by Portia Moore
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Her
Copyright © 2019 by Porsche Moore aka Portia Moore
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the author,
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover Design: Kassi Jean
Editing: Angela Walker
Created with Vellum
Contents
Chapter 1
Ian
Chapter 2
Ian
Chapter 3
Ian
Chapter 4
Ian
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Ian
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 1
Megan
A new day, new school. This time it will be different. Let it be different, please.
I repeat my silent prayer as I make my way to my first class. It’s been three years since I’ve gone to school on a campus. I swallow my anxiety. It’s been so long since I’ve been around this many people—most of whom are young, rich, and gorgeous. You don’t belong, not even a tiny bit. No, that’s not true…the GPA I worked my ass off for says differently. I inhale the truth, exhale the lies.
I’m here. I worked hard to be here. Stop worrying.
Purple.
Yellow.
Green.
Violet.
Orange.
Okay, better…almost. I only need five this time. A half hour ago I needed eight. My nerves creep down half a notch, but jolt back up as I’m nearly pushed into a wall by a flood of girls wearing some team jerseys.
This type of thing happens to everyone, it’s not just me.
Don’t panic.
It’s the first day of class, it’s normal to be nervous.
I haven’t been to a place like this in a long time. The last time I attended class on a campus was my junior year of high school. I trudged through it then but after everything that happened, it was just too much.
The past is over with, it’s time to focus on the future. That’s what’s important, one I can be a part of. One step at a time, as Dr. Gavin used to say. Class is only ninety minutes, add on fifteen to get to and from my car.
It’s a cake walk.
Since when has anything been easy?
The campus is pulsating, awake with its own heartbeat. I make my way through the sea of students, all hopeful, bright-eyed, and excited. Most of these people’s biggest problems are probably which laptop to buy. Mine have been a little different but I’m optimistic. It’s been almost two years since…well, that doesn’t matter now. It’s official. I’m a college junior at the best school in the state. Once upon a time I was told that it’d be a miracle if I got my GED. After taking online classes for three years, this is what I wanted, and I only have one more year to go. I make my way to the fifth row of the sixty-something rows in the lecture hall. I have the perfect seat. It’s not too close because I don’t want to appear overly eager, but close enough to be forced to pay attention to the most boring subject. This class shouldn’t be difficult. It’s a throwaway for my business major. Safe, practical, and a sure thing. And if there’s anything I need right now it’s a sure thing. I settle into my seat, pull out the laptop I scored on sale with the cash I made over the summer, and pop a mini Snickers in my mouth.
I made it. Easy as pie.
It’s the first day of class but people are already mingling and greeting, most likely familiar with each other from other classes. It’s okay, I’m used to being a loner. Life is simpler with just me in it.
“Is this seat taken?” a masculine voice asks.
“No,” I mutter, my eyes on the syllabus I’ve pulled out.
“I heard she doesn’t even follow that,” the voice adds. I turn to glance at the person speaking to me. Be polite, but not friendly. Everything is easier that way.
I’m about to tell him thanks for the information but I can’t. My voice won’t work, it’s gone because the eyes that meet mine are so beautiful I can’t speak; I don’t have anything to say. They’re stark blue like the sky, and in front of them sit thick dark lashes. The blue eyes—no, it’s almost an insult just to refer to them as blue—are a wonderful contrast from his almost black hair. He’s breath taking, and my heart plays hopscotch as he sits next to me. He’s attractive in a way that’s mesmerizing. I remind myself that he’s asked me something when his full lips curve into a smile, and now I’m panicking because I’m mute.
His teeth are perfect. His lips are perfect. The two large dimples above his strong jaw is enthralling, and it’s not just that. There’s something about him that’s warm, that is forcing the muscles in my face to stretch into a smile that matches his.
I’m confused. I don’t feel like this towards people. People make me nervous, men especially so, but my chest isn’t tight, my head doesn’t hurt, and I don’t have this overwhelming feeling to run away. I don’t want to go anywhere, I want to stay right here and continue to look at his beautiful flawless face.
“I’m Kameron.” He stretches out his arm and extends his hand. A white polo shows off the lean muscle encasing it.
“Megan,” I tell him, pushing a lock of my hair behind my ear. I’m smiling like an idiot but I can’t stop myself. What is wrong with me? Smiling is a signal that I want him to keep speaking to me and I don’t. Well, I shouldn’t.
Stop it.
There’s a lot wrong with me, actually, but it’s never been this. If I don’t stop he’s going to want to keep talking to me and I’ll ruin this, a perfect moment I can hold onto and savor, a moment that I can replay and take with me, because that’s all this will be, all I could ever hope for it to be. Imagining anything different would be insane.
