Filthy Lies_An Interracial Erotic Romance

by Kenya Wright

  “It never does. When a guy is in a club, he’s trying to have sex. He’s not thinking, ‘Oh, where for art my queen? Where art though woman I will love forever.’”

  I laughed even though I was becoming sick to my stomach.

  My brother continued, “Then, Tyson meets you and is telling you he loves you in two weeks. Months later, he’s trying to move in with you. Thank God you held out and stood your ground. It only took him saying someone died to get his lazy ass in there.”

  Rob wasn’t a fan of Tyson. He’d met him once and had concluded that he was a dog. He didn’t need any evidence of it. Apparently, Rob was some sort of douchebag whisperer—he could sniff them out and see the bullshit in their eyes.

  And upon meeting Tyson, Rob’s only response was, “Drop him.”

  If I kept it real with myself, Rob’s dislike of Tyson was the beginning of our downfall. If my family didn’t like the guy I loved, was he really the man I wanted to be with? And if I was being even more truthful, Tyson’s best friend Logan was the other reason I’d started feeling unsatisfied.

  That was where the guilt really came in. One should never lust after their boyfriend’s best friend.

  Don’t even think about Logan.

  I caught Tyson’s footsteps as he must’ve walked away. He sounded like he was in the closet again.

  Why is he being so weird? What the hell is he writing?

  It could’ve been a novel. But why not say something? I wouldn’t have forced him to show it to me, until he was ready or whatever.

  This is so weird.

  Low sounds of paper unraveling and scribbling sounded in the room. At least ten minutes passed. And then a few thumps, the closing of the closet, and footsteps going away.

  He whistled some happy tune. His footsteps hammered on. The bathroom door screeched open and then closed. I opened my eyes. Five minutes later the shower went on and I got up from bed.

  What is he doing in the closet every morning? Forget it. I’m finding out today.

  The shower continued to groan from the bathroom. My phone vibrated on the end table. I ignored it, rose from the bed, and walked over to the closet. I opened the door and looked inside. The only thing that appeared disturbed was Tyson’s shoe boxes. He was a Sneaker Head and had a big collection, packing my closet.

  Keep it real, Mia. You really want to break up with Tyson to get your closet space back.

  Boxes took up every inch of the little walk-in closet. There must’ve been about thirty boxes of sneakers, stacked here and there, on the floors and shelves. There were more in my kitchen pantry and then ten more boxes piled by my bookshelf in the living room. There were all types of Air Jordans—one pair had been signed by the legend himself. Tyson had 1989 Reebok’s Pumps, a pair of Nike Cortez in the first orange box which was apparently important. There were several pre-1986 Air Force Ones. And it went on and on—lace-less Pumas and a pair of Adidas with a person’s face on the tongue, Converse Chuck Taylors and even some Yeezys designed by rapper Kanye West, which he hated most of all, but kept because it could make him a profit one day.

  How do you not have your living situation handled, but have over fifty pairs of sneakers, probably each worth a thousand or more?

  And my small one-bedroom apartment was already packed with my stuff. My cooler and freezer bulged with a variety of fillings, frostings, and layers, precisely labeled for certain events.

  I had a small baking business that I was proud to pay my bills with. I baked anything the heart desired, but my specialty were the tastiest wedding cakes in the state of Florida. Brides from all over the state ordered from me months in advance and even sent someone down to drive the cake back up. Usually, it was a stressed-out groom-to-be rushing to get it and hurry back to anxious fiancée, worried that her wedding might not be the best day ever.

  I didn’t know if the brides’ wedding matched the ones of their dreams, but I always got great feedback on my cakes—thank you cards, blog posts, and even a few articles in small local papers. I was building my way up one cake at a time, and Tyson was distracting me with his odd ways.

  A wedding cake required more than frilly icing and baking, piping and sugary fillings. It was a dessert for a once-in-a-lifetime event. It had to blow their mind and required all my time until it was perfect.

