If It's Only Love

by Ryan, Lexi

  I pull my phone from my pocket. I owe you no more secrets.

  She’s right. She doesn’t owe me anything. But I want it all anyway.

  Shay

  I can’t sleep.

  I roll over and stare at the clock. Three a.m.

  Steve left five hours ago, reluctantly still a virgin. I assured him that my reasons for waiting had nothing to do with Easton, that I just wasn’t ready. I’m an evil liar.

  Guilt had me inviting him for a soak in the hot tub, and after a heavy make-out session that ended with us back in the house, his swim trunks were on the floor, and my hand . . . well, my hand was right where he wanted it. After that, I think we were both a little more convinced that I’m not hung up on Easton.

  But I have another five days full of prime virginity-losing opportunities, and I wonder if Steve’s right. Maybe now’s the time. We might not have another chance to be alone like this until we’re in college, and even then there will be roommates to work around and neighbors on the other side of thin walls. I can’t deny that our circumstances are ideal, but I always imagined I’d be in love when I lost my virginity. Will Steve wait that long?

  I grab my phone off the nightstand and scroll through the pictures Mom sent me earlier. My stomach twists with longing. This is the first time I’ve missed a family trip, and seeing my brothers lined up and walking barefoot down the beach makes me feel . . . homesick.

  I laugh at myself. How silly. I’m the one at home.

  I click over to my text thread with Easton. It’s midnight there. I bet he’s still awake. And because I know he’ll tell me the truth, I send him a message before I can talk myself out of it.

  Me: Would you have dated someone in high school who didn’t put out?

  Easton: I did a few times. Not every relationship got that far.

  Me: But did you end things because you weren’t sleeping together?

  I stare at my phone for a long time. The bouncing dots that indicate he’s typing appear and then disappear. Shit. I probably sound like an immature child.

  Me: You can be honest with me. I won’t judge you.

  Easton: If my answer was yes, you fucking SHOULD judge me.

  I can practically hear his voice just reading the words. I can see his nostrils flare in disbelief. I miss him.

  Me: So . . . why didn’t you answer?

  Easton: Because this conversation makes me want to come back to Jackson Harbor and beat the shit out of this boyfriend of yours.

  Crap. I clearly didn’t think this through. I’m an asshole who’s going to get my sweet, awkward math nerd boyfriend pounded by an NFL quarterback. Cause of death: irresponsible texting.

  Me: I never said I was talking about my boyfriend.

  Easton: But weren’t you?

  Me: Not exactly.

  Easton: What does that even mean?

  Me: It means I was asking in general terms, but I’m not saying he’s going to break up with me if we don’t have sex.

  Easton: You wouldn’t be asking if you didn’t think it was a possibility.

  I throw myself back on my pillows and whimper. I’m making a mess of this. I don’t want to throw Steve under the bus, but I truly do want advice. I could talk to my brothers, but they’re irrational when it comes to me. They’d freak out if they knew I’d let a boy up my shirt, let alone if they knew I was thinking about having sex. I could talk to my girlfriends, but I want a guy’s perspective on it.

  Me: I’m afraid he’s going to get sick of waiting.

  Easton: Nah. If he loves you, he’ll wait forever.

  Me: And if he doesn’t love me?

  Easton: Then you shouldn’t have sex with him anyway.

  Me: Hypocrite.

  Easton: How do you figure?

  Me: You’ve NEVER had sex with someone you didn’t love?

  Easton: Let me get back to you.

  Me: Need time to get the list together?

  Easton: Need time to put together my defense.

  I’m still laughing when his next text comes through.

  Easton: This isn’t about me. It’s about you, and YOU deserve the love, the roses, the fucking fairytale. Don’t settle for less.

  I turn off my screen and close my eyes. I clutch the phone to my chest, and I’m smiling as I fall asleep.

  Shay

  Teagan pulls her door open before I have a chance to knock. “I thought you might come over. Do you want to talk?”

