Love and Lies

by Duffey, Jennifer

  LOVE AND LIES

  By

  Jennifer Duffey

  Cover design © Arijana Karčić, Cover It! Designs

  Copyright© 2013

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual persons, events, or locales is not intended by the author.

  CHAPTER ONE

  I took a deep breath as I opened the door to the Beaux-Artiste University. Only a year ago I’d walked through the same heavy oak doors with wobbly knees, unsure and afraid of what lay ahead. Now, I sashayed in with my shoulders back and chin high.

  My confidence wavered when my phone played “The Devil Went Down to Georgia,” the ringer I'd assigned to my parents’ number.

  “What?” I snapped.

  “Good morning to you too, Carissa.”

  “I guess. What is it, Mom?” Okay, I was being rude, but I had good reason. Mom never called me unless she wanted something. They didn’t care enough about me for anything else. After all, what parent actually let their eighteen-year-old daughter run off to Luling, Louisiana from New York without much of a fight? Mine. That’s who.

  “I wanted to make sure everything was ok.”

  I paused, recognizing the quiver in her voice. Mom was a master of emotion, the queen of putting on a smile and hiding any sour feelings. “Umm...yeah, everything's fine. Why wouldn't it be?”

  “I just got a call. I mean I wanted to check on you. Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  Mom paused, the silence dragging out. I tapped my foot against the tile floor just inside the main entrance. Starting out the new semester late to my first class wasn’t a good idea at all.

  “Well, I suppose I should be going now. Good—”

  “Wait, you got a call? From who?”

  “A call? What are you talking about? I didn't say anything about a call.” Her words tumbled out. She was lying to me. First she tried to backtrack and now she spoke so fast I barely understood. Fabulous. Not only did she not actually want to talk to me, she was going to lie as well.

  “Like I said, I wanted to make sure you were safe. Your dad and I will talk to you later. I love you, sweetheart.”

  The line disconnected. Sweetheart. Right. Another lie. Mom never called me anything but my name. And that was usually said with contempt and disappointment. That’s what I was to my parents, a disappointment. The daughter they never wanted. I’d heard them say those words more than once.

  My dad’s parties were their favorite place to go on about how surprised they’d been that their only child hadn’t taken more of an interest in making something of herself. They wished I would do more than hang out in my room or with my friend. Of course the friend they referred to was Alec, and he was gay. Another strike against me.

  I had no idea what Mom meant by she'd “received a call”, but something was up. She and Dad called religiously on the fifth of every month. They paid my room and board, tuition, and deposited a monthly allowance. But only if I checked in with them every month. That was the biggest fight they put up. Today was the ninth. We spoke—if you can call a three-minute conversation speaking—four days earlier.

  The best way to find out what was up was to call back and demand answers, but class started in three minutes, and I needed to run. It didn't matter anyway. If she didn’t want something specific, then she wanted to scold me about my poor grades. Because, you know, a B is considered failing. Never good enough.

  I ran down the hall, my brand new Jimmy Choo wedges not slowing me down at all. I barely made it to class, sliding into the very uncomfortable, stiff-as-a-board desk with seconds to spare. Logan leaned back in his seat, fingers intertwined behind his head, and laughed at me. I took a deep breath and let out a puff of air to blow my bangs out of my eyes. Logan was my long time friend. He wasn't supposed to laugh at me.

  “Ms.Stein.” Professor Jurgensmeyer, our world lit professor, lowered his chin and flicked his tongue against his teeth spraying me with spit. “Made it by the skin of your teeth. You are walking a very thin line.” He had a history of failing students who were constantly late to class. Said it was an interruption or whatever. As if anyone actually paid attention to his monotone, repetitive lectures.

  This was my second semester with Jurgensmeyer. It seemed he hadn’t found a way to fix the spittle problem since last time I had him as a professor. I hated that I couldn't wipe off his fluid discharge until he turned his back to me. “I'm sorry, it won't happen again.”

