Avery: Sensual Desire: New Adult College Romance (Coral Gables Series Book 2)

by Taylor, Drucie Anne

  “Are you in college, Dahlia?” Avery butts in.

  That suffocates my good mood immediately. I can feel it falter and die. “No. I can’t afford it. I’m working to save up to go eventually but it’s going to take a while,” I explain.

  “You still need to save a lot?” he asks.

  I look at Trudy, who looks at me inquisitively. “Sort of,” I stall, wringing my hands nervously. I don’t want to sit in the midst of these rich people and talk about not being able to afford college.

  “Hmm,” he says. “And where do you want to go … eventually?”

  “I’d like to stay here and try The U, but it’ll be a few years before I can apply there,” I murmur.

  “You know they offer grants for disadvantaged people, don’t you?” he goes on.

  “Avery! Just because she wants to pay her own way through college doesn’t make her disadvantaged!” Trudy barks. “Some others would do well to follow her example!”

  He blushes. “Sorry.”

  “It’s plain as day she grew up in some kind of dump,” Pearl barges in. “You can almost smell it.”

  Shock washes over me, but I react quickly. “I apologize for coming today, Trudy,” I say hoarsely, lowering my eyes, feeling like someone hit me over the head with a frying pan. With all their might. “I thought I might help out today, but I think I’ll just go home.” Then I quickly stand and abandon all manners, running through the house and leaving as fast as my feet will carry me. Luckily, I don’t own a purse or anything else I could forget.

  From now on, I decide as I slip out the front door, it’ll be best if I only come here when I know I’m going to be alone with Trudy. But I can’t help wondering what I did to Pearl to make her detest me like that. I don’t know whether Trudy is going to take my side. What I know of her makes me think she will, but I don’t want to stick around for the discussion.

  “Dahlia?” somebody calls, or maybe I’m only imagining it. I hurry out of the front yard to the sidewalk, only slowing down when I hear the call a second time. “Dahlia, please wait.”

  I stop and turn around. Avery followed me out.

  He stops in front of me and takes a breath. “I’m so sorry Pearl said such an awful thing. I gave her a piece of my mind, and my grandmother wants you to come back. She’ll be very angry with me if I don’t bring you back.”

  I shake my head. “I’d rather go home now. Please tell Trudy I’ll be back tomorrow at the usual time.”

  “Can I at least drive you home?”

  I shake my head again. “No, thank you, Mr. Morrison.”

  “Please say yes! I have no other way of apologizing, or rather, making up for it. Please, Dahlia.” Then he takes a step toward me and brushes a tear from my eye with his thumb. “Please let me take you home.”

  “I don’t live that far away. Please tell Trudy I’m sorry, and that I’ll be back tomorrow, and that I hope she doesn’t fire me, because I really need this job.” My voice becomes more hushed as I finish.

  “My grandmother is not going to fire you. If anything, she’s going to be mad at me.” He gives me a dazzling smile.

  With a nod and a relieved sigh I turn around. “I have to go, Mr. Morrison.”

  “Please call me Avery.”

  “Okay.”

  I try to walk away, but he says, “Dahlia, will you give me your cell phone number?”

  “I don’t have a cell phone,” I answer and continue on my way. I can practically hear his jaw drop. He probably doesn’t believe me, but that’s the last thing I’m worried about.

  I do wonder why he asked for my number in the first place. I wasn’t making eyes at him or smiling at him, or anything else that could have given him ideas. Quite the opposite, actually.

  Behind me, he sighs. “Goodbye, Dahlia.”

  I don’t turn around, I don’t glance back over my shoulder, I simply walk to the bus stop and get on the bus headed to Liberty City—home, a place anyone not from there would avoid.

  ***

  I go home, but leave again a short time later. I go to sit on the beach and try to clear my head. Pearl’s words keep echoing in my mind. The pain won’t go away, and I’ve cried several times already.

  Sometimes I sleep out here on the beach overnight, but today the area is being tightly controlled by both neighborhood security and the police. I don’t want to risk being taken home by the cops; I don’t want to do that to Grandpa again. I was caught sleeping in the sand once, and that was not only embarrassing, but also led to a good scolding when I got home.

