Dearest Series Boxed Set

by Lex Martin

  Letting out a humorless laugh, I shake my head. “He’s never read my work, so I’m not entirely sure how he can say that.”

  I reluctantly tell him how I plan to turn whatever I write for Marceaux’s class into something longer, hopefully my second book. I just leave out the part about how I need to do it to pay my bills.

  “So you’re actually published?” he asks as we start walking again.

  I’m encouraged by the admiration in his eyes and nod slowly.

  “That’s really impressive, Clem.”

  I can’t help the embarrassed grin on my face. “Thanks, but I’m kind of blocked right now. I have until Monday to figure it out because my fifteen-page draft is due on Tuesday.”

  He looks like he wants to say something else, but I start talking before he can ask any more questions, like the name of my book or what it’s about. Thank baby Jesus for pen names.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you, Gavin…” I trail off, and he raises his eyebrows. “At Warren that day, why didn’t you just tell me you knew me from class?”

  He looks down at his feet and shrugs. “I wanted to see if you’d tell me your name.”

  “Okay,” I say slowly. “Did you remember it?”

  “Of course.”

  “But you asked anyway?”

  “Yup.”

  I wait for a better response and finally nudge him. He turns toward me and grins. “I guess I wanted the challenge. Would Clementine Avery tell me her name?”

  “That’s stupid.” I laugh, covering my mouth.

  “Yeah, but you did. Now what does that say?” Gavin says as he stares at me, humor flitting behind his eyes.

  I fold my arms over my chest. “That you pestered me until I gave in.”

  He barks out a laugh. “Damn. I thought you were going to say I was so charming you couldn’t help yourself.”

  “Well, there’s that.” I smirk, and he gently elbows me back.

  When we get to his dorm, freshmen are stumbling in and out through the double doors.

  “C’mon,” he says, like he’s not giving me a choice. “Let’s go find you some inspiration, and maybe you can peer-pressure me into doing my article.”

  “Did you just use peer pressure as a verb?”

  “God, you make me hot when you talk grammar.”

  I laugh because he’s being so stupid and adorable. He smiles, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and pulling me toward the dorm.

  - 6 -

  When we exit the elevators, I’m taken back three years. The smell of expensive perfumes and beauty products permeate the air as half-naked girls scamper from room to room, squealing about their plans to go bar-hopping or pick up guys. One spots Gavin and smiles before she sees me and darts off. The guys’ hallway is quiet in contrast.

  Gavin walks to his room, the first one on the right after the elevators, seemingly oblivious to the frantic pace of what’s happening on the girls’ side of the floor.

  His door has his hours of availability posted, along with a dry-erase board that has a message written in neon pink that says, “I heart Gavin.” I smirk at it before I can stop myself. He sees the note and rolls his eyes and rubs it off with his elbow. Following in behind him, I’m grateful he leaves the door open.

  His room smells like him, like fresh laundry and some kind of sexy-ass shower gel. He drops our bags into the chair at his desk.

  “Your room is pretty neat for a guy’s.” Eyeing him curiously, I’m more than intrigued about what else I’m going to learn about him tonight. His desk is organized: a laptop, several reference books, a giant mug of pens, and a board with notes and concert tickets pinned across it.

  I get a good look at that coffee cup. It reads, “The past, the present, and the future walked into a bar. It was tense.” I try not to laugh. Oh my God. He’s a geek who jokes about verb tenses.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” Gavin pulls out two bottled waters from his micro-fridge and starts to hand one to me, but when I reach for it, he doesn’t let go. Instead, our fingers stay coiled together. He stares at me, those dark lashes fanning across his tanned skin, and his close proximity sends a spark through me like fire raging through a forest after a drought. My head twists up to look at him, and he smiles devilishly before he lets go and brushes past me.

  Uh, make that a hot geek.

  As I attempt to dislodge my heart from my esophagus, I continue assessing his room. Several instruments sit propped against the wall, and I find myself staring at one that looks like a miniature guitar.

  “That’s a mandolin,” he says, picking it up and strumming a few chords.

