Dirty Exes (Liars, Inc. Book 1)

by Rachel Van Dyken

  “What happened?”

  I stilled, yeah, not enough alcohol for that conversation. “Life happened. People grow up. They change. Sometimes, life just . . . alters you, without your permission and you’re stuck with the ramifications, the shell.” I nodded. “Vanessa is the shell.”

  “What’s that make Jessie?”

  “That makes Jessie the one who wants to make sure everyone is okay even if he suffers for it, and before you start sighing into your alcohol, remember, the guy changed too. We all did.”

  It was out before I could stop it.

  The we.

  “We?” She tilted her head.

  “More alcohol?” I filled another shot glass.

  “It’s four in the afternoon.” She glared. “I’m not drinking that much that early.”

  “It’s seven at my penthouse in New York,” I offered.

  “Let me guess, Times Square?”

  “Please.” I rolled my eyes. “Brooklyn.”

  She grinned at that. Like she appreciated that I wasn’t into the flash or glam of it all.

  I sipped my water. “Should we order?”

  “Sure, after you answer the question,” she countered.

  “Was it though? A question?”

  “You said we.” Her eyes narrowed. “What happened between the three of you?”

  “Vanessa’s my sister.” I said it softly, but it still felt like a scream, like I’d just announced to the world that she belonged to me.

  Blaire choked on the water she’d just sucked into her lungs and pounded her chest as she wheezed. “Sister?”

  “Biological. The type you can’t disown even though you try every day of your life. Yeah, she’s my sister.”

  I stared into that bottle of whiskey with longing and then back at Blaire.

  “You hate her,” she said.

  “With every fiber in my body.” I gripped the shot glass, surprised it didn’t shatter between my fingers.

  “And the reason?”

  “There’s going to be a penalty for all these questions, Blaire, you sure you want to pay up? You really that curious?”

  “It might help me in my job . . .” She shrugged innocently. “I’ll pay up. Tell me why you hate her.”

  “Which reason?”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “How about you just give me one, I don’t want to owe you too many penalties.”

  “She took my best friend away from me and turned him into a man I don’t recognize. She offered him every single thing he’d ever wanted: a powerful family, the right connections, the perfect everything he’d grown up wanting. She never gave him the time of day until he started getting offers in college.” I shrugged. “She seduced him when he was visiting our family one Christmas and made him believe she wanted to be a teacher, have kids. She said with our family supporting them they could change the world. By then he was already head over heels . . . he’d always had a thing for her, even when we were kids. He sort of worshipped her. All the guys wanted her, and when he got her, she was like this shiny trophy he’d finally gotten to hold—and once he had it, he refused to let it go.”

  Blaire’s head jerked up. “Really?”

  “Yes.” I watched her expression pale. “They’d known each other for years before finally hooking up.”

  “Years,” she repeated, the wheels turning.

  “Alright, pay up.” I crooked my finger.

  She leaned in. “You never told me what my penalty was?”

  “Exactly.” I leaned across the table and took her mouth, tasting the whiskey on her tongue and diving back in for more as I cupped the back of her head and made my mouth completely at home against her lips. With every taste, my mouth burned for more, the mixture of aged whiskey and the scent of licorice slammed into me. I kissed her harder.

  She moaned into my mouth, her hands fisting my shirt as a water glass tipped into my lap.

  I jerked back and muttered, “Well, that took care of one problem.”

  She blushed bright red. “Don’t do that again.”

  “Oh, Blaire, we will be doing that again.” I grinned. “Because I just found your weakness . . . you like information . . . and trust me, baby, you’ve come to the right place.” I shoved my guilt away as hard as I could. This wasn’t about Jessie, this was about me. I didn’t have to tell her everything, just enough to keep her needing me, for now. Because I wanted to see her again, talk to her, kiss her.

  I was met with a scowl. Combined with a hungry expression. Like I held a box full of answers she was clamoring to get. But only I held the key.

