We Were Here: A New Adult Romance Prequel to Geoducks Are for Lovers (Modern Love Stories Book 1)

by Daisy Prescott

  “If we do this, for real, it’s forever. Not some random college fling for a few weeks or a quarter. I’m talking lifetime. Marriage, kids, house, dog, family car, summers at the beach, ski trips, European vacations . . . the whole enchilada. Both feet, arms, and legs, all in.”

  “I think you described the hokey-pokey.” I fought a smile struggling to burst across my face.

  “Fine. If you want the hokey-pokey, that’s what I’ll give you.” He backed up and did a mini-version of the children’s dance. Putting himself all in, he kissed me, then jumped away.

  I threw myself at him and he supported my legs under my thighs. Wrapping my ankles behind him, I held onto his shoulders while he kissed me. In a slow spin, he twirled me around, never breaking the contact between our lips, his hands resting on my naked butt.

  “This summer I’m taking you to Europe. Then we’re finding our own place.”

  “Europe?”

  “Do you have a passport?”

  I responded with a shake of my head. I didn’t. I’d never had a reason to get one before.

  “Well, that’s the first thing we’ll do.” He kissed me. “I can’t wait for whatever comes next with you.”

  “Heaven” ~ Psychedelic Furs

  A WEEK LATER a group of students staged a protest in front of the library over the scant number of books by female authors in the fiction section. I recognized Selah’s favorite combat boots amongst the group of women wearing gorilla masks.

  “I found an apartment in Olympia where we can all live for the summer.” Quinn slapped a newspaper on the table. A big red circle had been drawn on the middle of the rental page. “Three bedrooms, plus a formal dining room, and a screened porch the landlady said we could use as additional bedrooms at no extra charge.”

  “But there are seven of us.” Selah turned the paper to read the description.

  “I figured whoever doubled up could have the biggest bedroom. Maggie and Gil spend enough nights sleeping in his bed in our room, they could even share.” He gave Maggie a devilish look, which she responded to with a blush and her middle finger.

  Gil ignored him. “Quinn and I could share. I know how you girls like your privacy.”

  “I call dibs on the sun porch. Unless it’s moldy. I want all natural light.” Lizzy claimed her room.

  “What about Ben and Jo?” Selah asked the group, but looked at me.

  “We’re going backpacking in Europe for the first part of the summer, and then we’ll move into an apartment in July.”

  Maggie’s deep blue eyes widened, exposing more of the white. “Your place?”

  I nodded.

  “Wait a second.” Lizzy jumped into the conversation. “You two are going to shack up? Live in sin? Won’t Ben’s WASPy grandmother kick him out of the will?”

  “We’re not telling her.” Ben rested his arm on the back of my chair. “It’s highly improbable she would ever come to Olympia. I’m not sure she could even find it on a map. The only Washington she’s concerned about is D.C. And as long as Republicans hold the White House, she’s content.”

  “Is she the one who has the framed photo of the Ronald and Nancy on her piano amongst the family photos?”

  “That’s her. When I made Presidential Scholar and received the signed letter from Reagan, she asked for a copy for the downstairs hall.” Ben beamed. He loved his letter. The original sat framed on his desk back in the dorm.

  “Now I know where you get your love for the Gipper.” Quinn laughed. “It’s genetic. You can’t help yourself.”

  “Q, don’t get him riled up. You know the two of you will end up squabbling over politics. Hasn’t it gotten old yet?” I prepared myself to play referee again.

  “Fine,” they both said at the same time.

  “Dukakis,” Ben mumbled under his breath.

  “I heard you!” Quinn shot him a dirty look. “This is why we could never live together in peace.”

  “I say we go look at the apartment this evening.” Maggie ignored the guys’ glowering contest.

  “Right after we burn those disgusting germ riddled things on your feet.” I pointed at the slimy green fur-balls a cat coughed up and she decided to wear as shoes. I nudged one with the toe of my tennis shoe. The plastic eyeball gave up the fight and fell to the floor. “The sooner the better. Let Kermit rest in peace.”

  I looked around the table at this funny group of friends, smiling as I thought how improbable it was we found each other.

