Embrace (Evolve Series #2) Page 3

  “Yeah.” She nods. “Katie not your type?”

  Shaking my head, I give her an attempt at a smile. “Not at all. Sawyer’s idea.”

  “Come on.” She takes my hand and leads me to her now empty table. “Have a seat.”

  I comply immediately. I’d just go home, but I’m kinda in limbo. The new semester hasn’t started yet, so my room here isn’t officially mine for a few more days and I’m in no condition to drive back to my parents’ house. Quite simply, I have absolutely nothing to lose or better to do than sit here and talk to Whitley.

  “So, why does a guy who looks like you need Sawyer to find him dance partners? If you wanna call that dancing.” She’s blunt. And right—that wasn’t dancing.

  I shrug. “He’s trying to cheer me up; get me to meet girls, I guess.”

  She snickers. “I doubt you need help meeting girls either.”

  It just popped out; when she realizes she spoke it out loud, her face flushes and her eyes dart down. It’s a pretty look on her, softening her somehow. Whitley’s very attractive; too perfect though. When I look at her, I see money; she’s very much a practiced, methodically-planned, well-put-together girl, who, if I’m not mistaken, wants to be anything but. Her shoulders don’t ever slump, her back is pin straight, her posture nothing short of perfect. Not one shiny, blonde hair dares to fall out of place. But her eyes… Her eyes are a blinding blue and the genuine sadness in them is one of the few things about her that isn’t deliberate.

  “Thanks.” I look away, more embarrassed at her compliment than Katie’s dry-humping. “I just don’t know anyone here yet, so he’s actually trying to be a good guy and help me out.”

  “Sawyer’s a really good guy. He just doesn’t know it.” Her expression is sincere; she’s not being snarky.

  I feel bad for her, complimenting Sawyer when he was just so rude to her and badmouthed her to me. I barely know either of them, though, so maybe there’s more to it.

  “But I know enough about Sawyer. Tell me something about you.” She smiles, encouraging me.

  “What do you want to know?”

  Before she can answer, Sawyer joins us, abruptly pulling up a chair. “Bro, you got two to go. Why are you just sitting here?”

  What Whitley must think right now? Certainly I don’t want her to get the impression I number and categorize women on a regular basis—all Sawyer on that one.

  “Eh,” I shoot Whitley an apologetic smile, “I wasn’t feeling it. This pretty lady is great company, however.”

  She blushes again and it’s even prettier than the last time.

  “Fuck,” Sawyer grumbles, turning to Whitley. “Way too sticky, Whit. Walk away. He doesn’t know better, yet, but you…”

  Her shoulders tense and her eyes narrow, trying not to mist up. “What are you talking about, Sawyer? We’re just talking, and what is so wrong with me?”

  “Shit, Whitley,” he motions to his replacement bartender for drinks, “where do I start?”

  Damn. That’s the first really not right thing I’ve seen or heard from him and it doesn’t sit well with me.

  “People are always pissed off around you, woman,” he points out. “Things can be going great, and then you show up, boom—it goes to shit.”

  “Now back up,” I interject, no longer able to sit idly while he insults a female. Man, how I’d love to set him loose on Kaitlyn, but not Whitley. “What’d she do that’s so wrong?”

  Sawyer smirks. “I told ya, your girl hates her fucking guts.”

  Whitley eyes me warily. “Who’s your girl?”

  “She’s not my girl, and he knows it.” I give Sawyer a pointed glare. Hadn’t he told me straight up that Dane’s his friend and he’s basically running interference for him by hanging with me? He’s more than aware Laney is no longer “my girl,” so why is he antagonizing Whitley? I run a hand down my face, becoming increasingly frustrated and completely opposed to continuing this conversation. I certainly don’t want my own misery broadcast to the bar, so I’m willing to forego my interest in why Laney hates Whitley.

  “Who are you talking about?” She tries her luck with Sawyer just as our drinks arrive.

  I sip mine slowly, watching their showdown back and forth over the end of my bottle.

  “Evan?” Sawyer looks at me questioningly.

