A Moment of Truth: A Complete Bonus Set (A Matter of Trust #1-2) (37 page)

Chapter Eleven

Sunday comes and goes, and I realize that saying good-bye to Dan is getting progressively more difficult. Sure, there’s the sadness of not being next to his fine, firm, warm flesh, but it’s more than that. I crave his presence. I’m unsure if it’s a good thing or not—to feel this connected—so I say nothing, but I wonder if he feels the same.

I awake Monday morning to a cold, empty room. At least his lingering scent keeps me company. It’s tradition now that I swipe something of his to sleep with, and he swipes something of mine, too. In a small way, it soothes my ever-weary heart. So with his red T-shirt safely tucked under my pillow for the day, I pack my bag with my music materials. Time to get cracking on The Ledge’s songs and revising some of the soundtrack work.

My phone rings just as I’m about to leave. It’s my mom. I sigh and answer, knowing this conversation is inevitable.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, Claire. How are you?”

“I’m good. Busy.”

“Busy with what?”

“Writing music. I have a couple of assignments from my agent to complete.”

“Must be a challenge to write with no piano.” I roll my eyes at the smugness in her voice.

“It’s a good thing I’m able to use a piano in NYU’s music department.”

“They let you do that?”

“Yes. It’s perfect for me.”

“Oh. Convenient.”

“Yeah, it works. How are you and Dad? It was nice seeing everyone over the weekend.”

“We’re fine, and yes, it was good seeing everyone. Interesting meeting Daniel, too.”

Interesting? Oh boy.
I brace myself. “He enjoyed meeting everyone. I thought it was sweet he bought those flowers for Avery.”

“It’s nice you suggested it.”

“No, he thought it up all on his own. He’s actually a pretty thoughtful guy, Mom.”

“Mmm . . .”

I throw my hands up. “What? What’s the ‘mmm’ about? Why are you trying to find something wrong?”

“I’m not trying to find anything wrong. Sure, he seems nice—”

“Because he
is
nice.”

“He’s too young for you. Too young to be tied down to one girl, especially in his position.” How does she manage to sift through my head to find all the nuggets of worry floating in my brain—the ones that I’ve been successfully drowning until now—and force me to examine them? I hate this. “I don’t know how else to open your eyes to the fact that as a successful actor, he’s easily able to pull the wool over your eyes, our eyes . . .”

“Mom, I can’t worry about everything that
could
go wrong. Then I’m living in fear all the time. Is that what you want me to do?”

“That’s my point. Living in fear is no way to live.”

“I know! That’s what I’m saying.”
She is so confusing!

“It’s what I’m saying, too. Even if you don’t admit it, it’s there, Claire. He could be lying, he could be unfaithful to you, he could—”

“Stop! I have to go, Mom. I have a deadline to meet.” I don’t wait for her to utter one more word. I hit END, grab my bag, and head out to the subway. She’s made my mind a scrambled mess!
Ugh!
All the worry that I’ve worked so hard to keep at bay is now front-and-center and plucking at my head.

Heart racing, jitters jittering, I arrive at the university.
Cheat on me . . . too young for me . . .
I take several deep breaths, trying to center myself. I think about his gift and all he did for me this weekend. Frankly, no one’s ever been more thoughtful.
Cheaters aren’t thoughtful, are they?

I shake it off as best I can, take another calming breath, and pull open the door to the music building. As usual, I head into the office to sign in and get a key for one of the practice rooms I’ve reserved from Mrs. Winters, the secretary.

When I appear at her desk she says, “Oh!” and smiles, getting up from her chair. “I’ll be right back.”

“Okay.”
Weird.
A few moments later, she comes out with the department head.

“Hello, Claire,” he says.

“Hi, Dr. Martin, how are you? Is everything okay?”

“Oh yes, fine. Let me bring you to the practice room.”

“That’s okay, I don’t want to bother you. Just tell me which one it is for today. I’ll find it.”

“Follow me.”

