Read More Than Lies for Free Online

he was to her in high school?
    No, of course she doesn’t. Why, because he talked shit behind her back and I dealt with him without Tara’s knowledge of anything. He’s a douchebag. She deserves better. I’m not saying I deserve her because I don’t. She deserves better than me, too. The only thing I’ve ever—or will ever—offer a woman is a quick and meaningless screw. I’m fine with that fact and it works for me.
    I walk up to the bar. There are no available seats, but I’m still able to catch the attention of one of the bartenders. I yell over the crowd and live band, telling the guy I’d like a Corona. While I’m waiting on my beer to arrive, a brunette sitting on the stool in front of me turns and flashes her pearly whites up at me. She’s attractive. The woman is dressed like a slut, but definitely not bad to look at. Most importantly, the opposite of the conservative little twat I’m trying to remove from my head.
    Yes, she’ll do all right.
    “Hello, darlin’,” I flash my own seductive smile down at her. It hooks them on the line every time. Not that I need to, I know I’m quite nice to look at. I take damn good care of my body. Sure I drink a lot, but I also work my ass off in the gym to keep in top shape five days a week. I have ink from my left shoulder all the way down to my wrist. On my inner forearm is an image of a beautiful woman. The art is done in all black except for the female’s dress, which is colored in a deep purple. The masterpiece covering a large amount of my back is a work in progress that I will have done within a few months. I guess I would describe it along the lines of a Jackson Pollock painting. The design is my own and not near as busy as one of his paintings. Currently the only colors I have completed are black and red. Each line is made to look like someone took a paintbrush and started slinging colors in all different directions on the surface of my back. I plan on having my buddy and boss, Adam Manning, finish the design with a dark blue and a little purple.
    “I’m Misty Lawrence.” Even her voice is the opposite. Tara breathes out a melody of sweet musical sounds every time she opens her pretty little mouth. This bitch, however, sounds like she is speaking through her nose. With enough alcohol, I’ll be able to drown out that sound.
    “Well, Misty, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” I reach past her, sliding against her arm as I reach for my beer. I don’t take my eyes off of hers as I lift the bottle to my lips, tipping it back, and swallowing liquid down my throat.
    “Don’t I get a name?” She cocks her head to the side and lifts an eyebrow.
    “Shawn.” It’s a simple reply and all she needs to know. I glance down to her right hand noticing the stamp indicating she is at least twenty-one. This club allows people as young as eighteen and although eighteen is technically legal, I don’t sleep with teenagers so it’s best to stick with adults that are legally able to purchase alcohol.
    “Sexy name on a sexy guy.” Her dark brown eyes glide slowly down my torso, before rising and meeting mine again. This is too easy. I could take her to one of the bathrooms and be done with her within minutes and onto the next chick, but before I can make the suggestion a body bumps into me from behind followed by a strong arm wrapping around my shoulders.
    “Hey, bro. Who’s this sweet little thing?” I roll my head to see Mason making the same suggestive eye motions Misty was throwing me a few moments ago. When I look back in her direction, the corners of her lips have lifted high. She likes the attention. And hell, it’s been a good long while since Mason and I have tag teamed a girl. This could be fun. More fun than the five-minute fuck I had planned on giving her.
    “Misty, this is Mason.” Now, where to take this party? The bathroom is still an option. My house is not. I don’t fuck in my bed. It’s for me and me alone. Bitches don’t make it that