Kisses and Lies: A Anti-Hero Standalone Romance Read online

“Can you give me a ride?” I ask him again, my hands going directly to my hips.

  “Do you want to see them?”

  What? His words surprise me. I’m unsure of what to say. And before I can think, he reaches for me, gripping my wrist, and starts pulling me to the side door of the crematorium he came out of. I don’t argue, the words are completely stuck in my throat, and I am unable to move of my own volition. He pulls the heavy door open and we head inside. My breath leaves me and makes a whooshing sound when we get to a glass window. That’s when I see it—both of them. Their heads are visible, but their bodies are covered by a white sheet.

  “Oh my God.” My hands fly to my mouth as I step closer to take in the sight. “Oh my God,” I say again, as one hand reaches out and touches the pane of glass in front of me. I start sliding back down, my heart full of pain and shattering into pieces. It hurts. It hurts so much. Hiccups leave me while I sob, and soon my grandparents are no longer visible as my knees touch the floor. The man leaves me there and steps back slightly so I can cry by myself while my treasured grandparents lay on cold metal slabs on the other side of the glass.

  He stands there, not saying a word, until I manage to gather myself enough to stand. My eyes don’t glance in the direction of where they lie.

  An angry hand reaches up and snatches his glasses from his face. He doesn’t flinch, simply stays still as if he was expecting it.

  “You are a real asshole,” I say, with as much venom as I can muster. Stepping closer, my finger touches his chest, and I stab it at him. His chest is hard as a rock. “Asshole.” His hazel eyes lock onto me. Then he reaches for my wrist again, pulls hard, and walks me back out the same way we came in.

  When the sun hits my skin, I pull away. He stops, turns, and reaches for his sunglasses, sliding them back in place before he leaves.

  My feet are unable to move, that is until I scream at myself to head straight for his truck, open the passenger side door, and slide in.

  “Don’t kill me,” I say, reaching for the seatbelt and buckling myself in.

  He shakes his head and pulls out of the parking lot onto the main road.

  Chapter Three

  Rochelle

  The man stops at a gas station first, gets out, fills his truck, and then comes back. When he slides back in, he hands me a bottle of water without saying a word and pulls out into traffic once again.

  “Do you want my address?” I ask.

  I watch as one hand sits on the steering wheel while the other rests on his leg.

  “Figured you’d tell me when you want to go home,” he says, his voice distant and definitely not warm. More like frigid and aloof.

  “Where are you going?” My voice is uncertain as I speak.

  “Nowhere.” And he does just that. He drives nowhere with me for at least an hour. Doesn’t stop, just drives. I know all the places as he cruises around because I’ve lived here my whole life. My mind’s tired and my body is exhausted.

  “You can take me home now,” I state, and give him my address.

  He turns the truck around and starts driving in that direction.

  “Why were you at the crematorium?” I ask as we get closer to my house.

  “I work there,” he tells me.

  “You work…” I shake my head, trailing off. Of course, I would be stuck in a truck with a guy who could easily kill me and dispose of my body without anyone knowing. What the actual fuck! Didn’t Law and Order teach me anything?

  I’m addicted to those crime shows on the television.

  “Second-guessing getting in a stranger’s car now, aren’t you?”

  At first, I think he’s joking, but when I turn to look at him, his face is stoic. He’s deadly serious, and I’ve just told him where I live.

  Fuckity, fuck, fuck.

  “If you wanted to kill me, you would have done it by now,” I say, hoping and praying it is true.

  “Or I could have just waited for you to give me your address, so I can come back when you’re sleeping.” His words hang in the air. “I bet a girl like you lives by herself too.”

  Oh God, he’s right. But I am not going to validate that. No way does he need to know what my living arrangements currently are.

  Grief got the best of me today, but it won’t kill me too.

  He comes to a stop out the front of my small home, which is my pride and joy. I bought this by myself, and with my own money. Reaching for the door of his truck, I turn back to look at him, his eyes are covered by those glasses, and one hand is firmly on the steering wheel.

