Dearest Series Boxed Set (12 page)

I jot down a few notes, and as I’m finishing, Gavin walks back up to our table.

“What’s the verdict?” he asks, brimming with an intense energy.

“It’s really good. Amazing, actually.” He smiles, and his green eyes warm with flecks of gold.

“How did you track down people in England?”

“Most of them are back now. Her sister hooked me up with some of Olivia’s friends online, and I did a little digging on my own to talk to two of her professors.”

“Your lead is really tight and everything flows well. The only mistake I found was this attribution,” I say, pointing. “I’m guessing it’s a copy-and-paste mistake.”

He reads over my comments.

When he’s done, I turn to the last page. “My other suggestion is to switch these paragraphs because this one is a more powerful way to end the article.”

He runs his teeth over his full lower lip. “You’re right.” He takes my pen and scribbles a few notes in the margin.

“Is that for the
Free Press
?” Jenna asks. If she leans over anymore, she’ll be in my lap.

“No, the
Globe
.” He’s still scribbling in the margin of his article.

“I didn’t know you still worked for the
Globe
,” I say.

“I wasn’t, but the editor from my summer internship was impressed with what I’ve been doing for the
Freep
this fall. So now I work for both.”

Gavin runs his hand over the back of his neck, his head obviously still in his assignment.

“Wow, that’s awesome!” Jenna gets a few angry looks from the people near us. I’m so impressed with Gavin I don’t know what to do with myself.

Kade walks up behind Gavin. “Dude, you done?” He doesn’t say hi. He doesn’t even try to be cordial. I roll my eyes.

Jenna greets the douchebag, and they talk about an upcoming gig.

Gavin checks his phone and leans down to me. “I’ll call you later, unless you want to
text me,
” he says with a wicked gleam in his eye as he kisses my temple. Remembering my embarrassing Out-Skank moment yesterday, I put my hand over my face to hide. I hear him laugh behind me as he and Kade take off.

I don’t know how long I sit there thinking about him before Harper clears her throat. She smiles briefly before a look of concern crosses her face.

“I have two questions,” Harper says hesitantly. “Have you had any panic attacks… about him?”

I shake my head, a small grin spreading. She smiles in return and reaches over and punches me lightly.

“Good. Now, for the really important question. Where can I find myself one of those? Does he have a brother?”

“Right?” Jenna might be in a relationship, but she appreciates eye candy when she sees it. And that boy is most definitely eye candy. Not to mention one hell of a writer.

* * *

J
enna and Harper
run off to different study groups, and I head home, but when I get to the center of campus, my feet grind to a stop.

The crowd in Marsh Plaza is silhouetted by the setting sun as hundreds of candles wink in the breeze. It’s a rally for Olivia. A man in his early fifties, wearing khakis and a gray sweater, is standing on the second steps of the school chapel.

“She’s out there, and she needs your help,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “We want to get her home safely, and her mother and I want to remind you of Olivia’s story so you don’t make the same mistakes. Don’t walk around campus or this city at night alone. That was Livvy’s mistake.”

My heart breaks listening to Mr. Lawrence. The way he talks about her like she’s alive. Like she’s coming home when she’s probably long gone.

The man struggles to continue before he holds his hand over his face. His wife wraps her arms around him. I avert my eyes, feeling bad they have to share this heartbreak in front of what must be three hundred people.

On the other side of the crowd, I spot Gavin quietly interviewing a few students. He looks in his element. So commanding and compassionate. Pride swells in me as I watch him cover the story, one that means so much to him.

A few feet away from me, a small news crew has set up, and a tall, slender student with long, dark hair talks into the microphone.

I can barely make out her words over the sound of the wind.

“Authorities are asking the public for help. If you have any information about the disappearance of Olivia Lawrence, please contact the number on your screen. I’m Madeline McDermott for
BU News
.”

I’d never willingly stand in front of a camera like the broadcast students. That takes so much courage. I’m pretty sure I’d stutter or make some totally humiliating Freudian slip.

Turning to go, I stop abruptly when I come face to face with Brigit. We appraise each other briefly before I clear my throat.

“Hi, Brigit. How are you?”

She looks surprised we’re speaking, but then her eyes tighten at the corners.

“It’s Clem, right?” Her voice is cold and clipped.

I nod and give her a sympathetic smile. There’s no reason we should be enemies even though that’s obviously what Jason wants. She has no idea what she’s getting herself into, no idea who he is.

I should warn her.

I hoist my messenger bag higher on my shoulder. “How is the writing going? I had a hard time getting that first book done.” Okay, I’ve had trouble getting the second one done too. “Is your book fiction?”

She lets the question hang in the air and bites her cheek as her eyes shift to the ground.

“I’m, uh, a little stuck.”

