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A LOVE SONG FOR LIARS
Chapter 1
Annie
I hate Tyler Adams. Hating him would be my religion if music wasnβt.
But heβs here, facing me, his hair falling across the pillow in a dark cascade. His eyelashes are thick and so long itβs unfair. His mouth is parted in sleep, the top bow firm and the bottom lush.
Iβm freaking out, my heart racing a mile a minute.
Heβs warm. His heat emanates from his body, inviting me closer.
I hate how much I want to.
I want. I want. I want.
My thighs press together because if thereβs a response to that realization that doesnβt involve a rush of heat flowing south, I donβt know what it is.
Of course Iβd never let him know that when heβs awake, but heβs not.
Thank God heβs not.
I shift in bed, wincing as my muscles ache.
Perfect.
Thereβs a reason Iβve never had sex, and if I were going to, heβs the last guy Iβd sleep with.
He could have so much more than this stupid place, this stupid school⦠Instead he sold me out for a bunch of dumb, rich assholes.
Tyler groans, and my heart leaps.
When he shifts, rolling onto his back and exposing even more beautifully carved torso, the covers ride low on his hips.
Not quite low enough to see if heβs wearing anything. I swallow.
I could look.
Donβt fucking look.
I press my hands to my eyes as if itβll erase the image of the beautiful guy next to me.
Two days ago, all I cared about was being on stage, impressing my rock-star father, and not falling for Oakwood Prepβs rebel prince, Tyler Adams.
But when his eyes start to openβ¦
I know Iβm well and truly screwed.
* * *
Two days earlier
βAre you going to fuck it or just fantasize about it all day?β
The syrupy sweet voice makes me cut off my chorus halfway through a line.
βYour spoon.β The platinum blonde in the front row crosses one tan leg over the other, making her plaid skirt ride up. βYouβre staring at it like you want toββ
βSheβs a mermaid, Carly. She wants to be human. Itβs an emotional moment.β My hand tightens on the flatware from the school dining hall.
βWhatever, Little Virgin Annie. And you?β Carly turns to the corner of the stage, where Jennaβs reading her lines behind a curtain of straight, dark hair. βYouβre wearing a garbage bag for a tail. You look homeless.β
βAnnie made it,β Jenna blurts, turning pale under her freckles. βI was afraid Iβd trip when we got our costumes, so I wanted to practice first.β
I step between them. βFirst off, Jenna? Daniel Craig slept on park benches and J. Lo couch surfed at our age, so thatβs a compliment.β She finds a nervous smile before I turn back to Carly. βSecond, Jenna has conditional acceptance to Stanford, and your fast track is to Real Housewives, but thatβs no reason to be jealous.β
Our schoolβs queen bee edges forward in her seat. βI donβt know why youβre even rehearsing, Annie. Being a dumb teenager whoβll never be what her daddy wants must be super relatable. I bet every night the great Jax Jamieson wishes he hadnβt fucked that groupie and ended up with you.β
I could beat Carly over the head with this spoon. Not hard enough to do permanent damageβassuming there are cells inside to damageβbut hard enough to mess up her perfect waves. Maybe hard enough the made-up minions on either side of her would lift their overtweezed brows in surprise.
But I wonβt let her see her words get under my skin.
βGirls, I hope youβve been practicing while Iβve been gone.β Miss Norelli strides through the auditorium doors, returning from checking on a burnt-out stage light.
Our drama director shuffles up the aisle, her black sheath dress hugging her full figure, and takes a seat a few rows behind Carly and the others.
She pushes her purple glasses up her nose expectantly, eyes narrowed on the stage.
When the music starts again, I will myself to focus on my performance. To be a mermaid far away from the catty comments of bitchy schoolgirls who wouldnβt have the first idea what to do with themselves if they ran out of people to torture.
But when I see Carly unscrew the top of my water and tip a tiny brown bottle to pour something inside, my voice wavers.
βStop! Annie, I thought we had this section,β Miss Norelli calls from her seat a few rows back.
