Sweet Little Lies

by Sierra Hill

  A degree will give me my independence so I don’t have to rely on a marriage to a man I don’t love to support me.

  “Coming, angel.”

  The baby and I walk toward the swing just as my phone pings with an incoming text message. Pulling out the old beat-up smartphone from my back pocket, I glance down to see who it’s from. Speak of el diablo.

  I want to ignore the text from Alberto and avoid him altogether, but it’s not as easy as that. Not only is he a family friend – as in, he comes to every family event, birthday party, celebration, holiday, etc. – but he’s also my father and brother’s boss. He owns Silva’s Autobody Shop and it’s important to stay on friendly terms with him.

  Alberto isn’t some horrible monster – he’s a decent guy. The problem with Alberto is that he’s nearly twelve years older than me. He’s out of shape and has a belly like he swallowed a Michelin tire, and his breath always stinks like rotten sewage from the cigars he smokes. He’s not attractive to me in the least.

  Yet he’s revered by my parents, who want nothing more than to see their youngest daughter married to a Mexican business owner to continue our family lineage and Hispanic traditions.

  If they knew I had such strong feelings about a certain gringo college basketball player, they’d disown me. I wish my heart wasn’t so foolish, but it knows what it wants – even if Lance isn’t good for me.

  “Tia, why are you frowning?”

  Amelia’s innocent question brings me back to the present, my eyes finding her sweet, angelic gaze.

  I make up a lie. “Well, I was worried we might miss dinner if we don’t go in soon and get cleaned up You don’t want to miss abuelita’s delicious tamales, do you?”

  She shakes her braided head emphatically and jumps off the still-moving swing. I watch in horror, unable to move fast enough to catch her, as she falls smack on her knees. Holding my breath, I wait for to the count of three, assuming she’s going to burst into a fit of tears.

  But she surprises me with her moxie and throws back her head instead in excited laughter.

  “That was fun!” she exclaims, patting the pebbled sand underneath her tiny little legs. AJ grunts and points, his own laughter mixing with Amelia’s and it’s then that I begin laughing, too.

  “I want to do that again!”

  Looks like we’ll be a little late for dinner, after all.

  ****

  I look at the clock on my microwave and stifle a yawn. It’s just after seven a.m. on Saturday and I’ve been up and studying for the past hour. My schedule is tight and if I don’t squeeze in study time when I can, I’ll never make it through these classes.

  Where most regular students my age are still sleeping the day away after partying all Friday night, I’ve been up and going since five-thirty this morning, and will be on my way to work by eight-forty-five to start at nine.

  Aside from taking care of my sister’s kids, I also clean houses with my auntie Maria and my mother. I’m grateful for the flexibility the job offers me, and actually enjoy the mindless work on most days. But it’s physically draining when I do it four to five days a week between classes and watching the kids.

  Pouring myself another cup of coffee, I mentally tick through my latest chapter assignment, memorizing the various types of blood borne pathogens when there’s a knock on my door.

  I don’t bother considering my attire, as I’m certain it’s one of my family members. Probably my youngest brother, Mateo, looking for a ride home from where ever he was the night before. He had a fender-bender recently and doesn’t have access to a car at the moment.

  Trudging across the worn linoleum floor, I peek through the peephole just to be on the safe side. That’s when I lose my breath.

  Lance is the last person I’d expect to see on the other side of my door on a Saturday morning.

  I debate for all of two seconds whether to let him in.

  “I know you’re in there,” he insists when I’ve taken too long to decide, a slight tone of amusement laced within his comment. “You forget I know your schedule.”

  Dammit. He’s got me there.

  It’s not like I don’t want to see Lance, because I do. But every time I’m around him, he breaks off another chink in my armor. And I have to keep it locked tight to avoid getting hurt. Because I know if I let him, I’ll get hurt. He may not mean for it to happen, but we’re not on the same page when it comes to relationships. He’s a player and I’m a “settle-down” kind of girl.

