The Truth of a Liar Page 8

  “What?” she asks quickly.

  “A trip home might be good for you.”

  Her face glows and she smiles radiantly. “Yeah?”

  “I think so.”

  I don’t think she does it intentionally, but she throws her body at me and I catch it with a grunt, wrapping my arms around her, holding her tight. Her scent engulfs me and I find myself pulling her close, savoring the feeling of having her in my arms.

  I’m not going to pretend all of those countless hours with her at night haven’t led my mind to thinking about this moment once—or twice.

  “Thank you so much,” she says, letting go of me, her cheeks flushed. Her smile is brighter than I’ve seen in the weeks that I’ve been with her and I can’t help but feel a little bit of pride knowing I’ve made her happy.

  “When can we leave?” she asks.

  “Well, seeing as how you have to finish up this week of performances, I’d say we could make arrangements to leave by Tuesday.”

  She squeals. “How long can we stay?”

  I consider what Director Logan might say and decide that if I can keep Rowan safe in the busiest city in the United States, I can with utmost certainty keep her safe in our hometown in Alabama. “We can stay as long as you want.”

  She jumps, this time clapping her hands. “Thank you, Lark. We can see your family too while we’re there.” And when she walks away, I can see the extra sway in her hips because she does know who I am.

  Damn, she’s good.

  THE LIGHTS IN THE AUDITORIUM go dark and I bow my head, thanking whoever is responsible for letting me finish another performance without falling on my face.

  Quickly moving to the back of the stage, I let the chorus take their place in front to do their bows. Next are the supporting roles, and as the characters take their places, my heart begins to race faster.

  A lot of performers will tell you that the first few minutes of a show are the most nerve wracking. The worry that you might forget your lines or miss a mark is petrifying. But, me—I’m always most scared for the end. That moment before I take my spot on stage, waiting for the audience to applaud, it makes my stomach contort in ways that make me want to pass out. The spotlight shines with brilliance upon my body, making me feel intense warmth. My body hums with emotions. It almost feels final.

  But tonight, as I hold Cameron’s hand, I can’t help be feel a little like I’ve done something huge. Something bigger than normal. And when the curtain makes its way up to the ceiling, my heart almost detonates. The noise rolls through the auditorium like a roar, igniting the space with thunderous applause.

  Cameron gives me a wide, toothy smirk, and lets go of my hand as I gesture his way. The crowd hollers and hoots, making his chest puff out a bit more. And when it’s finally my turn to take a solo bow, the audience gathers to their feet with deafening praise. I can feel the blood gathering in my cheeks, and even though he’s sitting in the dark on the side of the stage, I can see Lark clapping with a tiny bit of pride in his eyes.

  The spotlights flash over the theater, an end-of-the-week ritual, and as the lights hit Lark’s face, I can almost feel a connection. I can’t move my eyes away. He doesn’t seem so closed off anymore. Like he’s letting me in. I sort of—oh, god—I enjoy his presence. Could it be that I actually want to be around him?

  My insides pool low in my belly and a warm sensation flows over me.

  I do. It’s impractical and a little out of my comfort zone, but the once-asshole, is endearing. In his quiet power, I can see a good guy waiting to burst out.

  I face the audience once more and I wave, disappearing behind the curtain. Immediately, Cam rushes me into a fierce, yet uncomfortable hug.

  “I’ll see you when you get back?” he asks.

  “Yeah.” I attempt to smile, but it’s awkward.

  “You’ll be gone the entire time?”

  “I think so,” I say. “I need a break.”

  His eyes grow somber and he knows I mean from him. “Miss me while you’re gone,” he says pathetically and I wonder if he’s second-guessing his decision.

  Sure, we were good together, but then I remember why he stepped back from me and my stare turns stoic. “Cam.” I shake my head. “Don’t say stuff like that.”

  “Why?” His stupid face gets smirky and I have to force myself to not budge. “You will, won’t you?”

  Don’t look into his eyes, Rowan.

  Don’t do it.

  Don’t…

  I’m an idiot. I look into those green eyes and melt a little. “Cam.” I sigh. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

  “Sure,” Cameron agrees gloomily, walking away.

