Sweet Little Lies Read online

  The student center and café is busy and chaotic at this time of day, but I don’t hear anything outside of the way Lance says my name. It’s not with the same rolled-R as I pronounce it, but with something else. A sensual quality. And yet, he’s making of fun of me, too.

  I roll my eyes and I don’t know where it comes from, but I get up the nerve to press back. To flirt the way he’s flirting with me.

  “I said my friends call me Mica. We’re not friends.”

  He produces this wounded puppy-dog eye expression and drops down from his chair onto his knees and sits before me in a pleading manner, his hands clasped together as if in prayer.

  “Please, please, please be my friend, Micaela Reyes. You’ll make me the happiest guy in the world.”

  And then he throws his arms around me, hugging me tight, pressing me against him as a laugh escapes my lungs.

  “Oh, what a cute pink bunny rabbit. Just what I always wanted. My own little bunny rabbit…”

  Say what?

  “I will name her George, and I will hug her and pet her and squeeze her.” Lance squeezes me and then pulls back and pats me on the head like I’m a child. Or some kind of small play toy. Or bunny.

  I wave off his hand with an embarrassing laugh.

  “What the heck are you talking about? You’re a weirdo.”

  Lance jumps to his feet, laughing with a deep grunt. “Haven’t you ever watched Looney Toons? You’re my own little George. And we’re gonna be great friends. Just you wait. See ya round, Mica Reyes!”

  And just like that, Lance bounds off, without a care in the world, as I sit here dumbfounded as to what just happened with everyone in the room staring at me in confusion.

  As if he can read my thoughts, Lance breaks through my memory.

  “Hey Georgie, what’s going on in that pretty head of yours? Doesn’t look like you’re studying much to me. I think you’re daydreaming over there about my lickable eight-pak and my amazing tight end.”

  Wiggling his eyebrows in a show of conceited hilarity, I can’t help but shake my head and roll my eyes to hide the truth. Because he’s kind of right.

  If it’s one thing I love about Lance over all other things – even that beautiful tight end of his – it’s his humor.

  While I know he uses it most of the time to keep people from seeing the dark sadness that hides behind his eyes, he has a natural born gift of making others feel good. Putting them at ease and making them feel special. Like they’re the only one in his orbit.

  Or maybe that’s just how I get when I’m around him. It’s nice change of pace - that lightness of being with Lance. There’s a moment where I just feel normal – where the tightness in my chest is lifted and I feel like any other college kid on this campus.

  That’s something I don’t necessarily get when I’m with my family.

  Growing up, I would get lost amongst my brothers and sister. Of course, my family has fun – and we celebrate everything together – but there’s also an underlying solemnness in our household. A weight and a burden that naturally emanates from the knowledge that we’re considered foreigners. Unwelcome in this country. Looked down upon because we’re immigrants.

  A race that is considered lower than those with lighter skin walking around next to us. Living next door to us. Running and managing the businesses we work for. Educating us.

  It’s as if sometimes there already has been a wall built and people stare at us and wonder how we got in here with them.

  My father has a love/hate relationship with America. He is patriotic to a fault and is so grateful for the opportunities the country has provided our family. Yet he’s also a staunch believer that our Mexican heritage is to be revered and he’s proud of his ancestry. Proud of the hard work and manual labor that he and my brothers and uncles and mother and aunties and cousins all do to make our way as American citizens.

  But that pride can turn ugly when he’s pushed or feels slighted.

  It's because of my father that I could never bring a white boy. A gringo. They wouldn’t understand why I’d look outside our own circle of eligible partners within the Mexican community. No matter how infatuated or in love I might be.

  My face flames red as Lance continues to stare at me, poking fun at me for daydreaming. It’s not a hardship to stare at and enjoy Lance’s sculpted and muscular body. My hands have freely wandered every inch of his chest, and arms, and rounded ass during our private make-out sessions.

