Summer (Four Seasons #2) (10 page)

“Yeah. Sure,” I say. “So much better.” But it doesn’t. It feels awful.

Outside, the sun is shining again. I’ve thought it before, but it hits me again how messed up it is that the city is beautiful right now and in my head it feels like it should be raining. Morgan sticks out her bottom lip. “It’s going to be okay, Ave. I promise you it will. Plus you have the most amazing apartment I’ve ever seen right now and I’m jealous as all hell. I can’t believe it came with all that kick ass furniture. Anyway, once we’ve dropped all of this off, I need to head home and meet Sam. Come with me. I want to introduce you guys. Don't you dare say anything about him looking like Cole, though.”

“Sam? There’s
another
Cole lookalike now?”

“No, Sam
is
Jag from the band. The Cole clone.”
 

 
“Right. That’s not confusing at all.”

“You seriously thought someone out there named their kid Jag for real? That’s just his stage name. Hot, right?”

“
Blistering
.”

“So? Are you in?”
 

“I don’t think I need to interrupt whatever plans you guys have.”
 

She punches me square in the boob. “Ow! What the fuck was that for?”
 

“For being annoying, that’s what.” Morgan pulls me into an awkward side hug. “Come on, come with me. We're not going to make out in front of you, I promise.”

“Yes, you will. You and Tate used to subject me to your hot and heavy make out sessions all the time.” I catch the stony look on Morgan’s face, instantly realizing what I’ve said.
Tate
. Tate, who Morgan was off-and-on dating last year before he overdosed and died on snow-covered rooftop. They didn’t find his body for days. I flinch, wishing I could take back the words.

“Well, there won’t be any making out today,” Morgan says softly. “Maybe some Xbox and some grilled cheese sandwiches if you’re lucky, but definitely no making out, I swear.”

******

Morgan’s apartment is on the edge of the campus. We make idle chit chat while we walk, Morgan making an obvious effort to steer clear of any further Luke Reid related topics. I love her for it.

When we reach her door, Morgan slides her key in the lock, squealing. If she’s this excited before we’re even inside, I dread to think what she’s going to do when she lays eyes on this guy. I don’t have to wait long to find out.
 

“Hey, sexy!” Morgan flies into the kitchen and throws herself at the guy waiting there—tattoos everywhere, closely cropped dark hair, muscles as far as the eye can see. It’s been weeks and weeks since we went to see his band play, and it seems as though Morgan’s been spending a lot of time with him. His resemblance to Cole really
is
startling. I smile and wave, dropping my bag by the couch.

“Hey.”
 

“You must be Avery.”

“I sure am.”

Sam walks toward the couch, Morgan still hugging his side. They look so damn cute together. I feel bad for being grumpy about their obvious happiness, but I can’t help myself. I’m dead inside these days.
 

 
“Heard a lot about you,” Sam says.
 

“Oh.
Awesome
.” I can imagine how that conversation played out. I smirk as he chuckles, leaning down to kiss Morgan.

“Okay, kitten. Little room to breathe, huh?” He smiles and Morgan laughs in a bright, lovely way that makes my insides hurt. I know other girls turn into giddy train wrecks when they fall for a guy, but Morgan? Yeah, I never thought I’d see the day.

I flop down on the couch, and Morgan sits down beside me. I expect Sam to join us, but he doesn't. He chooses the armchair instead, sprawling out, all long arms and long legs, kicking his boots up on the coffee table.
 

“You ladies of leisure been causing mischief?” he asks.
 

“I was being a good Samaritan, helping Avery here move apartments. No mischief involved whatsoever.”

Sam grins at her, flashing a set of really awesome, very white teeth. “Hmm. Sounds better than writing a four-thousand-word essay on the agricultural practices of extinct civilizations. My paper has to be in at the end of the week. No summer break for me.” He looks a little older than your average college student, but I refrain from mentioning this. Morgan pulls a face at the both of us.
 

“Yawn. Fuck school work.”

“No,
not
fuck school work,” I tell her, laughing. “We still have plenty of work to be doing over the summer. I’d like to pass my degree if that’s at all possible after everything that’s already happened, thank you very much.”

