For the Love of Raindrops

By Beth Michele

A best friends love story about two childhood friends who prove that falling in love can be effortless. But can that love weather any storm?
 

"Best friends forever, right, Dills?"
 

"Forever, Evie."
 

I fell in love with her when I was just a boy.
 

And then I never fell out of love. I just fell deeper.
 

Sometimes the guy got the girl and they lived happily ever after. I wanted to be that guy, you know? Especially since I couldn't imagine loving anyone else. But this wasn't your typical love story.
 

This was our story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Beth Michele
• Release date: Apr 6, 2015
• ISBN: 9780692423820

Beth Michele

Beth Michele is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of M/F and M/M Contemporary Romance who writes sweet, funny, and sexy stories with heart and snark. She is a lover of the written word, and pens love stories about flawed characters who fight toward a much-earned HEA. She can often be spotted hiding out with her laptop or ereader somewhere quiet, preferably on a bench overlooking the ocean. Beth is a mom to two incredible teenagers, who, when they were born, stole a chunk of her heart and refused to give it back. Come Find Me! Website: http://www.bethmichele.com Instagram http://www.instagram/bethmicheleauthor Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/bethmicheleauthor/ Subscribe to my newsletter: http://bethmichele.com/1/subscribe/

Book preview

PROLOGUE – DYLAN

CHAPTER ONE – DYLAN

CHAPTER TWO – DYLAN

CHAPTER THREE – DYLAN

CHAPTER FOUR – DYLAN

CHAPTER FIVE – DYLAN

CHAPTER SIX – DYLAN

CHAPTER SEVEN – DYLAN

CHAPTER EIGHT – DYLAN

CHAPTER NINE – DYLAN

CHAPTER TEN – DYLAN

CHAPTER ELEVEN – DYLAN

CHAPTER TWELVE – DYLAN

CHAPTER THIRTEEN – DYLAN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN – EVIE

CHAPTER FIFTEEN – DYLAN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN – EVIE

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN – DYLAN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN – EVIE

CHAPTER NINETEEN – DYLAN

CHAPTER TWENTY – EVIE

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE – DYLAN

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO – EVIE

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE – EVIE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR – DYLAN

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE – EVIE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX – EVIE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN – DYLAN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT – EVIE

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE – DYLAN

CHAPTER THIRTY – DYLAN

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE – DYLAN

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO – DYLAN

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE – EVIE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR – DYLAN

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE – EVIE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX – EVIE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN – DYLAN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT – DYLAN

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE – EVIE

CHAPTER FORTY – DYLAN

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE – EVIE

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO – DYLAN

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE – EVIE

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR – DYLAN

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE – EVIE

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX – EVIE

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN – DYLAN

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT – EVIE

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE – DYLAN

CHAPTER FIFTY – EVIE

EPILOGUE – DYLAN

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

ALSO BY BETH MICHELE

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

FOR THE LOVE OF RAINDROPS – SONG PLAYLIST

For Isabella & Richie…

I love you with everything that I am. Always remember your heart… and NEVER let anyone tell you that there is anything you can’t do. Because you CAN, and I believe in you. Follow your heart and your dreams… and always reach for the stars.

I love you to the moon and back.

And for all those who believe in true love…

This story is for you.

I love her, and that’s the beginning and end of everything.

—F. Scott Fitzgerald

I SNUCK OFF to that room again. He never looked for me in there. With all of the cardboard boxes piled high and the old desk in the corner, it was the perfect place for me to hide out and write or draw. Two things I loved to do more than anything in the whole world. But he didn’t like that, so I hid.

With the precision of a ninja, I crept over to the chair and sat down. I’d grown pretty good at being sneaky from playing spy games with Jordan.

I looped my pinky through the rusty handle of the desk drawer to pull it open and grabbed a piece of paper. As it creaked, my eyes widened and went right to the door. Afraid that he’d heard, I waited a minute and when all remained quiet, slid the drawer closed, more carefully though.

I tapped the pen against my lips a few times and smiled, before the pen found the paper, bringing my thoughts to life. It only took a second for the words to come pouring out, because I was thinking about Evie. She made my heart go batshit crazy. Wait. Was batshit even a word? I didn’t care, because it was true.

