by S. E. Hall
The most interaction we’ve had in eons and this is it? Her mauling me in front of everyone, thinking I’m hurt and need her to save me? My body is happy she’s near, my heart so ready to soak up any attention she offers and quit aching, but my mind…my mind is still pissed.
“I’m not hurt, all right?” I speak too loudly, too gruffly, and even Whitley twitches at my tone.
But Laney? Laney holds strong, her mocha eyes challenging me like they always have.
“It’s a tattoo, geez,” I grumble, pulling up my shirt to show her.
Now it’s Laney’s turn to gasp. “What the hell is that?” She shakes her head, squeezing her eyes shut and opening them again quickly, as though she was hallucinating and just needed to refresh her vision. She’s gonna be disappointed, cause it’s still there. “Since when are you into tattoos?” she bites out, one hand on a very angry cocked hip.
“Since now, I guess,” I offer with a gratifying simper on my face. “Guess we’re both into new things these days, huh?”
The torment that flashes in her eyes is unmistakable, even if fleeting, and like always, I feel bad. All I was trying to do was stand up for myself, but I feel like shit. This isn’t how I wanted to do things.
“Isn’t it cool?”
Oh Lord, here we go, is all I can think as Whitley taunts Laney with her purring question, her hand now on my shoulder.
“Well, since I’m pretty sure you’re not all of a sudden a sailor, or wilderness guide, Evan,” she starts, her tone scathing, “why’d you put a compass on your chest? Do your parents know?”
The inflection and glare she wears is probably the only warning Whitley’s gonna get to butt the fuck out or get cold cocked, and I’m nervous for a second that Laney’s gonna hit her.
“Whitley picked it, and no, they don’t know…yet.”
She no more heard the last six words of that sentence than the man in the moon. Laney checked out, and Maleficent, her favorite Disney witch, checked in right when I announced Whitley’s involvement. I am a bad, bad man and my mama would test my ass if she knew my thoughts right now, because while I am seriously concerned for Whitley’s safety at this moment, the bigger part of me is tickled shitless that Ms. Laney Jo Walker is pissed as hell.
“Why would you pick a compass?” she now asks Whitley, advancing a step toward her, seething.
I slide over just a tad, cutting her off at the pass. It isn’t looking good. She must have seen the kiss; this reaction is about more than just the tattoo.
“Why would you care?” Whitley challenges.
Not good! Abort mission!!
Laney shifts her fiery eyes at me, and I know what she’s waiting for. She’s expecting good ol’ Evan to jump in and defend her. Yes, my every instinct, and my heart, tell me to do it…but my mind wins, and I simply give her a sheepish shrug.
“Why would you care, prince—” I stop myself and clear my throat. “Laney?”
Her sweet little mouth drops open and her face heats scarlet as the flush sweeps up her neck. She’s ready to spew venom, but then clamps her mouth shut in an attempt at self-preservation. She looks like a guppy. I don’t get an answer. She spins abruptly on one heel, away from us, calling to Zach, who raises his head from where he’s bent over, helping Avery with something, and looks at her. “I’ll catch up with you guys next practice. I’m good anyway,” she flips her head back around and cooks Whitley with her blazing eyes, “Evan taught me how to play my whole life.”
“Show’s over then? Cool!” Whitley happily places both hands on my shoulders and grips down. “Catch me, Ev!” She jumps on for a piggyback ride and giggles. “Let’s go!”
I walk away as fast as I can, toting Whitley, just wanting to get us out of everyone’s scope.
Chapter 7
Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell
~Laney~
“Hello?”
“Zach, don’t say my name,” I choke out, storming across the lot as fast as my shaking legs will carry me.
“What’s wrong? Where’d you—” his voice comes loud and worried through the phone.
“Don’t say that!” I interrupt. God, how embarrassing. “Can you walk away from everyone and talk to me for a minute? Where no one can hear you.” My voice is nasally and obnoxious, getting on my own nerves.
“Yeah, Mom, hang on.”
Note to self: Zach—not a great actor.
