Give Me You

by Caisey Quinn

  Praise for the Neon Dreams series

  “Authentic. Emotional. And scorching hot! Leaving Amarillo is everything I want in a book—fantastic writing, loveable characters, and a story that stayed with me long after the last page. My favorite New Adult book, hands down! Excuse me while I go read it again.” -Cora Carmack, New York Times bestselling author

  “A heart wrenching ballad on the page that sings with vulnerability and crescendos with undeniable love. An emotional page-turner from start to finish that will leave you wanting more.” -Jennifer Ryan, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author

  “Caisey Quinn writes with an integrity, emotional depth, and heart that leaves me breathless. Leaving Amarillo has made me a fan!” -Candis Terry

  “This has all the things that make up great country songs: love, longing, and the requisite heartbreak. A rollicking new series!” -Jay Crownover, New York Times bestselling author of ROWDY

  “Quinn’s series debut is a refreshing look at one band’s quest for country music stardom, from the back roads of Amarillo, Tex., to the bright lights of Nashville… Quinn’s novel is a complex emotional rollercoaster ride, with love for family and friends playing as much of a role as romance.” -Publishers Weekly

  THE ENTIRE NEON DREAMS SERIES IS

  AVAILABLE NOW FROM AVON/WILLIAM MORROW

  NEON DREAMS SERIES

  Leaving Amarillo

  Loving Dallas

  Missing Dixie

  All I Need

  Hold Us Close (novella)

  Keep Me Still

  KYLIE RYANS SERIES

  Girl With Guitar

  Girl On Tour

  Girl In Love

  Kylie Ryans Box Set

  SECOND CHANCE SERIES

  Last Second Chance

  Falling for You (novella)

  Falling for Fate

  One Last Ride (Coming Soon)

  BROKEN HEARTLAND SERIES

  Storm Warning

  Path of Destruction

  Taking Shelter (Coming October 2016)

  Aftermath (The Complete Series Box Set)

  COMING SOON

  729

  Lost in Lyrics

  Song of My Heart: The Gretchen Gibson Story

  COMING IN 2017 FROM

  Penguin/Random House

  NASHVILLE’S FINEST

  Live Wire

  Deadly Retribution

  For a sneak peek at 729, the upcoming southern suspense novel coming this September from Caisey Quinn, keep reading after the conclusion of Give Me You.

  Corin Connelly left her past far behind her in New York City. Along with her mother and an ex-boyfriend who had no plans to let her go. Starting over in college in California seemed like a vacation in paradise compared to her old life, and if anyone needs a fresh start, it's her. But her new roommate has a life-threatening secret, and soon paradise becomes even more intense than New York. When she loses a bet to the university soccer team's star goalie, Skylar Martin, he claims a prize she didn't ever plan to give him.

  A weekend in her hometown.

  Skylar Martin is used to getting what he wants. Growing up in a world of privilege has made his life easy, which is exactly how he likes his women. But when a feisty redhead tells him no, he becomes determined to figure out what makes her tick. And what she's hiding.

  Spending a weekend together will change everything they think they know about each other. The closer they become, the harder it is to hide the mistakes they thought they'd left behind--mistakes that will stand in the way of what they both want.

  Corin and Skylar will have to stop hiding from the darkness in their pasts if they want a bright future together. But how can you love someone if you can't forgive them?

  For everyone who read Keep Me Still and believed Skylar and Corin had a story worth telling.

  You were right.

  To err is human; to forgive, divine.

  -Alexander Pope

  Brooklyn, New York

  Call me childish, but I fucking love butterflies. Love them.

  First of all, they’re gorgeous. Second of all, they don’t sting, bite, shit, or need to be fed or watered.

  I’m sitting outside of the clinic on a cold metal bench when one dances on the air beside me. Its wings are bruise blue and black, and it lingers for a few seconds, giving me time to admire it, before it flits away on the stale city breeze.

