It Was Me Page 19

  “Yep. Not a great one but good enough.”

  “And...” she swallowed. “And Annika put you in touch with them?”

  I nodded. “She knows someone who knows the coach. I talked to him yesterday. Have a meeting with him tomorrow.”

  She closed her eyes and dropped her head to her knees.

  “So it's not Arizona and I don't know if it's a scholarship or what,” I said. “But it's a chance. It's better than nothing. And it's sure as hell better than not having you.”

  Her shoulders shook and I knew she was crying. I stood up and moved to her bed, positioning myself on the edge. I reached out and touched her leg, squeezed it gently.

  “Tell me this changes things,” I said.

  She said something but her voice was muffled and I couldn't understand her. I moved my hand up from her knee to her shoulder, then to her chin. Gently, I lifted her head up so I could see her. Her eyes were red, her cheeks stained with tears.

  “I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I've made the biggest mess of things, haven't I?”

  I nodded. “Pretty much.”

  A soft cry escaped her mouth and she buried her head against her knees again, sobs racking through her.

  “But nothing we can't fix,” I said. “And don't get me wrong. I'm fucking mad as hell at you right now. But I love you, Abby. Even when you make stupid ass decisions and act like a two year old.”

  She lifted her head and glared at me and I smiled. “It's true.”

  “I did it for you,” she said, brushing at her tears. “I didn't want you to miss out. I told you that!”

  “And I told you, it wasn't your decision to make.”

  She shook her head. “You didn't know what you were saying. I knew what you would do. When Dad told us about Mom, my first thought was you. Not my mom, but you. Because I knew I would stay in San Diego. It wasn't even a question. And I knew that, once you knew, you'd decide to stay, too. And you would give me all these reasons, how it was going to be okay, how staying with me was the right decision.”

  “It would have been.”

  “Let me finish,” she said. “And all I could think of was that this was the second time an opportunity would slip right through your fingers.”

  “You're not telling me anything I don't already know. We had this conversation, remember?” My hand had returned to her knee and I squeezed it again. “In the coffee shop? When you said you were breaking up with me regardless?”

  She winced at the memory. “I didn't want you to hate me.”

  “Why the hell would I hate you?”

  She stared at her knees. “Because you hate your dad.”

  “Jesus.” I shook my head. “I hate him because he stole from me, Abby. He took my money and my mom's and his clients money and he pissed it all away at the fucking casinos. He was a thief and a liar. Big difference.”

  “But it was all tied to baseball. To school,” she said. “I didn't want you to stay with me and then, a couple years or months or however long it took, look at me and blame me for what you'd lost. The chance you never got.”

  “I never would have done that.”

  “You don't know that.”

  “Yes,” I told her. “I do.”

  “No, you don't,” she said stubbornly.

  She would argue forever, I realized. And I was done fighting with her. I was done being apart from her. I braced my hands on either side of her and lifted up so I was hovering over her, her knees pressing into my chest.

  “West...” she began.

  I didn't let her finish. I lowered my head and crushed my mouth to hers. There was nothing tender, nothing sweet about that kiss. My lips moved against her hungrily, urgently, and I forced her lips open with my tongue, consuming her, possessing her. I slid my hands underneath her back just as her arms wrapped around my neck and I groaned. She wasn't fighting me. There was no resistance. She was there, all mine, her fingernails digging into my shoulders, my scalp, her legs wrapping around my waist, her hips lifting into me.

  “Don't ever do this to me again,” I whispered, my mouth lifting from hers. I locked eyes with her. “Ever.”

  “I'm sorry,” she said. Her eyes filled with fresh tears. “I'm so--”

  I silenced her again. I was done talking, done listening. I tugged on her shorts, pulling them down, reaching for her thin lace panties next. I didn't care that her dad was in the house with us, that her sister might walk in any minute. I slipped my shorts down to my knees, positioned myself between her legs and thrust deep inside of her. She gasped and pulled me close. There were no protests, no concerns about who might walk in or might hear.

  Even if there had been, I wouldn't have stopped.

  I wanted her. I needed her.

  All of her.

  FORTY FOUR

  The paper cups filled with coffee were beginning to burn my hands. I moved the cardboard wrappers with my fingers, adjusting them so they offered a little more protection from the liquid fire the cups contained. I scanned the parking lot, looking for Abby's car. It was registration day at Mesa and the lot was full.

  I finally spotted her crossing the lot, her black backpack looped over one shoulder. Her hair was pulled away from her face, dark sunglasses hiding her eyes. Her tan was fading and I could tell by the way she walked that she was tired, worn out. But it didn't matter. My heart tripped a little as she looked up at me and smiled. She looked more beautiful than ever.

  She joined me at the bottom of the steps and I leaned down to kiss her. I handed her the cup of coffee.

  “Thanks,” she said. She blew on it before taking a tentative sip.

  “How are you?”

  “I'm alright.”

  “How was last night?”

