The Evolution of Ivy: Antidote (The Evolution of Ivy, Volume 2)

by Lauren Campbell

  “Mind waiting out here? I need to grab something.”

  I shake my head, leaning against the brick of the store while he’s inside. Scroll through my phone. A group of college-looking guys approach, all clad in customary neon beachwear, cocky laughter spurting from their mouths. I’m expecting them to bypass me, walk in the store, but the most attractive of the bunch halts before passing. I let my eyes fall back to my phone, intent on ignoring him.

  “Excuse me, but uh … you smell like trash.”

  Immediately, my eyes cut to him, and a light gasp emanates from my throat. “Pardon?” I adjust my footing. Stand up straighter, ready to sniff my armpit and introduce him to the heel of my shoe at the same time.

  Mr. Bold licks his lips. “I said you smell like trash.” He takes a step forward, his head craning back to his friends before whipping back to me. “So, can I take you out?”

  The radiance of carefree youth flashes through his eyes, and I almost smile. Almost. But his friends’ obnoxious sputters and giggles incite old memories, ones I don’t like. I don’t have time for this shit—I’ll be damned if I’m the butt of their joke.

  “No. I’d rather smell, thank you.” My icy words turn their smiles into frowns.

  “Damn. That’s cold. Well, what are you doing later?”

  “Fucking my boyfriend. Seeya.”

  “You’re fast. We just met, and I’m your boyfriend already?” he cackles. “Name the time, sweetheart, and I’ll be there. But you don’t live in the ghetto, do you? Cuz I’m ‘bout to ghetto hold of that ass!”

  On the last word, his hand reaches out to presumably touch my ass, when suddenly he’s on the ground, his body grating against the loose pebbles in the parking lot, eliciting a physical cringe within me. I search for the source of the blow, my eyes landing on Brooks—his nostrils flared, jaw tight, lips in a thin line, and chest heaving.

  “I dare you to fucking touch her!” He advances toward the injured douche, who is now backward crawling in an attempt to get up. His friends don’t help him, but they mumble obscenities directed at my man.

  Douche wipes a spot of blood from his lip, smearing it instead of removing it. Stands and backs up, his gait wobbly at first before balancing out. “Fuck. You busted my fucking lip, bro.”

  Brooks grabs me, his thumb likely bruising my forearm. “Good. Get the fuck out of here before I give you two black eyes to go with it, you fucking punk.” He releases his grip on my arm, and retrieves his wallet. Pulls out a hundred-dollar bill and casts it to him, the money floating slowly to the ground. “Take that. Fix your lip, and then buy yourself some pussy.”

  We laugh all the way back to the house, and I’m on cloud nine—breezing through the sky with the most beautiful man on Earth. I think it’s safe to say he has officially let go now. All he must do is crash to the bottom and let me catch him.

  “The look on his face,” I say as we approach the door, my heels in my hands. “I can’t get over it.”

  “Anything to protect the ladies.” He winks. “Fucking your boyfriend, huh?” He nudges me with his arm.

  “Oh God. You heard that? I didn’t mean—well, it wasn’t meant to—”

  “I’m teasing you.” He holds up the drugstore bag that I never asked about and pulling out a flashlight, says, “I was thinking maybe we could walk the beach for a while. Look for shells or crabs or something.”

  “Okay.”

  I follow him to the shore, and we collapse on the sand. Sigh in unison at the Black Beauty of God that is the ocean at night. People are scattered about, but not close to us. We are, for all intents and purposes, alone. The wind blows my hair, gently ruffling it. From the drugstore bag, he pulls a large beer for himself and a couple frozen drinks for me. We stare at the massive sea before us—our toes squishing into the sand, broken shells pressing into my thighs—drinking our alcohol in silence, but that silence meaning everything.

  I think I’ve finally pried open his little oyster shell.

