All the Pretty Lies (Pretty 1)

“He’s a man. He thinks with his dick. As long as you keep that in mind, you’re golden.”

“You should put that on a mug.”

“I know. I’m like a modern day Confucius.”

“If Confucius was full of random wisdom involving penises.”

“How do you know he wasn’t?”

“You make a good point.”

“Now, stop changing the subject. When are you gonna go back in there and get him to finish you up? And then ‘finish you up’?” Sarah snorts at her cleverness. I shake my head, but I can’t hide my smile.

“I don’t know. But I will.” I turn to stare out the window for a few seconds before it occurs to me. “Why are you so interested in my virginity anyway?”

“It goes against nature for a girl to reach the ripe old age of twenty-one and still be a virgin. Something like that could disrupt the space-time continuum. Before we know it, there are earthquakes all over the place, volcanoes are disappearing, cave men are popping up in bars.”

“This isn’t Land of the Lost, Sarah.”

“But it could be. This is just me doing my part for the good of mankind.”

“Wow, I never considered that the state of my hymen might be of interest to the world at large.”

“I know. So innocent. So clueless. That’s why I’m here, sweet child,” she says peacefully. “I’ll be your guide.”

I shake my head. “This can’t be good. You get lost in the parking lot at the grocery store.”

“Hey! That happened one time.”

“And that was one too many.”

“Shut up, whore!”

“Not a chance, slut.” We grin at each other. Such is the banter between me and my best friend.

********

I’m antsy. I knew this would happen. I’ve felt this way every evening since the last time I saw Hemi. I asked Sarah if she wanted to do something tonight, but she had already made plans with her on again-off again boyfriend, Todd. And as pathetic as it is, she is pretty much the extent of my plans. When she’s got something else to do, I stay at home. I usually draw. Or read. But for some reason, neither of those activities appeal to me tonight.

It’s not like it’s some random, mysterious “reason.” I know exactly what the reason is. Or, rather, who the reason is.

Hemi.

I want to go back, but something is stopping me. Maybe I was secretly hoping he’d call me, that he’d change his mind and seek me out. Every woman wants to be chased, right? Right. And I mean, my phone number is listed on the release form. But he hasn’t called, hasn’t chased. He made his position clear and he’s sticking to it.

Maybe I should, too.

For the hundredth time, I glance at the clock on my nightstand. Hopping off the bed, I start stripping off my lounge clothes. “That’s it,” I tell the silence in my room. “I’m not sitting around here thinking about him for one more night.” Ten minutes later, I’m dressed in jeans and a BULLDOGS t-shirt, in my car, heading toward Cuff’s. There are many ways to live and I’ve got many things to prove. Tonight, my focus will be my obtuse family. Maybe if I can make some headway in that department, my confidence will get the boost it needs to propel me back to Hemi’s.

When I walk into the bar that my brothers have gone on and on and on about for years, my initial reaction is less than earth shattering. I’m not impressed. It’s just a noisy, crowded bar, like any other. Only this one, I happen to know, is frequented by local law enforcement.

If I didn’t already know that, I’d never guess. No one is in uniform. As I look around, I just see a bunch of guys dressed in regular clothes, drinking and laughing and slapping each other on the back.

The one thing I do notice is the marked lack of women. I mean, there are a few scattered here and there, but it’s not like other places where the ratio is more female-heavy. At least it looks like that on TV. No, this one looks more like a g*y bar with a few beards thrown in for good measure.

I scan the hundreds of faces, looking for a familiar one. Considering their crazy schedules and need to decompress after a long shift, I figure at least one of my brothers will be here. Maybe even my dad, too.

And I’m not wrong.

