Say When

by Tara West

  Say When

  A Something More Novel

  Tara West

  Begin Reading

  Table of Contents

  Additional Novels by Tara West

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  About Tara West

  Other Novels by Tara West

  Additional Indie Novels by other Authors

  Dedication

  Theo, thank you for making my manuscript shine. You do amazing work.

  Elle, thanks for formatting for me so quickly, and for working hard to make sure my book sparkles. Emma and Shea, thanks so much for reading my manuscript and for your excellent feedback. I can’t wait to see you all in Vegas!!!

  Tammy, special kudos for telling me to add those scenes with Andrés’s POV. You have helped to make this book so much better. I don’t know what I would have done without your advice.

  To my fan club, especially Becky, Jacklynn, Jodi, Kelly, and Sheri, thank you for your continued support of my writing. Your friendship and encouragement means so much to me.

  Prologue

  “Teenie, you okay in there?”

  Just ignore him, I tell myself. He’s invisible. A figment of your imagination. You are not engaged to be married to the world’s biggest ass. Jackson James does not exist. You can’t see him on the other side of that door. Hold steady. Focus on the smooth porcelain. The elongated silver handle. Stucco walls.

  “I’m starting to think you don’t like sex with me.” He is whining. Now he’s scratching on the door.

  Oh, God. Go away. Please go away.

  “You’re killing my ego.” I can hear him breathing through a crack in the door. He sounds nasally, congested. His breath smelled like farts tonight.

  I clutch the porcelain and heave. It burns coming out, so hot my eyes water. Steaming chunks get tangled in my hair as wisps fall in my face.

  My bare bottom sticks to the cool tiles. I try in vain to pull my hair back as I heave. The rancid smell stings my nasal passages, and a wave of nausea causes me to vomit again.

  He’s still whining. I wish he’d shut up, but now I’m too sick to care.

  I have no idea why for the past two weeks, every time I’ve had sex with my fiancé, I end up on the bathroom floor, clutching the toilet like a lifeline. I’ve never missed a pill and my pregnancy test was negative. If I had the flu or food poisoning, I’d know it by now. Maybe my body is trying to force my brain to acknowledge the truth: this relationship is failing.

  All I know is I’d still prefer this moment, this horrific moment, to going back into that bedroom and having sex with him.

  Chapter One

  “No! No! No!” I scream while hurling fried wontons at my fiancé.

  Jackson sits there for a moment with mouth agape, absorbing the first round of my tantrum with a look of comical horror in his blue-green eyes. Then his pale face colors, first a soft shade of coral, then a red the same hue as the obnoxious tie he’s wearing. His flush spreads like wildfire all the way to the roots of his wavy blond hair.

  “Teenie, you’re making a scene.” He throws his chopsticks on the table and hisses through clenched teeth. “Sit down!”

  “No!” I grab a fistful of shrimp and pineapple and something unrecognizable and throw it at his ugly tie. I wipe my greasy hand on a cloth napkin and storm toward the exit, knowing I look awkward as I wobble in three inch stilettos.

  Once outside, I inhale a deep breath of warm Austin air, a welcome relief compared to the stifling smells inside. Heavy clouds crowd the night sky, blotting out much of the light from the full moon. My skin is coated in a thin mist as a drizzle falls on my head. I pray it doesn’t start raining harder before my ride shows. I cannot go back inside that restaurant. I cannot go back inside to him.

  I pace near the entrance, scanning the rows of parked cars for my best friend, Karri, my rescuer from this hellish night.

  Not surprisingly, the heavy restaurant door swings open and Jackson stomps toward me like a big pouty steam roller. “What is wrong with you? You barfed when we were making love last week and now this.”

  “Making love?” I laugh. “Is that what you call it?” Smacking my ass hard enough to leave angry red handprints and calling me his “dirty whore” is hardly my idea of making love. In fact, just the idea of having sex with Jackson again makes me want to hurl, which is why I haven’t let him touch me all week.