  The quiet is monumental—our souls speaking much louder to each other than they ever could with words. The comfortable vacant moments evolve into a peace I haven’t had since I began this journey. A feeling of faith, so strong, unbridled, and child-like. The supreme goal, the destination, of course, is to be his fiancée, his wife after we gaze lovingly at each other at an altar and recite vows, the mother of his children. But more than anything, above it all, I want to be his eternal love, and for the first time ever I can reach out and grasp something that before could only be admired.

  “For the record,” he says, breaking our beautiful moment, “I’d have no problem with either of those.”

  I meet his gaze. “Either of those...?”

  “Being your boyfriend.” And a little quieter, “Fucking you. Making love to you.”

  My eyes widen. “Oh yeah?” I can’t help it, but the question comes out in one of those 1-800 sex line voices. I can’t believe this. I cannot fucking believe this. He is actually saying shit. Poor guy is a little drunk, I think, but I take the words and wrap them over me like they’re a fucking mink coat.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be saying this stuff.”

  “But you feel that way?”

  A pause. “Yeah.”

  I cross my ankles, though I should be spreading my legs, making room for its future sole occupant. I rub my lips together to ward off the smile. “What’s stopping you, then?”

  He raises a knee. Shifts in the sand, his leg enjoyably coming to rest against mine. “I’d love to be with you, Emily, but we’re both smart enough to know that can’t happen.”

  The alcohol fails me. I generously spew emotional vomit at him. “And why not?” I roll onto my side. Daringly trace a circle on his skin with my finger. “I mean, why do this, if there’s nothing between us? Tonight sure seemed like a date to me, or was it not?”

  He looks at me, the starlight reflected in his eyes, the ones I refuse to ever stop seeing. I note the smoothness of his skin—poreless and perfect, but with creases of a blue blood who drinks stress and expectation in large doses. His throat tightens at the pain of his regret. “I didn’t intend for it to be, but yes, I think we both know it was a date. Is a date.”

  Fireworks of elation erupt within me. Zip, crack, pop. I grab the bottom of his shirt, my pointer finger moving beneath it to dance across his skin and twirl through the hair that leads to a place no man has hopefully ever gone before. I smile inwardly at my fucked up, corny humor, as his face hardens with arousal.

  In my buzzed stupidity, I only listen to my vaginaheart and not my head or the book. “Kiss me,” I whisper.

  Hesitation lines his face, a sigh of uncertainty escaping his throat.

  I sit up. Lean into him, our foreheads pressed together. “Kiss me,” I repeat. “Please.”

  Another sigh. “I don’t want to lead you on, Emily.” He moves my hand away.

  I pull back from him, tears taunting the corners of my eyes. “Lead me on?”

  “If we sleep together, it’s going to be infinitely harder to stay away from each other. Look at us now. We’re at the fucking beach together.”

  “Which was your idea.” Okay. Maybe I manipulated him a bit. I blink, the former mist in my eyes already having disappeared.

  “I’m serious. If we sleep together, we’ll wish we hadn’t. It’s better to back off now before it gets any more complicated and fucked up than it already is. We could never be anything, and as much as we both—or … I—may want that, it isn’t an option.”

  Goddamn Brooks. Goddamn him and his morals and goodness and friendship skills and thoughtfulness. I clench my fists, closing around handfuls of sand. Bite down hard on my tongue. If Brooks isn’t with me, then that means he’s going to be with someone else. I realize this. I know this.

  I won’t let Brooks end up with someone else.

  I won’t let Mrs. Jansen not be me. I especially won’t let it be the whore who’s after him now.

  Not unless it’s over my dead fucking bo
dy.

  Fuck. I can’t stand the way she is looking at me—expectant and needy, like she would get on her knees and beg to suck my cock. Above all, I can’t take the disappointment in her eyes. I have fully accepted now that I am developing feelings for her—that I have developed feelings for her. But I shouldn’t have opened my mouth, because now I know she has obviously been feeling similarly, and I have given her false hope.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  She turns her head away, picks up the flashlight, and starts playing with it. “Fine.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Her head snaps to me, her eyes menacingly hot. “I am.”

