More Than Lies (10 page)

“Taralynn.”

The first thing that registers in my brain is that I heard my name being called. The second thing is, it’s Shawn’s voice. In all seventeen years that I’ve known him, he has never once called me by my full first name. I think he started calling me “Tara” because when he was a little kid he had a hard time pronouncing
L
sounds. When he outgrew his minor speech impediment, he kept calling me Tara.

Finally, there’s the tone of his voice, a sound laced with irritation, which brings me to the here and now.

My eyes fly open just as the smell of latex fills my nostrils. Once everything comes into focus, I see what looks to be a pair of black latex gloves bunched into a ball in his fist only inches away from my face. I can also feel him leaning over my back. My cheek is lying flush with Adam’s wooden desk, my arm is stretched out and my hand is still cupping the mouse to the computer.

Apparently, I fell asleep at some point while going over the business financials.

I don’t have classes on Friday’s, but what I do have is a part-time job at Southern Ink, the tattoo studio Shawn works at. I say part-time job because it’s only one day a week, but the reality is, I don’t get paid for the work I put in here. Adam Manning, the owner of the Tattoo studio and Shawn’s boss, sweet talked me into handling payroll for his business about two years ago. The guy has a thick and deep Mississippian accent that’s impossible to say no to.

It all started with me coming in every Friday around noon, tallying up all the artists’ commissions based on their appointments from the previous week and any hourly wages for non-commissioned staff, then hand writing checks that were already signed by Adam. What it has turned into is me still doing all that, plus paying the business’s bills and ordering all the supplies. So in essence, I’m doing Adam’s job so Adam can continue servicing his clients, not to mention prolonging every appointment because the man was gifted with the art of gab.

“Yeah,” I yawn, lifting my head up. Shawn backs away from me, walking around to stand on the other side of the desk.

“What are you doing looking at Adam’s banking info?”

“What?” I cover my mouth as another yawn forces its way out. Damn, I’ve got to stay away from Jared’s, not to mention I need to cut that crap out. Seeing him is only prolonging the inevitable.

“Never mind. Look, I’m finishing up on Cosmo’s arm piece. I’ll be done within 30, I’d like to hit the road then, okay?” Cosmo is a longtime client of Shawn’s. He’s in a biker club out of our hometown of Tupelo. But when I say, biker club, I’m not referring to the Harley MC types, I’m talking about the BMW MC types. Don’t believe me. Look it up, they exist.

“Road. Got-cha.” I stretch my arms over my head.

“Do you think you can have everyone paid by then?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I have them right here. I don’t know what happened. I guess not getting enough sleep the past two nights is catching up with me.” Shit. Why did I say that? By the look of his locking jaw he knows I didn’t sleep at home.

“Just…be fucking ready to leave.” With those words, he pivots and stalks out the door.

I don’t know what his deal is. Shawn Braden screws a different skank every other day. Why he cares who I do, makes zero sense.

I log off the bank website and then close down all programs before turning off the computer. Next I straighten up Adam’s desk making it much more organized than when I arrived. I can’t help myself. Things look prettier when they are clean and properly placed. It may also serve to calm my nerves at times, too.

Trust me when I say, if people took better care of their things our world would be more relaxed and peaceful, I’m sure of it.

I grab the checks I stuffed in envelopes earlier and walk out of the office.

I make it around to everyone, personally handing paychecks to each person. Last I lay Shawn’s down on the side table behind him. His concentration is on Cosmo. Every tattoo of Shawn’s I’ve ever seen is nothing short of beautiful. This one is no less. It’s placed on the inside of Cosmo’s right forearm. It’s the form of a woman. Similar to the tattoo Shawn has on the inside of his left forearm. Both are of pretty women.

“Who’s the pretty lady?” My question is directed at Cosmo. He opens his eyes and looks down at Shawn’s work. Cosmo takes a deep breath of air then follows with sigh as he exhales.

“My wife, sugar.” That’s sweet, but sad too. I know he lost his wife of twenty-five years last year. This piece is obviously honoring her.

“It’s beautiful, Cosmo.”

