Filthy Liar (Sweet Side)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

FYNN

MAKING MY WAY across the crowded bar where I spend most of my evenings, I head for my usual spot, pretending not to notice as every female along my path shoots me a scowl before turning away. Their voices aren’t quiet as they spew the same lies I hear night after night. Preaching hearsay and gossip like gospel from the pulpit of public opinion.

I should be used to it by now. It’s been almost six months since Jessica took me down, telling everyone in Sweet Side what she thought I’d done.

Filthy liar.

It’s what she called me. What they all call me now.

My regular seat at the pub closest to my apartment is blessedly vacant, the isolated corner hiding me from most of the judging eyes that always seem to find me when I venture out. I slide onto my stool, finally occupying the one place in the world where I can eventually forget the shit show that is my life .

And tonight I need to forget it all.

Rod lifts a heavy, scrawling brow as I down the first drink he puts in front of me in one, throat-burning, mind-numbing swallow. I tap the glass back onto the bar between us.

“Rough day?” He pulls out the bottle of aged bourbon I’m planning to empty this evening and refills my tumbler.

I down the second round before offering him the depressing answer. “They all are.” I point to the bottle he’s holding. “Just leave it.”

He eyes me for a second before someone down the bar waves to catch his attention. “Pace yourself, my friend.” He slides the bottle my way then goes to fill more glasses.

I immediately pour myself another. It’s halfway to my lips when I’m interrupted.

“Is everything really that bad?”

I almost don’t turn. Almost don’t look for the source of the smooth, sexy voice still snaking down my spine. Because there’s no way it would be directed at me.

But I can’t help myself. Can’t resist putting a face to the low, sultry words that seem to wrap around me, warming me more than the bourbon already heating my gut.

I intend to take only a quick peek. One, short glance to see what the woman with a voice like velvet looks like. Except when my eyes find her, one second drags into another.

And another.

She smiles. Full, red lips barely parting to reveal just a peek of straight white teeth. One dark brow lifts in question. “Aren’t you going to offer to buy me a drink?”

I struggle to find an answer that makes sense, even in the messed-up world I now call my own. Women around here don’t want me to buy them drinks. Not anymore. Definitely not women who look like this one.

Because it turns out that sexy-as-hell voice is the least attractive thing about her.

She’s bloody gorgeous. Skin so fair I’d believe it’s never spent a day in the sun. Long hair tumbling past her delicate shoulders in thick, dark waves that shine even in the dim light of the bar.

And those eyes.

They’re the same color as the liquid I planned to drink like water until I forgot the events of not only today, but the past six months. Deep amber littered with flecks of gold and honey brown.

But the warmth I think I see in them can’t be real. Because, as much as I want to pretend this is actually happening, recent history has taught me this seemingly friendly visit is probably anything but. “You genuinely want me to buy you a drink?”

Her smile doesn’t falter and neither does her silky voice. “I do.”

Narrowing my eyes, I study her, my suspicion mounting. “Why?” Six months ago I wouldn’t have questioned a woman’s reasons for talking to me, but times have most certainly changed.

“Because I’m thirsty.” She reaches out and takes the glass from my hand, her graceful fingers sliding leisurely over mine, the simple touch making my dick twitch.

Jesus.

Half a year of unwilling celibacy has my cock straining against the zip of my trousers at nothing but the brush of her hand. I’m worse than a fifteen-year-old kid. Desperate for attention from the opposite sex.

And even less likely to get it.

I can’t look away as my glass presses to the full line of her lower lip. She drinks, the delicate column of her throat working as she swallows it down, licking that same lip with one gliding pass of her tongue before handing the glass back to me. “Now, tell me why your day was so terrible.”

“I’d rather not.” I fight to look away from her mouth and fail. I could watch this woman lick her lips all night. Would be willing to burn the image into my mind with a hot poker, just so I could pull it up later tonight when I’m home. Alone.

Because I’m not stupid enough to think she’s really here to hear about my day and I’m sure as fuck not stupid enough to think there’s a chance I’ll have her company later.

I lean to scan the room over her shoulder, looking for the table of women watching our every move. I know they’ve got to be there. Her partners in crime, waiting to see Sweet Side’s Filthy Liar get more of what they think he deserves.

