Cheater (Curious Liaisons Book 1)

by Rachel Van Dyken

  Thank God one of us was logical. “YES!”

  “No need to shout it, Avery.”

  “Oh, sorry, I just, um, got excited. You know, about the kids.”

  “I bet.” He chuckled. “So, I was thinking . . .”

  “Good for you, Thorn.”

  He ignored me and pressed on. “Are you hungry?”

  “Is this a trick?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  The spider in the corner continued to make itself at home while I made myself comfortable in the middle of the floor. “I’m always hungry.” There, that sounded good, not like the starving human I was. More like, oh cool, I could eat, when really my brain was screaming I would destroy an entire elephant right now, sorry not sorry.

  “Answer your door.”

  I gasped. “Did you order me PIZZA?”

  “Why are you always yelling at me?”

  “Sister. Wrong bed. Broken engagement. Whore—”

  “I’m sorry, did you want food?”

  “Yes!” I jumped to my feet and ran over to the door and pulled it open, then fumbled with my phone as I nearly dropped it onto the floor.

  “Thorn.”

  “I was in the neighborhood.” He grinned.

  “What? Fighting crime?” Just then a loud scream erupted down the hall.

  With a gasp, I grabbed his shirt and jerked him into the living room, then proceeded to lock every lock on my door.

  The screaming got louder.

  With a yawn, I turned around and took in Lucas’s wide-eyed expression.

  “Are you sure you’re safe here?”

  “Oh that?” I pointed at the door. “That’s nothing. Mr. Thompson just gets confused sometimes and walks into the wrong apartment while women are changing. His timing is impeccable.”

  “So . . .” Lucas clutched two bags, and I couldn’t take my eyes off them. “Mr. Thompson is a peeping Tom who just randomly breaks into people’s apartments?”

  “He doesn’t break in—I mean, not really. He opens the door, takes a step in, says he’s lost, and walks right back out. Harmless really.”

  “Which is why you lock your door.”

  “I refuse to let him become the only man to see me naked in a year.” I laughed and then smacked my hand against my forehead. “I mean—”

  “Noooooo, you mean Carl’s not real? How are the dancing children by the way? Invisible?”

  “Hey! That’s an actual real nonprofit.”

  Lucas’s cleft just made his stupid smile look bigger, and more . . . mocking, and sexy, but I refused to find him sexy, so I forced myself to think his smile was stupid and ugly. “I know—I give to the cause.”

  “Of course you do.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  I couldn’t take it anymore. I marched over to where he was standing, which was like a foot away from me, given how small my apartment was, and snagged the take-out bag from his hands. “What do you have?”

  “Easy.” He pried my hands from the bags. “You get food, but you have to do something for me first.”

  “Nope.” I shook my head. “That’s cruel. You know how much I love food. How dare you use it as a way to get me to do you a favor! I have to work with you, isn’t that favor enough?”

  Lucas sighed, his shoulders moving up and down with each exhale like he was so irritated with me his body couldn’t help but show it. “More like I have to put up with you and you have to put up with me.”

  “Wait”—I held up my hand—“where’s Monday?”

  “You mean Molly?” His smile was so smug, I wanted to punch him in the throat and then send him out to Mr. Thompson for some playtime.

  “Yes.” I tried reaching for the bag again. “Molly.”

  “You look great by the way, very shabby chic.”

  It was then that I realized my attire. I was wearing ratty red shorts from high school and a white T-shirt with “I’m a Unicorn” scrawled across the front.

  My socks had at least two holes in them.

  Summary—I looked homeless.

  I quickly touched my hair. At least it was pulled back into a bun, out of my face.

  I groaned. In a scrunchie. I actually had a scrunchie in my hair.

  “Those making a comeback?” He pointed at the scrunchie and burst out laughing. “Because I have to say, I’m a huge fan.”

  “Out!” I gestured toward the door.

