Beautiful Lies (The Beautiful Series Book 2)

by Emery Rose

  “I know when to cut my losses. Besides, he never paid me the slightest interest.”

  I smiled at her admission. It shouldn’t matter. Unfortunately, it did.

  “Don’t gloat. It’s annoying.”

  “Ugh. I know. You’re right,” I said, wiping the smile off my face. “Where is he?”

  She looked over her shoulder. “Consulting with a client. Up front.” She returned her attention to me and raised her eyebrows, waiting for an answer.

  “We’re just friends.”

  She snorted. “That never works.”

  “It’s working.” I’d been refraining from bitchy comments and Connor had been treating me as a friend. Sort of.

  “Take it from me, it will end in one of two ways. You’ll either get back together and it will all work out because you’re older and wiser and you’ve forgiven each other for past mistakes. Or you’ll be reminded of all the reasons you couldn’t be with each other and you’ll realize that people don’t change that much.”

  “Are you speaking from experience?”

  “I have a degree in psychology. It’s useless for everything except giving advice. I’m great at dishing it out. Taking it is a different story.”

  “Well, thanks for the chat.”

  “Anytime. And for the record, I’d still do him.”

  “For the record, if you go after him, I’ll scratch your eyes out.” What was my problem? I didn’t want him, but I didn’t want anyone else to have him either? Who was I kidding? I still wanted him. I just didn’t want to want him. I squeezed the stapler a few times in frustration, the staples forming a heap on the desktop.

  She made a meow sound. “The kitten has claws.”

  I brushed the staples into the wastepaper basket, hiding the evidence. “And wicked Krav Maga skills. Watch your back.”

  “Damn girl, I love it when you get all Kill Bill.”

  I looked over my shoulder at Connor, eyeing the Led Zeppelin T-shirt he’d had since high school. It never used to fit him so… snugly. He needed to stay away from the gym or start wearing looser T-shirts. This was far too distracting. “Where did you come from?”

  He grinned. “Watch your back. I was right behind it.”

  I swung my gaze to Claudia, my eyes narrowed. She shrugged. “I thought he was up front.”

  “He moves like a ninja,” I muttered.

  Claudia disappeared to the front of the shop, leaving me alone with Connor. He tossed his electronic cigarette on the newly-installed shelf behind me. A few days ago, I’d gotten Connor to hang shelves on the wall to store the color-coded binders I’d set up for him. It was easier than digging through the cardboard filing boxes Jared had used for the paperwork. “That thing sucks.”

  “Vaping won’t blacken your lungs like nicotine, tar—”

  “Yeah, yeah. I heard your lecture already.”

  “So, buy a pack of cigarettes and stop blaming me for caring about your health and well-being. Your choice, Rocket Man.”

  “Rocket Man? Oh no.” His mouth quirked with amusement. “Don’t tell me you still listen to that song.”

  “It’s a great song.”

  Connor snickered. “Does it still make you cry?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “What makes you cry?” Lee asked, stopping on his way outside, a pack of Camels and a lighter in his hand. His dark hair stuck up all over, defying gravity, with the help of a liberal amount of gel.

  “Electronic cigarettes make me cry,” Connor said, eyeing Lee’s cigarettes.

  “No shit, dude,” Lee rubbed his middle finger over the silver barbell piercing in his right eyebrow, like he was flipping the bird to electronic cigarettes. “They’re not satisfying.”

  “They also won’t cause lung cancer,” I pointed out.

  “Everyone’s gotta go someday. Might as well enjoy life while you can. If you need a smoke, I’m outside,” Lee said, pushing through the back door.

  “I’m leaving now,” I said. “Do whatever you want. Smoke. Don’t smoke. It’s your life.”

  Connor put his hands on either side of the armed swivel chair, his face so close to mine I could smell his cinnamon gum and his clean manly scent. It gave me a head rush. My gaze swept over his face, to the tangle of dark lashes framing his blue eyes and down to his mouth. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip and I swallowed hard. My pulse was racing, thrumming in my ears. He knew what he was doing to me. He knew his nearness messed with my head.

