Impossible Love, The Complete Before You Go Series
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IMPOSSIBLE LOVE
The Complete Series:
BEFORE YOU GO and MORE
By Clare James
Before You Go Copyright © 2013 Clare James
More Copyright © 2013 Clare James
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without express permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.
This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, or any events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Cover Design by Berto Designs.
Table of Contents:
Before You Go
Before
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
More
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Epilogue
Before You Go
By Clare James
Before
It was the pounding on the door that woke me that morning. Somehow I managed to fall asleep after I made it home from Thomas Richardson’s party. It was a defense mechanism, I think. I needed to shut down and process the events from the night.
I ignored the noise, hoping it’d go away. Unfortunately, it only got louder.
Through the peep hole in the door, I could see Thomas pacing in the hallway. My body went cold at the sight of him, completely the opposite of how he used to make me feel. Strange how one night could change everything.
“Tabby.” He moved closer to the door. “I know you’re there. Let me in.”
“No,” I told him. My voice was hoarse and weak. It made me sick to hear it.
“Look, we need to talk.” He softened his tone. “I’m sorry about last night. But you’re okay, nothing really happened. Right? It was just a party that got a little out of control.”
I whipped the door open, furious that he called what happened, nothing.
“It was more than just a little out of control, you asshole,” I screamed.
“Shhh.” Thomas ran his hand down my arm to soothe, but it only repulsed. He then stepped around me and shut the door to my dorm room.
“Okay, you’re right,” he said. “It wasn’t nothing. I am an asshole, but I want to make it right. What can I do?”
“Well,” I said, bracing myself. “You can start by telling the truth when Dean Schiller calls you in.”
His face quickly lost all traces of warmth. “What?” he spit. “You’re going to the administration with this?”
“I have a meeting later today,” I said, avoiding his eyes.
“Well, it’s a good thing I stopped by then.” His face was red, jaw tight. “I have something you should see before you go.”
Most people think he broke me the night it happened. The night he betrayed my trust and hurt me in a way I’m not sure I’ll ever recover from. But that’s not when he did it. It wasn’t his actions from that night. No, it was the next morning when he showed me what was in his hands. That’s when my world would come crashing down—all because of some stupid stunt my friend, Megan, talked me into. And because I trusted the wrong guy.
That was the moment that did it. And I’ve been broken ever since.
Chapter 1
Ten Months After
“What can I get you?” the bartender asks while building a perfect Guinness from the tap. He looks to be in his twenties, although he is completely bald, by choice or bad genetics I can’t quite tell. Doesn’t matter, it looks good on him. I consider it—or him—for a second but quickly dismiss the idea.
What’s that old adage, don’t shit where you eat?
Well, this would fall into the category, don’t get down and dirty where you drink. Also, not a good idea.
My hairless, but handsome, bartender strums his long fingers along the bar, making the tendons in his tattooed arm contract and release in one fluid motion. I get lost in his lanky limbs, not understanding his impatience until he clears his throat.
“Oh yeah, sorry.” I shake my head. “Do you make mojitos here?” It’s September and summer has officially ended, but I want one more taste before we descend on the downward slide toward the inevitable Minnesota winter.
“A mo-what-oh?” the bartender asks, his voice dripping in sarcasm. “Hmm, that’s a tough one, ma’am. Isn’t that like three ingredients?”
I roll my eyes at this smartass behind the bar.
“We’re simple folk at Rye’s, but we’re not barbarians.” He gives me a friendly wink. “We do have access to mint and sugar.”
“Okay, okay,” I say with my hands up. “I meant no disrespect.”
It’s not like Rye’s is a dive. It’s one of those neighborhood places that caters to the locals and occasional hipster. Nothing fancy or fussy. No mixologists here. It’s why I chose the place—it’s no frills and off campus, so there’s slim chance any students from the university are patrons of the joint. The perfect place for what I need to do.
The little bar is slowly filling up. All the regulars are already here: my favorite pervy-looking Santa character, Mr. Asscrack (self-explanatory), and a guy who looks like Channing Tatum’s ugly twin—sounds impossible, but it’s true. It’s a Thursday ev
ening, which means it won’t really be jumping for another hour. I’ve been coming here for the last few months, but anytime I get close to picking a guy, I chicken out. The whole point of this little exercise is to be the person in control. To be the person to say where, when, and most importantly, who.
