Chasing Ivy (Oak Hill, #1)

by S. J. Sylvis

I kept my stare on her as her eyes roamed around the porch floor. She was deep in thought, as if trying to come up with some response to what I’d said, but she came up empty-handed.

  “Ivy?” I asked, walking the short distance over to her tiny body being held up by the pillar.

  She slowly brought her face up to mine, her lip tucked between her teeth.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  Her brow crinkled. “What? For what? You’re saying sorry for building my exact house because you thought it would bring me back to you? How could you say sorry about something like that? It sounds like it’s from some amazing, romantic movie – like, The Notebook, or something.”

  I chuckled but quickly replaced my half-smile with a realness that I felt all the way inside my chest.

  “I’m so sorry about your parents.” Her brow twitched and her mouth formed a straight line. “I never got to tell you that, and I’m sorry.”

  She swallowed, searching my face. “It’s fine…”

  I placed my hands on her shoulders, feeling the dampness of her shirt along my palms. “Nothing about that situation was fine. Not what happened to your parents, not the fact that you had to up and move within a day – without being able to say goodbye to your friends—and not the fact that when you came to see me when you needed me most, you saw me with another girl…and it wasn’t fine for me to think that you just up and left, without even trying to come back. I’m just sorry for it all.”

  A lone tear fell down her face, slowing sliding over her high cheekbone and all the way to the bottom of her delicate jaw. I took my hand off her shoulder and swiped it away with my finger.

  She brought those green, tear-filled eyes up to look at me, and the only thing I wanted to do was take away the last six years of her pain, the last six years of her hurt. She was so strong, I knew that, but no one was that strong.

  My heart stretched in my chest as the words poured out of my mouth. “I know you felt like you were alone in it all, but you weren’t, Ivy.” My eyes bounced back and forth between hers, hoping she could understand what I was trying to tell her—what my heart was trying to tell her. “I was right there with you, every step of the way. I never stopped hoping that you were okay, I never stopped missing you, and I never, ever, replaced you.”

  A sob escaped her throat and her shoulders fell as her head dropped. I pulled her body into mine and wrapped my arms around her slim torso. Her entire body relaxed into mine, her wet cheek resting along my bare chest, and I knew, right then, that I’d been chasing Ivy since the day she’d left.

  I’d thought I’d been chasing away the memory of her, my feelings for her, but I wasn’t. I was just chasing her.

  And now she was back.

  And I was in over my head.

  Finally, after what seemed like an hour of me holding her on my porch, the sun had started to set and reality came crashing over our bodies.

  She pulled back slightly and angled her head up to mine. Her eyes were puffy, but there was a ghost of a smile along her lips.

  “I’m sorry I just cried for that long on your shoulder.” She laughed and turned her head away, hiding the little blush that spread along her cheeks.

  I laughed, too. “Some things never change…”

  She pulled back even further. “What! I’ve never cried on your shoulder before…” Then she looked away, the wheels turning behind her eyes. “Okay, fine. Maybe a couple of a times I cried on your shoulder, but I’m still embarrassed that I just did it again.”

  A chuckle escaped my mouth. “It’s okay. I felt like it was kind of a breaking point for us, don’t ya think?”

  She smiled brightly this time. “Yeah, but…uh…should we talk about the fact that the last time we talked, you told me we couldn’t be friends? Or…”

  Ah, right. Back to reality.

  Breanna.

  I stood and walked over to the front door, opening it and looking back at Ivy, standing awkwardly, alone, still in the spot I left her. Her black bag that she’d packed earlier was still by her feet.

  “I spent six years without you… I’m not spending another six in that same boat because my kind-of girlfriend wants to dictate my life.”

  Her eyes flicked to mine, as if she wasn’t sure if I truly meant what I’d just said.

  I meant every last word. Ivy and I were friends long before Breanna was even a thought in my head. I felt bad realizing that, but the truth was, I couldn’t seem to care. I cared about Ivy too much to let her go. I was losing the battle between my heart and my head, and unfortunately, I was pretty sure that Breanna was going to be the casualty.

