Black Lies (13 page)

“What’s with the tools?” I had to yell over the music, some country song about broken hearts and Texas, his hand leaving the shaky shifter to turn the dial down, the easy way his hand returned to the shift knob sexual in its dominance.

“I do landscaping. Cut, trim, edge, plant. Work with my hands.” He glanced over. “That work for you?”

“It doesn’t need to work for me.” I gripped the seatbelt. Hoped his next tight turn didn’t tumble us into the ditch. Whoever decided on pulling the doors off these vehicles needed to be shot. I wondered about the vehicle’s safety rating.

“You always such a bitch?”

I laughed. Shook my head. “No.” Brant would never call me a bitch. Didn’t use words like that. Thought of them as unintelligent, a waste of syllables when there were so many more appropriate terms.

“So I’m just lucky?”

“You’re… different,” I mused, unsure how to say all of the things I didn’t need to say.

“I’m just ordinary, Lucky. That’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

No. I thought a piece of us all yearned to be ordinary. I’d like to escape into it myself sometime.

He pulled up to a bar I had never seen, in a part of town I had never visited. The In Between—sandwiched between two larger bars that probably served food and had wait staff and a sanitation rating above a D. But we walked into the In Between, the bartender looking up with a familiar smile and greeting him by name.
Lee
. Wouldn’t have guessed that. Lee fit strange on him, would take some adjustment of my mind. Guess we missed introductions in our romantic rush to the parking lot.

The first stool I sat on wobbled badly, my discard of it and attempt at stool #2 also a failure. I accepted the failure, hooking my feet on the rungs and looking up, into the bored face of the bartender.

“Whatcha want?”

“What do you have?”

“Millers, Bud, and Pabsts.”

Super classy
. “Miller Lite please. Bottle.”

I got a draft two minutes later, the glass looking less than clean, a Solo cup more welcome, had one been available. I took a strong chug of the beer, happy to find it cold, then set it down, feeling his eyes on me. I turned my head, catching a glimpse of his smile, the glass pausing on its way back to my mouth.

His smile was my kryptonite. It was shy in the way that only a confident man can work, the slow drawl of a mouth that asked you for permission to step inside and fuck your mind.

I took another sip of beer and he watched my mouth. And even when his smile stopped, it continued in his eyes. He fucked me with those eyes. I felt them pull off my clothes and push me back, climb on top of me and make me his. I couldn’t look away; I couldn’t help but smile back. I should be confident, I should hold the cards, but instead I blushed and lost track of thought. This man, he could be the death of me. I knew that, but feared I could not stay away. It was worth losing the war for time in the battle with him.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Anyone ever tell you you’re weird?”

“In what way?”

He laughed. “Every way.” He took a heavy sip of his own, reached over, and grabbed my stool, in between my legs, his hand brushing against the crotch of my shorts as he gripped the wood and pulled it, my hands gripping the bar top for balance as he drug the stool and me toward him, stopping when I was in between his legs, his hand on my bare thigh, sliding confidently up the muscle until he reached the hem of my shorts.

“You’re pretty weird yourself.”

“You don’t know me yet.”

He was right about that. This man was a complete mystery to me. “I have a pretty good idea.”

“I’m glad one of us does.”

I stared at him, fascinated. By the way his fingers dipped under the line of my shorts, by how he was sexual and frank, yet secretive. Cocky, but with a hint of vulnerability. He showed disdain and attraction for me all at one time, and acted as if it was completely normal. But most fascinating, most tempting: all of the ways he was different from Brant. In the loose gesture of his hand, as he tipped back his head and emptied his glass. The manliness in every movement, the smell of him, one of earth and grass and sweat. Masculinity personified, and proved legitimate in how he had fucked me against the wall. Hard, invasive. For his own need more than mine. Greedy, animalistic. Marking me with his cock. He was the type of man I had always run from, but might just be the type I had always needed.

He swung back on his stool to me, looped a hand around my back and slid me to the edge of mine, taking a moment to lift one leg, then the other, until I was all but straddling him, the push of his jeans against mine maddeningly stimulating.

