Embrace (Evolve Series #2) (10 page)

“Nobody’s gonna go to jail, pussbag. Listen, I hid
the sign.
If
, and it’s a big if, the cops come, we’ll say we didn’t know
and agree to leave. Whitley’s parents didn’t tell her, which they’d vouch for,
so she thought it was her house and forgot her key. I mean, it’s still filled
with all her furniture and pictures of her, what would have tipped us off?” He
throws up a hand, cutting me off open-mouthed. “Especially since there
was. NO.
SIGN
.”

“Sounds good to me!” Whitley agrees cheerfully,
reaching up to pat Sawyer on the cheek. “You boys run and get ice; I need to
unpack and start Sawyer’s special dinner.” She starts walking to the house, a
bounce in her step and not a care in the world.

I jog to catch up with her, reaching out to snag her
elbow. “Whitley, this isn’t a good idea. You’re upset and not thinking clearly,
but you know I’m right. We can’t stay here.”

“We
can
stay,” she says forcefully, jerking around
to face me, “and we will. This is my place and I’m not leaving. Now run to the
store and I’ll make us a nice dinner.”

Oh great, she’s shock-induced delusional, if that’s
such a thing. If not, she’s whatever the right name for it is, because under
normal circumstances, I’d like to think she’d see my reason versus Sawyer’s,
well, Sawyerisms. I should jump ship and save myself, but I just can’t; Whitley
has been my life preserver and she needs me. So I go to the store, hoping she’s
rational when I get back.

H
er back is to us, “Down on Me” playing
loudly as she swirls her hips, dropping slowly all the way down to the floor
and gyrating back up again in the sexiest move I have ever seen. My right hand
is up in a flash, subconsciously even, covering Sawyer’s eyes. I, however,
enjoy the show, no regrets…and no blinking. I have to use my left hand to
quickly adjust, not wanting her to turn around and see evidence of the fact
that I am a guy, shamelessly watching her little ass wiggle and pop in rhythm
with the beating in my chest.

“Honey, we’re home!” Sawyer spouts off,
interrupting, so I drop my hand from his eyes, using it to pop him in the
forehead.

She spins around with a squeal, hand clutching her
chest. “Oh my God, you scared me!” She walks over and turns down the music. “No
sneaking up on me while we’re squatting, Sawyer. My nerves can’t take it.”

“Sorry,” he snorts, “I forgot about that. So, what
were you doing?”

“Nothing,” her face blazes pink instantly, “just
cooking.”

I cock an eyebrow at her. “You need your own cooking
show then, because people would
definitely
watch.”

“Like you did?” Sawyer cocks off, slapping my chest.

“Anyway,” I clear my throat, avoiding Whitley’s
eyes, and her now answering raised eyebrow, “you need help with anything, Whit?
Want me to peel or chop or—”

“Help choreograph?” Sawyer suggests.

“Fuck off,” I mumble, flipping a barstool around and
sitting, ducking my head in embarrassment. I’m not shy about looking, anybody
whose eyes weren’t covered for them would have, but I don’t think we need to
keep announcing it.

“Here.” Whitley’s eyes are smiling, her voice
patronizing as she hands me a short glass of amber liquid and ice. “Have a
drink and relax.”

“So, Whit, what gives? I thought your family was
loaded?” Sawyer asks her with the subtlety of a head-on collision.

“I thought so too. I really have no idea what’s
going on and can’t just ask them. How do you even bring that up?” She’s
cooking, busy as she holds the conversation, but I can see the signs…a slump to
her shoulders that is
never
there, a crease between her eyes, and a
borderline fake smile.

They continue to talk back and forth, but I sit in
silent observation, no longer hearing the distinct words. The sun outside is
starting to set, sending a ray of purple light in and casting a sultry glow
around Whitley. Every time she turns, this way and that, preparing everything
like a little hummingbird, her shiny blonde tendrils swish along her shoulders.
When she measures something out, she purses her lips, transforming them into a
rosebud.

For the briefest of seconds earlier, when I’d tipped
her chin and she looked up at me with hopeful, vulnerable eyes, like I could
fix anything for her, I’d thought about kissing her. Not so long ago, I’d have
laughed if you told me I’d ever have the desire to kiss anyone other than
Laney, but sure enough, the want was there, however short-lived.

Watching her now, I think of it again. I hate the
way she wants me to dress. She’ll never be able to play a sport. Her uppity
family will probably dismiss me as an ignorant hick. She picks at her food and
would mostly likely faint if I left the toilet seat up. But…the last rays of
the day show her in her true light; radiant and thoughtful, taking care of
others, rolling with the punches, making the best of a situation.

