Breathing Lies: (The Breathing Undead Series, Book 1) Page 3

  He chuckles, his sullen mood fading. “Of course. I’d never even suggest getting behind the wheel if I wasn’t, especially with you as a passenger.”

  “Such a good boy.” I pat his head like a dog. “Maybe, if you’re extra good, I’ll give you a special treat tonight.”

  He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth. “What sort of treat are you offering? Because you say stuff like that and my mind instantly goes to you and lap dances and lacey underwear.”

  My cheeks erupt with heat and I swat his arm. “You’re such a perv.”

  “Hey, you’re the one who offered me a special treat.”

  “I meant like a back rub or something.”

  A haughty grin pulls at his lips. “You can do that in your underwear, too. It doesn’t have to be a lap dance.”

  My face is on fire. Luckily, the sky is kissed with only stars and moonlight, so the darkness hides my embarrassment.

  I’m acting ridiculous. I know that. And it’s not like he’s never teased me like this. But, since I’ve often dreamt about giving Foster a lap dance in my underwear, it’s difficult not to get flustered.

  “You’re adorable when you blush,” he whispers in my ear. Then he drapes his arm around me and kisses my cheek. “Come on; let’s head up to the lake so we can have a few hours alone together before sunrise. Plus, I’d really rather not be here while Evalynn’s around.”

  I nod, and then we head to his truck with the wind gusting around us, a feeling of agony and loss seeping into me. As if something bad is about to happen.

  Three

  Harlynn

  After Foster and I ditch the party, I try to shove the bad feeling I have aside and focus on having fun. On our way to the lake, we make a stop at the one and only gas station in town that’s open this late to get something to eat.

  “Let’s go feed you before you turn into a little gremlin,” Foster teases as he hops out of the truck.

  Nodding, I get out and meet him around the front. Then we start across the parking lot just as a beat-up GTO pulls in.

  “Is that Kingsley?” I’m not sure why I even ask. We live in a really small town where practically no one has the same car.

  Foster tracks my gaze and his expression plummets. “Fuck, what’s he doing here?”

  His reaction is normal—Foster is never happy to see his twin brother.

  “Well, it is a public gas station,” I tease, nudging him with my elbow.

  “I know, but …” He shakes his head as he yanks open the door to the gas station, a dinging bell announcing our entrance. “I’m just not in the mood to see him.” He holds the door open, gesturing for me to go in first.

  “You’re never in the mood to see him,” I remind him as I walk inside.

  “Yeah, and for good reasons,” he mumbles, letting the door swing shut behind us. Sighing, he wanders toward an aisle, his frown deepening with each step.

  So much for one of our last nights together not being ruined. But Foster’s relationship with his brother is complicated. When they were younger, the two of them fought a lot until Kingsley finally began ignoring Foster. Foster hasn’t been able to stand Kingsley since that happened, and now whenever the two of them are near each other, tension flows through the air.

  Sighing at the idea that may happen tonight, I start after Foster.

  But as I pass by the window, my gaze drifts to the parking lot just outside where Kingsley’s GTO is parked near the side of the building, in the farthest and darkest corner. The headlights are off, and he’s leaning against the car. Dressed head to toe in black, he nearly blends in with the night, except for his blond hair, which looks pale in the moonlight. He’s not alone either. His friend Porter is standing by the car with his hands tucked in his pockets, his gaze shifty, making me question what they’re up to.

  Foster has a theory that they started dealing and doing drugs and told me I need to make sure to stay away from them. He could be right, but I don’t know. Kingsley doesn’t look like a drug addict.

  Forcing my thoughts away from Kingsley, I head to find Foster, crossing my fingers that Kingsley will leave by the time we return to Foster’s truck. If not and Foster has to cross paths with his brother, his mood is going to nosedive.

  Worry plagues my mind as I make my way back to the soda fountain, where Foster is filling up an extra-large cup. As I get nearer, I notice he’s chatting with a pretty girl wearing a flowery black dress. She’s twirling a strand of her long, brown hair around her finger as she smiles at him. I can’t remember her name, but she was a junior when we were freshmen, and while I never saw Foster hang out with her, with how chatty the two of them are, I wonder if they know each other.

