Always Yours

by Claire Raye

  Always

  Yours

  Claire Raye

  Copyright © 2019 by Claire Raye

  All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage the piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. All characters and storylines are the property of the author and your support and respect is appreciated. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Editing by Kelly Brennan

  Other books by Claire Raye

  Coming Home to You- A Rockport Beach Novel: Book One

  Finding Home with You- A Rockport Beach Novel: Book Two

  Making Home with You- A Rockport Beach Novel: Book Three

  Chapter One- Fourteen Years Ago

  Ellen

  Chapter Two

  Will

  Chapter Three

  Ellen

  Chapter Four

  Will

  Chapter Five

  Ellen

  Chapter Six

  Will

  Chapter Seven

  Ellen

  Chapter Eight

  Will

  Chapter Nine

  Ellen

  Chapter Ten- Present Day

  Will

  Chapter Eleven

  Ellen

  Chapter One

  Fourteen Years Ago

  Ellen

  I’m literally doing the one thing I told myself I would never do… the walk of shame. I mean it’s five o’clock in the morning, so I guess the likelihood of me being seen by anyone in this sleepy college town is what I have going for me, but it’s still clichéd as fuck.

  I’m a disheveled mess, my shoes in my hands and my hair piled high on top of my head as I stealthily move across the parking lot toward where I left my car last night.

  That too was another poor decision in a long line of shitty choices I’ve made over the last few hours.

  While I wasn’t exactly crazy shitfaced, I was drunk and I probably never should have been driving, but the apartment was only minutes from the bar and I wasn’t super keen on leaving my car there overnight.

  If my parents found out I was at a bar underage and I left my car there to be towed away, broken into or pilfered through, I’d be back in California before I could say undergraduate. So ultimately the decision was made to drive the speed of an old lady on her way to church on Sunday than risk my parents finding out.

  The guy I ended up hooking up with passed out about a quarter of the way into our make out session, which was somewhere around three a.m., and then I subsequently fell asleep. Only to wake up at five disoriented, hungover and wondering where the hell I was.

  Not wanting to wake him for several reasons, the main one being he was not nearly as attractive as he was four hours ago, I grabbed my things, and I am now tip-toeing through the parking lot in the dim light of the sun as it peeks over the horizon.

  “Fuck,” I mumble as I step on a piece of gravel only steps from my car. “Why the fuck would I have ever thought this was a good idea?” I again mutter, questioning myself and my stupidity.

  My head is throbbing and all I want to do is get home. I’m currently making a mental list of things I will never again do in my life. The number one being driving drunk, number two being hooking up with a guy while drunk, and number three, doing the walk of shame while hungover.

  When I finally do reach my car, I take a quick look around, scanning the parking lot and surrounding balconies for people, making sure no one has seen my stupid ass.

  By now I’m freezing because no self respecting college girl would think to wear a coat to a bar despite it being winter in Michigan. That would hide the halter top and low-slung jeans that I’m inappropriately wearing in the dead of fucking winter.

  Add that shit to my endless list of poor choices and again I mutter shamelessly to myself.

  Just as I’m about to find solace in my slightly warmer car, it’s all blown to shit. I hit the unlock button on my key fob, grab the door handle and just as I fling open the door, a skunk crawls out from under my car.

  “What the fuck!” I yell out, again not my finest decision, because I of course startle the little fucker and he sprays me.

  Holy hell, in that instant my eyes start burning, and that hangover that was like a railroad spike in my forehead is now making me puke violently on the asphalt.

  All of this clouds my ability to notice that the skunk has now taken up residence in my car, and when I finally stop puking and see his Pepé Le Pew ass in the backseat of my little coupe, I cry out. “Fuck, no! No, no no!” I scream, now sobbing and wondering how the fuck I got myself into this mess.

  “Hey!” I hear a voice call out as I listen to the sound of feet crunching along the gravel in the parking lot and making their way toward me.

  “Fuck me,” I mumble, that feeling of nausea hitting me like a giant wave when I suck in a breath. The smell of the skunk fully embedded in my nose makes me retch once again just as a tall brown-haired stranger makes his way over to me.

  “You okay?” he yells to me, his distance just far enough that the smell of the skunk mixed with my Long Island Iced Tea vomit hasn’t hit him yet.

  This is not how my walk of shame was supposed to go down and I really want to tell this guy to fuck off, but when I look into my car, I can see that stinky fucker pacing back and forth on the floorboard.

  The guy walks closer and I can tell he’s not sober, but he’s my only chance at making it out of this without too much more embarrassment.

  I swipe at my raccoon eyes, now made worse by my fantastic gastro Olympics and the continuous flood of tears coming from my overactive tear ducts.

  “No,” I whimper, as the guy approaches my car.

  But when he’s within a couple of feet, he recoils and vomits spectacularly on the ground only a few inches from his own feet.

  “Holy fucking shit,” he says, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “What is that fucking smell?”

  “It’s a skunk,” I tell him, motioning at my car, and not wanting to admit that it’s probably more likely the smell of my own puke too. “It’s in my car,” I moan, the tears once again starting up.

