Unforgettable

by Alexander, S. B.

  But when Lucas and I had decided to throw a party to celebrate our bowl championship, Haven thought it would be good to at least have a cake. I could do a cake. I just didn’t want a birthday to overshadow our huge win.

  I had my fingers on a glass when Franklin waltzed in, looking relaxed in jeans and a buttoned-up shirt, a stark contrast to his expensive lawyer suits. On his arm was my aunt Kari, who was prettier than I remembered. Maybe Franklin had something to do with her glow or rosy cheeks. Regardless, her dark hair was pulled up in a messy bun, and her gray eyes were clear and bright—a big difference from when she’d been in town for the funeral.

  Franklin and I exchanged a hug before I wrapped my aunt Kari in my arms. “I’m so happy you guys are here.”

  Aunt Kari kissed me then started talking to Haven as both moseyed over to the dining room table, which held tons of food.

  Franklin poured himself some scotch. “Take a walk with me.” He sounded serious, like something bad had happened.

  We found a quiet spot out back on the other side of the pool, away from my guests who were hanging out on the patio.

  “What’s going on?”

  He regarded me with panic in his dark eyes. “I’m getting married to your aunt.”

  A heavy sigh jetted from me. “Man, I thought you had bad news. Congrats. But why do you look pale?”

  “I guess I’ve been nervous to tell you. She’s your family, and I didn’t know how you would take it.”

  I clapped him on the back. “I’m excited for you and her. My mom would be too, man.”

  Franklin finally smiled, releasing any tension he’d had when he came in. “You’re right. Kari said the same thing. So will you be my best man?”

  “Fuck yeah.”

  It seemed as though we were moving on with our lives, and while we needed to, my heart still hurt, although it wasn’t as painful as time went on.

  “What about you?” Franklin asked, sipping his scotch. “Do you plan on popping the question?”

  “One day at a time, man. There are days my motto is ‘one hour at a time.’ But there is no doubt that Haven and I will marry. Probably when she graduates.” She was only a freshman. I was a junior. We both had to finish college.

  Franklin flicked his head at my girl, who was walking toward us. “She’s a great lady, and she loves you.”

  Haven snuggled up to me. “I hear congrats are in order, Franklin.” Her voice was light and happy.

  “Thank you,” Franklin said. “I should go find my bride-to-be.” He headed into the house.

  I lifted Haven’s left hand up to my lips. “You will be my bride one day.”

  She snickered. “I know. But I’m in no rush. I’m yours forever, Ryker James, with or without a piece of paper that says we’re married.”

  I briefly looked up at the dark sky, thanking my guardian angel for bringing Haven and me together. I believed my mom and Leigh had had something to do with guiding my fate, and for that, the hole in my heart closed a little bit more.

  I would never get over losing them, but with Haven at my side, I knew without a doubt that I was going to be okay.

  Dear Reader

  I hope you enjoyed reading Ryker and Haven’s story. When you have a moment, I would super appreciate a quick review. It doesn’t have to be long, but would love for you to share your excitement about Unforgettable. You can leave a review on Amazon, Goodreads or Bookbub . Links to these platforms can be found on the next page.

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  Want a sneak peek into another football romance? Turn the page to read the first chapter of Breaking Rules.

  Breaking Rules

  Chapter 1 - Montana

  I ran down the empty hall of the brick building that I now called my school. Argh! Another new school. Another new town. More strange people to ignore. More teachers to yell at me. More classes to fail. I wanted to scream holy hell at my mother. Actually, I had done just that before I stormed out of the house like a hurricane about to hit this coastal Southern town.

  I hated my mom at the moment. We had one of those tense mother-daughter relationships. She was constantly complaining about something I’d done, and I was constantly complaining about her many boyfriends. Granted, it was partly my fault we were on our second move in the last year. I’d gotten expelled from my last school for defacing the walls of the gym with my beautiful artwork. Not only that, I ran with a wild crowd that, according to Mom, was only going to get me in more trouble.

  “New York City is full of opportunities for teenagers to get into trouble,” she’d said during an argument.

