Tell Me Something True (A Mount Laurel Romance Book 2)

Chapter 1

“Hey there, handsome,” a woman said from behind him. “It’s been a long time.”

In the act of lifting his beer bottle to his mouth, Miles Jennings froze. He knew that voice. Would recognize it anywhere.

He just hadn’t thought he’d ever hear it again.

He sure as hell hadn’t thought he’d hear it in his hometown of Mount Laurel, let alone at The Cockeyed Chameleon on a random Thursday night.

Just when he started to think fate was done messing with him, it ripped the rug out from underneath him, knocking him off his feet.

It liked to prove it was in charge that way.

But while he’d learned he couldn’t control everything that happened to him, he could control his own actions. He had choices. In what he said and did. He had free will.

He had his pride.

And nothing was going to take that away from him.

Shewasn’t going to take it from him. Not again.

He refused to show his shock. Wouldn’t let her know how unsettled he was.

How eager he was to see her again.

Instead, he finished raising his beer to his mouth. Took a long pull, the action slow.

Rude.

She deserved it for showing up here after walking out on him without a word ten years ago. For sneaking up on him when he’d been watching the Pirates’ game on the TV above the bar and minding his own goddamn business.

Setting the beer down, he took a deep, quiet inhale and braced himself for whatever hell was about to be wrought. Then he turned.

As soon as he met her blue eyes, everything inside of him went still. Calm. The incessant chatter in his head for once went silent.

He took refuge in that moment. The quiet. The peace.

He wished he could stay there, in that place where he had no worries. Where he wasn’t constantly on guard. Where the past didn’t exist and the present wasn’t slowly, inevitably about to unfold in a way guaranteed to take a chunk out of that pride he’d been trying so hard to hold onto.

But all too soon, sound returned in the form of low murmurs of conversation going on around him, the soft clinking of glasses, and Cheap Trick’s “Surrender” playing through the bar’s sound system.

“Tabitha. What are you doing here?”

“It’s good to see you,” she said, soft and sweet to his sharp and surly.

Evading his question.

Sipping his beer, he let his eyes drift over her, skimming up her legs, past the flare of her waist, the curve of her breasts. His fingers curled as he took in her face, his gaze touching briefly on the angle of her jaw, the arch of her brows.

She’d changed.

Her hair, once a bright, sunny blonde, had deepened to a rich golden hue. Her face was slimmer, her cheekbones more pronounced. Her hips were curvier, her breasts fuller.

Gone was the pretty eighteen-year-old girl who’d rarely used more than mascara and lip balm. Who’d lived in faded, ripped jeans, second-hand concert tees, and battered Converse sneakers. Whose hair was either clipped up in a messy bun or loose and curling wildly around her face.

In her place stood a fully grown woman with carefully applied makeup, her eyeliner subtly winged, her lips a muted red. Her hair was slicked back into a neat knot, and she wore a skinny black skirt that hugged her hips and ended just above her knees, a thin red belt, a silky white button up shirt, and four-inch-high red heels.

Yeah. She sure as hell had changed.

Goddamn her.

Gone was the girl he’d known. The girl he’d been in love with.

It wasn’t just that she’d changed—after a fucking decade, he expected no less.

And it wasn’t the physical changes he could so clearly see that pissed him off.

It was because this new version of Tabitha Ewings—if Ewings was still her last name—was a stranger.

And it was going to replace the image of her he’d held in his head all these years.

The image he’d learned to live with when he’d had to learn to live without her.

With a smirk, he lifted his gaze to hers so she could see his disdain. Trying to enact some petty revenge in the hopes of making himself feel like he had the upper hand in this situation. But it was a mistake because she smiled. Wide and warm, bright and genuine.

As if she really was glad to see him.

And she’d missed him as much as he’d missed her.

Some primal part inside of him roared to life, like a wild animal sensing its mate. Adrenalin raced through him, had his muscles tensing, ready to give chase. His fingers curled, ready to grab what was meant to be his.

To conquer.

To claim.

Except he’d felt those things before. The same sense of certainty. Of completeness. Like two puzzle pieces locking into place.

Like they were meant to be together.

But it’d been a lie.

“I asked what you’re doing here,” he reminded her.

Her smile wobbled. Dimmed.

But then she shored it up again, amping up the sunniness by a few thousand degrees, about blinding him in the process. “I’m joining an old friend for a drink.”