  Professor Jurgensmeyer shook his head before finally turning around. He sauntered to the front with his hands behind his back like he owned the room. Logan’s shoulders shook with amusement. I wiped the Professor's saliva off my cheek and dried my hand on the back of Logan’s shirt. Teach him to laugh at me.

  Hoping to make him pay after class, I packed my books and chased him into the hall, prepared to smack him around a little. Too bad for me I wasn’t paying close enough attention and came to a halt against the brick wall of someone’s chest. “Damn it.”

  “You know, if you'd slow down, you wouldn't have run into me.”

  The guy’s voice was deep and vibrated all the way through me. He steadied me with strong, callused hands. My legs suddenly felt like Jell-O. As if I’d been working out for the last few hours and they no longer had the strength to hold me up.

  “Well, if you wouldn’t have been standing in the middle of the hall I wouldn’t have run into you.” Okay, okay. It wasn’t his fault. I wasn’t paying attention. But that was embarrassing. Not to mention the way my body reacted by his simple words and touch. All heated and tingling. I had to defend myself somehow.

  “I see you’ve met Eric.”

  Logan’s familiar voice floated to me from the left. His tone was slightly higher pitched than the stranger in front of me. I wanted to ask the guy’s name, but Logan was too busy talking, pulling the attention away from me and the new guy.

  Well at least now I knew his name.

  “Not formally.” I took a step back and held my hand out to Eric. “Nice to meet you. I’m Carissa.”

  “Pretty name. Just like you.” He winked, and then moved to lean against the brick wall next to Logan. Both of them stood in the same position, one ankle crossed over the other, their arms folded across their chests. Menacing and relaxed all at once.

  “Why didn't you help me out today?” I asked Logan.

  “Things on my mind, I guess.” He shrugged, but offered no other explanation.

  Logan never left me hanging in class. He was my eyes and ears. I had a habit of pissing people off with my quick to talk rather than think reactions, that and my consistent tardiness. It was a well-known fact you could count on me being late. Professor Jurgensmeyer only let me slide on the tardiness when he was in a good mood. I knew how to manipulate him on those days—a flip of the wrist, bat of the eyes, and a guilty “sorry” worked every time.

  First Mom and now Logan. Add in the new, mysterious, hot guy Eric and today was shaping up to be one full of surprises. To think the semester just started. There had to be some unwritten rule that all problems started on the second day. New beginnings and all that crap. Why were my new beginnings strange events?

  Logan shoved off the wall and headed to his next class, leaving Eric and me alone. My heart started racing. What the hell? Why was I reacting this way to a guy I met minutes ago? Sure he had that deep, sexy rumble of a voice. He was tall, and muscular.

  I watched as his black as night hair fell down over his eyes. When he pushed it bac
k to reveal the most mesmerizing eyes I’d ever seen, I gasped. He had one hazel and one blue eye. Staring at his dark hair and bright eyes made me think of a full moon in the middle of a starry, midnight sky. Light in the midst of black. His face was stoic, but the harsh lines of his cheeks and jaw said he wasn’t someone to mess with.

  “You’re new.” It had to have been the lamest thing I could have said. My face heated another degree.

  He chuckled, and once again, the vibrations rocked through me, sending shivers down my arms. Goose bumps rose as evidence.

  “Yep. Moved here from New York. How about you?”

  “New York as well. How do you know Logan?” Of all the questions I could have, should have asked, that one weighed the heaviest on my mind. This stranger shows up from my home state, and Logan is already comfortable with him. Logan didn’t trust people easily. His dad was the top music producer in the country. He’d had more experience with people using him than most. So how did Mr. New York know Logan, who came from California?

  Eric offered a noncommittal shrug. “We’re in the same apartment complex. I got here a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Oh yeah? How come I haven’t seen you around?”

  The hall, which was full of people a few minutes earlier, thinned as students headed off into the direction of their next classes or to the commons area for more coffee. I checked the time on my phone. I had ten minutes before my next class. Just enough time to get a few more questions answered.