  The first week of April was always busy. It was the months before the peak of wedding season. All the orders came in now. I had schedules to organize. Ingredients to plan to buy.

  I didn’t have time to think about Tyson and his weirdness for these next weeks. And I damn sure didn’t have the energy.

  Sometimes it felt like he was draining me, sucking all the goodness away. But I couldn’t point a finger to when, why, or how.

  He’s taking up my space and my mind. What is he doing in this closet? And why am I worrying about it? He has to go.

  But I couldn’t get my mind on Too Sweet. All I could do was stand in the closet and wonder what the hell Tyson did in it every morning.

  That’s it. I’m going to check. I don’t care.

  I pushed up a few of the boxes’ tops and peered inside. For the past few weeks, I’d been playing James Bond and trying to figure out where he hid the notebook or whatever he wrote on. I had to be quick. He took short showers. I checked several boxes in the middle, since I’d already went through the ones on the top. There was nothing but sneakers.

  This time, I tried a different strategy. I checked the boxes closest to the corner in the far back. One had no sneakers, but four notebooks lay inside.

  This is it. Finally.

  I leaned outside of the closet and confirmed the shower was still on, and then returned to the notebooks. There were pages and pages filled with Tyson’s handwriting. I figured he’d been writing something, but had no idea what?

  Why would he want to hide that he’s writing?

  My nerves frazzled as I opened one of the notebooks.

  Here goes nothing.

  And then I began to read the first page.

  July 4th

  I don’t know when the games started.

  I just know I can’t stop.

  Ashley lets me do anything to her. At this point, I’m wondering if I can break her...

  My heart slammed against my chest. My stomach twisted in grief. It was like some big person had punched me in my gut and then slapped me.

  My Ashley? My best fucking friend Ashley?

  I dropped the notebook. The noise of the shower stopped as he returned to whistling.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  I rushed to pick up the notebook, placed it back in the box, checked to make sure everything looked normal, and closed the closet. I thought about what I’d just read.

  “Ashley lets me do anything to her. At this point, I’m wondering if I can break her.”

  I had to breathe in and out to stop the dizzying effect. There was no fucking way he was talking about my best friend of ten years. It couldn’t be. Ashley and I had grown up together. We were each other’s dates at prom. We went to the same high school and college, both graduating and celebrating the same nights. We even moved to Tampa together. We’d always had each other’s back. We stood united against the craziness of the world. There was no way he was doing anything with my best friend.

  My phone buzzed. I walked over and checked the screen. Logan’s name appeared. He was my boyfriend’s best friend and in these past months, Logan had begun to be my best friend too. We had so much in common it was hard not to carry on a conversation and hang out together. Platonically, of course.

  I answered, “Hello.”

  Logan’s deep sensual voice rode the line. “Are you dressed?”

  I quirked my eyebrows. “What?”

  “Are you dressed yet?”

  For a minute, I was lost, and then I realized the ninth novel in the Kingmaker series was coming out today. Logan and I had been waiting for this for months, talking about it obsessively, rereading the series together, and forcing our friends t
o binge-watch the first three tv seasons one weekend. It had been a fabulous three days of food, alcohol, and Kingmaker. Now, the final book was coming out and there would be crowds of people everywhere trying to grab the book.

  “You’re not dressed?” Logan asked.

  “No, I—”

  “Really?”

  “Logan, it’s...” I checked my phone’s time. “It’s freaking six in the morning. Are you serious?”

  “The bookstore opens at eight.”

  “Which means we have two hours.”

  “Two hours to stand in line, if you don’t get dressed.” He chuckled. “I’m outside, by the way.”

  I giggled. This morning was getting crazier and crazier. At least Logan could brighten me up.

  I shook my head. “You’re outside of my place at six in the morning?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re insane.” I blew out a long breath. “Give me ten minutes.”

  “Make it five.”

  “If I’m down there in five that means I’m coming to whip your ass.”