Your smile is like the sun

Your eyes are like the ocean

Your heart is my safe place—

What are you doing in here? My father’s booming voice startled me as the door flew open. His boots sounded harsh against the wood floor, reminiscent of the giant in Jack and the Beanstalk. Angry lines were drawn all over his face. My hands trembled as I snatched the paper and held it underneath the desk.

He got closer, and I smelled it. The strong scent of that brown liquid he drank all the time. I tried to hold my breath because I didn’t like it. Not that he cared what I thought. He never had.

I asked what you’re doing in here, Dylan! His biting tone made me shrink in the chair. I hadn’t even done anything. But he didn’t need a reason. I knew he hated me. And the feeling was mutual.

I-I’m doing homework, I stuttered. My stomach hurt and I pressed my hand over it, hoping to make the cramp go away.

Homework? The fact that he was so tall made me feel timid and I sunk down further in the chair. Why would you be hiding homework under the desk? Give me that paper.

No. I didn’t look at him when I said it, but I heard his breathing grow louder and knew he wasn’t happy with me. I was used to it though.

Dylan. Give me that paper right now, or you’ll be punished.

I didn’t move, and I’m not even sure I was breathing. Normally, I wouldn’t have defied him, but I didn’t want him seeing my poem to Evie.

Before I knew what was happening, he yanked the paper from my fingers, shredding it in two. I prayed he couldn’t see what I’d written but cringed as he let out a nasty laugh, and realized it was too late. "‘Her smile is like the sun,’ he said, emphasizing each word in a whiny, mocking tone. ‘Her eyes are like the ocean.’ What is this crap? You’re writing poetry again? What did I tell you about that? He crinkled the paper up into a ball and threw it in the hallway, but it felt like he’d ripped up my heart. Boys don’t write poetry, Dylan. Writing poetry is for pussies. Are you a pussy, Dylan?"

No, sir. My blood was boiling over and I refused to look at him. He just took something that meant so much to me and basically spit on it. I wanted to do the same to him.

Good. Now get the hell out of here. I don’t want you near your mother’s things.

I ran out of the room like the coward that I was when it came to my father, trying to hold back my tears. I didn’t need another reason for him to call me names.

Oh, and next time, he screamed, try harder for your team. You played like shit today. That wasn’t good enough!

His words played over and over in my head, making me stumble up the stairs.

He was probably right… I’d never be good enough.

DILLS, LET’S GO, Evie said as she dragged me through her backyard and over to the side of the house. It felt like we were about to do something shady and I knew my father was going to be unhappy with me. Not that he needed another reason.

What are we doing? Am I going to get in trouble? Because if my dad finds out—

"No, now, shhh, I don’t want my parents to hear us."

We tiptoed around the corner. Evie shot her arm out to pull me under the porch and into a small hole of dirt. Then we crammed into the tight space side-by-side. She took a flashlight out of her jacket and flicked it on before she reached back into her pocket, yanking out a plastic bag. Something about this spelled bad news.

Give me your finger, she whispered.

Huh?

Give me your finger, she ordered.

Okay, okay, stop being so bossy, I told her, and she gave me her thin blue eyes.

A second later, I let out a muffled yelp when a pin pricked the tip of my thumb. What are you doing?

She covered my mouth with her small hand until I quieted down. Well, she started, and suddenly her lips were squished together and her eyes were sad. "I heard Braden James saying he was your best friend and you can’t have two best friends. I’m your best friend, so we’re going to take a blood oath."

I wanted to laugh at how cute she was, but she looked so serious that I kept my giggles hidden. Okay, what do we do now?

Now you prick my finger and then we rub our blood together.

I hesitated, because I didn’t want to be the reason she was bleeding.

She looked over her shoulder then back, her knee doing this crazy bouncing thing. Come on, Dills, hurry up.

I did as she asked and then she put the pin in the plastic bag, stuffing it back in her pocket. She grabbed her finger and pinched it until a bit of blood dripped out, and I did the same. Then we rubbed them together.