  “No. I want to go to the bar and drink until I forget that Easton Connor just walked back into my life and set off a bomb in the middle of it.”

  “Okay.” Because she’s the best fucking friend ever, she grabs her purse. “Let’s go.”

  I shake my head. “Tried that already, but he was there.”

  “So you don’t want to go to the bar?”

  “I want to go and him not be there.” I growl. I sound mental. “He had the nerve to kiss me.”

  Teagan’s eyes go wide and she does that fish-mouthed trying-to-speak thing for a few beats before shaking off her shock. “Easton Connor kissed you?”

  “Yes.” I stomp into her house and toss my purse onto the couch with more force than necessary. Teagan and Carter live together in the little two-story craftsman Carter’s been fixing up for a couple of years. Isaiah, a high school senior and the son of Carter’s late friend, lives with them in the refinished attic. Carter has pretty much gutted the whole house and put it back together one piece at a time. It’s adorable, and when he’s around, I love talking to him about what comes next in this massive makeover. But tonight, I’m glad he’s not here, because the last thing I want is for him to hear me rant about Easton. Easton and his presumptuous bathroom kissing. “Self-centered, egotistical motherfucker,” I mutter.

  “Wow. Okay.” Teagan closes the door and joins me in the living room. “So you didn’t want him to kiss you, but he did. What did you do?”

  “I went off on him, and then I left because I just . . .” I try to drag a hand through my hair and end up making a mess of my ponytail.

  Teagan shakes her head and straightens the blanket on the back of the couch. “You know what? I think I’ll go get us a couple of beers.”

  “Do you have anything stronger?”

  Biting her lip, she looks at the ceiling, thinking. “I might have some tequila left over from a chicken recipe I made last weekend?”

  Tequila. The word washes an Easton-scented memory over my senses. Thirteen years later, and I can still recall the feel of Easton’s hot tongue on my wrist where he licked off the salt. The man is imprinted in my mind permanently. But I don’t want him to be, and the last thing I need is a drink that will bring those memories even closer to the surface. “Beer is fine.”

  I follow as she heads to the fridge.

  Her dark hair frames her face as she leans in to inspect their beer selection. “I have a porter, a growler of that new hazy IPA Jake won’t shut up about—oh, or we could share this bomber of blueberry sour if you want.”

  “I think my boyfriend is going to propose,” I blurt.

  Teagan straightens, eyes wide.

  “It doesn’t make any sense, but I saw the ring.”

  Teagan lets out a long breath. To her credit, she doesn’t screech, What boyfriend?

  “It’s too soon. We’re not there yet, but maybe he wants to propose before I accept a job somewhere else. But I don’t know for sure, because I was a distracted mess tonight. I wanted to tell him about Easton being in town and how it means something to me.” I mess with my hair again and decide to give it up and take out the hair tie. “I was trying to do the right thing, but I didn’t know. . . I didn’t realize . . .”

  She shuts the fridge. “You’re sure you don’t want that tequila?”

  “Can’t. Easton memories.”

  “Shit.” Teagan grabs a stool. She climbs onto it and digs through the cabinets over the refrigerator before coming out with a bottle of amber liquid. “Found this.” Of course Carter would have bourbon
in the house. I’m pretty sure all my brothers keep it around. “Any objectionable memories with this?”

  I shake my head. “Thanks, Tea.”

  “Not a problem.” She grabs two glasses from the cabinet, pours us each a couple of fingers, and hands mine over. “Drink, and then start at the beginning.”

  I take a sip, closing my eyes as the warmth from the liquor coats my throat and blooms in my chest. I’m not a big bourbon drinker, but it feels appropriate tonight. “I’m not ready to start at the beginning.”

  “Okay. Then start with tonight. You’re . . . seeing someone? And it’s serious? Who is he?” I can tell she’s trying to hide it, but there’s undeniable hurt in her voice, and I feel like an ass for keeping secrets from my friend.