  I’ve never been the kind of person who looks for signs or any type of handout from the universe. I learned at an age I couldn’t even remember that there was no magic in the mysteries of the unknown. Life is life. Sometimes it’s beautiful and sometimes it’s downright fucking disgusting. The beauty is always fleeting and the soul-stabbing pain is never-ending.

  So I wasn’t sitting there, after receiving the most horrific news of my life, looking for a sign.

  I was waiting for a damn bus. Which was late.

  Not that I was in a huge hurry to get back to my shitty apartment or my creep of a boyfriend-slash-landlord. But I wasn’t looking for a sign either. Or a miracle. Or anything really. And yet…that butterfly just appeared in front of my face. I looked down at my grease stained T-shirt, the one from the diner I worked at, and then up at the bus that had finally arrived.

  Time to make a change? Community College might be right for you! Call today for the keys to unlock the potential in your future!

  Normally I wouldn’t have noticed the cheesy-ass advertisement shouting at me from the side of the bus. Wouldn’t have thought that the redhead grinning maniacally while clutching a stack of textbooks to her chest in the giant picture looked anything like me. Any other day I wouldn’t have punched the number into my phone. But that day, I did.

  Because it was either that, or walk out in front of the damn thing and put an end to it all.

  You have been accepted.

  Four words. Four words that change the course of my life so drastically, they might as well say You have cured cancer.

  I read them so many times the paper looks ancient instead of like it had arrived at my apartment merely a week ago. I fold the letter along the creased lines and tuck it into the back pocket of my jeans.

  I’d gotten in. And not to just to the local community college, but a state university on the other side of the country. Which was exactly where I wanted to be.

  “This is so fucking stupid, Cor. You’re just emotional because of the—”

  “Go to hell, Eddie.” I lug my giant secondhand suitcase down the stairs, not bothering to look up at him for more than a second.

  He leans further over the railing. “Don’t come crying to me when they kick your ass out. They don’t let bargain basement hookers into college, Ginger. It’s only a matter of time until they see you for who you really are.”

  Sucking in a breath, I do the best I can to steel myself against the verbal assault. This isn’t new. It’s not the first time someone called me a slut. Hell, it’s not even the first time this week.

  But I hated being called Ginger.

  “Take care, Eddie. Take extra special care to fuck right off.” With that, I shoot him the bird and walk out of the dilapidated building I’ve called home for the past two years.

  Two huge Neanderthals stand outside the door.

  “He in there?” One of them asks me as I hand my suitcase to the other.

  “He is,” I confirm.

  Danny Webber turns and heads into the building I’d just exited. He’s the fry cook at the diner where I worked. Past tense because I quit this morning. He has more tattoos than Mel’s Diner has breakfast specials and he’s done plenty of time upstate for who knows what. He’d offered to scare Eddie Franco into leaving me the hell alone. So who was I to refuse? Good help was so hard to find these days.

  To
ny Coreitti watches Danny go then puts my suitcase in the trunk of the cab that’s waiting for me. I stand there, listening to the sounds of the city traffic and biting my thumbnail to the quick while trying to wrap my mind around the fact that this is actually happening.

  I’m getting out. Leaving the girl I used to be behind.

  And I am never, ever coming back if I can help it.

  Tony hands the driver some cash before gripping me by the shoulders. “You sure about this, kid? You could always come work for me. I’d take good care of you. California is a long ways away, doll.”

  I give him the most confident smile I can manage. “Honestly? I’m not sure about anything these days. But I need out of here, you know? I feel like…like I can’t breathe here.”

  It was the truth. Trying to take a deep breath in the backside of the Bronx was hazardous to your health.

  “Any of those surfer boys out in Cali give you any trouble, you know who to call, right?”

  I grin and nod. Tony’s been like a father to me. Closest thing I ever had to one. Technically he was my mom’s handler—which, let’s face it, is just a nicer word for pimp—but beggars can’t be choosers.