“Okay, Laney, I’m by myself now,” he whispers.
“I’m sorry I bailed on practice, and I’m sorry to bug you now, but I need a Zach of Infinite Wisdom fix real bad right about now.”
“Let’s pretend I don’t already know what’s up your ass and you go ahead. It’ll give you a chance to vent.”
All right, so that almost makes me grin.
“He just hung all over that bitch right in front of me just to piss me off, and it worked! Seriously, she’s picking out his tattoos? Nothing I did was to purposely hurt him. How long did I absolutely torture myself NOT to hurt him Zach, huh? A long ass time!” I come up for air, waiting for him to tell me how right I am while I climb in my truck.
“Laney, you know I love you, right?”
This can’t be good.
“Yes…”
“Then you know it’s with love when I say this.”
His dramatic pause that makes my skin crawl.
“Get over yourself! I don’t care if he fucked her on the field and asked you to film it. You may not have meant to, but you destroyed that kid. He’s here with no friends, no girl and a new team. Sound familiar? He’s just trying to put one foot in front of the other every day, just like you did. You got your happily ever after, so back the fuck off and let him try to find his.”
Well then. Zach-1. Laney-0.
It hurts; I’m not even gonna pretend it doesn’t, but his words are honest…and absolutely dead on. It makes me angry at myself for being the cause of such sad, but true, words describing the crushing of my Evan. It’s a lot to think on and I have to do that now before I cruise right out of control.
“You’re right, Zach,” I whisper. “That’s why I call you. I’ll always get what I need to hear straight up. Thanks.”
“I love ya, Laney. Don’t be mad at me, but don’t ask for my advice if you don’t want it.”
“God, if that isn’t the truth,” I scoff loudly. “You’re harsh, but right. That’s why you’re my number one advisor. I’m not mad, I swear. Now go coach! I’ll talk to ya later.”
“Later, Laney.”
I hang up and stare out my windshield, pondering. Zach is right, I’m being a selfish bitch. Sure, I hate Whitley and would rather Evan engaged in orgies than in her, but he’s absolutely justified in doing whatever he wants. I start my truck, headed nowhere on gas I can’t afford to waste, and drive until I make about a two mile circle twice, finally pulling into the very back of my dorm parking lot, hiding my truck as well as possible between a big dually and the dumpsters.
I lay down across my seat so no one will see me just sitting alone in a parking lot and pull my phone out of my pocket, because no pity party is complete without music, right? I let the music take over, my thoughts drifting aimlessly, to nowhere in particular, on a whim. Wouldn’t it be nice if life was like that? But it’s not. Every action has a reaction, a consequence, for which the collector will one day come to get your toll. I made a choice, one I don’t regret on every single level, yet feel remorse for in my every pore. Like a fool, I thought it’d all be fine, that I could hide behind the miles between us, in my Dane bliss, like a heartless wench. But the toll collector came a callin’.
Evan is here, and yet, I miss him more than ever. Yes, this is the part where everyone around me screams, “If that whiny bitch double dips or flip-flops again, I’m gonna kick her ass myself!” Not what I’m doing. I love Dane, completely and unashamedly, and I’m not walking away from him, no matter what…but I have to fix my core, the basis of a lifetime of events that made me me, and that core is Evan and Laney, the best ki
nd of friends.
When “I Never Told You” by Colbie Caillat starts playing, I decide it’s a sickly, ironic sign that I’ve wallowed in a pool of self-pity long enough and get up. I climb out and wrap my arms around myself, shuffling slowly to my room.
“Where you been, baby?”
Dane, of course, is looking perfectly beautiful, a crisp white dress shirt untucked over dark wash jeans and “I dare ya to mess it up more” hair, and waiting in my dorm room when I slug inside.
“Flag football practice,” I mutter, sitting on the edge of the bed to pull off my cleats and socks, shrugging off my jacket as well. When he doesn’t answer, I look up at him to find a scowl. “What?”
His arms cross over his chest and he widens his stance, though I don’t think he knows he did it. “Oh yeah? How’d it go?”
