More Than Lies (More Than #1)(17)

He is a mother-effin’ jerk!





CHAPTER FOUR





SHAWN





A short, loud chiming sound rings though my ears.

I hate that sound. That sound tells me, once again, my drunk-ass forgot to flip the silent switch on my cell phone on before falling into bed at whatever time I managed to get home this morning.

Another piercing chime rings out, and this time I groan.

I reach out and grab a spare pillow, covering my head with it. The pillow that should be under my head is undoubtedly somewhere on the floor. For as long as I can remember, I’ve always woken up lying on my stomach with my face buried into the mattress. Today is no different.

A third chime rings out seconds after the last, immediately followed by two more before I jut out my hand, blindly feeling for my cell phone on the nightstand. Around the eighth chime, I finally locate the source of disruption. Without looking, I flip the switch to silent and drop the phone.

It’s not like I don’t know who’s texting me.

Buzzing. Loud motherfucking buzzing agitates my eardrums.

Assholes.

The person who invented text messaging should be punched in the dick.

The person who invented group texting capabilities should be shot in the aforementioned dick.

More annoying buzzing. Silent switch my ass. The vibrating is nearly as annoying as the chime.

I flip over onto my back and snatch my phone off the table, giving in to the relentless messaging.

Bingo.

It’s my roommates, a.k.a., my friends. Well, maybe that’s a stretch. I mean, sure, Mason and I are best friends and have been since first grade. Matt, on the other hand, is more Mason’s friend than mine. I like the guy all right; I’ve known him since junior high when he moved to Tupelo from California. That, I still don’t understand. People move out of Mississippi. No one moves to this shit hole of boredom, especially from somewhere like California. But he and I never really clicked.

Opening the text message, I scroll up to the top reading through what these shits think is important enough to wake me over.

Tara: I’m at the store. Do y’all need anything?

Mason: Condoms

Tara: I’m serious, asswipe!

Mason: So am I. Can’t go blowing my shit into any cunt. Bitches be nasty.

Matt: Hope you covered your shit with that ho from last night.

Mason: Don’t be calling my chick’s hos.

Matt: Ok, skank then.

Mason: Fuck you. That bitch was hot.

Matt: I’ll pass, man. I’m satisfied with my permanent pussy.

Me: New fuckin’ roommates. That’s what I want.

Mason: Yeah, with big tits. They can room with me.

Tara: Um . . . Mase? What size? There’s a lot to choose from.

Matt: They probably don’t have a small enough size to fit his pencil dick.

Tara: Brand?

Me: He’s fucking with you, Tara. Jeez.

Mason: Sorry, I couldn’t resist. lol

It’s funny, and I want to laugh, but the pounding inside my head won’t allow it. For someone as smart as she is, she doesn’t catch on to the obvious.

After tossing my phone onto the crumpled sheets, I roll out of bed to go locate something to take the pain away. As I exit my room, I see the door to the bathroom and hear the awful noise of the latest pop music—crap—coming from behind the door. That tells me Matt’s little girlfriend must be in there. I think back, recalling she was here when I got home last night. I also recall the snooty little bitch being just that, a bitch to Tara. I don’t care if Amanda is her best friend’s girlfriend, I wouldn’t take that shit from her or her annoying friend Cassie. They continually make digs and snide comments to Tara, and I’m over it. Tara is the nice one, the one that doesn’t start shit, the one that keeps the peace. She stays non-confrontational for Matt.

Fuck that shit.

Distracted from my task of finding something to curb my hangover by my thoughts of Tara, my eyes land on her bedroom door. If she’s shopping, that probably means she’s at Target. If that’s the case, Tara won’t be home for at least another hour since the nearest Target is over seventy miles away in Horn Lake.

I enter her room, which is always clean and smells the best in the house. That’s not to say the rest of the house stinks, because it doesn’t. The plus of having a neat-freak roommate, is that the house is always clean, too. Hell, I don’t remember the last time I made my bed or even washed my own clothes. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever done a load of laundry in my life.

I turn on the faucet inside the shower to hot knowing I’ll be damned if I wait on Matt’s girl to get done. I locate some generic pain reliever in the medicine cabinet, toss the pills into my mouth, and then down a glass of tap water.

After about ten minutes of standing under the scalding water, the pain in my head starts to ease up just as the heat begins to cool down. I’m sure I have our extra houseguest to thank for that. This circumstance is actually normal, which is why Tara keeps a variety of our soaps and shampoos stocked in her bathroom. Without wasting another minute, I quickly soap up from head to toe, rinse, and shut the water off.

After wrapping a towel around my waist, I pick up my discarded boxers and head back to my room. As I’m walking past the hall bathroom, the door opens, and Amanda comes barreling into me.