Okay, now we pinky swear, she said, wiping the blood on her pants.

I opened my mouth and my nose crinkled. "We have to pinky swear, too?"

Yes, as a backup, she told me, and then we both started giggling. She looped her pinky around mine. Best friends forever, right, Dills? she asked with a big goofy grin on her face.

I squeezed her finger and smiled just as big. Forever, Evie.

WHAT ABOUT THAT one, Dills? Evie asked, pointing up at the cloud that I’d decided was shaped like a giant tyrannosaurus rex. We were lying side-by-side on our backs amid tall blades of green grass, holding hands.

That’s easy. It’s a t-rex. Hands down.

Nope. Don’t think so. She made a humming sound as if she was thinking very hard. It looks more like a… giraffe. Yup, definitely a giraffe.

Okay, let’s call a stalemate on that one. I giggled, pointing in a different direction. How about that one?

That’s a jelly bean riding a bicycle, she insisted, grinning when I turned to her.

Jelly beans can’t ride bicycles, smarty pants.

In my world, they can, she said, breaking out into laughter.

Oh right. It’s your world. I’m just living in it, I teased, and she gave me a playful jab in the arm.

Good, since it’s my world, I want to play tag. She let go of my hand and was gone in a flash, running across the yard. I shot up after her and took off.

I’m going to tag you, Evie Carmichael, and then you’re going to be it! I yelled, puffing out lots of heavy breaths as I rounded the corner, trying to catch up with her.

No, you’re not! she squealed, her long, skinny legs enabling her to run pretty fast for a girl. She bolted around the side of the house and that’s when I heard her scream. "Ahhhh."

Evie! I shouted, and thinking she was hurt, my heart sped up. Are you okay? I sprinted over to where she was lying face down in a pile of dirt. She was crying, her glasses sitting on a nearby mound of weeds. What happened?

I can’t move my leg. Her usually squeaky voice was muffled, nose pressed against the ground.

Here, I’m gonna flip you over slowly, okay? Crouching down next to her, I positioned my arms around her waist and rolled her until she was on her back. My hands immediately went to her leg to check for injuries.

"Ow, she continued to cry. That really hurts, Dills." She pushed herself up with her elbows then braced her ankle with both hands. Tiny specks of dirt covered her hair and clothes.

Can you walk?

I don’t know. She sniffed and rubbed her nose with her palm, and as I felt around a bit more, she closed her eyes tight and pressed her lips together. I took my hands away because I didn’t like hurting her.

I think you might have broken it. I’m going to help you up and get you inside. Then I’ll call your mom, okay? I stood and walked over to pluck her glasses from the overgrown grass then cleaned them on my t-shirt. I wiped some of her tears away with my fingers, before gently placing the glasses back on her face. You know, I added, because all I wanted was to see her smile again, I think you hopped into that hole of dirt on purpose. I might have to start calling you Hopper.

Very funny. She snorted then snuffled, and I put my hands underneath her arms as I lifted her to a standing position. She put all of her weight on her good leg. Nice try, though. She sent a half-smile my way, and that’s all it took to calm the fear, and my heartbeat. Just give me your shoulder, she said, pushy as always, and curled her arm around me.

Little did she know, I’d give her the sun, the moon, even the stars. All she had to do was ask.

THE SCREEN DOOR bangs shut behind me and I’m halted by the most beautiful sight.

Evie Carmichael.

Hey, Evie!

The loud rumble of a passing car drowns out my voice, my heart humming in my chest as I struggle to take in air. But it’s just that—a struggle, my ability to breathe pretty much nonexistent whenever she’s around.

The yelp of a nearby dog falls on my ears and I look away. A neighbor off in the distance gives me a wave before I blink and come back to Evie. She’s leaning into her trunk, a waterfall of red hair cascading down her back, tight jeans emphasizing her perfect, heart-shaped ass. We’ve been neighbors since the first grade, but things have changed significantly since then, to say the least.

No longer is she the thin, gawky girl with floppy pigtails, brown wire-framed glasses, and braces. She is now a full-fledged woman, nineteen years old with long, auburn waves, straight white teeth, and curves that bend and dip in all the right places.

