The Way Back To Me (Back To Me #1)

by Anne Mercier

  "Really? Mr. Control Freak is going to relinquish control to moi?" Liv teases.

  I nod. "I am. If you want to do this, then you'll need control to feel safe." She gives me a look. "I know you. This is about you. However," I begin and she lifts a brow, "should you ever want to temporarily pass that control over to me, I'll be happy to ravish you."

  At my smile, she laughs and squeezes my hand.

  "I'll let you know," Liv says with a wink, "but for now, I think we should go in so I can get my drink on."

  "You're going to get hammered, aren't you?"

  "Yep."

  "I'm going to have to hold your hair while you puke, aren't I?"

  "Possibly."

  "No more kissing tonight. Puke breath doesn't do it for me."

  She snickers. "I haven't puked yet."

  "No, you certainly haven't," I reply, then lean down to kiss her lips softly before we walk back into the party.

  ***

  "I'm Cam's kitten," Olivia slurs.

  "God, big brother, what have you done to my bestie?" Alexa asks as Dekker helps her walk down the hallway to their dorm room.

  "She did this to herself," I defend, then look at Lex. "And so did you. Good luck fighting over who gets to vomit in the toilet and who gets the trashcan."

  "I hope you double up your trash bags," Dekker says.

  "Gah," Olivia answers. "Cleaning up puke is just… gah."

  "That's a fact," I agree. "And here we are," I say as we get to the door. I take Liv's key and open the door. Once we're inside, I close and relock it. I look at Seth. "You got her?" I ask, nodding to Alexa.

  "Yeah, man. Meet you back at the house."

  "Cool. Thanks."

  "All right Little Miss Sunshine, let's get you ready for bed," Seth tells Alexa.

  "Now you're talkin'," is her reply and I grit my teeth.

  Seth laughs. "Sorry to break it to you, darlin', but you're in no shape for some Dekker lovin'."

  "Well, that just sucks," Lex replies.

  "Sure does. Some other time," he answers, giving me a nod letting me know he's not serious—he fucking better not be.

  "I'm gonna hold you to that," Lex tells him and I snort.

  "She totally won't remember that," Liv tells me.

  "I know."

  Olivia breaks out into song and I roll my eyes. Shit. I'm picking up on their fucking habit.

  "Bieber? Again?" I ask.

  "The Bieeeeebs," she says, drawing out his name.

  "You like One Direction?"

  "Already told you I wear that badge proudly."

  "I need to educate you as to what good music is."

  "I love the Bieeeebs," she sing-songs as we walk into her bedroom. I close the door behind us and we're greeted with silence and the soft glow of her bedside lamp. "Hoooome," she whispers, then flops backward on the bed. "Maybe I shoulda laid down slower."

  At her cringe, I grab the trashcan and set it close to her.

  "I'm not gonna puke," she says and I'm not sure who she's trying to reassure, herself or me.

  "First thing's first. Pain killers and water," I tell her.

  "What for? I don't have a headache."

  "No, but you will in the morning and this will help make it tolerable."

  "I don't get hangovers," she brags.

  "You will after that punch." I walk to the kitchen, grab a bottle of water and four ibuprofen. She's going to need them. "Come on, Kitten. Sit up a minute."

  "Dun wanna," she whines.

  "I know. It's just for a second." I ease her up and she huffs. I can't help but smile at her right now. She's being very un-Olivia-like. It's cute.

  I tap her lips.

  "What now?"

  I chuckle. "Open up. Take these and drink this."

  "You're so bossy." She takes the water and I drop the pills onto her tongue.

  "Get used to it."

  She drinks half the bottle of water and hands it back to me.

  "Dun wanna do that either."

  "Sure you do, you're just in denial and fighting it," I tell her as she lies back down. Her snore is louder this time and I grin. If I was a total dick, I'd record her right now… but I'm not—much to Miss Brennan's surprise.

  "We need to get your pj's on."

  She flops a hand. "Under the pillow."

  I reach under and find shorts and a tank top.

  Christ. Football stats.

  I take her clothes off and stats aren't cutting it. With every inch of her skin I uncover, I get harder. I'm only a man. I'm only human. There's no way to stop my cock from stiffening. She's too beautiful.

