[2016] First Comes Love

by Emily Goodwin

  First Comes Love

  Emily Goodwin

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Epilogue

  Then Comes Marriage

  Chapter One

  About the Author

  FIRST COMES LOVE

  Copyright 2015

  Emily Goodwin

  ***

  Cover Photography: Kelsey Keeton

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events or places is purely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  To anyone who’s life hasn’t gone according to plan

  Prologue

  Noah

  Then…

  I curl my fingers into my palm, making a fist.

  Clench.

  Unclench.

  I look at the boy on the floor, the one who just seconds ago threw the first punch. It was a punch I easily caught and deflected, which was embarrassing enough for him as it is. He thought he would win this fight. I twisted his arm and hit him back, popping him square in the nose. Blood is dripping down his face and he’s scrambling away.

  The small crowd that gathered around to watch the fight erupts into cheers. I smile, soaking it all in. I’ve been at this school a few weeks and already took down some mega-douche bully. I think. Maybe? I don’t care. This guy—I don’t even take the time to learn his name—wanted to fight.

  And so did I.

  “Fucking awesome,” Colin Winters says as I turn and walk away. He’s the first friend I made in this new town. “Josh deserved that. Hell, he’s deserved that for years.”

  “Glad to be of assistance.” I shrug like it’s no big deal. And it’s not, not really. I’ve been in my fair share of fights, which is the reason I got expelled and am “starting over fresh,” as Mom calls it, in this new town in Michigan.

  “Come on, let’s get out of here before Coach Cook catches you. We fucking need you for the game next week.”

  I nod, actually excited to be part of the football team. That’s the best part of this fresh start so far. We go down the hall, joining a few other guys on the team.

  “Noah Wilson!” a teacher calls out. Dammit. I roll my eyes and turn. “Principal’s office. Now.”

  “I’ll meet up with you later,” I say to Colin and head to the office. Mrs. Jefferson’s door is closed, so I sit on a cushioned chair across from the secretary’s desk. I cross my arms and lean back, hoping I won’t be too late for practice.

  Finally, Mrs. Jefferson emerges from her office. I already know the drill. She calls my mom—who doesn’t always show up—and we have a meeting to discuss my behavior and what I can do to fix it.

  Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

  It was this kind of shit that got me expelled from my old high school.

  “We meet again, Mr. Wilson.”

  “It’s your favorite part of the day, admit it,” I say with a grin.

  Mrs. Jefferson raises and eyebrow and sighs. “Humor isn’t going to save you in the real world.”

  I just shrug. It’s been six weeks at this new school and I’ve been to the principal’s office, uh … I’ve actually lost count. Fighting, talking out in class, not doing homework, the usual. I just don’t give a fuck.

  They label me defiant, a troublemaker, the bad boy.

  I can live with that.

  But no one sees that it’s hard to give a fuck when no one gives a fuck about you. It’s been six weeks in this new town and I can count the number of times Mom’s had dinner with me on one hand.

  Whatever. It is what it is and it’s been that way since Dad left. I’m used to it. Hell, I like it. I can do whatever I want, and she leaves me plenty of cash to get into trouble with.

  Mrs. Jefferson looks at her watch—again—and then flicks her eyes to the door. Don’t hold your breath, lady. Mom’s going to be late … if she shows up at all. She got held up at work and missed the last meeting with the principal. There’s something sympathetic in Mrs. Jefferson’s eyes, and a small part of me wants to confess how lonely I am.

  “She’s going to take her sweet time,” I huff. “Might as well get some of your other work done while you wait.”

  Mrs. Jefferson gives me a tiny nod and disappears into her office. I lean back in the chair, cross my arms, and debate on closing my eyes and napping. Sleep isn’t something I’m doing much of lately. Not when I’ve been invited to party after party.

  I’m sitting in front of the secretary’s desk, with a clear view of the front doors of the high school. A black SUV slows and my heart actually skips a beat. Mom’s here? She actually showed up within a reasonable amount of time?

  The SUV rolls on and I catch the back bumper sticker that says the driver has a kid on the honor roll. Nope. That’s not my mother. I sigh and let my eyes close. A minute later the office door opens and closes. Someone walks in, gait slowing as they draw near me.

  “Is this seat taken?”

  I look up, breath catching when I see it’s her. Fuck, she’s beautiful. It’s my first thought.

  Beautiful.

  Not hot or sexy, but beautiful. Her eyes are kind and gentle, like eyes I could stare into for hours while talking about anything and everything. She nervously bites her lip as she waits for my reply, warm eyes widening just a bit.

  They’re the kind of eyes that can fill with lust in an instant, flicking up to me as I nail her.

  I want to nail her.

  I want to feel her, all of her. Now. I can’t help it.

  “No, it’s not,” I finally say and move my books out of the way. She sets her stuff down and gracefully perches on the chair. “I haven’t seen you in here before,” I blurt, heart lurching as she takes a seat next to me.