“Kiss me.” He pulled the glass from my hand. Set it on the counter and faced me fully. Cupped my face and stared into my eyes. Waited. I closed my eyes, exhaled. Turned my face to his.

Nothing
. I cracked an eye open to see his smile, the slight shake of an oncoming laugh.

“I didn’t say, ‘be kissed’. I said, ‘
kiss me.’
”

Anger made me yank his shirt, fisting the fabric and pulling him close, my butt working its way off the stool and onto his lap. I attacked his mouth, surprised at their meeting, surprised at how soft and supple his response was, his hands curving down my bare back and pulling me tighter to him. I loved my mouth in his, the flex of his tongue under mine. We did not feel like strangers; our mouths instinctively knew each other.

He turned in his stool, taking me with him, pinning my back against the bar as his hands kept me glued to his lap, his mouth breaking from me long enough to speak.

“You want more?” he whispered. “Cause I want to feel the inside of your mouth before I send you back to him.”

“I want more,” I gasped.

Two minutes later, we were in the bathroom.

I didn’t think places like this, bars smaller than my walk-in closet, had bathrooms. But this one did. A tiny cube, a pedestal sink screwed to the wall, condom dispenser on the wall, a drain beneath my feet. Thirty square feet, max.

The door slammed shut as my back pushed it closed, his hands forcing the action, the taste of beer on his tongue as we kissed. His hands, pulling at my shirt, yanking it over my head. A quick flip of his hands freed my bra, his hands skimming the straps off my shoulders. Our kiss hot and fevered, I pushed any rational thought from my head and enjoyed the moment, enjoyed the touch of a man who could not get enough.

He took a break from my mouth, dropping his head and staring, like he had never seen breasts before, a heavy sigh tumbling from him as he scooped them into his hands, his hold tender, his gorgeous mouth—when he dropped it to their surface—not. “God, these are beautiful.” He nibbled the delicate skin, inhaled deeply as his tongue circled my nipple, sucked one into his mouth, and devoured each in turn as my head dropped back against the door. I heard the metal of his belt, the ting of it against tile as his jeans dropped, my own hands helping to skim his shirt off his torso until he was naked before me, his head coming off my chest, his eyes, when they met mine, showing the breaking point of his control. And God, he was hard. I could see it in my peripheral vision, felt it as it bumped against me.

“Get on your knees,” he rasped.

I had no interest in getting on that floor. I’m pretty sure it hadn’t seen the scrub of a mop in months. But I had every interest in taking him in my mouth. Every interest in making his look of raw lust continue. I snagged his pants, created a pillow for my knees, and knelt down before him.

God bless. Even though I’d done this a hundred times, it felt different. Opening my mouth, wrapping my hand around the complete stiffness that was his cock, licking my lips and hearing him inhale… I had never been this wet. Never wanted this so much. Never desired a hard hand on the back of my head, an impatient shove, to look up in a man’s eyes and see disrespect and desire all rolled into one heated stare. I dove down on his cock, pumped my hand, inhaled through my nose, and took as much of him as I could, gagging at times, my mouth finding a rhythm, sucking and withdrawing, sucking and withdrawing, the groans from his mouth letting me know I was doing it well.

I sucked him until my jaw hurt and his hands yanked me up. Ripped down my shorts, the button flying somewhere, my body naked before him, his hands spinning me until we both faced the dirty mirror, our eyes wide, chests panting. Something outside bumped against the door, reminding me of our location. “Bend over,” he growled, and I did, moving my legs back until I was leaning against the sink, staring at our reflection as he looked down, wrapped his cock, tested my pussy, and then shoved inside.

I gripped the sink and tried not to scream, but ohmygod I was addicted.

We returned to the bar, two warm beers waiting, the bar twice as full as when we left, meaning that six bodies now dotted the tiny landscape. He picked up the glass, downed the drink, then pushed the empty glass forward. “Thanks for the beer.”

