Black Lies(37)

It wasn’t my neighborhood. But it was less than a mile from where we met. Two blocks from the bar where he f*cked me in the bathroom. I shrugged. “Visiting a friend.” Stalking you.

“Still that rich dick’s bitch?” His eyes didn’t leave my face when he said the crude words. They rolled off his tongue like f*cking marbles, smooth and glib, the heat of his gaze making my * pant in anticipation. God, I wanted him. His stance, legs slightly spread, full masculinity on display, the strength of his body showcased in the tight shirt and worn jeans, work boots on his feet.

“Yep.” I stepped closer, my heels crunching on the gravel, and his dominant stare finally left my eyes, dropping to my feet and dragging up the length of my legs, a smirk coming over his mouth. “Still want to f*ck the rich dick’s bitch?”

His smile stopped and he jerked a hand forward, hooked his large palm around my waist and pulled me forward, my feet stumbling, but then I was flush against him, his back against the truck, his mouth hard as he kissed me deeply enough for me to taste beer on his tongue. My hands tangled in his shirt, prodding, feeling, his mouth hissing against my tongue when I ran my hands down and gripped the crotch of his jeans. “God, you are one f*cked up woman.” He pushed a hand over mine, let me feel his erection, the push against his jeans, my fingers outlining it, and I squeezed, savoring the feel of him.

“Step back,” he muttered, pulling his mouth off mine, his head dropping back as he pulled my hand away, dropped it, and suddenly, the connection was broken. “Fuck,” he swore, rubbing a hand over his mouth, looking up at me over his hand, those eyes tugging at my soul with one wary glance. I stepped back, feeling his desire for separation, unsure of what was causing the change. “Fuck,” he repeated. “You are crazy.”

I met his gaze. Said nothing. My body was still crying out for more. More. More. It wasn’t like this with Brant. I didn’t know why it is so different, didn’t understand it, but regardless of the reason, my sexual connection with this man was so much stronger. He had to feel it. His eyes said he did. His eyes were steady as he chewed on his thumb. Thought.

“I have a girlfriend,” he said the words as if they were dirty, and dropped his hand, rose to his full height and lifted his chin. “Is that a problem?”

Yeah. A big f*cking one. I tried not to let my face show the war of emotions that were throwing a panic party in the front living room of my head. “No,” I whispered the words. Any louder and he’d hear the lie in them.

He yanked open the door to his truck. Stood there for a minute, his body blocking the entrance to the cab, my mind playing catch-up, desperately wanting to know what was about to occur. “It’s a problem for me. See ya Lucky.” He sneered the last word, as if I was anything but, the tone a slap in my face. I was still standing there, heels askew on gravel, my face red, panties damp, when he floored the gas and left me there, in the hardware store parking lot. Alone. His head didn’t turn, didn’t look at me when he drove past. He just left. Probably to go to her. My hands curled into fists.





Brant didn’t come home that night. I used my key to let myself in his house, telling myself I was staying there to surprise him with breakfast, not because I wanted him to hold me all night and reassure me that I was loved. Instead, I spent the night alone in his bed, hugging a body pillow and trying not to let my mind wander. Lee dominated my thoughts. He had a girlfriend. One he had left me in the parking lot for. One that he probably f*cked half the night. I closed my eyes, pulled the blanket tighter, and wished it was Brant’s arm. I fell asleep in his empty bed and didn’t wake until noon.





Chapter 26


Brant

When you really love someone, you cannot walk away. No matter what they do. No matter the lies from their mouth, or the actions from their bodies, you tie yourself tightly to their sail and vow to be there through thick and thin. Let the wind blow you where it may. Even if that place is a crash. Even if that place tears you apart and kills anything good.





Chapter 27


“The girl’s name is Molly Jenkins. She’s a med student at UCLA. Dean’s List there, was a scholarship athlete until she damaged her ACL.”

“What sport?” I flipped through the folder, image after image of buoyant blonde making me grit my teeth. The girl was prettier than me. Younger. Perkier. With what appeared to be D cups. Was this what Lee liked?