  His mouth curved into a smile, showing off his straight white teeth and the dimple in his right cheek. “Get out of my space,” I said. I can’t breathe.

  He chewed on his gum, a lazy grin still on his face. I was tempted to smack it off. God, he made me violent. I still couldn’t believe I’d kicked him in the balls. That was an all-time low. He’d been in so much pain it had made me nauseous.

  “Would you really scratch out Claudia’s eyes?” he asked, letting go of my chair. I scooted the chair back before I stood so I wouldn’t be in his personal space.

  “I was just joking,” I said, putting on my army jacket and shouldering my bag.

  He tilted his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “You sounded pretty serious.”

  “I need to go back to work.” I tried to walk around him, but he blocked my exit with a wall of muscle. I flapped my hand in the air. “Get out of my way.”

  His smile grew wider. I planted my hands on my hips and glared at him.

  “I’ll pick you up after class tonight,” he said, still not budging.

  “You need to be here. I checked your appointment schedule. You’re fully booked until the end of the night.”

  “Shit,” he muttered.

  “It’s a good thing. And I’m okay getting home on my own. You know I can defend myself. I’m a badass.”

  He chuckled as I drew myself up to my full five feet, three inches.

  “A badass in a fun-sized package.”

  “Fun-sized,” I scoffed. “Get out of my way before I make you.”

  Connor stepped aside to let me pass and fell into step with me. “Don’t forget to take pictures of awesome tattoos,” I said, glancing over at the tattoo stations where Gavin and AJ, the new tattoo artist, were working. AJ’s red hair snaked over one shoulder, her tank top showing off her colorful tattoo sleeves. She used to work at a shop in the city with Gavin, so she had no trouble making the transition to this shop. Tattoo artists were like free agents who brought in their own customers and paid a percentage of their earnings to the shop, so Connor didn’t really need to manage them. He just had to keep track of their days off and put in orders for their supplies. “Your followers on Instagram are loving it.”

  Connor was too busy humming “Rocket Man” to care about his followers. Not that he’d care anyway. I didn’t know what he had against social media, but he’d always been weird about it. He’d never had personal Facebook, Instagram, or Twitter accounts. I’ve been keeping the Forever Ink accounts updated, although he specifically told me not to include photos of him.

  “Stop it with the ‘Rocket Man,’” I said as he sang a few verses, holding the front door open for me. He had a good singing voice, but I refrained from mentioning it. No need to encourage him.

  He stopped on the sidewalk in front of me and squinted in the afternoon sunlight. I slipped on a pair of oversized tortoiseshell sunglasses to cut the glare. “Why does that song make you sad?” he asked, his gaze settling on my face.

  Because you’re the rocket man and you were gone for such a long, long time. High as a kite. Maybe the song wasn’t about drug abuse at all, but that’s how I’d always interpreted it. “It just sounds so lonely,” I said, because to me, it did.

  “I’m back on earth,” he said, and I guess he understood all the words I hadn’t said. Maybe he could still read my mind the way he used to. What a scary thought.

  “See you tomorrow,” I said, walking away. “Same bad time, same bad place.”

  “Best part of my day,”
he called after me.

  Mine too. I waved goodbye over my shoulder. Connor probably didn’t need my help, but I enjoyed the hour I spent at the shop each day. I loved seeing him in his element. I loved seeing him clean and sober, and happy in a way he hadn’t been in a long, long time. As I walked to the bar in the mellow sunshine, the air crisp and cool, smelling like freshly-sharpened pencils and wood smoke, I thought about what Claudia had said. The reason Connor and I had broken up wasn’t an issue anymore. He was drug-free and working hard to stay that way. Like he’d said at the diner, his lies and empty promises had stemmed from his drug use. He’d always tried to cover it up, justify it, hide it from me.

  Should I continue to blame him for all the wrongs of the past, hold a grudge, refuse to forgive him for the hurt he’d caused? I wanted so much to let it all go, to trust him and believe in him again. My life didn’t feel complete without him in it.

