He laughed, his eyes twinkling. “I knew when our parents announced our first vacation at the beach, my life would never be the same again and I was right. I learned my lesson that first week of school when you didn’t want anything to do with me-”
“That’s not true-”
“Bly! This is my story,” he admonished.
“It’s our story.”
“It is our story. And I’m desperate for it to have a happy ending.” Walker reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a black velvet box. “Will you marry me, Bly? I could never survive another week like that one, thinking I would have to go through my life without you in it, loving me. Allowing me to love you. Marry me.”
For just a moment, I watched the man before me, his eyes glowing earnestly after professing his love, his need, for me. I envisioned our future and the possibilities, the adventures we could share and I couldn’t imagine sharing them with anyone else. I loved him.
“Yes, Walker,” I answered simply. “Yes.”
Walker rose from his knee and enveloped me in his embrace. “I love you, Bly. I love you so much.”
For a time, we became lost in each other, kissing, holding, whispering. Walker held my hand close to his lips. “You’ve actually been wearing my ring for a long time, Bly.”
I glanced away from his blue, blue eyes to look at the silver ring he’d put on my finger all those years ago. “Since the beginning.”
Walker opened the velvet box to reveal the second ring he’d chosen for me. It was a brilliant solitaire in an antique setting. He slipped it on my left hand, the two rings resting side by side.
“I love it, Walker. It’s beautiful.”
His smile was tender. “You are beautiful.”
I wrapped my arms around his neck and whispered just before our lips met. “I love us at the beach.”
The End.
Keep reading for samples from my books Perks of Dating You and Chasing Paris.
The Perks of Dating You (now available on Amazon.)
Chapter One
Allie
There he is. Connor Sanders. All six feet four inches, broad shouldered, rock hard muscled, starting quarterback of him. As he walks toward me (well, not toward me, but in my direction), bright blue eyes smiling at all the beautiful, popular girls dripping from his arms, my heart sinks down to my toes. Because if I am the GPS and Connor is my target, I really wish I knew how to program a new destination, because there is no way Connor Sanders is ever going to look at me as anything-
“Hey, Allie.”
“Oh. Hey, Connor.”
-as anything more than his best friend. Standing there, as the single hottest guy at my high school makes his way to his first period AP Chemistry class, I have to wonder if fate was being kind or cruel to plunk two-year-old Connor, who would grow up to be the absolute best at everything and beautiful to boot, next to newborn little me who would grow up to be the plainest Jane in three counties. Don’t get me wrong, Connor is an amazing best friend. That’s where fate was kind. But the chances of friendship turning to something more- well, let’s just say if I ever were to meet fate- it would be with a throat punch.
“I don’t know how you can stand it.”
I turn my head just enough to see my other best friend, and pretty much my only female friend, Eden Crenshaw, standing beside me shoulder to shoulder. Her cute pixie face is characteristically scrunched with a look of disgust as we continue to Connor Stalk, watching as he and his rippling muscles lead his harem around the corner. Eden has known about my crush on Connor almost as long as I have.
“What are you talking about?” I ask, already knowing. The school year may be new, but this conversation was not. I turn down the hall toward my first period class. We have it together, so I know she will follow, bringing her explanation with her.
“Kayla! That’s what I’m talking about. How can you just stand by and let her hang all over your man like that?”
My man. I wish. But alas, Connor is not my man. He is Kayla’s man, at least he has been for the last six weeks.
“We’ve been over this a thousand times, Eden, Connor is not my man. We are just friends. He’s with Kayla,” I recite the facts, knowing Connor doesn’t see me as anything other than his best friend at best or little sister at worst. Eden is determined Connor is secretly pining for me, but is too afraid to admit to his feelings.
“Well, he could be yours if you would just man up and make a move on him.”
“Eden!” I giggle. I can’t help it. Eden definitely has a way with words.
