“Not really.” I steal a glance in her direction, unable to help myself. Our gazes meet, and she looks away quickly, as if she’s embarrassed she got caught watching me.
I don’t look away though. I’m willing her to return her gaze to mine, hating all the old, uncomfortable feelings coming back to me. It’s like I’m seventeen again and I’m in love with a girl who doesn’t want to give me the time of day. I’m annoyed with my controlling mother and frustrated with this beautiful girl who doesn’t want anyone to know we’re actually seeing each other.
That was the Eli of old’s struggles, and I hated feeling like that. I hate worse feeling like that now.
“I always thought you two would get married,” Mom says wistfully, as if she’s already dreamed up the wedding. “Such a shame it ended.”
“Yeah well, we’ve both moved on,” I say, relief flooding me when a server approaches our table and asks for our drink order. I only ask for water. Mom orders a glass of wine.
“You can drink with me, you know,” she says once the server leaves. “You’re of legal age now.”
“Gee thanks for giving me your permission,” I say sarcastically, hating the wounded look that crosses her face. I exhale loudly and scrub my hand over my jaw. “Sorry. I don’t want to drink and then have to drive home.”
“You could stay the night. Your room is still pretty much intact,” Mom suggests.
“Still don’t want to risk getting behind the wheel after a couple of beers. What if I got a DUI?” My college football career would be over. Wrecked because I threw a couple back with my mother.
No thank you.
One thing I’ve noticed—people with a drinking problem don’t like to drink alone. In social situations, Mom is always encouraging whoever she’s with to drink. I didn’t understand it when I was younger, but now I get it.
She doesn’t want to be the only one, and when she is, it makes her feel like the spotlight is on her. When other people drink with her, it makes her drinking feel more socially acceptable.
We make small talk. She asks me about school. I ask her about her friends. She tells me how they took a girls’ trip to the coast. I let her know how the football team is doing. We dance around other subjects, like me and Ava, or her and Ryan. My older brother barely texts her, let alone calls her, and she’s upset about it. I try to tell her Ryan’s off doing his own thing, but she won’t listen to me.
I think she enjoys being mad at him.
“Have you spoken to your father lately?” Mom asks, after the server brings us our meals. I got a cheeseburger, but I can already tell I’m not feeling it. I’m not that hungry, too fuckin’ aware of the girl still sitting in this restaurant, ruining my vibe.
I shake my head and munch on a French fry. “Not in a while.”
“He’s the worst,” she practically spits out. “Off gallivanting with other women when he should be working and spending time with his children.”
I withhold my eye roll. She’s always harping on the fact that Dad is dating other women. She hated him when they were together. She hates him more now that they’re apart. It’s frustrating.
“The children are both grown, Mom,” I remind her. “He doesn’t need to spend time with us.”
“He didn’t much when you and your brother were young either. You have to admit you’re not close to him,” Mom says.
I’m not. And we’re even more distant. We’re all distant. I tolerate Mom because she’s got no one else beyond her friends, and they have lives. They can’t coddle her all the time. Ryan doesn’t want to deal with her because she always ends up getting angry at him. I think he reminds her of Dad.
My family life sucks.
I think of the Callahans and how fucking wholesome that bunch is. They’re a family who truly love each other, and who accept each other unconditionally. I liked being a part of their family. It killed me that I couldn’t celebrate Ash’s jersey retirement with them. I didn’t even speak to her parents, too worried her dad wanted to beat my ass or her mom wanted to give me a bunch of shit for treating their daughter terribly.
It hurts, what happened between Ava and me. Losing her—and her entire family. It hurts worse that she’s sitting with Gracie across the room and I can’t talk to her.
I feel like I’m slowly dying inside.
When Mom spots the server and orders another glass of wine, I decide to let my feelings be known once he’s gone.
“You told me you weren’t drinking as much anymore,” I say, my tone accusing.
She lifts one shoulder, her expression impassive. “What’s a couple of glasses of wine?”
