I Can't Trust You

by Roxy Gray

  I CAN’T TRUST YOU

  WRITTEN BY ROXY GRAY

  Copyright © 2019 by Roxy Gray. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the Publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  I CAN’T TRUST YOU

  How do you prove someone is a liar?

  Ivy Woods is ready to have an amazing semester on campus with her best friend Violet at her side.

  The last thing she expects is an unwanted reunion with the boy who tormented her years ago: troublemaker and heart breaker Jasper Blake. He’s just been assigned as their new roommate.

  When disturbing crimes begin happening in the dorm, Ivy grows suspicious of Jasper. She takes it upon herself to do what the Police won't ― investigate and see what he's hiding.

  But Ivy’s inquiry creates a problem: she uncovers a new side to her old foe, and starts falling for him in a big way.

  Meanwhile, the incidents have escalated to a missing person case. Ivy is running out of time.

  Can she trust him? Or will she be the next victim?

  I Can’t Trust You is a standalone Romance/Suspense with an emotional punch. It contains 18+ scenes with graphic sex and some references to drugs/violence.

  contents

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  1

  ___

  move-in day

  IVY

  “Bye, sweetie. I love you!” My mom says, finally pulling away from me after a long hug.

  “Love you too. I’ll see you soon!”

  She looks back at me fondly one last time before leaving. And as soon as the door clicks shut, I jump for joy.

  This summer felt like the longest of my life. I don’t understand how anyone can stand to live with their parents past childhood. Even though I only stayed with my mom and dad for the duration of summer, they managed to smother me into never wanting to live with them again; ever. Now that I’m back in the dorms, I can do whatever I want again.

  “Is she gone?” My best friend Violet pokes her head out of her bedroom, her arms full of clothes.

  “Yup. I just need to unpack. Then we can party.”

  I smile, knowing Violet has the same thing on her mind that I do. Though shyer than I am, she’s been my kindred spirit since I moved to her school back in the eighth grade. What began as a shared hatred of gym class ended with Violet and I declaring ourselves as official sisters until the day we die.

  “Great minds think alike,” Violet laughs. She drops the clothes on her bed, gathering her hair into a bun with both hands. “Does it look okay?” She asks, not bothering to find a mirror.

  “It’s perfect. You’re the hair queen,” I say, my eyes lingering on her shiny tresses.

  I’d always been envious of Violet’s appearance, partially because it’s so different from my own. Growing up I was a late bloomer. Violet was the opposite. By the time I had finally started growing breasts in the eighth grade, Violet was filling out a c-cup effortlessly. And when her skin had cleared of hormonal acne, mine was just starting. Just in time to ruin my senior year. Since then I’ve grown into my appearance, but I still can’t help but compare our looks from time to time. There were times where I’d agonized over my stubby legs, envying Violet’s long, slender ones. While I’d been blessed with dark hair, green eyes and a petite frame decorated with tattoos, Violet has always been the epitome of sweetness. She has straight blonde hair, blue eyes, and the most natural golden tan I’ve ever seen.

  “I can’t believe we’re going to be roommates again!” Violet says. She crosses the living room and vaults into my arms, kicking her feet like an overly excited toddler. My brambly frame can’t support her weight and we topple over into a heap on the floor, our stomachs full of laughter.

  “I can’t wait either,” I say.

  Our heads snap to the right as the door swings open, revealing an unfamiliar face. He’s a lanky fellow with dark-rimmed glasses, freckled skin, and pale blonde hair. Dressed in a red plaid button-up and blue jeans, his arms bend under the weight of an oversized box. His breathing is heavy and he looks exhausted, barely able to support his overstuffed backpack.

  Violet’s eyes light subtly as she peruses the man, too quick for anyone to notice but me.

  “Hi,” he says, taking in the sight of us on the floor. “I’m Clay.” He sets the box down. “I’m in 604B; do you ladies know which room that is?”

  I gulp, realizing that we’d just acquired a male roommate. I knew that rooming with a guy was a possibility in our co-ed dorm, but I hadn’t expected it to actually happen. Especially when last year Violet and I had managed to snag a double room all to ourselves.

  “So, do you know or…?” Clay repeats over the silence.

  “Oh, it’s that one in the corner over there,” Violet replies, blinking herself out of a trance. “Right next to mine,” she points.

  “Thanks.”

  Clay winces as he picks up the box again. He goes over to his new bedroom and slides the key into the lock, disappearing inside. Violet’s eyes follow him greedily, drifting down his back.

  “I know that look,” I whisper to her.

  “Look? What look?” She resets her face, feigning innocence, but her pursed lips give her away.

  “Okay,” I say sarcastically. “You definitely had a look.”

  “I did not.”

  “Violet, you can sleep with whoever you want here. You’re an adult, remember? He seems like your type and it’s been a while since you’ve had a good ―”

  Violet slams her hand over my mouth as Clay returns to the living room.

  “So, are you guys going to tell me your names? Now that we’re roommates and all,” he smiles.

