by Sierra Hill
Sweet Little Lies
Book 5
The Sweetest Thing Series
by
Sierra Hill
Copyright © 2018 Sierra Hill
Published by Ten28 Publishing
Cover Design: RBA Designs
Photography: Lindee Robinson Photography
Models: Zack Kurz and Diana Chokr
Editing by: Michele Ziemer
All rights reserved.
Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without prior written permission by the author, except where permitted by law.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or used factiously, and any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, business establishments, or educational systems is entirely coincidental.
All products and/or brand names mentioned are registered trademarks of their respective holders/companies/institutions.
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Reviews for The Sweetest Thing Series
“One joy dispels a hundred cares.”
- Confucius
Contents
Chapter One
Prologue
I have a monster living inside of me.
Eating me alive from the inside out. Turning me into something I never wanted to be. Someone I abhorred and loathed.
The monster became my darkened secret.
One that will eventually be my ruin. The thing that will turn my world upside down.
The evil villain that will eventually destroy me.
There’s no pain quite as excruciating as watching the woman who gave birth to you, who raised and cared for you, slowly kill herself. Whether she did it intentionally or not is irrelevant. There are only two people to blame for her condition.
I couldn’t save her.
My father is somewhere out there on a bender. Just another one in a cycle of many. Hundreds that I’ve known in my lifetime. Twenty-two years of booze, drugs and disappearing acts.
I need to drink. And get high.
And then I need to fuck someone. Hopefully in that order.
These self-destructive behaviors are the only things that will get me out of my head long enough to avoid thinking about all I’ve done. All the pain I’ve caused. The death I’ve caused.
It’s yet just another reason to hate myself and who I’ve become. If I wasn’t such a fucking coward, I’d be lying in the ground right next to her right now, too. Next to my brother’s grave, as well.
There are days I wish I wouldn’t wake up. That I could fuck myself up so much that I’d fall asleep and drift off into the endless night. Because that would mean I wouldn’t have to live any longer with this constant malignant hatred that lives deep inside my soul. The self-loathing, loss and grief that I’ve caused.
But instead, the daylight always returns, making that hole in my heart seem bigger and deeper.
Chapter 1
Lance
What the hell is all that banging?
I wake in a stupor, with the world spinning faster than normal, producing a film of fuzziness across my thoughts and memories of the night before. Bleeding the lines and edges of recollection so I’m thoroughly confused about where I am.
Although the killer hangover and nausea has me questioning my life choices at the moment, I still have enough wherewithal to know a few things for certain. One, I’m not in my own bed. It’s too warm, the blankets too comfy and the pillows too soft to be mine.
Second, my head is a fucking time bomb that’s about the detonate and someone in the near vicinity is going to get an ass-kicking for making so much noise at this time of morning.
Wait, it is morning, right?
Fuck me, where is that racket coming from?
Slowly – and painfully – I peel my eyes open one at a time, taking in the scene around me. I’m careful not to jostle my head or make any sudden movements – because, well, hangover. Awareness – thick like molasses – begins to creep in.
A few flashes of recollection spark my memory from last night, but it’s still unclear. However, relief floods me with the little bit I have to go on as I swallow back the bile stuck in my throat. I’m not in my own bed which isn’t too unusual, there is still a panic that ensues – quick, sharp jabs into my ribs. Sliding my hand underneath the sheets, down past my stomach, I pat my lower extremities to confirm that I’m still wearing a pair of shorts and not naked. I suppose that’s a plus.
Another shot of panicky adrenaline jolts through my aching head and frenzied heart, skittering wildly to a stop when I check the other side of the bed for another body. My exploration comes up empty. Not sure if this is a positive win or not, considering I have no recollection of what transpired last night. As far as I know, I could have had drunken, crazy sex with any number of sorority girls or hoops hunnies bugging for my attention.
That mistake has been made one too many times to count, with the label of asshole being thrown at me every single time I exit the next morning and never call them again. Yeah, the asshole label isn’t entirely unfair.
But it’s a relief that I find myself totally alone in the bed.
Then again, it sucks balls. Because I hate being alone and if I had my way, I wouldn’t be. Not if the girl I’ve wanted for the last year would give me the time of day.
And then the banging begins again and all thoughts about what I want and can’t have disappear in lieu of finding the cause of this maddening noise and then shutting it the fuck down.
“Shut the hell up already,” I groan, moving at a snail’s pace to the edge of the bed where I plant my feet on the sturdy floor.
Not sturdy enough to gain my balance, though, as I wobble to a standing position.
Fuck, this is bad.
My ass lands back on the bed, my head spinning like a Tilt-a-Whirl on speed.
But then my bladder informs me that I need to take a leak like a motherfucker, so I’m going to have to find a bathroom one way or another. It’s then I hear the soft pad of footsteps nearing the door and a faint knock before it creaks open.
