If It's Only Love (Lexi Ryan) novel Chapter 21

Easton

I wasn’t planning to come back to Jackson Harbor until Sunday, but after seeing Professor Douche with his . . . whatever she was to him this morning, I couldn’t wait to talk to Shay. Not that she replied to my text messages.

I thought about going to her apartment, but if there’s anything I’ve learned during the last couple of weeks, it’s that Shay doesn’t spend much time there. It seems like she’s always at work, the bar, or on her laptop in the apartment upstairs.

I’m not surprised to see her when I step out of the cold and into Jackson Brews. I am surprised to see that she’s working—not tapping away at her laptop, but pouring beers behind the bar, taking orders, and mixing drinks like a pro.

I’m already high on her list of Least Favorite People, and I secured my place on that list years ago by sharing information she probably would’ve been happier never knowing. It was a mistake and I regret it to this day, but this is different, isn’t it?

No matter how many times I think it over and plan my words, I know she’s going to hate the messenger for what I have to tell her, but what if I didn’t tell her and she found out I withheld that her boyfriend was screwing around with at least one other woman? There’s no doubt in my mind that she’d consider that a much worse crime.

I slide onto a stool and am all too aware of the way she stiffens when she registers my presence. “Hello, Shayleigh.”

She flicks her gaze over me quickly. And hell, if their coolers break, Jake can just have Shay keep the beer cold with her attitude toward me. “What can I get you?” Ice cold.

She already hates me. Might as well make myself public enemy number one by being the bearer of bad news. Fuck. Not just bad news. The shittiest news. “Can we talk?” I’m starting to sound like a broken record with this question.

She sighs, but she sounds more tired than annoyed. “Not right now, Easton.”

I spot her brother pushing out of the kitchen. “Hey, Jake.”

He lifts his chin at me and serves a basket of fried something to the couple at the end of the bar before heading down to our end. “What’s up?”

“Can I steal Shay for a few minutes? I need to talk to her about something important. It has to do with . . . her dissertation committee.”

He nods eagerly. “Please do. She’s not even supposed to be here.” I didn’t notice, but now that he mentions it, Shay’s not even dressed for work. Everyone who serves here wears jeans or a skirt and a Jackson Brews T-shirt, but Shay is dressed in a sweater dress that hugs her curves like whoever designed it was on a mission to torture me. “Cindy’s pissed that she’s going to make fewer tips because she has to work back here with Shay.”

“I told her she can have the tips.”

“And I told you that you aren’t needed,” Jake says. He turns back to me. “The only reason she’s here is because she’s procrastinating.”

“Luckily, I can help with that,” I say, smiling at Shay. “Why don’t you grab a drink and meet me back there?” I point a thumb toward the back of the bar and head that way without another word. I’m better off not giving her the opportunity to deny me.

I slide into a booth, knowing there’s a good chance she won’t follow.

When she does, she doesn’t take the seat across from me. She stands at the foot of the table like she’s my fucking waitress or something. “What?”

Fine. We’ll do it her way. I take a breath. “I just got back from Chicago.”

“Obviously.”

“I saw Professor D—George while I was there.”

She lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “His daughter lives in Chicago. He spends half his week there.”

George has a daughter. Didn’t think Professor Douche had it in him. I wonder if the blonde knows. Or maybe the daughter is a convenient lie that allows him to lead a double life. “Shay, he was with somebody else.”

She folds her arms and frowns. “Were you spying on him?”

It’s official. She thinks I’m a psycho. Can I blame her? “It was a total coincidence that we were at the same restaurant, but it was a lucky one, if you think about it. I know it’s not my business. I know you want me to stay out of your relationship—”

“And yet here we are.”

“He was all over this woman.”

She just stares at me.

Jesus. Was I wrong about this? Does she have some sort of open relationship with this guy? It seems so out of character. “That doesn’t bother you at all?”

I swear hurt flashes in her eyes before she cuts her eyes away from me. “It doesn’t matter.”

How the fuck does that not matter? “Because you broke up?”

“Because we’re . . . seeing other people.”

“Clearly he is seeing other people. What other people are you seeing?”

She drops her arms. “Have a nice night, Easton. I have shit to do. And for the record, I don’t need you barging into my life and trying to fix everything.”

“When are you going to stop pretending we don’t have anything to talk about?”

“When I’m feeling up for the conversation.”

“How can I make you feel up for it, Shay? Tell me.” I lower my voice. “If you’ll listen to nothing else I have to say, at least let me apologize for your dad’s funeral. I never should’ve told you. It was wrong, and it was selfish. I wish I could take it back.”

She stares through me, and the ache in my chest amplifies with each second. “You’re right. It was selfish, and I wish you could take it back too. But you can’t. You can’t change any of it, so please stop trying to bring it all back to the surface.” She turns on her heel and walks away. I don’t take my eyes off her as she strides purposefully all the way to the bar and disappears into the kitchen.