  What the fuck is wrong with me?

  Maybe the better question is, what the fuck is wrong with her? Why is she making me nervous, turning me on just by sitting in the goddamn chair next to me?

  “I’m not in trouble,” she says, then looks embarrassed. She’s not in trouble, but I am. Six weeks and I have that reputation already. And she knows it. She knows who I am.

  Why does that excite me?

  “Why are you here then?” I ask.

  Her sea-green eyes run over me with a bit of familiarity that throws me off-guard. It’s not fair. She’s looking like she knows me by more than my rep. Yet I have no idea who she is. I don’t even know her name.

  “I’m protesting.”

  I don’t mean to laugh, but I do. She pushes her perfectly full lips into a pout. “Sorry,” I say, curbing my laughter. “You don’t look like someone who would throw a public fit.”

  One of her eyebrows goes up and she pushes thick brown hair
over her shoulder. “You don’t have to cause a scene to make a statement.”

  “Yeah, true. What are you protesting?”

  “The cats AP biology dissects,” she starts.

  “Let me guess,” I interrupt, grinning, needing to say something because I had no idea advanced bio sliced up cats and the shock on my face doesn’t jive with the bad boy image I’ve decided to roll with. “You think it’s awful and want to put a stop to it?”

  “Yes and no. I think it’s important to learn about the body, but I don’t think it should be a requirement. The less students who dissect cats, the less that have to die for the name of science.”

  “That’s actually a really good point.”

  “Thanks.” She smiles. “I hope Mrs. Jefferson thinks so too.”

  “She might.” My mind races with something else to say, something intelligible that will make this girl want to keep talking to me. I should ask her name. I should tell her mine. I should say something, yet all I can do is stare at her beautiful face, unable to form a logical thought.

  She.

  Is.

  So.

  Distracting.

  And I don’t know why. I don’t know why I’m reacting to her the way I am. This isn’t me. I don’t get tongue tied around chicks. I don’t worry what they think of me.

  Because I don’t care.

  So why do I have this weird yearning for this girl to like me? And why am I worried I’m not good enough for this stranger. This attractive stranger.

  She pulls a notebook from her bag and flips through the pages. Doing my best to not be obvious, I look over her should and read her notes. She’s written out what she’s going to say to Mrs. Jefferson, like a script. It’s cute, in a total OCD way.

  “What side of the fence do you fall on?” I ask her. “Do you want to dissect the cat or no?”

  She wrinkles her nose, distaste for cutting into a dead animal obvious. “I want to be a vet, so I should do it. Though at the same time, I’d rather wait until vet school. I don’t see how this will benefit me now.”

  “Good idea. And being a vet would be cool.” I’m internally wincing. Could I be more lame?

  “I think so. Half the time I like animals more than people.”

  I chuckle. “I agree with you there. Animals don’t let you down.”

  “Exactly!” she exclaims and turns toward me. Her hand lands on the armrest of the chair, fingers brushing my skin. It’s the most innocent gesture, one she didn’t even mean, yet leaves me craving her touch. “They don’t judge you either.”

  “That’s always a plus.”

  “I hate being judged,” she says quietly. “And I try not to judge others.” Color rushes to her cheeks and she looks away, head dropping and a shock of that gorgeous hair falling over her face. “I think if we were more like dogs the world would be a better place.”

  I refrain from a joke about sniffing asses and agree. “I like dogs. Never had one, but they’re cool.” And I’m wincing at myself again. Fuck. I just want this girl to like me.

  “That’s kind of sad,” she tells me. “We have a dog. And two cats.”

  “Lucky.” Suddenly I want to go get a dog just to have a reason to invite this girl over.

  Mrs. Jefferson emerges from her office. “Oh, Lauren, you’re early.”

  Lauren.

  Right now, that’s the best name in the entire world. Lauren. I repeat it in my head a few more times.

  “It seems my prior meeting isn’t going to happen, so come on in,” Mrs. Jefferson says. “You’re not off the hook yet, mister,” she tells me. “Stay put, Noah.”

  I roll my eyes and lean back again, watching Lauren get up. She’s wearing a pink and white dress, nothing out of the ordinary but nothing tight and revealing like so many of the other chicks in this school do. I admire her full ass as she walks into Mrs. Jefferson’s office, wondering how I’ve never seen her before. She has to be a freshman. I’ve never seen this girl before in my sophomore class. Maybe? She didn’t look that much younger than me.

  It shouldn’t matter, and she probably has a boyfriend anyway. For now. Someday, she’ll be mine.

  Someday Lauren will love me.

  “Dude, what the hell is wrong with you today?” Colin tosses the football into the air and catches it.

  “Nothing,” I retort and drain my bottle of water. The sun is beating down on us during football practice today. It’s late in the fall and we got hit with a week of unusually warm weather.