  I listen to the soft melody for a few minutes. “It’s crisper than a guitar.”

  “Yeah. It is.”

  Chewing on my lip, I make a mental note of the differences in the instruments. “It reminds me of… Actually, never mind. It’s stupid.”

  I start to turn away, and he stops playing.

  “Tell me.” He looks genuinely interested. My lips twist briefly as I consider what I want to say.

  “It reminds me of the end of The Outsiders.” His eyebrows raise, prompting me to continue. “After Johnny dies, and Ponyboy finds his letter that tells him to stay gold, like the sunset they saw while they were hiding out. That’s like the mandolin. Golden.” I pull on the end of my ponytail, eager to find something for my hands to do.

  When I glance at him, I can’t quite make out what passes behind his eyes, but it makes me nervous, big-lump-in-my-belly nervous. I swallow and make a concerted effort to breathe.

  “Your room is very nice, Mr. Murphy. I’m impressed with your organization, especially since you just moved in.” I’m relieved to regain my ability to speak.

  “I was here all summer interning at the Boston Globe, so I couldn’t move back home.”

  An internship before his senior year. Impressive.

  “Where’s home?” I ask.

  He puts the mandolin back. “Connecticut.”

  “But that’s not where you’re from.” I keep hearing it in my head, the Southern way he says darlin’.

  One side of his mouth slants upward in a half smile. “I grew up in Austin, Texas, but we moved when I was eight. How did you know I wasn’t from New England?”

  “Lucky guess,” I say, not wanting to divulge how closely I’ve been paying attention to him. “Are both parents back there?”

  “Yeah, they’re teachers,” he says, answering my next question before I ask it.

  “Still together?”

  “Yup, and still in love. It’s sweet. And kind of disgusting. They still make out like teenagers.”

  I laugh at the embarrassment in his face and wonder what it would be like to have parents who actually like each other.

  “Where are you from?” He hands me my bag.

  “Nowhere exciting. Lexington.” A whole forty-five minutes away.

  “So you must get home a lot.”

  “No, never,” I say as I peruse the books in his shelves. He has several biographies of famous journalists, a book on Watergate, a lot of classics. Spotting a couple of F. Scott Fitzgerald titles, I smile to myself, but then my heart seizes up when I see a half dozen black Moleskine journals standing at attention. God, this guy is perfect.

  “Really?” He looks at me quizzically as he takes off his sweatshirt, which makes his black t-shirt rise, revealing that tantalizing six-pack. I avert my eyes so I don’t stare at his bare, muscular stomach with that sexy V that makes me stupid.

  I clear my throat. “Haven’t been home in three years. Jax goes back, but my mother has a soft spot in her soulless black heart for him.”

  He’s watching me, gauging whether or not I’m joking. He must realize I’m not.

  “Are you and your brother close?”

  Fighting the urge to shut down at the personal question, I make myself answer.

  “We’re twins, so I guess we are by default from sharing the same uterus for nine months. He’s kind of busy with socce
r and girls, so we don’t hang out much, but I try to go to his games.”

  Gavin frowns for a second. “It must be hard being an Avery. There must be a lot of pressure.”

  So he does know who I am.

  I mean, of course he does. He’s a reporter. He probably thinks I’m some little rich girl.

  I wait, wondering if he’ll turn on me and want something because that’s always what happens, but he actually looks concerned, like he cares about my wellbeing. Something inside me relaxes, and I shrug.

  “It’s just a last name. It’s not like I’m at the helm of my family’s corporation or ever will be. No thanks.” If my mother had it her way, I’d be trotting around like a prized pony, wearing something from her fashion line and whoring myself out to the cameras.

  Looking to change the subject, I ask, “Are you an only child?” Something about how responsible he seems tells me he’s either an only child or the oldest.

  “No, I have a little sister who’s a senior in high school.”

  He goes over to his desk as he reaches into his pocket for his phone. He motions for me to grab a seat, so I sit at the edge of his bed.

  “What article are you working on tonight?” I ask.

