Something True (2 page)

“You're an ass,” I tell Ibbie.

“I'm hilarious,” she counters.

“How'd you even get your stomach to do that?”

She pulls her arm away from me, smiling smugly, and immediately my skin screams out for her missing contact. “It's a special skill.”

“Yeah, you put that on your fuckin' resume?”

“Duh.”

Dismissing me now that she's successfully ruined my night, she leans against the bar and signals the bartender. I've been waiting to be served by him for twenty minutes but the second he clocks her smiling prettily he immediately flashes over. Not that I can blame the guy really. With that bouncy blonde hair and those big eyelashes and her
skintight
fucking
bumble bee
costume, she looks like Barbie's better looking sister. She orders two lemon drops – yeah, I totally called that one – and pushes one my way. Rolling my eyes, I slide it back, because there's no way on earth you'll catch me drinking that shit. Shrugging, she slugs them both back then slams the shot glasses down with a satisfied smile. When she smiles like that, she gets these two little dimples on each of her cheeks and they sock me in the gut. Every. Single. Time.
 

“Thanks for ruining a sure thing,” I bite out, because that's just how I react whenever she's in front of me and my insides start doing a fucking circus show. “What the hell was that for?”

“Mainly for kicks and giggles,” she replies airily, tossing her hair behind her shoulder. “And also because I owed you one. That creepy hobo is now wearing my best panties as a hat, you jerk.”

I can't help but laugh at that, which only makes her glare. “What?” I demand innocently. “It was funny.”

“Well I'll be the one laughing when I cockblock you every time I see you anywhere
near
a hot girl.
Every
time.”

“You wouldn't.”

“Watch me.” She pretends to shoot me with a pair of finger guns, then she blows away the imaginary smoke. “Cockblocked!”

“How about a big fat fuck off?”

“How about we call a truce?”

Quit messing with her? And miss the way she gets all angry and fired up and grouchy? “Fuckin' never.”

“That's what I thought.”

“I think we both know what this is really about.”

She arches a thin eyebrow at me. It's a shade or two darker than her hair. “We do?”

“You were just jealous.” Each time I say something that angers her, her cheeks get these two brilliant pink dots on them. I'm obsessed with those dots. “Obviously you want me all to yourself – not that I can blame ya, princess. But this hot bod ain't for you, girl.”

Instead of storming off in outrage like most girls would, she pretends to gag. This girl is never afraid to give as good as she gets – it's one of the things I like most about her. I've never enjoyed being around anyone the way I do when I'm fighting with her. “I hate that our friends are friends and that we actually have to see each other. Like, regularly. You make my life miserable.”

Ouch. That one stung. But I'm shit hot at hiding when things get to me, especially when it comes to her. Hell, no one knows that
she
gets to me, after all. At least, not in the way they think she does. I school my expression into something lazy and amused. “Please, you love when I screw with you. Bet it gets your panties all hot and wet when you're laying in bed thinkin' about me at night.”
 

I wait for her to get embarrassed at that, and she doesn't disappoint. Those cheeks get even brighter and her big, bright blue eyes widen comically. She looks like she belongs in a Disney movie. I bet birds fucking dress her in the morning and make her pancakes and clean up her mess while she's out on stage making everyone fall in love with her. “You know what you are? You're just a gross freak. From now on keep whatever futurenanigans you've got planned to yourself and leave me out of them – bug somebody else for a change. I'm done with you.” Yeah, she says that a lot. “And stop wriggling those eyebrow pubes at me!”

“Jesus, it's like talking to a fuckin' coconut. I don't even understand half of what you say.”

“So don't talk to me, ya dumb mo. It's not rocket science.”

This girl gets me more riled up than anyone I've ever met. I'm about to retort when a hand claps down on my shoulder, and Ibbie immediately perks up with interest at the figure behind me. This pisses me off, but when I spin and see my brother, Aleix, standing there, a grin stretches out my cheeks involuntarily. Aleix is only a few years older than I am, but when our mom went and abandoned us when I was twelve he took care of me, watched over me and never once failed to have my back. The guy's my fucking hero.