“For you, it’s a sign you’re probably drinking too much again,” I say.
Her eyes narrow. “Don’t you judge me. None of you are around anymore. I’m lonely. What else am I going to do?”
“Take up a new hobby? Binge watch something on Netflix? Exercise? Hang out with your friends?” I suggest. “There are a lot of other things you can do besides drink.”
She waves a hand, dismissing my words. “A little wine never killed anybody. In Europe, they consider drinking a glass of wine every day good for you.”
“That’s a glass with dinner. Not four.” Or an entire bottle, which she’s been known to do.
“I don’t need you judging me for my choices.”
“Why not? No one else does.”
A sigh leaves her. “I don’t want to fight with you, so stop. Let’s finish our meal.”
We do so in silence, and I quietly watch as Ava and Gracie leave the restaurant. Ava doesn’t bother looking in my direction. Gracie glances over her shoulder at the last second, right before she exits the place, and offers me a quick little wave.
I lift my hand in acknowledgement, hating how my stomach churns. I barely ate my dinner and I feel like I could throw it all back up.
“You look sad,” Mom says, and I realize she saw Ava leave the restaurant too. “You should try and work it out with Ava.”
“She doesn’t want me,” I say morosely, not knowing for sure if that’s true, but going with it anyway.
“Oh, you’re just saying that. You two were together for four years. You don’t just stop loving someone after that long,” Mom says.
She should know. Despite her hatred for my father, she still loves him too.
That’s half the reason she hates him, I think.
“Don’t let yourself become bitter,” Mom says, pulling my attention back to her. “Don’t let yourself become me.”
I stare at her, noting the vulnerability on her face. This is the realest she’s been with me in a while. “You’re not bitter—”
She laughs, and even it sounds bitter. “Don’t lie, Eli. It’s not becoming. My favorite trait of yours is that you’re always truthful. Even when it hurts or is rude. You at least always tell it like it is. I need that from you, son. I need it from you more than you know. And that’s why I’m trying to be truthful with you.”
“I just worry about you,” I admit, my voice low. “When you drink—”
“I know,” she interrupts, pushing the wine glass away from her. “I shouldn’t drink as much. And you shouldn’t be so stubborn. Go to her. Talk to her. Tell her you’re sorry.”
“I’m not so—”
“Eli,” she interrupts again. “Don’t lie to yourself, and don’t lie to me either. Talk to Ava. Send her a text and tell her you want to meet up or whatever.”
I can’t. I blocked her ass from everything months ago, like the impulsive dick I am. It was easier to block her. That way I didn’t have to see her posts when she was in Spain, looking beautiful and having the time of her life. I didn’t have the temptation to call or text her and admit that I missed her. Blocking her was saving my sanity.
And ruining my chances to ever make it right between us.
I think about what my mother said the entire drive back to her house. After dropping her off, I don’t head to Fresno. I turn my car around and head north, back up the moun
tain. Until I find myself driving slowly through Ava’s parents’ neighborhood, shutting off the headlights on my car as I pull in front of her home and park. I stare up at the massive house the Callahans live in for a moment, my gaze automatically going to Ava’s window.
The light is on. A couple of windows down, another light is on.
Beck’s room.
No lights are on downstairs and I check the time. It’s past nine, still pretty early, meaning her parents could be awake. Tucked into the couch in the family room, snuggled up together as they watch something to end their night, which is their usual ritual.
Should I chance it? Or just go home?
Fuck it, I’m doing it.
I slip out of the car, as if I’m in pure stealth mode, shutting the door quietly and sneaking across the front lawn, heading for the side of the house. I’m keeping with the ‘I feel like I’m seventeen again’ mood and come to a stop in front of the trellis that’s attached to the wall, leading right up to the second story.
Right up to Ava’s bedroom window.
