Solving for Ex

by LeighAnn Kopans

  He murmured, “I didn’t see it. I can’t believe I couldn’t see it.”

  “It was my fault,” I said. His eyebrows scrunched in, his expression confused. “I should have told you right away, as soon as I knew they were hacking the system, I wish…”

  “Ashley, I swear this is the last time I will ever say this to you. But please. Just. Shut. Up.” He came two steps closer, and stopped right in front of me.

  He smelled like aftershave and wet T-shirt. It was all I could do not to close my eyes and breathe him in. He looked down, blew out a breath, then looked into my eyes.

  “I love you,” he said. “I’ve loved you since the first time you made me climb that damn water tower. That look on your face when you got to the top…like you’d never been so happy. I knew I should be terrified, but all I remember is how beautiful you were. Nothing pissed me off more than seeing you with Vincent, even though I threw Sofia in your face. That’s when I really knew. And now, with this whole Mathletes bullshit…you did the right thing, Ash. No one else would have stood up to her. But you did. And I love you for that.”

  “Brendan, I…”

  “You don’t have to say anything back.” He stepped away, and stared down at the floor again. “I just wanted you to know. And I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you sooner. Didn’t…realize it sooner.” He swallowed so hard I could hear it, then raised his eyes to mine.

  Well, an electric fence couldn’t have kept me away from him then. In one smooth motion, I stepped forward, grabbed the front of his shirt with both hands, pulled his body to mine, and kissed him full on the mouth. In a split second, his hands cradled my face, his fingers threading through my hair. His lips moved against mine, desperate, hungry.

  The world exploded. My heart thrummed in my chest, or maybe it was his pounding against mine. Nothing mattered but getting closer to him. I wrapped my arms around him and dug my fingers into his back. Suddenly, there was nothing I hated more in the whole world than the thick, soaking-wet fabric that separated my skin from his.

  My hands moved under his shirt at the same time my tongue pushed into his mouth. He tasted like cinnamon gum and rain, and nothing was going to stop me from devouring every inch of him. He groaned and pressed in deeper, but then pushed away.

  We stood there, foreheads together, gasping, before I managed, “Don’t stop.”

  “What are we doing? What is this, Ash?”

  “This is me, telling you I love you too. Always have.”

  He closed his eyes, and smiled that goofy smile that always melted my heart, no matter how many times I wanted to kill him. He started kissing me again, and after a few seconds I pressed my palms against his chest.

  “Let’s take care of this wet shirt.” I pulled it up over his head and tossed it next to the dry one he’d pulled from the dresser, now long forgotten. He grabbed my waist, pulling me into him again, and when his fingers played under the hem of my shirt, I went for the button at the front of his jeans.

  “Whoa, whoa,” he said, breathless again. “Are we…”

  I bit my lip and looked at him with huge puppy-dog eyes, nodding. My want for him was so intense I thought I would burst. I couldn’t imagine ever wanting anything more.

  His chest heaved and he walked backwards to his bedside table, pulling me along with him while kissing me again. He reached behind him, rummaging in the drawer of his bedside table and taking out a small square packet. I giggled into his mouth. Of course, Brendan would be prepared for anything. I laughed as he slid his hands down to my legs, picked me up, hitched my thighs around his waist, and carried me to the bed.

  And then, the only thing that existed in the entire world was me, and him, and his body, and mine, and this moment.

  I didn’t think about his strong hands as they clutched and pulled at my waist. I didn’t think about his lips and tongue tracing patterns across my collarbones, over my ribs, down my stomach. I didn’t analyze the delicious weight of his body pressing down on mine, or the all-consuming heat of skin on skin everywhere, all at the same time. Even in that one incredible instant when we became as close as two people could possibly be, I could only gasp, then sigh, then laugh, and only one thought ran through my mind, over and over:

  Brendan. Here. Mine.

  Finally.

  Ω

  After a lot of cuddling and kissing, and a second round, and a little bit of sleeping, Brendan’s kisses up and down my jawline woke me up to see the sun beginning to rise.

  “Oh, shit. I’ve gotta go.”