  Lark walks my way and I shake my head. Throwing him into the equation makes this awkward situation entirely too bumpy for my liking.

  Let’s not even talk about the fact that Lark has no idea I’ve begun looking at him in an entirely different way. And I really hate to admit that.

  I’m far too easy. He did some bad stuff back in the day.

  Buck up, Townsend!

  “Hey,” I say in a breathy voice that I don’t recognize as my own. My moment on stage has passed and yet I can’t quite find the air in my lungs to properly breathe.

  “Hey,” he greets, cutting his eyes away. “Ready to head out? Or do you want to go out with the cast tonight?”

  My eyes go wide and I realize my mouth has dropped open. “Really?” He’s going to let me go out in public?

  Lark tucks his hands in his pockets, looking back at me. “I talked to the guys and they decided if you needed a night out, you could have one before we leave.”

  They? As in he didn’t want me to go out?

  I chew on my lip and contemplate what I really want to do. I see the cast all day, every day. Going out after a show isn’t a big thing, but it might also look bad if I don’t go.

  “Maybe we can go just for a bit?” I ask. I can sneak in and then leave early.

  “Oh, uhh,” Lark says, clearing this throat. “Chris can go. You know if you’d prefer that.”

  I wouldn’t.

  I’m ready to cut the shit. Just spill the truth of the moment. I’m tired and all I really want to do is go home—to my home—not the one where I live with four other men. I want to sleep in my bed. I want to watch my movies. I want to get food out of my fridge. I want to see my best friend.

  “Lark.” I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I want you to come with me, okay?”

  He reels back and his eyes go wide. “Oh.” I clearly caught him off guard.

  I stand silent, waiting for him to agree. His eyes bore into mine, unblinking and I wonder if I just overstepped my boundaries. He seems irritated and baffled. His brows furrow and the creases in his forehead deepen as each moment passes.

  “That isn’t a good idea,” he finally says. I open my mouth to retort but he plows over me. “I’ll send Chris and see you tomorrow.”

  With that, he shoves one of his hands in his pocket forcefully and stomps away, exiting through the double doors leaving me with my jaw on the floor.

  What the hell was that all about? Seriously. What just happened?

  Zander, who was talking to some fans on the side of the stage, notices my odd expression and he quickly walks to me and takes hold of my hands. “What’s wrong?”

  I immediately look away. This is pathetic. I’m pathetic. That was a lame attempt at wanting to spend more time with Lark but he blew me off. As a matter of fact, he shoved an industrial sized fan in my face and I’m toppling hundreds of yards away trying to regain my footing.

  I scoff and the muscles in my mouth jerk. “I—I—have no damn clue.”

  I thought—and God help me—I thought Lark and I were at least becoming friends. I know he has to be professional and I know he needs to keep things platonic, but I asked him to go with me. And don’t get me wrong, Chris is fine. He’s nice and I feel safe with him, but Lark does something for my confidence. He looks at me and I feel assured. He doesn
’t give anyone else the time of day and my dumbass likes it. Maybe that’s because he’s sworn to protect me. I honestly have no idea. But the way he makes me feel is different, different than I’ve ever felt. With anyone. That includes Cameron. And I hate to admit it, but I want to explore the feelings more.

  Zander releases my hands and places his own on his hips. “So, which one was it? Cameron or Mr. I’d-Like-To-Lick?”

  I level my eyes but can’t fight the grin. “The latter, I suppose.”

  “Figures,” Zander says. His inquisitive eyes appease me and I almost want to retreat inside myself. He’s good at reading my secrets. The past few weeks have been a whirlwind of crazy and we haven’t been able to catch up. He doesn’t know that Lark stays with me at night, keeping watch on my nightmares. He doesn’t know I’ve somehow grown accustomed to his presence. But I know, without a doubt, that he can see all of that just by looking at me.

  “It’s no big thing, Zander.” Blowing it off seems to be a safer approach.

  His eyes settle on mine and I know he can’t hold his opinion inside for much longer. “We need to sit down and talk.” I nod in agreement. “Let’s blow tonight’s celebration off and go back to the apartment.”

