Love, Lust & Little Lies: Love & Lust

By Cassandra Cripps

My first day as a state trooper, I hope to finally be recognized as an adult, not the too young looking girl that has plagued my entire existence. Instead, I'm sent back to high school. 
Undercover.
Posing as a deviant, gothic student, my objective is to identify and eradicate the south side's local gangs and supply pipeline.
It should be an easy assignment. Until he walks inside my second period Phys Ed class, stopping my heart and sending all logical thoughts out of my brain. Damien Aolani, my new sexy as hell gym teacher and counselor.
It's wrong. I know it is. He's supposed to be my teacher. But, I can't fight the sparks that keep flying. I'm not a bad girl. No matter how much I pretend. And Damien, he's far, far too good. Can I keep all my lies straight? Or will his smoldering eyes and too caring persona undo all my team's efforts? 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cassandra Cripps
• Release date: Jun 9, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386141396

Book preview

For Chris.

Our story may not have been a short one,

but it was worth the wait.

Introduction

Lacy

Y ou are completely fine, Lacy. Everything will work itself out, I told the pale, shaking figure staring back at me.

I splashed some water on my face then glanced back at the mirror. Dark circles surrounded my bloodshot eyes. I tried my best to force a smile, but it wouldn't appear. Instead, the tears kept threatening. Yeah, I'm perfectly fucking fine, I muttered, turning off the light then sulking out of the dingy, old bathroom.

Graduation happened months ago, yet the job offers never came. Apparently the art therapy industry just wasn't booming. Top it off, a month ago I caught my boyfriend of three years—the only person I had ever loved, the man I was going to spend the rest of my life with—cheating on me.

But, I was fine. As long as I kept telling myself that, eventually it would be true. It had to be true. I was strong, and despite the growing pile of student loans and unpaid bills that sat out on the bare counter of my small—now single occupancy—apartment, I would be okay. One thing I learned from years of watching my parents try to destroy each other's lives was never to let my emotions get the best of me. So, even though all I wanted to do was curl up in a ball and cry, I refused to give my ex that satisfaction. I gave the bills one last look, shook my head, and pulled my shoulder length auburn hair into a ponytail. Grabbing my dirty, old sneakers, I laced them up. I wasn't usually the athletic type, but I needed to get out of the cramped apartment.

With funds as tight as they now were, I couldn't afford to go anywhere or spend any money. My conscience wouldn't allow me the luxury of driving even a few precious miles in my rusty old Subaru unless it was an absolute necessity. That left going for a run. Zipping up my favorite tattered black hoodie and putting my earbuds in, I pressed play on the heaviest playlist on my outdated phone. I walked out the door, carefully locked it, and started to jog down the narrow street. My taste in music was eclectic to say the least, everything from Slipknot to Bach. But right now, I needed something loud to drown out my thoughts.

The crisp autumn air rushed into my lungs and renewed my spirits. With every passing block and step, my confidence grew. I lifted my head up higher. My stride grew longer. As heavy song after song blared in my ears, the apartments turned to shops, then stately upscale houses with perfect white picket fences. Those soon changed to open fields as I left the city behind.

A park emerged in the center of the pastoral field. I watched as dozens of young children darted and laughed while a few older kids played soccer in a field beside them. My thoughts flew to the countless hours I had spent playing soccer and baseball with my ex's two younger brothers, Calvin and Tyler. Nearly every weekend for the last three years had been spent doing some activity with them. They were the only siblings I had ever known. The only real family I ever had. And now they were gone, ripped out of my life by a decision that none of us three had made.

Wind batted at my face, drying any tears before they could form. Leaves brushed past me, twirling around my arms then falling onto the golden grass that crunched beneath my feet. Just ahead stood a solitary tree, the last of its crimson leaves cascading through the air. It wasn't dead. This was fall. All its leaves would regrow come spring. I took a deep breath. I wasn't dead. Despite my petite figure and the hole burning inside of me, I was alive and strong. I would overcome this latest downfall. I would survive.

Leaving the tree behind me, I pushed forward, one foot in front of the other. I let the loud, heavy music set my pace and lost myself in the complex melodies, drowning out my thoughts. The small path turned into concrete as an imposing fence rose around me—the state police training camp. Its domineering, uniform buildings looked down on me, reminding me of how small I really was. Swallowing a lump in my throat, I forced myself to peer up at it. That's when I saw it, taped to the window of the main hall doors . . .

Now accepting applications. Apply within.

Chapter 1

Damien

Y o, Damien, what about her, hombre? José asked, pointing to a young woman jogging past us.