  “No,” he whined in the most adorable way possible, pulling me in to him even closer and tucking the covers around me, trapping me there. “Don’t go.”

  “Well, I’ll have to soon,” I murmured, pressing my lips to his shoulder. “Before they notice I was gone all night.”

  He groaned, drawing my lips up to his and kissing me hard. “Yeah, okay. But really. I mean it. Stay with me, Ash,” he said into my neck, his breath tickling the wispy hairs at the nape. “Forgive me for being such an asshole, and be…you know…mine.”

  I smiled and kissed his temple. “On one condition.”

  “What?” he said as his hand ran up the back of my thigh, stopping at the top, fingers playing at the skin there. “More of this?”

  I giggled and squealed, and used my legs to sandwich him and flip myself on top of him. Pulling the sheet to my chest with my right hand, I used my left to push my fingers through his hair, still amazingly, adorably floppy. “Never cut this short.”

  He grabbed the hand I was using to hold the sheet up, and pulled me down toward him, and kissed me hard. “Is that all I have to do?” he whispered against my lips.

  I pressed them into his cheek, then his chin, then the corner of his mouth, until he groaned and opened his lips against mine. I whimpered as his breath rushed into my mouth and his tongue played along my lower lip. At some point, he flipped me back down onto the mattress, and tangled his legs in mine. “And some of that,” I said, breathless.

  “You know,” he murmured, grazing his lips against my eyebrow, “Dad knows someone who knows someone in CMU housing.”

  “Of course he does.” I rolled my eyes.

  Brendan knew all my voices, the sarcastic one especially. “Hey, don’t knock it. Do you have any idea what that means? He got me a single room for next year.”

  My heart fluttered, then dropped into my stomach, which did the same. And then everything burned, low in my belly, and all of a sudden, I had to be close to him again. I pulled the sheet away from my body, and up over our heads. Brendan kissed me hard, his fingers playing along my collarbone and up my neck. And I didn’t think I’d ever feel sleepy again.

  The End

  I wouldn’t be able to publish a single word without the help of dozens of people. It never gets easier to write these thank-yous, mostly because there aren’t words enough to show appropriate thanks for the selflessness and expertise of every person who helps bring a book to publication. But I’ll try anyway.

  As always, first and foremost thanks go to my best friend, editor extraordinaire, and partner in publishing insanity, Jamie Grey. I’m so glad you’ve been by my side for all of this craziness.

  And to my publishing mentor and dear friend, Trisha Leigh – I would never have been able to do this publishing thing so confidently, or with nearly as great a sense of humor and perspective, without you. Thank you.

  Cait Greer saw this draft from its literal start to its literal finish, and so many steps in between. From brainstorming plot points to reading first drafts to serving as my official math editor to formatting this beauty for digital editions, I literally could not have made this book happen without you. Thank you.

  I would be remiss to leave Jane Austen out of the thank-yous, even though she passed away many, many years ago. Thank you for such poignant, heartbreaking, smart, and hilarious original material. There’s a reason so many people write reduxes of your work. I hope that this one, published on Mansfield Park’s 200th a
nniversary of publication, is worthy of your approval, wherever you are.

  To my earliest readers, Amanda Olivieri, Stephanie Diaz, Valerie Cole, Alexa Hirsch, Cait Greer, Darci Cole, Raven Ashley, and Alex Yuschik, thank you so much for your observations and suggestions that helped shape Solving for Ex into a final product, and for your support and reassurances. I absolutely could not have done this without you.

  To Becca Weston, my faithfully awesome copy editor, thank you so much for your time and attention to detail that brought this book to its final polish.

  Thanks go out to Hafsah Laziaf, who designed Solving for Ex’s cover. It’s absolutely perfect.

  Book bloggers and early readers are some of the most amazing people on the planet, and some of them have followed me to Young Adult Contemporary from my first two sci-fi books. To the bloggers and my devoted readers who have given so much cheerleading, early reviews, and unsolicited promo to this book, thank you, thank you, thank you.