  His eyebrows furrow. “A follow-up on Olivia Lawrence, the BU student who disappeared this summer.”

  It’s been one of the biggest news stories on campus all fall.

  “I’ve read those. They’re kind of intense. You wrote them?”

  “Yeah.”

  They’ve been headlining articles since school started. Some have explored theories that she was abducted or possibly drowned in the Charles River. Others have been about her home life and family. One was about the new self-defense classes that started as a result of her disappearance.

  I wait for him to say something, maybe brag about how he’s on the front page constantly, but he doesn’t.

  Finally, he sighs. “I’ve been writing for the Freep since the first week of my freshman year, and I’ve never hated working on a story more.”

  He grabs a binder out of his bag and rearranges a few things on his desk. “It kills me to have to interview her friends and family. It’s so intrusive.” He stills, and his shoulders slump. “That part of the job has never bothered me before, but having her mom fall apart on me every time I see her breaks my heart.”

  Even though I haven’t known him long, I want to take him into my arms and comfort him.

  “But maybe your coverage will help find her. Maybe something you write will bring her home.”

  He takes a deep breath and looks up at me with a sad smile that tells me I’m being overly optimistic.

  I pull out my journal and a pen from my bag, and I search for something to lighten the mood. Motioning to his guitar, I ask how long he’s been in Ryan’s band.

  “Since June.” He motions toward me. “You have a killer voice, by the way.”

  I stare at him and blink.

  “You sang at your party.” He says it slowly, almost like a question.

  “Oh, that.” I shrug. “I sing in the shower…” My voice trails off as I remember tripping and dropping my towel and flashing him my goodies last weekend.

  Trying to distract myself from that embarrassing memory, I stare out the window. His room faces the middle tower of dorms, but because he’s on the northernmost side of the building, he has a stunning view of the river that runs parallel with the campus. The dark swath of water is calm tonight as it laps against the banks. I love running along the Charles. If I don’t climb, that’s where I head to unwind, to pound my frustrations and fears into the pavement while the wind whips through my hair.

  Gavin orders pizza, and he muffles the phone to ask my preference of toppings.

  “Pepperoni and mushrooms?” I ask, unsure of what he likes.

  He winks back and places our order. Damn it, he’s cute.

  “You can take off your shoes if you want, sprawl out, get comfortable. I usually write at my desk,” he says as he hangs up.

  “Are you sure?”

  He nods, like he really doesn’t care that I’m lounging on his bed. Okay. I kick off my shoes and scoot back until I’m leaning against the wall. Thankfully, I just showered, so I’m sporting clean socks. I start doodling in my journal while Gavin flips through some notes and opens his laptop.

  After half an hour, the phone rings and he heads downstairs to get our food. A minute later, I hear a soft knock.

  “Are you Murphy’s girlfriend?” a peppy little voice asks.

  A cute blonde girl in boxer shorts and a t-shirt is leaning in the doorway. She looks at me sideways and repeats her question.

  “I, uh… we’re friends.”

  She looks at me like I didn’t say something right.

  I clear my throat. “I’m Clem.”

  “Because he said he had a girlfriend, like a serious one he’s been dating for a few years, and you’re gorgeous, like the kind of girl I imagined he’d date. But you’re saying that’s not you?”

  I shake my head.

  “Huh. Maybe he’s dating that tall redhead.” Her eyebrows scrunch briefly before she bounds off with her tidbit of gossip.

  Who’s the redhead? That girl from my birthday party? I hadn’t asked Gavin if he was seeing anyone, but Jenna was trying to introduce us, and I know she’d never waste her time if she thought he was dating someone.

  “Why are you frowning?” Gavin walks in with a pizza box and soda.

  “I didn’t realize I was. One of the girls came by looking for you, but I didn’t catch her name.” I describe her to him, but he seems distracted by the food.

  “If it’s important, she’ll come back.”

  I want to ask him the question, but my heart is doing all kinds of crazy acrobatics in my chest. I should get this over with because if he has a girlfriend, what the hell am I doing here? I mean, he said “just friends,” and okay, he’s a cool guy, and we could be friends, but fuck.