  He chuckled. “Okay. We’ll make it ten. Oh, and don’t get anything to eat. I have coffee and bagels for you in the car. Your favorite—sesame lathered in cream cheese with a blonde roast large.”

  I smiled. “You’re good.”

  Logan’s tone turned to wicked. “That’s why you love me, baby.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You’re also very humble.”

  “Of course. There’s no arrogance in these perfect god-like bones.”

  I was about to laugh, but my boyfriend, Tyson walked out of the bathroom in a towel. Water dripped all over his muscles. That had been another reason why I’d been dragging myself with breaking up. Tyson was not bad to look at. Not at all. But after the notebook, I’d confirmed why I’d been feeling icky around him. He’d been doing something with Ashley.

  Unless this is an old notebook. It could be another Ashley from his past. Please, let it be that.

  Tyson raised his eyebrows and whispered, “You okay?”

  And on the phone, Logan caught my attention too. “Mia, are you still there?”

  Still holding the phone, I nodded at Tyson and gave my back to him as I spoke into the phone, “Yeah, Logan. I’ll be down in ten minutes.”

  Behind me, I heard a sound of annoyance come from Tyson.

  My boyfriend wasn’t a fan of my friendship with Logan. Thankfully, Tyson never told me to stop being cool with Logan, he just made snide comments and noises of annoyance here and there. Tyson was sure that Logan was using my love of the Kingmaker series to spend time with me. I thought it was absurd. First of all, Logan had no problem with finding women to spend time with. If anything, he needed help keeping all the hundreds away.

  Logan’s sexy voice filled the line. “And Mia?”

  “Yes?”

  “Wear sneakers,” Logan said.

  “Why?”

  “Because we may have to leap over kids and knock a few out of the way.”

  Even with the fucked-up mood I was in and this new possible discovery of Tyson cheating, I couldn’t help but relish in Logan’s attention. He was the hottest guy I’d known. Women fell over him wherever we went. And he paid them no mind, giving me all his focus.

  How many women had Logan calling them in the morning and hassling them about the Kingmaker?

  “We’re not barreling through kids to get a book, Logan.”

  “Eh, sometimes the bookstores sell out before the lines finish. If we don’t get there in time, we may miss it.”

  “Would you relax?”

  “I love kids, but if they get in between Mulligan and me, I’m punching a few of them.”

  “Bye, crazy.”

  “Bye, Mia.”

  He hung up and I stood there holding the phone and savoring the way Logan said my name. Why did he have to say it that way like he was rubbing his cock when he spoke it? Like he moaned my name late at night while he jacked himself off?

  Logan is the other problem. Damn. There were so many reasons why Tyson and I was never going to work. I knew it from the beginning and kept pushing against it. Why? So stupid.

  Well, I wouldn’t be stupid anymore.

  Today would be the first day of getting it together.

  And what will I do about Logan?

  Again, one should never lust after their boyfriend’s best friend. But Logan had been a major player in all my steamy, secret dreams. The man I crushed on so badly at times I thought there was something wrong with me. The man who kept my panties wet whenever he was around. The man who was my boyfriend’s best friend and therefore completely off-limits.

  Logan dripped sensuality and I didn’t think any woman was immune to him.

  Here I am worried about Tyson messing around with my friend, and I’ve been masturbating to his friend for the past two months. How stupid is this whole situation?

  But, I had no more time to think about any of it.

  My boyfriend—the current problem and possible cheater—Tyson stood directly behind me and almost made me jump. “So, Logan and you are doing something?”

  I turned around. “Yes. We’re going to get the new Kingmaker.”

  “Hmmm.” Frowning, he pulled me close to him and wrapped his huge arms around me.

  It was the most awkward hug of my life.

  “Good morning,” he whispered and kissed my forehead.

  Tensing, I kept my arms to the side and didn’t hug him back.

  “What’s wrong?” He leaned a way and stared at me.

  I got out of his arms. “We have to talk.”

  His frown deepened. “About what?”