“Well, sweet cheeks, I can’t take credit for that. That’s all on your boy, here.” No, not my boy, but I don’t say that.

I catch Shawn’s grin, but that’s all. His head is lowered and he’s focused on the design. Unlike Shawn’s similar tattoo, this one is a portrait of a woman. Her chin is resting in the palm of her right hand and she is smiling a big, gorgeous smile. One might think Shawn probably recreated this from a photograph, but I’d be willing to bet Cosmo showed him a few snap shots of his late wife and then Shawn created this image himself. He’s that good.

“I know, he’s an amazing artist, isn’t he?”

Shawn glances up as if surprised I would think that. I’m not looking at him, but I catch his expression from the corner of my eye. I’m still looking at his client, who is relaxed into the black padded chair that reminds me of the type you’d find in a dentist’s office.

“The only person I’ve ever let permanently mark me up,” Cosmo laughs out.

“Don’t fucking move, old man.” Shawn’s voice doesn’t have any heat behind it. He’s always had a soft spot for the guy in front of me. He’s sweet, but I don’t know him all that well. Mason and Shawn never have anything but praise for the man.

“What about you, Taralynn, have you let him mark you yet?” Cosmo knows my name? Strange. Sure, I’ve seen him a handful of times. At cookouts back home mainly, but I didn’t think he knew I was one of Shawn’s roommates, let alone knew my name.

“I keep telling her she needs a little ink. Her vanilla skin is bad for my business.” Adam walks over, throwing his own ink covered left arm around my shoulders and pulling me into his side.

“No, sir.” I answer Cosmo’s question as I push away from Adam. The word marked has my face heating from another way I’d much rather be marked by Shawn Braden.

“You want any?” He doesn’t wait for my reply. He continues on. “You know, he told me,” Cosmo lifts his arm, the one that isn’t being worked on, and points a finger in Shawn’s direction, “These things were addicting. I have to say he was right.”

“I don’t know.” I do want a tattoo and I want one bad, but I haven’t the slightest idea what I’d want placed on my body forever. “Maybe.” I’m not sure I wouldn’t wake up one day and no longer like it. That’s what’s stopping me, I guess.

“What?” Shawn lifts his head and cocks it to the side. “You want a tattoo?”

I shrug my shoulders. I mean what else am I to do? I don’t know what I’d want and I’d probably pick something stupid anyway.

“That’s a no.” He says flatly.

“It’s not a no, Shawn. I want one; I’ve wanted one for a long time. All of yours are amazing, but I don’t know what I’d want permanently branded on me for…forever.” I’m a book nerd that loves to read and write the stories that play out in my head. I don’t have a favorite flower or bird. “There isn’t anything I can think of that would look pretty on me.”

“If that’s the case and you like all of his shit,” Adam gestures in Shawn’s direction. Shawn glances up, but goes back to wiping the water he sprayed over the tattoo off when he finished on Cosmo to clear any remaining ink off his skin. “Then you need to let me tattoo you seeing how I put damn near all the tattoos he’s toting around on him.”

“I don’t think so.”

“And why not?” Adam is clearly offended. That wasn’t my intention and I’m not sure how to smooth this over.

“Adam, you are really good artist, but what I mean by Shawn’s tattoos are amazing has to do with the design. Everything inked on his skin was something he thought up in his head and drew out. It’s his work, just placed on him by someone else. If I ever decide to get a tattoo, there is no one I’d let do it, other than Shawn.”

I glance over in Shawn’s direction again. He’s staring at me, but not saying anything. The expression on his face is strange, like that was the last thing he expected to come out of my mouth, but every word I said was true.

“Really?” It’s a whisper out of Shawn’s mouth.

“Yes, really. If I ever come across something I want, I’d want you to do it.” I laugh at a thought. “I’ll probably be like Cosmo, but only when I’m middle aged, my skin will be too and mine won’t look as good.”

