WITH THIS LIE: A NOVEL

by Savage, Kat

  I like watching her walk away almost as much as I like her laugh. I start to look around at the other people at the bar so as not to just stare at her like a creep. This place has a relaxed atmosphere. The crowd is calm but lively, fun. I feel my phone buzz in my pocket.

  Chelsea: It doesn’t have to be like this.

  Chelsea: Won’t you at least think about it?

  Chelsea: Lucas please…

  I can’t do this with her again. I pull her contact up and block her number. It’s better this way. She needs to let go.

  I turn back to my beer and take a few sips and watch Dani work. She smiles at the patrons and pats their arms. All very customer service appropriate. They seem to really respond to her. I wonder how long she’s been working here and tell myself to ask later.

  She grabs food from the side and skips my way. “Here you go, hungry man,” she says, smiling and sitting my plates down in front of me.

  I rub my hands together and lick my lips to match her playfulness. “Stand back, Dani, this may impress you,” I say, and smirk at her.

  She nods her head. “I think we have two very different ideas of what’s impressive in the opposite sex.” She giggles.

  She’s probably right. I don’t know why men pride themselves on how gluttonous they can be. And I don’t know why we think others should be impressed by it. Still, I’m going to tackle this and tackle it good.

  I make easy work of my food while she serves her other patrons. She looks my way and I lean back to rub my belly and gesture at the empty plates.

  She comes to collect them. “Come on, it’s time for my last break,” she says.

  I follow her out to the alley behind the bar where she leans against the brick building and sighs. I watch her shoulders slump.

  “Rough night?” I ask.

  “Not particularly. It’s all the same. Sometimes I just feel like I’ve been holding my breath all night and when I get out here, I can finally exhale,” she says.

  I understand and nod. “It’s so quiet out here on this side. Hard to believe the hustle going on inside and on the other side of this building.”

  “Right? I never understood it either, but I look down this alley and there’s hardly ever anything going on, almost no movement. I could swear I was somewhere else entirely,” she says.

  I take a look down the narrow alley road. A few trash cans and back doors to places but no one is parked back here. It really is quite ominous. “So you’re not scared being back here all alone when you don’t have the likes of me to come with you?” I ask.

  “The likes of you? What are you, the defender of women who are all alone?” she asks.

  “Well sometimes. Sometimes I’m sure they don’t need me,” I say.

  “I fall into that second category, if we are categorizing,” she says.

  “I don’t know, I don’t really like categorizing. I prefer to let people be who they are and try not to compare them to others,” I say.

  “Same,” she says. “Oh hey, I have something for you. I was going to wait until later to give it to you, but I think maybe you should do it while I finish up in there. Stay out here where it’s nice and quiet and give it a real effort, okay?”

  “Um, okay? What is it?” I ask, apprehensively.

  She pulls her phone out and asks me for my number.

  I give it to her and take my phone out.

  “Okay, it’s sent. Here, you will need these,” she says, reaching into her pocket and handing me a set of earbuds.

  I eye them quizzically and take them from her. My fingertips graze the skin on the back of her hand and I hear her inhale. I wasn’t expecting that either.

  “What’s going on here?” I ask with a furrowed brow.

  “I just can’t accept that you don’t like music. I’ve compiled a playlist of some really great stuff from a bunch of genres and I want you to listen and see what speaks to you. Just sit down on this stoop and I’ll be back,” she says, opening the door to step back into the bar.

  I nod in agreement and decide to take her assignment seriously. I do just what she asked me to do and park myself on the stairs to unroll the earbuds. I plug them into my phone and bring up her message. She sent me the link to the playlist. I push play and concentrate. The first song is definitely a country song, I think. He’s got a smoky voice. The lyrics are good. This song is moody and sad. I take a look at the screen. “Hurt” by Johnny Cash. This isn’t so bad.

