Distraction (Westbrook Series Book 1)

by Laura Clark

  My cheeks instantly warm up. I certainly was not expecting him to openly admit to me that he was checking me out earlier, even though we both know it was true. I have no idea how to respond. So, I don't.

  The corners of his mouth are turned up just enough to reveal his flirty dimples, and his eyes are searching mine eagerly. I think he secretly enjoys putting me a little on edge. I turn away, refusing to look back at him, even though I can feel his emerald eyes burning my skin. I'm not ready to face whatever truth is reflecting back at me right now.

  "By the way, you do look incredible, Laila. I still say it's worth whatever kind of ass-kicking Kyle has in store for me, if it means I get to see you in a bathing suit." I try to drop his hand and shove him in the shoulder, but he just tightens his grip around my hand, refusing to let go.

  "Are guys always so perverted?" I ask sarcastically.

  "Usually," he teases me, while wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. He sighs and shakes his head. "I still can't believe you are the same skinny girl with knobby-knees and braces, from junior high."

  His hands are still wrapped around mine, but suddenly, it all feels wrong. I feel like this previously innocent moment is quickly transforming into something dangerously close to . . . something else entirely. I can't let that happen.

  I jerk my hand back away, and slap the top of his playfully. "My knees were not knobby," I say, while shooting him a look that says I'm offended, even though I'm really not. He's right. I was a very skinny, awkward kid with knobby knees.

  "Were too," he teases, while squeezing my knee lightly. I swat it away and stand up.

  "Okay, I'm officially kicking you out of my house. I need to take a shower, and I can't be babysitting your ass all day until this bonfire tonight," I say, expecting him to stand up with me. He just continues swinging back and forth, allowing the bench to crash right into my legs, which makes me stumble forward a little.

  "How are you going to kick me out of your house when I'm already outside?" he asks playfully.

  I recognize the incorrigible smile he has on his face. It's the one that makes me want to both smack him upside the head and kiss him furiously. He folds his arms across his chest and stares at me, as if he is silently challenging me. I narrow my eyes and mirror him, by tucking my own arms across my chest in a mocking way.

  "Seriously, Trevor. I'll be fine. What could possibly happen between now and when you pick me up?" I ask. This of course, makes me think about the unopened letter that is still tucked away neatly in the pocket of my swim bag. He doesn't need to know that I will most likely read it the very moment he leaves.

  "Fine," he says with defeat and a quick eye roll. "I will leave, but you have to promise me you’re okay."

  He drags himself off of the swing, and moves so his hands are gripping my upper arms. He is staring directly into my eyes, as if it will somehow help him figure out whether or not he should believe me. It makes me wonder if my eyes reflect back the truth the same way his do. The idea of him knowing that I am fighting back my feelings for him, scares the crap out of me.

  "I'm fine, Trevor," I lie to him. "Please just go."

  He finally agrees to leave after more coaxing. A slow, yet steady sense of panic creeps its way back into my system as I watch his gleaming, silver Mustang pull out of the driveway. I take a deep breath and try to prepare myself, as I slowly drag my feet back inside the house. Now that my distraction is gone, I need to find my swim bag so I can finally read this letter.

  Thank you for taking the time to read this book. If you enjoyed Distraction, please leave a review on Amazon, GoodReads, and/or wherever you purchased your copy. Nothing is as helpful for spreading the word as a great review on Amazon.com.

  Keep on reading for a sneak preview of Numb, book 2 of the Westbrook Series.

  Acknowledgements

  I am overwhelmed with gratitude for the amount of time, dedication, support, encouragement, and effort that so many people have generously granted me through this journey. You have all helped make this dream become a reality.

  The one person who has held my hand every step of the way is my best friend, the world’s best daddy, and my husband, also known as my other, much more interesting half, Michael Clark. I cannot thank you enough. I know it has not been an easy ride for you, since so much of my time over the past two years has been dedicated to this. Thank you for your patience with me, the countless times when I have come to dinner late, or have absent-mindedly tuned you out because I was “in the zone.” Thank you for taking the time to read this book, twice, and provide me with great feedback. Your encouragement and support through it all has been immeasurable. I love you.

