More Than Lies

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

TARALYNN EVANS

17 years later

"What's one word that best describes you? Don't think about it. Just say the first thing that pops into your head."

Is he for real?

I want to roll my eyes. Instead, I smile and force my eyes to widen as I bring the glass of pinot grigio that I'm clutching to my lips. I'm attempting to buy myself more time to answer his annoying question. The cool liquid slides down my throat in a smooth swallow. I hate it. I'm not a wine girl. I'm a beer and tequila girl. This crap sucks and I'll never acquire a taste for it.

Oh yeah, his question. Hmmm, let me think.

"Honest," I respond making my voice sound soft and sweet.

Liar!

I don't intend on telling this joke-of-a-date the truth. He would cringe. I am many things, but honest is not one of them. Lies spill out of my mouth quicker and smoother than the truth ever has. Most of the time I don't realize I've told a fib until it's already been said. I've been lying and keeping secrets since before I learned how to write my own name. It's the only way to survive in my family. At least for me, that is.

"What about you?" I ask, turning his question around on him. I don't care what his answer is. I'm bored. I lost interest in him half an hour ago. There goes another lie. I was never interested in him. He should have kept his mouth shut, and then maybe I would have suggested sex in lieu of dinner. Okay, not really. After all, that would certainly get back to my parents, and the last thing I need them to think is that their daughter is a whore. I'm not a whore.

That is not a lie. Though maybe in some people's eyes I might be considered one. I'm sure if my mother knew I had casual sex every now and again I would be the worst daughter in the history of all daughters. I would be an actual embarrassment to her, instead of the one she runs her mouth about me being. I'm a twenty-one-year-old college senior; of course I'm going to have a little sex here and there. Sorry, but I don't see that being so much of a big deal—or even a sin. There are plenty of real bad people in this world to count as actual sinners. Murders, pedophiles—those sicko's.

Tonight, unfortunately, I will not be engaging in casual sex. Tonight, I plan on being the good little girl everyone thinks I am. The girl everyone expects me to be. I have a sudden urge to puke. That goody-two-shoes role damn near everyone I know puts me in is exhausting.

Everyone except Jared, and maybe not Mase either, expects certain things from me. I've become more open, real, with Mason over the last year than I ever have before. I'm not so sure my best friend, Matt, knows the real me anymore. Our relationship has changed—for the worse and it bothers the ever living heck out of me.

"Well, I can't say honest. You've already stolen that one. Let me think." He taps his index finger against his lips as I glance up to meet his blue-gray eyes. How long before this is over? "Athletic."

I give him a once over again. Well, as much as I can. The lower half of his body is blocked by the tabletop. I guess his and my idea of athletic are totally different. Sure, he's slender. I doubt there is much fat on his body, if any, but he's scrawny. I don't do scrawny. I mean, he'd do for a Tuesday night romp in the sack, but that's all it would be. And if I'm honest with myself, which is rare, I'm not into quickies. Quickies suck and don't get me off.

My idea of athletic is a tall, muscular man with abs so cut they will make you lose count adding how many packs he's sporting. Calf muscles so defined you'll trip over your own feet as you walk behind him. And arms, God, his damn arms are so big, just the thought of those beasts wrapped around you will have you drooling. Tattoos—what woman doesn't like an inked man? Shoot, just thinking about my ideal muscular man has me all hot and bothered. Not to mention wet. Yep, wet, and there is zero I can do about it. Mr. Wannabe Lawyer guy here isn't going to cut it tonight—or any night.