Evolve Series Box Set

by Hall, S. E.

  “What?” Hayden screeches, turning a flesh scorching glare my way.

  “I did no such thing,” I quickly tell her, holding up both hands in mercy. “You’re just running around getting everybody stirred up tonight, aren’t ya?” I shove Parker in the back.

  “Y’all get in,” he stumbles and laughs, helping his bride into his truck.

  “Park, where we going? The guys are waiting,” I protest, already knowing I’ve lost and helping Whitley in.

  “Let em’ wait,” I knew he was gonna say that, “this here’s about us four, and all that matters.”

  Whitley casts a nervous, curious glimpse my way and shrugs, taking my hand in both of hers. The ride into the back of the Jones’ land takes about ten minutes, but today closer to twenty as he dodges and slows for every dip or hole, eyeing his pregnant fiancé at every single one. She’s around 15 weeks, last I heard, and not that I’m positive, or would ever ask lest Whitley’d slap me sideways, but she seems to be getting big fast. That baby will definitely be built like its daddy.

  “Here we are,” Parker announces, getting out and walking around to Hayden’s side.

  I’ve seen this exact piece of land more times than I’d even attempt to count, so I’m not sure what’s he’s showing us. Even Whitley’s seen it at least fifty times, it’s my favorite spot on this whole farm. There’s a slight hill with a view of more wide open land to the east and north, the old hay barn to the south, and to the west…Amigo Creek.

  That’s what we’d named it, Laney, Parker and I—Three Amigo Creek. The town ledger says Mule Elk Creek, but we don’t care; that’s our creek, more than a mile of it running through the Jones’ land. It’s where I first went skinny dippin’ with Parker and two females, neither of which was Laney. Laney was there when we hung the rope swing and Dale yelled at us that it wasn’t deep enough and we’d break our necks and made us cut it down. She’d been to all of our campouts on its bank and popped the raft with us (again, not deep enough in some spots) and right over there…my tree stand still sits in the perfect deer hunting spot.

  Yeah, this is what heaven looks like to me.

  “You ready now?” Parker pushes on my shoulder, ornery smile in place.

  “Huh?”

  “Told ya.” He smirks at Hayden.

  “You sure did.” She giggles and pats my shoulder. “Now I see what you mean.”

  What?” I ask, the plot still evading me.

  “I told Hayden, don’t matter how many times you stand in this exact spot, you always do the same thing. You leave the rest of us here and drift off, thinking about everything you love about this place. No one will ever appreciate my land, especially this land,” he stomps his foot, stirring up dust, “more than you, Evan.”

  “There’s just something about it, I guess.” I half-smile sheepishly, not knowing how else to explain it really. “Feels like my happy place.”

  “That’s why I’m giving it to you.”

  Somehow I hear Whitley’s gasp, and hold her up, or use her for support, it could go either way. “W-what?” I mutter, dazed.

  “Besides Hayden and my Mama, you’re my best friend in the whole world. Laney,” he chuckles, “Laney’s gonna get taken care of, gonna go great places and see great things. I got real lucky, Evan. I didn’t have to wait a lifetime to meet the best people I was ever gonna. I met them at birth, then grade school, and third day of college.” He smiles adoringly at Hayden. “I won’t ever need anyone else. I couldn’t do any better, and I’d kinda like to keep ya close.”

  “Park, you can’t just give me—”

  “I can do whatever the hell I want. Already did, in fact.” He pulls some rolled up papers out of his back pocket all businesslike. “This spot, and 80 acres all around it, are yours. We can build you and Whit a house, be lifelong fishing partners and sneak each other’s kids shitloads of sugar.” He has me in a bro hug before I can even respond. Or bawl like a little girl. “Love you, man.”

  “Park. Hayden.” I look between them, unsure of what to say. I can’t quite grasp what he just said. This land is mine? “I love you, too, but this is—” I start to say. “I mean, thank you.”

  “Oh my God. Evan. You guys,” Whitley sobs.

