The Boyfriend Series Box Set (Books 1-6): YA Contemporary Romance Novels

by Christina Benjamin

  ‘You asked for it, ye stubborn git,’ his subconscious scolded.

  He had as good as told her that she wasn’t worth pursuing. Zander had nearly choked on the words as he’d forced them out of his mouth. And at the time, he thought he was doing the right thing, but now he wasn’t sure of anything—except maybe the boiling anger in his veins.

  This was not what he wanted.

  Zander motioned to the waiter and quickly paid their tab, prepared to chase after Megan and apologize. But by the time he reached the tavern room she was nowhere in sight. Panic lanced his gut. Where the hell was she?

  Doolin was a sleepy seaside town. How much trouble could Megan have gotten herself into in the ten minutes it took Zander to get his wits about him?

  “If yer looking for yer lass, she headed out for a smoke,” said a red-nosed patron deep in his drink.

  Smoke? Megan didn’t smoke. Zander nodded his appreciation to the patron and darted out the front door. It was freezing outside and the picnic tables were empty. He was about to go back inside when he heard Megan’s laughter drifting toward him.

  Zander rounded the corner and sure enough, Megan was there. She was wearing a leather jacket that didn’t belong to her and giggling as she passed a joint back to her newfound friend.

  “What the fuck, Megan?”

  “Chill, mate,” the guy said wrapping his arm around Megan. “We’re just having a bit a fun.”

  “Fun’s over,” Zander seethed. “Let’s go, Megan.”

  “No. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  Zander reached for Megan’s arm and the stupid bloke she was with stepped in Zander’s way. “Ye got a problem wit yer ears, mate? The lass said she don’t wanna go wit ye.”

  Zander’s temper was near exploding. He grabbed the scrawny stoner by the neck of his plaid shirt and shoved him up against the building. “The only bloke with a problem is gonna be you if ye get in my way or touch my girl again. Do ye understand?”

  The man raised his hands in submission. “I don’t want no trouble, mate.”

  Zander let the squirming stoner slide down the wall. As soon as his feet hit the ground he was running.

  “You forgot your jacket,” Megan called after him, but he didn’t stop. “Real nice, Zander.”

  “Let’s go,” Zander growled reaching for her hand.

  “I told you I’m not going anywhere with you,” she hissed yanking her arm out of his reach.

  “We’re not all on holiday, Megan. I have work to do. I need to get back to the room.”

  “Then go. I’m not your responsibility.”

  “I’m not leaving ye here by yerself.”

  “Suit yourself,” she spat and turned on her heels.

  Zander watched in astonishment as Megan marched right back into the pub. He wanted to punch something, but against his better judgment he took a deep breath and followed her back into Fitzpatrick’s to play babysitter.

  25

  Megan

  Megan proceeded to get herself good and drunk inside the merry little pub. She did shots with the band and even joined them on stage when they started playing ‘Galway Girl’.

  “That’s me!” she shrieked jumping up and down to the catchy tune. “Her eyes were black and her hair was blue!” she belted, screwing up the lyrics.

  Her blunder got a roar of laughter from the crowd, but soon they were all taking turns spinning her around the makeshift dance floor that had opened up between the abandoned tables.

  When the song was over, Megan made her way to the bar gasping with laughter. “One more round!” she declared.

  “‘fraid not, love,” the bartender replied.

  “What? Come on! I’m yer Galway Girl,” she slurred.

  “Not tonight, darlin’,” he drawled nodding in Zander’s direction.

  Megan had tried to ignore Zander’s presence while she got obliterated, but it was nearly impossible with his hulking frame sulking at the corner of the bar. He spent the night sipping water and tapping at his phone. He looked positively miserable, which only made Megan want to rebel even more.

  Who was he to tell her what to do? Zander had made himself perfectly clear. He didn’t want her, not as a girlfriend, or apparently even a friend. And that was fine. It sucked, but it was life. She’d move on. But that didn’t mean she’d have to be miserable about it. She was in Ireland and she was damn sure gonna enjoy herself.