  “Laters,” I say, sliding out and shutting the door.

  He doesn’t drive off when I walk down my driveway to my front door, which I find a little creepy, but continue on anyway.

  I love everything about my home. It’s a sandstone brick home, with floor to ceiling windows along the front. A small veranda juts out from the front, and on the porch is an outdoor seating area with a glass table and two lush chairs. I like to sit out here and read when the sun shines in the morning, with a coffee in hand. The house has three bedrooms and an open plan living area.

  As I reach the door, I unlock it. Glancing over my shoulder, I see he’s still there watching me.

  It’s definitely creepy, that stare he has going on.

  Just because he’s beautiful doesn’t mean I should have trusted him.

  What an idiot I am.

  Locking the door and sliding the chain firmly in place, I wait to hear if his truck leaves. It takes a few minutes, but eventually he drives off.

  I head to the window to look out, and the breath I was holding finally escapes me in a sigh of relief.

  “You have to go to work,” my mother says the next day when she comes over to visit.

  “Not today.”

  And I don’t.

  I don’t want to.

  “Today is the day. Are you ready?” my mother’s voice chimes into the phone.

  It’s my grandparents’ funeral today, and I have to remember my heart can take it. That my life still goes on, with or without them in it.

  “I’m pulling up now. Goodbye, Mother.” Turning left, I drive into the crematorium parking lot—behind it is where the funeral will take place. I park in the same spot he was parked in the last time I was here. When I look around, I don’t see his truck.

  He didn’t come to murder me, so maybe he isn’t as bad as I had assumed. Walking out the back, I spot all of my family who is gathered and ready for the service to start. My mother wraps a hand around my shoulders and holds me to her. I sometimes forget that even though I was their granddaughter, she was their daughter. And her hurt is probably as great, if not more, than mine.

  The service is beautiful, everything you’d expect from a loving family, and maybe even more. My mother grips me to her the entire time, and I do everything in me to not break down as I have been the last few nights as I fall asleep, with my eyes covered in saltwater and unable to see. My pain is now only seen in my sleep, no one else will witness it.

  “Honey, how you holding up?” My father pulls me from my mother’s tight grip and pats my back. Then he pulls back and pushes my sunglasses down so he can see my eyes. I know what he sees—heavy dark eyes that are withholding tears.

  “I’ll be okay.”

  “I know you will.”

  I push away after the service, waving goodbye as I head back to my car. When I do, I see him there again—he’s walking out with his bag over his shoulder, and his truck is parked directly next to mine.

  “You carry bodies with you every day?” I joke.

  He stops, turns, and I know his eyes are narrowing in on me. “You’re back. You’re either stupid or—”

  “Or?”

  He shakes his head then continues to walk.

  I unlock my car, reach for the door, then pause. “Want to go for a drink?” I ask, not looking his way.

  “Are you dumb?” he asks, as I turn around to see him now standing in front of me, the bag no longer thrust ov
er his shoulder. He’s dressed much like he was the day before.

  “Pardon?”

  He reaches up, taps my head. “Does this have a brain?”

  “Well—”

  “Did your mother ever teach you not to take rides from strangers?”

  “Well, yes. But I met you yesterday,” I say.

  “What’s my name?”

  I bite my lip. Damn! I don’t know, but I don’t because I never bothered to keep asking after the first try.

  “Rochelle…” My aunty calls me, and I turn my head to glance over my shoulder, but then look back to him.

  “Come for a drink, please?” My voice is desperate.

  “Meet me at Johnny’s in thirty.” He slides into his truck as my aunty gets closer, then he drives off. Johnny’s is in the heart of town, so it’s a short drive to meet him.

  “Who was that man?”

  I don’t answer, simply offer her a smile before I get into my car and drive away.

  Heading straight to Johnny’s, I don’t detour or stop. I want to know more about this man.

