Cheater (Curious Liaisons Book 1)

by Rachel Van Dyken

I tugged at my shirt collar and cursed.

  He gave a low whistle, then poured a shot of whiskey and slid it over to me. “On the house, man.”

  “Thanks.” I tossed it back, cracked my neck, and made my way toward the laughter.

  I froze midstep when I saw my Mom reach out to hold Avery’s hand.

  Damn it, I hated memories. They never stayed put, did they? Our parents had always been close. Hell, my parents actually went to Avery’s graduation, though I stayed home and got drunk off my ass, all the while staring at her graduation announcement and picture like a wasted loser.

  “What’s so funny?” I said once I reached them.

  “Oh, our Avery.” My mother didn’t mean to claim her, did she? By proclaiming ownership of Avery, my mother would give her the wrong idea about what she meant to me, and the last thing I needed was to explain to the Blacks why I broke another one of their daughters’ hearts . . . over a simple misunderstanding. Then again, it was Avery’s fault to begin with. She was the one who had said something to Erin. She was the reason I was even IN this situation.

  “Mr. Thorn, we’ll seat you now.”

  The hostess grinned from ear to ear as she eyed me up and down, and she definitely grazed the front of my pants with her fingers when she laid a napkin across my lap.

  Avery elbowed me in the chest—hard.

  “Oh dear.” My mom noticed the jab and covered her mouth. “Is everything okay?”

  I grabbed my water glass and took a big gulp so I wouldn’t be expected to respond.

  “Perfect!” Avery said a little too loudly. “I just have this weird reaction whenever other women try to grope my man.” She glared up at the hostess. “Especially in front of my future in-laws.”

  I spit out the water all over the table.

  Avery offered a sugary smile. “Groping is rude, don’t you think?”

  The woman paled and shook her head. “Your, um, waiter will be with you shortly.” She then basically ran off.

  And I was pounding my chest, trying not to choke on my own spit while my parents’ eyes widened.

  Oh shit, was Mom crying? She used the white napkin to dab at the corners of her eyes, not that it helped, because more tears appeared.

  This. This was my hell.

  Thanks, Avery.

  Maybe I should have had her promise not to lie about shit rather than to be nice. Apparently, being too nice was a very real thing. And it was currently staring at me like a deer in headlights, and I had no idea how to fix what she’d just done.

  My dad stood just as the waiter approached. “Champagne for the table!”

  “Dad.” I shook my head. The waiter was grinning ear to ear—of course he was, because I was about to pay out the ass for this dinner. “We don’t need champagne.”

  “Sure we do!” my dad thundered back, his gray bushy eyebrows drawing together like two sexually frustrated caterpillars. Damn it, Avery! My own sexual frustration was playing tricks with my mind. “We’re celebrating.”

  “Oh!” The waiter beamed at us. “What are we celebrating?”

  “My son!” My dad wiped a tear from his cheek. “He’s getting married to this terrific young woman!”

  It was Avery’s turn to choke.

  There was nothing else I could do—just pat her back and then, when she looked at me with horror-stricken eyes, slide my hand under the table and squeeze her knee with force, all the while smiling through my clenched teeth. “I. Hate. You.”

  “Feeling’s mutual.” She grinned and then slapped me lightly on the cheek.

  “Oh, Bill, just look at that.” Mom sighed dreamily. “Didn’t I always tell you they were perfect for each other?”

  My dad gave an eloquent grunt and shooed the waiter away, most likely to grab the most expensive champagne on the menu.

  “You did.” Dad reached for his water. “I believe on several occasions you told Lucas he was marrying the wrong Black sister.”

  They were being kind.

  Helpful.

  In their own sick, psychotic way.

  Because from their end of the table, everything looked fine—I was finally with the right Black girl, the girl they’d loved all along. The girl whose soccer games they’d cheered at.

  Avery finally spoke. “Um, I think you misunderstood.” Her eyes were wide with panic. She looked exactly how I felt.

