PMU Boxset 2

by MacMillan, Jerica

  He smiled again. “Hi, everyone. I’m Evan, but most of my friends call me Coop. Um, I haven’t ever done this before, so I didn’t know I was supposed to memorize it.” He held up the paper in his hand. “So I’ll be going off my notes if that’s okay.”

  A few people laughed, and there was a smattering of applause. That was good, right? Sure. Okay. He found Elena and Layla, but Layla had her head down, and he couldn’t see her face. Elena gave him an encouraging smile.

  Deep breath.

  “Two weeks ago on a Saturday, she blazed into my house and burned everything to the ground, leaving me sitting in ashes, the acrid taste of smoke in my mouth.

  “Two weeks ago on a Saturday, she left me. Slammed a picture into my chest like a knife and walked out the door.

  “That Saturday, she called me a cheater and a whore and told me to lose her number. As though I could forget her so easily.

  “Well, if your girl thinks you cheated on her, I guess you can’t blame her for thinking that. But I didn’t.

  “But she left me, with no chance to explain, no chance to show her the video of me turning away in disgust from the staged tableau in the photo. No chance to apologize for having jerks as friends.”

  He found Layla again, and this time she was watching him. With his eyes locked on hers, he read the last line.

  “Two weeks ago on a Saturday, life as I knew it ended. And I have no hope of starting it over again.”

  There was a beat of silence when he finished, then the audience erupted in applause. He nodded once and stepped back from the mic, moving to step off the stage.

  Dr. Moore shook his hand again. “Very nice. Well done. Powerful stuff. Raw and real. Thank you for sharing that with all of us.”

  Evan gave another nod, not sure what to say to that, and not wanting to prolong this exchange. But Dr. Moore dropped his hand and stepped onto the stage to announce the next person. Evan moved to the wall so he could make his way around the back to where Elena and Layla were sitting without disturbing everyone.

  He needed to see her. To talk to her. The last two weeks had been hell, his only saving grace was that she’d hear his poem and realize that he’d never cheated. That he’d been devastated since she left. And hope she’d talk to him afterward.

  But when he got to where Elena and Layla had been sitting, Layla wasn’t there anymore. Elena met him at the aisle, and he bent his head so he could hear her fierce whisper.

  “She went outside. Go now. You have to catch her. Go!” She pushed at his arm as she hissed in his ear.

  When her words penetrated his brain, he didn’t waste another second, his long strides eating up the distance to the door. She couldn’t have gotten far in the last few minutes. This was his chance. He wasn’t going to fuck it up.

  The door behind her slammed open, and Layla turned, startled. With the open mic still going on, she hadn’t expected anyone to follow her out or to make so much noise if they did.

  But she should’ve expected Evan. After that poem, of course he’d come find her. And here she was, just standing in the courtyard outside the student gallery, waiting for him.

  She could run away again. But no. That seemed … juvenile. And unfair. And even though she told herself she didn’t want to talk to him, the truth was that she did. With a sigh, she turned to face him.

  “Layla.” Urgency infused his voice. When he got in front of her, he gripped her arms, holding her in place. “Layla, you have to talk to me. Please. Let me talk to you for five minutes. If you still don’t want anything to do with me after that, then I’ll leave you alone. But you owe me a chance to explain what happened at least.”

  “Okay.”

  He opened his mouth like he was going to argue some more, but closed it when he realized what she’d said. “Okay?” His voice sounded hopeful.

  She nodded, resigned. And strangely giddy to be so close to him again. She tried to keep a tight leash on that feeling, yank it back and stuff it behind her so it wouldn’t run away with her. “Yeah. Okay. Let’s talk. I’ll even give you more than five minutes. Do you want to talk here, or go somewhere else?”

  Shaking his head, he looked her over. “Um, here’s fine.” He gestured to a bench. “Sit with me?”