  I stop in the closest aisle, debating whether or not to join the conversation. When Foster flashes her a flirty smile, I decide to walk away.

  I hate that I react this way and know I have no right to. We’re not together. Never have been. And he’s never shown any signs of wanting to be. But my heart is stupid, I guess.

  “When are you going to realize he’s never going to see you as more than a friend?” someone asks from beside me.

  My gaze snaps up to the side and meets the brown eyes belonging to Porter.

  With short, dark hair, even darker eyes, black clothes, and facial piercings and tattoos, most people look at Porter and think gorgeous bad boy. But I knew Porter back when he was a scrawny elementary schooler who wore glasses and clothes a size too small for him. Around freshman year, though, he had a growth spurt, put on some weight, and reinvented himself into the beautiful swan he is today. Well, that is, if swans had tattoos, piercings, and a foul mouth.

  His reinvention happened about the same time he became friends with Kingsley, who’d already settled into his bad boy status. I think their piercings and tattoos obsessions were the basis of their friendship, but who the hell knows? What I do know is that, the more time they hang out, the more their metal and ink collections multiply. Not that I think it’s awful. In fact, I have a couple of piercings myself, including one in my lip that I got for my eighteenth birthday. It was probably the craziest thing I’ve ever done. I’d actually wanted to do it sooner, had thought about it for a couple of years, but I knew my parents wouldn’t approve, which they didn’t. Just like I knew Foster wouldn’t like it either, which he didn’t.

  “Why would you do that?” he’d asked after he first noticed the glint of metal ornamenting my lip. “Your lips were so pretty.”

  “So they’re not pretty now?” I’d joked. Or well, tried to joke, but truthfully, I was kind of annoyed, even if he did say my lips were pretty.

  “No, they still are but…” He shrugged. “I’m just not a fan of piercings.”

  And I’m not a fan of football and game night parties, yet I go to stuff like that to support you, I wanted to say back, but I bit my tongue and settled on, “Well I like it.”

  He’d looked at me like I was crazy. “It just seems weird. I mean, I’ve never heard you mention you wanted to pierce your lip and then suddenly you do.”

  “I’ve thought about doing it before,” I admitted. “I just never brought it up because I know you don’t like piercings.”

  He mulled over something, an accusing look rising on his face. “You know, Kingsley has a lot of piercings.”

  I frowned. Not because Kingsley has a lot of piercings, but because Foster pointing out that I’d done something like Kingsley was an insult. Not that I was certain he meant it that way, but with how much Foster despised Kingsley, it was the only way I could take it.

  I almost took the piercing out, but a couple of minutes later, Foster had started flirting with some girl and I decided to leave the piercing in because what did it matter if I took it out? Whether my lips were metal-free or not, Foster was never going to see me as someone he wanted to date.

  I blink back to reality as Porter smirks at me. “Are you zoning out on me or just stunned by my good looks?”

  “Leave me alone. I’m so not in the mood
for your asshole remarks tonight.” I swing around him and veer down the candy aisle, giving a discreet glance around to see if Kingsley wandered in with Porter, but I don’t spot him anywhere.

  “Hey, I’m not an asshole and my remarks aren’t either.” Porter follows me, being his chatty self, unlike Kingsley, who rarely talks to anyone.

  “If you say so.” I stop in the candy section and eye over the selection.

  He stops beside me and crosses his arms. “I don’t know why you’re so mean to me. I’m always nice to you.”

  I arch a brow at him. “Every single time you talk to me, you insult me.”

  He rubs his scruffy jawline. “How did I insult you just barely?”

  “You didn’t,” I lie, because saying the truth aloud would mean admitting I want Foster to see me as more than a friend.

  “Then, why did you just say I did?”

  “I never said you insulted me now. Just that you usually do.”

  He smirks. “No, you said always.”

  I roll my eyes. “Go away and leave me alone, dude.”