  “I’m Ivy,” I say, peeling Violet’s hand off my mouth. “This is Violet. Sorry, we’re kind of a handful. We’ll try to behave normally when you’re around,” I laugh.

  “Right,” Clay laughs. “Well, I grew up with sisters so I’m used to girl talk and all that. Don’t worry about me. Plus, I’ll have back up.”

  “Back up?” Violet raises one brow. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but there’s another door there,” he points to the room adjacent mine. “If he ever gets here, that is.”

  I gulp. Living with a guy is one thing, but two? That could be problematic. I grew up an only child, and living with boys is not something I’d ever been keen on. Enduring Violet’s two younger brothers had been tortured enough. I didn’t need my own.

  “Oh. Right.” I say.

  “So, what are you studying, Clay?” Violet asks, changing the subject.

  He breaks into a smile. “Well, I’m still undeclared. For now, that is. I’m taking a few courses in different subjects to try to figure out what I’m interested in pursuing.”

  “Gotcha,” Violet says. “That’s cool. Ivy and I are both journalism majors. We’re in our second year.”

  Clay opens his mouth to speak, but he’s interrupted by the door. It bursts open again, this time revealing a squat man with a head of green hair.

  “Party in 601. We have drinks,” he says, then shuts it again
.

  Violet and I turn to one another, each cracking a smile. Yep, this is way different than my parents’ place.

  “Come on. Let’s go,” I say, jumping to my feet.

  Clay shrugs. “You guys go ahead. Drinking isn’t really my thing,”

  “Oh no,” I grin, “you’re coming. You don’t have to drink. Just come meet everyone with us.”

  “Yeah, it’ll be fun,” Violet insists.

  We don’t give Clay any time to protest. Violet laces her hand in his and we head down the hall, following the green-haired guy to his place.

  The party is already in full swing. In the corner of the living room, there’s a table covered with an array of liquor bottles, a full bowl of mysterious-looking punch, and a few ice cube trays worth of jello shots. Music blares through a set of tinny-sounding wireless speakers that have been duct-taped to the exterior brick, drowning out the sound of conversation.

  If my mother saw this, her head would roll. But she’s not here, I remind myself. You’re allowed to have a good time before your course work begins.

  Clay and Violet try to find a seat while I grab a drink. I peruse the selection, deciding to be adventurous and have a glass of the mystery punch. Just as I’ve finished pouring myself one, a short, red-headed woman taps me on the arm.

  “Oh my god, I love your tattoos. They’re so beautiful!” She smiles at me warmly through a thin-framed pair of glasses.

  “Thank you!”

  “I’ve always wanted one, but I’m afraid of needles,” she admits. “I’m Bridgette, by the way.”

  “I’m Ivy,” I say, returning the smile. My hand trails absentmindedly down the length of my arm as she takes a closer look. I don’t blame her; my ink is normally the first thing people notice about me.

  “Oh, and this is my roommate, Amanda.”

  “Hi!” Her friend appears from nowhere and immediately traps me in an enthusiastic hug. My vision is blocked as her mop of blonde hair nearly whips the side of my head.

  “Hi,” I laugh, untangling myself from her. “Nice to meet you guys.”

  “Did you just get here today, too?” Amanda asks.

  I nod, taking a sip of my drink. “Yup. Not too long ago.”

  “Yeah, same!” Amanda says chirpily. Her voice is high-pitched and full of energy. Her accent is that of a girly-girl. Her aesthetic is vaguely reminiscent of a human barbie: bleached blonde hair, pink lipstick, and pale blue eyes. I look down, noticing her short dress leaves little to the imagination. But who am I to judge?

  “Come on!” Amanda leads Bridgette and me through the crowd in the living room. Clay and Violet are busy talking to a few people, so I mingle some more, getting acquainted with my other floormates. I return to the drink table every so often to make myself a new cocktail. After a few, I’m completely out of my shell and ready to be the life of the party. Everyone has been friendly so far tonight — a solid evening. All around me, the sounds of laughter and conversation flutter, beckoning a smile from my lips. I wander to the drink table again, happy that the punch supply seems to be never-ending.

  I’ve just settled back into my seat when I notice a new guy standing on my left. He notices me too.

  “Hi. I’m Jamie.”

  I take his outstretched hand, noting a firm grip. It’s not the only thing I notice: he has striking brown eyes, a dark complexion, and jet black hair.

  “Ivy. Nice to meet you.”

  Jamie’s eyes drop to my arms as he studies the twisting ivy tattoo blanketing my skin.

  “Nice tattoo,” he smiles. A friendly, non-assuming grin.

  “Thanks.”

  “Did you get that done locally? I’ve been thinking of getting one, but I don’t know where to go.”

  “Oh yeah,” I say. “I go to a place near the bridge in Myra. I can give you my guy’s name if you want.”

  “That’d be great. It’s hard to find anything out this way.”

  “Yeah. Not much around campus except the woods,” I smile.

  “Could be worse. I’d rather be going to school near mountains and forests than be in a big city. It’s more peaceful.”

  “True.”

  “And more private,” he adds.

  He’s right. There are many perks to our campus being nestled in a small British Columbia mountain town.

