A Love Song for Liars (Rivals #1) - Piper Lawson Page 0,11

how to keep my part in the musical and keep Carly and her damned minions at bay without Kellan’s help. Without anyone’s.

In my ensuite, I reach for a washcloth, but the reflection of the girl in the mirror makes me freeze.

Not because she’s hungover or lonely.

Because she’s wearing a frayed Ramones T-shirt.

Sunday morning, I shower off the booze and party, dress in jean shorts and a tank top, and fluff out my damp hair.

There’s a text from Pen with a picture of the villa they’ve rented, asking how the party was.

I enter and delete a few texts, settling on: No one died. I don’t think Carly and I are destined to be best friends. Go drink more wine.

Tyler’s T-shirt sits on top of my laundry hamper. I toss the T-shirt and some other clothes into the laundry, then grab The Great Gatsby for English class and pad down the hall. The sound of a guitar pulls me toward the kitchen.

I pause to listen, my eyes closing as I lean a shoulder against the wall.

Thousands of years ago, human beings should have spent every ounce of their precious time finding food or shelter or safety. Having sex.

Not singing songs and creating instruments.

We did it anyway. Maybe we knew then what we seem to have forgotten since: life isn’t about money or winning or even surviving. It’s about finding meaning in the time we have.

When I peek around the corner, Uncle Ryan is laughing from a chair at the table and Tyler’s playing on a stool at the island.

He’s a magician. There’s no other word for the way that instrument sings under his hands.

I don’t believe in gods, but if they ever existed…

Their ashes stir each time that boy lifts a guitar.

I swallow my envy and enter the kitchen. “Morning.”

“It’s afternoon,” Ryan points out.

“Like you and Dad ever got up before noon on tour.” I head for the coffee maker without making eye contact and pick out a pod. Haley found this killer Columbian blend I could live on. “Dad call you this morning?”

“Not yet. But far as I know, everything went fine. Now is when you bribe me,” he adds with a wink as I set my mug under the stainless nozzle and hit Start.

Uncle Ryan’s attention shifts to Tyler. “You play like a prodigy, kid, but that guitar is a piece of shit. Get Jax to give you a new one.”

Ryan’s phone erupts into a rendition of my dad’s band laughing their way through a cover of Johnny Cash, and I glance over my shoulder.

“Tell my dad no Jamieson belongings were harmed in the making of last night’s gathering,” I call as Ryan heads down the hallway to answer.

The coffee finishes brewing, and as I go to retrieve it, I sneak a look at Tyler.

His presence shouldn't suck the air out of the kitchen, but once Ryan’s gone, all I see is the guy who lives in the pool house. Gray sweatpants cling to his hips, and the white T-shirt outlines every plane of his torso, leaving his arms deliciously bare.

I remember that chest bare last night, too close to ignore.

His body’s beautiful, but it’s the way he uses it that’s impossible to forget. The control in everything he does.

Tyler uses that body like he’s had it before, like it’s his favorite suit of armor and they’ve been through countless battles together.

His hair isn’t falling across his forehead like it was when I left his bed hours ago, but standing up as if he woke the moment I walked out the door and has been running his hands through it since.

Which is impossible.

I clear my throat. “Why did I wake up in bed with you?”

Tyler lifts his chin, assessing. “Why did I wake up in bed without you?”

The way he says it sends shivers up my spine.

“You passed out,” he goes on, setting the guitar against the wall before rising and crossing to the counter next to me. “I didn’t want you to wake up somewhere unfamiliar alone.”

I shift a few inches, giving him access to the coffee maker and cupboard overhead. “I would’ve figured it out.”

“But the seconds before that are the worst.”

I take a sip of my coffee, burning my tongue. “What do you mean?”

He reaches over me for a mug and to change the coffee pod. I don’t think he’s going to answer, but finally, he does.

“My dad used to padlock the door if he was drunk or in a mood. Never knew until I got home