  Oh, now I’m allowed input into the public dissection of my agony? I shrug, giving him a “take it away” hand wave. What do I really care? Might as well let them talk about it in front of me rather than after I walk away. I’ve got a good buzz and no bed in close proximity to call my own…fuck it.

  “Evan starts here this semester. He gave up his scholarship in Athens to follow a girl here.”

  Yes, I’d told Sawyer my woes, shedding some light on the seriousness of my love-induced fuck-up. Somehow I’d hoped he’d forgotten most of what I said. Alas…

  “But when he got here, he found that said girl is otherwise occupied. So… I was trying to get his dick wet. Until you interrupted, that is.”

  Sawyer: good guy, terrible mouth. Kinda funny, though. He goes from the eloquence of “found that said girl” to “dick wet” in the same breath.

  Whitley gasps, so I quickly jump in. “I wasn’t trying to, well, what he said. Like I told you, his idea. I swear.”

  Her lips tighten in a line, but her slight nod says she believes me. I don’t care that I’ve only just met her, I need her to know my mama didn’t raise me like that.

  “And who’d you say the girl was?” she digs again.

  “He didn’t,” I answer, “but it’s Laney Walker. You know her?”

  “Really?” she sneers, her face literally that of someone who just got force fed a lemon wrapped inside a lime.

  It’s the only cattiness she’s shown all night, even when Sawyer was being a dick, and is it ever catty. One thing’s for sure—Laney’s feelings about her are reciprocated.

  “Really.” I wish it wasn’t all true, either, trust me.

  “Yes, I’ve run into her a few times,” Whitley admits, awkwardly clinking the ice in her glass, seemingly fascinated by it. “None of them were pleasant.”

  “And why is that?” I ask, wondering if I’m going to get the real story here. Maybe Laney took her spot on the softball team, though Whitley doesn’t look like much of a baller…

  Sawyer scoffs loudly at my question and rudely answers for her. “Whitley here’s been stuck up Dane’s ass for years, ever since they were kids. Laney was here five minutes and had that boy whipped. Isn’t that right, Whitley?”

  Her eyes are blatantly watery now, and not only do I feel bad for her, but I know exactly how she feels.

  Smiling at her, I stand, offering her my hand. “Hungry? You drive, I’ll buy.”

  “Yes!” She practically leaps out of her chair, latching on to my hand. For comfort, I’m guessing, and strangely, I get the sense of the same as soon as she touches me.

  “Sawyer, I’m gonna feed the lady. I’ll text ya.” And with that, I lead her out, soon becoming the follower as she heads to her car.

  We’ve been sitting at a late night diner for a while, bellies full of greasy goodness and every topic from Shakespeare to rollerblading (which neither of us are good at) discussed, when it occurs to me that I have nowhere to sleep. I could drive back home to my parents, completely sober now, but that sounds excruciating. I texted Sawyer and begged for his couch, but he has yet to answer, and it’s been so long now, he’s probably not going to. I guess I’ll just have Whitley drop me off at my truck; maybe I’ll sleep in it and head back in the morning. I can’t wander around like a vagabond until school starts, but I have time to think about that later. All I have to solve right now is tonight’s arrangements

  “Penny for your thoughts.” Her gentle voice intrudes on my woes.

  “Why are you dipping your French fries in your milkshake?” I ask, cringing but thankful for the lighthearted conversation starter rather than what I’d really been pondering.

&nb
sp; “Because it’s good and my mother isn’t looking.” She bounces her eyebrows and snickers, like she’s really gotten away with something.

  “I wish I wasn’t looking, either,” I joke with her, “it’s disgusting.”

  “Have you ever tried it?” she challenges me with a smirk.

  “No, and I’m not going to,” I fiddle with my straw, slurping up the last of my drink

  “Au contraire, mon frère. You are gonna try it, and you wanna know why?”

  This I gotta hear. “Enlighten me, please.”

  “Because you need a place to sleep tonight, and I’m not letting you have my guest room until you try it. So grab a fry, you big wuss, and get to dippin’!”

  “Now how did—”

  “Evan, I’m gonna let you in on a big secret. You can never get your cell phone far enough away or hidden well enough from a girl if she really wants to see what you’re typing.” She winks this time and giggles. “Annndd, I think you owe me eating another icy fry for that little pearl of wisdom.”

