Metamorphosis (Book Boyfriend Series 1)

by Erin Noelle

As soon as the door closed, Evie turned to me and grabbed me in a tight hug. “I’m sorry I was upset with you. I’m sorry I assumed you would do that. I know you’re upset right now, so tell me what happened. Tell me everything, and we will work through this.”

  This was why I loved Evie. She was the best thing in my life, and I knew she would always give me advice that was in my best interest. She was my life-cheerleader. Evie had saved my sanity on more than one occasion, and I couldn’t live without her.

  I gave her the full rundown of what happened, beginning with the nickname conversation in the kitchen, to the most explosive, soul-capturing kiss in the history of the world, to sleeping on cloud nine, to being given the pink slip in the morning.

  “So this afternoon when we woke up, it was like waking up in heaven, Evie. Our arms and legs were tangled together, his masculine scent all around me. I could feel his erection on my back. It was seriously like a scene from one of our books. I was afraid to move, afraid to break the moment. And as most things that seem too good to be true, it was.

  “When we woke up, Ash told me that we couldn’t see each other or anything, that last night was it. He acknowledged there was some unexplainable fascination between the two of us, different from just a physical attraction, but I needed this time of— oh what did he call it? Oh, my time of changing from a girl to a woman, or some bullshit. He said I was better off without him and that he would just hurt me or hold me back. So basically, he was letting me go, because it was the best thing for me. And then he called me his butterfly, his Psyche… whatever the hell he meant by that. Honestly, I was too caught up in the fantasy of the whole thing. I didn’t want to ruin it by asking. It was like my one little night of fairy tale.”

  I released a defeated sigh as I laid down on the couch with my head in Evie’s lap and my feet dangling off the side. “So now I don’t know what to think. Part of me feels like it’s fucking absurd to believe that two days after moving here, I met my soul mate, who just so happened to be the first male I was introduced to. Oh, and he’s a manwhore who doesn’t want to give up other pussy but wants to call me cool names like butterfly and Psyche.” I looked up at her and said as seriously as possible, “By the way, Psyche and butterfly are both way fucking cooler names than Sam. You could’ve done much better.” I couldn’t keep my face straight through the last word; I started cracking up. Evie stood up, laughing too, causing me to roll off the couch and hit the floor with a thud. This just made me laugh harder.

  “Come on, butterfly,” she said mockingly as she stood with her hands stretched out to help pull me up. “Get your wings out and fly our asses to the store. We need to stock up on food and drinks. Tonight, we’re having a Magic Mike and banana split party. Watching Channing Tatum and Alex Pettyfer’s asses prance around while we eat ice cream is the perfect distraction for you. Right now, you need to let your mind rest. Stop thinking about it—about Ash, about Dylan, about everything.”

  Evie was right; I needed to stop overthinking it, overanalyzing it. Ever since I left Ash’s room, I had been replaying different moments of our time in his bed. I needed to let it go, at least for now.

  “Sounds like a plan, but don’t think I’ve forgotten you owe me breakfast and the score in the book whore challenge is now 1-0,” I joked, trying to pull myself out of my funk.

  “Whatever, last night was just a practice round for you. I was too worried about watching over you, making sure you didn’t act like a fool or have too much to drink,” she argued.

  I just shook my head and laughed. I wasn’t giving up this victory.

  Evie had also been right about Magic Mike and the ice cream. It was exactly what I needed to forget about everything else. Exhausted by the events of the last week, I went to sleep easily when the movie ended, with visions of men in black pants and ties dancing in my head.

  The following day, Monday, was our last free day before classes were to begin. It was raining outside, so Evie and I both decided to stay in our room to recharge before our schedules became insanely hectic. I was way behind on my reading, so I decided to have a rainy-day-read-a-palooza. Following Evie’s lead, I downloaded Taking Chances and the recommended play list and immersed myself in the lives of Harper, Brandon, and Chase. I loved listening to the playlists suggested by the authors when reading their book. To me, it’s like the background music to a movie; it provides another sensory layer to the story. It’s amazing how the right music can enhance a good book. It heightens the intensity levels at those crucial moments.

