Boys Like You

by Juliana Stone

  I bet Rachel would have no problem knowing what to do.

  I’d seen her grab Nate at the Coffee House. I didn’t have to be introduced to know she was his ex-girlfriend. She’d looked at Nate as if he was a yummy piece of chocolate. One that she’d tasted. And when she looked my way, I could tell that she still wanted him.

  She was exactly as I’d imagined. Tanned. Blond. And gorgeous. Every guy’s fantasy, and yet, he was here with me.

  “Thanks,” Nate said suddenly.

  “For what?”

  “I was a total dick tonight. Thanks for not leaving.”

  The radio was on low, an old song by The Fray, and for a few seconds, we listened to it, Nate’s fingers tapping along the tops of his knees while he hummed the melody.

  “Trevor was such a pussy when it came to music, ya know?”

  My head rested against the back of the seat and I turned slightly so that I could see him.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The Fray. Good band. Solid songwriting skills with a lot of melody, but not a whole lot of guitar and drums. I like heavy guitar and loud aggressive drums. Five Finger Death Punch is more my speed.” Nate shook his head, his eyes ahead and his mind elsewhere. “But Trevor loved The Fray. He was real big on melody, and it’s why we worked together so well. It’s why we clicked. I was all about technique and arpeggio scales and fast riffs, but he kept things in perspective, he smoothed things out, and together, man, we wrote some good songs.”

  That surprised me and I sat up a little straighter.

  “You wrote your own stuff?”

  Earlier, at the Coffee House, Nate had played a bunch of songs with Brent, showing off some impressive guitar skills while singing all of the girls into a frenzy. He had something real special, and though it had taken a few songs for him to open up, once he did, I was mesmerized.

  He’d made me feel as if I was the only girl in the room, and I’m pretty sure every other girl had felt the same way. How could they not? When he looked at me, I felt as if he was touching something inside me and that something was alive. It was hot and aching and a little scared.

  I wanted to be touched. I wanted to feel. And maybe to forget.

  “Yeah,” he answered softly, bringing me back. “We wrote a lot. Some of it was crap, but some of it was pretty good. We were gonna record them this summer, maybe put them up on iTunes or something…”

  Nate sighed and I felt his pain. I felt it cross my chest and hit me hard like an old friend saying hello.

  “We were gonna go for it. Even talked about moving to LA or New York when we graduated. And now…”

  He shuddered and ran his hands along the tops of his legs. Back and forth. And then again.

  “Shit,” he muttered. “How did I end up here?”

  For a moment, I panicked. “Here with me?”

  “No,” he answered. “Just here…here looking down a road that I don’t recognize anymore. A road that I never thought I’d be on, you know? Trevor was supposed to be with me. It was always us against everyone else. Us and our music.”

  “Nate, you can’t give up on your dreams. You don’t know what’s going to happen. None of us do. Trevor could wake up tomorrow.” But I knew the likelihood wasn’t great. I’d heard Gram talking to one of her friends the day before. I’d heard words like sepsis, brain damage, possible infection.

  “It doesn’t matter what I say or think, Monroe. There is only the truth. And the simple truth is that Trevor is laid up in a hospital because of me. He might never wake up because of me. Or if he does, he might be screwed up so badly he might wish he’d just died. It sucks, and I can’t change a thing, no matter how bad I want to.”

  He scrubbed at his eyes angrily, pushing his hair off his face. “It’s not fair. It’s not fair because I’m sitting in a car on a hot summer night with a beautiful girl. I’m smelling her shampoo and imagining what it would feel like to hold her. I’m feeling things I shouldn’t be feeling, because I don’t deserve them.”

  He swore again. “But what makes it worse is that I want to be here with you and that makes me feel like crap. It makes me feel guilty. I feel…”

  He looked at me, and my heart melted a little more when I saw moisture in the corners of his eyes. I undid my seat belt and moved closer, my eyes not leaving his. My heart felt like it was gonna beat right out of my chest, it roared in my ears, heavy and strong and…

  Alive.