I’m just about to dart across the street to help her unload her groceries when Jamie Harrington pulls up in his BMW convertible. He’s got asshole written all over his face and she can’t see it. She’s too caught up in his fake charm, sun-bleached blond hair, and the fact that he’s a surfer.

Big fucking deal.

Talk about polar opposites. I’ve got dark-brown, semi-longish hair and my eyes are so dark they’re almost black. I’m about six foot two and spend a decent amount of time at the gym, so I’m not lacking in tone. The flip side to that is I work at our family diner and the only time I smell clean is when I’ve had a fresh shower. Otherwise, the scent of French fries, burgers, and chicken patties are burned into my skin like the ink from a tattoo. But I make a mean chocolate milkshake, and that’s her favorite.

Hey, Evie, I call out again, even though she’s thoroughly engrossed in her conversation with dickwad over there. It’s hard to believe she can’t see through his bullshit. She’s a smart girl, but someone needs to show her the error of her ways.

I’d like to volunteer.

There are a number of other things I’d like to sign up for, too, and the thoughts make me instantly hard.

You see, a minor detail I forgot to mention is that I’m in love with Evie. I was in love with her even when she had braces and all sorts of disgusting things got caught in her teeth. I loved her when Tommy Pilson told her that her hair was an ugly red color and when Nancy Howell made fun of how bony she was—I threatened to beat their asses for it every time. It’s like I became superhuman whenever anyone intimidated her—because no one hurts my Evie.

Unfortunately, she has no idea the depth of my feelings and just how desperately I want her. She looks at me like she always has—like the brother she never had, but always wanted. Screw that. I don’t want to be a brother to her. I want to be so much more.

Hey, Dylan! she yells, glancing over surfer boy’s shoulder. Heading to work? And the moment she flashes me that killer smile, even from a fifty-yard distance, my heart decides it’s running a fucking marathon and I have to find a way to slow it down so I can respond.

Yeah. You coming by later? I shout back, pulling open the door to my truck.

Yup. I’ll be in. Get the ice cream ready, she calls out, before resuming her chat with wonder boy.

She comes in almost every day for her chocolate milkshake and every day I try to think of a way to tell her how I feel. I sit and watch her from afar, the way she swirls the straw in a circular motion before her lips curve around it and she sucks. It’s exquisite torture. I have to walk around with a hard-on for almost an hour after she leaves, but it’s totally worth it. Sometimes I get off at home just thinking about those full lips wrapped around my cock, sucking on me the way she does that straw.

Great, I’ll see you later, then. I climb in the truck and rev the engine, eager to get the hell out of here, but not before I flip Harrington off from underneath the dashboard.

THE DINER IS jam packed when I arrive and I hurry through the side entrance so I can get to work. This place has been in my family for a long time but things went downhill after my mom died seven years ago. My father lasted all of a year, before his twice a week evening whiskey turned into daily drinking binges. He couldn’t handle her death, the diner, or apparently his two sons, so he left.

Jordan stepped up, just like he always did, and dropped out during his second year of college so he could take over the diner and look after me. But the signs of destruction were everywhere.

In the aftermath, we were pretty fucked up and drowning in grief, albeit for different reasons. Jordan, for losing parents who loved him. Me, well, I had my anger and chose to rebel with drugs and a side of alcohol. At age fourteen, that didn’t bode well for me or my future.

I no longer gave a shit about getting good grades, nor did I have to worry about vying for attention anymore, and I was too young to know where to draw the line.

The irony? I still wanted it. After all, my father taught me that negative attention was better than no attention at all. So I acted out, started spending time with twenty-year-olds who were getting high and doing lines of cocaine. There I was, stupid enough and so messed up in the head that even drug-induced hallucinations seemed like a better choice than my reality.

When Jordan finally caught on to what I was up to, he pulled me out of there so fast it made my head spin. I was embarrassed and pissed off, but truth be told, he saved my ass.