  Sighing, I undo the three locks on the door and let it swing open where I find the boy I’ve tried hard to hide my crush from. Based on his smile, he sees the truth.

  “Hola, beautiful,” he grins, one of his eyebrows quirked, as he leans in to place a kiss on my cheek.

  He smells freshly showered and looks a whole lot better than he did when he left my apartment last Sunday. I bite my lip, trying to hold back my sappy sigh at his handsome sight.

  Lance always looks amazing and I really wish he didn’t give me that float-y feeling every time he’s around. He’s as tall as a tree, towering over me by at least a good foot and a half. His lean, muscular frame is perfectly built, his broad shoulders and tattooed biceps on clear display in the basketball jersey he wears.

  He’s always wearing some type of jersey or sports attire, except on game days during basketball season. Then he can be found in a dark, tailored suit that fits him like a glove and makes all the hoops hunnies want to drop their panties at the sight of him.

  Lance doesn’t wait for my invitation to come in as he walks through the gap between me and the doorway, his chest brushing against my bare arm as he does. The skin-to-skin contact sends little sparks and flutters in my stomach, like a pack of wild Monarchs.

  Gathering my wits, I follow him as he sits down ever-so-casually on my worn-out couch.

  Panic registers through my brain as his eyes scan my body with a glint of lust. I glance down at my attire to make sure I am indeed wearing clothes, because you’d think I were naked based on the way he looks at me. I’m still wearing my oversized T-shirt that ends just above the tops of my knees. Nothing sexy or seductive. But then I realize that with no bra and my air conditioner running full blast, my nipples are clearly on display and poking out of my shirt.

  Folding my arms over my chest, I tilt my head in suspicion.

  “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?” I ask, walking toward him. “And at seven fifteen on a Saturday morning, no less? This is not the Lance I know. Unless you were slumming last night and you’re doing a walk of shame from somewhere near by?”

  I mean it as a joke and poking fun at him, but the truth is, Lance Britton is usually hungover on a Saturday morning and rarely up before noon during the off-season. And the likelihood that he had a sleep-over and one-night stand with a random is a pretty good bet.

  “I’m here to take you to breakfast.”

  He states it so matter-of-factly and with such confidence that I choke out a snort-laugh.

  “I’m sorry, what?” I might stumble back a step.

  His hand darts out to reach for me, pulling me into his proximity before he taps me on the nose with his finger. Like I’m a kid. I grimace.

  “Don’t be dense. I asked you the other day if you had time to get together and this was your only available time.”

  I replay the conversation we had before he left my house the other morning and maybe he did ask, but I don’t recall ever agreeing to it. And honestly, I didn’t expect him to follow through, so I didn’t add it to my calendar.

  “Um, you may have asked, but I didn’t say yes. So, breakfast is not on the schedule this morning because I have to work.”

  Lance rolls his eyes, leaning back against the couch and crossing his feet at his ankles.

  “Nope, you specifically said the only time you were available was Saturday morning.”

  I shake my head to deny, wondering why I’m wasting time arguing over this. “No, what I said was, this was the only time I had
to myself this week.”

  “Exactly!” he confirms, pointing his finger in my direction. “Which means, you have time to have breakfast with the hottest basketball player around.”

  I roll my eyes. “Oh, sweet baby Jesus. You’re incorrigible. Your ego is as big as-”

  “My dick…I know. It’s a curse.”

  I laugh so hard I can’t stop. Lance never fails to crack me up with his antics. He’s funny and always up for a good time.

  While I can’t speak to the size of his dick, because I’ve never actually seen it, I may have noticed a time or two the shape of the outline through his basketball shorts. And there may have been some touching and groping during a dark, heavy ‘I’m-going-to-regret-this’ make-out session we had a few months ago. It was during a very weak moment when I gave in to his demands because his kisses made my brain the consistency of soggy grits and my resistance was at an all-time low.

  But as usual, I put a stop to things before they went too far. Because getting involved and losing myself to Lance would not be good for either of us.

