Sins of the Flesh (Exposed Series Book 1) (2 page)

Judy swallowed and made a face like she’d thrown up in her mouth
a little. “Are you serious?” 

“Completely,” I said. “It’s about time something good came out
of you opening your mouths in each other’s presence. Am I right?”

Judy shook her head, grabbed her purse off the floor, and stood
up.

I rose from my seat with her and looked back and forth between
the two of them. “Do you think you can at least give that a try, Thomas? I think
a little tenderness, albeit calculated, is just what you need.”

Thomas shrugged and peeled himself off the couch. “Sure.”

Judy pinched her mouth like she was trying to keep something
foul from escaping it so I opened the door for them and stepped out of her way.

“I’ll see you in two weeks,” I said, patting Thomas on the back
as he passed.

When they reached the elevator, I closed the door, sunk into the
chair behind my desk, and turned my thoughts to my plans for the evening.

I would pick up a nice bottle of wine on the way home. Then, I
would spend a relaxing Friday night on the couch eating take out and watching
TLC with Snarls curled up beside me. Just like I did last weekend.

But as I reached for my keys, a scratchy fit of tickles
overwhelmed my throat and I suffered a coughing fit so intense it made my eyes
water. And as I blinked the tears away, I realized a change of plans was in
order.

The palm of my hand was spattered with blood.

While I waited for the garage door to open, I drenched my
fingers in hand sanitizer and cracked the windows. Then I stuffed my cigarettes
to the bottom of my backpack.

Just as I expected, my Mom was hovering by the mudroom door
pretending to sort laundry when I walked in the house. Well, she was probably
really sorting laundry, but the woman’s always got some kind of ulterior
motive.

If she would just ask me, I’d tell her what her real problems
are. But she seems to think catching me smelling of cigarettes is priority
number one. And while I know I shouldn’t be smoking, maybe I could cut down if
she wasn’t always stressing me out.

Sure enough, before I even had my shoes off, she was wrinkling
her nose and sniffing the air. I feigned ignorance just to see how exaggerated
her facial expressions would become.

“Have you been smoking?” she asked, putting her hands on her
hips.

“Smoking?”

“You stink like my sister.”

I could tell by her face that she was taking it really
personally.

“I can’t believe you’re smoking. You know if you get caught
you’ll get kicked off the team.”

I sighed. If there was one thing I wasn’t worried about, it was
getting kicked off the lacrosse team. It was my senior year, and I was the
second highest point scorer. Plus, I’m not an idiot. I would never smoke
anywhere near school.

“It wasn’t me,” I said. “You know I don’t smoke.”

“Don’t lie to me. I can smell it on you.” Her eyes started to do
that bulgy thing where all the white begins to show.

I just stared at her, admitting nothing.

“Don’t tell me you’re still letting Annie smoke in the car?”

I pursed my lips.

“Are you serious, Kate?! Does she really not respect you enough
to not smoke in the car?!”

It pained me to throw my best friend under the bus, but Annie
always reeked like cigarettes and didn’t try to hide it. So she was a natural
scapegoat.

Besides, it wasn’t me she had no respect for. It was rules and
authority figures. Like my parents. And The Man.

She was also suspicious of any music recorded after 1979, people
who thought poems always had to rhyme, and anyone who didn’t use credit unions.

Unlike my Mother, I found her quirks and convictions refreshing.

“Can I go now? I have a lot of homework.”

“Unbelievable,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m going to have a
word with her next time she’s here.”

“I understand,” I said. Then I turned and headed upstairs.

I would’ve made a mental note not to bring Annie around, but
that wasn’t necessary. Annie didn’t like coming to my house anyway. Probably
because my Mom was always sniffing around her like an overly ambitious mall
cop.

Once, she even told Annie not to say
like
so much.
Obviously, Annie didn’t appreciate being told how to speak, especially since
she wasn’t even talking to my Mom at the time. Plus, at her house, as long as
we didn’t drink and drive and we only smoked outside, Annie’s parents were just
glad to know we were safe.

Of course, I know my Mom means well, but if she would just
loosen up a little, we might actually get along from time to time.
Unfortunately, I’m starting to think that’s never going to happen.

To be honest, I think I must have been switched at birth. Like
somewhere there’s a conservative girl my age with no personality and an allergy
to alcohol. And she feels like she’s in Hell because her parents are rock stars
who can’t figure out why she doesn’t love going on tour and getting drunk.

And I can’t do anything about it. It’s not like I can tell my
Mom my theory. It would break her heart.

One time when I was little, I got pissed at her. I don’t
remember why, just that we were in Target. Anyway, I started yelling “You’re
not my Mommy! Stranger danger! I don’t know you!” And other stuff like that. Apparently
her feelings were hurt for weeks afterwards. Weeks!

Then a few months ago, I stayed out all night without calling,
and she totally flipped out when I got home. We ended up getting in a huge
fight that ended when I told her I hated her guts. She burst into tears and
went running into my Dad’s arms.

Fortunately, he made it all better by telling her whatever she
needed to hear. Probably that I'm just a hormonal teenager and that I didn’t
really mean to hurt her feelings or be inconsiderate. Which is the truth.

But sometimes I’m just so angry I don’t even recognize myself.

Of course, she still tells me she loves me sometimes. But I wish
she wouldn’t. I don’t deserve it.

I bet she’d stop if she knew how screwed up I am. But she doesn’t
have a clue. Probably because I’ve gotten so good at hiding my vices behind my straight
A’s and my varsity uniform.  

