A Moment of Truth: A Complete Bonus Set (A Matter of Trust #1-2)

by Q. T. Ruby

“Honestly, Colin, I can’t believe you know so much about Grease,” Camille says, resting her chin on her hand and beaming at him. “We should do Grease karaoke sometime.”

  Colin points at her. “Don’t toy with me, woman. I’ve been after this prick to do it with me for years. I told him I’d even sing Sandy’s part.” He elbows Dan hard in the side.

  Dan flinches but says nothing.

  Before long, we’re back at Dan’s house; he has to get up early.

  I head into the bathroom to wash up and wonder how I’m going to handle the inevitable conversation with Dan. Ugh. I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t even be here.

  I take a deep breath before I open the bedroom door. When I do, I see Dan seated on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at his feet. The door clicks closed and he lifts his head.

  “Claire, I’m so fucking sorry I forgot about today’s scenes. It was stupid.”

  I remain still, watching him. I don’t know what to say.

  “Do you want me to sleep on the couch?” he asks.

  “Do you want her?”

  “Sophie?”

  “Yes, Sophie.”

  He shakes his head, confused. “No, I have no interest in her.”

  “Then why did she say that you got it up during your scene today? Actors always say how technical loves scenes are—how unromantic—but you got hard, so you’re obviously attracted to her. Why am I here, Dan? If you want her, why ask me out here and flaunt it in front of me?” It all just barrels out of me.

  Dan’s eyes can’t be wider, nor his mouth more open. He stands in front of me with a confused and slightly amused expression, which is not helping matters.

  “Why the hell are you smiling?” I bark.

  He runs his hand across the back of his neck. “Because, oh fuck, Claire this is insane and entirely embarrassing! Yeah, I got a fucking erection today and—JesusfuckingChrist—it was horrifying. All right? It was a low moment, and you probably won’t believe a word of this, but I swear on my mother’s life, I was fucking thinking about us last night during that scene. I shouldn’t have even been doing that, but I’d just stepped away from you and the scent of your hair was on my hands and sometimes . . . no, all the time—fuck, every time I think about us like that, I get that way. And that’s the thing—I think about you so much it can’t be normal. I’ve been late to work after staying up thinking about you. I’ve forgotten half my lines because I’ve been distracted by phoning you, and yeah, I forgot about the schedule switch today because once again, I was so focused on you coming here. So, no, I have no interest in Sophie—none. How could I? You own my head,” he says, watching me closely.

  Damn it. I want to believe him, but do I? Can I?

  “I’m not lying, Claire. I would never do something like that on purpose,” he says softly, running his hand across the back of his neck.

  We’re silent a moment until I say, “You can’t possibly think of me that much.”

  “No, really. I may need an intervention,” he says, chancing a smile, which I can’t help but return. He tentatively reaches out to touch my shoulder. When I don’t flinch, he pulls me in and hugs me tight.

  Soap, shaving cream . . .

  I melt. After a long hug, I ask, “Does this mean you walk around hard a lot?”

  He laughs into my hair and pulls back. “It’s painful and embarrassing, I’ll have you know. I have to carry a jacket or something, just in case.”

  “I don’t believe you. It can’t happen that often.”

  “Oh no?” He grabs my hand and presses it against the boulder sitting under the fly of his jeans.

  “Oh . . . I see.” I nod and smile wider.

  He pulls me into his arms again. “Camille said you wanted to leave, but I’m happy you didn’t.”

  One embrace leads to two, which leads to clothes flying. Dear Lord, if it isn’t one of the hottest rounds of make-up sex I’ve ever had.

  Afterwards, we lie in bed, face–to-face with our legs still tangled.

  “Sophie’s a huge bitch—in case you didn’t know,” I say.

  Dan grins. “Yeah, I know.”

  “She asked if I was your aunt.”

  “Fuck—no she didn’t.”

  “She did. Then she went on to explain how getting naked with you wasn’t a problem because you’re so hot and sexy.”