  I reached for him, my palm on his cheek, and my heart turned over when he leaned into me. He closed his eyes, and I gently wiped away the single tear that fell.

  “What do you feel?” I asked so softly I barely heard myself, and at first, I thought that maybe the words had only echoed inside my head.

  His hands moved into my hair, and I couldn’t move if I wanted to. When my eyes focused, I gazed into his. I saw the pain that lay there. The anguish and the sorrow. But I saw something else.

  “Do you have to ask?” he said hoarsely.

  I stared into his eyes for so long that my vision blurred. His fingers wrapped around my skull, tangling in my hair and pulling me even closer. I smelled mint gum and something subtle, but nice.

  It was hot in the car, but his body heat made it ten times more so, and my dress clung to my skin, my hair to the back of my neck.

  He rested his forehead on mine and drew in a ragged breath that I felt deep in my own lungs. Every single inch of me felt as if it was on fire. Hot. Achy. Tremulous.

  I swear my limbs had melted into rubber the moment he touched me, and I was afraid that if he let go, I’d pitch forward.

  My hands crept up his chest. I felt his beating heart and the heat from his body through his shirt, and he groaned a little when I continued upward until I wrapped them around his neck. I couldn’t think about anything other than getting closer to him. I shifted my hips and he moved so that I was practically sitting in his lap.

  “God, Monroe. This is so wrong.”

  No way was it wrong. It was so right.

  I had to swallow that damn lump again, and when I did, I managed to croak. “Why?”

  “It’s so wrong to feel, to be with you when Trevor is—”

  “Stop it,” I said loudly, pushing at him once and then again until he was forced to look into my eyes. “What happened is done. You can’t change anything, Nate. At some point, you’re going to have to forgive yourself and just…live again.”

  Holy hell. If my therapist could hear me now, he’d be fist-pumping his way to the freaking moon.

  “Is that what you’re doing, Monroe? Have you forgiven yourself?”

  For a few moments, there was no sound other than the breeze buffeting the hood of the car and our breaths falling in short, hard spurts. Images I didn’t ever want to see flashed before my eyes, and I shook my head violently.

  “I don’t want to talk about Malcolm.”

  For a second, he said nothing and then he exhaled and I could feel him pulling away, but I needed something more. He needed something more.

  “I haven’t forgiven myself. I don’t think I ever will but…” I paused as the enormity of the words in my head washed over me. They pressed into my chest and made it hard to breathe or speak.

  When I spoke again, it was barely a whisper. “I’m learning to live again, and that’s a start.”

  “It’s hard,” he said, his dark eyes hooded, his gaze on my mouth.

  My hands encircled his neck, and I felt his fist in my hair as I bent forward. “I know,” I breathed into him, my mouth hovering above his.

  Our noses touched, and my breath caught at the back of my throat. I think I whimpered or maybe I sobbed. I don’t know. I couldn’t hear. I could barely function.

  Because when he moved enough so that his lips were on mine, everything stopped except us.

  There was nothing but Nathan and this ho
t Louisiana night. There was nothing but the need to connect to someone so badly I felt it ache in every part of my body.

  His mouth was warm, his lips firm as he slid them over mine. Bombs could have been going off for all I knew, because it sure as heck felt like it. My world was rocking and I was letting it.

  Nate’s scent, the feel of his hair between my fingers, his hard chest and legs beneath my body—all of it rushed through me.

  And oh God, could he kiss.

  I opened my mouth beneath his and he groaned into me, shifting yet again so that now I straddled him. I let him kiss me with all the ferocious need and anguish inside him, and I have no idea how long we were like that—connected on every level, touching each other, tasting each other—and when he broke away, I whimpered again.

  “Don’t stop,” I said throatily, running my hand across his jaw.

