Distraction (Westbrook Series Book 1)

by Laura Clark

  "I like this idea." He says enthusiastically. "Harry Butts, Dick Licher? That is some seriously funny shit, Laila. Hey, you could be Ivana Rider, or even better, Poppy Cherry." We are both laughing. I can faintly smell the beer on his breath, despite the fact that he is chewing gum.

  "Ivana Ryder? I don't get that one . . . ." I admit.

  "I wanna ride her," he growls, while tackling me down on the bed as if to demonstrate. I am laying flat on my back with my arms pinned above my head, and he is straddling me like a wrestler would. It's kind of hot, but then again, anything that involves Sam touching me is hot.

  "Shhh. You're going to wake my parents," I whisper.

  "Laila, it's not even midnight. Your parents aren't home yet." He reaches over, and throws a pillow at my shoulder playfully.

  "Oh, right. I forgot it is still pretty early. Even if they did hear you, I'd just say it's my new boyfriend, Harry."

  Did I really just say the B word? I immediately cover my face with the pillow. Is he going to freak out on me now? Guys get weird when girls push commitments on them, and try to label things too quickly. That's what everybody says anyway. To think, everything was going so well up to this point.

  "So, I guess it is decided then. I'm Harry, and now I'm your boyfriend? I didn't know you had a boyfriend, Laila?" He asks me, but his voice doesn't sound weird, or at all strained. He actually sounds like he is still playing along. He pulls the pillow away from my face, but my eyes are closed tightly. I'm afraid to open them.

  "Why are you hiding from me?" I can feel his hot, minty, beer breath on my face. I'm sure my face says it all because there is no way I am not blushing right now.

  "I didn't mean anything by it. I was only joking. I know you're not my boyfriend . . . ." I start to say.

  "Wait a minute. What if I want to be your boyfriend?" he cuts me off. There is no teasing in his voice now. He is totally serious. I am so shocked that I just lay here like a limp noodle, unable to find the right words. I finally open my eyes, and force myself to look at him.

  "You want to be my boyfriend?" I prop myself up on my elbows. My lips are probably no more than an inch from his now. I am suddenly wishing I could magically lose my gum. How are you supposed to kiss with gum in your mouth? I guess I am about to find out.

  "Yes, very much so. Do you want to be my girlfriend, Laila Patterson?" he asks, as his eyes flicker back down to my lips.

  "I do." I swallow hard. My eyes are still focused on his lips.

  "Wait a sec." He looks around my room frantically, and then looks back at me, like he has an idea. He wraps his hand around the back of my head, and loosens my bun, careful not to pull or tangle my hair. My hair falls down around my shoulders, and I don't even care what it looks like. Him, doing that, is beyond hot.

  My face feels like it is literally on fire right now. My heart is beating so loud and so furiously that it is the only thing I can hear. It sounds like the bass from a car stereo playing rap music. I'm sure he must be able to hear it, too. Heck, he probably feels the vibrations from it slamming hard against my chest.

  He holds my little black ponytail holder up into the air, and says, "By the power vested in me, I now pronounce us boyfriend and girlfriend." He slips the ponytail holder over my right ring finger. It of course, almost falls off because it is so big. He wraps it around a few times to keep it in place.

  "Now, can I please kiss my very hot new girlfriend?"

  I nod only once before he presses his lips hard against mine, while pushing me back so we fall against the bed together. With Sam's lips on mine, I forget about my thumping heart, what I'm going to do with my gum, and pretty much everything else.

  Chapter Thirteen: Meet Me in the Coat Closet

  The sunlight is flooding my bedroom at sunrise because I forgot to close my shutters yesterday. It's really early, but I don't care because I look down at my right hand, and smile. The black ponytail holder that Sam put on my finger last night is still there, reminding me that I am now officially his girlfriend. I keep saying it to myself over and over in my head, because it sounds so unbelievable.

  I close the shutters tightly, and fall back onto my bed, staring at the ceiling. It's only 6:00. Church doesn't start until 10:15. I have at least two more hours before I have to get up. I try my best to fall asleep, but my heart is beating so hard and fast, it is impossible. I am so excited that I can't even stay still.