  “You’re a fucking liar, but I don’t care as long as you get it together by the game tomorrow.”

  I roll my eyes and make up an excuse of fucking some college girl at a party last night for being distracted today. Colin doesn’t press even though he knows it’s another lie.

  I’m not one to give a damn about labels, but I consider Colin my best friend. We got a lot in common and just get along great. I can’t bullshit him, and he knows I wasn’t at a party last night. Yet he doesn’t push the issue. He knows when to stop and give me space. I respect the hell out of him for that.

  The real reason for my distraction is Lauren, the girl from the principal’s office protesting about dead cats. I haven’t seen her since—and I looked.

  But she’s here today.

  Sitting in the bleachers, at the top and by herself, away from the small crowd of girls who always watch us practice. Lauren hasn’t looked away from the book she’s reading. Not once.

  I try to catch her eye the rest of practice but she’s buried in that fucking book.

  “You guys want to go to Pete’s?” Josh asks Colin and me as practice concludes. Pete’s Diner has cheap food and doesn’t always card when you order beer. It’s the popular hangout.

  “I’m in,” I say.

  Colin grumbles, “I have to take my sister to the library.”

  “Bring her with,” Josh suggests. “She’s hot.”

  Colin shoots daggers at him. “Shut the fuck up.”

  “I’m just saying it like it is. Why are you driving Katie?” Josh asks. “She has a car.”

  I look over my shoulder at Lauren. She closed her book and is coming toward us. My heart and my dick jump. Fuck, she’s beautiful.

  “Not Katie,” Colin says. “Lauren.” Lauren. Funny he said her name the same time she makes eye contact with me. Colin turns around and sighs. “Speak of the devil.”

  Wait, what? I look from him to Lauren, the girl I’m going to make mine someday.

  No.

  No, no, no. Lauren is his sister. His baby sister.

  She will never be mine.

  Chapter 1

  LAUREN

  Now...

  I CHECK THE time on my phone and bite my lip, contemplating what to do. I take a deep breath and look around the restaurant, trying my hardest not to feel self-conscious about sitting alone—and about already finishing one glass of wine.

  I shouldn’t be alone, though. But for the last fifteen minutes, I’ve sat here solo, stomach grumbling from the wonderful smell of Italian food being served around me, waiting for my date to show up. It’s not technically a blind date, since I’ve seen Gavin’s pictures before, but we’ve yet to meet in person. I met him on one of those dating apps, and I think I can recognize him from his photos. Well, if he ever gets here.

  To be fair, I got here early. I get everywhere early. If I don’t, I panic. And yeah, I know the world won’t end if I show up late to dinner, but being late opens the door to a lot of other bad stuff, like people thinking I’m rude, losing my table … making others wait on me. Serious shit like that. I know, I need to lighten up a bit. I try. Really, I do.

  But life is easier when things go as planned, when I can stick to a schedule. Life is hard enough as is. Why make it even more chaotic?

  My stomach grumbles again and I’m tempted to pull the fancy white-cloth napkin off the basket of bread that’s been set on the center of the table. I inhale and lean back in my chair, feeling a bit woozy from the wine. I don’t drink
very often because I don’t like the taste of alcohol, but a sweet bubbly wine like the one in front of me is too good to resist, and I agree to another glass when the waiter comes around.

  I unlock my phone and text my sister, Katie, to tell her that my date hasn’t arrived and is officially ten minutes late. I’ll give him another ten then I’m paying for my wine and leaving.

  And that it’s all her fault. She set up the dating app and made my account. She’s been with the same guy for seven years and is living vicariously through me, though the few dates she’s set me up on never amount to anything but an awkward goodbye.

  Five minutes later, I’m scrolling through Pinterest to keep myself busy and I feel someone stand near the table. I flick my gaze up and see Gavin. And he does look like his photos, thank God. I take a quick second to take it in: he’s tall with broad shoulders, has a bit of gray peppered in his dark hair, and is well dressed. He’s attractive in a non-obvious way. I can handle this.

  “Lauren,” he says with a smile.

  “Yeah, hi,” I say back and stand. Should I shake his hand? Or go in for a hug? We’ve talked on the phone and via private message, but I’m far from being comfortable around him.

  He decides for me and leans in, wrapping his arms around me. He squeezes me tight and I almost choke on the smell of cigarette smoke on his clothes. I internally sigh. I hadn’t thought to ask about that. Such a turn off.

  “How are you?” he asks and releases me.

  “I’m good,” I say. “Hungry. You?”

  He laughs softly. “Hungry too. And sorry I’m late. The temperature dropped and I had to change my socks. It’s not cold enough for the wool ones yet, but cotton wasn’t cutting it.”

  I take a step back toward my chair. “Uh, okay.” Socks. What?

  He lifts up his leg a bit so show me his feet, which are covered in bright-red fuzzy socks.