This is my rp blog. It's like crackships meets my fiction pieces. All the graphics were made by me unless I state otherwise; so no stealing please and thanks. my normal blog is here.
I hope you believe that you can still make a beautiful life for yourself even if you lost many years of it to grief, or darkness, depression, or a wound that wouldn't close.
GIVING ELLE SPACE WAS PROBABLY a better idea than spending any one on one time with her. But the fucking truth was that it probably wasn’t Elle who needed the fucking space—the opposite, actually, considering the whole damn fight was about me ditching her for Tyler—it was me. Maybe I just needed to get my head on straight, because it was starting to feel like everything was turning upside down and I was helpless to do anything but watch it spin.
I don’t know what the fuck happened.
Elle and I had always had a dynamic friendship, pretty much since grade school. She’d been one of the weirder kids, and a lot of the others had made fun of her for it. But I’d thought she was fucking fascinating, even then, and not much had changed since.
It was never a sexual thing, not with Elvis. Some people were just too fucking awesome to complicate shit with sex. She was special to me, and I’d never made any qualms about admitting that. Not to her and not to anybody else, either. After years of the same, everybody seemed to understand that about us.
We’d been fine. We’d been perfect. Elle and I had been coasting on a perfectly functional relationship for years. Until recently.
I liked girls. I liked hooking up. I even liked relationships. It was fun to see how two people gelled together and what stupid shit we managed to get bent out of shape about with each other in the process. What shit eventually ended it. But the thing all of my relationships had in common? Yeah… They all fucking ended. Mostly on good terms, but me and the girl were sure as shit not best friends before or after it. And it was okay when those girls came and went. When things changed… As long as the big things stayed the fucking same. And Elvis Hirsche was one of those big things.
Which was why—without ever really talking about it—Elle and I had decided to avoid that whole fucking messy minefield. It had never needed a conversation before.
So why the fuck did I feel like it needed one now?
Maybe it was just me? Maybe I was making a bigger deal where there wasn’t one. I couldn’t be sure. It suddenly felt like I couldn’t be sure of anything where Elle was concerned.
“Gavin?” The sound of my name on her lips let me know that she’d said my name more than once while I lost myself in thought about her. Elle’s impatient face confirmed that assumption. “Am I playing this right? It sounds off?”
I tried to listen as Elle strummed on my guitar, but all I could hear was the rushing sound of blood in my veins as I watched her bite down on her bottom lip in concentration. And it was mother-fucking distracting, to say the least.
I cleared my throat and forced my eyes away from her cute little body, bent over my guitar on the sofa in my living room. Today’s lesson had been longer than anticipated, and it was all my fault, I knew it.
“Sorry baby, do that one more time for me.”
I had to clear my head if it was the last thing that I did. There was something off track in me when I couldn’t seem to stop thinking about how it felt to wake up with Elle curled up in my arms, with the scent of her hair pressed against my nose.
I liked my girlfriend—a lot. And I didn’t see that changing any time soon. So I really couldn’t understand where the frustration had snuck in from.
Elle strummed the series of chords again without complaint, effectively pulling me out of myself long enough to concentrate on the music. It was a rare fucking day where music didn’t have my full attention, but apparently I was going a bit against the grain today.
She was right, actually, about something being off. But it wasn’t because she’d done what I showed her wrong. Quickly, I realized my own mistake. I was supposed to be teaching her a new song, but my mind was so off topic that I hadn’t even played it right for her to learn from me.
“It seems like it should go more like this…” She played in a way that better rounded the music, creating a more complete tune with barely a mistake. For a moment I could only sit in stunned silence as I processed what had just happened. It wasn’t like Elle was playing by ear—not exactly—because I was teaching her something that I wrote. And so she’d taken my mistake and fixed it, then somehow managed to make it sound even better without my input.
“Gavin?” She prodded me with her foot, lifting her face from the guitar to stare at me. One of her eyebrows arched and I realized that I had been silent for too long. “Where is your mind today?”
“I only just taught you those chords last month!” I knew it sounded like a complaint, but I really couldn’t help myself. “Fuck, Elle! Maybe I should stop teaching you, before you become a better guitarist than me.”
She beamed at me, all the smugness splayed across her expression, and shrugged. “Better watch your back, Gavin Porter.” Elle tapped my guitar gently and shot me a warning look. “I might be taking your spot in the band soon!”
“Hey, hey!” I cupped my heart in mock-offense. “That’s so fucking rude.” I shook my head at her. “I thought we were starting our own band. What happened to that?”
“Oh, yeah!” Elle actually wiggled on the sofa with my guitar in her lap, she was so excited by the thought. “I could play the bongos and we could travel in one of those campers.”
“Now that’s the life.” I laughed at the genuine gleam of excitement in her eyes; it was hard not to take her seriously when she said outrageous things like that. I suspected she actually meant them all.
“We could live off love and a tip jar,” she announced with a sage nod of her head.
My smile softened as I agreed with her. “Sounds good to me, baby. Sign me up.”
She shifted, settling my guitar down next to the sofa, propped up against the end table. “What do you think we should name our band? And can I finish my fashion design degree first?”
Yeah, okay. She was probably fucking serious. I shrugged. “You should definitely finish your degree first. Garrett and Amy would never let me hear the fucking end of it if I ran off with you and didn’t let you finish school. You know, they think I’m a bad influence on you?!”
Elle scoffed. “It’s like your parents have never met my parents before…” She shook her head, but the smile on her face gave away her actual appreciation of my parents’ assessment of our friendship. She snapped her fingers at me in the way people do when someone’s being too slow about something. “Names, bucko!”
I blinked at her. “Uh-uh.” I shook my head. “You’re better at that stuff than me. You pick.”
She squirmed again, and I could practically see the wheels turning in her head. “I’ll have to think about it, then. And you’re not allowed to veto anything that I pick! Since you’re not contributing.”
“Those are some steep terms, Elle.” I regarded her seriously but she didn’t even flinch. “All right, fine. But no boy band references!” I had to at least have that much assurance. “Non-negotiable.”
She pouted at me. An honest to god, serious fucking pout that had me nervous all over again. Fuck. Everything. “Non-negotiable, baby.” I repeated, refusing to be swayed.
I shouldn’t have been surprised when she threw herself in my lap. I mean, fucking honestly. I should have seen it coming, because this was Elle, and this was just the shit that we did. But damn.
I was on the floor, a notebook opened on the coffee table in front of me, and literally at Elle’s feet from where she sat on the sofa. And one second she was there, pouting, and the next she had launched herself onto my lap like it was no big deal.
It shouldn’t have been—it wasn’t always—but it really fucking was.
It wasn’t a sexy thing that she did. I mean, it wasn’t supposed to be… She was in some regular jeans and a hoodie and nothing fucking special, and I had held her in my arms a hundred thousand times. So it should have been run of the mill.
Except it was Elle, all warm and soft, and smelling like vanilla for some fucking reason. And when she wrapped her arms around me, all I could think about was sliding my tongue up the curve of her neck, and it was really fucking me up.
My heart started going a hundred miles an hour, which was just so fucking dumb. But I was a hundred and fucking ten percent sure she tasted better than she smelled, and all I could think about was finding out for sure.
“I’m sorry we fought last night.” Her breath and her hair tickled along my neck, as I carefully wrapped my arms around her. “It was stupid. I hate fighting with you. I’m sorry I ruined your date.”
I tried to tell my heart to calm the fuck down but it just wouldn’t listen. I breathed, slowly in and slowly out, before even trying to respond to her. “I’m sorry I ditched you, baby. It was my fault.”
It wasn’t.
Elle had been less than gracious about Tyler from the start, and I had been pretending not to notice all along. But shit, I was noticing now.
“What's your problem with Tyler?” Elle shrugged and I felt, more than saw, her shoulders rising with it.
“I don’t know. I don’t have a problem with her?” She tipped her head back so that she could look at me. Which was a horrible fucking thing for her to do, because it just put her face that much closer to mine. If we shifted, I could have her on her back in a few seconds. Out of the hoodie, out of the shirt, just my hands on her skin. My mouth.
It was soft—Elle’s skin—and smooth and tan and taut. She’d probably let me do it, too. I thought she might.
Un-fucking-believable. I couldn’t focus for three seconds.
I swallowed and leaned my head just slightly back. It took a moment for me to get my thoughts back on track, to reorient myself to the topic of conversation. Girlfriend, right. One that Elle did not like. “I think you kind of do, Elle.” My tone wasn’t as light as I expected it to be, because my tone was usually always light. Soft, uncommitted. But at the moment everything was heavy and filled with tension. Even my vocal chords.
Elle sighed. “I guess I’m just… jealous.” I could see the word was hard for her to push out, and it was even harder for me to hear. It caused a tightness in my chest that I wasn’t entirely sure what to do with. And I must have looked like something—I don’t fucking know what—but my face was telling Elle something that she apparently did not want to hear. I knew this when she pulled away from me and scooted onto the open space on the floor beside me. She pulled in to herself, drawing her knees up, and rested her chin against them.
I’d been uncomfortable with her right up on me, but I was fucking hating the space that she’d created once she moved.
“I mean… You have someone and I don’t.” She sort of shrugged without looking at me, and her voice had gotten smaller. That tightness in my chest increased, but I couldn’t understand exactly why.
“I think I just need a boyfriend.” At that word—boyfriend—all of my muscles tensed. Like a coiled spring, every part of me clenched together. I was fucking speechless, and breathless too.
For some reason, the idea of Elle needing a boyfriend sucked all of the air out of the room.
“I mean…” she blinked, and her big eyes zeroed back in on my cornered expression. “I spend almost all of my free time with you. And I’m practically graduated college and yet I’m still a virgin! That’s crazy, right?!”
I couldn’t have answered her if I’d wanted to… Every fucking word in the English language had just erased from my mind.
I must have been quiet for too long, because Elle twisted her body to look at me and arched one eyebrow again. “Gavin?” She prodded my kneecap with her pointer finger. I caught her finger and tugged, encouraging her to come back to me. This time her legs straddled me on either side, and we sat there, face to face for a moment where I really wasn’t sure what I was going to do next.
I settled my hands on her hips and let out the breath that I’d been holding. “Don’t have sex with some asshole just to say you did it, Elle.” There was my voice, and it wasn’t even shaky. It was some kind of fucking miracle. “I would hate that.” The longer I looked at her—this close to my face—the surer I was that I was going to kiss her. Just fuck the consequences, I was practically desperate to feel her lips on my skin. I wasn’t proud of the realization, but I knew for sure that I wanted my tongue in her mouth.
If she moved, if she even breathed hard enough.
“You should make sure it’s the right asshole, okay?” There was no reason for me to be whispering, except the obvious… That I was still thinking about kissing her, still deciding if I was going to do it. She nodded and it was almost my fucking breaking point.
I could push her hips to my hips, I could slide my hands underneath her shirt. She would definitely let me. I couldn’t even feel my heart, it was beating so fast.