  When I had left Marysville for a job in the city, she was left to deal with the ramifications of my actions. She’d suddenly gone from being a part of my family to . . . nothing. Oh, my mom still gave Avery birthday presents every year.

  Not that I was supposed to know about it.

  But the fact that my parents were even offering that little olive branch made my chest hurt.

  I pinched Avery’s thigh and shook my head.

  My parents were silent.

  And because my mom believed herself to be a bit of a psychic, she slammed a hand over her mouth before exclaiming, “YOU’RE HAVING LUCAS’S BABY!”

  “Oh dear God.” I looked for a quick exit, and at one point even contemplated sliding under the table and pulling all the screws free so it would slam on my face and knock me unconscious.

  “NO!” Avery shouted just as loud as my mother had. Shit, I could just see the wheels in her head turning. She always was a fixer, and there was no doubt in my mind she was trying to find a quick way to fix everything while still making me look like the golden son. Avery had to have heard how strained my relationship with my parents had been over the years—it’s not like the tension was a secret. Why? Why do that for me? I’d only asked her to dinner, not to save me. And yet there she was, about to do exactly that. Or at least try, anyway. “No, no, no, you, um, see.” Yeah, good luck getting out of this one. She looked to me for help.

  I shrugged and took a long drink of water.

  After all, this scenario existed because she’d opened her big fat mouth in front of my sister, and there was literally nothing I could do other than watch the train wreck.

  “Oh, do go on, sweetheart.” I winked.

  After glaring at me, she snapped her attention back to my parents and stage-whispered. “Sorry, I’m not pregnant. But I do have a question—not to get too personal, but does ED run in the family?”

  I choked on an ice cube while she slapped me on the back, then started rubbing.

  “She’s joking!” My voice was hoarse. “She’s kidding, she’s—”

  “Oh, honey.” My mom’s voice was grave. “Do you think it’s because of . . .” Her voice lowered, as did her head, like she was getting ready to finish the thought under the table. “. . . you know, the accident?” She pointed at my crotch.

  I would probably never get an erection again.

  Thanks, Avery.

  I waved all future sexual encounters good-bye and stomped as hard as I could on Avery’s foot.

  She burst out laughing and reached for a piece of bread. “It’s been so fun catching up, I’m so glad we did this.”

  “I hope you choke on that bread,” I said through clenched teeth, whispering against her neck like I was nuzzling her instead of contemplating wrapping my fingers around her porcelain skin and giving a little squeeze.

  “Do I know about this accident, Patty?” Avery just had to ask.

  And Mom, being Mom, just had to answer. “Oh, he was such a small boy.”

  “Still is.” Avery said under her breath.

  I squeezed her knee again. She gave a little yelp and stole the bread right off my plate.

  “Thief,” I whispered.

  “Liar,” she countered.

  “Well, it’s the damnedest thing,” Mom continued, completely oblivious to the war zone across from her. “He just loved that little game where you drop the game pieces down the slots and they line up—you know, the one with the holes.” Mom waved her hand in the air.

  Our waiter approached.

  Thank God.

  “Here is our most recent favorite, nominated for its clear taste and . . .
”

  I tuned him out and shared a look of pure evil with Avery.

  “You wanna play, little girl?” I cupped her cheek with my hand, using my thumb to flick her lower lip. “I’ll play.”

  “Bring a cup.” She winked.

  The waiter filled my champagne glass, and Avery’s attention was back on my mom. “Are you talking about Connect Four?”

  “He liked the holes.” Mom covered her mouth with her hand, but it didn’t matter—her voice carried, it always carried. It pained me to admit how often I was the topic of one of her inappropriate conversations.

  “You said that.” Dad poured himself a glass of champagne and lifted it in the air toward me.

  God, I’d need to consume that whole bottle to start forgetting this evening.

  “He.” She made a motion with her pointer finger. “Loved.” Oh, here it came. “The.” Another jabbing motion. “Holes.” The last was said in the creepiest of whispers.

  Avery gasped.

  Dad chuckled and belted out, “Never did figure out how he got his little hot dog in there!”