  Her mom had gone through another round of chemo on Friday and Abby had spent the better part of the weekend with her, acting as both nursemaid and companion while her dad continued showing houses, trying to keep their thriving real estate business up and running.

  “It was okay,” she said. She sipped again. “Better than the last time.”

  I reached for her backpack and slung it over my own shoulder. “Well, that's an improvement, right?”

  She nodded. “I guess. Not sure if it's because she's tolerating them better or because she's just sick of complaining, you know?”

  Her mom was on the second cycle of chemotherapy to treat her breast cancer. She'd opted to try chemo before scheduling a mastectomy to see if her body would respond to the drugs and if it would help fight the cancer cells. The doctors had assured her that, with the stage her cancer was at, she had time for a three-month regimen before they had to decide whether or not a mastectomy was the best course of action for treatment.

  I knew all of this through Abby, of course. Most of our August had been spent either learning about breast cancer or living through it, day by day, with the rest of her family. She'd become the primary caregiver for her mom, going along to all of the appointments with her dad, checking out books from the library, researching online, even joining a cancer support group.

  We were silent for a minute as we navigated the steep steps from the parking lot to the campus.

  “You ready for today?”

  She made a face. “Not really. I don't know how I'm going to juggle classes on top of everything else.”

  “You'll do it just like you do everything else,” I told her. “You'll do it because you have to.”

  “I'd rather just take the semester off,” she said.

  “No, you wouldn't,” I said.

  She frowned. “Don't tell me what I want.”

  I raised my eyebrow. “Yeah, that kinda sucks, having someone tell you what's best for you, doesn't it?”

  Her cheeks colored a little and I slapped her lightly on the ass. “Shut up,” she said.

  I laughed. “You need to be here. Even if it's just a couple of classes. Forward progress, remember?”

  We crossed the campus and headed toward the admin building where registration was
taking place. Abby could have registered online but she wanted a face-to-face with one of the counselors to talk about classes and her modified schedule. The line wasn't long, maybe a couple of dozen people, and we took our place at the end.

  “No free hot dogs today?” she asked, bringing the cup of coffee to her mouth.

  I grinned. I liked that she remembered so clearly how we'd first met. What I'd said to her, where we'd been. “And you'll be on your own if you've got a flat tire today. Hope you paid attention when I changed it.”

  She smiled but it disappeared quickly. “I'm gonna miss having you here with me.”

  I reached for her hand and squeezed it. “I know.” I lifted my coffee and pointed south. “But I'm gonna be right there. Less than five miles away.”

  “I know.”

  “And that's a hell of a lot better than hundreds of miles away.”

  She leaned into me. “I know.” She lifted her eyes. “Are you excited?”

  “For classes?” I rolled my eyes. “Uh. No.”

  She nudged me. “No, you idiot. For baseball.”

  I knew what she was talking about. Annika's lead at USD had been more than that. I'd gone in and met with the coach and, within ten minutes, he was making me an offer. It wasn't a free ride like Arizona had offered, but it was close. And it was in San Diego. With Abby. I'd talked Bruce into more hours at the academy, offering to run the after school programs and, with Coach Hegna's help, put together a schedule that would let me take classes, work, and play baseball. I was gonna be busier than hell but it didn't matter. I was in San Diego. With Abby.

  “Yeah, I'm ready to get going,” I said. “With all of it.”

  She nodded. “I'm glad.” She paused. “This would all suck without you. If you weren't here.”

  “That almost sounds like an apology for trying to kick me out of the state.”

  “It almost is.”

  “Almost apology accepted,” I said, smiling at her.

  She rolled her eyes and shook her head, but smiled back.

  The line crawled forward slowly.

  “You can go,” she said. “You don't have to wait with me. I'll be fine.”

  “I know.”

  “So go ahead and go,” she said, squeezing my hand. “I know you've got things to do.”

  I looked away from her and shook my head. She was never gonna learn.

  I looked back at her. “You know, for a college student, you aren't very smart.”

  “Excuse me?” she said, pulling her hand from mine.

  I pointed at her temple. “You're thick. Right here. In the head.”

  She swatted at my finger.

  I gathered my hands around her waist. She faked a protest as she half-heartedly attempted to wiggle free from me, but after a moment, she stopped and looked up at me, unsure where I was headed. Typical. As well as she knew me, she was still doubting how I felt about her and what was important to me. Maybe one day she'd get it through her thick, beautiful head.

  “I'm not going anywhere, Abby.” I leaned down and kissed her, lingering for an extra moment, letting her know I meant it. I smiled at her. “Ever.”

  THE END

  ABOUT ANNA

  Anna Cruise has been writing and drooling over boys since middle school. Lots of years have passed but some things never change...

  IT WAS ME is the follow-up story to the best-selling IT WAS YOU. Other titles by Anna include MAVERICK, IF I FALL, and SET IN STONE.

  You can find Anna on Twitter and Facebook and you can follow her blog.

  Keep reading for an excerpt from MAVERICK.

