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

by Q. T. Ruby

  After a lusty perfume ad on TV, Bridget says, “Camille, you are so in love with Colin, it’s kind of sickening. Like make-me-want-to-puke sick.” Bridget pretends to hurl and laughs at herself.

  “I am not! We don’t talk ’bout love or things, just . . . things.”

  “Oh, that clears it up,” I say, giggling.

  “Oh, shut it, you. You and Dan are all, ‘I love you,’ ‘No, I love you,’ ‘No, I love you more,’ smoochy, smoochy, smoochy,” Camille says, puckering her lips and making kissing noises.

  I snort in laughter. “At least I can admit it.”

  “Right. Because you are so honest and in touch with your feelings?”

  I wiggle my fingers at her.

  “What are you doing?” Bridget asks.

  “Using my powers of deflection! So what about you and Shane, Bridget? You two looked really cozy on Halloween and then nothing? You’re hiding things. Spill it!”

  Bridget turns red and shrugs. “There’s nothing much to say, really. We had fun. He called a few times.”

  “What, you’re shy now?” Camille asks.

  “Not shy. Private.”

  Camille and I crack up at the idea, and when Camille slips off the couch I nearly pee myself laughing.

  “What? I’m serious.” Bridget watches as we laugh. “Okay, fine. He really likes me, and it’s freaky. I was just expecting to hookup, not get a boyfriend that night.”

  “Can you believe this is Bridget’s first official boyfriend?” Camille asks me from her new seat on the floor.

  I start giggling. “After all these years as Princess Boom-Boom.”

  “Princess Boom-Boom?” Bridget asks. “What the hell is that?”

  I stand and thrust my pelvis in time with saying, “Boom! Boom! Boom!”

  “Well, then say hello to the Princess!” Bridget starts whacking me with a pillow. I dive onto the couch and curl up into a protective ball that really isn’t protecting anything. And I definitely can’t stop laughing.

  “She was being obnoxious, too!” I point to Camille.

  Bridget begins swatting Camille next.

  In the nick of time, my phone rings. I scramble away from the beating to look. I don’t recognize the number, but answer anyway. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Claire.”

  “Dan?” I shout. “Dan! Hi! How are you calling me?”

  “Are you drunk?” He snickers on the other end.

  Oh! His British laugh! I’m swooning like I’ve never swooned. “Yes. You can tell?”

  “Yes, I can tell—you’re sort of slurring.”

  “Oh, well, the snowstorm’s here, and we, you know, Camille and Bridget and me—we got Chinese—your favorite—and some wine, too. It was tasty.”

  I head to my bedroom and lie on my bed. “So how are you calling me? Did you kill your watcher person-people? Do you need us to hide bodies? I think Camille has a shovel. I can ask her if you want.” I’ve got head-to-toe goosebumps and a smile that’s making my cheeks ache.

  He’s laughing. “No, that’s okay. I’m all set with the bodies for now, thanks. My watcher person’s name is Rodney, and get this—he’s Sushman’s slimy nephew.”

  “His nephew? He didn’t have other professional watcher people to, you know, watch you? Sounds really suspicious. Are you suspicious? You should be, you know, suspicious.”

  Dan’s snickering. “Well, from what I’ve gathered, Sushman owes his sister a favor or money or something, so I’m stuck with Rodney, and I think he’s as sick of me as I am of him, which is why he’s in the car waiting for me and not up my arse like he usually is. In any case, I probably don’t have long—I’m using the payphone at the library. Told him I had to do some research.”

  “You big liar! And he bought it? Ha! Hey, you want to do phone sex at the library? Wait, can’t Rodney see you?”

  “No, I’m inside the enclosed entrance, but there’s a window here, and I can keep an eye on him in the car.”

  “Good thinking! I’m so happy you called me. I’ve missed you so much. Like a lot. A real lot, you know? I also don’t like that you’re going on dates with these pretty young things—wasn’t that a Michael Jackson song? Anyway, I really don’t like it. It makes me angry.” There’s nothing but silence. “Dan? Did Rodney catch you? Are you there?”