  She led the way to the bench he’d indicated, grateful that he put almost a foot between them when he sat next to her. His nearness still threw her off balance, and while she was willing to hear him out, she wanted to keep a clear head. At least as much as possible with him around.

  He sat at an angle so he could face her, but he kept his eyes on the concrete at her feet. His hands ran through his hair and over his face, and he shook his head like he was sorting and discarding a variety of openers.

  Finally, he dropped his hands in his lap and met her eyes. “I’m sorry, Layla. For everything. For not fighting harder when you came over. For not texting you right away when that happened.” He shook his head. “I didn’t even know anyone had taken pictures. I didn’t want any of those girls. I didn’t want them to flash their tits at me. I left the room as soon as it happened and found some of the other guys to hang with for a while. Nothing happened.” He stressed those two words, giving them equal weight, each one hitting her like a grenade. “You have to believe me.”

  His face was a picture of sincerity and desperation. She knew that feeling, that overpowering desire to be understood. She’d felt it herself too many times to count. And she wanted so badly to believe him. She really did. But she’d spent the last two weeks convincing herself she’d been right about him all along. It wasn’t something she could undo in just a few seconds.

  Dropping her gaze to her hands, she smoothed down her skirt and crossed her legs. “What exactly happened?”

  Evan let out a frustrated sigh, the sound seeping into her bones, affecting her more than she wanted it to. “I don’t even fucking know. One minute Romero and I were talking and getting beers, and the next thing I knew, two girls had latched onto me and spun me around to a row of girls flashing us. Romero was cracking up and told me to take my pick. I told him to fuck off and pulled myself away from the chicks who had ahold of my arms.” He rubbed his hand over his head again. “I used to hook up at parties a lot. So I guess they all assumed that I was there for that. Romero found me later and apologized, but neither of us knew how much damage had been done by then.”

  She nodded, processing all of that, her eyes on her knees again, but not really focused on anything. While he read his poem, she’d figured out that he hadn’t cheated on her. Why else would he get up and say all that in front of a big crowd? The place had been packed, and he’d bared his soul in front of all of them.

  “Layla?” She looked up to meet Evan’s eyes, his voice pulling her out of her thoughts. The last of the sunset had faded while they were outside, and his face was partly shadowed, but she could make out the hope that lingered there. “Do you believe me?”

  “Yes.” It came out as a whisper, before she even consented to it. She did believe him. Despite all her efforts to barricade her heart against him, she’d never managed it. Like she’d said in her poem, he’d made his way past her defenses and made himself at home. And she’d tried to hard to evict him. Thought she’d made progress shoving him back out the gates.

  But if she was wrong? If he never did the things she assumed he did? If he was never who she’d thought he was? But instead was who he’d shown himself to be again and again during their time together?

  Then why should she continue torturing herself by pushing him away. She was the one hurting them both now, not him.

  She didn’t want him to doubt her belief. Not now. Not ever. So she firmed her voice and said it again. “Yes, Evan, I believe you.” She sighed, a flood of guilt washing over her. She should’ve let him explain that day when she threw that picture in his face. But she’d been so willing to believe the worst of him. And now here he was begging for her forgiveness.

  But it was her fault. All of this was her fault.

&
nbsp; Unable to meet his eyes, she knew she had to apologize. “I’m really sorry, Evan. I—” She took a deep breath and forced herself to look at him. “I should’ve talked to you instead of going off half-cocked about a picture someone posted online.” Shaking her head, she made herself continue. “You’ve been nothing but good to me, and I believed the worst of you. I’m so sorry.” She dropped her gaze back to her clenched hands in her lap. This conversation had to end soon. Because as she spoke, her hope that maybe they could work things out faded. She’d been nothing but horrible to him at every opportunity. No way would he want to bother with her anymore. At least now they both knew the truth.

  His hand reached over and covered hers, and he scooted closer so he could tip her chin up with his other hand. “It’s okay, Layla. I get that I have a history and everyone’s still learning to look past that, including you. And I know that you have a history, too, with guys with my kind of reputation.” He pressed his lips together, not quite stopping the sigh that escaped. “I guess I thought that you and I had moved beyond that.”

