The Lies: The Lies We Tell About Love, Life, and Everything in Between

by Christina C Jones

  The Lies We Tell About Life, Love, and Everything in Between

  Christina C Jones

  Warm Hues Publishing

  Copyright © 2017 Christina C. Jones

  Cover art by Christina Jones,

  Images courtesy of Porsha Antalan, FEMQUA Photography.

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real locations, people, or events is coincidental and unintentional.

  This is #30. Books, and years, for me.

  I’m grateful.

  Thank you so, so much to Love, Alex, Jeanette, Phyllis, and Nasi for being so encouraging on the journey through this project, and just in general. You ladies keep me going, and I appreciate you giving me so much of your energy. I hope it I give it back in equal measure.

  To my betas, who I wont mention beyond initials for reasons – y’all are REAL mvps. Your time and feedback are so appreciated. Your reactions fuel me and make me laugh, and the comments along the way help me know – I’m doing this right. To J, L, C, P, D, M, & M, thank you!

  Porsha. Giiiirl, these pictures! Life given, edges snatched, all of that. Thank you for so quickly pulling together a series of photos that honestly helped inspire me as I finished writing Brandi and Kyle’s story. It’s so hard to find GOOD images representing the diversity of Black love, and when I put this call out to you, you absolutely exceeded my expectations. We NEED you, and others like you, in these indie streets. Thank you for offering your time and your talent.

  Brett and Ayanna – Y’ALL FAHN lol! Thank you for putting your modeling talent to use to create images that captured such amazing chemistry, and really tell a beautiful story that only amplifies the words in this book.

  To my readers – THANK YOU for rocking with me through 30 books. Some of these books have been rough, but y’all have encouraged and supported and buoyed me for over three years now, and I can’t even really express how much you’re appreciated.

  Jos and Sharee, this isn’t specific to this project, but I’m feeling it in the moment so here it is LOL. Thank you ladies for seeing, and filling, a void in both valuation and representation of Indie Authors. So often, we’re discounted, seen as less than, or hangers-on, but y’all have put your time and effort into creating events that support and promote and celebrate us, and connect us with readers who may not have had that access otherwise. Thank you for providing a platform, and for inviting me to be a part.

  Indie Love Atlanta in June

  & Behind The Pen New York in August

  My family – y’all know me. This is the 30th book, I ain’t gotta say it again LOL.

  As my beautiful friend Love would say, and I can’t agree more –

  To God be the glory.

  Enjoy!

  {one} her lies

  I didn’t like having an empty apartment as much as I expected to.

  Of course, as with everything, timing mattered.

  Weeks ago, when my mother asked that Zion stay over with her on this particular day, I’d readily agreed. I loved my son, but needed the break. I still had to work, but I figured a night to myself after that would be great.

  I thought…wrong.

  Maybe on another night, but on this night?

  No.

  I got home from the salon and took a long bath. Turned my music up as loud as I could without the other people in my building complaining, and cleaned my place from top to bottom, because cleaning relaxed me. I closed the dishwasher to start the cleaning cycle, then looked around my spotless, empty apartment with a heavy sigh.

  As soon as my shoulders dropped, a loud crack of thunder ripped through the sky, drowning out my music for a short moment. People had been complaining all day about the rain, especially my clients. Rain and high humidity had been the destroyer of many hairstyles, but I didn’t mind it so much. Not today.

  Today, my mood was perfectly in sync with the ugly weather.

  It only took a few seconds of deliberation for me to pull a bowl down from the cabinet. I served myself a huge chunk from the pan of brownies on the counter, then topped that with a big scoop of ice cream. I doused it all with a long stream of caramel syrup, then poured myself a big glass of wine and took it all to my room, where I settled in bed with my music still blasting.

  Iris was definitely with Rob tonight, and Gia had a date. My mother had already told me not to call her or Zion – I was supposed to be “enjoying my alone time”, even though that was honestly the last thing I wanted to be doing.

  I’d eat my wine glass before I called Zion’s father for anything outside of an emergency, and my “hey bighead/hey stranger” list was lacking viable prospects. All of that, added to the fact that it sounded like the sky was quite literally falling outside… looked like I was having a hot date with social media tonight.

  I chuckled to myself about that, then picked up my phone, snapping a picture of the bowl in my lap.

  “The only chocolate I’ll be licking ice cream off of tonight. #BenAndJerryAreMyBaes #BrowniesDontLie #AintGottaFakeItWithIceCream”

  I hit the button to upload the post to my Instagram account, then scrolled through a few posts before I saw a screenshot of a post from twitter. It piqued my interest enough that I actually went to twitter, tapping on the first occurrence of the hashtag that had caught my attention.

  I shouldn’t have kept scrolling.

  “We Met on Twitter” was, for me, an exercise in torture. “Who meets the love of their life on twitter?!” I ranted to myself, as I looked through example after example of… happiness. One after the other, these couples were sharing. Whole love stories made completely clear in just a couple of pictures. The initial contact. The private inbox. The first meeting in person. The wedding. The baby.

