Find Me (Truthful Lies Trilogy - Book Two) (4 page)

“You’re making me a little nervous.”

“
Nah, chill. It ain’t nuthin serious. I
just think I gotta close some of those doors, y’know.”

“Is it anything I should be worried
about?”

“No! I promise you!”

“Then tell me, just so I know.”

He sighs out loud. “Look, Blaze, it ain’t
nuthin you should be afraid of. It’s just...on the subject of
relationships...I mean. I just gotta clean up some old
shit.”

“
OK, I can respect that.” I stretch out and
hold his hand. “I’m really sorry about your father, Deck. And...I’m
here for you, OK?”

He bites his lip. Swallows hard. Doesn’t
answer
. Just nods
tightly. And again, his eyes water up, and he wipes a tear from the
left one. Then from the right. “I gotta go. Gotta get to
work.”

He hugs me
, arms trembling.

I feel like I should tell him about what
happened with Xavier
yesterday, how he attacked me (and how I attacked him
back!) And how that probably leaves me without my breakthrough gig
in two weeks; and with no hopes of getting a new place after my
loft’s lease expires in six months.

I need his help. I need his help with
business.
Because that’s
his forte. Not mine.

But he needs me now more than I need him. It
can wait another few days. Until he gets steady on his feet
again.

“
Wanna hang out tonight?”
I ask. I feel the pause in the
room like a truck overturning. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be
forward—”

He pulls me closer. “No! No. Not at all.
Blaze, we just slept together. Of course I wanna be with you. Would
you mind getting drunk with a bunch of guys? I hate to say it
but...I guess it’s become some sort of sick tradition with us: To
drink away the dead.”

“Like the Irish,” I say.

“
Yeah, like the Irish. I’ll wanna be with
my boys”—he tightens his grip on me—“and my girl. I can call you
that, can’t I?”

“Of course you can.”

“
I mean, I know you prob’ly got a live act
you wanted to go to—”

“
I do. And they’re good. And the bar’s a
great place to get drunk.”

“Awesome.”

“
Tomorrow I have a gig. In the city. Wanna
come along?”

“
In the city! Damn! That’s hot!”

He clearly has no clue about this
struggling-artist business. I roll my eyes. “It’s not hot. It’s a
teeny-bopper party whose Upper East Side mother prefers cheap labor
from Brooklyn to equally good, but double as expensive, labor from
her own borough.”

He chuckles, and the way it reaches his
eyes makes me feel I’ve achieved my goal for the morning. Now, how
to get that smile happening every day from now on? Every day when
he wonders what he could have done to prevent the bullet from
hitting his father’s head...

Every day that he replays the fatal events
in his mind.

“
Can I bring Trev to the
gig?
”

I scrunch up my eyes. “Uhm, actually, not
really. I mean, it’s a closed party. You’d be sitting in the DJ box
with me drinking OJ all night. It’s not really an invitation to the
party itself.”

He moves his lips an inch away from mine.
“I’d love to be there.”

“
I’m warning you, we’re talking, like,
Justin Bieber and One Direction here. Ashley Tisdale, Demi Lovato,
Natasha Bedingfield—”

“
Whoa! Whoa! Stop! Yikes. Gag me. You
tryin’ to give me nightmares or something?
I thought you
wanted
me to be there.”

“I do. I just want you to be under no
illusions when you arrive there.”

“And you’re cool with playin’ that
stuff?”

“
You mean, am I OK with selling my
soul?”

He grins embarrassedly. “I was trying to
build on what we have, not shatter it. So I chose politeness over
brutal honesty.”

I clutch his shirt by his abs. “You’re so
sweet, you know that?”

Our lips meet, and the hotness of his
breath makes me forget our conversation for just a second. Against
all good reason, I pull away. “Tomorrow night. You gonna be a
Belieber or what?”

“I’m having second thoughts.”

That’s when I punch him hard on the chest.
The laugh it brings out in him makes me count a score of two for
the morning. “It’s good to see you smile, Declan Cox.”

“It’s amazing to hear you call me that, Blaze
Ryleigh.” He moves closer.

“No! You gotta work. And I gotta
practice.”

“For Justin Bieber?”

“
Asshole. No! I gotta practice my real
music. And I gotta track down Viktoriya—you know, the
Red Lipstikk
singer from the bar on
Wednesday?—to get some of her tracks. When I got her number she was
real keen to do coffee for some reason.” Thinking of Wednesday
night, when Tolek suddenly appeared at the
Slambam
bar,
makes my stomach turn.

“
Hell, all I gotta do is move a bunch of
furniture while listening to your
non
-Belieber mixes in my car. I got a real easy life these
days.”

No you don’t.
“Are you
sure
you wanna come?”

“
For the third time,
YES
, I’ll come to your Belieber party tomorrow. Why
don’t I give you a ride?”

“
Sure. I’ll need to be there at six to set
up. And, as for your comment about selling out—”

“I never said that.”

“
Yeah, but you thought it. So, as to that
comment, I do whatever I can to pay the rent.”

“I know the feeling. Look, I haven’t
forgotten you asked for my help yesterday to promote your business.
Tonight we’re gonna sing away the dead, but after that life goes
on. So as soon as you’re ready...”

“There’s no rush...” I know he can see I’m
lying.

“
Blaze, everything OK?”

No, it’s not. I cut a
violent
drug
dealer’s head with a mug
—
the
same drug dealer I had sex with once. And who, underneath all the
mind-altering chemicals, is also a close friend of mine—hard to
believe though it may be. And he’s also my dead best friend’s
brother. If that weren’t enough, he’s also the same guy who seems
to be the only door to me not having to spread the Belieber Faith
to the world and all its followers just so I can make the rent and
keep a tiny trickle of dough flowing up to my struggling mother and
gramps in Poland
.