  The next song comes on. It’s completely different from the first. A woman’s sultry voice is in my ears. It’s raspy and beautiful and she sounds like she could run the world if she wanted. The beat is infectious. I look at the screen to see “You Should See Me in a Crown” by Billie Eillish. I’ve heard of Cash but never this woman. I like her a lot. I could listen to more of her. The next song comes on. It’s folksy, slow, and haunting. Gregory Alan Isokov singing “If I Go, I’m Goin’”. It’s actually really lovely.

  I listen to each song exactly as she’s ordered them in her list. I think about how she sat and did this for me. Such a simple but meaningful gesture. I think about what must have made her pick these songs. Why these songs? Before I realize, it’s ten songs later and I’m smiling and she’s tapping me on the shoulder. I whirl around and she’s smiling too. Wow.

  “So, what do you think?” she asks.

  “Wow,” is all I can manage.

  “Does that mean you found something you like?” she asks, her face brightening at the possibility.

  “Yeah, a few actually. Most of them, if I’m being honest,” I tell her.

  She hops up and down on her toes and she’s pleased with herself. “Ready to go?”

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  “Not far, if it’s okay with you.”

  I don’t understand what she means but I follow her as she steps out onto the sidewalk in front of the bar and turns right. She walks quietly until she stops in front of a red door not far from the bar and I look around in confusion.

  “Um, this is my place. I know we can’t go to yours and I thought maybe we could take a walk or something but honestly, I’ve been on my feet all night and I’d like to just be able to sit comfortably and talk. If that’s okay with you?” she says.

  I get the impression she doesn’t usually open her own place up to people. She seems hesitant and even a little vulnerable. I have so many questions for her.

  “I think that would be really great,” I say, tucking my hands into my front pockets.

  She smiles and takes her keys out.

  Do not have sex with her. Do not have sex with her. Not yet. Don’t do it. I will try really hard to be good, to be gentlemanly. I will try really hard to be more than I am.

  10

  Mark

  That’s where the bitch lives?! Fucking two doors over? What the fuck?

  I watch intently from a shadowed area across the road. I can only tell it’s her from her blonde hair until I look down. I’d know that ass anywhere. Who the fuck is that with her? I can barely see the guy and his back is toward me almost the entire time. I can’t see shit from here. Since when does a bitch blow me off and then take some dude home? She never even took me to her place. She said it was a rule. What the hell?

  I watch them walk up the stairs and pause as she opens the door. They go in and I wait, looking at the windows. A few seconds later, the lights in a third-floor apartment come on and I know that one is hers.

  She’ll pay for this. I don’t get like this. She’ll pay for sacking me in the groin. I iced my junk for half an hour before I could move. Fucking bitch. I sit there, staring at the lights on in the window. They’re probably fucking by now. That’s all she’s good for anyway. I take a shot from my flask and stick it back in my pocket.

  I have to wait for a better time. I can’t do anything now. I had it all planned out and this asshole ruined it. But the time will come. I’ll get her alone again. I can be a patient man.

  I’ll get her.

  11
<
br />   Dani

  I flip the light on in the living room and immediately start taking my shoes off. My feet are killing me. I turn back to the door and Lucas is still standing right next to it.

  “Come in, silly. Make yourself comfortable,” I say.

  He relaxes his shoulders a bit and starts looking around. “This is a really nice place.”

  “Why thank you, I appreciate that,” I say. “I’m just going to go change really quick. I smell like beer and grease.” I walk back through the short hallway to my bedroom while he probably begins snooping in the living room. Let’s face it, that’s what we do when we are in someone’s place for the first time. Although, I don’t usually let people in here. He doesn’t seem like the crazy type though, so I hope I won’t regret it later.

  I peel out of my work clothes and grab some leggings and a slouchy off-the-shoulder t-shirt. This is cute enough and comfortable enough. I walk back out into the living room and Lucas is standing in front of my bookshelf.

  “Find anything good?” I ask.

  “Who’s this?” he asks, pointing at the single framed photo on the whole shelf, which means I don’t even have to look to answer.