  His pudgy face is illuminated beneath the glow of the street lamp overhead. I used to think his boyish looks were attractive, but I’ve grown sick of staring at him. I read the rage simmering in his hooded eyes. I’d only seen him this angry with his roommates, usually when they drink the last of his beer. At six foot two, he towers over my small frame as he bears down on me with a scowl. Jackson is expecting me to back down. Jackson is expecting me to apologize.

  Not tonight.

  I look up at him and meet his gaze with a glare of my own. “This is my twenty-first fucking birthday! I don’t even like Chinese food!”

  “Calm down.” He holds out both hands and I think he cringes, but then he straightens his face, trying his best to look impassive, like he’s the one in control. “I’ll let you order the soup.”

  “I don’t want any damn soup!” I stomp my foot and wince. My mother’s flimsy heels hurt like hell. Why had I let her talk me into wearing them? “I want a beer.” Preferably not with you, I want to say, but I don’t. Despite my little act of defiance tonight, years of being browbeaten by my mother and now Jackson, have trained me to bite my tongue.

  He flashes that crooked grin I used to think was attractive. The “let’s get drunk and screw” grin. “We can talk it out at my place.” He steps toward me and reaches for my arm.

  I jerk away before he can touch me. “You mean we’ll go have sex at your place.” The words come out on a hiss. I don’t mean to sound like a spitting cobra, but I kind of like the look of shock in his eyes. I turn up my chin and hold my ground, though my insides start to quiver.

  My gaze darts to the cars zooming by. I silently pray one of them will be my ride out of here.

  This is the new me, I want to say to him. I’m not putting up with anyone’s shit any longer. I hold back from unleashing that part of my verbal assault. I wonder if I’ve got the guts to hold him and my mom off forever.

  I don’t know if I can do it, a little voice inside me whines. I hate that voice. I tell her to shut up as I turn from Jackson and walk across the slick driveway. A pimple-faced valet with a crooked buzz cut is jingling a set of keys and smirking at me. I ignore him.

  Karri should have been here by now. I’m hoping she’ll spot me if stand out on the main road.

  “Where are you going?” Jackson calls at my back.

  Please stop following me, I silently beg. Let me win an argument just once.

  “None of your damn business,” I shout over my shoulder. I don’t know what happened to Christina. I don’t know this girl who’s using my mouth to talk back to my fiancé, but I like her.

  I keep walking until I’m on the sidewalk facing the busy street. Cars buzz by and ruffle the fabric on my hot pink ch
iffon skirt. I hate this skirt. It barely covers my ass, but my mother said it makes me look sexy, and if I want my fiancé to set a date, I have to entice him by showing off my legs. I inhale gas fumes and cover my mouth, stifling a cough. Surprisingly, I’m not bothered by the smell. If this is what freedom smells like, I’ll take it. I cringe at the sound of heavy steps behind me.

  “You’ve ruined my celebration.” His deep bellow sounds like a heavy drum in my ear. “You’re acting like a total bitch, Teenie.”

  I clench my fists and tell myself I will not back down. I can feel his hot breath on the back of my head. I imagine it smells like farts and spicy Asian shrimp. That makes me smile, but only for a moment.

  I slowly turn on my heel, looking up at him through narrowed slits. “My name is Christina.” The words rapidly roll off my tongue, punching the air between us. Then I thrust a finger into his beefy chest. “And for your information, tonight is my night.”

  To my amazement, Jackson steps back. I think maybe he’s going to let me win this argument. I hope he’ll just get in the expensive car his daddy bought him and drive off. But then his brows draw together, and I can see that wheel in his head turning. No, he’s not backing down. He’s just regrouping and reassessing the situation, so he can think up a hurtful, witty comeback. Something to get me to feel like shit and apologize.

  His lower lip turns down, taking his round jaw and the entire lower half of his face with it. He heaves a sigh and then adds a sniffle for good measure. His eyes are as dry as dust. What a faker. How had I ever fallen for his bullshit?