  Ivy’s face faltered as she bent down for her bag. “Okay… but seriously, what about your ‘kind-of girlfriend,’ whatever the hell that means? Because I’m going to go out on a limb and say that she’s not going to be okay with me staying here, ever.”

  I sighed. “Like I said, let me worry about Breanna, okay?”

  Ivy looked skeptical, but she walked toward me anyway.

  The little voice in the back of my head told me what I was going to have to do.

  I was going to make room in my life for Ivy, regardless of what Breanna said…and that, my friends, was the biggest issue of all.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Ivy

  What am I doing in Dawson’s house?

  What am I doing in Dawson’s bathroom, changing out of very uncomfortable, damp clothes and into my pajamas? Three weeks ago, I would have doubled over and laughed my ass off if someone told me this was where I would be right now.

  My face shined brightly in the mirror above his sink. I tried not to notice the glimmer in my eye and the small smile creeping along my lips, but I couldn’t deny it. The last time I’d talked to Dawson, he’d looked me right in the face and told me we couldn’t be friends.

  It felt like someone had carved my heart right out of my chest and then stomped all over it.

  But now, here I was, a week later, standing in his bathroom, feeling my hidden fifteen-year-old self emerge like I’d traveled back to the past to relive my favorite night all over again.

  I couldn’t wrap my head around his reason for building this house. I mean, honestly, people should just start calling me Allie. He could go by Noah and I could go by Allie. Except that I looked nothing like Allie from The Notebook, but Dawson…he and Noah were both exceptionally attractive.

  Besides the fact that I felt like Dawson and I were like Noah and Allie (we totally weren’t), I was totally, one hundred and fifty zillion percent ignoring the whole Breanna issue. Dawson said he would handle it, and I’d let him.

  It still ate away at me, though.

  Especially right now, as I spied the girly shampoo and conditioner in his shower.

  Freaking, stupid, expensive, good-smelling shampoo, too.

  I almost poured it down the drain, just to spite her, because just as much as she didn’t like me, I didn’t like her equally as much. But I lifted my hand off the shampoo bottle, mainly because I couldn’t fathom wasting an $80 bottle of shampoo, even if it was Breanna’s, and honestly, if I knew that someone had thoughts going around in her head about my boyfriend the way I did right now to Breanna’s, I wouldn’t like me, either.

  Giving myself one last look in the mirror, running my fingers through my air-dried hair, I puffed my cheeks and then let all the air out.

  Dawson was my friend.

  That’s it.

  He wasn’t single, even if he did say that Breanna was his “kind-of girlfriend” (like I’d missed that little bit of info; it was a like neon sign flashing in my brain), but I had to put my game face on and I had to behave myself. Not that it was totally hard to behave myself. It wasn’t like I was going to sneak into his bed, wearing nothing but a lacy pair of underwear (not that I hadn’t imagined it), but I did have a hard time not staring at him for too long.

  Any girl would openly stare at him because it was hard not to. He was a masterpiece; like his masculinity drew you in, inviting you to s
tare. It was his fault. Not mine! But I knew I needed to get myself together. I’d done it back in high school and I could do it now. Although, truth be told, I did not have these hormones in high school. I didn’t even know what an orgasm was.

  Now I knew. I knew what it felt like to ride on top of someone, scratching an itch that needed to be scratched in the best way possible. I now knew what it felt like to have a man push his body up against mine and make me forget the entire world existed. I was well aware of what it felt like to crave a man, and desiring Dawson was like craving a margarita when you were also being offered an endless bowl of salty chips and spicy salsa.

  You just had to have it.

  Just like I had to have him.

  “Behave,” I muttered, puffing my cheeks out once more before opening the door to the bathroom.

  The house that Dawson had built with his father looked exactly the same on the front as it did when it was mine, but the inside was so much different, and I was so thankful. I highly doubted I could have kept it together if the inside of his house had been the same as mine when I was younger.