  There’s a sudden snort followed by laughter. “I like talking to you when you’re drunk. You’re really funny. Don’t give those dates a second thought. They are far from real. I mostly glaze over while these girls pick at their nails or check their phones every three seconds or try to . . . never mind.”

  “They what? Hit on you? Rub on you? Is sleeping with them a part of your contract, too?”

  “What? No! Now don’t get all feisty on me. I’m not sleeping with anyone except lefty, but more often righty.”

  “Who?” My anger seethes until understanding dawns on me. I giggle. “Ha! Lefty, righty. Your jokes are getting funnier! Anyway, those fake-dates make me cranky.”

  “Yeah, well, that photo of you and Ian didn’t make me happy.”

  “Ian’s a douche . . . wait, what photo?”

  “Len showed me a picture from some gossip magazine—Ian had his arm around you at a bar. What happened?”

  “Yeah, that was weird. The girls and I were out, totally minding our business, when he surprise-attacked us, me.”

  “Ian sent me the photo the same day it hit the paper, too, with a note saying he couldn’t wait to take you to dinner.”

  “Eww. I’d never go anywhere with him! He’s really creepy. But Camille sure scared him off, so I’ll just make sure to bring her everywhere from now on.”

  He chuckles. “She is good for that. Anyway, he’s dangerous, regardless of what anyone says. Just watch out.”

  “I will . . . so guess what? I saw you at the movies—in the previews for Sushman’s movie. Your face was huuuuge on the screen, and you were all lubed up and wet.”

  He snickers. “You liked the trailer, then?”

  “Yes. My God, who wouldn’t? I mean, no one knows you’re Fifteen-Minute King, but you looked so fucking good.”

  He laughs. “Sounds like you miss this Fifteen-Minute King, anyway.”

  I sigh deeply. “I hate that I miss you so much.”

  “Yeah? How much?”

  “So much that just before you called Camille and Bridget and I were discussing our relationships, and Bridget’s all freaked out about Shane liking her—not that she doesn’t like him, but you know, she’s always been a player—and then Camille said the other day that she might join Colin on tour. Did you know that? Isn’t that crazy? Sorry, I’m rambling.”

  “I keep missing Colin’s calls, but I know he really likes Camille.”

  “She really likes him, too. I wonder how serious they’ll get.”

  “I wonder how serious we’ll get,” he says.

  I’m taken aback. “As far as you want it to.” Oh, the wine makes it so much easier to speak my thoughts.

  “So it’s up to me?” he asks, his voice deep and soft.

  “You sound like you’re trying to whisper on a stupid payphone from thousands of miles away.”

  “Because that is what I’m doing,” he says with a chuckle.

  “Right. Anyway, yeah, up to you. Ball is in your court, Bucko.”

  “You’re just saying that because you’re drunk.”

  “No. I’m serious. I’d take this as far as you’d want it to go. Totally up to you. Ball’s in your court.” Balls. I giggle even more.

  “What are you saying?”

  Though I’m deeply submerged in a drunken haze, I’m aware enough to know he’s being serious and I should be thoughtful, careful even, about what I say, so I figure honesty is the best policy. “I guess
I’m saying that being away from you hurts. I don’t like being away from you.”

  “Me neither.”

  “Yeah, but you’re really young and, well, you know.”

  “No, what do I know?”

  “That you’re too young to get really serious.”

  “What does age have to do with it? I think it’s pretty serious that we met each other’s family and spent Christmas together.”

  “True, true. But you have a lot of time ahead of you, and why should you be tied down to one person when you’re so young? My mom says that a lot—like every time I speak to her. That you’re too young to know what you really want, which is why you’ll leave me someday.”

  “She says that? That I’ll leave you?” He sounds shocked, offended even.

  “You’ve met her. She says what she thinks.”

  “Do you agree with her?”