  That’s good shit to know, so I happily dip a fry in her shake and pop it in my mouth. Not bad. Not good, per say, but not bad.

  “One more,” she teases, waggling a fry at me.

  “No, no,” I protest, shaking my head, “I can’t stay at your place. I barely know you. In fact, please tell me you don’t usually let guys you hardly know stay with you.”

  That pissed her off. Her eyes have narrowed to slits. “I will have you know,” her perfect fingernails drum against the table, “that I have lived in my home for almost two whole years and not one man has ever slept there. In fact, I’ve never even brought a date back there!”

  “I didn’t mean to make you mad, Whitley. I’m sorry. It just worried me because it sounded kinda unsafe. I wasn’t alluding to anything else.”

  “It would be unsafe if I did that, but I don’t. And I may barely know you, but I already know enough to be absolutely sure I’ll be safe and sound with you in my home. You, Evan Allen, are a true gentleman. You couldn’t hide it if you tried.”

  I grin coyly. “Oh yeah, how do you know that?”

  “Because you didn’t like Sawyer talking down to a girl. You hold open all doors for me. You led me to this booth with your hand gently on my back,” she blushes, “and you’re arguing not to stay the night with me.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got me all figured out. So what about you?”

  “What about me?” She tucks her shiny, golden hair behind her ears. The tops of them are pink; she’s nervous to be the one under the magnifying glass.

  “I don’t know. Pick something you want to tell me. How about… What’s something you’re passionate about?”

  “Singing,” she answers instantly, a glow taking over her face. “I’m this year’s captain of the Lovely Larks, the school a cappella group.”

  “Very nice.” I nod with a grin. I can totally see her as a singer. “You’ll have to sing for me sometime.”

  “Someday.”

  “Someday like tomorrow, or someday like it’s never gonna happen?” I laugh, just kidding her.

  “The day I figure out the perfect song to sing to you,” she whispers, looking down.

  I try desperately not to think of how that single statement reminds me so much of someone else I know. Or at least, someone I used to know. Someone I thought I knew.

  “Okay, one more fun fact and I’ll feel safe sleeping under the same roof as you,” I request, giving her a playful kick under the table.

  “My major is Music Education. I want to be a music teacher in an elementary school, where the kids are still young enough to just love the music.”

  “You’ll be great at it.” I shoot her a wink.

  “How can you be so sure of that?”

  “The passion in your eyes when you talk about it.” I shrug, the explanation self-explanatory to me. “You could never be bad at something you feel so strongly about.”

  I don’t know her well enough yet to pinpoint the exact emotion that passes through her eyes before she centers her shoulders and lifts her head just a little higher. “Thank you, Evan.”

  “Thank you,” I give her a grateful smile and pop the second dipped fry in my mouth, “for giving my sorry butt a bed. You ready?”

  She nods and I stand up, offering my hand to hold as she slides out of the booth. I settle the bill and hold the door open for her, thinking how easy she is to talk to.

  “Here you go,” she says cheerfully, walking into the room ahead of me, turning down the bedspread and sheet. Then she fluffs my pillow and turns to me with a smile. “Do you need anything else?”

  “No, this is more than enough. Thank you so much, Whitley, for taking in this gypsy. Are you sure you’re comfortable with this?”

  She bobs her head, smiling. “It feels nice to have someone else here. I don’t know,” she pops her shoulders, “maybe we could make popcorn and watch a movie, or sit up and talk, or something,” she bites her little lip again, “if you’re not too tired.”

  I try not to let the wonderment show on my face. How is this beautiful, kind, trusting girl lonely?

  “What movie ya thinking?” If she says anything Disney, I’m jumping out the fucking window and sleeping on the sidewalk.

  “I don’t care,” she says, the happiness in her voice at the prospect of a movie buddy almost sad. “You can pick.” She grabs my hand and pulls me to the living room like a kid at Christmas. “Come on.”

  We get settled in on the couch, The Avengers about to start when she says softly, never breaking her fixed gaze at the TV, “Evan?”

  “Yeah?”