  Olivia's soft snores let me know she's asleep and I'm thankful. I don't want her to think I'm some kind of pervert who gets off on comatose chicks. I'm not. It's just her. Hell, I get a boner when she's fully fucking clothed.

  I reach behind her to unhook her bra, trying like hell not to look, but I have to—I have to put this tiny top on her and there are her tits—firm, full, with rosy nipples that are puckered from the cold. I grit my teeth and swear under my breath. This is the cruelest form of torture I've ever known.

  When I have her dressed, I stand up and scrub my hands over my face. She's fucking beautiful.

  I head to the bathroom to grab a washcloth. I wet it with warm water and add some soap. That black shit has to come off her cheeks or it'll stain her pillows. I pick up my gym bag I left here earlier and walk back into Liv's room.

  I close the door, sealing us away again, then sit on the bed next to her before gently wiping the black grease off her face. Her eyes flutter open. I pause.

  "Can you do my makeup, too? Please?" she whispers. "Otherwise my eyes will burn tomorrow."

  "Sure. What do I use?" I don't know a fucking thing about taking a chick's makeup off.

  "Bathroom. Some towelettes. Look like baby wipes," she slurs out.

  "No idea what those look like, Kitten. Color?"

  She grins sleepily. So sweet. "Blue. Neutrogena…" she trails off with a snore. I find them on a shelf quickly and get her all set for sleep.

  Now it's my turn. I'm gonna have to use some of those wipes myself. Fucking Alexa and her ideas.

  I think back to the party and cringe. Damn. I just know she took some great blackmail photos. I just hope it doesn't break me when she cashes in.

  I don't even hesitate—the minute the sweater and skirt come off, they're thrown in the trash. Hell no. I will never wear shit like that again. As I slip my sleep shorts on, I think back to those damn spanks, and I tug on my boxer briefs just because.

  Never. Again.

  I do my business and brush my teeth, then make my way back to check on Olivia. I walk past the living area and realize it won't be the first time I've slept on that couch.

  Liv is still out cold when I lift her up, tug the covers back, and lay her so her head's resting on the pillow. She immediately rolls to her side and tucks a hand beneath her cheek with a sigh.

  I pull the blankets and sheet over her and turn to go pass out on the sofa when her hand grabs mine. I freeze, worried she's going to vomit, worried she's not. This whole thing with Liv is new territory for me. I've always been sure of everything—but not with her. Then again, she isn't sure either. Maybe being on even ground is a good thing.

  "Stay?" she asks.

  "Sure?"

  "Mhmm." She lifts the covers and scoots back, making room for me.

  I settle in and Liv snuggles up against me, her head resting on my shoulder as I wrap my arm around her giving her room to scoot. Within seconds, she's snoring again.

  I yawn and try to wrap my mind around everything that's happened today. I look down at Olivia and grin. Never in a million years would I have thought I'd be sleeping in Olivia Brennan's bed—and she invited me there.

  I guess it's true what they say.

  Never say never.

  CHAPTER 13

  "Moving on doesn't mean you forget things.

  It just means you have to accept what happened
and continue living."

  - Unknown

  Olivia

  I wake up feeling bad… not as bad as I thought I would though. I rub my eyes and they actually hurt. Oh boy. I think back to the party, the punch—lots and lots of punch.

  Cam.

  I attempt to open my eyes but the sunlight streaming in blinds me. I'm surprised my head isn't pounding. Normally it'd feel like Xander Mackenzie from Falling Down was drumming on my brain.

  Cam again. Ibuprofen and water.

  His cheerleading costume. The thought makes me grin a little. Brax as Superman. Me and Cam dancing. Brittany. Ugh. I'm not one for name calling but she's a total skank. I don't care that she screws random guys—lots of girls do, it's that she flaunts it and thinks it makes her superior that irritates the hell out of me. It reminds me of Cam's ex-girlfriend from high school—Allison. She makes Brittany look like an angel. Evil doesn't even begin to describe her.