  And she had. She’d danced the night away to incredible music and she didn’t want it to end, even though she knew she’d already far surpassed her alcohol tolerance.

  “Just one more drink?” Megan begged. “The band’s still got another set.”

  The bartender laughed but shook his head, passing Zander the check. He handed over a wad of cash and shook his head when the bartender offered change.

  Megan had a sneaking suspicion Zander had paid the man handsomely to cut her fun short.

  “Can we leave now?” Zander asked, his voice sounding much more patient than he looked.

  “Fine,” Megan grumbled. “I was getting tired anyway.”

  Zander handed Megan her jacket and followed her out the door. The stinging February wind nearly knocked her on her ass, but Zander’s ever-present hand was there at her back to steady her.

  Megan pulled on her jacket and zipped it up to her nose. “It’s cold as balls out here!”

  Zander didn’t say a word.

  Megan shivered in her boots as she shuffled her feet, stumbling up the narrow path that somehow passed as a shoulder to the road. One of the things Megan had discovered on their trek today was that Ireland’s roads were definitely lacking.

  She slipped on the slick grass where the soft shoulder sloped down and Zander hauled her off her feet.

  “What are you doing?” she squealed.

  “It’ll take us ‘til St. Patty’s Day to get home at the rate ye stumble,” he growled hefting her into his arms like she weighed nothing at all.

  As much as Megan wanted to protest, it was much warmer to be snuggled against Zander’s massive chest. And damn the man for smelling like an eternal well of Irish Spring soap. She snuggled into him, tucking her head against his neck.

  “You smell good,” she murmured, giggling when she realized she’d said the thought out loud.

  “You smell like a distillery,” he muttered.

  “You’re mean.”

  “So I hear. But for now, yer stuck with me, so let’s just get ye home, eh?”

  Zander

  Zander had just managed to get Megan into bed when she turned green and sprinted to the bathroom to rid her stomach of the copious amounts of booze that led to her sloppy state. The rest of the night was spent walking her back and forth from bed to toilet.

  Finally, it seemed she’d nothing left to expel. Zander held her upright as she splashed cold water on her face and washed her mouth out. She’d exhausted herself being violently ill and swayed on her feet as she stumbled from the sink toward the bedroom.

  Zander silently scooped her up in his arms and carried her to bed. For once she didn’t fight him. It was how he knew she was finally ready to let sleep claim her. He gently laid her in the large bed and pulled the covers over her.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, shivering against the chill of the night.

  Zander swept her damp black hair away from her pale cheeks. “Get some sleep.”

  He spent the next few hours burying himself in the task of weeding through his growing mountain of emails. He’d tried scrolling through them on his phone at Fitzpatrick’s but Megan was too damn distracting.

  Zander sighed and rubbed the drowsiness from his eyes. It may have been the weekend, but the work never ended for him. The software he had helped develop was making Cor-Tec the most sought-after system on the market. Proposals were pouring in and Zander didn’t have the manpower to keep up with them. He hadn’t been lying when he said he needed to work through the weekend rather than go on this camping trip. If things kept up like thi
s he would burn out soon.

  Bleary-eyed, he finally called it a night. Wrestling his demons, Zander climbed into the bed with Megan. It was plenty big enough for them both, but it still felt risky to be so close to something he wanted with every fiber of his being. He prayed for the willpower not to wrap her in his arms and wake her with the desperate need of his lips.

  Even after seeing Megan at her worst tonight, it hadn’t been enough to make him want to walk away. She was a mess, but he wanted her to be his mess. Seeing her so wrecked had only endeared her further into his heart. He could see how good he could be for her if he’d only let himself. He was the anchor to her ship, the tether to her kite. Without him she was bound to rip wildly through the world, and without her he was just a dull weight without purpose.

