Lies In Rewind Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  A Note from the Author

  Quote

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Epilogue

  Other Titles by Tali Alexander

  Acknowledgments

  About The Author

  Contact The Author

  Thank you for purchasing Lies in Rewind©.

  This is the second book in the Audio Fools series that follows the love lives of two best friends, Emily and Sara. This novel could be enjoyed as a standalone, however I would recommended to first read and meet these characters in Love in Rewind© (book one) prior to reading this book, for a more complete experience.

  To help you, the eBook reader, have a more complete experience of Lies In Rewind©, there are embedded web links throughout the novel. Please feel free to simply press on any song titles mentioned in this book. With proper Internet connection, if you so wish, you will be directed to www.talialexander.com where you’ll have the opportunity to read the lyrics and hear the songs mentioned inside Lies In Rewind©.

  – O. Henry, The Gift of the Magi

  “You’re a great singer Emily, that was wicked. I’ve never had anybody sing naked for me before. From now on I will always think of you when I hear this song.”

  She’s jumping around on my bed with her beautiful hair and knockers swinging up and down, and I don’t think I’ve ever smiled for this long in my whole entire miserable life. This woman, this beautiful woman, is a bloody godsend.

  She finally gets tired and flops down next to me on the bed. I’ve had a hard tool for hours and I would give anything to have some relief. How sweet a revenge it would be if I banged his wife? He ruined my sister and I will ruin his wife, an eye for an eye, arsehole. I’m still floored by how I could’ve possibly hated this beautiful, innocent woman. She’s a bloody saint, it’s him that’s the devil; she only knew him, fucked him, loved him. She had no experience, no idea what kind of life she could have without him. I could give her everything and I could love her in ways that bastard doesn’t even know how. He’s not capable of loving one woman, just cheating, lying, and eventually, destroying anything beautiful that he gets his dirty paws on.

  I know she’s currently smashed, but the way she smiles at me—she wants me, she needs me to make her forget that arse. Liam, you can do this, make the first move, I try to motivate myself. If she says no I’ll back away and go wank off in the loo. This is it; I’ve waited to touch her all day. I start by taking her small hand in mine and turning it so I can kiss the inside part. Touching her is heaven. I watch her eyes as they slowly close in pleasure. I didn’t think it was possible, but my dick just got harder; next level will surely be rapture. I continue kissing the inside of her arm, and her skin feels like pure silk. She smells of beach and pineapple juice. Emily had at least ten Malibu Bay Breeze cocktails while telling me everything there was to tell about her love life on the beach today. I lower my head to her stomach and give it a nibble. She starts giggling as my hair falls and grazes her skin. I look up to see her smiling with her eyes shut, and the sound of her laughter is the best sound in the world. Does she make him feel this good? I’m delirious just being alone with her.

  I look at her sprawled before me and I want to suck and squeeze her tits, but I’m worried it’ll be too much, too soon for her…I don’t want to scare her. I know she’s bloody naked in my bed with only her knickers on and everything she does is turning me on. I’m nuzzling her stomach dangerously close to her pussy, but she’s most definitely intoxicated. I should just tuck her in and perhaps give her a friendly goodnight kiss, I think as I get a whiff of her arousal. My mouth actually waters and I may ejaculate prematurely just imagining how wet she is. I’ve been dying to kiss her perfect lips from the moment she told me her husband was cheating on her. How could that bastard ever want or need anything but her? All I want is to stop her from crying and kiss her so hard she forgets Louis fucking Bruel ever existed and that she happens to be his wife.

  I can’t help myself now, my hands have a mind of their own, and they’re touching her beautiful tits and squeezing those hard nipples that I’m salivating to suck…as she moans, “Oh, Louis, please don’t stop.”

  I’m at my usual table eating my usual Nutella-filled chocolate croissant and sipping English breakfast tea with milk and two sugars. I look down at my favorite navy Prada suit paired with my nude colored Jimmy Choos. I smooth over my hair that, thanks to my useless alarm clock, I didn’t have time to deal with this morning; therefore, it’s pulled back. But I made it, I’m here and I wait. I wait almost every single day. I’ve only missed seeing them while I moved to London for a few years, but other than that—rain, snow, or shine—I’m always here.

  The staff at Joanna’s restaurant are incredible; I have been coming here almost every day for seven years and they just leave me to my business. They don’t ask me what I want, they already know, they just nod their hello and bring me my usual. I sit in my customary tiny table by the window as I wait to see him leave his house. I have the perfect view of his brownstone from this angle. He sometimes looks up toward the corner restaurant before getting into his car, almost as if he senses me watching him.

  I look down at my watch; it’s almost half past seven and he still hasn’t left his house. I finish my flaky brioche and wonder for the millionth time how they fucking get all that velvety smooth chocolate inside without marring the pastry, must be a syringe, I conclude as I devour the last bite and look out the window just in time to see his black car pull up. A minute later, he finally emerges, clean-shaven and hair still slightly damp. I inhale as if I’m standing right next to him. The three of them get into the back of his chauffeured SUV and drive off.