  I wonder why they broke up their sophomore year of high school anyway. No one ever said and I, for sure, never asked. I valued my life. It was bad enough she followed suit and bullied me like Cam—only where his was verbal, hers was more physical. She never really hurt me, but she tormented me—cutting holes in the crotch of my gym shorts, stealing my spanks from my gym locker on days I had to wear my cheerleading uniform, putting some sticky glue-like substance on my barrette and making it impossible to get out of my hair without ripping half the hair out with it. Yeah, she was evil.

  I wasn't the only one she picked on and looking back I can see I got off easier than most. She put blue dye in another girl's shampoo so after swim class she looked like a Smurf, the dye not only coloring her hair but her skin as it ran down her skin as she rinsed off. She put itching powder in another girl's bra and, one time, she replaced Cassidy's hairspray with spray paint.

  She didn't torment anyone but me while she dated Cam, but the minute they broke up, everyone was fair game. I shudder at the memory.

  I attempt to open my eyes again when someone shifts next to me. My eyes fly open and I groan softly in protest as I look over to see Cam in my bed. I look under the covers and see I'm dressed and breathe a sigh of relief. Truth is, I like Cam but having sex with him last night would have ruined everything. He really is a nice guy—even if he tries to convince everyone he's a dick.

  I shift to my side softly so as not to wake him. I want to look at him while he's quiet and soft from sleep.

  His long eyelashes fan against his cheeks, his lips slightly parted. One arm is lifted up and bent at the elbow so his head rests on his hand, the other hand rests on his bare abdomen.

  Holy Jesus his body is gorgeous. His arms massive, his shoulders broad, his chest bulked up and well defined as are his abs. I'm tempted to pull the covers down to see if he's got a six or eight pack going on. I'm pretty sure it's eight, though.

  I lean over a bit to look at the tattoo he's got on his shoulder. I'd seen it before, but never up close where I could look at the detail. It's an eagle and beneath it is:

  No Regrets.

  6-27-83 - 12-23-10.

  His father.

  I don't know the story. All I know is his father was enlisted as some military guy who did those covert missions no one ever talked about. He was home a lot more than he was away until one day he didn't come back. Cam would have been thirteen then—when his dad died.

  I look up at this boy who is so serene in sleep but so guarded and protective when he's awake. I imagine the death of his father has a lot to do with that. Mr. Stone would have been thirty-three. So young. I also imagine that's when Mrs. Stone turned into an even more bitter woman than she'd been before.

  I'll never understand people like her. If you don't want children, be honest about it. Don't do it just to please your husband or wife because, in the end, the one who suffers the most is the child. Those poor children whose faces now appear as Cameron and Alexa, I see being ridiculed, tormented, and abused and all because of their mother's resentment. If I ever get the chance, I'll be sure to let her know what a spiteful bitch she is and the only one she has to blame for being so unhappy the last twenty years is herself.

  It's no wonder Cam thought I didn't have a backbone if he imagined me like Mrs. Stone. Knowing what I know now, I can't really fault him for acting out the way he did—granted he was doing it to the wrong person, but I was a stand-in and the closest thing to his mother as he could find. I'm glad I just let him say the hurtful things he said and didn't argue back. He needed me then and I didn't realize it. I'm glad I was able to help—even if I wasn't aware I was.

  Is that what this is? Him returning the favor? Him helping me through my grief and loss as payment for letting him verbally abuse me?

  "I don't know what you're thinking, but that look on your face tells me it's not good," he says, his voice gravelly with sleep.

  I look up to see his green eyes glazed over with sleepiness, lighter in color than they usually are—almost a sea green Crayola. That light green in contrast to his dark lashes, skin, and stubble on his face make him impossibly sexy. As if he needed any help in that department.

  "It's nothing," I hedge, my voice hoarse and I frown harder wondering just what I did last to get it that way.

  He looks at me and I lift a brow in question.

  "You were doing your own version of Justin Bieber karaoke the entire walk from the frat house, home."

  I cringe. "Oh no."

  "Oh yes. And you threw in some Justin Timberlake because you couldn't leave, and I quote, the other Justin out, end quote."

  "Hmm. I'm not ashamed of that. I like my Justins. Deal or don't," I defend. I'm a Bieber fan. So sue me.