  I would also like to thank my number one cheerleader, my friend, my sister-in-law, and the first and only beta reader to read every single rough draft, Julie Clark. You have suffered through the worst of my writing, and have somehow seen some semblance of light within the confines of my numerous errors. Your enthusiasm for these characters and for this story has propelled me forward. There is no way I would have had the confidence or eagerness to continue on, had you not cheered me on throughout the process. Your willingness to spread the word, and sign up beta readers on your own has been invaluable. Nobody has championed me quite like you.

  Dad, aka Gary Clark, thank you for not only taking the time to read and help me edit this book more times than can be counted, but for providing me with a source of inspiration throughout my life. You are, hands-down, the most talented writer I know. I hope that I can somehow encourage you to write and publish your own book someday, because I know that your unique voice, your wit, and sense of humor would be adored by so many.

  Mom, aka Donna Clark, thank you for not only putting your red pen all over this book, but for taking the time to sit down with me at an early age, and really teach me the fundamentals of writing. Your boundless patience and refusal to give up on me, then and now, has shaped me into the writer I am today. Also, thank you for making me realize the significance of the comma, and punctuation in general. Otherwise, my book may have drowned in a stormy sea of run-on and loose, compound sentences.

  I want to also thank my mother and father-in-law, Patricia and Louis Clark. Your insight into the world of publishing and the business side of writing, your willingness to share your experiences and expertise, and to provide me with your much-needed advice, means the world to me.

  Thank you to my friend, Gretchen Wolpert, for not only avidly reading my book in its earliest stages of disarray, but for also taking the time and effort to read it again. You have provided me with invaluable constructive feedback and editing advice. You helped shape this story into what it is today, and I could not be more grateful for your support and time.

  Thank you, Shawn Martin, for designing an unmistakably beautiful and totally killer book cover. Your concept illustrates Laila’s struggle perfectly.

  I want to provide a very special thanks to all of my beta readers. Your willingness to read my book and provide me with feedback is unbelievable. Without each and every single one of you, I would not have had the courage publish this book. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you all: Julie Clark, Gary Clark, Donna Clark, Gretchen Wolpert, Michael Clark, Stacie Franke, Kevin Clark, Robyn Clark, Lauren Rolfing, Lauren Fox, Elizabeth Montano, Miranda Matuszewski, Jennifer Bosworth, Kim Linneman, Patricia Towery, Maureen McCaan, and Kirsten Miller.

  I’d like to thank the employees at Starbucks on Fifth Street in St. Charles, for allowing me to camp out for hours upon hours while I pounded away on my keyboard.

  I’d also like to thank the friendly bar tenders at Trailhead Brewery in St. Charles on Main Street for letting me park myself for hours at the bar while I write. Thank you for keeping my glass full with my favorite cold, raspberry-fruit beer.

  Numb

  Bonfire Cheeks and Hot Shorts

  Sitting at the tiny table up front, I munch on my sandwich and sip on my soda. My mind travels back to everything that has happened this summer. It’s hard to beli
eve school is about to start.

  It will probably be a good change, but there are still so many things that will continue to haunt me. So many things have been left unanswered. I desperately want to understand why he made the choice he made.

  Despite everything he said in his letter, I am still bitter. How could he choose my brother over me? Did I really mean so little to him? Even after all this time, the pain still tugs at my heart as if it were only yesterday. I wonder if it will always be like this. Will I ever be whole again? Or, is this a permanent scar that will prevent me from ever again fully loving anyone else?

  I pull the tattered envelope out of my purse and take a deep breath, preparing myself, before I open it. I’m not even sure why I have to see it. I’ve read it about a million times this summer. His words are forever branded into my memory. I could recite every single line perfectly, and yet, I still feel compelled to see the written words. It’s almost as if this letter is the only proof I have that his words are real. Even though I don’t entirely believe what they say, I find myself somewhat comforted in reading them.

