If It's Only Love

by Ryan, Lexi

  Shay shakes her head. “I’m a little stressed. It’s fine. I just need to self-medicate for a minute.”

  Jake gives her one last long look and nods before disappearing into the kitchen.

  God must be smiling down on me today, because sometime during Shay’s martini-making production, the guy who was sitting next to me cleared out, leaving cash for Jake.

  I nod to the vacant barstool. “Sit here, Shayleigh. We’ll self-medicate together. Unless you are giving me the silent treatment, that is.”

  I wait for it—that smile of hers that makes me believe that somehow everything will be okay, the comforting stillness of sitting next to her, the warmth of her laughter. Hell, it’s been too long since I’ve heard that sound, since I’ve watched joy blossom on her face and felt like maybe I was born to put it there. I’ve missed her.

  Except Shay doesn’t flash me her smile or sit by me. She certainly doesn’t laugh. She slides her sweet concoction in front of me and says, “On the house. I have to get out of here.”

  “I thought you needed a drink.”

  When she meets my eyes, I’m taken back to Paris, to my hotel room in Chicago, to her bedroom out at the lake and the hundred other times she met my eyes and I felt like Superman. “I was wrong.” She turns around, but instead of leaving through the front, she ducks out from behind the bar and stomps off to the bathroom.

  I get it. I fucked up with her. Fucked up phenomenally. But how am I supposed to apologize when she won’t even talk to me?

  I slide off my stool and follow her. She’s standing at the sink, arms braced on the counter, head bowed. “Shay?”

  She rolls her neck and sighs. “Easton, this is the women’s room.”

  I nudge the door shut behind me and flip the lock. “I noticed.” I fold my arms. “I saw my chance and took it.”

  She draws in a long breath. “Your chance for what? Creepy bathroom stalking?”

  “My chance to talk to you alone. You’re avoiding me.”

  Her eyes flash. “We have nothing to talk about.”

  “Are you sure about that?” I stalk toward her. The pull to her is magnetic, and it’s a miracle I’ve kept my distance this long. Hell, it’s a miracle I ever let her go to begin with. “I can think of a lot of things we could talk about. Should we start with Paris or Chicago? Or maybe we should start with New Year’s Eve out at the lake?”

  “None of the above.” She turns to me, her expression resigned as she leans a hip against the counter.

  “Do you have any idea how much I’ve missed you?”

  “You missed me? Is this some alternate-facts shit? Because last I checked, you had my number. You could’ve called or sent me a fucking text message. You weren’t missing me. You were living your life.”

  “I hated myself for missing you. I thought I needed to make it work with Scarlett.” I swallow and step closer. The truth burns my throat, searing off a piece of my pride. “I thought I could do it if you weren’t a choice. I thought I could get over you. I was wrong about all of it. No amount of time can change the way I feel about you.”

  Her breath catches. “Easton—”

  I slide my hand into her hair and skim my thumb across her bottom lip. “There wasn’t a single day that went by that I didn’t think about you.”

  I lower my mouth to hers before she can reply. The first touch of my lips to hers, and everything snaps into place for me. This is what I want—where I want to be, where I belong. Her lips part on a gasp. I touch my tongue to hers, and she presses her palm to my chest.

  “Fuck you.” She shoves me back—hard—and I stumble. “I didn’t say you could do that.”

  Shaking my head, I force myself to back away another step. I didn’t come in here intending to touch her, and with my recklessness, she’s even less likely to talk to me.

  She lifts her chin, her eyes blazing with anger I totally deserve. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe I’m not single? Did it ever occur to you that I might have a boyfriend? That maybe I haven’t spent the last seven years waiting around for you?” She folds her arms, disgust clear in the curl of her lip. “You are so self-centered.”

  I shove my hands into my pockets so they don’t get me in trouble. My pride is bruised as fuck, but this conversation isn’t over. “It did occur to me. That’s why I asked Jake. He said you weren’t seeing anyone.”