  “Just take care of my mom, okay? No more politicians, Tone. Those situations get too messy.”

  “Your ma, she does what she wants, you know? I’m kidding myself acting like I call the shots.” He shakes his head and scrubbed a meaty hand over his face.

  The way my mom was, Tony had become more like personal security than anything else. She hadn’t even come home last night to say goodbye to me. Not that I was surprised. I’d gone numb where my mom was concerned a long time ago.

  “Tell me about it.” I gave him a quick hug and ducked into the cab. “See ya ‘round, old man.”

  Part of me wanted to watch New York fade as I pulled away from the dingy street. Same urge struck as the plane took off from LaGuardia.

  But I didn’t watch the landscape become a distant memory either time. I didn’t think about the past. Didn’t so much as glance back over my shoulder even once. I was done looking back. My mind was set on the future.

  Because for the first time in nineteen years, it felt like I actually had one.

  “Don’t forget you have to come home on the fifteenth next month. The Hessinger’s have that father-son charity golf tournament you and your dad have RSVP’d for. And then of course we’ll see you at Thanksgiving, and Christmas, and then you’re signed up for Katie’s bachelor auction for the Orange County Crisis Center Valentine’s weekend.”

  “Look, Dee. I got it, okay? The shit’s in my calendar and my phone will remind me. And if I ignore my reminders, I’m sure you’ll call to remind me.” Hoisting my bag over my shoulder, I give my mom’s social secretary a pointed glare. “They schedule in giving a fuck about me or attending any of my soccer games that you know of?”

  Deidre Andrews tilts her pretty blonde head and lays a sympathetic smile on me. “Skylar, you know both of their schedules are hectic and—”

  “So that’s a no then. Don’t worry, I figured as much.”

  Only in the Martin household does a guy get his college send off from his mom’s assistant instead of an actual parent. But that was okay. Dee was hot and she gave amazing blowjobs. No complaints from this guy.

  I give Dee a quick kiss on the cheek and walk out of the house I’d grown up in. Grown up being a relative term and all.

  The town car driving me down to Southern California State University—SoCal to those of us who were local—is waiting in the driveway when I step outside.

  It burned the hell out of my parents that I wasn’t attending the same private university as my sister but tough shit. I got a soccer scholarship to SoCal and that’s where I’m going.

  Squinting in the sunlight, I slide on the gunmetal gray squared lenses of my aviator Ray Bans.

  “What’s shaking, Dick?” I ask my dad’s driver as he took my bag. Richard Carlson has driven my dad for as long as I can remember. When I was a kid I thought they were best friends. As I got older, I realized Richard worked for us and my dad didn’t see people beneath his pay grade as worthy of friendship.

  In reality, my dad is the dick. Among other things. That myth about people with money being fucking assholes? Not entirely a myth unfortunately.

  “Young Mr. Martin. Off to college. I never thought I’d see the day.”

  “Because you can’t believe how grown up I am now? What a bright, promising member of society I’ve become?” I ask while settling into the leather backseat.

  “Because I suspected you’d get arrested for texting young ladies pictures of your genitals and end up on the sex offender registry before this day arrived.”

  I chuckle as he closes the door. “It’s all about who you know, Dick. It’s all about who you know.”

  “We’re getting introduced at freshmen orientation in a few hours so you fuckers need to get a move on,” is how fullback Ben Blackburn greets us as we’re unpacking our stuff in the dorm.

  Not exactly Captain Manners, that one. How his burly Scottish ass ever gets laid is beyond me. But to each their own I suppose.

  “And don’t forget, ladies, you have to clean the field house and spit-shine the locker rooms,” he reminds us on his way out.

  I roll my eyes because I went to a private high school and am used to douche bags like Blackburn. But my roommate, a temperamental walk on named Landen O’Brien, looks ready to blow.

