Broken Lies: The Regretful Lies Duet Book 1

by Azzi , Gina

  “You’re irresistible.” I drop my head to suck one raspberry nipple in my mouth.

  She arches automatically, her hands digging into my scalp, keeping me anchored to her chest. “Make me feel it all, Eli. I want everything.”

  I flick my tongue over the pointy nub before moving to her other breast, lavishing it with the same attention.

  “Break me apart,” she whispers.

  Moving lower, I taste the sweetness of her skin, my hands already working her leggings down her thighs. When my mouth collides with her panties, I growl, snapping them at her hip so they fall away and reveal her center like a long-awaited present.

  “Let me drown in it.”

  I swipe my tongue down her core, slow and languid.

  Zoe bucks once and I grip her thighs. “Make me forget.”

  Forget? Her words prickle at the back of my neck but I let them roll off my shoulders and focus on the moment instead. Burying my face between her legs, I devour her, enjoying every moan that falls from her lips. Each buck of her body drives me deeper, wild with need for everything she’s giving to me.

  She comes hard, like the roar of a crashing wave, cresting and breaking. Pulling back slightly, I slide two fingers deep inside her and watch the glow radiate from her skin as she rides her high. Her eyes are glassy when they connect with mine, her fingers trembling when they reach for me.

  “Please, Eli. I need you.” Her voice is broken, and it pulls at a thread in my chest, but I’m coiled too tightly, too needy for my own release.

  “I got you, Violet. I’ve always got you.” I press up onto my knees and position myself at her entrance. Holding her gaze, I push into her, relieved that we already had the conversation about birth control pills and clear STD screenings, and watch as her eyes flutter closed. Gathering her into my chest, I rock deeper.

  “Fuck, baby. You feel so good.” My palms push her hair away from her eyes as her nails dig into my shoulders.

  Our combined breathing elevates into panting as I breathe secrets into her skin and she binds me to her with ribbons laced with deceit.

  19

  Zoe

  Dancing in my underwear was something I used to do to cheer myself up. Especially on the hard days. The ones that marked memories of Mom. Her birthday. The date she died. A commercial for the newest installment in the Toy Story series, when the second film was the first one we saw together in theaters. If I close my eyes, I can still smell the popcorn and feel her presence beside me.

  Little things, moments and memories and reminders, make ordinary days hard.

  And if it’s not my mom, it’s my grandma. Or Dad’s blindness. Or a slew of people unfollowing That Fit Bitch Life.

  On those hard days where I feel desperation clawing up my throat, threatening to break free with a limitless supply of sobs, I crank up some party music as loud as the speakers allow and dance in my underwear.

  Now, though, I’m dancing for an entirely different reason.

  Hope fills the cracks in my chest. Excitement races through my veins like tiny messengers, desperate to have every cell on board, to make sure my entire being knows just how wonderful life feels right now. Even when doubt rears her annoying, albeit logical, head, the elation of my heart stomps her back down into the recesses of my mind.

  Jamming out to Lizzo’s Good as Hell, I shake my ass and allow myself to be fully present in this moment. Partly, I know it’s because I’m soaking up experiences the way I collected stickers as a kindergartner — with an insatiable hunger. The other part is because Eli Holt makes me feel alive. Like my nerve endings are engaged with the freaking air I walk through.

  The restlessness that usually rattles around my chest is gone. The worries and concerns I hold clenched in my fists have disappeared. All I hear is Lizzo, all I see is endless stretches of greenery and flowers, and all I feel is happy. Deliriously so.

  In fact, it takes me a moment to realize that my phone is ringing, jarring the beat of the song. Glancing at Charlie’s face, I swipe right until her picture is live.

  “Hey hey!” I cheer, giving her some of my best moves.

  Charlie erupts in laughter, clutching a pillow to her chest until she falls sideways on her bed. “God, I miss your dumb face.”

  “What’s going on?” I grin, lowering the music and slipping on an oversized T-shirt before I perch on my bed.

  “Nothing as exciting as a mid-day dance sesh.”

