Evolve Series Box Set

by Hall, S. E.

  “Let’s not let her. We gotta make sure she has fun.”

  “Oh, I think that’s your department, stud.”

  I roll my eyes at him and throw him some bags. “Shut up and help me load this stuff.”

  Ten minutes later, all the gear is packed and Whitley’s in the truck after she’d jumped out once to double-check that she locked her door. I let out a chuckle when I think of my current situation. Could you pack three more different people into the cab of a truck and send them on vacation together? No, no, you couldn’t, and yet, I’m as at peace as I remember being in quite a while.

  My contentment turns into full-blown happiness when I pick it up over the sound of the wind rushing in through my open window. Whitley’s humming “On the Road Again,” the old Willie Nelson song. And before I know I did it, I lean over and kiss the top of her head. She’s just so cute sometimes, I can’t help it. I recover quickly and stare out in front of me, nothing more fascinating now than the two yellow lines on the road. But I see her, out of the corner of my eye, blush and smile. And about that blush…now I wanna do it again.

  Her hair was soft and smelt like clean and strawberries, clean strawberries. And I noticed because…

  “How long ‘til we’re there?” Sawyer asks.

  “About thirty more minutes or so,” Whitley answers him sweetly. “I’m so glad you came, Sawyer.” She pats his leg companionably. “I brought the stuff to make your favorite—Reubens and fries. Maybe I’ll make it tonight.”

  Sawyer’s mouth drops open and his lip curls, his brows completely vanishing into his hairline. I watch him out of one eye, hating that I have to keep the other on the road and may miss what comes next. “How’d you know that was my favorite?” he asks in a shocked, but tender, voice.

  “You said it one time. You and I were sitting around with Dane and Tate, eating pizza one night, and you said, ‘I’m so sick of pizza all the time. I’d kiss you boys square on the ass for a Reuben and some homemade fries.’”

  I’m about to wreck I’m laughing so hard, because when she quoted him in that story, she did it in her best deep Sawyer voice. Classic.

  And big ol’ Sawyer, crude, rude and socially unacceptable, takes a minute to respond. When he does, it’s in a voice I’ve never heard him use, and it’s so quiet, I hardly hear it now. “I remember that, and you remembering it… Well,” hear his gulp vibrates off the inside of the cab, “ah, come ‘ere, you sweet lil’ thing.” He pulls her in and bear hugs her, kissing the top of her head.

  Hey! That’s my move.

  “Sound good?” she asks him, pulling subtly away from him and shifting back to me, a little closer this time it seems.

  “Hell yeah it does! You hear that, Evan? Whitley’s gonna make us a feast tonight!”

  Of course I heard it, I’m sitting two feet from you and not paying near enough attention to the road because I’m watching your interactions like a hawk.

  “Yeah,” I laugh, “I heard.” I dip my head to her and take one last, quick sniff of her hair. “I’ll peel the potatoes for ya,” I whisper.

  The three of us are laughing when we pull up to the beach house, Whitley having treated us to a game of Name That Tune the rest of the ride. She may be better at it than anyone else I know, and yes I mean Laney. And Sawyer? Well he doesn’t know the right words to a single song, no matter the year, the genre…the tune even, which is why we’re laughing so hard. Seriously? Who doesn’t know the words to “Rockstar” by Nickelback? Sawyer Beckett, that’s who. In Sawyer’s world, they play dirty Pictionary and drive filthy cars.

  This place is amazing—at least three stories with white pillars and a balcony at the highest window. You can see the ocean right behind it from the driveway and the tropical plants and trees planted around the front certainly give it the “beach” look. It’s magnificent, marred only by the sign in the yard. I look to Whitley, whose face is pale. Her eyes are filled with pain, telling me she, too, has spotted it.

  Sawyer gets out and comes up behind us, first following Whitley’s stare to the glaring red word, “Foreclosure,” then looking over her head to me with “shit, what do we do?” eyes.

  “Whitley, it’s okay. We can go somewhere else.” I put my arm around her shoulder and pull her to me. I have no idea where else we can go, but it’s all I can come up with, since asking if she’s sure we’re at the right house seems as dumb as it was the minute it crossed my mind.