  Tears pooled in Avery’s eyes, and then she burst out laughing with my parents while I poured myself more champagne.

  “Sweetheart”—Avery elbowed me—“why the holes? Do you think it’s because you have a fascination with sticking things . . . where they have no business going? And Patty, I ask this with all seriousness . . .”

  I swore under my breath.

  “Was he an equal-opportunity hole user? You know, sort of like if there was a hole, he just wanted to stick something in it.” She briefly pressed her lips together. “I guess you could say, like having a different hole every day of the week, perhaps?”

  Mom sighed. “You know, now that I think about it, he did try it more than once, the first time was—”

  “Mom!” I yelled. “I need, uh, to excuse us for just a second. Avery hasn’t taken her digestive pill for the meal, and I think I left it in the car. We’ll be right back.”

  Avery frowned. “My digestive pill?”

  She stood and excused herself. I grabbed her elbow and steered her away from the direction of the ladies’ room and into the wine cellar.

  “WHAT THE EVER-LOVING HELL WAS THAT!” I roared, my chest heaving as I pressed Avery against the nearest wall. I wasn’t sure if I was mostly angry or just embarrassed.

  “Equal-opportunity hole user?” She shrugged and then giggled and tugged the collar of my shirt with both hands. “So really, you’ve always been a whore?”

  I let out a growl. “I’ve never wanted to slap a woman so badly in my entire life.”

  She made a face. “Look down. My knee would get you in the junk before you ever got the chance, and we don’t want your Wednesday getting upset that you can’t perform.”

  “If I can’t perform, I’ll just spend the day following you around and making sure everyone in your vicinity is fully aware that you didn’t comb your hair until you were six and had to chop up your hot dogs until you were seventeen!”

  “THEY’RE A CHOKING HAZARD!”

  I smirked. “Maybe inform the next guy so he has fair warning.”

  “You smug bastard!” She tugged my collar tighter, and as our lips grazed, an electrical current of energy zipped between us.

  “Shit.” I exploded, on the spot, lost my mind, and crushed my mouth against hers.

  And then nearly experienced either a mild stroke or an orgasm when her tongue met mine halfway.

  Chapter Seventeen

  AVERY

  Kissing Lucas Thorn was a poor life choice—it had always been that way. Why could our kisses never be romantic? Involving situations where we went out on a normal date? Where nobody was pissed or drunk or about to get married?

  His hot mouth slid against mine while his fingers dug into my ass, and then he gripped my hips. His thumb was pressed against my skin so hard, I’d probably be able to use the print to unlock his iPhone later—the pressure felt good, too good.

  Bad idea.

  Bad idea.

  Kissing Satan.

  Good, Avery, moan, because that makes him want to stop.

  My arms, betraying bitches that they were, wrapped around his neck, and then my hands slid down his chest as I deepened the kiss, my body erotically rubbing against his.

  Lucas tasted like champagne—his tongue did a weird twirl thing that had my legs nearly collapsing and sent shivers down to my toes and in all the wrong places because this wasn’t happening, this couldn’t happen! Not only because he was my boss.

  He literally slept with other women.

  ON PURPOSE.

  And they knew about it.

  Besides, he cheated on my sister!

  I knew what he was capable of.

  I would not be that girl.

  “Stop!” I jerked away and then leaned in and kissed him again. He kissed me harder and harder, and I pulled back again. “No—I mean, we should stop.”

  “Yup.” His hand cupped my breast.

  I let out a little moan. “In like ten seconds, eleven maybe.”

  “Eleven seconds and we stop.” His eyes blazed as his mouth descended again. His hand rubbed against my right breast and then lowered to my ass again as he pinched it and then slapped.

  Hard.

  “Okay,” I hissed, shoving him away. “I can explain this.”

  His chest rose and then sank, as though he’d just had the workout of his life. “Oh?”

  “Family pressure combined with drunkenness and lying makes people do really stupid things. You know, brain cells die because of the . . .” He licked his lower lip. “A-alcohol.”

