If It's Only Love (Lexi Ryan) novel Chapter 10

Easton

The Jackson crew wanders along the sand in front of me, soaking up the evening sun and laughing. I’m so glad to have them here, but I can’t believe Shay didn’t come.

I get it. She has other responsibilities, other things in her life to focus on than her brother’s old friend. I tried to tell myself it didn’t matter. Lied to myself about how much I wanted her to see my new life. Now her family’s here and it’s great, but it’s also . . . lonely in a way I can’t explain to anyone.

Doesn’t she know that she’s half the reason I arranged this trip? But I guess she wouldn’t. When she suggested she’d change her college plans to be with me, it scared the shit out of me, and I’ve done everything I could to hide my feelings since. She’s so smart—and not just compared to me. Compared to anyone. She’s brilliant, and I won’t be the reason she doesn’t chase her dreams. When I was starting at Starling College, my course load was intense. I’d never been pushed academically like that, and my anxiety was off the charts. Lucky for me, Shay was taking a couple of courses there—a high school freshman taking French at a four-year college, because she’s that kind of smart. I got to see her a couple of times a week. She’s the only one who could help me relax enough to make it through those major projects. My grades weren’t great, but I don’t think I’d have passed if it hadn’t been for her. If I’d been put on academic probation and kicked off the team, I never would’ve been drafted by the Demons. She’s the reason I got to pursue my dream, and I won’t stand in the way of hers.

But she didn’t tell me she has a boyfriend.

It was only a matter of time, but it was still a punch in the gut when Carter’s little brother, Levi, made a joke about Shay being alone at the house with him. I didn’t want her to wait for me, but I guess I thought she might. But now she has a boyfriend, and they’re going to New York together. Because he’s smart enough to be in the special group that takes the trip. Smart like Shay. I bet she likes that.

I wonder if she calms him when he’s stressed. I wonder if he’s ever wondered if there’s something wrong with the way he was made, only to have her put a hand on his arm and make him feel like he’s whole, like he’s enough.

I pull my phone from my pocket. I owe you no more secrets.

She’s right. She doesn’t owe me anything. But I want it all anyway.

Shay

I can’t sleep.

I roll over and stare at the clock. Three a.m.

Steve left five hours ago, reluctantly still a virgin. I assured him that my reasons for waiting had nothing to do with Easton, that I just wasn’t ready. I’m an evil liar.

Guilt had me inviting him for a soak in the hot tub, and after a heavy make-out session that ended with us back in the house, his swim trunks were on the floor, and my hand . . . well, my hand was right where he wanted it. After that, I think we were both a little more convinced that I’m not hung up on Easton.

But I have another five days full of prime virginity-losing opportunities, and I wonder if Steve’s right. Maybe now’s the time. We might not have another chance to be alone like this until we’re in college, and even then there will be roommates to work around and neighbors on the other side of thin walls. I can’t deny that our circumstances are ideal, but I always imagined I’d be in love when I lost my virginity. Will Steve wait that long?

I grab my phone off the nightstand and scroll through the pictures Mom sent me earlier. My stomach twists with longing. This is the first time I’ve missed a family trip, and seeing my brothers lined up and walking barefoot down the beach makes me feel . . . homesick.

I laugh at myself. How silly. I’m the one at home.

I click over to my text thread with Easton. It’s midnight there. I bet he’s still awake. And because I know he’ll tell me the truth, I send him a message before I can talk myself out of it.

Me: Would you have dated someone in high school who didn’t put out?

Easton: I did a few times. Not every relationship got that far.

Me: But did you end things because you weren’t sleeping together?

I stare at my phone for a long time. The bouncing dots that indicate he’s typing appear and then disappear. Shit. I probably sound like an immature child.

Me: You can be honest with me. I won’t judge you.

Easton: If my answer was yes, you fucking SHOULD judge me.

I can practically hear his voice just reading the words. I can see his nostrils flare in disbelief. I miss him.

Me: So . . . why didn’t you answer?

Easton: Because this conversation makes me want to come back to Jackson Harbor and beat the shit out of this boyfriend of yours.

Crap. I clearly didn’t think this through. I’m an asshole who’s going to get my sweet, awkward math nerd boyfriend pounded by an NFL quarterback. Cause of death: irresponsible texting.

Me: I never said I was talking about my boyfriend.

Easton: But weren’t you?

