DECEIT (B723)

by Hazel Grace

  Kyson opens his mouth, but I beat him to it.

  “I’m not getting back with Cam,” I sneer. “Fucking idiot, why the hell would I do that?”

  “I wasn’t going to say that,” he stresses out. “I was going to say why would she tell anyone when you’re the way you are? If anything, she was smart as shit to keep her full hand close to her chest.”

  My face contorts into what feels to be betrayal and unaltered anger. What the fuck am I supposed to do? Sing my feelings out? Write a poem? Graffiti a wall or buy a billboard?

  “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “Nah—“ Kyson shakes his head. “—I’m not.”

  My damn phone vibrates again, and using the excuse to stop having this conversation, I pull it from my jeans.

  Emmy.

  Immediately I answer it and stride away from Kyson. “Where the fuck are you?”

  “Out,” she deadpans flatly before continuing with, “I found a lead. I need you to—“

  “I need you to come back so that we’re all together and not pulling another rescue mission like you did with Marty.”

  Silence responds back to me, and I can already see the look on her face. Her cheeks are flushed, those beautiful honey-browns are narrowed in on the nearest object, and she has a strong urge to strangle me.

  She can—anytime—as long as it’s on my dick.

  “Don’t worry your pretty little head over it,” she finally replies with malice dipped in her sweet tone. “It won’t be much more time now.”

  “For what?”

  “Your lead,” she repeats. “Willy Wonka, not the guy from the chocolate factory. He’s the only man that still works or worked with that Bubba asshole. You can find him in Brentwood.”

  “I feel like I’m on repeat with you all the time, Em. I tell you to do one thing, and you do the opposite.”

  “Uh, you told me to go home.”

  “This isn’t a negotiation. This is my hunt, and I call the fucking shots.”

  “Sounds like a personal problem, psycho.” I hear an unsteady exhale leave her lips, and her voice drops. “Look, I gotta run.”

  “Emmy, fucking listen to me…I need—“ She hangs up, the loud and irritating silence filling in the rest of what I wanted to say.

  I need you to be safe.

  I need you here.

  I need you.

  Period.

  I hovered over the send button on my phone for over five minutes before deciding to go out with Alexander. After a few more horrible and corny lines through numerous text messages, I let down my guard and even cracked a smile.

  If anything, he kept my mind off Bishop and the mystery blonde over the last few days.

  So when he swung by to pick me up in his white Aston Martin and told me we were going to the movies, I thought he was kidding.

  “You were serious?” I marvel as he parks between a minivan and a little coupe with a gazillion bumper stickers on the back.

  “Yeah,” he replies confidently, throwing his car into gear and turning it off. “You don’t like movies?”

  Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I went to a movie.

  “No, I do. I just…” My cheeks flush because my thoughts don’t fit him at all.

  His rich demeanor made me place him in a box. One that didn’t involve sticky floors and chairs that hide their stains in the dark.

  “You thought I was a wealthy dickhead,” he fills in for me, his lips curling into a smile. “Truthfully, I haven’t been to the movies since I was a kid. I felt this would be fun. You can back out if you want to. I think there’s still time for you to fake a stomach ache or explosive diarrhea.”

  I chuckle. “No, it’ll be fun.”

  We get inside, and Alexander stands back from the ticket booth, looking up at the listed movies.

  “Trying to decide?”

  He scratches his temple. “I’m attempting to pick one that doesn’t look so obvious. If I choose a scary movie, you might assume I’ll want you to cuddle up with me. An action flick that I’m a tool bag. Then if I select a drama, I might embarrass myself and cry…then there are rom-coms…” He glances down at me, brown eyes glimmering in exasperation. “You pick. That way, I can blame you.”

  I smile. “You’re making this more difficult than it has to be.”

  “Probably. Help a grown man make a simple decision. You should be used to that working with Wade Lockwood. Powerful men who still have issues with the elementary things.”

