by JA Huss
“Lonnie?”
“—then I’d reach down with my hand. Slip my fingers between your legs and begin to play with your sweet little pleasure nub.”
“Lonnie!”
“It was pleasure nub, right? Too much?”
“No. I like pleasure nub. It’s cute.”
“Cute?”
“Just… listen to me for a moment.”
“Is something wrong?”
“Yeah. No. Kind of.”
“OK. What’s going on?”
“Do you think this is weird?”
“What? Phone-fucking?”
“No. Not the phone-fucking. The fact that we’ve never met in real life.”
“Mmm… a little. I guess.”
“You’ve asked me for hundreds of pics to prove who I was over the past two years.”
Fuck.
“And I never once asked you for one back.”
“But you’ve seen me. I promise, I’m not fugly.”
She chuckles a little. “I know. But—”
“OK. Do you want one now? What should I do? Wink? Stick out my tongue?”
“No. That’s not what I mean. I don’t need one, Lons. I just… I think I depend on you now. I look forward to you when I get home from work.”
“Well… that’s good, right? I look forward to you too.”
“Do you think this is real?”
“Real? Yeah.”
“You’re just saying that because I’m getting weird, aren’t you?”
“No. Tara. No. I’m not. I’m fucking serious. I like you. I mean…” I sigh. “I had a fucking day, ya know. My brother-in-law showed up and—”
“You have a brother-in-law?”
“Yeah. He’s kinda new on the scene. But he’s not the point. The point is he really pissed me off today and all I could think about was coming home to you.”
“New since when?”
Fuck. Why did I bring up Jesse? “Well, he just married my sister on Christmas Eve. But he’s been around since last summer.”
“Wait. You have a sister?”
“I told you that before, right?”
“No. You told me you were an only child and you had no family.”
“Oh. Yeah. I did. Well, that was a lie. I have a sister. I actually have two brothers too. And now this brother-in-law. And he comes with two brothers and a cousin. And Jesus Christ, they are a whole other story. I’m pretty sure they’re out to ruin my life or drive me insane. Maybe both.”
Total. Silence.
“Tara?”
“Ummm…”
“Hey. Everything OK?”
“You lied about your family.”
“Sorry. It’s no big deal, really. It’s just… you know. When you start chatting with people online that’s what you do. You lie. It’s a game. Not that I think we’re a game. We’re different now. We’re… aren’t we different?”
“Did you lie about anything else?”
“Uhhh… what’s going on? Did something happen?”
“I’m just curious. Because I like you, Lonnie. I like you. The you I know. And I feel like maybe we’re about to turn a corner here. Either move on to someone else or… you know. Get serious.”
Now it’s my turn to be silent.
“Lonnie?”
“I’m here.”
“Do you not want to get serious?”
“I do.” I pause and let that sink in. I do want to get serious. And yeah, Jesse is a dick for this stunt he pulled today. But the reason I was so mad was because he was right. That dumbass douchebag was right. I have no one. Everything I’ve told Tara has been a lie. If she could only see me right now with no shirt, no hat, no glasses—just me. All of me…
What would she think?
I mean, surely, I am the real deal, right? I’m not Jesse Boston, but not every girl likes his type. Some of them like my type. I really am a six-foot-four, yoked-out, hot-as-fuck, tattooed fisherman. What’s not to like about that?
“Tara?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you want to see me?”
“See you? Like… in person?”
“Um. Well, I meant on a cam call right now. But… yeah. In person works too. I’d actually love that. But first…” I take a deep breath. “First I need to show you something. Can I call you back on FaceTime?”
She’s silent again. Fuck. Did I go too far?
“OK. Yeah. OK. Let’s do a FaceTime. I’d like to show you something too.”
CHAPTER TEN - TARA
Lonnie ends the call and I hold my phone in my hand, a little bit in shock. This whole day has tipped me upside down. And yes, Vann Vaughn was definitely the part that swung me hard. But it all started this morning with the leather jacket. Then the trip to the thrift store.