What’s up with this?
I follow behind him.
Maybe something is being renovated? Something fixed?
We come around the usual corner and he stops in front of a room. “This is it.” He points to the plaque on the outside of the door. It says “C. Parelli.”

“What’s that?” I ask, running my fingers over the nubs of the letters.

“This is your room.”

“What?”

“It’s
your
room. Someone has arranged for this room to be solely for your use.”

“Who?” I ask as if it’s not obvious.

“It was anonymous.” He stares at me a moment. “It comes with a bonus key, too. Here you go.” He hands me two keys. “One’s to this room and one’s to the exterior door—in case you need to use the room after hours. We just ask that you lock up if you’re alone here.”

I nod, stunned. “Okay. Thank you very much.”

He leaves. I unlock the door, step in, and flick on the overhead light. It’s just like the other rooms I’ve used: small and square, but big enough to fit the baby grand piano and bench, a chair, and a music stand.

It’s a tight squeeze, but I walk around the piano with my bag on my shoulder. I’m surprised to discover an envelope with my name on it, sitting on the piano bench. I slide the bag off my shoulder, dropping it onto the floor, and rip open the envelope.

Happy composing, my love, and happy birthday. ~ Dan

Holy fuck!
Tears burst from my eyes and stream down my face. I can hardly find my phone in my bag with the tears pooling, but once I do, I call Dan. He doesn’t answer, so I leave a sniffly message.

“I hope you get this because I’m inside and not sure I have reception, but I just got to the music room and . . . your note . . . and the room . . . I can’t even believe it. Thank you.”

Lying faker? I don’t think so, Mom.

Chapter Twelve

The next month-and-a-half is both a whirlwind and time standing so freakishly frozen it would even annoy Elsa, the Snow Queen. I’m writing like crazy, which is great, but I’ve only seen Dan a few times—twice when I’ve gone to L.A. and once when he’s come to New York. It’s a horrible tease. I go from euphoric when we say hello to depressed when we say good-bye.
When will it get easier? Ever?
The imbalance is frustrating, especially since I can’t do anything about it.

This weekend he’s coming in, and we’re headed to a Halloween party at a bar here in New York. Luckily, Bridget loves this sort of thing and has arranged it all.

But before the fun tonight, I have to compose. I’ve been in the practice room nearly every day for weeks. Bridget’s been on me about getting a costume, but I haven’t had time. I’m blessed to have work coming, especially since I never anticipated having much, maybe a job here or there. In fact, I figured I’d have to find a part-time job. Thankfully, I haven’t needed to.

I’m composing my way to the end of this song when my phone rings. “Hey Camille,” I say absently.

“Claire, where the hell are you? We have to leave in a little over an hour!” Camille yells.

“What?” I glance at the time on my phone.
Shit!
“I lost track of time. I’ll wrap it up right now and head home. Sorry!” I grab my things and bolt.

Dan and Colin arrived this morning, but Dan’s been in meetings all day. Their friend Shane, who’s from London, came, too. He’s in town to see Colin’s band, who are playing at the bar we’re going to tonight. We made up the sofa for Shane, but Camille and I are hoping he and Bridget hit it off and there won’t be need for the sofa. That’ll probably be the case regardless, the slut. Anyway, we’re meeting the guys at the bar, where they’re catching up as Colin and the band set up for the show.

I run inside my apartment with only forty-five minutes to get ready. “I’m home!” I shout, dropping my bag next to the door.

“Oh good!” Bridget says, coming out from the kitchen in a sexy schoolgirl outfit, complete with pigtail braids, a low-cut, button-down shirt tied at the waist, and a very short plaid skirt. She’s got shots poured for us.

“Look at you, Britney Spears! You look amazing.”

Bridget giggles and twirls. “Thanks!” She hands me a shot. “Got to start the night off right!”

Camille comes out from her bedroom in her skin-tight, low-cut cop uniform with her hat tilted to the side. “Wow! You look awesome, too! Colin’s going to like it.”

“Oh yeah, he will, and he’ll definitely approve of these.” She grins and twirls handcuffs around her finger.