  “I guess I take it for granted since I grew up not far from here,” I shrug. “It’s beautiful. But it can be boring.”

  “Well, it’s not boring to me so far,” Jamie says, his gaze meeting mine. From his smile, I get the feeling he isn’t just talking about campus anymore.

  The two of us keep chatting. I nod along and try my hardest to listen to Jamie’s smooth voice, yet I keep getting distracted. I keep studying his chiselled physique, wondering how long it will take before he makes a move. Five minutes? An hour? I’d like it to be soon. Maybe it’ll be never. He’s a nice guy, and nice guys are dangerous. They don’t always want to sleep with you. Instead, they make you get attached to them and fall in love. Then they leave you, each and every time. I’ve learned that lesson the hard way. And what I’ve confirmed is that it’s best to keep things physical, which is exactly what I plan to do with Jamie.

  Guys aren’t the only ones who have needs. As a self-proclaimed feminist, I’m not going to deny mine just because society expects me to be a passive participant in any romantic situation. When I want something or someone, I go for it.

  “Come sit down,” I say, pulling Jamie by the hand onto the sofa beside me.

  Clay and Violet are at the other end, immersed in what appears to be a deep conversation. Violet is holding a glass of wine in one hand. Clay is sipping on what looks to be a cola, his eyes fixed on Violet through his thick-rimmed glasses.

  I turn my attention back to Jamie, who seems to finally be picking up on my cues. He slides one hand high up on my thigh as he takes a swig from his beer.

  “So, what program are you in?” he asks.

  “Journalism. I just started my second year.”

  He smiles in surprise.

  “Wow, same.”

  My brows knit in confusion. “Really? I think I would have remembered you from last year.”

  Jamie smiles again. “I just transferred here; that’s why you don’t remember me. But I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other from now on.”

  His hand is beginning to roam, tracing the lines of ink on my arm. Heat spreads through my body, as does impatience. I’m done waiting.

  “Look,” I say matter-of-factly. “I’m not going to beat around the bush here. I want you, and you seem like you want me.”

  Jamie blinks, taken aback by my candidness — men usually are.

  “Yeah…?”

  “So let’s go to your room,” I propose.

  I don’t have to say it twice. Jamie gets up and takes my hand in his. He leads me out of the apartment and down the hall. As we get further away, the sounds of the party fade, and it’s just he and I. He slides his key into the door, and it opens with a satisfying click.

  Inside Jamie’s apartment, we lock the door. His place is empty and quiet. He leads me to the questionable dorm sofa, where I stretch out on my back.

  “Hi,” he smiles. Jamie crawls on top of me, gently pinning my arms overhead before planting his lips on mine. He tastes of beer, his tongue cool and wet against my own. I relish in the weight of his body, solid and heavy on top of me.

  “Hi,” I smile, biting my bottom lip.

  “Are you real?” Jamie jokes, kissing his way down my neck to the tops of my heaving breasts. Releasing my hands, he unbuttons my top. As it opens, my black push-up bra is revealed. It’s a bit small, and the cups spillover. Jamie notices, his eyes going wide.

  “Fuck, you are fine.”

  He continues greedily. His hands finally reach for the clasp of my shorts. In one motion he tugs them down, taking my panties with them.

  I’m getting excited. The alcohol
is doing a good job of calming my nerves. I slip my hand into the front of Jamie’s jeans, ready for a preview of my prize.

  Not bad. It’ll do for tonight.

  I wrap my hand along the length of him and tighten my grip.

  “Bedroom?” Jamie asks, panting now.

  I nod, following him to his room. He unlocks it with his card again, holding the door open for me.

  I give him a sultry look as I peel off my bra and sink onto his soft mattress, ready to get down to business. I don’t need flattery or foreplay: I’m ready and waiting. Another inconvenience of living with my parents over the summer was being unable to maintain a sex life. It’s been a while since I’ve been satisfied by anyone other than my vibrator.

  Jamie approaches me and I tear off his shirt, positioning myself at the edge of the bed. I hear the sound of a condom tearing open, and watch as he rolls the latex onto his shaft.

  “Ready?” he asks, positioning himself at my swollen entrance.

  I nod, ready to feel nothing but pleasure. Forget all of my problems, surprising, out of this world type of pleasure. He presses inside, groaning as he reaches deeper. I close my eyes as the sensation builds.

  Here we go.

  Unfortunately, the act is short-lived.

  Jamie is inside of me for about sixty seconds before he climaxes, collapsing on top of me in a sweaty heap. He rolls to my side, laying down on the bed next to me. Awkwardness quickly envelops us.

  “Did you come?” He gets up and discards the condom in the bin.

  “No.”

  I try not to sound disappointed. But I am. Why was it always so hard for men to understand what I wanted in bed? It’s not that complicated, really. I doubt my vagina is that different from everyone else’s.

  “Shit, I’m sorry.” He says, obviously embarrassed. “It’s been a while.”

  Great, now I feel bad.

  “It’s alright, no big deal.”

  “Let me make it up to you.”