  Ben squeezed my hand before kissing the back.

  Even crazier, I found my forever.

  Gilliam Morrow, 20

  American History

  Junior

  What moment do you regret most in college?

  Not speaking up when I had the chance changed everything. I assumed I had all the time in the world. We were young and our futures were endless.

  No decision was so important it could change the course of my life.

  I learned the hardest lesson by doing nothing and waiting for the perfect moment. Only later did I realize the perfect time had passed.

  My cautious nature, playing it safe, cost me everything.

  I waited too long.

  “Maggie May” ~ Rod Stewart

  SMOKE POURED OUT of the apartment’s kitchen and triggered the alarm in the living room.

  “What smells so terrible?” I waved my arms above my head, dispersing the cloud around the squawking smoke detector. After knocking it open, I pulled out the battery to silence it.

  “I’m baking,” Maggie hollered from a spot in front of the oven, the source of the smell and smoke. In her oven-mitt covered hand, she held a tray of charred disks.

  “Why are you putting hockey pucks in the oven?”

  “They’re biscuits. For strawberry shortcakes later.” She frowned at the tray. “Or they were. I think the oven temperature is wrong.”

  I sniffed the so-called biscuits. “Did you make them from scratch?”

  “I used the scary pop kind.”

  I raised an eyebrow in question.

  “The ones in the tube. I hate sticking the spoon into the crease and waiting for the explosion. It makes me jump every single time.”

  I took the tray from her and tipped it into the garbage can. “Maybe you should stick to chocolate chip cookie dough.”

  “You know we never get to baking the actual cookies when we make dough.” Her sad eyes followed the sad trail of each puck as it fell into the trash.

  “That’s my point exactly. Maybe avoid the oven all together.”

  “Nice. Really nice.” She hit me with the dish towel, making a sad thwap sound upon contact.

  “You need to twist it to make it snap.” I grabbed and twisted the other towel, aiming for her ass.

  The towel snapped, creating a satisfying sound when it contacted with her shorts.

  “Ouch! Gilliam Morrow. You’re mean.” She rubbed her butt. I wanted to do it for her, but the boundaries of our friendship prevented me.

  “Here, let’s hug it out.” I scooped her up in my arms and squeezed. She wiggled and squirmed, making me mindful of my body’s reaction to having her close.

  I couldn’t decipher her muffled mumbles from where I had her head pressed against my chest. “Speak clearly. I can’t understand what you want if you don’t enunciate.”

  She pinched my side. I held her tighter. Her teeth nipped my pec, too close to my nipple for comfort.

  “Ow. You bit me.” I released her.

  “You were smothering me.”

  “With my friendship. Only with my friendship.” I rubbed my chest and looked down. “You left a mark on my favorite Jane’s Addiction shirt. Does drool stain?”

  “Are your pillowcases stained? Because you drool like a fountain.” She scampered around the breakfast bar, out of towel and smothering range.

  When I lunged at her, she squealed and ran into the living room.

  “Maggie May, you know you’re the drooler. Next time we watch a movie,
you have to bring your own pillow,” I called after her.

  Smoke still lingered in the air. I opened the windows, letting in fresh air and sunshine. The day promised to be warm and sunny. A perfect afternoon to do nothing on the roof where we’d set up a bunch of beach chairs and a hibachi. It was also where the girls decided they had enough privacy to sunbathe.

  Sometimes they even went topless.

  I’d gathered this information from their conversations, but had yet to witness it for myself. Most of my time I spent at rehearsal or the print shop.

  However, today I had the afternoon off.

  “Maggie, are you free this afternoon?” I strolled down the hall to her room.

  Her door stood partly open and I lightly knocked as I pushed it open. Not loud enough apparently.

  With her back to me, she stood bent at the waist, exposing her purple underwear with green polka dots as she pulled on her cut-off shorts.

  My new favorite pattern.

  After getting an eye-full, I quickly yanked the door closed, and knocked louder.

  “Hold on! I’m changing.” Her voice carried through the wood.

  “Okay.” My voice cracked. I rested my head on the door, softly banging my forehead for good measure.