  “You kiss better than you talk,” I teased.

  She gripped her knife and arched an eyebrow.

  “I mean you’re an excellent conversationalist.”

  “Better.” She dropped the knife.

  “Soup and bread?” Damn, I still tasted her on my lips, her eyes lowered as I sucked in my bottom lip, tempted to lure her in for another kiss and another until I tasted her for hours, days later.

  “S-sure.” She nodded.

  I got up. “I’ll go tell the bar, try not to get trapped in any pantries or under the table . . . I would hate for you to owe me more favors . . . especially since you hate my company so much.” I winked.

  She flipped me off.

  This was the start to a beautiful . . . something.

  Chapter Twenty

  BLAIRE

  Colin had this unquenchable fire about him, and he could make anything interesting, like he could tell me how the whiskey we were drinking was made and it would be the most fascinating conversation I’d ever had with another human.

  And although I felt slightly guilty for prying information from him, he always seemed to steer the conversation back to me, back to him, with jokes and lingering stares, as if he didn’t want our entire “date” to be about my job, but about us having a good time. I couldn’t remember the last time I had that type of connection with someone.

  Jessie.

  That was the last time I felt a connection.

  But now it felt like that connection was severed and I couldn’t quite put it back together again, meanwhile with Colin we had this easy we’ve-been-friends-for-years feeling, which I’d craved so much with Jason.

  And never had.

  Plus the guy seemed to know everything about everyone. I hated how attractive that made him to me—I was a woman who thrived on information and he was the man who had it.

  He was even better at eating soup, if the stains on my shirt were any indication.

  He gave off this sexy hipster I-don’t-give-a-fuck vibe.

  And yet not a thing about him was out of place.

  I checked.

  Vigorously.

  Like a crazy person when I thought he wasn’t looking.

  And got caught twice looking for bread in his teeth, a weird mole, foul odor, something, anything, that would support my case that there was something wrong with him and he wasn’t one of those mythical unicorns one rarely saw in the wild. The only thing I could conjure up was his playboy nature.

  The way he kissed was a perfect example of the experience behind that mouth.

  The only kisses I really compared his to were Jessie’s—and loath as I was to admit it, Jessie’s kisses had always been nice.

  Colin’s kiss wasn’t nice.

  Colin’s kiss was more of a plunder, a hunt for treasure, a search-and-rescue mission with his tongue that made me beg to get lost again so I could have another taste.

  It pissed me off that I would react so strongly to a relative stranger.

  And terrified me that maybe I had been wrong about Jessie all this time. That I’d so stupidly trusted his easy smiles because of my lack of confidence. That I was wrong about Jessie like I was wrong about Jason, about my own doubts and fears. Colin’s kiss made me question a lot, and I hated questioning myself, pointing the finger at myself, because it made me acknowledge way too much.

  What was I doing?

  Jessie was the guy who g
ot away, the game changer, I should be attracted to him.

  Not Snake Tattoo.

  Ew, I didn’t even like tattoos and already I’d had about a dozen fantasies of licking my way down his muscular forearm and asking for seconds.

  “You’re staring at the snake again.” Colin winked as he signed the check and offered his hand.

  Make that thirteen fantasies.

  “It’s just a snake,” I said lamely.

  His lips spread into a wide smile revealing perfectly white, gorgeous teeth. “Uh-huh, you wanna touch it, don’t you?”

  Yes.

  “No!”

  “You sure?”

  Absolutely not. “I’m good.”

  “Next time . . .” I hated how much I perked up at that sentence.

  Like he was already planning on more dates, more favors, more kissing, talking. What in the world was I doing?

  He opened the door for me, I walked through, brushing against his body as his mouth neared my ear and whispered, “Thank you for coming.”

  My thighs clenched.

  “Thanks for inviting me.”

  He eyed my mouth.

  I gulped and turned away.