Once I can do that, I think I might have a chance at being normal again.
At the end of the bar are two prospects: one looks like a messenger boy—an extremely ripped and adorable one. I saw him locking up his bike on the way in with a bag slung across his body.
No, I couldn’t. Could I?
No, absolutely not. He looks way too sweet.
But there on the corner is a definite a contender. He’s a little messy: wild hair, rumply shirt, ten o’clock shadow. Too bad he’s fidgeting all over the damn place. Not exactly what I was going for. I need easy, breezy. A guy who is up for a fun night, but also knows when it’s time to leave. No strings, no complications.
He glances from his phone to the door to his phone again. I’m dizzy watching him. He’s either meeting someone or he needs to get drunk … or laid. Maybe I could help with both? I’ll have to check in on him in a bit.
For now, I’m content watching the evening unfold.
I order another mojito from my new bartender BFF and I swear it’s about twice as strong as the last one. My lips pucker from the sour liquid as I swirl it on my tongue, readying for the burn on the way down my throat. I never was much of a drinker, but some things cannot be done sober. Still, I can’t be bombed either. I need to find that happy medium.
An hour later, I’d say I found that happy place. I’ve put down two more extra strong glasses of mint deliciousness and have made some new friends in a very vicious game of Bingo. I’m having so much fun I almost forget my mission or what I like to call my own personal version of Take Back the Night.
The men are looking much better in here now. When did that happen? I’d say my prospects have doubled. Pervy Santa even has a nice happy glow to him and Asscrack looks like he’s lost a few pounds.
Yep, the liquor is definitely taking its toll. Better check on my friend on the corner before I’m too far gone.
Thankfully, he’s still here, drinking a beer and laughing at the guy on the barstool next to him. He seems more relaxed too, and he’s no longer checking his phone every second.
I give my cheeks a little pitch to put some color in them, release my long locks from the hair tie, and run my tongue across my teeth to ensure I don’t have any mint stuck in them from my drink.
And, action.
I teeter on my heels for a second, it’s been awhile since I’ve done this. Still, my body remembers what to do. I straighten up and make full use of my dancer’s posture before walking down the bar. He notices; they always do. I grab a seat to his left and cross my legs, inching my skirt up a little higher on my thigh. I’ve worked on my legs for over a decade, so I may as well use them now. I have a feeling I’m going to need every last asset I have to reel this guy in.
“Hello,” I give my most brilliant opening.
He angles his body away from his neighbor to greet me.
“Hi.” He flashes a smile.
“Sorry to interrupt your evening,” I say, gathering my courage. “But I’m killing these guys with the Bar Bingo over there.” I point to the regulars. “And I could really use some competition. Are you up for it?”
“I’m not sure Bingo has a lot to do with competition. I think it’s more a game of luck.” He chuckles and I feel it all the way down to my toes.
Yes, this could work.
“Not with these guys.” I return the smile. “Even squinting one eye, most of them can’t read the board. Come on over. It’ll be fun and it’s better than staring at your phone all night,” I blurt out before thinking.
“Been watching me all night, have you?” He smirks.
I take a moment, letting my eyes rake over him. He’s actually better looking up close. Gorgeous even. His sandy hair sets off his bright blue eyes and his skin is still tan. Hell, I’d be interested even if it wasn’t Take Back the Night. He really is something.
“Like I said, I’ve been looking for competition.” I nudge him, yet he barely moves. His body is long, lean, and surprisingly solid.
“Are you in a habit of picking up strangers in a bar?” He narrows his eyes.
“Uh, no.” I flip my hair. “Now come over and play an innocent game of Bingo. Then we won’t be strangers anymore.”
“Okay.” He smiles. “I was supposed to meet someone tonight, but they had to cancel so I could use a distraction.”
Jackpot.
I take his hand and lead him to the other end of the bar.
And he simply follows.
Chapter 2
“B 9,” the announcer calls out to the drunken Bingo players. “B 9.”
“We’re glad your cancer is benign,” the crowd replies in unison.
Oh yes, we’re in that kind of place.
“So, stranger,” I say to my new friend. “What do you do when you’re not letting young women pick you up at a bar?”
“Well.” His face flushes a bit. “I’m a writer.”
I nod, impressed. “Ah, very cool. And what put you on that path?”