  “Chill, man,” I mumble under my breath to O’Brien. “It’s just for a year, and then we’ll be the ones giving the orders.” I toss a pair of socks into my drawer and laugh. “And we won’t have that obnoxious accent of his.”

  O’Brien nods but doesn’t say anything as we leave the dorm. A couple guys mention jogging to the field house since it’s not far, but it’s cloudy and I’m not in the mood for a workout. I follow O’Brien to his truck. We’re roommates, after all. Might as well get acquainted. He barely seems aware that I’m riding with him until I open the passenger door.

  “O’Brien, you good to drive?”

  His gaze snaps into focus. Finally. “Yeah. I am. It’s not like we’d all fit in your P.O.S. anyways.”

  I assume he’s joking about the Audi being a P.O.S. though it is small and I have no intentions of ever driving it. My parents had it delivered to campus this morning when they realized I’d left it behind. One day they’ll get it. Maybe. Probably not. Whatever.

  Two other freshmen, Austin and Michael, climb into the backseat of the extended cab while Dean and a few guys whose names I haven’t yet bothered to learn climb into the truck bed.

  The faint scent of peaches surrounds me once the doors are closed. O’Brien hardly seems like a peachy air freshener kind of guy.

  “Dude. It kind of smells like a girl in here. You hiding a chick in the floorboard?”

  A shadow passes over his expression before he nods to the center console. I lift it and see a bottle of orange colored lotion with peaches on the label.

  “Nice. Jerkin’ lotion in the truck. I hear ya, buddy.”

  “Belonged to a girl I dated,” he answers shortly.

  I can’t help but laugh. “Was she hot? Cause I’m getting a semi just from the smell.”

  O’Brien lands a solid punch on my upper arm, and I hold my hands up. “My bad, dude. I didn’t realize.”

  Clearly there are some unpleasant memories surrounding that particular chick, if how hard he socked me in the arm is any indication. Or they’re still together and I just made a rude comment about his girlfriend. But most dudes with girlfriends mention them or are glued to their phones. Something. I don’t recall seeing any pictures when we were unpacking. Of anyone, actually. Even I’ve got a picture of my sister and me from Christmas last year.

  Landen O’Brien is going to be a tough nut to crack. But if there was anything life as a socialite fuckstick taught me, it was how to fraternize with my peers. I can handle this.

  We’re roommates and teammates. It’s
not like I really have a choice either way.

  After cleaning the field house and grabbing shakes at a local diner despite O’Brien’s protests as if he found milkshakes to be personally offensive, we head to the stadium for orientation. I spilled some shake on my shirt so I’m cleaning it off with a napkin when O’Brien nearly slams us into a concrete kiosk covered with flyers.

  “You been drinking?” I ask, placing hand on the dash.

  “Not today,” he answers while jerking the truck roughly into an empty parking space.

  All eight of us head toward the stadium arguing about which entrance we were told to go in.

  “It’s B8, dumbfuck,” Michael argues with Dean, who informs him it’s C8 we’re supposed to be looking for.

  “Oh shit, I forgot about this,” I interrupt, tearing a flyer off the nearest kiosk. “You know we have to decorate a team float for Homecoming? Coach said the shit is mandatory.”

  “No way,” Michael huffs out, snatching the flyer from my hands. “Ah, there’s free pizza at least.”

  “Wow, fatass. Way to find the silver lining,” Austin says, smacking Mike in the arm. The two of them trade shoves but O’Brien says nothing and keeps walking so I jog to catch up.

  He’s checking out his phone when we walk into the arena. So maybe he does have a girlfriend after all.

  Or not. A glance at his phone once we’re seated reveals the recipient of his attention.

  Mom, his screen says.

  Awesome. Anger issues and a mommy’s boy. Boy did I luck out in the roommate department.

  A few cheerleaders are posted around the edges of where we’re seated and I give them an appreciative once over. A well-endowed brunette winks at me and I grin back. I turn to tell O’Brien to relax and enjoy the view but there is murderous rage on his face.