My blurry eyes may deceive me, but standing in the doorframe, looking fresh and beautiful as a desert rose, is Mica Reyes. The same girl who’s evaded my advances – but invaded my thoughts - for nearly a year now. The only woman who’s shut me down and shut me out and who doesn’t seem to care about my basketball status. The one who’s made it all abundantly clear that we’re to remain friends. And not the ‘friends-with benefits’ that I would prefer.
“Good morning,” she whispers, her voice breathy and soft, with a hint of a sexy rasp. “I brought you some water and aspirin. And I have breakfast ready if you’re hungry.”
My stomach churns at the thought of food, but water is good. When she hands me the glass of cool water, our fingers touch and I take the opportunity to grab onto her tiny wrist, holding her in place so she can’t run away.
Mica’s like a skittish bunny. Shy and quiet, always anxious over my attention. Resistant to my charm and needy flirtations. Yet, here I am. I’m obviously in her bedroom where I must have spent the night, but I’m unclear if anything happened between us.
And let me tell you, I will kick my own ass if something happened between us while I was black out drunk. Because the first time we’re together – and yeah, I’m sure there will be a first time in the future - I want to remember every perfect detail about it.
“Thanks, beautiful. You’re an angel,” I reply with a mix of gratitude and raw pleas
ure.
She allows my hand to remain planted on her wrist, keeping her within an arm’s length distance as my thumb gently traces a pattern across her smooth, caramel-colored skin. I was already sporting a morning chub, but now it’s made ten times worse just from the feel of her soft flesh.
My thoughts are jumbled, from both the excessive drinking from last night and her nearness this morning. I try to forage through my memories to figure out what went down last night. It was my buddy Cade’s engagement party and everyone was there. All my former and current college teammates, their girlfriends, family members and Mica. The last thing I remember was playing beer pong with Christian, Van and Carver.
After that, I don’t remember anything. I must’ve blacked out. That has been happening more and more frequently, and although I’m always safe and know someone will ensure I don’t get myself into trouble, it does worry me a little. I get to a certain point of drunkenness and then that part of my brain just clicks off.
Regardless of what happened, it’s not a hardship being taken care of by Mica. She’s a sight for my sore, bloodshot eyes. She could easily be related to Ariana Grande, with the same buttery toffee complexion, the long dark chocolate hair, and the brown eyes that are a cross between amber and molasses. She has no idea what she does to me or how beautiful she is.
My throat croaks out a question of confusion, but it comes out with more bite than I mean. “What am I doing here?”
She flinches, toying with the hem of her shirt.
If it’s one thing I know with one hundred percent certainty, it’s that Mica would never let me sleep with her when I’m drunk. She’s made it very clear that she won’t tolerate my stupidity when I’m stoned or completely wasted off my ass.
But that doesn’t mean we haven’t found opportune times to make out when I’ve been sober. See, that’s the thing. I know she likes me and finds me attractive, but every time I try to move further than copping a feel, she puts the brakes on. It’s understandable, I guess. She may have some feelings for me, but there’s a lot going on in her life that she hasn’t told me about. According to her best friend, Ainsley, Cade’s fiancée, there are things related to her family life that make it difficult for Mica to get close to anyone.
Especially, me.
Mica blushes as I stare at her intently and looks everywhere except in my eyes. She pulls her arm out from my grasp, and even though I don’t want to let her go, I don’t want her to feel like a trapped bird.
Mica tugs at her dark, ink-colored braid that lays over her left shoulder. Oh, what I would do with that braid if I had the chance. Yank, tug, pull and unlace it so I could slide my fingers through her silky locks as I fucked her from behind. Or have her underneath me, spread wide open and willing.
Shit, this isn’t doing my hard on any favors.
She shrugs at my question “You were blabbering incoherently about going home, but you were in no position to drive. Christian took your keys and then you threw a tantrum and told him you wouldn’t go with him,” she pauses, a cheeky smile forming on her lips. “You informed everyone within a five-mile radius that I was the only one who could drive you home.”
I clear my throat, hanging my head in my hand, embarrassed to hear what an insufferable dope I was. Not that I’m embarrassed about wanting to go home with her or letting everyone at the party know it, but I regret putting her on the spot like that. She doesn’t like being in the spotlight or the center of attention.
My fingers sift through my disheveled bedhead hair, trying to remember any of what happened, but coming up empty. I’m sure I was a sight to behold. I get insanely loud and obnoxious when I drink. Just like my dad, except without the anger issues.
Shaking my head, I try my luck at standing again and this time land with some solid footing. Maybe that’s just Mica’s influence. When she’s around me, I feel stronger. Grounded. More in control. Cared for.
