More Than Lies (More Than #1)(18)

“Oh, shit,” she stammers as I steady her with one hand while keeping a firm grip on my towel and dirty laundry with the other. Her breath hitches when she looks up to see me, and her face flushes. “I—I’m so sorry, Shawn.”

“Don’t you have class during the week?” I see this bitch enough on the weekends. If Matt wants a full-time, live-in girlfriend, then maybe his ass needs to move somewhere else. It’s not happening in my house.

“Usually, yes, but Holly and I went to a concert last night so I skipped. I’m heading back once I get dressed.” She steps away from me as I sidestep her to head to my room.

“Whatever,” I mumble, but turn back to face Amanda. “Cassie isn’t welcome here any longer, you got me?”

“What? Why not?” She doesn’t give me a chance to answer her. “Cassie is always nice to you, Shawn. If it weren’t for Holly being in love with you, she would have tried to get with you herself. She likes you, but doesn’t want to cause a rift between her and Holly. I don’t understand.” One hand is clutching her towel and the other is parked on her left hip, classic bitch style.

“Then understand this: I’ve had all I’m willing to stand of Cassie disrespecting Tara.” I move in closer to her. Using my height as intimidation, I continue. “That will go for you too, if you continue making rude, snide little comments to her. Don’t think for a second that I won’t eighty-six your ass just because my roommate continues to blow his load in your pussy.”

“Why . . . I mean . . . what?” She stammers along shaking her head. I don’t understand what she isn’t grasping here. I was perfectly clear. “I don’t get it, Shawn.” Her voice has turned hard, and her eyebrows are drawn together. “You can’t stand that goodie two-shoes any more than I can. I don’t get why my boyfriend remains friends with her.”

The pain inside my head had been mellowing up until this point.

What I don’t understand is why her boyfriend keeps her around in the first place. There is not one thing likable about the woman standing in front of me right now.

I step even closer, bending down so that I’m mere inches from her face.

“Do not ever assume you know what I think, who I like or dislike, or anything else for that matter. Tara would not live here if I didn’t like her, so if you understand anything, understand this: the only reason I allow you in my house is because you happen to be dating her best friend. Ya feel me, Amanda?”

Her mouth is hanging open, but even the most dimwitted person on earth would have understood that, so I feel my point has been made.

I’m done with this stupid bitch. She has taken up far too much of my morning. I turn on my heel and walk the short distance to my bedroom.

Once I’m behind closed doors and inside the room, I finish toweling off and throw on clean boxers, gym shorts, and a T-shirt. I exercise every weekday morning before showing up for work. One of the perks of my job as a tattoo artist is my hours aren’t the typical eight to five. Starting my day at noon—I’ll never complain. I love what I do, and I get paid damn good money to do it.

I walk out of my room without doing my hair. There’s no point since I’ll be showering again in two hours. Yeah, it may be a little weird that I shower before and after a workout, but it’s not like I’m in any condition to clean up when I first get home from a night liquoring it up at a bar followed by the few minutes inside whatever random chick that decided to give me a piece inside or outside of said bar.

If I could, I’d wash their stink off me before crawling into my bed, but in most cases, I’m lucky to make it to my room, let alone into my bed and underneath my covers. A shower is definitely out of the question, skank or not.

I walk into the kitchen to see Matt eating from a bowl at the table and Mason standing in front of the coffee maker. I’m not a huge eater before a workout, but I need more than cereal and coffee.

I grab the tall carton of egg whites, shredded mozzarella cheese and a container of mixed fruit from the fridge. I make my breakfast and join my roommate at the table. Shoveling a forkful of food in my mouth, I level my gaze over toward Mason.

“You ready to finish up your ink?”

“Absolutely. I’ll be seeing you once I get out of my last class, around one this afternoon.” He takes a drink of his coffee as Amanda walks into the kitchen. She heads over to Matt.

“I’m out of here, babe. See you this weekend.” She kisses the side of his head and he nods. I don’t get these two. It’s easy to see he’s not that into her anymore, so why does he keep her around? It can’t be for her personality, because she is severely lacking in that department.

I’m happy to see her go and direct my attention back to Mason.

“Yours is the easiest one I’m doing today.” Once I finish shading red into all of the flowers he’ll be complete. “Cosmo is coming in today, and then he’ll be back on Friday for me to finish up. He’s getting a piece done on his forearm.”

I met Cosmo my senior year of high school when I started apprenticing at a local tattoo shop in my hometown of Tupelo. At the age of forty-nine, Cosmo became my first solo tat, and I got to pop his tattoo cherry. He’s come back for seven more since then. Everyone says when you start getting tattooed that it becomes an addiction, and I think that holds true for a lot of folks.