  I shook my head, and closed the app, going back to the relatively “safety” of Instagram instead, grinning at the way my notification screen was lit up with women relating to my post. I was responding to comments, going back and forth with them when another little heart popped up in the bottom of the screen.

  “KE_Ballistic liked your post.”

  Kyle Everett.

  What the hell was he doing on Instagram tonight?

  I tapped on his name to bring up his profile, and just like always, the sight of his fine ass made my heart speed up a little. Golden brown skin, golden brown eyes, naturally sandy locs. In the most recent picture on his profile, he was shirtless, holding one of the expensive, custom-painted basketballs he created for his shop. The man’s hands were so big that he palmed the ball effortlessly, in a photo taken at an angle that cut off a good amount of his face, but showed plenty of his well-maintained former-NBA body, down to the inch of black boxer-briefs showing above the waistband of gray sweats slung low on his waist.

  “In the studio late, since nobody wanted to be my date tonight.” Was the caption underneath.

  The man was beautiful, athletic, bronze perfection, and it made me so mad.

  “You’re such a thot.”

  I commented under his picture, which already had a billion “likes” and comments, then went back to my own. A few moments later, I got a notification that my comment had a reply.

  “KE_Ballistic: Damn @_styledbybrandi why I gotta be all that?”

  I shook my head. “Don’t act like this pic isn’t a blatant thirst trap, sir.”

  “KE_Ballistic: It’s not though. I’m just speaking
my truth, I’m all ugly and lonely and shit out here. ;)”

  “See, there you go playing like there aren’t 50-11 girls in these comments trying to get your attention. Boy, stop! Or… don’t. Teach me your thirst trap ways.”

  “KE_Ballistic: Nah, B, you doing just fine on your own. How many niggas slid in your DMs off that last post?”

  I frowned. What the hell was he talking about?

  “Excuse me?” I sent back. “No thirst traps here, and my inbox is dry, sir.”

  I ate another big spoonful of my brownie and ice cream, then another, while I waited for his reply. It took a second for me to realize that the little message indicator at the top of the screen was telling me I had a new private message … from Kyle.

  What could he be saying that needed privacy for his reply?

  I squinted through the brain freeze I gave myself with another big spoon of ice cream, then tapped the screen to open the message.

  “So you’re saying I *wasn’t* supposed to be thinking about you licking that ice cream off me? Cause I damn sure did. Thought that was the goal, sexy.”

  I choked on my mouthful of ice cream, coughing, eyes watering, as it went down the wrong way. As if he could actually see me, I shook my head. “Not at all, OMG!”

  “So I’m the only dude in your inbox right now?”

  Before I could type a response to that, another message came through from him. This time, it was a popular meme with the words “Stop Fuckin’ Lyin” across the bottom, and I busted out laughing in response.

  “Not lying. Just you. Speaking of… what are you doing in my inbox instead of out with – or in – somebody?”

  “I told you. I’m ugly, don’t nobody want me. Case in point – I ducked in this lil convenience store cause the bottom dropped outta the sky while I was walking home. Chick behind the counter looks like she’s on some “all lives matter” shit.”

  Again, his message was shortly followed by another – this time, a photo from inside a store I immediately recognized, of a woman who I’d cursed out before, standing behind the counter looking sour. She’d said some slick shit to Zion before, when we popped in after school one day to grab a few items. I was pretty sure that if he looked, Kyle would see my photo behind the counter as someone who wasn’t welcome there anymore.

  “Dude, get out of there. For real. Last time I saw her, she was wearing one of those damn Trump hats. I’m 99.9% sure she’s fabricating a reason in her head to call the police on your ass.”

  “Yeah, but there’s a damn sharknado happening outside.”

  As if to punctuate his point, another deafening boom of thunder shook the windows, and I sighed. “Listen… that shop you’re in is like two minutes from my place. If you want to wait it out here instead…”

  The moment I hit the “send” button on that message, I wondered if I’d made a mistake. Kyle wasn’t my friend. He was Rob’s friend, and that was Iris’ man, and Iris was my bestie. Kyle and I had been around each other, sure. But he and I didn’t hang out, we didn’t kick it. We’d flirted, hard. And he’d had ample time and opportunity to take it further than that, but he hadn’t.

  So I’d come to the conclusion that it was just that. Harmless flirting that shouldn’t be taken as an indication of what the man really wanted. And we had too close of a connection through our best friends for me to be potentially embarrassing myself, trying to make a first move.

  But here I was, inviting the man to my place.

  “Man, that would be pretty clutch. You sure you don’t mind?”

  I chewed on my lip for a few seconds. “You’re good. I don’t want you to end up a hashtag fooling with that woman.”

  Those words made me shake my head. It was a shame that such a thing was even a legitimate concern, but that was the world we lived in now. I immediately sent a second message, with directions to my place, then ate another spoonful of my brownie and ice cream. I sat up a little more, taking a long drink from my neglected glass of wine, and then settled back into my pillows.

  A few seconds later, I shot up, in a panic.

  He would literally be here at any moment.