Frustration flows through me. βWe do. We did.β
βWhy donβt we try it with the understudy?β Carly smiles as if the idea just popped into her head.
βGood idea.β Norelli folds her arms, and I swallow the anger as I trade places with Carly, who holds out her hand expectantly.
I shove the spoon into her hand before flipping her off. βWash it when youβre done.β
I step out of my garbage bag and retrieve my water bottle, sniffing it before shoving the thing back in my bag.
βThat part never shouldβve been yours,β Lana, one of Carlyβs minions, whispers. βThe only reason Norelli picked you is because your dadβs a rock star. Thereβs no way you got his talent.β
βCarlyβs still the understudy,β Tara, the other minion, points out. βA lot can happen in five weeks.β
βShut it, Flotsam and Jetsam.β They shouldβve been Ursulaβs eels, not Arielβs sisters.
Watching Carly perform, I wish she sucked, but sheβs actually good.
βThatβs enough rehearsal today,β Miss Norelli says when Carly finishes. βAnnie, a moment.β
I get up and cross to her seat.
βWhereβs the girl from auditions? The fearless one, the focused one.β
I shake my head. βSheβs here. I swear.β
She sighs. βWeβre running out of time.β
It was my decision to audition for the lead in the school musical and cross our schoolβs reigning queen, but what even Carly doesnβt knowβwhat she canβt knowβis how much I need this role.
This year, everything is going to change for me. I feel it the way you feel spring in the air before anything blooms.
I cling to that conviction as I head to the front of the auditorium to pack up my things.
βHey, princess.β
I glance up to see Kellan Albright, a senior, standing over me. With his perfect dirty-blond hair and bright-white smile, heβs athletic and has a decent voice. Itβs a curse for the rest of us because he landed the male lead and begged out of almost half of rehearsals for sports.
Of course, if any of the girls missed that many rehearsals, weβd get cut. But itβs hard to find guys whoβre both willing and capable of doing the part.
βLook forward to seeing you at the party this weekend.β
βThe mid-production cast party? Canceled,β Jenna offers with a look toward Carly and her minions. βCarlyβs solarium is getting renovated, and her parents wonβt have people over until itβs finished.β
βWhat about your place?β Kellanβs blue eyes dance.
If looks could melt skin, mine would be peeling off from the evil stares of Carly and her minions, and I swallow an incredulous laugh. βAs much as weβre all BFFs, thatβs as appealing as waxing my eyebrows off.β
He laughs as I head for the doors, falling into step next to me.
βI know Iβve been busy with practice, but we should rehearse together. Maybe at the party.β He squeezes my arm before holding the door for me.
βMaybe.β
I pass him and head to my locker to grab my books and sunglasses, the feel of his touch lingering on my bare skin.
Kellanβs attractive, and a lot of girls would love his attention, but heβs not my type. Heβs sports and parties and being seen. But right now, Iβll take my allies where I can get them.
I pull out a pen and lift the front hem of my skirt to write a single word on my thigh in blue ink, then I shut my locker and head for the main doors.
If Iβd thought Oakwood Prep would be simpler than the public school I attended most of my childhood, I was wrong. Itβs full of people with too much money and too many expectations and too many liposuction.
If I could go back to public school, go back to being normalβ¦ Iβd take it in a hot second.
Because the difference between them and me is I grew up with less than nothing until I was plucked from that existence and told I was meant for another one.
Outside, I slide my sunglasses on as I head for the parking lot.
The campus is sprawling and beautiful. I soak in the spring day, the expanse of green grass, the mature trees. Itβs hot for Dallas, and all I want is to get home and jump in the pool.
I reach the modern steel fountain that marks the middle of the quad, the halfway point between the school and the parking lot, when a familiar form blocks my way.
I swear Iβve hit my daily quota of assholes.
βThere are consequences for taking things that don’t belong to you.β
Carly stands between me and the parking lot, flanked by minions.
βRoles don’t belong to people.β
βI was talking about Kellan,β she retorts.
βPeople definitely don’t belong to people.β
My focus falls to Lanaβs dirty manicure, the black smudges up her arm that werenβt there during rehearsal.