“I’m serious. One of these days while you’re in your room shooting zombies in that dumb video game you’re always playing, just lean in and lay one on him.” She punctuates her advice with a loud kissing noise.
“And send him screaming from the room and my life? Not going to happen. ‘Friends’ is better than nothing.” And it's true. Believe me, I’ve played the scenario in my head since I was eleven and Connor was thirteen and pretty much already looked like a grown man. I dreamed of one day, gazing deeply into his blue, blue eyes and declaring my undying love for him.
Those kinds of dreams always end one of two ways. A) Connor will gaze at me, pity burning in his eyes and tell me I’m more little sister material than make out material. Our friendship turns awkward and uncomfortable and Connor starts hanging out at JJ’s house instead of mine to get his video game fix. Or B) Connor asks what has taken me so long to fess up to my real feelings and pulls me into his arms for a five hour make out session, completely undisturbed because my mom will never believe we are anything more than just friends.
B would be amazing- toe-curling, life-altering, the fulfillment of my every dream- amazing. On the other hand, A- my heart stutters in my chest just thinking about A- A would be unendurable, leading me to curl up into a tiny ball of misery in my room, never to come out until I’m an old woman and my life has been taken over by the five hundred and twenty-seven cats my mom has sent in one by one to cheer me up. No, making a move, as Eden so eloquently put it, is out of the question. Being doomed to eternal friendship with Connor is worth my silence, if speaking up means losing him completely.
“If you say so. I just don’t understand how you can spend hour after hour every Saturday afternoon with Mr. Hottie McHotness and not just tell him how you feel.”
“If declarations of love are so easy, why haven’t you made one yourself?” I ask, staring pointedly, because there, at 2 o’clock, is Micah Porter, the only guy in school who can make Eden’s black little heart go pitter patter.
“I’ve told you, I’m going to be a nun.”
“You sound convincing, but the drool dripping down your chin gives you away.” Eden drags her gaze from the back of Micah’s head long enough to stick her tongue out at me.
“I can’t help my biological reaction to a beautiful man,” Eden says, stalking Micah with her eyes again as we pass his locker, turning away only when threatened with looking like a scene from The Exorcist.
“Biology. Right. It has nothing to do with the fact that Micah is a skater. And he’s super smart. And he is really nice. Did I mention, he’s hot?” I tease, bumping her hip with mine as we reach our classroom.
“He really is,” Eden sighs, dropping dramatically into a seat in the back row of our physics class. “It doesn’t matter. You know I’ve sworn off guys until college. No more high school drama for me.”
“Some friend you are, leaving me to suffer all by myself.” I say the words lightly, but my heart pinches at Eden’s words, worried. Eden doesn’t like to talk about it, but something happened to her last year. I don’t know what exactly, but after that Eden vowed to live out the remainder of our high school career sans boys.
I miss whatever quip Eden might have come back with, however, because Mr. Richardson, our physics teacher, just walked into the room and immediately launched into his lecture on Newton’s Laws. So much for easing into junior year.
Chapter Two
Connor<
br />
Tweeet!
Coach Reno’s whistle pierces the air seconds before his booming voice. “Defense! Five burmas! I don't care if you're puking your guts out, everybody finishes.”
The huge defensive linemen, faces already purple from exertion, groan collectively as they all head to the imaginary trail leading all around the school campus that has been dubbed a ‘burma’.
“Conditioning.” Coach’s voice carries to the defense, as they run, heads hanging low. “You guys look like you haven’t left your mama’s couch all summer. Offense! To the line!” This new proclamation is met with no less groaning from my teammates on offense. “One hundred yard suicides!”
Lining up in the end zone, I crouch into my stance, deciding for the thousandth time I hate our head coach.
Tweeet!
I’m just as frustrated with my team. It’s my senior year, my last chance to get the attention of the scouts from State. I really want a scholarship. I’ve worked my ass off all summer conditioning, doing drills, and studying film. If these dipshits don’t get their act together, there’s no way we’re winning the State Championship this year. And I need to win.