“And you’re not allowed to spend less time with me. I’d miss you too much.” It was meant to be a joke, meant to lighten the mood and create that bit of space I really needed to break this fucking hold she had on me at the moment. But it didn’t work. When I said it, it sounded too much like flirting. And, fuck me, it sort of felt too much like flirting, too.
“Relax, Gavin,” Elle patted my shoulder reassuringly. She leaned back, so I shifted and she stood. Thank fucking God. She ran her fingers through her hair and rolled her shoulders. “It’s not like I’m going to do the next jerk I go on a blind date with or something. I just mean maybe I should date.”
She shrugged like it was no big deal, and maybe she was right with that. Maybe it wasn’t.
But I still felt like something invisible had wrapped me up in a vice-grip and I couldn’t get free.
Sometimes it felt like his entire existence was built up on a foundation of regrets and vodka.
This was one of those times.
DK’s head was pounding to the rhythm of Jemma’s spoon as she tapped it against the side of her frozen yogurt cup. She was bouncing in the booth, which was normal for her, rocking her body from side to side. Her brown eyes wide and alight with pleasure as she dipped into the gummy-worm and cookie-crumble concoction that had made his stomach twist on sight. She used the forefinger of her free hand to scoop up a bit of the dessert, maintaining her beat with the spoon in her other hand.
“You can have some of mine,” she encouraged, licking the contents off of her finger without even the slightest understanding that her method was both childish and ridiculously sexy. She was like that: totally and completely oblivious. On another day DK might have appreciated the cuteness and tried not to notice the temptation. But today his head was ten thousand tons of concrete.
“No thanks, baby girl.” He rejected, trying not to cringe. Beneath the mountain of gummy worms and cookie crumbles was a layer of caramel, and somewhere underneath all of that he thought there might be some vanilla yogurt. But for all he knew it could just be a cup of toppings. He wouldn’t be surprised.
Loading Jemma up with this much sugar when he was seven different kinds of hungover was stupid and DK knew it. But he hadn’t had the strength to fight off her pouting eyes and exaggerated ‘please’ this morning.
Well, okay, maybe ‘morning’ was a bit of a stretch.
She’d shown up in his apartment right after noon and bounced him out of bed. It would have been a rude awakening except that it was Jemma.
Jemma Moss was the picture of innocence: long blonde hair, sweet brown eyes, and the smile of an angel. She could always cheer DK up when he was feeling down, she knew every right thing to say to take his mind off of his own problems, and she dolled out affection like he deserved it. Even though he didn’t. She saw the world through rose-tented glasses, always putting a positive spin on things. And he had never, ever seen her be mean to a single person since he’d known her.
But that had only been six months; somehow it felt like it wasn’t long enough and like it was forever, all at once. In the best way. He’d already tried to fall in love with her — twice — because it seemed the smart thing to do. But he simply couldn’t make his heart work on command like that.
Instead it was a renegade, always picking the wrong girl, the one destined to pluck it out. And that was why he’d given up on love a long time ago. Around four years ago, actually, when a girl named Tiffany Jones ripped him open and spit inside his broken pieces. Like the bitch that she’d turned into.
Maybe he should have seen it coming.
He had believed in it all, once. High school sweethearts and happily ever after. Best friends who never let you down and love that never ended. All that junk. He’d braided a cloth ring around a girl’s finger and promised that his heart was hers forever. But forever turned out to be just long enough for her to fuck the quarterback of the football team in the bathroom at a party.
Then everything turned to shit.
So no, he didn’t believe in true love anymore. And try as he might, he couldn’t trick his heart into believing that Jemma’s sweetness would somehow make it all better. Would turn his luck around. Maybe he’d been burned one too many times for that. But as far as things went, love was not in the cards for him and Jemma Moss.
Even so, he couldn’t stop himself from smiling at her when he glanced up to see her face. She was frowning at the empty spot on the table in front of him, as if dubious about anyone’s refusal to share her sugar coma.
“But if you have a gummy worm you won’t feel so sad,” she insisted with a soft sincerity that melted DK’s heart a little bit. He was surprised that she’d picked up on his mood, and endeared that she genuinely believed a little candy could fix it.
She could be unexpectedly perceptive at times. DK had found that out for himself on more than one occasion. He hadn’t told Jemma that he was feeling any particular way, and he was positive that if he looked anything then it wasn’t sad. Tired, definitely. A hot mess, probably. A little scruffy and a lot hungover, red eyes and a headache to be sure. But sad?
He’d been laughing with her and joking for maybe an hour. And still, somehow, she knew.
“Then my stomach would feel sad.” He told her, the smile lingering against the corners of his lips. And when she continued to look skeptical, he added, “Trust me.”
“Oh well.” She shrugged, never one to press a point, and scooped more yogurt. She used her spoon this time, but the way she licked the back clean was borderline sinful. DK laughed softly to himself.
He knew what it meant for Jemma to offer him some of her dessert; it was no small feat. She definitely didn’t share sugar with just anyone so he appreciated the gesture, but he just couldn’t get his mind to focus at the moment. It was in a hundred places, sifting through a hundred moments, and he couldn’t slow it down. He couldn’t turn it off.
He wanted to be somewhere else, or maybe some one else. To slip off his skin and begin fresh. With no exes and no disappointments and no friends who could abandon you at the drop of a dime. With a new past and a different future. He didn’t want to be the guy who nursed his problems with a bottle of hard liquor at the slightest provocation. Who showed up at the doorstep of someone that he used to know, a veritable fireworks display of feelings.
But he was that guy, as the last week proved all too well.
When he’d heard that Samantha Powell was back in town — through the grapevine, of all insulting possibilities — DK hadn’t wanted to believe it. And then, to add insult to injury, he’d learned that she’d moved into his apartment building. One floor above him. The girl was literally walking on his ceiling. Without a word, without a wave. Not even a nod in his direction.
It seemed a little unreal to him because after all this time he still hadn’t figured out what happened between them. One day they were best friends and the next they were strangers. He could remember the day that they’d spit into their palms and shook on their friendship. They had always been there for each other, he had told Sam all of his secrets. All of his truths and hopes and dreams.
And then, one day, he’d woken up and she was just gone. Now suddenly she was back and acting like nothing had ever happened?
So yeah, DK could get drunk and complain to Gavin about how much it pissed him off. And he could show up at her place throwing anger and accusations, and go on a week long bender just to prove he didn’t give a fuck about anything. But the truth was that it hurt. Jemma hit the nail right on the head: he was sad.
Samantha Powell had disappeared from Pleasant Valley like she was performing a magic trick. That was the part that DK couldn’t get out of his mind: how he had seen her only the night before. How he had danced with her at the stupid Senior Prom, had kissed her cheek. How that night he’d told her — stupid him — told her that he couldn’t imagine his life without her. His best friend. And less than twenty-four hours later she was gone.
No warning, no notice, no goodbye. Even a post-script would have been nice, but he hadn’t gotten so much as a return phone call for months afterwards. And he’d felt blind-sighted. Left behind.
He’d needed Sam to help him deal with the fallout once Tiffany Jones showed her true colors. His lying, cheating ex-girlfriend had ripped his world in two; and Sam — the one person he thought that he could always count on — had been nowhere to be found when it happened. It was like she had written him off.
DK had retraced the night before Sam left a million times in his mind, going over and over the details, trying to figure out what happened. What he’d done. Because it must have been him and it must have been big. At first DK had blamed Lennon Shephard, who had been Sam’s boyfriend at the time. But a fist-fight and a few weeks later helped DK to realize that it was only his calls that Sam wasn’t returning, not Lenny’s.
So there was just no other way to explain the dissolution of years of friendship — of trust and dependability and loyalty — without acknowledging to himself that he had to have been the catalyst.
But years of rinse and repeat cycling through that night — of examination with a fine toothed comb — hadn’t given DK any answers. What he knew was this: one night Sam was there (in his arms, dancing like nothing else in the world mattered) and the next morning she was gone, all traces of their friendship right along with her.
And right after, DK had felt his world come crashing down in unexpected ways.
So was he still mad that she’d abandoned him? Hell yeah. But mad or not, the fact that she was back again affected him. It nettled, like pricking at a scab. And no matter how much he told himself to let it go, to just forget it, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.
About her.
And that wasn’t doing his hangover any favors.
DK ran a hand through his black waves and forced a smile at Jemma’s inquiring stare. He breathed a quiet sigh, checking his watch for the time. He had to get Jem back home soon. DK had promised Carter — his older brother — that he would do something. Which meant that DK had somewhere to be, and it sure as shit was not going to keep his mind off of Samantha Powell.
“Where the hell are you? Shit, Sam. This silent treatment bullshit has gone on long enough…I don’t know what I did, all right. Whatever it was, I’m sorry. Okay? Are you listening? I’m sorry. But don’t do this right now. I need you… Sam, call me back. This week has been… I don’t even know. She cheated on me. Tiffany. I caught her half naked with some football prick. He was still fucking inside of her when I walked in. Can you believe that shit? She swears she’s sorry, but I just… What the fuck? Why the hell aren’t you answering? Fuck! I need you tonight, all right? Call me back. I just need to hear your voice.”
not me having an existential crisis because "adam is coming home for spring break" but this whole time i've been dressing everyone like it's late september and about to be winter??? this is what happens when you write something ten years ago and pick it back up current day like time hasn't passed. shit does not make sense... oops.
literally no one else will care about this but i do.
in other news, this realization works well for fng bc cruel summer (((although maybe not bc three months is not a lot of time?? hmm))). istg these are notes for myself and nothing anyone else is supposed to understand.
Samantha Powell rolled over, a disgruntled groan falling from her lips. She came awake in measures as she recognized that the banging she could hear was not, in fact, a dream. Grumbling, she twisted up in her sheets and lifted a heavy hand to swipe at the sleep in her eyes.
“Jesus, Joseph, and Mary,” she swore, angrily shoving the covers away and pushing off from the bed. Sam stumbled, fumbling in the dark, searching for a light switch. It was a new apartment so she smacked ungracefully against the wall and scraped her hand along the length of it in query before she discovered one.
She flicked it up without thinking and the light blinded her, making her screech with irate dissatisfaction and squint into the illuminated room. For one sleep-hazed moment she couldn’t remember where she was or why she was there.
Then it all rushed back to her.
She was in Pleasant Valley, Pennsylvania in the sleepy little town where she’d grown up. And it was three in the fucking morning which could only mean one thing: The insane person trying to break down her front door had to be none other than Domino Krew.
Pushing her shoulders back, Sam fought against a yawn and marched through the tiny apartment to the entrance. Her hand hovered above the doorknob before she paused, thinking better of it. Maybe if she stood there, quiet enough and for long enough, he would simply go away. And she wouldn’t have to deal with this. At least not right now, not while she was hardly coherent enough to form a complete sentence let alone wrestle the wrath of a twenty-two year old hothead like DK.
Sam yawned, and two things occurred to her at once. The first was that if DK was mad enough to come beating on her door this early in the morning then he was probably not going to be deterred. The second was that it was three am and her hair hadn’t seen a brush in hours. That jolted her into action like nothing else. If this confrontation was happening now then it wasn’t about to be a scene where she was wearing flannel pajamas and sporting bed hair.