  She says the words with conviction, but the slight flare in her nose tells me otherwise. I want to make her feel better, to take away her pain, and the only way I know how is to kiss her, which will make everything worse. But I can’t not kiss her. She is so fucking beautiful, and as much as she is trying to hide her sadness, she can’t. It is in her eyes, in the way she withdrew from me after I pushed her hand away.

  “No, you aren’t.” With that, I am weak, and I clutch her chin. I pull her to my lips. She accepts … kisses me eagerly, her fingers running through my hair, pulling it like we are fucking. Oh my God, she drives me insane. Everything she does, she does with such passion. Our tongues move fluidly as I taste her mouth, my dick already rock hard. She sucks my bottom lip, as I imagine her sucking my cock instead. I push her back into the sand, briefly looking to see if anyone is around, but the only flashlights I see are far in the distance.

  Her hair is fanned around her head, her tits still perky even with her on her back. Her legs part, and the soft fabric of her dress rolls up, allowing me to see her panties. Red lace. Fuck. She reaches for me, her hand tugging at my belt buckle. I help her loosen it, and unbutton my jeans. Lying on top of her, our lips crush together again, both of us hungry for this forbidden moment. I move against her, grinding my cock between her legs, feeling the heat of her pussy as I do.

  She moans beneath me, and I support myself on my arms, hovering over her, watching her eyes roll back with every thrust. Her hips roll against me, and she moans quietly, obviously not wanting to be too loud considering we are in public. Her legs grip me, pressing me harder into her. I bring my mouth to her neck, my lips sucking her, licking her, before she pulls me to her mouth again.

  Kissing her, being with her, is like finding money on the ground. You know you shouldn’t take it, but you do.

  We pull away from each other, and I hover above, both of us staring intensely at one another, both full of need, and her dress moved up nearly to her breasts now.

  “Make love to me, Brooks. I need it.” She rubs her pussy against me as she says it.

  Damn, I would give anything to be inside her right now. To have no reason not to fuck her. But I have a million. As I stare at her, guilt begins to claw at me again. How the fuck did I end up here on what has turned into a romantic trip? This is fucked up. I am obviously drunk and not thinking straight. There is no way I can fuck her. Not now, not ever.

  Before I realize it, I am lying on the sand next to her, my arm over my face. Her hand skims my jaw, in an effort of comfort, but also a show of confusion.

  “Brooks?”

  I am officially the biggest asshole I know, but I just can’t do it. I sit up, and brush the sand off my clothes. Then, I button and buckle my pants again, all the while avoiding eye contact with her. I don’t want to tell her I was wrong. I don’t want to hurt her.

  “It’s late. I’m getting tired. We should get some sleep.”

  She doesn’t say anything—only gives a single nod, and then stands up and brushes the sand from her own clothes before she picks up her heels. I put the flashlight in the bag, and we head back to the house. We don’t walk next to each other. Defensively, I walk at a faster pace than she does, feeling her eyes digging into me the entire way. When we are inside, I finally check my phone and have a text from Kate.

  Hey. Did you die? Maybe this will bring you back to life? :)

  Above her text is a picture of her tits, her tank top pulled up above them. My cock stiffens at the sight, but it isn’t because of Kate. Sadly, it only makes me think of what I could have done to Emily down by the water, or even right in this room. But I can’t. I have to push thoughts of us out of my head.

  I respond to Kate with a simple Nice.

  That’s the rum talking, she says.

  Keep drinking. :)

  I look up to see Emily’s head peeking around the wall from the living area, her large blue eyes floating to my phone. I put my phone away, but try to do so in a way that won’t demonstrate guilt. Jesus. Only a few hours ago, we were nothing but two people who shared lust and connection. Now it is like we are halfway down the fucking aisle.

  “You need anything?” I ask her, as she steps toward the kitchen. When she comes into full view, my heart plummets into my stomach.

  “You,” she whispers, as my eyes scan her naked body.

  My breath hitches. My eyes move to her breasts, so perfect and dimly lit—the shadow that bathes them arousing me as it contours their round fullness. I don’t resist allowing my eyes to skate over the rest of her body. Her stomach, smooth and tight, gives way to the softness of her pussy. It is bare, her inner lips peeking out, begging me to suck and taste them.

