This book 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.
Copyright © 2020 by Teagan Hunter
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer quoting brief passages for review purposes only.
Editing by Editing by C. Marie
Cover Image from iStock
Formatting by AB Formatting
Contents
Slice One
Slice Two
Slice Three
Slice Four
Slice Five
Slice Six
Slice Seven
Slice Eight
Slice Nine
Slice Ten
Slice Eleven
Slice Twelve
A Slice of the Future
THANK YOU
Other titles by Teagan Hunter:
About the Author
To my Starbucks crew in Jacksonville, NC.
No other Starbucks will ever hold a candle to the service I received there.
You’re my home. I miss you.
Slice One
Jonas
Four years ago
The last time I was this nervous was freshman year when I stepped onto the football field for the first time as a varsity player.
I didn’t realize it then, but my life was about to change.
Everything, not just football.
The person I was expected to become changed overnight. The people I was supposed to interact with shifted on a major scale. The standards that had been set were obliterated, all new ones put in place. And the rumors that had never breathed life before suddenly had all the oxygen they’d ever need to survive.
Everything was different after that first Friday night.
I was different.
As I stand here on the doorstep of the only person in my life who knows me as Jonas Schwartz and not Jonas Schwartz the quarterback, this moment is just as big as that first foot I let fall onto the field.
Everything is going to change again.
I don’t know how I know; I just do.
Or it’s wishful thinking.
Either way, I’m here, and I’m not going to miss whatever this is…or what it will become.
Lifting my hand, I rap my knuckles against the deep blue door.
Quickly, before she can answer, I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans.
Sweaty palms? Seriously? Get a fucking grip, Jonas. You’ve faced much bigger obstacles than this on the field.
But that’s just it—those obstacles were on the field.
Spending an entire weekend with my crush and trying to keep my hands off her because she’s the daughter of two very prominent people in our town? Well, a game against our biggest rival ain’t shit compared to this.
I hear scuttling from behind the door.
Yet nothing happens.
I’m almost certain she is standing on the other side.
I picture her mess of red frizz being tousled more than usual because she can’t stop running her hands through it, the nerves getting the better of her.
I bet she has her thick bottom lip crushed between her teeth, bet she can’t seem to stop herself from chewing on it despite the fact that it’s splitting and cracking and has to be painful at this point.
I imagine her fingers are pulling at the hem of that black cardigan she’s always wearing.
There’s no doubt in my mind she’s every bit as nervous as I am, maybe even more.
She’s the town good girl, and when it comes to me, good is a word they only use to describe my playing abilities.
She’s completely off limits.
Sucks for me because I’ve been crushing on Frankie Callahan for years now. Which is why when we were finally seated next to one another for the first time during our high school careers, I took advantage of it.
I slid a notebook her way with a silly message in it.
She sent something back.
We’ve been thick as thieves since. Not that I’d admit it to anyone, but hell, she’s probably my best friend based on everything she knows about me. That’s damn insane considering we’ve only spoken to one another aloud a handful of times.
But that’s what college will be for.
With the school year winding down, it’s almost all our notes have been about—our escape route. She’s going for some bullshit degree her parents want her to get. I’m headed there for football.
None of that matters though. The point is we’ll be there together. Just us.
We’ll be free there, and I can’t fucking wait.
The lock slides, signaling she’s finally going to open the door, and I exhale a heavy breath to steady myself.
Fuck. Here we go.
She pulls the door open with such slowness it’s almost painful to watch.
When her face finally appears in the opening, I can’t help but smile, because that damn bottom lip is tucked tightly between her teeth.
“Hey, Frank,” I say.
Her eyes widen, like she wasn’t expecting me to be real.
That familiar color of blush steals up her cheeks when she realizes I’ve gone and called her Frank again.
“Jonas.”
She says my name on a quiet breath but makes no move to let me in. I need her to let me in, not because I can’t wait to get this weekend started, but because the longer I linger on her front porch, the more likely it is someone will spot me, and the jig will be up.
I’m aware that what we’re doing, me sneaking over to her house for the weekend while her parents are away is wrong, but I don’t care.
I want this too much. I want to spend time with her without the prying eyes. I want to get to know her.
“I told you, it’s Frankie,” she murmurs shyly, because that’s exactly what she is—shy.
It’s a reason we’d make no sense together.
Frankie Callahan is everything I’m not.
She’s the golden girl. Untouchable. She’s perfect.
It’s not that I’m a bad guy. I respect my teachers and parents and I get good grades. And even though I do all of those things and I lead the football team, I’m nowhere near good enough for her.