  This time I move quickly, my reflexes downright catlike, making sure I’m the one to comfort her, while Parker and Hayden slink away discreetly, giving us some privacy. “I’ll only do this if you do it with me, hummingbird,” I whisper in her ear. “When we’re done with school, we can move here, build any kind of house you want. Could you be happy like that, Whit? Maybe teach at a school in town, then come home to me and raise cows, chickens…babies?”

  Her pause makes me panic so I lean back to look at her, sweeping under her eyes with my fingers.

  “Can we have pigs too?”

  “Yes, love, we can have pigs.”

  “Then I am so in!” She jumps, wrapping her legs around me.

  “We have three years until I’m done with school, babe, three years to plan and build your dream house.” I place a kiss on the end of her button nose, then, to really seal the deal, I carry her with me to pick the wildflower I spot about ten steps away and hand it to her. “Try not to have it all planned out by the time I get home tonight, okay?”

  “Will it always be this good, Evan? I love you so much, everything feels perfect; surely it can’t stay like this forever.”

  “Nope, it’ll get better.”

  EPILOGUE

  ***Sawyer***

  Tate and Bennett, Dane and Laney, Evan and Whitley…Sawyer and Zach. Anyone else see the problem with this fucking picture?

  Do I want a girlfriend, a relationship? Hell no. That’s what I’ve always known to be true; the one constant I’m sure of.

  But lately, something’s eating at me and I can’t shake it. It wakes me up at night. I shoot up in a cold sweat and look around the room…am I late for class? Did I hear my phone? Did I leave water running?

  Nope, nothing, just some unseen force greater than myself rattling my nerves. Again.

  Everyone is moving on and growing up around me. I’m stagnant, the same carousing, partying, unattached, extremely sexy guy I was when I got to Georgia.

  Where’s my too-good-to-be-true woman with Bennett’s loving and kind sex appeal, Laney’s sporty, witty smartass hotness and Whitley’s caring, innocent and always happy gorgeousness? Oh fuck, I want all three rolled into one.

  I could go for some real lovin’, some day after day, but no one comes close to holding my attention longer than it takes to knot off the condom and pull my pants up. No, I get easy, clingy, uninteresting girls. Hell, since Whitley got initiated into The Crew, I don’t even get the ones with the tiggest bitties anymore either.

  And this bachelor party for Parker, who I’ve known maybe eight weeks—God, I’m jealous as hell of him. That Hayden of his fucking adores him, and she’s even hotter knocked up than she was before. And she dotes on his ass in a very independent, non-blood sucking leech kinda way. Why can’t I find a girl like that?

  Obviously I’ve had too much tequila since I’m hosting my own little titbag party over here, feeling sorry for myself. Fuck this. I hold up two bills in my hand, I think they’re twenties, and silver cowboy boots come over way too eagerly.

  Challenge me, dammit! Engage more than my dick!

  “What’s this get me?” I slur, shoving the bills at her.

  She kicks one ankle, then the other, getting my legs just as far apart as she wants them and climbs over them, onto my lap. “This,” she croons and starts to grind. Her attempt to pet my chest all sexy-like is an epic fail, snagging one way too long silver nail on my nipple ring. She better not rip my fucking shirt—I love this shirt.

  “How much to go in the back?” Two months on a farm is damn lonely.

  She cuts quick, nervous glances around, then leans into my ear. “Not my usual club, so not in here,” she whispers. “But for a hundred, I’ll meet you outside after.”

  Just when I’m ab
out to finalize the exact details, “Shook Me All Night Long,” my favorite song ever, starts blaring. Now this dance I gotta see, moving Dracula Nails off my lap and outta my view to the stage, aka the flat area in this place.

  Spank me and put me to bed…who the fuck is that?

  “Zach?!”

  “Zach?!” I yell louder.

  “What?”

  “Who. Is. That?” I point to the, um, we’ll go with “dancer” for now.

  “Cause I know her? I think they said Karma or something, but I doubt you’d find her in the phone book under that. Why?”

  Look at him trying to be all smartass… Well, he fucked it up—who the hell uses a phone book?

  “No reason.” I bounce my shoulders in what I hope looks like casual nonchalance, never taking my eyes off her. That may blow my cover, but damn if I could look away even if I tried.