  I can feel the burn rising in the back of my throat, as I slowly unfold the paper and stare at his scribbled handwriting. My eyes sting as I recall how I felt when I read it the first time.

  It was the night of the bonfire, the day after Sam broke up with me. Trevor and his parents spent the day with us, swimming and hanging out at our house. Trevor invited me to go to the bonfire later that night.

  I am sitting here, waiting for Trevor and Avery to pick me up. Sam has been pestering me all day about reading his stupid letter, but I keep pushing it off. It is amazing how easily the excuses come. I know the truth. I’m just afraid of what it will say. At some point, I just need to get it over with. I look at the sealed envelope, wondering how much more heartache I can handle in one weekend.

  In a moment of haste, I once again bury it back inside my purse, promising myself to read it after the party. My makeup is already done. The last thing I need is to have to reapply it before we leave.

  When Trevor pulls into the driveway, I notice the passenger side of his Mustang is empty. He saunters up the driveway, sporting a simple black V-neck, slightly fitted t-shirt, and khaki cargo shorts. He looks smoking hot, but what’s new? I fan my face, pushing the inappropriate thoughts I’m having about my best friend’s boyfriend out of my mind.

  “Where’s Avery?” I ask, right as he is about to knock on the door. I guess he didn’t notice me sitting on the porch swing.

  He turns around. “Oh, hey. She’s going to meet us there. She got tied up helping her mom at that dinner thing at church.”

  I sigh with relief. Being alone with Trevor is proving to be a somewhat slippery slope for me. I am finding it increasingly difficult to deny my attraction to him, but my fierce loyalty to Avery forces me to bury my feelings. Even if my best friend wasn’t dating him, I’m not even close to ready to move on. After all, Sam just broke up with me yesterday.

  There is a full moon tonight, and there is something tantalizing in the air. I’m excited to get out of the house, away from all of the drama in my head. Half of my high school is expected to be at the bonfire. I missed the last one because I was worried about running into Devon, a boy that I ditched earlier in the summer, in favor of Sam. Now that some time has passed, though, I know Devon has moved on. I am old news, which is exactly what I want.

  “You look nice, Laila.” Trevor’s emerald eyes are roaming down my bare legs in a way that makes my face instantly heat up.

  I mutter a quick “Thanks,” and head for his car, trying my best to conceal my red cheeks.

  The sky has turned a smoky-blue shade. It, of course, reminds me of Sam’s eyes. I close my eyes and swallow hard, trying to bury it along with everything else that reminds me of Sam. More than anything, I want to forget it all, and just have fun tonight.

  Trevor pulls onto the gravel road and parks behind an endless row of haphazardly parked cars. Music is blaring from one of the car stereos, and a bunch of guys are hooting and hollering in the distance.

  I check the time again. It’s only a little after nine, which seems a little early for this, but what do I know? After all, this is my first field party of the year. Maybe they’re a little rowdier than they used to be.

  Trevor pulls a small, red cooler and a couple of camping chairs out of his trunk before we head toward the commotion. If we were dating, we’d holding hands as we walk. Since we’re not, we walk awkwardly, side-by-side, kicking up the gravel.

  “So, what time did she say she would be here?” I ask Trevor nervously.

  He has a confused look on his face, but his face relaxes when realization sets in. “She might already be here. If not, she’ll be here soon.”

  “Lays, Oh. My. God. You are finally here. Get your little booty over here. I have some friends to introduce to you.” Allie is already stumbling all over herself, and slurring her speech. “Hey, Trevor,” she says in between hiccups. She leans on my shoulder for a moment, trying to brace herself.

  “Allie, how much have you had to drink?” I ask, turning my face away from her liquor breath.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe five or six cocktails, tops? I think I lost count. Come on. I’ll ask Chase to make you guys one of his drinks. They’re really good. It’s his special recipe.” Her voice keeps breaking up, as she hiccups.

  I will not be drinking whatever she has been drinking. The last thing I need tonight is to be stumbling home drunk. I glance over at Trevor.

  “We need to get her keys, and make sure she gets a ride home.”