Over near the pool tables, I see a dark blond head pop up. I recognize Steven immediately. He stands a good two or three inches taller than everyone else around him. He’s not as tall as Sig and Dad, but he’s a big guy at six-four. Makes him easy to spot in a crowd. That and his naturally-streaked hair—dark blond with a few pale highlights. Nobody knows where he gets his light hair. Mom used to say that what darkness missed his head went straight to his eyes. Rather than our dark brown eyes, Steven’s eyes are almost black. Like onyx. As a cop, they give him an edge. He can be pretty intimidating when he turns them on you, especially if he’s unhappy. It’s almost enough to give me a chill, and I know he’d never hurt me. I can only imagine how criminals must feel.

Turning toward the bar, I slide in between two men and wait to be served.

When the burly bartender spots me, he lumbers down to me and asks in his scratchy voice, “I.D.?” Proudly, I take out my driver’s license and hold it up for him to see. He examines it closely, looks at my face, and then studies my card again. In a cop bar, no doubt he feels the need to be extra careful. Finally, he nods. “What’ll you have?”

I order a rum and Coke (one of the few drinks I know how to order). He nods and ambles off. I smile. That felt good. Very mature. Very independent. I’ve only ever sipped a beer or two in my life. Dad made sure I never really got a chance to do much in the way of rebelling. Or breaking the law. But now I’m of age. And no one can stop me. Not even my father. Or my brothers. And I’m here to show them exactly that.

A couple of minutes later, the bartender slides me my drink. I hand him a ten, casually, as if I’ve done it a million times. He looks at it and I wonder briefly if I’ve made a mistake. I thought surely that would be enough to cover the drink and a tip. But maybe I was wrong.

“Want change?”

Inwardly, I sigh in relief. “No, you keep it.”

He grunts and I pick up my drink and squeeze back out from between the two men.

Now for the hard part…

I square my shoulders, take a deep breath, and head for the pool tables. Before I can get there, I big hand clamps down on my shoulder.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

I turn to see Sig glowering down on me. He must’ve just arrived, as his partner is right on his heels. I give him my biggest smile. “Hi, Bear!”

“Hey, Sloane,” he replies in his soft voice. He’s just a little taller than me with has mousy brown hair and big blue eyes. He seems very unassuming. You’d never guess by looking at him or listening to him that he would be such a badass, but he is. According to my brothers, he’s a fourth degree black belt with a nasty temper, which is where the nickname comes from—Bear, as in don’t poke the…

Sig cups my elbow and steers me to an empty booth. He nudges me, trying to get me to sit. I resist, bracing one arm against the table and straightening my legs.

“Sig, stop! You’re gonna make me spill my drink!”

“Does that have alcohol in it?”

I lift my chin and meet his eyes, automatically puffing out my chest. “Yes, it does. I’m twenty-one, remember? It’s my legal right to drink.”

“I’m not even gonna address how moronic this is for you, you of all people—”

“Stop right there! There’s absolutely no reason—”

“I said I’m not gonna address it,” he snaps. “But why in the everlovin’ shit would you come here to do it?”

“This is exactly why I came here. I have a statement to make and this seemed like language you Neanderthals would understand.”

“Maybe a regular old explanation would work on this Neandrathal.”

“Sig, I’m all grown up. I think you see that a little more than Scout and Steven and Dad. Especially Steven and Dad. But I need to make them see it.”

“Why? What’s so terrible about the way you’ve been treated?”

That feels an awful lot like a sucker punch. “God, Sig, it’s not that I’ve been abused or anything. Please try to see this from my perspective. I can’t live like a prisoner for the rest of my life. I can’t. And I won’t. But it’s my hope that y’all will be able to see me for who I am and what I want. To be happy when I’m happy, whether I’m making the choices you’d have me to make or not.”

Sig watches me with eyes so like my own. I see his mind working behind them. Processing. And like the Sig that I know and love, and have been closest to my whole life, he thinks not just with his head, but with his heart, too.

“So what are you waiting for then?”

“Huh?” I ask, confused by his question.

Sig takes the short, sweating glass from my fingers and holds the straw near my lips. “Bottoms up!”

