Sweet Little Lies Read online

  “I’m a growing boy.”

  I pat my abs and watch as her eyes follow the path of my hand. Just to mess with her, I slip my fingers under my jersey and draw circles around my navel. I love how her eyes turn an even darker shade of brown, glassy with wonder. Maybe even desire.

  I could only hope.

  Pretending not to notice her rapt attention – or at least trying to – I trail my index finger down my thatch of hair that leads to the elastic of my shorts. She bites her bee stung lips and then seems to catch herself as she quickly looks away.

  I can’t say I’m surprised, but I am disappointed. God, I’ve tried so hard to get her to open up with me. I know she wants to – sexually, that is. I feel it when she’s in my arms, the way she relaxes and gets turned on all in the same breath.

  But there’s this tight thread of reservation she holds onto. She never lets it unravel. Every time she inches too close to that line, she yanks herself back. Back into friend’s territory.

  It’s infuriating, but also sexy-as-fuck. It just makes me want to try harder. She’s not only a challenge, and I’m insanely competitive, but she’s so beautiful and different than any other girl out there. She has a hold on me like no other.

  We’ve been friends for over a year now. There’s been a few times when we’ve made out at parties together where we’ve, ahem, broken through those lines like we’ve hit the end of a marathon. I swear the girl has me whipped like nobody’s business and she’s not even my girlfriend. I would do anything for her and it drives me crazy that she keeps this distance.

  Her husky, deeply accented voice invades my thoughts. “So, what is this favor you need to ask of me, mi amigo?”

  Oh yeah, that.

  I’ve gotten myself into a little jam in school. I struggled to balance it all last year – with everything that happened – and if I want to make the team in the fall, I need to pass my summer classes. And on the top of the list is Spanish.

  I suck at foreign language. Unless it’s something to do with food or booze – taco, fiesta, tequila, fajita, salsa and cerveza – then I’m useless. And my hope is that I can convince my Mexican chica here to tutor me this summer. It’s a long-shot, because I know she has a lot on her plate, but maybe I can employ my puppy dog eyes. And bacon to get my girl to do me a solid.

  “You know how I fell behind last year, right?”

  She nods her head, the empathy etched in grooves of tight-lipped smile. Nobody really knows what happened, because I haven’t told anyone. Even my closest friends, Cade and Carver, don’t know. I didn’t want to tell them because we were in the midst of a championship tournament and I didn’t want to see that look of sympathy on everyone’s faces. I think they knew something was going on, and sure they asked, but I lied about everything. I kept it all to myself.

  Sometimes, like now, as I look at Micaela and the sweet light that emanates from her, I want to tell her the truth. But then I wonder if it’s because I want her to know or I just want her to feel badly enough so she’ll let me into her pants.

  Seriously though, it’s sometimes hard to talk to Mica because she is the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met. It surprises me she even gives me the time of day.

  Truthfully, I’ve been around the block when it comes to women. There’s no hiding the fact that I’m a player. It comes with the territory. As a twenty-two-year old college athlete, I’ve had just about every type of woman there is. Tall, blonde Barbie Dolls, fun-loving sorority sisters, perma-tanned hoops hunnies, and every other college chick who wants to go a ‘round with the champ and have some fun with a college basketball player.

  But Mica’s different. Her grace and beauty outshines the rest on even her worst days – which I’ve never even seen. Her skin is a perfect blend of bronzed caramel and cinnamon – and she tastes just as sweet. Her long dark hair is generally in a long braid or worn straight as an arrow, but is soft as butter and smells like milk and honey.

  Aside from Cade and Carver, Mica is my closest friend. While she doesn’t know every one of my secrets, sometimes I catch her looking at me with knowing eyes - as if she can see right through me. Past those darkened curtains I keep closed up tight, away from prying eyes. She seems to see through my darkness and it’s her light that beckons me through my anguish. Makes me feel hopeful in the midst of everything that sucks in my life.