The above is what I think. The below is
what I say:

“Everything’s cool. I just...wanna have all
my bases covered. You know. I was basically thinking about what you
said. About getting myself out there. You said you know a thing or
two about advertising and stuff.”

“
I know a bit. Let’s spend the day on it
tomorrow if you have the time. I have no moves for the weekend. You
know I’m not happy about those vampires around you. You spoken to
any of them again since you told me about them?”

More than spoken.
“Uhm...no.” As I say it, I feel
the lie enter our union like a deathly virus.

“
Blaze, you sure you OK?”

“Sure! Sure. Why not?”

“
Dunno, you just went a little pale there.
And quiet. You promise everything’s fine?”

“
Of course. Of course. Like I said, I just
wanna have all my bases covered. And, you’re right, I don’t wanna
be counting on no bloodsucker assholes with their promises of
‘friendship’ and all that bullshit to get me going forward.
There
must
be a way to
do it without them.” Although that isn’t necessarily a lie, it
feels like one.

Because a lie is anything you don’t
personally believe. Truth has
nothing to do with it.

He looks at me in a way that makes me
think he sees the
untruths like a tumbling house of cards. Then: “Sure. Of
course I’ll help you. Let’s see how far we can take this.
Without
having to enter the Church of
Bieber.”

I roll my eyes. “God. Don’t remind me. Just
thinking about that music makes my head wanna pop.”

“
Is this, like, a
thirteen-year-
old’s
party or something like that?”

“Something like that.”

“
And the mother knows what you look like? I
mean, I think you’re hot.
So
hot,
by the way.” He rakes my tatted arm with his eyes. Smiles. Rubs his
hand up it once to bring shivers all over my skin. “But I’m not
sure what an Upper East Sider’s holier-than-thou mother might think
of it.”

“
Now
imagine both of us arriving there.” I check out his own
riotous ink-sleeve, especially the buxom brunette riding the hungry
tiger without so much as a pasty on her bountiful bosom. “They
might think we’re robbing the place! They might even pay us double
just to leave their kids alone!”

“
I knew there was another reason you wanted
me to come with you.”

“Bonnie and Clyde, baby.”

He leans down and kisses me, and I feel
like I’m drowning.
He
needs to work, he’s told me. But my lips won’t let his go. I bite
the bottom one, feel its softness. My hands move over his hard abs,
then down, down, down...

I slide one into his warm middle while he
undoes his pants. Slowly, I start fading, forgetting everything
except the taste of old whiskey on his breath, the sound of his
pitter-patter breathing as my hand makes it down to his moist and
warm cock. It’s hardening. His pants come off, and I slide his
boxers down to the top of his thighs. He presses against me and I
keep rubbing. I wrap my hand around his shaft, lift up, and he says
slowly: “Oh,
fuck
.” His
forehead presses against the top of my head. I feel his breath
quickening. My nether lips are swollen as hell, bursting,
pulsing,
needing
him
again inside me. Needing him to fill me, needing the scrape of his
manhood into my tightness. “Fuck me, Declan Cox.”

He cups my cheeks, lifts my lips up to his,
then eases his hands down to my jeans, undoes them. And they fall
in a puddle at my feet. He grabs my panties.

And he
rips
them off.

They drop. He bends his knees, looks me
deep in my exhilarated eyes, and then enters me as he lifts himself
up.

He clasps my shoulders, keeps his gaze
locked on mine. And all the movement is in his pelvis.
Up
, slowly, then out. “I’m gonna fall,” I
say. He holds me under the arms. I have no strength left in my
legs.

Then he moves back up again, his thighs
tensing like the football player he is. I’m practically dangling on
him now. “Hold onto my neck.” I do, and it takes all my strength
not to fall—

“
Oh god.” He just went up
deeply
. I’m so
tight, so needing him. The buzz begins, deep in the core of my
stomach, and still his cock rides, slow, easily, pulling at my taut
entrance. My words come out as whispers: “Oh hell this is—” He
thrusts again! He’s speeding up! I shift about for comfort, hear
his groans as nature starts taking over his calculated movements,
making them rawer, more primal,
basely human
.

And so he
fucks
me. Just like I asked him to. He starts to pump, pelvis and
abs—

I lift his shirt, just to see the ripple
of his eight-pack as it squeezes every time he enters
me—

T
hat fucking eight-pack makes me
drool.

“
Oh, Deck— Deck—”

Thump thump thump thump!

From him:
Growl, roar, primal
sounds
.

Then, slowly, also from him:
“O-o-o-o-o-o-h.” And he pauses,
deep
inside me. Waits. His grip on my shoulders increases, just
minutely, pressing down with his fingers. His eyes clench up, his
eyelids flutter.

His lips part. An animalistic sound almost
escapes the back of his throat.

He squeezes his eyes and: “OH.
FUCK!”
Boom
.
“
GAWD!
”

He shatters inside me, catapults and
explodes. I follow quickly. The sounds are wails, cries like
animals in the wild, raw and limitless. Never ending. I yank his
shirt, tug it back and forth.

His grip on my shoulders eases. He thrusts
up again and
holds
it there.
“Ugh!” He exhales.
Pushes
up
again.

My sounds are female, bordering on whimpers,
but each one of them is pure pleasure, sweet ecstasy.

In the end, drenched, sopping wet, we hug
each other, exhale. And breathe.

When he walks out the door, and closes it,
I’m still catching my breath.

I sit on the nearest stool, my mind
whirling with passion, the middle of my legs suffering from moist
and warm reactions I thought only occurred in books. I put my hand
to my chest—another thing I thought only happened in
fiction.