Broken (25 page)

I set my lips to hers briefly. Then a second time, because she tastes so good, and I've missed her so much, but I pull back to finish what I've started.

“I'm not going anywhere. And you may not believe me yet, and that's okay, but believe
this.
” I slide my hands up to her face, my thumbs moving over her perfect cheekbones. “Believe that I love you.”

Now it's her eyes that close, but I say it again, a little desperately. “I love you, and I understand if that's not enough, but—”

She throws herself at me with so much force that I have to take a step backward to steady us. Her arms go around my neck, her face burrowing there. “It's enough,” she says into my skin.
“It's enough.”

I let out a long breath, feeling as though I can finally breathe for the first time in weeks.

“I'm going to make you love me again,” I say against her hair. “I swear it.”

Olivia pulls back, her green eyes giving me a withering look. “Don't be an idiot. I never said anything about not loving you anymore.”

I inhale. “Yeah?”

She leans forward and gives me a quick, soft kiss. And then a little longer one as our tongues tangle. “Yeah,” she says when she pulls back. “I never stopped loving you. Not even for a moment. I was mad, and sad, and a
lot
doubtful that you were here for the right thing. But that was quite a speech, Langdon. And I'll admit that I'm not blameless here. I pushed you before you were ready, and—”

I put a hand over her mouth in exasperation. “Just…don't. You were right to leave when you did, and for the reasons you did. Should I restart my speech again? It seems like you weren't listening.”

She giggles, and the sound of it is like heaven. “Bet you didn't factor such swanky digs into your grand plan,” she says. “I know the place is gross, but…I'm determined to do it on my own, you know? No help from Daddy's credit cards and all that.”

I nod. “Okay, then. I'll do the same. But maybe we can do it on our own side by side?”

Her smile lights up her face. “Deal. But I do have a little confession.”

My eyes narrow at her mischievous tone.
“Yessssss?”

“I got rid of the ugly running shoes you got me. I like my pink ones way better.”

I let out a sigh. “You're going to regret it in thirty years. Your joints will be shot, and you'll have to buy special, ugly orthopedic sandals because your feet are all gnarled, and if it gets
really
bad—”

“If it gets really bad, I can borrow your snake cane,” she interrupts. “It'll be my turn to be the cranky cripple.”

I lift her up off her feet. “And I'll be there for you.
Always
.”

For Nic. For knowing I should write this book.

I've always been a bit of a lone wolf when it comes to writing my books. I write and write and write in a vacuum, with no beta readers and no critique partners. The result? When I come out of the writing cave three days before deadline, I've barely showered and the book is something akin to a hot mess.

Here's the part where I thank the people who help me get it from a jumble of words into a story. My amazing agent, Nicole, stopped everything she was doing to read this book in a day. Yes, a day. She cleaned up the uglies, pointed out the plot gnarlies, and basically single-handedly got this book into submission shape. From there it went to Sue Grimshaw, who whipped the book into shape in record time and with a crazy amount of skill perfectly identified every single plot hole. Nic and Sue, you don't have to work with my crazy methods, but you always, always do…and I'm so appreciative.

And to the rest of the all-stars at Random House (you know who you are), thank you. Thank you so much for doing the gritty, behind-the-scenes stuff that doesn't often enough get recognized. You take a document and make it a book, and we authors should thank you every day.

Isn't She Lovely

Broken

Crushed
(coming soon)

After the Kiss

Love the One You're With

Just One Night

Lauren Layne is a snarky cynic with a serious weakness for happily-ever-afters. Marrying her high school sweetheart was a good start. [Cue Disney soundtrack.] But Lauren wanted all romance, all the time. Now she writes fictional happy endings and considers her job well done if you swoon while reading her books. Don't worry. You will.

Once upon a time she lived in a Manhattan high-rise, but now she's on the laid-back train in the Seattle area. If you ever find yourself in Issaquah, she'll probably buy you a drink. Maybe.

by Cassie Mae

Available from Flirt

25 minutes ago

Today I get to see my best friend after THREE VERY LONG YEARS!—feeling excited
with Eric Matua

24 people like this

Every morning, I get a text from the greatest man alive.

Good morning, bug. When you get to the beach, touch the ocean. I'll touch the ocean here, and it'll be like we're together again.

I grin just as a big fluffy pillow that smells like hairspray slams against my face, then flops down on my keyboard.

“Put that damn phone on silent.”

