Hot Mess

by R. Linda

  Blake pushed between Eva and I and headed in the direction of Tate, but as she neared the edge of the dance floor, I reached for her. “Abort mission.”

  “What? Why?”

  I pointed to Rachel a step behind him. “Girlfriend alert.”

  “Ugh, she’s so fucking lucky to go home to that every night.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure.” I pulled her back to Eva. “Let’s just dance,” I said before either Tate or Rachel realized I was there. My good mood was dwindling fast, and if I didn’t lose myself in the music, I’d end up leaving and going home to eat my weight in ice-cream and leftover pizza.

  “Bitch be coming your way,” Eva hissed in my ear, and before I had a chance to comprehend her words, claw-like fingers gripped my upper arm and spun me around.

  “This is all your fault!” Rachel screamed in my face. “You ruined everything.” She shoved me in the chest so hard, I stumbled back into Eva’s waiting arms.

  I didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. I didn’t do anything wrong.

  Blake and Emerson stood on the side, staring transfixed at the situation unfolding. Great. No doubt there’d be two more NDA’s on my countertop in the morning for my friends to sign.

  “Rachel.” I raised my hands in defense. It was like trying to calm a savage animal. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You and your poor me act. Wren, the pathetic, fat girl with nothing to offer but insight on the best pizza toppings. You did this! And now you’re going to suffer. I will end y—”

  She was cut off by Tate appearing out of nowhere and wrapping his arms around her waist. Way to support the crazy girlfriend. They were perfect for each other. Tate didn’t say a word as he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. With what I assumed was meant to be an apologetic smile, he turned and walked off with a screaming and thrashing Rachel in his arms. Looking around me, I realized everyone had their phones out and were likely taking photos or recording the whole thing. I wondered how that was going to go with his need for privacy, then I laughed.

  I didn’t care.

  He was a bastard.

  But he was still sexy.

  That jaw of his when it clenched in anger or frustration. Jaw porn. That’s what it was.

  “You okay?” Eva asked, pulling me out of my thoughts.

  I shrugged. “What was that about?”

  “No idea. But whatever it was, you seriously pissed her off.”

  “Explain,” Blake said.

  ‘Umm.” I shot a worried look at Eva, but she just clapped her hands to her cheeks and shook her head. She was no help.

  “What did Tate Montgomery’s girlfriend want with you?” Emerson asked. “Mistaken identity maybe?”

  What could I say? I was legally bound to secrecy and so was Eva. But they were my friends and they witnessed everything firsthand.

  “Do you know her?” they pressed on for more information.

  “I think we need a drink,” Eva suggested, and I prayed they’d agree.

  “We need answers.”

  My prayers went unanswered.

  “Look, I...”

  “Maybe she had you confused with someone else,” Eva tried.

  “But then why...”

  “Because I broke up with her,” Tate’s deep, gravelly voice sounded from behind me. I tensed when his body pressed into mine.

  Emerson and Blake’s jaws dropped and they elbowed each other in the sides, their eyes darting from me to Tate and back again.

  “Eva, think you and your friends can leave us alone? I can make sure Wren gets home,” Tate said, his hands coming to rest on my hips. He was touching me. Why was he touching me? I wanted to pull away. I was so mad and upset with him, but he was so warm and strong, and his hands felt nice.

  My body was a traitor.

  Emerson and Blake looked at Eva, then Tate. They were going to get whiplash from moving their heads back and forth so fast.

  “Uh...” Eva looked at me for confirmation to which I shook my head rapidly.

  “No. Eva. Don’t...” I warned.

  “Sure. We were over this club anyway. They let too many psycho bitches in.”

  Eva was a traitor too.

  “Good,” Tate said and pulled Eva over to whisper something in her ear.

  “Okay,” she said, “but remember, I’m watching you.” She pointed at her eyes then at Tate before dragging a still-gaping Blake and Emerson off the dance floor.

