More Than Lies (More Than #1)(6)
“Taralynn!” Amanda’s voice is a scold and I want to roll my eyes. “That just won’t do.” She precedes to hand Preston a glass of golden liquid then starts rattling off the names of everyone hanging in the kitchen. When she’s done doing that, she grasps his elbow and hauls him off toward the living room where I’m sure she is introducing him to more people. It’s no surprise when her friend Cassie—another snobby bitch that I don’t like—tags along.
“Good date?” I swing my head in Matt’s direction. His question doesn’t require a response. Even without the steely glare I give him, he knows full well I didn’t want to go on the stupid date, nor is Preston my type. “That’s not going to go over well with the evil queen, you know.”
By evil queen, he’s referring to my mother. I coined the name for her after watching Snow White when I was ten, because really, that’s how I see my mother. She hates me, and nothing I ever do will please her. I’m damned if I do and damned if I don’t. And believe me, I’ve tried. It’s taken a lot of years to finally come to this realization. I wish I knew why my own mother dislikes me so much. If I knew what I did maybe I could fix it.
“I don’t care. I went. It’s done, and there is no need to do it again.”
I pull open the refrigerator, grabbing a Corona for myself. After slamming the door closed, I pop the cap off with a bottle opener and toss it on the counter before taking a swig. Now this is what I’ve needed all night. It’s so much better than that wine junk I had to endure at dinner. It needs a lime, but after glancing around the counter and not seeing any lying out, I turn my attention back to my friend.
“Lie to someone else, why dontcha.” He’s right. As much as I hate it and hate myself for caring, I do. I care way too much what my parents think of me. I know full well I’ll never measure up to the daughter they want me to be, but I’m just tired of trying so hard. I see no point any more. They don’t give a crap about what I want or what makes me happy. They never have.
Walking over to stand next to Matt, I bump his hip with mine, confirming he’s right, but not verbally acknowledging it. The way his light, ash brown hair is sticking up in all different directions makes him look like he just crawled out of bed. It does that when he’s in dire need of a trim. He’s only three inches taller than me at five-feet eleven inches tall and he’s lean. He looks like an effin’ Ken doll without the blond hair.
“So,” I tip my beer up to my lips before continuing. “Trent wants us to come down in a couple of weeks. Kylie is throwing a Halloween pool party at their house in Jackson. Y’all game?”
“Yeah, but how does that make sense?” Mase chimes in. “Costumes, makeup, and water don’t go hand-in-hand.”
“I don’t think it’s so much about the Halloween part. That’s just her excuse to throw a pool party. I think she misses this.” I gesture around the room indicating the house that’s starting to get in full swing.
Kylie, my brother’s girlfriend, and the love of his life, is a social butterfly. She loves people. All people. She will strike up a conversation with anyone, and by the time she’s done with you she knows everything about you, your family and friends. I love her, but we are complete opposites.
“So we don’t have to dress up, then?” Matt asks sounding relieved. He isn’t into Halloween. He won’t admit it to anyone, but I know it freaks him out. He can’t watch the movie IT. Clowns are the devil in his mind. That thought makes me snicker, causing him to bump my hip—but unlike my friendly bump, this had a punch behind it. He knows I know, but neither of us verbalize it.
“Don’t think so.”
I take another sip as I see Amanda and Preston re-entering the kitchen with Cassie trotting behind. Amanda sees the lack of distance between me and her boyfriend and directs a nasty scowl at me. I down the remains of my beer, and then I walk over to stand against the countertop where all the liquor is lined up next to the refrigerator. If I’m going to deal with her crap tonight and have Preston here too, I need something stronger. I pour a shot of tequila and down it. Most people do tequila with salt and lime, but not me. I like the awful burn it leaves, and without the lime it lingers longer. Yes, I’m an odd one.
I turn around, catching sight of Shawn, my third roommate, as he enters the kitchen. It’s unusual for him to be home this early on a Friday night. He’s usually stumbling in after the house starts to wind down and when he’s three sheets to the wind. He surveys the room, eyeing me, and then gives Preston a once-over. In that short span of time, he’s already sized up my date and doesn’t like him. It’s no surprise. The rare dates I do go on, Shawn has always found something wrong with them. He’s not shy about voicing his comments either. I don’t know what his problem is. He bangs every Barbie doll that shows him her thong.
He heads my way, so I turn away from him and around, facing the bottle of tequila and shot glass as Shawn pulls the refrigerator door open. If I had to guess, he’s retrieving a Corona of his own. I fill the glass again and quickly down the shot. If he’s going to be in my presence for the night I need all the mellowing I can muster. Shawn makes me nervous. He always has. He probably always will. And the bastard freakin’ knows it.
When I turn back around, I see I was right. Shawn is tilting a Corona back and takes a long drink as he looks at me.