Page 33 of Beautiful Lies
“We’re such weirdos.” She gave me a big, happy smile she hadn’t shown me in a long time. She was remembering us at seventeen. But the smile faded all too quickly as if she’d caught herself doing something she shouldn’t.
“We should go,” she said, zipping up her hoodie.
I flagged down our waitress and asked for the check. She fished it out of the pocket of her apron and set it on the table. “Can I borrow your pen?” I asked.
She set it on top of the check and walked away. I flipped the check over and drew a peacock, then threw down enough money to cover the bill and a generous tip. Ava gave me a soft smile as we slid out of the booth, the first notes of Johnny Cash’s “Ring of Fire” coming out of the jukebox. Ava’s choice.
“That’s harsh,” I said, rubbing my chest.
She arched her brows. “I should have known better than to play with fire.”
“You were the arsonist, baby. You set my world on fire.”
“You left me with the ashes,” she said, her voice low but loud enough for me to hear it.
I wanted to tell her that she was the phoenix that rose from the ashes, but I didn’t know if it was true or not. Ava could be tough, but she said I made her vulnerable and fragile. Five years ago, we went to Brooklyn Glass to watch the glass-blowers. Such a cool thing to watch. On the way home, Ava told me her heart was made of glass, that someday I’d shatter it in my hands and she wouldn’t know how to pick up all the pieces. She wanted to protect her heart, but she gave it to me anyway and trusted me to keep it safe. I didn’t.
I held the door open for her and followed her out of the diner. Tonight, those summerlike days felt like a thing of the past. The air was cool and damp, the kind of weather that settled in your bones. Ava hugged herself for warmth, and I wanted to warm her up with my body heat. Instead, I took off my hoodie and handed it to her.
“Won’t you need it?”
I shook my head.
She thanked me and threaded her arms through the sleeves, zipping it up. “I look ridiculous,” she said, rolling up the sleeves. She was drowning in my hoodie, but she didn’t look ridiculous. I smiled to myself when she burrowed her nose in the collar, closing her eyes as she inhaled my scent.
“Your tattoo…” she said when I handed over her helmet. “Is that the only way you remember me? Crying?”
I took a deep breath and let it out. My right arm was a tapestry of my life over the past few years, a reminder of where I’d been and the journey I’d taken to reach this point. Drug-free. Hanging on to life by the skin of my teeth. Choked by the vines but still surviving. My skull buried in the tree. Ava’s tears. Hope. Despair. The death of my old life and a rebirth. I’d sketched the designs during late nights when sleep wouldn’t come, and over the past year, Jared had inked it on my skin piece-by-piece until I had a full sleeve.
When you hit rock bottom, you’re led to believe there’s nowhere to go but up. What nobody tells you is how long it takes or how hard it is to dig and crawl your way out of that hellhole.
“No,” I said. “That’s not the only way I remember you. It’s more like a reminder … I’m trying to bring good things into my life now. And you … are the very best thing. I won’t ruin us. Not again.”
“Can you make that kind of promise?”
I wasn’t sure. “I can promise that I’ll try my best.”
She studied my face, and I felt like she could see straight into my soul and read all the things I wasn’t saying. “That’s a good start.”
“Am I redeemable, Ava?” I teased.
“Time will tell, Connor.” Her gaze dipped to the vintage silver Harley skull and crossbones belt buckle she’d given me for my nineteenth birthday. “That’s a jazzy belt buckle. The person who gave it to you has good taste.”
I swung a leg over my bike and kicked up the stand. “Watch yourself, girl. You shouldn’t be looking at my belt buckle. And don’t even think of what’s below it.”
“I wasn’t. It never crossed my mind,” she said primly.
“I know it’shardnot to think about something sobigbut put it out of your mind.”
Ava groaned. “Oh God, you haven’t changed a bit.”
I grinned. “Some things haven’t changed.” I grabbed my crotch, and her gaze lingered there. It was too much fun not to push for more of a reaction. I stroked myself through the fabric of my jeans. I was still tender, but as if by magic, my dick hardened under my touch. “Barbells aren’t just for lifting in the gym,” I said, reminding her of the piercing she used to love. I’d gotten the apadravya for her when we were eighteen, having accepted her dare.
Her tongue swept over her bottom lip. Jesus. I wanted that tongue where my hand was. We used to be daring. Ava had a thing for having sex and giving blow jobs in places where we might get caught. I stifled a groan. God, that was fantastic.
I stopped touching myself. If I kept going, I’d explode in my jeans.
I winked at her. “Get on the back of my bike, baby. I’ll take you for a ride you’ll never forget.”
