Amongst The Wildflowers (Fleurs d'Amour Book 3)

by Amali Rose

Ethan steps into my room wordlessly, wrapping me up in a tight hug, his arms holding me close, his breath tickling my neck.

  I allow myself a moment to languish in his comfort, then push away and flash him a smile.

  “I’m fine,” I promise.

  He shakes his head angrily. “She’s a bitch, Bug. A complete bitch. Who says something like that? To anyone, let alone a friend!”

  My teeth find my bottom lip, and I chew delicately on it, moving across the room and taking a seat on the desk Evie and I share.

  “She’s not a bitch, she just has no self-awareness. I really think she has no idea how she comes off to other people. She’s superficial, but she’s not cruel.”

  He looks at me incredulously. “How can you fucking defend her?”

  “Because I refuse to believe that someone who has been my friend for three years would purposely want to hurt me. She has no reason.” The flush of embarrassment hits me all over again at the memory of her words. “Really, her only fault is being too honest and saying what everyone else is too considerate to say.”

  He crosses the room, his stride determined and his expression intense, stopping when he’s right in front of me.

  “You know why girls give you shit? It’s not because you’re ugly or because you’re fat. That’s just the lie they tell themselves.” I watch his face closely, entranced by his sincerity, and notice his pulse point in his neck, racing. I sense how hard he is struggling to control his temper.

  He steps into me and lifts his hands so they gently cradle the back of my head. He leans down, his forehead against mine, his mouth so close to my own, we’re breathing each other’s air.

  “You are effortless perfection, and they try to crush you, so no one will notice how fucking short they fall in comparison.”

  His voice is nothing more than a whisper, his words impassioned, and the only thought running through my head?

  Please kiss me.

  Ethan

  I want to kiss her.

  I want to kiss her so fucking bad.

  My hand is itching to thread through her hair and roughly pull, exposing her throat to me. I imagine leaning down and running my tongue along the curve of her neck, and I can almost hear her whimpers as my hands skim along her curves.

  The air is heavy with anticipation and she’s looking at me like I hung the motherfucking moon. Eyes so trusting, and plump lips parted, just begging for me to take a taste. Shallow breaths cause her chest to rise and fall quickly, and I use every ounce of willpower to keep my eyes from straying to her perky tits. The same tits I’ve wanted to get my hands on since I saw her in a bathing suit, the summer of eighth grade.

  “Layla, are you alright, babe?” The door to the room is flung open and Evie comes rushing in. I step back in surprise, distancing myself from Layla, and for a second I swear I see a flash of disappointment in her eyes.

  With a single blink, the moment is gone, and I know I must have imagined it.

  Suddenly feeling claustrophobic and desperate to get out of this too-small room, I give her a small smile. “I’ll leave you guys to talk.” I back away before pausing and reaching over to take her hand, squeezing it in a way I hope comforts. “I’ll message you later, to make sure you’re okay.”

  She sighs softly, but her fingers flex under my own, offering me her own reassurance. “I’m fine, I promise.”

  I scowl at her good-humoredly and reiterate. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  Turning, I make my way out of the room, throwing a casual goodbye to Evie, who is watching us with a look of amusement on her face.

  Fuck, I need a drink.

  Since it’s two in the afternoon, I skip the drink and decide to settle for an OJ instead. As I make my way toward the campus juice bar, I feel on edge.

  After three years away from Layla, I had forgotten the effect her body has on me. I had also forgotten how frustrating it is to live with a constant case of blue balls and mentally start preparing myself for all the cold showers in my future.

  My mind can’t stop replaying what just happened between Layla and me, and every step that takes me farther away from her has me questioning what she would have done if I had taken what I wanted.

  The walk to the juice bar takes longer than it should, as I’m stopped by a continual stream of people who stop me to say hi. Except they don’t really want to say hi to me. They want to say hi to Jackson Miller’s son.

  My jaw clenches tight after I’m stopped for the fourth time. Usually, I’m able to shrug this stuff off, I’ve been putting up with it my entire life and to be fair, I get it. My old man is a legend and I understand people wanting to get a piece of him. But when you’re the piece they’re trying to take, it gets old real quick.

