The Boyfriend Series Box Set (Books 1-6): YA Contemporary Romance Novels

by Christina Benjamin

  Sam scowled at the door. Devon probably had an adapter, or at least could help her find one. But that meant she’d have to suck up her pride and ask him nicely. And that was the last thing she wanted to do. At least she thought it was. She still hated him, but her mind kept wandering back to that kiss. That Olympic kiss!

  She was seriously confused by Devon. On one hand he was still the same jerk who tormented her when they were kids, but he was also this new jerk, who was ridiculously handsome, opened doors for her, paid for her drinks, gave her his sweater and took the blame for an accident she caused. Not to mention that when she’d gotten him drunk he confided how scared he was about losing his father.

  Damn it! Sam was the one who should be apologizing to Devon.

  Loosing a parent wasn’t something she couldn’t exploit. And Devon seemed genuinely worried. He was going to need a friend. Sam knew from experience how bad it hurt to lose a parent to cancer. The least she could do was be there for Devon after what she’d put him through tonight. She’d have to find another way to get back to Boston. Besides, there were probably dozens of bad boys at Eddington who’d help her get the job done. Unfortunately, Devon wasn’t one of them.

  Devon

  Devon’s heart leapt when he heard a knock at his bedroom door. He hoped it was Sam. It was torture knowing she was just across the hall from him. He quickly towel dried his hair, then wrapped the towel around his waist.

  When he opened the door he couldn’t help but smirk. Sam was standing there wearing the ridiculous grandma nightgown. It made her look like a little kid again, and all his boyhood feelings came rushing to the surface.

  “Hey,” she said. “Sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you had a power adapter I can borrow so I can charge my laptop and phone?”

  “Yeah, one second,” he said slipping back into the room and closing the door. He dug around in his desk drawer and found an adapter, then slipped back into the hall. “Sorry,” he said, noticing the strange look Sam was giving him. “I’d invite you in, but my dog’s in there and he’s not good with strangers. He’d probably wake up the whole house and Cara already hates him as it is.”

  “Okay,” Sam said, still studying him.

  “Here.” Devon offered her the adapter.

  “Thanks.” Sam closed her fingers around it.

  Their hands brushed for a moment and Devon felt every cell she touched ignite.

  They both stood there silently, lingering outside his door. Sam looked like she wanted to say something, but she didn’t. She just stood there, gazing at him like she’d forgotten what she’d been about to say. Devon didn’t trust himself to ask her what she was thinking. Besides, his mind was so clouded with thoughts of kissing her that he could scarcely think himself.

  He was suddenly aware that he was standing inches away from Sam in nothing but a towel. Not a good choice, considering the way his body reacted to her. But if he didn’t know better, he could swear Sam liked what she saw. Her eyes roved to his chest, then lower. It might be wishful thinking . . . but then again . . .

  Devon took a risk—tonight couldn’t get any worse. He reached up and brushed a stray hair from Sam’s face. Her dark hair was still damp and it slipped through his fingers like ribbons of chocolate. The sensation made her shiver.

  “Sam,” he said softly. “About tonight . . .” He moved his hand to gently cup her cheek and her breath caught. “Kissing you was . . . really nice.”

  She brought her hand up to his, laying her fingers over his. For a moment he thought she was leaning into his touch, but then she pulled his hand away from her face. “It was,” she said giving him a half smile, while she continued to hold his hand. “But it can’t happen again.”

  “Why?”

  “Devon, it’s late. And we’ve both been drinking.” She let go of his hand and tried to turn back toward her room.

  He grabbed her hands, gently pulling her back to him. “Drinking or no, there’s some things I need to say to you, Sam.”

  “Devon,” she warned trying to pull her hands free. “Please don’t.”

  “I have to, Sam. Ever since I found out you were coming back, I’ve been thinking about all the things I want to say to you.”

  “You don’t have to say anything, Devon.”

  But I do! I have to tell you that I’ve never stopped thinking about you and I’m fucking in love with you!