  The walls were mainly bare and painted a soft, grey color. It was all very bachelor pad-ish with modular furniture and it held nothing at all “homey.” I was almost surprised that it wasn’t more girly inside – I had imagined that Breanna would have decorated at least a little, even if she didn’t live here, but I’d guessed wrong.

  I was relearning a lot about Dawson and one thing that I’d noticed, point-blank, was that he didn’t let Breanna walk all over him. I got the vibe that he told her what was up and that was that.

  Which I liked.

  She had been so domineering in high school, and not just with boys. She had told her friends what to wear, how to do their hair, who to be friends with, etc. So, knowing that Dawson didn’t let her dictate his life; that made me happy.

  Too happy.

  Rounding the corner to the stairs, my feet stopped moving. I wiggled my toes on the soft, nylon carpet and craned my head to the master bedroom, just off to the right.

  I swallowed and held my breath, knowing very well that I shouldn’t be eavesdropping like I was currently doing.

  Dawson’s voice was flat and irritable, lacking any of the happiness that I’d heard earlier. “I just don’t know, Breanna. I just don’t think it’s fair to you or me.”

  My eyes widened. I really, really shouldn’t be listening.

  So I went ahead and listened some more, adjusting my body so I was closer to the cracked door.

  “I know I said that I wasn’t going to be her friend anymore, but how can you even ask me that? After everything?”

  Huh? What does that mean? I wish he’d put it on speakerphone. Like, hello, I’m trying to listen over here!

  “Breanna, I just think—” he paused. Why did he pause?

  “Fine, we can talk when you get back. I’ll give you that much, but right now, I think you know how I’m feeling. I think we both knew in the beginning, even before all of this blew up that things probably wouldn’t—”

  Feeling what way? How has he been feeling?

  My heart pounded in my chest, full of eagerness and wonder. Whatever he was talking about with her, wasn’t good. I knew that much. His voice was, for lack of a better word, monotonous.

  He sounded like our old U.S. History teacher in high school—the man was, like, 75 years old; I literally had no idea how he was still teaching us back then.

  Mr… Mr. Peters was his name. He was no taller than I was right now (5’4”), and he wore the blandest looking cardigans over his checkered dress shirts every day. His glasses sat perched on the end of his nose and he always carried a briefcase with him.

  Do you want to know what was in his briefcase? A crossword puzzle.

  That was it.

  That’s all Mr. Peters carried in his overly expensive briefcase.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Aagh!” I yelled, jumping so high I could have beaten the Olympic high-jump standing record.

  “Goodness!” I yelled again, placing my hand over my heart and feeling its rapid beat against my ribcage. “You scared me!”

  Dawson’s dark brow rose upward while his mouth twitched.

  “What were you doing?”

  He knows.

  I stuttered. “Nothing. Just thinking about Mr. Peters.”

  “Thinking about Mr. Peters? The history teacher?”

  “Yep!” My voice was in full-on cheerleader mode: high-pitched and ridiculously annoying.

  Dawson laughed but eyed me with utter cynicism. I didn’t give him a chance to ask me what I was doing again, and I technically hadn’t lied to him. I truly was thinking about Mr. Peters!

  Skipping downstairs, suddenly feeling super awkward that I was in a house that I wasn’t really comfortable in, I paused at the entry way to the living room.

  I turned around slowly, watching Dawson walk down the stairs as graceful as an angel, his breathing not labored at all, unlike mine.

  “So, how much did you hear?”

  I sucked in my bottom lip as he descended the final stair.

  “Just bits and pieces. I didn’t mean to pry.” Yes, I did.

  My ears quickly felt hot and I almost reached up to cover them, but instead I clasped my hands behind my back.

  “You’re lying,” he grinned.

  “How can you tell?” I pried.

  He smiled wider, showing his heart-stopping smile. “Your nose does this little twitch thing when you lie. Well, it did back when you were younger and trying to hide something from me,” he paused, flicking his eyes from my nose to my eyes. “And it just twitched.”

  My hand flew up and I grabbed my small nose.