  “What?” Her long hair stuck out at funny angles when she opened her door. Her shirt’s tag poked out the front of her chest.

  “Your shirt’s on backward and inside out.”

  She tucked her chin and looked at her chest. “Turn around.”

  I obliged. Behind me I heard the soft rustle of fabric as she fixed her shirt. A foot or two away, she wore only her bra. I shut my eyes and named various ski mountains back home, willing myself not to get hard. Ajax, Buttermilk, Snowmass, Steamboat, Vail . . .

  “Okay. Decent. Did you come to smother me some more?”

  I faced her and did a double-check of her chest. Her nipples perked through the thin fabric of her tank top. I scratched my ear trying to remember why I’d come to her room.

  “If you are thinking about smothering me, can you at least move out of the way? I need to go to work.”

  Right. Maggie and Lizzy both worked at a local café as baristas. The upside? They often brought home day old baked goods and sandwiches. The downside? They always smelled like coffee after their shifts.

  “Are you working this afternoon?”

  “I’m off at two. Why?”

  “It’s supposed to be sunny and warm all day. I thought we could hang out on the roof.”

  Her face lit up like the sun itself. “That’s the best idea ever. I’m over all the rain we had last weekend.”

  “You know you live in the Pacific Northwest, right?”

  “Har har. Remember, I grew up spending summers on the beach here. I know it can be sunny.” She tucked her hair into a loopy ponytail as she gathered her keys and purse. “I’m going to be late, but rally the troops, and I’ll see you on the roof later.”

  “It’s a date.” The words slipped out without thought. “No, not a date-date. More like a plan.”

  “You’re weird.” She waved and walked out the front door.

  My plans to become a rock god and be slick had evidently failed. I collapsed on the couch. When it came to Maggie, I either said something weird—making things awkward—or I did stupid shit in front of her as had been my pattern from our first meeting.

  Quinn pushed open the sliding doors to his room. His hair stood up in all directions, messier than Maggie’s had been. In a pair of old man style pajama pants and no shirt, there was no doubt we’d woken him up. “What’s all this ruckus about sun and roofs?”

  “It’s going to be hot today. Thought we could drag our pale bodies to the tar beach and hang out if anyone is around.”

  Quinn ran his hands over his face. “I can see right through your suggestion, man. But I’m going to give you credit for your earnest hetero attempt at game.” He patted my head on his way past the couch.

  “Gee, thanks for the approval. Just friends hanging out.”

  “Keep lying to yourself, Morrow. Someday you might convince yourself the truth right in front of you is all a lie.”

  He amazed me. Obviously barely awake and he was already more astute and articulate than most of the guys I knew.

  He shuffled into the kitchen. “What died in here?”

  “Maggie played with the oven again.”

  “Oh, no. What did she destroy this time? I had no idea brownies could smell horrible. Burnt chocolate smells like ass.”

  I snorted.

  “Not that I would know,” he said.

  “Sure. Okay.” I held up my hands. “Not judging.”

  “Why are there hockey pucks in the garbage?”

  “Those are biscuits?” It came out as a question because I still wasn’t convinced they were made of dough.

  Something hard hit the floor and skidded across the wood. “If it looks like a puck, sounds like a puck, moves like a puck . . . it’s not a biscuit. We should save this and play street hockey.”

  “You got plans this morning?” I rolled off the couch and stood up. “We could play in the driveway.”

  Quinn and I spent most of our time working. Him at some art space gallery as an intern. Any free time I had I spent practicing with the band. Mark found a rehearsal space for us in an old warehouse. At least Ramirez didn’t have to lug his drum kit around unless we had a gig.

  We’d made a goal in front of the row of carports with two chairs. I pulled out a couple of old tennis rackets and we taped them to broom handles to bat the puck-biscuits toward the goal. The rollerblades hadn’t been the brightest idea, but definitely upped the complication factor of our new game.

  We declared Quinn the winner based on an arbitrary and complex point system. Road rash bloomed on his forearm and a small tear in the shoulder of his T-shirt. I sported a nice scrape on one knee where I’d slid trying to steal control of the biscuit.