  Christ! He wished he could just get those words out of his mouth. They were expanding in his chest like they might explode if he didn’t say them. But he wasn’t good with words. He was good with his tongue and his hands, and he really just wanted to skip to that part.

  “Honestly, Devon. You don’t owe me anything. I don’t even know you.”

  Her words hit him like a slap in the face. “But, don’t you want to?”

  “What I really want is to go to bed and pretend that tonight never happened. Can we please just start over tomorrow, Devon?”

  It felt like that window in his chest, the one that let in all the air and light when he first saw her, was closing. And taking everything that mattered with it.

  “Sure, Sam. If that’s what you want.”

  “It is.”

  “Okay,” he conceded.

  “Goodnight, Devon.”

  “Goodnight, Sam.”

  9

  Sam

  Sam was sitting in the ridiculously ornate four-poster bed video chatting with Megan on her laptop. She didn’t know what time it was in Boston, but she knew Megan would be wide awake. Sam was convinced her best friend never slept. Megan practically mainlined double espressos. According to her, all film students did. And since Megan planned to major in film writing, she’d been getting a jump on her vampire lifestyle since sophomore year.

  “What are you wearing?” Megan asked, wrinkling her nose in distain.

  Sam had already given Megan a tour of the ostentatious bedroom in hopes she’d be too distracted to notice the frilly nightgown. No such luck.

  “Some ugly pajamas I found in the guest drawer. My dad fell asleep and didn’t even bother to bring my bag in from the car. Which is apparently locked up until morning when the valet staff comes back.”

  “Oh poor princess, locked in a castle. I feel so bad for you, Sam.”

  “Shut up, Meg! You’re supposed to be making me feel better.”

  “What do you have to feel crappy about? You’re staying in a castle . . . in Ireland! I would kill to be you right now.”

  Sam snorted.

  “Is super hot Devon there?”

  “Yes,” she groaned.

  “Oh my god! Like in the same castle as you? Why aren’t you jumping his bones right now?”

  “Ew, Meg! Who says that? And it’s not an actual castle, by the way. It just kinda looks like one.”

  “Who cares? Tell me more about hot Devon. What happened after you slammed your laptop closed in my face?”

  “Not much, we went out to a pub.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing.”

  “Oh, give it up, Sam. I can see it all over you face. Something happened.”

  “We may have sorta kissed.”

  “Eeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!” Megan shrieked so loud Sam had to hit the mute button on her laptop. Sometimes being friends with Megan was exhausting. The girl had more energy than a Chihuahua on Red Bull.

  “Will you calm down?” Sam squawked once Megan stopped screeching.

  “I knew it! I can always tell when you’re hiding something. You can’t look me in the eyes! And NO! I will not calm down. You just made out with the hottest man in Ireland. I want details.”

  “He’s not that hot,” Sam lied, trying not to think about the Olympic kiss.

  “Are you kidding? He looks like James Franco, Rob Pattinson and Ian Somerhalder had a love child. He’s genetic perfection!”

  “You only saw him for like ten seconds,” Sam argued.

  “That’s all I need. I can spot flawlessness.”

  Sam rolled
her eyes instantly wishing she hadn’t told Megan about the kiss. This was the kind of thing she wouldn’t let go. Sam flopped onto her stomach and got comfy, preparing for Megan’s speech about fate and star-crossed lovers.

  Devon

  Devon lay in bed, fuming. He kept replaying his conversation with Sam over in his head.

  Start over?

  What the hell was she talking about?

  Devon didn’t want to start over. And he certainly couldn’t pretend that kiss didn’t happen. It was still wreaking havoc on his body. That kiss was the best thing that had happened to him in a while. No way in hell was he going to forget about it.

  Sam could stand there and say she didn’t know him as much as she wanted, but he knew it was a load of bollocks. How could he remember everything about her and she remember nothing? This thing between them couldn’t be one-sided. Could it?