  I shook off Tate’s hold and walked to the bar. If I was going to listen to him, I was going to need more to drink.

  “I was thinking we could go somewhere quieter.” Tate grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the door. I followed reluctantly because, well, he was holding my hand.

  Stupid body.

  Chapter Eighteen

  TATE

  I led Wren down the street to my car, her hand clasped in mine. I couldn’t remember the last time I held someone’s hand willingly and enjoyed it. Pulling open her door for her, I stepped aside to let her in.

  Wren’s eyes narrowed and she gave me a skeptical look before eyeing the car suspiciously. “What’s the deal?”

  “I can’t be a gentleman?” I chuckled.

  “You? No.”

  “Get in the car, Wren.” I walked around to my side and climbed in, noticing she hadn’t made a move to get in yet. “Wren.”

  With a huff, she fell into the seat beside me. “Jesus, could your car be any lower to the ground? I feel like my butt is going to get shredded on the road.”

  “I’d never let anything happen to your ass.” I turned the ignition on and pulled away from the curb, knowing exactly where I was going to take her.

  Wren scoffed, folded her arms over her chest and looked out the window, pointedly ignoring me.

  “You can’t ignore me forever, Wren.”

  “Pretty sure I can.”

  “I live in your house.”

  “Not if I have anything to do about it.” She sniffed, still not looking at me as I turned the car onto the street where Joe’s Pizza was located. I knew she wouldn’t refuse me if I gave her what she wanted most.

  I chanced a glance at her and had to suppress a smile. She was ready. She sat a little taller, her back a little straighter, and her hands fisted her dress as she licked her lips in anticipation.

  I pulled the car over to the side of the road, and Wren was out of the door before I even had a chance to unbuckle my seatbelt.

  “Just because we’re here doesn’t mean I’m talking to you,” she said.

  “Whatever you say.” I laughed. She failed to realize that even though she apparently wasn’t talking to me or wanted to be nowhere near me, she still stood on the sidewalk and waited for me to walk with her.

  Progress.

  “Wren, my darling.” An older man approached her the moment we walked inside.

  “Hi, Joe.” She kissed both his cheeks.

  He stepped backed and looked at her. “What brings you here so late?” he asked, before glancing over her shoulder at me. “Ah, you’re on a date.”

  I smiled and reached my hand out to shake his, just as Wren gasped and shook her head. “No. No. No date. This is... Ummm. He’s a pain in my neck, Joe.”

  “This is the tenant that Nico can’t talk about?” Joe raised an eyebrow at me in question. He clued on pretty quick, I’d give him that much.

  “Tate Montgomery,” I said and shook his hand.

  “What are you doing?” Wren spun around and stared at me with wide eyes. “You’re not meant to be seen.”

  “Think Rachel kind of killed that idea, don’t you?”

  “Hmm, well take a seat, kids. Wren, the usual?”

  “You really know how to treat a girl, Joe.” She elbowed me in the ribs. Yeah, I got it. That comment was a jab at me. But that was why we were here. I had to set things right.

  “Only my favorites.” He ushered us to a table and disappeared behind the counter to make Wren’s usual.
/>   I sat and watched her in silence for a few moments, amused because she looked everywhere but at me. “Wren.”

  She scratched at the paint on her nails. Maybe I could start there since she clearly didn’t want any apologies. “How’s the latest project going?”

  “Fine.”

  “And what about the slingshot one?” I smirked. She was so bizarre in the way she worked, but she really did create masterpieces. I was more than a little intrigued by her methods and the fact she used hundred-dollar bras and g-strings to slingshot paint onto a canvas.

  She smiled. “Oh, that’s my favorite one.” She leaned over the table, and relief washed over me. Maybe she was warming up to me again.

  “Really? Tell me about it?”

  “Well, you know how people have voodoo dolls, or dart boards with their enemy’s face on it?”

  I frowned but nodded, already knowing where this was going.

  “Well, I stuck your face on the canvas and haven’t missed a shot. I’ve learned to channel my anger at you into my thongs.”

