Page 25 of Conflicted Lies

Icouldn’t get out of going to the club with Hawke, and believe me when I say I definitely tried.

So I enlisted the best sidekick one could ask for—Ivy. She’s wearing a sparkly dress with knee-high boots. I’ve never understood Ivy and Hawke’s relationship. They seem to get along like the rest of us but have a strange reverence for one another being… well, whores. They love it. They live for the chase and indulge in the catch.

Ivy’s a party girl through and through, and when you mix that with Hawke, who likes to party just as hard, I know it’s going to be a crazy night, and my batteries are already drained. Billie couldn’t make it because of a work trip but, honestly, I’m happy for her and Ford. They’re definitely in the honeymoon stage, so even if she was staying with him for the evening, I wouldn’t be opposed to it. Hell, I’d much rather that for myself as well.

Ivy dressed me in a yellow fitted dress, which surprisingly works with my porcelain complexion, red hair, and blue eyes, but I can’t help noticing she’s dressed me up like a sunflower when I’m anything but. I usually stick to darker tones, but she was so excited and can sometimes step into dress-up doll mode, which I’m not entirely against. It takes the work out of it for me. I also put contacts in tonight.

It’s not like anyone here will know who I am, and I’m not entirely against having a night out. I just somehow end up making stupid decisions when I’ve had a few drinks—case in point: running through Central Park with detectives chasing me down.

Hawke picks me and Ivy up from her and Billie’s apartment, and the moment we walk into the club, Hawke guides us to the VIP area as if he has it booked out every single night. I don’t really know the logistics behind him and these clubs’ he frequents, but he always has an area waiting for him. We’ve only just sat down when a waitress appears with a bottle of tequila and shot glasses. And from out of nowhere, women flock to our booth to come sit on Hawke’s lap.

“Wow, they’re fast,” I say to Ivy. But when I turn to her, she’s looking over her shoulder at the dance floor below us. I can tell she’s on the prowl. Damn, I might still end up on my own even though I brought her as my backup.

Ivy lives in the moment. It’s the thing I like about her the most. She isn’t afraid of who she is or how she presents herself to the world, and she unapologetically goes for what she wants.

“They’re catering to his poor, broken heart now that Ford’s practically married off.” She bites her bottom lip, trying to hide the smile. “But who cares. We’re not here for him. Let’s drink.” She pours numerous shots, and Hawke raises his eyebrows, impressed. We all lean in, clink our glasses in cheers, then throw back the tequila.

It fucking burns, but I embrace it.

Okay, this is going to be a fun night.I try to amp myself up, even though in the back of my mind, I’m thinking about the new book I started reading this morning. I take another shot.

Hawke entertains two beautiful women, and I can tell he’s extra needy lately. He’s so used to going everywhere and doing everything with Ford. I wonder if he feels the same way I do. I mean, he, Ivy, and I are basically the last three who aren’t in any kind of relationship, and I’m pretty sure we’re all overtly against it.

A group of four guys approach our table, and Hawke immediately stands to intimidate them away. Ivy, however, smiles at him with a look that promises imminent death if he doesn’t stand down. “Boys, how’s your evening? Care for a shot?” She dangles the tequila bottle.

We have another shot, and a round of cocktails is handed out. Hawke seems torn between keeping an eye on us and the women currently perching on his knees.

Ivy giggles at two of the men, and I can’t help but notice she and Hawke are practically mirroring one another. It’s almost as if it’s a contest at this point. I’m not at all opposed to it, though, and I’m enjoying the subtle buzz of the alcohol feeding my system.

I stand and move to the balcony, watching everyone on the dance floor. I wonder what it would look like if someone came in and gunned them all down. I imagine the red spray of blood splattering the room. I hear the screams. I see the twisted expressions.

I quickly push down the invasive thoughts.

If anyone knew I had these thoughts, they’d lock me up, and I’d be shunned. Certainly not by my family, but I think my mother might be surprised, even disappointed.

The urge to pee comes on strong, so I collect my purse from the couch and tell Ivy I’m just going to the bathroom. She tries to follow me but I insist I’ll only be a few minutes. She lets me go, turning her attention back to the man on her right. And that’s something I’ve always appreciated about Ivy and Billie; they may only be a couple of years older than me, but they’ve never treated me as a child who couldn’t look after myself.

Shooting a glance over my shoulder, I notice Hawke making out with one woman while his hand is down the shirt of the other. A king in his domain, most certainly. I look back to Ivy, who’s sitting on one guy’s lap while entertaining the other three. She looks like a goddess in a reverse harem. It’s rather impressive.

I take two steps down the stairs, and when I look up, I freeze.

Braxton is staring up at me from the bottom of the staircase, those crystal-blue eyes darker than usual in the dimly lit club.

He’s here, tracking me again. I wish I could say I’m surprised, but I’m not. The man’s tenacious, especially coming here when I’m with my cousin. It brings me flashbacks of the night we first met, and I’m quick to shove those down because I am not going down memory lane with this asshole.

I hold my head high, descending the stairs and pretending like I don’t know him. I can tell in my peripheral he’s smirking, but I pay him no attention.

The moment I reach the bottom of the stairs, he clasps my wrist.

“You weren’t attempting to walk by without saying hello, were you?”

My gaze snakes over to his, and I’m forced to look up through thick eyelashes, even when wearing heels. I try to pull my hand back, but he doesn’t let it go. Even though I’m still one step up, he’s still taller than me. His scent of sandalwood drifts over to me, and I hate how it impairs my judgment. Or maybe that’s the tequila. “Hello, Shortcake.”

I want to say it’s the alcohol that forces me to suck in a sharp breath, trying to counter the heavy impact his smell has on me. And it couldn’t have anything to do with his beautiful fucking face with those plump lips. Said lips quirk up, but he quickly hides it as he leans in and drops his mouth beside my ear. “Did you miss me?”

“No. What’s there to miss? A middle-class man skipping out on his duties to harass a woman who’s not interested? I’m quite all right, thanks.”

His smirk grows, and it causes butterflies in my lower stomach because only this man has ever reveled in my scathing words. But he lives for the challenge.

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