First Love: A Superbundle Boxed Set of Seven New Adult Romances (32 page)

Payback’s a bitch.

I couldn’t go home. Couldn’t leave. Couldn’t stay.

What do you do when you have no options?

When there is no good choice?

You run.

Grabbing my coat, I made sure I had my keys, phone, and some cash, and locked up, the cold night wind all-too-familiar. I’d just been outside an hour ago.

Bzzzz.

The off button called my name, so I shut the damn thing off and proceeded to walk wherever I needed to go to erase this fucking night.

Haunted. For the next hour I was haunted by two memories: the conversation about the party, and seeing Sam in a threesome kiss.

“What are you doing tonight?” I had asked him. “Darla invited me to a party. You wanna come?”

A shadow had crossed his face and he pulled his hands back, it was like being stung. The absence of his touch was stronger than its presence. With half-lidded eyes he had met mine, and then quickly looked away. “I’m working,” he had said.

Working. He and I had very different ideas of what working meant. Apparently, Sam though it meant having his throat tongue-fucked by some woman who was being groped by another dude at the same time. Don’t get me wrong; threesomes are great.

Just not with my Sam
.

Late night Boston is filled with drunk college students, drunk middle-age couples who come into town for the chic restaurants and expensive shows, and the homeless beggars. The mix is intriguing, and I definitely stood out as an oddball: while you’d think there would be more girls roaming aimlessly, crying after being fucked over by their boyfriends on a weekend night, I appeared to be the only one.

If you asked me to recount that hour, I couldn’t. The convenience store clerk avoided eye contact as I sobbed my way through buying a candy bar. The chocolate and peanut butter tasted like sour copper in my mouth and I spat it out on the lawn of one of the colleges, leaves marring the perfectly manicured surface, a trash can every twenty feet a reminder of the insistence on order and cleanliness.
 

Pitching the rest of the candy, I tightened the buttons on my coat and just walked as the summer’s night turned a bitter cold that felt like a mirror of my heart.

And walked.

And walked, calves aching, boots tight against swollen feet. Each step felt like a scar on my heart, each tear like an exhale that pushed more of Sam out of my body and mind. If I could breathe enough and move enough maybe I could stay busy and not have to go still.

In stillness there lies madness.

Once I went back to my apartment and sat down I would have to face what Sam had done.

Had he been a liar all along and I’d never seen it? Been fucking other women behind my back and just played some part of an old flame with me, banging on my heart like it was a cymbal, something to poke for variety from the steady drumline?

Not one bit of this made sense. Sam’s silence four years ago. That mashup at the party. His declarations of innocence and protests now.

Who was Sam, really?

And who was I to be fooled again?

Stupid.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Hey! Amy!” a voice called out from a car next to me, pulling in to a No Parking zone.

I screamed. “Who? What?” Heart climbing out of my chest, I looked over, legs nothing more than spaghetti with nerve endings, hoping I could attract attention if this person attacked.

“Amy,” the man said, the voice familiar. The window of the car zipped down and Liam’s face appeared. “What are you doing wandering the streets this time of night?”

Of all people....
“Hooking.”

He sputtered. “How much?”

“You can’t afford me.”

“That good?”

“You would know.”

Silence. Then a deep sigh. “Amy...”

“You have impeccable timing, Liam McCarthy. You know just when to proposition a girl when she’s hit rock bottom.”

A shadow covered his face as he startled and pulled back into the darkness of the car. “Ouch,” he whispered, the sound carrying over the sound of cars rushing by, the beeping of crosswalk signals, the distant, raucous roars of clusters of guys like Liam out on the town.

I’m sorry
stuck in my throat, because it wasn’t fair. I’d wanted what he offered, too. Right now, though, I didn’t much care about anyone’s feelings. The world could
fuck fuck fuckitty fuck
off.

“You have
claws
!” declared a voice that made me groan. A giant puff of blonde frizz pocked out the back window.

“Darla, shut up.”

“I’m not texting your vagina, so you have no right to say that to me.”

“Texting her
what
?” Trevor. A stretch down and I peered in—the backseat held Trevor, Darla, and Joe.

“Get in the car. It’s freezing.” Darla’s hushed voice scraped against my eardrums. “I’ll explain later, honey,” she hissed to Trevor.

“Joe. Good to see you,” I remarked as I climbed in next to Liam. “How’s Penn?” The car’s warmth felt divine. My legs shook as they began to warm, and my feet cried out in gratitude for the break.

“About what you’d expect.”

“Are you all joyriding?”

“Not exactly,” Liam answered cryptically, driving like a man who knew exactly where he was going. And he did.

My apartment building loomed ahead. So why the whole gang?

“What’s going on?” I asked, craning to catch Darla’s eye. Joe’s hands were all over her, and the two murmured something involving the words “clit piercing” and “anal beads.” M’kay.

“We need to talk,” Liam said in a clipped tone.

“We, who?”

“We,
everyone
.”

Silence ballooned in the car like an animal’s corpse bloating in the sun.

“Is this an intervention?” I said uncomfortably. “Because let me tell you, of all the people in my family who needs one, you picked the wrong body.”

“It’s—” said Joe from the backseat, interrupting himself. “It’s just something you need to know.”

I pulled my phone out my coat like a dead animal I didn’t want to deal with. Powered it up and looked. Eleven messages from Sam. Six voicemails, three from tonight.

It’s not what you think.

I swear it’s not. Ask Liam.

I’m a stripper for bachelorette parties.

That woman was kissing me.

I didn’t want her.

I wanted you.

I am so, so sorry.