  “Been busy. There’s a lot to do to get settled. Surely, you can understand that.”

  “What’s your major?”

  My phone buzzed in my hand. I glanced down to see a text from Logan. Don’t grill the guy too much, Riss. He’s okay. Promise. Passed an intense background check and everything. I tried to keep from laughing, but Eric noticed my attempt and tilted his chin in question. His eyes focused on the phone in my hand.

  “Dance,” he answered. “Contemporary mostly, but I’ve got some experience in ballet. What’s so funny?”

  I ignored his question about what had made me laugh. We didn’t know each other well enough for me to share my conversation with Logan. That’s not to say I didn’t want to get to that point.

  “Dance, huh?” I gave him an inspecting look once again. With his tall, well-defined build I could see him as a hip-hop dancer. Not so much ballet though. Then again, his experience could be from when he was a kid. Not necessarily recent. Good lord, this guy was amazing. His black T-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders; his arms were big enough to make you think protective. The jeans he wore hung loose on his hips, hugged his thighs just enough to give me a sneak peek of how much strength they held.

  “I can see you as a dancer. Are you any good?”

  Eric shook his head, looked at his watch, and pushed off the wall. “I can hold my own. Listen, I should probably get to my next class. You think there’s a chance we can hang out later? Maybe grab lunch?”

  “Sure. I eat with Logan and another friend of mine. You find us, and you’re more than welcome to join.” I lifted my bag a little higher on my shoulder then walked off in the opposite direction. With a quick look behind me, I got a delectable view of his back. Just as fine as the front. I licked my lips and shook my head. Getting involved with a guy wasn’t a good idea. Not at all.

  My dating history was short, but the few guys on the list had turned out to be jerks. They reminded me of home, and I didn't like it. For most people, thoughts of home meant shopping trips with Mom and helping cook for Thanksgiving. Maybe even a day of slumming around the house in pajamas. When I thought of home, I thought about bodyguards disguised as assistants and surveillance, a detached kind of living. After moving to Luling for school I vowed to never let that happen again. The guys I dated threatened to make me break that vow with their possessiveness. If someone had told me that guys could be as possessive as my father, I would have laughed in their face. These days, I knew better. Breaking up with them was easy, being single was easier.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I sat down at my easel, ready to get to work on a new project, and stared at the blank space in front of me. Eric’s smirk was a frozen picture in my head. I needed to shake him off, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t. The professor, a new one to me, stood at the front of the room reviewing the syllabus, giving us a run down of the focus for the semester. This was a class on blending techniques. We’d be working primarily with landscapes in the beginning then move to portraits and stills later in the semester. Fine with me. Today, he said we’d start with a simple sunset. Simple for those who could focus on the techniques he taught. Unlike me. My attention was still on the new guy.

  Something about him made the hairs on my neck stand up, and not in a good way. It was more than being a stranger. I mean, surely that had something to do with my unease, but this was different.

  This was my second year at Beaux-Artiste. I’d brought Alec with me from New York. We met Logan during orientation and became friends. Other than those two, I didn’t really have other friends. Acquaintances, but not people I’d call close friends. My parents never let me have friends other than the ones they dictated for me, so I chose to stay alone. Until I met Alec, then I snuck out to hang out with him. When my parents found out, they hired a bodyguard to watch out for me. My dad said it was for my own protection. I said it was because they were way too overprotective. Only movie stars and politicians needed bodyguards. Not the top designer in the country. The looks I got walking down the street made me cringe, but I hated being locked up in my room, looking over Central Park. Alec taught me the art of sneaking around. That’s when my life turned a corner, and I learned how to truly have fun.