  “Why? So you can go back to watching Foster flirt with that chick over there?” he asks, snatching up a bag of Skittles.

  I feel too exposed. “That wasn’t what I was doing.”

  “Yeah, you were.” He tears open the bag and pops a few pieces into his mouth. “FYI, you’re like ten times hotter than Beth Trelarallie. And a hell of a lot smarter.”

  I roll my eyes, but then frown in confusion. “Who the hell is Beth?”

  “Your lover boy’s current conquest.” He glances at Foster and the girl— Beth Trelarallie. “Poor girl. I should probably go warn her that the guy she’s talking to is a total player who likes to fuck with girls’ minds.”

  “Oh, shut up. I’m so tired of you talking badly about Foster just because Kingsley doesn’t like him.” I steal the opened bag of candy from him, pour a handful into my palm, then return it to him. “And thanks for buying me a snack.” I pop the candy into my mouth and grin.

  “Joke’s on you since I’m not paying for that, so technically, you just aided in shoplifting.” He dumps the rest of the candy into his mouth, tosses the empty bag onto a shelf, then flashes me a cocky grin.

  I swallow down the mouthful of candy. “Maybe I’ll buy the bag myself.”

  His brow curves upward. “Are you going to?”

  No. “Sure.”

  “Liar.” His grin is all sorts of amused wickedness as he leans in. “Face it, you can pretend to be a good girl, but deep down, we both know you’re a little bad.” He gives me a knowing look.

  I internally grimace. I hate that he knows a secret of mine, about a night when I ditched Foster and pretended to be a different person. Where I hung out with people I didn’t know and did stuff I normally wouldn’t do.

  “Just because I rebelled one time doesn’t mean I’m bad,” I say, but I feel like such a liar.

  That night, when I pretended to be a different person, I felt more like myself than I ever had. But that girl I was that night scared me. Because she doesn’t fit into the world I’ve lived in for over a decade now.

  “It may have only been one night, but I’d never seen you look more alive than when you were at that party.”

  “You’re so weird.”

  “And you’re a liar,” he says. “We both know that this”—he points at me then at Foster—“isn’t who you really are.” He crosses his arms and stares me down. “Personally, I think you ended up with the wrong Avertonson brother, and I think, deep down, you know that.” A smile curls at his lips. “You could always let your real self out for a night and come hang out with us tonight.”

  “No thanks. I still have my fill from the last time we hung out.” I smile sweetly at him. “And honestly, that night is one of my biggest regrets.” I’m such a liar and he probably knows it.

  I hate that he does.

  His lips kick up into a smirk. “Even what happened in the closet?”

  That remark strikes a nerve.

  “You know what? I’m done chatting. I’ve got candy to pay for.” I pick up the empty bag of candy from off the shelf and spin around toward the register.

  Really, I have no intention of paying for it. This is all for show and to prove a point that I’m not bad and that I didn’t end up with the wrong Avertonson brother. The truth, though, is that sometimes I wonder if I did. If maybe Foster is too good for me.

  As I start up the aisle, I throw a smirk over my shoulder at Porter. He mirrors my smirk then winks at me. Confusion sets in. A second later, I walk straight into something hard and solid and that smells familiar, like cologne with a hint of smoke.

  I know that scent …

  I stumble back. “Sorry,” I apologize to Kingsley, taking another step back as my heart races. “I didn’t see you … I was smirking at Porter instead of paying attention to where I was going.” I put on a smile despite being frazzled.

  Kingsley always makes me feel this way. He makes a lot of people feel this way. But, while most people’s reactions are based on his rough appearance or the rumors around town, mine stems from a few very defining and intense moments that happened between Kingsley and me.

  His gaze travels to Porter then zeroes in on me again. “Why were you smirking at him?” he asks curiously.

  “Um, because he’s annoying.” I grin, but inside I feel a bit shaky being so close to him. “Since you’re his best friend, I figured you already knew that.”

  His lips quirk, the slightest trace of a smile materializing. A rare occurrence for him, and I’ll admit, he looks beautiful.