  About an hour in, I clearly understood why Evie wanted me to read this book. I could completely relate to Harper—starting college naïve and inexperienced, being attracted to more than one guy, trying to figure out who she was. The story captivated me from the beginning; I couldn’t put it down. Just as I was really falling in love with the characters, when I decided how I wanted the story to end, the book took an unforeseen turn, a twist that was gut-wrenching, heartbreaking, and tear-inducing. I then spent the next three and a half hours crying, for most of the second half of the book, as the author slowly put my broken heart back together again.

  When I got to the end of the book, I was completely overwhelmed, mentally and emotionally, and I broke down. I cried and cried, and I cried some more.

  I cried in sadness, and I cried with joy. I cried for unwanted goodbyes, and I cried for unexpected hellos. I cried for all the things that could’ve been, and I cried for the beauty of what actually was. I cried for Harper and Brandon and Chase, and I cried for me.

  At some point in my meltdown, Evie had joined me on my small bed and held me while I sobbed. This cry was not about Ash and Dylan; the events of the previous night were just the proverbial straw—and break me it did. This cry was eighteen years in the making, a release long overdue.

  When I woke up a couple hours later, I felt much better. My body had desperately needed the rest. I found Evie lounging on the couch watching Magic Mike again.

  “This movie really makes everything better,” she said as I sat down next to her. “At least for a couple hours.”

  “Thank you for everything, Evie,” I whispered. I curled up against her and she put her arm around my shoulders. “I couldn’t do this without you. I would’ve given up long ago if it weren’t for you.”

  “I know, sweet Sam girl,” she said. “But you are worth fighting for. I’ll never let you give up. I love you too much.”

  “I love you too, Evie.”

  Six

  The next morning was the first day of classes, and I woke up with my stomach knotted with nerves. Thankfully, Evie would also be in two of my three classes that day, so we could figure most everything out together. After dressing in a black cotton maxi dress and matching flip-flops, I looked at my phone to check the time. I had two text messages waiting for me.

  Ash (2:32 a.m.): Can’t stop thinking of you, butterfly.

  Dylan (8:27 a.m.): Have a great first day of classes! Hope to see you again soon, beautiful.

  Well, shit. That wasn’t what I expected to start the day. First, it was strike one against Dylan with the use of “beautiful.” I needed to let him know I wasn’t a fan of the pet name thing, but it was very thoughtful of him to text this morning. I honestly wasn’t sure if I would hear from him again, but when I read the message, I realized the sense of relief and delight I felt that he wanted to see me again.

  Reading Ash’s text sent a completely different set of emotions through me—confusion, anxiety, hope, and pure lust. How did his number get in my phone? Why did he text me when he clearly told me we could not have a relationship of any kind—neither friendly nor romantic? Why did a person I knew practically nothing about make me lose control of my brain and body at the mere thought of him?

  I only responded to Dylan’s text.

  Me (9:35 a.m.): Thanks, you too. Sounds good.

  I grabbed my backpack and went to meet Evie for breakfast. She was ready and waiting for me in the kitchen. She had set us out some fresh pineappl
e and yogurt. As we ate, I told her about both text messages, and she told me not to think too much about either of them. She was right. I needed to spend much less time thinking about boys and more time on my studies. My scholarships had strict GPA requirements, so I could not allow anything or anyone to interfere with my grades.

  “I was thinking about our book whore competition last night, and I agree to acknowledge your win from Saturday,” Evie said as we walked to our first class.

  “You agree to acknowledge my win?” I asked.

  “Yeah, like I said, I didn’t allow myself to really meet anyone this time so I could stay close to you, so it wasn’t really fair. But next time, you may need to find your own way home,” she teased, waggling her eyebrows.

  “I didn’t ask you to do that. I don’t need a babysitter,” I tried to be serious with her but couldn’t help the laughter that escaped at her ridiculous faces.

