More Than Lies (4 page)

As my bare feet stomp down each wooden step, the pounding inside my skull intensifies. Why, oh, why did I take those shots at the bar followed by whatever it was I poured down my throat when I got home last night? I knew I had to be up at the ass crack of dawn. I don’t think I’ve seen daylight this early in the morning since I was in high school. I hated it then, too.

I round the bottom of the staircase and then head toward the kitchen. Pausing, I do a double take as I notice bodies sprawled out on every surface of the living room. Shaking my head from side to side, I attempt to wake up a little more, but I only end up intensifying the throbbing pain more than it initially was.

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. It’s the joy of one of my roommates being a clean freak.

Trust me when I say, I’m not oblivious to everything Tara does around here. We are all spoiled, 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 ruins I find my kitchen in. 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 to the right at the small circular dining table, reading a car magazine and sipping his own cup of joe. After opening the cabinet directly above the Keurig and not finding one damn coffee mug, I peer into the sink, 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 make a motion to open the dishwasher. 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. If it weren’t for the faint aroma of Folgers from Mason making his own coffee 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?” 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 Mason’s 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 reschedule them to your next opening?” 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 thick as thieves 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 in a tattoo studio here in Oxford.

I’m a tattoo artist.

I apprenticed under a guy in my hometown all through high school. 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 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. Although, looking back I probably should have stuck it through since I’m considering buying the business I’m employed at.

“Sure, I could’ve. 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, the mountains or even a touristy town. My crew and me 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?”

What is he talking about it? What have I done this time?

I think about it for a minute, recalling anything I did or might have said to Miss Sensitive when I got home last night. “You’re going to need to elaborate. I didn’t do or say anything unusual to her that I can think of.” Sure, I was messing with her about the joke of a man she went on a date with, but that’s what I do. I give Tara a hard time. I always have and I probably always will. Besides, that douche isn’t worth her time. I’m not stupid, I know the date was a set up and made mandatory by Tara’s mother. Tara does everything to make that bitch happy and never succeeds. I don’t understand why she still tries.

“Dude, come on. You embarrassed the hell out of her.” Mason lifts the lid of a pizza box that’s piled on top of more pizza boxes on the table. Taking apiece out, he shoves a hearty slice into his mouth. That’s disgusting. Not left over pizza, but left over pizza that’s been sitting out for about twelve hours.

“Man, I barely remember driving my drunk-ass home last night.” Usually I’m not that dumb, but last night I wasn’t thinking with a clear head. I had to get out of the bar before I made the mistake of fucking the one chick I’ll never touch with a ten-foot pole, ever again.

“Bro, you waltz in here,” Mason gesture around the kitchen with his hand before dropping it back down to his side. “Sized up her date and proceeded to ask Taralynn if she and Princeton planned on going up stairs for some good old boring missionary. And that’s an exact quote. I don’t even think the guys name is Princeton.” I cringe momentarily wondering how Mason knows I said that to her. Yeah, I remember saying it, but I whispered it in her ear. Tara tells Mason a lot so maybe she told him later on, but then I remember she stalked off to her bedroom leaving her date to fend for himself. That was not very Tara-like.

“What, did she come crying to you about it?” Tara and I aren’t exactly friends, but we aren’t enemies either. Her brother, Trent and my brother, Shane are best friends, so Tara’s been a part of my life for a long time. We went to the same school and graduated together. In all honesty, Tara is the only reason I graduated at all. It’s weird really. She was always a part of my small little group in some way. Maybe because Matt, my other roommate and Tara’s best friend, is good friends with Mason. And I’m pretty damn sure my parents love Tara more than her own folks do. You see, I lucked out in the parent category whereas Tara did not.

“That would be a negative. I heard the question loud and clear. Pretty sure people in the other room heard you over the music. You’re a dick, dude.”

Shit. I’m going to have to make that up to her if I plan on eating descent food tomorrow night. Like I mentioned, Tara is a damn good cook. She cooks two big meals a week and we eat off the left overs during the weekdays.