  I downed the rest of my wine, then took my bowl and the glass to the kitchen. I glanced around to make sure nothing was out of place, then raced to the bathroom and flipped on the light. A little reluctantly, I pulled the bonnet off my hair, and fluffed out my short curls, just so they wouldn’t be matted down. For about two seconds, I debated changing out of the pink cotton sleep shirt I was wearing, but whatever. Again – he’d had ample opportunity to express real interest, and hadn’t taken it. The last thing I was about to do was put real effort into looking a certain way for the impromptu visit I was allowing him as a favor.

  With his fine ass.

  I flipped off the light and went back to the kitchen, where I did at least grab my lip balm from my purse to make sure my mouth wasn’t crusty. I heard the knock at the door just as I was putting the top back on, so I tossed it onto the counter and went to answer.

  “Was’sup?” he asked, as soon as I opened the door.

  He was soaking wet, and my nose involuntarily wrinkled as I thought about him getting rainwater all over my freshly vacuumed carpet.

  “Not too much. You can come in, but go straight to the kitchen. You’re soaked!”

  I closed the door behind him, locking it before I followed him into the other room, where he took off his leather backpack and put it on the counter. “You mind if I take this off?” he asked, holding his sodden hoodie away from his body.

  I shook my head. “Unless you’re trying to get sick, you need to. I’ll put it through the dryer for you.”

  “Thanks B,” he said, in that heavy tenor that set off a little rumbly feeling in my chest. “And thanks for letting me come by. There’s some disaster movie shit happening out there,” he said, his words muffled by wet fabric as he pulled the hoodie over his head. His shirt came with it, and a moment later, he was way too shirtless and bronzy and muscled and gorgeous for him standing in my kitchen to be a good idea.

  I probably should have put on some panties.

  I forced my eyes to stay on his face, which wasn’t any less dangerous than his body, but at least I could play that off. “I’ll go ahead and take your hoodie and stuff. There’s towels in the hall bathroom right there,” – I pointed – “and I can get you a tee shirt and some shorts.”

  He grinned. “Aww, come on. You really about to put me in your man’s stuff? Have him walking in here ready to put a bullet in my ass?”

  “Ha, ha, funny. The only man in my life right now is Zion, so you better hope it fits.”

  Kyle nodded. “Lil man is what, tall as you already? I can probably make it work long enough for my stuff to dry. Or I could just be naked, you know. How God intended.”

  I sucked my teeth. “Unless you plan on staying your naked ass in the bathroom, you’ll make it work. I don’t want your balls on my furniture.”

  He frowned. “You got something against my balls, B?”

  “What?!” I laughed. “Fool, no, I just don’t want them on my couch!”

  “I don’t know… I’m a little offended. Feeling pretty unwelcome right now.”

  I shook my head, trying not to let him make me laugh again. “Kyle, just go to the bathroom please.”

  “Fine, fine,” he grinned, grabbing my arms with his cold, wet hands as he passed, making me squeal in response. Reflexively, I swatted him with my free hand, and he chuckled at me before he darted into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

  Whew.

  I let out a sigh as soon as he was out of my sight. My little playful swat had been against solid muscle.

  “Stop playing with this man, Brandi.” I told myself, as I stepped into the laundry room, which was right across from the bathroom. His hoodie and shirt smelled like “outside”, most likely a result of the rain, so instead of the dryer, I put both items in the washer first.

  There were men’s size large basketball shorts and
tee shirts in the stack of Zion’s clean laundry waiting for him to put away when he got home. I pulled one of each for Kyle, then stepped across the hall to knock on the bathroom door.

  The exchange was quick, and I kept my eyes averted. The tee shirt and shorts, for his sweats, socks, and… boxers.

  Okay.

  I tossed everything in the washer, and started a small load, cursing when I dropped the cap to the detergent and it went rolling across the floor. I’d just grabbed it when I heard the bathroom door open, and I straightened up to find Kyle draped in the doorway, watching me. Instead of saying anything, I went about what I was doing, and returned the cap to the bottle before I turned around.

  He was still looking.

  “C’mere,” he said, motioning with his hand. “I’ve got something for you.”

  Why…why did that make my nipples hard?

  I crossed my arms over my chest, and pulled my eyebrows together. “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t be all difficult, woman, just come on,” he insisted, moving out of the doorway to grab my wrist.

  “Uh, excuse you,” I snapped, even though I didn’t give him any resistance as he pulled me back down the hall, to the kitchen. ““Don’t be difficult” lands right up there with “calm down” and “do you have to be so loud” in the list of shit that gets a woman to do exactly the opposite of what you want.”

  He shook his head, making his locs move across his broad shoulders. They were pulled back into a low ponytail at the base of his neck, the natural dark blonde contrasting against the white of the shirt I’d given him. It fit, but just barely, stretching across his athletic body in a way that was almost as delicious as seeing him shirtless. “Just relax.”

  I sucked my teeth. “Uh-uh. That’s on the list too,” I told him, as we stopped at the counter. As soon as he released my wrist, I crossed my arms again, trying to hide the headlights still pressing against the front of my shirt. Amusement lit his eyes as he picked up his backpack and unzipped it, saying nothing as he dug around. But then…