  Taking my black jacket off, my singlet, which is multi-colored, sits nicely with my black pants and boots. Walking in, I order myself a drink and sit by myself at the bar.

  “One of those days?” the bartender asks, handing me my gin and tonic.

  “One of those weeks,” I whine while rolling my eyes. “Better make me another. I don’t plan to walk out of here anytime soon.” The bartender smiles, and for some reason it makes me smile back. He’s younger than me, probably early twenties, and I can see in his face that he doesn’t know hurt. Hurt is such an awful thing to carry around with you day after day.

  “Here you go, beautiful.” Handing me a drink, the bartender walks over and turns on the jukebox, winks, and goes back behind the bar. There are only a few other people in the room, and most are too involved in conversation, they don’t even care about the music playing in the background.

  My phone starts ringing, and without even looking at it, I know it’s my parents wondering where I am. They’re having a function after the funeral, and Lord knows I do not want to attend that.

  “You should answer that, they will want to know where you are.” The stool next to me slides out and he sits.

  Who is he, though? A stranger who has danger written all over him. A stranger I’m highly attracted to and can’t seem to stay away from. Even when I know I should. His hazel eyes stare at me, waiting for me to answer.

  “I’ll message them.” And I do exactly that. I message my mother, telling her I’m not going to make it. I leave it at that, with no further explanation. Sliding my cell back into my bag, the bartender walks over, but when he does, he doesn’t hold that soft smile he gave me before. Instead, his lips form a thin line.

  “What can I get you?”

  My stranger’s fingers tap on the bar. “Water,” is all he says, which in turn, surprises me.

  “You aren’t going to drink with me?”

  “Why am I here?” he asks.

  I bite my lip and look down.

  “Do you not have any friends?”

  Lifting my drink to my lips, I hiccup before taking a sip. “Yes, but—”

  “But what? You want to fuck?”

  I almost choke on the liquid that was in my mouth as I turn to face him.

  He’s serious. He isn’t playing.

  At first, I thought it had to be a joke. But I’m slowly learning this man doesn’t joke.

  He’s serious.

  Deadly serious.

  Intense.

  And I should probably stay away.

  But what can I say—I’m a broken woman.

  “You didn’t…” I trail off, not really knowing what to say, but knowing I heard correctly. And what he said is true. “Do you have a girlfriend?” I ask.

  “No.”

  “Wife?” I raise an eyebrow.

  “No.”

  “Well, then, yes, that’s exactly what I want to do.”

  He stands, offers me his hand, and I put mine in it. “How many drinks have you had?”

  “Two,” I say, nodding to my two empty glasses. “Why?”

  He starts walking, out of the bar and straight to his truck, opening the passenger door. “Because when I fuck you, you will want to be sober.”

  I smirk at his words as I climb into his truck, and he watches my ass as I do. When I turn back around, he shuts the door and walks around to his side, jumps in, starts the truck, and slides on his sunglasses.

  “I’ve never done this.”

  “Hmmm…” is all I get in response as I watch him drive. His strong arms show veins I want to lick. Large hands I want to roam all over my body, grip onto the steering wheel. Shaking my head, I turn away from the natural curls in his hair and focus on the road, and not the way his lips will feel against mine.

  Knowing the way to my house, that’s where he goes. I was hoping we were going to his.

  I still don’t know his name, so I build up the courage to ask, as he’s not offering it. “What’s your name?”

  “Now you ask?”

  I shrug. “You didn’t tell me.”

  “I didn’t expect to see you again,” he says, then continues with, “Marcus.”

  “I don’t picture you as a Marcus.”

  His fingers tap on the steering wheel at my words. “I didn’t picture you stupid enough to get into cars with strangers, yet, here we are.”

  “You aren’t a stranger,” I say, smiling. “Well, kind of, I suppose.” Damn it! I cringe, because he is a stranger. But there is something about Marcus that pulls me in, and I want to know what.