She couldn’t see him in person for the first time in four years looking like a troll.
With a squeak, she raced back through the apartment and into the bathroom, frantically picking up the brush. Samantha dragged it through the fiery-red strands of her tangled hair, pulling more than a little bit out in her struggle. She danced out of her button-up pajama top, leaving only the camisole, and decided that the bottoms would have to do. The knocking had turned into body slamming, she was pretty sure, and that meant time was up.
Sam pursed her lips and headed back to the door, then swung it open without pause or warning. Which was exactly why DK toppled face first into the entrance with nothing but a thump of sound to break his fall. There was laughter immediately, and a pair of hands reached down to haul Domino up from his face plant.
Not Sam’s hands.
“Mother fucking shit, dude. Really?” More laughter. Gavin Porter, of course. Did the two of them do anything separately? Obviously not much had changed. Sam rolled her eyes and stepped back, watching the scene unfold.
Gavin pulled DK up and DK, having barely even caught his balance, shoved Gavin out of the way. “Fuck you!” He was loud. “I’m good.” He was also slurring; good lasted three entire syllables longer than necessary. “Back off.”
Gavin, still laughing, shoved DK hard enough that he almost toppled over again. “Fuck you.” There was a scuffle of two wavering, idiotic boys before DK managed to extract himself and recognize that the door was open.
Sam lifted a hand to rub a soothing circle against her temple, unimpressed. “What in the hell is going on?” She asked, motioning for one or both of them to step in already. “Someone’s going to call the cops if you two get any louder.” Her voice had that harassed whisper of a warning, but it had absolutely no effect on either of the two drunk idiots before her.
DK leered at her, which at least meant that she had his attention. He walked forward and tugged at the strap to her camisole, snapping it against her shoulder. “Nice PJs.”
Sam smacked his hand away, unsurprised to feel the rise of a blush against her cheeks. She hadn’t decided if it was anger or embarrassment yet. “Are you coming in or what?” She directed the question to Gavin, who was still lingering half in the hallway.
Gavin snorted, giving her a once over that clearly stated she was left wanting and shook his stupid mop of blonde hair at her. “No fucking way.” He backed further into the hall. “He’s your motherfucking problem now.” He smirked. “So good fucking luck.” With a mock solute, he about-faced and walked away.
Sam slammed the door on Gavin’s uneven saunter and stared at the wood for a minute longer than she needed to, refusing to acknowledge that DK Stewart was just inches away from her. Standing inside of her apartment. That this was really happening; it was not a dream. Not a nightmare either.
Dear God, she wasn’t ready.
Her heart took off a thousand miles per hour as she came to terms with this turn of events. She heard her breathing in the new quiet of the apartment, commingled with his, and nothing else. The thrum of her heartbeat was so vibrant she could feel it in her fingertips.
DK had moved to stand behind her when she shut the door, and he was leaning against the wall when she turned around to face him. There was absolutely nothing between them but air. Nerves and unspoken words.
He looked the same, just older. The same rich, dark hair that curled slightly on top of his head underneath the cap. The same big, chocolate brown eyes and beautifully shaped features making his face into a Greek sculpture. The same perfect, perfect lips, even as they were folded now into a deep frown of disapproval. The same style of purple hoodie, the kind he’d always had draped over his lanky frame in school. There was more muscle now, she could see that even through the clothes, a slim but fit definition to his body. There was also stubble on his chin because he hadn’t shaved and everything about his look was a little reckless. A little careless. So effortlessly sexy that she felt weak-kneed just standing there and he wasn’t even trying.
He was more than a head taller than her and she had to tilt her neck just to look at him. He used his height to his advantage, looming, looking down at her. He was hardly sure on his feet and it was obvious that he was wasted. Not just a couple of beers deep, she knew, but totally and completely gone.
And clearly pissed off. Which was just great.
Sam pulled in her resolve, while trying to talk some sense into her galloping heartbeat and catch her breath. She could do this. She cut her eyes at him, hoping that she looked like she had her shit together.
“Do you know what time it is?” But he just stared at her, as if he were still debating whether he was giving her the silent treatment. Sam felt positive that was what he was thinking, too, which absolutely incensed her. He’d come here. He’d come to her. He could not ignore her while standing in her own apartment and glaring at her. It was against the rules.
Jutting out her chin, she demanded, “Answer me.”
“Don’t owe yooooou anything,” he spat out, bitterly. And much more coherently than she thought he had any right given the fact that he was using the wall to stand straight. But he’d always held his alcohol well; it was his favorite thing to grasp.
“No?” She challenged, feeling the heat ignite in her face again. It was pure anger this time. “Then what the hell are you doing here?” She’d tried to speak levelly but he did something to her. Just the way he looked at her, just his physical presence. She found herself screaming it at his face.
“No! YOU!” He didn’t just scream it back at her, he exploded, suddenly becoming motion. His finger jabbed towards her face accusingly. “You left! Means you don’t even go here!”
“Don’t you explain what leaving means to me, Domino Krew.” She’d almost forgotten how quickly, how easily he could get to her. Push her buttons. Sam pressed her lips together, surprised by her own tone.
“Don’t Domino me, Samanthaaaaa.” He sneered her name like it was a punishment.
She had always preferred the shortened version of Sam. It was something they had in common, as no one — no one — was allowed to call DK by the full length of his own name but his mother. Occasionally one of his siblings would slip it in. But there had been a time in their lives where Sam was an exception to the rule; once she’d been an exception to all the rules.
That time was gone now.
“Fuck is going on?” He glared, casting an angry glance around her apartment.
It wasn’t much. The living room, kitchen, and dining room all bled into one area. The bedroom, bathroom, and closet were separate fixtures, and there was a small balcony to the side. She didn’t even have a kitchen table yet, just a couch, a chair, and a television sitting on the floor without a stand. A lot of her boxes were still packed, but open, scattered around the space.
Suddenly she felt self-conscious about it all. Like she should have more to show for herself. Like she’d come home in failure. Which ignited her rage, because who was he to judge her?
“If you’ve got something to say, just fucking say it.” Sam commanded, finally managing the volume level she’d wanted all along.
Apparently lowering her voice was the wrong move. It completely set DK off. He actually turned red in the face, the beauty of his features twisting into an unpleasant expression. “You…” But he was too angry to complete the thought, so trailed off with a slow shake of the head.
“Fucking.” He tried again, still shaking his head. “Fucking fuck, Sam!” Which was very eloquent… but at least he’d dropped the full-name business. She frowned at him. “The fuck?” He was still screaming and so she just stared at him. His breathing labored, shoulders rising up and down faster than necessary. After a moment he heaved a large sigh.
He didn’t speak again until his voice pitched at a normal volume. “You staying?”
And there it was.
The room stilled, as if the moment could pulse; Sam practically felt the tension. She bit her bottom lip, looking up at him. Locking eyes with him.
She felt too much.
Blinking, hard, she shook her head and looked away. “I don’t know.”
Without a word, DK brushed by her, his shoulder bumping into hers as he stormed out of the apartment. He slammed the door behind him so loud that it made her jump.
I WAS SO NERVOUS that I could taste my own heartbeat. Gavin Porter was not asleep, and I had been aware of this for a handful of seconds that were collecting like lifetimes. I don’t know how I knew it for sure, I just… knew. Maybe it was in the tension I could feel radiating through every part of him that was connected to me.
That was a lot of parts.
I wasn’t hungover, not even a little bit, even though I knew by all rights that I should have been. I’d done much too much drinking the night before, and I’d said much too much afterwards as a result. I was still kind of surprised that Gavin and I had even gotten into a fight at all.
I hated fighting, and he hated it even more than I did. Usually when we were mad at each other, we both just kind of bit our tongues and passive aggressively referenced it until we were over whatever the problem was. Not entirely healthy, I knew, but it worked for us.
And I probably should have felt guilty for trying to make Gavin feel guilty about spending time with his girlfriend. Probably. But I couldn’t because if I hadn’t gotten roaring drunk the night before then I wouldn’t have been waking up in Gavin’s bed, wrapped up in his arms. Plus, he’d even apologized for ditching me. And I’d definitely needed that apology from him.
But, see, here was the situation: A very awake Gavin Porter had me spooned in his arms, his hands on the bare skin of my stomach, slipped underneath the t-shirt he’d given me to wear to bed. There just wasn’t enough room between us for him to deny his very obvious reaction to being pressed this close to me.
I tried not to let it get to me—I really did—because I understood the basic biology of boys and the concept of morning wood, okay. And it wasn’t like Gavin and I hadn’t ever found ourselves in this kind of position before… We’d been friends for too long and too absolutely not to have been here once or twice in the past.
I wasn’t a girl with low self-esteem, who couldn’t believe that a boy could be turned on by her. I knew I was hot, and I even knew that Gavin Porter thought that I was hot. He’d never denied it. But see, this was the thing… Gavin was awake and he hadn’t moved his hands.
At least, not yet. And I wanted to enjoy every single second of it while it lasted.
It was usually at this point in the routine that Gavin would roll away from me, put some space between us, and pretend like this little bit of awkwardness hadn’t happened.
He had to be able to feel the way my heartbeat was slamming against my chest. My back had to be practically vibrating with it. He should have moved—should have changed the subject. What he did instead was curl his fingers against the bare skin of my stomach and bury his face in my neck, so that all of my skin erupted in goosebumps and all my thoughts scattered.
I couldn’t breathe.
I couldn’t think past the idea of turning around, of sliding my leg between his legs, of pressing closer and closer until there was no closer. Oh my God, I wanted to kiss him so very badly. I wanted to turn around and melt into his arms and kiss him, just to know what he tasted like. Just to know what he felt like with his mouth against my mouth and his hands on my skin. Just to live in it, for just one moment. This perfect moment. I wanted to kiss him until the world slipped away. And I felt about ninety-nine percent sure that he would not only let me, but that he would actually kiss me back.
It was surreal in this freeing, kind of electrifying way. After weeks and weeks, and months, and years of waiting for Gavin Porter to finally open his eyes and see me…
I just couldn’t believe it was finally happening, and I didn’t trust it.
“Do you want a pain pill?” His voice was soft, sleep dragged, kind of lazy. It was the best morning sound in the entire universe, and I had always appreciated it. But this morning it seemed to sound better to me than it ever had. Probably because the words came out practically against my skin, all of his breath dancing down my neck as he spoke.
Sweet baby Jesus.
My stomach clenched, and I was almost scared to answer him. Like if he knew that I was awake too, then he would become the Gavin that I was used to again. The one completely oblivious to the fact that we had definite chemistry.
“Elle?” He moved his hands, trailing them against my skin until the one underneath me was free and the one on top of me was against my hip. The shorts I had on were a thin barrier and every single piece of me that he touched was aflame. I pushed out a slow breath, slowly peeling my eyes open.
This was not a dream.
I turned around until we were facing each other, and Gavin adjusted, his head still dropped lazily against his pillow. He lifted his hand to brush my hair from my face, his fingers trailed my jaw and my heartbeat shuddered. “Do you have a headache?”