Glancing at the water table, I see Allie. Just the sight of her sympathetic smile as she catches my eye, makes me run harder. Faster. That is until she turns that bright smile of hers toward Jared Maxwell, the water boy and the only guy on the team I haven’t yet threatened with bodily harm if he messes with Allie.
Of course, Jared is a freshman and weighs one fifteen soaking wet. I swear, the guy’s voice still hasn’t changed. I could probably forgo my usual speech, the one that kept Allie safe from asshole jocks like my teammates. I really don’t think Jared is a threat.
“Dude, this sucks.” My best friend on the team, JJ Coleman grimaces as he heads back to the end zone from the twenty-five yard line. I am already at the thirty-five, a sure sign that all my hard work this summer has paid off at least a little bit. JJ, on the other hand, spent the summer drinking and partying and he's paying for it now. I just can’t afford to lose focus like that.
“Suck it up, man.” I harass JJ when I pass him again.
“Enough small talk, Sanders!” Coach Reno shouts, reinforcing my earlier conclusion that he is not my favorite person, not because he's a tough coach, I don't mind hard work. No, I don't like him because he's an ass.
I look toward Allie again. She’s facing the field, the corners of her mouth lift in a smirk when our eyes meet again. She knows exactly how I feel about the coach.
Jared catches my attention again, looking a little too enthusiastic when Allie laughs at something he’s saying and suddenly I’m trying to remember when it was exactly that I became so damn protective of the girl next door.
It’s nothing new, I guess. I’ve been helping Allie out of scrapes since we were kids. Like that time I knocked out Billy Prescott’s front tooth for locking Allie in the shed during a game of hide and seek. I still get pissed off just thinking about it. It helped that I was bigger than most of the other kids around our age (thanks to genetics and a virus I’d gotten traveling in South America which made me miss most of first grade so I had to repeat it, putting me one grade above Allie rather than two).
I guess it was her freshman year, though, when I realized just how much Allie was going to need looking after. She decided to sign up to be the student athletic trainer for football. At first, I thought it would be awesome, right? My best friend hanging out at football. It wasn’t long, however, before I realized just how wrong I was.
The first week of summer practice, Allie was the hottest topic in the locker room. It was the first time I’d been exposed to how other guys looked at my best friend and it was not cool. Everything came to a head one day when I went to find Allie to give her a ride home only to find Travis Jacobs, a senior and the school’s biggest douche giving Allie a hard time.
I will never forget the look of relief on her face when she saw me walk in that room or the sudden, explosive rage that had me yanking Travis around by his collar, slamming him into the wall and threatening his future childbearing opportunities if I ever saw him messing with Allie again.
I probably could have handled that situation better. Typically, sophomores threatening seniors never ended well for the little guy, but I wasn’t that little (it was even better when I stole the starting quarterback position from Travis). After that no one messed with Allie in the training room or anywhere else. Rumors started that Allie was my girlfriend. But I squelched those too, by asking out Danielle Masters, a junior and one of the most popular girls in school. It didn't take long for everyone to believe I wasn't interested in Allie and some of them even forgot we were friends. What a bunch of idiots.
-------
“You ready to go?” I ask, poking my head into the training room after practice. Allie looks up from slicing off Bruce Beckett’s ankle tape. He’s a sophomore and plays JV and he’s looking at the top of Allie’s head like she’s an angel sent straight from heaven- until he catches me scowling at him.
“Thanks, Allie!” Bruce jumps off the table and practically runs out of the training room. Smart kid. “See ya, Connor.” I barely nod at him.
“Good grief, Connor. Stop scaring the underclassman.”