But they don’t know the truth. Hell, I don’t even know the truth. It’s my life that’s fucked and I still don’t know why. Don’t know how it really happened.

“Who are you here with?” I turn my attention back to the woman at my side. It’s not difficult to do. Vengeful or not, she’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. Face. Body. Voice. She’s the whole package, and that only makes this all the more awful to endure. Because I would love nothing more than for this to be real. To finally have someone to fill my bed and the long, lonely nights.

“I’m here with you.” She takes my drink again, sipping at the bourbon before setting it on the bar between us. “But to be fair, I still don’t know who you are.” The smile she’s never lost lifts, turning into a more teasing line. “I was expecting you to introduce yourself before I had to pry it out of you.”

I don’t believe she doesn’t know who I am, but that’s fine. I’ll play along. God knows I’ve got nothing else to do. “I’m Fynn. Fynn Hadaway.” I drag my name out, enunciating every sound, knowing she won’t be able to keep this ruse up much longer.

No woman in Sweet Side wants to waste her night, not even to try to drag me down lower. Good thing, since I’m at the fecking bottom.

But the usual flare of empathetic anger I see when a woman looks at me never flashes in her eyes. All I see in her whiskey gaze is mild amusement as she leans closer. “Aren’t you going to ask my name?”

The closeness of her body is a temptation I’m not strong enough to resist. If this is all a setup then fuck it. I’m going to get all I can until the second she throws a drink in my face and walks back to high-five her conspiring friends.

I angle in my seat, letting myself pretend for just a minute that I’m the man I was six months ago. The man from before. If she can pretend this is real then so can I.

“My apologies.” Resting one arm on the back of her stool I ease closer, making sure I take in everything. The flush of her cheeks when I lean into her ear. The decadent scent of her skin as I breathe the air around her. “What’s your name?”

She dips her chin, peeking at me under lashes blacker than the women of Sweet Side believe my heart to be. “Valerie.”

It’s easier than I expect to slip into the man I used to be. The man who was confident in who he was. What he had to offer. “Would you like a drink, Valerie?”

Her lips lift in the softest, sexiest smile I’ve ever seen. “I thought we were sharing?”

This woman is good. Better than the others out to make a fool of the man they all hate. Out of me.

“We’ll share then.” I lean back just enough to reach for the glass of bourbon, holding it out for her as I crowd back into her space. “How long have you lived in Sweet Side, Valerie?”

“A few weeks.” She takes the glass from me and sips, leaving me to stare at her in stunned silence.

Is it possible this beautiful, wickedly sexy woman really doesn’t know who I am?

She sets the glass on the small space of bar left between us and rolls it on its base. “It’s not an easy town to make friends in.”

Tell me about it.

Her eyes lift to hold mine. “I saw you sitting here alone and thought maybe we could be friends.” She leans closer, the full swell of one tit pressing against my bicep through the crisp cotton of my shirt. “Can we be friends, Fynn Hadaway?”

I haven’t heard a woman say my name without disdain in so long I must have forgotten what it sounded like. Certainly it was nothing like the husky whisper that came from Valerie’s lips just now—sounding like pure pleasure and sin—because it’s never shot straight to my dick like this. It makes me want to believe her. Want to do whatever it takes to keep her here, praying she says it again.

But I can’t let go of what the truth might be.

I shift closer, memorizing the soft slope of her jaw, the straight line of her nose. I want to remember it all. Need to remember it all because God knows when I might have it again. “Why do you want to be my friend, Valerie?”

One shoulder lifts and her amber eyes fix on mine. “Why not?”

Why not, indeed.

“I could be an awful person.” I offer a little of what the feminine masses say about me. Tease her with the untruth that stole so much.

“Awful people don’t suggest they could be awful.” Valerie turns in her seat to fully face me. “Awful people try to convince you they’re wonderful.”

“Is that right?” I study her for a minute. “What kind of person are you?”

Something I can’t identify flashes across her face. A shadow of emotion that’s gone in the blink of an eye. “Probably awful.”