I look down at myself. At the thrift-store clothes I bought and put on the moment I got home from my world-crushing talk with Vann.
They are old jeans. Not even nice jeans. They are ripped, and those rips weren’t made on purpose. Someone wore these jeans for years. Worked in them. Washed them hundreds of times. They were only a dollar fifty at the thrift store, but even brand new I doubt these jeans set anyone back more than twenty dollars.
The t-shirt is gray now, but it was probably black once. It’s soft. There’s a tear in the collar and the hem is frayed. It’s just a plain men’s t-shirt. Hanes, maybe. But the tag was ripped off years ago. And on my feet are someone’s old sneakers. Not Chucks. Not Keen. Not even Vans.
If I was still me, this is what I’d be wearing back home.
My gaze swings to the open bedroom door and the closet beyond. Filled with skirts, and blouses, and fashion boots.
Was it all fake?
Is Lonnie all fake too?
My phone rings in my hand. The weird ring that signals a FaceTime call.
Maybe I shouldn’t answer it? Maybe I should just forget about Lonnie? If I don’t push him for more details, I’ll never know, right? I could just… disappear.
I mean, I will disappear. Right after we talk—if I answer—I will call up the special phone number the FBI gave me, tell my contact everything Vann just told me, and by tomorrow I’ll be someone else. Living somewhere completely different. Whole new name, whole new background, whole new everything.
The ringing stops.
And if I just keep my mouth shut tonight—say nothing to Lonnie, ask him nothing—then the lie, if there is one, will never be uncovered. I could walk away remembering him, and what we had, the way I thought it was yesterday. Nothing will have to change between Lonnie and me.
I won’t see him again. No matter what he tells me on this FaceTime call—assuming he calls me back—nothing will change that.
It’s over.
Vann Vaughn shattered my whole world today.
But I could keep this one little part. This little bit of Tara. These memories of being her, and long-distance-dating Lonnie. Of the fun phone calls, and texts, and cams. The way he made me laugh, and got me off, and how our fake relationship was so perfect and special.
The phone rings again. FaceTime.
I could keep the illusion alive. Hold it tight. Keep it close and take it to my grave. It doesn’t even matter if he’s lying or I’m lying. It’s about the illusion. The fantasy. That’s all it is. Just a fantasy. But the fantasy has crossed a line now. It could be real if I let go of the past like Vann suggested, and just embrace who I am. I want real. That’s all I want. I just want something, for once in my life, to be all mine and to be all real.
And that’s the problem then, isn’t it?
If I don’t get the truth it’s not real.
I tap the green accept button and Lonnie’s face pops up on the screen. “Hey? I called twice. You didn’t pick up.”
“I know.” I take a deep breath and let it out. “I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the truth.”
Lonnie frowns. “No?”
“But I am now.”
“You sure?”
I nod. “Yeah. Wh
at’s up?”
He stares at me for a moment. His eyes are very close to the camera and I can see all the swirls of green and brown in his irises. His cheeks lift up and I know he’s smiling at me. “Hey. How you doing? You need to talk about it? I’m a good listener.”
“I know. Two years of phone tag, right?”
“Seriously though, what’s going on?”
“Nothing that can’t wait. Now what’s the big secret? You’re going to reveal that you’re some famous billionaire? Or some long-lost prince from some tiny, obscure European country no one’s ever heard of?” I laugh.
He… doesn’t.
“Lonnie?”
He takes a deep breath. “Look. I’m not a billionaire. Or a prince. But I’m not an accountant, either.”
“You don’t need to—”
“I do. I need to tell you this. Because I like you, Tara. And while I would never ask you to give up your life in Colorado, you could… you know. Come for a visit.”
“So you really do live in Key West.”
“Yes. I do. And I’m…” He stops.
“You’re what?”
“I’m not really an accountant. I’m a fisherman. But… there’s more to me.”
Fisherman. What the actual fuck? I’m so stunned at that word I can’t think straight. Fisherman? Nobody’s a fucking fisherman. Right? I mean, I guess some people must be fishermen. But…
“Tara?”