  “Yeah, well, you know how I do. How’re things at Shooters?”

  Charlie’s brow furrows for a moment before smoothing back out. “Okay.”

  “Just okay?”

  “Things are good with your dad,” she hurries to reassure me. “Just, stupid shit with some drunk customers who can’t keep their traps shut.”

  The forlorn expression that crosses her face causes me to sit up straighter. It’s unlike Charlie to be so bummed, especially by some douchey drunks…unless something is really wrong. “Charlie?”

  She blinks, pulling her hair away from her mouth. “I’m fine. Sorry. Anyway, I wanted to call because Gossip reported that —”

  “No,” I shake my head, holding up a hand. “We haven’t had a chance to really talk about what’s going on in your life. Is there any chance Evan is the douchey drunk?”

  Her face reddens and she chomps angrily on her ponytail, the way she does when she’s stressed or feeling too many things at once.

  “What’s going on with you guys?” I ask softly.

  “It’s insane, isn’t it?”

  “What?”

  “That we’re sleeping with brothers.”

  I manage to smile at the fact that Eli and Evan are brothers. What are the odds? “I don’t care who he is, he shouldn’t be making you sad. What’s going on? And when did you sleep with him?”

  She sighs, “A week ago. Well, a week ago was the last time. It happened a few times the week before.”

  “And?”

  “And…I thought we could date. Like normal people. Except after I spent the night at his house, he hustled me out the door at 4AM. I didn’t even have my shoes on.”

  “What the hell? Why?”

  “Something about his son.”

  “Ollie.” I recall Eli’s stories about his nephew, the cute little soccer player I met on FaceTime once.

  “Ollie,” Charlie confirms. “What is so awful about me that he wouldn’t want his son to meet me?”

  “Nothing. Charlie, it may not even be about you. Maybe he’s just not ready to introduce Ollie to a woman in his life,” I point out.

  “No, he said, ‘You need to leave. Now. I can’t have Ollie meeting you like this.’”

  “Okay,” I draw the word out, realizing that I would question those words if they fell from Eli’s mouth too. “Maybe he meant he didn’t want Ollie to meet you for the first time after you spent the night. Maybe it would be better if you came over during the day or —”

  “That’s what I thought too,” she interrupts me, her eyes wide. “That makes sense. What doesn’t make sense is that he cancelled our next date and completely blew me off the entire weekend… that is, until Sunday Night Football rolls around and I’m working, dealing with some drunk guys, you know, the usual stuff.”

  I nod.

  “It got a little wild, but nothing I couldn’t handle. And then he waltzes in, practically gets in a fight with a group of guys, and then scolds me in front of them. In front of the entire pub. Telling me that I should do better at putting them in their places. That the way I’m dressed is giving them other ideas.” She throws up her hands, exasperated and hurt.

  I gasp, my fingers lifting to my lips as I process her words.

  There’s no way Charlie would take kindly to someone insinuating she can’t handle her own at Shooters. Especially not from a guy who blew her off and then implied she was flirting with customers. Sometimes, friendliness and a little banter is the easiest way to calm down a rowdy table.

  “Damn, Charlie. That sucks. And not tha
t I know Evan, but it doesn’t sound like him at all. Eli’s always talking about how professional and kind of uptight he is, what with dealing with the stress of his job and being a single parent.”

  “He was drunk,” she admits, and I can tell that his drunkenness bothered her even more. “Now, he’s blowing up my phone, all apologetic and ‘let’s have dinner.’ And I’m just over it.”

  I tilt my head, studying her. “Are you sure?” I ask softly, knowing my best friend is way too affected to just be over it.

  She scrubs her eyes with the heels of her hands. “I’m over never being good enough for the guys I date. Like, you don’t want me to meet your son. You don’t think I should work at a pub. You don’t think I should wear such tight jeans. What the hell?”

  “Did he say all that?” I ask, my attempt at trying to play devil’s advocate and remain neutral dissolving in a cloud of anger.

  “He didn’t have to. It was implied,” she bites out.

