Evolve Series Box Set (49 page)

“Sure, thank you,” I answer, but Sawyer… Yuck. That explains why Sawyer’s silent...Portia is attached to his mouth. 

Whitley hands me a mug of black coffee with a smile, her eyes not quite meeting mine. I don’t know if that’s because the display right beside us is making her uncomfortable or she’s embarrassed about last night or what…but I can’t delve into it with our spectators, even though I’m pretty sure I could scream “FIRE!” and those two wouldn’t flinch. Which leaves me confused, ‘cause now I’m not sure if I’m still supposed to help him get rid of her or slip him a condom behind her back.

“What do I do?” I mouth to Whitley with a shrug of one shoulder and a crook of my head to the “couple.”

“I don’t know,” Whitley mouths back, suppressing a giggle.

“Do you have any creamer?” I ask her loudly, praying she says no, as this is my only idea.

“Sorry, no,” she frowns.

Yes! Here’s where my bro brilliance comes in.

“I can’t drink coffee without creamer. I guess Sawyer and I will run to the store.” I rise, feigning aggravation. “Portia, I can give you a lift home when we go.”

No response.

“Portia?” I say even louder.

“Hmm? What?” She releases suction and turns to me, eyes glazed.

“Let us give you a ride home, we have to go to the store anyway.”

“Oh, um, okay,” she mutters, looking back at Sawyer with pleading eyes, just waiting for him to squash the take her home plan…which he doesn’t. Once she realizes he isn’t going to, she starts to shuffle slowly. “Let me just grab my stuff.”

“Niceeeee,” Sawyer praises when she’s out of earshot, “I owe you one.”

“Sawyer Beckett,” Whitley chastises him in a low voice, “that is someone’s daughter. You should be ashamed.”

“Whitley, she came willingly…twice. I didn’t make her any promises. How is it any more my fault than hers?” He shakes his head. “You women and your double standards.”

I cough loudly when I see Portia walking back in. “You ready?”

“I guess so.” She glances hopefully at Sawyer once more.

“We’ll be back in a minute, Whitley,” Sawyer says over his shoulder as he leads Portia out the front door with his hand…on her ass.

What a dog.

Evan: Don’t worry about breakfast. I’ll grab it while we’re out. You want anything special?

Sawyer climbs back in the truck, having walked Portia to her door, which shocked the shit out of me really.

“I told Whit we’d pick up breakfast. What do you want?”

“Whatever you see first is fine with me.”

Whitley: There’s a place called JoJo’s right on I-9. They have the best breakfast burritos.

“We’re having breakfast burritos. We on I-9?” I ask.

“Hell if I know.” He’s looks around for signs. “Right there,” he points, “get back over.”

“Look for a place called JoJo’s,” I tell him as I navigate back across traffic, “Whitley says they’re the best.”

“So, no Whitley for you, huh? That surprises me.”

“She’s great, don’t get me wrong. But I told ya, I think I’m reading things into it and will end up hurting her. Doesn’t it seem a little too easy that Whitley, the first girl I meet here, ends up being the one? You know, when things seem too good to be true, it’s usually because they are…”

“Whatever you say, man. I think maybe you think too much, but it’s your call.”

We pull through JoJo’s, another random, grim-looking eatery (Whitley’s specialty apparently), and Sawyer thankfully lets the subject drop, inhaling his burrito straight from the bag.

“Don’t eat ours, Saw,” I warn him with a laugh.

“I won’t, crybaby,” I think he says, his mouth full.

“So,” he finally comes out of the bag for air minutes later, now speaking legibly, “we gonna go parasailing?”

“Don’t know yet.” I climb out of the truck, snagging the bag from Sawyer as I go, salvaging Whitley and I some breakfast. “Depends on what Whit wants to do.”

He’s still bugging me about it as we walk in. “Whitley, you wanna go parasailing?” he asks her.

“I don’t think I was invited,” she glances at me, “but you guys go ahead. I just downloaded a new book. I’ll be more than happy laying out and reading.”

Not happening.

“Cool,” Sawyer shrugs, “oh and Whit? Don’t get drunk alone with guys anymore, okay? Evan here about kicked my ass for leaving you alone, even though I assured him you weren’t hammered when I left you. Not safe, sugar.”

“It wasn’t his fault,” she says pointedly to me, “Tyler had a flask of whiskey I got carried away. Sawyer didn’t know.”