  Finally, my thoughts turned from Eric to memories with Alec and the day I met him. I picked up my paint brush, dipped it into the orange I’d mixed and went to work on the sunset we were supposed to be working on. Thinking of Alec made me smile, helped me clear my mind and pay attention to the work in front of me. Painting, drawing, art in general, relaxed me. It was my stress relief. I loved art. Mom and Dad hated that I didn’t choose to take over in my father’s steed. Become a designer, train under him.

  Oh, I loved clothes. Shoes especially. But I preferred drawing the people wearing the clothes than the actual outfits. Capturing moments frozen in time. Photography was fun, but I never could figure out how to get the lighting or angle just right. So I turned to a medium where I made the lighting. I chose the angle that worked. The colors were my decision, like now. My orange had just a hint of pink to it. That was my favorite part about a sunset, the way the oranges and reds came together. Not to make a new color, but to merge the two, a subtle transition like that of going from day to night.

  Class came to a close, and I cleaned up my station. On my way out the door, my phone buzzed again in my pocket.

  Logan: Headed to the coffee house. Want to meet me there? Latte is on me.

  Never one to turn down a free cup of coffee, especially a mocha latte. I texted him back and walked in the direction of our favorite hangout. My heart picked up a beat when I arrived and saw that Logan wasn’t alone. Logan and Eric had commandeered the couch and chair on the right side of the café. Eric’s legs stretched out, his feet tucked under the light-colored wood table. His hands were clasped behind his head. With their backs to me, I had a minute to decide whether or not to leave and text Logan that something had come up.

  I couldn’t let Eric run me off. Despite the chill I now felt, I didn’t know the guy. Warning bells or not, it was only fair for me to give him a chance. It seemed Logan really was okay with him, which I’d have to talk to Logan about soon.

  As I moved toward them, I slowed my breathing and tried to slow my pulse. Fortunately, the chair was on Logan’s side, so I wouldn’t have to sit close to Eric. It irritated me that he made me so uncomfortable. That wasn’t normal. Sure, I didn’t do a whole lot of socializing growing up, but it didn’t mean people made me uncomfortable. Just another sign Eric was
different, somehow.

  “Hey,” I said with a smile.

  Logan laid his head against the back of the couch and looked at me with a wide grin. “There you are.”

  Three cups sat on the table in front of them. I gestured at them. “One of those mine?”

  “Yep, your favorite. Just the way you like it.” Logan looked at me, then Eric, and back to me. “This okay?” he asked.

  “Of course. So which one is mine?” I asked.

  Logan pointed to the cup to the right of his. I took it and sat in the plush chair next to the couch. It was a big red, oversized chair that coffee houses and bookstores loved to use nowadays. As comfortable as they were, I always had a problem getting out of them. My height may have had something to do with that, considering that when I sat all the way back my feet didn’t even touch the ground. Sucked being barely over five feet.

  “How are classes so far?” Logan asked.

  “Fine. I mean, I’ve only had two since I’m not crazy like some people I know.” I winked at him. “What possessed you to register for an eight o’clock Monday morning class anyway? Starting at nine was hard enough for me.”

  “Obviously. Professor J. isn’t going to put up with your shit this year, if this morning was any indication.”

  I waved him off. “Yeah, yeah. He’ll deal with it. Remember, I know how to work him. A little toss of the hair and a quick grin, and the man is putty in my hands.”

  A gruff chuckle from next to Logan reminded me Eric was there. I’d forgotten about him for just a minute.

  “Hey. Eric, right?” Okay, okay. I knew the guy’s name. Heck, I’d been thinking about him nonstop for the last hour. Didn’t mean I wanted to let him know that little tidbit though.

  “Yeah. It’s Eric.”

  His smirk said enough—he knew I hadn’t forgotten his name.

  I shrugged. “I thought so. How are you liking it here?”

  “It’s good. Better now.”

  The way he lowered his chin and looked at me made my skin heat. Good grief, a look seemed to be all it took for him to get my body to wake up and pay attention. This was bad. Very bad. I didn’t want to react to him, not with the unease I felt. Leave it to me to have conflicting desire.