  Lance and I, while we have sexual chemistry bigger than the stratosphere, could never work. And I’m not going to be one of his casual fuck-buddies or hoops hunnies that he can get at the drop of a hat. I have way too much self-respect to be one of his booty calls.

  In fact, it still surprises me that Lance shows me any attention at all. I half expected him to lose interest in me soon after the first time I turned him down. And the second. And the third.

  But he’s like the Energizer Bunny. He just keeps at it. Maybe it’s the challenge that I represent. I’m not that easy girl or the one who chases him. I think I defy his logic and he enjoys the competitive aspect of working to get something he’s never had. And honestly, it’s getting harder and harder to resist his advances. Maybe I should just do it and get it over with so I can resume my regular scheduling.

  The thought of losing his friendship, though, makes me sad. And it’s the last thing I’d want to do.

  But right now, there is no time for fooling around. I’ve got tons of stuff I need to do before work. To show him what I really think about his over-inflated ego, I place my thumb against his temple and push his head backwards so it thwamps against the couch cushion. But I’m not fast enough to evade his grasp and he yanks me down on top of his lap with a growl.

  Warning bells blare in my head, alerting me to the real possibility that I’ve just been suckered into Lance’s sexy-vortex and am about to be swallowed whole.

  I wiggle with all my might, hoping to squirm away from him, but his hold is strong. And the chemistry inevitable.

  The fight in me is quickly diminished, replaced with my body’s desire to be ensnared by this sexy man.

  “Micaela,” he murmurs into my neck, where his mouth hovers against my flesh. Not kissing me exactly, but burning me with the heat of his lips. The warmth of his breath. The inferno of his desire.

  “Let me repay you for taking care of me the other night. I want to say thank you. It’s just breakfast.”

  And then his mouth begins to pepper my sensitive skin with hot, wet kisses, until I’ve relaxed my neck to give him better access. Dios mio, how easily I fall into his trap, like a moth to a flame.

  He sucks up all my willpower I have stashed away in reserve. I’ve wanted him for so long – since the first time I met him through my friend, Ainsley and her boyfriend, Cade - that I rarely have the strength to tell him no.

  Without a doubt, if he were to flip me over on the couch and spread my legs open to make room for his body, I’d be useless against his advances. My body would bend to his will. He could have his way with me six ways to Sunday and I wouldn’t even bat an eyelash. Because he’s that potent. And I’m that hungry for him.

  Luckily, even though I’ve lost all impulse control, Lance knows my reluctance and respects the line I’ve drawn between us. He’s never pushed me past the point of uncomfortable, although he sure as hell has tried to edge that line on more than one occasion. He’s the master of setting the land-speed records for turning me on and then letting me go, like a balloon he’s filled with air and then releases. I end up empty and burning with need for him to finish the job.

  But I’ve carefully maintained our “friend-zone” agreement, which he’s reluctantly committed to in the past. But which he’s failing miserably at right now.

  And so am I.

  My moan echoes across the room, mocking my attempts at keeping that respectable personal space. “Mmm…”

  He finds my earlobe and bites it, his breath hot and sensual across my ear. “Is that a yes, then?”

  The hard ridge of his erection pokes up through his shorts and I can’t stop myself from grinding against him. Apparently, I’m hornier than I thought. What can I say? It’s been two years since I’ve had sex and Lance is too hot to resist.

  When Lance is sober, he’s the perfect guy. He’s sweet, thoughtful, funny, brave and wildly handsome. And he makes me melt with every touch, smile or sweet-talking word he gives me.

  Our groans mix together, an alchemy of flavor, desire and blind need. His appeal is enormous – like an opened box of assorted chocolates that has you salivating for just one taste. But I know if I proceed, I’ll gorge myself until I’m so full it’ll cause harm.

  Because regardless of how good it feels in Lance’s arms, taking pleasure from his virility and hotness, it doesn’t erase the reservations I have over him and how it would work between us.

  And while he might be sober now, that’s not always the case. When he’s drunk…he’s too much to handle. He’s a happy drunk. Fun-loving. Spirited. Crazy and over-the-top. Drunk Lance is out-of-control Lance.