  I lean my head down to look at her when she remains silent and see the tears trickling down her cheeks. “Hey, shh…” I murmur, tucking her head into my chest as she wraps her arms around my waist. “Sawyer, we’ll be back in a bit. We’re gonna take a walk.”

  He just nods and I take Whitley’s hand, leading her around the side of the house, down to the beach. There’s a low rock wall that starts off the sides of the patio, leading down to the water, creating a barrier between their beach backyard and the neighbor’s, which appears to be about a mile away. Pretentious? Probably, but handy now as I guide her to sit down on it and take a seat beside her, rubbing her back.

  We sit in silence for a long while just listening to the waves crashing on the shore. I give her time, walking down a few steps to break off a stalk of the eye-catching orange and purple plant I spotted as we sat and hand it to her with a sympathetic smile. Her tears finally start slowing, and as I look at her in concern, I force my lip not to curl at my thoughts—she even cries with class and elegance. No snorting, no snot sucking…just beautiful agony.

  “I’m sorry you drove all this way for nothing. I didn’t know,” she says sweetly, her shoulders shaking with a sarcastic chortle. “They don’t tell me the important stuff, you know. Just how to eat, walk, dress and keep up the act that we’re perfect. The fact that they’re obviously in financial trouble and losing my favorite place in the whole world? Well, that slipped their mind.”

  “It’s not your fault, Whit, don’t even apologize. I’m just sorry this happened to you. Do you wanna call your parents or something?”

  “No,” she shakes her head adamantly, “they’d be angry I came without telling them and found out. They’ll tell me when they want me to know, I guess.”

  “I can tell you really love this place.” I put my arm around her shoulder. “I can see why; it’s great.”

  Well shit, that probably wasn’t smart. No sense rubbing it in her face. I see now why my dad is so quiet and rarely in trouble with my mother. Noted.

  “We’d come here every summer for two whole weeks. Most of the time with Dane and his parents, and in the beginning, when we were real young, Tate, too. Our dads wouldn’t work while we were here, and no meetings meant they’d play in the water with us all day. My mom would always make red, white, and blue cake for the fourth and all the boys would set off fireworks for hours.” She sighs deeply and turns her head into my shirt, her voice muffled and pained. “It was the only time of year when nothing came before being a family. I was allowed to be a little kid and play outside with other kids. My mother never noticed or yelled if I got dirty.” She sighs. “This place represents everything I loved about my childhood.”

  I sneak a finger under her chin and lift her face, searching her eyes, as blue as the ocean beside us, for acceptance. “Whitley, I—”

  “Y’all get lost?” Sawyer’s voice startles us both and I drop my hand, standing quickly.

  “Nah, we were just heading back.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” he sniggers. “So, Whitley, I took the dark blue room. That cool?”

  Whitley has now walked over to us and stands beside me, every bit as dumbfounded as I am. It’s like one half of my brain knows exactly what he’s saying, and why, but the other half is screaming “oh surely not!” She’s thinking the same thing, one hand raised to her mouth, her eyes wide.

  “So, my key still worked?” Her big grin is forced, as though begging him to answer correctly. She and I both know the dreaded response coming, though.

  “Fuck no,” he replies with a s
hrug, “guess they already changed the locks. No worries, though, the side door to the garage had a window and the interior door was flimsy as shit. Presto! Minimal damage, maximum entrance.”

  My head drops on its own, shaking, and I reach up to rub my eyes. I hear Whitley’s sharp intake of breath right before she speaks.

  “Sawyer…are you telling me you broke into my parents’ foreclosed beach house?” She laughs, or chokes, it could go either way. “That’s not what you’re saying, is it?”

  “Relax, sugar, no one will know. I yanked the sign out of the yard too.”

  Oh, well then. Problem solved! Why didn’t I think of that? Cause everybody knows if you yank up the sign that cancels out the actual B&E.

  I raise my head and block Whitley’s chest with my extended arm, just in case she actually tries to give him the eye-clawing he’s earned, and attempt to be the voice of reason. “Sawyer, you can’t just break in, that’s illegal, dude. The cops are probably on their way. We could go to jail!”