“I’m done old man.” Shawn speaks to Cosmo as he tosses the used alcohol pad into the trash. He then removes his latex gloves and tosses them next. “You’re my last appointment for the day. We’re about to head to Jackson so I’ll see you out.” He turns to me, taking his keys out of his pocket and holding them out for me to take. “I’ll meet you in the truck in a few minutes.

I take them and make my way outside.

I’m ready to get on the road. The sooner we get out of Oxford, the sooner we will make it to Jackson; to my brother’s. It’s been over a month since I’ve seen Trent.

I’m sitting in the backseat of Shawn’s pickup truck with my shoes off and my legs crisscrossed in the seat. We’ve been on the road for nearly an hour and a half. We are almost there.

The closer we get to Jackson, the more excited I become.

I’ve managed to get one chapter written, but that’s all. I have my ear buds tucked into my ears, but I’m not listening to music. I’m one of those people that need complete silence to write. I need alone time inside my own head, so to speak, without any white noise. The ear buds are solely to cut down on Shawn and Mason’s conversation, as well as the music that’s coming through the speakers in the truck.

It’s worked okay, but to be honest, Shawn’s voice is distracting. It’s pure southern sexiness with a deep drawl and a rasp. What I wouldn’t give to hear that sound whispering dirty thoughts into my ear. A girl could get wet just imagining that. And trust me, I have.

Too bad that little fantasy will never be my reality.

“What’s with you and brunettes here lately?” Mason chimes in. I don’t look up; I know that question is directed at Shawn. I can feel Shawn’s eyes on me, so I’m sure he’s glanced up in the mirror to see if I’m listening. I don’t want them to think I give a damn about his response and really I don’t. I don’t want to hear the topic of Shawn and other women. I am slightly jealous when it comes to him. And yes, I’m perfectly aware that I shouldn’t feel that way, but it’s not like I can control my feelings. I’m not robotic.

One thing I’ll give Shawn credit for, and I’m grateful for, is that as much as I know he sleeps around, he doesn’t typically bring it around me. I don’t know if that’s for my benefit or not, but I’m still glad he doesn’t. I don’t think I could remain living in the house with him if he had one woman in and out, let alone multiple. It’s going to suck when he finds the one.

“I didn’t realize I had to fuck a certain breed.” Did he just call women breeds? What the flyin’ eff? Mason snickers, and I continue looking down at my laptop as though I’m lost in my own fictional world. I wish I were.

“Dude, you’ve always been picky as hell.” Umm, no he’s not. Picky doesn’t have sex with tramps like Holly Torres.

Shut it off, Taralynn. Don’t go there. You’ll only ruin your day by thinking about her. She isn’t worth it. Never was and never will be.

So why the hell did he sleep with her, but won’t so much as consider me?

“What planet are you on, motherfucker?” Shawn snaps back. “Every bitch’s legs spread the same way. The only thing I’m after is the end result. As long as the package is decently wrapped, why should I care what color her hair is?” I can hear it in Shawn’s voice; Mason is grinding on his nerves. Mase has a knack for doing that.

“Yeah, okay, tell that to someone that hasn’t watched and even taken part, in that same action. Because you try to fuck every little blonde, but you can only see one.”

What does that mean? Okay, I need to stop listening. It’s only causing my chest discomfort. Discomfort, I do not need or want.

“I don’t know what your fucking angle is, but drop it.” Shawn bites out the last two words as if trying to get a point across to Mason.

Mason loves dishing out advice, mainly to his roommates, but he is the last person to ever take it from others.

“She can’t hear us and I’m simply carrying on a conversation here.”

“Did you put liquor into the Styrofoam cup you’re drinking Coke out of? Shut the fuck up, Mason.” Shawn’s voice is rising, as it does when he becomes pissed off.

“Probably not going to happen. Know what I mean?” Mason doesn’t wait for Shawn’s response, and I don’t think it was meant as a rhetorical question. “You could have her, instead of letting him hit it anytime he wants.”

Her?

I’m lost. I thought they were talking about me not being able to hear, but I don’t even know why that would matter except for the fact that Shawn, unfortunately, knows exactly how much I’m attracted to him and has mercy on me by not subjecting me to all his whorish ways.