  He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter what she says.” He runs his thumb across my cheek, angling my face toward his. “I know I fucked up today, and I know my job is really weird, but please trust me when I say I’ll always be honest with you.”

  I examine his eyes a moment. With not one “liar” warning bell sounding, I nod and pray that I can finally let go.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The bed shifts. “Good morning.”

  “It’s morning already?” I mumble into the pillow, lying facedown.

  “Mm-hmm.” I can almost hear Dan’s smirk.

  I roll onto my back to see Dan dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed. He presses a sweet kiss to my lips then grins knowingly.

  “What?” I ask, adjusting the sheet across my bare chest.

  He shakes his head. “Nothing.”

  “Tell me,” I warn playfully.

  He waits a moment, considering. “You’re even beautiful when you wake up.”

  I snort and roll my eyes.

  “See? That’s why I didn’t want to tell you. I knew you wouldn’t believe me.” In one swift movement, he grabs my wrists and dives into my neck, grinding his stubbly face under my chin. I’m paralyzed with laughter. I can’t even breathe.

  “Stop!” I finally manage to yelp, wiggling in vain.

  “No,” he whispers. His warm breath, lips, and scruff continue to tickle my neck. “Will you believe me next time?”

  “Yes!”

  “You promise?” he asks, continuing the torture.

  “Yes!” I shriek. I finally twist my wrists free and push him off me.

  He sits up, laughing. “That’s what you’re going to get from now on if you don’t believe me.”

  “Okay, okay! I believe you,” I say, still laughing and rubbing my neck.

  “Now listen up, pretty girl,” he says, emphasizing pretty and leaning his face toward my neck, just in case. “I have to go to the gym, but I’ll be back in a little while.”

  “The gym?”

  “Yeah, I have an appointment with the trainer this morning.” He grimaces.

  For some reason, the mere mention of the gym brings on the guilt. Guilt over skipping so many days and guilt over having consumed more alcohol in the last forty-eight hours than I have in the last three years. “Can I come with you?”

  He raises his eyebrows. “You want to go to the gym? Yeah, of course you can come, but I have to be there in a quarter of an hour.”

  I groan and shut my eyes.

  “It’s all right, Claire. You don’t need to work out. You worked out last night, remember?”

  I open my eyes. “I did? Well, I didn’t break a sweat, that’s for sure.”

  He smiles. “Get your arse up before I go for your neck again.”

  I protect my neck with my hands and shake my head like I’m scared. “Okay, okay.”

  He laughs as he leaves the room.

  I wash up quickly, throw on some shorts, a T-shirt, and my sneakers and tie my hair up into a ponytail. I’m in the kitchen five minutes later.

  “Are the glam girls still asleep?”

  “Obviously,” I say, pointing to my makeup-free face.

  He laughs and swats my ass. “Well, you look just as good.”

  “Thank you,” I say with a smile, easily accepting the compliment this time.

  “Much bette
r,” he says with a wicked grin.

  Once we arrive at the gym, Dan and the trainer begin their routine while I stretch and work out on machines and with free weights. Every once in a while I spy Dan through the mirrors, and his clumsiness shocks me. He made a comment a while back about being “not all that athletic,” but I didn’t think he was serious. Apparently he was. Completely and utterly serious, but oh my, how wholly adorable he is. He looks tormented by the trainer as he lifts weights in movements that try so hard to be coordinated. Obviously, it doesn’t matter because the results? Good God, the results. Rippled results I love running my hands over. I catch him glancing over his shoulder now and then, searching. I get the sense my presence only adds to his awkwardness.

  At the end of my workout, I make my way to a treadmill to run, something I’ve done for nearly forever. A few minutes later, Dan settles himself on the treadmill next to me. We smile at each other as he starts. I notice him eyeing my speed and he clicks his a notch higher.

  I click mine up a notch, too.

  He clicks his higher again.

  “Are you trying to race me on a treadmill?”

  “Yes, and you’re losing.” He snickers.

