If It's Only Love (Lexi Ryan)

Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Shay

February 24th, twelve years ago

Easton: Carter said you’re staying home when everyone visits next month.

Me: Sorry. I can’t believe you’re bringing all the Jacksons to LA. Big shot.

Easton: I miss everyone. I swear I’m not trying to show off.

Me: I’m just teasing you. I’m sure it’ll be awesome. Mom is buzzing about it. I hope you have fun.

Easton: Is everything okay?

Me: I have tests for school and I have to get my final papers done early before graduation.

Easton: Because you’ll be in New York while everyone else takes finals.

Me: Spying on me?

Easton: Carter and Jake crow about you like they’re responsible for your brain or something.

Me: That’s kind of sweet.

Easton: I wish you were coming.

I put my phone down and force myself to back away. It’s been less than two months since Easton spun

my world on its head and made me believe that someone like him could be attracted to me. No, not just

someone like him. He made me believe that he could be attracted to me. That he was attracted to me.

And that’s the kicker, because I don’t want someone like Easton. I never have. I want Easton. But I’m

no longer the twelve-year-old girl who’d follow him around when he stayed over on the weekend and

quietly dream of our future wedding. I’ve grown up, and I’m smart enough to know that’s not in the

cards for a girl like me. Easton very gently reminded me of that when he told me not to apply at UCLA.

I still want to hide every time I remember I said that. What did I think? That Easton was going to want a

college kid hanging around just because we fooled around in the middle of the night? Did I think he’d

miss out on all the women who throw themselves at him on a daily basis for me?

So I checked myself. Remembered the limits of our relationship: friendship. When I went back to school

after the holiday, I said yes to a date with Steve and decided it was time to force myself to get over

Easton Connor. I’ve been doing great at not obsessing over him too, and then he has to throw out an I wish you were coming?

It’s such a painful tease that I almost hate him for it. But I know that’s not fair. He’s just being my friend.

Like he always has.

My phone buzzes again, and I immediately snatch it off the counter to see if it’s another text from him.

I’m weak.

Easton: I hope you have the time of your life in New York. I expect you to tell me about it.

Me: Sure. I’ll post pics.

***

April 18th

Easton: Family reunion isn’t the same without you, Short Stack.

I read Easton’s text three times before I make myself flip my phone over and pretend I didn’t see it. I

have the house to myself, and my boyfriend and I are using the time to study. Because Steve and I are

just cool like that.

My family is in California at Easton’s, and I’ve spent the last two days since they left vacillating between

regret over my decision to stay home and relief that I was smart enough to make that choice. Despite

what I told my parents, I could’ve gone. I could’ve worked on my papers on the plane. My finals will be

a cakewalk. I don’t need to study much. But I’m here, and the riot of fluttery insects making a mess of

my stomach after just one text is enough to remind me I made the right choice. If I’d gone to L.A., I

would’ve left my heart there with Easton. And I can’t do that. I need my heart.

The cutie math nerd across the kitchen table from me might object to me giving it to someone else.

My phone buzzes again. I watch Steve scribble in his notebook before I look.

Easton: Hold up. Carter said you’re going to New York with your BOYFRIEND.

Me: Not exactly with him. My boyfriend is also in my honors English class and is going on the same trip.

Easton: You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend.

Me: I didn’t know you required updates on my love life.

Easton: Now you know. I require updates.

Me: His name is Steve. He’s smart and fun and sweet.

I stare at the screen too long. Aside from when he was asking me about the trip last month, we haven’t

gone back and forth texting like this since before New Year’s. He sends me goofy memes from time to

time, and we’re on a couple of group text loops together in which my brothers break down his games

play by play and he pretends to appreciate their advice when he has a whole team full of well-paid

professionals who know way more about football than they do.

He doesn’t reply. I bite back a sigh and put the phone down. I want to believe I’ve moved on, but a few

text messages from him still get me tied up in knots. Pathetic.

Steve looks up from his notebook and grins at me. His eyes cut to the clock meaningfully. When he

arrived tonight, he was all over me. I told him we had to study for one hour before we could make out.

Now time’s a-ticking.

I return his smile, my cheeks heating and my thoughts blessedly turning away from Easton and back to

Steve and an evening in the house alone. Right where they should be.

Then my phone buzzes again.

Easton: Is he good to you?

Me: I wouldn’t be with him if he weren’t.

Easton: So I guess this means . . .