I crawled up it a couple of times when we were in high school. Sneaking into her room like a crazy asshole, and she loved every minute of it. We would hook up anywhere we could when we first got together. In the back of my car or hers. In that old cabin Jackson’s uncle owned. Her bedroom. My bedroom. That one night after she won homecoming princess and was still wearing the crown when I fucked her the first time.
She was my princess then. She’s still my princess now, if she’ll let me into her room.
Reaching out, I give the trellis a firm shake, ignoring the worry streaking through me. I’m bigger than I was at seventeen. I’m more muscular, I’m taller and I weigh more. This is risky shit right here.
But I’m not one to let risk hold me back, so I grab onto the trellis and start climbing the wall, wincing when I hear something snap. Bracing myself for the inevitable fall.
Luckily, I’m still in one piece, attached to the wall like a modern-day Spider-Man.
Once I’m at the base of her window, I knock lightly. Three times with a pause in between knocks, like we used to do. I wait, clinging to the wall, my arms starting to shake.
She doesn’t come. Doesn’t lift away her curtains to peek outside, nothing.
Fuck.
I knock again, before whispering her name.
“Ava. It’s me.”
Still nothing.
I readjust my position on the trellis, the wood creaking beneath my weight as a piece breaks away from the wall. Quickly I glance at the ground, realizing if I fall it’s a long way down until I hit grass, and I pray to God that if I do fall, I won’t break a fucking bone.
Why the hell did I think this would be a good idea again?
Deciding I don’t give a shit, I raise my voice and let myself be heard.
“Damn it, Ava, let me in,” I practically yell, wincing when my voice carries in the quiet night.
The curtains are pushed open and there she is, standing in front of her window, her expression full of shock as she takes me in.
My eyes eat her up, my entire body breaking out in a sweat. Her hair is pulled up into a sloppy bun on top of her head and she’s wearing an oversized red Fresno State T-shirt that’s old and faded.
She’s beautiful.
When she opens the window, and I see her face, I realize she’s also really pissed.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she bites out, sounding hostile.
“I came to talk to you,” I say, keeping it casual. Like it’s no biggie that I climbed up the side of the house to do so.
“Can’t you call like a normal person?”
I don’t bother answering. The trellis trembles beneath my hold, letting me know it can’t take my weight much longer, and I reach a hand out to her, grateful the screen is still off her window. Can’t believe her dad never had it replaced. “Pull me in before I fall to the ground and break my arm.”
She grabs my hand, both of us ignoring the electricity that sparks between us as she braces her feet and tugs with all her might. I help her, pushing my way through the window, until I’m tumbling onto the floor of her teenaged bedroom.
Being inside this room is giving me major flashbacks, all of them pleasant. Nothing bad happened between us in this room, and that gives me hope.
“You need to leave,” she says as soon as she shoves the window closed.
I remain where I’m sitting on the floor and tilt my head, trying to catch a glimpse underneath that giant T-shirt she’s wearing. I don’t see shorts. All I see are her long legs, which tells me she might have some panties on under that thing and nothing else. “But I just got here.”
“I don’t want to talk to you tonight.” She turns to face me, irritation written all over her pretty face when she catches me staring. “And stop trying to look up my shirt.”
My girl knows me so well.
I hop to my feet and start pacing, unable to stop myself. Pacing helps me think, I swear. “I need you to hear me out.”
“No. I don’t have to, Eli. We’re not together anymore. You can’t boss me around and you definitely can’t march back into my life as if you never left it.” She stomps straight toward me and thrusts her index finger into my face, wagging it like a pissed-off teacher. “You broke my heart. I can’t forgive you so easily for that.”
“You broke my heart too, you know. It’s like my feelings didn’t even matter in your decisions,” I throw at her.
“I’m starting to wonder if you even have a heart,” she tosses back as she takes that weaponized index finger and pokes me in the chest, like she’s trying to find it. “I don’t miss you, Eli. Not one. Single. Bit.”
She pokes me every time she says a word and damn it, that finger hurts.