  MAVERICK

  PROLOGUE

  I stared at the papers and pictures spread out on the bed in front of me. Advertisements. Articles. Candid shots. One person stared back at me.

  Kellen Handler.

  I tried to focus on the task at hand, the task I was being asked to do. No, I amended. I wasn't being asked. I was being told. Ordered.

  I saw his sun-kissed hair, thick with salt and sweat from hours on the waves. I saw blue-green eyes that matched the color of the ocean. I saw browned skin and the smooth, ripped abs and chest that screamed surfer.

  The cocky smile as he hawked sunglasses or board shorts. The look of intense concentration captured in photo spreads as he navigated the waves or eased himself into the barrel of some epic wave.

  I tried to detach from who he was and all that he represented. But I couldn't.

  He represented everything I'd loved.

  And everything I now hated.

  I swallowed hard and repositioned myself on the bed. I tucked my hair behind my ears and stared down at the pictures again. I played with the gold hoop in my ear, fingering it with my thumb and forefinger, then shifted so I was toying with a lock of hair. Winding it around my finger, as tight as I could, then releasing.

  It wasn't him, I told myself. I didn't know him. I'd never been part of the pro surfing world. But the locals? The boys I'd grown up with? My brothers and their friends...and my friends, too? Those were the guys I'd spent my life with. Following them to the beach and out into the water. Letting them try to teach me how to ride the waves when I was younger. And, when I was older, accompanying them at the crack of dawn to watch them shred and do their best to, if not tame the waves, at least ride them for a little while before being tossed to shore.

  I'd spent my entire life as part of them. Cheering them on. Encouraging them. And loving them. My brothers. My friends. And Luke.

  I felt the tears threaten and I blinked several times, trying to stem them.

  Kellen Handler was not Luke. Would never be Luke.

  He was a job.

  ONE

  Something—no, someone—was rubbing against my leg. Soft skin, silky smooth, gliding back and forth over my calf. My thigh. Fingertips traveled from my hip to my stomach.

  I grunted and forced my eyes open. A naked chick with blond hair was curled up next to me. A naked chick whose name I couldn't remember.

  She bent her head close to my bare chest and her lips grazed my skin. She glanced up. “Good morning,” she said, her voice soft.

  Her long hair was a mess of tangles and her mascara was smudged but she was still beautiful. Tan and thin, her tits the best money could buy. She looked like half the other chicks in Southern California. Hell, she looked like all the chicks in SoCal.

  I yawned and the odor hit me. She smelled like cigarettes and stale beer. And sex.

  Or maybe that was me.

  “Hey,” I mumbled.

  She smiled and lowered her head again. Her tongue danced in circles on my skin as her fingers trailed down my stomach. I should have felt something, some little spark in my gut, some twinge in my cock. But I felt nothing.

  Chelsea?

  Cheryl?

  What was her name? Something with a Ch. I was pretty sure of that.

  I swallowed. My mouth was bone-dry, like someone had shoved a handful of cotton down my throat. I rubbed at my eyes and glanced at the nightstand. Four cans of Bud Light littered the top, along with a flashing alarm clock and a discarded black lace thong. I pushed the panties to the floor and picked up a can. Empty. So was the next one. The third was half-full and I downed the warm, flat beer, washing away the cotton in my mouth.

  I set the can back down and looked at the top of Ch's head. She'd stayed glued to me, her hand traveling lower, her fingers brushing the tip of my dick.

  “Yo. I gotta go.”

  Her tongue licked at my nipple and she kicked at the sheet so she was fully exposed. My eyes traveled the length of her body and I drew a quick breath. At least I hadn't been so drunk that I'd brought some sea hag back to my room. I could have done worse. Much, much worse.

  I closed my eyes, trying to remember. Chantelle? Charity?

  “Hey,” I said, rubbing my temple and re-opening my eyes. “You hear me?”

  Ch lifted her head and gave me what I'm sure she thought was an incredibly seductive look. “You can be a little late,” sh
e said, tightening her grip on me.

  The bummer part for her was that I'd seen that look a hundred times before. And I'd see it again the next morning. Same look, just different faces.

  “I already am,” I said, easing out from under her. My legs were heavy, tired, as I set them on the floor. Wasn't gonna be good for the waves. “So I gotta jet.”

  “Come on, baby,” she said, sliding her body across the sheets. “We can be fast. Get your blood pumping before your heat.”

  I rolled my eyes and started searching the hotel room for my board shorts. I didn't need her to get my blood pumping. The only thing that got my blood pumping any more was the water. I'd probably said something to her in the bar the night before. Something clever, something that made her feel like I really wanted to be with her, something that got her excited, knowing she was going to get to fuck the best surfer in the world.

  But I couldn't even remember her name.

  I found my shorts, light blue and white, wadded into a ball under the desk. I reached down and pulled them out. I unrolled them and slipped them up over my legs.

  “No time,” I said, tying the drawstrings tightly around my waist.