Enamor (Hearts of Stone #3)

by Veronica Larsen

"I don't want her to be just another hookup. She's more than that. She's…I don't know. I like her. Like, as a person."

  Luke laughs. And he doesn't stop laughing, head back, shoulders shaking. I stare at him until he finally settles down, wipes invisible tears from his eyes, and says, "Oh man, this is perfection."

  "What's so damn funny?"

  "She's more than that. I don't want her to be just another hookup, I like her," he mimics my words in a whiny way that gets under my skin. "Are you listening to yourself?"

  "Look man, lay off. I don't expect you to understand me wanting to be friends with her."

  "Are you saying she's fair game, then?"

  I set my jaw but try to keep my voice even. "If you touch her? You and I are going to have problems."

  Luke lets out a low whistle. "Oh yeah, that's a platonic reaction, all right."

  I grab my near empty cup of soda and get up from the table without looking at him. My skin still prickles with the thought of him or any other guy trying to have their way with her.

  "You're in trouble," Luke calls out as I head to the restaurant's drink machine. "She hasn't given you any and you're already whipped."

  He might not be wrong, but he pisses me off all the same. I know how I sound. I know how hard I'd laugh at myself if I were Luke. That doesn't change the fact that I want to be around her and if that means forging a friendship with a girl in a way I never even wanted before, then so be it. Because helping her feel better when she's sick or sad, making her laugh, reeling her into my life, seems so much more gratifying than any girl I could fuck.

  Hooking up gives me something to look forward to for a few hours. But being around Julia is something I've been looking forward to every single day. Consistently, effortlessly.

  A small voice in the back of my head warns that I might just be confused. That maybe this is all the result of me not getting something I want for the first time in my life. My gut tells me it's more than that. My appetite for women has warped into an appetite for Julia. A different type of craving I'm unaccustomed to. A craving to catch her eye at the right time and share a knowing smile. A craving to share secrets and get to know the little things that make her tick. To hear her laughter.

  When I lie in bed for the night, I try and fail for two hours to fall asleep. Sleep eludes me at times, but tonight is different. This is worse than my typical insomnia. And I don't have to wonder for too long what the cause of the imbalance is.

  I pull out my phone and shoot a text to Julia.

  [Hey, are you home?]

  [Yeah. Got in from work a little while ago. What's up?]

  [Just wondering what you're doing.]

  [Trying to go to sleep.]

  [In your bed?]

  [Uh, yeah.]

  [Damn. This is going to be a long night.]

  [Why?]

  [I don't know, it's like I got used to feeling you next to me. Having trouble sleeping.]

  [Damn it. Me too :/ ]

  [Come to my room.]

  [How is it you sound like a pervert even when I can't hear your voice?]

  [I'm not. I just want to feel you next to me. You smell nice.]

  A minute passes and I wonder if I shouldn't have said that. I like messing with her. It makes her struggle not to smile while her blush gives her away, two of my favorite sights lately.

  [Okay, let me put on some clothes.]

  [You can come in your underwear, I don't mind. And make sure to forget your bra again.]

  [ >:( ]

  [Haha. Just kidding. I'll be here when you're ready.]

  A few minutes later, my door creaks open. I'm lying on my back, but I don't move, not wanting to discourage her. Her muffled footsteps come around the bed before the mattress shifts and she's under the covers. I pull the sheet over our heads, shifting to my side so that she comes into view.

  "Hi," I say, voice low.

  "Hi."

  It's weird, lying side-by-side and face-to-face, eyeing her features and the curve of her lips, and just enjoying that she's here beside me without trying to touch her. I peer down between us and see she's wearing pajama pants and a tank top that has ridden up slightly. The waistband of her pants is low on her hipbones and I have the irresistible urge to tug it down.

  "I have a sort of personal question for you," she says.

  "All right…"

  "That girl that cheated on you, your ex. Why was that your only serious relationship?"

  I resist the urge to let out a frustrated breath. I don't want to talk about Claire. But the curiosity in Julia's eyes prompts me to answer.

  "I had a few girlfriends in high school, but you know how that is. I was just a kid. Claire was my first college girlfriend. Before her, I was content just messing around. I wasn't interested in anything serious."

  Julia nods slowly, as though she guessed as much. "She must've been something else if she got you to change your ways."

  I think on this for a moment then shake my head. "There was nothing especially different about her. It was me. I wanted a change. I guess after my dad died and my mother—" I cut off, not expecting that information to nearly leave my lips in this conversation. I try to continue as normal. "I guess after all that happened…I wanted something…"

  "Stable?"

  I shrug. My reasons don't matter anymore.

  There's another question burning in her eyes, but I can tell she's holding it at bay. "I'm sorry she cheated on you."

  I yawn. "Yeah, well…I learned my lesson."

  "What lesson is that?"

  I brush my fingertips over one of her eyebrows. "Go to sleep, little leopard. You're too curious for your own good."

  "One more thing," she says.

  I sigh, but then smile despite myself, waiting for her next line of questioning. I secretly enjoy the way she seems so eager to know every little thing about me.

  "Ava mentioned a while back that you can sing," she says. "Is that true?"