Fuck that. I push out of the booth to follow her.

“Hey, East. How’s it going?” Carter asks. Unless I missed him when I got here—which, to be fair, is completely plausible—he must’ve arrived while I was talking to Shay.

“Just trying to get your sister to give me the time of day.”

He lifts his chin, his jaw hardening. I wonder if Carter has ever noticed that his sister is all grown up now. But then he says, “Good luck with that.”

I push into the kitchen after Shay and find her standing with her arms braced against the stainless-steel counter, her head bowed. “If you’re here to give me more of your opinions on George, save your breath.”

“You deserve better than him. Is that really what you want? A relationship with a guy who doesn’t even realize how amazing you are? If you were mine . . .” My stomach cramps. She was mine. For the briefest moment, Shay was all mine. And I lost her. I knew I screwed up, but at the time, I was doing what I had to do. And I can’t regret any choice that gave me my daughter. “I wish I’d handled everything better.”

She releases a puff of air and shakes her head.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Shay?”

When she turns and meets my eyes again, only bitterness glitters in hers. “You didn’t have to sleep with me. You didn’t even have to kiss me. You could’ve been the hero just by showing up in Paris when I needed a friend. Then none of this . . .”

“You want me to regret that night or just apologize for what happened after?” I prowl forward, caging her against the counter. Her brothers are on the other side of the kitchen door and could walk in here any minute. I lower my mouth to her ear before I continue. “I don’t regret taking you to bed. I’m not sorry that I made you moan my name even if the sound has haunted me, even if knowing how good we were together made me miss you that much more.”

She uncurls her hands from my shoulders but doesn’t push me away. I brush my hand along the side of her jaw, and her breath shudders out of her.

“Do you truly not feel this? Did it end for you?” I close my eyes. I need to back away, but I don’t want to. She’s letting me touch her. Letting me close. “Because it didn’t end for me. I don’t think it ever will.”

She stares at me for a long beat before sliding out from between me and the counter and turning into the office just off the kitchen. Am I supposed to follow her or let her go?

Jesus, if I had any clue how to let Shay go, I would’ve done it ten years ago. I follow and close the door behind me. “We need to figure this out.”

She spins back to me, her eyes blazing. “Do it yourself.”

I huff out a laugh and prowl toward her. “What did you say?”

Those defiant eyes brim with tears and her bottom lip trembles. “I said do it yourself. I have nothing to say, but you’re the one so determined that we have this conversation.”

“Bullshit. But maybe first you want me to track down that fucker you’re sleeping with—the one who you’re fine to let ‘see other people’? I could throw my weight around a little. He’d probably leave you alone just so he doesn’t have to deal with me.” I drag my nose along her cheek until my mouth is at her ear. “Then you wouldn’t have to tell him that you don’t want him. You wouldn’t ever have to admit that even after all these years, even after all the shit fate threw at us and all the mistakes I made, you still want me more than you’ll ever want him.”

She swallows, and when she draws in a breath, I think she’s going to deny it. But she doesn’t say a word. Her only response is sliding a hand up to cup the back of my neck. Fuck yes.

I turn back to her, just like she knew I would, and she’s right there. She pushes me against the door with flat palms to my chest. Then she has a hand in my hair and is tugging my mouth down to hers. And the taste of her . . . Fuck. She’s better than I remembered, and as soon as those lips part under mine, I’m all in—kissing her with more intensity than I’ve ever kissed anyone.

But I’m too damn tall and I need her closer. I grip her behind her thighs and hoist her up. I spin to press her against the door, and she hooks her feet behind my back, locking us into place, right where we match. She rocks into me, and Christ. So good. Her body. Her hands. Her mouth. Everything. All over.

I drag a hand through my hair and try to catch my breath—try to think one clear thought that doesn’t involve taste, suck, fuck—but she’s opened a desk drawer and pulled out a condom, and I’m a goner.

She holds my gaze as she inches a hand under her dress and pulls down her panties. They’re black, lacy, and hot as hell, but they have nothing on her. She saunters back to me, a spark of challenge in her dark eyes. I’m a desperate fool, because when she frees my cock from my underwear, I can only watch, dumbstruck and entranced, as she rolls the latex over me.

She tangles her hands in my hair again, tugging me down to her. I try to kiss her gently, but she turns it savage fast, and I can’t help but respond in kind—nipping, sucking, biting. I could eat her up right here. And fuck, I want to.

This isn’t the reunion I’ve fantasized about. It’s primitive need—her nails scraping down my back, her teeth sinking into my neck, her breathy plea of harder until I’m fucking her against the goddamn wall of her brother’s office. Not what I imagined, but it’s good. So good. I lose myself a little and forget where we are and why this is a bad idea, why this is too soon and too fast. My thoughts have narrowed to the most primitive instincts to thrust and retreat, thrust and retreat, my attention focused on the way her body perfectly fits mine and the sound of her moans as she buries her face in my neck.