  “Monroe, if I don’t stop,” he said huskily. “If we don’t…” Something like pain crossed his face, and suddenly I was aware of a few things.

  My skirt had ridden up to my hips, and the bright pink boy undies I had on were there for him to see. In fact, one of his hands was on the small of my back, holding me in place.

  Holding me against him.

  Against him.

  “Shit,” I said, wriggling like mad to move away. By the look on his face, I think I made things worse. “I’m sorry.”

  I kneeled on the seat beside him, biting my lip and not sure what to do. His arm slipped around me, pulling me into his warmth.

  “I just need a minute.”

  “Okay.”

  So do I.

  Holy hell, so did I.

  It might have taken more than a few minutes for our hearts to settle, and by then I realized that it was nearly 1 a.m. and Gram was expecting me.

  “I have to go.”

  “I know.” He kissed the top of my head and I smiled. “One more minute.”

  “Just one?” I teased.

  “I’d take more, but I don’t want to get on Mrs. Blackwell’s bad side.”

  I giggled and snuggled into him. “She likes you. I don’t think you have to worry.”

  “Good to know.” I smiled at the lightness in his tone. “And Monroe?”

  I angled my head so I could see him. “Yes.”

  “Technically that wasn’t my collection kiss.”

  My smile widened. “It wasn’t.”

  He shook his head. “Nope. Rules are you have to state the claim before the prize is collected, and I didn’t state my claim.”

  I liked this side of him. The light side. The teasing side. And I liked how he made me feel. Coyly, I grinned. “So I guess I owe you at least one more kiss.”

  There was a pause.

  My heart sped up.

  “At least.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Nathan

  “So, as per the rules, I’m stating my claim.”

  It was Sunday night and getting kind of late, but I couldn’t help myself. I had to hear her voice, and I needed to see her even more.

  I’d spent most of the day and night at a family thing at my aunt and uncle’s. Yep. The entire day spent with a bunch of cousins who were either too young and annoying to hang with or too old and annoying to hang with.

  So I’d pretty much kept to myself. My family thought I was brooding—angsting over my situation—and I was fine with that. Because as long as they did, they didn’t try to talk to me and I could be alone with my thoughts.

  Thoughts that went from X-rated to kind of pissed off to confused—and all of them were about Monroe.

  I’d thought about how amazing it had felt to hold her and how much I wanted to do more than just kiss her. I thought of her laugh and the way it lightened everything, especially the heaviness inside me.

  And I thought about Malcolm.

  Who was he? A friend? A boyfriend?

  I wanted her to share her secret with me. To trust me enough to do it. But I was willing to bet that Monroe would only come around when she was ready. And maybe she would never be ready.

  “So when exactly are you collecting your prize?”

  Monroe’s voice cut through my thoughts and I grinned.

  “Tonight.”

  “Tonight? But it’s nearly midnight and I’m already in bed.”

  “Really,” I said, my grin widening. “And what does Monroe Blackwell wear to bed?”

  She giggled, a soft, girlish sound that made my gut churn with anticipation.

  “Guess you’ll never know.”

  I grabbed my knapsack from my bed and shook my head. “Don’t count on it. See you in a bit.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Guess you’ll have to wait and see,” I answered before pocketing my cell and heading out of my room.

  The house was dark—my parents had gone to bed as soon as we’d come home—and I crept through it silently. They’d never been super strict with me. I don’t think they’d ever given me a curfew, but considering everything that had happened this year, I was pretty sure they wouldn’t be too happy catching me sneaking out of the house at midnight.

  I still couldn’t drive—my license was suspended until the fall—but that didn’t mean my dad’s bike was off limits. Slipping the backpack over my shoulders, I climbed aboard and set off for Oak Run Plantation.

  The sky was clear, and my eyes adjusted quickly, so traveling the back roads was easy.

  Would she like what I had planned? Or would she think it was stupid? Corny.