I stare at her for a second. Then I start laughing. “Fair enough.” Pulling out my wallet, I toss enough bills on the bar to cover the bottle of bourbon I didn’t even drink.

“It was nice meeting you, Valerie, but I think I’m done with this game.” I turn away before I can see the satisfied smirk I know she must have at playing the player. It’s what they all think I am. Why they don’t feel even a little bad for what they do.

I cut through the bar, passing by tables full of women, keeping my eyes on the door. Their stares bother me more than usual tonight. Maybe it’s because Valerie seemed to know exactly how to act and what to say, driving home just how much I’m missing. Reminding me I don’t have a clue how to fix the spot I’m in.

As soon as I reach the path I pull in a deep breath, trying to clear my lungs of her alluring scent.

“Where are we going?” Her voice scares the piss out of me, sending me stumbling to one side, narrowly missing the cut of the curb.

I skid to a stop, staring at her in disbelief yet again. “What are you doing out here?”

She blinks at me, eyes wide and guileless. “I thought we were leaving.” Valerie tilts her head to one side and for a second I think she might be genuinely confused. Then realization sharpens her gaze and a flush spreads across her perfectly alabaster cheeks, sending those whiskey eyes dropping from mine. “You’re not into me.” Her voice is low—barely a whisper—and edged with unwarranted embarrassment. “You could have told me before letting me make a total ass out of myself.”

I’m not sure how to respond. Of course I’m fucking into her . I’d have to be a complete knob not to be into her . Hell, I’d cut my arm off at this point for the chance to find my way into any part of her she’d be willing to allow. And not because I’m hard up.

Not only because I’m hard up.

She’s the sexiest woman I’ve seen in my life, which sends me tipping right back into my original suspicions. Looking up and down the street outside the bar, I still expect to see her cluster of friends lying in wait. Phones ready to snap proof of their diabolical plan to humiliate me further. Raking one hand through my hair I let out a frustrated breath. “It’s not that I’m not into you.”

Her dark brows pull together, forming a crease between them. “Are you okay, Fynn?” Valerie seems uncertain, the easy confidence she showed in the bar slipping a little more as her eyes follow the same bouncing path as mine. “Are you looking for someone?”

I abandon my search for her cohorts, turning all my attention back to the woman staring at me like she thinks I might be insane. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine. You seem…” Her head tilts, ey es narrowing as they move over my face. “A little like you’re losing it.”

“I’m not losing it.” The fact that I even have to say something like that is a testament to how convoluted my life has become. Taking a deep breath, I try to straighten out the thoughts this woman is weaving into a mass of slightly paranoid chaos in my brain. “I’m not losing it. I’m just a little confused about why you’re here.”

Valerie’s gaze softens as she takes a step closer to me. The narrow heel of her shoes has to be at least four inches tall and she’s still over half a foot shorter than I am, the top of her dark head barely making it past my chin. She’s tiny. Delicate. The kind of woman a man wants to protect.

But I’m still fairly confident I’m the one who needs protecting in this situation.

“I’m here because we’re friends, remember?” One graceful hand comes out to press into the center of my chest and the physical contact sends a jolt of awareness straight to my long-suffering dick.

“I don’t know that I want to be your friend, Valerie.” The ragged edge of my voice doesn’t do much to hide the effect her touch and closeness have on me.

She doesn’t appear offended by my statement as she steps closer, resting her other hand beside the first, the heat of both palms sinking into my skin as she smiles up at me. “Why not? I might be the best kind of friend.” She presses closer, bringing a set of tits so full and lush they could make a grown man cry to push against my sternum .

I can barely breathe. Barely hope. “Are you propositioning me, Valerie?”

She lifts one shoulder, that flush from before flaming back to life. “Maybe.”

Every inch of me wants to go with this woman. Let her lead me home and then spend the night burying myself between her thighs until the past six months of misery are nothing but a distant memory. But I’m not that guy. Never have been, in spite of what people say. And I don’t plan on proving them right. Not tonight and not with this woman. “I’m not fucking you tonight, Valerie.”

Her dark brows lift and the flush turns to a full flame, pinking her perfect skin. “Oh.”