  My parents are going to fucking kill me.

  “A skunk?” he questions. “Fuck, I thought you were being attacked.”

  “I was attacked! A skunk attacked me. Why the hell was it under my car? Shouldn’t the fucker be sleeping?”

  I don’t have any idea why I’m blaming the skunk for my own poor choices, but I gotta blame someone.

  “It’s a crepuscular animal,” the guy says and I look at him, my glare practically deadly.

  “What the fuck does that even mean?”

  “It means, it’s an animal that comes out at dawn and dusk,” he replies like this is a known fact.

  “Listen, Steve Irwin, are you here to help me or just question my stupidity?”

  I’m now standing with my hands on my hips, my eyes shooting daggers in his direction, wondering if I should just call someone to help me.

  “Fine,” he says, holding his hands up as if he’s going to walk away.

  “Wait, please. I’m sorry. I can’t call the police because I’m eighteen years old, probably still a little drunk from the night before, I’ve thrown up more Long Island Iced Teas than I should have ever been able to fit in my stomach and I’m obviously leaving…”

  He cuts me off, a smile crossing his face and it’s then that I notice he’s far more attractive than I would’ve have expected. His brown hair is tousled slightly and he looks to be about the same age
as me, but with an athletic build and striking blue eyes.

  “Yeah I’ll help you, even though you smell fucking terrible,” he says, and I smile gratefully in return.

  But I don’t miss the opportunity to give him just as much shit back. “Dude, you puked in the parking lot too. I think that kinda ruins your street cred.”

  “So what’s the plan here?” he asks, cupping his hands around his eyes and pressing his face to the window of my car.

  “Get it out of my car,” I respond, an attitude in my voice that is directed more at the skunk than the guy.

  Without waiting for any more direction, the guy flings open my car door, levers the seat as both of us stand in the opening of the car door and wait.

  In hopes that skunk will vacate the car on its own, the guy grabs hold of my wrist and pulls me away from the car, while the two of us stand waiting.

  My body is practically pressed against his side as I shake in the freezing cold air and he runs a warm hand up and down my arm.

  “Here,” he says, slipping out of his jacket and handing it to me.

  “Thank you,” I tell him, his arms now folding across his body and it’s me who runs a hand over his arm now.

  “Let’s do this,” he asserts, and I can’t help but laugh as he strides over to my car and thrusts his body through the small opening that is meant to allow access to the backseat.

  But as he reaches in to grab the skunk it sprays again, dousing the poor guy and the interior of my car.

  “Fuck,” he cries out, retreating from the car with his eyes clenched shut as the smell hits both of us and we puke in unison.

  “If we call someone they’re going to send the police and we’re fucked,” he says, as we debate exactly how we are going to get this skunk out of the car.

  It’s obvious that we aren’t thinking clearly, but I get what he’s saying. Ann Arbor has been cracking down on underage drinking and right now we are the poster children for why it’s illegal.

  I pop the trunk of my car, remembering that my gym bag is still in there from the spin class I took yesterday afternoon.

  I toss him a pair of leggings and I grab the tank I was wearing.

  “Here, wrap these around your face,” I tell him as I tie my tank around mine and I watch as he presses the ass of my pants to his face and wraps the legs around, securing them at his neck like a scarf.

  Like this whole thing couldn’t get any more embarrassing, but of course it just did, because this guy now has my sweaty crotch leggings covering his mouth and nose. And all I can do is pray that the smell of the skunk is worse than my leggings.

  It’s either the smell of my leggings or smell of the skunk or something else, but this guy grows far braver and reaches back into the car.

  He grabs the skunk by the neck and despite the continuous spray, the guy doesn’t ease up his grip. Dragging the skunk from the backseat of my car, he gently tosses the creature of the night into the grassy field that adjoins the parking lot.

  I watch him thrust his clenched fist into the air and give a hearty shout of accomplishment. Enjoying the fact that this guy has finally freed my car of all its skunk-filled glory, I throw my arms around his neck in appreciation.

  “Thank you so much,” I croon, pulling back so I’m now looking at him. “You’re my hero.”

  We stand suspended in this moment of smelly skunk and vomit, our lips practically touching as he pulls back a little and says, “Do you want to come upstairs?”

  His hand slides to my hip and a small smile crosses my lips, but it’s almost a smile of a shameful reminder as to how I got myself into this whole mess. Yet as I stand here contemplating my answer, I realize I smell horrible and eventually I have to get back in my car, so I just delay the inevitable.

  “I don’t even know your name,” I shoot back at him, trying my hand at playing hard to get since clearly going home with someone I met at the bar went so well.

  “It’s Will McIntyre and I swear I’m harmless despite my amazing skunk wrestling skills.”

  I giggle a little at his joke and introduce myself, extending a hand.

  “I’m Ellen Somerville and I’ve never been more grateful you came along when you did.”

  “So is that yes then?” he asks, his tone filled with eagerness as he cocks his eyebrow slightly at his question.