  Church is pretty uneventful. I wish Kyle and Sam were here. Well, mostly just Sam, but it doesn't matter. They both opted to sleep in, before packing up to go back to campus. I sit with my parents in the last pew, in the far back of the church. It's the perfect location for a quick exit.

  I really don't feel like getting stuck talking to the priest, or his annoying son, Peter, after the service. Peter Sanchez is a year older than me. He has had a crush on me ever since his family moved to Westbrook. I've tried every way I could, to let him know that I'm not interested, but he doesn't seem to take the hint. He has a knack for cornering me, and flirting with me shamelessly after the service.

  When we stand to sing the closing hymn, I am already planning my escape. The good thing is, since Peter is wearing his white robe, he’s trapped behind the altar. It will be hard for him to ditch the robe and find me, before I can safely exit the cathedral. My plan is to hide out in the coat closet and read, while my parents mingle with their friends, sip coffee, and munch on cookies. I should have a good half hour or forty-five minutes of quiet reading time before they will be ready to leave.

  As the organist plays the last few notes, I close the navy blue hymnal, and quickly slip it back into the wooden seat pocket in front of me. I am out the back door before Peter can even spot me. I discreetly slip into the large walk-in coat closet. With the door shut behind me, I sigh with relief.

  There is a pile of burgundy pew cushions stacked neatly on the shelf above the coat rack. I reach up, standing on the tips of my toes, so I can knock one down. After a few tries, the whole stack teeters a few times until it topples over, sending cushions crashing to the floor all around me. I prop one against the wall, and one on the floor in the back of the closet, before settling down into my new cozy seat.

  For a moment, I stare at a row of empty metal hangers stacked together along the metal rod above me. Since it is summer, and about a million degrees out, there is very little chance anyone will come in here. It's not like there are any coats or scarves for them to retrieve before leaving. It is quite possibly the best hiding spot I've found yet. I smile proudly, wondering what I will do when summer ends, and the coats come back out. It's a good thing I won't have to worry about it for at least two more months.

  I am once again lost in my book, when the sound of the metal hangers clanging against each other startles me. I sigh and shake my head, frustrated that he somehow found my secret hideaway. I close my eyes and cringe a little before opening them again. I am unsure how I will be able to fend him off. The last place in the world I want to be is stuck alone in the coat closet with Peter Sanchez.

  When I finally pry my eyelids open, fully expecting to see Peter's stupid, hopeful, grey eyes, I am taken aback. I have to blink a few times because it is not Peter's eyes that I see.

  "Why are you hiding out in here, Patterson?" Trevor's emerald eyes are so hypnotizing, I don't even realize what he is saying.

  My heart rate has picked up, and my breathing seems to be somewhat challenging at the moment. Trevor is wearing a white button-down shirt with a light grey t-shirt underneath, khaki slacks, and these really cool grey loafers with white soles. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up casually, making his bronze arms look even darker. His hair has that messy, wet look guys do when they go to church or to a dance.

  He is staring at me, waiting for me to answer. He has a huge smile on his beautiful, tanned face. His teeth match his shirt. I love the way a man looks in a white shirt, especially this man, who is standing so close to me with his gorgeous green eyes and alluring smile. He looks and smells so
good that my head is spinning. I momentarily forget about Avery, Sam, and the friend zone. I just want to wrap my arms around him and . . . . What is wrong with me? I shake my head, as if to wake myself up.

  "It's kind of a long story," I finally muster out my response.

  He moves even closer, and slides down onto the cushion right next to me. "I've got time. Knowing Ma, we'll be here at least another hour, and even then, my dad and I will still have a hard time dragging her away."

  I laugh because my mother is exactly the same way.

  Our knees are now touching, barely, and it sends a million sparks flying through my body. I'm trying really hard to remember how much I like Sam. I look down at my finger. The black elastic reminder helps, but it doesn't slow my rapidly beating heart, or smother the frantic butterflies inside me.

  I take a deep breath, and slowly move my leg away from his. For some reason, I can't concentrate enough to speak when he is that close. Not when he is wearing that white shirt.