  I know this is a conversation that’s probably best for sober times and sober thinking, but screw it; it’s good to be open. “Well, yes and no. I mean, you are young, that’s a fact, but . . . that doesn’t mean you don’t know what you want. Although I do worry you’ll change your mind. You could very well change your mind. It’s probably why I run away from you when I get upset.”

  “So that I don’t run away first? Is that it?”

  “I think so.”

  “That won’t happen,” he says.

  “But how do you know?”

  “I just know. I know what I like, and what I want, and especially, what I need.”

  “And what’s that?”

  He’s silent for a stretch. “You. You’re what I like and want and need,” he says softly. “Does that scare you?”

  My heart flutters. My belly does, too. “A little. Maybe someday I won’t be all those things.”

  “You know, that could happen on your end, too—you might change your mind.”

  “Nope.”

  “And how do you know?” he asks.

  “Because when I see you, my belly always does this fluttery butterfly dance, and I laugh a lot with you, and I just like the way I feel around you. Plus, you’re ridiculously good-looking and have nice arms and stuff. I’ve dubbed you Mr. Beautiful in my head. Did you know that?”

  I hear him chuckle. “No, I didn’t, but . . . did you ever think that maybe I feel the same way?”

  “You call me Mr. Beautiful in your head?”

  “No.” He laughs. “Listen, I can see Rodney’s getting restless, so I have to go, but before I do, I wanted to tell you I’m going to be in New York next weekend for business. There’s going to be a party at the Iris. I know we’re not supposed to be together, but since it’s a work thing, and you’re in the business, too, I thought we could coincidentally be in the same place at the same time. Give David a call. He can get you a ticket. I need to see you—in person—even if I can’t really talk to you.”

  “Oh my God! Yes! 3-D is much better than 2-D!”

  He laughs. “Exactly. I’ll try to sneak in another phone call soon, but until then, I love you and hope you can make it.”

  “Love you, too. Talk—and hopefully see—you soon!”

  “Bye, my love.”

  “Bye.”

  We hang up, and I roll back and forth on the bed, thinking about his sexy voice, and the next thing I know, the sun’s shining, the brightness is blazing into my room, and my mouth feels like someone glued it shut.

  Chapter Twenty

  Dear Lord, something died in my mouth last night because this taste is vile.

  I sit up and rub my eyes, but quickly lie back down when my stomach starts rolling. Seems Chinese and wine really aren’t the fabulous pair I imagined them to be last night.

  I need water. I roll to my side and wait. Okay, I feel all right. I sit up slowly this time and wait. Damn, it’s bright in here. I’m still okay, so I inch myself to standing. I Frankenstein walk to the kitchen since walking normally isn’t possible right now; parts of me hurt for some reason.

  I grab a glass of water, sip slowly, and survey the damage in the living room. The open cartons of Chinese are still sitting on the coffee table. The stink is terrible, and yet I wish it had been put in the fridge because I could really use some leftovers; I’m starving!

  Pancakes.

  I clean up the Chinese, holding my breath the whole time, and toss it all quickly into the trash. I throw the pancake ingredients in a bowl, and I’m in the middle of making them when the undead, a.k.a. Bridget rises and shuffles her way toward me.

  “You literally look like a zombie.”

  She examines me head to toe. “Brains . . .” she moans.

  I giggle.

  “Isn’t your head killing you?” she asks, rubbing her temples.

  “Shockingly, no. But I was ridiculously thirsty.”

  “Ooh. Pancakes. Good. Where’d you go last night? You never came out of your room.”

  “Dan called.” I swoon for a moment, and Bridget rolls her eyes. “He’s coming to New York next weekend. I think that’s what he said. He’s got a work event, and I’m going to try to go, too!”

  “But you two aren’t supposed to be in contact.”

  “Yeah, well, staring across the room can be hot, right? It’s better than nothing.”

  “True. So, that’s it? You were in there a while.”

