Must Be Love: (Nicole and Ryan) (A Jetty Beach Romance Book 1) (2 page)

I can’t figure out the latch, and my bladder feels like it’s going to explode. This is how I’m going to go. Not wrapped in the arms of my soulmate, passing peacefully into the next life with my one true love. Nope. I’m going to die on the bathroom floor at the fucking Porthole Inn because I can’t close the damn stall door and my bladder explodes.

"Oh for fuck's sake, I'll hold the door," Melissa says.

I fumble with my jeans, pull them down, and sit. Bliss. I gasp, unsure for a second as to whether I've managed to get my panties down.

"You okay in there?"

"Yeah." Panties, check. "Just … never mind."

Melissa's phone goes off, blaring out some ridiculous dubstep music. "Nic, you okay? I gotta take this. I'll be outside."

The stall door shifts a little and I hear her flip-flops flapping as she leaves. I finish, pull up my jeans, and pay extra attention to make sure they’re properly buttoned and zipped—I’m not that drunk. After washing my hands, I shoulder my little black purse and wander out in search of Melissa.

I shuffle outside, making an effort to appear as not-drunk as possible, a ruse which any sober person can probably see through in an instant. The waitress glances up at me as I push open the front door, her teenage eyes full of judgment.

Just wait, sweetie. Life seems all perfect now, with your perky boobs and teeth that haven't started to go crooked because of years without your retainer. One day you'll be stumbling out of the Porthole fucking Inn, drunk as shit because the love of your life trampled on your heart, and everyone in this damn town will know all about it. I am your future.

I trip through the door, over absolutely nothing except my own feet. Melissa is nowhere to be seen. I know she wouldn’t leave me here without a ride. Granted, I can practically walk home; it isn’t like Jetty Beach is very big. You can walk a lot of places, and my parents' house is close to the area affectionately known as downtown. Having spent the last several years living in Seattle, I can’t help but see Jetty Beach as nothing more than a village. Downtown? There isn’t even a stoplight. The only tall buildings are the beachside hotels and a few big timeshares north of town. Downtown is full of little stores selling beachy decor and kites, and a few restaurants. Nothing much. But despite the proximity to my folks, I realize pretty quickly that walking home isn’t an option—even if Melissa has suddenly turned into a different person and left me here. Half the town would see me stumble home, and by morning I’d be the subject of all the gossip.

Did you see Nicole Prescott last night? She was walking home, but she'd clearly been drinking. Poor girl. You heard what happened with Jason, of course. Yep, it's true. The golden couple no more. Well, they say there was another woman, but Nicole obviously did something to make him stray. Who can blame him, really?

Motherfucking Jason. Everyone loves him. He was Jetty Beach's golden boy. His father is the only lawyer in a thirty-mile radius, so he might as well be royalty. Jason was the star of the town, the hometown hero. Football player, perfect grades, perfect smile, and that perfect ass.

He and I made sense, really. I was his counterpart. I wasn’t a star athlete, but I played varsity volleyball. My grades were stellar. I had my shit together. I knew where I was going with my life, I had a plan, and I was going to see it through. People expected me to do well, to do the right thing, to excel.

And everything was going along perfectly until Jason fucked it all up.

I realize tears are burning my eyes again. Where the hell is Melissa? Sniffing hard and running my sleeve over my nose, I walk across the parking lot to her car. I just want to get home, bury my drunk head in a pillow, and sleep.

Of course, Melissa is nowhere in sight. I fumble with my purse to get out my phone, leaning against her car for balance. The zipper sticks and my lack of ability to extricate my phone from my purse sends a whirlwind of anger running through me. It’s Jason's fault. I’m standing alone in the parking lot of the stupid Porthole Inn, in stupid Jetty Beach, my phone held captive by my purse, because Jason was cheating on me.

Fuck.

Tears stream down my face—tears of anger this time, rather than pathetic dejection. Gritting my teeth, I kick a rock, only realizing
after
I smash my toe that I’m wearing open sandals.

"Oh my fucking ouch!"

I lift my foot, awkwardly hopping on the other one, and try to grab my throbbing toe. Not a good idea when you've had four mojitos. Or was it five? Six?

Just as I’m about to tip over and hit the pavement, a strong hand grips my elbow. My purse falls, the zipper magically opening in midair, and spills its contents all over the parking lot.

It takes me much longer than it should to realize what’s happening. I watch my wallet, lipstick, old receipts, and who knows what else clatter across the ground while someone gently grabs both my arms and keeps me from falling.

"Oh no." I mumble something and try to straighten. I tip again, staggering a little, but the hands hold me steady.

“I’ve got you.”

I don’t recognize the voice, but it’s deep and melodic—just the slightest bit raspy. I look up and blink hard, and the face looking down at me makes me feel like I've swallowed my own tongue.

Ryan Jacobsen? 

My breath catches in my throat and my stomach flutters. I haven’t seen Ryan in years. He stands there, all grown up, looking like a fucking man, and something about that doesn’t make any sense. Light stubble covers his jaw and tousled dark hair falls down over his forehead just a bit. His white t-shirt stretches over a strong chest and broad shoulders. His green eyes squint just a little as he smiles a crooked grin at me. I've known Ryan almost as long as I’ve known Melissa, but in my memory of him, he’s still the kid who didn’t quite go through puberty the way the rest of the boys did. Vaguely, I recall my mom discussing him with someone else’s mother, calling him a
late bloomer
. Apparently, sometime in the last ten years, he bloomed. Fuck, has he bloomed.

I realize far too late that I’m staring at him with an open mouth.

"Hey," he says, and his voice sends a shiver up my back.
Come on, Nicole. This is Ryan Jacobsen, not some hot guy you just met.