  “My mother,” I say.

  “She’s very beautiful,” he says.

  “Yes, she was.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” he replies.

  “Would you like some wine or something?” I ask, making a very blatant attempt to change the subject.

  I think he senses my reluctance to talk about her as he nods. He walks over to the couch and sits down. I take two glasses from the cabinet and grab the open bottle of wine from the counter and head into the living room to join him.

  “So how long have you worked downstairs?” Lucas asks.

  “Just a couple of years,” I say. “I worked at a place across town before that and it was a pain in the ass so downstairs is a lot more convenient.”

  “Commuting can be a bitch,” he says.

  “Well, I don’t have a car, so it was a little worse than that,” I say.

  “Why not?” he asks.

  I pour two glasses of wine and sit the bottle back down. “I guess I just never needed one. I’ve always lived in the city. I live and work close. Everything I need is close. I don’t like traffic. I prefer walking anyway. I guess I just don’t see a point.”

  “So, do you have a license? Like have you ever driven?” he asks, his curiosity growing just like anyone else who’s ever asked.

  “Of course I do and of course I have.” I hand him his glass and sit back with mine, crossing my legs in front of me and twisting my body toward him on the couch.

  “Interesting,” he says, sitting back and taking a sip from his glass.

  “Most people do find it interesting, actually,” I say. “Not that I understand.” I take a second sip from my glass as it falls quiet.

  “How long have you done this?” Lucas asks.

  I know what he means. “I guess all my adult life. I didn’t date in high school. A few too many personal issues at the time to deal with that,” I say. “How long have you done this?”

  “Pretty much the entire length of the marriage. So, eight years or so. I wasn’t too pristine before that either. I guess I’m just restless. Maybe I wasn’t meant to settle down,” he says.

  I take in what he says, the honesty of it. “Do you think you’ll stop?” I ask.

  “Maybe. I mean I hope so,” he says.

  “Why do you snap a rubber band on your wrist?” I ask.

  “It’s something to help with my anxiety and thoughts. Believe it or not, I have a lot of negative thoughts about myself. The rubber band is my way of trying to replace at least some of them with some other action. To keep control. I also tend to snap it when I’m nervous,” he says.

  I nod my head, understanding in this moment that perhaps Lucas is maybe a little more sensitive than first perceived. “What’s your favorite color?” I ask.

  “Do you have question Tourette’s?” he asks.

  “Maybe.”

  “I like green,” he says. “You?”

  “I like gray. Gray is my identity. I’m just a gray area,” I say.

  “I don’t think you’re gray, but I will take your word for it,” he says.

  “What color am I then?” I ask.

  “I don’t know yet. I’ll tell you when I figure it out.” He smiles.

  We spend the next hour or so like this, exchanging both meaningful and meaningless questions and answers. It’s nice to sit and talk with someone like this. I don’t do a lot of it, especially with someone of the opposite sex. I keep those interactions either business or sexual in most cases.

  “What was your childhood like?” he asks.

  I don’t really like this question. I don’t want to answer it. But I don’t want to lie either. “Um, it wasn’t great. It wasn’t terrible either. Just normal, I guess. What about yours?” I ask. That wasn’t the entire truth, but no one wants to hear about foster care and a hooker mother.

  “Well, my mother remarried after my biological father died and they had another son, my half-brother. It was okay, I guess. My mother was happy so I tried to be happy, but my stepdad wasn’t a very nice man, at least not to me. My brother was a chip off the old block. We never really got along. My mother died a couple of years ago. And since then, I’ve been trying to smooth things over with my brother since he’s my only family left really. Some drama went down between the two of us a long time ago and we really haven’t spoken since,” he says.

  “What kind of drama?” I ask.

  “The kind of drama you save to talk about on a third or fourth date,” he says, grinning at me.

  I smile back. He does make me smile a lot. He makes it easy. “Can I ask you one last question?” I ask.

  “Of course,” he says.

  “Do you want to kiss me?” I ask.

