Forever With You

by Beverley Kendall

  Argh! I give my head a vigorous shake. Would you stop thinking about him.

  I take that order to heart as I carefully make my way back to the table April, Troy and I had been lucky to snag when we’d arrived at the club.

  It’s my first night out in over a month and I’m going to enjoy myself if it kills me. Then in the morning, I can call my mom and tell her all about it. Put the woman’s mind at ease. See, Mom, there’s still hope for your only daughter. I’m not irrevocably scarred by what happened. If I throw in I met someone, maybe she’ll stop pestering me. At least for a while.

  As I’m walking by the front doors, I catch sight of Colin, April’s ex. Uh oh. I immediately turn my back on him and quicken my pace. I pray to God he didn’t see me. And now I have to tell April.

  Zenith’s is packed to the rafters and the crowd is as loud and raucous as any would be with over a hundred college students, most in varying degrees of intoxication. I arrive back at the table slightly out of breath, and plop my butt on the chair opposite my best friend. “You’re not going to guess who’s here.”

  April’s expression instantly goes from relaxed to high alert. She leans across the table and whispers, “Who?”

  “Colin.” I pause to let her digest the fact that her ex-boyfriend of two weeks is here. “I saw him in the line to get in.”

  April’s eyes go wide as she worries her pink bottom lip.

  “Does he know?” And by that, I mean does Colin know she’s dating Troy.

  She responds with a definitive shake of her head.

  That’s what I thought. I send a pointed look at the empty chair next to her. “Where’s Troy?”

  “He went to see what’s taking the waitress so long with our drinks.”

  Yeah, it has been a year and a day since we ordered, and that’s not counting the five or so minutes I’d spent in the restroom. “What are you going to do?”

  April slides off her seat and grabs her purse off the table. When she stands, she’s endless tanned legs in an attention-grabbing teal mini-skirt, strappy black heels, and a sleeveless V-neck blouse.

  “Tell Troy I went to the restroom. I’ll be back in a few.” And with that she makes her way toward the front entrance, receiving the usual neck-straining male attention as she passes.

  That used to be me, and boy how I’d loved it. In high school, I’d eaten it up. There I was at fourteen, modeling for money—pinch me, I’m dreaming—and the boys, who’d all but ignored me in middle school because I’d towered over them, wouldn’t leave me alone.

  And now?

  Now, I don’t even look the same. After Graham, I’d quit modeling and started dressing to draw as little attention to myself as possible. Tonight is an exception. I’m wearing a peach summer dress open in the back. It’s a little too short and form-fitting for my liking but April threatened to evict me if I dared take it off. And instead of my customary ponytail, my long hair, which L’Oréal declares an espresso brown, is a heavy mass of spiral curls I pray will hold until the end of the night.

  For the record, not only is my roomie a guy magnet, she’s Ms. Fashion Plate of Warwick University. Being a model and budding fashion designer does have its perks. Earlier this year, she’d gotten a career-boosting shout-out on TMZ—for her ass, not her designs, mind you. But since she and Troy finally got together, she’s taken to hounding me to make more of an effort with my appearance. When she saw me all gussied up at the apartment, she’d been thrilled that she could actually make out my figure.

  Hey, it’s not a crime to prefer over-sized t-shirts and sweatpants. They’re roomy and comfortable. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

  Troy’s return pulls me out of my thoughts. Placing a bottle of beer and the two glasses he’s carrying on the table, he sits and casts a questioning look at his girlfriend’s empty chair.

  “She’s in the restroom.” I parrot her lie like the loyal friend I am before guiltily turning my attention to my drink.

  “No straw?” I state the obvious, pointing to my mudslide. I notice April’s strawberry margarita has one.

  “Shit. I’m sorry about that. I’ll go back and get one.”

  He makes a move to stand but before he does, I’m on my feet, purse in one hand as the other discreetly tugs down the hem of my dress. “No, you stay. I’ll grab one at the bar.” The poor guy paid for the drinks and then had to go back and fetch them. It’s the least I can do.

