, or maybe he’s back to drinking more—possibly both. I don’t know . . . “Are you planning on speaking, today?”

The tattoo is complete. He just has to clean it, then wrap it, and I’ll be on my way.

As if thinking the same thing, Shawn glances down at my leg before he pulls in a deep breath of air through his nose.

“I haven’t gotten laid in five months, asshole.”

He and Taralynn still aren’t in the clear, although they aren’t broken up either. I don’t know what they are really—I’m not sure anyone, including the both of them, knows. Neither one talked about what happened nor did they speak of the future. It’s like they’re in limbo. Neither wanting to make any move in fear of making the wrong one. “I’m wound a little tight, okay?”

“Try being dry for over a year, and then come talk to me, dickhead.” His facial expression changes to one of shock. He clearly wasn’t expecting that to fall from my mouth.

“I know why I’m not getting any pussy. What’s your excuse?”

“Do you think you could not use the word ‘pussy’ when referring to someone I think of as a sister?” Jesus Christ. I look up to the ceiling, then back to him. I should have never opened my mouth. He’s waiting for an explanation. One I don’t plan on sharing. I’m going to have to steer this conversation back on him, or he won’t stop pushing until he gets something out of me. “So, what? She still isn’t allowing you into her bed yet?”

“I’m in her bed almost every night. And if I’m not, she’s in mine. We just haven’t moved past cuddling.” He says the last word like it’s the most disgusting word in the English language.

“Has she cut you off completely? What’s the deal? I thought you both were making progress, wanting your relationship to work.” When I first found out about my little brother and Trent’s little sister hooking up, I was pissed. Granted, Trent had always been adamant about there being something—or could be something—between them if Shawn would just wake up and pay attention long enough to see it.

I have to admit though, I didn’t see it either. My brother has never been the love ’em and leave ’em guy, just the screw ’em and be done with ’em kind. Love had never been in the equation for him, and I didn’t want Taralynn to be one of those chicks. I see now, she isn’t and would never be. He is in love with her—something I never expected to see. He surprised the hell out me.

“No.” He shakes his head. “She didn’t cut me off.”

“Then what?” This may be a worse topic to roll with. It’s not like I want to know he and Taralynn have sex. “Are you even trying to have sex with her?”

“Not exactly.” He twists his upper body around, grabbing a spray bottle from the tray then turns back, spraying water over the ink on my leg.

“Spit it out, Shawn. What do mean? Do you not want to have sex with your girlfriend anymore?” I breathe hard. “Is that the problem? Because if you’re planning on breaking up with her again, I’m going to beat your ass this time.” He tears a clean paper towel sheet off the roll to wipe the soap, water, and excessive ink off my skin.

“I’d like to see you try.” He laughs while tossing the dirty paper towel into the trash bin.

“I don’t think you do.” Shawn and I are matched in height. We’re both six-feet-two-inches tall, but where he is bulkier from weight lifting, I’m leaner from running and the Jiu-Jitsu training I used to do. I have no idea if I can take my brother down or not. Outside of a wrestling match—which I haven’t done in years—I have never been in a street fight, whereas Shawn has—often. But I’d bet money on myself that I can hold my own. “Do not break her heart . . . again. Do you understand me?”

“I’m not planning on it.” Anger flairs briefly in his dark eyes. He has always been quick-tempered. “Look, have you seen Tara? Because if you have, then you know how smoking hot she is. Of course, I want to fuck her. She’s a goddamn animal in the bed and out of it.”

“Dude!” I say louder than I should. “There are some things I do not want to know. That is one of them.” Christ.