More Than Lies (More Than #1)(8)

What in the hell?

Entering the kitchen, I take in the dirty dishes, pizza boxes, empty beer bottles, and spilled booze everywhere. Never in my life have I seen a bigger mess than I do right now. Granted, I’m never up this early, and by the time I do rise, everything is spick and span the way it should be, thanks to my clean freak roommate.

I’m not oblivious to everything Tara does around here. My other roommates and I are spoiled by Tara’s efforts, and I for one happen to like it that way. She cleans and cooks—and does both well. So I’m a bit taken aback by the current disastrous state of my kitchen. This is not like Taralynn Evans at all.

“Mornin’,” I mumble in Mason’s direction as I head to the coffee pot. He’s sitting off to my right at the small circular dining table reading a car magazine and sipping a cup of joe.

After opening the cabinet directly above the Keurig and not finding one damn coffee mug, I peer into the sink and then every granite surface surrounding the area. How on earth has every dish in the house gotten dirty, and where the hell is Tara? I close the cabinet door and pull open the dishwasher. Damn. It’s empty. I have no choice; I have to wash my own cup if I plan on drinking something.

I shouldn’t be irritated, but I am. I don’t recall ever washing a dish in my life. And the smell in this place is making my weak stomach roll as I quickly wash a mug. If it weren’t for the faint aroma of Folgers lingering from Mason’s brew masking some of the God-awful smell, I probably would have hurled the moment I walked in.

“Since when do you get up before ten?” Mason asks. Once I place the K-Cup in the machine and then press the start button to make myself a much needed cup of coffee, I glance over in his direction.

“Since I have to make up for the two days I was out sick last week.” The stomach bug my three roommates and I came down with a week ago was no joke. Put my ass in bed for two solid days. Not that I can complain too much. It got my mom to come cook us dinner once the four of us could stomach food again. And I tell you this, there is nothin’ like momma’s cookin’. Well, that’s not exactly true. Tara comes in at a close second, but she isn’t my mom. I may be a momma’s boy, but you’ll never get me to verbalize that shit. No way. No how. Not happening.

“Couldn’t you just reschedule your appointments for another day?” Mason is my best friend. Has been since him, his parents, and two older sisters moved to my old neighborhood back in Tupelo when I was six years old. We have been partners in crime since the first day we met. He’s the fun one. Laid back and doesn’t take anything too serious. He’s currently in his last year of college and still doesn’t have a job because his parents pay for everything he’s ever wanted. I’m not jealous. I simply wasn’t raised that way. I dropped out of college after one semester and started working full-time here in Oxford.

I’m a tattoo artist.

All through high school I apprenticed under a guy in my hometown. I’ve always loved art, and it’s probably the only thing I’ve ever been any good at. College wasn’t for me. I already knew that back in high school, but my mom begged me to give it a try. I can’t tell that woman no, so I gave it a shot. Like I said, it wasn’t for me. Looking back, I realize I probably should have stuck it through since I’m considering buying the shop where I work.

“Sure, I could’ve moved them to a different slot. And most I did because they are regular customers that don’t have any problem waiting for me. A few people were impatient, so I decided to go in a few hours early today, all next week and next Saturday, too.” I take my freshly made cup of coffee away from the machine to add a tablespoon of sugar before taking my first sip. Hopefully the caffeine will ward off my headache before I need to get to work. I’m opening the studio in an hour, but I still need a shower before I leave. “Besides, I also had to take off the Saturday after Halloween because of your sister’s stupid party.”

“If it’s so stupid, why are you going?” He tosses the magazine he had been reading across the table. Even the small surface of the kitchen table is littered with mess. Not that Mason cares. He doesn’t clean up around here, either.

“Because I need to get out of this town. I’d rather be going to Georgia, but Jackson will have to do.” Thanksgiving can’t come soon enough. I’m itching to get on my four-wheeler and do some riding. Some people like to vacation at the beach, others love the mountains or even a touristy town. My crew and I like to get dirty.

“We’ll be there soon enough, man. Hell, we spent damn near a week there during the Labor Day holiday last month.” True, but I’d ride every weekend if I could. It’s a hobby I’ll never tire of. If I didn’t love my job so much, I’d probably be jealous of Brian Fisher from Fisher’s ATV World. That man has one cool ass job.

I finish off the remains of my coffee then start another round. It seems to be helping my head, so why stop? After another cup starts to brew I turn back around and brace my back against the only non-disgusting counter surface I can locate. I decide to change the subject. “So where’s Tara? It’s not like her to let this type of disaster go on.” Yeah, disaster is the right word for the disarray that is my house right now.

He doesn’t answer my question, but a scowl does display across his face for a brief moment before he huffs out a breath. “Don’t you think you were a little rough on her last night?”