  I thought of the connection we had shared the night before, and I had to believe that she would get it. I had to believe that Monroe would understand, ’cuz if not, I was gonna look like a total effing loser. The fact that I was willing to look like a total effing loser meant something, but right now I wasn’t going to think about it too much.

  I rode up the silent driveway, noting the low light that fell from the main plantation house, though Mrs. Blackwell’s cottage was in darkness. The night felt electric. I heard the cicadas buzzing, the sad hoot of an owl close by, and the always humid, damp air filled with the scent of honeysuckle and whatever else Mrs. Blackwell had growing in her gardens.

  I jumped off the bike and set it against the porch. Took one step up and froze.

  Already erratic, my heart began to thump like a kick drum—fast and heavy. Ba-boom, ba-boom, ba-boom.

  God, what was it about this girl that had me all twisted up?

  I couldn’t see her face—it was in shadow—but her hair spilled over her white T-shirt like long fingers of ink. She leaned against the edge of the railing, wearing cut-off jean shorts and runners.

  “Hey,” she said slowly, a husky tone in her voice that I liked.

  I took two more steps up until my head was level to hers. This close, I could see her features, the reflection of the stars in her eyes, the moisture along her bottom lip as if she’d just licked it.

  I leaned forward and brushed my mouth against hers. Couldn’t help myself. But it was a quick one. We had to hurry.

  “You ready?” I asked, my hand seeking hers and tugging her down the steps with me.

  “For what?” She sounded breathless.

  I didn’t answer. We trudged along the side of the house and I made my way over to the maze. It was freshly trimmed—I know because I’d done it the week before—and I knew my way around it.

  I didn’t stop until we were in the center, and pausing, I glanced up at the sky, nodding to myself as I let go of Monroe’s hand and reached for my backpack.

  “Nate, what are we—”

  “Hold on,” I said, grabbing her once more and planting a kiss on those lips. It only lasted a few seconds and it took everything I had to break it off.

  I whipped out a worn blanket, one I’d taken from my bed, and spread it over the grass.
Then I motioned for Monroe to lie down.

  She arched one of those delicate eyebrows, a soft smile on her face, but pulled off her shoes and then knelt on the blanket, moving over when I did the same.

  “So, a midnight picnic?” she said, nudging me with her elbow.

  I shook my head.

  “No?” she grinned. “I don’t think Gram will like us camping out together overnight.”

  “I only need you for a few hours.”

  “A few hours,” she repeated.

  Damn, but I liked to see her smile. It made me feel like a king.

  I lay down, and for a moment, she stared down at me, her expression unreadable, and I could tell she was a little nervous.

  “I’m not going to bite you.”

  “I know,” she answered quickly. “You’re going to kiss me.”

  “Yep. That I am.” I reached up and grabbed her arm, tugging her down until she was sprawled across my chest. Her hair hung loose, obscuring her face and tickling my nose. Her scent was all around me. It was in me, and I felt it as if it was alive. As if it made me alive.

  She was so warm, so soft, and with a groan, I rolled her over so that she was beside me, on her back and tucked into my arms.

  For a few seconds, her breaths fell rapidly, little puffs of mist that hung in the air and then disappeared like the fireflies along the edge of the maze.

  “What are we doing out here, Nate?”

  “Just wait. You’ll see.”

  “See what?”

  I pointed to the sky and turned to watch her as she followed my finger. I’d already seen the beginning of the meteor shower as I’d pedaled like a crazy person to get here, but according to the reports online, the big show was just about to start.

  We lay like that for about ten minutes. Her body next to mine. Her breaths lifting me up. The soft sounds that fell from her lips were mesmerizing. This girl had her own rhythm, her own state of being, and it was addictive.

  I could spend the entire night watching her.

  I knew when the first wave of meteors broke through to our side because Monroe’s eyes widened along with her smile. Only then did I look away and turn to the sky.

  “Holy shit,” she exclaimed. “What is this?”