If It's Only Love (Lexi Ryan) novel Chapter 14

Easton

May 16th, ten years ago

The beach is a balm to my lonely soul. Always has been. I grew up on the coast of Lake Michigan and spent weekends running barefoot in the surf and high school nights kissing girls on blankets in the sand. Lake Michigan is no Pacific Ocean, but it’s so vast you can’t see anything but water along the horizon. The waves are nothing compared to the monster currents of the Pacific, but they’re there, even if they’re only a few feet high.

As hard as it was for me to leave home when I was drafted by the Demons, I’m grateful I landed by the sea. I walk along the beach every time I need to think. It helps me chill. Helps me organize my thoughts. And tonight, my thoughts are on my other family, the one I left behind when I left Jackson Harbor.

It’s been two years since I’ve seen any of them. I thought I’d visit, but then Mom moved out here to be closer to me, and . . . well, my good intentions weren’t enough to get me back home.

Carter and I haven’t exchanged so much as a text in months. I’ll get a random message from Shay from time to time, but nothing like those damn “Should I sleep with him?” texts she sent me in the middle of the night two years ago. She’s still with Steve, so I guess she’s probably answered that question by now.

If I’m honest with myself, that’s a big part of what keeps me from flying back to Michigan. Every time I think about booking a ticket, I imagine seeing her with him. I know how unfair and unreasonable my jealousy is. She isn’t mine. Never has been. I tell myself it’s easier to stay away, but I think staying away from Shayleigh might be the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

And this month she’s in Paris for the first time. With her boyfriend, through some program with their college.

I glance at the time on my phone.

She’s nine hours ahead of me, so it’s dinnertime there. Is her boyfriend romancing her in front of the Eiffel Tower? Is he telling her how gorgeous she is as they walk the halls of the Louvre? Does she believe him, or does she still doubt her beauty?

Fuck it.

I unlock my phone and pull up my text app.

Me: How’s Paris?

Shay: Paris is great. Boys are stupid.

If there was any doubt in my mind that I’m a selfish asshole, the big-ass smile those words bring to my face would have confirmed it.

Me: All boys, or one in particular?

Shay: Who breaks up with a girl IN PARIS?

My breath rushes out of me. Fucking Steve. I thought he was supposed to be the smart kid. I should’ve trusted my instincts.

Me: A very, very stupid boy. Are you okay?

Shay: I’m fine. I guess I should’ve seen it coming. We get a free day tomorrow and I had it all worked out. We were going to spend it together, but now he tells me we’re through and he’s going to spend it with Heather. Heather, my roommate. Heather, who was supposedly my FRIEND.

Boys are the worst. And that’s where she went wrong—dating a boy.

Shay: Why couldn’t he have done this before we left? Now I’m on this trip and trying to act like I’m fine. I’ll never forgive him if he ruins Paris for me.

Me: What did you plan for tomorrow?

Shay: Eiffel Tower, of course. BECAUSE ROMANTIC.

Me: Do it anyway.

Shay: I know. I know.

Shay: It’s dumb, but I’ve imagined my first top-of-the-Eiffel-Tower kiss since I was ten.

I grin, and I can’t help but be glad he’s an idiot. This Steve guy has gotten so many of her firsts. He doesn’t deserve that one too.

Apparently I don’t reply fast enough, because her next text comes through before I can.

Shay: Okay. It IS dumb, but I can’t help it.

Me: He’s doesn’t deserve you or that kiss.

Shay: Or maybe I’m a bore who “studies too much and isn’t fun anymore.”

I sincerely hope Heather has crabs and shares them with Steve. It’s the least he deserves.

Me: Nah. I’m right on this one.

Shay: It’s time for our nighttime bus tour, so I have to put my phone away. Please don’t tell my family what happened. I don’t want them to worry about me.

Me: You can always trust me with your secrets.

Shay

I scowl at my phone. Did I think Easton was going to text me all weekend just because I’m heartsick?

He could’ve at least responded to my last message. I sent it this morning because I needed to complain to someone that Heather and Steve sucked face the whole bus tour and then she snuck him into our room after she thought I was asleep. Assholes.

Easton didn’t reply. There’s a time difference to account for, but still. It’s almost six p.m. here, so that means it’s almost nine in the morning in LA.

Easton is right about one thing, though. I should spend my evening doing everything I planned, and while our whole group will go to the Eiffel Tower together next week, I really wanted to go alone first, when I wouldn’t have professors droning on about the architectural wonder of it. I want to enjoy it on a visceral level the first time I go, and I shouldn’t miss out just because Steve decided he’d rather be with Heather.

I’ll be damned if I’m going to feel sorry for myself, so I put on a pair of fitted black jeans, heeled sandals I hope I won’t regret later, and a flowy pink tank top. I do my hair and my makeup, and by the time I’m ready to leave, I feel . . . good. I’ll never have a Playboy Bunny body—and the thirty pounds I’ve gained since starting college aren’t getting me any closer—but when I make an effort instead of throwing my hair in a sloppy bun and pulling on the nearest T-shirt, I don’t think I look half bad.

On my way out of the dorms, I pass Steve and Heather. Steve’s eyes go wide when he spots me. I didn’t do this to make him regret breaking up with me, but seeing him look at me like that isn’t a bad feeling.

I’m nervous to take the Metro alone, but we’ve done this as a group a few times now and I researched it online. It’s just one line I have to take to get from our host-college dorm to the Eiffel Tower exit.

I’m in Paris. I’ve wanted to come here since I watched Forget Paris with my mom when I was ten years old. Maybe it’s better that I can wander the city without Steve. I don’t want to be worried about pleasing him or giving him the constant reassurance he requires.

But there’s the Eiffel Tower. Right in front of me, and it’s bigger than I could imagine. It’s massive.

***

Easton: Where are you?

Me: Oh, so now you’re going to respond to my texts?

Easton: I was away from my phone. Where are you?

Shay: At the Eiffel Tower, bawling my eyes out because it’s so damn beautiful.

Easton: Be more specific.

Shay: More specific than the Eiffel Tower?

Easton: Which level? Give me details with those words you use so well, Shayleigh.

Shay: The middle one. I haven’t taken the final elevator to the top yet, but right now I’m looking out over Paris. The sky is so clear I can see Sacré-Coeur in the distance.

I bite my lip, hesitating. Is it dumb to take a selfie? Screw it.

Me: There. Happy?

Focus on the moment, Shay. You can text Easton later.

I take one deep breath after another as I look out over this city I’ve dreamed about visiting for so long, trying to breathe it in. I want to remember everything, and not just the view but the feeling. My love for Paris isn’t all that different than the feelings I once had for Easton—an acute longing I could never quite explain, years of expecting it to change, and then this feeling of rightness while I’m here.

My heart stops before slowly thudding back to life. Easton? I spin around at the sound of that deep voice I haven’t heard in so long.