I shrug. “I’m working on a romance novel right now, and I’m pretty sure it probably sucks. It would help if I liked romances.”
I can’t exactly come straight out and tell her Wheeler might try to cop a feel between edits. “I got a C on my last assignment.”

The tension in her shoulders starts to ease with my admission, and she tells me her book is about something that happened to one of her friends when they went on spring break.

Talking to Brigit isn’t as hard as I imagined, but she reminds me of a sparrow, ready to fly away at the first sign of trouble, so I don’t push.

I offer to send her a pacing guide I got from one of my writing classes, and I scribble my email on a ripped corner of notebook paper and hand it to her.

“Thanks, Clem,” she says, smiling, looking a little surprised that I’m trying to help her.

“I volunteer in the tutoring center if you ever want a second pair of eyes to edit something.” Or need a few tips to avoid sexual harassment.

C
rouching
in the chip aisle of the convenience store to grab a bag of Doritos is the only reason I overhear this conversation. I’m not an eavesdropper. Generally.

“He was such a good lover,” a girl with a throaty voice purrs on the other side of the aisle. “And he was so
huge
.” Someone giggles. “I don’t know why we only had sex a couple of times. Whenever I see him I want to…” She whispers the last part, but I can only imagine what she says.

I bite my lip, embarrassed to be listening in on this personal conversation. I should get my artificial flavor fix and walk away, but I’m rooted in the aisle like a great oak.

“Why did you ever break up? He’s fucking hot,” the friend, who has a thick New York accent, says loudly, only to have the other one shush her.

“Tammy, shit. Could you be any louder?”

I guess everyone has a friend like that. The loud one. My eyes travel to the Doritos, and I decide to splurge and get a large bag for my roommates. I straighten up and pivot to the opposite wall of goodies and hunt for something chocolate.

“I’ll get him back. We were good together. I think he’s dating someone, but whatever. He simply doesn’t know he needs me. Yet. And if he thinks he can blow me off, he has another thing coming. No stupid bitch is going to stand in my way.”

Junior Mints would be really good melted over popcorn, which we already have at home.
This evil idea blossoms, and I grab a box.

With an armload of junk food, I round the corner and collide with a whirlwind of crimson.

“What the—” An angry redhead glares at me as my snacks go flying.

“I’m so sorry.” I try not to laugh at my clumsiness, but the chick doesn’t look amused. In fact, she pales as she watches me pick my snacks off the floor.
She looks familiar. Really familiar.

The friend nudges Angry Red, but she doesn’t say anything. In fact, she watches me pay for my items, and I sense her eyes on my back when I leave.

* * *

A
few hours later
, my phone buzzes, and I’m expecting another ridiculous sext from Jenna—she’s been sending them every five minutes from the other side of the apartment—but it’s Gavin.

I have to babysit the children tonight at the dorms. Come keep me company.

We’re supposed to go climbing again after classes tomorrow. I’m so tempted to hang out with him, but I’m not sure if that’s smart.

Me:
I have to write.

Gavin:
Do it here and bring some food. Chinese?

I debate this for a good ten minutes while we banter back and forth. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him all week, and I’m starting to get worried. Something about Gavin makes me warm and fuzzy and mildly euphoric.

Shit. This is bad.

But he won’t take no for an answer. He says he’s going to starve, and the next time I’m drunk, I’m going to have to find some other amazingly strong man to carry me home.
Jeez.

I write him back:
Fine. Since I’m your friend, I’ll bring you dinner.

Gavin:
My friend whose ass looks amazing in those little black shorts.

What?

Gavin:
Kidding. Kind of. Get over here.

Me:
Bossy! Give me half an hour.

* * *

I
groan
, frustrated, and close my laptop. I’ve been trying to write for the last forty-five minutes, but the details keep tripping me up.

“What’s wrong?” Gavin asks as he leans back in his chair. Tonight, he’s writing an article about the need for greater security on campus. Chinese food cartons litter his desk. I’m in my usual spot, stretched out on his bed.

This is going to sound dumb. “I was debating whether I want the love interest, Aiden, to be a flowers guy.”

“What do you mean?”

“Is he the kind of guy who gives flowers or not? Romantic or tough guy? I’m still working out my character sketches.” I groan. “I should have this figured out by now.”

His eyebrows arch. “Well, what do you like? Do you like getting flowers?”

I draw a blank. The problem, once again, is that I have no experience in this area.

Laughing, I say, “I have no idea.”

“This should be easy. When a guy brought you flowers, did you like it?” I hear the humor in his voice.

If I make this admission, he’s going to think I’m a total moron. He puts his pen down and turns to face me.

“Clementine, please tell me someone has given you flowers.”

I can’t outright lie to him. I guess I could, but this seems like a stupid reason, not that there’s ever really a good reason to be dishonest.