“Hey, bud. Knew you'd be here.” He nods at the bartender and the guy quickly makes his way over, even though he went back to ignoring me the second he'd finished with Ibbie. But that's just the kind of man my brother is; people look at him and automatically know he's a guy they want to get things done for.

“You only just finished with your clients?”

“Took them out, wined 'em and dined 'em, got the deal.” He flashes me a toothy grin as he orders us a couple of beers. “I always get the deal.”

Ibbie is watching on curiously, obviously trying to figure out the connection between the two of us – it's always the same when Aleix and I are together. He catches her looking and stands up straighter with interest. A flare of something white hot and jealous flames in my chest.

“Well hey there, beautiful.” He takes her hand and brings it to his lips. “I'm Aleix, Walt's brother. And who might you be?”

She blinks in surprise. “I'm Ibbie. Now wait just a cotton picking minute, did you say you were his
brother
?”
 

Though Aleix and I look alike with our dark hair and our dark eyes and our similar features, we're just about as opposite as two guys can get. Aleix is a management consultant, and he fits the part well – he's smooth, polished and educated with his smart suits and his shiny shoes and his expensive watches and his classic good looks. And I'm a tattoo artist who barely scraped his way through high school. When people look at me they see a grumpy, tattooed, pierced punk. When they look at my brother, they see a man who's got his life together.

“You got it.” He flashes a smile at her. It's his deal closing smile, and of course it works on her. I can practically see the stars forming in her eyes as she gazes up at him. “So may I get you a drink, beautiful Ibbie?”

She flutters her eyelashes. “You may.”

When she turns to the bar, Aleix quickly shoots me a look. “Not stepping on your toes, right?” he asks quietly. “She's not one of yours?”

I want to tell him to back off, to tell him to keep his hands off her because she's. . .because she's. . .mine. But she isn't, so instead I grit my teeth and force out a smile. “Go for it, man.”

+++

FOR THE NEXT hour I'm forced to watch the two of them flirt. Ibbie eats up the shit he's dishing out like she's never met anyone so goddamned charming before, and it drives me fucking crazy. It drives me fucking crazy because I like the stupid girl so much I don't even know what to do with it.

Yeah, I like her. I'm an ass to her, but I like her.

Hell, I more than like her. I've been head over heels for her almost from the very first time Jemma brought her around. She annoyed the hell out of me at first – was just this psychotic, crazy as shit little pixie who wore stupidly bright clothes and never stopped talking long enough for anyone else to get a word in. When somebody annoys me like she did, I'm a dick. I just don't see the point of playing nice. The more I saw her, the more irritated I got. She drove me insane to the point of distraction. I couldn't stop thinking about her.

It didn't take me long to figure out that I was in love with the girl I hated. Except I didn't hate her, obviously. Not at all. But by the time I realized how deep my feelings ran it was too late, she already thought I was an ass.

She was just so different to the other girls I knew, and so much
better
than me. I knew that, and it pissed me off. Guys like me didn't get princesses like her. And I. . .I didn't know how to act around her, how to
be
around her. The feelings I had, I didn't know what to do with them. So instead of being a decent guy and apologizing, I just kept lashing out. Didn't help that she gave it right back, that she drove me just as crazy as I drove her.
 

So I kept bugging her and bugging her like that annoying kid on the playground pulling the pretty girl's pigtails, because all I ever really wanted was her attention. I sure as hell got it.

I piss her off because I love the fire she gets in her eyes when she looks my way. As for guys, whenever I see her with one I do everything in my power to scare him away. That's my genius plan and I'm sticking with it.

I'm seriously pathetic.

And now I'm sat here watching my perfect older brother, the one guy I can't scare away, sweep the girl I'm crazy about off her feet, and there's nothing I can do to stop it.

Reid joins me a while later at the bar as I watch Ibbie and Aleix dance. I've never talked about my feelings for her with him, or with
anyone
, but he's always known me better than most.
 

“You okay?”

I take a sip of my drink, but I've been staring over at Ibbie and Aleix – at the way her body moves and the way his hands are all over her fucking skin – for so long that the ice has melted and it tastes like shit. “I'm fine.”

“You should go ask her to dance.”

“Don't know what you're talkin' about.”

Reid was never one for accepting bullshit. “If you don't do something you're gonna lose your chance with her.”