  He nods and looks at me with sympathetic eyes. I wonder if his friends back in Philly are this irresponsible.

  “Hey Allie, babe. Where is your purse? I need your phone for a sec.” I try to force my friend to look at me, but her glazed eyes keep rolling back, as if she is about ready to pass out.

  “Over there. It’s the purple one next to Alex’s chair,” she mutters while clumsily pointing to the bonfire.

  I march over there with Trevor following closely on my heels. When I glance over my shoulder, I see him trying to help her walk. She is a complete mess. Her mother is going to crucify her if she goes home like this.

  I dig through her giant purse until I find her phone and keys. I shoot a quick text to her mom, letting her know that Allie will be staying at my house tonight. Then, I hand the keys to Trevor.

  “Allie, you are crashing at my house tonight, okay? Stay close to us, babe, but if for some reason we get separated, do not leave with anyone but Avery, Trevor, or me. You got it?”

  She throws her arm around me, and leans her whole body into me, nearly toppling me over. She is a small girl, but so am I, and her weight is almost too much for me to support alone.

  “I love you, Lays. You’re one of my bestest friends in the whole world,” she shrieks, as I try to steady us.

  “Patterson, you are looking fi-ine tonight.” I hear someone shout out, followed by an uproar of guys whistling, catcalling, and laughing.

  I’m not used to being the one that guys ogle. That’s usually how they respond to Avery. Thankfully, I’ve been with her enough when it happens to know exactly how to handle it.

  I roll my eyes and tell them to shut up. I’m trying to pretend like it doesn’t embarrass the hell out of me, even though it clearly does. Thank God it is too dark for anyone to see my face right now, because I am almost positive it is as red as Trevor’s cooler.

  We look around the crowded, tree-lined grassy area, in search of a place to park Allie. There are easily fifty people here, even though it’s still pretty early.

  “Laila Patterson, you look hot.”

  Another guy’s voice draws my attention away from the big group before I can figure out which idiot made the first comment.

  “Yeah. Why don’t you wear shorts like that to school?”

  Courtney Hill smacks her boyfriend, Gabe, on the arm and rolls her eyes. His big, pale-blue eyes are glassy and a little bloodshot.
When I see a can of Natural Light clutched in his hand, I cringe. My first sip of beer was Natural Light. It was so disgusting, I swore off beer for life. I had no idea that beer could even taste good, until I tried a sip of my dad’s Blue Moon last winter.

  “Please excuse him, Laila. Like most guys, Gabe is a complete pig when he drinks.” Courtney shoves him along, while shaking her head disapprovingly. He just laughs like a kid who just got caught stealing his friend’s toy, and winks at me.

  When I hear some light laughter coming from behind me, I turn around and catch Trevor with a stupid grin on his face. He seems amused by all of the attention I’m getting tonight. I’m really starting to regret my decision to wear these shorts.

  Kyle tried to warn me last week when I tried them on. He called them hot shorts, and said they are way too short, but I ignored him. I just figured he was being overprotective.

  I tug at my long tank, wishing I could will it to stretch longer.

  “Why do you keep looking at me like that?” I ask Trevor.

  He shrugs, but the corners of his mouth are turned up, and he can’t hide his dimples. Damn him and those dimples.

  “I tried to tell you how good you look earlier, but you wouldn’t listen to me.”

  I shove him lightly and stalk off toward my friends, wondering if my bonfire cheeks are as obvious as they feel. I can hear Trevor lightly chuckling behind me, as he helps Allie settle into an empty chair.

  I find some of my friends from school, and ease myself into the conversation, refusing to think about how much I liked having Trevor look at me.

  I am busy recounting an embarrassing moment with my friends, when I feel the weight of a heavy-strong arm wrap around my shoulders. At first, I think it is Sam. My heart leaps, but then I realize the height is wrong. Whoever is standing behind me is much shorter. I turn around. Sure enough, Chase McDew is standing there with a shit-eating grin on his face. He squeezes my body closer, sucking most of the air out of me.