I shake my head slowly. “Not that I remember. I guess I’m having a bit of a dry spell, but see, that’s what happens when you don’t date. No dating means no flowers.”

“What about Daren? Weren’t you guys pretty serious?”

“Yeah, but I grew up with him. We made mud pies together, and I crawled in his window with a handful of worms. I don’t think he saw me as the kind of girl who liked flowers.” I tap my pen on the top of my laptop while I mull it over. “But I think I’d like flowers. I mean, who the hell doesn’t like flowers?” I smile. Talking about this character stuff is helpful. I open my laptop and start typing again. “Thanks, Gav. I’m obviously making this too hard. My professor is right. I do need to loosen up.”

My phone buzzes with a text from my brother. Reading it makes my stomach tighten and the happy buzz from writing disappear.

“Uh, no,” I murmur to myself as I type a message.

“No?” Gavin asks.

“Jax wants me to go home and pack.” I shake my head.

“Pack what? I thought you didn’t go home.”

“I don’t.” I chew on my nail as I think about it. “My brother wants me to pack up my bedroom because my mother is about to demolish it and put in a workout room or a walk-in closet or some other unnecessary luxury that will help distract her from her rich-people problems.”

When I finish responding to Jax, I toss my phone back in my bag, and I look up to find Gavin staring.

“So are you going to do it?” he asks.

Will he think I’m a freak if I tell him the truth? That I don’t care? I decide on the truth, or a small version of it at least. “I told him not to worry about it, to let her throw out my stuff.”

Gavin’s eyes look heavy with questions, but he doesn’t ask, and I don’t offer to explain my fucked-up relationship with my mother. He returns to writing his assignment. I like that about him. He knows when to back off.

After another hour of work, he stretches and gets up from his desk. “Baby, have you eaten enough?” he asks as he gathers up the cartons of food.

“Yeah, thanks.”
There it is again. Baby.
I watch him for some recognition of this term of endearment, but he’s tossing paper plates into the trash and straightening his desk.

My heart is beating erratically.
It is one word, for God’s sakes.
I am a total spaz. Glancing at the clock, I realize it’s getting late. Maybe this is a good time to head home.

I close my laptop and crawl off his bed. “I have math at eight in the morning tomorrow, so I should get going.”

He grins as he walks over and wraps his arms around me. I drop my head on his chest, closing my eyes, relishing the feel of him.

“Your favorite class,” he says, his voice deep and almost melodic. I grin against him. “We’re still on for climbing tomorrow?”

“Yup.”

“Thanks again for editing my article the other day. Where did you learn about leads and attribution?” Gavin asks as he rubs my back.

“I wrote a few articles for the high-school newspaper. Nothing special, but I learned the structure and a few terms.”

“You’re handy.” He looks down and smiles, his eyes shadowed by his long eyelashes.

“Glad I could help. I think it’s only fair after all of your expert makeout tutelage.”

“Speaking of which, I have a few thoughts for you,” he says, leaning down and rubbing his nose against mine.

“Really? I’m all—”

I can’t finish because his mouth is on mine, and as we’re kissing, he pushes me up against the door. Shoves me, actually, and it’s hot. His body is warm and hard against me. Tracing my hands along his strong shoulders, I think about how he scooped me onto the washing machine like I was weightless. I love these arms. There is something so safe about being wrapped up in Gavin Murphy, like I can forget everything when I’m with him, the past, the hurt, the humiliation.

I thread my fingers through his thick, soft hair as our kisses grow deeper. His tongue tangles with mine, sending a bolt of electricity to my core, and I don’t want to stop to breathe. After a few minutes, he groans and parts from me.

“If I don’t stop now, I won’t let you go home.” He leans down for another kiss, this one soft, tender. He lingers against my lips for a second and then runs his nose against my jawline, stopping so he can gently bite my earlobe.

I am a nuclear explosion. Fucking Chernobyl. My face is flushed, and parts of me pound like a gavel.

“Have I ever told you that you’re irresistible?” he whispers as I tilt my head to give him access to my neck. Yes, kiss my neck!

“No, I think I’d remember that.” I have chills running through my body from stem to stern, and I know I have to leave this minute before I give into what I really want to do. “You’re pretty damn sexy yourself.”

“Let me walk you home,” he whispers into my ear.

“No, you have work to do, and I live a block away.”

He holds me tighter. “I don’t want you walking around by yourself this late at night.”

“Campus security has never been tighter. I promise I’ll be okay. I’ll head straight home.” I look up at him, getting lost in those hypnotic green eyes. “I’ll call you as soon as I get in.”

He sighs, nodding slowly before he presses his lips to my temple and murmurs, “Goodnight, dearest Clementine.”