If It's Only Love (Lexi Ryan)

Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

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.

Teagan shakes her head and straightens the blanket on the back of the couch. “You know what? I think

I’ll go get us a couple of beers.”

“Do you have anything stronger?”

Biting her lip, she looks at the ceiling, thinking. “I might have some tequila left over from a chicken

recipe I made last weekend?”

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.”

I follow as she heads to the fridge.

Her dark hair frames her face as she leans in to inspect their beer selection. “I have a porter, a growler

of that new hazy IPA Jake won’t shut up about—oh, or we could share this bomber of blueberry sour if

you want.”

“I think my boyfriend is going to propose,” I blurt.

Teagan straightens, eyes wide.

“It doesn’t make any sense, but I saw the ring.”

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

“It’s too soon. We’re not there yet, but maybe he wants to propose before I accept a job somewhere

else. But I don’t know for sure, because I was a distracted mess tonight. I wanted to tell him about

Easton being in town and how it means something to me.” I mess with my hair again and decide to give

it up and take out the hair tie. “I was trying to do the right thing, but I didn’t know. . . I didn’t realize . . .”

She shuts the fridge. “You’re sure you don’t want that tequila?”

“Can’t. Easton memories.”

“Shit.” Teagan grabs a stool. She climbs onto it and digs through the cabinets over the refrigerator

before coming out with a bottle of amber liquid. “Found this.” Of course Carter would have bourbon in

the house. I’m pretty sure all my brothers keep it around. “Any objectionable memories with this?”

I shake my head. “Thanks, Tea.”

“Not a problem.” She grabs two glasses from the cabinet, pours us each a couple of fingers, and hands

mine over. “Drink, and then start at the beginning.”

I take a sip, closing my eyes as the warmth from the liquor coats my throat and blooms in my chest. I’m

not a big bourbon drinker, but it feels appropriate tonight. “I’m not ready to start at the beginning.”

“Okay. Then start with tonight. You’re . . . seeing someone? And it’s serious? Who is he?” I can tell

she’s trying to hide it, but there’s undeniable hurt in her voice, and I feel like an ass for keeping secrets

from my friend.

“I’ve been seeing someone from work.”

“For how long?” NôvelDrama.Org owns this text.

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.”

“But isn’t George . . .?”

“He’s the chairman of my dissertation committee.”

“Oh,” Teagan says. She takes a long swallow of her bourbon, coughing as it goes down.

“I never set out to sleep with him, and when it happened, I blamed it on the wine, too little sleep, and

maybe general loneliness.” I roll my glass between my hands. “I didn’t think it would happen again, but

it did. Then after the third time, it just became something we did. I’d go to his apartment for dinner after

meetings, and we’d talk and end up in bed. When we went to the conference in Florida in February, I

had my own room but barely spent any time in it.”

“Wow. And now you think he’s going to propose?”

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.”

“Oh, honey.” She puts her glass down and squeezes my free hand. “If you’re not ready, you have to tell

him.”

“Can I tell you something terrible?”

“What?”

“I don’t think I would’ve ever slept with George if I hadn’t known Easton was moving to town.”

It was almost four months ago that I found out Easton was looking for a house in Jackson Harbor. At

the time, I didn’t understand why he suddenly wanted to move back here. He hasn’t lived here since

high school. Why now?

But that’s what I get for swearing off celebrity gossip. Apparently, his ex, the diva popstar Scarlett

Lashenta, got drunk on her reality TV show and confessed on camera that her daughter isn’t

biologically Easton’s. The news blew up because the real daddy is some now-famous rapper Scarlett

thought was going nowhere when she found out she was pregnant.

Easton has always managed to stay out of the celebrity drama and keep his daughter out of it too,

despite Scarlett’s penchant for staying in the middle of it, but the cameras were all over him after the

news hit. And then they realized he’d known that Abigail wasn’t his for years and he’d stuck around

anyway. Cue the mass swoon.

Which is ridiculous. Why do we swoon over guys who are actual fathers to their children? If he’s raised

her since birth, why would it be anything but expected that he’d stay by her side, despite a lack of blood

ties? But I guess that just shows that the press doesn’t know Easton as well as I do, because none of

his decisions regarding Abi have surprised me. Even his impending move back to Jackson Harbor fits

now that I know more of the story.