  “Nobody’s gonna go to jail, pussbag. Listen, I hid the sign. If, and it’s a big if, the cops come, we’ll say we didn’t know and agree to leave. Whitley’s parents didn’t tell her, which they’d vouch for, so she thought it was her house and forgot her key. I mean, it’s still filled with all her furniture and pictures of her, what would have tipped us off?” He throws up a hand, cutting me off open-mouthed. “Especially since there was. NO. SIGN.”

  “Sounds good to me!” Whitley agrees cheerfully, reaching up to pat Sawyer on the cheek. “You boys run and get ice; I need to unpack and start Sawyer’s special dinner.” She starts walking to the house, a bounce in her step and not a care in the world.

  I jog to catch up with her, reaching out to snag her elbow. “Whitley, this isn’t a good idea. You’re upset and not thinking clearly, but you know I’m right. We can’t stay here.”

  “We can stay,” she says forcefully, jerking around to face me, “and we will. This is my place and I’m not leaving. Now run to the store and I’ll make us a nice dinner.”

  Oh great, she’s shock-induced delusional, if that’s such a thing. If not, she’s whatever the right name for it is, because under normal circumstances, I’d like to think she’d see my reason versus Sawyer’s, well, Sawyerisms. I should jump ship and save myself, but I just can’t; Whitley has been my life preserver and she needs me. So I go to the store, hoping she’s rational when I get back.

  ***

  Her back is to us, “Down on Me” playing loudly as she swirls her hips, dropping slowly all the way down to the floor and gyrating back up again in the sexiest move I have ever seen. My right hand is up in a flash, subconsciously even, covering Sawyer’s eyes. I, however, enjoy the show, no regrets…and no blinking. I have to use my left hand to quickly adjust, not wanting her to turn around and see evidence of the fact that I am a guy, shamelessly watching her little ass wiggle and pop in rhythm with the beating in my chest.

  “Honey, we’re home!” Sawyer spouts off, interrupting, so I drop my hand from his eyes, using it to pop him in the forehead.

  She spins around with a squeal, hand clutching her chest. “Oh my God, you scared me!” She walks over and turns down the music. “No sneaking up on me while we’re squatting, Sawyer. My nerves can’t take it.”

  “Sorry,” he snorts, “I forgot about that. So, what were you doing?”

  “Nothing,” her face blazes pink instantly, “just cooking.”

  I cock an eyebrow at her. “You need your own cooking show then, because people would definitely watch.”

  “Like you did?” Sawyer cocks off, slapping my chest.

  “Anyway,” I clear my throat, avoiding Whitley’s eyes, and her now answering raised eyebrow, “you need help with anything, Whit? Want me to peel or chop or—”

  “Help choreograph?” Sawyer suggests.

  “Fuck off,” I mumble, flipping a barstool around and sitting, ducking my head in embarrassment. I’m not shy about looking, anybody whose eyes weren’t covered for them would have, but I don’t think we need to keep announcing it.

  “Here.” Whitley’s eyes are smiling, her voice patronizing as she hands me a short glass of amber liquid and ice. “Have a drink and relax.”

  “So, Whit, what gives? I thought your family was loaded?” Sawyer asks her with the subtlety of a head-on collision.

  “I thought so too. I really have no idea what’s going on and can’t just ask them. How do you even bring that up?” She’s cooking, busy as she holds the conversation, but I can see the signs…a slump to her shoulders that is never there, a crease between her eyes, and a borderline fake smile.

  They continue to talk back and forth, but I sit in silent observation, no longer hearing the distinct words. The sun outside is starting to set, sending a ray of purple light in and casting a sultry glow around Whitley. Every time she turns, this way and that, preparing everything like a little hummingbird, her shiny blonde tendrils swish along her shoulders. When she measures something out, she purses her lips, transforming them into a rosebud.

  For the briefest of seconds earlier, when I’d tipped her chin and she looked up at me with hopeful, vulnerable eyes, like I could fix anything for her, I’d thought about kissing her. Not so long ago, I’d have laughed if you told me I’d ever have the desire to kiss anyone other than Laney, but sure enough, the want was there, however short-lived.

