Lies That Sinners Tell (The Klutch Duet 1)

Talking to my dad, thinking about how much I needed to be in the safety of his presence, the warmth of my childhood home, it brought tears to my eyes.

“Me too, pumpkin,” Dad replied. “So,” he said, clearing his throat. “What else is new in your life? A new man, maybe?”

Ordinarily, my father knew about every single man I dated, even if they didn’t survive the week. I’d always told him everything. He was my best friend.

My father was extremely open-minded, and we had a unique relationship. But even my open-minded father would not approve of Jay. Of his daughter being in any kind of ‘arrangement’.

So I did something I’d never done to my father before.

I lied to him.

And I had the feeling that there would be many lies in my future if I continued to see Jay.

It was Thursday.

Eight fifteen.

I was wearing Calvin Klein. I’d gotten my inspiration from Carrie Bradshaw and her infamous ‘naked dress’. The one that she’d worn for Mr. Big and the unveiling of her bus ads. Then the asshole didn’t show up, but she still looked fabulous, and in my opinion, he didn’t deserve her. I was a Team Aiden girl all the way.

I was tempting fate by wearing a dress so light pink it almost matched my skin color. It wasn’t short by any means, it brushed my mid calves, but it seemed more revealing than even the highest of hemlines. It skimmed over my every curve, showing the ridges of each of my butt cheeks, and my nipples protruded out from it with the slightest breeze. I considered wearing pasties to cover them up, but this was well past free the nipple era. Personally, I loved the look of women’s nipples pressing out of the fabric. Loved the power it gave her, the way they dared any man in the vicinity to look anywhere but south of her neck. It was a power move. One I feared I needed.

Though I was wearing my own naked dress, I didn’t think I was going to befall the same fate as Carrie.

Jay was not a Mr. Big.

Sure, he resembled the general idea of him. Excellent suits. Dark. Tall. Exquisitely handsome. An obvious asshole. Rich. Dangerous to a woman’s heart.

But not a coward.

Mr. Big, and most men who fit the above descriptions, were cowards in one way or another. Liars.

Jay made it clear on the first night I met him that he wasn’t going to lie. Wasn’t going to try to seduce me with anything but the truth. He’d told me exactly what I was in for.

And it terrified me.

But not enough to not be waiting in my best naked dress for him to pick me up.

I glanced in the mirror for the hundredth time. As a makeup lover, I was rather the expert at applying it. Liked to experiment with colors, looks, styles. But my job, requiring early mornings and long days, meant I wore little because I was short on time and wanted to take care of my skin. I preferred a tinted moisturizer, a good quality blush, a few swipes of mascara, setting spray, and then I was off.

Of course, I’d also spent thousands of dollars on skincare to make sure that my skin glowed and that I looked effortlessly beautiful.

My first instinct for tonight was to look glamorous. Smoky eye. False lashes. Pull out all the stops. Date look level ‘hawt’.

But then I put on the dress, and looked at the way it melted into my skin. How it relied on me and my body and not much else. Well, other than exquisite tailoring and the finest fabric money could buy.

A face full of thick makeup would’ve ruined everything, made all the soft edges hard. In addition to that, it would’ve just been a mask for me to hide behind. As much as I was tempted to hide, to shield myself from Jay, if I was going to survive this, to hold on to any power, I needed to be myself. No masks.

I put on a sheer foundation to even out my skin, a bit of highlighter to give me a glow. I used a very light pink blush high on my cheekbones to accentuate my delicate bone structure. The lipstick I choose was the same pink, delicate, ladylike, accentuating my lips. Full, thanks to a touch of filler from the best cosmetic surgeon in the city. I blended the lightest of pink eyeshadows with shimmer in the inner corners of my eyes. Mascara to lengthen but not too dark so I looked natural.

I’d always looked delicate, petite, almost breakable, my pale skin tone and my strawberry blonde hair naturally providing that. In some of my later teen years, my looks annoyed me. Especially considering my lack of boobs, and even when they came in, they were a humble B cup. I’d always envied curvy, strong looking women, ones who didn’t look like they needed protecting. Didn’t look so vulnerable.