I didn’t even mind his morning breath—I was that far gone.
I blinked, coming back down to reality, understanding slowly filtering through for me. His face was a little tenser than I was used to, but that could have been for any reason in the world. It could have been because he was still mad at me for getting drunk the night before, or because I’d yelled at him, or even because he’d yelled back at me.
It could also be because he wanted to kiss me just as badly as I wanted him to… It was hard to tell, and there was just no tactful way to ask!
The logical conclusion was that I was imagining it, of course. Because if you wanted something bad enough then it was easy to trick yourself into believing you could have it. And last night had been emotional for both of us.
The logical conclusion was that nothing had even changed at all. I knew that. And it just seemed all the more true when Gavin just kept laying there, looking at me, waiting for me to say something with an increasingly concerned expression on his face.
I sighed, careful to keep my own morning breath aimed away from him, and shook my head against his pillows. “No. I’m good.” And then I turned on my back to hide my disappointed expression from his searching eyes, because explaining myself was the absolute last thing I wanted to do right now. And Gavin always asked me what was wrong, every time that I frowned.
But—darn it!—I hadn’t imagined his hands. I hadn’t imagined the feel of his face as he nuzzled against my neck. And I knew perfectly well he’d been awake when he did it.
I sighed again. “I need to get up, anyway.” I rubbed a hand over my face, trying not to feed into the annoyance that I was starting to feel all over again. What had I even been thinking? As if this morning suddenly everything was completely different? That didn’t make any sense!
There was still a Tyler McClain, and I was still not her.
But Gavin groaned and reached, his arms encircling me once again. “Skip it.” He was whining, which was so typical of him at the mention of getting out of bed during the am hours that it really did feel like the status quo.
Maybe it was part of his idea of what a rockstar was supposed to do with their life? Sleep all day, party all night kind of thing.
I tried to shake out of his hold, but he wasn’t having it.
“You’re allowed to skip a class, Elle,” he complained, and his face found the curve of my neck again and settled there. “Shouldn’t you be hungover?” He said it like a complaint, and I didn’t manage to fight the giggle in response before it fell from my lips.
“I’m not.” I tried to wiggle away again, but he squeezed his hand on my hip and groaned.
“Please fucking stop that.”
All the tension in my body regrouped, goosebumps resurfacing, flames reigniting. I narrowed my eyes, the annoyance growing. “It’s too early in the morning for fuck, Gavin.” He sucked in a sharp breath of air, and I stilled. Because that time it hadn’t been intentional, but there it was, hanging between us. His very unconventional response to girls who said bad words.
“Ah, fuck.” This time I thought he’d let me go, and get out of bed. And then we’d pretend this had never happened. But he didn’t. He kept his hand above the t-shirt, but still on me as he mumbled, “I think you’re trying to kill me.”
And I felt like all the air was being sucked out of the room again. My stomach clenched. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But my voice was much too breathless to be convincing.
Gavin saw through it. He sucked his tongue against his teeth and said, “You fucking liar.” But there was no heat to it, just teasing, and he still didn’t let me go.
He yawned. “Let’s just sleep in, baby.”
It was a stupid, enabling thing for him to do. But he probably didn’t know that. I did, though, so I should have gotten the heck out of there. I knew that. I probably should have told him that this crossed some sort of invisible line in the sand of our friendship, and I couldn’t do it.
But my heart was vibrating with the need to just lay there with him. And I couldn’t stop myself from giving in. He was warm and comfortable and this bed smelled like him. And he was holding me like he wanted me, which made imagining impossible to resist. Besides, I’d never been very good at denying him anything. That was the entire problem.
“I have to get out of here.” Samantha Powell’s voice was shaky with unshed tears. She could only hope that her date didn’t hear it over the tremor of the music and the rowdiness of the kids around them. Lennon Shephard squinted, leaning close to her as if he hadn’t heard what she said, waiting for her to repeat herself while the bass of some rap song thumped in the background.
Sam’s mouth filled with bile. She felt like she was going to be sick on everyone and everything. Desperate, she leaned closer and yelled louder. “I have to get out of here.”
But if Lenny heard her that time his response was interrupted by someone else grabbing her arm and spinning her around. The lights, the noise, the people, the dancing… All of it was too much. Samantha squinted at the interrupter, trying to catch her bearings.
“Sam!” DK Stewart. The absolute last person that she wanted to see—the one she was trying to avoid, and of course he’d sniffed her out. He looked entirely too pleased with himself, and whatever he was going to say to her was something that she did not want to hear.
This was a nightmare. It was a living, breathing, monster of a nightmare.
Senior Prom. She should have known that the night would be a piece of shit, every single media outlet in the world seemed to agree that proms were for disasters. How many bad teen movies had she seen warning her of exactly that? And now she was living one. A bad teen movie.
“Dance with me,” DK commanded, without so much as glancing at Lenny before pulling Sam closer. He wrapped his arms around her waist and draped his shadow over her. Domino Krew was more than a head taller than Samantha, so she had to rest her cheek against his chest. It was a comfortable fit, she couldn’t deny that, even in her current state of panic.
It wasn’t a slow song but DK moved her with an unhurried sway, as if time were at his personal command. He smelled like beer, soap, and his cologne, which left a warm feeling building in the pit of Sam’s stomach as she danced with him. She hadn’t wanted this; she couldn’t stand the thought of losing it, either. Sam lifted her hands between them, resting them uneasily on DK’s shoulders, creating a slight barrier between them as they moved.
“DK,” she warned, her voice loud enough over the music but still sounding breathless somehow. “Don’t.” Sam glanced uneasily over her shoulder to gauge Lenny’s reaction, but he’d diverted his attention back to his group of friends. A fact which actually annoyed her; he was her date, after all. Her boyfriend. Shouldn’t he be at least a little jealous?
Clearly he knew there was no reason to be. Like Sam stood a chance with someone who was totally and completely spoken for, anyway. And totally and completely oblivious, too, of everything she’d ever felt for him. Lenny knew it better than anyone.
“You owe me,” DK reminded her. It was true. Sam had promised him a dance and she hadn’t forgotten. She hadn’t thought he would snatch her away from Lenny, though.
Or that he would hold her this close.
She tried not to think about it. But then he said, “Sam,” while tilting his head down, so that his breath ghosted across her jaw as he spoke into her ear. She tensed while her heart began to seize.
Samantha swallowed, twisting her hazel eyes to meet with his gaze. His brown eyes were soft, gleaming with happiness that broke her heart.
“This is the best night of my life.” He whispered it like a secret. Then he kissed her cheek so she pushed away from him, breaking his hold of her, and stepped back. Shaking, Sam lifted a hand to run through the red strands of her hair, undoing the knots with her fingers.
DK wouldn’t stop smiling. He shook his head at her, taking in her reaction, and rolled his soft-brown eyes. “Go ahead then,” he nodded over her shoulder to where she’d left Lennon standing. The way he said it was like she was being ridiculous; like she couldn’t tear herself away from her date long enough to talk to him. Sam frowned, but didn’t fight it because she had to get away from DK.
“Tiff and I are heading out anyway.” The music had changed so it was easier for her to hear him, though Sam wished that it hadn’t been. The last person she wanted to think about right now was Tiffany Jones.
She and Tiffany were not friends any more. Not after tonight. Sam felt like maybe they hadn’t been for a long time now. She swallowed, feeling the bile rise up in her throat. Without responding, she spun away from him and made a hasty retreat.
She didn’t even bother to look for Lenny. Her head was pounding even faster than her heart, and she knew that if she didn’t get out of there right then—at that very second—she was going to explode. The mental visual of her in pieces all over the dance floor of the Senior Prom was not something that Sam relished the idea of realizing.
“YOU’RE MAD AT ME.” Elle poked my cheek, leaning heavily into my arms as I held her upright. She was a wobbling, giddy mess of spilled emotions tonight and it surprised me. In theory, I had known that she was drunk, but the reality had left me speechless. DK’s text hadn’t been very specific, just that he needed my help, and that the “girls” were drunk. I’d known who he meant. The four of us—DK, Jemma, Elle, and I—were pretty much a unit.
To my surprise, I had realized that I must have never seen Elle drunk before, only tipsy. There was a pretty solid distinction between the two that I hadn’t recognized until this very moment. Tipsy Elle was cute, she was full of laughter and happiness and exciting ideas. She loved everyone and everything.
Drunk Elle was a little bit insecure, a shit ton of questions, and fucking super-glued to my body. I was hyper-aware of the feel of her every curve.
I guess I hadn’t answered her—I hadn’t known it was a question—because she asked, “Are you mad at me, Gavin?” And she tried to poke my cheek again but she hit my eyeball instead.
“Fuck, Elle!” I recoiled, squinting, nearly tripping as our balance was thrown from my reaction. And she was not even trying to carry her own fucking weight. I blinked, hard, and shook my head at her before she could go at me again. “No, baby.” But, yeah, I kind of was. It was strange.
I sighed and walked her up the gravel of my driveway, praying that Violet was out so that she did not bear witness to this drunken mess. Elle would probably be embarrassed in the morning.
I leaned her up against the wall near the front door and fumbled with the house key for a moment before fitting it securely in the lock. Elle slung her arms around my neck without prompting and together we wobbled our way through the front door.
“I’m sorry!” She didn’t buy my lie, even though she clearly couldn’t even see straight. “Don’t be mad at me. I was just trying to have fun.” By some miracle I understood her even though every single one of her words slurred together into one giant sound.
“Shhh,” I patted her shoulder consolingly. “Relax, baby.”
She wrapped herself around me. First her arms and then, after a little hop, her legs too, completely intertwining herself so that I had no choice but to lift her or fall over.
I grunted, adjusting. It was a good thing that she was so tiny because I was not exactly a wall of muscle, and by all rights we should have landed right on the damn floor.
Elle buried her face against my neck, and I tried not to swallow hard as I started towards my bedroom. Of course Clay and Violet were home, and up, the both of them sitting in the living room watching something on the television when I passed through.
Clay only lifted an eyebrow when he spotted us, and then shifted his eyes back to the screen. That was the best thing about living with someone like Clayton Usher—he knew how to mind his own fucking business. No such luck with Violet O’Rien, though. Her jaw dropped as she stared openly at us.
“You dumped Tyler already?” She sounded as bitchy as the question suggested she was.
I rolled my eyes and ignored her. Elle didn’t.
She perked up, her head tipping back to look at Violet. “I wish! Gavin looooves Tyler more than my candy.”
I tried to unhear it—I really did—but it was too fucking late. Her declaration was laced with a world of jealousy that I couldn’t pretend not to notice.
“Ah, shit,” I sighed, walking faster, so that Elle and Vi wouldn’t be encouraged to continue their pointless conversation. I fumbled with the doorknob and then slammed the door behind me once I made it to my room.
“Cracker jacks,” Elle said, as if she were correcting me. Like that was a suitable substitute for the word that I’d used. “Tonight was fun until you showed up!” She announced as I dropped her onto my bed. She pulled up onto her knees and peered at me. “You’re grumpy.”