“Everything that’s already happened?” Sam looks confused.
 

I glance sideways at Morgan out of the corner of my eye, raising my eyebrows.
Haven’t you told him?
 

She shrugs, pouting. “Ah, not much. Avery was shot and nearly died, and I overdosed on bad E. Tough semester last year, right?” She laughs, nudging me with her elbow. I can hear the tired note in her voice though—despite the bravado, she’s as exhausted by what happened as I am. I should have known she wouldn’t have mentioned any of that stuff to a new guy. Especially a hot new guy with no baggage, who apparently already has a key to her place.

“Intense,” Sam says, stabbing his index finger repeatedly into the arm of the chair he’s sitting in. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Nope.”

“Nope.”
 

Both of us answer at the same time. It’s me who shoots him an apologetic look, though. “It’s water under the bridge. We’re moving past it. Trying to.”

Morgan huffs, spinning around so she can lay her legs across my lap. “Trying and succeeding like bosses. We should probably get jobs for what remains of the break, y’know? Become well-rounded contributors to the human race.”

“If you say Starbucks, I’m going to kill you.”

“Oh come on!”

“Not happening.”

Morgan pouts. “Imagine how many people would be murdered in New York City on a daily basis if the general populous didn’t get their morning dose of caffeine.”

“If I ever have any spare time again once these assignments are done. I’m not getting a job. I’m going to learn a new language or something. That would look great on my resume if I want to chase down this whole war correspondent thing.”

Morgan makes a disgruntled sound. “I have problems remembering English half the time. I don’t have room for another language.”

“Why the fuck would you want to become a war correspondent?” Sam drops his feet to the ground, leaning forward. “I figured people drew the short straw in the office to get landed with that shit.”

I smile, shaking my head. “The news is full of half truths and blatant lies. War related news especially. I guess I’ve just always wanted to be out there, making sure at least one person is telling the
whole
truth.” I brush my finger over my lips—a nervous tic I find myself doing more and more these days. My whole life has felt like a goddamn war zone of late. That should be enough for me, and yet here I am, working toward a future that promises even more panic and danger.
 

Sam’s mouth draws down at the corners while he apparently thinks on this. “True. And that’s important. But a conflict zone’s scary as hell and dangerous as fuck.”

I shrug. “It’s the highest I can aim. It’s the most competitive field there is in journalism. I may be scared and it may be dangerous, but I’m kind of used to that these days.”

Sam studies me with sharp eyes. “No guts, no glory?”

I nod. “No guts, no glory.” I’ve never thought of myself a thrill seeker before. It’s never occurred to me that perhaps I’m the sort of person who goes
searching
for trouble. But I think, in that brief statement, there is some truth for me. I won’t feel like I’m accomplishing anything unless my final goal comes at great personal cost or risk, in a way. I have to
earn
it.
 

“Well, then, you're one tough cookie,” Sam says, sighing. “Personally, I think you should reconsider, but then again we just met. What the fuck do I know?” He smiles, and it’s a melancholy smile. He seems like a perceptive guy. I can’t escape the feeling that perhaps he’s right and I should be looking for a safer career. I find myself wondering what Luke would say if he knew what I was planning. Would he cheer me on and think it was a great move for my career, or would he try and dissuade me? Would he think I was being reckless with my life? I guess his opinion is academic, at the end of the day, since he obviously doesn’t give a shit about me.

Morgan wiggles her toes to get my attention. “Screw learning a new language, dude. You’ve been working way too hard as it is. Do something easy instead.”

“Easy like what?”
 

“You play any instruments?” Sam asks.
 

“Mmm, that would be a big fat no. I don’t have a musical bone in my body.”

“That’s not true,” Morgan says, clicking her tongue. “Wasn’t your dad a guitar player? He taught Luke, right?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Music’s handed down through your blood, Ave. It’s been scientifically proven.” Morgan says this with such gravitas that I almost find myself buying it, even though the statement is patently untrue.

“She’s kind of right,” Sam says. “
Kind of
. People who grow up in musical environments when they’re kids generally tend to have a better grasp of musical languages. I wouldn’t mind teaching you, y’know. I do some tuition on the side to fund my German porn addiction.”
 

