The Truth About Air & Water (Truth in Lies #2) (18 page)

So. Amy Ransom sat on the bar stool next to mine at some out-of-the-way place in LA, and she seemed to understand my issues. How could I have known she worked for the LA Times?
I didn’t.
How was I supposed to know that she was looking to make a big name for herself with my story?
I didn’t.

Amy Ransom and I had a brief conversation, but I stopped paying attention to her after the first couple of drinks. And yes, I started talking even more to the blonde sitting next to me on my right, whose name I did not even bother to ask while Amy just listened in.

I was on a mission for recreational entertainment. I just didn’t know my actions would torpedo my good-guy reputation so thoroughly and in such a big way.

No. Five drinks in, and I let the blonde drive me home, or rather to her house—some small bungalow on the edge of town. I didn’t pay much attention even as the camera flashes went off when I emerged from her car after we arrived. No, I just followed that sweet piece of ass up the front steps and inside because I wanted to be with somebody, not knowing that suddenly I had become somebody else in everyone’s eyes with that particular bad-boy move.

And it happens just like that.

It’s just that easy.

To fuck up your life.

The incessant ringing of a cell phone wakes me up.
Who’s calling me? Hell.

I roll over in an unfamiliar bed and vaguely recognize the blonde from the bar the night before sleeping right next to me.
Holy shit. I’m fucked or I fucked up. Holy shit
.

My cell phone resumes ringing all over again. The shrill sound skewers all the way to the very center of my brain.
Kimberley Powers
comes up on the screen.

“Where. Are. You?” Kimberley screams so loud I hold the phone away from me as I answer.

“I don’t know.”

“Get up. Get dressed. Find her mail and get me the God damn address right the fuck now!”

“Where are you? I thought you were still in the Caribbean?”

“I’m at LAX. Brad and I just flew in on a red eye from Miami. Have you
seen
the Times? Of course, you haven’t.” She sighs big. “Find the address. God dammit, Linc. God dammit. You’ve just committed brand suicide; and yet, here I am still ready and willing to help you get out of the shit hole you’ve just climbed into. I tried to contain the story, but it hit the wires a few hours ago. I’m sure she’s already read it. This is what I get for thinking I could find peace and quiet in the Caribbean for a few weeks and that you could manage without me for a while. Jesus Christ! Why do I even
try
?”

“
Who
? Read what?”

“Never mind. Amy Ransom got her byline. We’ll talk about all of it later. Get me an address so I can come and rescue your sorry ass.”

“Who’s Amy Ransom?”

How much did I drink?

How many pills did I take?

“Amy Ransom is the LA Times sports reporter who broke your story. About your memory loss. About your new hook-up. Is there
anything
you didn’t tell her? Why do I even try to save you?” Kimberley asks.

“Oh shit,” I groan as the reality begins to sink in.
I have seriously fucked up.

I stumble through the bedroom, grope the walls on each side of hallway, and then proceed to go through this woman’s mail like I have a clue as to what I’m doing as if I’m Jason Bourne or something. I rattle off the address to Kimberley in my somewhat still drunken state and can hear her tapping on her iPad, which is never more than a few feet away from her at any given time.

“Trinna Danner. White. Female. Works at The Lantern part-time as a waitress. Wants to be an actress.
Wonderful.
So far, her commercial work consists of toothpaste ads and shampoo. Nice. Blond. Blue-eyed. Twenty-five.” Kimberley sighs big into the phone. “Get dressed, Linc, and get ready to be picked up. Looks like we can be there…in twenty minutes. The lady lives near the airport. Does that give you enough inside intel to put together as to
what you’ve done
and
who
with? And go gather up your used condoms.”

“What the
fuck
? Why would I do that?” I shake my head because now Kimberley’s really over the line.

“You want some clever fan-girl you do not know handling the DNA you’ve left behind? Do you know what you’re worth, buddy? Do you think she doesn’t? She wants your babies. She wants your alimony. She wants your entire fucking contract. Are you seriously fucking with me? We’ve
had
this discussion. Okay, maybe you don’t remember it. Jesus! Go get them.
Now
!”

I slink back to the girl’s bedroom. She’s still asleep. I quietly gather up my discarded clothes and find the two used condoms near the bedside. “Got ‘em.”

“How many?” Kimberley asks.

“Two.”

“Look around for one or two more.
Check
her freezer!”

“Are you
insane
?”

“I’ve seen it all,” Kimberley says. “Go check. Do it now, before she wakes up and catches you.”

There are two condoms in the freezer. My brand.
I start to shake. I think it’s a combination of drugs, alcohol, and a glimpse of my future being involved with this blonde on any level because I have seriously fucked-up in a big way. This happens to every other guy, not to me. I don’t do this kind of shit. “I messed up,” I say into the phone.

“You have
royally
fucked-up. How many in the freezer?”

“Two.”

“Holy shit. She’s a professional fan-girl looking for her big-time break. Get the hell out of there. Get dressed. Take all the condoms with you. Find a plastic bag and put them in your pants pocket. Wash your hands. Find some alcohol wipes and just wipe down anything you may have touched.”

“What are you? With CSI?”