  I bit my lip to stop laughing at that statement. I’d like to channel something else into her thongs.

  I cringed at my own thought. That was tacky. But true nonetheless.

  “You’re great for my aim.” She snorted. And I couldn’t contain it any longer, I burst into laughter.

  “Glad I could help.”

  Joe came over with two beers and placed them between us. “On the house.”

  “Thanks.” Wren smiled up at him, and it hit me how little she smiled on a regular basis. She seemed to have a permanent scowl on her face whenever I was around.

  I knew I’d been a dick with the NDAs and Rachel and whatever, but I was just following orders. I sighed and reached across the table as Wren wrapped her hand around her beer. Prying her hand from the icy cold glass, I warmed her fingers between my palms. She tensed but she didn’t pull away.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  She didn’t say anything, simply bit her lip and watched me. I took that as my opportunity to continue. “What you saw on my phone earlier, you weren’t meant to see.”

  She scoffed. “You think?”

  “No, I mean, it shouldn’t have been that way. When was the last time I called you?”

  She thought about it for a moment and blowing out a huff of air, she sighed, “Never.”

  “Exactly. I’ve never had a reason to call you. We live on the same property. Rachel borrowed my phone, and I knew straight away that she changed your contact when I saw your face drop.”

  “You expect me to believe that?”

  “Please.” It was true. I’d given her my phone one day. It was just after I’d come inside from witnessing Wren hanging from the rafters.

  Rachel had caught me laughing and asked what was so funny. I couldn’t very well tell her that I’d watched Wren hanging from the ceiling in her underwear, so I shrugged and said nothing. I knew she didn’t like Wren and I couldn’t figure out why.

  I didn’t think much of it when she asked for my phone. She typed out what I assumed was a text message and that was it.

  “You tried to apologize as soon as I saw the contact information. You knew she changed it and just left it.” Wren pulled her hands from mine and sat back.

  “No, I didn’t. I just assumed because it’s not the first time she’s done petty shit like this. Rachel, for as confident and outgoing as she appears, is really insecure and jealous.”

  “And that’s meant to make me feel better?” Wren huffed out a breath.

  “No. Of course not. It’s meant to make you realize that she’ll stoop to the lowest level just to make herself feel better. She tears down anyone that she feels is a threat, and you, Wren, are the biggest threat of all.”

  Her lips parted as she gasped. “I am?”

  I smiled. “Definitely.”

  “But, how? I’m the least threatening person there is. You’ve seen my fluffy unicorn pajamas and cloud slippers. How can I be a threat?”

  I laughed at the memory of walking into the pool house to pay rent, only to see Wren sitting on the counter in a pair of pajamas that looked like a rainbow had thrown up on, eating ice-cream for breakfast.

  “For that very reason.”

  “She wants my pajamas. Huh, funny. I thought she’d be more of a naked sleeper.”

  I chuckled. “She doesn’t want your pajamas.”

  “Good, cos those babies are so comfortable, I’m going to be buried in them.”

  Joe returned then and placed a large pepperoni pizza on the table between us.

  Wren raised an eyebrow and stared him down. She wasn’t impressed. “And the rest?”

  He pinched her cheek and shook his head but came back a moment later with a second pizza.

  “How much pizza do you think we can eat?” I asked. I had a two-slice limit, and that was very rarely because you didn’t get a body like mine by eating rubbish.

  “Don’t know about you, but I danced up an appetite and will totally put this whole pizza away.”

  “Bullshit. I bet you can’t.”

  She lifted a slice to her lips and smiled. “You’re on.”

  “Wait.” I raised my hand just as she wrapped her red painted lips around the end. “What are the stakes?”

  Wren placed the slice back down and tilted her head to the side to think about it. “If I win, you have to clean the pool shed out.”

  “And if I win, you have to show me a routine.” I smirked.

  Wren’s eyes widened in fear, but she steeled her jaw and lifted her hand between us to shake mine. “Deal.”

