Something True Read online

  Something True

  Jessica Roe

  Other titles by Jessica Roe

  The Guardians:

  Undone

  United

  Fortunate:

  Because of Him

  Something Real

  Falling For Him

  SOMETHING TRUE

  JESSICA ROE

  Copyright © 2015 Jessica Roe

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  For every high school English teacher I ever had. . .

  English teachers are the rock stars of education

  Chapter 1

  Ibbie

  ACTING IS MY life. There's nothing I adore more than getting up on that stage in front of a rapt audience and living my part, but I'm not gonna lie. . .it drains the crapping hell out of me. In a good way, of course. Immediately after curtain call each and every show I'm filled with this rush of exuberance yet this fatigue that just makes me want to drop down in the dressing room and sleep right there on the carpet. I may not be the lead in the theater production of Pride and Prejudice that I've been a part of for the past couple of months, and I may not exactly love playing spoiled and selfish Lydia Bennet, but I never fail to put my heart and soul into each and every performance.

  Which is why I'm exhausted when I arrive at Kandy's after another night's show. My best friend, Blair, and her half sister, Jemma, have worked here for a while, and since then this bar seems to have become our regular hangout. As far as bars go, it ain't so bad.

  A zombie dodges by me, chasing after a giggling sexy bunny, and a vampire with way too much gel in his hair slaps my butt as I walk by.

  “Nice ass. I could just take a bite out of it,” he jokes, flashing his plastic fangs.

  I wink, because my ass is nice, even if he is a drunken weirdo with no social skills whatsoever. Poor little vampire.

  A grim reaper twerks against me, and I sigh as I edge away. Normally I love every single thing about Halloween because it is, without a doubt, the most awesome day of the year, but I'm just too tired for this crap tonight. I want to be at home in my comfy bed with my comfy pillow and snugged up in my comfy pjs, but tonight is the first night the whole gang has been together since Blair got all good and engaged to Silver, my ex high school history teacher (which makes their relationship both yeesh yet oddly sexy) last week, so obviously we're getting our celebrating on. And I am benevolently forgiving Silver for stealing my BFF away from me for ever and ever, because that's just the kind and saintly sweetheart I am. Though I don't know who I'm kidding, because that guy stole my BFF from me before we even became BFFs to begin with. Luckily he doesn't mind sharing her with me, or I'd have to get all plot making and off him, Game of Thrones style. But not sharing in that way, because that would be yick. Not that I don't love Blair to bits or anything, but I most certainly do not want to get all up in her lady parts.

  “Woo! Ibbie's here!” she cheers happily when I finally push through the throngs of people and approach their table. I have to grin, because Blair so very rarely gets drunk enough to be a cheerer. In fact, she hates drunk cheerers. Usually she's pretty good at knowing her limits and sticking to them, but clearly she skipped over that line at least an hour ago. Sat on Cowboy Silver's lap, tonight she's dressed as Wonder Woman – shiny cape, tight little outfit, red knee high boots and all. I'll bet Silver had to do some serious persuading to get her into it. That's love for ya.

  Closest to where I'm standing, a slightly less drunk Reid the 1950's Gangster holds out his fist for me to bump. “How'd your show go, Ibbs?” He's been to the show before. They all have, though it was especially funny seeing a tattooed tough guy like Reid sitting through a performance of Pride and Prejudice. He got some funny looks that night for sure, like just because he didn't necessarily fit the mold of regular theater goer then he didn't belong. Some people can be so judgy.

  “It was awesome. I was awesome. Because, you know, I'm me.” Not that I like to brag or anything.

  Being Lydia Bennet wasn't my first choice – I'd auditioned for the role of Elizabeth obviously. But since it's my first real show since finishing college, I'm still proud as fudge of myself for getting the part. Besides, one day I'll get that lead, I know it.

  I slip into the only available seat, making sure to groan extra loud and hard because it's next to Walt, Reid's excruciatingly annoying best friend. Ever since Reid and Jemma became a thing a year ago and we all started hanging out, this guy has become the bane of my frigging existence. And sure, I'll be the first to admit that I have a tendency to over dramatize things, but not when it comes to him. Walt Vega is Evil. With a capital E, that's right.

  It had started out innocently enough. I mean, I'd tried to be nice to the guy when we first met – even though he's kind of terrifying looking with all those tattoos and the three eyebrow rings and those piercing eyes, a brown so dark they're almost black. But every time I spoke he acted like I'd vomited up turds all over his jeans and then he had the nerve to call me a goblin who talked too much. Now that's was just mean. Then came the annoying texts – I still haven't forgiven Reid for giving him my number – which quickly moved onto verbal sparring matches between us every time we were unfortunate enough to be forced to spend time together, and that escalated into the stupid, irritating pranks that just make me want to tear my shiny blonde hair out. Like that time last month we were alone in his friend Christen's kitchen and he dared me to put my palms on the counter and balance two beers on the back of my hands and then he just left me there. So sure, I had to retaliate by signing his email up to a bunch of gay porn newsletters. But he went way overboard when he somehow charmed his way into the apartment I share with my cousin while I was out and stole all of my underwear and gave it to the super creepy homeless guy who lives by the back of our building. That was not cool. Not cool at all.

