Dearest Series Boxed Set (10 page)

“There isn’t much to tell. We’ve gone climbing a couple of times, and he’s given me some suggestions on my story.”

“You showed him your writing?” Harper looks shocked. She knows I don’t show anyone my work, especially early drafts.

I nod, and her eyes widen.

“I only showed him that draft I turned in to our romance class. He’s a writer, too, and since he works as an RA, he’s had some good insights.” The girls look confused, so I explain the general premise of my book. When I’m done, they still look perplexed.

“But you’ve also stayed at his place, too, right? What, twice?” Harper asks.

“And don’t forget the night he stayed here.” Taking count, Jenna holds up three fingers.

“Before you get all excited, we literally just sleep.”

Harper and Jenna look at each other and laugh as though I’m lying.

“Why do I get the sense there’s something you’re not telling us?” Jenna asks. “Come on, Clem, spill it! I can see it in your face. You’re a terrible liar.”

Since I don’t date, I don’t ever have any juicy stories. The last time I talked about kissing a boy, it was Daren. And the friend in whom I confided, Veronica, was busy hooking up with him behind my back. I swallow back a rush of unexpected emotion and try to explain what’s going on with Gavin.

“Okay, something
did
happen last night, but when you hear the whole story, you’ll see he was merely helping me with my assignment.”

Now they’re totally confused. I reach for a cold nacho and reluctantly share how he was helping me connect with my characters and get into their mindset when we made out in the laundry room. I add that when he asked me to go climbing with him he had emphasized
as friends.

“Holy shit, Clementine.” Jenna jumps up off the couch and does a little victory dance like she crossed the finish line of a race. “He likes you! Like, a lot!”

“No, he doesn’t,” I snort.

“Gavin Murphy has a legion of groupies who come to the shows, and he’s never really shown any interest in them. But when he talks to you, he looks like a starving man eyeballing a steak.” She stares at me as she taps her chin with one finger. “It probably doesn’t hurt that he saw you naked.” She giggles and shimmies suggestively.

“What? When did this happen?” Harper asks.

Shooting Jenna a dirty look for bringing it up only makes her laugh harder.

I blow out a breath. “It wasn’t deliberate. I walked out of the shower and nearly killed myself on Ryan’s skateboard, and my towel fell. And I wasn’t completely naked. I was wearing boy shorts.”

Talking about all of this makes my heart race, and I start biting my nails.

Harper grabs my other hand. “Okay, guys, let’s leave Clem alone. She looks like she wants to crawl under the couch.” When I glance up, she’s grinning. “Relax. He seems like a great guy, and you’re right. You guys probably are just friends. This is good!”

She’s in clinician mode. I can tell by her voice she’s trying to not scare me.

It’s too late.

P
opping a pill is so tempting
.

My hands shake for an hour after I get up on Sunday morning. I haven’t had a nightmare in over a year, but seeing Wheeler yesterday has churned up my worst fears: his hands tightening on me, those words he growled in my ear, the terror that I wouldn’t be able to stop him. And the worst part—not being able to scream. Instead, the panic coils in my gut, writhing like a snake that can’t strike.

The pills help me relax and detach, but I want to get there on my own. The downside of the meds is my lack of feeling, how numb they make me. Maybe it’s good to feel, even if it’s to be afraid. At least it’s real.

I lace up my tennis shoes because, if I’m not going to medicate, only one thing can help me off the ledge. And like a soothing balm, each stride helps melt the fear.

In the afternoon, as I’m stepping into my room after my hour-long run, my phone rings.

“What are you doing?” Gavin doesn’t say hi. I don’t know why, but this makes me laugh.

“I’m waiting for Harper to get home so she can help me with some homework.” I kick off my shoes and reach into my drawers to grab a change of clothes.

“What do you have to do?”

“You had to ask.” I groan. “Don’t laugh, okay?”

“I won’t. What is it?”

“Applied math.” I’m waiting for him to make fun of me. After all, I’m a senior taking a freshman course.

“You’re in luck. I’m great at math. I’ll help you with your assignment if you proof my new article.”

“That doesn’t seem like a fair tradeoff. You haven’t seen how much I suck at math.”

“It’s okay. I help all the kids on my floor. We’ll pretend it’s another scenario in your book.”

Warmth spreads in my belly.

“Ah, so my
book boyfriend
is coming over to
tutor
me? Why didn’t you say so?”