  Making a last-minute decision to skip the juice, I make an abrupt turn in the opposite direction and head for my truck. Pulling a cap out of my backpack, I slip it on my head and pull it down low over my eyes, hopeful it’ll give off a leave-me-the-fuck-alone vibe.

  It seems to do the trick, and I heave a sigh of relief when I make it to the parking lot. I’m climbing into the cab when my phone goes off and I immediately snatch it from my back pocket, hoping it might be Layla. Yeah, can you say pussy?

  DAD: You ready for the game on Saturday?

  I can’t help but laugh at the timing of his message. Despite everything, I love having his unconditional support. I only wish that I shared his love of the game. That I didn’t feel as though I was letting him down every time he was more excited about an exceptional block I made than I was. Every time he celebrated a win harder than I did.

  I wish this was a passion we could share, but football had never set my soul on fire the way it did his.

  ME: Yeah, good to go. You guys all still coming?

  DAD: Of course. Emme wants you to know that she’s excited to eat hot dogs and drink soda.

  DAD: Also, to see you play, but mostly the hot dogs and soda.

  ME: Lol. Little smartass. Tell her I heard a rumor that the school has run out of both.

  DAD: No way in hell, she’ll torment me for the next two days. Are you free to stop by the house on Sunday?

  ME: Sure, what for? Please don’t tell me Mom is pregnant again.

  DAD: Now who’s the smartass? No, Sports Illustrated is doing a story on past players and I was hoping you could join us for the interview? No pressure, though.

  I groan loudly, the sound reverberating around the cab of the truck. It had been a long time since I’d had to do the smile-for-the-camera, Jackson-Miller’s-proud-heir schtick. One of the unexpected bonuses of moving to Washington had been the ability to go under the radar a lot more, and I honestly had no idea how much I had craved it.

  Scrubbing a hand across my face, I consider if I should do it. Which is stupid as fuck, because I already know I will do it. I owe my father that much.

  ME: No problem. Ten-ish okay?

  DAD: Perfect. We’ll see you after the game.

  I shove the phone back in my pocket and start the ignition, determined to ignore the interview until Sunday.

  Ten minutes later, I pull up to the apartment complex and sit with the engine idling, taking a moment before I head inside. As much as it pains me to admit it, I was lucky to find this place. There was no way I was moving back home after three years away, and going back to a dorm really didn’t appeal to me. I have no clue how Layla does it.

  Fuck. Layla.

  I underestimated how hard being around her again would be. I’d forgotten how just the sway of her ass, or the innocent way she bites her bottom lip when she’s deep in thought, makes my dick swell. I’ll definitely need to work on the old subtle junk-rearrangement move.

  Shaking my head, I quickly shut the engine off, grab my stuff and head upstairs; a hot shower calling my name.

  Reaching the apartment, I push through the door, only to hear a loud oomph as the door makes contact with a body on the other side.

  Peering through the doorway, I bite back a laugh when I
see Seth laid out on his ass, a stunned expression on his face.

  “Jesus, Miller, Hulk strength, much?”

  “Get up, douchebag.” I step over him and head toward the kitchen, looking for a snack.

  “Hey, how was Layla when you went to check on her?” Seth follows behind me. “That was some brutal shit, right there. That Tash chick is kind of a bitch.”

  I pull open the fridge and start pulling out the makings of a sandwich. “Yeah, she’s a nasty piece of shit. She was bitching about Lay to me, right before we ran into her and I had to shut it down.” I slap the bread together and take a bite, before continuing. “Layla says she’s fine, but she always says she’s fine.” I shrug. “Doesn’t mean she is.”

  Seth nods in agreement. “Well, tell her we’ve got her back. Mia was ready to bitchslap Tash when she saw Layla rush off. I had to bribe her with chocolate and sex to get her to calm her ass down.”

  I huff out a laugh. “I’m sure Layla will appreciate your sacrifice, dude.”