  The smile freezes on my face. "I'm not going to sing for you, if that's your next request."

  "Oh, come on," she pleads. "Please?"

  "No. I haven't sang in a long time. My mother used to make me sing at events when I was younger. Then I set my foot down and told her I wasn't interested in being a singer. Just because you can do something well doesn't mean it's what you should do for a living."

  "I get it," she says, though she seems disappointed. "But you really won't let me hear you sing? Just a little?"

  I shake my head in response.

  She groans out in disappointment. "Fine. At least tell me, what was the last song you performed in front of people?"

  "Amazing Grace," I answer without thinking.

  Julia goes very still, her lashes lower and I can almost hear the buzz of her thoughts putting the pieces together in her head. The last time I sang for anyone was at my father's funeral.

  "Thanks," she whispers, closing her eyes. I'm not sure why she thanks me, but I stare at her for a few seconds before closing my own eyes.

  There's something I can't deny. She's quickly slipping past me in a way I'm not sure I want. Parts of me fold inward to let her in, even though I know it's not a good idea. I'm allowing her to take root in me, roots that can't be permanent.

  Because nothing in life is ever permanent.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Julia

  THERE'S A SMALL STUFFED leopard that sits on my nightstand. I look at it every day, running my hand over the top of its head in a move I'm not sure is entirely conscious.

  That tiny stuffed toy is proof of a change that's crept into my life over the past few weeks. I'm not so sure what any of it means. All I know is that every night, after I get home from work, I get ready for bed in my room, then sneak down the hall and climb into bed with Giles. If anyone saw us, they'd think we were up to no good. If I told anyone, Lex for instance, she'd scold me for playing with fire.

  And I know I am.

  Giles and I don't talk about it, but there's an energy betwe
en us, constantly licking and crackling and threatening to pull us across the point of no return. We try to pretend it's not there, we talk easily and laugh as if we don't have a care in the world, but there's no denying the heat we generate anytime we're near each other.

  Other people wouldn't understand our dynamic. I don't understand it myself. I'm attracted to him and I know he's attracted to me, but the friendship we've uncovered, almost accidentally, has been something we both seem to treasure above anything else. And every night that goes by that we manage to sleep side-by-side, without anything happening, is like slaying the head of the beast that taunts us to act on our physical attraction. A beast that regenerates during the day and goes back to full force by the time I settle down beside him at night. It doesn't get easier, but somehow it gets better.

  There's a spell that comes over us in the dark, in the twilight hours when the world is asleep and we are free from the chains of what everyone else would force us to explain. We are free to just be ourselves. To talk, openly, freely, and without fear of being overheard. And our voices are magic in the way they are soft and unrestrained, effortless, and honest. Nothing disarms like the truth, nothing cracks you open like a genuine, heartfelt word.

  In just the span of those weeks, sleeping in his bed becomes something so normal and expected that there's no longer a question of if.

  One night he tells me, "I look forward to this now, you know? Lying here with you. It's my favorite part of the day."

  I know what he means by that because I feel the same way.

  On another night, he confesses that the anniversary of his father's suicide is coming up and that the day is a hard one for him to face.

  "You should do something special that day," I say. "Something to commemorate his life. It helps with healing…" I trail off, realizing how awkward I must sound when I know nothing about losing a loved one, other than what my psychology textbooks have taught me.

  But Giles just looks pensive. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, that's a good idea."

  I think of how he's an only child, with no one else to share the burden of the loss. Then, I whisper a single statement to him that makes him go very quiet. "You never talk about your mom."

  Silence stabs at me from all directions and I wish I could reel my words back in. He's already told me about his father, a story which still makes my heart ache for him. But why is talking about his mother harder for him?

  Just as I'm about to say something to curb the deafening stillness that's falling between us, Giles says, "I haven't talked to her in a long time."

  "Oh."

  "After my father died, we just pulled away from each other. We're alike in that way, my mother and I. We don't know how to deal with the heavy stuff. And between us, there was nothing else we could talk about. My dad was every beat of silence between us. She avoided my calls some days and some days I'd avoid hers. We would make plans to see each other and then cancel them at the last minute. Until we both sort of stopped making an effort."

  "You don't think that will ever change?"

  "I don't know. The more time that goes by the harder it is. You mean to reach out, but keep putting it off." He rubs his chin for a few seconds. When he speaks again, his voice is lower and his expression further away. "At first you say tomorrow, but then tomorrow turns into weeks, weeks into distance and distance into…a gap too wide to jump. The waiting turns to resentment. And the gap into an abyss."

  Damn.

  His words slice right through me. That's exactly what I'm doing with my family. Now that I'm on summer break, I've had more than enough time to go visit them, to mend the bleeding relationships I left behind. It's been over a month since I've had any real contact with any of them, and even that was a stiff and formal phone conversation and utterly uncomfortable. The thought of reaching out now really is daunting.

  Listening to Giles and the deep regret in his tone makes me realize that though the distance between my family and me seems wide, it will only get wider unless one of us has the courage to jump over it first. That's all it takes for a reconciliation. One person to put their pride aside and make the leap.

