The Best Moments (The Amherst Sinners Book 2)

by Elena Monroe

  Softly I tapped his shoulder with my finger, “Um, I’m trying to go upstairs.”

  He barely looked at me more than a second, “It’s occupied.”

  A whole second floor was occupied? Seriously?

  I tapped his shoulder again, “Seriously? I need to go upstairs. You have no idea how overwhelmed I feel right now, and I can’t fucking think with all this going on down here.”

  He laughed at me, like what I said was funny.

  My eyebrows arched, and with wide eyes, I stared at him, hoping he realized how much he just potentially pissed me off.

  “You’re Ollie’s girl aren’t you? They said you’re innocent, but you have a vicious glare.”

  I was still stuck on being called his girlfriend to wonder how I acquired the infamy of a glare. I tried to hold my glare up to conceal how red my cheeks flushed and the sting of his ignorance to my status of single.

  He slid to the left, letting me pass, finally. Each step felt freeing, further away from the heat and loud music. My thoughts got louder and louder. The upstairs was quiet and bare. I randomly chose a door, since all of them were closed. I braced myself to see something I didn’t want to see, but the room remained silent. It was safe; no one having sex or whatever privacy gave people.

  Keeping my eyes low, I pushed the door open all the way, rushed inside, and leaned against the now-closed door, like I finally trapped all the emotions on the other side. My eyes were closed. I needed to focus, and I knew I would analyze my surroundings instead if they stayed open.

  Two large breaths relaxed my shoulders, falling to the typical placement instead of up by my ears. I thought out loud, “I did nothing wrong. They’re just being protective...” Soothing myself, I froze when I heard rustling against the comforter on the bed.

  Shit.

  I peeled open my eyes slowly, and I recognized him instantly. Even with his tattoos covered, I knew him by the messy hair and the faint smell of cigarettes.

  Oliver.

  The deep thoughts of confusion died down, and the tension grew in my muscles. I analyzed his lifeless body, slumped over and limp. He didn’t seem like himself at all—at least not the same guy who was in the hallway with me not long ago. I couldn’t place it beyond his posture.

  I blurted out, “Are you drunk?”

  His laughter was rarely heard. When I had gotten him to laugh, he had held his smirk suppressing it. It was already hard to recognize, but at this moment, it was displaced.

  I watched him get up without answering me. He walked over to me, and I already felt like melting. His eyes were cloudy, like the sky before a storm, that I knew well. It usually came before his lips crashed against mine.

  I waited for his next move, but instead of kissing me he hovered, teasing. He held up his phone showing me the screen. “7 minutes until midnight. Did you come up here for a New Year’s kiss, Layla?”

  “No, I came up here to avoid your friends blaming me for what went wrong. I didn’t do anything wrong, Oliver. Maybe you could fill them in.”

  I watched his damn smirk spread wider. “They’ll get over it. It’s none of their business.”

  That line would only work coming from him.

  He stole inches between us pushing further into me. I tried to hold on to the anger, but it was slipping away. I needed to grasp onto my cruelty, “I won’t get over it. You pushed me away for no reason. I didn’t wanna go back home for two months. I couldn’t tell my mom she blew $650 on a non-refundable plane ticket for nothing. My mom doesn’t have that kind of money to throw away, Oliver.”

  His head dipped, avoiding looking at me, and his hands pushed against the door behind me. I was trapped without feeling trapped; instead, I felt liberated. I was sure pressing his palms to stay flat against the door was easing his desire to make fists.

  “You could have said that. You could have warned me. I wouldn’t have let myself get that far.”

  My face twisted analyzing his words, “What do you mean, get so far?” Right now, that was my only focus, getting the answers I didn’t have two months ago—regardless of how much my heart ached to confess what I couldn’t the night before I left and to make him feel the guilt I carried for him.