Of course, it didn’t end there. When I realized drugs were too dangerous, I turned to alcohol—the lesser of two evils. I should have known better, especially given my father’s plight. But I didn’t give a shit. Carrying a small bottle around in a paper bag seemed discreet, until I got busted with one during school.

Being suspended by Principal Dixwell was a walk in the park compared to what happened next, though. My fists became my only outlet. I used them to take out my anger and aggression on anyone who pissed me off.

That was the last straw. Jordan forced me to go to an after-school program at a nearby center for troubled kids. Grandma Molly, our closest relative from my mother’s side, came to stay with us for a while. Between the two of them, they made sure I had plenty to do when I got home: yard work, laundry, even cleaning toilets. There was never any down time for me to stop and think, and while I was angry as hell back then, I get it now. He probably saved my life, and that’s exactly what I owe him.

So when Jordan decided he wanted to honor our parents and keep the diner, I knew I had no choice but to help him. Except it wasn’t without sacrifice. He gave up his dream of being an engineer, and I decided not to go to college last year. It just wasn’t an option. Especially after everything he’s done for me.

You’re late. He tosses me a knowing smirk as I enter the kitchen, the smell of burgers hitting my nose with a fury. Let me guess. Chatting it up with Evie?

Damn straight, but just for a few, she was making time with Harrington. I can’t stand that asshole, I reply, and without realizing it, I’m gritting my teeth, trying to figure out forty different ways to annihilate him.

Dylan, he stops flipping burgers and turns to face me, why don’t you tell her how you feel? I just don’t understand you. Life is too short and I think we’ve learned that the hard way.

Yeah, I know you’re right. It’s just that she looks at me like the brother she never had and I know I’m setting myself up for disappointment. I can’t tell him the real reason—I’m inadequate. So, instead, I get to work. I throw on an apron and knot it around the back before washing my hands in the large sink behind the grill. Preparation for our not-so-world-famous French fries has begun.

Well, you’ll never know unless you say something. What have you got to lose? You know, he waves a greasy spatula in my direction, you crack me up. You’re outspoken in every other aspect of your life… except with her. He’s right. My ability to form complete sentences disappears whenever she’s around. If you can’t say it, why don’t you draw her a picture.

Something about the way he says that sends me back in time—and I’m nine years old again. The truth is, I love to draw. It was a dream of mine when I was young to go to art school and become a graphic designer. But that’s on the back burner. Just like everything else.

Order’s up for table two, I yell, after loading two plates with burgers, fries, and a side of pickles.

Wanda, a waitress who has been with us for fifteen years, comes to stand in front of me. With her dark hair lined in gray, weathered, brown eyes that crinkle at the corners, and petite five-foot-four frame, she looks like she could be my mother—until she opens her mouth.

Hey, doll. You’re looking H-O-T today! What say after work, you and I? She winks and elbows me in the ribs.

Wanda, Wanda, Wanda, I scold, you look so matronly until you open that mouth of yours. I laugh and hand her the plates of food.

Matronly? she scoffs. Who the hell wants to be matronly? She scrunches her face in disgust and marches off, but not before shooting me a hard stare over her shoulder. Our date’s off.

Damn.

A few more hours go by and I glance at my watch. Evie usually comes in around three o’clock and it’s two forty-five now. I figure I’ll get a head start on preparing her milkshake. After all, I want it to be just right.

I finish blending the milk and the ice cream as Wanda walks through the kitchen doors. Your sweet young thing is here, she says flatly and I grab her arm.

I’m sorry if I wounded you earlier, Wanda. You know I love you. I offer an apologetic smile, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

You’re forgiven. She grins, touching her thin fingers to her hair. Still, as she walks away I hear her mumble something about being twenty years younger.

I wash my hands again in the sink and dry them on a clean towel, take my apron off, and run my hands through my hair a couple of times. Picking the milkshake up off the counter, I throw a couple of cherries on top and head out to find Evie. She’s hard to miss and I take a moment to soak her in like a bright ray of sunshine. She’s such a rare beauty. She doesn’t wear a lot of makeup, but she doesn’t need to. In fact, I can’t stand girls that have layers of shit on their face so thick they look like a Barbie Doll. It’s such a turn off.