This probably isn’t a situation she’s used to. I’d imagine she doesn’t get turned down often. Maybe never. The whisper of uncertainty from before scatters across her features before disappearing like rain on hot asphalt, evaporating so fast I’d miss it if I wasn’t so focused on every move. Every breath.

“Maybe you could just walk me home then?” Her voice carries a trace of something I’ve none of.

Hope.

I survey the area around us one more time. “You’re really here alone?”

Valerie shakes her head slowly. “I’m not alone. I’m with you.”

I’m out of my bloody mind. Clearly spending six months with a dick as dry as the Sahara has me delirious. This woman isn’t real. Can’t be. She’s a mirage brought on by bourbon and desperation. And I’m going to walk her home anyway. Because she shouldn’t be out here by herself. Real or not.

I step away and hold my hand out to her, unable to fully breathe until her warm palm slides against mine. I lace my fingers with hers, stealing all the contact I can get. “Where do you live, Valerie?”

The sinful smile she sported earlier is back on her lips. “In Two Palms Apartments.”

I turn in the direction of the complex just off the main line of downtown, disappointment tugging at my gut. “That’s not far.”

“You know where it is off the top of your head?” Valerie lifts a brow, letting me lead her down the path, away from the bar halfway between her place and mine.

“I do.” I peek down at her. “My morning runs take me a few miles in this direction.”

“That’s impressive.” Her eyes lift to mine. “I barely know my way around the block.”

“I could help you learn your way around.” The offer slips out before I can stop it. I shouldn’t be trying to make plans with this woman. Valerie might not know who I am tonight, but all that will change the second she types my name into the search bar on Google—an innocent and understandable investigation that will lead to nothing good.

Not for me anyway.

I could change that though. Could easily twist my own fate with a few well-placed investments. It’s the double-edged sword I’ve considered jumping on more than once. But women wanting me for my money is just as soul crushing as women hating me for the lies they’ve been told.

“Are you offering to see me again, Fynn Hadaway?”

I love and hate the way she says my full name. Love that she remembers it.

Hate that she remembers it.

Slowing my steps, I try to drag the last bit of this fantasy out. “I guess that’s up to you.” And I know damn well what she’ll decide. As soon as Valerie tells one of her coworkers or friends my name, this little reprieve I’m enjoying will be over and reality will come crashing back down, smothering me with its weight.

“That’s good to know.” Her tone is teasing. “But you don’t seem super excited to spend more time with me.” Her lips push into a pout. “It could hurt my feelings if I let it.”

I can’t look away from the fullness of her mouth. The way her lower lip is now in the perfect position for a man to suck it between his teeth.

Why couldn’t I have met this woman a year ago? Before Jessica. Before my life came to a full stop, then fell apart bit by bit.

“I’m not trying to hurt your feelings. I’m just trying to be realistic.” I slow my steps as we get close to Valerie’s complex. I don’t want this to end. Don’t want to let her go. Because when I wake up tomorrow it will all be over. She’ll know who I am and she’ll look at me the same way every other woman in Sweet Side does.

I came here to get away from the chaos of London, wanting to replace it with a more relaxed—and sun filled—lifestyle, but the small size of the beachside community means word travels fast. Especially among certain circles. One wrong move and everyone who matters knows about it by morning.

And rumor has it I made one hell of a wrong move.

The temptation to go back to England has been strong. Just walk away and forget all this happened.

But I can’t go back to my old life. Not now. So I’m trapped. And I’m a bastard for thinking that way.

At least I earned it this time.

Valerie stops in front of one of the buildings I pass every morning before dawn and turns to face me, keeping her hand tucked in mine. “Is there a reason I shouldn’t want to see you again?”

The question hangs in the air, the weight of it heavy in a way I couldn’t explain to her even if I wanted to. Because I don’t know the answer. So I give her the honest truth, because that’s all I still have. “No. There’s not.”

She smiles. “Good.” Then, before I can prepare, Valerie steps in and presses her soft body against mine. Hips. Belly. Breasts.

Lips.

She brushes a whispering kiss against my mouth. It’s there and gone before I can process what’s happening.

“Thank you for walking me home, Fynn.”