He’s grinning. I can tell. “Exactly. So it’s almost as though you don’t need the help at all. Your character does. What’s her name anyway?”

“Samantha. The RA is Andrew.”

“I think I should get a hotter name, like Ian or Aiden.”

“Hold the phone, Romeo,” I snort. “These are
fictional
characters. I happen to get inspired by life, but it’s not like I directly transcribe my conversations with people straight into my stories.”

“Whatever you say, Clementine. Only make sure you include the part where you say I kiss like a rock star.” He’s laughing. Grateful he can’t see my embarrassment, I drop my head into my hand. “I’ll be over in ten.”

“No, give me half an hour. I just ran and need to take a shower.”

“See, that’s too much information. All your
book
boyfriend
is going to do is fantasize about that for the next thirty minutes. That and those little black shorts.”

My face must be scarlet right now. “What black shorts?”

“The ones you were wearing when you flashed me.”

I nearly drop the phone.

“You make it sound like I did that on purpose. I didn’t know you were in my apartment. I tripped. The towel fell.”

“And it fucking made my year, darlin’.” He pauses, and I don’t have anything to say to fill the silence. “I’ll see you in half an hour.”

When we get off the phone, I’m grinning like an idiot.

* * *

G
avin follows
me to get my books. “You unpacked,” he says as his eyes scan my room. The boxes are gone, finally.

I glance around, hoping I didn’t leave anything embarrassing out. My bed is made, my purple comforter tucked under two down pillows. On my beech desk sits my laptop, a small stack of textbooks, a short silver vase with a handful of blue and black pens, and a framed photo taken last winter of Jenna, Harper and me, arm in arm as we huddle in the snow.

He leans in to read some of the Post-Its on my cork board, and my heart beats a little faster.

“Favorite quotes?” he asks.

“Yeah, I know they’re silly, but I can’t seem to part with them.”

He’s quiet, his eyes skimming across the rainbow of squares. Reaching out, he touches my favorite. I swallow, wishing he hadn’t stopped on that one.
They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered.

He smiles over his shoulder. “I love F. Scott Fitzgerald too. Which book is your favorite?”

“
This Side of Paradise
.”

“Most people say
Gatsby
, but I have to agree with you.”

It would be so much easier to ignore how attractive Gavin is if he didn’t love my favorite book.

As he steps back, I reach over the desk and grab my assignment.

“I have an idea. Pack up your stuff,” he says.

I stop, taken aback by how sexy he looks leaning against my chair. His dark hair is going every which way, and his tall, muscular body fills my vision.

Finally, I regain the ability to speak. “I thought we were going to study.”

He tugs on the hem of my t-shirt. “We are, but we can kill two birds with one stone. Let’s go to the library. I have a scenario for your book.” He grins, making stupid little flutters ripple in my stomach.

“Can we do my math first? I might not be able to concentrate after you try
helping
me with my book.” Part of me is embarrassed to admit that, but it’s the truth.

He laughs, nodding, but the heat in his eyes makes my blood pulse faster.

Once we’ve worked on my math assignment on the main floor of the library for an hour and a half, I pack my stuff and lay my head on my bag. Concentrating with him looking over my shoulder every ten seconds has been unnerving, but at least I finally understand the work.

“See,” he says. “Not so bad. I told you I’m a good tutor.”

“It’s true. You are. And very modest.”

“Modesty is overrated. C’mon.”

I’ve only barely grabbed my bag when he reaches for my other hand and pulls me up.

“Where are we going?”

“The stacks.” He turns to wink at me before he drags me like a little rag doll.

“What’s that?”

“Baby, you haven’t made out until you’ve made out in the stacks.”

I try to stifle my laugh, but I still get a dirty look from a librarian.
And he just called me baby.
Gavin pulls me into the elevator so hard that I stumble right into him. I’m about to apologize for being a klutz when he wraps his arm around me as he reaches over to push the button for the fourth floor.

“You’ve never heard of the stacks? Really?”

Ignoring my heart rate, which has accelerated like it’s doing a lap at the Indy 500, I shake my head. “No, never. What is it?” He smells so good. This close, it’s intoxicating.

“It’s where the library stores its main collection, but it’s also where all of the hot makeout sessions happen on campus. I’m guessing an illicit affair with your scorching hot RA should have at least one hookup in the stacks.”

He smirks, and those dimples come out in full force.