  And someday he’s bound to hurt himself – or possibly me – with his reckless ways. And it scares me.

  Coming to my senses, I push against his rock-hard chest. It doesn’t take much of a struggle for him to get the picture. He lets out a mewl of displeasure, his breathing choppy and erratic, but stops knowing I need him to.

  I clumsily detach myself from his hold and regain my footing, looking everywhere but at him. The heat of his mouth still lingers on my neck and my fingers trace the gentle slope of flesh where his lips just tasted.

  “Lance…” I start but he waves his hand in the air apologetically.

  “No, I’m sorry, Mica. I always make a mess of things with you. Fuck, I just can’t help myself,” he laments as he stands and moves forward a few steps, turning his back to gain some distance from me.

  There’s a part of me that just wants to leap right back into his arms and let him devour me. Screw the consequences and let him take me as hard and fast as he wants. Fill me with all that pent-up desire and need that’s been brewing between us for a year.

  Would it be good?

  Hell yes. It’d be the best thing I’ve ever had. I have no doubts.

  But the aftermath would break my heart.

  Once the deed was done, he’d come to his senses and realize I was just another one of his conquests and once he got what he wanted, he’d lose interest. And that would rip my heart and soul to shreds.

  The air between us is heavy and we’re both panting hard. I want to say something, but don’t know what. I’m still a little woozy from the affects his body has on me. I watch with worried eyes as he slowly turns back to face me, the expression on his face hard to decipher.

  “I’m always apologizing to you, Mica. I do stuff that I always have to say I’m sorry for. I just…I just lose my self-control with you.”

  I know the feeling.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t-”

  He’s quick to respond, grabbing my wrists in a gentle vice to hold me in front of him. Fear seems etched in his dark gray eyes.

  “No, please. I promise I’ll be good. I need you, Mica. Plus, I have a favor to ask you.”

  His sudden desperation is like an arrow to my heart. I bleed for him. And it’s very uncharacteristic for him to ask anybody for anything. Even with his friends he’s
reluctant to ever ask for help. As if it would ruin his image or make him less of a man. Or show his weaknesses.

  When I don’t respond, he pulls me into his arms in the sweetest embrace. I close my eyes when the sound of his heartbeat vibrates through his chest. Ba dump. Ba dump. Ba dump.

  He’s so warm and solid, filling me with a sensation like I’m up on top of a mountain ready to jump.

  It’s exhilarating. Liberating. Freeing.

  But it’s also so terrifying that sometimes I forget to breathe.

  “What is it? Are you okay?” I ask quietly.

  The weight of his hand combs through my loose hair down my back, the other hand at the curve above my butt, his thumb gently stroking the patch of skin under my t-shirt and panties. Goosebumps flitter down my legs.

  He inhales deeply. “Go get dressed and I’ll tell you over breakfast.”

  Just like that, he releases me and swats my ass in the direction of my bedroom, as he heads into my kitchen to wait.

  My head spins and I feel discombobulated as I change into some shorts and a shirt. Lance is like that wild summer thunderstorm. It comes on slowly, rolling in and changing the atmosphere around you until the sky lights up in a frenzy of flashes and fury.

  And like any good storm chaser, I’m enthralled by the inner workings of the chaos, always searching for any way I can get closer to the action; hoping to find out what makes the storm tick before it changes direction and leaves you with a mess to clean up.

  Chapter 3

  Lance

  “I’ll have the three-egg combo, with bacon and sausage, a side of fruit, the waffle and a cup of yogurt.”

  I hand the menu back to the waitress and turn to see Mica staring at me in wide-eyed disbelief, her dark saucer disks opened wide. Her pink lips agape.

  “What?” I ask, slinking down into the booth so I can stare directly at her from across the table.

  “Dios mio,” she says incredulously. “Where do you put all that food?”

  I chuckle at her ridiculousness. She’s seen me eat a whole pizza and chicken and waffles in one sitting before. This is nothing.