  "You know Father Gabriel's son, Peter?" I ask, forcing my tone to be as natural as possible.

  "Little Petey Sanchez?" he asks, before letting out a light chuckle.

  "Yeah, but he is not so little any more. He goes by Peter now."

  Trevor cocks his head to the side, as if he is trying to imagine a grownup version of Peter. "Ma used to make me play with him when we were little, but he was always such a little punk. She thought he'd be a good influence on me, being the priest's son and all. Little did she know, he was always getting into trouble. I swear, it was like the kid was looking for it."

  "Yeah well, some things don't ever change. To top it all off, he thinks he’s God's gift to women." I roll my eyes and shake my head.

  "Well, he is the priest's son . . . ." Trevor says. His dimples are pulling in, as if he is fighting back a grin.

  "He has probably shoved his tongue down every single teenage girl's throat in this church." I say, clearly annoyed.

  Everything about Peter annoys me. I may have thought he was cute when they first moved to Westbrook, but his charm wore off the second he opened his slimy mouth.

  Trevor's eyebrows perk up. "Every single girl? Including you?" he asks, as his lips stretch into a full smile. Why does he have to have such adorable dimples?

  "Yeah right. He wishes. He has kissed every girl here, except for me. Not because he hasn't tried, though. I swear, that boy couldn't take a hint if it slapped him right upside the head. Anyway, he is why I am in here. I try to avoid him as much as possible."

  Trevor chuckles lightly and shakes his head. We don't say anything for a few minutes, but it isn't an awkward silence. For some reason, I am comfortable with Trevor.

  My eyes keep stealing glances at his lips. I wonder if he kissed Avery last night. The thought of those lips on hers makes my stomach crawl. I really thought I was over my silly bout of jealousy. Clearly, I was wrong.

  "So, what are you up to today?" he asks, finally breaking the silence.

  Luckily, I fall back into talking to him with ease. We really do act like old friends. In fact, we spend a half hour straight, just talking about anything and everything. He asks me so many questions about myself that I start to feel self-conscious.

  What is my favorite movie? It turns out we both are suckers for the Back to the Future Trilogy. What is my favorite song, my favorite band, my favorite food, what is my favorite color? If I were stranded on an island and could only take one item with me, what would it be? I am completely stumped by this one. Initially, I want to blurt out my iPad, because I read all my books on it, but how am I supposed to recharge it if I am stranded on a deserted island?

  "I don't know. That is a tough one. I guess it would have to be my bear pillow."

  "Your bear pillow?" Trevor repeats, while chuckling lightly.

  "What? I really like my pillow. I've had the same one since I was little. I sleep with it every single night."

  His laughter grows even louder.

  "I'm really glad you find this amusing. Make fun of me all you want. I love that pillow. My nana gave it to me when I was five. We were very close."

  Trevor's smile dissolves. His teasing expression is quickly replaced with one of concern and compassion. "Were?" he repeats.

  "Yeah. She passed away when I was ten. I guess it just reminds me of her. It makes me feel close to her even though she's gone. She was the first person I can remember losing, who was really close to me. I had a really hard time with it. Still do."

  My stupid eyes are now watering. I am trying my damnedest to keep the tears from spilling down my cheeks. I take a deep breath, and quickly swipe my cheek when a single tear sneaks out.

  "Sorry, I don't always get so choked up. I just haven't thought about how much I miss Nana in a long time."

  Trevor scoots himself closer to me, and wraps his arm around me. "Laila, I am so sorry. If I had known, I never would have teased you about your bear pillow. I feel terrible." I can tell by his tone that he really does feel bad.

  He squeezes my shoulder, as if to apologize again. I rest my head against his chest, and close my eyes, taking in the sweet scent of his cologne. "No, don't feel bad. How would you know? It is a little strange that a seventeen-year-old girl still sleeps with a teddy bear pillow from her childhood. I would definitely make fun of me, if I were you and didn't know any better." I try my best to ease his mind.

  "Sixteen," he corrects me.