He frowned. Glanced around. There was a middle-aged white couple seated at a table near the hallway leading to the bathrooms, a younger Black woman and white man occupying the table by the front window, and a trio of white, twenty-something guys at the pool table flirting with Hayden Stabinski, the bartender, while she delivered their drinks.

Slow night at The Cockeyed Chameleon.

Exactly why Miles was here instead of at Binge, his brother Toby’s restaurant downtown.

And while he searched the bar for whoever Tabitha could possibly know in Mount Laurel that qualified as an old friend, she lifted her ass onto the stool next to him.

“Is that what you think we are?” he asked while she set her purse on the bar. “Old friends?”

Facing him, she tipped her head to the side. “Can you think of a better description?”

When she looked at him with her big blue eyes and innocent expression, it was easy to forget it was all an act.

It was that angelic face of hers. The vulnerability in her eyes she couldn’t quite hide. They made it easy to believe she was a wounded bird that needed to be cared for. Protected.

Too easy to believe every word she said.

“We used to fuck,” he said, the words quiet. Brutal.

“Careful,” she chided lightly, the insult of his words rolling off her. “Your sentimental side is showing.”

He leaned toward her, resting his left elbow on the bar, his right hand on the edge of her stool, his thumb mere inches from her thigh. Close enough to feel the heat from her body. To hear the slight catch of her breath.

Close enough to know the pull between them was as strong as ever.

“We used to fuck,” he repeated, slow and even. “But we were never friends. We were nothing. You proved that when you left without a word.”

She flinched, the movement quick and slight, before she dropped her gaze.

He’d surprised her.

Hurt her.

Neither were like the boy he’d been. The Miles she’d known had been kind and honest to a fucking fault. He’d held nothing back. Gave her his feelings freely. Shared his truths in the hopes that she’d share hers.

That Miles had been an idiot.

When she lifted her head, her eyes were clear, her smile long gone. She ran the tip of her forefinger back and forth along her chin, just under her lower lip—back and forth, once… twice… three times before curling her fingers and dropping her hand.

She’d always rubbed the thin scar on her chin—hidden now under her makeup—when she was nervous.

Another thing that hadn’t changed.

It made him want to find out what else was the same.

“I didn’t leave without a word. I left you a note.”

He raised his eyebrows. Yes. She’d left him a note, two words scribbled on the back of a piece of junk mail.

I’m sorry.

She cleared her throat. “And I didn’t feel comfortable blurting out our past physical relationship in case someone overheard. I remember you mentioning how quickly rumors can spread in a small town, and I didn’t want word to get back to your wife.”

She glanced at his left hand.

He slid it off the bar and to his side, hiding it from her view.

“You remembered that?” he asked, refusing to answer the question she was really asking.

Her frown was a flash of irritation, here then gone.

She laid her hand on his forearm, and he realized he was still too close to her. As if he had every right to invade her personal space all because he wanted to prove something. To see her reaction.

To test his own willpower.

He stared down at his arm. Her hand was pale against his skin, her fingers cool. She wore several silver rings—on her thumb, forefinger and pinkie.

No engagement ring.

No wedding band.

And he’d drop to his knees and lick the floor before he admitted he’d been wondering about her, too.

“I remember,” she said. “I remember how much this place, these people mean to you. I remember how much you love your family. I remember how excited you were to come back here and serve your community.” She ducked her head and finished on a whisper by his ear. “I remember everything.”

He stopped breathing. His heart thudded heavily as he lifted his head, his nose brushing the underside of her chin. She even smelled different, her perfume no longer vanilla and spice, but something softer, more floral.

And it pushed him over the edge.

“Me, too,” he murmured, his lips moving against her upper cheek. “I remember everything.”

At his admission her fingers twitched, then curled around his forearm. “Miles, I—”

“I remember the first time I saw you. The first time I kissed you. I remember the feel of your mouth against mine and the taste of your pussy,” he continued softly, so no one could overhear. “I remember the sounds you made when I fucked you. How it felt to have you come on my cock. I remember how you looked on your knees sucking me.”

Her breath caught and she trembled. Shifted her thighs, the motion restless. Telling.

She remembered all that, too. Remembered how good it had been between them. How explosive.

She remembered.

Good.

Because he couldn’t forget.

For months those memories had tortured him. He’d had to force himself not to think of her when he was with another woman or masturbating in the shower.