“I’m sorry. I’m not understanding you. Did you say fisherman?”
He sighs. “Yeah. But like I said, there’s more.”
“What kind of more?” The question emerges from my mouth out of instinct because I’m not really sure I want to know.
The angle of the phone camera widens to reveal a shirtless Lonnie. And he’s quite the specimen. Not what I pictured underneath that white button-down, that’s for sure. I’m talking hard, contoured chest muscles. And as the angle gets wider and wider, he reveals a set of washboard abs that only come from constant, deliberate hard work.
But it’s not the muscles that make me hold my breath.
It’s the tattoos. He’s covered in them. Full sleeves. Full chest piece. And I bet if he turned around, there would be a back piece to match.
I’m… speechless.
“Tara? Can you see this?”
Oh, I see it. I’m just trying to decide how I should react. Then my thumb slips on the side of the phone and I accidentally take a screenshot.
Luckily, Lonnie is still talking and doesn’t notice the click noise, or politely ignores it.
“They’re not crappy. I’d like to make that clear. My tats were well-thought out. Every single one was planned. There’s nothing piecemeal about this ink. They are all mermaids. From every kind of myth and legend. What I’m trying to say is…”
But I stop listening. Did he just say mermaids? This cannot be happening. I thought maybe… best-case worst scenario, maybe he wasn’t an accountant. Maybe he was just some loser with no college degree so he’s skimming the bottom at a random office. Or he was a mechanic. A plumber. Some blue-collar guy who has a fantasy about wearing white button-downs to work every day.
But those tattoos. Those tattoos tell me that none of my best-case worst scenarios are going to be true. It’s going to be something so much worse.
It’s not the ink. It’s not the art. I’m not a snob. I’m not too good for a man with tattoos. It’s just… a man with tattoos like that? He’s a very specific type of man. The kind of man who usually partakes in illegal activities. They ride motorcycles and drive muscle cars. They have friends with tattoos, and clubhouses, and loud mothers—not to mention psycho ex-girlfriends.
OK. Fine. I’m picturing that Sons of Anarchy show, but there’s a good reason for that.
I’ve seen that side of life. Yes, I loved my job as a private investigator. I wouldn’t take any of it back, but these men with tattoos are like the lure of a charming old house. When you’re standing on the sidewalk or cruising by in a car it’s easy to get lost in the curb appeal. You see nicely trimmed hedges, and the quaint shutters, and the warm glow of light from within.
But if you tour the house with an intent to buy, you see everything else. When you peel back the facade you see the cracks in the plaster. You see the chipped paint, and the oil stains on the driveway, and start totaling up the cost of energy-efficient windows because this place leaks heat and AC like a sieve.
And that’s just normal people.
I’m not normal people. I’m an inspector. It’s my job to see those cracks, and that paint, and the oil stains. But I don’t stop there. I look in the basement, in the attic, in the crawlspace, in the garage. I test the appliances, and the water pressure, and look at the roof.
“Tara? Are you still listening?”
I know how old that water heater is. I know that ductwork has never been cleaned, I see those mouse droppings.
“Tara? Answer me.”
There’s a leak behind the powder room toilet, all those beautiful original wood floors are actually rotting, and guess what? You can’t get a permit to remodel because this place is on some list of historic homes.
“Tara?”
“I’m here.”
“Do you have anything to say?”
I’m not even sure what I’m supposed to be commenting on. I didn’t hear anything after he started scrambling to explain. “Nope.”
He opens his mouth to say something but my screen is blocked with an incoming call from Belinda. “Hold on for a sec, Lonnie. I have to take this call.” I press hold and accept on my screen. “What’s up?”
“Hey. You get home OK?”
“Yeah. I’m here.”
“Did you have a nice dinner with Vann?”
“Um… so. Did you set me up with him?”