  “She better.” He smirks at me. “I’ll catch you later. You got the message about the team meeting after training tonight?”

  “Yeah, I got it. I’ll catch you in the weight room at four.” I push off away from the counter and head down the hallway to my room, throwing Seth a goodbye over my shoulder.

  I dump my bag on my desk and am about to make my way to the bathroom when my phone goes off again.

  Pulling it out, I’m practically fucking giddy when I see Layla’s name on the screen.

  LAYLA: Thanks for checking on me today.

  ME: I’ll always make sure you’re okay, Bug.

  LAYLA: Do you remember this?

  I open the attachment she sends and look at the photo. It’s a photo-booth picture of us, taken not long after her eighteenth birthday, just before graduation.

  I had made the decision to go to college out-of-state and she was pissed at me. Not that she would admit it. Instead, she ignored her own feelings and went out of her way to spend every minute she could with me. It was the perfect storm of pleasure and pain. Heaven and hell wrapped up in one tiny blonde.

  ME: Of course, I do. We spent the day at the beach, I scared you with a crab - seriously, when did you become such a girl? - and we spent the night at that traveling fair.

  LAYLA: Omg, I had forgotten about that crab! You were such a jerk! But that was a good day, wasn’t it?

  ME: It was the best.

  It was the best. It was also the day I nearly told her how I felt. That night, standing on her porch, she wrapped me in a hug that was so tight I had to use every ounce of restraint to keep my body under control. But she was pressed right up against me, her body completely flush with mine. My face was resting against her neck, and all I could smell was the coconut body wash she was obsessed with. I felt like she was overwhelming every one of my senses, and my dick took notice.

  I still remember the look on her face when she realized. Slightly incredulous, and a beautiful pink flush rose up her chest, her neck and finally tinted her cheeks.

  She looked so fucking beautiful and I was just about to give in to every instinct I had and take her mouth in the kiss I had been waiting for, for as long as I could remember.

  Instead, she stuttered out an embarrassed goodbye and rushed inside, leaving me standing alone, feeling like a total asshole.

  I can’t help wondering why she’s reminding me of that moment. A moment that we never discussed.

  My phone sounds, drawing me out of my memories.

  LAYLA: I was always lucky to have you. I don’t think I ever told you that, but it’s important you know that I always knew it.

  A grin slides across my face. She has no idea what she’s just done. The hope she’s just given me. I won’t give up on her. She’s meant to be mine and the first opportunity I get, I will make it happen.

  Layla

  “You want another drink?”

  “Uh, yeah, sure.” Michael’s voice distracts me from the story Seth is telling. “Thanks.”

  “Same again?”

  I consider his question with more thought than you would expect after four beers. I’m not much of a drinker, so they’ve gone straight to my head and I’m feeling deliciously happy. Probably a little too happy.

  “I think I’ll switch to water.” I flash him a quick smile and turn my attention back to Seth. The noise vibrating through Hound Dog is making it difficult to hear. Which is saying a lot when you consider just how loud Seth is.

  Feeling a gentle tug on my hand, I look back at Michael who is gazing at me with a teasing gleam in his eye. “You sure? One more won’t hurt.”

  I study him carefully through slightly glassy eyes. We’ve been seeing each other for nearly a month now, and it hasn’t been at all what I thought it would be like. The flashy, cocky persona he presents to the world is a far cry from the kind and considerate guy I’ve gotten to know. I know I can trust him.

  “Okay, why not—”

  “I’ll take a water too, thanks, Michael,” Evie interrupts with a grin.

  He looks between us as though deciding what to do. I glance at Evie and I don’t know why, but I’m grateful for her request.

  “Actually, yeah, I will take a water.” A flicker of what could be annoyance flashes across Michael’s face, but considering my level of happy, it’s hard for me to be sure. When a bright smile lights up his face, I’m reassured that I imagined it.

  “Whatever the ladies want. I’ll be right back.”

  Watching him walk away, the familiar sense of relief washes over me and I hate myself a little more every time it does.