“Dude.” I shake my head, abandoning the drink on the bar. “Don't go there.” Because there's just no point. Ibbie already hates me, and even if she didn't I could never offer her even close to anything Aleix could.

“Just let her see the real you for once.” He grins. “You know, the one who ain't a complete dick.”

“I said I don't know what you're talkin' about,” I reply stubbornly. Standing, I slap his shoulder a little too hard. “Anyway, I gotta split. Got a client in early tomorrow.”

“At my place?”

“Digby's.” Ever since Reid opened up his own tattoo shop, I've been splitting my time between his business and the tattoo shop we used to work in together when we first started out. I earn more with Digby, but Reid's been my best friend since middle school and I'd do anything for him. “This guy can only come in Sunday mornings, so I need to shoot and get some sleep.”

“Just give yourself some credit,” Reid continues, clinging to this Ibbie thing like a dog with a bone. “And give
her
some too.”
 

Backing away, I hold my hands up in front of me. “Look, we both know she's too good for a shit like me. Let's not go there, okay?”

“That's the same thing I thought about me and Jem. You see that stopping me?”

“I'm going,” I say sternly, spinning and pushing through the crowds of people.

“Just wanna see you happy too, bro,” he calls to my back, but I don't turn around.

+++

EVEN THOUGH I really do need to be up early in the morning, sleep is impossible when I get home to my apartment in Bushwick. There are too many images of Ibbie and my brother taking up space in my head and it makes me want to smash the hell out of my furniture. I try to lose myself in my charcoals for a while, but for the first time I fail to disappear into my art.

Aleix finally gets back an hour and a half after I do, still completely sober. He rarely drinks more than a beer or two, unwilling to lose control and composure, especially when he's trying to seal a deal – whether that be in business or with a woman.

“Thanks for letting me crash here tonight. Didn't feel like driving home,” he tells me, loosening his tie and collapsing on my leather sofa. “I should just buy an apartment here. I'm in the city enough.”

Yeah, that's how rich big bro is. Rich enough to own a house an hour outside the city and still be able to afford a casual apartment for when he can't be assed driving home. Why the hell would a girl like Ibbie want me when she could have someone like him?

“You get Ibbie home okay?”

“Course I did. Escorted that cutie right to her front door.” That's Aleix for you, ever the gentleman. It's why, despite the fact that he's after the woman I want, I can't hate him. He's just a good guy. Way better than me.

“Planning on seeing her again?” I ask casually, flicking on the TV.

“Hell yeah. You've seen her right? That chick is hot as hell.” And funny, and smart, and sweet, and mother fucking crazy. “Did you know she's an actress? Never dated an actress before.”

I keep my eyes planted firmly on the TV screen, though I have no clue what's even showing. “You sure this is a good idea? You live pretty far away.”

“Dude, it's just an hour. Not like I need to hop on a plane.”

“I don't know, I don't think you and Ibbie are a good fit.”

“This 'cause the two of you don't get along?” I see him grin out of the corner of my eye, and I realize Ibbie must have told him. “Or 'cause you wish you got along better?”

I whip my head around to face him. There's a knowing look in his eyes, and it rubs me up the wrong way. “I just think you should back off, that's all. She's got stuff going on. Her shows and. . .and her. . .other stuff.”

He roars with laughter, punching me in the shoulder and stealing control of the remote. “Come on, baby bro. Lighten up. It's just a little fun.”

I resist the urge to punch him. But only just.

“SO, HOW'S THAT show of yours going?” my cousin, Sabrina, asks distractedly as we make a very late dinner after the two of us have gotten home from work – and by make dinner, I mean we scavenge for leftover takeout in the fridge. I don't think
Sabrina
really
cares about my show, but she always makes sure to ask whenever we briefly see each other around the apartment. As a lawyer, Sabrina probably works even harder than I do and is home way less, and that's saying something. She's pretty awesome in that ball busting, career woman way. Most people look at her and see this tall, blonde haired model lookalike and they never expect much from her. It's kind of her secret weapon because the second she hits the courtroom she's like
BAM! Take that bitches!
Yeah, my cousin kicks ass. I was stoked when she offered me her spare room in her apartment after I finished college, especially since I love Hell's Kitchen so frigging much.