  He wished he could be strong enough to repair the rift between them, but there had been too much tension and tonight he’d snapped. Zander was angry with himself for the things he’d said to her. He hadn’t meant them. She was right, he was a coward and he was broken. But she’d been wrong about one thing—she could fix him. If only he was brave enough to let her.

  Zander rolled over, turning his back toward Megan. The bed creaked loudly and he felt her shift toward him.

  “Zander?” she mumbled, her voice full of sleep.

  He didn’t dare reply. Maybe she’d think he was asleep. She sounded half asleep herself. She snuggled closer, her warm body fitting against his like they’d been made for each other. He stilled.

  “Zander?” she whispered again.

  Still he didn’t answer, though he was sure the pounding of his heart would give his desires away. His breath caught when he felt Megan’s fingers light on his back. At first he thought she was trying to wake him, but then he realized she was working out a pattern, her gentle fingers tracing lines among his tattoos.

  All at once, he figured out what she was doing and an ache washed over him so powerfully it was a struggle not to let the strangled cry from his throat. Megan was tracing his stars. The stars he’d had etched into his skin for the quote they both loved—Maybe the stars have a plan for us.

  Zander had found the quote after he’d lost his mother and he’d clung to the hope in it. It had become a steadying force in his world that felt otherwise adrift. He’d added the stars to the tattoo of his last name that adorned his shoulders as a reminder that there was a greater force at work and maybe better things were to come for him.

  He been shocked when he found the quote was special to Megan too. She’d said she loved the romanticism of it. Zander had never told her its significance to him, but here she was, tracing the stars of his tattoo, like she knew—like she’d always been able to see into his soul, no matter how hard he tried to keep it from her.

  Zander’s muscles coiled with tension as he resisted the urge to shudder against Megan’s touch. Eventually her fingers slow and then stilled, dropping away. Her head came to rest against the warmth of his back and he felt her eyelashes flutter closed against him. She sighed and soon her breathing returned to a regular pace as she let sleep pull her under again.

  Zander squeezed his eyes shut, his heart throbbing with grief. A dark thought pressed its way into his mind as he wondered what tattoo he would get when Megan left him . . .

  26

  Megan

  Megan woke with a splitting headache. The blinding sunlight spilling into the room did nothing to help. She covered her eyes with her hands, peering through her fingers to let the world come into focus. She moved slowly, fearing the wrath of her hangover.

  Her bed was empty and a wave of déjà vu washed over her. Zander had left a path of tangled sheets in his wake, like he’d been in a rush to vacate her bed. The great disappearing Zander strikes again, she thought bitterly.

  Megan was beginning to find it difficult not to take it personally. But then again, she was doing nothing to help her case as she remembered that Zander had witnessed her go all Jeffrey V-ahmer on the toilet last night. Not her finest moment.

  Groaning with embarrassment, Megan swung her legs over the bed and winced. A purple welt bloomed from her knee to shin. Great! She was cursing her clumsiness when she spotted a miracle on the bedside table. Coffee and a blueberry muffin had been laid out for her, and there was a note.

  M,

  Eat something.

  I’m working in the café.

  Z

  Shakespeare he was not. But he’d brought her food and left a note. That had to be a good sign, right? The coffee had gone cold, but Megan drank it anyway, savoring the taste of sweet cream and caffeine. She picked a sugary crumb from the top of the muffin and popped it into her mouth. It was delicious. She only allowed herself to eat half of it, not wanting to anger her alcohol-ravaged stomach.

  Megan pulled on a pair of sweats and limped to the bathroom. The reflection that greeted her wasn’t good. She’d managed to wash her face at least, but her eyes were bloodshot and her hair looked like a collection of dead crows had taken up residency. She turned the shower on and let the hot water singe away the remains of her humiliating night.

  She dressed slowly, dreading facing Zander. She knew she needed to apologize for acting like a sorority girl on a bender, but she wasn’t looking forward to it. Zander had made it perfectly clear he wanted nothing to do with her, and that had been before she’d turned into a vomit comet. But they still had three more days of camping to get through, so the sooner she apologized the sooner they could get on with it. With any luck they could at least call a truce.