  I keep writing my own name in the sand with a stick, and then crossing it out. Gripping the stick tighter, I carefully draw a girl with a broken heart in her hands in the wet sand. It’s the only way I have of practicing my true passion. I can’t afford those brilliant, expensive drawing pens. Once, Grandpa gave me a case full of those pens, but they were stolen when I took them with me to school. I remember crying for days. He’d saved up for them for a long time, and I let someone steal them after only a few days. That was awful as well as stupid.

  While I doodle in the sand, a couple pauses and looks at what I’m doing. I raise my eyes to look at them. “Never seen anyone draw in the sand?” I mutter.

  “I just wanted to see what you’re drawing,” the man answers. He’s wearing a baseball cap, his hair is a little too long, and he’s holding hands with a brown-haired girl.

  I nod brusquely and look back to my pattern.

  “Looks like you do this often,” the girl says.

  “If you want to ridicule me, get it over with,” I reply in my small voice.

  The guy starts to laugh, but the girl stiffens. I can see this just by looking at their feet; I don’t want to raise my eyes again. “Don’t worry, we’re not here to criticize. You look pretty young. I mean, not that young. You wanna join us for a party, by any chance?”

  Now I look up again in spite of myself. “Uh, no, thank you. I’m not really a party animal.”

  “Well, it’s going to be a great evening. In case you get in the mood later, we’re just up the beach a little ways. Ask for Cami and Delsin, and watch out for the campfire,” he advises.

  I give a curt nod. “Okay, maybe I will.”

  Then they walk on.

  What the hell was that? I ask myself. Total strangers just invited me to a party. Do they intend to drug me and ship me to Mexico so I can walk the streets for some pimp? I know I’ll have to pass the place they indicated when I head back to the bus stop, or else make a long detour. I could evade the whole party by walking across the promenade, but I’d rather not, because people there tend to look at me weird for not wearing designer clothes. Right now I’m wearing a faded pair of jeans with rips at the knees and a tight red T-shirt. When I first got the shirt, it was a loose fit, but that was four years ago. I guess it’s time to visit Katrina and get some new clothes. I don’t like going to the Salvation Army store, but I really need new stuff.

  After a while, I heave a sigh and get up to catch the bus. I’m hoping the party is crowded, so the couple won’t recognize me when I slip by. If I ignore everything and everyone at this beach party, no one will bother me.

  I take off my shoes and let them hang from the shoelaces as I walk on and let my mind drift. The closer I get to the hustle and bustle of the party, the more young people cross my path.

  Finally, I’m so close that the bass makes my eardrums vibrate. I try to be inconspicuous as I weave my way through the throng, aiming for the set of stairs that leads up to the promenade. But then someone pulls me close. “Dance with me, sweetheart,” he says.

  I don’t know him, so I’m doubly frightened. Why would he do something like this? “Could you … would you please let me go?” I ask, sounding way too scared. I’m not used to dealing with people my own age and feel awkward and dumb.

  “Why so shy, darling? I’m only asking for a dance; then I’ll let you go.” He laughs. It’s a throaty sound that sends shivers down my spine—the good kind of shivers.<
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  “I can’t dance,” I admit and pull back a little, because we’re standing just too close for comfort.

  “Just move along with me.” He smiles. “My name is Coop, by the way.”

  “Hi, Coop … I really am an awful dancer, so you better look for someone else if you want to have fun.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Dale,” I reply.

  “Isn’t that a guy’s name?” he says, sounding unimpressed.

  “Uh, do you know where Delsin and Cami are? They invited me,” I explain, hoping to get rid of him that way.

  “They’re back at the campfire. Want me to take you?”

  I shake my head. “I can manage on my own. Thanks, Coop.”

  He finally lets me go, whereupon I turn around and push my way through the guests quickly, so nobody else can grab me and pull me close. Of course I don’t go looking for Delsin and Cami; I don’t even know them. Instead, I head for the stairs. I take two at a time and don’t turn around again. I just want to go home and snuggle in bed with a book. Well, snuggle on my couch with a book.