  I hit him with an really look. “Alright, trust-fund kid.” I examine the board of movie times and names, looking for something that sounds familiar. I don’t have a lot of time these days keeping up with the up-and-coming. So I quickly fall right in line with Alexander. “Okay, I have no clue what the hell these movies are about.”

  Alexander laughs. “Pick a number one through eight.”

  “Seven.”

  “And you just picked our movie.” He steps up, giving me a moment to appreciate him in black jeans and a white and black striped long sleeve. He’s slender but not rail-skinny, almost regal. He holds himself proudly with his spine straight, always a grin playing off his lips—happy, blessed, and optimistic.

  He buys our tickets as the young girl behind the counter beams, batting her long eyelashes and smiling sweetly at him. I oblige her the moment that’ll probably be the only good one she has tonight and wait patiently for him to finish.

  He looks over his shoulder in the middle of her sentence, finding me standing, then runs his dark gaze down my body.

  Damn.

  I may have underestimated him on the choice of date, but his flirting game has gone up a notch. He must be studying.

  “Ready?” he asks me as he plucks the tickets from the girl’s hand.

  I nod, and he walks us over to the concession stands. I buy an obscene amount of candy and put a gallon of butter on my popcorn before grabbing our seats.

  In the last row underneath the projector, we play random trivia that appears on the screen, and I kick his ass. He’s a bad sport and chucks a handful of popcorn my way.

  Joke’s on him, I eat it.

  “This flick is awful,” Alexander mutters while I’m praying we’re halfway through the movie. “Good thing I didn’t pick it.”

  “I told you I didn’t know any of these. Do you wanna leave?”

  “No.” He peers over at me. “I’m still having fun.”

  “You sure? It’s not a charity event or night with the boys puffing on cigars and sipping on expensive whiskey.”

  “I don’t smoke, and I like vodka.”

  I shove more popcorn in my mouth. “How boring for you.”

  “Really because you seem like you collect stamps and still have a diary that you write in religiously at night.” I snort, craning my head to see the screen reflecting off one side of his face. An amused and cocky smirk playing off his five ‘o clock shadow.

  “He has crappy one-liners and ruthless insults,” I muse. “What else lies behind you and your sexy Aston Martin?”

  “Damn woman, that one hurt. Just my car is sexy?”

  I point at the giant screen ahead of us. “The main character of this movie isn’t bad.”

  “That’s it—“ My date yanks my popcorn tub out of my hands, and like a greedy little child, I lunge for it. “—no more snacks for you.”

  “Hey!”

  “Is for horses.”

  I roll my eyes. “C’mon,” I yell-whisper. Thankfully, there aren’t many patrons around us for me to bother and disturb.

  “Take it back.”

  “You’re gonna bully your date?”

  “You’re gonna try to play the victim?”

  “You’re a child.”

  “And you’re beautiful.”

  “And you need to brush up on your flirting. When you’re an adult, you don’t pick on your dates.”

  “My negotiation skills are better.” He wiggles my yellow popcorn tub in the air. “Hold my hand during the
rest of this horrible movie, and you get it back.”

  My brows knit. “That restricts me to only eat with one hand.”

  Alexander shrugs. “You need more? You should’ve taken it because now my deal has changed.”

  “That quickly?” He bobs his head. “Now what?”

  “A kiss. Call it childish, but I’ve already been dubbed the trust fund kid and a bully, so I’m on a roll tonight, apparently.”

  I frown, not because kissing him isn’t an attractive thought, but I don’t think I’m ready.

  I’m thirty-four years old.

  I should be fine.

  It’s just a kiss.

  It’s innocent, and I’m not signing a contract to sign any part of me away.

  Actually, I kinda did.

  The moment I committed myself to Bishop, my heart sewed itself to it. It doesn’t want to be free, but it’s tired of not being acknowledged. It’s been about three years, and nothing has really changed besides the ugly truth that he wants shit to do with me.