  “How can you be so selfish?” The intensity and pitch of his whine increases with each word and his face falls even more. “Like my promotion doesn’t mean anything.”

  Anger wells up inside me as heat flames my chest and fans my cheeks. “Not tonight it doesn’t.” I desperately want to slap that fake pout off his face. “And you just got more responsibilities, not a pay raise. You’re a fucking intern.”

  His daddy got him the job at a friend’s investment firm. He is supposed to be working for this company for college credit, but he spends most of his time on the green either with his dad’s friends or his frat buddies. He still hasn’t told me exactly what he’s done to earn this promotion.

  The wind ruffles his blond hair while he stands there with his hands hanging limply by his sides. He looks like a child on the verge of a tantrum. How had I ever been attracted to this guy?

  Oh, yeah. His family’s wealth. After my dad’s series of poor business decisions, and sudden demise, Mom realized she hadn’t saved enough money to maintain her lifestyle forever. One day, she’ll be forced to choose between groceries and botox. I know she’s hoping Jackson and I will support her. When my mom found out Jackson’s dad was a software tycoon, she practically had a money-gasm the first time I brought him home. From that moment on my fate was sealed. I was supposed to use any means necessary to secure Jackson James as my husband. Love him, seduce him, lure him into my matrimonial clutches.

  Disregard his foul breath, little penis, and short temper. Those are all inconsequential. Keep your eye on the prize. Marry into one of the wealthiest families in Texas and live a life of security and privilege. Those were my mother’s instructions. She’d be furious if she knew how close I was to throwing it all away.

  I turn from him, dig my phone out of my purse and fire off a message to Karri. Where are you?

  “Please tell me you’re not texting Karri,” he groans behind me.

  “I’m not texting Karri,” I mumble while I impatiently await her response. I tap my heel on the concrete, hating the loud click as it hits the ground.

  “You’ve been changing, Teenie, and I think it has a lot to do with her.” The whine in his voice is so pronounced, I have the strong urge to cover my ears with both hands.

  I turn toward him. “I have been changing and it has nothing to do with her.”

  He shakes his head. “She’s a bad influence. She’s never going to go anywhere in life and she wants to bring you down with her.” His eyes widen as he looks at something over my shoulder. “Goddamn, is that her?”

  Relief floods through me as I see Karri’s dark blue Sentra pulls to a stop in front of me. There’s a new scratch on the hood and the front passenger tire is missing a hubcap. An infant car seat is propped up in the rear center.

  It’s a far cry from the ride I came in, but I don’t care. I just want to get the hell away from here. Karri’s passenger window rolls down with a lot of squeaking and a few pops. Her spiky pink hair rustles as she ducks her head.

  “Hey, Jackson.” She nods toward him and smiles. “Nice tie. You got something on your shirt, too.” She looks down at her pale peach tank top that reveals more cleavage than should be legal. “Look.” She points to a stain that circles her entire left breast. “We match, only mine is baby puke.”

  Jackson regards her with a scowl before turning his attention to me.

  “Where are you going?” he asks as he lifts his chin. His neck and shoulders are rigid now, and I can tell he’s doing his best to look like a strong, self-assured man.

  I know better. He only pretends to be strong so he can manipulate me into doing what he wants.

  “Out,” I drawl as I open Karri’s car door and throw my purse inside.

  “Call me tomorrow,” Jackson says. It’s not a request or a plea, but a command.

  And you know what? I’ve had about enough of Jackson bossing me around.

  “No,” I say, squaring my shoulders.

  Jackson arches a narrow pale brow, made too thin from over-plucking. “No?”

  I lean forward and slap my three carat engagement ring in his hand. “No.”

  Chapter Two

  “So, hey, I dropped off Tyler at my mom’s house.” Karri sounds like she’s overdosed on caffeine, or maybe she’s back on meth. Gawd, I hope she’s not back on meth. She’s way too energized, squirming around and acting like she’s trying to pop a bubble under her ass. “I’ve got the whole night,” she squeals.