  I’m thinking it’s the beer, strike that, tequila goggles; has to be. I was just dogging every chick who came near me, ready to pay for a meaningless quickie, a scratch to an itch, and sheer perfection happens to strut in to my favorite song?

  Yeah, and when I’m done here, I’m gonna ride home to the Playboy mansion on my flying fucking dragon that I bought with my lottery winnings.

  This isn’t real and up close she’s probably a big mess with bad breath and a whiny voice…and herpes. Gotta be.

  But here’s what I do know, no guessing, no wishful thinking, no maybe to it—take it to the bank: her hair is so dark and shiny that you can damn near see reflections in it and it has purple streaks in it— hot as hell. AND, wait for it… IT. IS. IN. BRAIDS.

  Usually two braids or ponytails are known as “handlebars” in my language, but on this girl, they’re cute; cute, wet dream-inducing braids.

  Her eyes are as dark as her hair and hold the fear and anxiety of a kitten stuck in a drainpipe when it’s raining. I may never know where it came from, this instinct that up until this point I would have sworn on a stack of Bibles I didn’t possess, but I swear I hear her mind screaming to mine, “you’re big and strong! Protect me, Sawyer! Take care of me, hold me, make me unafraid!”

  That body of hers is tiny. Not frail, just petite, and tan and muscular…and her own. She turns it to the side and away from the onlookers and keeps her hands over her barely covered breasts like the tease is part of the dance, but it’s not. I’d bet you a nut this girl has never danced or stripped before in her life. And if she has, she should stop immediately, because she absolutely sucks at it.

  Those come fuck me heels she’s wearing? They’re two sizes too big and she’s never walked in them before. Also something she should stop doing immediately. If the teetering and wobbling didn’t draw attention to her shapely legs, it’d just be sad, but the legs are worth the painful show. Oh and fuck me, she’s skipping around in a circle, I hope she doesn’t think that’s a good cover for her lack of dance skills…skipping, for crying out loud.

  And lastly, she loves this song. She’s mouthing the words, keeping her eyes unfocused and on the back wall, dying for everything but the song itself to be over. And when it is, she runs like she’s on fire for cover behind the curtain.

  “Who was that?” I ask Dracula Nails, still standing beside me.

  “New girl,” she answers snidely. “First night, can’t you tell?” She laughs.

  “Yeah, I can.”

  “So, I’ll see you later?” She curls those inflated lips at me.

  “Maybe, if I see ya I see ya.” I get up, walking over to Dane. “Where’d you get these girls?”

  “Hell if I know; Brock hooked it up.”

  “So the company, it’s local to us, like in Statesboro?”

  “I think so, why?”

  “Find out for sure, I’m gonna hit the can. Be right back.”

  I really do need to take a leak, but somehow I veer off course, peering behind the curtain like the Great and Powerful Oz will be waiting to hand me the 411 on this girl. I don’t see him, or her, only several other scantily clad women who only remind me how different she was. I want to bust in a demand they tell me her name and where she is, but I’m forced to duck out and shove the curtain back when their escort/bodyguard/whatever guy spots me.

  No worries, Dane can find out for me, that man has scary ways of digging up the buried. I hurry back from the bathroom and catch him just as he’s hanging up his phone. “Well?”

  “Local company, kinda off the radar, Brock isn’t sure they’re on the Better Business Bureau, if you catch my drift.”

  “I don’t.”

  He leans into me, talking low and discreet. “I know nothing, and I’m going to say this: walk out of here and never speak of it again. I may also fire Brock for being a dumbass. It’s some on the side thing for one guy, mostly underage college girls needing money.”

  “Fuck,” I mumble.

  “Fuck is right. My name is never to be associated with this, ever. I had no idea and I’ll kill Brock if he jeopardized any of us in any way. You hear me?”

  “Wait, so college, as in our college?”

  “Yes,” he sighs, running his hand through his hair, mad as hell.

  “My old job ready at The K?” Wait, better yet… “I’ll replace Brock even.”

  “You always have a job with me, Sawyer, you know that. Just say the word.”