He knows I’m hiding something. Decision time—fess up or roll with it? The latter is a horrible idea considering I suspect Dane really does have a Laney crystal ball tucked away somewhere, but you know me….daredevil. “It went good; I think we’ll win.” Of course we’ll win, we’re the freaking softball team for crying out loud! The intimidation factor alone is worth a touchdown.
His arms drop and he stalks my way, bending over me, forcing me to lay back on the bed. “That your final answer?” he growls.
Speaking of holy hotness intimidation factor… I swallow hard and mentally chastise my libido before looking up at his gorgeous face and answering him in a quivering voice. “What do you mean?”
“I mean,” he runs his nose the length of mine, blanketing our bodies together, “that I don’t like it when you lie to me.”
That bossy mouth of his skims my jaw, his teeth taking little nips along the way until he’s sucking right below my ear. Oh yeah, he knows all the weak spots to elicit a confession and he’s hitting them all just right.
“You don’t play fair,” I moan, pulling my legs up to rest my feet on the mattress, tightening my knees around him, my deceitful hands running up his back.
“And you don’t lie,” he breathes against me, “so tell me what’s going on before I flip you over and spank that tight ass red.” Is he trying to help or hurt his cause? ‘Cause I gotta say…my jury is still out and my heart is actually sweating right now.
“I went to—” Oh God, never stop doing that.
He grinds against me, curving his body down and in then back up, sending my mind to meltdown. “Go on,” he orders me in a deep grumble.
“I drove in big circles, then sat undercover in the parking lot to think. Today was awful.”
There. You win…you sexy, playing dirty God.
He moves off me, dragging his fingertips down me as he goes, and sits up beside me on the bed. “Come here,” he says faintly, holding out his hand to pull me up. When I’m sitting up with him, he cups one of my cheeks with his long, brilliant fingers, running his thumb along my bottom lip. “Tell me what’s wrong, baby.” He drops a sweet kiss on the end of my nose. “Talk to me.”
“It’s nothing; all better now.” I attempt to climb into his lap, wanting nothing more than for him to heal me, love me, make everything better, but he laughs lightly and holds me back with his hands on my shoulders.
“No way, not until you talk. I want your all, Laney. That means when something’s not right with you, then nothing’s right with me.” He ducks his head and tilts it, forcing me to meet his deep brown gaze. “Tell me what’s wrong and I’ll fix it.”
“I-I saw Evan,” I stammer lowly. “He’s coaching Whitley’s team. She picked out his new tattoo.”
If he’d have just said it to me, I know exactly what I’d say, so his response…I could have quoted it verbatim for him.
“And you care why?”
Yep, I’d say that’s about right, word for word. His glower is angry, his eyes questioning. I don’t blame him a bit, but he asked. In fact, he lusciously coerced me.
This time I don’t let him stop me, I successfully curl myself into his lap and bury my face in his neck. He smells so freaking good and I can feel his displeased heartbeat against my chin.
“I don’t know the right answer, and I don’t want to make you mad,” I admit.
The deep breath he lets out ruffles my hair. “There’s no right or wrong answer, Laney. Just tell me exactly what you’re feeling, what you’re thinking. I’m so sick of talking about him I could rage, but I know it’s a whole new level of difficult since he’s here now. So let’s do this one more time; let’s talk.” He kisses my forehead, gliding his hand along the back of my hair, telling me it’s okay, that he wants to hear what’s inside me because he wants to live there too.
“I love you. You are my fire, my intensity, my must have, my awakening,” I say sincerely. “You’re the lap I always want to cuddle in, the lips I want to kiss, the mind I want to challenge, the laugh I want to draw out. Okay?”
The smile that lights up his face and the secure calmness that takes over those deep brown eyes is breathtaking. “I know, baby. I love you, too, so much. And later, I want you to moan all of that in my ear, over and over, while I make love to your sweet body all night long. But right now, I want to figure this shit out so we can move on.”