“I thought we agreed Frank suits you better.”
“No, you decided it did.”
“I don’t think I heard you argue when I said it. You just blushed.” I grin at her and watch as her cheeks deepen in color. “Like you are now.”
She shoves at the big, bulky glasses she always wears and pulls on the frayed edge of her sweater again. It’s the same one she wears to school every day.
She still doesn’t invite me in, and I can feel myself start to fidget because standing out in the open is beginning to make me nervous.
A sure sign you’re about to fuck up, Jonas. Walk away now.
Walk away.
It’s exactly what I should do.
Instead I hear myself say, “So, Frank, you gonna make me do our project from the porch?”
Her brown eyes widen, and she lets out a tiny squeak. “Right, right.” She pulls the door open wider. “Come in, please.”
Frankie moves aside and I squeeze past. I’m dying to touch her, even in the smallest way, but I’m careful not to brush against her.
My chest tightens when I step across the threshold and into the dark, quiet home.
It’s cold in here, and I don’t mean temperature-wise.
You can feel the lack of love in this place.
Because of the notebooks we’ve been passing back and forth all year long, I know that’s because of Frankie’s parents.
They’re not exactly…welcoming.
They’re not awful, but they don’t allow her to be…well, her.
It’s their way. Always.
They love her on some level, but at the same time, they don’t know her.
Not like I do.
They don’t know that she loves to draw because she has to hide her notebooks. They have no clue that her favorite kind of candy is chocolate-covered raisins because she’s not allowed to have candy. And they would be lost if they ever had to pick her favorite musical artist out of a lineup because they don’t know it’s the Rolling Stones and not the worship music they constantly play.
They might actually talk to her, but sometimes written words speak a whole hell of a lot louder than spoken ones.
“Your house is…”
“Cold? Lonely? Empty? Draining?” she says with a lifted brow.
I laugh lightly. “I was going to say lovely, but you took a more honest approach.”
She lifts a shoulder. “It’s true. It’s why I don’t ever invite anyone over.” She purses her lips. “Well, that and I don’t have any friends.”
Her big eyes fill to the brim with sadness, and I hate that the tightness in my chest is no longer because of the cold but because of the loneliness in her gaze—and because of the realization that she doesn’t consider us friends.
Though I suppose that’s fair.
“You have friends, Frank,” I say anyway, trying to get her to see that, even though I can’t show it, I do care about her.
“Yeah? You see me sit with them often in the cafeteria?”
I shove my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching out and pulling her into my arms where I can wrap her up tightly and protect her from everything and everyone. “I’d sit with you.”
“But you can’t.”
My shoulders droop and I nod. “Right. I can’t.”
She doesn’t say anything, just looks up at me with that same lonely stare.
“But I want to.”
Her breath stutters just a bit, and she darts her tongue out to wet her lips as they drop open.
She looks like she wants to say something else, but she doesn’t. Instead her full lips curve into a smile. “Want a snack?”
God, she sounds like an after-school special right now.
“Sure. A snack would be nice.”
And I sound like a fucking moron.
I follow her into the kitchen, hot on her heels but not close enough to touch because I’m not a fucking masochist.
Or maybe I am.
I mean, I am here to spend an entire weekend with her, after all.
I could kiss my chemistry teacher right now for seating us beside each other on that first day of school. It got us here, gave me my in.
Now here we are.
Me and Frankie. A whole fucking weekend together.
No teachers. No parents. No prying eyes.
We can talk. We can laugh. We can do anything we want and nobody is going to be there to judge or report.
Just us.
It makes me nervous, yet so damn excited I can barely stand it.
I try to play it cool as we move through her oversized house. I know it’s just Frankie and her parents, but somehow their house is nearly three times as big as the one my family of four lives in.
She’s on the north side of the island with all the other well-off folks in this town.
Me? Well, my dad may run a successful business, but I definitely do not live on the north end.
We enter the sprawling kitchen, and the first thing I spy is a plethora of snacks lining the counter. There are at least six different bags of chips, a couple boxes of crackers, and a few two-liters of soda.
“You planning on having a party or something, Frank? That’s a whole lot of food for two.”
Her eyes dart toward the haul of goodies and then back to me. Her brown orbs track over my body, darkening in their perusal.
If I’m not mistaken, that’s lust in her gaze.
“You’re a growing boy.”
I quirk a brow at her. “Are you saying you’ve noticed my body?”
She drops her head, hiding behind that mess of frizz. “N-N-No.”
I love how easily embarrassed she is.
Chuckling, I cross the room until I’m standing just a foot away from her.