“Evan?”

“Huh?” Her voice brings me back to the present.

“Do you want another drink?” She’s standing by me,
having set my plate in front of me.

“No, water’s fine,” I mumble. That must be it—the
drink she made me. That’s why I’m having such crazy thoughts.  One thing is
niggling at me though; am I just finding myself drawn to Whitley because she’s
there? A convenient attraction? I mean, what are the odds that the first post-breakup
girl you meet is captivating, different and alluring in a way that’s all her? I
have to be careful. I don’t want to mistake rebound for interest and end up
hurting Whitley or myself. I absolutely, positively cannot do that again.

I file all the confusion in the back of my mind and
dig in; the meal she made is delicious and we all eat in semi-comfortable
silence. And by that I mean they both seem fine and I’m squirming inside.

Just when I think I’ve got the questions riddling my
head beaten, she fires the kill shot.

“Who wants dessert?”

“Is that a real question?” Sawyer pats his belly.

Back to the table she strides, bearing two heaping
plates of…strawberry shortcake. My favorite.

She winks when she sets mine in front of me. “You
didn’t think I would make his favorite and not yours, did you?”

How did she know? I can’t remember ever mentioning
it. But with the first bite, I cease to care about the how.

Chapter 13

Drunken Words, Sober Thoughts

~Evan~

S
aturday is a gorgeous day, perfect Spring
Break weather. The water has a little nip to it, but it’s warm and very
refreshing. It’s the first time I’ve ever been to the ocean, and the
endlessness is quite a sight. And the atmosphere? Well, it’s one big party. I’m
trying to take it easy with the drinking, really wanting to actually remember
the experience, whereas Sawyer found a vendor stand that serves your drink in a
white bucket with a handle. No really, they stick a straw in a mini sand pail
and turn you loose on society. This is Spring Break, after all…

Whitley hasn’t made it down yet, and I should
probably go back up to the house and check on her, but two things are stopping
me. One, I don’t think leaving Sawyer alone down here is a good idea and
there’s no way I’m getting him to go with me. Two, I think a little time away
from her might be a good thing. Sending Whitley mixed signals isn’t respectful,
and I do try to be at least that. Using her as a rebound crush is out of the
question, though wanting her a little more every time I’m around her is fucking
with my head.

I sense the shadow over me, along with a shower of
sand pellets he’s kicked up, before I actually open my eyes.

“Hey man,” he kicks me, “look alive. I want you to
meet some people.”

I shield my eyes from the sun and look at Sawyer,
sitting up immediately. He’s standing there, nursing his sippy bucket, with
three very hot, very bikini-clad, women.

“Hi.” I stand, running my hands down my shorts
before offering it to one of them. “Evan.”

“Amber,” she answers giddily, raking her eyes up and
down my body. I force my own to stay on her face, despite the fact that I have
already stealthily assessed her stats—bout 5’4”, dark tan, black short hair and
those definitely aren’t the boobs she was born with.

The little blonde next to her moves in, vying for my
attention. “I’m Nikki.” She’s a little bitty one, maybe 5’1”, tops, all natural
except for the sparkly belly button ring winking at me. Her eyes are a shocking
green, her smile big, and she has a dimple. A really cute dimple, actually, in
her left cheek right above her lip.

“Nice to meet you. Evan,” I manage despite my
gawking.

“And this beauty,” Sawyer slides his arm around her
bare waist, his finger sliding along the fabric of her barely-there bottoms,
“is Sasha.”

“Hey, Sasha.” I grin; clearly Sawyer has made his
selection with the exotic brunette.

“Sawyer said you guys would come to our party
tonight,” Nikki’s flirty voice trickles, her tongue teasing the corner of her
mouth.

“We can do that,” I answer with a wink, earning her
giggle.

Wink=100% success rate.

Whitley finally decides to appear while we’re still flirting
with the trio. One would think, while on Spring Break, you’d see so many girls
in bikinis that at some point they all start to look the same. There’s only so
many different colors of hair, most girls fall in a certain height range, and
boobs…well, okay, those vary, but still. And Nikki, well Nikki definitely adds
to her ambience with the belly button ring and dimple, but my thoughts are
scarily close to the script of a chick flick when I soak in the sight of
Whitley.