  “It was really nice meeting you.”

  “You too, Whitley.”

  Chapter 4

  Wingman

  ~Laney~

  When I walk into my Algebra class on Thursday morning, he’s the first person I see. It’s the first time I’ve seen him since that night leaving The K. I’d given up texting and calling; he wasn’t going to answer. I heard from Sawyer that he’s living in Morgan Hall, one building down and across the street from me, but that’s all the information I have. Honestly, I don’t know why I let it bother me. This distance between Evan and me started the minute we both left for college, but knowing that even though he’s here now, close enough I could reach out and hug him, and we’re still apart has an extra bite. I know he doesn’t want a hug from me right now, but someday we’ll be on speaking terms… Someday we’ll hug again, right?

  How I wish I hadn’t hurt him. It’d be so nice to talk with him, to tell him about my mom, my life… I miss my friend. Evan will always be the best part of my past and the minute he’s ready, if he’s ever ready, I will welcome him back into my life with open arms. But I love Dane. I’ve spent a lot of time lately thinking how I would feel if the roles with reversed. What would I have done if Evan found someone new at UGA? I’d like to think I’d understand and still be his friend, but maybe I’m wrong. And if I’d have given up my team and went there for him… Well, when I throw that in, I’m right back to knowing his reaction is valid.

  I heave a sigh. I’m beginning to think there’s no win to this situation. Even now, staring across the room at Evan’s downcast eyes and stiff posture, the image of Dane’s heated gaze and sexy smirk fight for headspace. I’m way too far gone to backtrack with guilt now, so I plaster on a confident smile and head over to say hello.

  “Hi, Evan.” I fold into the chair next to him and get my stuff for class out of my bag.

  He doesn’t look up but mumbles, “Laney. How are you?”

  “Good. You?”

  “Oh, just dandy,” he snorts sarcastically.

  I sigh, not knowing what to say. Maybe the more I try the worse I make things? All I want to do is hug this wonderful guy and make it better, but I know it wouldn’t. A hug is much less than he wants, what he thinks he needs, and I can’t give him anything more. My heart’s no longer mine to give anyway; Dane took it, he owns it. I wish Evan and I had just stayed fr
iends now. The few months we spent as a couple flew by, hardly a blip on the radar, but ended with major, maybe irreparable, collateral damage.

  Luckily, the professor walks in and begins as we sit there, worlds apart, the silence screaming. Class seems to take forever, and when it’s over, Evan’s out of his seat and through the door before I even have my bag over my shoulder. No “goodbye,” no “catch ya later.” I try, God, do I try, to hold them in, but I think it actually makes it worse… The silent teardrops start to fall. Evan’s back turned on me just isn’t a view I’m used to and I’m glad I’m not practiced at it; once is more than shattering enough.

  When I need to talk something through, I talk to Dane. When I need to cry, he holds me and tells me he’ll make everything better. When I laugh, it’s usually because of something he said. But now, can I really call him to boohoo that the hurt I caused is coming around to bite me in the ass? Nah—I better not. A small snicker actually leaves me as I hear my dad in my head. “You found your way in this mess; find your way out. It’s called ‘taking your licks,’ Slugger.”

  With Dad’s words in mind, I suck it up, wiping my face with the sleeve of my shirt and snorting my runny nose in the most ladylike way I can manage. Putting the problem with Evan out of my mind is all I can do right now—I can focus on lots of other things, like school and ball and Dane. Evan can wait until we’re both ready to talk face to face, right? Maybe the guys will have some advice for me…or at least take my mind off everything. A girl can hope, right?

  Trudging to lunch is a chore; if I was walking any slower, I’d be headed backwards. Why I even bother with food I’m not sure. My stomach is in knots and I glance around for my boys, almost perking up when their friendly eyes meet mine.

  “Hey,” I manage, slouching into the seat beside them, not capable of fighting Sawyer off his immediate attack of my tray like I usually do. No, today I peacefully concede my whole plate over to him; this should be their first clue as to my mood. Boys.

  Zach’s mesmerized by his phone, as usual, so I kick him under the table. “Ow!” He rubs his leg. “What the hell was that for?”