Well who the hell can think when he says things like that? I clench my thighs together, tightening my grip around his neck.
“Fine,” I huff out, “I’m jealous that he’s doing shit with her and he’s not even my friend anymore. It pisses me off that my best friend inked up his fucking chest and I didn’t even know. But most of all, I hate that one of the most wonderful people in the whole world hates me.” One lone tear dares to drop out of my eye and I feel him startle when the moisture hits his skin. “Usually I don’t care what people think of me, but someone like Evan, well, you give a shit if he thinks badly of you. It means you really are a crap person.”
“Baby, I’m gonna say this once, then I’m going to get up and walk out so that I don’t change my mind. I love you and I trust you, so go find him, text him, whatever… Fix it. I’ll give you until ten to come to me, and when you do, it’s just me and you. No one or nothing else gets in. Deal?”
I lift my head in shock. What guy sends their girlfriend to find their ex? Dane Kendrick, in all his domineering, secure, sexy fucking excellence, that’s who. He even bosses me when he’s sending me to find Evan… It’s the sexiest thing ever.
I nod and then I grab his face and kiss him like I’ll never get to again. His hands slide around my waist, pulling me against him, our bodies molding like our mouths. He breaks away first, setting me off him and onto the bed, standing and moving swiftly to the door.
“Ten o’clock,” he repeats, turning back to look at me, my hair mussed and my lips swollen, “or anytime really. Call me if you need me and know I love you.”
With a wink, he leaves and I grab my phone to text Evan. That is, once I regain full use of my senses.
Chapter 8
Unfair Comparison
~Evan~
Laney: We’re long overdue for a Come 2 Jesus. Tell me where 2 meet u in next few mins or I’ll hunt u down.
Her text doesn’t surprise me at all. Today had been disastrous; I know Laney—too much and she’s done. Really, so am I. Now is fine with me.
Evan: U at your dorm?
Laney: Yes.
Evan: I’ll pick u up in 10. Be outside.
Laney: K.
She’s already outside when I pull up. I don’t get out and open her door, but rather just pop the lock and stare in front of me as she climbs in. Instantly, the whole cab smells like lavender and I run a hand down my face, hating myself for sniffing extra hard.
“Hey,” she says so quietly I barely hear her.
“Hey.”
Well thank God this isn’t awkward.
“Where to?” I ask, still not looking anywhere near her direction.
“I don’t really know. You hungry?”
“No, I just ate.”
“I don’t care where we go; surprise me.”<
br />
“So…” I mutter as we pull out of the lot. “What’d you want to talk about?”
Smooth.
I don’t get an answer right away and can see her lay her head against the window out of the corner of my eye. As I make the turn, she finds her voice.
“I miss you, Evan. I can’t deal with you hating me. Remember how good we were as friends, before all the other stuff got in the way?”
I didn’t think it was stuff and I didn’t think it was in the way. I thought it was love and I thought it was great. But clearly, I’m not all that omnipotent.
“I miss you too, Laney,” I reply quietly. “I’ve missed you since the day I left for college.”
“Me too,” she whispers.
This is the best spot I know, the middle of our campus. It has flowers and benches and no one will be here this time of evening, except maybe a random or two walking through. When we’re parked, she gets out first, reaching behind my seat to pull out her blanket. Yes, it’s still there. I amble out and follow her, failing miserably to not notice the way the breeze lifts her hair and carries its scent on it.
“Sit down,” she says, patting the spot beside her on one of the benches farthest in the back, the blanket wrapped around her shoulders. The girl is always cold.
Knowing better, I sit down but leave optimal space between us.
She remains facing front but slides one of her little hands over to embrace mine. “Evan,” she starts. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I didn’t mean to; I tried to fight it.”
“Fight what exactly? Explain it to me, Laney, ‘cause I just can’t swallow how I was so easily replaced.”
She pulls her hand out of mine and I know it’s because of how abrasively I spoke. I’m not sure if I’m relieved or sorry that she did. Touching her now confuses me, not feeling wrong, but no longer feeling completely right.