  I stop and think. “God, I know we had some kind of deep conversation, but it’s all fuzzy and vague. Maybe I’ll remember it later.”

  ***

  Over the next week, I call David and secure three tickets to the after-party of some movie, and for the first time in what seems like ages, I’m able to write music. Thank God! I punch out two songs—one for The Ledge and the other for potential movie score use. I’m feeling great!

  A serious case of the jitters hits me, as I get ready for the party. Although, I won’t be able to talk with Dan, I’ll see him—right there—so close! I’m desperate for more than a look, but I’m hard up and I’ll take what I can get.

  I’ve got on a simple black dress. It’s a slightly less-slutty version of the one I wore on one of our first dates. That one had no back, and this one dips low in the front. Bridget gives me these stick-on chicken-cutlet looking things that hold my boobs in place since there’s no way to wear a bra.

  The three of us walk into the party, which is already underway.

  “Let’s go get a drink,” Camille says.

  I’m whipping my head left, right, up, down, under, over, looking around for Dan. Nothing yet.

  “You’re making me dizzy doing that,” Bridget says, smiling.

  Camille orders drinks, and when they arrive Bridget shoves one into my nervous hands. I sip it and silently pray he’s still coming. He wouldn’t have been able to tell me otherwise. This black hole of no communication is soul sucking, and makes me wonder how the world ever revolved without cell phones.

  The three of us hardly speak, mostly because we’re people-watching, and I’m on pins and needles, waiting for a glimpse of Mr. Beautiful.

  Eventually, Camille elbows me and nods to the right. There. Maybe fifty feet away is my boyfriend! He’s in a charcoal gray suit, a crisp white button-down shirt that’s unbuttoned a bit, and shiny black shoes. His hair is longer than when I last saw him, and it’s brushed back. I sigh. “He’s beautiful.”

  “Yes, he is,” Camille says, patting my back.

  “It’s like I need to pinch myself—is he real?”

  Bridget pinches my ass.

  “Ow!” I jump back.

  “He’s real!” She cackles.

  When Dan and I catch each other’s eyes, it’s as if the world has just screeched to a halt and somehow we’re alone in this vast room filled with people. We exchange smiles, and as if in a dream, I
begin floating toward him.

  That’s when Camille rudely interrupts me by pulling my arm back. “You can’t go over to him, remember?”

  I slump with the weight of reality. “Oh, yeah. Right.” I shrug my shoulders at him and he nods. By his waning smile, he seems to feel the same. There’s a sudden and deep longing that nearly knocks me over. It’s more intense than ever. My heart punches at my ribs as if it’s trying to knock a hole straight through me and make its own way over to him since my feet won’t take it.

  Dan mouths something to me. “He’s saying something, but I can’t tell what.” I squint at him and shake my head.

  “I think he’s saying, ‘My shoes hurt.’ I think that’s it,” Bridget says.

  Camille laughs and smacks Bridget’s arm. “There’s no way he’s mouthing something about his shoes hurting. I think he’s saying, ‘I miss you.’”

  “I think so, too. Or hope so anyway.” I mouth back, “I miss you, too.”

  He smiles and glances down as a blush sweeps across his cheeks. Looking back up at me, he mouths and makes some hand gestures to help. “You . . . look . . . beautiful.” And he gives me a thumbs-up. I’m beaming.

  “You’re so handsome,” I mouth in return. He’s about to say something else when a man comes up next to him, leans in, and nods in my direction. He’s obviously saying something about me because Dan’s eyes widen, and he shakes his head at me in warning.

  I mouth, “Rodney?”

  He nods with wide eyes.

  I turn away and slink behind Camille. “Shit. It’s Rodney—the guy who follows him. Hide me.”

  Bridget and Camille step in front of me, creating my very own wall. “Should we leave?” Bridget asks.

  “No, not yet,” I say. “Let’s just move a little this way.” As a group we shuffle over a bit.

  “No, this isn’t conspicuous at all,” Camille says.