But Evie, she’s naturally pretty. She has high cheekbones, creamy skin, and a pink flush to her cheeks. Her eyes are a deep shade of blue and I lose myself in that bottomless ocean every time she glances my way.

I watch intently as she eyes the menu, her long hair falling around her face in waves, and let out a sigh as I approach. Hey, Evie, I greet, and she drops the menu on the table.

Hey, Dills! That smile of hers spreads clear across her face, and hearing my nickname—from the only person allowed to use it—makes my lips turn up as well. She’s been calling me that since we were kids. It actually started out as dill pickle, but it was annoying so she changed it to please me. I just wish she wanted to please me now. My distorted mind can count the ways.

One chocolate milkshake, made just how you like it. Oh, and with extra cherries.

Thanks. Her bright eyes rise to meet mine and I can’t help but smile. Damn, she’s insanely cute. She waggles her finger at me to come closer and of course I don’t hesitate. Your hair is too long. You need a haircut. She smoothes the hair away from my temple, my skin tingling at her feathery touch.

I suck in a breath and hope she doesn’t notice before clearing my throat in an attempt to get my bearings. Jesus, she’s barely touching me. I’d probably spontaneously combust if she had more than her fingers on me.

God, I want her.

Really, you think so? The pitch of my voice changes and I suddenly sound like a teenage boy going through puberty.

Oh, I know so. Why don’t you stop by after work and I’ll cut it for you? Even though I’m still an assistant at the salon, I do Zoey’s hair and you know I’ve done Wanda’s as well. She takes a drink of the shake and my eyes are immediately drawn to her lips. I love how her cheeks pull in when she sucks. It’s like my own secret wet dream yet I’m wide-awake.

Yeah. You’re right, I do need a haircut. But… I also seem to remember you massacring the hair on that doll you had in fourth grade. What was her name? My eyes wander upward. Abigail, I think.

Her gaze narrows and she teasingly flicks my arm. Well, that was practice, and I was ten. I’ve come a long way since then.

I smile on an exhale of breath. Okay, I… guess I’ll let you cut my hair. I’ll stop by… later. I drag out the words, trying not to sound too eager. But any opportunity to have her hands on me, I’ll take. My whole body is alert now, knowing I have that to look forward to at the end of the day.

Maybe I’ll dig deep for courage and finally tell her how I feel.

AFTER TAKING A long, steaming-hot shower to wash every last trace of the diner from my body, I turn off the water and wrap a towel around my waist, stepping in front of the mirror. Moisture builds up around the edges and I use the bottom of my fist to wipe it away. I stare at my reflection for far too long, no longer seeing myself. Instead, I see a man, overbearing and critical. A man who with one look could tell me everything I’d never be.

I clench my jaw to stave off the pain of my father’s brutal glare and harsh words the night before he left us. ‘You’re worthless and you’ll never amount to anything.’ Granted, he’d been drinking, but what if he was right?

My eyes hone in on the thin, jagged scar running the length of my jaw. A constant reminder of how I almost let him destroy me, and motivation to never go there again.

With my hands on my hips and defeat dragging me down, I breathe out a heavy cloud of air, expelling all the bullshit from my body for the time being. All I want to do is obliterate those memories. And I’m about to do just that—with the only person who has the power to make me forget.

That’s what I’m focusing on as I slide on a pair of jeans and a clean white t-shirt. I even spray on some cologne. If Evie’s cutting my hair that means she’ll be close to me, and I want to smell good.

I lock the front door and jog across the street. I’m kind of hoping Zoey isn’t home so we can be alone. Evie’s mom and dad died three years ago in a car accident so it’s just the two of them now.

The front door is ajar and I walk in, throwing my keys on the side table next to it. Hey, Hopper, where are you?

Zoey walks out of the kitchen in her trademark tattered jeans and a Maroon 5 t-shirt, her chestnut waves piled into a messy bun. Hey, dickweed, what’s up?

She and I have had this ongoing, I guess you could call it friendly, rivalry since we were kids. She’s four years older than Evie and me, and she’s always insisted on busting my balls.

Always a pleasure, shitbird. I chuckle as she grabs her purse from the couch.