I shrugged. There was no denying it, apparently it was written all over my face. “You made me leave Tyler and Reagan alone with some guy in a karaoke bar,” I explained, as if having a reasonable conversation with a drunk person was even possible.
“Did not!” Elle challenged, her bottom lip poking out as she said it. “Hey! You bailed on me!” This seemed to be the topic of another conversation, judging by the way that she said it. Like she had just remembered that it happened, and not in counter to what I had just blamed her for.
I turned my back to her and went to my dresser, fishing through until I found the t-shirt and shorts that I was looking for. “Here.” I tossed the clothes in her direction.
“You shoulda taken me home.” She declared when I turned around to look at her. “If you were gonna be so mad.” She kicked off her heels—honestly it was a miracle that she hadn’t broken any bones walking around in those shoes, the girl was not exactly the graceful sort—and then grabbed at the hem of her dress.
And I think maybe my fucking brain shut down, because it processed too slowly for me to stop her from yanking her dress off right in front of me.
And there are some things that you just cannot un-fucking-see. Elle in absolutely nothing but a lacy black bra and panties, perched on her knees on my bed? Yeah, that’s one of them.
Fucking shit on a stick. I was going to hell.
My eyes were going to fall right out of my mother-fucking face and dissolve in the damn carpet. My brain was going to melt, I felt pretty sure that was on the verge of happening, and then it would dribble out of my empty eye sockets.
Jesus Christ.
She struggled into the t-shirt and then toppled right off the bed as she tried to get into the shorts. It took me that long just to get myself in check.
I cleared my throat and let her pick her own self up off of the floor and shimmy into the shorts. “I said I wasn’t mad.” I was surprised that my voice managed to come out even. Absolutely nothing felt even.
“Well, you’re a liar,” Elle grumbled, and when I looked at her again she was pushing her raven hair back out of her face.
She was the kind of beautiful that broke my heart, with giant green eyes and soft, tan skin. Her full lips were curved into a pout that wasn’t helping me get my thoughts back in order.
“If you throw up on me tonight I’m never bailing you out when you’re drunk again,” I told her, even though we both knew that I didn’t mean it. Well, mostly. I did hate throw-up, and messes in general, and drunk girls who couldn’t keep their shit together. But this was Elle, not just some random chick.
“Maybe I’ll sleep on the couch,” she countered, petulant and still pouting. And I knew that I should definitely fucking let her do just that. The thought of her lying next to me at the moment felt like a lit match meeting with a can of gasoline. But I also knew that I just couldn’t.
“I need to make sure you don’t choke and die in your sleep,” I countered, and yeah, I sounded grumpy as hell. She was right. But it had a lot more to do with her nearly naked on my bed, and a lot less to do with interrupting a double date I hadn’t wanted to be on in the first place. I was man enough to admit that—at least to myself.
She snatched her dress off the bed and threw it at my face. Which surprised me, mostly because Elle and I never fought. Never, ever.
Fighting wasn’t exactly my thing. I’d had a girl dump me once because she’d been screaming and crying in my face, and I’d asked her if we could just “agree to disagree.” She’d called me an asshole and said we were done. I’d shrugged it off.
Not because I actually am an asshole… At least, I don’t think I am. But because I just couldn’t understand what the fuck fighting even accomplished. People yelled, everyone walked away angry. And for what? We’d worked it out, actually, me and that girl. And had gone strong for a couple of months after that before agreeing to part ways, which just proved to me that I was right about the fighting thing.
But—stupidly—I kind of wanted to throw this dress right back at Elvis Hirsche in the moment. And that was just fucking strange.
“You’re being a jerk, Gavin!” She really screamed it, no indoor voice, no whisper-yell. I glanced at the door, wondering what Clay and Violet thought about this new development in my dynamic with Elle.
They had adjusted pretty okay to the idea that Elle and I were such good friends, with no designs to ever hook up. Most people didn’t really believe us, but what the fuck ever. I didn’t care what people thought. Guys and girls could be friends without having sex, it was possible, there were no rules that stated otherwise. Just shit people made up.
Clay and Violet barely ever even said anything anymore about Elle coming over for movie nights and then sleeping over after. They didn’t tease us, or question whether something had happened. They didn’t raise their eyebrows when they saw me put my arm around her on the couch, or pull her into a hug, or if they saw her coaxing me to dance with her. That was just how we were, and it barely bothered the people that knew us well.
Because Elle tried to coax anyone to dance, and I called everyone with boobs “baby.”
But I didn’t yell, and neither did she, and we definitely didn’t yell at each other.
“I don’t like you hanging out with Jemma if this is what the two of you get up to,” I countered, because I didn’t have anything else to say. I guess I kind of was being a jerk, but it felt justified. And anyway, she was the one who’d said she wished I’d dumped my fucking girlfriend.
“I don’t like you hanging out with Tyler when you’re supposed to be with me. So tough!”
Well, shit. That sounded coherent as hell. No slurring drunk girl talk to get that out.
“Can you pass the fuck out already?” I waved at my bed in invitation.
“Maybe YOU should sleep on the couch!” She countered, throwing a glare my way.
“It’s my fucking bed!” Holy shit. Was I actually yelling back at this girl? This made no fucking sense to me. I pressed my lips together and took a step back, trying to clear the fog in my head, trying to regulate my breathing so that I could think.
Elle’s face fell, her pretty eyes widening in shock, and I instantly felt like shit.
“You said you weren’t mad,” she whispered it, hanging her head down in disappointment.
And I felt like the worst fucking person in the world. The lowest of the low. I don’t think I had ever yelled at anyone in my entire fucking life, and Elle knew that too. Why would I choose this moment and this girl to be the first? I could probably stand anybody’s sadness but hers.
I crossed the room to her and pulled her into my arms. This much, at least, was as natural as breathing. “I’m sorry, baby.” I held her to me. “Listen, you’re important to me, Elle.” Because I recognized what this was really about. And it wasn’t about going out drinking or missing dinner with Elle’s parents or whatever the fuck. It was about us. “You’re the most important to me, okay? And I’m sorry about tonight. I didn’t think you’d mind. You should have said.”
I really had thought it was okay with her. We always had dinner with her family—her parents were these ridiculous hippies and a never ending source of amusement for me. In the most awesome of ways, obviously. Because my own parents were extremely traditional and extremely boring in comparison. I loved Elle’s family dynamic almost as much as I loved our friendship. I even loved hanging out with her three brothers, and all of them (well, except Eli) had threatened to kick my ass on a near constant basis since I’d known them. They were super-protective of Elvis, and I definitely couldn’t say that I blamed them.
Elle shrugged against my embrace. “You were being a good boyfriend.” She turned her head and spoke into my shirt. “I’m sorry, too.”
But even though it seemed like we were making up, there was still this tightness in my chest that I couldn’t seem to shake. I swallowed and kissed the top of her head, trying to breathe around this unfamiliar feeling. Trying to understand it.
Things were changing; I had never been very good with change.
Elvis Hirsche had extremely bad timing, all things considered, and I couldn’t help the little flurry of annoyance that built up in my chest as I stared down at my phone. But it passed quickly, because in the next moment I realized that Elle needed me. And I would always be there for Elle when she needed me; that went without saying or even thinking about.
It wasn’t like Elle to go out and get drunk. I had known her ever since we were in elementary school, and we’d been best friends since somewhere in middle school. She was in her second year of college now and I was in my last… Well, okay, what was supposed to be my last. But I definitely didn’t have enough credits to graduate, and I certainly wasn’t sad about it.
The point was, I had never known Elle to get drunk in a bar. And especially not without me.
“I’m sorry, Ty,” I glanced over at her apologetically as I slid my phone back into the pocket of my jacket. “I’ve gotta go.”
I expected Tyler to look ruffled, so I opened my mouth to hurry up and explain, but she didn’t.
She wrinkled her forehead just a little, and I could see the concern in her eyes as she opened her mouth to say, “Is everything okay?” And fuck if I didn’t just love the way this girl gave me the benefit of the doubt. I couldn’t think of a single one of my exes who—at this point in the game—wouldn’t have been jumping down my throat about why I had to bail on her. Especially if they found out it was about Elvis Hirsche. But not Tyler.
“DK texted about Elle being wasted at Blacklight,” I explained, already knowing that Tyler would get what that meant to me. “I’ve gotta go get her.” I shrugged, apologetic. But there was no fucking way that I was leaving Elle on her own to muddle through a bar full of assholes while she was drunk. Not happening.
“Why can’t DK just take her home?” Reagan interrupted, with the same attitude that I had almost expected from Tyler, but had been relieved not to get. I caught myself before I could shoot a glare in Reagan’s direction.
I was supposed to be with Elle tonight, anyway, so I couldn’t help the surge of guilt that I felt. Like maybe this was my fault somehow. That she’d gone out and done something so out of character because of me. But I had canceled on her because of Tyler’s plea that I join them tonight. All because her best friend, Reagan, had a date with some dude and didn’t want to go alone.
I was not a fucking double-date kind of guy. Especially not if the double-date was with Reagan Knight, who had always managed to find something about me annoying, for as long as we’d known each other. And this was a small town where people rarely ever moved, so we’d all kind of grown up together. Which meant that Reagan and I had been at odds basically forever.
I shook my head at her. “DK’s working.” But she already knew that. “He can’t just leave to get Elle home.” He was a bartender at Blacklight. What I didn’t mention was that DK actually was going to do just that, but just not for Elle. Apparently Elle and Jemma had made it a girls’ night out. DK couldn’t handle them both on his own, and he didn’t want to leave Elle alone while he got Jemma home.
Still, bailing on my girlfriend to deal with a drunk best friend made me feel like kind of a dick.
“Don’t worry about it, man. I can get them both home.” Elliott—the poor asshole who wanted to date Reagan Knight—didn’t ding anything on my creep meter. He was just this kind of nerdy guy, and he seemed harmless enough. Still, I considered him for a long moment before shooting another look at Tyler.
“Or you guys can come back with me now?” I offered, feeling worse as I realized I was stranding them with this guy if I left, and ruining Reagan’s date if they left with me.
I watched as Reagan and Tyler seemed to communicate through nothing but back and forth looks before Tyler gave a gentle shake of her head. “No thanks, Gavin. Don’t worry about us. Go ahead and take care of Elle.”
I listened for it, I really did, but there was not a single shred of suspicion or judgment or even annoyance in her voice. It was fucking amazing.
“I’m sorry, Ty,” I shot her another apology, just to make sure that she knew that I meant it, but she just smiled.
“I know. It’s okay, Gavin.” I took Tyler at face value and nodded, standing up to leave. There wasn’t any time to waste because we were at some karaoke bar a little ways outside of town, and it was at least a twenty minute drive back to Pleasant Valley and Blacklight to get Elle. We hadn’t even ordered our food when I got that emergency text from DK. But Tyler didn’t flinch as I grabbed up my keys and waved goodbye to everyone; she didn’t seem to mind at all.
And yet, I’m not gonna lie, a nagging part of the back of my mind worried about whether I’d pay for this later. I mean, most girls were just not this chill. Not even Elle, and she let me off the hook pretty much all of the time. It was something I couldn’t worry about at the moment, though; I’d already made up my mind to leave.