  We may not have ever gone all the way, but there have certainly been moments where I’ve allowed my curiosity and lust to take advantage of those opportunities to learn what he feels like. And I’ve had to attend Mass and confession immediately following those episodes.

  “I’m not thinking any such thing. Estas loco,” I lie, telling him he’s crazy for even considering it. Even though he’s absolutely correct. “How are the Spanish flashcards working out for you? Would you like me to quiz you?”

  His smile turns dirty. “We could play strip-quiz. For every question I get right, you have to shed some clothing.”

  “Dios mio,” I lament, trying to squash the internal butterflies in my tummy. “How did you actually last this long without bringing sex into the conversation?”

  “I didn’t say anything about sex – you brought that up. Which means you were thinking about my sexy, hot body just now. I knew it!”

  He snaps his fingers and then waggles his pointer at me. “You’re such a little liar. You’re really just a dirty little girl hiding behind those sweet angel eyes.”

  No, not really.

  He just seems to bring out that naughty girl within me.

  One who really wants to do dirty things with him, but knows I can’t. Little Red Riding Hood, meet the Big, Bad Wolf.

  Chapter 5

  Lance

  “Hey, bro. Waddup? How’s it going?”

  My friend, Cade, reaches for my hand as we go through our typical man-shake that we started our first year of college. God, that seems like a lifetime ago.

  Cade called me yesterday to see if I wanted to get in some one on one time on the court at the campus athletic center. I quickly agreed since today is Saturday and I don’t have any classes; the timing was perfect.

  “Yo, Griff. How’s the shackles treating ya?” I laugh and shove his shoulder with mine, giving him a hard time about his newly engaged status.

  It’s crazy to think my two best friends are now settled down with the women they want to spend the rest of their lives with. I’m happy for them, but it freaks me out a little. We’re all still so young, in my humble opinion, and there’s still so much partying to be done.

  I lace up my shoes as Cade does some stretching on the side of the half court we reserved in the large arena gym. The perks of being basketball players for the school is free gym time whenever we want it. And since it’s the summer quarter, there isn’t much happening this time of year.

  A few students saw us in the locker room on the way out and stopped to chat for a bit, asking us questions about playing and the past championships we’d played in. Word will likely get out soon enough that we’re both in here today and a crowd will form. It always happens. Especially when Cade’s around. He was the big man on campus. I’ve always just been the dopey sidekick to the big stars.

  Which my dad never fails to remind me of.

  Cade laughs. “Shit, man. My life is fucking perfect. I can’t believe how lucky I am. So, shackles or not, life is good. And hey, how about you? Last I recall, you went home with Mica the night of our engagement party. What’s up with that? You were fucking adamant that she was the only one who could put you to bed. Man, you were blitzed.”

  Cade laughs, but I know there’s more than joking fun in his comment. He and Ainsley are protective of Mica and knowing who I am, I can understand why. They don’t want me to mess around with her or hurt her. I get it.

  She’s the perfectly unblemished glass rose and I’m an unpolished and marred concrete block. I’d crush
her with the weight of me just because of who I am. Of how I am. And all the tarnished baggage that exists in my dark soul.

  Something inside me twists and I feel this ire grow in my belly. Even though he’s not coming right out and saying it like my dad would, he’s suggesting I’m not good enough for Mica. So my tone is defensive when I speak, causing Cade to stare at me wide-eyed as I stand.

  “I’m not a fucking rapist, man. I didn’t take advantage of her that night, if that’s what you think.”

  He waves his hands dismissively. “Whoa, bruh. I didn’t say that. I would never think that, dude. Calm down. I just know that you were really wasted that night and when you’re drunk, you get a little-”

  “A little what?” Okay, I’m totally being a dickhead right now, but I can’t help it.

  “I don’t know, just uncooperative. Impulsive[SH1]. Defiant.”

  He swipes the ball from my hands, pivoting and dribbling it a few steps before making a layup.

  I stand there for a moment and watch him, wondering what he truly thinks of me. And how I’m perceived by others. But then I shake it off, because I don’t give a fuck.