  I shake my head. There is no way the boys will allow me back there. “I can’t.”

  “What about the new house? Am I allowed there?”

  I shrug my shoulders. We’ve been on the go so much lately, I’m barely there. I seriously doubt they would be okay with having anyone out of the circle know where it is. The less people know, the better, and all that.

  “Fine,” Zander settles. “We’re going out with everyone tonight and you are going to tell me everything.” He points his finger in my face and the fake lip ring on his lower lip glints in the lights above. “And I mean everything. You better not leave anything out. I want to know about Cameron and Mr. Sex-On-The-Barbie.”

  I shake my head and giggle. “Deal.” I’m obviously not in my right mind and I need someone sane to help me decipher my jumbled thoughts.

  “Meet me in the alley in twenty minutes and we can ride together,” I offer, turning to go to the dressing room to change out of my show clothes.

  “The alley?” Zander scoffs. “We aren’t doing a drug deal.”

  I huff and wave my hand, still walking.

  Leave it to Zander to make me smile.

  “So you’re telling me he watches you…at night? Like that vampire guy from the Moonlight movie?” Zander says sloppily. We’ve been at the bar for a little over two hours now and I’ve lost count of the amount of alcohol we’ve consumed.

  I sputter into my drink. “Twilight, you dork. Twilight.” He is the only gay man our age that wasn’t obsessed with Edward Cullen. It’s a shame is what it is. “And shut up, no. It’s not creepy. It’s kind of sweet.”

  Zander throws his arm over the back of the red leather seat and tosses his head back. “Sure. Ever wake up to heavy breathing?”

  My eyes enlarge and the cocktail in my mouth sprays all over Zander’s face. “Oh my god,” I say through a fit of giggles. Drunk me is a laugher. “No. God, Zander. It’s not like that.”

  “Then, how is it?” he asks, cleaning his face with a napkin.

  “I don’t know. It’s sweet and puzzling. He acts a certain way at night and then another during the day. I’m getting whiplash.”

  “So, he’s a normal guy.” Zander waves my statement off, totally unaffected by my predicament. “He’s got a penis so that means he’s bipolar. It’s proven science.”

  I set my drink down and look around to the faces of my cast mates. A good majority of them are either drunk or teetering on the edge of it. They aren’t paying attention to us, but I don’t need Cameron catching wind of our conversation. I can’t help but want to protect what we could have one day.

  “Science, Zander?” I mock. “Proven by whom?”

  Wow, I just used ‘whom’ properly in sentence—while drunk. Go, me.

  “By me, of course,” he says like I’ve offended him, taking a slurp of his tall, pink drink. The bartender down the way yells at a couple of guys who start to rattle off insults at each other and Zander points to them. “Even I have one and I’ll agree that we are worthy of a padded cell most days.”

  I sputter into my glass. “I’ll say. Girls aren’t much better, though.”

  Zander points to his junk. “Which is exactly why I’m gay, my love. Men are batty, but women scare me.”

  Can’t contest that statement. I’ve been known to throw a pretty scary bitch fit from time to time.

  Picking at the french-fries in the red basket in front of me, I swirl some around in the ketchup and watch as the lights above the table twinkle, giving off a soft glow. It’s probably the salt, but whatever. There’s a gentle hum of talking in the bar, and for the most part, it’s full of performers. The High Note’s a local bar targeted specifically for the lovers of art. It’s hip and laid back, everyone who is anyone comes here.

  A giggle from the girl behind us catches my attention and I turn to look at her. My mouth drops and I have to blink a few times. Sitting behind me is Cameron and Giggle Girl, exchanging spittle. Right here in the bar? I guess making out in a bar isn’t insanely risqué, but come on, it’s gross. God, he’s a douche. It’s official. Wasn’t he just playing the sad, puppy dog a little over three hours ago or did I imagine that?

  My stomach churns when he twirls the girls’ dead, black hair around his hand and pulls her in close.

  I groan and turn my eyes away from the saliva show, looking back at a perplexed Zander. I know he can see the disgust in my eyes. It’s not very hard to miss that I’m full on freaking out. Sure, Cameron doesn’t have to sit and pine for me while I figure out what is going on with my life, but that doesn’t mean I want to watch him check some random chick’s tonsils with his tongue.