  “We need a better name than Biscuit Ball if this is ever going to take off.” Quinn and I sat on the front steps of the apartment building, nursing beers and our wounds.

  “How do you apply to get a sport into the Olympics?” He picked a tiny piece of gravel out of his arm. “I’m imagining sleek unitards or singlets, and matching shin guards. Maybe a cross between what the speed-skaters and wrestlers wear.”

  “I think you need sleeves.” I gestured to his bloody arm.

  “Maybe wrist guards, too. Something inspired by Tron. Or maybe Storm Troopers.”

  Ignoring his costume designs, I waved at Maggie, who was walking up the sidewalk.

  Smelling of coffee, Maggie gave us a tired wave and joined us on the steps. I offered her my beer and she took a long sip.

  “Are those my biscuits broken up all over the driveway?”

  “We had some issues with inconsistency in the structural integrity.” Quinn ignored her scowl. “For next time, I think you need to burn them a little longer until they’re harder. Go for full charcoal, please.”

  “I’m never baking for you two again.”

  I held up my palm for a high-five with Quinn. “Our diabolical plan worked.”

  “How are we supposed to take over the world when you keep announcing our plans? You are the worst Bond villain ever.” He shook his head in disgust. “Maggie on the other hand would make an excellent Bond girl. We only need to find her the right bikini.”

  Maggie gave him a side-long stare. “Speaking of bikinis . . .”

  “Yes?” My voice sounded as overeager as I felt. At least this time it didn’t crack.

  “Are we roof beaching? Or did your plans change to bleeding all over the front steps instead?” She pointed at my knee. It looked worse than it felt.

  Q jumped up. “I’ll meet up with you in a bit. I need to see a man about a plan.” We watched as he pulled his bike key out of his pocket and unlocked his bike from the rack. With a wave, he sped off across the lawn and down the block.

  “He’s a strange man,” Maggie murmur
ed.

  “If you haven’t noticed, we’re all a little weird around here.” I bumped her shoulder with mine.

  Selah arrived home from her latest temp job and joined us on the steps. “I feel like we need a theme song if we’re going to sit here much longer. It’s like the opening scene for a rom-com movie or sitcom about a puckish group of friends.”

  “You know what would be awesome?”

  “Like, let’s go to the roof and totally soak up some gnarly rays.” I imitated a surfer.

  “Only if you stop speaking with that accent.” Selah scrunched up her face in disgust. “What happened in the driveway?”

  The girls giggled as I explained the rules and cleaned up the first and last Biscuit Ball course.

  “You know, Ben would be ultra competitive about winning this game.” Selah tossed the last of the broken biscuits in the dumpster.

  “It’s not even a real game.”

  “He has to win at everything. If you want to mess with him, challenge him to a title match.”

  “Spinning Around Over You” ~ Lenny Kravitz

  I’D BEEN PRETENDING to read the same two pages of Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Universe for the past ten minutes. Sweat rolled off my forehead and blurred my vision. Hotter than a sauna up on the roof, tar paper absorbed and reflected the heat beneath my chair. I would never be able to smell either coconut or baby oil again without remembering this summer.

  The only slice of shade fell on the far side of the stairwell, but no way would I move. Not now. Not when Maggie had loosened the strings to her bikini top. Sure, she lay on her stomach and I couldn’t see anything, but my body still reacted.

  There was hope she’d forget she untied her top, and roll over, or sit up. Where there was hope, existed possibility. I’d been living in Hopeville for the last two years.

  Also known as the Land of Friends.

  I didn’t even know how it happened. Or when.

  That wasn’t true. The when happened when I walked by her dorm room freshman year. I heard her laughter down the hall, spilling out of her open door. When I looked inside, I couldn’t see her at first. My focus caught on a giant Bryan Ferry poster on one wall, my then favorite musician. A loud thump had drawn my focus to the floor where a tousled mane of red hair flowed over the side of the twin bed. Legs kicked in the air as the laughter turned to cackling and I found myself smiling at the ridiculous creature in front of me. When I’d worked up the courage to go back to meet her, she was gone, but her cute, and very forward, roommate had been there instead. I let my hormones take over.