“Colin is such a willing victim,” Bridget says, smiling, handing a shot to Camille, too. We clank and toss them back.

“Just how I like ’em,” Camille says.

“Okay, so where’s mine?”

“On your bed.”

“What is it?” I start toward my room.

Bridget smiles mischievously. “You’ll see.”

Laid out on my bed are blue panties with white stars and a red corset with decorative gold piping. “What is this?” I say, holding up the thin, barely-there costume.

Bridget and Camille come in. “Wonder Woman,” Bridget says, holding another round of shots.

“Wonder Woman,” I repeat.

“Yes, Wonder Woman. One of Dan’s dream outfits, remember?”

“So is a librarian!”

“You told me to get you something. Did you really think I’d dress you as a library marm?”

I hold up the bottoms. “Bridget, this is glorified underwear—wait, it probably is underwear, isn’t it?”

Bridget smiles wide. “You’re always so difficult. Just put it on and drink already.”

Camille cracks up, Bridget’s giggling, and we all have another round.

“Just put it on,” I mimic with a huff. They continue to laugh during the three seconds it takes to put on this
costume
. “Did you buy this at a sex shop or something?” I ask, struggling to zip the back of the corset. Bridget comes around to help.

“No,” she says. I can’t tell if she’s lying.

I look at my feet. “What kind of shoes am I going to wear with this? I don’t have anything that will go.”

“Camille, can you go in my room and get the big pink box that’s at the bottom of my closet?” Camille goes to get it.

I raise an eyebrow at her. “What is it?”

“You’ll see.” Bridget’s got that devilish grin.

Camille returns and places the box on the bed before lifting the cover to reveal white, knee-high boots with heels so high my feet shriek in horror. If this outfit is a nine on the Slut-O-Meter then the boots boosted it to a fifteen. “Ooh, pretty!” Camille says.

“Oh my God,” I say in disbelief.

“They’re perfect!” Bridget says, taking them out of the box. She checks her phone. “Do you want to see your boyfriend tonight? Because I’m sure he’s dying to see you, and you’re wasting time here.”

I groan. “Of course I do.”

Bridget grabs me by the shoulders. “Stand tall, woman. You’re hot in that. Plus, you’ve worn less, like your itty-bitty bikini, remember?”

“But that was swimwear, and I was on a beach!”

“Tomayto, tomahto,” Bridget says with a snort. I make a move toward the mirror, but she stops me. “Nope! Not yet. Once you get it all on and we do your hair you can look.”

I sit on the bed and begin putting on the boots.

“Dan’s going to lose his shit when he sees you,” Camille says. I consider that a moment. “He won’t know what to do with himself, which is kinda the point, don’t you think?”

I nod, warming to the idea. “Yeah, I suppose.”

Once the boots are on, Bridget quickly styles my hair, placing the gold crown on my head. “Look, it even came with wrist cuffs.” She snaps them on each wrist.

“Okay, now look,” Camille says with a wide smile.

“Wonder-Slut,” Bridget says quietly, beaming with pride.

I take a look.

The good news is I do resemble Wonder Woman—a slightly porno version—but the bad news is I’m going to wear this in public, and I sort of want to die at the thought. “I’m wearing a coat. It’s freezing out there.”

Bridget’s face lights up. “Yeah! Wear your long winter one.”

I pull on the long coat. “Oh my God, I’m a flasher.”

“Wonder-Slut, the flasher—I love it!” Bridget says, giggling madly. “Wait! I have one more thing.” Bridget leaves the room and comes back a moment later with a looped up golden lasso. She clips it onto my side. “Seriously, he’s going to want you to wear this every day.”

“We have handcuffs and a lasso . . . we’re well on the way to owning a BDSM club,” Camille says, laughing.

We arrive at the bar minimally late, but it’s already pretty jammed.

“What are the guys wearing?” I ask Bridget.

“I’m not even sure. I offered to get them something, but they said they’d just get some masks.”