  “Okay, whatever, it’s over and you won,” she conceded. “But anyway, I was thinking about it and I thought about our teacher/professor group. There’s no better place to find a professor than in the classroom, so for these BBs, we need to be on the lookout at all times. They don’t have specific nights dedicated to them. Sound good?”

  My brain had been so full of Ash and Dylan that I hadn’t even thought about trying to meet anyone else, and I couldn’t imagine throwing another guy in the mix. However, I also knew the point of the contest was for us to meet new people from diverse backgrounds and lifestyles. It was hard for me to say what I liked or didn’t like unless I tried it out. So, I nodded at Evie’s suggestion in agreement. I highly doubted I’d have a professor who would be seduction-worthy anyway.

  Before I knew it, it was early afternoon and Evie and I were walking back to our apartment, having completed our first day of college. We were both giddy with a feeling of accomplishment, which was ridiculous, but our good moods were evident nonetheless. Since neither of us were procrastinators when it came to schoolwork, we finished our homework right when we got back. We spent the rest of the evening gossiping about people we had met during the day and discussing the next day’s schedule. After our early dinner of grilled ham-and-cheese sandwiches, we each went into our rooms to have some alone time. This was yet another thing that made Evie and me so compatible; she and I both understood the importance of personal time and space.

  I could hear Evie in her room skyping with someone. It sounded like her friend Corinne, but I wasn’t sure. She stayed in touch with several of her friends from high school through the multiple social networking sites. I knew so much about all of them through Evie’s stories throughout the years that I felt like I knew them personally, but I had only met a few of them a handful of times at her house. They were an important part of her life, and I knew she was worried about losing contact with them when they all went their separate ways to college. I, on the other hand, had limited contact with anyone I went to school with. I was friendly enough with several girls I met during my time at St. Helen’s, but since I wasn’t able to do anything outside of school, it was hard for me to develop the strong friendships that others did.

  I spent some time tuning my guitar and looking up new music on iTunes. It never ceased to amaze me how quickly time flew by when I was searching and sampling music. The buzzing of my cell phone broke my spell. I quickly snatched it off of my desk, nervous to see who the message was from.

  Dylan (7:55 p.m.): How was your day? Good I hope.

  I breathed a sigh of relief. As much as my heart yearned for it to be Ash, I knew it was best if he didn’t contact me again. I didn’t respond to his text this morning, hoping it would discourage him from any future messages or calls. I didn’t understand why he sent the message in the first place. It seemed quite contradictory to what he said he wanted.

  Me (8:01 p.m.): It was good. Nothing too crazy. A day of syllabi and introductions… and a lot of walking! How about you?

  Dylan (8:08 p.m.): Pretty much the same. I had to work this afternoon, just getting home.

  Me (8:12 p.m.): Work?

  Dylan (8:12 p.m.): Yeah, you know that thing most people have to do to make money to pay their bills?

  Me (8:13 p.m.): Ha-ha, funny guy. I’m familiar with the concept. Where do you work?

  Dylan (8:15 p.m.): I work at a publishing outfit a few afternoons a week, trying to get my foot in the door for after graduation.

  Me (8:16 p.m.): So with school and work, when are you going to have time to spend with me?

  I wondered if the text was too bold, but before I had time to regret it, my phone vibrated again.

  Dylan (8:17 p.m.): I will always make sure there’s time for you.

  Me (8:18 p.m.): Good answer

  Dylan (8:20 p.m.): It’s the truth. You gonna be at J&N’s this Saturday?

  Me (8:21 p.m.): ? Not sure?

  Dylan (8:23 p.m.): They have ppl over almost every Sat. Would love to see you there again.

  Me (8:26 p.m.): I’ll let you know. Will talk to Evie. Going to shower now and do some reading before bed. Have a good night.

  Dylan (8:30 p.m.): Cool, you too. No more texts about you showering though. Sweet dreams.

  Unable to withhold my excitement over Dylan’s and my back and forth texts, I squealed as I ran across the living area to Evie’s bedroom. “Evie!” I yelled. “Guess who I just talked to, or texted with, or whatever you call it.”