  Suddenly, his lips crashed against mine. His tongue pushed between my lips, and tasting him was intoxicating. I opened my mouth, letting my own language wrestle with his. His hands fell from the door behind me down the front of my body, only for his fingers to find the bottom of my shirt. His hands felt like fire pushing under my shirt. The tips barely touched the wire in my bra when he pulled away to say, “Happy New Year, Layla.”

  I felt weak, but I still managed to ask, “Get so far…?” I was like a broken record. I needed answers, even two months and a New Year’s kiss later.

  His lips brushed mine. I was sure in some lazy hope that I would forget that I asked anything. “Don’t make me repeat it. Just let me kiss you… and touch you…”

  Repeat it? I never heard his excuse a first time.

  I let my hand tug the bottom of his shirt between us—a weakness of his I picked up on after we started fooling around. “I felt guilty for two months for no reason. I’m not fucking you when you can’t even explain what happened between us.”

  He ultimately pulled away with a heavy sigh, and my lazy grasp let go of his shirt. “Why are you so difficult? What do you want me to tell you? None of it is gonna make you feel better.”

  I witnessed my own vision blur slightly, as the tears welled up in my eyes. We were happy, and suddenly we weren’t. I couldn’t pinpoint what went wrong. All I knew was that I couldn’t just forget and let sex be the magic that fixed us. I couldn’t be that girl—no matter how much more comfortable that seemed.

  “I want you to tell me the truth!”

  His eyes darkened. “You think the truth is going to make you feel better, Layla? Then have the truth. While I was inside of you, you were going to confess to loving me. It was all over your face. And I don’t do love… everything but, so I broke it off.”

  “I don’t believe you. Caden said you were tortured all break. If you didn’t have feelings too, then you would have been fine.”

  He became cruel instantly, like a professional at hurting people. “And what’s your truth, Layla? How good did Hunter feel between those legs? And how about those childish marks all over your neck?”

  I felt a volatile mix of anger and pain. My fists were clenched so tightly I could feel my nails making small crescent-moons, while I blinked away new tears.

  “You really think I could love you and have sex with someone else?”

  His fingers pushed back my hair examining the marks Hunter left. That’s all I’d let him do over break, kiss me and touch my breasts, but those details would only spur on his desire to break his nose again.

  He stayed silent, so I spoke again, almost in a whisper, “Why couldn’t you let me love you?” I felt the words shake me to my core, pressuring more tears, and tremors raced through my limbs.

  His hand slipped down to my hip in a distracting way. “You should have let him fuck you, Layla. Make this easier for us both.” He paused, looking at me with zero cruelty or rage; this was something else. He continued, “Because it’s not easy letting you love me. It never works out. My mom didn’t want me, so I was put in the foster care system. My dad never wanted me, but did it for his wife. Elizabeth never wanted me, but the bad boy image instead. I can’t give in just to find out you don’t want me either. I need guarantees.”

  A silence lingered, and his lips brushed mine before he said, “So you can love me, but I’m gonna fight loving you.”

  Nothing he said made my heart ache less.

  Nothing made me want to heal him more than hearing his voice break when he spoke about being so unwanted.

  Nothing was going to change how connected I felt to him—not two months, not this argument, and not so much disappointment—nothing could alter how I felt.

  Why couldn’t we just hold on until comfort took
over and we became the people after this? After the fighting, the fear, and distracting possibility that this all went up in flames.

  I could hold out hope for any version of Oliver.

  She didn’t fight her way out of my touch, and there were no visible tears, but this was the first time I was at a loss as to how she felt.

  Layla was transparent, at least to me. Her big blue eyes, the way she’d hold her mouth, the tension in her shoulders, the way she bit her lip… all spoke volumes.

  She was pushed up against a door, while my body stayed still against her and her expression was blank. I knew she couldn’t be numb—not like I was. I felt untouchable. I couldn’t even feel the guilt I knew was automatic.

  I broke her in record time. This was the look of a shattered heart when I confessed I wouldn’t let myself fall for her, even if it’s what I wanted. If she didn’t hate me before, then she would now. All my body let me be concerned with was my hard on pressed against her leg as I pressed against her.