Before, the news threw me. I vacillated between panic and dread and . . . excitement. It was the last

that may have been responsible for my rash decision to accept George’s invitation back to his

apartment for a glass of wine.

Teagan grimaces. “That makes sense.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“It just helps explain it a little, I guess. Sleeping with a professor isn’t like you, but sleeping with your

dissertation chair? Shay, that’s almost reckless.”

I lift the bourbon to my lips again, but the smell turns my stomach, so I put it back on the counter with a

clunk and busy my hands by pushing it around. “I know, I know. But now here we are. George told me

after we . . .” I want to say started dating, but that would be inaccurate. George and I didn’t start dating

as much as we started sleeping together. “After we started seeing each other, he admitted that he’s

been interested in me for years and I never seemed to pick up the hint. I had to be faced with this not-

even-an-ex coming back into my life before I noticed the really incredible guy right under my nose.”

“It’s not like you were planning to use him to get Easton to notice you.” She hesitates a beat, squeezing

my hand a little tighter. “Were you?”

“No. Of course not.” My feelings are messy right now, but I am sure of that. I wasn’t after jealousy. I

was after protection—someone to be a barrier between me and East. I’m a total ass. “It was more like I

was trying to put some distance between Easton and my heart.”

“That’s one hell of a crush, girl.”

I let out a dry laugh. I never told anyone in my family about what happened with Easton and me. The

truth would change the way they look at him. I can’t do that to him or my family, though it’s Carter who’d

be the most pissed. Teagan, on the other hand, won’t likely put a fist in Easton’s face if I tell her. “I

didn’t tell you the whole truth about me and Easton.”

“You don’t say.” She arches a brow, unsurprised. “I won’t tell Carter, if that’s what has you worried.”

I swallow. “I appreciate that.”

“It was more than a crush,” she says, and it’s not a question as much as a statement of the now-

obvious.

I nod. “We fooled around a couple of times.” That’s the extremely watered-down version of the truth,

but I’m not up for sharing the whole story. I’m not sure I ever will be.

Her eyes widen. “You fooled around with Easton fucking Connor and kept it a secret?”

“Oh, yeah. My brothers would’ve killed him.” My eyes burn. I’m so damn tired. “What if I push George

away because of what I think I still feel for Easton and everything’s different? What if what I feel is all

past tense? I can’t change how I felt back then. Our history is going to be there as I move forward, no

matter what.”

“Have you considered talking to Easton about all this?”

I huff out a dry laugh. “He keeps trying to talk, and I keep running away. I think he only kissed me

tonight to get my attention.” I bite the inside of my cheek as if it’s some magical pressure point that can

keep me from crying, but when I look up at my friend, I see her through a film of my tears. “I’m a

coward.”

“You’re not.” I can tell from her expression that she has questions—so many questions that she’s too

good of a friend to ask right now. “You have a lot on your plate. The defense, job applications, and now

a possible proposal? Just give yourself room to breathe. Give your feelings some space to be before

you judge them. If Easton really wants a chance to talk the past out with you, he’ll wait.”

“I don’t want to make a choice I’ll regret.” I swirl my bourbon in my glass, wishing my stomach would

cooperate so I could chug it. The oblivion of a good drunk would be welcome about now. “Tell me about

your day. How are things going with the new girl at work?”

“Work is fine and my day was boring. Don’t change the subject.”

I cut my eyes away and sigh.

Teagan squeezes my wrist gently. “When I worked surgery, we had to tell patients that they weren’t to

make any major decisions post-op. I’m your nurse and I’m telling you to treat yourself as a post-op

patient until further notice. No decisions.” She gives me a sad smile. “If I had to guess, I’d say you’ve

been so secretive about this whole Easton thing that you don’t even know how you feel. Figure that out

first and don’t make any decisions in the meantime.”

I smirk. “Does that also mean I can’t operate heavy machinery?”

She gives a pointed look to my barely touched glass. “Not for the reasons I anticipated when you

walked in the door, but maybe this calls for a sleepover. I miss Carter while he’s at the fire station. You

can keep me company.”

“Deal,” I whisper. “But I’m emotionally exhausted, so don’t take it personally if I fall asleep before ten.”

“I’ll make your bed.”