  “Mmm.” He reached for me again.

  I let him.

  WEAK!

  The next kiss was softer.

  It was the way I’d always wanted Lucas Thorn to kiss me—like I was precious, like I mattered—so for good, I pushed him away.

  For my good.

  For his.

  For the sake of the friendship we used to have.

  And for whatever future friendship we were trying to build. Everything was too confusing, and the kiss wasn’t helping things. Not at all.

  “I’m not going to be your new Tuesday.”

  He grinned. “Of course you won’t, Tuesday’s taken.”

  I glared at him.

  He grinned harder. “But Saturday just quit, so—”

  I slapped him so hard across his right cheek that I’m lucky one of my fingers didn’t fly right off and land in someone’s wineglass.

  “The hell!” he swore loudly, violently, and almost teetered back against one of the expensive bottles of wine.

  It would have made my night had he broken the one that was over three grand.

  “Listen here, THORN.” I got all up in his business, chest to heaving chest. “I will never be one of your whores! I don’t care if the only way for you to survive one more day is for me to substitute for your Saturday, I won’t do it. I WON’T DO IT!” I stomped my foot. “I won’t, I won’t, I won’t.”

  “You said that already.” He removed his hand and sighed. “Saturday always gets the longest time . . .”

  I smacked him on the shoulder. “DO YOU HEAR YOURSELF?”

  “DO YOU?” He threw up his arms. “Could you yell any louder?”

  I opened my mouth.

  He slammed a hand over it and shook his head sternly. “Look, all I’m saying is this—that was a good kiss, a great kiss, we know each other, we like each other. Think about it.” Was he actually serious? Did he think I had so little self-respect that I’d just hop into his bed after knowing that he’d cheated on my sister? A small voice whispered that there was more to our past history.

  The voice I had ignored the night Kayla cried in my arms.

  The voice I ignored whenever I went home and had dinner with the family, only to find the air so strained I wanted to break a dish or yell to relieve the tension.

  Lucas stared at me, like his idea had merit, like I was actually
thinking about dumbly nodding and going along with it.

  Weird, how you could lose so much respect for someone in an instant. The rose-colored glasses I’d so often looked at him through—the ones that I was just starting to brush off and think about wearing again—shattered.

  Lucas Thorn wasn’t the guy he used to be.

  He’d never be that guy again. No matter how many times I wished it. The guy from that photo back in the high school was long gone. The guy I’d been obsessed with.

  The guy who had ruined everything with one fatal mistake.

  One I still blamed myself for.

  I pushed the guilt away.

  And I wasn’t the girl I used to be—the one he would be willing to give up his serial screwing for. I was like every other girl, like the ones he spent time with during the week—completely and utterly replaceable.

  And that hurt.

  More than it should have.

  Because I’d always come up short when it came to Lucas, just like I always came up short when it came to my sisters, who never let me forget it. I was Avery, the tomboy, the silly one, the one who had more guy friends than girlfriends. The girl who got her first kiss at seventeen and even then couldn’t keep that boyfriend.

  My sisters meant well. At least I lied to myself and told myself they did. But the damage had been done long ago, and it was hard to replace all my insecurity with confidence when the one guy you’d always wanted was offering a booty call—because he had an open position.

  I was letting it hurt me more than it should, probably because somewhere, in my heart, I had hoped that he was just being an insecure jackass that was wounded a long time ago and was dealing with it in any way possible.

  “Look,” I said, my gravelly voice completely betraying my feelings, “you’re just horny and upset because you haven’t gotten laid in twelve hours or however long it’s been. I’m sure this is a whole new reality for you, dating a woman without a guaranteed happy ending after dessert, but if you ever—and I do mean ever—try to kiss me again without my permission while still screwing other girls . . . I will kill you in broad daylight, plead guilty, and cheerfully sit in a jail cell the rest of my life. Got it?”

  His face fell. “Avery, I was kidding. You know I would never put you in that position. I’m sorry I took it too far.”