Page 8 of Twisted Lies
He shrugged. “Take it for what it is. We’re over.”
I’d stood there, feeling stupid that I’d allowed myself to be weakened after my dad’s death. I couldn’t believe I’d let Kyle into my heart and body. I never would have let him in if I had known he would hurt me and leave me drowning in the deep end.
“Over?” I’d frozen like a deer in headlights, gasping for breath as I sank into the murky waters of an emotional abyss.
Then he’d gone for the ultimate emotional bitch slap.
“Let’s keep it real, Sin. What we had was fun but temporary. You and I know there’s no way in hell I could bring you home to my parents. You just don’t fit into my world.”
His parting words had burned, fueling my hate fire.
Everything had clicked into place that night. To people like Kyle, it was perfectly acceptable to fuck a girl like me in secret and then discard me like trash, like a whore.
Jade nudged me, interrupting my disturbing trip down memory lane. “Sin, I’m not saying to forget. I’m saying you need to heal and let that shit go.”
Jade was right, but the truth cut like a knife. I couldn’t let it go. No matter how hard I tried to distance myself from the past, it was still stuck to me like shit on the bottom of my stiletto. I tried to scrape it off, but the residue and stench remained.
And Kyle Fillion was that stench, the shit that had lingered. He’d sabotaged the chance for any man to break through the thick ice encasing my heart. Many had tried, and all had failed. I wouldn’t—no, I couldn’t—trust again, not after Kyle had trampled my heart and pride like it didn’t mean a thing.
I stared through the window, watching the blur of city lights as Kirby darted in and out of Manhattan traffic. The past didn’t matter. Love didn’t matter. Perfect love didn’t exist. It was a cliché. I understood good, hard, and sweaty no-commitment sex. No emotions were required.
I looked at Jade and winked. “Enough of this sappy stuff. I’m over that shit. Let’s get to partying. It’s time to turn it up and toast to the end of my dark past.”
Kirby pulled up in front of the club and opened the car door. I shivered from the icy blast of air whirling around us as we stepped out of the car. Jade looked every inch the rich diva as she swathed herself in a huge white-and-gray fur coat, which she wore over the top of a tight leather minidress, leaving her long, tanned legs on display. Meanwhile, for a night out on the town, I rocked my own design, a black silk pantsuit and black bustier. It was sexy with a hard edge, and it was a direct reflection of who I was now.
Jade strutted past the crowd freezing their asses off queued behind the red velvet rope. Giving a bored stare to the intimidating bouncer standing atop a set of stairs holding a tablet, she held out her hand. He grunted and stamped it, and the crowd grumbled.
“What does it look like in there tonight?” Jade asked.
“A mixture,” he responded.
Then he stamped my hand.
“This is bullshit. How come they don’t have to wait in line?” a female in the line complained.
Shifting uncomfortably, I avoided the heated glares of the crowd. I still wasn’t completely at ease with bypassing the line outside the club and going right in with VIP status. But Jade had clued me in on how the whole club thing worked. It was a silent business relationship. The clubs liked to pretty up their establishments, and the fact that Jade was rich and came from a famous family was a bonus. She would party at the club, and the club would comp her drinks. If she liked the place, she would invite her rich, beautiful friends, making that club the hottest place to be.
The bouncer stepped aside, and I followed Jade into the trendy New York City nightspot, located in the borough of Brooklyn, that edged a little closer toward bar-with-a-dance-floor territory. I loved this club. It was one of my favorite places to party. The whole scene felt fairly Miami-inspired with mojitos and drinks that came in real coconuts. The crowd was culturally diverse. The club would have DJ nights or live bands that rolled out sets chock-full of rock, salsa, merengue, samba, rumba, reggaeton, calypso, and a smattering of old-school hip-hop.
An eager hostess hurried over to us as we stepped over the threshold, ready to provide us with the VIP treatment. She escorted us to the lush lounge area with VIP seating where we could indulge in superior table service or just sit in the all-black mezzanine lounge.
Minutes later, Jade and I were sipping our drinks while watching some of the upscale crowd walk around like sheep in the same designer clothes. Their clothing was boring, with no originality, which was one of the main reasons I’d decided to move forward with my dream of designing my own clothing line. After losing the monotony battle with my closet, I knew I had to change the rules. If I couldn’t find what I wanted to wear, I would make it instead.
Jade stared at me knowingly. “No thinking about business tonight.”
She dragged me onto the dance floor. I closed my eyes, enjoying the exuberant energy of the salsa rhythm. My eyes snapped open when I felt a pair of hands wrap around my waist. “What the…?” I snapped before being spun around and finding Jaxon’s blue eyes staring down at me.
God, he even smells good. Damn.
Jade smiled naughtily before sauntering away.
Jaxon leaned in, and his lips brushed against my ear. “When am I going to get your number?”
I rolled my eyes. “Uh…I don’t give my number to stalkers.” I swayed my body to the beat, enjoying the pressure of his hands on my hips a little too much.
“Stalker? Wow! I’ve never been called that before.”
“Don’t you think it’s fitting for a guy who always ends up at the same club I’m at?”