  “Word. I’m heading back early. Don’t fire Brock until I say, okay? I need to talk to him first.”

  “You just fire him when you have what you need. My hands are washed of this whole thing. Now get the fuck out of here and pay for the party in cash. No paper, you hear me, Sawyer?”

  “Got it. Go, man.”

  Look out, Skipper, Daddy’s coming home.

  Entangled

  An Evolve Series Novella

  S.E. Hall

  Prologue

  People probably think streets like this don’t exist anymore. I know I did. But as Dane and I drive down Elmhurst Drive in his shiny silver Roadster, top down and an unusual Georgia breeze in my hair, the neighborhood looks downright picturesque. All the lawns are perfectly manicured with huge maple tress dotting the area and 1428 loves pink, evidenced by the rows of flowers lining the walkway. I glance sideways when I hear his chuckle; his tan, smiling face looks back at me, a flirty glint in his dark eyes.

  “You trying to break my fingers, baby?” he asks, lifting our joined hands between us.

  “Oh, sorry.” I blush, relaxing my grip, seeing that the ends of his fingers are now crimson.

  “It’s okay,” he kisses the back of my hand, “I know you’re excited. I’m glad.”

  The street is a dead end cul-de-sac, a community basketball hoop in the circle, several young boys playing a game there now. Two older men watch the game from their lawn chairs parked nearby and wave to us as we climb out of the car. I giddily wave back, once again earning Dane’s lighthearted laugh. The whole scene is worthy of a “Welcome to the Neighborhood” brochure and makes me smile, already feeling homey.

  My duplex is precious, red brick with white shutters and a large bay window right in the front; I literally bounce my way up to the front porch. The landscaping needs to be touched up, the hedges are way overgrown and all the plants looking half-dead since no one’s lived here to keep it up, and I can’t wait to do just that. I look over and notice Bennett’s already got a sunflower flag flying proudly over her porch next door and it just makes my fire to get started burn brighter—I have my own house to fix up! I’ve never been so pumped about a project in my life!

  “You ready to go in, Miss Walker?” he teases in my ear, swatting me playfully on the butt.

  My “yes” turns into a squeal as I’m swept up, bride-style, in his arms. “Then go in you shall,” he responds before leaning down to kiss my lips and carrying me over the threshold.

  CHAPTER 1

  ***Laney***

  I love everything about the place, from the long list of things that need to be done to those which are only necessary to make it mine. As we
wander from room to room, my excitement spills over and I start to tell Dane my ideas.

  “I think in here I’ll paint it softball yellow and then draw red stitches all along the top, like a border.”

  “I think that’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard,” he groans, backing away from me as he says it—good idea.

  “Don’t hold back, Dane, tell me what you really think.” I cross my arms over my chest, because he just lost his boob ogling privileges with that comment.

  He’d bought this duplex for me, sick of the 11pm curfew that often can’t be “worked around” in the dorm, not to mention it’s a closer drive to his house, strategically located at almost the dead middle between Chateau Kendrick and GSU. But, he’s being a bossy boots caveman—a trait he’d kept somewhat hidden until he felt absolutely comfortable with me—and shooting down all my top notch decorating ideas.

  “Baby, if that’s what you really want, go ahead, but it sounds gaudy and juvenile, and you have to think of resale. When it comes time for you to marry me and move into the big house, we’ll have to make the room look normal for potential buyers.”

  Some girls probably would have heard “marry me” and melted right where they stood, fanning themselves and batting their eyelashes.

  Not this girl.

  “What do you mean gaudy? Juvenile?” I mock and shrink him on the spot with my glare. “Just because it’s not black, white or gray,” (yes, I’m referring to the sterility of his house right now) “doesn’t mean it’s ugly. I think it’d look cool and you said this was my place. I should be able to decorate it how I want.”

  I’m not pouting, really. I’m standing with my legs braced apart with my hands on my hips and a scathing frown on my face—ready to spar.

  “And the other bedroom?” he asks, patronizingly calm.

  I wave a hand and scoff, “do whatever you want with it. Go absolutely crazy with your three-color palette.”