  “Great,” I answer through a sigh, slumping in my seat. I can’t help but feel guilty that I’m keeping Karri away from Ty. Why is my best friend’s priority in life all about finding a babysitter? We’ll probably get so shitfaced tonight, we’ll end up sleeping until late afternoon. Karri will make sure to leave her baby with her mom as long as possible.

  She gives me that look that she gave me after the time I told her Jackson’s penis size was just right. Apparently, “just right” is code for small dick.

  “Great?” she asks, rolling her eyes. “I’m babyless on your birthday. Let’s go get drunk and fuck some hot guys.”

  I shrug. “I like the drunk part, but I’m not having sex with strangers.”

  “They’re not strangers. I’ve already got a few friends lined up.” Karri flashes her infamous wicked smile, revealing two rows of off-white teeth.

  “Why am I not surprised?” I say wryly. Random sex with random dudes on my twenty-first birthday. Just the thought makes me want to hurl.

  “Come on.” She licks her lips and then smooths her fingers across her bulging cleavage and down a curved thigh. I swear all I have to do is mention the word “sex,” and she gets wound up like a vibrator on steroids. “It’s your birthday! Live a little.”

  “Can’t we just go to a club?” I hate the whine in my voice, but I’m so not in the mood to be the sex police tonight. “I want to go dancing, and I’ve never actually bought a beer using my own ID before.”

  It was such a nice feeling to wake up this morning and toss that fake ID with the peeling laminate. I’d paid some IT kid at the library five hundred bucks for it two years ago, and surprisingly, it had worked at my favorite college bars, mostly because the bouncers were in Jackson’s fraternity. My old ID had a glaring typo, claiming I weighed 150 pounds instead of 105, a two hundred dollar fix, the kid had told me, even though the mix-up was his fault. I could finally be me now, Christina Duval, five foot three, 105 pounds, gree
n eyes, auburn hair, age twenty-one, and totally legal.

  “In case you don’t remember," Karri said as she motioned to the puke green bulls-eye on her tit. “I’ve got baby puke on my shirt.”

  “It’s my birthday,” I said, keeping my voice firm. First Jackson and now my BFF? Nope, I was not going to be pushed around again. Not on my night. “I want to go dancing.”

  “Fine,” she huffed. “I need to stop off at my apartment and change.”

  The thing about me and Karri is we go way back, all the way to second grade when I caught her picking a wedgie behind a bucket of playground equipment. I don’t know why I was drawn to her. She got me into a lot of trouble at school and home. No matter how hard my mom tried to keep us apart, Karri always figured out a way back to me. Even though we’ve chosen separate paths in life—me excelling in college and her barely graduating high school and then getting knocked up by some random dude (she’s got the daddy narrowed down to three guys now)—we’ve managed to stay close.

  Karri is a terrible parent, a lousy daughter and can’t hold a job to save her life. Sometimes I wonder what our friendship says about me. And yet, I cling to her. Why? Because she was the friend who comforted me when things at home got rough. When I confessed to her everything that happened between my dad and me, she didn’t pass judgment. She’s kept my dirty, dark secret and she’s never betrayed my trust.

  Never.

  For that, I think I owe her something. And right now, the best I can give her is continuing to be her friend, even when she does some majorly stupid shit, like fuck random guys while her baby naps in the other room, or forgetting to change his diaper for an entire day, causing him to develop a painful rash. Yeah, Karri’s got issues, too.

  * * *

  Why am I surprised to find two totally greasy guys waiting outside Karri’s apartment? I swear her run down studio in the ghetto is like a Venus Flytrap for tattooed ex-cons and druggies, all looking for sex.

  “Hey, Karri.” One of them strolls up to the car, eyeing us both like we are prime cuts, or in his case, two large pizzas and a bag of weed. He holds up a six pack of cheap beer, his exchange for fifteen minutes of fun on Karri’s futon.