  I picked up a slice and took a bite, tasting nothing because my mind was preoccupied with the possibility of finally seeing a scantily-clad Wren wrapped around that pole in the basement.

  Chapter Nineteen

  WREN

  I smiled at Tate as I folded my arms across my chest.

  He blew out a breath and nodded. “Looking a little smug there.”

  I lifted one shoulder in response. “I am.”

  “So, cleaning out the pool shed, huh?” He rubbed a hand over his face and pushed his pizza aside.

  “Yep.” I grinned.

  “I can’t believe you ate a whole pizza. I’m impressed.”

  “Don’t be, I’ve been training for this my whole life.”

  He burst out laughing. “What, you entering a pizza-eating championship?”

  “Three-time champion actually.” I pointed at myself and winked.

  Oh my gosh, I winked. What was I? Twelve and trying to impress the cute boy? Yes, yes, I was. Just not twelve. But I wanted to impress him, and it was so, so stupid.

  “Seriously?”

  “I have the trophies stored in the basement.”

  Tate’s eyes lit up and a smirk spread across his soft pink lips.

  “What?” I asked tentatively.

  “I’d like to see these trophies.”

  “Maybe one day.”

  We sat there in silence, staring at each other for the longest time, and usually that would make things awkward, but it wasn’t. I was strangely comfortable in his presence. I didn’t feel the need to fill the quiet with mindless chatter, or stupid statements that I would normally come up with. But something was nagging at me.

  “Why did you break up with Rachel? I mean, you were engaged and seemed so perfect together.”

  He barked out a laugh. “We were not perfect together. The entire relationship was a charade. Something designed to improve both our careers.”

  I nodded in understanding. I mean, I had been obsessively following all his social media accounts for years—he was Tate Montgomery for goodness sake—so I noticed the moment his career exploded. It was three days after a photo had been leaked of him and Rachel holidaying on a yacht. Suddenly his face was everywhere. Movie deals were made. Photo shoots. His chiseled jaw and straight nose graced the covers of every magazine in the country.

  His career literally blew up.

  “W
on’t this be a bad career move then?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Then why would you jeopardize all you’ve worked for?”

  “Because she hurt you,” he said softly.

  It was like a blow to the chest. That was not the answer I was expecting. What did he care what she said to me? “Me?”

  “Yes.” He leaned forward and pulled my hands into his again, his thumb stroking the soft skin on the back of my hand.

  “What do I matter?”

  “You matter, Wren. Believe me.”

  He said it with such sincerity I almost believed him. Almost. But in this world, I didn’t really matter to anyone but my agents and my few friends. Everyone else just looked right by me as if I were nothing more than gum on the sidewalk. Still, my stomach fluttered, and my cheeks heated. I didn’t know what to say in response, so I simply picked up my beer and took a sip. Clearing my throat, I looked at Tate and asked, “What’s next for you?”

  “I just picked up a deal with a fashion designer that should boost my career into the next level.”

  “Really? That’s amazing.” I smiled, happy that his career was doing well, and that he didn’t need Rachel for it anymore. But it was a bitter pill to swallow. Tate Montgomery, the man hiding out and taking a break from the spotlight to get on top of his behavioral issues, the man who assaulted a photographer, was still getting career breaks. They seemed to fall in his lap, whereas I worked my butt off with my art and no one was willing to take a chance.

  “What about you? What are your plans? How’s the job search going?”

  “It’s not. I’ve been searching forever and have gone to more interviews than I can count.”

  “What’s the problem? Are you going for jobs that aren’t suitable or what?” he asked.

  “I’m going for every available job I can find. But they all want someone younger, or someone with more experience. No one wants to hire a rich girl who’s never worked a day in her life.”

  “What do you want to do, though?”

  “I want to open my own gallery.” I smiled. “It was my dad’s dream for me to have a place to display my art the way I wanted to. He was my biggest supporter.”