  “I’m in a pretty tough spot right now. If I don’t pass my Spanish course this summer with at least a C, I won’t be able to start on the team this season and it’s my last year. I can’t lose everything over a stupid foreign language credit.”

  Her eyes grow wide and I realize I may have inadvertently insulted her language.

  “I didn’t mean Spanish was stupid…just the grade,” I reassure.

  Mica sighs and leans her chin in the cupped palm of her hand.

  “So, what do you need, exactly? I’m not going to help you cheat.”

  I give her surprised face and a cheeky grin. “I’d never ask you to do that for me. But I need you…your help in learning Spanish.”

  I see every thought flash through her warm, sincere eyes. Deeper than molasses, her thick lashes unable to conceal her concerns.

  “Lance, you know I want nothing more than to help you, but I’m so busy right now,” she argues, shrugging in defeat. “I barely find enough time to study for my own courses, much less room for you.”

  This is exactly the objection I was expecting and prepared for. I thread my fingers with hers.

  “You have Sundays off. I’ll make you dinner every Sunday night. And I’ll drive you to school every Tuesday and Thursday when you have classes.”

  She gives me a strange look. “How do you know what days I have classes? Stalker, much?”

  Yeah, okay, that does sound like I’ve been following her around. But I haven’t. I just have my sources.

  “Ainsley,” I smirk.

  I reach across the table, moving the salt and pepper and syrup bottle out of the way, and take her hand in mine. Threading my fingers through hers, I slowly bring our joined hands toward my mouth and plant a kiss on her knuckles. I smile when her eyes darken and I notice the goosebumps that pattern her skin.

  “With friends like her, who needs enemies?” she mutters with amusement.

  “Plus, didn’t you say you’re going to borrow your car to your brother Mateo until he can save up for a new one?”

  A few weeks ago, her younger brother, Mateo, crashed his motorcycle. Luckily, he walked away unscathed with only a few bumps and bruises and a cracked rib, but the bike was destroyed. Being the loving sister that she is, Mica offered to lend him her car so he can get to and from work for the next month or so.

  She’s been taking the bus to school. I know all of this because I overheard her talking about it with Ainsley one night while I was hanging out at Cade’s.

  Once again, she squints her eyes inquisitively. “I don’t remember telling you this. Now I really think you’re a creeper.”

  I laugh, shrugging off her suggestion. “I have ears. I know everyone thinks I talk all the time and don’t listen, but I do. Especially when you speak.”

  I let my confession sink in while I take a huge gulp of coffee. Being up this early practically killed me, but I knew it was the only time I’d see her this morning.

  Rolling her eyes, she slides her hand out of mine and places it in her lap, fidgeting with her blouse buttons. I can’t help but notice the swell of her breasts underneath the button-down denim she’s wearing. How I’d like to trace those curves with my fingertips and tongue.

  The clearing of her throat draws my attention back up to her face, the look of annoyance clearly defined in her forehead.

  “Really…like how you’re listening to me right now?”

  Uh oh. She must’ve said something and in my daydreaming over the shape of her, I missed it.

  “Sorry, what were you saying?” I give her a big lopsided grin that I know she can’t resist.

  I haven’t had a lot
to smile about the last year. Everything in my life has changed since last March when we lost out in the NCAA Tournament. And then May came and went and I saw my two best friends go off to start their new lives and careers. While I was left behind.

  My best bud, Carver, is now up in Seattle, living his dream and playing professional basketball. Cade chose to go into a career in bio-med, where he designs medical devices to help heart patients. And he just got engaged to Mica’s friend, Ainsley, and they now live together not far from here.

  I’m happy for my two best friends, because they have amazing fucking lives.

  As for me, I have to finish my last year in college under the pressure to do something with myself once I’ve graduated.

  Granted, real life isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I’d take the college party life any day over the adult world. I’ve seen what it does to people…my parents, especially.

  I shake off my thoughts and worries and return to my attention to Mica.