  When I arrive at the top of the stairs, I turn toward the bus stop.

  “Dahlia?” a voice asks.

  I slowly turn to see who addressed me.

  “It’s me,” he says. “Avery.” He’s standing to my left, leaning against the stair railing and smoking.

  “Hi,” I greet him shyly.

  “What are you doing here?” he asks, sounding genuinely interested.

  “I went for a walk. Uh, but now I have to rush, or I’ll miss the bus and have to wait forever for the next one.”

  I start walking again, but he says, “If you want to, I can take you,” he says in a friendly voice. My car’s right here, and it’s really far … at least, to my grandmother’s neighborhood. I don’t know where you live … ”

  “That’s not necessary.” I give him a reluctant smile and push myself to keep walking.

  He follows me, and then takes my arm tentatively. “I know it’s not necessary, but I don’t want you to ride the bus alone at this hour.” He pulls me around to face him again.

  His warm hand makes my cool skin prickle. I shake my head. “I do it all the time.”

  “I still don’t like it,” Avery whispers.

  I need several deep breaths to regain my composure. “But I do.” I pull my arm from his grip.

  “You don’t like me, huh?”

  I stop again and first avert then close my eyes. “I’m just shy, Mr. Morrison.”

  “Now it’s back to ‘Mr. Morrison,’” he sighs. “I know why. You think I’m a jerk, too, because of what Pearl said.”

  Well, isn’t he a quick-witted one. “That’s not it,” I lie. “I really am shy and … I’m sorry. I’m just a bit shaken, too,” I admit sheepishly.

  “Why?” He looks worried.

  “Oh, I had to walk through all these people down there, and it was crowded. It’s nothing. But now I really have to catch my bus.”

  “Let me give you a ride,” he repeats.

  Again, I take a few deep breaths, exhaling forcefully in the end. “Okay,” I surrender. I’ll just let him drop me off somewhere on the way, to shorten the trip. But if he takes me to his grandmother’s neighborhood, it’ll take me far longer to get home. So I need to prevent that.

  “Let me tell my friends real quick. Do you want to come with me?” Avery asks.

  “I’ll wait here,” I say. And run away.

  He descends the stairs. With his long hair and his outfit, he looks like a young god. He’s wearing denim cutoffs, a muscle shirt, and an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt on top, an ensemble that would look ridiculous on most guys. But not on Avery. He’s really handsome and also way out of my league, not only because he’s gorgeous, and taken, but also because we come from totally different worlds. When he’s halfway down the stairs, I whirl around and sprint toward the bus stop. I have to hurry, or else I really will miss the bus, and I don’t want to walk home. But neither do I want Avery to drive me.

  At some point I might have to face him again at Trudy’s, but if so, I’ll deal with him then.

  With burning lungs and a stitch in my side, I barely reach the bus in time and jump inside. I hand the driver my quarters and walk all the way to the back of the bus, where I flop down in an empty seat. It’s a long drive, so I lean back and close my eyes.

  ***

  When I get off the bus, I hurry home. The area can be quite dangerous at night. Even though I know everyone who lives here, you can never know who else may be roaming around. I don’t want to risk lingering.

  When I finally reach our tiny house, I lock the door behind me, all four locks Grandpa affixed to it, and slip into the living room.

  “Dale?” he asks in a tired voice.

  “Hey, Grandpa. Sorry I’m back so late,” I call out.

  “Where have you been? On the beach, thinking?” He sits up straight in his armchair and takes a good look at me.

  “Yeah, I was out there for a bit, letting the salty sea air whip my hair,” I reply. “I lost track of time, or I would have come back earlier.”

  “You only stay out late when something’s bothering you,” he insists patiently. “That much I know by now. So what happened?”

  With a sigh I flop down on the couch. “Mrs. Morrison’s grandson and his girlfriend, that’s what happened. She made fun of my dress and called me poor. I was upset.”

  Grandpa clicks his tongue. “You know, Dale, you can make heaps of money, but you can’t buy yourself a bigger brain.”

  I can’t help giggling.