  Megan trudged downstairs on her aching knee and hobbled into the B&B’s cheery café. Sunlight warmed the solarium, where Zander was sitting hunched over his laptop. His back was to her and Megan took a moment to appreciate the view. Why did he have to be so stupidly gorgeous? It made staying mad at him impossible—and wanting to drag him back to bed inevitable.

  She shook her disturbing thoughts away and sucked up her pride, ready to apologize.

  “Morning,” she said trying to hide her limp as she walked toward his table.

  Zander blinked up at her, his mouth in a tight, unreadable line.

  Megan sighed. He certainly wasn’t going to make this easy. “So I just wanted to apologize for last night. It wasn’t my proudest moment.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Ye seemed to be feelin’ mighty fine from what I recall,” Zander replied flatly.

  “Yes, well I was upset. I had a little too much to drink and I didn’t handle it well.”

  Zander huffed a laugh. “I’ll say.”

  Megan clenched her fists. “Ya know, you were easier to talk to when we lived in separate countries.”

  “Likewise.”

  Megan growled and stomped out of the room in frustration only to stop halfway to the door. Zander had gotten her so wound up that she’d nearly forgotten what she came downstairs for. She turned around and marched back up to his table exhaling dramatically. “I came down here to say thank you for taking care of me last night and I’m sorry I puked on your shoes.”

  His head snapped up. “What about my shoes?”

  Shit! Maybe he hadn’t noticed them in his haste to get away from her. “Oh, um. Nothing. I’ll let you get back to your work. I’ll be upstairs whenever you’re ready to go.”

  Megan ran back up to their room planning to clean Zander’s spew-speckled shoes or throw them out the window at the very least. She didn’t need to give him any more ammunition.

  Zander

  Zander’s guilt was getting the best of him. He slammed his laptop shut. He hadn’t been able to concentrate on work ever since Megan stomped out of the café. Why did he act like such an arse around her? Just because he didn’t have the stones to pursue her didn’t mean he had to treat her like an absolute wanker. But it seemed he couldn’t control his mouth whenever Megan was near. Stupidity just spewed freely in her presence.

  He scrubbed his face, unable to shake the lost feeling that had settled over him. If he survived the rest of this trip it would be a miracl
e.

  When Zander returned to their hotel room, he found Megan sitting on the bed, her pant leg rolled up to reveal an angry purple bruise covering her knee. He frowned deeply, his concern for her instantly overruling everything else.

  “Megan,” he breathed striding toward her.

  “It looks worse than it is,” she replied moving to push her pant leg back down.

  “Stop,” Zander ordered, sitting down on the bed, his hand pushing hers away so he could examine the bruise.

  “It’s really not that bad.”

  “Let me see,” he demanded, pulling her leg into his lap.

  Megan

  Megan forced herself to swallow her groan of pleasure as Zander massaged the sore muscles around her knee. Her cheeks flushed with shame at her weakness for him. Even after the way he’d treated her, she was still putty in his hands.

  He bent his head closer to hers as he inspected her injury. It was a test of her will not to kiss him.

  “Are you an expert on knee injuries?” she finally asked as he poked and prodded around her kneecap.

  “Ye could say I know a thing or two.”

  “From soccer?”

  “Football, but yes.”

  “You had a knee injury, didn’t you?”

  He nodded, continuing his examination.

  “Is that the reason you don’t play anymore?”

  “One of them.”

  “Oh?” she asked, wanting to keep him talking. It was the only thing distracting her from the way his hands were making her feel. “Did you love it?”

  “What?”

  “Playing soccer?”

  “Football. Yes, I did.”

  “Do you miss playing?”

  “Of course.”

  “Why’d you give it up?”

  He shrugged. “I wasn’t gonna make pro.”

  “Couldn’t you still play for fun?”

  He snorted like he thought it was the most ridiculous idea he’d ever heard.