  Time’s up! I think sadly to myself and whisper “See you tomorrow, JJ,” to no one in particular.

  I finish my tea, collect my things, and leave. I love the suit he had on today, I think stupidly and smile to myself. Another day in the delusional make-believe world I live in, where I see off my beautiful love every morning as he heads to work. In my mind, I sometimes even fix his tie.

  45 Days Later

  “Here Comes The Rain Again” by The Eurythmics

  It’s official; this is the worst week of my life. How can an educated, self-sufficient woman be this dumb? My stupid ex-husband, Gavin, has just evicted me and announced that he sold our Gramercy Park penthouse. Fuck! After all the things I’ve done for him, after everything we’ve been through, he has the gall to sell
my place. I let him keep our flat in London because he promised me I could keep his place in the city. This marriage seemed perfect when he proposed it and is now slowly turning into a nightmare. We were supposed to fool everybody, not mislead each other. As usual, a good deal came along and his promises went out the goddamn window. I know the penthouse was legally his, but since I asked him for nothing from our worthless, bogus marriage or divorce, the prick could’ve at least let me keep the place I’ve been living and calling home for the past year. I’m on the verge of tears as I try to pack up all my shit.

  I still haven’t spoken to Jeffery today. I should probably start figuring out a place to crash for tonight. It’s nice to come back home in the morning from breakfast to find a stranger standing in your house, telling you to pack your crap and go. I’m not moving back with my parents—that’s for sure! If I move in with my brother, Eddie’s wife, Michelle, will somehow inform the whole Upper East Side that her loser sister-in-law has been evicted by her loser ex-husband, and is now officially homeless. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Why am I crying? Sara, stop fucking crying. Everything will be all right. But I know that’s just bullshit. There is no freaking way anything will ever be all right for me. Look at my pathetic life; people with half my problems require tons of drugs to survive…I’m beyond drugs. I should go straight into Bellevue and reserve a private suite in the psych ward.

  I’m in a dark nook at my favorite corner bar. This place is not just a bar, it’s my little secret portal to escape reality and feel the past exuding and mingling with my sad reality, and I feel at home as soon as I sit at my beloved booth. Most of the college students who frequent this place don’t appreciate the fact that William Sydney Porter—AKA O’ Henry—once wrote The Gift of the Magi in this very booth over a hundred years ago. That story of comic irony about foolish lovers and their foolish gifts to one another mirror my own idiotic existence. Thank God I have this little place to come to, a safe refuge to feel sorry for myself and get drunk at least once a week. Bruce, the owner, treats me like his own flesh and blood; truthfully, he treats me better than my own flesh and blood treat me. He would never let me walk home alone to my building around the corner on Irving Place—well, it’s no longer my building, I think dismally to myself as my dire situation becomes abundantly clear.

  Here I am, crying into my Irish cream-spiked coffee, plotting the murders of Gavin—my ex-husband, and Jeffery—the person who’s ruined me and my life forever, while ultimately, trying to understand my own worthless existence. I should text Emily. I pick up my phone, which I’ve set to vibrate just in case Jeffery decides to call, which is my way of ensuring I don’t get any of his calls until I have a plan. But I’ve checked my phone three thousand times since I told him we’re over for the umpteenth time last night, and I can’t believe he hasn’t called or texted me back yet. My phone starts vibrating in my hands—it’s Emily. Emily always has the sixth sense to reach out to me just when I need her most. I really don’t have anybody but her. I’ve lied to her about so many things that sometimes it’s almost impossible for us to stay friends. When I moved to London and married Gavin, I tried to cut all ties with her and we’ve only really started talking again a month ago. Thank God for her; if I didn’t have her to talk to, surely I’d need drugs and much more booze to continue living.

  “Emily!” I say with my fake everything-is-perfect-in-my-world voice.

  “Sara, I’ve been calling your house for hours. I need you pronto! I’ll meet you at your place in a half hour.” She sounds like she’s already on the move. Shit, I don’t have a place anymore. Fuck, what do I tell her? I’m hands-down the shittiest divorce attorney on the planet. I can negotiate properties for my clients that they have no knowledge of, and yet I can’t even negotiate to keep the place I’ve called home for the past year.

  “Emily, wait! Let’s meet somewhere else. Maybe at your house.” I feel like shit! I look like shit! But hey, what choice do I have? I don’t have a home anymore.

  “We can’t meet here! I don’t want Louis or anybody else hearing our conversation.” She whispers into the phone, ensuring nobody overhears her.

  “Are we throwing Louis a surprise party? You know he’s recovering from a heart attack. I don’t think he’ll appreciate a surprise party.” I try to be funny in the hopes of maybe eluding Emily and avoiding her seeing me until I get my shit together.

  “Don’t be stupid, no parties. I have a problem. I need your help,” she answers back, still in a hushed tone.