  “You’re doing it again.” He’s standing there, frozen, with a paper plate in each hand.

  “What?”

  “Frowning. It’s kind of cute, actually. Unless there’s something wrong.”

  “No, nothing’s wrong.”

  Play it cool, Clem. I’ve been warming up to the idea of Gavin all week, but I’d be lying if I said this wasn’t throwing me in reverse so fast I might get whiplash. But the chill settling over me helps to clamp down on my emotions.

  I motion toward the hall. “She mentioned your girlfriend, which makes me wonder if I met her the other night at the party and didn’t realize it.”

  He grins so wide it catches me off guard. Okay, that’s not the reaction I was expecting.

  “I tell the kids I have a girlfriend so they leave me alone.”

  I’m so relieved, I want to laugh. He’s still grinning like an idiot.

  “What?”

  “You. You were jealous.” He’s looking at me like he knows exactly what I was thinking, and I want to crawl under his bed. Maybe even under the building.

  “No, I wasn’t. We’re just friends, remember?” Throwing his own words back at him, I smile coolly.

  I don’t think he believes me.

  “Here. Eat up,” he says, ignoring what I said and handing me a plate of pizza. “You need to replenish after kicking my ass on the wall today.”

  “Whatever. I think you held your own.” I reach for a slice and take a bite. My stomach is growling. I glance out the window again, mesmerized by the lights of the city and the dark river below. That’s when it hits me.

  “So do girls hook up with their RAs?” I turn to look at him. His eyes are wide, and I realize maybe he thinks I’m insinuating he’s done this, so I shake my head before he misunderstands. “Because that would make for an interesting story. A freshman girl who falls in love with her RA, but they can’t be together, so they sneak around.”

  “Oh, um, yeah,” he laughs. “It happens. Obviously, it’s not supposed to, but it’s not illegal or an
ything. The girls in Warren are eighteen or older. But it’s definitely scandalous when it does go down.”

  I drop my pizza and open my journal to a fresh page and start writing.

  Forty-five minutes later, I’m still at it. I’m lying on his bed with his pillow tucked under my chest as I lean forward to scribble down ideas. Finally, after I’ve jotted down all of my initial thoughts, I close my book and curl up. I haven’t written like that in so long. I feel weightless and a little buzzed from the euphoria of breaking through and being able to write again.

  Gavin is sitting at his desk, but he’s turned his chair around and is staring at me. Why is he staring at me?

  “Was that the zone?” he asks.

  “Hmm?”

  “I think you were in the zone. I asked you at least five things, at which point you mumbled something back that was completely incoherent.”

  I grin. “Yeah, that was the zone. Sorry, I didn’t mean to ignore you. Sometimes I’ll write all night if I’m on a roll.” Seeing my uneaten pizza, I groan. “No wonder I’m famished.” I take a few bites. “Have I told you how much I love pizza?”

  He seems happy that I’m eating, and I’m so thrilled to be writing again, I have a hard time not smiling around a mouthful of food.

  “So now you have your idea, and you’re all set.”

  Sighing, I pull off a mushroom and pop it in my mouth. “I wish. This is a romance novel-writing class. I’ve been writing Young Adult. They’re different.” I roll my eyes at myself, my good mood tempered by how difficult this has been for me.

  “So you throw in a few kisses.” He laughs, and I know he’s joking.

  I need to choose my words carefully. I could sound all kinds of stupid if I don’t.

  “My professor wants us to draw on our own relationships, and that’s not exactly my forte.”

  I look away before I can see his reaction. Why am I telling him this?

  “But you’ve been in a relationship before, right?” he asks hesitantly. Before I can respond, he shrugs. “I’m sure you could pull it off.”

  Groaning, I take another bite. “Theoretically, that’s true. But my one significant relationship did not have a happy ending, and I don’t date. You know this about me.” I tear apart a piece of crust. “Based on the examples we’re reading, Professor Marceaux wants hot sex and a happily ever after. I don’t do either.”