  Walt is the worst.

  “What the hell are you supposed to be?” he wants to know, set to full-on-abuse-Ibbie mode the second he sees me as always. He looks me up and down with those dark eyes. They match his dark, evil little soul.

  “Take a wild frigging guess, dumb ass.”

  “An escaped mental patient?”

  I gesture to my black and yellow striped shorts and cropped top, then wiggle my fuzzy yellow antennae his way just because I know it will irritate him. “Duh, I'm a bumble bee. Buzz buzz?”

  “You're an idiot,” he replies dryly.

  Ugh, this guy drives me crazy. And not even in the good way. It's not like he has to talk to me.

  “God!” Jemma exclaims, rolling her eyes. She's dressed in a tiny red dress and has a pair of black horns on her head and a little pitch fork in her hand, so I'm guessing she's a devil. A slutty devil. “Do you guys really have to start this crap tonight. I wanna get my buzz on.”

  Blair giggles manically at Jemma's inadvertent pun, then she starts buzzing into Silver's neck. He can't stop himself from laughing as he pulls her more firmly onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her. Drunk Blair is so frigging cute it's unreal.

  I ignore Jemma and turn back to Walt, because I just can't help m
yself when it comes to him. “I see you dressed up as an asshole tonight.”

  He glances down at his black t-shirt and jeans, frowning. “I didn't dress up tonight. I look the same as I always do.”

  “Exactly.”

  He glares at me for that.

  “Okay, time to lay it off, guys,” Silver calls across the table. “Tonight's for celebrating only, 'cause my woman's gonna be my wife!”

  The rest of the table whoops and lifts their drinks. Blair pulls off Silver's cowboy hat and shoves it on her own head before wrapping her arms around his neck. They laugh into each others mouths as they kiss, so undeniably happy – even when they're all tipsy and diddly. It's beautiful.

  And then I see tongue and it gets gross.

  I steal Walt's drink before he can protest, because clearly I need to catch up with the people around me. Performing means more to me than anything in the world, but sometimes it can wreak havoc on my social life. I knock the drink back, then cough and splutter as I slam the glass on the table. “What in the crappity crapping hell was that?”

  The disgustingly amused eyebrow Walt raises at me is as black as his spiky hair. I hate that he's so good looking – someone as evil as he is should be an ugly old hunchback. It would only be fair. But his sharp nose somehow works on his angular face, and those pronounced cheekbones. . .yeah, they're to die for. Jemma told me that one of his parents is Mexican, which shows in his dark olive skin. Tough guys like him have never been my type – I've always been attracted to actors and performers like myself – but if I didn't hate him so much, I'd have to admit that he's sexy as sin. Sin being the operative word. Luckily for me, I do hate him. With a passion.

  “It's whiskey, you amateur,” he says with a smirk.

  “God. What are you, a forty year old alcoholic? You closet psycho.” I don't even care that my comeback makes no sense. “Drink something decent so I can steal it and not die in the process. Jeez.”

  “Something decent? Lemme guess – lemon drops, princess?”

  “Ugh, call me princess one more time and I swear I'll make your penis wish it had never been born.”

  Blair starts snickering again like that's the funniest thing she's ever heard.

  “Too late, that already happened the second I met you. Princess.”

  “Grow up, idiot. You're such a kidult.”

  “Okay, time out. Both of you. Let's separate the two of you before drinks get thrown again.” Forced into father mode for the pair of us (again), Reid stands and grabs the back of my chair, dragging it around the table and putting me in between Fábia and Dahlia. Fábia is an old friend of Walt and Reid's, and Dahlia is Jemma's roommate, and the two of them have been looking ultra cozy recently. I make a mental note to probe Dahlia for gossip the next time I get her alone.

  “Now that's fuckin' better,” Walt grunts.

  I do the mature thing, and I stick my tongue out at him across the table.

  +++

  A SHORT WHILE later Walt disappears to the bar to hit on a gorgeous red head who seems super into him – you know, because she doesn't know him. Seeing my chance to get revenge for the underwear incident, I sidle up behind him and wrap an arm around his narrow waist.

  “Hey, baby,” I coo, reaching up to kiss his stubbly cheek. God, does the guy not know how to shave or something? “I missed you over there.” Sticking out my belly as far as it can go, I rub it lovingly and gaze up at him.

  When he stares back at me in disbelief, I smirk evilly. Yeah, take that one, bitch.

  Chapter 2

  Walt

  MY CHEEK BURNS ferociously where Ibbie's lips pressed against it, even though it was for just one short second. It fucking burns, like she set me on damned fire. For a moment I just stare down at her in pure confusion, unable to form words, unable to form thoughts, and then I see that little smirk on her face and I realize that she's screwing with me. Of course she's screwing with me.

  Camille the naughty school girl, who'd been about two minutes away from agreeing to come home with me, glares at me in disgust. “Jerk,” she spits, spinning and flouncing away.