  “Whatever,” I mumbled.

  He laughed. “You’re cute, Ivy.”

  My heart hiccupped and at the same time a rush of heat covered my body. Thank goodness I was semi-tan, or else he would have seen just how much those words had affected me.

  Slowly lowering my hand, I asked, “I’m causing trouble with Breanna, aren’t I?”

  Dawson’s mouth formed a straight line. He turned on his heel and walked towards the kitchen, avoiding my question.

  I followed after him, my bare feet smacking against his weathered-wood floor.

  He must have sensed me behind him, as he glanced at me out of the corner of his eye while bending down and looking in the fridge. I couldn’t help but let my eyes travel over his butt.

  Dark grey sweatpants hung loosely from his hips, just below his white t-shirt, and even though they weren’t fitting him tightly like the jeans from earlier, his butt looked just as good. If not better.

  “Things with Breanna aren’t… good.”

  I walked over to the island and rested my forearms along its marble top.

  “And I’m making them worse,” I stated.

  He shut the fridge and walked over to the island, placing his palms flat along the top. I finally brought my eyes up to his and waited.

  “You’re making them real,” he answered, driving his dreamy blue eyes into mine.

  What the hell does that mean?!

  “Dawson,” I started, backing away from the island. “Maybe I should just go… I don’t want to make things worse for you two, even if I don’t think she’s right for you.”

  My heart climbed up to my mouth. Why. Did. I. Just. Say. That.

  “You’re not going anywhere, and you don’t think she’s right for me?” he asked, perplexed, a smirk growing on his face.

  I laughed. “Of course not, and I bet everyone agrees with me.”

  He turned away for a second, showcasing his jaw that looked as if it had been chiseled from stone. I knew what he was thinking; he was probably going through all the times someone had said the same thing that I just did.

  She wasn’t right for him. She didn’t make him happy; anyone could see that.

  I’ve barely seen them together, but the one time that I had, he had literally looked pained and she… w
ell, she’d looked like she was going to kill me.

  “Then who is?” he asked, turning his chiseled face back to me.

  I gulped.

  I felt flutters deep within my stomach, and looking directly into the beautiful, dark-blue hues of his eyes honestly stole any coherent thought out of my head. His eyes were heated, pupils dilating…like they were begging me to say the right words.

  And then, I heard a faint male voice say “Hello?” from my pocket. I opted to ignore it, choosing to stare into Dawson’s eyes instead.

  They had me caught up in thinking all the wrong things.

  I’m right for you.

  But I wasn’t.

  Or was I?

  “Is your pocket talking to you?” he inquired, his gaze never leaving mine.

  “Huh?”

  His cheeks lifted and then he finally released my stare. I let out a held breath that I wasn’t even aware I’d been holding.

  If I could get that engrossed in Dawson from just a lengthy stare, I couldn’t even imagine what else could turn my world upside down and make me forget to breathe.

  “Your phone. You pocket dialed someone, Ivy.” Then he chuckled and embarrassment hit me head on.

  My hand fumbled with my phone, pulling it out of my pocket. I was still flustered from the uncanny, intense moment with Dawson that it didn’t even register that I’d accidently called someone. The second I heard his voice, it was like getting my hair stuck in a fan, jerking my head so hard I wanted to cry out.

  “Wow, she finally calls me back…” Eric’s voice was smooth, and it used to be the one voice I enjoyed hearing but right now, staring at Dawson’s tall and broad frame as he surveyed the contents of his pantry, I loathed it.

  “Oh, I didn’t mean to call you. Don’t get too excited, Eric.”

  Dawson’s head snapped to mine, but I averted my eyes, trying to focus on Eric’s voice.

  I heard a muffling on the other line. “Ouch.”

  Yeah, it was kind of mean, but so was breaking up with me just because I wanted to move back home.

  “Sorry,” I said, both of us well aware that I wasn’t truly sorry.

  “I’ve been trying to reach you for a long time, Ivy. Did you get the flowers I sent to your work? How is that going? Do you like it?”