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t look up.
I let my eyes roam over her. She’s petite compared to my large frame. I bet we look ridiculous standing next to each other with how small she is compared to me.
Her red locks are wild as usual, and her oversized glasses are slowly sliding down her nose like they always do. With her cardigan covering her shoulders and her blue jeans hugging her curves, she looks just like she does at school. Well, minus being barefoot, and I won’t even get into how adorable I find her blue-painted toes.
Frankie’s cute as fuck, and she doesn’t even realize it.
I slide my finger under her chin, tilting her face up until she’s looking at me. Her lips part when her eyes meet mine, her chest now moving up and down as her breathing picks up in response to our proximity—or maybe it’s me touching her so freely that’s affecting her.
I don’t know why I have my hands on her. They don’t belong there.
Then why does it feel so right?
“It’s okay, Frank. I’ve noticed your body too.”
A soft gasp leaves her lips, and she takes a step toward me, leaving mere inches separating us.
I know if I closed the gap, she’d fall against me.
She’d beg me to kiss her.
And I want to kiss her so fucking bad.
Her eyes fall shut. “J-Jonas…”
“Yeah, Frank?”
Her tongue darts out to wet her lips again. “What kind of chips do you want?”
* * *
I’ve been inside Frankie’s house for six hours now, and we haven’t moved from the kitchen since I came back inside with my backpack.
“Where’s your stuff for the project?”
“In my car.”
“That’s not very helpful, Jonas.”
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t sure you were going to let me in.”
She just nodded, like she hadn’t been sure she’d let me in either.
We’ve been planted at the kitchen counter since. There’s glue and scissors and poster board and two half-eaten bags of chips spread out in front of us.
“I think we’re almost done,” Frankie comments, letting her eyes dance over the mess we’ve made. She pops another chip into her mouth, moaning at the flavor exploding on her tongue.
From our notebooks, I know she’s not allowed to have junk food like this in the house, which makes the little noises she keeps making all that more adorable.
“Already?”
“Yep.” She nods. “We make a pretty good team.”
“We do, huh?”
She blushes, and I bump my shoulder with hers.
“So, Frank,” I start as I rock my stool back until it’s balancing on two legs. “Since we’re already done with this project that was supposed to take us two days, whatever will we do with the rest of the weekend?”
“Well, Jonas, for starters, you’re going to put your chair down on all fours.” She narrows her eyes at me.
I let the stool fall back to the floor. “Done. Now what?”
“We’re going to finish the project. I didn’t say we were done. I said we’re almost done.”
“Almost done is practically done.”
“Is that so?”
“It is.” I nod. “Let’s take a break.”
“A break? Why? We’re close to being finished.”
“Do you really want to finish this right now and then have nothing at all to do the rest of the weekend but think about ho
w badly you want me to kiss you?”
She lets out a low squeak and almost topples off her stool in surprise.
Feeling like Edward Cullen when he races after Bella—damn my sister and all those girly movies she forced me to watch—I catch her just before she hits the ground.
“Jesus, Frank,” I say, hands gripped tightly around her biceps, righting her.
“Don’t you ‘Jesus’ me, Jonas Schwartz!” In a surprising move, she swats at me. “You can’t just say things like that!”
“Say that again.”
“Say what again? You can’t just—”
“Not that part,” I interrupt. “My name. Say my name again.”
“Jonas.”
“My full name,” I demand, my breaths coming just as sharp as hers, and she’s the one who almost fell off her stool. I’m sure I sound like a damn idiot right now, but I don’t care. My name falling from her lips is a dream come fucking true. “Please.”
Her chestnut eyes bore into me, her pupils growing twice their size.
“Jonas Schwartz.”
She whispers it, calmly.
Certainly.
And I want to fucking break.
I want to erase every single stupid invisible line we’ve drawn between us and haul her against me and finally kiss her like I’ve been dying to since freshman year.
I want to so goddamn badly.
But I don’t.
With a sigh, I drag her closer, dropping my forehead against hers.
“Fuck, Frank. You can’t just say things like that.”
I hear her swallow thickly, can feel her shaking as she reaches up, placing her hands on my forearms.
Her fingers curl into me as she pulls herself closer.
She’s so close now I can feel her ragged breaths on my lips.
“Jonas.”
Now I’m the one swallowing thickly.
“Frank.”
Her fingers squeeze me once. Twice. She moves even closer.
Then I feel it—her lips against mine.
Her touch is light. Cautious. I can feel the spot where she always bites down and chews. It’s rough and torn, but I don’t care.
A Slice of Love Page 1