“You’re such a fuckin’ liar, Princess.” She winces when I call her that and before she can drop her hand, I grab her wrist, holding it to my chest. “You miss me so damn bad. I haunt your dreams. And your nightmares. You probably touch yourself in the middle of the night while you think about me. Am I right?”
Her green eyes are wide and blazing with an emotion I don’t really recognize, which I don’t like. What is this girl thinking? I’ve had her so figured out the last few years, and now she feels like a mystery again.
“You’re disgusting,” she whispers.
I tug her closer, her body colliding with mine. “You really believe that? I’m disgusting? Such harsh words for the guy who stole your cherry.”
“That right there is why I think you’re disgusting.” She makes a face, a shuddery breath leaving her. “Who calls it a cherry?”
“That’s what I took though, right? My virgin girlfriend who hasn’t been with anyone else. You were all mine. You belonged to me,” I whisper, my grip on her wrist lessening as I gently stroke her skin with my thumb. “Do you still?”
She jerks her arm from my hold, taking a step back. As if she needs the space. “That’s none of your business.”
Anger floods me, ripping through my veins, simmering beneath my skin. Has she actually been with someone else while I’m over here saving myself for her like a chump? “What kind of answer is that?”
“The kind of answer you deserve, considering you’re not my boyfriend anymore,” she says, her voice hard.
I can’t help myself—I chase her around her bedroom. Around her bed. She shrieks when she glances over her shoulder and spots my intense expression. Anticipating her every move, I lunge for her when she tries to make her way toward the walk-in closet and end up tackling her onto the bed.
I’m on top of her and we’re both breathing hard, my face in hers. She doesn’t have a lick of makeup on and she smells fragrant, like her favorite body lotion. Memories come back of me exploring all that smooth skin with my mouth and fingers. How good it always was between us, even when we argued.
Sometimes it was really fucking spectacular after we argued.
“Get off me.” She bucks her hips against mine in a weak at
tempt to get rid of me, but I’m huge compared to her. It does nothing but remind me of how soft and pliant she is beneath me. “I’m going to knee you in the balls if you don’t get up, Eli. I mean it.”
“I’d love to see you try.” I lower my face to hers, our mouths aligned, our gazes locked. “Fuck, you’re sexy when you’re mad. I miss you, baby. So damn much. Why are we fighting this?”
Her expression hardens, her lips thinning. “You’re the one who broke up with me.”
“You left me.”
“I was coming back,” she reminds me, and I close my eyes, pressing my forehead against hers.
“This is stupid. The back and forth shit is getting old,” I whisper. “You want to be with me?”
She’s quiet, as if she doesn’t want to admit it first.
I get it. I don’t want to say it first either.
Restraint slipping from me, I lower my mouth to hers. That first moment they touch, sparks fly between our lips and the kiss immediately turns explosive. It’s seeking tongues and low gasps and sweet moans. It’s my hand slipping beneath the hem of her T-shirt to find she’s only wearing skimpy panties and tracing the crease where her thigh meets her hip. It’s the whimper that escapes her when I do that.
It’s everything. How responsive she is. How we reach for each other as if we’ve never stopped. Her hands beneath my shirt, stroking my back, pulling me closer on top of her. We kiss each other hungrily, as if we’re starving and we’re the only ones who can satisfy each other. It’s frantic. Sloppy.
And then it’s as if she’s filled with otherworldly strength and she’s shoving me off of her and I have no choice but to roll over onto my side, watching in confusion as she scrambles off the bed and starts pacing the room like I did only moments ago.
“Please leave,” she says shakily as she touches her mouth with trembling fingers. “I can’t keep doing this, Eli.”
Sitting up, I run a hand through my hair. My fingers are quaking too. My entire body feels as if it’s buzzing, surges of adrenaline coursing through me. “Ava…”
“No.” She shakes her head, that loose bun on top of her head tipping to the side. “Don’t try and convince me. You’re right, I can’t handle all of this back and forth stuff either. It’s too—hard on me.”
The Senior (College Years Book 4) Page 8