I STARED AT MY PHONE like I could force the text message on the screen to change. Jemma must have noticed because she shoved her plate of chocolate chip cookies under my nose with a bright smile. And if Jemma had noticed the look on my face then it must have been totally obvious. Because Jemma Moss, while one of the kindest people I had ever known in my life, wasn’t exactly big on picking up on emotional cues.
“You look hungry,” she announced, voice overly bright. I absolutely wasn’t hungry; actually, I’d just completely lost my appetite, so I shook my head in denial. “Eat one,” she persisted anyway, nodding her head encouragingly. “The secret is I make them with peanut butter instead of batter, so they’re delicious, I promise!”
I’d been telling her for a year now that she really needed to open up a bakery. I had every confidence that they were fantastic. I also suspected they would taste like ash to me right now. I sighed.
“No thanks, Jemma,” I shook my head at her and motioned to my phone. “I have dinner with my family in a bit. Gavin just canceled.” I would have asked Jemma if she wanted to come along—actually it was on the tip of my tongue to do just that—but she was kind of weird about family engagements. Any time I’d ever asked her before she refused and then started talking about ducks.
Ducks were her go-to topic whenever she was uncomfortable. I’d learned that in the last few months, since we’d become friends.
Jemma Moss was the only person I’d ever met who appreciated waffles and whipped cream as much as I did. And besides that, she hung out with DK Stewart a lot, who happened to be Gavin’s best friend. Well, Gavin’s second best friend, obviously, because I was Gavin’s best best friend. And we all knew it.
There was also the little suspicion I had that Jemma was as in love with DK as I was with Gavin, which put us in similar emotional turmoil. And it was nice to have company in my misery. Even company that talked about how cute ducks were when they waddled whenever I mentioned anything about unrequited love. Jemma didn’t do conversations about love.
Which was why I only said, “Gavin’s been canceling on me a lot lately.”
Jemma nodded because she already knew this. “He must be spending a lot of time with Tyler.” I knew she didn’t say it to be cruel, that it was just kind of how Jemma was, but I still felt a little tinge of annoyance at her because of it. I picked up one of the cookies and took a bite.
She was right, it was delicious. It practically melted in my mouth.
Jemma grinned at me and walked around the breakfast bar to open up her fridge. She pulled out a carton of milk and poured me a glass.
“What I need,” I told her, inspiration suddenly striking me as I picked up the glass and took a sip. “Is a boyfriend.” My heart skipped a beat at the thought. All this time, I had kept thinking that if I waited for Gavin long enough he would finally realize what was right in front of him and come around. But maybe I’d just been fooling myself.
Maybe he would never see me like I wanted him to; maybe we were better off as friends.
I’d thrown so many hints his way and all he’d done was go from girl to girl, ignoring me at every turn. And now he was even putting his girlfriend before me, which had never happened before. I didn’t like it.
Jemma crinkled her nose, leaning her elbows against the counter separating us. “But what about Gavin?”
I stared at her. “He’s with Tyler…” I sort of loved the way Jemma always pretended that Gavin and Tyler were no big deal. But right now it just wasn’t helpful.
Jemma shrugged. “Won’t he be mad if you get a boyfriend?”
“No, Jemma,” I sighed. “That’s the problem.” The look she shot me seemed to say she didn’t believe me, and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why. Did Jemma know something that I didn’t know? I waited for her to elaborate, but she just picked up one of the cookies and started eating it.
She chewed in silence for way too long before—finally!—adding, “He was mad at me that time I gave you a friendship bracelet.” She licked her lips and poured herself a glass of milk too, before putting the carton away. “Seems to me a boyfriend is way worse.”
“He was jealous because I was spending so much time with you,” I said it slowly, like maybe that would help her get it. To really see how friendships and relationships were not the same thing. But even as I heard the words coming out of my mouth, Jemma’s point really sank home.
If he was jealous of my friends, wouldn’t it make sense for Gavin to be apoplectic about a boyfriend?
I hadn’t had one in so many years, because all I ever thought about was him. And most guys were not cool with the way that Gavin and I hung out. Most girls weren’t, either, to be honest. But Gavin always seemed to manage to find the ones that were.
“You know what, Jem?” I beamed at her. “I think we should go out tonight.”
She wrinkled her forehead, finishing off her cookie with a confused look. “I thought you had dinner with your family?”
I waved that away. “I’m not feeling that tonight. Tonight I’m feeling Blacklight and colorful margaritas!” Blacklight was the only bar in town, and I was finally old enough to use my real ID there. It was about time I utilized that.
I was tired of thinking about Gavin, or other guys, or any other drama. I just wanted to go out and have a good time. And if I happened to meet someone who wasn’t Gavin, who gave me the same goosebumps, then thank the Lord for miracles.
“What do you say? You want to be my partner in crime tonight?”
If there was one thing I knew, it was that I could definitely have a good time with Jemma Moss.
One of the very best things about being friends with someone for so long and so completely was that Elle didn’t even bother to ask any questions. We could operate on the same brain frequency sometimes. I knew that if I showed up to anyone else’s place at this time of night – well, okay, morning because it was fucking one am – there would at least be a couple of inquiries about my sanity or, in DK’s case, some grumbling about interrupting his cuddles with Jemma Moss. He could be such a selfish asshole sometimes, I swear. And stingy with his cuddles, too.
But because Elle loved me and was literally the best person in the universe, I only had to wait eight minutes before she came out of her dorm building carrying her purse and a blanket because the air had started to catch a chill. Her eyes were still wide, a shimmering green, so I knew that I hadn’t woken her up.
She yawned when she pulled my truck door open and hopped in, but her smile was soft and warm when she looked over at me and kissed me on the cheek. “Couldn’t sleep?”
I shrugged a shoulder instead of answering aloud and cast a wry grin in her direction. She was well versed in my spontaneous bouts of insomnia so I knew that I didn’t really have to explain it to her. On nights like these I always showed up to her place and we picked a random direction to drive in until I found a spot that felt like a good place to stop. She was usually the navigator, I was the driver, and we just kind of let fate do whatever it wanted with us.
“I’m controlling the playlist,” she announced and pulled up my phone to start rifling through her options. “And whenever you want to tell me what’s wrong, I’m all ears.” She didn’t bother to give me a chance to object to her decision to dj, so I already knew that it wasn’t a fight that I was going to win tonight.
It was fine. We both knew that I didn’t really mind.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I countered while she poked around on my phone. There was nothing on there that she couldn’t see and, anyway, her biometrics were hooked to all of my things. Because Elle was the person who was responsible for wiping my searches clean if I died unexpectedly or fell into a coma or some shit. So the government wouldn’t think I was on some serial killer schtick if shit went down… I was just curious, damn!
“My brain just won’t stop,” I made a turning motion with my hand and she nodded in understanding. “Why were you still up?”
“Sketching out a design for a new dress,” she beamed at me and my heart turned over. I fucking loved the way her designs gave her so much joy. “I just finished up when you called, so perfect timing. Ohhh!” She squirmed, excited all over again, and pressed onto the screen with her finger. “Secret music!”
I chuckled because I recognized the playlist immediately after hearing her words, as my own guitar sounds came streaming through the truck speakers. “These are not secret, baby. Just unfinished.”
“Yes, but you’ve never played them for me,” she cut an accusing look at me from the corner of her eyes and I didn’t bother to dispute it. Okay, so, we didn’t have any secrets. That was true. But fuck. I hadn’t ever played her this particular set of songs probably for a reason. And not one I wanted to delve into, so I just didn’t bother to respond.
Elle got quiet as she listened and I concentrated my attention to the road ahead of me instead of categorizing her reactions to the sporadic hints of lyrics and ever-switching melodies playing through the speakers.
She was a quick study, so by the time the playlist repeated Elle was humming along. “These are good, Gav!” She smacked my leg lightly in what I knew was admonishment for keeping them from her. “I didn’t know you were writing your own stuff. Why doesn’t the band play any of these?!”
I hummed, but I could feel the rush of heat sliding down from my cheeks to my neck. “Eh… Cressida’s pretty particular about the mood of our songs. These don’t really fit.” They weren’t love songs, exactly, but they weren’t… not… Cressida and Aidan had some kind of ban on love songs.
Besides I didn’t want to fucking share them.
The songs weren’t about being in love. They weren’t. But they were whatever the fucking platonic adjacent of that was – the way that I felt about my friends. The ones that I knew I would keep forever. So, yeah. They were kind of personal and the irony of Elle softly humming along was not lost on me.
“Your singing’s not so bad. We could go on the road together,” she teased, bumping her shoulder into mine, and I grinned back at her. It wasn’t the first time she’d said something similar or that I had agreed to it, either.
“I thought that was already the plan.”
“Unless you dump me for DK. He gets kinda pouty every time I say we’re going to have our own two-man band one day.”
“Yeah, yeah. That fucker doesn’t know how to share,” I scowled playfully out the windshield, seeing a nice little turn ahead that looked like exactly the kind of place that I wanted to stop.
“Only him?” Elle teased, aghast. “I’m pretty sure he’s in good company with you on that front, mister.”
I made an affronted sound as I found my spot and pulled over. “The fuck, Elle? I resemble that remark.”
She giggled as she swung her door open, following my lead. “You really, really do.” She hopped down and clapped her hands. “Okay! Now for something lighter!” And she switched the music to a really pop-y boy band that I absolutely fucking refused to admit I knew the name of and started belting out the lyrics with her arms thrown wide.
I turned the music up a bit and followed her out, glancing up at the sky with a long sigh. It was a beautiful night out and there probably weren’t too many of them left. I knew once the cold really seeped in it wouldn’t let up again for months and I wasn’t looking forward to it.
But tonight the air was decent and the stars were bright, and I was in the company of my absolute favorite girl in the fucking world.
“Sing with me, Gavin!” Elle crowed, taking my hand, and so I danced with her and joined my voice with hers as we used the truck’s headlights for illumination under the stars.
And this was why we took these drives on my sleepless nights. I knew that when I got home my head wouldn’t be unsettled anymore. Instead I would just feel like everything was exactly as it should be, even though I also knew there would be a niggling part of me wishing things could stay exactly like this forever. Just never fucking change.
It was a fool’s hope, for sure, but I could afford to hold onto it for just a little longer yet.
On the positive side, Elle was feeling better. Better about me and better about life, apparently. No more death-glares and bans on the word “fuck.” On the negative side: Elle was feeling better at seven in the mother-fucking morning. “Is the fucking sun even up?”
I yawned with my eyes still closed, as Elle bounced excitedly on my bed. I knew it was her even before she’d said anything because of the bouncing. Clay or Violet wouldn’t have gotten onto my bed, for one, and for another if either of them had wanted me at this time of morning then it would definitely be the beginnings of a fight.
Ugh. Like a month ago someone had played a prank on Violet and filled her shampoo bottle with spiders. They were fucking tiny rubber things, but she’d still run out naked and screaming. I’m not gonna lie and say that Clay and I didn’t crack the fuck up about it. I mean, I might have to bleach my brain at some point to get the image of her naked ass out of my head… But it was fucking hilarious.