  I wrote this book while on maternity leave after my littlest daughter, Peninah, was born. She won’t be able to read this for years, but I want to thank her for being the sweetest little infant, content to eat, be cuddled, sleep, and then sit in her baby seat or under her play mat for hours by my side, watching me type. Everyone thought I was crazy for having a fourth baby, Penny, but you’re the only one of my children who has ever let me write in peace – a miracle indeed. I’m glad you’re here.

  Last but certainly not least, thanks to my husband David for never thinking that writing books and publishing them is anything less than hard, worthy work. Not everyone has as much understanding, let alone support, from their spouses like I do from you, and I don’t take it for granted.

  Raised on comic books and classic novels, Leigh Ann developed an early love of science fiction and literature. As an adult, she rediscovered her love for not only reading, but also writing the types of fiction that enchanted her as a teen. Solving for Ex was born of her love for Jane Austen’s classics, and how they taught her that love stories could be funny and wickedly smart.

  Leigh Ann, her husband, and four children live in Columbus, Ohio. When she’s not immersed in the world of fiction, you can find her obsessing over the latest superhero movie or using her kids as an excuse to go out for ice cream (again.)

  Turn the page for a sneak peek at another YA romance—the upcoming Falling from the Sky by Nikki Godwin.

  FALLING FROM THE SKY

  by Nikki Goodwin

  Chapter One

  This is how it always starts. My lungs shut down, and I can’t breathe. My eyes glaze over like syrup on pancakes. My eardrums hit their mute button. The world freezes.

  At least until the plane is gone.

  My crazy grief counselor said I should pray about things. Pray about my dad and the other victims. Pray for the families who lost loved ones. Pray for Mom and Jordan. Pray for myself. I’m not big on prayer, but I did it anyway because I needed to do something to stay sane.

  So now I pray for airplanes, like it’ll really make a difference, but I don’t know what the hell to pray for exactly. A safe flight? No turbulence? A landing on the runway? Lame. How about a pilot who doesn’t fuck up and nosedive into a rainforest and burst into flames? If anything, I pray that they don’t end up like this—like me.

  Maybe I should’ve prayed for all of that before Flight 722 met its fate. Then maybe they wouldn’t have crashed into that rainforest. Maybe they wouldn’t have burst into flames and burned to death. Maybe the airlines would’ve realized the pilot was ultimately going to be responsible for killing the others onboard and replace him. And then, maybe my dad would still be here. I’d still have someone to practice free throws with me, and I’d still have someone to come to my games, and I’d still...

  “McCoy!” Terrence shouts. He pushes me toward the sidewalk. “I swear, one of these days there’s gonna be a headline that reads ‘Ridge McCoy hit by car while praying for airplane.’”

  I don’t even bother with an apology. Terrence has known me long enough to know that it just happens. I don’t mean to freeze in parking lots. I just do.

  “You know the guys at camp will think you’re a bit off if you do that in front of them,” he warns me.

  He told me the same thing this morning when I got to Dunson Hills Sports Camp. He met me in the parking lot and climbed into my car before we even signed in. Terrence plays basketball for the school a town over from me back home. I’m just glad to have a familiar face around this summer. He knows about my dad’s death and my airplane prayers and my fizzling relationship with Samantha. Fizzling is an understatement. We’re as charred as used firewood.

  “You know, we’re only here because you needed new shoes,” Terrence reminds me.

  I don’t need a reminder, though. These faded Nikes are about to be out of service for good. I’ve damn near run the soles off of them. I haven’t had the heart to ditch them since they were the last ones Dad watched me play in, but they won’t make it through the summer.

  We push through the double doors and enter the food court. Terrence walks over to the mall map and locates the sporting goods store where his cousin works.

  “I’m headed to see Demetrice, so holler if you need me,” he says.

  I nod. “I think I can handle buying shoes on my own.”

  Terrence laughs. “You might need some style advice.”

  He disappears into a crowd of people, leaving me alone with the mall map. I give it a quick once-over. I hate lingering around like I don’t know where in the hell I’m going. It can’t be that hard to find a shoe store, so I veer off in the opposite direction of Terrence. He may have style, but I don’t want any witnesses around in case I have a meltdown over replacing my Nikes.