  “So Jake is an expert in my love life now? You think he knows about every guy I’ve dated? Every man I’ve taken to bed?” She huffs out a breath. “Even if I were single—which, sorry to disappoint you when you’re stuck in Jackson Harbor with no one else to fuck, I’m not—how egotistical do you have to be to assume I’d want to climb back into bed with you?”

  There’s so much happening in that sentence that I’m not even sure where to start. Maybe I am self-centered, because I start with the part that hurts the most. “You are seeing someone.”

  She folds her arms protectively across her middle. “Yeah.”

  “It can’t be that serious if you haven’t introduced him to your family.”

  “Don’t make assumptions about my life.”

  “Do you love him?”

  There’s something else in her expression—pain? Awkwardness? I can’t tell. “It’s complicated.”

  I step forward and lift a hand, but I stop myself, turning around gripping the doorknob before I make the mistake of touching her again. I feel her eyes on my back. “I never expected you to wait for me. You deserved better than that.” When I look at her over my shoulder, her expression is tight, her chest heaving like it would have if I’d had the chance to finish that kiss. “I stayed away because you deserved better than me.”

  Shay

  February 24th, twelve years ago

  Easton: Carter said you’re staying home when everyone visits next month.

  Me: Sorry. I can’t believe you’re bringing all the Jacksons to LA. Big shot.

  Easton: I miss everyone. I swear I’m not trying to show off.

  Me: I’m just teasing you. I’m sure it’ll be awesome. Mom is buzzing about it. I hope you have fun.

  Easton: Is everything okay?

  Me: I have tests for school and I have to get my final papers done early before graduation.

  Easton: Because you’ll be in New York while everyone else takes finals.

  Me: Spying on me?

  Easton: Carter and Jake crow about you like they’re responsible for your brain or something.

  Me: That’s kind of sweet.

  Easton: I wish you were coming.

  I put my phone down and force myself to back away. It’s been less than two months since Easton spun my world on its head and made me believe that someone like him could be attracted to me. No, not just someone like him. He made me believe that he could be attracted to me. That he was attracted to me. And that’s the kicker, because I don’t want someone like Easton. I never have. I want Easton. But I’m no longer the twelve-year-old girl who’d follow him around when he stayed over on the weekend and quietly dream of our future wedding. I’ve grown up, and I’m smart enough to know that’s not in the cards for a girl like me. Easton very gently reminded me of that when he told me not to apply at UCLA.

  I still want to hide every time I remember I said that. What did I think? That Easton was going to want a college kid hanging around just because we fooled around in the middle of the night? Did I think he’d miss out on all the women who throw themselves at him on a daily basis for me?

  So I checked myself. Remembered the limits of our relationship: friendship. When I went back to school after the holiday, I said yes to a date with Steve and decided it was time to force myself to get over Easton Connor. I’ve been doing great at not obsessing over him too, and then he has to throw out an I wish you were coming?

  It’s such a painful tease that I almost hate him for it. But I know that’s not fair. He’s just being my friend. Like he always has.

  My phone buzzes again, and I immediately snatch it off th
e counter to see if it’s another text from him. I’m weak.

  Easton: I hope you have the time of your life in New York. I expect you to tell me about it.

  Me: Sure. I’ll post pics.

  April 18th

  Easton: Family reunion isn’t the same without you, Short Stack.

  I read Easton’s text three times before I make myself flip my phone over and pretend I didn’t see it. I have the house to myself, and my boyfriend and I are using the time to study. Because Steve and I are just cool like that.

  My family is in California at Easton’s, and I’ve spent the last two days since they left vacillating between regret over my decision to stay home and relief that I was smart enough to make that choice. Despite what I told my parents, I could’ve gone. I could’ve worked on my papers on the plane. My finals will be a cakewalk. I don’t need to study much. But I’m here, and the riot of fluttery insects making a mess of my stomach after just one text is enough to remind me I made the right choice. If I’d gone to L.A., I would’ve left my heart there with Easton. And I can’t do that. I need my heart.