  Even if it was, it didn’t change the facts. Devon was in love with Sam. He’d always thought maybe it was just some weird childhood crush—lingering first love or something like that. But now that Sam was actually here and he’d kissed her, he knew it was real.

  Devon had never felt anything so consuming in all his life. He’d kissed dozens of girls—hell more like hundreds. But nothing compared to kissing Sam. And he didn’t know what it was if it wasn’t love. He tried to remember what it was like kissing those other girls, but it was all one big blur—a white noise of lips.

  Then, he tried to remember kissing Sam. It was more like trying not to remember. That kiss stormed his memory like an electrical current. It’d always been like that with Sam. He didn’t have to try with her. She consumed him effortlessly.

  He tried to remember how it happened—what pivotal moment turned her from childhood crush to heart wrenching love interest. But he couldn’t put his finger on it. All he knew was that Sam Connors was the only thing that mattered to him. And perhaps it had always been that way.

  That settled it. Devon wasn’t going to give up that easily. He pulled on his favorite jumper and slipped into the hall. In four quick strides he was standing in front of Sam’s door. He took a deep breath and psyched himself up to knock. Do or die, Devon—it was something he said to himself before every football match, and it had inadvertently become his mantra for focus and success.

  Devon was about to knock on the door when he heard Sam’s voice coming from within. He leaned closer to listen. She was talking to someone. Maybe on the phone? Devon felt creepy eavesdropping and was about to knock before he overheard something he shouldn’t—his name. His hand stopped midair.

  “God, I can’t believe you kissed Devon!” a shrill female voice said. “I seriously hate you so much right now.”

  “Well don’t,” Sam answered and Devon’s heart jumped into his throat. Sam was talking about their kiss! It must have meant something to her too if she was talking about it.

  “Why? Is he a bad kisser?” the other voice asked.

  “No, but I’m not interested in Devon. I told you, he made my life hell when I lived here. He’s half the reason I didn’t want to come back to Ireland. I honestly wish he’d just back off. The only thing I want right now is a ticket back to Boston.”

  Devon’s heart thudded to his feet and his resolve crumbled. He never knew words could hurt so badly. He quickly retreated to his room before he overheard more soul-crushing words from Sam.

  Once inside, Devon shut his door and leaned against it trying to catch his breath. How could this be happening? Were he and Sam really over before they even started?

  He slid to the floor and hung his head between his knees. He felt woozy. How the hell had his life gotten so messed up? In one year, he’d gone from having it all—a girlfriend, friends, football, his father, a future full of opportunities. And now . . . well now it just felt like everything was slipping away.

  Eggsy hopped off the bed and came over to console Devon. The massive dog flopped down at his feet. Devon pulled Eggsy’s head into his lap, burying his face in his thick coat, wishing he could go back to the life he’d taken for granted.

  10

  Sam

  The next morning, Sam was rousted from sleep way too early by a stern-looking servant. The woman drew the curtains and placed a pair of slippers and a robe next to Sam’s bed. “Breakfast is being served in the parlor, Madame.”

  Sam wasn’t a morning person. And she’d barely slept last night. Plus, being woken up by a stranger that looked like an extra from the cast of Downton Abbey was too much to handle. Sam grumbled around the room sleepily trying to find something more her style in the guest drawers, but she was met with more lace and ruffles and finally gave up and settled for the robe.

  By the time Sam found her way to the parlor, it looked like breakfast was finishing up. Cara was sipping tea with Sam’s father while more servants cleared their plates.

  “Sam!” her father exclaimed as she dropped into the open chair across from him. “Good morning, honey. I was almost ready to send the search party out,” he joked.

  She scowled at him. Almost? She grabbed the cloth napkin one of the servants placed in her lap and twisted it, imagining all the ways she could use it to choke her father.

  “Anyway, I’m glad you’re here. I have some news.”

  Cara stood up and smiled sweetly. “I’ll give you two some privacy to discuss things.”

  Sam frowned. That wasn’t a good sign.