  Alexander leans in, and my body tenses on autopilot. He deserves someone better than me, and I don’t even know him.

  “I’m kinda married,” I mutter between us, feeling embarrassed and overwhelmed all of a sudden.

  I fully expect Alexander to pull back and ask me to repeat myself. That I didn’t just waste his time by taking me out.

  But, again, that box I spoke about earlier that I put him in has holes.

  “Are you kinda happy?” he hedges, keeping his gaze locked on me.

  I shake my head without thinking. “No.”

  “Then I’m kinda okay with it as long as he’s not going to show up out of nowhere and beat my ass.”

  “We’re separated.” My heart cramps inside my ribcage with saying it out loud.

  I hate it more than anything.

  “For how long?”

  My vital organ clenches tighter. “Two years.”

  “He’s an idiot.”

  “He has issues.”

  “Is that you telling me that I shouldn’t kiss you?”

  “I…I don’t know. I don’t think it’s fair.”

  Alexander stares at me. “To who?”

  “You.”

  “I already told you…I’m completely intrigued.”

  “I mean, isn’t that always the case with things that are off-limits?”

  “Maybe.” He leans back in his chair. “But I’m adamant on what I want, and I am spoiled like I said.” He reaches over and grabs my hand. “And hardworking. We don’t have to rush this, Emmy. I’m not looking to score just yet.”

  “You suck at this,” I say off a teasing scoff.

  “I know.” The sound of the movie in front of us goes on to play as he shamelessly continues to look at me. “Wanna leave?”

  I bob my head.

  Alexander rises, plucks my boxes of candy out of my lap and pockets them. Then he reaches out for my hand, offering me something I haven’t had in years.

  Someone who’s interested in me and isn’t afraid to let me know.

  When I worked for Wade and helped him become president, he was my only goal. Then Bishop came along, and he terrified me.

  And when he drunkenly asked me to marry him, I stupidly agreed because my heart spoke over my mind, and I believed that things would slowly change.

  I’m just as much to blame as him because I did keep it hidden from B723. I didn’t want them to know because he couldn’t even give me an emotion besides wishing to spend a little time together and fuck me at any given moment.

  Shit, he wouldn’t even tell me about his family like I was some noisy stranger or co-worker he barely saw.

  I was his wife.

  And I wasn’t about to throw myself on the chopping block and proclaim my love for a man to my second family when he couldn’t even divulge in a thing. He wanted to take and allow me to just give.

  He loved to screw me against any hard surface—that was it.

  And down we fell.

  Alexander drove me home, allowing me to ponder in my own darkness of fear and what I’ve needed to force Bishop to do for a long time but never found the strength to let blossom.

  I can’t move on when he’s still mine on paper.

  Just paper. Nothing more.

  “I’m sorry that our date sucked,” Alexander conveys as he turns into the parking lot of my condo. “If you’ll give me a second chance, I’ll make the next one better.”

  A second chance.

  This man doesn’t know me, and he wants another opportunity. It’s been such a long time since I’ve opened myself up to hope for love again that I don’t even remember what it feels like.

  You’re not trash. You deserve to be loved.

  “I enjoyed it,” I quip lightly. “Maybe next time, we’ll do our research on the movies playing before going.”

  “Yeah?” I feel his hazel eyes on me. “I’d like that. Can I walk you up?”

  “Sure.”

  This poor man puts himself in another awkward and silent position with me as he walks me right up to my blue door and still fucking gives me his breath-taking smile.

  “If you were trying to make me feel better,” he says, shoving his hands into the pocket of his jeans. “I appreciate it.”

  “No, really, I had a good time.”

  He tucks his chin into his chest before lifting it back to look at me. “I’m going to kiss your cheek, and you can slap me after if you want.”

  Leaning in, he smells of citrus and clovers as he presses his soft lips to the side of my face. He lets it linger there for two extra seconds before straightening his spine and giving me a little bit of space.

  “Have a good night, Emmy Lou. I’ll wait the textbook definition of what dating says to do and text you in forty-eight hours.”

