Subject to Change (19 page)

My heart sunk. “Hawk, I never meant you to feel like you weren’t good enough. I’ve changed, too, since I met you. I know now college degrees aren’t everything. Goals and plans aren’t everything. Especially if they’re unrealistic.”

Hawk shook his head. “But they are something. They’re solid, and they’re a future. I just had to listen to you more carefully, you know? And I’m so sorry for that. But I’ve changed too, and there’s no question that we would fit together if we would just bother to try.”

For four shallow breaths, I stared into those gorgeous blue eyes, round and watching mine with such hope in them I could have died.

“I did try,” I said. “I…I am trying. I care about you, Hawk. But you have to know…when I changed my major, it wasn’t because you told me to. It was the best thing for me — my decision.”

“Just like my application to the business school was for me,” Hawk said. “And the restaurant is, too. That doesn’t mean I’m not glad you’re part of it.”

He took two steps closer to me. I could have reached out and touched him.

“I really did do it for me,” I insisted. “I didn’t need you to yell at me to know I needed to change that major.”

“I figured that when you had a breakdown.” His rubbed the back of his head, and there his hair went again, doing that same adorable sticking-up-everywhere thing. “I just wanted to…I don’t know. I wanted you keep you from falling over the edge with the stress of something you just didn’t love. You weren’t meant to be a doctor. You would have hated it. It would have taken something away from how amazing you are, how passionate you are. I didn’t want to see that.”

“I know that now. But I don’t need protecting.”

“I know.”

“I don’t need to be taken care of.”

He sucked in a breath as I stepped forward and pressed my hands against his chest.

“I know.”

His hands went around my waist.

“But this time,” I said, “you were right.”

He leaned his head down to mine and murmured, “I know,” right before he pressed his lips to mine.

We stood there for a few minutes, murmuring apologies and kissing and staring into each other’s eyes. Then Hawk’s gaze stopped right under my collarbone, where the white square of gauze stuck out just a tiny bit. He moved the collar of my button-down shirt over just enough to see it.

“What happened to you?”

I peeled back the dressing. The small, one-inch tattoo actually looked quite a bit more normal than it had even the night before.

“It’s a hawk. For conquering indecision. That’s what you helped me do. Learn how to live for myself and no one else.”

“Well,” he said, tenderly sealing the tape back over it, “maybe a little bit for me.”

I stood on tiptoes again to kiss him with a laugh. “Just a little bit. Only when you make it worth my while.”

I dug my fingers into his sides, right where I knew it would make him twitch with ticklishness, and he jumped. But in the next movement, he swept me into his arms and carried me all the way to his bike.

When we finally hit cruising speed, I pressed my lips up to his ear and said, “Your move.”

[Epilogue]

I swiped
at my forehead with my arm. My hands were encased in paint-streaked gloves, and in the heat of Philadelphia in early May, painting the inside of Joey and Hawk’s was sweaty business.

It wasn’t really called “Joey and Hawk’s” — it was “Hawk’s Bar and Restaurant.” When we were alone, though, the memory of the class project that had brought us back together was super-romantic.

I rolled on another strip of paint while Hawk adjusted the furniture for the five millionth time. He’d let me pick it out, and even though he deemed some of it “girly” or “prissy,” he’d had a slight smirk on his face the whole time he’d watched me shop and bargain for it. It turned out one of the reasons he’d never had money to spend was that he had been saving for developments to the bar. Fifteen grand wasn’t a lot of money, but it could get the ball rolling on some real, tangible improvements. I’d convinced him to start spending it since even the littlest things could help encourage people to try a new place.

He didn’t really get started until the night I brought him home for dinner. I’d never seen Hawk on such impeccable — if strange — behavior. He’d even worn a long-sleeved shirt to cover the tattoos and combed his hair. As we told Mom about plans for the bar that night, it was like she came alive. She’d loved decorating our house but hadn’t done much with it since Dad died. She and Hawk spent the rest of the night talking about color palettes and how it affected mood, furniture placement, art styles, and God knew what else. Ever since then, whenever she texted me, she asked about Hawk. She’d even been to the restaurant-in-progress to help pick the purple paint that was currently splattered all over my hair.

With a little work here and there — new colors, couches, light fixtures — the bar transformed before our eyes. Nate had already come in for what he and Hawk had called a “kitchen jam session,” where they tried to impress each other with their recipes all day long. Even though it was still a work-in-progress, we’d had a soft-open of Hawk’s a couple nights already and lured in kids from both universities with free beer on tap and some really good bands. Buzz was building, so we needed to have a really nice place ready as soon as possible.

Which was why I was putting one last coat of deep purple paint on the walls while Hawk hauled around the furniture and tinkered with speaker placement.

Olivia bumped out of the back kitchen doors wearing an apron. She stayed with Hawk on the weekends now, telling her friends that she had to because of a court order but really just trying to shape up. She came to the hospital a lot with me and helped Hawk with dinner at Rowland House whenever she could. I had high hopes for her.

Olivia held out a spoonful of orange soup with green flecks. “Hawk wants you to try this gazpacho Gary made. Second opinion.”

“Most important opinion, you mean,” I said, and Olivia laughed. Hawk had drawn up a plan to buy Gary’s half of the restaurant from him within five years, and we found out that Gary was more than happy to be rid of it. He felt too old to deal with all the details but had wanted to help out Hawk instead of selling it to an outside guy. He was content to live on the pension from his first job, work a little at the bar during the day, eat free, and go home at night.

