Page 83 of Conflicted Lies

It was a year before I did it again. And the fun fact about it is I used the same pocket knife on the next man. After that, I was intrigued by other methods.

I get that I’m all types of fucked-up. I understand that. And I also know how to present myself as a decent person to the rest of the world. They think I’m innocent, and it helps me fly under the radar. If Braxton knew half the stuff I’ve done, he wouldn’t look at me the same way he does now. Or maybe I’m wrong about that. After all, the sex we have is primitive in a way that I know is not normal for most lovers.

The door to the diner opens, and I glance up, my gaze connecting with crystal-blue eyes. He’s out of his mind coming here so soon after we were caught by my father and aunt, though I expected to see him here, which is precisely why I came.

This diner has somehow become our place.

He takes his usual seat across from me. I offer him my fork to finish the last pancake, but for the first time ever, he shakes his head, refusing the meal. Though he still picks up my mug of black coffee and takes a sip.

I try not to smirk.

Asshole.

“What are we?” he asks. I suck in a sharp breath. Oh boy, we’re really finishing this conversation.

“That’s a loaded question.” I should close the book and focus on him, but I can’t; it’s like a shield. Ironic since I can handle myself when killing someone, but when it comes to social connection or matters of the heart, I am very much a coward.

He rubs his face, tired. I don’t know what’s happened in the twelve hours since I saw him last, but he looks even more exhausted. I suppose it’s a good thing he actually survived these twelve hours, considering my family is aware there’s something happening between us.

“Why is it a loaded question? You like me, and I know you like the way I fuck you. We both know there’s more to this.”

My heart begins racing. I want to deny it, want to fight it. I’m still not entirely sure what the right decision is. I want to think with my head, but my heart is screaming at me that this might be my chance. But my chance for what? To be girlfriend and boyfriend and skip down the road in public? There are so many things tied into this. It’s a complicated mess.

“So because I like the way you fuck me, we have to label it?” I ask, giving my best impression of a wall, even though I’m still scared he’ll see between the cracks. He massages his temple and sighs heavily.

“Fighting until the very end. I don’t know why I expected anything less. You know that’s not what I meant,” he says.

I peek over the top of my book. Those crystal-blue eyes stare at me, making me uncomfortable. What would a future with Braxton look like if we could walk down that path? I know I’d never be able to leave him alone. He would be the first person I would want to see every time I get off the plane after a show. I’d be consumed by our sex. But that’s a fairy tale. That’s not all we are or could ever be.

“We”—I wave a finger between us— “would never work. You know that, and I know that. My family would never accept you.”

He slams his hands on the table, and everyone looks in our direction. “Stop thinking about what everyone else wants and just focus on us for a second.”

I snap the book shut, surprised by his outburst. He’s really on edge. A small part of me appreciates being the one who put him into this maddening haze, even though I’m trying to push him away for our own good.It is for our own good, isn’t it?

“I care about what my family thinks. I understand that’s a foreign concept to you, but it matters to me,” I say coldly.

His smirk is evil. “Don’t try to push me away by digging into old wounds. That won’t work on me, Shortcake.”

“Seems to work plenty. Look how riled you are right now,” I bite back.

“Because you’re making me fucking crazy,” He seethes. We stare at one another across the table. I want him more than I’ve wanted anything else, but there are things I can never share with him. Secrets that will jeopardize not only me but my family. Yet he’s the one person I want to run to.

“Just let me in,” he pleads. My eyebrows dip because I wonder if he truly understands what he’s asking for. I doubt there’s anything of equal significance that he can offer me.

“The fact that I’ve let you live this long shows I care, doesn’t it?” I say quietly, picking up the coffee and taking a small sip just so I can focus on something else.

“It’s not enough. You’re buried so deeply under my skin now that I need it all, Shortcake. I need all of you. Not just a taste or a moment. You’re mine.”

I want to laugh at him and publicly humiliate him so he’ll never blurt such absurdities again. But my heart races, pounding hard, as I realize I’m on the edge of having something I never thought was possible.

Why is love the most dangerous thing I’ve encountered? I want to trust him, but how could I be stupid enough to give my heart and secrets to my family’s enemy? Yet, I haven’t shot him down.

“I don’t know what to do,” I say in an even quieter tone. “We’re not meant for each other.”

“You don’t believe that. You know damn well you’re the perfect fit for me. I’m the only man who indulges your fantasies, plays your games, and actually survives them. You’re the only woman for me. You can’t tell me you don’t feel the same.”

“I think you’ve lost your mind,” I whisper, trying my hardest to flick away his honesty. But what if it’s a trick? It doesn’t feel like a trick, though. I’m falling further and further into uncharted territory, and I have a choice to remain in my comfort zone or fall— even if it’s my undoing.

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