  “Miiiiiilller! You made it, man!” Seth rises from his seat, somewhat wobbly on his feet, and holds out his hand, attempting to do some complicated manly handshake. He fails miserably and falls back on his butt while Ethan stands laughing at him.

  Sliding into the booth next to me, he plants a kiss on my cheek. “Hey, Bug.” I feel a heated blush spread across my cheeks as I greet him, and he starts up a conversation with the guy across from him.

  Things have gotten both better and worse with us over the last month. We’ve fallen into all our old habits, messaging constantly, sharing meals together and my day generally ends with the two of us on my bed, binge-watching Netflix.

  So, yeah, I’m basically in high school again. Which also means my heart pounds anytime he’s near me, my skin resembles a tomato anytime he touches me and the worst thing of all? When I’m lying in bed at night and I should be thinking about the guy I’m actually dating? I’m thinking about my best friend. And I want to boob punch myself for being so stupid.

  I can’t deny that something has changed since the ‘Tash incident.’ I know it’s ridiculous and it couldn’t possibly be true, but for a second I honestly believed he was going to kiss me. That moment and his heated expression has tormented me every day since.

  I still have no clue what made me send him that message that night. I think I just wanted to remind him that once, no matter how briefly, his body had recognized that I was more than just Bug. For one moment I was more than just the girl he had chased dragonflies with or the girl who had suffered through endless hours of The Simpsons with him.

  “Douchebag, move.” I look up to see Michael glaring at Ethan, and my heart drops when I realize how inappropriate this must look. Ethan beside me, his arm casually slung over the seat behind me, and me leaning back into his touch, feeling more relaxed than I have all night.

  I expect Ethan to refuse and I’m already anticipating the embarrassment of feeling everyone’s eyes on me. Instead, his hand slips down, sliding along my shoulder before giving a gentle squeeze and I have to fight every instinct not to sink into his caress. Wordlessly, he slides along the seat, moving to sit beside the guy he was just talking to – I really should try to learn these guys’ names – and gives me a small wink across the table. I can’t help my answering smile, although I try to hide it with a small cough.

  “Here you go.” Michael places ou
r drinks in front of us and after we thank him, Evie nudges me.

  “I’m ready to head home, how about you?” I squash down the desire to kiss her. My need to run from this awkwardness is overwhelming and I’m so lucky to have a friend who knows me well enough to not only recognize it, but who also wants to save me from it.

  “I am feeling kind of tired.” My eyes make contact with Michael’s and there’s no hiding the frustration this time. He’s been a complete gentleman these last few weeks, but I’d have to be an idiot not to have noticed the more frequent touches or the self-deprecating jokes about getting turned down. We’ve indulged in a few heated make-out sessions, but I’ve never let it go any further. My heart is just too confused at the moment, and I can’t cross that line just yet.

  “Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow?” I groan inwardly when I remember I had agreed to go on a run with him tomorrow afternoon. I’m beginning to realize that this isn’t going to happen with Michael. That until I can get my head sorted about Ethan, it’s just cruel to lead someone else on.

  “Yeah, sounds good. I’ll text you.” He nods and begins to move so Evie and I can climb out of the booth. I look up to see Ethan watching me through narrowed eyes and when my feet land on the ground and I take a step away from the table, he takes hold of my hand, pulling it to his mouth and places a soft kiss on my fingertips. I feel that simple touch resonate in the apex of my thighs and suppress the shiver that desperately tries to burst free.

  “Bye, Bug.”

  We throw the group a goodbye and when I turn to leave, Michael pulls me into his arms and brushes his lips across mine. Before he has a chance to deepen the kiss, Evie is dragging me away, urging me on to meet the waiting Uber.

  Walking away, it’s the sensation of the chaste kiss placed on my fingertips that lingers, and I realize how screwed I am.

  Twenty-five minutes later we’re curled on her bed binging on chocolate and candy, watching the latest episode of Riverdale.

  “Jughead’s hot.” I sigh. “I mean, I know Archie is the obvious choice, but there’s something about Jughead that makes me tingle.”