  The cutie math nerd across the kitchen table from me might object to me giving it to someone else.

  My phone buzzes again. I watch Steve scribble in his notebook before I look.

  Easton: Hold up. Carter said you’re going to New York with your BOYFRIEND.

  Me: Not exactly with him. My boyfriend is also in my honors English class and is going on the same trip.

  Easton: You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend.

  Me: I didn’t know you required updates on my love life.

  Easton: Now you know. I require updates.

  Me: His name is Steve. He’s smart and fun and sweet.

  I stare at the screen too long. Aside from when he was asking me about the trip last month, we haven’t gone back and forth texting like this since before New Year’s. He sends me goofy memes from time to time, and we’re on a couple of group text loops together in which my brothers break down his games play by play and he pretends to appreciate their advice when he has a whole team full of well-paid professionals who know way more about football than they do.

  He doesn’t reply. I bite back a sigh and put the phone down. I want to believe I’ve moved on, but a few text messages from him still get me tied up in knots. Pathetic.

  Steve looks up from his notebook and grins at me. His eyes cut to the clock meaningfully. When he arrived tonight, he was all over me. I told him we had to study for one hour before we could make out. Now time’s a-ticking.

  I return his smile, my cheeks heating and my thoughts blessedly turning away from Easton and back to Steve and an evening in the house alone. Right where they should be.

  Then my phone buzzes again.

  Easton: Is he good to you?

  Me: I wouldn’t be with him if he weren’t.

  Easton: So I guess this means . . .

  I swallow hard. How do I tell him that I need him not to do this? How do I explain that his flirting messes with me without revealing that I’ve had a crush on him my whole life? Because despite my stumble with the UCLA thing, I think I’ve managed to hide the truth of my lifelong crush from everyone.

  Me: It means I have a boyfriend, and I owe you no more secrets.

  Easton: Ah. Message delivered. Have fun in New York. Behave.

  Frowning, Steve pushes his notebook away and leans back in his chair. “Who’s blowing up your phone?”

  “Easton.” I bow my head and pretend to study the irregular verb conjugations for my French exam.

  Steve clears his throat. “Easton Connor? You’re texting Easton Connor?”

  I lift my head and smile. Steve’s eyes are wide, and he looks like a starstruck little boy. “You know he’s a family friend.” I wave a hand, indicating the empty house. “And that he’s the reason we’re here alone right now?”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t know you texted with him.”

  I shrug. “Not that often. He’s just thinking about me, since my family is there and I’m not.”

  Steve pushes his chair back and walks around the table. Taking my hand, he pulls me out of my chair and steps close. He’s tall—taller than Easton, even—and I have to crane my neck to look up at him. Unlike Easton, with his effortless athletic grace, Steve is gangly and a little awkward. More than once he’s reminded me of the Great Dane pup the neighbors adopted last year. The dog grew so fast that he could hardly walk straight. Now, like every time the comparison comes to mind, I feel guilty for it. Steve might not be an athlete, but he’s absolutely adorable. Anyway, it’s not like I’m some prize in the physical beauty department.

  He presses a chaste kiss to my lips. “I’m glad you decided to stay home.”

  I loop my arms around his waist. “Are you?”

  He dips his head and nuzzles my neck. “Yeah,” he says against my ear. “We have the whole house to ourselves.” He skims his hand up my side and under my shirt, and I laugh. He stills and pulls back. “Seriously?”

  At the petulance in his tone, I train my expression to neutral. “Sorry. I’m ticklish.”

  He blows out a breath and shakes his head. “I thought you were laughing at the idea of enjoying an empty house with me.” He nods toward the clock. “Time for our study break.”

  “I guess it is.” I skim my fingers over the sparse stubble on his cheek. He has no business trying to grow a full beard, but he’s been working on this since Christmas break, and I’m not going to be the one to tell him it needs to go. “What do you want to do?”