  “Who?” she asked, looking up from her e-reader. She had already showered, as was evident by her wet black hair pulled into a tight bun, and she was propped up in her bed by the extra twenty pillows she had brought from home. Okay, maybe it wasn’t twenty, but it was at least like eight or nine king-sized pillows. When we were younger, I had always thought she looked like a porcelain Asian doll sitting in a cloud when she would surround herself with the white downy-soft pillows on her bed, but now she looked more like the angel she truly was. Evie had always been my guardian angel. I couldn’t help but smile brightly when I saw her.

  I let her read the conversation on the phone and then she handed it back to me with a silly grin on her face. In her singsong, little girl’s voice, she started, “Scarlett and Dylan sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love—”

  She was unable to finish the song, because I began to pummel her across the head with one of her pillows.

  “Okay, I surrender, I surrender! No more songs, I promise.” Evie could hardly contain her laughter enough to get the words out.

  “So, do you want to go back there this Saturday?” I asked, trying to figure out when I was going to see Dylan again.

  “Sure, and this time I plan to have much more fun, especially now that I know you’ll be there with Dylan to watch over you. I’ll text Jess tomorrow to make sure it’s cool if we stay at her place again.”

  For a brief moment, I allowed myself to think about staying at Jess’s house last Saturday and the memory of sleeping in Ash’s bed—of how his hands felt on my skin and how his lips melted against mine—but I quickly replaced it with the anticipation of seeing Dylan again. As difficult as it was, I could not torture myself with false hopes and mixed signals. I needed to focus my energy on actual possibilities. And Dylan Stephens had definitely become an actual possibility.

  Evie and I hugged each other goodnight, and I took a quick shower before hopping into bed. I opted for a hot, smutty book with as little angst as possible to join me and BOB for a much-needed therapy session before going to sleep. Dylan had been right; my dreams were sweet indeed.

  Seven

  Evie’s and my daily schedules kept the same blueprint as the first day for the rest of the school week. We attended class in the morning and did our homework and studied in the early afternoons. After a light dinner of either a salad or a sandwich—we were desperately trying not to gain the freshman fifteen everyone warned us about—we spent the evenings either reading or playing around online.

  I loved that we had quickly established a routine. Evie knew I was a little OCD about schedules, c
alendars, and timetables, and I was much less stressed as long as I knew what to expect each day. My obsession with scheduling and planning was a direct result of my parents scheduling every waking hour of my life. Living a life that was basically preplanned was all I had ever known, and it was going to take a little while before I felt comfortable enough to deviate from that.

  Our classes were pretty much what we expected—the professors were demanding, and the material was challenging. We had quite a bit of required reading and outside class assignments, which unfortunately put a damper on our personal reading. I had read so much during the summer with the combination of the explosion of chick lit indie authors and my lack of a social life, and I was rather sad to replace my happily-ever-afters with quadratic formula equations and stories of the Spanish Inquisition. Evie and I had Biology and Algebra together. Both classes were your run-of-the-mill freshman college classes. The professors were dull, and the material was even worse. I hated math and science, which was why I specifically chose to take these with her. I hoped her tutoring could get me through with at least a B. My other academic classes, History and English, I enjoyed quite a bit and really didn’t mind the excessive reading and writing. All my professors were women; however, Evie had two male teachers, one of which she had deemed a BB possibility. She was working on finding out more information about his personal life, because all she knew thus far was he didn’t wear a wedding ring. I had to admit I was a tad bit jealous, but at the moment, I would just have to live out that fantasy vicariously through her.

  Dylan texted me a brief good morning each day before class, but after our Wednesday evening text exchange grew outrageously long, he called on Thursday claiming his fingers were still sore from the night before and unable to perform. I preferred the phone call to the texts anyways. I loved hearing his voice, and his warm, hearty laugh always brought a huge smile to my face. I couldn’t help but ask him teasingly if there were other parts of his body incapable of performing on consecutive days, which he assured me there weren’t. I was glad he couldn’t see the bright shade of red I turned the moment the words left my mouth. My brashness probably shocked me more than it did him, and I was a tiny bit proud of myself for being able to conjure up a witty comeback.