Me: Not exactly.

Easton: What does that even mean?

Me: It means I was asking in general terms, but I’m not saying he’s going to break up with me if we don’t have sex.

Easton: You wouldn’t be asking if you didn’t think it was a possibility.

I throw myself back on my pillows and whimper. I’m making a mess of this. I don’t want to throw Steve under the bus, but I truly do want advice. I could talk to my brothers, but they’re irrational when it comes to me. They’d freak out if they knew I’d let a boy up my shirt, let alone if they knew I was thinking about having sex. I could talk to my girlfriends, but I want a guy’s perspective on it.

Me: I’m afraid he’s going to get sick of waiting.

Easton: Nah. If he loves you, he’ll wait forever.

Me: And if he doesn’t love me?

Easton: Then you shouldn’t have sex with him anyway.

Me: Hypocrite.

Easton: How do you figure?

Me: You’ve NEVER had sex with someone you didn’t love?

Easton: Let me get back to you.

Me: Need time to get the list together?

Easton: Need time to put together my defense.

I’m still laughing when his next text comes through.

Easton: This isn’t about me. It’s about you, and YOU deserve the love, the roses, the fucking fairytale. Don’t settle for less.

I turn off my screen and close my eyes. I clutch the phone to my chest, and I’m smiling as I fall asleep.

Shay

Teagan pulls her door open before I have a chance to knock. “I thought you might come over. Do you want to talk?”

“No. I want to go to the bar and drink until I forget that Easton Connor just walked back into my life and set off a bomb in the middle of it.”

“Okay.” Because she’s the best fucking friend ever, she grabs her purse. “Let’s go.”

I shake my head. “Tried that already, but he was there.”

“So you don’t want to go to the bar?”

“I want to go and him not be there.” I growl. I sound mental. “He had the nerve to kiss me.”

Teagan’s eyes go wide and she does that fish-mouthed trying-to-speak thing for a few beats before shaking off her shock. “Easton Connor kissed you?”

“Yes.” I stomp into her house and toss my purse onto the couch with more force than necessary. Teagan and Carter live together in the little two-story craftsman Carter’s been fixing up for a couple of years. Isaiah, a high school senior and the son of Carter’s late friend, lives with them in the refinished attic. Carter has pretty much gutted the whole house and put it back together one piece at a time. It’s adorable, and when he’s around, I love talking to him about what comes next in this massive makeover. But tonight, I’m glad he’s not here, because the last thing I want is for him to hear me rant about Easton. Easton and his presumptuous bathroom kissing. “Self-centered, egotistical motherfucker,” I mutter.

“Wow. Okay.” Teagan closes the door and joins me in the living room. “So you didn’t want him to kiss you, but he did. What did you do?”

“I went off on him, and then I left because I just . . .” I try to drag a hand through my hair and end up making a mess of my ponytail.

Tequila. The word washes an Easton-scented memory over my senses. Thirteen years later, and I can still recall the feel of Easton’s hot tongue on my wrist where he licked off the salt. The man is imprinted in my mind permanently. But I don’t want him to be, and the last thing I need is a drink that will bring those memories even closer to the surface. “Beer is fine.”

Teagan lets out a long breath. To her credit, she doesn’t screech, What boyfriend?

I shrug. Do I count the first time I felt like he was flirting with me? The first time I accepted an invitation to dinner? The first time I slept with him? “I don’t even know if ‘seeing’ is the right label.” I swallow hard, shame dogging me. “We’ve been sleeping together, but we haven’t had a chance to figure out if we want it to be more than that.” It’s not exactly officially against the rules to sleep with members of your dissertation committee, but it’s certainly frowned upon. George and I seemed to have an unspoken agreement from the first morning I snuck out of his Grand Rapids apartment that we wouldn’t let what we’d done get out. Even without official repercussions, information like that could damage both of our reputations. He doesn’t need people thinking he’s a sleazy professor, and I don’t need people thinking I only made it through my doctorate because I was sleeping with the man in charge of deeming whether my work is worthy. “You’ve actually met him before. His name is George Alby.”

I can see it in her face, the Already? The Are you really that serious? Or maybe those are my thoughts and I’m projecting. “George is great.” I swallow. “And I care about him, but because of our weird situation, we’ve never had a chance to be a normal couple. I’m afraid that if he finds out how much that ring freaked me out, I’m really going to hurt him.”