You're wasting your time, bro. I didn't even bother to look up as I shook my head and continued to unlace my soccer cleats.

What about that one? Esta buena. José gestured. His sturdy figure rippled like gelatin as he plopped down on the grass beside me. For as athletic and strong as he was, his round figure didn't show it.

I glanced up as I took my cleats off and grabbed my running shoes. A prissy blond in a pink and gray sports bra and tight shorts jogged past. Hell no, I didn’t even give her a second look as I returned my attention to my shoes.

Come on, Damien. What's wrong with her? She's smokin.

She's blond, Marcus cut in. Come on, José, haven't ya been listening to Damien complain about that new blond counselor enough the last two weeks? What's her name? Heather . . . Hallie . . .

Hannah, I muttered as I brushed all the dirt and grass of the bottom of my cleats then placed them inside my duffel bag. And any woman who runs around in just a bra is not one I want to date. Grabbing my water bottle, I gulped down half of it then looked over at Marcus.

He was tall, extremely dark and thin, but highly muscular. Like me, he was naturally good at every sport and physical activity he tried, and my best friend since I moved to Indiana five years ago. He was just finishing putting on his shirt after a rough soccer game of shirts versus skins. Marcus always chose skins, I always chose shirts. He beamed a bright white smile at me then grabbed the worn, dirty soccer ball and shoved it into his bag.

So why don't you just go out with her. If it's that obvious she's into you, José continued, referring back to Hannah, as he stretched his legs.

Marcus and Sergio groaned, both already knowing my answer.

You've got to be kidding, right? I finished my water, put the empty bottle inside my bag in its spot beside my shoes, then zipped it up.

Hear me out, man. You need to start dating. You're getting mopey. Besides, you're what, twenty-six now? You only have a few more years 'til you start getting old and desperate. And she's a counselor like you—

She's nothing like me. I hated not giving someone the benefit of the doubt, but there was just something about her that rubbed me completely the wrong way. She doesn't even fucking care about any of the students. She is just one of those prissy fake blonds who went to college only to con some rich frat jock into marrying her. When that obviously failed, she took a job counseling. She couldn't care less about any of the kids or what they are going through.

Ya sure 'bout that, bro? Marcus asked, shaking his head. Maybe she just ain't used to the south side.

Trust me. Her office is right across the hall from mine. I deal with her bullshit every day. She talks to high schoolers like they are four. The only thing she cares about is herself. I swear, man, if I have to put up her prancing into my office and hanging all over me all year, I'm gonna snap.

There's an empty office outside the men's locker room, right? Marcus laughed.

Yeah, so?

Just move your office there. If anyone asks, just say that since you're also a gym teacher it's more convenient.

I stared off past the park toward the river, watching the leaves fall off the trees and blow in the autumn wind. It was a good idea. Maybe, but I'd still have to see her every day when I got my mail.

Dude, isn't Kat your TA this year? Make her get it. Come on, bro, aren't ya supposed to be the counselor here? Why is it I'm always the one giving ya advice?

Cause you never shut your mouth, José mocked.

We finished collecting our stuff then stood up and left the makeshift field. José and Marcus continued to argue and jest all the way to the parking lot, but I tuned them out, lost in my thoughts.

Same time next week? Marcus hollered as he opened his car door.

Yeah, see you then, I yelled back as I found my blue Audi S4 and opened the trunk.

Don't forget 'bout the game Wednesday. Or better yet, do forget. That way my kids will have no problem beating yours.

Whatever, Marcus, Sergio chimed in. My team played yours last week. There is no way your kids are winning a single game this year. With or without the other team having a coach.

Hey, come on. They are eight years old. It doesn't matter which team wins. It's just about getting them interested in soccer and away from the streets, I stated as I put my bag in the trunk.

Marcus, Sergio, and José all stopped and looked at each other then over at me. That is an amazing pep talk, José mocked, placing his hand over his heart. Do you tell that to your team before every game?

Whatever. I'll see you Wednesday. I shut my trunk then got in my car and left.

It was a short drive home, but it gave me time to think—way too much time to think. José and Marcus were right. I was lonely, despite my constant denial. Eventually, maybe I would start dating again, but no one even remotely piqued my interest.

There was no point in dating someone I wasn't attracted to or interested in. It wouldn't be fair to them. And the truth was, there wasn't a single person I had been interested in during the last five years. Not since Kalena.

Her face still haunted me. Everything about her still haunted me. Her shiny, shoulder-length, black hair. Her petite figure and demure curves. Her athletic body, toned by countless hours hiking, swimming, and surfing in Hawaii. Mostly her eyes, so caring and full of life. Yet at the same time, they saw through my bullshit, to the real me. And she still loved me. She was so sweet and innocent, yet stern and fierce when she needed to be.

