All the Pretty Lies (Pretty 1)

I grin over at her. “And it’s driving me crazy!”

“Oh, I bet. By the time you get him to get on that horse and ride, you’ll be ready to fall apart. But that can be a good thing, especially for your first time.”

I hate thinking about my first time, much less talking about it. I know all the details, all the mechanics and physiological aspects of it. I just want to get past all that painful, awkward shit and move on to the good stuff. Time’s a wastin’!

“Well, if there’s anybody I would bet big money on to make a girl’s first time pure heaven, it’d be Hemi.”

“And I want alllll the details. You hear me?”

“I hear you.”

“And hurry up about it. You’re a woman. Use all the tools God gave you and bring that boy to his knees.”

I sigh. “I’m trying.”

“No, you’re not. You’re just floating along, letting things ‘happen’. You can’t do that. You have to make things happen. Your way. In your time.”

“I’m on it, Sarah. Trust me. I’ve got this.”

I say this to get Sarah off my back, not believing it for one second. The more time goes on and Hemi doesn’t make a move, the more insecure it makes me. But I’m not ready to give up yet. If I could pick anybody in the world to be my first, it would be Hemi. As tough and hard and matter-of-fact as he is, he’s shown me a whole different side of himself. The side that’s caring, and wounded, and uncertain about some things. He may not have intended to show me, but he did. And I saw it. And now I can’t forget it.

What I can’t—and won’t—tell Sarah is that this is too important to me for me to just capriciously screw it up over sex. It’s worth more than that to me. Hemi is worth more than that to me. I just can’t tell her that.

“So when do you see him again?”

“Since I’ve got school, he doesn’t want me coming in there so late and being tired the next day, so he said I should plan on coming Thursday and Friday night.”

“How considerate,” she says sarcastically. “He needs to get over that shit and just get this done.”

“Sarah…” I roll my eyes. “You should’ve been a guy.”

“Why? Because I’m honest?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, that’s why I’m not a guy. Guys aren’t honest. They hide things from you and tell you what you want to hear. I don’t do that. Therefore God made me a female. By far the superior gender.”

“You really should put that on a mug.”

“I’m working on it. I’m working on it.” One glance in her direction tells me that she probably really is. And if she does, I’m sure at least one of them will end up under my tree at Christmas time.

I shake my head and roll my eyes again.

Sarah’s one crazy girl.

********

By the time Thursday rolls around, I’m more than ready to see Hemi again. I feel like I’m becoming addicted to him, like time spent away from him is nearly painful. Which is ridiculous, of course, since I haven’t known him very long.

But still…

I dressed carefully for my first night in the “studio” as Hemi calls it. I wanted to look sexy and mature without looking trashy or like I’m trying too hard. I chose some snug jeans that ride low on my h*ps and a cap-sleeved shirt that makes my boobs look good and my waist look small. When I move a certain way, it gives a glimpse of my stomach, and showing a guy some skin is always a good idea. At least that’s what I’ve heard. It also gives a peek-a-boo look at my butterflies from some angles, which I love.

I park in a spot at the end of the street, so as not to take up any customer spaces, and I climb out, leaving my purse but grabbing the folder with the forms for Hemi’s boss to fill out. Releases for school and stuff, and then Hemi’s preceptor form. It’ll be official then. He’ll be stuck with me for the rest of the semester, a thought that thrills me to the bone.

When I walk in, there are two people in the lobby. By the looks of them, they’re waiting for their turn in one of the chairs. I give them a smile and make my way to the doorway that leads to the back room. I’m not sure whether I should just walk on back or not, so I poke my head in and see if I can spot Hemi. And I do. Immediately. My eye is drawn to him like the earth is drawn to the sun. I can just make out his head behind the partition that divides his area. It looks as though he’s talking to someone, a female most likely, judging by what little bit of her face I can see.

A young guy appears at my side. I was so caught up in looking for Hemi, I didn’t even see him approach. He can’t be much older than me. He has a Mohawk and several piercings on his face. Even so, he’s cute in a punk rock way, with his engaging smile and sparkling green eyes.

“You looking for Hemi?”

“Yes, I see him over there, but I don’t want to interrupt.”

“Oh, you won’t. She’s not a client.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to get him into trouble.”

“How would you do that?”

“Well, his boss might get mad if—”

The guy laughs. “Hemi doesn’t have a boss. He is the boss.”

I’m puzzled. “He runs this place?”

“Yep, he sure does. He’s the manager.”

“Oh,” I say flatly. I wonder why he never told me that.

“That’ll be our little secret, though. He doesn’t tell a lot of people that. I just assumed he’d tell you since you’ll be hanging around here quite a bit.”

“How do you know about that?”

“He told us to expect you, that he’d be showing you the ropes. Some kind of thing he’s doing for your school.”

“Right. Yeah, he’s…helping me.”

“So, what are you waiting for? Go on back,” he says with a pleasant smile. “I feel sure he’ll be wanting to see you.” I’m not quite sure of what to make of his comment, but he distracts me from it when he sticks his hand out and introduces himself. “I’m Paul by the way. I’m one of the part-time artists.”

I return his smile and take his hand. “Hi, Paul. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Sloane.”

“Sloane,” he repeats. “It’s gonna be very nice to see you around here, Sloane.”

Virgin or not, I can still spot appreciation in a man’s eyes. And there’s appreciation in Paul’s. Lots and lots of appreciation.

“You’re a flirt, Paul,” I tell him bluntly. “But I like you anyway.”

“I knew you would. Girls can’t help it. Wanna touch my hair?”