  “I am. You know nothing about me.” Marcus comes to a stop out the front of my house and doesn’t make a move. He just sits there.

  “You’re coming in, right?”

  Marcus looks up at my house, then back to me. “Are you sure it’s a smart move?” He removes his glasses and his hazel eyes pierce me. “Have you had sex with a stranger before?” An eyebrow raises, waiting for me to answer.

  My hands fall to my lap as I start to play with the material of my pants. “No, but I need a distraction. And you’re the perfect one,” I tell him honestly.

  Marcus nods and opens the truck door. Breathing a sigh of relief, I follow him. He lets me lead the way to my front door with him close behind until we’re inside. His eyes scan my house, the living room is part of an open space and we walk into it. He looks directly at my black leather couches and then the television hanging on the wall. Just past the couches is my kitchen, which I really need to clean.

  “Undress,” he directs.

  I turn to face him as my eyebrows pull together.

  Marcus shows no sign of waiting, and my nerves all of a sudden take flight through the roof at his one-word command.

  “How about a drink?” I ask as I walk to the kitchen.

  “No. Undress, Rochelle.”

  My hand touches my kitchen bench, and my heart takes off at a speed my body can’t keep up with, making me dizzy. Not looking his way, I blink a few times to bring me back into the now and reach for my top, pulling it over my head. Then I proceed to drop my pants, my hands shaking as they pool on the floor. Before I can turn around to see where Marcus is, I feel his front pressed against my back, his cock coming to rest at the top of my ass as he stands there touching me. He reaches for my hair, brushing it away from my shoulders.

  “I will ruin you.” He breathes the words on my neck. His tongue darts out and touches me, sending a shiver I didn’t know I was capable of spreading out all over my body.

  What am I doing?

  “I want you to ruin me,” I say back to him.

  “You don’t want to be ruined by me, pretty girl.” His breath is hot as he rains kisses on my neck, and then he disappears, leaving me cold in his wake. “Go and lay on your bed, naked.”

  Turning around to face him, when I look at him again, I have to remember to breathe. His eyes are slightly slanted, broody, as
they penetrate through every fiber of my being. His dark shirt and broad shoulders stand tall, taking me in.

  Marcus makes a clicking sound with his tongue, and I manage to move in the direction of my bedroom. Taking a deep breath, I remove the rest of my clothing, then lay down on my bed. As I do, I hear the click of a door, so I wait.

  And wait.

  With each breath, I am dying with anticipation more than the last.

  And then nothing.

  My breathing returns to normal and my hands, which were shaky, are now steady.

  “Marcus.” I look up and don’t see him.

  Getting off the bed, I walk down the hall and see he isn’t in my house anymore.

  He’s gone.

  Chapter Four

  Rochelle

  Marcus plays on my mind. I know nothing about him, but somehow, he consumes my every thought. To an extent, it makes me wonder if I’m normal. Or is it my depression that’s causing me to feel this way? Losing two people who I loved dearly, am I clinging on to anything right now in the hopes of feeling that type of unconditional love again?

  Maybe clinging to a man I don’t know isn’t healthy.

  The week goes by fast, and I make a decision to go back to work. My work consists of being employed by a man who smells most of the time, and the smell is not pleasant, but he pays well, hence the reason I stay there. Being a lawyer’s receptionist isn’t my idea of great employment, but it pays the bills, and I don’t dislike it every day. Just some days. Like today. I want to go home. I’m tired. So fucking tired.

  “Rochelle, you filed those forms?” Martin is scratching his head as he walks past me. He stops when I don’t answer and pivots to look at me. “Rochelle…” he says my name, gaining my attention.

  I look up and sigh. “Yes. Filed and ready for when you need them.”

  “Okay, good. I guess you can go.” Martin resumes scratching and continues to walk off. I gather my things and head to my parents’ house. I’ve been avoiding my mother all week, and now I can’t do that any longer. It’s her birthday today, so I have to see her. My father has already called and messaged me three times to make sure I’m coming.