  “Okay, you busted me. But sometimes, I can’t help just staring at you. You’re so very…what’s the word in Spanish?” I scrunch my nose and snap my fingers when it comes to me. “Estas bonita.”

  The blush and sweet smile that lights up her face is all the confirmation I need. I’ve got her.

  “You are nothing but a persistent flirt. You know that, right?”

  I shrug and shake another packet of sugar into my coffee.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m just a sweet, charming guy who wants to tell a pretty woman that she’s beautiful.”

  Mica whips a full sugar packet at me from across the table and it hits me in the shoulder before landing in my lap and then falling to the floor. I laugh at her aggravation and bend down to pick it up, but not before I get a glimpse of her tan silky legs under the table, her shorts riding up to show off her creamy smooth thighs.

  I inhale deeply and squeeze the packet into my palm to avoid the instinctive desire to reach out and run my hand between her legs. It takes everything I have to keep my hands off her. Oh, she would be murderous if I ever did that in public.

  I clear my throat and discreetly adjust myself as I sit back up, opening up the packet and dumping it into my coffee cup. I may or may not have an addiction to sugar. It’s my addictive personality. And sugar and Mica are on the top of that list. Among other things.

  She fidgets uncomfortably across from me and finally sighs in capitulation.

  “Fine, I’ll help you,” she says as I practically drag her across the table in a bear hug. “On one condition.”

  I let her go, wondering what she’ll request, and hoping it’s sexual favors. Fuck, I’d get down underneath this booth right here and now if she wanted me to eat her out. Give her a thousand orgasms a day if that’s what she wanted.

  I blink away my pornographic thoughts as she rights herself against the back of the booth. Placing her hands on the table, her fingers play with the tiny wooden mixing stick from her coffee cup.

  “Anything,” I promise.

  “No drinking. You need to be sober when we study. I’m not going to waste my time if you’re not going to take this seriously. Okay?”

  Well shit. That’s no fun and wasn’t what I’d hoped she ask me. But knowing I need her help, I tell her the lie that that wants to hear and hope she can’t see through it. A lie that I hope I have the strength to commit to.

  “I swear. Scout’s honor.”

  Chapter 4

  Mica

  It’s been two weeks since I agreed to help Lance with his Spanish studies. Honestly, when I initially agreed, I didn’t have a lot of faith that he’d take it seriously and put in the work.

  It’s not that he isn’t smart, because he is. And he can do anything he sets his mind to. But it’s just that I’ve learned the hard way that Lance is often committed more to basketball and partying than he is to his studies and grades. Or graduation.

  That’s one of the many differences between us. Maybe it’s what complements us both. I’m not sure. And I do have the reputation of being too serious and one-track minded, where he is notoriously flippant and irreverent.

  Either way, I’m pleasantly surprised at his follow through and dedication so far. Our study sessions during the weekday mornings have been productive and he’s kept the goofing off to a minimum. And that’s saying something for Lance. Because he is the biggest goofball I’ve ever met.

  As I stare at him now from across the café table in the student center, I remember the first time I met him a year ago when Ainsley and I were studying in this very same spot. It was in that moment that I knew I was going to have it bad for Lance Britton.

  “Hey, what answer did you come up with for question four? Is it Admitting and Discharge or Admitting Diagnosis?” Ainsley asks, using the pencil eraser to tap against her bottom lip in thought.

  I peek up from my notebook and consider the question.

  “I think it’s Diagnosis. Those two acronyms are so confusing because they look so similar…but-” I’m unable to finish my response because Cade, her boyfriend, sneaks up behind her and covers her eyes with his hands.

  Ainsley shrieks in fright and practically jumps from her chair as she whirls around to find it’s Cade behind her. And then before I know it, he’s leaning down and covering her mouth with his in a very public display of affection. In fact, there are a bunch of catcalls and whistles around the student café from other students, and I turn my head in embarrassment, blushing from the intimacy of the scene.