  My response had been, “Then you should’ve thought about that before you decided to live close to your publisher.”

  With my tardy note in hand, I skidded to a halt outside my computer science class, when a five-foot girl barreled out, dancing on one foot then the other.

  The edge of the door hit me square in the forehead. The sudden excruciating pain made me wince. “Fuck.” I had a mouth on me, thanks to a couple of my mom’s former boyfriends. Nevertheless, I narrowed my gaze down at the bouncing brown-haired girl.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. I have to pee. I have a small bladder.” With a painful expression on her rosy face, she ran down an empty hall, spewing the word “yikes” several times until a door creaked and she was gone.

  I held my forehead. No doubt a bruise would be forming. Great! I was officially the new girl with a third eye on her head. I dared anyone to bully me on the subject.

  A bald-headed man holding a dry-erase marker greeted me at the door. “May I help you?” he asked in a curt tone.

  Jeepers. I didn’t even get, “Are you all right?” Yep, my senior year should be one crazy ride. I mean, if my first day was starting off with a painful bang, I couldn’t imagine how the rest of the day or entire year would even go. All I knew—I was the new kid on the block, and that sucked the big one.

  I handed my late slip to the bald-headed man, whose name—Mr. Salvatore—was scripted on my note. He glanced at it then back at me with lines creasing around his dark eyes. “Name?”

  “Montana Smith.”

  “Well, Ms. Smith, you’re extremely late. Take a seat.” He balled up the note then tossed it in the trash can.

  I stifled a yawn as I strode into the room with my hand still attached to my forehead. It was useless to tell the teacher I’d overslept, as did my mom. We’d been up all night, unpacking boxes. Regardless, late was late, and nothing I did or said would correct that.

  Beady eyes flickered my way. While other students took my arrival to check their cell phones underneath their desks, I searched for an empty seat and found two. One was in the front row, which wasn’t happening. The other seat was tucked away in the back next to a window. Wow! Pay dirt! At my last school, that seat would have gone for high dollar.

  I crossed the room then down the aisle until I reached the empty desk. I was about to drop my backpack at my feet, when the boy in the seat next to mine peered up at me with brooding sea-green eyes and the longest lashes on the planet. I wasn’t exaggerating. His lashes fell to the tip of his strong patrician nose. Maybe I was stretching the truth a bit. I didn’t give a shit. All I saw was a boy with eyes that dampened my panties.

  I shuddered, the act snapping me out of the lustful world I lived in. I didn’t ogle guys too much, and I wasn’t a slut, but a girl had needs. Mine were stronger than most, at least among my friends at my last school—the same friends I’d had to say good-bye to. A growl zipped around in my head.

  “Ms. Smith.” Mr. Salvatore said my name as though it was a swear word.

  I snarled over my shoulder.

  He dipped his bald head. “Seat. We’re all waiting on you.”

  Well, keep waiting while I admire.

  The corner of Gorgeous Brooder’s mouth turned up. Bingo! He liked me. Who wouldn’t like me? I had long, wavy blond hair, t
he kind that boys liked to run their fingers through. I was sassy. Okay, the spunkiness in me could fill up a high-rise building in New York City. I had no shame. Oh, and I didn’t give two cents about what people thought of me.

  “You should sit down,” a girl with a mousy voice said to me from the desk in front of mine. “The teacher will send you to the principal’s office.”

  I laughed. Then my mom’s words ran through my head. “Remember, no trouble.” My reply to her had been, “Remember, you promised we would spend time together.”

  The teacher cleared his throat.

  Gorgeous Brooder Boy, who wore a black T-shirt with the words “Funk You” spray-painted in red, raised a thick eyebrow then lowered it as he sized me up.

  Goose bumps bloomed to life over my entire body. I knitted my eyebrows more at myself than at Funk You. Goose bumps were for those girls who got all mushy over a boy. I wasn’t one of those girls. Sure, I loved boys and sex and having a good time, but mushiness and love didn’t fit into my life or vocabulary, not after I’d gotten my heart ripped out of my chest by the only boy I ever loved. Not to mention, I’d seen my mom get hurt too many times when one of her dates dumped her.