  “Ah, it makes me glad my little girl can still laugh,” he says with a smile.

  “But why do people always try to reduce me to our means, our money?” I ask softly.

  “Because most people are stupid and superficial. They rarely, if ever, look behind the façade to see what a person is really like. It’s easier to discriminate. They only see prey, not a human being.”

  I don’t know what to say, so I simply nod. “I should take a shower and go to sleep.”

  “You do that, Dale. Have a good night.” He gets up from his armchair, gives me a warm smile, and starts up the stairs that lead to the two bedrooms, one of which—mine—is still uninhabitable.

  “Good night, Grandpa,” I whisper, looking at my hands.

  When he’s out of sight, I plod into the bathroom, slip out of my clothes, and take a shower. The water is cold. The water bill probably went unpaid again, but I endure it silently. I wish we weren’t poor; I wish we could afford a spacious house with warm running water and all the stuff other people have. But that’s just an idle wish that might remain that forever.

  ***

  The next morning I feel awful. And that’s no exaggeration. I’m nauseous and my head seems ready to burst. A migraine, if ever there was one. I have to go to Trudy’s anyway. With the face of a martyr. I search for my sunglasses. They’re old and ugly, but they protect me from the glare of the sun.

  After getting dressed and puking three times, I head out. I hope her grandson isn’t there. He’s bound to ask about last night, and I don’t want to have to tell him that I ran away from him.

  On the bus, I lean my head against the window. The smell and noise do nothing to alleviate my headache, but that can’t be helped.

  ***

  Forty-five minutes later I get off the bus and trudge over to Trudy’s house. I hope she doesn’t want to work in the garden today. I don’t know if I can deal with the heat of the glaring sun.

  My stomach is roiling. I forced myself to have breakfast, but there’s probably nothing left of that in my tummy.

  When I finally reach her house, I open the door with a feeble hand, because I don’t want to wait for her to open it today, and step inside. “Trudy?” I call out and grimace, because my own voice makes my head want to explode.

  “In the living room, darling,” she answers.

  I lock the door behind me and walk through the hallway.
I’m still wearing my sunglasses, because the corridor is filled with light. “Good morning,” I greet her, taking off my glasses to be polite.

  “Good morning, Dahlia. How are you?” she asks.

  “I’m having a migraine, but that will pass. And how are you?” I ask softly, carefully.

  Behind me a man clears his throat, so I turn around.

  “Hello, Dahlia.”

  Great. Just great.

  “Hello, Avery,” I reply shyly, quickly turning to face Trudy again. “What do you want to do today? Maybe grocery shopping, or do you want to work in the garden again?”

  With a shake of her head she gets up. “No, no, I’m going to see a friend today. Avery, please take Dahlia home. She doesn’t feel well.”

  I take a deep breath. “Trudy, if I don’t work, I don’t earn anything. I’d like to stay.”

  “Nonsense. You go home, and I’ll just say you were here anyway.”

  “What if they come to check on you?” The agency sometimes does house calls. I have a bad feeling about this.

  She sighs. “All right. Then you stay here, and I’ll go see my friend. She lives next door. Avery can stay with you.”

  There’s a lump in my throat. “Oh, that’s not necessary,” I force out.

  “I don’t mind staying, Dahlia,” he says. “That way you can explain where you disappeared to yesterday.”

  I suddenly feel like I’m carrying Mount Everest on my shoulders. That conversation is exactly what I wanted to avoid. What am I supposed to say? I ran away so you wouldn’t see that I live in a rundown house in Liberty City? So very embarrassing.

  “Sit down and get some rest, Dahlia,” Trudy instructs. “Avery, go and get her a glass of water and an aspirin.”

  I sit down on the edge of the couch and fold my hands in my lap. Trudy says goodbye and as she head for the front door, Avery leaves the room. I feel too awkward to make myself comfortable. I don’t feel at home here. I’m supposed to work here.

  Suddenly Avery is back. He looms over me and hands me a glass of water and two pills. “I think you should take two of them for a migraine,” he whispers.

  “Why are you whispering?” I ask.

  “Because of your migraine.”