More Than Lies (More Than #1)(9)

What is he talking about it? What have I done this time?

I think about it for a minute, recalling anything I did or might have said to Miss Sensitive when I got home last night. “You’re going to need to elaborate. I didn’t do or say anything unusual to her that I can think of.” Sure, I was messing with her about the joke of a man she went on a date with, but that’s what I do. I give Tara a hard time. I always have and I probably always will. Besides, that douche isn’t worth her time. I’m not stupid; I know the date was a set up and made mandatory by Tara’s mother. Tara does everything to make that bitch happy yet never succeeds. I don’t understand why she still tries.

“Dude, come on. You embarrassed the hell out of her.” Mason lifts the lid of a pizza box that’s piled on top of more pizza boxes on the table. Taking a piece out, he shoves the hearty slice into his mouth. That is disgusting. Not leftover pizza, but pizza that’s been sitting out for at least twelve hours.

“Man, I barely remember driving my drunk-ass home last night.” Usually I’m not that dumb, but last night I wasn’t thinking with a clear head. I had to get out of the bar before I made the mistake of fucking the one chick I’ll never touch with a ten-foot pole, ever again.

“Bro, you waltzed in here,”—Mason gestures around the kitchen with his hand and continues—“sized up her date, and proceeded to ask Taralynn if she and ‘Princeton’ planned on going up stairs for some good ole boring missionary. And that’s an exact quote. I don’t even think the guys name is Princeton.” I cringe momentarily wondering how Mason knows I said that to her. Yeah, I remember saying it, but I whispered it in her ear. Tara tells Mason a lot so maybe she told him later on, but then I remember she stalked off to her bedroom leaving her date to fend for himself. That was not very Tara-like.

“What, did she come crying to you about it?” Tara and I aren’t exactly friends, but we aren’t enemies either. Our brothers, Shane and Trent, are best friends, so Tara’s been a part of my life for a long time. We went to the same school and graduated together. In all honesty, Tara is the only reason I graduated at all. It’s weird, really. She was always a part of my small little group in some way. Maybe because Matt—my other roommate and Tara’s best friend—is good friends with Mason. And I’m pretty damn sure my parents love Tara more than her own folks do. You see, I lucked out in the parent category whereas Tara did not.

“That would be a negative. I heard the question loud and clear. Pretty sure people in the other room heard you over the music. You’re a dick, dude.”

Shit. I’m going to have to make that up to her if I plan on eating decent food tomorrow night. Like I mentioned, Tara is a damn good cook. She cooks two big meals a week and the leftovers sustain us for the rest of the week.

“Dude, I was fucking with her. I didn’t mean it.” Mason doesn’t reply as the sound of the front door slamming shut catches our attention. Seconds later a disheveled Tara walks in. My eyes immediately take in the same purple dress she was wearing last night. Her blonde hair, which normally reminds me of honeysuckles in the spring, is a mess. Taralynn Evans doesn’t do messy.

I turn away from her to grab my coffee and shove a spoonful of sugar in it. I know she didn’t leave with the douche prick she brought home last night. I seem to remember he left with one of Amanda’s friends about an hour after Tara went to bed. At least I thought she went to bed. So where on earth did she go? I take in a deep breath of air, pulling oxygen into my lungs, and then force my irritation out along with the air.

Why am I even bothered by the thought of her sleeping elsewhere?

I turn back around only to have my fresh cup of coffee removed from my hand. “I need this more than you.” Tara glares at me as she and my coffee walk off toward the fridge.

She pours creamer in the mug while I stand there stunned. Mason laughs.

“Piss off, Mase.” Tara turns her glare away from me as she takes a sip of coffee and leans against the granite island countertop. “Ouch,” she draws up, removing her ass from where it was touching. Mason laughs harder. I’m eyeing them both, wondering what the joke is.

“What’s wrong with your ass, Taralynn?” His question is laced with the amusement only Mason Morgan finds at other people’s physical pain. I won’t lie though, because, I too, am interested in that answer.

“Leave me alone, Mason. I’m going to bed. I’m tired.”

Tara starts to walk off, but before she exits, Mason chimes in again. “Stop. I have a serious question.” She turns around. “Really.” He’s smiling, which tells me he’s not serious. Mason is never serious. He’s messing with her too, yet I’m the only one that ever gets faulted for it. Her eyebrows push up. She’s waiting for him to continue. “Does Jared use his hand or a belt when he spanks that ass?”

What. The. Fuck.

I cut my eyes to Mason and then back to Tara. She huffs out air through her mouth then walks out without a reply.

I did not hear that correctly. There is no way in hell Tara is dating Jared.

“My bet is on his hand. Jared’s always been a hands-on type of guy. Wouldn’t you agree, Shawn?” My head rolls back over in his direction. He’s smirking and I want to punch him in the mouth.

“Are you telling me that Tara is seeing that loser?”