If Only

by A. J. Pine

  His hands move to the back of my neck, and his lips brush along my jaw-line before he says, “Yeah, about the next ten weeks.”

  My body tenses.

  “I’ve been working on this for a few weeks, but I didn’t want to say anything in case I couldn’t make it happen. I received an e-mail confirmation today from my academic advisor back home. It must have come in the middle of the night, while we were sleeping. Because of my good standing with the university, and because my cooperating school is my old high school and they kind of like me there, they’re going to transfer my tuition and fees to second semester and let me do my student teaching then. I don’t need to be back until January.”

  He brushes a shock of dark hair from his forehead, and I can see the smile on his face mirrored in his eyes.

  “I can’t ask you to do that. That’s your career, your future.”

  “You didn’t ask, Brooks. You…” His kiss is slow and achingly sweet. “You are my future, too.”

  I’m his future, too.

  “You’re coming with me?”

  “If you still want me.”

  “I’ve never wanted anyone more.”

  He leans down to me, whispering in my ear. “Yawp.” And then he covers my mouth with his own.

  It may have been almost three years since, in Sam’s words, I last paid my dues to the club. But tonight I realize I never really was a member. Not until Noah.

  “Can we please turn off the lights?”

  We are both packed and ready for the train in the morning. We said most of our good-byes at the pub the night before, so tonight is just for us, the commencement of this next phase in our lives together.

  “No. Not yet. You are too beautiful for darkness.” He catches me before I react. “No eye rolling, Brooks. I’m going to admire the view, and you’re going to enjoy it.”

  Well, that does it. I offer him the most exaggerated eye roll I can muster, but his smile only grows. I lie on the bed, no garment, not even my underwear, to hide me.

  “Why do you get to keep your boxers on?” I pout. But really, he’s still an impressive specimen. He kneels on the floor, bending over me. His body is taut and hard with muscle, long and lean. His dark hair, a bit too long now, curls up above his eyebrows and over his ears. And those eyes, those azure smiling eyes, they smile for me, and I’m overwhelmed.

  His face comes toward mine, and I ready myself for his kiss. Instead, his tongue merely grazes my bottom lip. My breath hitches slightly as his lips brush my chin, my neck, and now the space between my breasts. Inside I twist with pleasure.

  “Because,” he says, his mouth trailing down to my stomach, “I want to watch you react, to hear you react, to feel you react when I touch you.”

  He kisses the bone of my hip, and though he’s not touching me there, I feel him everywhere. I moan, my fists gripping the sheet.

  “See?” he says, his lips still on my skin. “Noises like that,” he teases, kissing down the inside of my thigh. “When it’s time, don’t you worry. The boxers will be history.”

  I let go of the sheet and slide my hand off the edge of the bed to where he kneels. Without hesitation, I grip him through the soon-to-be history undergarment. He is firm, mirroring my moan with one of his own. I let go of him and slide my hand under the waistband of his shorts, the heat of my skin on his.

  He breathes in, sharp and audible, and everything inside me contracts at the sound.

  “Brooks.” My name escapes him in an exhale of pleasure, and my body releases a tension I didn’t realize was there until now.

  Three years. It’s been almost three years, and it’s not like my previous experience made me some sort of an expert. All this time I’ve been waiting to get to this place with him, I didn’t realize how terrified I’d be once I arrived. But there’s an instinct in the way I touch him, each sound he makes encouraging me, each reciprocal touch telling me everything about this is right.

  His lips trace up my other leg, up my hip, to my stomach, his hand trailing the path his mouth left, stopping where my thigh reaches the place I want him to go.

  His palm is on me, and my back arches, pressing myself against his hand.

  I tug on him, stroking him, coaxing him into the bed with me.

  His fingers begin to part me, and I gasp, grabbing his wrist.

  “Uh-uh,” I say, the corners of my mouth turning up in a nervous smile. “I think we’ve already covered foreplay. No more waiting. Just you and me, together, the whole time.”

  “Together,” he repeats.

  I nod.

  “As long as you understand,” he says, “that this is the first of a shitload of togethers.”

  I bite my lip, not to contain the grin but hopefully to stave off the tears. How have I gone so long not knowing this feeling, not knowing this incredible person beside me?

  “Understood,” I tell him. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Releasing his wrist, my hands clasp around his neck. I need his mouth on mine. Now.