I nod briskly; I’d already settled it with Sawyer and he’d now issued the warning I wanted to, so no need to rehash it.

“I’m gonna hop in the shower, then we’ll head out. Cool?”

“Nah,” I answer him, “you go ahead. I’m gonna hang with Whit.”

“Evan, you don’t have—”

“Hanging with you,” I cut her off sternly.

“You guys settle it,” Sawyer laughs, “I’m going with or without ya.”

He leaves to take his shower and I get up and gather the trash from breakfast, Whitley fixing an imaginary problem with the bottom of her shirt, a small smile hinting at the corners of her mouth

“So, what do you feel like doing?” I ask.

“Well, I know a really good spot to go fishing. We have poles in the garage I think.”

My eyes pop and I look at her suspiciously, one brow raised. “You fish?”

She full-on smiles now. “I do if you teach me.”

“You know where to get worms?”

“Um, the ground?”

I laugh at her innocent but correct answer. I was thinking of a Vendabait machine, but yes, the ground works too. “I don’t know if we’ll find enough that way, but we can sure try. Go get ready, I’ll check the garage for poles.”

“Okay!” She bounces all the way down the hall; I know this because I watch with a grin plastered on my face.

It’s gonna be damn hard to find people to date when I get home.

***

Whitley is the best accidental squirrel hunter I’ve ever met. Her hook has been up in the trees, which aren’t exactly right on top of us, more times than not, so she must be trying to hook herself a squirrel. She apologizes profusely every time I have to put down my pole and help her, but I really don’t mind. It’s fun to watch her keep trying, her little tongue popping out in determination with every attempted cast.

Has she caught a fish? No.

Has she actually caught a squirrel? Still no.

Is being here, fishing, just what I needed? Yes.

Have I won the battle with myself to ignore the memories and comparisons? Damn near.

“I think I need an intermission,” she says, propping her pole against a tree. “I’ll just watch you for a while. Catch me a big one.”

“We can go if you want.”

“No way!” she gasps. “I’m having a great time, really. I’m just taking a break. Go on,” she motions with her hands, “keep fishing.”

“Don’t worry, it won’t be too much longer. I’m almost out of worms.”

It’s gorgeous here, the water calm and a bit clearer than back home, and no crowd; this back cove to a small lake Whitley’s great little secret I guess . The air isn’t as sticky as home, either, which is a blessing. Now I know everybody says there’s nowhere as muggy as South Carolina, and maybe it’s just me, but you sit by a body of water in a Georgia summer, your shirt’s soaked in ten minutes. The breeze today may be helping, but this spot seems pretty close to perfect. It also doesn’t hurt that sweet Whitley has been humming “Fishing in the Dark” by The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band quietly behind me since she started her intermission. It’s a favorite of mine, and I’m shocked she knows it. It’s all kinds of cute…another example of her “mood music.”

I haven’t gotten a single nibble the whole time I’ve been daydreaming, so I reel in, seeing I’ve been picked clean. When I reach down to grab another worm, the cup is gone. So is the humming.

“Whitley?” I lay down my pole, walking around to search for her. “Whitley?”

“Over here!” I hear her call from my right.

Pushing aside the tall grass and snipping off two flowers, I tromp over to find her crawling around on her hands and knees, dirt flying up around her.

“What are you doing?” I ask, dumbfounded yet amazed at what I’ve stumbled upon.

“Digging you some more worms, of course.” She turns her head to answer me, pushing the hair out of her face and leaving a smear of mud across her forehead. “I’ve got eleven,” she says proudly, offering the cup to me.

I take the cup and trade her the two flowers with a big smile. I look down—she really did find a whole pile of worms. That’s true fishing dedication.

“Evan,” she snickers as she smells the flowers, “I think these may be weeds.”

“Even if they are, you pretty ‘em up by holding ‘em.”

I gotta say—women look real nice in dresses, bikinis, or of course less, but when a little blonde is on her hands and knees, her tank top gaping down in the front, perky ass up in the air, her face smeared with mud, AND she’s holding out a cup of worms she dug for you… This is the stuff country boys dream about. I’m so turned on right now, I want nothing more than to scoop her up and kiss the lips off her, but I just can’t. It might ruin everything, and I can’t lose another great friend because I misread things. One thing I’ve learned the gut-wrenching way—I’d rather keep the friend forever than have a month of two of “more.”