I swallow hard. How do I tell him that I need him not to do this? How do I explain that his flirting messes

with me without revealing that I’ve had a crush on him my whole life? Because despite my stumble with

the UCLA thing, I think I’ve managed to hide the truth of my lifelong crush from everyone.

Me: It means I have a boyfriend, and I owe you no more secrets.

Easton: Ah. Message delivered. Have fun in New York. Behave.

Frowning, Steve pushes his notebook away and leans back in his chair. “Who’s blowing up your

phone?”

“Easton.” I bow my head and pretend to study the irregular verb conjugations for my French exam.

Steve clears his throat. “Easton Connor? You’re texting Easton Connor?”

I lift my head and smile. Steve’s eyes are wide, and he looks like a starstruck little boy. “You know he’s

a family friend.” I wave a hand, indicating the empty house. “And that he’s the reason we’re here alone

right now?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t know you texted with him.”

I shrug. “Not that often. He’s just thinking about me, since my family is there and I’m not.”

Steve pushes his chair back and walks around the table. Taking my hand, he pulls me out of my chair

and steps close. He’s tall—taller than Easton, even—and I have to crane my neck to look up at him.

Unlike Easton, with his effortless athletic grace, Steve is gangly and a little awkward. More than once

he’s reminded me of the Great Dane pup the neighbors adopted last year. The dog grew so fast that he

could hardly walk straight. Now, like every time the comparison comes to mind, I feel guilty for it. Steve

might not be an athlete, but he’s absolutely adorable. Anyway, it’s not like I’m some prize in the

physical beauty department.

He presses a chaste kiss to my lips. “I’m glad you decided to stay home.”

I loop my arms around his waist. “Are you?”

He dips his head and nuzzles my neck. “Yeah,” he says against my ear. “We have the whole house to

ourselves.” He skims his hand up my side and under my shirt, and I laugh. He stills and pulls back.

“Seriously?”

At the petulance in his tone, I train my expression to neutral. “Sorry. I’m ticklish.”

He blows out a breath and shakes his head. “I thought you were laughing at the idea of enjoying an

empty house with me.” He nods toward the clock. “Time for our study break.”

“I guess it is.” I skim my fingers over the sparse stubble on his cheek. He has no business trying to

grow a full beard, but he’s been working on this since Christmas break, and I’m not going to be the one

to tell him it needs to go. “What do you want to do?”

He arches a brow, as if this is the dumbest question in the world. “I mean, we could . . . You know . . .”

I frown. Steve’s pretty articulate. He doesn’t stumble over words, so his vague reply takes me a minute

to understand. “Sex?”

The word is a giant record scratch in the empty house.

“Wow. Not the reaction I was expecting.” He steps back, and my hands fall to my sides.

“Sorry, I just . . . I didn’t realize we were there.”

“Isn’t everyone?” His smile is a little goofy when he adds, “And when’s the next time we’re going to

have a house to ourselves like this? I want to take my time with you, not have some sloppy first time in

the back of my car.”

My jaw works. I appreciate the sentiment, but should we really be making the choice because it’s

convenient? “I don’t know.”

“We’re seniors. It’s not like we’re kids anymore.” He shrugs. “But maybe you don’t want to do that with

me. Whatever.”

I gape at him. He’s never acted like this, and I don’t like it. “Are you seriously pouting right now?”

“I’m not pouting.”

“Yes, you are. You’re pouting because I don’t want to have sex.”

“Maybe I’m just hurt. Did you think of that?” His chest rises and falls with his deep breath. “Shit. This

isn’t how I wanted this conversation to go. I sound like an ass.”

“Yeah.” I hug myself. “You really do.”

He turns to the table and messes with the stack of flashcards I have there. “Please forget I said

anything?”

Steve is a nice guy, and I meant it when I told Easton he was good to me. Jerks have no appeal. But

sex? I’m not even sure I love him.

I push away the thought quickly. Who said I have to be in love? I like him. I respect him. We have fun

together. Isn’t that enough? This is property © of NôvelDrama.Org.

I close the space between us, but he still feels miles away. I run a hand down his arm. “Hey. I’m sorry I

freaked out, but I need you to understand that my freak-out isn’t about you.”

When he turns his eyes to me, I see the hurt there, and it twists in my chest. “Let me guess—it’s about

Easton Connor.”

I blink at him. Because that came out of nowhere. Because he’s being irrationally jealous.

Because he’s right.