  I stopped giving a fuck when my younger brother, Landon died, when my mother died, and when my father started blaming all his problems on me.

  Finally, I step into motion, pushing my legs forward and jumping up to block his next shot. It hits the rim and I rebound it, dribbling back to the center line.

  “That’s not true,” I complain. “I’ve been told I’m a funny-ass drunk. I make the girls laugh and then they drop their panties for me. Women like men who are funny.”

  “Yeah, man. You’re funny, all right. Funny looking,” he retorts, stealing the ball from my hands again and going up for a dunk.

  “Fuck that noise. I’m the new hot stud on campus, bruh. You’re just an old, retired ball player who has to wear around a ball-and-chain and wears a lab coat with a pocket protector at work.”

  I steal the ball back from him and this is how it goes between us for the next twenty minutes; each of us throwing out well-played and well-timed cuts about each other. It’s who we are and how we do things. This is how we’ve always been.

  Friends, guys, basketball players. The slams and smack talking are all part of the game we love to play. And there’s never any hard feelings, because the truths – while there – are covered up with carefully crafted put-downs and ribs that are meant to be funny, not hurtful.

  When we’re finally breathing hard and need to take a break, we walk back over to the sidelines and grab our water bottles and towels. Sweat pours from my head down my face and into my eyes. I taste the saltiness on my lips and smile. I’ve missed this easy comradery that I have with Cade. And for a moment, I’m nostalgic over the last four years and miss my other friends – Carver and Van.

  “You heard from Carver recently?”

  Carver is one of the only guys from our class that went pro. He’s now up in Seattle playing for the Puget Sound Pilots – the year’s rookie sensation – and he’s now back together with his long-time love, Logan. He’s promised us courtside seats when his team is down in Phoenix playing the Suns the next time they play. It will be different watching from the audience instead of being in the action with my buddy – but I’m so fucking happy he’s living his dream.

  Cade nods his head. “Yeah, I think they have a long road trip coming up and then it’s playoff season. Doesn’t look like he’s getting too much playing time, but he’s still walking away with points on the board each game. He and Logan are doing great. Edwards says he may even pop the question soon.”

  I shake my head. What is the deal with my friends getting hitched so soon? Fuck if I know. Of course, I didn’t grow up with the best family dynamic and my parents had a shitty marriage before my mom died, so it’s no wonder I have a tainted view on the whole thing.

  “I haven’t seen Van around much either. How’s things with him and Ky?”

  Cade grabs a seat, throwing back some Gatorade and sighs. “Fuck, it’s weird seeing Ky getting all lovey-dovey with Van. I still have the urge to punch him whenever he puts his hands on her.”

  We both laugh at this because for one, Cade would never hit our good friend Van, regardless if he is dating Kylah, Cade’s younger sister. They hooked up last winter and have been going strong ever since. In fact, she moved in with him recently and he’s now working for some accounting or financial firm.

  “Van’s the best guy there is for Kylah. He’ll take care of her. Just like you take care of Ainsley. You’re good dudes.” And I mean it. They are loyal and solid guys.

  No response from Cade has me turning toward him to find him bent over at his waist, his elbows on his knees, head tilted toward me.

  The conversation has come full-circle it seems when he returns the topic back to Mica. “Tell me the truth, bruh. What’s the deal with you and Micaela? I think Ainsley’s a little worried.”

  My brows furrow – uncertain as to whether I should be offended or not. “Why would she be worried? About me or Mica?”

  Cade snorts. “Hell if I know. But she’s protective of her friend. We all love Mica. She’s a sweetheart. But dude, you know she’s not your usual type and she’ll never be that girl. You can’t use her and kick her out. She’s one of us.”

  Scoffing, I pick at the label on my bottle, clenching my jaw from the implications of what Cade’s just admitted.

  Finally, I decide to give in and share it all with him.