  "What?" I ask, while looking up at him. I can hear his heart slamming against his chest. I wonder if he feels the same electricity that I am feeling, having me lay against his chest with his arm securely around me.

  "You're still sixteen. For at least another month."

  I turn my head and look up at him, not wanting to move completely off of his chest. His snarky little smile returns, causing me to laugh. He just loves to remind me how much younger I am.

  "You know . . . I can't wait until we're older and you turn forty, because I will remind you how much older you are, again and again," I tease him, wondering if we will really know each other then.

  The tears are no longer threatening to spill, and my mood has clearly improved, but neither one of us has moved. When I look down at my finger again, a twinge of guilt washes over me. Sam, my very real boyfriend, is sitting at my house, patiently waiting for me to return from church. I don't think he would be very happy if he knew I was snuggled up, alone with another guy, in the coat closet at church. I lift my head up, and pull myself away from Trevor's chest, but his arm doesn't even budge.

  "So, what is the deal with you and Sam anyway?" Trevor asks out of nowhere.

  I am so surprised by his bluntness that I do not even know how to respond. "We're . . . um . . . we are dating, I guess," I finally respond, after a long pause.

  Trevor quickly releases his grip on me and pulls his arm back, leaving a trail of tingles behind. His eyebrows are furrowing as his face and ears turn pink. He seems kind of angry, but why would that make him upset? Is he mad that I let him hold me like that, knowing I have a boyfriend?

  "Since when? I mean, weren't you about to hook up with that Devon guy on Friday?" He has that accusing tone in his voice that makes my blood boil.

  "Since last night, when he asked me. You know, while you were out on a date with my best friend," I snap back, trying my best to match his tone.

  "He asked you to be his girlfriend before you guys even went out on a date?" He shakes his head in disgust. "How are you guys going to date anyway? I mean, doesn't he live on campus?"

  He purposely ignores the fact that I brought up his date, which just pisses me off even more. So, he is allowed to date whoever he wants, but I'm not? He is so confusing.

  "I don't really know exactly how it is all going to work. I guess we will talk on the phone, text back and forth, and he'll visit on weekends when he can," I say defensively. I really do not even know why I am bothering to explain this to him.

  "And when exactly do you guys plan on enlightening Kyle and your parents a
bout your new relationship?" He says the word relationship as if it were a bad word.

  "I don't know. When the time is right, I guess. It's complicated."

  He is glaring at me now, with his arms crossed over his chest. "It doesn't sound complicated to me. Mom and Dad, I am dating the guy that practically lives with us when he comes home with Kyle. Kyle, you know, his best friend? But don't you guys worry. Just because we are sleeping under the same roof, it doesn't necessarily mean we are sleeping together." He says it so sarcastically that I want to smack him. He has some nerve bringing that up.

  "What is wrong with you?"

  I'm seething right now. Does he really think we are already sleeping together? Even if we were, it is none of his damned business. I don't wait for him to answer. I leave him sulking on the floor of the church coat closet. Even Peter Sanchez's company would be better than his right now.

  Luckily, I am able to catch my mom between conversations, which makes it much easier to convince her that it's time to leave. I even manage to avoid Peter, which is amazing. He usually tracks me down within seconds when I'm with my parents. I normally don't have a choice but to endure whatever smug, thoughtless, and often, sexist remarks he throws my way.

  I am both happy and relieved to see Kyle's car parked on the street when we pull up to our house. Hopefully, seeing Sam will erase the anger that is still boiling in the pit of my stomach. Trevor can be so infuriating.

  Dad's feet must have been hot because he was blasting the air conditioning at full speed the whole way home. Now, my toes feel like ice cubes. I kick off my wedges, and slip my feet into my fluffy, blue slippers. The soft, fur is cushy and warm. I don't even care that they look like they are made out of Cookie Monster's fur.

  "Nice shoes, lil sis." Sam's teasing voice makes my heart leap. His smile stretches to what seems like the length of the Mississippi, as he scans my entire body from head to toe. My heart quickens. I can feel all of the tension melting away. I want more than anything to wrap my arms around him, and flush out these lingering thoughts of Trevor, but I can't. We have to maintain our facade.