“So now you’re my ‘scorching hot RA’?” I attempt a look of incredulity, but it’s tough when I’m wrapped up in his arms.

“Yeah. That’s me. And you’re my innocent little freshman who is dying to get in my pants.”

And there’s a total look of satisfaction in his face that makes me want to take down him down a peg or two.

So I laugh. “What else do I want to do to you?”

He looks down, a mischievous grin spreading. “I don’t know, but I’m eager to find out.”

I don’t have a chance to respond because as the doors open, Gavin grabs my hand and pulls me through a few aisles, and we twist and turn until we’re in what must be the farthest corner of the library.

“These are the stacks.” He reaches out one hand as though he’s making a formal introduction, and I’m about to ask what the big deal is when he turns around and pushes me up against the wall.

I gasp, surprised.

His hand pins me above my heart, which is pounding as he leans in so close I can feel his breath.

He pauses and raises his eyebrows, and I know what he’s asking.

I only need the briefest of moments to realize I’m not scared, not with him, not now, and I give him a small nod before his mouth crashes into mine and we pick up where we left off in the laundry room.

I’m immediately lost in his touch and taste. Gavin runs his hand along my back before he fists my hair, and my heart thunders in my chest.

He has the most amazing lips, the kind I want to bite. And in the spirit of inspiration, I decide I should.

I break the kiss long enough to take his bottom lip between my teeth. I look up at him as I gently tug, and I’m glad that he has his arm wrapped around my waist because the scorching look he gives me makes me weak.

He pulls back and stares, his thumb lightly brushing over cheek. Our breaths mingle in the short distance between us, the sound of each intake of air filling the silence.

Suddenly, he growls and pulls me closer, parting my lips with his tongue. The slight stubble on his chin rubs my face, and I run my hands up his broad shoulders and through his hair, pulling him tighter. He grabs my waist, and I’m in the air for a split second before I land on top of a small bookshelf. He nestles in between my thighs, and I yank on his shirt, wanting him closer.

Wrapping my legs around him, I press myself into his hard body as my nails score down his back. He grabs my ass and rocks against me, and I can’t help the moan that escapes me.

I don’t know how long I’m adrift in his kiss, but as I begin to wonder how smart this is, making out in the library, we’re interrupted.

“Ahem.” The sudden sound makes me jolt back, and I turn to see a very irritated librarian with a cart of books he apparently needs to shelve. I laugh as Gavin slides me off the bookcase. He grins as he grabs my hand, pulling me behind him as we run down the aisle and back into the elevator.

I’m still breathing hard from our little makeout session and laughing from getting caught when he turns and anchors me against the wall with his hip, bracing his hands on either side of me. Judging by what’s pressed up against my stomach, I’m not the only one turned on.

“Uh, you excited to see me?” I say coyly.

“You have no fucking idea.” He leans down and gives me the sweetest, softest kiss before he breaks away when the door opens to the main floor.

Dear lord.

* * *

I
sit at my desk
, thinking about how to capture what happened in the library. I touch my lips, which are swollen from having my mouth pressed against Gavin’s like my life depended on it. Trying not to overanalyze what’s happening between us, I focus on channeling the emotion of being with him. His touch. His delicious scent. His smile. I close my eyes and allow myself a reprieve from my cynical inner voice and try to enjoy the rush of the last few times we’ve hung out.

When I open my laptop, the words begin to flow, and I can see my characters—how they fall in love, their sweet embraces, their impassioned stares. It’s like my head has been uncorked, and everything is tumbling out so fast, my fingers can barely keep pace. It’s exhilarating, and my heart races with the possibilities.

It isn’t always this hard. Well, that’s not exactly true. I started writing as a form of therapy so I could deal with all the bullshit of breaking up with Daren. When I wrote my first book, I knew how it would end, how the characters would evolve, and roughly how they’d get there. This is different. I don’t know where this story will go, a thought that briefly douses my elation.

Somewhere around 4 a.m., I collapse in bed.

The alarm the next morning is painful. When I dress for class, I realize I’ve probably spent the last twenty-four hours obsessing over Gavin so I can write. I can feel it already, how I open up to him, how he gets me to take chances, how I’m willing to go outside my comfort zone for him.

This is dangerous. I could get hurt.

I keep waiting for the panic to set in, the panic that has tortured me throughout college and kept me from getting close to anyone. For once, it doesn’t.