  “You know?” I slur, feeling the alcohol take effect. “I think I need another drink.” I raise my hand and signal the cute hippie waitress down the aisle from us. I lift my drink, and she acknowledges me, heading to the bar.

  “Do you really think that’s a good idea?” Zander asks, worried. His brotherly instinct always seems to be a pain in my ass when I drink.

  I huff. “It’s not a bad idea. I’m leaving in two days. Let me have some fun.”

  He shrugs his shoulders, watching the people outside and takes another drink from his glass.

  A well-known group of Broadway actors walk in the double doors at the entrance and I attempt to slink low in my seat. I used to be a part of that show. I left that show for a very good reason. The last thing I need is to run into Landon Quinton when I’m sloshed and moody. He’s been on the wrong side of my wrath for a long time now, and I only just recently, let go of the awful things he did to me.

  But naturally Landon walks into the bar, and within seconds, his brown eyes find mine. My eyes narrow, and to my surprise, he quickly looks away. Damn right you’re going to look away, mister.

  Zander follows my eye line and mutters something unintelligible under his breath. If anyone was going to stick up for me and be pissed about how Landon wronged me, it’s Zander. He saw every tear I shed over that ass and I’m surprised he hasn’t got up from the table to punch him in the face. Zander may be slightly flamboyant, but the guy practices Krav Maga.

  My hands grip the edge of the polished cedar table, causing my knuckles to turn white and I take a relaxing breath. I haven’t seen Landon in almost eight months, and my feelings haven’t changed. I’m still an idiot girl who fell in love with a player and he’s still an asshole cheater who cheats.

  “Cheater cheater, slut bag eater,” I grumble under my breath, crossing my arms.

  How I thought he’d change, I have no idea.

  I definitely need more alcohol.

  I down the rest of my margarita in one long gulp, licking the remaining salt from the lip and set the glass on the end of the table, waiting for the waitress to bring me another. Earning her big ol’
tip, she slides me a fresh new one with a wink. I bring the frosty liquid to my lips and let the cool, sweet and sour drink medicate me. I relish in the strong tequila taste as it slides down my throat and into my belly. The slow burn of the alcohol is a welcome sensation compared to the utter torture I’m feeling at the moment. With Landon and Cameron in the same room, my world might very well implode at any second.

  Zander’s eyes dart back and forth between Cameron, who is behind me, and Landon, who is across the room, and I know he’s seconds from doing something he and I will both regret. Him pummeling either one of them into oblivion wouldn’t be productive. It would be the opposite, actually.

  Hurting Landon will only prove that I’m not over him. And I am. I’m over his annoying sultry eyes and relentless bedroom demeanor. He’s a damn scumbag. He may be hot as sin but I’d never allow myself to want him again.

  “Rowan,” someone says, shattering me out of my preposterous haze. I hadn’t noticed I’d been tearing my napkin into shreds, but there’s a pile of sad, torn paper in front of me.

  My eyes snap up to the intruder and Landon stands in front of me in all of his leather jacket, I-don’t-give-a-damn navy t-shirt and black combat boots glory. His hands are shoved far in his jean pockets, a sure-tell sign he’s nervous. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat and the weary look in his eyes tells me he’s more than uncomfortable to be standing here with me. The confident hussy screwer never once showed face when we were together. He’d always been so calm and collected.

  Zander sits up straighter, and I put my hand on his to let him know I’m okay. Or at least I can act okay.

  “Landon…hi,” I say. My voice sounds husky, like I swallowed a cup of gravel. I clear my throat, and grab for my drink, but it’s empty. Of course.

  He makes me nervous. I don’t want him to make me nervous. I shove my shaky hands under the table.

  “How are you?” he asks.

  How am I? I scoff. You stole my heart, nurtured it, gave it a home, and then threw it out on its ass, abandoning it like some cheap hooker. How do you think I’m doing, douche jet?

  I force myself to look him in the eye and appear fine—and not at all drunk. “I’m well. Thanks.”