Page 29 of Mischievous Lies

“Maybe we’ll go somewhere together one of these days, and you can show me around,” he says through a yawn. I turn to face him, place the second cracker in my mouth, and see he’s already fallen asleep. I soften toward him a little more. I’ve heard about how heavy a sleeper he is, but it looks like he hasn’t slept in months.

I think back on our conversation last night. I wonder if this has anything to do with his outburst on not hurting women. There’s something vulnerable about Hawke that I’ve never noticed before. Despite his size, I’m reminded that he was once a little boy. Actually, it’s clear as day that that little boy is still in there somewhere because he still acts like a big guy. It’s part of his personality that often drives everyone insane.

I quietly climb out of his bed, hoping not to wake him. I head downstairs to the kitchen, still wearing one of his shirts that comes to my knees. I like Hawke’s home; it’s flashy, sizeable, and far too large for him to live in alone, especially compared to his brother’s modestly-sized home. I wonder if that’s because he never had this as a kid. But I can’t help thinking about how lonely it must be living in a five-bedroom home without anyone else.

Maybe that’s why he’s always partying. I don’t think he likes to be alone.

When I pull open the fridge door, I’m not surprised by how stocked it is. I try not to laugh. It couldn’t scream “bachelor” anylouder even if he tried. It’s full of various meat, eggs, and protein drinks. Protein. Protein. Protein.

I don’t expect anything less from a man who loves to eat as much as he does, and it takes a hell of a lot of food to maintain a body that big, I imagine. I settle on making a sandwich since he has bread in the fridge, which, okay, is kind of weird. But it’ll do. I grab some meat and settle for that since he literally has no greens for a salad.

I make two sandwiches, one for myself and one for him, because he never turns down food. I take a peek into his personal gym before going back upstairs. I’ve seen all of this through his cameras, but being here. Seeing it all in person is different. It smells like him.Feelslike him.

One of his eyelids peels open the moment I step back into the room. I’m certain it has less to do with my presence and more to do with the instinctual knowing that food is within his vicinity.

“You don’t have any salad,” I say, handing him the plate.

He curls up his nose. “You don’t make friends with salad.”

I shake my head as I take a seat beside him. It feels strange not having the sexual energy between us. Just simply being. Sex is the last thing on my mind right now as terror grips my lower stomach at the thought of what might’ve happened that night at the party. I side-eye Hawke, once again feeling a rush of gratitude for my unlikely hero.

I pick at the sandwich, making a decision to take back my power. This incident has deeply affected me, and I’m sure I’ll have to figure out a way to overcome it completely. But my curious mind needs answers. I need to know what I’m dealing with.

“Did you find out who drugged me?” I ask, trying to be nonchalant as I take a bite.

“Yep,” he answers, already having demolished his sandwich. Okay, I should’ve made him two. “It’s been handled.” And that’sall he gives me as he lies down, his massive arms flexing as he tucks his hands behind his head. I don’t even want to ask what his definition of “handled” is. If he’s anything like my father or the other men we’re associated with, it means the guy is on a magical boat to hell, most likely sent there by an excruciating death. Suddenly, I’ve lost my appetite.

“Do you want half?” I offer.

“You should eat more than half.”

“I can’t. It hurts my stomach,” I tell him, and he’s quick to devour it.

I lie down beside him, staring at him. It feels surreal and intimate. I’ve never done this with a man… just laid in bed beside them and not fucked. But it’s his ease with the situation that scares me most. He must’ve done something very bad. I just hope he doesn’t get himself in trouble for my sake.

“What did you do to him?” I whisper.

His dark eyes study me carefully as he casually tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear, as if not realizing he’s giving in to his impulses. But it feels comforting, even if it is foreign. “I informed him what he did was wrong.”

“Yes, but what did youdo?” He doesn’t answer. “You know I can find out, right?”

“Oh, I’m well aware of your tracking and hacking abilities, lover. Just because you try to keep some of it a secret doesn’t mean I don’t know.” He winks. “Now, go back to sleep.”

“I should probably go home.” Despite how much I’ve slept, I want to close my eyes again, willing this all to be over. I might’ve been saved, but how many other women hadn’t been? And the unknown, that blank space in my memory, haunts me. Because anything could’ve happened. I’ve always lived so freely, and this weekend has shaken me to my core as if momentarily clipping my wings.

“Sleep now, woman.” He reaches for me, and I let him pull me close, my hands resting on his chest as he wraps his arms around me. I don’t even want to fight him. Instead, I embrace the comfort he offers. For once, I’m grateful Hawke is able to speak in a language I understand well. A language spoken with his body. Because right now… this… it gives me all the comfort I want.

I nuzzle into his warmth, surrounded by the smell of his cologne. My mind begins to circle with the what-ifs, and every time I’m swept away by them, I focus on him again, bringing me back to the now. To the security of being safe in his arms. I can tell when he starts drifting off because his arms turn into dead weight, loosening enough that his hand drops to my hip.

He might be an asshole, but I will forever be grateful to Hawke for this moment. I close my eyes and try to follow his lead, not yet entirely ready to face this day or the new reality, knowing already that it’s changed me. I’m not sure if it’s for the better or the worse.

When I wake up, he’s gone. I wipe my eyes, a sudden sense of loneliness overtaking me at his empty spot. I grab my phone from the side table, trying to adjust my eyes to the bright screen. He has blackout curtains, so it’s a surprise when I realize it’s midday already.

I didn’t hear him leave, but then again, I slept like the dead. I feel even better than before. I’ve never slept this much in my life. I sit up and find my outfit washed and folded at the end of the bed. I have no intention of wearing that dress again. The heels, however, I’ll keep.

I pick them up from the floor, but still take the dress and underwear with every intention of burning them. I don’t ever want to think of that night again. Still wearing his shirt, I put on my heels. It might not be the most stylish thing, but I’m confident in pulling off almost anything. And I just need to get home.

I look over my shoulder to the camera that I know is hidden there and give it a small wave before I leave the bedroom. Downstairs, on the kitchen counter, I find my purse. I take that as well as I check my phone. I have a missed call from Billie, a text from Hope, and two messages from my mother about dinner tonight.

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