A mask to cover Dan’s staggering good looks? No! But then I realize that it’ll probably make his night a little easier.

Bridget makes a mini-show of sliding her coat off her shoulders, and there is no shortage of jaws dropping, watching her. She’s extraordinarily sexy, she’s fun, and she owns it. It’s inspiring, really. If only she could bottle it, she’d be filthy rich. Camille does the same, but more in the I’m-going-to-kick-your-ass way. She’s fierce and strong, but every bit feminine. They hand their coats to the coat check attendant, and I stand there, clutching mine closed. Camille and Bridget wait for me, but I’m feeling naked. Exposed.
I can’t possibly take it off!

“Come on, Claire,” Bridget says, nudging me.

I start to move into the crowd with her.

“Coat, Claire,” Bridget says, pointing at the coat check and rolling her eyes.

“I can’t. I’m naked.”

“You’re not naked. Take off your coat.” Bridget’s hands are on her hips. 

I frown at her and shake my head, but she comes at the buttons, undoing them for me. I try to swat her hands away, but then Camille starts tugging at the coat, too.

“No. No, no, no, no, no,” I mumble, but I’m losing this fight. They’re giggling now. Hell, we’re all giggling. The next thing I know, Bridget’s handing over my coat to the attendant, and I’m living the nightmare of being naked in public. I want to cover up, but my two hands won’t get me far. “You two suck.”

“You’re fine,” Bridget says, swatting my ass. “And it’s not like the whole bar just saw us wrestle the coat off you . . . oh wait, yes they did.” She laughs.

I glance around, and there are more heads turned my way than I expected. They may not even be looking at me, but it feels like everyone is. “I need a drink.”

“Now that’s a sensible idea,” Camille says, hooking her arm through mine and leading us to the bar through the already thick crowd; Bridget’s following behind. I’m looking around for Dan although I have no idea what he’s dressed as.

“Aren’t they supposed to be here?” I crane my neck around, taking in the scene.
Gosh, it’s loud.

“Yes,” Camille says, sipping her drink and looking around, too.

“Hello, Wonder Woman,” I hear behind me, cutting through the noise in the bar. 

I turn to see a Jason mask, so I throw my arms around his neck. “Hi!” We pull back and he rests his hands on my hips, stroking my side with his thumb. “I can’t kiss you with that mask on.”

“Let me fix that.” He lifts it and—it isn’t Dan, but Ian Glammer. I jump back, horrified. Chills erupt on my skin, and I turn to leave. “Oh, no, come back here.” He tries to grab my waist again.

There’s little room for me to back up with the heavy crowd around, but I try. I put my hands up to push him away. “What the fuck?”

He lets go, laughing and licking his lips. “You look incredible.” He eyes me up and down with a smarmy grin. “I have no idea why you date such a loser when you should be with me, beautiful. I can show you things.”

Eww.
I turn to snake through the thick group, but it’s not so easy.

He grabs my wrist. “Let me buy you a drink at least. Fuck, I need you in my life, Wonder Woman.”

“Get the fuck away!” I pry his hand off.

“What the hell?” I hear Camille say over my shoulder. She steps between Ian and I.

Ian smirks, clearly amused by our disgust. “No need to get jealous, Hot Cop. I know how to satisfy more than one woman at a time; it’s like my forte.” He winks at her. “Those handcuffs’ll come in handy, too.” He reaches for Camille’s waist, and she slaps his hand away.

“Get the fuck away from her—us.”

Ian, still smiling, puts his hands up. “All right, all right. Can’t handle all I got, huh?” He motions to his body. “Prepare yourself, because someday, Claire, it’ll happen. I promise.”
Wishful thinking.
He walks away, through the crowd, hopefully not to be seen again.

I exhale with a shudder.

“What the hell? Or rather, who the hell was that?” Camille asks.

“Ugh. That was Ian Glammer. He—”

“Ian Glammer, the actor?”