There’s barely a breath of space between us, but she doesn’t retreat, holding her ground looking up at me with amusements and curiosity sparkling in her eyes. Taking advantage of the opportunity to properly thank her, I wrap my arms around her, pulling her into my arms. She comes willingly.
I’m a six-foot-four basketball player and Mica barely reaches five feet on her tiptoes, but somehow, she fits perfectly in my arms. She smells of cinnamon and cloves – maybe because she’s been making breakfast in the kitchen. But whatever it’s from, it’s warm and comforting. Sweet and intoxicating.
I hate that I may have put her out last night and took advantage of her generosity by making her drive me home – or in this case, to her place – and took her bed from her.
“I’m sorry if I acted like a dick last night. You could’ve said no.”
The truth, I probably argued my way into her bed. There’s a good chance I made a spectacle of myself, as per usual, and she was just doing what she could to triage the situation. Ever since we’ve become friends, that’s what she’s done. She’s my very own caretaker.
Mica steps out of my embrace and I feel the loss acutely. She waves me off as if I’m foolish to say such a thing.
“I highly doubt that I could have said anything that wasn’t in agreement,” she cajoles. “You were beyond adamant. You passed out almost as soon as you hit the bed. Well-”
I quirk my eyebrow. “Well, what?”
Her cheeks burn a bright red and I know I must’ve tried to make a pass at her. Shit. I can’t be trusted. My dick is very frisky when it’s had a lot to drink. Eh, who am I kidding? It’s frisky whenever I’m in her presence.
I’ve wanted Mica for a long time now. She’s given me small tastes here and there, but I want the whole meal. And I want to go back for seconds, and thirds, until I’m gorged on Mica.
She giggles coyly. “Well, you did work hard to convince me that you couldn’t fall asleep unless I laid down next to you. And when I did…”
Groaning, I tip my head down in humiliation, using the nickname I’d given her when we first met. “Oh shit. I’m sorry, Georgie. Whatever I did, I apologize if I made you uncomfortable. I didn’t mean to.”
And then it dawns on me. What if I did put the moves on her and she was too nice to tell me to stop? What if I got too pushy? What if…fuck me, I could have easily overpowered her slight frame and taken advantage of the situation.
My voice trembles and I’m shaking in fear for what I might have done in my condition. I can only hope and pray I didn’t force myself on her.
“Micaela, please tell me I didn’t force you into-”
Her head moves emphatically and reaches for my hands in hers. “No…no, Lance. You didn’t. I swear. You would never do that to me. We’re good. The only thing you did try was to kiss me and then you cuddled me for a few minutes and then passed out. I went out to sleep on the couch when you started snoring like a bear.”
She laughs over my rude behavior, but I still feel like complete shit for ruining her night, trying to persuade her to hook-up with me and then kicking her out of her own bed.
Yes, I’m a fucking douche when I’m drunk.
“Jesus, I’m a dick. Why do you even put up with me?”
I watch in awe as she toys with the silky ends of her braided hair and bites down on her berry red lips. She has no idea how beautiful she is and I’m just a loser who would do anything to be in her presence just for a few perfect moments.
Mica rolls her eyes with a smile and turns toward the door, but not before I hear her mutter, “Because you’re cute.”
And that right there, folks is why I won’t give up. It’s just not an option.
One way or another, someday this girl will be mine.
I just need to take it slow and easy.
And stop drinking myself into oblivion so she’ll take me seriously.
Chapter 2
Mica
One of the dreams is to have a big family someday. Once I’ve graduated and have established my career and my life and have settled down with my soulmate.
Maybe it’s because I come from a large family myself. I’m one of five in my immediate family – one sister and three brothers. And I’m the only one of my immigrant family to attend college. Which means I have had to work hard to get there, to earn scholarships and to make them proud of me, even if they don’t understand my goals. School is my entire focus these days, because the dream of having my own babies is still years away.
First things first.
And being a mom is the furthest thing from my mind as I try to wrangle the three little munchkins running around the backyard right now. The kids belong to my sister, Therese, who’s working today and needs my help to watch my niece and nephews. It’s my responsibility and expectation as the female sibling.
It’s what I do to help my familia.
“Tia,” comes the sweet voice of my youngest niece, Amelia, calling me auntie in our native Spanish language. “Come push me, por favor!”
She’s three and loves to swing on the backyard swing set her papi, my brother-in-law, Ramone, built for her last spring.
I stand up and dust off the back of my shorts before picking up the baby, Alejandro, who is contentedly sucking on his thumb and cooing happily. I can’t help snuggle my nose into his dark tufts of hair and inhaling his delicious baby scent. God, I love babies.
My womb practically shimmies knowing someday I will be a mother to my own adorable baby like AJ. And if my parents have their way, the father of my children will be our long-time family friend, Alberto Silva. At the thought of him, though, my womb practically shrivels up and dies.