  “Charlie, I don’t know what to say. You deserve better than that. You deserve someone who’s going to support your decisions, not tear them down.”

  She shakes her head, her voice angry. “No offense, but it’s not like I want to bartend for the rest of my life.”

  “I know.”

  “But excuse me for not having a freaking law degree either.”

  “I know.” I nod, because I do know. It’s not easy attending community college part-time and staying in our hometown. There aren’t any fancy jobs or even decent ones that earn good money, and the ones that exist in downtown Chicago require a hell of a lot more qualifications than Charlie currently has. Not that she’s not working toward her degree, it’s just life threw her a series of curveballs, and she’s still recovering from them. “You okay?”

  She nods, sniffling. “Yeah. I just, I thought he was different.”

  “Me too. Maybe he is.” I whisper.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Charlie, you’re going to meet the right guy. These things happen when you least expect them.”

  “Yeah. I’m probably trying too hard, thinking every single date I have is going to be with the one.”

  “I love that you’re a romantic.”

  “A hopeless one.”

  “Not hopeless.” I smile. “Just optimistic.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Enough about Evan. And please don’t tell Eli.”

  “Never!” I swear, somewhat offended by her assumption.

  “Anyway, the reason I was calling is because Gossip reported a non-fabricated story. Gray Preston’s ex-wife is Eli Holt’s first love. His high school sweetheart. Natalie Beck.”

  “What?” I ask, taken aback .

  Famous director Gray Preston married Eli’s ex?

  Natalie Beck. Her name tugs on my memory. “Are you sure?” I ask.

  “Yes, do you remember her?”

  “No.” I shake my head, but something flickers at the edges of my memory. “Do you?”

  “She was a senior when we were freshman. Eli graduated the year before her. She was a candy striper at —”

  “The hospital. It was right before Mom died.”

  Charlie nods, her eyes watching me closely, waiting for my reaction.

  I think back to that time, trying to see past the fog of grief that clouds all my memories of Mom’s final year. “She was sweet. Always brought Mom extra Jell-O.”

  “The cherry ones.”

  “Mom liked her.” I recall the tall blond with the striking blue eyes and natural elegance. She walked the hospital halls like she didn’t really belong there, too exquisite to be surrounded by so much sorrow.

  “Your mom liked everyone.”

  “Yeah.” Mom really did like everyone. She was too good for the rest of us.

  “I just thought it was weird. Like, too much of a coincidence.”

  “Yeah,” I agree, “that is strange." I turn over this interesting turn of events. Eli dated Natalie, a girl from our hometown, a girl from our high school. For years. “Why’d they break up?”

  “The article doesn’t say.”

  “When?” I ask, my mind on overdrive, my skin suddenly heating as my stomach drops, although I don’t understand why. He didn’t do anything wrong. Obviously, he dated before me. But his high school sweetheart, the phrase keeps blinking in my mind. It seems like more than just dating; it seems deeper.

  “Right before he moved out to L.A.”

  “Do you think that’s why they broke up? Because he was leaving?”

  “I don’t know. All I know is that she recently divorced Gray, and Gossip is beefing up the story to pit Gray and Eli against each other on set.”

  “Because of Natalie? Eli’s never even mentioned her. To my knowledge, he and Gray are super professional on set.”

  Charlie shrugs. The fact that she doesn’t chime in with some witticism about Natalie not mattering irks me.

  You’re being ridiculous. Paranoid.

  “Do you think he still cares about her?” I blurt out, not even caring that I’ve outed myself.

  “Shit, Zo. You really care about him, don’t you?”

  Blowing out a miserable breath, I nod. “I knew dancing in my underwear for a happy reason was too good to be true.”

  “Hold up. You don’t even know anything.”

  “I know Eli Holt was in love with Natalie Beck.”

  “Well, yeah, but maybe it was like puppy love.”

  I narrow my eyes and Charlie swears. “Just ask him about her,” she suggests.

  “That’s the worst advice you’ve ever given me.”

  “No, the worst advice I ever gave you was to get a Brazilian the morning you decided to lose your virginity.”