Still. I wasn’t the one who did it. I had no part in it, actually.
Sometimes I ate her food, I was guilty of that shit. And sometimes I recorded over her stuff on the DVR. And—okay!—sometimes I helped Clay to pull a prank on her when she needed to be taken down a peg or two. But that girl had the worst fucking attitude, I swear to God. So really she deserved it.
Doesn’t change the fact that I didn’t do the Spider Shampoo Prank. But she does not fucking believe me, and she keeps boobie-trapping my shit.
Point is, if Violet was waking me up at seven in the morning then she would be doing a lot worse than just bouncing on my bed. And no way was Clay up right now. So, yeah, I knew it was Elle. Plus, it was always Elle.
Well usually. But lately we’d managed to get out of sync with each other, and every little thing seemed to push her moods to the extreme these days.
Elle climbed on top of me—right fucking on top of my prostrate body, laying comfortably in my bed, ensconced in my covers. She straddled me and poked me in the face.
“Wakey-wakey! Eggs and bakey!”
She smelled sweet and flowery in this entirely girly, entirely fantastic fucking way that made me want to push her right on the damn floor.
She felt even better than she smelled.
“There better be eggs and bacon when I open my eyes,” I grumbled, cranky, and still not looking at her. I yawned again. “I am trying to fucking sleep, Elvis Hirsche.” The full name was serious business and she knew it. Usually I just stuck with “baby.”
“Don’t be grumpy, Gavin.” She actually fucking chided me. Unbelievable.
“Elle.” I swatted at her, but it was half-hearted and she was too wide awake not to be able to dodge it. I hit nothing but air.
“Gavin, Gavin, Gavin!” She bit the bottom of my chin and my eyes popped wide open.
“Fuck, Elle.” I would have pushed her off of me if she hadn’t moved the second before I could do it. This was the thing about Elvis Hirsche: She did not fucking understand personal space. She was always touching me, and I definitely didn’t hate it. But sometimes, like first thing in the fucking morning when a girl is literally sitting on you when you wake up?… Yeah. I liked it too much.
And that was not a feeling I wanted associated with Elle. Not in this lifetime, anyway.
“Come on, sleepyhead. I’ve had four waffles with whipped cream and chocolate syrup. Oh, and a hot chocolate.” Her smile was too wide not to be adorable, but I was still too irritated to be charmed.
Okay. That was a fucking lie. But I couldn’t help myself, Elle was literally the cutest person in the entire world.
I still groaned, though. “Who the hell let you have that many waffles?”
“They let you make your own in the East Campus dining hall, duh! No one let me, I went to breakfast by myself.”
“Damn it, Elle. Where was Eli?!” Elle’s twin brother usually monitored her sugar and candy intake when I wasn’t around to do it. Although I had my suspicions about what “monitoring” really meant to Elijah Hirsche. But that was another story for another day.
Elle on this much of a sugar high was dangerous for everyone and everything.
“Sleeping in.” She shrugged. “There better be some candy in my fucking candy drawer.”
I groaned. At this point, I was almost entirely sure that she did that shit on purpose. But that didn’t stop my body’s reaction when I heard her say fuck. All the blood rushed south. There was something about her saying it—the worst part was that it was person specific—that turned me on. Maybe it was because I knew that Elle never swore—she didn’t even like to—unless she was trying to get a reaction out of me.
“I’m taking a shower. Stay the fuck out of that drawer.” I grumbled at her, pushing the covers away and reluctantly climbing out of bed. It was definitely a better option than laying in bed and letting Elle push all of my buttons. If she didn’t look so damn innocent then I’d be one hundred percent sure that she knew exactly what she was doing to me.
“You said you’d give me guitar lessons today,” she reminded me, as if I didn’t already know why she was there. I nodded at her, yawning again, and ran a tired hand through my sleep-dragged hair. She grinned at me.
“You look like that duster from Beauty and the Beast.”
I flipped her off and she grinned wider. “You said you wouldn’t wake me up.” I reminded her. I didn’t have any classes today until two in the afternoon, and Elle had agreed to let me sleep in if she came over early. She always agreed to let me sleep in and she never, ever did it.
“I’m sorry. But I was so excited!” She squirmed where she was sitting, as if she couldn’t keep still, and I knew that she really couldn’t. Yeah, I bet she was excited. Four fucking waffles? And whipped cream and chocolate sauce!
Elle crinkled her nose at me. “Hurry up and shower, you stink!”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Oh, yeah?” And even though I knew I probably shouldn’t, I paced the bed and pounced on her anyway.
She screeched, already giggling before I even started to tickle her, and tried to wiggle away from me. “Yeah! Get off me before I throw up!” But she was breathless as she said it, so the words came out through laughs and pants as she fought me off.
“You love it.” I teased, letting her go. “If you wake Violet, I’m gonna pretend I don’t know you.” Elle kept giggling, unfazed.
“I’m going to tell her you gave me a key.”
I shuddered at even the thought of Violet’s reaction to that. She could be a real—I hated to use this word, but in this case it was so fucking necessary—bitch when she wanted to be. Not because she was a woman. I fucking loved women. But because she was just plain psycho.
“You better not, baby.” I leveled a look at Elle but she just looked back at me, innocent and serious. I shook my head at her. “I mean it. Stay out of the candy drawer.”
“I mean it! You smell like a garbage can.” She plugged her nose at me and I rolled my eyes.
“I’ll know if you sneak one bite,” I warned.
She giggled. “I know you count the candy, Gavin. Relax, you big baby. I’ll be good!”
Yeah, she knew I counted the candy but that had never stopped her from sneaking some. And it wasn’t like I could do anything about it once she’d already eaten it. Elle on too much of a sugar high was like watching the Energizer Bunny act in an episode of Glee. Life became some sort of high speed musical.
Seriously.
I groaned at the thought and shot her one last threatening look before snatching up a change of clothes and heading to the bathroom. It was a quick shower (and a cold one), but I was slowed down by the fact that I had to make sure there weren’t any traps set in the bathroom for me to encounter. No dye in my shampoo bottle or anything like that; I wouldn’t put it past Violet, especially because I was fucking serous about my shampoo product. Hair this fantastic didn’t come without some maintenance.
So when I came out and found Elle curled up on the couch, munching on a frosted Pop-Tart, I was hardly surprised. I glared at her and she smiled beguilingly at me.
“Oops.” But even as she said it, she was shoving the last bit of it into her mouth, so I knew she wasn’t sorry. I sighed.
“You can’t possibly have any room left in that tiny stomach.” Except I knew she could. I’d seen her pack down the food like a starving teenaged boy-band… Well, I’d also seen her in action every day, too, and she pretty much never slowed down unless I made her. So it made sense that she never seemed to gain a single pound.
Elle shrugged, her cheeks puffed out, and talked around the last of her food. “Hey, I found this in the kitchen, fair and square. It was lost behind the microwave.” She licked her lips contentedly and I tried really hard not to see the trail of her tongue as she did it. “Come here, let me see if you smell better!” And just like that she was up and bouncing around.
Yeah… It looked like it was going to be a long day.
TYLER ISABELLA MCCLAIN. She was wearing some jeans that made her ass look perfect and an oversized hoodie that screamed she didn’t really care whether she looked hot or not. This girl was my walking wet dream—From the way she moved, to the sound of her voice, the shape of her body, the taste of her lips. Everything about her was coming up perfect and it was really throwing me off my game.
Usually at this state in a relationship, I was finding those little imperfections that spoke to me about why being single was better. Which made me seem like a complete asshole, I fucking realize, but the truth was that I had never had a bad break-up in my entire life. So that had to count for something.
Every single one of my exes was still my friend, at least on some level, and it wasn’t even weird. I sure as shit wasn’t spending my Friday nights with them, but hey, I wouldn’t duck and run if we ran into each other on the street either.
Still, though, Tyler outclassed my exes by about a thousand miles. There was just something about her that left me a little bit breathless. And, yeah, okay, that worried the shit out of me. But I was trying to take it in stride.
I plopped down into the chair beside her and rested my elbows on the round table in front of us with a sigh. “Please tell me you come bearing Government notes?” I shot a pleading grin at her, then leaned over to drop a quick kiss on her lips. It was stupid—that kiss part—not because it was weird to kiss my girlfriend. But because I’d done it just to send a message, and I knew it.
Tyler had walked in to the tail-end of a dress rehearsal for the band, and there was some niggling cave-man part of me that wanted Dade and the other guys to know that Tyler was my girl. It became stupider once you knew that Dade was still in high-school and definitely not any competition for Tyler’s affection, and worse because everyone already knew we were dating. But I had seen the way that the drummer could sometimes look at her. And, hell, I couldn’t say I blamed him. But still.
I had never been the jealous, territorial type in my entire fucking life. For some reason being with Tyler was starting to bring it out in me.
Or maybe there was some merit to the idea that people got crazier as they aged. Who fucking knew.
“Like I would leave you stranded.” She shot a smile at me that practically made me feel lightheaded. Damn but this girl was beautiful.
Tyler pulled up her messenger bag and flipped it open, searching through for her notes. They were color-coded and easy to follow, which made understanding what the hell was going on a hundred times easier than the textbook.
“You’re my lifesaver! You know that, right?” I almost kissed her again, but I reigned in the urge at the last second. I really did need those damn Government notes. I’d skipped the lecture to make rehearsal, and I already wasn’t doing so hot in that class.
It was the only class that Tyler and I shared, because she was an underclassman and I was an underachiever. It was also how we’d met. I’d sat next to her—for obvious reasons—and she’d taken pity on me once she saw how much I seemed to hate it; after that we became study partners.
Okay, maybe I had ulterior motives from the beginning but she doesn’t have to know that. She really was helping me pass the class. And that was something I definitely needed if my parents were going to continue to float my ass through college and pay my rent for me.
I recognized I was living a spoiled kid’s dream life, and I embraced it for what it was. One day R!OT would have a record deal and I’d be a famous guitarist, living off of a tour bus, and seeing the world. Shit, every asshole who could strum a guitar in the world probably thought the exact same thing. But this band was the real deal and, honestly, it was only a matter of time with us. We all knew that.
A matter of time and my baby brother finishing his business degree so he could properly manage us. Adam was only about a year out from that goal and making it all happen, and then my life could really begin. I was counting down the days on my calendar.
Until then I planned to milk this college thing for all it was worth with my General Education major and my mediocre grades. I was only mildly fucking ashamed of this, and only sometimes. Every other day of the week it was just something that I shrugged at. Garrett and Amy—my parents—had tolerated my rock-star ambitions only so far, and then they’d made me promise to try the college thing before making up my mind.
I loved them, but they just didn’t fucking understand.
Tyler grinned at me as I flipped through the two pages of her handwritten notes, skimming over her neat handwriting. “Thank you, Ty.” I shook my head at her to emphasize how much I meant it, and she shrugged like it was no big deal. “How was your day?”
