Evolve Series Box Set (40 page)

I look back over my shoulder to try and apologize to Josie, but she’s already rubbing the arm of some blonde guy. That’s all right—I prefer blondes too.

Whitley’s a great dancer; not too provocative, not too shy. She’s fun and flirty and helps take my mind off everything else. When the room starts feeling like a sauna, I pull her outside to cool off. The deck, like the front yard, is trashed, so surely no one will care that I swipe part of a Poinsettia out of the pot to my right, the only other thing of beauty out here.

“I got you a flower.” I wink, handing it to her.

She blushes and giggles at me. “Thank you for the plant.”

Plant, flower…she likes it.

“Who are you here with?” I ask.

“Some of the Larks. I had nothing better to do.” She shrugs and then smiles, smelling her flower. “What’s your excuse?”

Before I can ramble off some bullshit reason, we’re coerced into a game of Baggo by the group playing in the yard. Now, where I come from, Baggo (or some call it Cornhole) is a time-honored tradition, but it’s doubtful Whitley plays much.

“Do you know how to play?” I ask her, leading her over to the game by the elbow. The patio lights don’t help much where the game’s set up in the yard and I don’t want her to fall.

“You throw the bag in the hole, right? How hard can it be?” she teases.

“Okay, smarty pants, we’ll see,” I say as I size up our competition.

I already see a problem. Whitley has to stand on the opposite end of the yard as me, and I already feel bad about leaving her alone with either one of our opponents. I don’t know their names; they’re definitely frat guys, so they probably have nicknames of which they’re very proud, but I’ve renamed them. The one closest to us shall be called “Teetering Beer Burps” and his friend down there is now “I Smell as Bad as You Expect.” They aren’t quite as “cool” as the traditional fraternity nicknames, but I’m working on the fly here.

“We stand on opposite ends since we’re a team,” I explain. “Which end do you want? Or we don’t have to play at all.”

“I’ll stay here,” she says and pushes on me to go. “I want to be with the brighter light.” She waits until I’ve walked away to add, “So you’ll be able to see how it’s done.”

Part of me wants to really appreciate her and all the cool things about her. If I’d met her before, I would have instantly liked her—a lot. But it’s not before and she deserves more than I have to give.

Ain’t that just a kick?

***

Turns out Whitley is all talk and actually sucks at Baggo. We got royally skunked and commiserated in our defeat by getting back on the dance floor. She’s in the middle of perfecting my sprinkler, one hand braced on my shoulder to hold her up in her laughter, when Sawyer slaps me on the shoulder.

“I’m out, man, can you get a ride home?”

I give Whitley a helpless look.

“Yes, I’ll take you home,” she agrees with a smile. “You do have a home now, right?”

“Yeah,” I chuckle lightly.

Satisfied, Sawyer and his “date” walk away and I turn back to her. “Can I feed you first?”

She nods and holds up a finger, walking away as I wait right there. I watch as she navigates her way through the masses, finally spotting what must be her friend and speaks in her ear. The friend’s eyes move over me, a curious smile on her face, before she hands Whitley some keys she pulled out of her pocket.

“All set, let’s go!” she says once she’s back to me.

I settle a hand on her back and guide her to the door, helping her into her coat before stepping outside. She pulls her hair out from under the collar, tossing the locks over one shoulder. I’m not even sure why I notice such an insignificant move, but I’m quickly discovering that Whitley has an unmistakable grace about her, an elegance really, that I can’t help but appreciate.

“So, what’s open this late around here?” I ask as we walk to the car, which I see is hers, not the friend’s, once we get to it.

“Taco Shack or… Taco Shack. Your choice.” She snickers, climbing in as I hold open the door for her.

I let her pick, and we end up standing at a window cut into the side of a small van in a random parking lot. How in the hell a girl like Whitley even knows of such a mobile eatery, or that the friendly guy inside the window clearly knows her, is beyond me.

“Ah, Sunshine Girl, what can I get for you?”

Normally I’d think it rude for him to hit on her with me standing right here, but I can’t even force myself to be bothered by this kid, despite how attractive she must find his wannabe porn moustache.

“Happy Man!” She beams, giving him a side-five, front and back. “I’ll have my usual, and,” she turns to me, “Evan, what do you want?”

A Hepatitis C shot.

“Same as you will be fine. And a Coke.”