Her bikini isn’t “look at me” string and scraps,
it’s modest, for a bikini anyway. Her breasts aren’t fake or about to fall out,
but natural, and, well,
big
for the rest of her dainty little body, and
hidden just enough to make me wonder. And
I
know there’s a little red
balloon tattoo just underneath the pink fabric, tucked away nicely where that pale,
lovely leg meets that perfect hip.

Too much sun. Gotta be it.

“Whitley?!” Amber yelps in a voice that surely only
dogs were meant to hear. “Whitley, it
is
you!”

She runs over and throws her arms around Whitley in
an exuberant hug, which Whitley politely, but much more calmly, returns.

“Hi, Amber,” she pulls back, not even close to
usually friendly Whitley, “how are you?”

“Soooo good! I can’t believe you’re here. Wait,
where are you staying? I heard—”

“So, Whitley, you know Amber?” I hastily interrupt,
compensating with the most obviously already established question I can think
of for Amber’s lack of tact. I’m sure she was about to announce to the beach
about the foreclosure. “They invited us to a party tonight.”

“Yeah,” Nikki slides over and runs a hand up my arm,
but speaks to Whitley, “you guys should all totally come. It’s gonna be so much
fun.”

“Sounds good.” Whitley gives her a smile that’s as
fake as the day is long, but perhaps only I noticed.

“Oh, Whitley!” Amber gasps. “Tyler will be there!
You know he always had a thing for you.”

Whitley’s eyes dart to where Nikki’s hand is still
latched to my arm, then back to Amber with a friendly smile. “I’d love to see
Tyler. We’ll be there. Right?”

She looks up at me now when she asks. Now usually
this is where a guy screws up and just says “right” or “sure,” but I’m not most
guys. Growing up with a sassy female as your best friend, you learn a lot.
Therefore, I know that while Whitley and I are nothing more than friends, she’s
still jealous right now.

Female jealousy is a very tricky, very volatile
matter, and one that should
never
be taken lightly. Though this is where
I’m still a little fuzzy. Is she jealous because she likes me or she just
doesn’t like to be challenged by another female?  Does she feels some kind of
proprietorship because I came here with her or is she insecure over whether I
think Nikki is prettier? The exact origin of the jealousy will probably forever
remain a mystery, maybe even to Whitley herself, but that’s not the point.
Whitley’s waiting for the typical male reaction here, to reassure her I am just
that; another typical guy.

Brace yourself, Whitley, I’m all over this one.

I remove Nikki’s hand from my arm and step to
Whitley, ducking my head to look in her eyes. “It’s up to you, Whit. Whatever
you want to do is fine by me.”

Her pinking cheeks and sweet, small grin tell me I
got it right.

“K,” she nods, “we may see you there. We’ll see,”
she says to Nikki cheekily. “I gotta feed my boys right now, though.” She locks
my hand in hers and starts toward the house. “Come on, Sawyer!”

Add public indecency to Sawyer’s Spring Break rap
sheet, because he and Sasha are laying on the beach making out like they have
no audience…or modesty.  It’s a bit much, even for Sawyer.

“Sawyer, let’s go, lunch!” I bark, embarrassed for
him.

He makes no move to indicate he’s heard me, and
Whitley just snickers.

“Come on, just leave him,” she says.

Fine by me.

“You wanna go get something for lunch?” I ask as we
walk back up to the house. “I don’t want you waiting on us the whole week.”

“It’s no bother, Evan, really. It’s nice to have
somebody, or two, to take care of.”

I open the door for her. “Where’d you learn to
cook?”

“My nanny, Mary. She was an amazing cook and always
let me help. I had to write down all the recipes as I watched, though; she
didn’t use them,” she recalls wistfully.

“So you sing, you cook,” I pull up a stool, “what
else do you do?”

“I don’t know, this and that.”

“Like?” I urge her, taking a bite of the sandwich
she just put in front of me.

“I like to read. I like to mess around with crafts,
scrapbooks, I don’t know. Now that I say it out loud, I kinda sound like a
grandma.” She hangs her head.  “God, I’m boring.”

I bust out laughing, quickly reigning it in when she
drops her forehead into her hand and groans. “You don’t sound like a grandma.
Well, okay, maybe a lot of grandmas cook and scrapbook, but my grandma’s one of
the best women I know. I’m not really that exciting either, Whitley.”

Few people ever shock me, but Whitley continually
throws me for a loop. On the outside, Paris Hilton. On the inside, Martha
Stewart. Which is the real her? Or can those two really cohabitate in one body?