Morgan throws a sofa cushion at him. He ducks out of the way, and the cushion harmlessly hits the wall. “Joking. Joking. Seriously, though. If you like, I can take you through the basics for free and then loan you some books so you can self teach if money’s a problem?”

“No, no. Money’s not a problem. I could pay for lessons, I guess. I just…” Until two seconds ago, I’ve never even thought about learning to play an instrument. I don’t know how I feel about the concept yet. “We’re talking about guitar, right?” I ask.
 

“Yes ma’am.”

Morgan throws her feet down off my lap, sitting herself upright. “I think it's a great idea. Playing would be fun. Maybe it would be a release for you too. Something you could carry on long after the semester’s over.” She slaps my arm, eyes wide. “And, dude! You just stole a guitar from Luke’s place. It’s kismet.”

“I’m probably too old to learn now.”

“Bullshit. No such thing.” Sam says.
 

I try to picture what it would be like to play guitar, and all I can think of is a sad, broken boy in an Irish bar in Hell’s Kitchen playing Blackbird by The Beatles. “I don’t know. It’s kind of Luke’s thing, isn’t it?” I say softly to Morgan.
 

“Pfffttttt.
Please
. It was your dad’s thing first. It might be a good way for you to get closer to him.”

“Mmm.” I’m still unsure.
 

Sam rolls the sleeves of his t-shirt up, exposing even more ink and some rather delectable biceps. Morgan pretends to faint back onto the couch. Sam ignores her, though he can’t hide the wry smile on his face. “If you can play an instrument in front of a crowd, you can do anything, Avery. Anything in the world.” Tilting his head to one side, he waggles his eyebrows. “So, what do you say? You in or you out?”

ELEVEN

AVERY

TEN WEEKS AGO

“I just want to breathe you in. I want to fucking eat you all up, Miss Patterson. You’re too damn delicious. I can’t leave you alone.” Luke’s hands find their way underneath my t-shirt, slightly cold from playing guitar outside. When I came home after class, he was sitting on the stoop of the building, the collar of his gray wool jacket popped up against the chilly wind, his cheeks colored red, and he had a small picnic basket on the ground between his feet. His gig bag was leaning up against the railings next to him, his guitar obviously inside. When he saw me, he grinned, got to his feet and told me he was taking me for lunch at Bushwick Inlet Park.
 

It was beautiful, the food was amazing, and Luke’s private little show had me desperate to relieve him of his clothes. He has that affect on me; I want him so badly all the time—as soon as he opens his mouth and starts to sing, it’s basically game over. He wasn’t complaining when I suggested we pack up the rest of the amazing spread he put together and take it back to the apartment so we could finish it in bed.

His hands find their way underneath my bra, now, making me squeal as my nipples tighten, reacting to the cold. Luke smiles slowly, mouth open a fraction, like he really is contemplating taking a chunk out of me. His eyes are filled with desire, mirroring the emotion that sings through me, lighting me up from the inside out. “Take your panties off,” he commands, slowly shaping his mouth around each word, his breath hot against my cheek, down my neck, making me tremble in the most embarrassing way. He presses his lips against my neck, grazing his teeth and his tongue over my skin, and my eyes roll back into my head.
 

“Oh my god, that…that feels
amazing
.”

“Good. Do as you’re told, Avery. Take off those panties for me.”

I love this possessive, demanding side of Luke. As we spend more and more time together, figuring out each other’s bodies, learning the secrets of each other, he’s becoming increasingly outspoken. It’s such a turn on for me. Knowing what he likes is amazing. Knowing what he wants from me is even better. A shiver of pleasure rolls through me, starting at the backs of my legs, working its way up and over my stomach and my buttocks, traveling up to my breasts, where he’s cupping and squeezing me with both hands.
 

“I—I can’t,” I sigh. “I need to take my jeans off first.”

Sliding his hands all the way up my body, Luke pushes one hand out of the neck of my shirt, and then the other, laughing like an idiot as he does it. He places his palms against my cheeks, lightly holding my face as he leans down and kisses me. “Then you’d better get moving, girl. I have to go to work soon and I’m getting impatient. I need to fuck you.”