Through sheer will, determination, and unmatched stubbornness, he’d finally stopped fantasizing about her.

But he’d never stopped dreaming of her.

He straightened and pulled his arm from underneath her hand. “I remember everything,” he repeated, moderating his tone so there was no lingering anger. No longing or desire. “Everything we did. Everything you kept hidden from me. And I remember coming home that day and finding your note. So, if you’re in Mount Laurel thinking you can walk back into my life, you’ve wasted your time.”

“This may be difficult for that massive ego you’ve acquired to hear, but me running into you here is merely a coincidence.”

“A coincidence,” he repeated flatly. “And yet, you still haven’t said what you’re doing in Mount Laurel.”

“Just passing through. But someone recommended the burgers here—”

“It’s almost midnight.”She smiled, as if he was adorable with his small-town ways of eating dinner before nine p.m. “Yes, but I was hungry, and they mentioned the kitchen here stays open late. I had no idea you’d be here. You can imagine my surprise when I walked in and saw you.”

“What a shock that must have been.”

She ignored his sardonic tone. “And when I did see you, I thought that after all these years, despite the way things ended, it would be nice to catch up with a man I used to know. A man I cared about.”

Bitterness rose into his throat, sharp and acidic. She’d cared about him?

He’d loved her. Had wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

And she’d left him.

“You’re lying.”

She blinked rapidly, three times, a chink in her otherwise impenetrable armor. “Excuse me?”

Yeah, a definite chink. One that was clear in her chilly tone.

“You,” he said slowly, succinctly, “are lying.”

Mouth flat, she crossed her arms. Must have realized how defensive the gesture was because she dropped her arms. “Or maybe you’re just overly suspicious.”

“Maybe.” He was a cop after all. Suspicion came with the job. But so did digging for the truth. “Doesn’t make me wrong, though. And I don’t believe you’re just passing through my hometown or that you showing up here is anything innocent or accidental. And it sure as hell isn’t a coincidence.”

Her smile was back, her expression soft, her eyes bright. As if his notions about her were crazy, but she was willing to indulge him and his silly, skeptical ways. “Why would I lie?”

“I don’t know. And I don’t care.”

He no longer wanted her truth. Would never again beg her for whatever scraps she’d toss his way. He just wanted her gone.

She held his gaze, searching for something. Trying to find a weak spot in the walls he’d built, some area she could poke or prod or wiggle her way through.

But he’d given her everything he had once before. Everything he was.

There was nothing left.

“I realize that how we left things—”

“We didn’t leave anything,” he interrupted smoothly. “You left.”

Her gaze dropped, but it was only a moment before she met his eyes again, chin set in determination.

“I realize,” she said again, “that the way things ended between us wasn’t ideal. Just as I realize my leaving that way wasn’t my finest hour. But it’s been ten years—”

“I know how long it’s been.”

“Long enough,” she added, “for us both to have gotten past it.”

“That would be true, except for one problem.”

“And what’s that?”

“I don’t want to get past it.”

She lifted her hands in a helpless gesture when there was nothing helpless about her. “So you’re going to hate me forever?”

“I don’t hate you.” He’d wanted to. Had tried. But that saying about there being a thin line between love and hate hit a little too close to home when it came to her. “I feel nothing for you.”

She scooted to the edge of her stool so she could mimic the pose he’d taken with her earlier—one arm on the bar, one hand on his stool, next to his ass.

Except she didn’t simply invade his space. She took it over. Her breasts brushed against his chest as she angled toward him. Lifting her head, her hair caught on the stubble covering his jaw, pulling a few strands free of their bonds, releasing the scent of her shampoo as she spoke close to his ear.

“Nothing, huh?” she asked, her breath soft and warm on his skin.

He leaned back, just a little.

Not enough for her to suspect being this close to her was shredding his willpower.

Not nearly enough for his own peace of mind.

“Nothing,” he managed again. Quite the feat when his mouth was bone dry and most of his working brain cells had shut down.

Probably due to lack of blood supply. It was all heading south.

She made a humming sound that reverberated along his skin. He didn’t move. Barely breathed. The animal inside of him was back, roaring to be let loose.

He locked that son-of-a-bitch down tight.

But it wasn’t enough because her gaze flicked to his lap for one long, lingering, knowing moment.

Goddamn it all to hell.

“You sure about that?” she asked softly.