I raised my eyebrows. Ignored my own. Dug my cell out from my pocket and checked for missed calls. Zero. “Thank
you
for the beer.”

He waved to the bartender, a man in a tight shirt, one who gave me a smile that I was pretty sure was mocking me for our bathroom playtime. “Naw. I’m pretty sure your drinking and fucking budget is bigger than mine. I’ll be in the truck.” He swung by me, shaking a few hands and slapping backs on his way out, his stride relaxed, confident.

I looked back at the bartender, who wiped down the counter and gave me an expectant look. “He got a tab?”

“Not one he’s paid recently.” The man reached for our glasses, raised an eyebrow at my full one before dumping them both in the sink.

“Figures.” I dug in my pocket, coming up with a twenty, and smacked it down on the counter. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Always great to see one of Lee’s girls.”

I paused in my exit, turning around to glare at him. “I’m not one of his
girls
.”

The man snorted back a laugh, shrugging as he plucked up the cash, stuffing it in his front pocket. “Whatever.”

One of Lee’s girls
. I wish I’d driven. Wished I could get back into my car and return to luxury. Instead, I crawled up into his jeep. Suffered the ten-minute car ride back to the convenience store, the wind whipping my hair as his speakers crackled through the bass beats of Florida Georgia Line.

He came to an abrupt stop behind my car, his eyes sweeping over the clean lines that had put Brant back six figures. “I assume this is you, Lucky.”

“It’s Layana.” I grabbed my purse and unclipped the seatbelt, stopping when he flipped open the ashtray and fished out a business card, the edges worn and bent. “Lana to my friends.”

“I’m not crazy about that name.”

“I’m not crazy about Lee.”

“Whatever. Call me if you ever want thirds.” He grinned at me. Revved his engine as if he was ready for me to get out.

I stared at the card. Wanted to crumple it up but didn’t.
He has a business card
. The fact was both ridiculous and endearing.

I got out having no idea what to do with the card. Watched as his jeep pulled off, the trailer behind it sending a cloud of parking lot dust into my face. I got into my car, my skin dirty, my pussy taken, half of my clothes stretched out or ruined.

I pulled over three exits before home and parked in a Lowe’s lot—locked my doors, lowered my face to the steering wheel, and cried.

I walked into my house, stripping as soon as I entered the bedroom, needing the shower yet not wanting to wash off his scent. I smelled like him. Like oil and grass and dirt and sex. It was out of place in my world, in my bedroom, in my life. And I knew it didn’t make sense, but I wanted more of it and loved Brant even more after that afternoon.

He’d been so different from Brant, so outside our box. I liked the different. I wanted more of it and hated myself for it. Wanted more than I could get from Brant, more sides, more than the man who held my hand and listened to my words and proposed to me in moonlight.

I turned on the water and dreaded stepping into the shower. I put my leg up on the tub and pushed my fingers inside. Closed my eyes against the sore need there. Wanted him. If I erased him, I would need him again. I opened the door and stepped into the stream of water. Cried again as I washed every part of the day off my body.

I was slow to turn off the water, but felt the urgency. I had to get dressed. I was having dinner with Brant that night.

Lies. A mountain of them between us, the linen tablecloth too pure and small to hold them all. They tumbled down the sides, spilled around and crowded the filets before us, the melted butter catching some of them in its flame.

I had many; he had few. I was fully aware of my deceit, and I could only guess at his. We’d talked for hours in this relationship, but had said little that wasn’t, in some part, a lie.

“I heard that you’re honoring your parents at the Xavier Event.”

He nodded. Speared a piece of mushroom. “I’ve decided to name the new building in their honor.” A building. A hundred million dollar investment, their names displayed proudly on the top. A kind gesture, if it wasn’t the tenth building he’d built this decade. Three of them on BSX’s campus already bear my name, the challenge of a new employee finding his way to the right one becoming a hazing practice among veterans. Other boyfriends gave roses; Brant gave buildings. Literally gave them. My name was on the property deeds, his companies paying me a handsome sum of rent each month.