  “I’ve been asking Mica out since the first time I met her but she keeps turning me down. I mean, what the hell? Do I stink?”

  I raise my arm and sniff at my pits. Okay, I do right now. But not usually.

  The laughter from Cade is annoying enough for me to snap his shins with my wet towel. He shuts up for a second and then laughs again.

  “Shut up, motherfucker. I seem to recall someone else being turned down originally from Ainsley.”

  Cade looks thoughtful for a moment and then shrugs. “Yeah, but she gave in pretty quickly after that. But you? You’ve known Mica for how long now? A year and she’s been turning you down since then? That’s hilarious!”

  I grumble. Rejection really sucks – especially when it happens every time.

  The most recent let-down was just Thursday morning. We’d been sitting there studying and when I looked up, she was staring at me with this dreamy look on her face. She was so beautiful, her dark skin so petal soft, her lips berry ripe and her gorgeous molasses-colored eyes revealing what I thought was desire.

  So, I did what any red-blooded guy would do when a hot girl is looking at him like he hung the stars. I asked her to go out with me. What’s the harm in just a date? Technically, in my eyes, we’d been on tons of dates if you counted the time spent making out at parties or studying together this summer quarter.

  Her normally bright eyes went dim, as her chin dipped down and she shook her head.

  “You know I can’t, Lance. Please don’t make this awkward between us.”

  Maybe it was because I wasn’t having a good week, or I hadn’t been laid in over a month or that I was just overly tired, but this time I took it harder than normal. I’d normally laugh it off, tease her a little bit about what she’s missing out on, something like that.

  But instead, I got angry. It felt like I was a boiling pot and I finally erupted over the edge and all the water spilled over – hot and scalding.

  The terrified look on her face when I slammed the book shut and threw it down on the ground next to my backpack is something I never want to see again. I was instantly remorseful and regretted my reaction, but I didn’t say so right away.

  No, like a dickhead, I just walked away, leaving her to call my name from behind me.

  That night, I went to my old high school friend, Dodi’s place, and got shitfaced drunk. Ended up drinking half bottle of Jim Beam and taking some pills he gave me. I was so trashed I don’t even remember getting sick all over myself sometime in the middle of the
night until I woke the next morning, lying in my own vomit and piss.

  Not my finest moment.

  But at least I’m not my father. When he drinks, he’s a mean drunk. Takes out all his anger and frustration about past mistakes on his family. By lashing out verbally on me.

  Shaking those ugly thoughts away, I pick up the ball from the ground between us and dribble it around my feet and through my legs.

  “I don’t know why she keeps saying no, because I know she really wants to say yes.”

  Cade scrunches his nose up and comments snarkly. “Says every rapist out there.”

  I throw the ball at Cade’s chest hard, but he catches it without even flinching.

  “You know that’s not what I meant. I’m very respectful of her. When she stops things between us, I don’t push it. I like her too much.”

  Cade dribbles past me and stops, turning back and setting the ball against his hip.

  “So, you guys have hooked up before?”

  Walking toward him, I grab the ball out of his arms and make a jump shot from the side of the court. It arcs perfectly and fills the hoop with a swish.

  I shrug, trying to keep things cool and nonchalant. I don’t want him to know just how deep I am with this girl.

  “Nah. Just made out a few times at parties. She always puts the brakes on before it goes too far.”

  “Well you did put the smooth moves on her that one time when you made her breakfast at our place.”

  I smile and nod at the memory. It was early on after meeting Mica when I realized she wasn’t like all the other hoops hunnies I’d been hanging and banging. While she was quiet, she wasn’t shy in the way Kylah was. She spoke her mind when she felt like it. And she had no problems with shutting me down when I got out of hand.

  I had thought at the time inviting her over for breakfast would’ve scored me points with Mica. Proved to her that I liked her enough to go all out to treat her better than any other girl I’ve been with. Although I wouldn’t say no if she wanted to jump in bed with me, I just enjoyed hanging out with her that morning.