  We’re not sitting that far from the bar but the area around it is at least ten people deep. The thinnest section is in the middle so I set off in that direction.

  I’ve barely gone five feet before I feel a hand on my waist followed by a warm breath in my ear. “Hey, beautiful, can I buy you a drink?”

  I bat away the offending hand while angling my head to get a look at octopus guy. He looks familiar. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen him around campus. He’s not bad looking if you’re into baby-faced, pretty boys. He’s tall—as tall as me in my four-inch heels—has dirty-blond hair and smells like a brewery. Pushy and drunk. Yay me.

  “No thanks,” I reply tersely before continuing on my way, sidling my way through the crowd. But if I thought my brush off would deter him, I’m sadly mistaken.

  “What’s your name? You look familiar. Do you go to Warwick?”

  If I wanted a guy dogging my heels, I’d get a boyfriend. Why is it always the cute ones who never seem to get the message? I’m not interested.

  “I haven’t seen you here before. Is this your first time?”

  Exasperated, I let out a huff of impatience and swing around to face him. “Look, you seem like a nice guy, but I’m not interested, okay?” I’m not trying to be a bitch about it, I just want him to leave me alone.

  He chuckles and cheerfully holds up his hand, feigning surrender. “Not interested. I gotcha. I gotcha. Then how about we be friends? Can’t have too many friends, am I right?” He raises an eyebrow. “If you don’t want me calling you beautiful, you’re going to have to tell me your name.”

  Cute. He’s good but I refuse to smile because it will only encourage him.

  “When I’m looking for a friend, I’ll be sure to look you up.” I turn, presenting him with my back. The next thing I know he’s edged a place in line at the bar ahead of me, and now I’m not even faintly amused.

  “Don’t be mad,” he pleads. “I promise I’ll leave you alone if you hear me out.”

  “Seth, what do you need?”

  I go motionless. For a second I think I must be hallucinating.

  “Come on, man, I don’t have all day.” Impatience threads a crisp British accent. The voice is as unmistakable as the man to whom it belongs to is unforgettable.

  With that, the gadfly in front of me turns and that’s when I see him—Graham standing behind the bar.

  Everything around me falls away—the people, the noise—and it’s like there’s a spotlight on him. He’s center stage in the drama that is my life.

  C’mon, Em, get it together. Don’t freak out.

  I take a shaky breath only to discover inhaling makes me dizzy and exhaling makes me queasy. Other than that minor hiccup, I’m A-Okay.

  Our eyes lock, but for how long, I couldn’t tell you. I know I must look as shocked as I feel. Graham, on the other hand, looks like a steely-eyed card shark, his emotions on lockdown, his cards close to his chest.

  “Gray, I need you to convince beautiful here to give me her name.”

  Jesus H. Christ. Are you fucking kidding me?

  What the hell is she doing here? And what the hell is Seth doing fawning all over her? Idiot. But then he wouldn’t be an eighteen-year old boy if he isn’t thinking with his dick.

  “You want to give him your name?” I keep my eyes on her and tip my chin toward Seth.

  Emily shakes her head, continuing to stare at me with her big hazel eyes,

  “Leave her alone, Seth. She’s not interested.”

  “Aw, c’mon, Gray.”

  Fuck, the kid can whine.
“Seth, go sober up in the back or I’ll call your dad and tell him you’ve been drinking.”

  “I’m not drunk. I swear.” He directs his answer at Emily as if he thinks that will make a difference.

  Who is he kidding? The kid’s out drinking every weekend, he simply can’t do it at his dad’s bar. John, my boss, is as strict about underage drinking as I am and that goes doubly for his son. When it comes to Seth, the rules are simple, he isn’t supposed to be here during operating hours.

  “Fine, you’re not drunk. Now get out of here and stop harassing the customers. You know your dad doesn’t want you coming here, especially when he’s not.”

  The hot blush that stains Emily’s cheeks is laughable. As if she doesn’t get hit on more times in a day than she can count. I bought the shy and innocent act once but never again.

  “If you change your mind…” Seth looks at her, his expression hopeful.