  14

  Connor

  I blew smoke out my open window and watched it curl into the night air. My new plan was to stick to vaping during the day and reward myself with the real thing at night after the shop was closed, and I was home, alone. Pathetic. But smoking was the last vice left to me and I wasn’t ready to give it up.

  My TV was playing in the background, a nature program, and I watched from my spot at the window as a lioness chased a gazelle across the African plains. The gazelle was beautiful. Swift and graceful. And about to become the lion’s next meal. Against all odds, I was rooting for the gazelle to win. Nature was cruel. Survival of the fittest. The gazelle didn’t stand a chance against a hungry lion. I turned my head. I couldn’t bear to watch it.

  My phone rang in my pocket and I slid it out, checking the screen. Why was Ava calling me at midnight? “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “Yeah. I couldn’t sleep.”

  “You need me to sing a lullaby? Some Elton John?” I took another drag of my cigarette and exhaled out the side of my mouth.

  “Are you smoking?”

  “Yep.”

  She was silent for a few seconds and I waited for her to curse me out or deliver another lecture. “That’s really good.”

  I laughed. “Yesterday you went off on me like the Attorney General issuing health warnings. And now it’s really good?”

  “Not the smoking. Your honesty.”

  There was a time when everything I told her was the truth. But that was a long time ago. “How was class? Were you flying high?”

  “Yeah. It was a total rush.” She talked about the way it made her feel and I was listening to her words, but mostly to her voice. Her speaking voice was sexy. Breathy. But when she sang, it was different. She could sing low and sultry, with a smoky, jazzy quality to her voice and she could hit the high notes when she sang those Adele songs she talked about belting out. When I was in the hospital and she sat by my bed, singing softly, or talking to me, it was her voice that had soothed my troubled soul. Her voice that had dragged me back from the edge and gave me hope that the world couldn’t be so fucked-up if she was in it.

  I heard a rustling sound like she was settling into bed.

  “Are you in bed?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What are you wearing?” I pictured her in one of her sexy, matching sets. Her lingerie was the stuff of my wet dreams. Underneath her flea market clothes, she always wore lacy numbers. Or silky ones. At night, she wore those little silky camisole and panty ensembles. Feminine. Sexy as hell.

  “We’re not playing this game,” she said.

  I let my imagination fill in the blanks. Her outfit was silky and red, the same shade as her lipstick. The camisole was trimmed in lace, showing off her cleavage. I tossed my cigarette out the window, making a mental note to clean up the butts tomorrow, and sank into the sofa I bought from Jared. Midnight blue velvet and comfortable as shit. I propped my feet on the coffee table and leaned my head back against the cushion. Across from the sofa sat two distressed leather chairs. My flat screen TV, sound system, and books fit into the modern shelving unit on the opposite wall. It was the perfect set-up. I pointed the remote at the TV and flicked it off, plunging the room into silence and darkness.

  “Why can’t you sleep?” I asked.

  “Just thinking about you.”

  I wanted to ask if she was thinking good things or bad things, but I didn’t. “That keeps you up nights?”

  “I like listening to your voice in the dark. It’s been a while.”

  “Yeah, it has.”

  Back in high school, we used to talk late into the night. When she still lived under her parents’ roof and finding time together was a challenge, often thwarted by her mother who tried to keep us apart.

  “Did you do any interesting tattoos today?”

  I flexed my right hand, still cramped after today’s six-hour session. “I finished tattooing a guy’s sleeve. He wanted a Japanese theme. I did koi fish, cherry blossoms, a Shinto temple… a samurai warrior… a mountain with the Kanji symbols for the quote: Fall down seven times, stand up eight.”

  “That sounds amazing,” she said, and I heard the excitement in her voice. Ava had always been fascinated with Japanese culture, fashion, food, and design. I wondered if she still had the Japanese tea set I gave her for her eighteenth birthday. “I hope you got photos.”

  I did, but they were going in my portfolio, not on social media.

  “Ugh. You didn’t,” she said. “You need to show off your work.”