  I kissed around her lips, while my fingertips inched up her torso teasing the outline of her bra without grabbing what I wanted.

  “We both need this, Layla.”

  I kept my eyes low between us, avoiding her vulnerable expression.

  “It doesn’t fix anything.”

  Her delicate hands closed around the bottom hem of my shirt anyways, holding onto me like I’d float away if she didn’t. She was right. Sex wouldn’t fix anything, but it was a constantly made mistake in relationships. It was the easy way out—all the pleasure and none of the pain.

  I shook my head, letting my fingers tease her hard nipples and the metal protruding from her piercings.

  “We aren’t going to be able to fix this now anyways, so let’s just enjoy each other…”

  It was the cocaine begging, bartering, her to give in to me.

  I hadn’t slept with anyone since she left, and I crossed desperate weeks ago. In my rare moments of sobriety, I decided I couldn’t hurt her like that, yet I hurt her even more by telling her I couldn’t love her.

  Smart.

  She licked her lips quickly, and I knew she planned to kiss me after all. I became harder by the minute; the tightness in my crotch grew more uncomfortable. I took my hand back from giving her nipples attention to adjust myself. I unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans, not caring how forward it was, as I pushed my hand down between us. I pulled my length up against me, concealing myself instead of creating a tent, and even my own touch had me groaning.

  It wouldn’t spring out now, like a loaded gun when my underwear finally came off. She was already timid, and I didn’t need her to rethink this.

  I refocused my eyes back on her and realized she was watching intently. She confirmed it with one look: Hunter only fed her desire; he hadn’t satisfied it, not like I would.

  My hands wrestled with the button and zipper on her jeans before I pulled her shirt above her head in one swift move. I missed seeing this body outside my dreams and only in the moments my hand was wrapped around myself.

  Her hands returned to the hem of my shirt pulling me closer instead of urging it off.

  I whispered, “I’ve missed you…” That was me talking, not the drugs.

  Her mouth was exactly how I remembered. Not just warm and wet, but the faint taste of tropical fruit. Our mouths were hungry for more, pushing our tongues wildly past each other’s lips. My hands reach around her to cup her ass, pushing her even more against me. A small whimper escaped her mouth, and I knew she was done being teased.

  I only let my mouth pull away from her, not my body, “Take off your pants.”

  Her hands didn’t let go of my shirt, like she was afraid I would institute more time apart, or worse. She didn’t move one inch. I couldn’t tell if she was rethinking this or simply too scared to let go of me.

  I still didn’t give her any space as my hands pulled on her jeans around her grasp on me. I smirked, looking down at her plain pastel blue cotton panties.

  This was another confirmation that she hadn’t planned on sleeping with anyone tonight.

  I wanted to kiss her neck and reclaim her, but just the thought of him touching her made me angry. I kissed her breasts through her sheer bra instead. My lips clamped down around her hard nipples, tugging gently enough to invoke the small whimpering noises I loved.

  I felt like only a second went by before her hands let go of my shirt’s hem and laid flat against my chest pushing me gently away. My relaxed body was easy to manipulate how she wanted, even if it meant pushing me away.

  “I can’t be this girl.”

  I swallowed a groan, trying not to be pissed off and turned on, “Be what girl, Layla?”

  I pulled away, further giving her space for her frantic hands to zip up her jeans and pull her top back on. She looked more confused than ever.

  “The one that just forgives you because I like how you kiss me. The one that makes hurting me seem minuscule. The one who loves you and you can’t love back. We’re a ticking time bomb, Oliver.”

  With every word, she erased every ounce of me that was turned on. The tightness in my jeans was the quickest to vanish. Then the heat and tingles against my skin disappeared next.

  I wanted to stand. I wanted to argue. I wanted to beg for her forgiveness, but the blow circulating my will wouldn’t let me.

  “Okay… then leave, Layla.”