  While they are absolutely adorable together, it feels like I’m a voyeur in a very private moment.

  Before I can focus my attention elsewhere, the chair beside me is pulled out and a very large body drops down next to me with an exaggerated flop.

  “Fuck, dude. Get a room,” he says, his voice low and booming. Then he turns to me, as if we’re in cahoots. “Right?”

  I can do nothing but just stare at him because I’m speechless. It’s one thing for Ainsley to be going out with Cade – the hot shot basketball player at ASU – who everybody knows and worships. But to have his friend and teammate, Lance Britton, sitting right next to me and speaking to me like he knows me is something else entirely.

  My eyes find his – which means I have to crane my neck, the back of my head practically hitting my shoulders – and I’m immediately ensnared in the warm swirl of his grey irises. The amusement in his gaze has me flustered and I quickly look away, searching for something to gain my attention.

  I glance down at my book and notebook, picking up my favorite lip balm that I always keep handy and slather it on my lips.

  And then in an instant, Lance’s face is right next to mine and he’s sniffing me. Like I’m some sort of scented candle at the mall candle shop.

  “Mmm. Strawberry. I love strawberries,” he casually, yet sensually, comments. “They’re my favorite fruit.”

  My head snaps back in surprise and I’m not sure what my facial expression says, but the way he’s looking at me suggests he’s not used to having a girl flinch around him.

  Lance snickers and then leans in to grab the tube I hold from my shaking hands. I watch as if it’s in slow motion – as his shoulder brushes my left breast, his fingers unfolding mine and the freshly showered scent of him – it’s all overwhelming.

  As if in a trance, my eyes remain locked on him as he uncaps the balm and sniffs it again.

  He tilts his head toward me, smiles coyly and says, “Now I’ll always think of you when I eat fresh strawberries.”

  He reaches for my hand and places the tube back in my open palm. The current of electricity runs through my veins and up and down my spine. I feel like I’ve been hit by lightning. His touch is that potent. That electric.

  “What’s your name, gorgeous?”

  Swallowing thickly, my eyes dart to Ainsley in hopes that she’ll save me, but she and Cade have left the table and I see them walking toward the doors. She left her things here so, she must be coming back. But fo
r the moment I feel like a cornered and petrified bunny.

  Lance laughs and with exaggerated diction, says. “Okay, let me try this. I’m Lance…and you are?”

  His smile is both amusement and interest. He’s part of the royal court at this school and I’m just an immigrant pauper. Wholly undeserving of his time or consideration. Or so I believe.

  That’s been one of the toughest things for me to get over since starting college. To truly believe that I deserve to attend college when no one else in my family ever has before.

  Those strawberries that Lance loves so much? Most likely, a member of my family or distant relatives – immigrants from my family’s home country of Mexico – spent grueling days out in the fields under the hot sun, picking those berries so that people like Lance could enjoy them. Not realizing the backbreaking work that goes into bringing their food from the farm to the table.

  Not realizing the terrible working conditions, the minimal and unlivable wages that pickers and laborers receive. The lack of medical attention and other creature comforts that so many take for granted when they eat those foods.

  And while my father and I have very different ideas about what his daughter should do with her life – he always wanted something better for me. So that I didn’t have to work manual labor like the rest of my family did to make a living in this country.

  “Micaela Reyes,” my voice squeaks. “But my friends call me Mica.”

  Although I say it in barely a whisper with my eyes cast down, I can feel the change in the atmospheric pressure that surrounds us. There’s an audible gasp that leaves Lance’s chest. And when I finally peek back up at him through my lashes, he’s playfully holding his right hand over his heart and he’s got a weird – almost stunned – look on his face.

  I’m worried. We just studied strokes and embolisms in our nursing program and I wonder if Lance is having one right now.

  “Are – are you okay? Say something.”

  He huffs out a breath. “I can’t. You’ve taken all my breath away just by speaking your name, Mica Reyes.”