  “Am not,” I say, increasing my speed.

  “Yes, you are,” he says, increasing his again.

  Bit by bit, we increase the pace, growing sweatier and more out of breath. Finally, we’re both sprinting and I’m ready to die, but I’m not giving up!

  “I’m making you sweat now, aren’t I?” he jokes between hard breaths.

  I laugh. “Too bad you can’t do that when it really counts.”

  He bursts out laughing, almost slipping off the treadmill, and that’s the end of our workout. We leave the gym a sweaty, laughing twosome.

  Dan heads to work while the girls and I spend the rest of the warm, sunny day shopping and seeing some local sights. It’s a great distraction from what I can only imagine Dan is doing with horrible, nasty Sophie.

  Camille, Bridget, and I laugh, buy too many things, and lounge at the cutest outdoor restaurant where we people-watch for the longest time.

  “So, I was thinking,” Bridget says between sips of her iced tea. “I read about this really cool bar here called The Big Top. It’s got a circus theme with tightrope walkers who walk across a rope that goes from one end of the bar to the other, wait staff who dress in animal costumes, and burlesque dancers—that kind of stuff. It’s supposedly really cool. What do you think about going there tonight?”

  “You want to go to a strip club?” Camille asks.

  Bridget rolls her eyes. “No, it’s not some sleazy place. It’s supposed to be fun, and it’ll be different from the nightclubs we’re used to. Come on, we’re in L.A.! You know what they say—when in Rome . . .” Bridget smiles and glances back and forth between Camille and me, awaiting our response.

  “I guess it could be fun. I’ve always liked the circus.” I sip my lemonade.

  “Yeah!” Bridget says, clapping and now looking to Camille for the final vote.

  Camille says, “Okay. Call Dan and see if they’re up for it.”

  I call, hoping not to catch him in the middle of a make-out session.

  “Hi, Claire,” Dan answers brightly. “Having a good day?”

  “Yes, we are, thanks. How’s work? Do I want to know?” I giggle.

  He laughs. “It’s fine. I’m looking forward to seeing you later.”

  “Me, too.” I’m blushing while Camille and Bridget silently poke fun at me. I clear my throat. “Actually, that’s why I’m calling. Bridget wants to go to this place called The Big Top tonight. What do you think about meeting us there? I know you have to work late.”

  He starts coughing and clears his throat. “You want to go to a strip club?”

  “Is it really a strip club?” I ask him, looking at Bridget.

  “It is not,” she says, huffing. “You all need to be a little more open-minded.”

  “Do you hear her, Dan?” I laugh.

  He chuckles. “Wherever you want to go, Colin and I will meet you, but . . . it’s probably a strip club.”

  “Then I’m sure you’ll love meeting us there.”

  He laughs. “I just want to see you.”

  “That’s very PC of you.” I snicker. “Well, I’ll let you get back to work. See you later.”

  “See you there. Bye.”

  After grabbing a light dinner, we head back to Dan’s house to relax before the second portion of the night begins.

  Once dressed, I glance down at the scoop-neck corset top that squishes my boobs up and nearly over, my skintight, black jeans, and high heels. “I can’t believe I’m actually wearing this. I feel like a dominatrix or something.”

  Bridget laughs. “Well, you know what they say—if you beat it, he will come.”

  Camille and I crack up.

  When we arrive at the bar, it’s packed. Bridget was right—this is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. The waitresses are dressed in slinky, head-to-toe bodysuits that resemble leopards and tigers and elephants—oh my. There’s the usual dim lighting and the haze that clouds the air of every bar, of course, but above us there’s an honest-to-goodness tightrope that extends the entire length of the interior. On the left side of the huge room, there’s a long bar with a crackled mirror behind it that runs its length. In the middle is the dance floor, and on the right is a curved stage with three dancers straddling, grinding, and twirling around three poles. In their ruffly red and white striped hot pants and bra tops, the dancers’ cleavage stays put even when they’re hanging upside down—it’s quite a feat, actually.