  I find a shoe store wedged in between an airbrush shop and one of those stores that sells eighty-dollar jeans and plays techno music. The limited shoe display has nothing blue or silver on white. I’m not much for these neon colors.

  The music isn’t much better in here. This stupid pop song bleeds into the techno bass next door, and the only lyric I hear is the one asking me what I would do if I were falling from the sky. This is probably my dad’s way of telling me from the other side to run from this store because not only do their shoes suck, but their music screams “plane crash!” in the most effed up way. I push past the Adidas display in the entranceway and escape before the salesman chases me out of the store begging me to give the new yellow-on-black Nikes a second look. Maybe the mall’s other hemisphere will have better results.

  A faded white marble fountain sits in the center of the mall. Water rushes over the three tiers. Two small kids toss coins in and beg their mom to let them ride the carousel as I approach the fountain. I fish through my wallet for any loose change. I find a penny and weave it between my fingers, trying to think of a wish. I don’t really believe in wishing on pennies or shooting stars or 11:11, but right now, I need a wish. Or some good luck. Or just shoes. So that’s what I wish for – to find new shoes. I draw my arm back, and in my best jump shot form, toss the penny toward the highest tier.

  “Hey Jump Shot! You look lost!” a voice calls out to me.

  The guy who works the carousel stares at me with a goofy smile.

  “You look bored,” I holler back.

  Maybe that wasn’t the smartest move on my part. He climbs over the side of the booth and walks in my direction. He’s shorter than me, probably five-foot-seven, and he’s a lot thinner. If he wants a fight, I can take him. I stiffen my shoulders and watch him as he comes closer.

  “I am bored, but you’re still lost,” he says. “Summer camp?”

  I nod and relax my shoulders. “How’d you know?”

  “No one else would shoot a penny into the fountain like that,” he says.

  Now I feel like an idiot. Not only am I drawing unnecessary attention to myself by practicing my skills next to spinning horses, but I’m standing here like a lost tourist in front of some Native American guy who needs a haircu
t worse than I do, still wearing the broken-down Nikes I came to replace.

  He pulls a coin from his own pocket—carousel coin maybe?—and stares at it before drawing his arm back and throwing it into the fountain. For a second, I wonder what he wished for.

  “Where’s the best shoe store around here?” I get straight to my point, hoping he can answer and let me be on my way before his horses stop spinning.

  He points behind me. “Down there. Past the candy stand. It’s called Finish Line. They always have the best stock,” he says.

  “Thanks.” I turn my back to him and circle the fountain, heading toward Finish Line.

  I pull into a parking spot in front of the Dunson Hills Sports Camp sign-in office. Terrence and I go inside to officially sign our souls over for the summer. It’s just like any other sports season – signing a form saying you agree to the rules and understand the consequences of your actions followed by peeing in a cup to prove you’re not a stoner or meth head. At least I don’t have to deal with the lectures about keeping my grades up during summer camp.

  “Damn,” Terrence says once we’re outside. “They take shit for real around here.”

  Half of the guys on my ball team back home wouldn’t pass the preliminaries here. It’s a miracle we win any games at all. Terrence’s team always beats us, but he knows I got dealt a bad card when it comes to teammates. And my girlfriend. And my dad. Hell, my life is a losing card game.

  “See ya back at the room,” Terrence calls out from his car.

  I glance down at my new Nikes before I get into my own car. Carousel Guy was right. It didn’t take long to find blue-on-white with a silver Nike swish. I told the salesman I’d prefer to wear them out, and I avoided eye contact with him as he stuffed my ragged shoes into the box in their place. This is where Dad would talk about how new shoes are a start to a new season and a new chapter in my life, but he’s not here to say it, and I’m not as poetic as he was. I glance back at the Finish Line bag in my back floorboard. Letting those shoes go feels like Dad’s plane just crashed all over again. Those damn shoes are going in the trunk when I get to the room. I’m not letting them haunt me all summer.