  “I won’t change my mind,” she states, shaking her head.

  Seth acknowledges her rejection with a cheery smile. “I’ll be over there when you do.” Then the son of a bitch winks at her before pushing off the bar and disappearing into the crowd.

  After he leaves, she slowly lifts her gaze to mine, a tentative smile on her face. “Thanks.”

  “That was for his sake not yours.” No guy, no matter how cocky, deserves to get ensnared in Emily Leighton’s web.

  Her smile vanishes far quicker than it emerged. She nervously wets her lips and for a moment I’m rocked by the memory of what it was like to have them on me. Under mine. I hate that I still remember. More than anything, I hate that when I do, I can feel anything other than disgust.

  “I didn’t know you worked here.”

  “Why would you?”

  When I’d seen her, my first thought had been that she’d tracked me down. But her reaction, the way her eyes had gone wide and mouth had fallen open, convinced me she’d been as equally shocked to see me as I was her.

  “No, it’s just that I didn’t want you to think—” She clears her throat. “Didn’t want you to—”

  “Look, I don’t have all day. Did you want to order something?” I ask, my voice clipped.

  She stares at me as if English isn’t her first language. Or second.

  I drum my fingers impatiently on the counter and that’s when I remember. How could I ever forget? Emily might be an adult, but I know damn well she isn’t old enough to drink. She doesn’t turn twenty-one until November.

  I narrow my eyes at her. “You’re not getting served here.”

  “Designated driver so I-I’m not drinking—um alcohol. I’ll take a 7-Up if you have it.” The strained smile she offers up can’t hide her obvious discomfort and nervousness.

  Good. I hope to hell she wallows in it. I quickly get her her drink, eager to get her out of my sight and the hell away from me. She’s everything that’s ever gone wrong with my life. And a reminder of every fucking mistake I’ve ever made rolled into one 5’9” package.

  She takes her drink as she looks at me then quickly looks away as if she doesn’t know where to settle her gaze. Maybe it’s because she looks so flushed and frazzled that I stare at her, focusing squarely on her restless eyes, more than happy to frazzle her even more.

  After stuffing a bill in the tip jar, she meets my stare head on. And there it is, the entreaty in her eyes and the apology that hovers on the tip of her lips. What she says next comes as no surprise.

  “Graham, I wondered if we could talk.”

  “No.” My reply is swift and ruthlessly sharp, cutting her off at the knees. I’m not doing this with her. She’s not forcing herself into my life and digging up the past. Few people know where the bodies are buried and I’m determined that’s the way it’s going to stay.

  “Graham—”

  I shift my focus to the guy behind her. “What’re you having mate?” I ask as if she hadn’t spoken.

  She makes a distressed sound in her throat. I catch a glimpse of the wounded look on her face as she turns and hurries away. Surprisingly enough, having a front row seat to her pain doesn’t bring me the satisfaction I thought it would.

  I’m treated to the rear view of her as she navigates through the crush of bodies. It’s impossible not to notice how perfectly her dress hugs her body. Two thick bands of fabric crisscross her smooth, bare back, no bra strap or bra-line in sight. It’s not the kind of dress that would reveal everything when she bends over, but it’s short enough to leave a whole lot of legs on display. Slim hips and a proportionately tiny waist has guys stopping and turning to appreciate the same view I’m currently taking in.

  Four years hasn’t changed that. Beautiful face with a body to match. But you know what has changed in that time? Me. I’ve changed. I don’t care how old she is now, I’m not interested. I know what she’s like on the inside, and her outward beauty doesn’t come close to making up for it.

  Chapter 3

  I share a three-bedroom apartment with April and Troy. It’s a penthouse compared to my old room in the dorms. I can’t tell you how nice it is to have a kitchen again, and only have to share a bathroom with one other person. Since we have two, Troy gets his own. I’d say that’s a nice advantage of being the only guy living with two girls.

  While I was home visiting my mom at the beginning of the summer, April moved into Troy’s room and I returned to find they’d converted her old bedroom into an office/sewing room. Now I don’t need to get a desk for my room.

