A Love Song for Liars (Rivals #1) - Piper Lawson Page 0,5
dad said they’d be working together on music with Tyler living in our pool house and finishing senior year at Oakwood. Zero additional explanation.”
I go on at her raised brows. “I was so thrilled he was here that I let the weirdness slide. That was my first mistake. Do not, I repeat, do not let the weirdness slide.”
I take a sip of my tea, and Pen scrunches up her face. “But he’s not an asshole to you like the others are. So, why did you stop talking to him?” Her dark brows pull together.
The night at Carly’s birthday party comes back to me in a rush.
I remember the way he’d looked at me when we were alone, as if I was the only person who mattered—right before he humiliated me.
“She’s nothing. Nobody.”
“It doesn’t matter, Pen. I’m over it.” I reach into my black leather bag for my schoolbooks. We have a history test Friday, calculus is a never-ending nightmare, and there’s a poetry assignment breathing down my neck. I love writing but wish I didn’t have to do all the other crap too.
“But you liked him before he was cool,” she insists. “He looks like Adam Levine fucked Paul Rudd and, through some miracle of modern science, they reproduced.”
I shift in my seat. “Accurate.”
My friend grins. “You should write him a limerick.”
“There once was a prince of a clique. His guitar was pretty slick…”
“If this ends with a punchline about his dick, I’m going to die.”
I pick up my tea, eyeing her over the rim. “I’ve never seen his dick, but I’ll call it ‘Ode to Pretty Assholes.’”
This time neither of us can stop the laughter.
“You need to get laid,” she says once we’re both breathing again. “If only so Carly stops calling you that stupid nickname. There are a lot of guys who’d love to help you out.”
“I’m not having sex to spite her.” I narrow my gaze. “Besides, you don’t give a shit about my sex life. You’re going to Italy for a week.”
Her smile melts away, and I cock my head.
“Wait, why do you look as if that Americano is your last meal?”
“It’s the last third of the semester. Exams are coming up. Debate team needs to be prepping for state. I need to hand in this essay, and—”
“And you’re going to be in Tuscany, drinking Chianti and flipping us off while your dad works.”
Pen sighs. “Promise you’ll keep me up to date. The most exciting things always happen when I’m gone.”
“This is fucking impossible,” a low voice grumbles as I make my way through the back hallway of our house after parking in the six-car garage.
The sight greeting me in the cavernous kitchen is the biggest rock star in the last two generations bent over a high chair, feeding my almost-seven-month-old half sister. Judging from the amount of baby food on the tray and Sophie’s face, my dad’s losing.
“Shouldn’t she be sleeping by now?” I drop my bag on the island big enough to host a dinner party.
“If I could’ve gotten some damned food into the kid, she would be.”
Jax Jamieson can rock stadiums, produce multi-platinum albums, charm new stagehands, and cut down aggressive reporters with a stare.
Apparently, he’s met his match in Sophie. With her chocolate eyes and full head of dark hair, she can barely sit up but is capable of yanking Dad around as if he’s dangling on a cord like one of her zoo-animal-shaped soothers.
“Think I was this tough to feed as a baby?” I come up next to the high chair, folding my arms.
My dad pinches my side. “Seems like you ate enough.”
“Oh my God! You can’t say that to teenage girls. Every pamphlet says so.”
“I gave those to the band to read.”
We joke about it, but the truth is he wasn’t there when I was a baby. He didn’t even know I existed when I was Sophie’s age.
My birth mom was someone he met during his early days touring when he was swept up by the lifestyle. He was still a teenager. He says she wasn’t a hookup but refuses to talk about how it all went down.
Once he found out, he decided I should live with my aunt Grace and her husband until I was older. You might expect learning your insanely successful rock star uncle is actually your father would be a gift.
It wasn’t.
I’m beyond fortunate. I’m reminded every time I volunteer at one of the shelters in Dallas or pore over research for a civic policy paper.
Still,