“And I’m pretty sure my grandma never got a tattoo,
while high, or played Flip Cup, or performed “Red Light Special” for a frat
house.” I nudge her, now sitting beside me. “I’d say you’re safe from grandma
territory.”

“I forgot all that,” she admits, perking up. “You’re
right. I
am
cool as hell!”

“Right,” I chuckle at her, “now speaking of
grandparents…I’m gonna go take a nap.” I yawn and stand, heading to my room.
“What are you gonna do?”

“Maybe I’ll head back down to the beach, check on
Sawyer.”

Do I offer to stay up and do something? Do I lay on
the couch and ask her to—no, probably shouldn’t do that.

“Take your nap, Evan,” she laughs, her face hinting
she may have guessed what I was just contemplating. “I’ll be fine.”

“Oh, ok,” I stammer. “I’ll see ya later.”

I lay awake for a while, thinking things over and
making a few decisions. Whitley is a beautiful girl, a wonderful friend,
talented and giving, and she deserves a guy who’s sure he wants
her
for
her
,
with no inklings of doubt that his interest may be circumstantial; something
more than I can give her.

Sawyer is a lot of fun, and his mojo seems to work
for him, but it’s a little much for me. So, it’s time. Time for Evan to get
back to being Evan. Not Laney’s Evan, not miserable Evan, not wild and crazy
Evan…just Evan. I’ve got some soul searching to do, all by myself. I’m gonna do
what I’ve never done before—I’m gonna date.

I
wake up a few hours later to a quiet,
empty house. Once I’ve taken a shower and gotten dressed, Whitley and Sawyer
still aren’t back. I walk down to the water, their last known whereabouts, but
they’re not there, either. I spot a fire down the shoreline and I can hear
faint music, so I take my chances that they went ahead to the party and head
that way.

It takes me a bit to find either of them amongst the
bodies, loud music and shroud of night, but just when I’m about to give up and
turn back, Sawyer comes out onto the deck and yells my name. I meet him up
there and can smell the liquor oozing out of his pores, noticing the girl
curled around him isn’t Sasha from this morning. How long had I napped exactly?

“Hey, where’s Whitley?” I ask him.

“In there somewhere.” He jerks his thumb towards the
house. “Where you been?”

“Nowhere; I gotta go find Whitley,” I brush him off,
kinda pissed he’s slammed and not watching Whitley better at a party full of
drunken strangers.

She’s not anywhere; I search the whole fucking house
to no avail. I’m starting to get worried when Nikki spots me, waving her arms
from across the room, dancing her way through the crowd to get to me.

“Hey, sexy,” she growls in my ear, rubbing both
hands up my chest.

“Hey.” I want to find Whitley, just make sure she’s
okay. “Have you seen the blonde girl we’re staying with, Whitley?”

“Why?” She scowls.

Gotta play this right, I need information.
Freaking
girls.

“Don’t worry, gorgeous, she’s just a friend. What
kind of man would I be if I didn’t watch over her? Hmm? Now will you help me
find her?” I run a finger down her jawline and wink.

“She’s out front with Tyler,” she tells me, her
smile showing she’s happy at the thought of pleasing me; not at all about
willingly helping another female at a party.

“You wait right here, and I’ll go check on her and
be right back, okay?”

She nods eagerly and I almost feel like I should pat
her head like a puppy. I should probably tell her there’s no chance in hell I’m
coming back. Surely I’m not the only man who still thinks scruples are
attractive?

Whitley’s laughter fills the air before I can make
her out in the dark, but I instantly breathe easier hearing that she’s okay,
laughing even, and I follow the sound. She’s still in her bikini top but with
short gray shorts covering the bottom, her hair down and wild. She’s sitting on
a bench in the yard beside some guy dressed pretty much in the same outfit she
put me in the night at Dane’s.  Oh shit—what a goon I’d been in the same
outfit; worse than I thought. He stands as I walk up to them, his face and
stance defensive.
Please
. Don’t scuff your loafers or wrinkle your
slacks, bro.

“Whitley, I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” I
say, not even acknowledging Toolbag standing there.

“Evan!” She jumps up and falls forward, but I reach
out and catch her.

“Easy, easy.” I hold her up, shooting the dude a
menacing look. “You get her this drunk?”

“She’s a big girl, she got herself drunk. Who the
fuck are you?”

“This is Evan. He’s my new friend. In love with
Laney, who doesn’t hate me anymore. She’s sporty,” Whitley rattles off
drunkenly.