  I don’t speak. I stand and watch her, stunned at her beauty, the toned legs she stands on. She knows I am weak, so the exaggerated swing of her hips as she turns to reach for a glass in the cabinet almost angers me. Sweet Jesus, her ass is exquisite. I would love to get my hands on it, spread it when she is on all fours, trail my tongue between it as she fucks herself with a vibrator.

  She walks to the fridge, fills her glass, and leans against the counter, everything in perfect view. She rests on her elbows, provocatively sipping that drink, swaying her ass teasingly before craning her head to look at me.

  “Come to bed,” she commands, sex on her tongue, ideas in her head.

  My phone chimes again. I ignore it, but then it chimes again and again and a fourth time. “Uh, one sec...” It is Kate again, this time her pussy spread open.

  My eyes move to Emily again, and I see it. I am fucking her up. She is different from yesterday. A change has taken place, and I have to make myself back off. This is life-ruining shit.

  A fallout between Deacon and me could mean the crumbling of Jansen Brewing. Without his father’s litigation skills, I truly believe my family would have lost everything in recent years. He has kept my parents and the business out of some sticky situations, has helped them avoid some complicated allegations that befall even the best of companies. Since dinner, my mind has been swimming with possibilities, and I can’t envision a situation where Emily and I could see each other and I could retain Deacon’s friendship.

  And that would mean the loss of Mr. Sanders.

  “I’m not going to beg you,” she hisses.

  Despite what my dick wants, what I want, I do the only thing I know to do. I try to piss her off so this will stop. If she hates me, it will be easy. There will be no threat of anything other than avoiding a lot of complication.

  I laugh. A cocky smirk lines my face as I say, “Get some sleep, Emily.”

  And then I leave her—standing there, naked and wide-eyed. I walk to my room and shut the door. I try to convince myself it is for the best, but end up tossing and turning all night.

  April 2005

  “What’s up with this weekend, man? You comin’ to the field? Gonna do a bonfire, and Cory’s sister is scoring us beer.”

  I walk alongside Dean. We lag behind our teammates while I think it over. The last time I went to one of those parties, it didn’t end well. The cops were called, and I almost went to jail for underage drinking. My parents weren’t happy about that. They compared me to my brother, pointing out the fact that he has never been in trouble, even when we were overseas.

  They have been difficult to live with lately. We haven’t been getting alo
ng, not since my mother threatened to have Ivy’s dad fired. I decided then to give Ivy her space. Not only because of my mother, but because that is what she wants. One day I will talk to her, try to understand her feelings, but for now I know I need to back off. Honestly, I am bitter most of the time. I loved her, and I could have helped her. I would have fucking found a way. But she has changed, and not only because of what had happened to her physically. It goes way beyond that. Essentially, my parents were right all along. What I thought I would come back to was … not what I came back to.

  Sometimes I do feel awful for dating Eliza. After all, she is the reason Ivy looks the way she does. But it was something that just happened. When shit fell apart with Kate, Eliza was there. I saw the softer side of her I didn’t think existed. I saw her being nicer to people, going out of her way to do things for others. She even said nice things about Ivy, despite Ivy holding a grudge and trying to villainize her.

  “Yoohoo?” Dean asks.

  “I’ll think about it. The old man wasn’t thrilled after the last time.”

  He laughs. “Nah, man, it’ll be different this time.”

  “Keep up, losers!” Cory yells from in front of us.

  I pick up the pace, running to him and slapping him on the back.

  “Hey, Brooks!”

  I know that voice. I know that voice well. It is older now, and I have only heard it a few times since I have been back, but I know it. It is Ivy. I stop dead, and turn to her. All of us do. She hasn’t interacted with me since the day Eliza pushed her into the fountain.

  “Got a minute?” she asks.

  “Give me a sec,” I say to Dean. “I’ll catch up.”

  I walk toward her, unsure of what to do. She is shaking, trembling. I hope my mother didn’t do something … she looks upset. I swear, if she did…