Since my arms were covered in paint, Olivia shoveled the cold tomato soup into my mouth. I shook my head. “It’s okay, but more salt.”

“You always say more salt,” she teased, going back to the kitchen.

“Okay, but really. More salt,” I called after her, shaking my head.

The postman knocked on the door, sticking his head in. “You guys gonna get a mailbox out here?”

Hawk strode up to the front and took an armful of mail from him. “Yeah, today or tomorrow. I swear.”

He shuffled through the mail, tossing the junk into a loose pile on the floor, a habit which always infuriated me, but it had been impossible to break him of. He kept one white envelope in his hand though.

He opened it slowly, and then a big grin crept across his face.

“What is it?” I asked, setting down the roller and walking over.

“Hold on,” he said. “You got a pen?”

“In my pocket, I think.” I stuck my hip out toward him, and he fished in there to find a black ballpoint. As soon as he started writing on the front of the envelope, I knew what it would say. I started bouncing.

He held it out to me. “Go on. Read it.”

I grabbed it, smudging the front with purple paint in the process. I tore out the note and screamed as soon as I got two lines in.

“You got into the business school!” I screeched. “With a scholarship!”

He laughed. “Okay, okay. All of Sansom can hear you.” But the smile on his face was the proudest I’d ever seen.

I examined the letter more closely. My mouth dropped open. “Hawk, did you see this? The amount of this scholarship? What the hell kind of essay did you write?”

He leaned in. “Why — what did I get?”

“Full tuition and an extension of funding to the MBA program if you get in!” I shrieked. Then I jumped up into a hug, wrapping my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck and kissing him as hard as I could.

He laughed. “Whoa, Jo. You’re gonna knock me over.”

“Fat chance,” I mumbled, diving in for another kiss. “I know you can handle me.”

“Barely,” he said, craning his neck up to kiss me long and slow. “Hey, you know what this means?” he asked in that low, husky tone.

“You’re gonna take me up to bed right now?” I asked, suddenly struck by how sexy this pose was.

“Nope. It means it’s your move.”

My heart jumped, then dropped into my stomach. “Well. That’s not a problem at all. Because I’ve been waiting for just such an occasion to tell you that…well…” I bit my bottom lip. “I’m in love with you. I love you.” Hawk just stared back at me for one, two, three excruciating seconds. “And now I’m going to go die of embarrassment.”

I tried to hop down from Hawk’s grasp, but he held on tight.

“No, no. You stay right here.” Then he looked deep into my eyes. His breath was soft on my face, and I could feel it coming. I wanted to savor that feeling forever.

He took a breath. “I haven’t told anyone I loved them since…well, ever. I loved my dad and…well, I’m still getting over that. I love Olivia, and she basically makes my life a living hell.”

I smiled, humoring him, but inside, I was a mess. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t speak. I could barely frickin’ think.

“But if anything in this whole world is true, Joey,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, “it’s that I love you.”

I grinned and kissed him again and again and again, not caring about anyone else in the bar or how hot it was or how much purple paint I’d get on his clothes.

We were Joey and Hawk, kissing in the middle of Joey and Hawk’s.

We were both going places, we were both happy, we loved each other, and life was pretty damn good.

Acknowledgements

I couldn’t have made this book happen all by my lonesome, as fabulous as I am. First and biggest thanks, as usual, go to my friend and partner in crime, the inimitable Paisley Grant. Once again, she provided a voice of reason and a shoulder to cry on from first word to final edit. Love you, Pais.

To my other first-round readers, Amanda Olivieri and Cait Greer, buckets of hugs and kisses for putting up with my ridiculousness. Your eagle eyes made Joey and Hawk’s story make sense, and shine, too.

To my target audience readers, Alexa and Rachel, thanks for assuring me that Nate was great, but Hawk surpassed him in certain areas of hotness. I’m sure he heard you from the pages and gave that smug look you all love so much.

My copy editor Becca Weston was incredible as always, and caught some mistakes might have been entertaining, but in all the wrong ways. Thanks, you gorgeous thing.

KP Simmon, my publicist - everyone knows you’re the best in the business. I’m honored to have you on my team.

I’m proud to be in writerly cahoots with the likes of Lyla Payne, Sophia Bleu, Melanie Harlow, Laurelin Paige, and Colina Brennan - you’re the best buds a New Adult Authoress could ask for, and you inspire me to be better at everything I write, but especially the most important scenes.

I’m especially grateful to Emma Hart, who reached out to ask if she could read early and bestowed such a stunning blurb on this little book. You make my world go ‘round, even from across the Pond. Love you bunches.

To the Boy, who endured endless evenings of the Bachelorette and my fingers flying across the keyboard writing romance involving guys who were not him, thank you very much. You can complain all you want but, I know you love it when I write these books, for your own reasons.

Last but certainly not least, thank you my gorgeous readers. Every word, smile, and cheer from you makes the late nights and hand-wringing of getting my stories on the page worth it a million-fold. I love you all tons.

About the Author

Alessandra Thomas is a New Adult writer who swears she was in her twenties yesterday. Since that’s sadly untrue, she spends her time looking back on her college years fondly, and writing sexy stories about guys and girls falling in love and really living life for the first time. When she’s not writing, you can find her with a spoonful of ice cream in one hand and the newest New Adult release in the other.

She is also the author of
Picture Perfect
, the first book in the
Picturing Perfect
series.