  Mousy Girl dug her fingers into my arm, breaking me out of my stupor. Instead of snarling at her, I planted my ass in the hard wooden chair.

  Mr. Salvatore glared at me one last time before he resumed writing on the dry-erase board.

  I stole a look at Funk You to find he was piercing those sea-green eyes of his right through me. What I wouldn’t have given to have his long lashes tickle every part of my body.

  I shivered. “What?” I asked in a low voice.

  He shook his head, grinning.

  I leaned over my desk until my boobs were pressed onto the top. His gaze flew to my cleavage.

  “Any parties in this town? Or do you know any taggers?” My fingers itched to show this clean town my colorful graffiti work. However, from the confusion on his face, he clearly didn’t know what a tagger was, or maybe he’d just never seen a set of size C cups before.

  I scratched that last thought. As mouthwatering as he was, I would bet he’d had those strong hands or even his thick lips on a set of ta tas. I held back a snort at that last word. I’d always found the boob slang funny, especially when a former beau of my mom’s used the word constantly.

  Mousy Girl whipped her blond head around, her ponytail swaying. “Shhh.”

  “That bruise on your head is growing,” Funk You said in a Southern drawl.

  Automatically, I touched it as I squeezed my thighs together at the sound of his Southern accent, deep and smooth. I would have to thank Small-Bladder Girl for making her mark on me. “It’s nothing.” It hurt like a pisser. I also learned that phrase from one of my mother’s boyfriends. “Back to my question. Parties. Taggers. Music. Dance. Booze. Or is this a dry town like in the movie Footloose?”

  Mousy Girl sneered at me with her wide hazel eyes.

  “Seriously,” I said to her in a hushed whisper.

  At the moment, Mr. Salvatore was oblivious to the class as he wrote the syllabus on the board. It was the start of the school year, and the class already looked bored. Hardly anyone was writing. Bladder Girl came back in with a smile that wrapped around her head. I had to laugh. I knew how it felt when my back teeth were floating and my stomach hurt in pain from a full bladder.

  Funk You chuckled. “You always this forward?”

  “Do you always brood?”

  He lost the gorgeous smile as his light-brown hair fell over his forehead, and his eyes darkened. Or at least I thought they did. Scratch that. Fire burned in their depths.

  “Hey, I’m sorry. I tend to be…” I had to think of the word.

  “Rude?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “I wouldn’t say I was rude as much as I would say I call it like it is.”

  Mr. Salvatore turned around. “In this class, we’ll discuss theory and coding. I will also assign a senior project that you’ll learn more about tomorrow. In addition, we’ll spend one day per week in the computer lab either applying what you learn or working on your project.”

  Funk You began doodling in his notebook.

  I sat back and crossed my arms over my chest. With my low grade point average, I should have been paying more attention if I wanted to graduate, which I did. My goal for the year was to bury myself in books and study my ass off. At least that was the plan.

  “Pouting?” Funk You asked.

  I splayed my fingers on my cheek then lowered each one, leaving my middle finger showing.

  He chuckled.

  While Mr. Salvatore droned on about quizzes and grading, I rubbed my fingers lightly over the growing lump on my forehead.

  “Maybe you have a concussion,” Funk You said.

  “And maybe you have a stick up your ass.”

  “You know what happens to girls with feisty attitudes around these parts, Hannah Montana?”

  Heat squeezed the life out of my cheeks, thinking of all the naughty things he could do to punish me. But calling me Hannah Montana was enough to flare my nostrils like a bull in a ring. Everyone always thought they were hilarious when they blurted out “Hannah Montana.”

  He gave me a wry grin. “I hit a nerve.”

  “You know, I thought you were a badass when I first laid eyes on you. I was wrong.” My voice rose. “You’re a dick like the rest of the men on this planet.”

  Surprise, surprise. Thirty pairs of eyes, including the teacher’s, were now staring at me.