  “What?” He set the bags on the table and turned toward me. “You’re just going to kick me and the food out?”

  “The food can stay. It’s done nothing offensive.”

  “And I have?”

  “You are breathing.”

  “So violent and jaded for someone so young.”

  “Molly?”

  “Her parents are in town, and she figured it would be too hard to explain that the guy she’s seeing is also seeing other women and, no, would not in fact be proposing marriage anytime soon. They’re very strict Catholics.”

  “So?”

  “So they want her to have children. Loads of children.”

  “The last thing this world needs is carbon copies of Lucas Thorn running around, wreaking havoc on this city. The police have enough trouble with Mr. Thompson.”

  “Cute.” He sighed and turned in a circle, then finally pulled out my one chair and pointed to it. “Sit.”

  “I think it’s better that I—”

  “Now.”

  I slumped over to the chair and sat, crossing my arms over my chest while he started pulling out box after box of Thai food.

  My mouth watering, I stared until my vision blurred as steam from the chicken pad Thai wafted into the air, tickling my nose.

  I let out a moan; I couldn’t help it.

  Lucas stopped with the food, his body stiffened.

  “What?” I swallowed and glanced up at his gorgeous face.

  His eyes locked on mine. “I forgot.”

  “Forgot what?”

  “That when you’re hungry you eat like a hyena.” His eyes zeroed in on my full mouth. “Or a shark during Shark Week.”

  His sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, exposing gorgeous tan forearms. I tried not to stare, but it was hard. This was why Lucas Thorn was a menace to society, and a very bad man. He was too good-looking to be real. It was unfair that he had such a horrible personality to go with those good looks.

  Not that he’d always been such an unfortunate human being.

  But still.

  He slapped my wrist with one of the plastic forks and shook his head. “Not yet.”

  “But—”

  “Patience. Tomorrow night.” He licked his lips, suddenly appearing more nervous than I’d ever seen him look. “I need you to be . . . nice.”

  “That’s what this is about? You want me to be nice to you? During dinner?”

  He nodded slowly. “Yes . . . nice to me during dinner. And not the fake nice that makes me want to strangle you within an inch of your life, but the nice where your smile actually reaches your eyes—and your laugh makes a man forget himself. That kind of nice.” He turned away and looked toward the spider. The lucky bastard was probably never going to leave now that it had experienced the Lucas Thorn effect. “Think you can handle that?”

  I slowly pried the fork from his now-clenched fist, and then maybe insanity took hold, because I placed my hand on his and squeezed. “I promise; I’ll be nice.”

  “Swear.” His eyes narrowed as he peered down at our hands. “Over your Thai food.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “Deathly.” His voice lowered as he leaned down so we were inches from each other, our bodies almost touching.

  “Fine.” I took a deep breath. “I swear over this Thai food that I’ll be nice to you tomorrow night, the real nice that you want.”

  “Or so help me God I will never eat another bite of Thai food again.” His eyebrows shot up. “Say it or no food.”

  The temptation of my favorite dishes was too m
uch to bear, so I gritted my teeth and repeated. “Or so help me God I will never eat another bite of Thai food again.”

  “Great!” He smiled brightly. “Because my parents are coming.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  LUCAS

  My parents were great. I took a long sip of bourbon.

  Fantastic, extremely supportive, loving. This time I chugged half my drink and slammed it down onto the bar, then checked my watch.

  Correction. They were great until I ruined their relationship with the Blacks and solidified our family as the one that nobody waved to during the annual neighborhood Fourth of July celebration.

  People had taken sides.

  It didn’t take a rocket scientist to discover who ended up in camp Thorn.

  Crickets.

  And my parents.

  My sister was solid middle ground.

  Which meant that my entire family was probably ready to throw a damn parade over the fact that somehow I was making a wrong right again.

  There wasn’t enough whiskey in the world to calm the nerves I was feeling. Letting Avery loose on them without prompting her just seemed like the worst sort of idea I could possibly come up with.