  I watched the gray tears streak her cheeks, and I still felt nothing. I didn’t know what to say or what to do to make this better for her. When someone tells you they can’t “just forgive you” they’re asking you for more without any hints. I never understood why girls would beg and demand for a certain outcome, but refuse to give us any hints to make it happen.

  She choked out, “You’re an asshole.”

  Because I didn’t know how to fix this either? Because I didn’t argue or cry? None of it was worth asking, so I stayed quiet and watched her walk away thinking the worst.

  Aspen was the only one out of all of us who participated in serial dating. I watched him constantly come up with some great plan or idea in the hopes it would be exactly whoever he was currently dating wanted. With no hints, he normally was wrong. They’d argue; she’d confess what she really wanted; and the cycle would continue.

  Aspen gave up dating after the wreck. That was his last girlfriend, and he destroyed her in a very physical way. I didn’t blame him for staying clear of relationships.

  Caden was all benefits and no feelings. He was to the point, direct, and as much of an asshole as me. One time I was headed to my room, when Caden’s door opened, letting out his latest hook up.

  She asked him all hopeful, “Aren’t you going to walk me out?”

  He pointed to the door, right at the bottom of the stairs, and told her, “It’s right there.”

  It made me laugh to this day.

  B was a frequent flyer—an anomaly. I’d ask, but getting in people’s business was another thing I didn’t do.

  I was a contradiction and an enigma. I didn’t date; I didn’t love; I didn’t go out of my way for women. Yet I dated Elizabeth loosely for a year. Most of that year, I was numb. I never had the motivation to break up with her. Maybe it was convenient; maybe it was my excuse to keep other girls at a distance.

  All I really know is I thought it was love until Layla was in my way at the coffee shop. It was one single moment, a simple look, and I knew I had more hope and attention for her than I ever did for Elizabeth. It was intriguing; Layla was someone who saw me, not my mistakes.

  I only sat up from laying down on the strange bed with the intention of pinching a dose of blow onto the dip between my thumb and pointer finger. I couldn’t get her pain-stricken face out of my mind. There was no better time to encourage my senses to stay numb.

  I knew I needed to talk to Aspen about dating. Normally, Caden was the only one I let into my mind, but he had zero experience of advice to dispense.

  I ripped the phone case from my phone and laid the thin
baggy inside before reattaching it to the back of my phone. Old habits die hard, all my tricks flooded back, like I never stopped using them. I learned very quickly that pockets was always where someone looked first, and I wasn’t getting caught this time.

  Downstairs was still obnoxious, wild, and sloppy. Finding my friends was always pretty simple. They were creatures of habit.

  Caden slapped my hand, pulling me into him for a quick embrace. His eyes were still analyzing my every move for the one that would scream: “I fell off the wagon.” I couldn’t care any less even if he found out I didn’t stop after one night and didn’t plan to. The sensation of not feeling was powerful. Everything seemed funny without the pressure of taking every moment seriously or cautiously or whatever hang up you had.

  I made a point of pulling Aspen to the same kind of embrace, despite not being as close. He seemed distracted by something across the room, and my eyes scanned the room. Caden slapped my bicep like I wasn’t supposed to bring attention to whatever it was.

  Aspen’s tense face didn’t loosen when he filled me in. “She’s here. She’s back at school.”

  I swallowed hard knowing exactly who “she” was, as I searched for the confirmation.

  Maddison. Holy shit.

  None of us had seen Maddison since freshman year, before the car accident. She was in the hospital for months with two broken legs as a result of his car slamming into a cement divider. We thought she transferred schools, just to avoid all of us, probably the same way Layla would now.

  I didn’t blame Maddison for avoiding us, even now. After the crash, we all snapped to blaming her without any of the facts. We all questioned why she wasn’t driving in the first place when she wasn’t drunk. She was just a byproduct of Aspen being drunk, just like the crushed car.

  He didn’t take his eyes off of her.

  “Hey, man… I’ve got some relationship questions,” I said to him.

  “Uh, what…?” He looked confused for a minute, then nodded his head yes after a quick swig of his beer. That was the only acknowledgment I got that he heard me.