“Make that two of my usual, and two cokes, please.”

“You better not be digging in that purse for money, woman,” I growl at her, easing her to the side. I take out my wallet to pay “Happy.”

“Nice girl,” he mumbles while he hands me one of our drinks, “deserves some happiness, you know?”

Just how well does she know the taco guy?

“Yeah, man, I got it,” I grumble as nicely as possible.

Meals on wheels is speedy, and not even five minutes later, we’re digging into our grub, strolling down the street.

“Will you hand me a napkin?”

“Sure,” she replies in a sweet voice, looking down into the bag. She gasps loudly, whipping her head at me, eyes wide and wild.

“What?” I ask her anxiously.

She flicks her head this way and that, tugging my arm and pulling me behind the nearest building. I kinda hear the “dun dun dun” crime scene music in my head.

“Whitley, what?”

“Shhh!” she spits at me. We’re now crouched behind a building, on I have no idea what street. “Are these not the best tacos you’ve ever eaten?”

Come again? Why this is an undercover question I’m not sure...but yes, damn good tacos.

“Actually, yeah, really good. Why? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I want to remember you said that, okay? That’s the only reason I go there, I swear. I love their tacos, and that is the only thing I’ve ever ordered.”

I can feel my brows dip as I look at her suspiciously, watching as she slowly lifts a joint out of the bag. Man, taco guy wasn’t kidding, he really does want her to have some happiness.

Two thoughts wage war in my head—I just tested with the transfer and we’re in off-season, and we need a lighter. “Put it back in the bag and come on, Miss I Only like Their Tacos,” I direct her teasingly, dragging her back down the road toward the store we had passed.

“Evan, I swear. I had no idea, and I’ve never… I think he was just being nice. I’m an excellent patron, I always tip well—”

Laughter busts out of me. Whitley just went from nice to be around to fucking cute as hell. Who innocently justifies the taco vendor slipping you a joint because you’re a good patron? Too funny.

“I believe you, Whitley, really. Now walk, woman, we need a lighting apparatus mucho pronto.”

I can’t believe how excited I am. One quick trip into the convenient store, a covert smoking stint behind a dilapidated building and a frantic jaunt back to her car later, and we’re both pleasantly toasted, which is my excuse for just busting out the big guns.

“So why exactly does Sawyer not like you?” Through their curt words to each other, I got a hint of why Laney doesn’t like her, apparently something about Douchebag Dane, but that really didn’t clear up Sawyer’s animosity.

“I don’t know.” She leans her head back against her headrest and sighs. “I guess because of Dane, although I’ve never done anything bad to Dane…or Sawyer. How do you even know Dane? From Laney?” she asks as she looks over at me.

I just nod, looking down and grinding my back teeth.

“So, are they together now?”

“Yes.” It kills me to say it out loud, to admit it to another person. It makes it too real.

“Can’t say I didn’t see that coming a mile away,” she says, wincing for me. “And you what, got here too late?”

“Looks like it. She was at his house when I hand delivered my transfer slip. Surprise!”

“Damn, I’m sorry, Evan. That had to hurt. But couldn’t you fight for her? Do you guys have a long history?”

I run my hands through my hair, squeezing my eyes shut. “We do…” I grapple for my words, trying to keep my voice steady in front of her, “but mostly as friends. We’d only just begun anything more than that, and college pretty much ruined it. It was new and obviously not strong enough to last. Maybe even the wrong thing for us.” I blow out a deep breath, finally opening my eyes and turning to face her. “I’m learning that now, the hard way.”

She says nothing, just meekly smiling, her eyes filled with pity, which I hate. When it’s clear she’s remaining silent, waiting for more of my pitiful story, I switch it up.

“So what’s the story with you and Dane?”

I’m guessing this is the “deep thoughts” part of a high, because normally I wouldn’t want to discuss him at length and Whitley and I had been doing so well avoiding these topics. I still can’t believe I slept at her place and am just now learning why my lifelong best friend hates her. Bass ackwards.

She smiles nervously, drawing in the side of her lip to nibble on it, her hands fiddling with the hem of her shirt. “Dane and I grew up together. Our parents were very close and threw us together for everything—music lessons, singing lessons, same private schools, dances—you name it.”