  “I’ve been seeing someone from work.”

  “For how long?”

  I shrug. Do I count the first time I felt like he was flirting with me? The first time I accepted an invitation to dinner? The first time I slept with him? “I don’t even know if ‘seeing’ is the right label.” I swallow hard, shame dogging me. “We’ve been sleeping together, but we haven’t had a chance to figure out if we want it to be more than that.” It’s not exactly officially against the rules to sleep with members of your dissertation committee, but it’s certainly frowned upon. George and I seemed to have an unspoken agreement from the first morning I snuck out of his Grand Rapids apartment that we wouldn’t let what we’d done get out. Even without official repercussions, information like that could damage both of our reputations. He doesn’t need people thinking he’s a sleazy professor, and I don’t need people thinking I only made it through my doctorate because I was sleeping with the man in charge of deeming whether my work is worthy. “You’ve actually met him before. His name is George Alby.”

  “But isn’t George . . .?”

  “He’s the chairman of my dissertation committee.”

  “Oh,” Teagan says. She takes a long swallow of her bourbon, coughing as it goes down.

  “I never set out to sleep with him, and when it happened, I blamed it on the wine, too little sleep, and maybe general loneliness.” I roll my glass between my hands. “I didn’t think it would happen again, but it did. Then after the third time, it just became something we did. I’d go to his apartment for dinner after meetings, and we’d talk and end up in bed. When we went to the conference in Florida in February, I had my own room but barely spent any time in it.”

  “Wow. And now you think he’s going to propose?”

  I can see it in her face, the Already? The Are you really that serious? Or maybe those are my thoughts and I’m projecting. “George is great.” I swallow. “And I care about him, but because of our weird situation, we’ve never had a chance to be a normal couple. I’m afraid that if he finds out how much that ring freaked me out, I’m really going to hurt him.”

  “Oh, honey.” She puts her glass down and squeezes my free hand. “If you’re not ready, you have to tell him.”

  “Can I tell you something terrible?”

  “What?”

  “I don’t think I would’ve ever slept with George if I hadn’t known Easton was moving to town.”

  It was almost four months ago that I found out Easton was looking for a house in Jackson Harbor. At the time, I didn’t understand why he suddenly wanted to move back here. He hasn’t lived here since high school. Why now?

  But that’s what I get for swearing off celebrity gossip. Apparently, his ex, the diva popstar Scarlett Lashenta, got drunk on her reality TV show and confessed on camera that her daughter isn’t biologically Easton’s. The news blew up because the real daddy is some now-famous rapper Scarlett thought was going nowhere when she found out she was pregnant.

  Easton has always managed to stay out of the celebrity drama and keep his daughter out of it too, despite Scarlett’s penchant for staying in the middle of it, but the cameras were all over him after the news hit. And then they realized he’d known that Abigail wasn’t his for years and he’d stuck around anyway. Cue the mass swoon.

  Which is ridiculous. Why do we swoon over guys who are actual fathers to their children? If he’s raised her since birth, why would it be anything but expected that he’d stay by her side, despite a lack of blood ties? But I guess that just shows that the press doesn’t know Easton as well as I do, because none of his decisions regarding Abi have surprised me. Even his impending move back to Jackson Harbor fits now that I know more of the story.

  Before, the news threw me. I vacillated between panic and dread and . . . excitement. It was the last that may have been responsible for my rash decision to accept George’s invitation back to his apartment for a glass of wine.

  Teagan grimaces. “That makes sense.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “It just helps explain it a little, I guess. Sleeping with a professor isn’t like you, but sleeping with your dissertation chair? Shay, that’s almost reckless.”

  I lift the bourbon to my lips again, but the smell turns my stomach, so I put it back on the counter with a clunk and busy my hands by pushing it around. “I know, I know. But now here we are. George told me after we . . .” I want to say started dating, but that would be inaccurate. George and I didn’t start dating as much as we started sleeping together. “After we started seeing each other, he admitted that he’s been interested in me for years and I never seemed to pick up the hint. I had to be faced with this not-even-an-ex coming back into my life before I noticed the really incredible guy right under my nose.”