  “Fuck, that hurt like a bitch.” I wince, remembering the burning pain of my skin on top of the awkwardness of first-time sex. “You suck, Charlie.”

  “You love me, Zo.”

  “You really think I should ask him?”

  “I do. Especially if you guys are going to move forward in your whatever-you’re-calling-it relationship. You both should be able to talk openly about your pasts.”

  “Fine. But then you need to talk to Evan too. You’re clearly upset about the way things went down between you guys, and if he’s still popping into Shooters, that means he’s coming to see you. So talk to him.”

  Charlie flips me the middle finger, but a moment later nods in acquiescence.

  Flopping back onto my bed, I hold my iPhone over my head and stare at my best friend. “What if he’s still in love with her?” I switch the subject back to Eli.

  “Then it’s a good thing you’re asking him,” she jokes, but I hear the undercurrent of concern in her tone.

  And it worries me too.

  * * *

  Something pricks at the back of my neck as I walk down to the beach to meet Eli for his workout.

  Nerves. A slick inadequacy that slips through my consciousness like slime, infecting everything it touches. Awareness that I’m lacking in so many ways compared to Brooke. And now Natalie.

  Because, of course, I Googled her after hanging up with Charlie. Tall, graceful, and elegant, Natalie Beck filled my screen just the way I remembered her. Blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and breathtaking.

  Guess Eli doesn’t have a type; the three of us couldn’t look any more different.

  But still I feel less than.

  Because they’re established, financially flourishing, society revered women, and I’m the girl who would step into the ring with an MMA contender and think I stood a chance.

  As my feet meet the sand, I spot Eli. He’s stretching, his shoulder blades rippling under the thin material of his tank, the tendons in his arms pulsing as he hugs a forearm to his chest.

  Jesus, he literally rivals the ocean view, so much so that I don’t even notice the spray of seashells and greenery that once held my attention captive. Instead, I’m captivated by Eli, absolutely beguiled by him.

  Breathing in the ocean wind, I let it un
furl through my body, slowing my galloping heart. I can ask Eli about his ex-girlfriend, can’t I? I mean, he’s fucked me in public, kissed me sweetly in his shower, and asked me my favorite movie. Doesn’t that mean I can ask him this?

  My fingernails dig into the flesh of my palms. I hate that I didn’t know he had a high school sweetheart. Someone from my high school. Someone my mom liked. Someone he dated when he was sixteen years old until right before his career took off.

  My longest relationship lasted a whole five months, and we were more study buddies who liked to hook up than a love match.

  With Brooke, it’s easier to understand their history. He mentions her casually, doesn’t seem rattled by working with her, and she’s only been friendly and sweet to me when our paths have crossed on set or in the hotel.

  She’s out in the open, someone I see him interact with and watch as they both instantly turn off any passionate glances or gentle caresses the second “cut” is called on set.

  But Natalie. He never mentioned her. Not even once. Why would he? Because she’s Gray’s ex-wife? Because she doesn’t mean anything to him anymore? Or because he still harbors feelings for her and doesn’t want anyone to know?

  As much as I try to hold myself to some higher standard that wouldn’t frantically click through Gossip’s website like a rat in a New York dumpster, my curiosity won out.

  I clicked. And clicked. Devoured article after article.

  I saw the photos of a young, lanky Eli with his arm wrapped around Natalie, her blue eyes wide with wonder. The ones where she’s straddling him in a booth in Shooters that someone must have swiped off Facebook. And then, the devastating, truly lost expression haunting Eli when he sees Natalie in the arms of Gray at a L.A. restaurant three years ago.

  The ugly twist of his lips, the harshness of his jawline, the tightness in his shoulders, all spoke of a man scorned. But his eyes, oh God, his beautiful eyes bled pain. Betrayal. Ruin.

  Natalie Beck broke Eli Holt. Maybe even shattered him. And now, the pieces that fill my vision, comprising the sexiest man I’ve ever seen, may not be whole enough to confess that he’s still in love with her.