He bends his head slightly forward, presenting me with his stiff Mohawk. It’s a silly gesture on his part, but it makes me grin. And I do actually want to touch his hair once he practically shoves it in my face.

“What is that?” I ask as I touch the spikes.

Paul lifts his head, dances his fingers over his prickly hair and grins at me. “You don’t even want to know.” He starts to back away, toward the chair that now has a client in it. “See you around, Sloane.”

I smile as I watch him go greet the heavy man. He offers his hand in an upright handshake, taking the customer’s palm against his and patting the back side like they’re old frat buddies or something.

Paul. What a character.

I turn my attention back to Hemi. I make my way across the room to the little cubby where he works. It’s not until I round the corner that I see how “not a client” the woman actually is. A gorgeous blonde, she’s leaning into him like she’s very familiar with him.

When I stop in my tracks, they both turn their head toward me. Hemi looks irritated. The woman looks…hungry.

“Pardon me, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” I say to the woman. I glance at Hemi. “Paul said I could come over. But if you’d rather I wait out in the lobby….”

“No, you’re fine, sweetie,” the woman says. Up close, I can see that her eyes are a cool gray and her face is a study in perfection. “I was just leaving.” She turns a stunning smile on Hemi. “Thanks again, babe. I’ll repay you. I promise.” The woman brushes her lips over Hemi’s before she leans away from him. “I’ll let you get back to work.”

She slides past me in a swirl of expensive perfume. I can only imagine what kind of swagger a woman like that has. I refuse to look, but, then again, I don’t really need to. The way Hemi is watching her go tells me all I need to know.

No wonder he has no interest in me. Not really. In a thousand years and with a team of plastic surgeons, there’s no way I could compete with a woman who looks like that. No. Frickin’. Way.

I feel a lump lodge in my throat. I shouldn’t let this upset me. I mean, I was looking at Hemi as just a means to do some living, to rid myself of my virginity. That’s all, right?

Right?

“I can come back later if you’re busy,” I tell him, proud that there is no quaver in my voice.

“No, that’s not necessary. We were…we were done.” Hemi looks down at the folder I’ve got a death grip on. “Are those the papers for me to fill out?”

“Yes, I guess you can sign them all since you’re the manager.” He doesn’t flinch when I say this. He must not care whether I know or not.

Hemi takes the forms out of the folder and puts them on the small counter off to one side of his cubby. As he reads over them, the silence—and the curiosity—is too much to bear.

“So, she’s…attractive.”

“I guess,” comes his absent reply.

He makes no move to explain further. I should let it go. But I can’t. I just can’t.

“Is she, like, an ex-employee or something?”

“No.”

“Is she your sister?”

“No.”

“A cousin? A loan shark? A nun?” I’m crossing my fingers he says yes to the last one.

He doesn’t give me a grin or even look my way over the nun part. “No, she’s an old friend.”

“Oh,” I say, not relieved at all to hear this. “I thought maybe you had some family in town or something.”

“No, no family in town.” He seems distracted. And not entirely happy at the moment. I can’t help but think it has something to do with his “old friend” popping in. I’m immediately resentful. When Hemi finishes filling out the paperwork, he hands me the forms and throws his pen back on the table. “So, there are a couple of people waiting. Let’s go see what they’re interested in. Maybe we can get you in at least a couple of sketches and a stencil tonight.”

And so goes his detached, clinical attitude for the rest of the night.

Much to my dismay.

It makes me wonder about the wisdom of trapping Hemi in this “professional” arrangement. I thought it meant more time together, but I’m beginning to think that might not be such a good thing.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN - Hemi

The arrival of Sasha back into my life does nothing to improve my mood. I’m already feeling like a dirt bag. Having her around here will only remind me of it on a more frequent basis. Of course, that will probably work out better for Sloane. She—and her damnable virtue—are much safer with me this way. And my ultimate plan is safer this way, too.

Still, I don’t have to like it.

The only other good thing about this is that Sasha is the kind of woman I’m used to. History or not, she knows the score. Maybe I can pound out my frustrations on her very willing body.

If I can just get a sweeter one out of my mind long enough to do it.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - Sloane

Somehow, I had managed to convince myself that things would be better tonight, that Hemi’s…pique over his “old friend” would dissipate and that we could resume our dance. My hopes are not only officially dashed as soon as I walk through the door, but they are choked, sliced, stabbed, and burned, too.

The first thing I see is the gorgeous blonde straddling a stool in front of one of the tattoo chairs, inking a design on some guy’s thigh.

My heart sinks.

And keeps sinking.

She looks up, embarrassingly enough, to find me standing in the doorway staring at her.

“You must be Sloane. Come on in and pull up a chair. Hemi will be back in a few.”

She’s friendly and likeable, which, of course, makes me hate her that much more. Still, I do the only thing I can and I grab a stool and wheel it over to the other side of her client.

“You learning how to do this?” the guys asks me.

“Trying to,” I say lightly.

“She’s gonna have one of the best teachers. I oughtta know. I taught him everything I know,” she says, winking at the guy.

Oh shit! This is the woman who took Hemi under her wing?

At first, I feel worse, but then, as I think about their connection, I actually start to buck up a little. This hard core glamour doll wasn’t a love interest. Hemi was her protégé. That lends a whole new feeling to their relationship, one that doesn’t intimidate the frick out of me.

I find I can actually smile at this woman now, and it’s almost genuine. “So you taught him how to do this, huh?”

“Yep. Not that it was too hard. Hemi’s a natural. We used to sketch on napkins every morning at breakfast. I knew he had skills before he even picked up a gun.”

The small, fledgling hope that had poked its head out of the cave of my despair is effectively obliterated by her comment.