  “Kiss me already,” I demand between breaths, “before I scream.”

  His grin is a wicked one. “Oh…” He drags his lips up my neck to my jaw. “You’ll scream.”

  I part my lips, ready with a witty retort, but I never get to say it. He silences my mouth with his, and I sink into the bed, into the sensation of his body on mine. Eyes closed, I let him take the lead. I hear the tearing of the package, the condom, and then we are at the threshold, together.

  My hand traces his right shoulder blade, where, though I can’t see them, the words of E. M. Forster reside.

  “I love you, Brooks.”

  “I love you, Noah.”

  The threshold is crossed, and he is in me, around me, and it’s terrifying and perfect all at once. My legs tangle in his, and my palms press firm and flat against his back, eliminating any space that could have possibly existed between us.

  The answer forms clearly now, the answer to the question Sam asked so long ago. He is the sign, the constellation. This is what I was waiting for. I thought I wanted an infinite now, to preserve a single moment and stretch it for eternity. But I was wrong. I want it all—the good, the messy, the spectacular. Not only this moment, but all those that came before and all that will come after.

  At my worst and at my best, he knows me, has always known me.

  The poets are right.

  And so is Noah, because I do scream.

  “Are you asleep?” I pick up Noah’s right hand and trace the scar with my finger. His eyes open, and his lips part into a smile.

  “I think that’s when I fell in love with you,” he says. “When you marked me permanently.”

  My mouth presses a gentle kiss into his palm, but then I look up, my eyes narrowed.

  “I thought you said you fell in love with me the day of the tour.”

  He grins. “I did. And when you knocked me into a pile of broken glass. When you got a tattoo at a place called Prick. When you almost killed yourself trying to make me jealous. When you came home from Greece. When Emily handed me Forster’s words in the middle of our scene.” He loosens his hand from mine and leans up on his elbow. He admires my still-naked body entwined with his. “When I made you scream.”

  A loud knock sounds on the wall I share with Elaina followed by my roommate’s voice. “By the way, we heard that!”

  Heat rushes to my cheeks as I instinctively pull the sheet over us, as if Elaina and Duncan can see us, too. The walls. Like paper. She did warn me.

  Noah presses his forehead to mine.

  “For waiting for me, for us, to take so long to get here. And right now, Brooks. I am constantly falling in love with you.” He pulls the sheet to expose my upper body, and I don’t protest. Soft kisses trail from his lips to my chest, up my neck, and along my jaw. I breathe in, still amazed that we did finally make it here.

  “Keep saying that. Will you?” I ask.

  “As you wish,” he replies, his lips so close to mine.

  “As
you wish.” His eyebrows rise as I echo his words.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I love you, too.”

  Did you love this Embrace? Check out more of our titles here!

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you first and foremost to the NA Alley blog for the opportunity to pitch my book, in only three sentences, to Entangled’s Embrace editors. Speaking of editors, thank you so much to my fabulous duo, Karen Grove and Nicole Steinhaus, for seeing something in those three sentences and then in my whole book. Thank you for believing in these characters, for falling in love with Scotland like I did, and for working so hard to bring Jordan and Noah’s story to the fabulous NA readers out there. Thank you Stacy C. Abrams for giving If Only the final push in the editing sprint! And Lindsay Legget, If Only if finally done thanks to your fabulous copy edits! Jessica Cantor, my amazing cover designer, thank you for my first book cover. I’m forever in love with it. Thank you to Liz and everyone at Entangled for the wonderful work you do for your writers, to my fellow Entangled authors for being such a welcoming and supporting family to a first-timer like me.

  My amazing agent, Courtney Miller-Callihan, our journey is just beginning, but you’ve already been so supportive and encouraging. I’m so thrilled to have you in my corner.

  Jen Meils, I wouldn’t be writing if it wasn’t for you, my first writing partner, my identical hand twin, and one of the best friends I never knew I had until you moved across the country. Thank goodness for daily Facebook/Twitter/e-mail chats. You inspire me on so many levels, with your wonderful writing, your amazing editing peppered with gushing margin notes, and of course, all-around general awesomeness. I will forever be grateful for the role you’ve played in this whole writing journey, from Friday swaps to published book. I love you and am so lucky to have you in my life.