“Have a good day.” I’m standing now and frantically begin gathering my things. He looks bewildered but there’s a smile, that butterfly-inducing one still on his face. I fight to tear my eyes away from it.
“You want some help?” he offers, a relaxed grin on his face, his eyes flirting with me. I thank God he’s holding back a smile that no doubt would make me trip all over myself. I’m not looking at him anymore, I can’t. I don’t know if I’ll trust myself to leave, which is exactly what I need to do right now.
“No. Please. I’m okay. I just, I-I can’t see this far back. My glasses. I’m going to the front,” I stammer. I’m up now, halfway down the aisle. Other students are headed my way, two girls and a guy, who seem to be familiar with Kameron since they’re looking back and forth between us with amused confusion.
“Excuse me,” I say, making my way past them and their quizzical looks.
I finally make it to the very first row and slink down in my seat. What just happened? I don’t know but I can’t think about that now. The hall is filling up and everyone is settling down. I fight the urge to look back.
Don’t look back! But it’s futile. I just want a glimpse, one more time. I turn as inconspicuously as I can and when I do, my heart stops because he’s looking directly at me, blushing and grinning, his head tilted to the side examining me as if I’m his favorite puzzle. I quickly turn back around. The professor, a middle-aged Latina woman, has approached the lectern and is setting her things down. She’s going to be what I focus my attention on this next hour even though the man with the most beautiful blue eyes I’ve ever seen is distracting. That’
s what I tell myself, at least.
“That will be $180,” I tell one of the last people in my line. It finally settled down in here. The girl hands me her platinum credit card as if I just told her it was only ten bucks.
“Do you mind if I run for a break? I’ve had to pee for two hours,” Abby, my supervisor, pleads from behind me.
“No it’s fine, I’ve got it.” This job is supposed to be quiet and uneventful, and it will be once these first two weeks are over. No more frantic students and high-strung parents buying supplies or exchanging books. I had assumed people would buy their books off eBay and Amazon like I did, but it seems the majority of the student body has the funds to buy full price. I can’t complain. I’d take working here on the busiest day than my other part-time job at Scooters, a restaurant where people are usually extremely rude. I won’t make as much money here but in my quiet time I can do homework and study after this rush of a week. I hand my customer her bag and tell her to have a good day when every muscle in my body tightens up at the sight of the next person in my line.
It’s him. Kameron, the boy…no not boy, that’s not a good description of the lean, tall, and broad figure in front of me. The man with the most gorgeous eyes I’ve ever seen. He smiles like I’m a long-lost friend he’s been searching for, but I’m just a girl who hasn’t gotten him out of her thoughts since class two day ago.
“What are you doing here?” I ask almost defensively. His brow furrows the tiniest bit and an amused grin spreads across his face. I realize what a stupid question that was.
“Because it’s a bookstore, you’re here to buy books,” I mutter, embarrassment about to overtake me. He smiles and it’s glorious.
“Actually, there’s a rumor going around.” He shrugs and lets out a light sigh. I bite my lip. A rumor? My stomach is in a knot. No one could know already! Why would they care? I’m a nobody here!
You’ve always been a nobody.
I feel like I’m about to throw up, but I keep my feet planted firmly on the ground so I don’t go all weak.
“A rumor?” I ask as casually as I can. He nods and smiles again, wide enough that it reaches his eyes. He leans leisurely on the counter, closing the space between us. He runs his hand through his thick dark hair and takes a relaxed stance as if he has no other place in the world to be, like he hasn’t just stepped out of my daydreams into my reality, and it’s the only place he wants to be.
“The rumor is there’s this beautiful girl who works in the bookstore with a smile you have to pay to see. So…I figured I owed the school a purchase to get a glimpse of it.”
My face is on fire but the knot in my stomach unravels, the pit of nerves that were just in my stomach have been replaced with a family of butterflies. What is happening? Is this life? Why is this guy, this beautiful man, saying these things to me? Is he talking about me? I mean, he could be talking about someone else.
“Me?” I ask reluctantly. His amazing smile displays his perfect teeth. I grip the pen in my hand tightly. Why am I feeling this way? I don’t feel like this about anyone.
I’m indifferent to people, I stay in my own space, I’m polite. Neutral is probably my stance when it comes to wanting to be in proximity with others, but there’s something about this one. This person that makes me want to stay near him, for him to be close. The hormones my foster mother Ada used to screamed at me about when I was thirteen and her husband stared at me the one time she took us to the beach. She made me wear pants and sweaters the rest of the summer.
“You’re cute.” He laughs, and it’s warm and kind, and I’m smiling again.
Stop it!
“Look. I haven’t done this in a while, I don’t want to waste your time or look like an idiot trying to be smooth, but I think you’re beautiful and I’d really like to get know you if that’s okay.”