What? Ugh. Let me tell you something about Allie, she is completely clueless. This is a good thing for the most part. She is sweet and unspoiled and completely unaffected by her own beauty. In fact, I’m pretty sure she has this crazy idea that she isn’t pretty. Wrong. She is gorgeous. Not flashy, but in a girl-next-door kind of way with a blonde ponytail swinging down her back, wide hazel eyes, and a few cute freckles across the bridge of her nose.
“What are you talking about?”
She turns to me, her brow furrowing in that cute way it does when she’s trying to figure me out.
“Bruce. You just scared the crap out of him.”
“Oh. You know how it is with the JV guys.” And usually I’m above all that. I remember what it was like being a freshman and sophomore (remember Travis Jacobs?). I make a point to not be a jerk to the younger guys and get after anyone who does. Except when it comes to Allie, who is still staring at me like she’s wondering what is going through my head.
“You done?” Seriously, she's gonna make me squirm with that penetrating glare of hers.
“Yeah.” She tosses the wadded-up tape from Bruce's ankle in the trash can and grabs her backpack off the chair by the door and we walk together to my truck.
I open the door for her just like I always do and she shakes her head like it’s completely unnecessary just like she always does. My mom may not have taught me manners, but hers had.
“You got a lot of homework?” I ask, sliding into the driver’s seat.
“Nope.”
“Wanna play?” I don’t know how much time we’ll have once this year really takes off. I want to hang out as much as possible and that usually means kicking zombie ass.
“Sure. But only if you promise to behave yourself,” she threatens, her finger pointing in my face.
Right.
------
Haha! Yes! There she is. I use my controller to back my character out of the darkened room showing on my half of the television screen and run him down the hall. I glance down at Allie’s portion of the screen. Her character will hit the room in three, two, one-
“Allie, in there! Go in that room!”
Allie’s character races into the room, full tilt- and wakes up the witch hiding in the corner.
“Hahahaha!” I lean over until our shoulders touch, laughing in her ear as the witch comes after her and her character dies. “You fall for it every time.”
Scowling, she smacks me on the back of the head. “You suck. You know that, right?” Allie drops her controller on the blanket in front of us as we lay on our stomachs, side-by-side, at the end of her double bed.
Just for that I kick her foot off mine.
“Hey!” she screeches.
You see, Allie has this
foot thing. She’s always messing with my feet when we play video games. She’s even instituted a no sock rule because footsie with socks on is apparently a travesty.
Looking injured, she attacks my feet again. “You owe me after tricking me...again.”
“You shouldn’t be playing footsie with me all the time. I have a girlfriend.” Allie scowls at the mention of my girlfriend, Kayla. I’m just teasing her, though, because she’s been doing that foot thing since we were kids taking naps on mats in her mom’s daycare. “Besides, I can’t help myself. You’re just so damn gullible.” I laugh and she kicks me this time.
“I am not gullible. We’ve been best friends all our lives. Heaven forbid, I actually trust you.” She nudges my shoulder, trying to make me feel guilty for getting her fake killed.
“Nah-uh. I cannot be manipulated by you anymore. I’m immune.” Allie rolls her eyes and then rolls off the bed, taking my controller with her.
“Fine, then I am done killing zombies for today.” Allie sets our controllers on top of the console under her television. It’s actually my console, but we never hang out at my house, so all of my games and shit are in her room.
“Awe, come on, Alberta.” She hates it when I call her that, but of all my favorite things, riling Allie up is my absolute favorite. Her eyes shoot daggers at me and her lips flatten. See? It’s hilarious.
“Jerk.” She punches my arm, then shakes out her hand, making me laugh.
“Good grief, Allie, you think you’d learn.” I flex my bicep, obnoxiously patting it with my hand.
“Arrogant jerk.” She sticks her tongue out at me and starts putting away laundry from a basket on her floor.
“You know you love me, Al. Don’t try to deny it.” I mean the words playfully but the smile slips from her lips, making me feel bad. She tries to hide from me by carrying a stack of folded jeans into her walk-in closet. But I know her, something I said made her sad.
Us at the Beach Page 13