  Then again, the only other option was to admit the lie.

  Admit my lifestyle.

  And let them down all over again.

  Mom would cry.

  Dad would yell.

  And news would spread of how far good ol’ Lucas Thorn had fallen again. But honestly, I didn’t give a shit about myself.

  But my parents? I loved them.

  They’d supported me during one of my darkest times; the least I could do was have dinner with them, play nice with Avery, and let them assume that all had finally been healed. Then later Avery and I could mutually and publicly decide to break off our relationship on good terms.

  “Another?” The bartender nodded toward me, already grabbing a clean glass.

  My fingers slid against the cold glass as I stared down into the clear brown liquid. How the hell did this happen?

  Right. Avery.

  Another drink.

  Damn it, she just had to try to help. I should have known better. After all, I’d been on the opposite end of her help more times than I could count.

  Once she tried to save a cat that I’m 99 percent sure was possessed by an actual demon. It nearly took off one of my testicles and, damn it, I needed those!

  The mouse she decided to save when she was twelve almost made it, but my childhood dog grabbed ahold of it; blood went everywhere.

  And it wasn’t her fault the neighbors were having a birthday party at the time for their four-year-old son—or that all his friends just happened to be in the front yard when it happened.

  Who was I kidding? She was absolutely a danger to society and me both.

  But I had no choice.

  My mom had texted me at least a dozen times to make sure I wasn’t backing out. During a moment of pure insanity I even entertained the thought of just hiring someone who looked like Avery, so as not to risk the real Avery slipping up and ruining everything. The restaurant was known for its dark lighting. Hell, El Gaucho gave patrons flashlights for reading the menus! An impersonator could work! Maybe. Okay, probably not.

  They knew her too well.

  “Okay!” a voice said to my right. “Before you freak out, just know, Austin dressed me. I forgot how nice this place is and—”

  My mouth dropped open as Avery crossed her arms—her breasts spilling over the neckline of her red dress.

  “Is that whiskey?” She slipped the glass from my fingers and tossed back my entire drink, then slammed the glass onto the counter. “I’ll have another.” She winked at the bartender. “My dad’s paying.”

  Avery was pointing at me.

  “Remember what I said about being nice.” I pinched her side.

  She gave a little yelp and somehow landed in my lap.

  I froze.

  She froze.

  Our eyes locked.

  And maybe I was already half-drunk, because I didn’t shove her off onto the floor or start yelling at her to behave.

  Maybe it was because of the dress.

  I was a sucker for red.

  It was a shade darker than her hair. The thick straps tightened over her shoulders into a complicated maze of twists and turns dipping low and kissing her ass.

  With a curse, I sucked in a breath and waited for her to move.

  But it was Avery.

  She never did what I expected her to. Instead, she wiggled her ass and glanced over her shoulder. “This nice enough for you?”

  Do not react. Do not react.

  Be mature.

  The bigger person.

  I slapped her ass cheek and shrugged. “You’re getting warmer.”

  Her grin was deadly—I should have known better than to challenge someone who hadn’t used training wheels when she was young. Avery rejected anything that made her feel like a kid and went straight to a ten-speed.

  She was way out of her league now.

  And yet, tonight, she was going to pretend that we were in a relationship, pretend that we didn’t have a shitload of history between us—pretend that a few days ago I wasn’t in someone else’s arms.

  “How’s it feel, I wonder?”

  The bartender placed a napkin in front of her, the drink followed. She slowly lifted it to her lips and sipped.

  “Your ass?” I asked with a hoarse voice. “Or having the bartender think I’m the creepiest dad on the planet?”

  She burst out laughing, nearly spilling the drink on both of us. “Come on, admit it. It’s funny.”

  “Not so funny.”

  Avery licked her lips and stared at the bartender out of the corner of her eye. “He’s horrified.”

  “And yet you look so cheerful about it.”