  I’d barely managed to escape another run-in with Colin’s mouth when I’d given him the keys to his car, with completely jerky movements, and then moved backward, barely avoiding another catastrophe by colliding with the curb.

  “You sure you don’t want me to give you a ride?” He smirked, his half-lidded gaze burning a trail from my head to my toes and back up again, his perusal slower the second time, more possessive, like he wanted me to think about his hands all over my body.

  “I’ll walk,” I finally croaked out. I held out my hand for him to shake. “Thanks for lunch, the enlightening conversation, whiskey . . .” The kissing, devastating stares, hand holding. The list went on and on and on.

  My hand was flailing between us.

  He stared it down then slowly pressed his palm against mine, wrapping his fingers around my wrist and tugging me into his chest. “Come to my party tomorrow night.”

  “Shocker, Tattoo Guy’s hosting a party.” My words fell over each other as my body pressed against his hard chest. God, he smelled good.

  “I dabble in event planning.”

  “I bet you do.”

  “Please,” he rasped. “Look, I can’t make any promises, but Jessie’s supposed to show up, and if he does, you might be able to do your cute little spy thing where you pretend it’s a real job and take pictures of him doing all the naughty things you’re assuming he’s doing, then put them up on your wall and light candles . . . chant. . .”

  I glared at him. “Think it through, Colin, is that the best way to invite a lady to your party?”

  “Sorry, I forgot my manners,” he whispered gruffly. “If you come to my party I promise to show you my six-pack.”

  My eyes lowered to his abs. Damn him.

  “Gotcha.” He winked. “Maybe if you ask nicely, but then again you don’t like owing any favors.”

  I sighed, unsure if he was playing me because he wanted to see me, or if he was really trying to help me get information on Jessie. At least as Colin’s date I could use that as an excuse.

  “Tell me this.” I tried for a businesslike tone and failed. My body was unconsciously leaning toward his, I told myself it was because it was cold. Then my brain smacked me around a bit and said, Duh, Blaire, it’s ninety degrees out, but sure, yeah, you’re nipping out from the great freeze. “Will I be going as your date?”

  Colin’s eyes darkened. “Is that what you want?”

  “Uh . . .”

  “Six-packs, dates—demanding, aren’t you?”

  “Look,” I explained, “I need intel on Jessie, I need to figure this shit out and the only way I can get an in is with you, so yes, I’ll go, but only as your date, and only if you promise to give me details on his schedule, whereabouts, and all the other things I’ll need in order to do my job.”

  Colin’s expression fell for a few seconds. “So basically betray my best friend . . . for my new friend?”

  “Well, when you put it that way,” I grumbled, feeling a sudden headache.

  Colin sighed. “Look, I’m only helping you because I think, in the end, if he is doing something sketchy, it’s best it stops now before it hits the media. She’d take him for everything.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  He tapped my temple with his finger. “Because spies like information, don’t they?”

  I nodded.

  “For the record, I don’t think he would cheat on her, and I don’t trust my sister as far as I can throw her.” He shrugged. “Just being honest. I don’t think Jessie has anything to hide, so helping you doesn’t necessarily feel wrong, and if he does, then doesn’t he deserve to get caught?”

  I kicked the curb. “That’s a little bloodthirsty.”

  “Better you than the local newspaper,” Colin pointed out, then flashed me a smile. “And yes, you’re going as my date, not because I think you need to in order to gain intel, but because I fucking want you on my arm. Deal?”

  I sucked in a breath.

  “What?” He grinned. “Did I come on too strong? I tend to do that when I like something.”

  “Didn’t you like two somethings last time I called you?”

  “That’s not liking, or caring, that’s fucking.”

  “Oh, so much better.” My stomach clenched.

  “You need to learn how to trust people more.”

  “Says the player.” I took a step back.

  “Fine, bring a friend. And I promise I’ll try to keep my hands to myself.”