  Bridget elbows me. “Cool, huh?”

  “Yeah, very.”

  “Let’s get some drinks,” Bridget says, leading us toward the bar. I notice circus memorabilia decorates the walls—antique animal whips, wooden stakes, striped popcorn buckets and framed, faded photographs from circuses past.

  I scan the bar for Dan, foolishly hoping he left work early. I also happen to notice that every single woman is not only nearly naked, but also drop-dead gorgeous. The tide of insecurity begins to wash over me.

  “What’s the matter?” Camille asks.

  “Nothing. Just looking to see if Dan’s here.”

  “Claire.” Camille presses.

  I sigh. “How can so many beautiful women be in one place? It’s just not normal.”

  “No. No, it’s not, but that’s because this is the plastic surgery capital of the world. Stop worrying.”

  Bridget looks back and forth at Camille and me. “What are you two talking about?”

  Camille answers, “She’s psyching herself out of the game, looking at all the pretty women.”

  “What?” Bridget rolls her eyes at me. “Listen, Dan is not coming here tonight to hook up with anyone but you. That much was clear last night. If he wanted someone else, you wouldn’t be here. So shut up, hoist your girls to attention, and let’s get some shots in you. Come on!”

  Bridget’s right. I’m being ridiculous.

  Bridget orders two rounds of shots and passes them to us. “To Claire. May she never wear those ugly-ass sweatpants again,” Bridget says as we hold up the first shot and down it.

  The next one goes down just as smoothly.

  “Okay, ladies, let’s dance!” Bridget says.

  “Wait! One more.” I order another round of shots. They raise their eyebrows at me.

  “Someone certainly has her party on tonight,” Camille says.

  “Well, like Bridget said, ‘When in Rome . . .’ ” I hold up the shot. “To my roommates, my very own Fairy Slutmothers. Thank you. Thank you for being here, for always cheering me on, and for squeezing me into a top I can hardly breathe in.” We laugh, clink, and drink.

  We’re about to hit the
dance floor when the stage lights darken and a spotlight shines on one end of the tightrope above us. The music still pulses, but nearly everyone is focused—and oohing and ahhing and clapping—on the performer, who is wearing a magenta sequined bodysuit and walking across the rope. Arms out, toes pointed, she gracefully makes her way across the rope over our heads, occasionally pirouetting to collective gasps. She dismounts like a gymnast onto the floor and captures a raucous round of praise from the rowdy group. She exits, and the spotlight snaps back to the three dancers on stage who have changed into revealing black-and-white striped corsets and feathers. They writhe and grind together, slithering along the poles. There’s more hooting and hollering from the crowd.

  “I’ll be right back,” Bridget tells us and heads off. She’s talking to someone who works here.

  “Who’s she talking to?” Camille asks.

  “No idea.” I take a moment to scan for Dan again. Still not here.

  Bridget returns with more drinks for us.

  “Oh my God, you are going to get me so wasted!” I say, laughing, and sip on the sweet drink.

  “That’s the idea!” Bridget says, clinking her drink against mine.

  We position ourselves amidst a large crowd on the dance floor, dancing and watching the entertainment from every angle. I’ll admit that for every beautiful girl, there’s a gorgeous man, and I catch eyes with one in particular. He’s tall, dark-haired, and has bicep boulders that peek out the ends his short-sleeve T-shirt. The next thing I know, he smiles. Out of politeness, I grin back, confused. Is he smiling at me? I glance around me to check and scan for Dan while I’m at it.

  Where is Dan?

  I turn back around to find that Handsome Man has moved closer to me. Not too close, but closer. I do my best to ignore him, which is pretty easy since Bridget continues to feed us a steady supply of drinks and they’re taking effect. I can feel that tingly sensation in the tips of my fingers, and the fog settles over my eyes.

  Suddenly, up on stage, a spotlight shines on a man dressed as a ringmaster; the three burlesque girls dance around him.