I offer my hand to help her up. “This is a good look on you, Whit. You may have to trade in those pretty nails and fancy clothes for some cutoffs and boots.”

“I have a pair of boots,” she says proudly, “and cutoffs. But I like my nails. Even though there’s dirt trapped under them right now.” Her nose wrinkles just a smidge.

I can’t resist playing with her just a little. “Well then, next outing, you’re wearing them. You owe me since you dressed me like a preppy clown.”

“Deal,” she squeezes my hand, still holding hers for some reason, “and I won’t do that again, I promise. I didn’t know a gathering at Dane’s house would be so informal. For what it’s worth, I thought you looked very nice.”

“I looked like Tyler.”

Why did I just say that? Here I am, deciding to stay on the friend path with this girl, and then I go spouting off shit that makes me sound jealous.

“About that,” she starts, dropping my hand and wrapping her arms around herself protectively. “I’m sorry about last night. I don’t feel anything for Tyler, really. We were just talking and I drank too much. I know it’s not a good excuse, but I just have a lot on my mind. Thanks for taking care of me, though,” she lifts her head slightly from its bowed position and smiles apologetically, “and I’m sorry.”

“Let’s talk about that.” I take her hand again, leading her through the brush and back to the clear spot where our poles rest. I sit down on the bank, pulling on her hand for her to so the same. “I know you’re worried about your parents’ stuff, but you said some other stuff, too.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re worried about being able to afford school, having to leave.”

“Oh!” she gasps and draws her knees up, wrapping her arms around them. “I don’t want to leave Southern; I like it there.”

“You need to call your parents, Whit. Ask them about it so you can stop worrying. Either way, it’ll be fine. It may not even be a problem, and if it is, you could get student loans, a job; you’d have options. But you just need to make the call and figure it out, clear your mind.”

She falls backs in the grass, laughing, her blond hair splaying out around her.

“What’s so funny?”

“You,” she answers simply. “You make everything so easy. That makes perfect sense and I’ve been driving myself crazy for nothing. From now on,” she sits up again, tapping the end of my nose with her finger, just as I’ve done hers, “I’m just gonna run everything through the Evan Think Tank before I get all worked up.”

“Brilliant plan,” I agree with a wink.

It’s dark when we finally leave, and that’s only because Whitley can no longer see to dig more worms. I never brought up any of the other stuff she had said the night before—about me loving Laney, or her taking care of me… The line is dangerously close to blurry and doesn’t need any help.

When we pull up to the house, it’s immediately obvious Sawyer has company. I glance at Whitley, guessing she’s going to be upset about it, but she just smiles brightly at me. I walk around and open her door for her, then unload all the gear, stalling for time, apprehensive of what we may be walking into; with Sawyer, you never really know.

Okay, so maybe not the worst possible case scenario, but damn close. Sawyer is currently hosting Amber, Nikki, Sasha, Tyler…and Portia. Awkward to have both “his girls” here? Not half as awkward as the fact that all the girls are half-dressed. Looks like Sawyer finally got some takers on his Strip Poker idea. And because he is completely naked, I’m thinking he should pick a game he’s better at.

“Want me to make them leave?” I whisper to Whitley, who’s grabbing my shirt and ducking her head behind my back.

“N-no, it’s all right. It’s Spring Break and all, and I’m not their mother.”

“Oh, hey!” Sawyer finally notices us standing on the outskirts, and all the other heads turn to us. “Where y’all been? You want dealt in?”

“Fishing.” I reach behind myself with one hand and find Whitley’s, heading for the hallway. “We’re beat. Gonna take showers and go to bed. Don’t mind us, though. Carry on.”

“Wait, Evan!” Nikki runs up, pink bra-clad breasts bouncing. “Come play with us. I’ve been waiting all day for you to get back.”

“Really?” Whitley’s sneer is hilarious, but I say nothing, curious as hell what she’s going to say next. “He’s tired, and we have to take a shower. Run along,” she “shooes” Nikki with her hand, “Evan’s too good for that.”

Alrighty then. I follow Whitley’s lead and turn, letting her pull me down the hall, leaving a gape-mouthed Nikki standing alone, staring after us I’m sure. Whitley’s mumbling something about STDs, desperate, and I think lopsided as she drags me along, finally letting go of my hand at my door.

“Are you gonna go back out there, Evan?” she asks, fighting desperately not to tug her lower lip between her teeth and not meeting my eyes.