  I love everything about the new setup and living arrangements. There is one thing, however, that takes getting used to. Living with a couple. And not just any couple. A couple crazy deep in love. To be fair, they hadn’t been a couple when I’d moved in. They’d been best friends fighting the inevitable. Fighting fate.

  I glance over again at where the lovebirds are sitting cozied up on the couch watching football on Troy’s gigantic TV. They’re constantly touching. Not always in a way that earns them a get-a-room reprimand, but in a way that sometimes gets my envy juices flowing. Like now.

  I want someone who looks at me the way Troy looks at April. The love, lust, and adoration in his gaze is palpable. When is the last time a guy looked at me like that?

  Graham.

  I forcefully push thoughts of him from my mind and resume the task of deciding what to make for dinner. It hurts too much to remember.

  “What are you guys in the mood for?” I ask, tossing the question over my shoulder. The cold air from the freezer chills my bare arms and legs as I stand in front of the refrigerator, inspecting its meager offerings. We take turns cooking dinner during the week and Wednesdays are my turn, which means I’m on the hook for a decent meal tonight.

  I make a mean chicken stir-fried rice, but we’re all out of rice. Right now, I’m deciding if I should tackle defrosting the pork chops that have languished in the freezer for over a month. I’m thinking Martha Stewart must have a simple recipe for that online that includes potatoes.

  “How about I go and get us something from Julie’s Seafood and Grill?”

  I turn in surprise to find Troy standing at the arched kitchen opening that overlooks the living room. “April says she’s treating,” he adds, glancing back at his girlfriend, a playful smirk on his face.

  With to-die-for dimples, hair the color of soot, killer gray eyes and a body well suited for his wide receiver position, Troy is as good-looking as my best friend is beautiful. They’re a well-matched pair of bookends. It’s nice to finally see them together.

  I close the freezer and walk over to the counter as April joins Troy. He immediately pulls her tight against his side, his hold possessive, the look he sends her full of affection.

  “I figure a celebration is in order since Caroline was able to get me out of the Playboy contract. That’s a savings of at least fifty grand,” April jokes wryly, exchanging glances with Troy.

  On top of seeing Graham, the last few months have been unbelievable. Troy and April have had more than their share of
family drama. Really bad stuff. And then she’d gotten the Playboy centerfold offer. The whole thing ended up an absolute clusterfuck. I’m just glad that ordeal is behind us and my roommates came through it with their relationship intact. Actually, it’s stronger than ever now. Thus, the occasional emergence of my little green-eyed monster.

  “Well I certainly wouldn’t say no to jumbo shrimp or linguini with clam sauce.” I’m all for not having to cook tonight, especially since I didn’t plan the meal in advance.

  Flashing me an easy smile, Troy quirks his brow. “Is that what you’re ordering?”

  “Not both.”

  “If you want both, order both. Let’s get enough for leftovers so I don’t have to cook tomorrow,” April says with a laugh.

  I give her the thumbs up. “I like the way you think.”

  After April calls the order in, Troy heads out to pick it up, promising to be back in twenty minutes. The second he’s gone, I find myself unceremoniously towed to the living room and pulled down onto the couch by my best friend.

  “What are you doing?” It happens so fast, all I can manage is a squeaked objection.

  “Okay,” she says, angling toward me. “I’ve waited months for you to come to me and since that’s not working, I’m going to be a pain in your ass until you tell me what’s going on with you.”

  There’s nothing like being caught off guard. “Wha—where is this coming from?” I sputter.

  She fixes me with a stern look. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. The guy whose name you won’t speak. Graham.”

  Right. Graham. My ex. The guy I haven’t been able to stop thinking about. Last week I’d had a dream and in it he’d called me every vile name under the sun. I’d woken up close to tears with my heart beating a mile a minute. It’d been a nightmare.

  “You’ve been…I don’t know, different since you saw him. You haven’t been yourself for months.”

  “That’s not true.” My denial is instinctive, practically built into my DNA.