I search his face and I see acceptance. Reluctant acceptance, but acceptance nonetheless.

One down, I think. He’s over the tattoo hump and now the drinking one. Maybe at least one of the men in my life will finally see me as an adult.

I lean in and take a long sip from the straw, my eyes smiling up into his. When I swallow, the liquid sears a path all the way down my throat. I sputter reflexively.

With eyes that are now distinctly amused, Sig reaches around and pounds me on the back.

“Holy shit! What’s in this, turpentine?” I ask.

Sig laughs outright. “Milk is for babies, sis. Welcome to adulthood.” Sig sets the glass on the table and turns to his partner. “Why don’t you go get a couple of beers and a plain Coke?” Sig reaches into his pocket for his wallet and hands Bear a few bills.

“What the hell? I thought you were—”

Sig interrupts me. “The beers are for you two. I figure you won’t be able to handle more than one of those, so it’s beer for you next. The Coke is for me, because somebody’s gonna have to drive your obliterated ass home.”

Sig pushes me into the booth and then slides in after me. I lean over to rest my head against his shoulder for a second. “You’re such a good big brother.”

He flicks the end of my nose and I jerk upright, yelping at the sting of it. “Damn right I am. Because you know who’s gonna get an asskicking for this, don’t you?”

“Nobody. Because this is all on me. Part of being an adult, right? Dealing with the consequences?”

“Yeah, but you’ve never had to ‘deal’ with Dad. Or Steven really. They might’ve seemed hard on you, but you don’t know what hard is.”

“I’ll protect you,” I say, taking another sip of my drink. The burn is less evident this time and I’m able to appreciate the bite of the rum coupled with the sweetness of the Coke.

“I’ll remember you said that.”

“Please do.”

********

The thing about alcohol, I’m discovering, is that it sneaks up on you. One minute you feel a little lightheaded, the next you can’t see straight.

“I think this needs to be your last one,” Sig says as I drain my third Corona with lime.

“I’m fine,” I tell him, noting the happy, warm feeling, but no real impairment. “But I am getting a little sleepy,” I confess, stifling a yawn. “Let me out so I can use the bathroom and then we’ll go.”

Sig moves out of the booth and I stand, the bar dipping and swaying around me. I reach back to lay a hand on the table until I can steady myself.

“Can you even make it to the bathroom by yourself?”

“Of course I can,” I say, noting that my voice sounds slurred even to my own ears. “Just point me in the right direction.”

Sig takes me by the shoulders and turns me slightly, until I’m facing the bar. “Straight ahead. They’re just down that hall, on the left.”

I strain to focus on the hall to which he’s referring. When I do, I nod. “Got it,” I say and I take off, weaving carefully between bodies as I go.

For the most part, I’ve never been at such a disadvantage when peeing. I’m a squatter, my butt never having touched a public toilet seat in my life. That’s more of a challenge, however, when maintaining one’s balance is an issue. I do the only thing I can. I plaster my palms to the silver metal walls of the stall and I lean back until I’m hovering above the commode, then I let fly.

I’m quite pleased with myself when I’m finished and have still managed not to even so much as graze the toilet seat. After I finish up, I right my clothes, wash and dry my hands, then check my reflection in the mirror.

My black hair is still smooth and straight and my minimal makeup is still intact. It’s my eyes that give me away. They look heavy and unfocused. I look drunk, even though I had no idea I was anywhere close.

I stick out my tongue to wet my dry lips and press my cool hands to my overly hot cheeks before I head back out to the bar.

It’s as I’m crossing the crowded floor back to Sig that I wish for a little more clarity.

“Sloane Annelle Locke, just what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

I know that tone. I know that voice. And, despite my determination and my earlier bravado, I cringe. It’s my older brother, Steven. He’s as bad as Dad for using my whole name when he’s pissed.

I turn toward the voice. “Steven!” I say enthusiastically. “You were just who I was looking for. Please tell me Dad’s here. That would be just perfect.”