  "I dealt just fine, Kitten. Now stop deflecting and tell me what's got you pissed off so early on a Saturday," he asks, stretching his arms over his head, his abs flexing, his waist narrowing, and my mouth goes dry.

  Jeez. Just a simple stretch has me aroused. Imagine what it'd be like if he touched me slowly, taking his time. Oh my.

  "I really like that look. Your eyes soft and glassy, almost as if you're turned on." He rolls to his side, propping himself up, his head on his hand. "Are you?"

  I don't answer. Just stare into those green eyes that are changing in color once again, darkening to that mossy color I'm familiar with.

  "Are you, Liv?" he asks again, reaching out a finger to trail down my cheek. "Are you aroused?"

  Denying it would be stupid. He can see it. I know he can. It's evident in the way my nipples are hard beneath my too-thin sleep tank.

  I just nod. He doesn't grin that cocky grin I thought he'd bring out right now. Instead he just looks at me, staring back. I don't know what I'm looking for as I search his gaze, but I'm pretty sure he knows what he's looking for, I just don't know if he's finding it.

  "Are you wet, Liv?" he asks, bold as can be, and I hold my ground, refusing to blush and hide. I'm not ashamed of my reaction to him. Not anymore.

  I nod again.

  His hand cups the side of my face, his thumb caressing my cheekbone, but his gaze never wavers from mine.

  "Do me a favor," he states.

  I lift my eyebrows.

  "Take those ibuprofen I left for you over there and let's go brush our teeth so I can kiss and touch you without worrying about morning breath."

  "What if I don't want you to kiss or touch me?" I ask.

  "Don't you?"

  I look at him, thinking this through. This will be a conscious decision. Not one made in the heat of the moment like the night in the kitchen. This will be me giving in to my want and need.

  I don't answer. I just turn and sit up, putting the pills in my mouth, and swallowing them with the rest of the bottled water from last night.

  I stand up and face him, letting him look at me for a few seconds—and he does. His eyes roam my body, his nostrils flaring a bit. I hate being on display. This is long enough. I turn and walk into the bathroom, closing the door behind me. After I relieve myself, I brush my teeth then rinse off
my face. Cam did a great job taking off all the gunk last night.

  I look at myself and see someone different than the Olivia I used to see. Everything's changed—and it seems I have as well. I realize it's okay to be different and I know I'll never go back to the person I was before.

  I like this Olivia and, it seems, Cam does as well.

  There's a soft knock on the door and I open it. Cam stands there waiting. I move to the side, allowing him entry, and he takes it.

  I don't stick around—I let him do his morning routine just as I did mine and I walk to my bedroom. Crawl to the center of the mattress and sit on bent knees, waiting, knowing that for once in my life I'm not going to overthink things. I'm going to do what I want to do knowing it's right.

  The door closes with a soft click and Cam strides toward me, his hands reaching beneath my arms, lifting me easily, and laying me backward so my head rests on the pillows.

  He doesn't pause. He just comes over me, his large hands framing my face, his eyes holding mine, as he kisses me softly, lingering. It's just a faint touch of lips and then he pulls back.

  "Remember what I said last night?" he asks.

  I nod. Everything is on my terms. I remember. I remember it all.

  "What do you want, Olivia? Right here, right now? What do you want—without regrets?" he questions, raw and vulnerable.

  "You. I want you, Cam," I whisper.

  "How? Do you want me to kiss you?" he asks, his finger tracing my lips.

  "Yes."

  "Do you want me to touch you?" he asks, his finger trailing lower down to my chest, the tip slipping beneath the line just above my breasts.

  "Yes."

  "Where?" he pauses but I don't.

  "Everywhere."

  "Is that all you want?"

  "No."

  "What else do you want?" he asks, his breath getting more ragged, and I can feel him getting hard against my hip.

  "I want to touch you, too."

  His nostrils flare. "You can touch me any way you want, Kitten."

  "Good."

  "But I've got to warn you. If you touch me, it's not going to end with me coming on your hand."

  "It's not?" I squeak out, his finger moving down to circle my nipple over my top.