  Natalie Blitt and Megan Erickson, you two are proof that falling in love on the Internet is possible. I fell in love with your words at WriteOnCon. Then I fell in love with you. To think that six months ago you were not a part of my daily life is astounding because now I can’t imagine a day without my sexy vampire and mini CP. Thank you for trusting me with your beautiful words and encouraging me with mine, for your editing expertise on this book and others, and Facebook brainstorming sessions for books yet to be written. I cannot write in a vacuum, and thanks to you, I don’t have to.

  Amy Trueblood, aside from having my favorite last name ever, you are a fantastic CP/friend/cheerleader, one of the first to beta this book and love it, and I love you for it. Thank you for helping me hone that initial three sentence pitch even before you’d read the story. Guess what? It worked!

  I found an amazing community of writer friends on Twitter, whether it’s Lucas wielding the pimp cane on my first sixty-nine pages in a rushed one-night editing session, or cheerleaders like Karyn, Katie, Emmy, and Olivia (with whom I’m happy to share my Scottish spirit animal, Ewan McGregor)—I can’t get over the freaky amazing support by such talented people. I love being on this journey with all of you!

  Taryn Albright, you and your green pen, thank you for your spot-on reader report that got this manuscript in top shape before submitting to my editors.

  Thank you to my parents for supporting my creative side even though it took me a while to figure out where I fit best. As of the writing of these acknowledgments, you have yet to read my book because I’m still freaked out about you seeing the sex scenes! I guess I can’t stop you now. Just remember—you have been warned. OMG, Josh, are you going to read this, too?

  Thanks, Howard, for your pro bono legal support. You helped start this experience!

  What would I do without my friends outside of my writing life who’ve offered such amazing support? Joyce, if it wasn’t for half a bottle of wine and the musical stylings of the Go-Gos and B-52s, I may not have had the nerve to admit I wanted to write. But I did, and you didn’t laugh. Chrissy, Linda, and Angela, I’m so grateful for your continued excitement about this book and your willingness to listen to any and all mild freak-outs as If Only and I found our way to where we are now. Jodi Lange, my non-writer beta reader and lifelong friend, thank you for loving my little book at its earliest stage and for your gushing e-mails and texts. I still go back and reread your comments. All the love for you!

  My initial inspiration to start writing comes from the people I work with and the school where I work. If it wasn’t for the greatest English department in the world, for Writers Week where I’m constantly amazed by the students, faculty, and other writers who share what they do, I don’t know if I would have had the guts, the drive, and the support to give this a shot. Thank you to my 2012-2013 students who gave up their independent reading time to hear me read my first YA novel and who didn’t laugh me out of the room. Gary, Tony, Sabra, Russ, Gina, Jaclyn, and Laura—my earliest readers/supporters—you’ve been there from the beginning. You don’t know how much your encouragement meant, how much a part of everything else I’ve written since then is because you thought I could do it.

  E. M. Forster and William Shakespeare, you gave me two of my favorite love stories in A Room with a View and Much Ado about Nothing. Thank you for sharing Lucy, George, Beatrice, and Benedick with me so I could share them with Jordan and Noah.

  To my husband, Joe, my beautiful Sydney and Connor, thank you for your patience, your love, and your belief in a girl who still has a dream to chase. I love you so much. None of this would be possible without you.

  To you, who read my book, read all the way to here? Thank you. My final bit of gratitude goes to Aberdeen, Scotland, and a year I’ll never forget. Tobes traveling in Birks. Heather and Becky and our Baywatch/Hamlet debacle. My experiences with you helped plant the seed for Jordan and Noah’s story, but they took it all and made it their own.

  About the Author

  A.J. writes stories to break readers’ hearts, but don’t worry—she’ll mend those hearts with a happily ever after…maybe. The first book she wrote was YA, but now she’s two-timing her first love with NA. She’s always in the middle of reading two to three books (Kindle, Audible, print). As an English teacher and certified school librarian, books have always taken center stage in A.J.’s life. Now she gets to write them as well as read them!

  A.J. adores online shopping—everything from groceries to shoes—and she’s not ashamed to admit she still loves vampires, whether it’s Eric Northman or the Salvatore brothers (sometimes even a vampire hunter named Jeremy). When she’s not writing or teaching, A.J. is working her way through the Harry Potter series with her daughter or playing Lego Star Wars with her son. She lives in the Chicago ’burbs with her husband and kids.

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