  I'm still in shock from the feel of Ibbie's lips on my skin and the warmth of her arm around my waist, so it takes my empty mind a second to catch up. Then I'm just torn between being utterly pissed at this little heathen for ruining a sure thing and impressed that she can get her tiny waist to stick out that far. She looks like she could be five months fucking pregnant. No wonder Camille looked at me like I was a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe.

  “You're an ass,” I tell Ibbie.

  “I'm hilarious,” she counters.

  “How'd you even get your stomach to do that?”

  She pulls her arm away from me, smiling smugly, and immediately my skin screams out for her missing contact. “It's a special skill.”

  “Yeah, you put that on your fuckin' resume?”

  “Duh.”

  Dismissing me now that she's successfully ruined my night, she leans against the bar and signals the bartender. I've been waiting to be served by him for twenty minutes but the second he clocks her smiling prettily he immediately flashes over. Not that I can blame the guy really. With that bouncy blonde hair and those big eyelashes and her skintight fucking bumble bee costume, she looks like Barbie's better looking sister. She orders two lemon drops – yeah, I totally called that one – and pushes one my way. Rolling my eyes, I slide it back, because there's no way on earth you'll catch me drinking that shit. Shrugging, she slugs them both back then slams the shot glasses down with a satisfied smile. When she smiles like that, she gets these two little dimples on each of her cheeks and they sock me in the gut. Every. Single. Time.

  “Thanks for ruining a sure thing,” I bite out, because that's just how I react whenever she's in front of me and my insides start doing a fucking circus show. “What the hell was that for?”

  “Mainly for kicks and giggles,” she replies airily, tossing her hair behind her shoulder. “And also because I owed you one. That creepy hobo is now wearing my best panties as a hat, you jerk.”

  I can't help but laugh at that, which only makes her glare. “What?” I demand innocently. “It was funny.”

  “Well I'll be the one laughing when I cockblock you every time I see you anywhere near a hot girl. Every time.”

  “You wouldn't.”

  “Watch me.” She pretends to shoot me with a pair of finger guns, then she blows away the imaginary smoke. “Cockblocked!”

  “How about a big fat fuck off?”

  “How about we call a truce?”

  Quit messing with her? And miss the way she gets all angry and fired up and grouchy? “Fuckin' never.”

  “That's what I thought.”

  “I think we both know what this is really about.”

  She arches a thin eyebrow at me. It's a shade or two darker than her hair. “We do?”

  “You were just jealous.” Each time I say something that angers her, her cheeks get these two brilliant pink dots on them. I'm obsessed with those dots. “Obviously you want me all to yourself – not that I can blame ya, princess. But this hot bod ain't for you, girl.”

  Instead of storming off in outrage like most girls would, she pretends to gag. This girl is never afraid to give as good as she gets – it's one of the things I like most about her. I've never enjoyed being around anyone the way I do when I'm fighting with her. “I hate that our friends are friends and that we actually have to see each other. Like, regularly. You make my life miserable.”

  Ouch. That one stung. But I'm shit hot at hiding when things get to me, especially when it comes to her. Hell, no one knows that she gets to me, after all. At least, not in the way they think she does. I school my expression into something lazy and amused. “Please, you love when I screw with you. Bet it gets your panties all hot and wet when you're laying in bed thinkin' about me at night.”

  I wait for her to get embarrassed at that, and she doesn't disappoint. Those cheeks get even brighter and her b
ig, bright blue eyes widen comically. She looks like she belongs in a Disney movie. I bet birds fucking dress her in the morning and make her pancakes and clean up her mess while she's out on stage making everyone fall in love with her. “You know what you are? You're just a gross freak. From now on keep whatever futurenanigans you've got planned to yourself and leave me out of them – bug somebody else for a change. I'm done with you.” Yeah, she says that a lot. “And stop wriggling those eyebrow pubes at me!”

  “Jesus, it's like talking to a fuckin' coconut. I don't even understand half of what you say.”

  “So don't talk to me, ya dumb mo. It's not rocket science.”

  This girl gets me more riled up than anyone I've ever met. I'm about to retort when a hand claps down on my shoulder, and Ibbie immediately perks up with interest at the figure behind me. This pisses me off, but when I spin and see my brother, Aleix, standing there, a grin stretches out my cheeks involuntarily. Aleix is only a few years older than I am, but when our mom went and abandoned us when I was twelve he took care of me, watched over me and never once failed to have my back. The guy's my fucking hero.

  “Hey, bud. Knew you'd be here.” He nods at the bartender and the guy quickly makes his way over, even though he went back to ignoring me the second he'd finished with Ibbie. But that's just the kind of man my brother is; people look at him and automatically know he's a guy they want to get things done for.

  “You only just finished with your clients?”

  “Took them out, wined 'em and dined 'em, got the deal.” He flashes me a toothy grin as he orders us a couple of beers. “I always get the deal.”

  Ibbie is watching on curiously, obviously trying to figure out the connection between the two of us – it's always the same when Aleix and I are together. He catches her looking and stands up straighter with interest. A flare of something white hot and jealous flames in my chest.