There wasn't a single woman I had met who compared to Kalena. Five years after her death, she still haunted me. She was still the only one.

I pulled into my driveway and shut off my car. Running my hands through my thick, black hair, I glanced at my watch—just after four p.m. I got out of my car and leaned against the door. Fuck, I whispered aloud. She already consumed my thoughts and it wasn't even dinner time.

Only one thing took my mind off her. One thing made the memories and nightmares disappear—sports. I opened my trunk and grabbed a pair of earbuds from my bag, then closed the lid. After stashing my keys in my pocket and putting Slipknot's Vermilion on repeat, I started to jog the opposite way of the park, toward downtown. There was one small gym in the heart of the city where I boxed. They closed at six on the weekends. If I headed straight there, I could make it in time for a few rounds.

Chapter 2

Lacy

The state trooper application process took months. Winter arrived before I received my acceptance letter in the mail. The rough training pushed me to my extremes, but I was determined. Despite the constant, derogatory comments from my peers, I succeeded at every step. The worst of the comments came from another recruit named Glisson. His father, grandfather, and great-grandfather had all been cops. He thought it ran in his blood. Because his father was now a corporal, so did everyone else. That meant he said whatever he wanted to me, failed as many classes as he wanted, and still moved ahead. He had nicknamed me 'cupcake' and seemed intent on getting me kicked out only because I was a female. It didn't matter that I was better than him in every class.

My mother hated guns, so in middle school, my father took me to the shooting range every time he had custody. Target practice—pass. To get back at him, my mother put me in the girliest activity she could think of—flag twirling with the color guard. After one of my dad’s drunk friends tried to attack me, another of his friends gave me private kick boxing lessons, a sport that I loved from the first session. Self defense—pass. Even though I wasn't overly active, I was in shape. My body quickly adjusted to the daily torturous drills. In high school, my mother went through a hippie-all natural stage while she was between jobs. She liked to say we were just camping rather than admit we were homeless. Survival training—pass. I spend my summers with my dad at tech camps and clubs while he partied with his friends. Advanced technology—pass.

Weeks turned into months without me even realizing it. Training and studying took up what seemed like every second of my time and energy. Then, finally, graduation came. Somehow, despite the near hourly reminders that I was too short, too slim, too sweet looking, had too high-pitched of a voice, oh, and I was a female; I, Lacy Greene, was now officially an Indiana State Police Trooper.

MIRACULOUSLY, I AWOKE two and a half hours early my first day on the job. Notorious for waking up five minutes before class, or my last job—part time server at the local burger shack—I was ecstatic at having ample time to get around. Not to mention I would actually be able to eat breakfast, the one meal I had almost given up all hope of ever cooking. Despite the tiny size of my kitchen—if you could actually call it a kitchen—it was my favorite room in the apartment. I loved cooking. Even with my meager food budget of one hundred dollars a month, I still managed to prepare a few gourmet meals every week.

After a beautiful breakfast of Eggs Benedict and a nice hot shower, I pulled my crisp new blue police uniform out of my closet. I felt giddy just looking at it. Aside from being the first new outfit I had gotten in the last three years, the uniform was the nicest article of clothing I ever owned. And it fit like a glove. The taper of the light blue dress shirt hugged my demure curves perfectly. The slacks hung to just the right length. Glancing in the mirror, I smiled. I almost looked like an adult. Me, a full-fledged adult with an adult career. Finally, I was going to be fine.

My confidence faded as soon as I entered the living room and saw the couch. That couch. Our couch. The threadbare red-and-tan-plaid couch we dug out of a dumpster the day our neighbor moved out. The couch that we spent so many nights making out on. The couch where we sat watching movies until four in the morning. The couch where he first told me he loved me. Where we made love for the first time—my first time.

My confidence vanished. Damn it, why was this still so hard? Why did everything remind me of him? My thoughts were worse in my bedroom, but at least I could limit going in there just to sleeping and getting dressed in the morning. The rest of my cramped apartment consisted of a small bathroom in the corner and one room—the living room with one long counter, stove, and fridge on the far wall making up my so-called kitchen. There was no escaping this room. There was no escaping the memories.

With a deep breath, I marched past the couch. At least I only had a few more weeks left on my lease. Maybe it was time for a new apartment. And new furniture. Definitely new furniture.