Oakwood Prep is like societyβthe rules supposedly apply equally to everyone. They donβt. Not even close.
Even amongst the rich, there are circles of power, of influence.
Carlyβs dad is the head of the schoolβs board, which means she can do what she wants. To whomever she wants.
βIf Kellanβs your pathetic attempt not to die a virgin, good luck with that,β she goes on, leaning in as she senses the kill. βNo guy at Oakwood will touch you.β
I close the distance between us and meet her predatory gaze head-on. βPromise I can get that in writing?β
βCarly.β
A low, smooth voice at my back has the baby hairs on my neck lifting. The minionsβ attention snaps to behind me.
Uniforms are an attempt to make everyone look the same. In this case, they come up short. All three guys coming down the stairs toward us are good looking, but one stands out. Youβd feel this guyβs magnetism in a blackout.
Heβs tall, with ropy arms his navy jacket canβt hide, and broad enough he could carry the entire schoolβs baggage without breaking a sweat. He has an angled jaw and cheekbones, brown eyes a little too serious to be kind, and dark, wild hair.
If Kellan is this schoolβs preppy king, Tyler Adams is its rebel prince. He has the easy grace earned by being a senior, gorgeous, and a musician.
When he speaks, everyone listens.
When he plays the guitar, everyone worships.
βTyler,β Carly breathes. βWanna give me a ride home?β
I donβt wait around for the answer but use the distraction to dodge all of them and head to my car.
I want to get the hell out of this toxic place before I burn it down.
I shift into my silver Audi, turning the key in the ignition.
It doesnβt start.
My forehead falls to the steering wheel as I remember the minionsβ black-streaked arms. They probably rummaged under the hood for the shiniest parts to stab at with their manicure sets.
βThe Little Mermaid. A girl who has everything but itβs still not enough.β
My attention snaps toward the guy leaning in the passenger window, and I immediately regret leaving it down.
If Tyler Adams and my co-star Kellan share top billing on the βsenior boys every junior girl would give their BMW to bangβ list, itβs for different reasons.
Kellanβs full of charm, the golden boy who comes from money and radiates ease and promises of good times.
Tylerβs gorgeous. Talented. Mysterious. He comes from nothing and doesnβt blink before taking everything.
But no matter how fascinating he is, itβs a lie.
βBeing the daughter of a king doesnβt mean her life is perfect,β I answer at last. βIf you think so, youβre dumber than you look.β
He rubs a hand through his dark hair, the chunk of blue at the front that sets him apart. βBut you told me I had a great future. You put on a scarf and held my hand and ogled my fate line.β
βIt was a charity carnival. I was fourteen.β
βI paid five bucks for that spiritual advice. Donβt tell me I wasted it.β
I hit the start button once more. It makes a grinding noise until I slap a hand against the dash.
Please, donβt let me be stranded at school.
When I blink my eyes open, Tylerβs nodding through the windshield, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt, the jacket already gone.
I donβt want Tyler Adams under my hood. But if I have to call my dad, itβll invite questions as to why my almost-new car wonβt start.
So, I pop the hood before rounding to the trunk for my toolkit, dropping it at his feet after I find it. Tyler yanks off his loosened tie and holds it out.
I take the tie from him, draping it around my neck for safekeeping.
I donβt notice his height, his hard body, the careless way he rubs a hand over his neck as he surveys whatβs under my hood with a relentless intensity.
βYou know why Carly fucks with you.β
I shift against the front fender, twisting one end of his tie around my fingers as I watch. βSheβs jealous of my fashion sense.β
He spares me an incredulous look. βYou bait her. You walk around this place with your heart on your sleeve, begging to bleed. Itβs impossible for her to resist.β
You could teach an AP course on making me bleed.
I knot the bottom of my shirt up around my navel to get relief from the heat. βShe canβt handle anyone having anything that could be hersβincluding the stage.β
βThe spotlightβs not all its cracked up to be. Fans donβt want you, they want what they think you possess. And the more you possess, the more people feel entitled to take.β
The edge in his words catches me off guard.