I swallow hard, and my smile softens. Since I was a little girl I’ve always tried to stay under the radar, to blend into the background and not be noticed. It was always better to be forgotten than noticed growing up in the system, but when you’re a girl and your legs get longer and your body develops curves, it becomes harder and harder. I wasn’t able to just say my no’s, I had to scream them, and fight and pray for them to stand.
I’ve used the word no so many times, it’s almost a default answer.
By the time I started high school I didn’t have to say no as much. There were so many girls who would say yes who didn’t have to wear clothes from the Goodwill, and who smelled like fruits and flowers instead of the grease and fries I smelled like from working at whatever fast food job would take me. Still, there were offers, but there’s always been more important things to do than go to a movie or an arcade.
I had to make sure I had money saved in case foster-parent-of-the-month decided to kick me out, or their older son or husband decided that I was a piece of property they could use however they wanted. The last thing I entertained was taking time away from stashing whatever money I could make by spending time with a boy who ultimately I would say no to again.
I grab a second to take in each striking feature he has, from his spellbinding eyes, to his smooth voice, full lips and fantastic smile, to the dimples in his cheeks, the perfect stubble lining his jaw, those perfect teeth. I imagine a world where I could be with a man like this, a world where my parents are alive and my mom loves me to pieces and I have a big sister who teaches me how to flirt and interact with boys. Where we live in a big beautiful house that he could pick me up from and he’d meet my dad, who loves and spoils me to death. And afterward he’d give Kameron his approval and we’d go out and have the first of many fantastic dates, eventually falling in love. And one day he’d look back and remember the day our lives changed.
You’re not that girl and never will be.
But in reality I don’t have a big sister. I don’t know much about my parents. There isn’t a house for Kameron to pick me up from…just a crappy little apartment I share with a roommate who is gone so much we barely know each other. I don’t know much about Kameron yet but I can guess he comes from parents who love him and I bet he has tons of friend who will take one look at me and know I’m not good enough.
He just wants to get in your pants.
So I take in this moment and file it away for a story I can write in my head—a better version that could never actually happen. I convince myself in this moment that even though he looks like an angel, if he likes me (based on the luck I’ve had), then he’s probably a demon and going out with him will be the biggest mistake of my life. He’s probably just some douchebag frat boy who asked me out on a dare and…
“Hey, you still with me?” His melodic voice interrupts me from my thoughts and I snap myself back to reality.
“Kameron, you sound like a really nice guy but…” A brilliant grin spreads across his face and his eyes light up.
“You remembered by name!” He sounds like he just won the prize of a lifetime.
“Guilty,” I say quietly. There’s no sense in trying to hide it now.
“I remember you too, Megan.” He’s standing now and is pretty tall. I’m 5’7” and he’s still at least a half foot taller than me.
“You remembered mine because of this,” I point to my name tag and he shakes his head, looking innocent.
“No. I’ve been replaying our brief encounter every day since I met you.” He says this while his eyes are locked on mine.
“Why?” I ask, my voice small in the large store, even though it’s just the two of us in it. His wide smile that glows like the sun dims and he lets out his a sigh.
“I broke up with my ex-girlfriend three months ago,” he says, his voice wavering. The vulnerability in it catches me off guard, the sadness in it.
“Don’t tell me I look like her?” I half chuckle, praying he says I don’t.
He wants a cheap imitation.
“No, you’re complete opposites, she’s a redhead, short, loud.” He laughs at the last part.
“Anyway
…I’m doing this all wrong.” He lets out a laugh and his cheeks turn a light shade of pink. I can tell he’s nervous about talking to me, and it’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.
“The day I met you was the first time I didn’t think about having to start over without her. I could only think about the girl with those hypnotic eyes that got away.”
This isn’t good. It’s not good at all because in my twenty-two years of life, I’ve said a million no’s, and saying another one should be easy. But today I think my streak is over…and I’m going to tell him yes.
Ian
“Holy shit!” Travis shouts. Boom! The car behind us slams into the back of us so hard I have to brace myself so my head doesn’t hit the dashboard.
“Are you good?” he asks through a groan, holding his head.
“Yeah,” I say, rubbing my elbows that slammed against the dash.
“We’ve got to switch seats, my license is suspended,” he says frantically.
“Switch seats? I’ve had a half a gallon of tequila! I can’t go to jail for a fucking DUI!”
“Fuck!!! I’m going to kick whoever’s ass hit us,” he growls.
“It’s not our fault they hit us from the back. Maybe they’ll let us go without calling the cops,” I tell him, seeing he’s starting to panic.
“Go look at the damage and see who did it. I won’t be able to talk to them without punching them in the face.” He’s gripping the steering wheel for dear life.