“Yeah.” I shake my hands out. “I met him in Mexico when I visited Dan, but he’s one hell of a creepy asshole.” I fill her in on Ian. “I should have punched him just now, but I was so caught off-guard. I thought it was Dan! Where the hell is Dan?” I stretch to my right and to my left when a Spongebob mask stops right in my face. I wait, bracing myself.

“Happy Halloween,” Spongebob says, and although I detect an English accent, I’m still leery.

“Dan? Is that you?”

“Yep, it’s Spongebob!” He says, trying to mimic Spongebob’s voice. He raises the mask, resting it on the top of his head. It
is
Dan! I throw my arms around him. “Yeah, it’s me. Why? You okay? You look scared or something.”

I let go of him and sigh. “Ian Glammer’s here.”

Dan’s entire demeanor shifts from playful to pissed off. With a clenched jaw and a harsh voice, he asks, “What?”

“He just came up to Camille and me and . . . hit on me—”

“He tried to kiss her, Dan,” Camille says, and I want to smack her.

Dan’s eyes bulge, and he turns to leave, no doubt to find Ian to kick his ass.

I grab his arm. “No. Stay here.”

“That motherfucker tried to kiss you, and I’m not supposed to do anything? Are you fucking kidding me?” He snaps his head left, right, left, looking for him. “What’s he wearing?”

“Look at me.” I grab his chin. “It’s crowded, and so far no one’s recognized you with that mask on. If you do anything, it’ll make the news, so just stay here. I want you right here. I’ve missed you.” I kiss him until I feel him relax. “Now focus on my costume.”

Although his face is still tense, he obliges, and when he finally realizes who I’m dressed as, he lets out a, “Fuckingmotherbollockingfuck. Wonder Woman? Jesus, Claire. We’re in public!” There’s that brilliant smile that makes my heart leap. His grip around my waist tightens.

I laugh and rub against him. “Another corset. I wonder if you can manage it this time.”

“Are there secret strings?” He turns me a bit to check the back.

“Nope. Just a single zipper stands between on and off.” He nods, staring at my heaving boobs. “Figured we didn’t have an extra fifteen minutes to spare, you know?”

He shakes his head, laughing out loud until his attention is caught behind me. “Shane—”

Huh?
I turn to see Bridget flirting her heart out with a guy taller than Dan who has a strong jaw and short, dark hair. Seems they just build them beautiful in England. Dan leans toward my ear. “Did Shane and Bridget already meet? They’re talking together there.”

“That’s Shane? Wow—they’re almost kissing! Go Bridget.”

Dan grabs my hand, leading us over to them. “Bridget. Bridget. Bridget. Hi! Hi, Bridget,” Dan says obnoxiously, sticking his face between Shane and Bridget, destroying their moment.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Getting her back for all her interruptions.”

I laugh. Bridget turns, throwing Dan a curled lip. 

“I see you’ve met my friend, Shane. Shane, this is master slut—I mean, Bridget,” Dan says. Bridget slaps his arm as he laughs. “I’m just joking. This is Bridget, one of Claire’s roommates. And this is Claire.”

Shane barely tears his eyes away from Bridget to give me a polite nod and to shake my hand. “Nice to meet you, Claire. I’ve heard about you girls, and thought maybe Dan was exaggerating, but he’s not.”

“Exaggerating about what?” Camille asks, coming up from behind him.

“Usually there’s one hyena in a pack of gazelles, but not with you three,” Shane says, staring at Bridget.

I nod, unsure if that’s a compliment or not. “Oh.”

“He means that you’re all really attractive.” Dan leans into my ear. “Except you. You are exponentially hotter than pretty much everyone.” I blush and shake my head. “Especially dressed as Wonder Woman. Then you’re on fire.” He waggles his eyebrows at me, and I burst into an embarrassing fit of giggles.

Bridget pokes at Dan’s shoulder. “Um, you’re welcome.”

“What?” he asks.

“Your girlfriend’s outfit. That was my idea. So the next time you want to interrupt me with your sass, just remember that she wanted to dress as a library marm—tweed skirt and uptight shirt. Just saying.”