  She turned her hand palm up under his, relishing the contact and realizing exactly how much she’d missed him these last two weeks. She’d wallowed in her misery then buried herself in homework to try to distract herself. But with him here, now, touching her, she couldn’t ignore the truth anymore. He made her feel more alive than she did without him. She’d missed their connection, their jokes, their rides to and from school. So much.

  “We were. Mostly. I didn’t really think you’d cheat on me, but I always figured you’d get bored with me at some point. So seeing that picture seemed to confirm my worst fears, and I just knew I was right about everything.” Her lips trembled, and she rolled them between her teeth to stop them, but she couldn’t prevent the tear that escaped and rolled down her cheek. “I really am sorry. Can you forgive me?”

  His answer was to wipe away the tear with his thumb and press his lips to hers. She didn’t react at first, too stunned. But when he kissed her again, she leaned into him, her lips pushing against his. He pulled back and looked down into her face, his blue eyes full of heat and promise, then his hand went to the back of her head and he slanted his lips over hers again, his tongue sliding into her mouth, and for the first time in weeks, the world felt right again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  When she surged against him in response to his kiss, Evan had to pull back to make sure this was really happening. It was. He had her pressed against him, in his arms again. Thank Christ.

  He lost himself in their kiss, reacquainting himself with her taste and the contours of her mouth and his hands with the contours of her body. Relief and arousal and disbelief flooded through him as he explored her. With his mouth still on hers, he pulled her into his lap, her skirt riding up her thighs as she straddled him.

  Her hands cupped his jaw, her thumbs grazing over his cheeks, then her fingers wove into his hair. With her breasts pushing into his chest, she squirmed on top of him, and he had to slide his hands under her shirt. Had to. It was an imperative as strong as the need for air.

  The door of the gallery opened and closed with a clank and a whoosh. Laughter, followed by someone saying, “Holy shit!” made Evan remember where they were. He slid his hands to Layla’s hips, holding her as she slowly pulled back from their kiss, her hands coming up to cover her mouth, her eyes wide and round.

  “Oh my God,” she breathed.

  He couldn’t help grinning at her embarrassment, and with a quick kiss to her wrist since her mouth was unavailable, he slid her out of his lap. She buried her face in his arm, which he wrapped around her as they stood. With a nod to their intruders, he led Layla in the direction of the parking lot, waiting to adjust himself until they were around the corner and no one was around.

  “It’s okay. We’re alone again,” he reassured her and dropped a kiss on her head.

  She looked around then up at him. “Oh my God.”

  This time he chuckled, squeezing her to his side. “Is that about the kiss or the people interrupting us?”

  Her mouth opened and she stopped walking, looking around before meeting his eyes with a sly smile. “Both.”

  He kissed her again. But this one didn’t last as long because she pulled back, wiping her lower lip with her hand. “We can’t keep doing this here, Evan. If people are coming out of the reading already, more will be behind them soon. I’m really not an exhibitionist.”

  Laughing, he tugged her in the direction of his car. “Fine. Let’s go to my place then. We won’t have an audience there.”

  She hesitated for the barest second, but came along. “What about your roommate?”

  “Hang on.” He stopped, pulling his phone from his pocket with his free hand, never letting her go. After their extended separation, he didn’t want to stop touching her for even a second, even if texting was slower with one hand. After he put his phone away, he looked up at her, noticing a dopey smile on her face. “What?”

  Trying to force her grin away, she shook her head. “Nothin’ you haven’t heard before, I’m sure.”

  He pulled her close, looking down at her, making a halfhearted effort at using his size to intimidate the answer out of her. Not that it would ever work on Layla anyway. “Tell me.”

  “Nah.” She ran her hand up his chest, biting her lip. “Your head’s big enough. You don’t need me to stroke your ego.”

  A groan rumbled in his chest. “I can think of something else I need you to stroke.”