He shrugged. “Like I said, I remember everything. Including how good of a fuck you were.”

The color leached from her face, and she slowly eased back, watching him warily. As if that wild animal inside of him had escaped and now had her cornered, snarling and snapping and rabid.

He should apologize.

But he wouldn’t.

It was that damn pride again, pinching and prodding him.

Making him mean.

And the only way for him to not turn into a complete and utter asshole was to get the hell away from her.

Before he could, she once again laid her hand on his arm. “Miles,” she said, his name a soft plea. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

He looked at her hand, then met her eyes. Whatever she saw in his gaze had her slowly pulling her hand away.

“Whoever told you the burgers here were good wasn’t lying.” Sliding to his feet, he picked up his beer. Saluted her with it. “Enjoy your dinner.”

His instincts and self-preservation wanted him to leave. To go home, lock himself in his quiet, empty house and pretend none of this had ever happened.

To forget about her all over again.

But he didn’t hide from the shitty things life threw his way. He faced them head-on. Conquered them.

He didn’t run. Ever.

So he took his beer, and his time, and walked to the end of the bar and sat on the stool next to the wall, leaving two empty seats between them, then pretended to go back to watching the game.

Pretending she didn’t exist.

Being an asshole after all.

***

Miles was trying to scare her off with his nasty words and dismissive attitude. He thought if he was rude enough, if he ignored her long enough, she’d run off like a scared rabbit.

The old her would have hightailed it out of here right after his whole we used to fuck but we were nothing spiel.

But Tabitha was trying not to run from the hard things anymore. No matter how badly she wanted to.

No matter how much they hurt.

She shouldn’t have approached him. When she’d seen him at the bar, she should have turned on her heel and walked out. He never would have known she’d been in the same building. That she’d spent the day in his hometown. That she was in Mount Laurel for a job interview.

But the moment she’d seen him, her plans and any and all sense of self-preservation had taken off like a rocket.

Just like they’d done the day they first met.

Who could blame her?

The roundness of youth that’d clung to his face at twenty had disappeared, leaving a sharp jaw and slightly hollowed cheekbones currently covered with dark stubble. His hair was shorter but still the same deep shade of mahogany, his shoulders and chest broader.

But the physical changes were nothing compared to the changes in him.

The boy who’d adored her, who’d been so patient with her, had turned into a flinty-eyed, growly, bitter man.

And she couldn’t help but wonder if that was her fault.

She sighed. From the corner of her eye she noted him shooting her a quick, irritated glance, as if her indulging in a moment of self-pity, reflection, and remorse annoyed him.

Welcome to the club, buddy. It annoyed her, too.

Not that she blamed him for growing older. For going from boy to man and becoming even prettier with those changes.

And she shouldn’t blame him for his anger.

But she did.

Ten years was a long time to hold a grudge.

I remember everything. Everything we did. Everything you kept hidden from me. And I remember coming home that day and finding your note.

Yes, he certainly seemed to remember every last little thing.

You’d think he could’ve forgotten one or two of those pesky details.

She’d had her reasons for keeping things from him. Reasons that had nothing to do with him and everything to do with her past, the things she’d lived through, and her resulting trust issues.

Just as she’d had her reasons for leaving him.

It’d been noble, really. She’d saved him from himself and the idea that his love could somehow fix all the broken pieces of her.

You’d think he could be the tiniest bit grateful.

And lose the asshole attitude.

Like I said, I remember everything. Including how good of a fuck you were.

That had been the cheapest of his cheap shots.

There’d been a time when she’d believed her only skills were being pretty and giving blowjobs. Her only talent being a good lay.

But she knew better now.

She was smart. Smarter than she’d ever realized. And she was driven. Determined.

Driven to go after a brighter, better future despite her past.

Determined not to give up on herself, no matter how many times she’d done so previously.

She had brains and ambition and confidence.

Maybe she’d had them all along. But she hadn’t discovered them until after she’d walked away from Miles.

The pretty brunette bartender rounded the bar and set her tray down. “Another beer?” she asked Miles.

He shook his head. “I’m good.”

Then he smiled at the bartender, an easy, swoony grin that should have been Tabitha’s. The one he’d withheld from her, choosing instead to pelt her with glares and glowers and grumpiness.

Bastard.

The bartender moved down the bar to Tabitha. “Sorry about the wait.”