  "You should call your mom, Giles. There's only one person in the entire world that knows what you're going through. Who feels your pain just as acutely. It's her. You two need to lean into each other's pain not avoid it because it's uncomfortable. You two need to help each other heal."

  His lashes lower, hiding his eyes from me.

  "Go to sleep, little leopard," he says, like he always does when I reach a subject he doesn't want to broach.

  I prop up on my elbow and move closer to him. He stiffens as I place a hand on his shirt, on his chest, and lean over to press my lips to his cheek.

  "You don't have to be afraid to talk about things. You can tell me anything, okay?"

  "You pull it out of me anyway," he says. "I don't know how you do."

  "It's sort of my area of expertise," I tease.

  "Yeah, but…what if, in all your digging, you find something that scares you?"

  Somehow, his question brings me the certainty that there's more to the story with his mother he's not telling me.

  "You don't get it," I say. "I like your rough edges and even the not so rough middle you keep trying to hide from me."

  "My middle is very rough. Manly and coarse."

  "Nah, I bet it's melted caramel in there. Or bacon flavored cotton candy."

  He laughs, closing his eyes and yawning widely.

  I close my eyes, too, but I hear myself say, "What did you do before? Before I came to sleep with you?"

  His voice is strained with sleep when he responds.

  "I can't remember. I can't remember anything before you."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Julia

  "WHY ARE YOU SO smiley?" Lex asks.

  "Huh?" I'm distracted. The restaurant's closing and I'm cleaning up for the end of my shift. I didn't hear the kitchen doors open and thought I was alone.

  She leans back on the counter, watching me. "You're smiling for no reason. And if I know better, people don't smile for no reason."

  "Some people," I say with inflection, "don't smile at all."

  "I smile plenty."

  "Yeah, well, I hoped Mr. Suit's influence would help your chronic frown. I was wrong."

  "His name's Jeremy. And you haven't answered my question."

  "That's because I don't know what you're talking about. This is just how my face looks."

  She taps her fingertips to her lips a few times then points at me. "You're seeing someone."

  "Inaccurate statement." I'm saved from making eye contact, since I'm squatting down, restocking glasses.

  "You've got a crush, then. Is it…" She slaps her hand on the counter. "No. Please tell me it's not that asshole you live with."

  The last time I talked to her about Giles, I was complaining about him. I don't think I've ever said a good thing about him to her. I've kept everything good that's happened between us to myself for fear of being judged or having it all belittled. But in keeping tightlipped about how things have somehow shifted, I've painted him in an awful light. Not the kind of thing you can easily undo. To backpedal now, to try to explain that maybe I judged too quickly, or, worse, that he's different with me, all sounds stupid. Because it is, isn't it? When a girl says he's different with me, it usually makes me gag.

  "I'm just looking forward to going to bed," I say. "I'm tired."

  "So there's no guy? No crush?"

  "Nope. I'm single and perfectly happy about it, actually." I clear my throat as I get to my feet again. "What about you? Are you happy with Mr. Suit?"

  "Jeremy. And…" She pauses for just a second, but it's long enough for me to notice. "Yeah, I think I am."

  "What's got you on the fence?"

  She hesitates. "We fight a lot, to be honest."

  "Really?" Seems kind of soon for that. "About what?"

  "He's just on the controlling side. Nothing extreme, I wouldn't put up
with that. Just little things he says, little things he does. He's learning, though."

  "Be careful with that," I say. "He's older. You don't want him to think he's the center of your world."

  "A man has never been the center of my world, not ever. He knows that. He also knows about my plans for the future and he insists on being part of them."

  "Really? You're thinking about a future with him?"

  She scoots over as I wipe down the counter.

  "I know. I know it sounds crazy. But I see it, Julia. I see…steady ground with room to grow and build on. Stability. I see so much potential."

  "You talk about him like he's real estate."

  "Don't make me sound like I have no soul. I'm just not good with words. You know what I mean. I have my own goals that have nothing to do with him and I see him as someone who wouldn't hold me back from that. I wouldn't be with him unless he made sense for me, unless he fit into my plans for the future."

  "Falling in love isn't like that, Lex. You can't plan it. You can't line everything up perfectly."

  "See, I disagree. I think falling in love is very much a choice. You allow yourself to do it."

  "Throw out the script, Lex."

  "I can't. The script is all I have."

  I bite my lip, reeling in my opinions even as they threaten to burst out of me in a flood.

  Here's the thing about expectations, they're illusions. Figments of our imaginations we weave from nothing and hold up to the world, like they're supposed to line up with it. It won't line up. The world doesn't play by our expectations because it doesn't owe us anything. Especially not the courtesy of rehearsing the script we've made for ourselves.

  "Well, I'm going off the script. Fuck the script." I bundle up the rag and throw it at her. She catches it and smiles. "Ah, there it is. You should smile more often."

  "Now you sound like my sister," she says.

  "I bet you're a pain in the ass to her. My older sister's a huge pain in my ass." I look down and laugh. "And my younger sister, too. God, I miss them."

  "Go see them."

  "I am. This weekend, I'm off. I'm driving up for my mom's birthday." I smooth a hand over the back of my neck. "I haven't had a real conversation with my parents since…all that stuff went down."