  Okay, if I’m being truly honest, Kingsley is gorgeous but in a completely different way than Foster. Where Foster has short, styled hair, metal and ink-free skin, a muscular build, and dresses more preppily; Kingsley’s blond hair is grown out to his chin, his skin is a work of art, his build is leaner, and almost every drop of clothing he wears is either grey or black and has tears or studs on it. Both of them are tall, but that’s about where their common traits stop. Well, except for the same full lips and blue eyes. They both have those. And while I don’t like admitting it to myself, sometimes in the deepest darkest part of me—probably the same part that convinced me to go to that party that night without Foster—I feel attracted to Kingsley in a way that I’m not comfortable with. Because I shouldn’t be attracted to Kingsley. Not after the stuff he’s done to me, yet I am. And it makes me feel beyond confused every single time I’m around him.

  “Yeah, maybe.” His smile fizzles as his gaze darts to my right. “Although, he can be a lot worse.”

  I track his gaze, a frown forming at my lips. “Foster’s not annoying.” I sigh, returning my attention to Kingsley, only to find him staring at me intensely. The moment our gazes collide, though, his expression turns blank. But that’s typical Kingsley MO—rarely showing any other emotion besides indifference.

  “Look, I know you don’t owe me anything, but I’m begging you.” I clasp my hands in front of me for dramatic effect. “Please don’t start a fight with Foster tonight. It’s probably going to be one of the last times we get to spend together before you guys leave for college, and all I want is to get out of this gas station and up to the lake without any drama.”

  His gaze sears into mine. “I never start fights with him.”

  I resist a sigh. “That’s not true.”

  “Yes, it is,” he insists.

  This time, a sigh does slip from my lips. “I’ve witnessed hundreds of fights between you guys. And I get that you don’t fight as much as you did when you were kids, but you still do sometimes.”

  “Those aren’t fights,” he says, shifting his weight.

  “Then, what are they? Arguments? Because, in my opinion, those are one and the same.”

  He rubs his hand across his face. “You know what? Forget I said anything.” He moves to step around me, but I wrap my fingers around his arm, stopping him.

  “Please don’t start a fight with him,” I utte
r softly.

  A shaky breath falters from his lips as his gaze drops to where my fingers are wrapped around his arm. “I won’t,” he utters, lifting his gaze to mine.

  My breath gets ripped from my chest. So much worry and pain flows from his eyes that he’s nearly unrecognizable. Kingsley, the epitome of indifference, looks as though he’s scared out of his damn mind.

  Why? What could be scaring this seemingly cold and unfeeling guy?

  I swallow shakily. “Are you okay?”

  “Are… you?” He sounds as breathless as I feel, his gaze straying from my hand on his arm to my eyes. Question marks flood his eyes.

  I nod. “Yeah … I’m just worried about you … You look upset.”

  “You’re worried about me?” He stares into my eyes with his brows knit, then with an uneven breath, he reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m fine. I just wish—”

  “What’re you doing?” Foster appears beside us with a drink and a tub of ice cream in his hands. His gaze shifts between me and Kingsley, and then to my hand on Kingsley’s arm. His jaw works from side to side as he looks at me. “Is everything okay?”

  Kingsley’s little hair tucking move has me feeling off balance inside. He rarely touches me, hasn’t since we were kids after he gave me my first kiss. We were ten and it was on the cheek, so technically, it wasn’t a real kiss. But I still count it as one. Maybe I shouldn’t. Alena says I shouldn’t. That Kingsley is weird and trouble, and I should forget about the time he brushed his lips across my cheek to try to make me feel better after my pet fish died. But it was a good moment, back before all the shittiness between us happened, and I sort of want to latch on to it. Latch on to the memory of who Kingsley used to be. Or who I thought he used to be.

  I lower my hand from Kingsley’s arm and, as casually as I can, manage a shrug despite my erratic heartbeat. “Everything’s fine,” I tell Foster. “We were just talking.”

  When Foster cocks a brow at me, seeming a bit peeved. I shrug again, unsure what else he wants me to say.