“Look, I know you’re not in the market for a boyfriend and you say you’re perfectly happy with this Lonnie loser, but come on, Tara. You need company. Real-life company. Someone to actually hang out with after work. Take day trips up to the mountains. Shit like that.”
“You don’t have a guy like that.”
“I know, but… I have my reasons.”
Ah. I see now. Vann told me about her, but he never told her about me. Why? What is Vann Vaughn doing? Is he setting me up? Is he working for them? Is he going to out me? I don’t understand.
“Oh, hey. Before I forget. Someone was just in here looking for you, Tare.”
“What?”
“Yeah. Some guy. He was kinda hot.”
“Who would be looking for me?” But as the words are spilling past my lips, I know who might be looking for me.
“He was all tatted up. I’m talking full sleeves and a chest piece that crept all the way up his neck.
My stomach goes sick. “What did these tats look like?”
“Really nice ones. All devils. And not like… ugly devils. They were kinda hot too.”
I swallow hard as my heart begins to race. “Did he leave a message?”
“Yeah. Which is weird. The whole thing was weird, actually. I don’t know why he came in to Sick Boyz looking for you, unless he saw us together in town or something. I was going to ask, but then he said, ‘If you see Tara tell her Phoebe said hi.’ Then he left. You know him? And who’s Phoebe?”
I nod my head, unable to speak.
“Tara?”
“Um… I have Lonnie on hold. Can I call you back in like five minutes?”
“Sure. But wait—Vann, hmm? He’s cute, right? A little young, but hey, there’s three more where he came from! Which flavor do you like? I’ve seen them looking at you when you—”
“I’ll call you back.”
I press end and return. Lonnie’s FaceTime screen appears. He’s frowning. “OK, what’s going on?”
“Nothing’s going on, OK? I’m just…” But I can’t get the words out. I was going to say disappointed. And I am disappointed. In a very sad way though. And I don’t want him to know how sad it makes me that he’s no
t real. I have this sudden feeling of vulnerability and don’t want to expose myself to him right now. And I get it. I’m not real either. I’m a total fake. But I have a good reason to fake it. My life depends on it.
Diablo is here. Looking for me. And that scares the shit out of me.
But Lonnie… he makes me sad. Was he just having fun with me? Why would he lie about this stuff? My heart hurts. I feel shattered. Blindsided. I was falling for this man. I know he’s not a great catch or anything, but he was my kind of fish in the sea. Kind, and funny, and considerate and… safe.
Talking with Lonnie these past two years always made me feel safe.
And now?
“You hate them, right?”
“What?”
“The tattoos?”
“Yeah. No. I mean. Lonnie—” A knock at my door makes me jump. “Shit. Someone’s here. I gotta go. I’ll call you back later, OK? Bye!”
I hit end on the screen and stare at my door.
Who could it be? Diablo? Did he follow Vann to Anna Ameci’s? Did he see us through the window? Did he follow me home in the snow?
Just the thought of him walking behind me while I was making my way home in the storm makes me ill.
Then I hear footsteps behind me and the next thing I know a black leather glove is covering my mouth and dragging me backwards into the bedroom.
I struggle and kick, trying to knock my assailant off balance—
“Shh! Relax, Tara! It’s just me!”
I turn a little and see Vann Vaughn’s wide eyes. He lets go of me and puts a finger up to his lips and whispers, “Follow me. We need to get out of here. Because I’m pretty sure you don’t want to meet up with that guy knocking on your door right now.”
“What?”
“Devil tattoos? Ringing any bells for you?”
I look over my shoulder at the door just as the knocking commences. “No. It’s not possible.”
I glance back to Vann. He has an unfamiliar look on his face. “I followed you home,” he says, still talking in a low voice. “Just to make sure you were OK. And I saw him. I’ll explain, but right now we need to get you out of here.”
He grabs my purse and coat from a chair and shoves them at me. I’m still holding my phone, so I stuff it into my purse, then tug my jacket on as Vann walks over to the bedroom window and slides the sash open. “We need to leave, Tara. Now. You can think about it later. Come on.”