  He arches a brow, as if this is the dumbest question in the world. “I mean, we could . . . You know . . .”

  I frown. Steve’s pretty articulate. He doesn’t stumble over words, so his vague reply takes me a minute to understand. “Sex?”

  The word is a giant record scratch in the empty house.

  “Wow. Not the reaction I was expecting.” He steps back, and my hands fall to my sides.

  “Sorry, I just . . . I didn’t realize we were there.”

  “Isn’t everyone?” His smile is a little goofy when he adds, “And when’s the next time we’re going to have a house to ourselves like this? I want to take my time with you, not have some sloppy first time in the back of my car.”

  My jaw works. I appreciate the sentiment, but should we really be making the choice because it’s convenient? “I don’t know.”

  “We’re seniors. It’s not like we’re kids anymore.” He shrugs. “But maybe you don’t want to do that with me. Whatever.”

  I gape at him. He’s never acted like this, and I don’t like it. “Are you seriously pouting right now?”

  “I’m not pouting.”

  “Yes, you are. You’re pouting because I don’t want to have sex.”

  “Maybe I’m just hurt. Did you think of that?” His chest rises and falls with his deep breath. “Shit. This isn’t how I wanted this conversation to go. I sound like an ass.”

  “Yeah.” I hug myself. “You really do.”

  He turns to the table and messes with the stack of flashcards I have there. “Please forget I said anything?”

  Steve is a nice guy, and I meant it when I told Easton he was good to me. Jerks have no appeal. But sex? I’m not even sure I love him.

  I push away the thought quickly. Who said I have to be in love? I like him. I respect him. We have fun together. Isn’t that enough?

  I close the space between us, but he still feels miles away. I run a hand down his arm. “Hey. I’m sorry I freaked out, but I need you to understand that my freak-out isn’t about you.”

  When he turns his eyes to me, I see the hurt there, and it twists in my chest. “Let me guess—it’s about Easton Connor.”

  I blink at him. Because that came out of nowhere. Because he’s being irrationally jealous.

  Because he’s right.

  Easton

  The Jackson crew wanders along the sand in front of me, soaking up the evening sun and laughing. I’m so glad to have them here,
but I can’t believe Shay didn’t come.

  I get it. She has other responsibilities, other things in her life to focus on than her brother’s old friend. I tried to tell myself it didn’t matter. Lied to myself about how much I wanted her to see my new life. Now her family’s here and it’s great, but it’s also . . . lonely in a way I can’t explain to anyone.

  Doesn’t she know that she’s half the reason I arranged this trip? But I guess she wouldn’t. When she suggested she’d change her college plans to be with me, it scared the shit out of me, and I’ve done everything I could to hide my feelings since. She’s so smart—and not just compared to me. Compared to anyone. She’s brilliant, and I won’t be the reason she doesn’t chase her dreams. When I was starting at Starling College, my course load was intense. I’d never been pushed academically like that, and my anxiety was off the charts. Lucky for me, Shay was taking a couple of courses there—a high school freshman taking French at a four-year college, because she’s that kind of smart. I got to see her a couple of times a week. She’s the only one who could help me relax enough to make it through those major projects. My grades weren’t great, but I don’t think I’d have passed if it hadn’t been for her. If I’d been put on academic probation and kicked off the team, I never would’ve been drafted by the Demons. She’s the reason I got to pursue my dream, and I won’t stand in the way of hers.

  But she didn’t tell me she has a boyfriend.

  It was only a matter of time, but it was still a punch in the gut when Carter’s little brother, Levi, made a joke about Shay being alone at the house with him. I didn’t want her to wait for me, but I guess I thought she might. But now she has a boyfriend, and they’re going to New York together. Because he’s smart enough to be in the special group that takes the trip. Smart like Shay. I bet she likes that.

  I wonder if she calms him when he’s stressed. I wonder if he’s ever wondered if there’s something wrong with the way he was made, only to have her put a hand on his arm and make him feel like he’s whole, like he’s enough.