  “That’s a thing?”

  “I think so. Unless they changed it. I haven’t been out with someone in a while.”

  “Really, how long?”

  “About a year and a half.”

  “Was she married?” Alexander lets out a laugh that hits my gut and sends a butterfly or two fluttering in it.

  “Nah, she was a gold digger. Didn’t like me too much. Just the Aston Martin and my bank account.”

  I groan because of my big mouth. “Now I feel like an asshole.”

  “At least you were straight up.”

  “I’m sorry, it was a joke.”

  “I know.” He shrugs. “I’m not going to let one person change my whole outlook on things. Life is too short.”

  “Right.”

  Right. Right. Right.

  He jerks his head to my door. “It’s late. I took you out on a work night like an inconsiderate douche.”

  “I agreed.” I try my best to give him a grateful smile because I am. “And it was needed.”

  “Glad to be of service.” He gives me a slight bow.

  “Thanks again for tonight.”

  “Anytime.” I turn for my door to unlock it, but his unwieldy gaze on my back causes me to turn around.

  He doesn’t speak, just steps forward enough to cause my spine to hit the hard surface behind me.

  Raising both his arms, his eyes fasten to mine before he props both of them on each side of my head and bends to hover his lips over mine.

  Teasingly or hesitantly, he lingers there for a moment then flattens them to mine, clasping the bottom of my mouth between the softness of his.

  With our kiss, he hints that he may be searching for something between us, and I think he found it because his actions quicken for a beat before we’re both exhaling heavy bits of air between each other.

  “Fuck the forty-eight-hour rule,” he mutters with another graze of his lips. “I’ll text you tomorrow, Emmy. Good night.”

  I swallow as he looks down at me. “Night.”

  Picking my keys out of my hands, he unlocks my door and gives me a little push inside before handing them back over.

  And with a quirk of his mouth, Alexander tak
es off down my small porch with a confident pep in his step, leaving behind a slight bit of hope that my life won’t forever be so lonely.

  “She needs to go,” Kyson rants, not-so-quietly again for the millionth time. He begins to pace the gravel in front of my trailer, kicking the small rocks and looking frustrated and all sorts of pissed off. “We’re not doing this repeatedly.”

  “Doing what exactly?” Mills chimes in before taking a bite of his breakfast sandwich, not hiding the fact that he’s highly interested in this conversation. “The blonde, right?”

  It’s been four days since Cam stepped foot in my life after I picked her up, and Kyson will not drop that she’s around. He’s acting like she and I are playing house, and she cooks, cleans, and irons my clothes for me.

  And to be completely honest, I almost forgot for a second that she was even here because my brain has been on Emmy nonstop since she left.

  Because you told her to leave.

  Repeatedly.

  “Bish,” Kyson continues, his tone lightening as though that’s going to get me to listen and take action on what he says immediately. Obviously, I haven’t, she’s still here. “We can get her into a facility, the best one. However, she’s gonna have to do this shit on her own.”

  “Ohhhh.” The reality and truth all of a sudden comes tumbling down on Mills as he feels the need to publicly announce everything like he’s a commentator. “She’s addicted to the white shit.”

  My jaw ticks at the exact moment Marty’s hand crashes over the back of Mills’s head, saving me the trouble.

  “Would you shut the fuck up,” he sneers next to him. “Put two and two together.”

  “That makes four,” Mills replies. “And with the four of us, we shouldn’t be standing here bitching about a blonde.”

  “Emmy will be back tonight. She’ll have what we need.” My heart races at her name, and the empty pit of my stomach starts to ache again.

  I should be used to this.

  Emmy and I don’t play house anymore. We do this.

  She’s been doing her thing—I may or may not have been checking her Instagram—and I’ve been…ignoring everything. I can’t deal with Camilla being back, taking care of Hardy and Scarlett, then my mixed bullshit with how I feel about Emmy all at the same time.