MY SUBY SCREECHED TO a halt in the half full parking lot. My sign-on bonus barely paid off my student loans and other bills. New brakes would still have to wait. I closed my eyes and silently prayed. Please, please let me get a patrol car. I knew the chances were slim; I had been requested to join the drug and gang task force. I doubted many of those officers had squad cars. But, as the youngest and newest recruit ever assigned to them, I was optimistic.

MY NEW BOSS, LIEUTENANT Shepard, was a robust man in his early fifties. He called me into his office as soon as I entered the building. Welcome to the team, Trooper Greene. I'd like you to meet Lieutenant Myers. He nodded toward the only other person in his littered office. In his late thirties, with a receding hairline and slight gut, Myers looked every bit the typical cop. He silently nodded, shook my hand, then sat down in a chair in front of an imposing mahogany desk, motioning for me to take the other seat. Rather than going around the desk, Shepard awkwardly sat on the corner of the sturdy piece of furniture, right in front of me.

Crossing his feet at the ankles, he continued, "Greene, I'm sure you've been wondering why we requested you to join our team. We have an important job running up north in Fort Wayne that Myers here heads up, and we think you are perfect for it.

"It's an undercover op. There has been a lot of gang and drug activity on the south side, and we've managed to center it around one main high school. We've identified a few of the various gangs and members, but as you can guess, most of them are still just kids. You put one away, five more take his place. Unfortunately, none of us have been able to get close enough to find out who's running things. That's where you come in.

We would like you to go undercover as a high school student and get access to the gangs. Find out who the members are. Find out who's running them. Find out where they are getting the drugs from. Get enough dirt on them to put them all away for a long, long time and clean that area up.

My heart sank to my feet. No new car. No shiny uniform. Here I thought I got assigned to the task force because they thought I excelled in training. But really, it was because I was so small and looked so young. I didn't look like a cop. I looked like a kid. Perhaps Glisson and the other recruits had been right; maybe I just wasn't meant to be a cop.

Sensing my disappointment, he continued, This is a really big opportunity. We don't trust just any recruit with going undercover . . .

My thoughts raced as his voice faded into the background. Could I really pass as a high school student? Sure, to him and every other adult, I still looked like a kid, but to actual high school students? I looked down at my crisp, navy dress slacks and shiny black boots. My body still looked nearly the same as it had in high school. I still had the occasional acne outbreak. I still wore a lot of the same clothes I had from high school. But style has drastically changed in the past five years. If I walked into a school now, every student would instantly be able to tell how old I was. On the other hand, it would be a brand new city, a new name, a new place to live. A fresh start, and that was exactly what I needed most.

As my thoughts faded, I noticed Shepard waiting for my reply. From the serious look on his face, I'd say he stopped talking a while ago.

Um, does it come with a clothing allowance? I choked out.

A broad smile stretched across his face as he erupted in a chuckle reminiscent of Santa Clause. I have two high school girls. I understand completely . . . I'll see what I can do.

Chapter 3

Lacy

With my lease ending , the move to Fort Wayne carried out smoother than I expected. Splitting the last few weeks of summer between spending time with Shepard's two daughters, picking up on the latest trends and ever-changing teenage vocabulary, and then going over the details of the operation with Myers, time flew by. My knowledge of drugs or anything related to them being far below par, that's where Myers focused most of his energy. With him, everything was all about the details. He thought of everything. I swear, the man acted like a robot, constantly working. He even spent three days drilling me on tactical ways to politely decline any advances from the opposite sex, as he put it. I laughed at the notion of some kid trying to ask me out. I was never popular that way back in high school, so why would anyone be interested in me now?

Myers decided that the best course involved me lying as little as possible. That would make it easier for me to keep things straight. I kept my first name, though we changed my surname to Peters—Lacy Peters. I was to pretend that the last five years had not happened yet. I was seventeen years old, a senior in high school, and recently emancipated myself. That was my favorite detail. No fake parents to live with and no fake rules to follow. Aside from attending high school, I could keep my solitary, independent lifestyle. Looking back at my actual high school experience, I wondered why I never thought of that.

Myers lik that I came from a broken family. He said it would make me getting in with the wrong crowd—the right crowd for us—easier and more believable. He encouraged me to share any emotional or physical scars I had from them and stories from my childhood. Myers even encouraged my slight tendency toward vulgarity—another thing I inherited from my parents. More and more, it seemed they selected me for more than my looks.

Defining a high school appropriate style and shopping with Shepard's daughters started off much worse though. It took days before I convinced them that I could not change my pasty skin. I had two colors—white-white and red when burnt, which quickly faded back to white. There was no tan. No in-between. Shorts looked horrible on me. Dresses were even worse. A sporty athletic style did not work. I was too pale. Going super flirty and sultry looked ridiculous, I didn't have the curves. Even Myers, who insisted on tagging along to 'ensure the generous allowance they gave me was spent wisely,' laughed at my awkward attempts to hide the scars on my arms and strut in high heels and skimpy dresses.