He tips his head and stills for a moment. “A love for Salinger, I guess.”
“Oh, no.” I cringe. “Don’t tell me. The Catcher in the Rye?”
“Among others.” Now he nudges me. “What?” He studies my face. “You don’t like one of the best books of all time?”
“It’s not that I hated it or anything, I just didn’t get it.”
He scrunches up his face and takes a deep breath, “Well, there’s this kid, Holden Caulfield, and he’s expelled from school.”
“No,” I interrupt. “I understand the story. But I guess it really didn’t speak to me.”
“What?” he asks, shaking his head.
“Calm down, Holden,” I say in the most soothing voice I can muster. “We don’t have time for a literary argument right now. We have an important game of Bingo to play.”
“Holden, huh?” He scratches his head and messes his hair even more, while I fight the urge to put my fingers in it.
“Mmmhmm,” I say before I grab our Bingo cards. “It’s the perfect name for you.”
“Okay, okay,” he says, looking me over. “Well, if I’m Holden, then you’re Scout.”
“Pardon?” I question while reaching over the bar to grab two blotters for the game.
“Scout from To Kill a Mockingbird?”
“Why Scout? She’s a little kid,” I say a bit insulted.
“Yeah,” he agrees. “But she’s smart, spunky, and wise beyond her years.”
“I like that,” I say, again without thinking.
“Me too.” He takes the blotter from my hand, touching my fingers a little longer than necessary.
My stomach flips and I pray my face does not betray me with a blush.
This is going very well. Still, I need to get a handle on the situation. This is not a date. It’s a sleazy pick-up, one that will hopefully end in a one-night stand. Then maybe I can undo everything Thomas did to me. It’s all about control. And if I can do this, maybe I can take control of my life again. I like the sound of it.
I just hope it works this time.
“Alright, Holden. Let’s see if you can run two cards at the same time.”
And with perfect timing, the announcer calls out a fan favorite. “O 69,” he bellows. “Happy meal. O 69.”
This time I join in with the crowd, “Ten toes up. Ten toes down. O 69.”
Holden raises an eyebrow in my direction and I shrug. When at Rye’s …
After a few rounds, we’re both pretty into the game and when “B 4” rings out from the microphone, Holden yells, “Not after but before.”
He’s seriously cute. Okay, not cute. Sexy—as hell. I might actually take pleasure in what comes after this.
I check my phone for the ti
me. Yes, it’s now or never.
“Shoot,” I say, leaning into Holden a little. “I need to catch the bus. The last one leaves in five minutes.”
He pulls his eyebrows together and frowns. “But I was just getting the hang of the game.”
Come on, come on.
“You should stay and play. Pervy Santa is a blast once you get to know him. You won’t even miss me.”
“I doubt that, Scout.” He sucks on his bottom lip and I’m lost for a minute.
Offer me a ride, goddammit!
“I have a car here,” he says.
And…
“I could give you a ride home if you want to stay for another game.”
There we go.
“Okay,” I say, trying not to jump up and down with joy. “I’d like that.”
***
Two hours and a few drinks later, someone yells out a final Bingo. The players are all feeling pretty good at this point, myself included. Holden switched over to water a while ago, like the responsible gentleman I’ve learned he is, so he is totally composed.
The announcer collects the last of the cards, but before the crowd can grow restless, the bartender turns up the music. Soon everyone is singing to classic Pearl Jam.
Holden looks at me, his eyes grow dark. He holds me there for a long moment before sweeping my hair off my shoulder. He leans in and his proximity does amazing things to my skin. It’s buzzing, begging to be touched.
“Wanna dance?” he whispers in my ear.
Yes.
“To Eddie Vedder,” I scoff. “Really?” I haven’t danced since that night, and though I so want to get closer to Holden, I’m scared. This game has become increasingly difficult to play.
“Really,” he says, reaching for my hand.
I try to empty my mind as he pulls me into a corner. Nobody’s dancing, but most people are too trashed to notice us in the dark. Holden pulls me close and I breathe him in. He smells like pine and spice and fire.
Winter.
My body adheres to his every contour, so tight not even light can pass between us. He wraps an arm around the small of my back while his other hand climbs up, securing around my neck.
I rest my cheek on his chest and he begins to move. The music teases me and my body responds, swaying slowly to the heavy beat. It feels better than I care to admit.