“It’s no problem. Miles and I were so busy catching up, I hadn’t even noticed.” Turning on her stool, she smiled at him. “Isn’t that right, Miles?”

He stiffened. Scowled at her.

She kept right on smiling.

He thought he could ignore her? That he could treat her like dirt, insult her and pretend she’d meant nothing to him, and she’d just sit there and take it?

Think again, handsome.

Think again.

The bartender glanced at Miles, then at the two empty stools between them, then at Tabitha. “You two know each other?”

“We do. We were… well, not friends, exactly. But not just acquaintances either… hmm…” She sent Miles a faux, thoughtful frown as she tapped her forefinger against the faded scar on her chin. “How was it you so charmingly described our relationship?”

“Tabitha,” he ground out, his expression full-on do not mess with me.

Guess he shouldn’t have messed with her first.

Because she’d not only realized how smart, driven, and determined she could be. She’d also learned a highly surprising, recently unknown fact about herself.

In the right circumstances, she could be stubborn.

When she was pushed, she could push back.

And if there was any man who deserved a bit of a shove, it was this new Miles Jennings.

“Oh, that’s right. I remember now.” She turned back to the bartender who was watching their exchange with rapt attention. “Miles and I used to fuck.”

Miles growled.

The bartender grinned, fast and appreciative. “I like you.”

Tabitha beamed and straightened on her stool. “I’m very likable.”

“I’m Hayden.”

“Tabitha,” she responded, shaking Hayden’s offered hand.

“What can I get you, Tabitha?”

“A club soda and lime, please. And a menu.”

Her new friend Hayden laid a plastic menu in front of Tabitha, then scooped ice into a glass. “I hate to break it to you,” she said, filling the glass with club soda, “but I’m not exactly shocked you and Miles hooked up. He has a reputation around town for loving ‘em and leaving ‘em.”

“Is that so?” Tabitha murmured, looking at Miles.

The Miles she’d known had been all about commitment. He’d wanted a woman to share his life with. Had dreamed of a house with a picket fence right here in Mount Laurel, complete with kids and dogs and a big yard.

Now, apparently, he was a small-town player.

But at least she had the answer to whether or not he was married.

“Yep.” Mouth quirked in sympathy, Hayden added a lime slice and stir straw to the drink, then set it in front of Tabitha on a paper napkin. “He’s pretty much king of one night stands around here.”

“We weren’t a one-night stand. We were together for almost a year while he was at Pitt.”

“Almost a year?” Hayden drawled, glancing at Miles. “Really? And now you’re here to try again?”

“Tabitha’s just passing through Mount Laurel,” Miles said. “Her being here, us running into each other, was a complete coincidence.”

If his dry tone didn’t make it clear he didn’t buy a word of it, the air quotes he made around the word coincidence sure did.

“Some people just don’t believe in the happenstance of fate,” she told Hayden. “The old Miles wasn’t quite so cynical.”

“No? What was the old Miles like, then?”

Tabitha took a sip of her drink. “Well, the first thing that drew me to him was his confidence.”

“His confidence, huh?” Hayden grinned. “Because I had a group of ladies in here last month who couldn’t stop talking about him. And nothing about his personality came up once.”

“For the love of Christ,” Miles muttered.

“I mean, obviously, his face didn’t hurt—”

“Oh, I don’t know. Every time I see it, I get a little swoony pang” —Hayden tapped her chest— “Here.”

Tabitha snorted out a laugh. “Yeah, I’m well acquainted with that pang.”

It was as strong as ever and went so nicely with the swoop in her stomach and the clench of her ovaries when his eyes met hers.

“He was charming,” she continued, knowing he was listening. “And funny and kind and smart.” She took a deep, careful breath and turned to face him, but his gaze was on the bar, his mouth a thin line. “But he was also sad and broken and trying desperately to pretend he wasn’t either of those things. And the main reason we didn’t work out was because I realized he was with me because I was pretty and malleable and convenient, and he was… lost. Lost and terrified of being alone.”

His head came up slowly, slowly, his hooded gaze unreadable as it met hers. Breath held, heart pounding, she waited for him to deny it.

For him to admit it.

For him to realize that what happened between them wasn’t entirely her fault.

Even if she was the one carrying all the blame.

But in the end, all she got was his silence as he slid to feet, pulled a twenty from his wallet and tossed it onto the bar.

All she got was his back as he did to her what she’d done to him all those years ago.

Walked away.