  We should all have Emily Bruel’s problems. Thirty years old, looks like she’s twenty-one, more money than she could ever spend in one lifetime, two stunning children, the love of a gorgeous husband who had a freaking heart attack because he thought she left him, a supportive family, and drum roll please…the best set of boobs I’ve ever seen. As much as I should hate her, I can’t, I don’t. I’ve always wanted Emily’s life but not in a catty bitchy way, more like in a looking up to your sister kind of way. I always imagined my life would somehow unravel and fall into place the way her life has. She is the kindest best friend any girl could ask for. I wish her the world, and I know she wishes me the same. I love her, plain and simple. I would do anything for that girl. People like Emily get a happily ever after. Liars like me deserve pain-in-full, and I have plenty of that.

  “I was actually about to text you,” I tell Emily as I marvel to myself at her uncanny ability to always know to check up on me at my lowest point.

  “A song I hope?” she says and I can hear the smile in her voice.

  “Yep,” I answer, smiling back.

  When Emily and I grew apart, it was hard not being able to just say the name of a song to someone and know beyond the shadow of a doubt that they got me. Emily and I created our own language. The song lyrics would do the talking for us. We are so completely in sync with each other that we don’t have to elaborate on our feelings or experiences further than just mentioning the title of a song and who sang it and boom—the other person knows exactly what’s happening.

  “Okay, now you can tell me instead of texting me. Is everything okay, are you still in bed? You sound a little off,” she questions as she senses my state of devastation over the phone. If she only knew how off I really was. I don’t think there’s a song out there that could depict how fucked up my life currently is.

  “Here Comes The Rain Again” by Annie Lenox was the best I could give her.

  “Are you drunk? Why did you just say that? Oh my God, Sara, did you just say that ‘Here Comes the Rain Again’ is by Annie Lenox? You know that the song is by The Eurythmics!” I could almost hear the alarm bells sounding off in her head. That’s how well I know my friend.

  “Well, Annie Lenox sang it, so technically it’s by Annie Lenox.” Who was I kidding; my subconscious just sold me out.

  “Where are you?” she asks in her no-nonsense voice.

  Physically and emotionally I’m in Hell, but I tell her, “Pete’s Tavern…it’s this little—” she doesn’t let me finish.

  “I know where it is, I’ll be right there.” And she hangs up.

  Great! I should’ve told her I wouldn’t be staying here for long. This place is not Emily’s style. Okay, I guess we’ll need to address my problems first before I get to hear about hers. Here we go, when she sees me, she’ll go into her Dr. Oz, Dr. Phil, and Judge Judy mode on me. Fuck! She will zero in on all my issues and see right through me. My life just keeps getting worse.

  Half an hour later, Emily Bruel walks into Pete’s as if she’s a regular. Even in leggings and a T-shirt, she’s stunning. I can see her eyes widen and her mouth form a “what the fuck” expression when she starts walking my way and spots my luggage scattered on the floor all around the O’ Henry Booth I’m occupying. I try to smile as brightly as I can so that maybe she won’t notice the bags, the weight loss, the red eyes, and my colored hair.

  “Sara, did you forget to tell me something? Are you in the witness protection program, or are you bailing on me, again?”
she asks with wide, worried eyes, staring at me in shock and awe.

  “No, Gavin had me evicted this morning after I wouldn’t give him the keys to the apartment a few weeks back. He sold it, and well…legally it still has his name on it, and since we’re no longer married, I don’t have any rights to be there. And to answer your question, I never had that officially changed because he promised me I could stay in New York and live in his apartment as long as we get our divorce settled quickly.” I know what she’s thinking. I know I fucked up because I didn’t want to deal with reality. I trust people and believe their empty promises, letting them take advantage of me. While my job is to protect everybody else, I always somehow fail to protect myself.

  “Okay, so what’s the plan? Where are you planning on staying? You know you can always stay with us if you’d like.” She finally slides inside the booth to sit down. She reaches out her hand and we lace our fingers together. It feels soothing to have another human comfort me, and yet an overwhelming amount of guilt blooms in my gut when I look at our joined hands.

  “No, you and Louis are still working out your own shit, you don’t need me there. I was thinking I’d crash at the Pla—” Oh shit, I was about to say The Plaza. That’s the place where Emily caught Louis with some ho. That was the place where the shit hit the fan and started a massive shit storm for the Bruels. “I mean, The Pierre. You know The Pierre is my favorite hotel in New York.” Emily’s eyes close for a second as I see pain etched in her pursed lips, and I knew my big, stupid mouth fucked me up once again.

  “Was the song for Jeff? Are you guys still, you know…together?” She manages to flip a switch and change the subject back to me.

  “Yeah, I guess every song is about Jeffery. My heart wants any part of him that he is willing to give me. Apparently, the only part he wanted to share with me is his penis,” I say with a wicked grin as we both finally crack a smile. Conversations about Jeff and myself never end well. I should therefore try to avoid them at all cost like I always do. The truth is, I sometimes don’t even know what’s true and what’s a lie when it comes to Jeffery Rossi.