  “Of course,” he says again.

  I lean up to sit my glass down on the coffee table and tuck my hair behind my ear. I turn back to him, sitting up a bit. “What are you waiting for?” I ask.

  He bites his bottom lip and his eyes run over my neck and jaw and mouth. I like the way he looks at me. He makes me uneasy. Not many have been able to do that.

  He sits forward a bit and puts his own wine glass down. “I was waiting for permission,” he says, his voice lower now, deliberate.

  “You need me to say it?” I ask, my own breath getting heavy.

  He leans in closer and I feel my heart starting to race. He lifts his hand up and caresses my jaw. He runs the tip of his thumb over my bottom lip and I close my eyes.

  “I don’t need you to say it, but I want you to,” he says, his words almost a whisper into my hair. I inhale sharply.

  “Kiss me,” I say, eyes still closed.

  And then I feel his lips pressing against mine, mouth parted. I feel the tip of his tongue meet mine. His hand moves back into my hair as he pulls me into him, into this kiss that travels down my sternum, bolts through my stomach, and causes the center of me to quiver.

  It might have lasted ten seconds or ten minutes, I’m not sure, but as he pulls back, I find myself lusting for more. I take a breath and open my eyes to find him gazing at me, lids heavy, but a wild look in his eyes that is unmistakable. He looks hungry again. Hungry for me. I’m sure I have the same look on my face.

  “Damn,” he says, exhaling, a smile spreading over his lips.

  And I agree. Damn. I run my hand through my hair as if that somehow helps me gain my composure. “Agreed,” is all I can manage.

  Our eyes meet again and the next thing I know, I find myself crossing the short distance between us and throwing my leg over to the other side of him. I sit on his lap, straddling him and pushing him back into the couch with my body. He wraps his arms around my waist and rests his hands on my lower back. My mouth meets his again, open and wanting. I run my fingers over his chest and up his neck and into the hair at the nape of his neck. I nibble his lip and he breathes i
n, his hands moving to my hips, his thumbs pressing into my hip bones. I am in a haze, drunk off him.

  I realize a few minutes in that we are actually making out like a couple of teenagers and I giggle and pull away.

  “What so funny?” he asks, puzzled.

  “We are making out like a couple of teenagers,” I say, giggling again.

  “Well, I was really enjoying it,” he says.

  “Oh, me too,” I say, still straddling him, still close to him. Our hands are still all over each other and our eyes meet again. I wonder if he’s wondering the same thing I am.

  “What now?” he asks, and I know he is.

  I knew we are both wondering if we should stop now or let this happen. In the past, there was no question I would already be sleeping with the guy. After all, that’s what these types of things are all about. And this feels right, it feels good. But do I want this to be like the others? It feels different somehow. We talk so much. I don’t normally do that.

  I reach up and run my fingers over the scruff on his chin, staring at him for a few moments. “What do you want to do?” I ask, wanting to hear it.

  “Do you need me to say it?” he asks, grinning, repeating the words I said earlier.

  I return the favor. “I don’t need you to say it, but I want to hear it.”

  “I want to make you feel good,” he says.

  I inhale and bite my lip, considering his words. “So, make me feel good, Lucas,” I say, whispering my words against his neck and nibbling.

  I feel his hands beneath me, lifting me up from him. He stands up and wraps my legs around him. He kisses my mouth and begins walking toward my bedroom.

  “Are you sure?” he asks.

  “Yes,” I say, exhaling.

  He pushes my door open with his foot and walks over to my bed, kissing me again before sitting me down on the edge. He looks down at me and runs his thumb over my lips again. I am aching now, and I think he knows. He gently pulls my top off over my head and it drops from his hands to the floor. I reach for him, but he stops my hands and kisses the palms of them and then puts them on either side of me. His eyes are tracing over my bare shoulders. I feel his fingers trace over my bra until he reaches the clasp and makes easy work of it. My arms let it fall and I drop it to the floor.