I'll give my roommate a pass since (a) my phone's given off around twenty-three message alerts, and it's only nine o'clock, (b) I'm on my laptop, so I don't really
need
the cell to
bing!
every time an email comes in because I can see it, and (c) Eve is about-to-pop pregnant. She sleeps most of the time, but if she's not sleeping, she's complaining about being so damn tired.

I pick up my phone and make a big show of pressing the silent button. Then I type in my response.

Very lyrical for a fisherman, Dad. ;) Love you.

Eve shifts on her bed, brows furrowed in an I'm-not-amused expression, and curls into Paul's arms. He sleeps just fine through the cell noise, but I'm pretty sure Eve has tired him out with the late-night cravings. Last night he came into our dorm room with the cookies-and-cream Klondike bars Eve was
begging
for, only to have her eat a bite and then tell him it made her stomach upset. I threw Paul a look that said not to worry, because I was on those Klondike bars like white on rice.

My computer sends out a notification
bee-boop,
and I quickly shut off the sound before Eve blows fire from her ass. I've made it through twenty emails, so there are only a few left, and I take a big bite of my cheese Danish as I click over to read email twenty-one.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Remember when

Mia,

If you opened this email, please keep reading! I want to apologize, even if it won't do anything, because I'm a total shit and hurt you so much I'll probably never get your forgiveness. But I am sorry. And I want you to know I think about you.

A lot.

Hell, more than a lot.

I sat at one of my brother's concerts the other night, smiling like an idiot because I couldn't stop thinking about the last concert we went to. The poor schmuck behind us never saw your elbow coming. You were always so wild…and I mean that in the nicest way possible. The second the first chord hit, your arms went up and his nose went crack!

You kept telling me it was a natural reaction for guys to throw punches, no matter if the recipient was a girl or not. But no way in hell was I buying that. No one touches my girl, even if it was a “natural reaction.”

You were well worth the night at the police station, the bloody nose, and the bruised knuckles. Especially when you curled up on my chest afterward and said I looked sexy with tampons up my nostrils. (Something that stays between the two of us.)

It was the moment I fell in love with you.

I haven't stopped.

—Scott

Um…hello, creeper spam alert! What the hell is this?
Who
the hell is this? I've had creepy emails before—it comes with being involved in social media—but I haven't had someone make up a past for us. I press delete, but there is a second or two when I seriously consider responding with a piece of my mind. Maybe a list titled
How Not to Impress a Girl: Your Creepy Email Edition
.

Instead of responding, I click from my email to my Facebook tab and laugh at the emoticon sticker my cousin just IM'd. I type a quick response of LOL, then scroll through my feed looking for ebook deals. Usually my reader buddies post as many as they can find, and when I find the posts, I one-click like crazy. Better keep my Kindle stocked for this summer. My job isn't full-time, so I'll have lots of lazy hours for reading. I consider this a
very
positive thing.

Oh! The book I've been waiting to get is only ninety-nine cents. I let out a “Hell yes!” and dance in my rolly chair.

“Ugh, Mia,” Eve grumbles, scratching the top of her pink-blond hair. “Aren't you supposed to leave soon?”

“I don't have to leave till, like, eleven,” I say, scrolling through my Amazon recs.

“It's ten fifty-eight.”

What
?

I slam the lid to my laptop and slide it into its case. “Crap crap crap crap crap crap…” Tossing the strap over my head and grabbing the handle to my large suitcase, I lean over Eve and pepper her forehead with kisses. “Love you, love you, love you…call me if you need
anything
.”

“I will. Have fun with your high school sweetheart.”

“Eric's not a sweetheart,” I say, double-checking the front pocket of my luggage to make sure I have all my chargers. “Well, he's a sweetheart, but he wasn't
my
sweetheart.”

“You talk to him
all the time.
I sure as hell hope he's something.”

My cheeks warm, and I can feel a dorky grin creeping on my lips. “He's my best friend.”

“Whatever!” Eve kisses my cheek and then smacks it. “Just have fun and get out of here.”

I laugh and zip the pocket on my suitcase. I will be so happy to have not-pregnant Eve back. “I will. Love you, again!”

Paul snores from behind Eve and mumbles, “I love you too, baby.”

Eve rolls her eyes, but a smile forms on her face as she rubs her boyfriend's hair. “Love you,” she mouths to me, and I roll myself and my suitcase from our dorm. It's the last time I'll see it till school starts up again.