She grabbed her coffee and sipped from the cup, hesitating before she answered. Which told me more about her day than anything else. “It was fine.” She tried to smile but it didn’t quite meet her eyes, so I knew something was up.
“Uh-huh.” I wasn’t really one to press a point, especially if someone seemed not to want to talk about something. But I’d had more than enough girlfriends in my lifetime to know that wasn’t always the right move. Most of the girls I’d dated in the past liked to have information pried from them, with a lot of questions and prodding and shit. Tyler wasn’t one of those girls, though. She wasn’t anything like that. So I deliberated for a moment before deciding that I genuinely wanted to know.
If something was bothering her then I wanted to hear about it.
“What does fine mean? Looks like you’ve got something on your mind.”
She smiled again, but this one was better. A lot less forced. “Yeah.” She put her coffee on the table and leaned back in her chair, stretching. “I got partnered with this asshole for a Biology project. So I’m not too thrilled about that.”
I wasn’t a rescuing damsels, macho kind-of guy… So it took me by surprise when my first instinct was to feel a little ruffled on her behalf. But, shit, honestly I’d never heard Tyler complaining about anyone before. She was so easy-going, so completely uncomplicated. Very live and let live. So this was new.
I must have had some kind of expression on my face because she quickly amended. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.” And then she shrugged, so I figured she probably didn’t want to delve into details about it.
“That sucks, baby.” I commiserated, because one of my exes—Jamie Lynn—had told me that sometimes a girl just wanted to be heard. Whatever the fuck that meant. “So did you hear any of the set?” I tactfully changed the subject. “How’d we sound?”
“Yeah, I did,” she grinned, adjusting her messenger bag and dropping it back to the floor at her feet. “You guys sound amazing. I’ll be the first in line to get my CD signed, knocking fangirls out of the way so I can get to Aidan.” She chuckled and I shot her a glare, my mouth dropping open at her teasing.
“Hey, now.” I clutched at my chest in mock-pain. Aidan was the lead guitarist, my roommate Clay was bass, and I filled in the gaps. “That hurts, girl.”
Tyler chuckled. “I meant Cressida. You know, since she’s got the best hair and all.”
It was a running argument in the band over who had the best hair… One that Tyler damn well knew about. And it was definitely me, by the fucking way. My hair was this awesome sandy blonde storm that curled when it was long and waved when it was short, and was fucking softer than a teddy bear’s. So fuck you. But yeah…
I shook my head at Tyler and blew out a slow breath. “We might have to break up.”
Cressida’s hair was always dyed a new color every time I looked at her, and it was all right, but it wasn’t as cool as mine. She liked to roll tape on her microphone that matched her hair color, and I thought that was just showing the fuck off. But whatever.
Tyler laughed harder and leaned over to wrap her arms around my neck. She tried to kiss me but I dodged, fighting back a smile, so she just peppered my face instead.
Damn but this girl was cute, and I could not stop noticing it for the fucking life of me.
THE EMPTY CANDY DRAWER felt like the last straw—the insult to top all insults—and it made me want to swear at something. So I screamed, “CRACKER JACKS!” at the top of my lungs and kicked the drawer repeatedly until it slammed shut again.
It had been a bad day; a bad day mounting a bad week and an even worse month.
Gavin Porter kept my emergency candy in the bottom drawer of his nightstand, and it was always stocked. Always, always, always. But today there were no Skittles, no Snickers, no Twizzlers or Jolly Ranchers or Tootsie Pops. There weren’t even any freaking candy corn, and that was just a travesty against God and all the baby angels in heaven because who the HELL would be desperate enough to eat a bag of candy corn? Me, apparently, a week ago when that was all that was left in there.
It wasn’t right. This couldn’t be happening.
It seemed like a small thing—the empty candy drawer—but it wasn’t. It was a symptom, not the diagnosis. The prognosis, really, because I could see that the end result was terminal for us. Gavin and I had been teetering on this point for what felt like a while now—felt like all my life sometimes—but we had only been wobbling before this. The empty drawer seemed like the final unbalancing act, somehow, like he’d just shoved me off the cliff.
And my God, did plummeting suck.
“Ah, baby,” Gavin came to an abrupt halt just inside his room, where I was still squared off with the nightstand even though it was clear that it was the victor. His regret painted the lines of his face in vibrant, precise colors. I could see the instant when he realized that he was in big trouble.
“I fucked up.” He proclaimed, completely unnecessarily. We were currently engaged in a Defcon-7 style meltdown, so I really didn’t need the benefit of his added confession as ammunition.
“I’m sorry, Elle. It’s on my to-do list, I swear,” and he actually floundered through his jean’s pockets until he produced a tiny square of paper that I had no doubt was said list. Not that I cared. “I just…”
“Haven’t gotten around to it,” I supplied, slowly nodding my head. Slowly accepting the sad, cold truth. “I get it.” Gavin Porter had forgotten about me.
For the first time in twelve solid years of friendship, he’d managed to shove me down to the bottom of his to-do list. And then forget. I had become an afterthought.
It was just some stupid candy… But it wasn’t. Not really. It was more than that—bigger than that.
“Well!” He perked up when I refused to say anything else, and just kept standing there with that dumbfounded look on my face. The shell-shocked, broken look, I’m sure. “Let’s go to the fucking grocery store or some shit. Fuck. ShopMart is practically crying my fucking name right now!” He smiled that Gavin smile that made my heart slip sideways every single time, and—darn it!—it still did it. My heart was a turn-coat.
I rolled my eyes at him. “I think I’ll just go home.”
“What the fuck! It’s movie night!” It was ridiculous how quickly his smile fell, how thoroughly the light dimmed from his eyes, and his whole demeanor dampened without anything about his stance even changing. And so frustrating that I couldn’t stop my chest from squeezing tight when it happened.
“Come on, baby, don’t leave! It took for fucking ever to get rid of Clay and Violet, and I haven’t really seen you all fucking week.”
The “f” word was Gavin’s thing. Avoiding it like the plague was mine. Well, that and candy.
I shook my head at him, annoyed with the reminder that we hadn’t spent any time together lately. It was his own fault. Just because he happened to get his roommates out of the house for a couple of hours to watch a movie with me did not suddenly make me beholden to his every whim. I didn’t owe him this movie night thing, even if it was a routine with us. He’d broken our routines enough that he had no room to complain.
“I queued a fucking Disney movie just for you,” he pleaded.
Before I could stop myself, I heard my mouth saying, “Well, maybe you should call Tyler.” And I kind of sneered her name as I said it. Which… oops. Yeah, Tyler was a girl. Tyler was Gavin’s girl, to be exact. And the sick, sad truth of it was that there was always a Tyler, even when she was named something else. The “f” word was Gavin’s thing and so were girls. Every fucking girl in town, it seemed, except me.
Not that, you know, I wanted that. Because we were friends, and had always been friends, and I’d thought we’d always be friends. But… Yeah.
Okay. I wanted more.
But mostly I just wanted him not to forget to refill my candy drawer whenever he got caught up with the next Tyler. Because I was his forever girl, not part of the revolving door of women that he dated, and I was not supposed to be the one that he forgot about. Not ever.
“Come on, Elle,” Gavin sighed. “She doesn’t want to watch this shit.” If it hadn’t been Gavin saying it, I might have stormed off without even responding. But it was Gavin, and I knew just what he meant. And he wasn’t insulting the kind of movies that I liked, not really, even though what he’d said seemed kind of harsh. For most people, swear words were a show of anger, but for Gavin they were a way of life. He was rarely angry, ever, over anything. That was just the way he talked, and this was just the thing we did.
He pretended not to like the girly stuff that I was into, and I let him get away with it because I thought that it was cute. Only, I was low on sugar and there weren’t any freaking Starbursts in the stupid candy drawer, and it wasn’t so cute without the glucose high.
I glared at him.
“Fucking fuck-cake, Elle!” Gavin exploded, catching my look with all the intended shade thrown. “For fuck’s sake! Let’s go to the fucking store and come back with the fucking candy and watch this fucking movie!”
That was a lot in a few seconds, even for him. I took it as an indication that he actually did feel bad. Which was good, because he should have.
“I don’t want to hang out with Tyler,” he explained, calmer, his shoulders easing as he spoke. “I want to hang out with you. You know I miss you. And I’ll be fucking miserable if you leave. So… Please?”
And just like that I melted. It was so easy for him, and stupid of me, I knew it. But I couldn’t deny him anything when he asked me like that, looked at me like that—his beautiful blue eyes all soft, and sad, and sweet. Besides, the thought that my absence could make him miserable assuaged a wound that I hadn’t wanted to acknowledge existed.
“Fine. But I get to eat as much candy as I want tonight. And you’re not allowed to complain if I hog the covers!” Yeah, I was such a tough negotiator.
“Hey!” Gavin still found a reason to protest, his forehead creasing in challenge. “Last time you pushed me off the fucking bed. That’s not the best wake-up call! You’re not just a cover hog, you’re a whole fucking mattress hog!”
I tsk’ed at him. “No complaining, Mister.”
Movie night always turned into a sleepover. It was a thing that we did… A very stupid thing, I guess, considering I couldn’t stop glaring at the idea of Gavin’s girlfriend also sometimes spending the night at his place. Much less innocently and much more naked… But hey, maybe I was a sucker for feeling miserable over my love life—or lack thereof. It certainly seemed that way sometimes.
“Fine.” Gavin heaved the weightiest sigh in the entire universe and even rolled his eyes, but I could see the little bit of amusement lingering in his expression as he slung an arm over my shoulders and dragged me away from my confrontation with his night stand. “I won’t complain.”
“And,” I hedged, inspiration suddenly striking me. “You’re not allowed to say fuck for the rest of the night!”
He tensed when I said it—the way he always did—and I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard, a trickle of satisfaction sliding down my spine as I looked at him. Here was a dirty little secret that Gavin didn’t think I knew: It totally turned him on when girls said swear words.
He cleared his throat. “How the fuck am I—” Gavin stopped himself with a quick shake of his head. “I mean… How am I supposed to go an entire night… Elle. You’re not fighting fair.”
“Nothing’s fair in love and war, cupcake.” I teased, regaining the perk to my step as we headed for the front door.
Gavin lived in a little off-campus house with his two roommates, Clay and Violet. Clay was one of the guitarists in Gavin’s band and Violet was just a girl who’d answered a roommate ad. Not a girl that Gavin was interested in, thankfully. Probably because Vi was a little bit on the crazy side, but probably mostly because Violet and Clay sometimes hooked up while pretending that they hated each other. And Gavin was too loyal of a friend to ever be interested in his friends’ girls.
“Well, is this love or war?” Gavin asked, just as his arm went from around my shoulders to around my waist, his hand resting against my hip like it was no big deal. Ugh.
It didn’t seem possible that he couldn’t hear the way my heart was slamming against my chest, or feel how tight my entire body had squeezed from the move. “It’s both, Gavin. Definitely both.”
@alienstardust so i've been working on trying to figure out how to draw a simplified-style dk (that still kind of looks like gabe) and i am so not there yet. but this is my gabe reference drawing that happened as part of the process. anyways! HAPPY BIRTHDAY MANDA!
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