  She shrugged one shoulder and took another sip. “I like to shock.”

  I burst out laughing. “Oh, I’m sorry—I thought that was a joke. You’re abrasive as hell, but nothing about you could shock me. After all, I’ve seen you running naked through sprinklers.”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  Oh shit.

  Carefully, she set the drink back on the bar and turned around to face me. It was impossible not to react to her lush body, which was pressed against mine. Thank God the bar was dark.

  Her arms snaked around my neck and then—with a leg, her right one, I think, propped up on the barstool—she full on straddled me in my seat, her eyebrows rising in a challenge.

  I cupped her ass again and waited.

  She didn’t move.

  The bartender’s mouth dropped open.

  “Congratulations, you’ve officially given the old bartender a heart attack.”

  “Not good enough,” she whispered.

  “Avery,” I ground out her name like a curse. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  The heat of her body was searing me alive. Her breasts pressed up against my chest, rubbing once, twice, the friction so erotic, I stumbled over my next breath.

  Do. Not. React.

  Her hair fell in a curtain over her shoulder, and then she pressed her lips to my neck.

  I gripped her skin, digging my fingers into her flesh, fighting against every instinct I had to plunge my tongue into her mouth and slam her body against the bar, rip her dress off, and lay claim to her.

  I was acting like a caveman.

  An insane caveman.

  An insane. Starving. Caveman.

  She winked.

  Hell.

  “Honey!” A shrill voice interrupted the moment right before the part of the kiss when the lips almost touch, should by all means touch, but instead are cock blocked by a psychopath mother who has no appreciation for personal space.

  She poked her head between us and tapped my shoulder. “I thought that was you two!”

  “Found us,” I said in a lame attempt to buy myself some time, because—fun fact—at some point I was go
ing to have to stand.

  Which meant, with my luck, my mom would look down and go, “Oh, honey, shouldn’t you take care of that?”

  At which point I would be forced to explain to my mom all the reasons why Avery couldn’t help me take care of it, only to get worked up again while Avery licked her lips and focused her attention on my dick.

  Well, since there was no way out . . . I held up my hand. “One minute, Mom.”

  Avery’s grin was evil, and my mom was still standing a foot away. As I leaned over to whisper in Avery’s ear, which also meant I could smell her flowery perfume, I bit down on her earlobe. “You’ll pay for that.”

  “Oh.” She winced. “Sorry, but your weekly schedule’s booked, and we all know Sunday’s God’s day.” With that, she hopped off my lap, looked down, and quickly turned and hugged my mom. “Why don’t we go to the table while Lucas takes care of a little pesky problem . . .” She turned. “Maybe some ice in your next drink will help, sweetie pie.”

  “Thanks, pumpkin face,” I said through clenched teeth. “You’re always so smart.”

  She giggled and waved. “Oh my gosh, stud, that’s what I’m here for! To be your brain when all the blood in your head goes south!”

  My mom let out a little gasp just as my dad appeared. “Cheapest valet parking in the city.” He frowned. “Patty, you look pale.” His attention quickly turned to Avery as a huge grin spread across his face. He opened his arms wide, and she basically jumped into them.

  “I’m starved.” After Avery hugged both of my parents, she patted her stomach. “Aren’t you guys starving? Let’s go.” She maneuvered herself between the two of them and walked away while I downed the rest of my drink and contemplated murdering Avery with a steak knife.

  I glanced up. The bartender’s judgmental stare wasn’t welcome, which was why I needed to make it clear she wasn’t my daughter. “She’s my date.”

  He nodded.

  “Not my daughter.”

  “Whatever you say, man.”

  “No. Seriously. Besides, she’s a horrible, vengeful, spiteful woman.”

  At that moment Avery’s laughter floated over to us.

  The bartender frowned. “Yeah, she seems horrible.”

  “She’s a damn thorn in my side!”

  He held up his hands. “Then maybe you shouldn’t have brought her to such a romantic spot.”