I work a coiled elastic off my wrist, twisting my long hair up in a messy knot and fanning my sweat-damp neck. βCareful, Tyler. Someone might think being Prince of Oakwood is getting old.β
Tyler shifts to stand in front of me in a heartbeat.
Heβs in my space, tall and built and intent, the weight of his attention moving from the car to me. The crisp white shirt, rolled at the sleeves, makes him look gorgeous and a little reckless, like some pirate on a mission to charm and destroy.
But itβs the expression on his face, that knowing smirk, that pins me in place. Itβs as if he just caught me doing something filthy.
βCareful, Annie. Someone might think you give a shit.β
Once, I held his hand and told his fortune.
Never again.
He betrayed me. Hurt me more than Carlyβs teasing and pranks ever could.
I want him to back the fuck up, but I canβt speak. Right now, all I can do is take in Tylerβs light cedar scent, his half-lowered lashes, his voice a soft murmur on my skin.
I clear my throat, arch a brow. βDo you need something?β
βYeah, I do.β
Finally, he moves.
Down my body.
My breath hitches as his face is level with my chest, my waist.
I press my thighs together when his face passes my bare legs.
The heart is supposed to propel blood to your vital organs.
Mineβs a traitor. It doesnβt give a fuck if I live or die.
When heβs this close, it beats for him.
He drops his wrench in the toolkit at my feet, and I shut my eyes in humiliated relief.
Get a grip.
If he ever finds out how I feel, the last of my pride and self-respect will go up in flames.
βWhatβs this? Donβt tell me you cheated on our English test.β Tyler lifts the edge of my skirt, and I smack his hand away.
βWhatβs under my skirt is none of your business.β
He huffs out a breath as he straightens and returns to work.
βThere it is,β he murmurs moments later under the hood. βThey yanked the coupling for yourβ¦ never mind,β he says at my blank expression. βCarlyβs better at politics than cars.β
He lowers the hood, wiping the rolled-up arm of his dress shirt on his forehead. βYou should be fine. If it gives you any grief, let me know.β
βThanks.β The word sticks in my throat, and he holds my gaze for a beat, two.
I hurry to slide in through the driverβs door. When I hit the start button, the engine roars to life.
Relief washes over me as I stuff my blazer in the back seat and unbutton my shirt another button while the A/C kicks in. Sweat beads on my chest, and Iβm fastening my seatbelt when Tyler leans his muscled forearms on the driverβs door.
βYou get slapped with community service?β He nods toward the black garbage bag on top of my books.
I shift my sunglasses up on my head. βOh, I led the litter pickup for Young Environmentalists at the park last week, but no, thatβs my practice costume for the musical. It has a hole in the bottom so I can walk.β
βI see. Youβll have trouble evading horny sailors.β
βYeah, well, Hans Christian Anderson was pre-MeToo.β
This time, Tylerβs smile is genuine. I can tell because it lands in the center of my chest like a blow.
I wish I could lick my suddenly dry lips without him taking credit for it.
He reaches into the car, and my breath hitches as he lifts his tie from around my neck, drawing it out in a long ribbon.
The silk strokes my neck for what feels like minutes, and I force my gaze away when he finally pockets the tie.
My attention lands on the lone motorcycle across the parking lot. βNext time Carly gets creative with my car, Iβm borrowing your ride.β
βNo, youβre not.β He straightens, shoving a hand through his messy-is-sexy hair. βJax Jamieson would destroy me for letting his baby girl near it.β
There it is. The reason I canβt avoid Tyler completely, even I want nothing more than to cut him out of my life.
Oakwoodβs rebel prince doesnβt live in a brick mansion with a closet full of V-necks and two Ivy-League-educated parents.
He lives in our pool house, thirty feet from my bedroom.
—
AHH! I hope you guys love Tyler and Annie’s angsty, delicious and epic story! You can grab A LOVE SONG FOR LIARS (RIVALS #1) at your fave bookstore by clicking the links right here:
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