“Funny. I see we’re going to have to have the sex talk all over again. I gave you all of this years ago, but you obviously don’t fucking remember. Oh my God. I really can’t believe this is happening. I can feel a migraine coming on.” Kimberley says to me. “Do you know who she is? Do you remember
anything
about last night with her.”

“No. I don’t remember much of anything,” I say, properly shamed. “Shit, Kimmy, what have I done? Is my dad looking for me?”

“He
was
. I told him I was on my way and I’d take care of it. And now I have to make
that
phone call.” She sighs big.

“I’m sorry. Just come and get me, okay?” Kimberley starts in on one of her lectures and I keep her on the phone for both of our sakes. She needs to say it and I suppose I need to hear it.

In the mean time, I put the four condoms in a Ziploc bag and then stuff it all into my jeans.
Mad scientist stuff. Me.

I start wiping things down as I look around the apartment trying to assess last night’s activities. There are at least three empty wine bottles scattered about. And it looks like the party consisted of just the two of us.

I look up then and discover the blonde watching me with this bemused look on her face from the doorway. She’s pretty in that waitress wanting to be discovered by Hollywood kind of way. And if it wasn’t for my used condoms I found in her freezer, I’d say she was harmless enough.

“Gotta go,” I say to Kimberley. “Call me when you get here.”

“Go out the back. I’ll figure out how to get you to the car. The press will be there so don’t even think about
leaving,
especially through the front door, until I call you back when we’re there.”

“Got it.” I hang up the cell and look at the girl. She has big blue eyes, long blond hair, and an endless pair of legs. She’s wearing my white dress shirt like a dress and a little shy smile.
Liar.

“Hi,” I say, sounding uneasy. I clear my throat.
This is bad.

“Hello,” she says. “Sounds like you’re leaving.”

“Yeah. Probably need to go. Can I…can I get my shirt back?”

She nods and slowly smiles as she takes off my shirt and hands it to me. Now, she’s naked and doesn’t attempt to hide herself. The reality that this whole scene has become probably the worst experience from start to finish begins to resonate with me while she eyes me looking perfectly calm.

Holy shit. What have I done? And who is this girl?

“Thanks for the…time.” I botch up the placating line. She just nods still looking at me expectantly. I swallow hard. “Did we? Did we…have a good time?”

“One of us did.” She laughs a little and tucks a strand of blond hair behind one ear. “Look, you probably took one too many of those little white pills you have with you. Don’t worry about it. Maybe we’ll see each other again sometime, and you can make up for…your lack of participation?”

Does that mean the drugs kicked in, and I couldn’t get it up? But then, how to explain those used condoms in my pocket?

She’s lying. I don’t like it.

Holy shit.

For once, I’m hoping that’s the case, although it’s of little consolation because I already
know
that Kimberley will be reading me the riot act for just about everything else to do with this scene. She’s only drilled it into me for years. Okay, more than six of those years I can’t remember, but still. She’s been saying this for some time now, since we first knew each other, when I was getting good at baseball.
“
Don’t hook up with girls at bars, after games, at parties, in LA, in San Fran, in New York, or on vacation, which pretty much eliminates most encounters.”
This
, from the most promiscuous girl I know, but on this point, she’s always been right.
No groupies. No girls at bars. No one-night stands. Ever.

My mind flashes to the green-eyed girl in my hospital room from a few months ago. I really need to do some research, pull up Google, and research that girl and our history.
But how? Maybe, I just Google myself and she’ll come up in another photograph or something.
I seriously need to start paying attention and doing things for myself.
I digress.

Meanwhile, this girl watches me intently now and gets this secret smile.

Yeah, babe, I’m on to you. My DNA is coming with me.

I put on my shirt pulling it down quickly. I’m sure she’s a nice girl, just like I’m a nice guy. I go for politeness—
chivalry, what’s left of it
—in some form. “So I’m sorry…” I force a smile. My best one. “What’s your name?”

“Trinna.”

“Trinna.”
I nod like hers is best name in the world I’ve ever heard. “Thanks for the…hospitality. It would really help me out if you didn’t mention this little visit to anyone. I’m still recovering from an injury.”

“I know. You mentioned that several times. You really can’t remember anything?”

“Not much.” I grin and try to control my breathing.

Now, I’ve broken yet another rule of Kimberley’s.
Don't tell anyone that you can’t remember anything. That’s career suicide.

“The thing is my memory is slowly coming back, so it’s going to be okay.” I nod as I tell her this lie. “Anyway, my ride is almost here and I would really appreciate it if we could just keep this between us.”

“I won’t say anything. It’ll be our secret.” She smiles. “You seem like a nice guy. You paid for the drinks…and everything. Are you sure you have to go?” Now she looks slightly disappointed with this particular outcome.

I sense things could get complicated and ugly really fast. “Maybe, I’ll see you again some time. Can I get your number?”

She gives it to me, and I input it into my cell even as my fingers shake while tapping out each number. Too much alcohol and too many pills form a bad combination. My ego is wounded and obviously, my moral code is missing, and this inexplicable guilt swirls around me for no reason at all.

I try to remain impassive under Trinna’s watchful gaze, knowing this encounter will probably cost me a great deal in lots of ways from money to pride as well as Kimberley’s outright wrath, which will inevitably be the worst part of all.