  Before she could question her father, another servant came in and placed a plate in front of her—greasy hash, baked tomatoes, poached eggs, ham, beans, burnt toast and blood sausage—a traditional Irish breakfast. God, she missed Boston.

  All Sam wanted was a strawberry Pop-Tart and black coffee in her favorite Red Sox mug.

  “So,” her father said once they were alone. “I have good news and bad news.”

  “Bad news first,” Sam said reaching for the toast.

  “Our storage container isn’t going to be arriving for another few weeks.”

  “What? My whole life is in there, Dad!”

  “I know, honey. And it will all get here safe and sound. It’s just been delayed.”

  “I start school next week! What am I supposed to do without my clothes and everything? Dad, this is a nightmare!”

  “Well, that brings me to the good news. Henry and Cara have invited us to stay with them until our things arrive.”

  Sam dropped her toast. “What?”

  “Well, we can’t very well move into the house I rented. It’s unfurnished. But, Henry overheard my conversation with the shipping company and offered to let us stay. Isn’t that great?”

  Sam felt like her world was circling the drain. Stay here? With Devon? With the creepy twins and that baby? With Cara? With servants she didn’t know? With another person dying of cancer? No! This was too much, even for her father to ask.

  “No way, Dad!”

  “Honey . . .”

  Sam got to her feet. “I said no. I am not staying here!”

  “Samantha!” Her father never used her full name unless he was really pissed. His voice was low and rushed. “I will not have you treating my dearest friends poorly. They’ve been nothing but kind to us, and this is not negotiable.” He recovered his composure and pointed to her plate. “Sit down and finish your breakfast.”

  Sam sat, her temper barely leashed. And, as if her morning wasn’t already bad enough, Devon chose that moment to waltz into the parlor looking like a million bucks. He stopped short when he saw the scowl on Sam’s face. She was sure the tension in the room was palpable, but her father tried to smooth it over. “Good morning, Devon,” he greeted.

  “Uh, hi,” Devon said looking uncomfortable. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  “Nonsense,” her father replied. “Please, join us. Actually, you might be able to help. Sam and I were just discussing how she’ll be staying here for the next few weeks.”

  Devon’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “She is?”

  “Well, we both are
. As, long as it’s not a problem for you, of course?” her father added.

  What? Devon has a choice?

  So not fair.

  Sam tried her best telepathy powers on him. Please say no! Please say no! But Devon only stared at her with his pretty gray eyes and shook his head. “Of course not, Mr. Connors. I’m glad for the company.”

  “Great! Then it’s settled,” her father said. “I think it’ll be great. That way I’ll be nearby to work with Henry when he feels up to it. And you and I can work together when you’re free, Devon.”

  “Sounds grand,” Devon said.

  “Grand!” her father echoed. God, she hated when he tried to sound Irish. He smiled at Sam and she gave him a patronizing smirk.

  “So, what’s on the agenda for today, kids?” her father asked.

  “I don’t know, Dad. Seeing I don’t have any clothes or belongings, I guess I’ll just lock myself in my room. That’s what you want, isn’t it?” She stood abruptly and stormed out of the parlor, marching back to her bedroom.

  Devon

  “I’m sorry about that, Devon. Sam’s not really a morning person,” Mr. Connors said, sounding a tad embarrassed.

  “She’s a bit feistier than I remember,” Devon ventured.

  Mr. Connors chuckled. “Yeah. But, I may have thrown a bit too much on her plate at this hour. I usually wait until she’s had at least one cup of coffee.”

  “I’ll have to remember that,” Devon replied, offering Mr. Connors a smile. “Anything else I should know?”

  Mr. Connors shook his head and shrugged. “I wish I knew. Honestly, I’m probably the last person to give advice about Sam. She doesn’t really talk to me, no matter how hard I try. I guess it’s my fault for dragging her back to Ireland. I was really hoping she’d see what a great opportunity this was for us to spend time together before she goes off to college.”