I nod, giving her a comforting smile, urging her to go on. “It was always assumed, well, with the help of endless blatant comments from our parents, that Dane and I would simply end up together. At first, I was all for it.” Her voice falters and her gaze drifts past me, far-off and disconnected. “I’m not sure now if that was because I actually liked him like that or it was just another one of the programs my parents installed that I mindlessly followed.”

I can almost hear the self-analyzing going on in her head, but just as quickly as she’d gotten lost, she’s back, looking at me once again. “Doesn’t matter either way.” She smirks facetiously. “Dane never wanted me.”

Pain etches her eyes and she quickly recovers the frown she doesn’t think I noticed. “Then when his parents died, and he came here to be near Tate, well… I followed him. I thought if nothing else, we’d be friends. I’d known him so long, and he was lost and alone. I just wanted to be the one constant, the one familiar comfort, in his life.”

I can’t even help it, I reach over and take her hand in mine. She looks down to our joined hands and a small, soft smile appears before she goes on. “I think maybe he appreciated it, until Laney came along.”

And there you have it—two peas in a pod. No wonder we had formed an instant, unspoken-but-understood friendship. The finer details may be different, change a few names and exacts, but Whitley and I share the same story. I know exactly how she feels, which is why I remain silent. There’s nothing really for me to say, anyway. She doesn’t want me to tell her how bad it sucks—she knows that. She doesn’t need me to tell her “I’m sorry,” because pity doesn’t solve anything, nor does she want me to make a joke and lighten things up; our pain is not to be trivialized.

“Do you have any of your Coke left?” she asks me out of nowhere, clearly done with the intellectual portion of our buzz. “I have,” she smacks her lips, making the face of someone who just licked the bottom of a shoe, “like absolutely no moisture in my mouth right now.”

I can barely pass her my drink I’m laughing so hard, when she again spurts out the random.

“Evan, look!” she squeals, latching onto my arm. “Look over there!”

My eyes follow the end of her pointed finger to a red balloon bouncing aimlessly along the ground.

“Go catch it for me, pleasssseeeee?!”

Um yeah, I can do that. No problem.  I lumber out of the car, my head a bit foggy but the fresh air instantly helping that. Luckily, the balloon’s lost most of its oomph, so I catch it easily, handing it to her when I notice she’s now standing behind me.

“Going flat, but still hang on, just in case. We don’t want it losing its way again.”

“Thank you.” She smiles, her voice low and tender. “I’ll go put it in my car.”

I watch her as she walks there, tucking the balloon in the backseat with great care, then makes her way back to stand in front of me.

“I don’t want to be an underdog anymore. Do you?” I had no idea it was coming out of my mouth, but it just did.

Her face slowly lights up and she shakes her head back and forth. “Not at all. I’m too cute to be an underdog, right?”

I laugh, jealous of her resiliency. “Definitely too cute,” I agree with a wink. “That settles it. We are now the opposite of underdogs. We are—”

I’ve almost made the connection when she shout-giggles it for me.

“We’re overcats!”

“Hell yes we are! Over, badass, sexy, freaking cats! And I say we officially start our journey, with say…” Again I have to stop and think, but my partner in crime has it all figured out.

“Tattoos!” she squeals, giving me a vibrant smile. “I’ve always wanted a tattoo! Something my mother would think is ghastly!”

“Did you just say ghastly?” I fail at containing my laughter.

Whitley is exactly the prim Ms. Proper who says things like ghastly, and ten bucks says she gets a tiny butterfly or heart on her ankle.

“Okay, so maybe tomorrow we can—” I start.

“There’s a tattoo shop one street over! I so bet they’re open, come on!” She’s dragging me by the hand as she says it.

“Whitley, we’re gonna get busted. We’re messed up, wandering the streets, leaving your car…” I can’t even articulate all the things wrong with this plan.

She turns back to look at me, puckering out her bottom lip. “Evan, this is downtown. We aren’t the only stoned college kids out right now. Relax.”

If the debutante thinks I need to relax, I must be acting like a phenomenal pussy, and we certainly can’t have that. “Hop on,” I turn and bend, letting her jump on for a piggyback ride.

Whitley is trying so hard not to turn up her nose right now it’s hilarious. Her big blue eyes are about three times their normal size, taking in every nuance of the shop. There’s indents in her lower lip from her teeth that just loosened their grip, and her once creamy complexion is now simply pale. I’m tempted to tease her, but don’t really want to draw attention to our current “condition,” because I know they’ll turn us away.