I don’t think it helps that my brother is a freaking golden
child. Like he would’ve been a brilliant Nazi. Not that Chris is into ethnic
cleansing or has it in him to kill anyone because he definitely doesn’t. But
he’s awesome at following orders and rules without question.

For example, I thought the best thing about having a brother was
that someone would always be on my side, but he’s never done anything but let
me down. Like I thought as soon as he got old enough, he would help me protest
unjust bedtimes and unnecessary strictness. But instead he always loved
sleeping, loved being sent to bed, and loved getting tucked in so tight he
couldn’t move his arms. He even loved to eat his vegetables as long as they
arrived by a fork making an airplane noise. Pathetic.

For a long time, I thought he was brain damaged. But last year
he had the highest grade point average in the entire freshman class and played
lead trumpet in the marching band.

To make matters worse, he’s been dating the same girl for the
last three years. She’s okay. Totally inoffensive. Like sugary cereal. Sweet, but
nauseating after a while.

Then again, maybe I’m just bitter because nobody has ever looked
at me the way Chris and his girlfriend look at each other.

But romance aside, these days I’d settle for a confidante,
someone I could trust.

I used to be able to talk to my Dad. We were pretty tight back
in the day. Unfortunately, when I was in sixth grade a girl at school told me I
was too old to hug him or sit on his lap. She said if I did, he would get a
boner.

I never thought it was true, but I distanced myself just in case.
I thought I was doing what was best for both of us, but now I hate that bitch
for messing with me when I was so naive.

Not that it matters now. He always takes my Mom’s side lately anyway,
especially since things got so strained between us. I think he thinks I’m a
bully, but I’m not. I’m just trying to be hard enough that I can keep other’s
from bullying me first.

I mean, I hope someday I can lighten up. Cause it’s exhausting
to be so tough all the time.

But weakness doesn’t get you anywhere in high school. It just
makes you a target.

And that’s the last thing I need.

My leather pants still fit like a glove.

I caught a cab to the club and entered through the side door in
the alley. The doorman didn’t even flinch.

I never thought I’d see the inside of that place again, but I
needed a distraction. I needed something to take my mind off my doctor’s
appointment earlier, something to keep reality from sinking in.

I walked down a narrow hallway that smelled like stale beer and
knocked on a black painted door.

“Yep.”

Mick was drinking whiskey and tuning his guitar on a tattered
couch when I poked my head in.

“Dirty Dawn, babe! How are you?” He put his guitar to the side
and stood up. “God you look fantastic.”

“Thanks, Mick,” I said. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

He gave me a big hug, squeezing me just a little too tight. But
when he pulled away, I was sad it was over.

“What has it been- ten years?” he asked.

“Who’s counting?” I looked around the dressing room. It wasn’t
Mick’s. It was just his for the night. Clothes hung from the mirrors and the
busted speakers stacked around the perimeter. Everything except the cases of
beer at the back of the stuffy room was piled with junk. 

“I knew I could count on you,” he said. “I owe you big for
this.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Where’s the rest of the band?”

“Went to pick up food.”

I laughed.

“I know.” He smiled. “Back in the day it would’ve been drugs,
right?”

Besides a few more wrinkles he was as handsome as he’d always
been. I used think if he weren’t in a band, he could’ve worked as a Dennis
Quaid impersonator.

“Whiskey?” he asked.

“Please,” I said, sitting on the couch beside him. I watched him
pour. “You’re still on the Jack?”

He offered a cheeky smile. “My first true love.” He laughed and
passed me the glass. “Besides you, of course.”

I rolled my eyes. “You had at least fifty true loves before me.”

“Actually, you were 42
^nd
by my count, but you gotta
make every girl believe she’s number one, right?”

“If you say so.”

He held his glass up to mine. “42
^nd
best summer of my
life.”

I clinked his glass and laughed. “That’s not even possible.”

“Summer is a state of mind.”

I flinched.

“You remember you used to say that?”

“That was a long time ago,” I said. “I used to do a lot of
hippie shit back then that I don’t do anymore.”

“Nonsense,” he said. “You’ll always be Dirty Dawn to me.” He
gave me a filthy wink that made me feel like a teenager again.

I shook my head. I couldn’t believe his blue eyes could still
pinch me on the inside like that. I'd almost forgotten what it felt like to
have a man’s full attention. Or rather, the attention of a man who wasn’t
paying me to listen to his problems.

“I’m glad to see you haven’t changed.”

“Neither have you,” he said.

I crossed my legs.

“I’m glad you could come. Shelly’s sick so she can’t help us out
tonight.”

Sick. The word made my throat close up. I swallowed. “You’re
still singing with Shelly?”

“She married Dave.”

“She didn’t!”

“Let’s just say the band isn’t as edgy as it used to be.” He
pushed some hair out of his eyes, revealing the same red bandana he’d been
wearing at gigs since I met him. “A lot of the guys have kids. Wives.
Mortgages.”

“Real life will sneak up on you like that.”

He sighed. “I’d go crazy if we couldn’t do live shows, though.
Really I would.”

“And what about you Mick? You settled down?”

“Never settle. That’s what I say.”

“Still living on your own terms then?”

“I’m afraid so. You?” he asked, topping up his glass. “You still
partying every night and breaking hearts like they were cheap shot glasses?”

“I would never-”

“Bullshit. You used to put the rest of us to shame with your
wild ways. I couldn’t believe you got my message the other day. I bet the guys
you were either dating a billionaire and sleeping on pillows stuffed with pure
cocaine or a Madame running your own brothel in Amsterdam.”