  “Ms. Smith.” Mr. Salvatore’s tone was icy. “I suggest you watch your language, and not another word for the rest of the class. This is your final warning.”

  He didn’t need to say “or else.” I knew the next step was heigh-ho, heigh-ho, off to the principal’s office I would go. At my last school, I’d lived in the principal’s office, mostly for mouthing off. Physical fights weren’t my thing. Then again, many students over the years had been afraid of me. Some girl I’d befriended once told me it was my confidence. Maybe so. Or maybe it was my height. I was about five foot eight, slender, big boobs, with a face that got the attention of a modeling agent, if that said anything about my beauty.

  As pathetic as it sounds, I was saved by the bell.

  Students pounded out of the classroom as though they were headed for a Black Friday sale. Funk You pushed to his feet, watching me the whole time.

  “You got a name?” I asked. “It’s not fair you know mine.”

  His thick lips split into an amazing smile that practically knocked me out of my chair. “Train Everly.”

  I thought about asking him why his parents had named him Train, but I had my own issues with my name. Besides, his name was super cool.

  I rose, trying to shake off the aftereffects of the explosion that had rocked my body from the minute I laid eyes on him. Then I began yelling in my head. Guys never affect me the way this dude does.

  “Well, Hannah Montana. We have beach parties. We don’t dance. We do drink. And if you don’t like music, then you’re not welcome at our parties.”

  I clenched my fist as I headed for the door, wanting desperately to go all Muhammad Ali on him even though he had me soaked to my core, but Mr. Salvatore held up his hand when I reached his desk.

  I puffed out air as I frowned at Mr. Salvatore. “I know. My mouth. I talk too much. I have to pay attention. And if I don’t, you’ll send me packing.”

  Pressing his lips into a thin line, he smoothed his fingers over his mustache. “I give students two chances. You’ve used one today.”

  Yippee. I loved rules… not.

  I saluted him like a sailor, thanks in part to a military dude who dated my mother. Oh yeah, I had a closet full of male stereotypes that I’d learned a habit or two from. That was how many men my mom had dated.

  I dashed out and ran smack into Small Bladder Girl.

  Her big brown eyes danced with excitement. “Hi. I’m Elvira. You’re new here.”

  I
nodded. “Well, Elvira, do you have to pee again?”

  She was swaying back and forth as she held her backpack. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry about your head. It looks like it hurts.”

  “Nah. I’ll live.” My gaze traveled down the hallway as though imaginary hands had guided my head that way. Train was talking, or more like arguing, with Brad Pitt’s twin. Yum.

  Elvira tracked my line of sight. “Which one? Train or my cousin, Austin?”

  “Do all the boys in this school look like they belong in Hollywood?”

  Elvira busted out laughing.

  “I’m Montana, by the way, and don’t you dare make a reference to that Miley Cyrus show.”

  She snorted. “I wouldn’t dream of it. I hate when people start singing that Elvira song. My mom loved the Oak Ridge Boys, so I’m stuck with the aftermath of her desires.”

  It was my turn to snort. “My mom decided to name me after the state I was born in.”

  “It seems we’ll get along just fine, then. Come on. I’ll introduce you to Austin, and you can call Train a dick again. Austin will love to hear that.”

  “I’m not so sure Train will,” I said more to myself than to her.

  When I skirted around a Gothic boy, I spied a blonde rushing up to Austin as though she was eager to talk to him. “Who’s the blonde who just walked up to Austin?”

  “That’s Reagan. She was sitting in front of you in computer class. She has a thing for Austin.”

  I didn’t recognize Mousy Girl. Then again, I’d had a front row seat to the back of her head.

  “Train,” a deep male voice shouted from behind us.

  I tossed a look over my shoulder and was met with a football soaring through the air with my name on it. Elvira grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward the lockers just as a whirring noise clipped by my ear.

  Jeez. This school was more dangerous than the halls of my last high school in New York.

  Train caught the ball like an NFL player.

  “Good thing he plays football,” Elvira muttered.