It wasn't until the girls noticed my tattoos while reluctantly twirling in a tube top that everyone decided I could go with a Gothic style. While I hoped to one day have my entire back and half of my left arm done, for now, I just had two—a group of five solid black ravens going from my right shoulder blade to just below my neck and a large, detailed lotus flower in the middle of my back just under my shoulder blades. I got both the first year I started college, after I finally freed myself from my parents. I knew a lot of officers had tattoos and they didn't have a policy against it. And mine had been documented during my intake physical. But, I tried to keep them covered during training. Now, it seemed they might come in handy, further authenticating my disguise as a troubled youth.

After picking out an assortment of clothes guaranteed to help me fit in as a teenager as well as label me a deviant, we headed to the salon. My auburn locks were dyed black and given a choppier and fresher cut, though it was still long enough that I could pull it into a ponytail. A few makeup tips completed my transformation. Staring back at me in the mirror was a young teenager.

Chapter 4

Damien

Y o, come on, bro, get your head in the game, Marcus called as the basketball sailed right past me.

I shook my head and turned to see the ball bounce off the small concrete court and roll to a stop on the grass.

I've got it, I called to Marcus as I jogged toward it.

Damn straight ya got it. What's with ya anyway?

What do you mean? I asked as I picked up the ball and jogged back onto the court where Marcus and two of his co-workers waited.

Bro, you've been distracted all week. What's going on?

It's nothing. Ready? I dribbled the ball a few times then passed it to him.

Streetball was always more fun than the regimented, traditional basketball I taught in school. No rules, no fouls, no stopping every twenty seconds. Just one ball, one hoop, and a few marks on the concrete.

The best part was how fast paced and intense it was, requiring my full attention. My mind couldn't wander, giving me a few precious moments free from all the nightmares and memories that refused to leave my head. I was free. At least that's how it usually worked. But not today.

I shot a basket and missed.

What the hell? I muttered under my breath. That was the fourth shot this game I missed. I ran my hand through my hair, trying desperately to clear my mind and focus.

Marcus snatched the ball and dribbled it a few times. He passed it to me. I caught it and immediately jumped in the air, tossing the ball toward the net in what should have been a textbook layup. It hit the backboard and bounced away.

Fuck, I grumbled and turned away from the hoop. I took a few steps and shook my head.

The taller of the two other guys took that opportunity to grab the ball and make a basket. Game point. They high-fived each other then jumped in the air into a chest bump.

Good game, guys, Marcus called out as we made our way over to the small row of bleachers. Simultaneously, we grabbed our water bottles and took a large drink.

After saying our farewells, his co-workers left, leaving us alone.

What was dea names again? I asked casually.

Bro, seriously? The tall guy’s Cody; the shorter one, Brandon. He slipped the ball into his bag and continued, Ya never forget someone's name.

Sorry, brah, my head wen like go da kine, yeah, no?

Yeah, bro, if your slang is slipping, something’s got your head all messed up. What’s up?

I growled, hating how he referred to pidgin as slang. But, he had a point. My native language almost never slipped. I shook my head and put the lid on my water bottle, then leaned up against the bleachers. It just one school ting.

Dude. It doesn't start for another week. Don't tell me you're stressing over that counselor chic again, cause I thought we got your whole office thing straightened out last year. He zipped up his bag, then leaned up against the bleachers with me, staring off at the sunset.

No, it's not her. I got one message from da school da otha day. Dey switched my TA.

That's what this is about? It's just an assistant.

Yeah, I know. But I liked Kat being my TA. Dat way I could keep one eye on her. And, she's good at it. Now I'm stuck with some new transfer that I don't know.

Have ya thought about seeing a counselor or something about your OCD shit? If it bothers ya that much just have 'em switch it back.

Very funny, and I already wen try. Apparently Lieutenant Myers set her schedule and no one can change it.

Marcus nodded. There was no need to elaborate. He knew my past with Myers. He took charge of the drug and gang task force a few years ago and was hell-bent on putting everyone he saw related to a gang in jail, kids and all. His tactics didn't work. If you simply threw every troubled teen you saw in jail, it wouldn't solve anything. They would have no job prospects when they got out and no chance of furthering their education, making going back to the gangs their only option. He wasn't interested in rehabilitating the kids or helping them find other options. We didn't see eye to eye at all, making the prospect of having a TA