Later, Evie, she calls out, then slaps my ass on the way to the door. Bye, DW.

See ya, Slim, I mutter, as Evie bounds down the stairs and nearly knocks me off my feet with how sexy she looks. Her hair is drawn into a ponytail with wispy strands falling in her face, a tight purple tank top clings to her breasts, and she’s wearing these skimpy shorts that make her tanned legs look like they go on for miles.

Hey, Dills!

I’ve never in my life wanted another person the way that I want her. Desire and longing consume me night after night, my heart beating loudly against my chest, my body restless and on fire all at the same time. The need for her drives me crazy, leaves me dazed. She’s everything I’ve ever wanted and I know that everyone else in my life will be compared to her, and no one will ever match up. That’s why it has to be her. It just has to be.

I only have like an hour because I’m going for a run before I go out with Jamie tonight. She says it with a sparkle in her eye, and suddenly there’s a bitter taste in my mouth. I’ve gone from turned-on to turned-off in a matter of seconds.

Hopper, what the hell do you see in him? He’s a total loser, I hiss, unable to hold back my hatred for the guy.

She playfully smacks my arm. Hey, don’t talk about him like that. You know I like him.

Yes, I know you like him. I heave out a frustrated breath. "I just don’t know why you like him."

If I didn’t know better, she arches her brow and purses her lips, I’d think you were jealous.

Shit, Evie. You’re my best friend, and I just don’t think he’s good enough for you. And yes, I’m so jealous I can’t think straight. The thought of his hands, lips, or any other part of him touching her makes me want to hurl.

"Aww… I love that you care so much." She comes over and throws her arms around my shoulders, and I freeze for two seconds before wrapping mine around her waist. I want to bury my face in her neck, inhale her sweet vanilla scent, slide my tongue over her skin.

Of course I care, Evie. I care a lot.

Say it, Dylan. Just fucking say it.

Dills. You can let go now. Her unwelcome words snap me from my thoughts. She takes my hand and leads me upstairs to the bathroom. Come on, let’s go cut some hair.

The upstairs bathroom is small, entirely purple, and most definitely Evie—a stark contrast to the one downstairs that Zoey occupies. Various creams line the counter, a basket of paperbacks sits beside the toilet, and framed book covers hang on the walls. I’m going to be stuffed between the toilet and the tub but I’m keeping the best company, so it’s all good. Evie leaves me for a minute and comes back with an old wooden chair, pushing it into the cramped space.

Sit, she directs, and I won’t deny I like it when she’s forceful.

Yes, ma’am, I reply with a snort, taking a seat so she can work her magic.

If you call me ma’am again, I’ll shave your head. She grabs the scissors from the counter, wielding them with an agile hand.

I’m a bit worried about my hair. Are you sure you know what you’re doing? I look up at her with a defiant grin. Just don’t give me the Abigail special.

She scissors the blades a couple of times and swings them close to my face. Oh, yes, I know exactly what I’m doing. Stepping forward, she stands so close to me that her breasts are at eye level and if I wanted to, I could take her in my mouth, through her tank. I swallow, trying to banish the image from my mind.

Fortunately, my eyes close the moment her hands move through my hair, a tingle working its way up from the base of my spine. She shifts it around, pulling pieces out and snipping then letting them fall to the ground.

So where is dickhead taking you? I ask off the cuff, and she stops cutting, placing her hands on her hips.

Could you not call him names, please? she huffs, tapping her foot lightly on the tile floor.

"Fine, I concede, as she smiles and resumes cutting. So, you didn’t answer my question. Where are you guys going?"

He mentioned going to the movies. She picks up a water bottle from the counter and sprays my hair, squirting me in the face. Sorry, she giggles, what about you?

I don’t know. Jordan and I might hang out or something. My voice shifts, suddenly edged with sarcasm. It won’t be nearly as exciting as your night, I’m sure.

Why don’t you ask that girl out who is always hanging around the diner? The cute one with the blonde hair.

Wanda’s niece? How could she even think I’d be interested in anyone else. My insides are screaming right now, yelling that they want