I'm going to be so late. I should've packed my laptop earlier, because it sucks me in every time. I lose track of the clock, and a “quick check on my Facebook” becomes an hour or two of social networking. I can't help it. It's the only time I really feel connected to people. With Dad moving to Alaska when I jetted off to college, I got used to being alone. I keep in contact with my high school friends via the Internet, though.

Most of them flitted away, too busy with their own lives to mess around online, but Eric was one who didn't. My big, cushy, smoking-hot, piece-of-gorgeo
usness, ready-to-drool-
just-thinking-a
bout-him, Samoan best friend. Eric played linebacker on the high school football team. Well, backup linebacker. Damn, I wanted him.
Badly.
But he had a girlfriend, and I was too scared to tell him how I felt.

After he graduated, Eric went to Samoa to spend time with his uncle, and I trudged through my senior year, constantly checking my Facebook just so I could talk to him. I told him to take pictures and post them, and he did, but never of himself. Eric's a little self-conscious about his weight. His profile pic is an image of a Dr. Seuss book, which he changes every once in a while. Currently it's
Hop on Pop
.

When he told me he was watching his mom's beach condo on the Florida coast for the summer, I squealed so loud I may have scared a few people in Starbucks. An IM conversation later, I have an entire summer with my best friend—I seriously hope for more, since I'm pretty sure he's not taken now—at his condo, right next to my job at the SnoGo on Daytona Beach. Since Dad will be spending the summer on the Pacific Ocean fishing, I found this alternative
much
better. I'm okay spending it on land
by
the ocean. But never will I set foot in the water. Nope. Couldn't pay me enough to do that.

My piece-of-shit Camaro needs gas, and I mutter under my breath, “Damn it!” I'm going to show up even later than I'd planned. I told Eric I'd be there at one-ish, and according to Google, it's going to take three hours and twenty-seven minutes to get from Keiser to Daytona. I pull my phone out after I've shoved my heavy-ass suitcase into the trunk and IM Eric, hoping he looks at it before I get there.

Running late. So sorry! Be there more like 2ish. Can't wait to see you!

Now to stop myself from looking at my Facebook feed again before getting on the road.

My excitement level peaks when I pull into the condo parking lot. It's 2:34, so I'm
still
a little late, but I blame the stupid tolls. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I'm tempted to check it, but I'll wait till the car is at a complete stop since I have no idea where the hell I'm going.

The building numbers are faded and cracked, but I think the one I pull up to is building 14. Eric said he'd be waiting outside, but I don't see him. And honestly, he'd be easy to spot…from what I remember.

I slap the Camaro in park and yank out my cell. My finger is on the call button when a tap comes at my window.

“Holy shit!” My phone flies from my hand, and I squint at the cute guy smiling at me through the window. It takes way too long for me to realize this cute guy is
…my
cute guy.

I pop the door open, and Eric swings it the rest of the way, sticking his hand out to help me from my seat.

“Eric?”

He laughs before wrapping me in a bear hug. The buttons on his tight black shirt press into my cheek as he squeezes me airtight. Butterflies explode from my stomach and escape my mouth in the form of a high-pitched, embarrassing squeal. In high school, we'd start most of our greetings this way, with me getting swallowed in his massive arms. But after three years…His arms are different. His stomach—holy shit, where did it go?

I push back and can't help my jaw from dropping to the asphalt.

“Where's the rest of you?” I laugh, and walk around my Eric. Is this my Eric? He looks so different.
So
different. His squishy, adorable love handles have disappeared into his shorts. His ass…
holy shit
. And his face went from round to square. He chuckles as I step back in front of him, poking his stomach. He jerks back, and that's when I know it's really him. Eric is the most ticklish person on the planet.

“Holy shit.” Seems to be the phrase of the day.

He smiles, and my heart balloons. I've missed that smile.

“I must've left the rest of me in Samoa.”

I throw myself back into his bear hug, laughing. “Oh my gosh…I can wrap my arms around you.”

This is
not
what I expected. Eric was my squishy teddy bear. Now he's this massive muscular teddy bear. I run my hands over his back just to get a feel for it. Unreal. I stay in his hold for probably way longer than is considered normal.

“Let's get your stuff inside,” he says over my head. “I promise we'll hug more later.”

I feel insanely empty when we break from each other. We talk every day. We chat and we email, we talk on the phone, but I never get to hug him. So I can't help but squeeze his arm and bounce as he pulls my suitcase from the trunk.