  “I guess it is, but only so I can clean up.”

  “Only so you can clean up and I can make you breakfast,” he adds, a smirk on his chiseled face.

  “I should be the one making you breakfast,” I reply, knowing I owe him even if my car is ruined.

  We make our way toward his apartment, which is luckily not in the same building as the one I just vacated, when my phone chimes out.

  “Your boyfriend?” Will asks, glancing back over his shoulder as he takes the stairs to his apartment.

  “No, my sister,” I reply. “She’s back home dealing with the first boy she’s ever really had a crush on. It’s pretty brutal.”

  “Where’s home?”

  “California. Napa area. My parents own a winery and vineyard there.”

  “And what’s the deal with your sister?” he asks, slipping the key into the lock and opening the door to an outdated but spotlessly clean apartment.

  “Long story, but she’s found herself crushing on this boy who is visiting the vineyard from Australia. It’s that whole love/hate thing and she has no idea how to handle it.”

  I speak like I’m an old pro at crushes and relationships, but in all honesty, I’ve had one boyfriend, who I did sleep with back in high school, but if I had to label myself now it would be “lip slut” since all I’ve done since going away to college is make out with boys in bars. Today was my first attempt at a one night stand that literally landed me in the stinker.

  Will walks to the fridge leaving me standing in the entryway and appears a few seconds later holding a bottle of Bloody Mary mix.

  “I don’t have any tomato juice. You think this will work?” He gives the bottle a hearty shake and we both laugh out loud.

  He’s far more endearing and cute and funny than I would have expected, and I’m finding myself questioning if maybe this whole thing was meant to be.

  Chapter Two

  Will

  She’s hot. Seriously hot.

  I mean, yeah, she looks like a total train wreck right now, with the smudged makeup all over her face, dried puke on her top and a stench coming from her like something rolled over and died. But she’s still hot.

  She’s eyeing the Blood Mary mix I’m holding, as though she’s actually thinking about my suggestion of using it. I’m now wondering if she’s going to take those clothes off or leave them on if she does.

  I’m hoping for off. I mean, of course I’m hoping for off.

  I’m also hoping she lets me pour the pseudo tomato juice all over her too.

  “You serious?” she asks, giggling and breaking my tomato-juice-strip-tease fantasies.

  I shrug. “Why not?” I say. “It’s supposed to kill the stink, isn’t it?”

  Ellen laughs. “Right now, I’m not sure anything could kill this stink.”

  I grin. “You might be right. Pretty sure these clothes are toast,” I add, waving my hand in her direction.

  Ellen cocks an eyebrow at me. “So what, you’re suggesting I should take them off?”

  My grin widens. “Well?” I reply. “The little fucker did nail you pretty good.”

  Ellen reaches over and grabs the mix. “Fuck it,” she says, laughing. “Where’s your bathroom?”

  I gesture down the hall toward a small bathroom at the back of the apartment, grateful my roommate is staying at his girlfriend’s place. Ellen walks in, turning as I stop in the doorway.

  “Need some help?” I offer, grinning as I give her an exaggerated once over.

  “Get out of here,” she says, laughing as she shoves me out the door. “And get me some clean clothes!”

  My smile doesn’t disappear even as I
turn and walk into my room, grabbing a clean t-shirt and boxers for her. I can hear the shower running and already my mind is filled with images of her standing naked under the water.

  “Jesus, Will,” I say, shaking my head. “Get a fucking grip.”

  Eventually the water stops and in a lame ass attempt to make it look like I’m not totally creeping on her, I move into the kitchen and start to make us some coffee. When she walks in, I turn and see she’s wrapped in a towel that barely covers her ass, her hair wet and hanging down her back and dripping water onto the floor.

  “I saved you some of the mix,” she says, meeting my eyes before quickly looking away.

  I swallow hard, unable to take my eyes off her and that amazing body of hers that’s barely hidden beneath what has got to be the luckiest towel ever. “Did it work?” I eventually force out.

  Ellen shrugs, sniffing her arm a little. “I don’t know, I think so.”

  She still won’t look at me as I walk toward her, and without thinking, I lean right in and smell her neck, that soft curve where it meets her shoulder. Her skin is still warm, ever so slightly damp and as I brush my nose against it, I feel Ellen stiffen a little, I’d even swear she lets out a soft groan.

  My body on the other hand, goes fucking haywire, as though every single nerve kicks to life beneath my skin. My hands itch with wanting to pull her into my arms and I feel my dick start to get hard.

  “You’re all good,” I say, forcing myself to pull back. “I’m gonna go jump in the shower,” I add, not looking at her. “I left you some clothes in my room, second door on the right.”

  I walk quickly into the bathroom, slamming the door shut before I do something stupid like rip that towel off her body and get her all dirty again. Turning on the water, I strip off my clothes, throwing them onto the floor with hers before getting into the shower.

  Half a bottle of Bloody Mary mix is left, and I pick up the bottle, pouring it right over me, the cold liquid doing absolutely nothing to calm down the raging lust that’s now coursing through me.