  I thought about it for a few seconds, a war raging in my mind. Did I want him to myself? Did I want him to kiss me? The man whore who slept with multiple women? What was wrong with me? Why did I keep asking that?

  It had been so long since I’d felt wanted.

  And now.

  Now I had a possible cheater from the past.

  And Snake Tattoo Colin.

  The universe is weird.

  “Text me directions and I’ll bring my friend Isla,” I finally said.

  He laughed. “Yeah, bring Isla, maybe she can scout the party while I show you the lava lamp in my bedroom.”

  “Hah!” I laughed. “Tell me you have a black light and I’m so in.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Of course I do, it’s right next to my Metallica poster and betta fish tank.”

  “Solid,” I laughed.

  He joined in.

  And like idiots we just stared at each other amidst the smoke, traffic, and honking.

  Finally, I offered my hand.

  Again.

  For him to shake.

  I was going to die alone, wasn’t I?

  “What’s with you and being so polite?” he murmured before taking my hand, flipping it over, and kissing the top of it. I felt tongue. The bastard most definitely snuck some tongue across my skin, causing me to shiver.

  Freezing. Outside. Cold. Not turned on by Jessie’s best friend. That would be wrong. Just like asking him to come to the dark side of betrayal.

  Jessie was the guy who got away.

  The guy who didn’t eat food at his own house and had a creepy book of himself on the kitchen counter like he couldn’t move on.

  Or just chose not to.

  “Tomorrow.” I stumbled back and then turned around so I wouldn’t get lost in his smirk or those crazy hypnotic eyes again.

  “See ya, Spy Girl!”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  COLIN

  I hated hosting parties.

  I hated the loud constant chatter, the drunken laughter, I even hated the snack food. When people drank, they needed to eat, so they tended to hover over all the food without caring that their sweat was brushing off on the chips. Now, parties at restaurants? Catered? Totally different. But at any of my homes, it just felt invasive. Yet, I did it to network, it was the way of Hollywood, and people l
oved seeing what they thought was my inner sanctum.

  I leaned against the wall, surveyed the room.

  Waited.

  Calculated.

  Wondered if she would actually show.

  Especially considering I hadn’t guaranteed that Jessie would be there—then again, Vanessa rarely said no to a party, and since she was still keeping a tight leash around his thick-as-hell neck, I banked on him at least showing up for an hour or two.

  The front door opened.

  And I lost all ability to breathe.

  Red. She was wearing red.

  A long-sleeved tight little red number showing a great expanse of skin that my hand burned to touch.

  The woman next to her was striking—not as striking as Blaire, but a close second. Leather skirt and white crop top. They fit in easily with the Hollywoodesque crowd. One might even assume they were struggling actresses by the way their anxious eyes roamed the crowd, like they were searching for producers, directors, anyone.

  I muttered a prayer of thanks that they weren’t.

  I hated most actresses almost as much as I hated any celebrity who came through my door and asked if I was the waiter. They tended to want to sleep with me so that I would ask a favor of the producers I knew. I learned my lesson the hard way that they knew the connections I had and could never seem to get that I might like them beyond the bedroom.

  I purposely dressed like the hired help in order to get a good idea of a person’s character—another reason I liked bartending in my own hotel. I wore worn skinny jeans, tight T-shirts, and tried to blend in.

  And because of that, I got all the secrets. Who fired whom, who was acting in the new Spielberg project, what actor showed up drunk off his ass at the Marvel premiere. All of it.

  People wrongly assumed that I would look like my dad: tailored suit, clean shaven, tattoo-free, sans man bun.

  Wrong.

  Blaire took a step farther in the entry, her gaze swept from one side of the room to the other.

  My house was an impressive ten-thousand-square-foot mansion that I bought only because the theater had a full bar and there was a private entrance to the pool from my bedroom, so I could take a dip naked, precoffee.

  I pushed away from the wall, ready to intercept Blaire, when cockblocker of the year walked through the door.