  “Lee, Gavin, and AJ were uploading photos all day. Perfect for your little Instagrammer heart.”

  “I want you to be on there.”

  “My customers find me by word of mouth.” I was booked months in advance. That was good enough for me. “That’s the best advertising.”

  “Maybe,” she muttered. “But it would still be nice if you showcased your talent.”

  I didn’t want my name on social media, and I didn’t want photos showcasing my talent or anything else about my life. All I wanted to do was fly under the radar, run a successful business, and do my tattooing. End of story. The last thing I needed was for Keira Shaughnessy to track me down. Or, worse, Ronan. He knew where I was, but I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. A year later and I was still looking over my shoulder, wondering if anyone was out to get me. For the first time in my life, I owned a gun, a Glock I kept in my bedside table. I hoped I would never need to use it.

  “Listen, Ava, do me a favor. Don’t put me on your social media or Forever Ink’s social media. I don’t want photos of myself out there, I don’t want anyone to have easy access to every little thing I do in a day. I want no part of it, understand?” My voice sounded harsher than I’d intended but I wanted her to know I was serious.

  “Why do you have an issue with social media?”

  “I want to keep my personal life private.”

  “Sometimes you’re so much like Killian.”

  When it came to social media, we shared the same view. Back when Killian was a UFC superstar, Ava had built his brand through social media. She had done such a good job that he’d had half a million followers who knew what he ate for all his meals, how many hours a day he trained, his favorite music… they conjectured on the meaning of every tattoo on his body and virtually invaded his privacy. No, thank you.

  “You guys are doing okay though, right?”

  “Yeah, it’s all good.” Killian had offered to help me move, and Eden said it hadn’t come from her. That was a huge step in the right direction, and I wanted it to continue that way.

  I lit another cigarette and wandered over to the window, looking up at the orange-tinged moon. “Do you think the man in the moon is lonely?”

  “Sometimes,” she said. “But when he looks down on earth, he sees all the problems people have created and he feels safer where he is.”

  “Or maybe he sees the rolling green hills and the ocean and the desert and he’s jealous. Like, ‘what the hell, I’ve got a load of moon dust and craters and they get mountains, citi
es, and beaches.’”

  “The grass is always greener from afar.”

  Her words made me sad and angry in equal measure. Ava used to be an optimist. Had I done this to her? “When did you become a pessimist?”

  She didn’t answer the question. “Would I choose safety if it meant I had to give up all my beautiful memories?”

  “Would you?” Please say no.

  “Would you?” she countered.

  “No. You’re in every one of my beautiful memories. That would be like cutting out a piece of my heart.”

  “You’ve always been so brave.”

  “In what way?” Some would call me a coward. Escaping into a world of drugs. Brave? Not so much.

  “You’ve never been afraid to say how you feel. That’s what made me fall in love with you. You have the soul of a poet.”

  That would be some shit poetry. “I’m only like this with you.”

  “I know,” she said quietly. After a beat, she asked, “Why did you choose me?”

  “Because you’re hot and I’m superficial.”

  She laughed. “Besides that.”

  I took a drag on my cigarette, thinking about it. Ava had always been my Achilles heel. I didn’t know why she made me so vulnerable. Why she touched a place inside me that nobody ever had. Or why I’d always told her things I never told anyone else. “Maybe it’s because you believed in me when nobody else did. Maybe it’s because of the way you loved me.”

  “How did I love you?”

  “With the power of a thousand suns.”

  “I don’t even know what that means.”

  I chuckled. Neither did I. “It was blazing hot… and so strong it scorched the earth.”

  “Great. I’m responsible for global warming. My love was bad for the environment.”

  I laughed. Sometimes she cracked me up. “Maybe you’re safer on the moon.”

  “Now you know why I don’t venture down to earth very often.”

  “Because I’m living here full-time now?” My tone was light and teasing, but my heart was heavy.

  Ava sighed. “What am I going to do with you, Rocket Man?”

  “I can think of a few things you can do with me. If my hand falls off, I won’t be much of a tattoo artist.”