  “It’s not like you were planning to use him to get Easton to notice you.” She hesitates a beat, squeezing my hand a little tighter. “Were you?”

  “No. Of course not.” My feelings are messy right now, but I am sure of that. I wasn’t after jealousy. I was after protection—someone to be a barrier between me and East. I’m a total ass. “It was more like I was trying to put some distance between Easton and my heart.”

  “That’s one hell of a crush, girl.”

  I let out a dry laugh. I never told anyone in my family about what happened with Easton and me. The truth would change the way they look at him. I can’t do that to him or my family, though it’s Carter who’d be the most pissed. Teagan, on the other hand, won’t likely put a fist in Easton’s face if I tell her. “I didn’t tell you the whole truth about me and Easton.”

  “You don’t say.” She arches a brow, unsurprised. “I won’t tell Carter, if that’s what has you worried.”

  I swallow. “I appreciate that.”

  “It was more than a crush,” she says, and it’s not a question as much as a statement of the now-obvious.

  I nod. “We fooled around a couple of times.” That’s the extremely watered-down version of the truth, but I’m not up for sharing the whole story. I’m not sure I ever will be.

  Her eyes widen. “You fooled around with Easton fucking Connor and kept it a secret?”

  “Oh, yeah. My brothers would’ve killed him.” My eyes burn. I’m so damn tired. “What if I push George away because of what I think I still feel for Easton and everything’s different? What if what I feel is all past tense? I can’t change how I felt back then. Our history is going to be there as I move forward, no matter what.”

  “Have you considered talking to Easton about all this?”

  I huff out a dry laugh. “He keeps trying to talk, and I keep running away. I think he only kissed me tonight to get my attention.” I bite the inside of my cheek as if it’s some magical pressure point that can keep me from crying, but when I look up at my friend, I see her through a film of my tears. “I’m a coward.”

  “You’re not.” I can tell from her expression that she has questions—so many questions that she’s too good of a friend to ask right now. “You have a lot on your plate. The defense, job applications, and now a possible proposal? Just give yourself room to breathe. Give your feelings some space to be before you judge them. If Easton really wants a chance to talk the past out with you, he’ll
wait.”

  “I don’t want to make a choice I’ll regret.” I swirl my bourbon in my glass, wishing my stomach would cooperate so I could chug it. The oblivion of a good drunk would be welcome about now. “Tell me about your day. How are things going with the new girl at work?”

  “Work is fine and my day was boring. Don’t change the subject.”

  I cut my eyes away and sigh.

  Teagan squeezes my wrist gently. “When I worked surgery, we had to tell patients that they weren’t to make any major decisions post-op. I’m your nurse and I’m telling you to treat yourself as a post-op patient until further notice. No decisions.” She gives me a sad smile. “If I had to guess, I’d say you’ve been so secretive about this whole Easton thing that you don’t even know how you feel. Figure that out first and don’t make any decisions in the meantime.”

  I smirk. “Does that also mean I can’t operate heavy machinery?”

  She gives a pointed look to my barely touched glass. “Not for the reasons I anticipated when you walked in the door, but maybe this calls for a sleepover. I miss Carter while he’s at the fire station. You can keep me company.”

  “Deal,” I whisper. “But I’m emotionally exhausted, so don’t take it personally if I fall asleep before ten.”

  “I’ll make your bed.”

  Easton

  “Did you know your sister is seeing someone?” I ask Carter as he finishes his last set of squats Monday morning.

  He grunts. “I think there’s a guy from school she goes out with sometimes. Nothing serious, though.”

  “Does he make her happy?”

  “Never met the guy. She doesn’t really talk about him, but I assume he’s decent enough.”