“Dude, I was fucking with her. I didn’t mean it.” Mason doesn’t reply as the sound of the front door slamming shut catches our attention. Seconds later a disheveled Tara walks in. My eyes immediately take in the same purple dress she was wearing last night. Her blonde hair, which normally reminds me of honeysuckles in the spring, is a mess. Taralynn Evans doesn’t do mess.

I turn away from her to grab my coffee and shove a spoon full of sugar in it. I know she didn’t leave with the douche prick she brought home last night. I remember he left with one of Amanda’s friends about an hour after Tara went to bed. At least I thought she went to bed. So where on earth did she go? I take in a deep breath of air, pulling oxygen into my lungs, and then force my irritation out along with the air.

I turn back around only to have my fresh cup of coffee removed from my hand. “I need this more than you.” Tara glares at me as she and my coffee walk off toward the fridge. Moments later she is pouring in cold creamer and I’m standing there stunned. Mason laughs.

“Piss off, Mase.” Tara turns her glare away from me as she takes a sip of my now cooled off coffee and leans against the granite island countertop in the middle of the kitchen. “Ouch,” she draws up, removing her ass from where it was touching. Mason laughs harder. I’m eying them both, wondering what the joke is.

“What’s wrong with your ass, Taralynn?” His question is laced with the amusement only Mason Morgan finds at other peoples physical pain. I won’t lie though, because, I too, am interested in that answer.

“Leave me alone, Mason. I’m going to bed. I’m tired.” Tara starts to walk off, but before she exits, Mason chimes in again.

“Stop. I have a serious question.” She turns around. “Really.” He’s smiling, which tells me he’s not serious. Mason is never serious. He’s messing with her too, yet I’m the only one that ever gets faulted for it. Her eyebrows push up. She’s waiting for him to continue. “Does Jared use his hand or a belt when he spanks that ass?”

What. The. Fuck.

I cut my eyes to Mason and then back to Tara. She huffs out air through her mouth then walks out without a reply.

I did not hear that correctly. There is no way in hell Tara is dating Jared.

“My bets on his hand. Jared’s always been a hands-on type of guy. Wouldn’t you agree, Shawn?” My head rolls back over in his direction. He’s smirking and I want to punch him in the mouth.

“Are you telling me that Tara is seeing that loser?”

“I wouldn’t say, ‘seeing’ but I guess it all depends on how you defined that term. Hooking up on occasion? Yes. Dating? Certainly not. After all, Taralynn is and has always been hopelessly in love with your stupid ass.” That last sentence came out flat. His carefree and playful tone, gone.

So that scene was for my benefit. Yes, I’m fully aware of the way Tara feels about me. I’m not blind nor have I ever been. Tara wears her feelings and heart out in the open for everyone to see. Does that mean I’m going to let her make the mistake of sleeping with me? No. I’m a selfish bastard sure, but I’m not heartless. The sweetness that is the essence of Taralynn couldn’t handle me.

Without acknowledging Mason, as he chants, spank that ass…spank that ass…I leave, stalking off upstairs to take a scalding hot shower. There is a pair of long tan legs that I need to forget about seeing this morning because the same pair nearly killed me last night. The only way to forget is to replace another image.

Every dress she owns should be burned.

Today was brutal.

The longest day of my life!

I’m never missing another day of work; I don’t care if I have the mother loving flu. I barely had a chance to scarf down a bite to eat. One of my appointments ran much longer than I anticipated, pushing every other appointment that followed back two hours. Had my mind been clear and focused I would have realized before I starting working on the chick that she didn’t possess the endurance needed for the tattoo process.

I have one rule. If I think the person is unsure, can’t handle the process, or isn’t ready, then I will not tattoo them. I don’t care if they waited seven weeks just to have me do a piece on their body. I won’t be someone’s regret, ever. A tattoo is a commitment for life. You need to be damn sure it’s something you plan on sporting around when you’re ninety.

The girl from earlier today, my two o’clock appointment, not only wasn’t ready, but her pain tolerance was lower than low. I’ve inked a ton of pansies before, but today took the cake. Had my mind not been clouded with a certain blonde that’s been a thorn in my spine since I was five years old, then I would have realized this before I was ten percent into the outline. The start of a good tattoo is much worse than a finished colossal fuck up. I had no choice but to make the girl continue on. Pretty sure she hates me more than the devil himself after today.