  “About us. I’ve been thinking that—”

  “Not right now, Mia.” He kept that neutral mask on his face that he’d been wearing more and more each day. “We can talk tonight, but right now don’t you think you should get to Logan?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And I just had a bad morning.”

  “Why?”

  “I had a nightmare about my aunt. She was dying in my arms.” He rubbed his eye as if a tear was threatening to come out. “I’m just feeling so depressed right now.”

  I tapped my phone and searched his eyes for any possible bullshit.

  Is this for real or not? Would it be wrong for me to call him on this? What if he really is mourning? Then, what type of person would I be?

  If he really was battling depression, the last thing I wanted to do was tell him he wasn’t sad and faking it. I’d battled anxiety for years and still dealt with it every now and then. Depression was real and crushing. It could destroy a day, weeks, life, relationships, everything. It came swift like death, darkening the soul and crumbling the heart.

  He whispered, “I woke up wondering...why are we even on this planet to begin with?”

  I said the only thing that came to my head. “To love and...live.”

  “But why?” His phone rang. He smoothed his hand along his bald head. “Hold on.”

  He walked over to grab his phone, frowned at the screen, and turned the ringer off.

  “Who was that?” I asked.

  He looked surprised. Usually, I never inquired about who called him.

  My brother had a motto:

  “If you think you must investigate a guy’s phone, then break up with him. It doesn’t matter, if he’s cheating or not. You don’t trust him, and you won’t start trusting him more just because the phone doesn’t have anything on it.”

  “It wasn’t anyone.” Tyson shrugged those muscular shoulders. “It was a wrong number.”

  The phone loudly vibrated as the person called back.

  Is that Ashley?

  I gestured to his phone. “Maybe you should tell the person it’s a wrong number.”

  “Yeah. That’s what I’m going to do.” Annoyed, he walked out of the bedroom and answered the phone in the hallway.

  I leaned in, listening. He must’ve been wise to that because his footsteps sounded further away, and then
I heard the front door open and close.

  We’re done. He’s clearly on some bullshit, and I’m not into him anymore anyway. What the hell am I doing? Get some balls and end this!

  I knew that no matter what, we were breaking up today. I didn’t care if his mama and grandma died right in front of him this afternoon, he had to get out of my place and mourn somewhere else. Something was happening around me, something wrong, something that made me feel slimy just from being around him. My gut said it, and it was time to stop second guessing that sensation moving inside of me. Time and time my instincts had never led me in the wrong direction.

  “Half the time women think they are bi-polar and shit.” My brother Rob blew out weed smoke and handed the joint to me. “They go to the doctor and check to see if they need medication and shit. But over half the time, they just need to get rid of that motherfucker in their house.”

  I laughed. “You are so crazy.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  My gut was right, and my brother too.

  I sighed and walked back to the closet. Tyson and I were done, but I still wanted to read that freaking notebook.

  Fuck it. I’m nosy and I have a right to know. Is it my girl Ashley or some other female with the same name?

  Too bad Logan waited outside for me to go to the bookstore. I decided to take the notebooks with me instead of trying to quickly read them while Tyson was outside, talking to Miss Wrong Number.

  James Bond had nothing on me. Like a crazy person, I grabbed my largest handbag, stuffed the notebooks in it, picked out some clothes for today, and took it all in the bathroom to shower.

  Okay. I’ve officially lost my mind. Hopefully, he doesn’t go in the closet and see that they’re missing before I leave. And oh shit...Logan is waiting for me.

  Chapter 2

  Mia

  It took me no time to get ready. I hurried, shut the bathroom door, took a shower, and dressed. When I finished, I expected Tyson to be in the bedroom, searching for those notebooks, but he hadn’t come back inside.

  I took out my phone and texted Ashley.

  Me: We need to talk.

  I waited for a while but didn’t get a response. It had been like that for the past two weeks. She’d just left out of nowhere saying that she had to get away and get her head together. She apologized, but texted that she didn’t want to talk until she came back.