But damn, he is hot.

Or maybe I’m that drunk.

"Hey," I say back. It occurs to me that I must look a mess. I swipe my fingers under my eyes and tuck my hair behind my ear, as if any of that would help.

"Are you okay?"

There’s concern in his voice and it almost undoes me, sends me back to crying. But suddenly I desperately do not want to be a drunk sobbing mess in front of Ryan.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I say, trying as hard as I can to speak without slurring. "Just … looking for Melissa."

"Right," he says. His eyes linger on my face, his expression mystified.

His hands are still on my arms, although I’m standing without his help. As if he just notices he’s still touching me, he quickly withdraws, leaving hot spots on my skin. My stomach flutters again, and I know my face is flushing red. Damn alabaster skin.

"You dropped your purse." He kneels down on one knee and scoops the contents of my handbag back through the opening, then looks up at me.

There’s something about him, down on his knee, grinning at me with that crazy hot smile…

Wait, Nicole. It’s Ryan. Ryan Jacobsen. We played on the school playground together.

Then why am I suddenly feeling all hot between the legs?

I flush redder, my face utterly burning. "Thanks. You're beautiful. I mean … wait, what?"

His grin broadens. He hands me my purse and stands, running a hand through his dark hair.

"Um, thanks," I say, taking the purse from him.

"I heard you were back in town," he says.

"Yeah," I say. "Just for now, I guess. What are you doing here?"

That smile again. "I live here."

"You … oh." I thought Ryan moved away. He did, right after high school. I’m sure of it. "Did you move back?"

He nods. "About six months ago."

My eyes drift to the tattoos on his arms. One peeks out beneath his t-shirt and he has another on his other forearm. He has this look about him, now. I can’t reconcile the fact that this is the same Ryan I grew up with. And it isn’t just because I’m drunk. In fact, I’m sobering up pretty quickly.

"Why?" I ask.

His mouth drops open just a little, a flash of surprise moving across his face.

Crap, I insulted him.

"No, that's not what I mean," I say, stammering. "I meant when. Except you already said six months ago." Damn it, this is not going well. But this isn’t something that needs to go well, so what am I so worried about? Shouldering my purse, I look around. "Have you seen Melissa Simon? I was here with her, and she got a phone call."

"I haven't seen her," Ryan says. "Do you need a ride home?"

As if on cue, my phone dings. I dig into my purse and fish it out, managing to keep from dropping it.

The text is from Melissa.
Where are you?

"Um," I say, fumbling. I tap out a quick reply.
Parking lot.
"I don't think so. She just texted."

Ryan's eyes rove over me. I can’t read his expression, but suddenly I very much wished Melissa
had
ditched me and I
did
need a ride home.

"I'll wait with you until she comes out, then," he says.

"Thanks."

I need water. And a bed. I can already tell I’m going to feel like hell in the morning, and I hate the way my head is swimming. I feel like I’m missing something, like I should say something clever. Or funny. Why is Ryan Jacobsen standing in front of me in the parking lot of the Porthole Inn? And why do my eyes keep wanting to drift down to the bulge in his jeans?

Forcing my eyes back to Ryan's face doesn’t help. He really is gorgeous. He has this look of either bewilderment or scathing judgment; I can’t quite tell which. Maybe the scathing judgment is only in my head, but immediately I start imagining what he must be thinking of me.
Poor Nicole Prescott. Dumped and sent crawling back to Jetty Beach.

Oh lord, it's pity. He feels sorry for me.

"There you are!" Melissa bursts out of the restaurant and runs across the parking lot. "I was looking all over for you."

"Where did you think I'd go?" I ask.

"I don't know, mojito girl," she says. "Hey, Ryan."

Ryan gives her a crooked smile, his dimples puckering. "Are you going to take her home?"

"Obviously," Melissa says, raising an eyebrow. “Drunky McDrunkerson here needs to go to bed.”

"What the hell, Melissa?" I say.

"Okay, if you're sure you've got her," Ryan says.

"Yeah, I've got her. Thanks."

Ryan grins again. "Well then, ladies. You two have a good evening. Good to see you again, Nicole."

"You too."

I watch him walk away. His jeans cup his ass perfectly. Not too tight, like some wannabe hipster, but tight enough to show off the goods.

"Hello," Melissa says, waving a hand in front of my face. "Earth to Nicole. Quit staring at Ryan's ass."

"I wasn't."

"Uh, yeah you were," Melissa says. "I mean, he does have a nice ass. But come on, it's Ryan."

Yeah. It's Ryan.

Melissa ushers me into her car and I strap in. "So he's back in town?"

"Yep," Melissa says, casting a weird look my direction. "Maybe six months ago? He bought that old church just north of town, the one on the bluff."

"He lives there?"

"I guess," Melissa says. "I hear he's been fixing it up."

"I thought he moved to L.A."

"He did, but he came back."

I groan. "Ugh, why?"

Melissa casts another sidelong glance at me. "Not everyone hates this town as much as you do."

I let out a sigh. "I'm sorry, Mel. I didn't mean it like that." Melissa came right back to Jetty Beach after getting her teaching degree, and now she wrangles fifth graders at the same elementary school we went to. I don’t quite understand why, but Melissa loves Jetty Beach. It makes her happy. "I don't hate this town."

"It's okay," she says. "Besides, I know where we can direct all of our seething ire."

"Jason the Jackass?"

"That's good, I like that." She puts the car in gear and backs out of her spot. "I think at this point we can both admit, getting out of the house wasn't what you needed tonight."

I shrug, fumbling with the seat belt.

Maybe not. But then again, maybe it was just the thing.