  Layla gave him a coy look. “I think we might be able to arrange that. It’s more fun than stroking your ego anyway.”

  Wrapping his arms around her, Evan laughed and kissed her again. “Christ, I’ve missed you.” He released her and threaded his fingers through hers. “C’mon, let’s go. I’m tired of waiting.”

  She tsked. “So impatient.”

  But the smile fell away from her face when he gave her a look, her face mirroring the desire in his. “Yes. Very impatient.”

  Once inside his apartment, his hands went to her hips, and he guided her into his room, her legs buckling when the backs of her knees hit his bed. She fell back, and he leaned over to kiss her, urging her farther up. Kicking off her shoes, she followed his silent directions, scooting herself back until her head hit the pillow.

  He hiked up her skirt with one hand so he could get to the soft skin underneath. His other hand tangled in her hair to hold her head in place. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, finding hers briefly, then kissed a line down her jaw to her neck, licking and sucking on the sweet skin there. His teeth sunk into the soft flesh of her earlobe, provoking a satisfying gasp from her. She arched under him, driving him wild.

  He wanted to tear her clothes off. His clothes too. He wished they were both naked already. That he was inside her. Sinking in, feeling her come, making her his once more. He took her mouth again. His fingers plunged inside her. Her hips arched off the bed with a groan. But he pulled back out, trying to yank her panties off her legs. He growled in frustration, almost frantic with his desire to feel her again. Until her hands smoothed up his chest, steady and warm, and cupping his face again, she broke the kiss.

  Her lips were red and puffy, and her brown eyes were dark and warm. A smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. “Hey. Slow down. I’m not going anywhere.”

  He took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving hers. “Sorry.”

  She gave him a full smile now. “It’s okay. I understand. And while it sounds sexy to fantasize about getting your clothes ripped off, I’d rather you didn’t destroy what I’m wearing.”

  He brushed a kiss over her lips. “Noted.” Forcing himself to slow down, he pulled the neck of her top to one side and kissed her collarbone, nipping at the place where her neck joined her shoulder. She gasped, twisting underneath him, and he smiled to himself. His hands went to her waist, pulling her shirt up, exposing her breasts nestled in a sheer pink bra, her nipples puckered against the fabric.

  While he did
that, she’d started to undo the buttons of his shirt. Impatient with her progress, he pulled back, yanked the shirt over his head and tossed it into the corner. She sat up, coming up on her knees in front of him, her eyes on his torso, her tongue coming out to swipe over her lower lip. Her top had fallen back down to cover her breasts, but she slowly pulled it up and over her head, letting it drop to the floor.

  He let out a groan when her hands came up to cup her own breasts.

  Pinching her nipples, she moaned. “Oh God, Evan. I’ve missed you so much. All I want is to feel your hands on me. I can’t tell you how often I’ve wished we could go back in time.”

  Slipping his hands around her waist, he pulled her up against him. “Shhh. It doesn’t matter now. I’m here.” He kissed her, and she wrapped her arms around his neck while he unhooked her bra and undid the zipper on her skirt.

  Pulling back, he looked into her beautiful face, flushed with arousal. She lowered her arms to let her bra fall away, and pushed her skirt and panties off together, her hands going for his belt. But again, he grew impatient with how long it took her to work the leather free. He took over, undoing it and getting his jeans off in record time, his cock springing free, hard and ready for her.

  So fucking ready.

  She reached for him as he climbed back on the bed, her hand gripping him the way he liked, giving him a few firm tugs as he came closer. With a quick kiss and a nip at her lips, he brought his mouth to her ear. “Lay down.”

  Her eyes dilated, and she sucked in a breath as she did what he asked. He stretched out beside her, running his hands over her body, worshipping her breasts with his mouth, knowing how much she loved it. He’d missed the taste and feel of her nipples running over his tongue. One hand drifted lower, passing over the soft skin of her belly and dipping between her thighs.