  Watching her now, I think of it again. I hate the way she wants me to dress. She’ll never be able to play a sport. Her uppity family will probably dismiss me as an ignorant hick. She picks at her food and would mostly likely faint if I left the toilet seat up. But…the last rays of the day show her in her true light; radiant and thoughtful, taking care of others, rolling with the punches, making the best of a situation.

  “Evan?”

  “Huh?” Her voice brings me back to the present.

  “Do you want another drink?” She’s standing by me, having set my plate in front of me.

  “No, water’s fine,” I mumble. That must be it—the drink she made me. That’s why I’m having such crazy thoughts. One thing is niggling at me though; am I just finding myself drawn to Whitley because she’s there? A convenient attraction? I mean, what are the odds that the first post-breakup girl you meet is captivating, different and alluring in a way that’s all her? I have to be careful. I don’t want to mistake rebound for interest and end up hurting Whitley or myself. I absolutely, positively cannot do that again.

  I file all the confusion in the back of my mind and dig in; the meal she made is delicious and we all eat in semi-comfortable silence. And by that I mean they both seem fine and I’m squirming inside.

  Just when I think I’ve got the questions riddling my head beaten, she fires the kill shot.

  “Who wants dessert?”

  “Is that a real question?” Sawyer pats his belly.

  Back to the table she strides, bearing two heaping plates of…strawberry shortcake. My favorite.

  She winks when she sets mine in front of me. “You didn’t think I would make his favorite and not yours, did you?”

  How did she know? I can’t remember ever mentioning it. But with the first bite, I cease to care about the how.

  CHAPTER 13

  Drunken Words, Sober Thoughts

  ***Evan***

  Saturday is a gorgeous day, perfect Spring Break weather. The water has a little nip to it, but it’s warm and very refreshing. It’s the first time I’ve ever been to the ocean, and the endlessness is quite a sight. And the atmosphere? Well, it’s one big party. I’m trying to take it easy with the drinking, really wanting to actually remember the experience, whereas Sawyer found a vendor stand that serves your drink in a white bucket with a handle. No really, they stick a straw in a mini sand pail and turn you loose on society. This is Spring Break, after all…

  Whitley hasn’t made it down yet, and I should probably go back up to the house and check on her, but two things are stopping me. One, I don’t think leaving Sawye
r alone down here is a good idea and there’s no way I’m getting him to go with me. Two, I think a little time away from her might be a good thing. Sending Whitley mixed signals isn’t respectful, and I do try to be at least that. Using her as a rebound crush is out of the question, though wanting her a little more every time I’m around her is fucking with my head.

  I sense the shadow over me, along with a shower of sand pellets he’s kicked up, before I actually open my eyes.

  “Hey man,” he kicks me, “look alive. I want you to meet some people.”

  I shield my eyes from the sun and look at Sawyer, sitting up immediately. He’s standing there, nursing his sippy bucket, with three very hot, very bikini-clad, women.

  “Hi.” I stand, running my hands down my shorts before offering it to one of them. “Evan.”

  “Amber,” she answers giddily, raking her eyes up and down my body. I force my own to stay on her face, despite the fact that I have already stealthily assessed her stats—bout 5’4”, dark tan, black short hair and those definitely aren’t the boobs she was born with.

  The little blonde next to her moves in, vying for my attention. “I’m Nikki.” She’s a little bitty one, maybe 5’1”, tops, all natural except for the sparkly belly button ring winking at me. Her eyes are a shocking green, her smile big, and she has a dimple. A really cute dimple, actually, in her left cheek right above her lip.

  “Nice to meet you. Evan,” I manage despite my gawking.

  “And this beauty,” Sawyer slides his arm around her bare waist, his finger sliding along the fabric of her barely-there bottoms, “is Sasha.”

  “Hey, Sasha.” I grin; clearly Sawyer has made his selection with the exotic brunette.

  “Sawyer said you guys would come to our party tonight,” Nikki’s flirty voice trickles, her tongue teasing the corner of her mouth.

  “We can do that,” I answer with a wink, earning her giggle.