Please call or text back.

Please, Amy. I can’t lose you again.

Please.

And then:

I love you.

My hearing disappeared. The city lights brightened. My throat tightened and a cloak of dread covered me. Turning slowly, my eyes lasered in on Liam as my mouth formed the words, pushed out by the vibrations of my vocal cords, disbelief dripping from my tone.

“You and Sam are
strippers
?”

The car swerved slightly, and I looked down at my phone.

I love you.

“This just got even more interesting,” Darla muttered, leaning forward, propping her chin on the front seat.

“How did you—” Liam looked at my phone. He deflated. “Sam told you?”

“Well, thank God. It’s about time you knew,” Darla huffed. “You people and your secrets.” She stared pointedly at me. “Ooh! Can I tell him all about yours?”

“Shut up, Darla,” I said absentmindedly, as if it had become a reflex.

“When did she become such a bitch?” Joe asked Trevor.

“When I found my boyfriend getting an endoscopy from another woman’s tongue.” I shot him a death glare.

“That would do it,” Joe muttered meekly.

“Liam?” I barked.

“We’re strippers for bachelorette parties. Sam didn’t want you to know.” The words poured out like a little boy confessing he’d stolen candy from his grandmother. He shrugged, as if that let him off the hook, as if he’d just said,
We’re fry cooks at Denny’s. Sam didn’t want you to know.

Relief flooded me. “So Sam really wasn’t kissing her?”

“God, no. That woman attacked him. And her boyfriend wanted a threesome.”

“Nothing wrong with that,” came three voices from the backseat in unison.

“Is this why you’re all here? To tell me my boyfriend gets naked and shakes his dick in front of other women for money?” Whatever outrage I was supposed to feel wasn’t there. A deeper disappointment replaced it. Sam hadn’t trusted me.

And without trust...

“We do way more than just shake our...” Liam’s protests faded out. “OK. That about sums it up,” he admitted.

“You make good money wiggling your winkies,” Darla chirped.

“Says the woman who works for a threesome dating service,” Liam jabbed back.

The backseat went quiet.

“A threesome dating service?” I choked, craning to look at Darla. “There’s no end to the variety of start-ups in Cambridge, is there?”

She uncharacteristically kept her mouth shut.

I continued. “Now that we’ve all established our perv credentials—”

“Except for you,” Liam interrupted. “Miss Pure as the Driven Snow.”

Darla snickered.

“Don’t you say a word,” I snapped, finger in her face as I twisted around.

“Oh, does Amy have a skeleton in her closet?” Liam asked as he pulled into a parking spot, grabbing an unbelievably lucky open one right near my front door.

“More like in her hoohaw.” Snicker.

“Shut
up
!”

We all piled out of the car as the guys exchanged perplexed looks.

“Then what do you need to tell me?” I whirled around and faced the four of them.

“What you need to know,” Joe said, a sad look on his face as he took Darla’s hand in his and walked to my front door, the rest following.

Apparently, I didn’t have a choice.

Sam

She wouldn’t answer my texts and calls.

She wasn’t at her apartment.

She wasn’t on the street.

So where the fuck was Amy? I knew she wouldn’t go back to her mom’s house—not after what had happened the other day.

Stupid, stupid, stupid
I looped in my stupid mind, over and over, the chant taking over and making it hard to think. How could I have been so fucking stupid and have kept what I did a secret? Now she thought I was throatfucking that chick and cheating on her. Amy had every right to be mad and to think the worst of me, but I wanted a chance to tell her the truth.

The truth.

All of it.

The night air had long ago turned my hands and feet into ice bricks; Liam had my regular clothes in his car, because we always showed up for parties dressed only in the uniform. I’d received a few “Hello, Officer” comments as I walked the streets, and it had been funny.

At first.

My feet took me, slowly, to the only place I really wanted to go.

Back to Amy’s apartment to await our fate.

Which was, now, entirely in her hands.

Along with my heart.

Chapter Ten

Amy

“Did Sam ever explain exactly what happened to him that day after he left the debate tournament?” Trevor asked. For a guy who seemed to be perpetually joking, his countenance was remarkable. Somber, in fact. It set me on edge.

My apartment wasn’t a clown car, and yet somehow we’d managed to cram all five of us in here, everyone sitting on the floor or my futon. It felt like some cheesy 1960s encounter group. All of them were staring at me, faces practically carved in granite. A slow roll of intrigue took over my skin, a numb feeling and a coolness pouring from my solar plexus out and down. Whatever they were about to tell me was going to alter me forever.

Whatever they were going to tell me already had.

“No.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say. Just
no
. The truth.

Trevor’s hand was shaking, and Joe looked like he was going to throw up. Even Liam seemed rattled. What the hell was this? A tight knot of fear resurged in my stomach, the same one that had lived there all these years, implanted the day Sam cut me off.

“I’m not sure...” Liam interrupted, looking between me and Joe. Why Joe?

“She should know,” Trevor insisted, inhaling a ragged breath. He and Liam really did look like brothers. Funny how my mind wandered off when faced with something awful.

“What happened to him? And why are you looking at Joe like that? Did Joe do something to Sam that day? I know he gave him a ride.”

The jumble of voices made me lean back, away from a ferocious cacophony of protest. Little snippets—“Joe didn’t do—”

“No way, he’s the one who saved—”

“Sam’s face was so bad—“

“WAIT!” I shouted, putting my palms out in protest. “OK. OK. Just say it!” I cried, a cloud of red behind my eyes, heart tearing in two. “Whatever happened to Sam, you have to tell me now! You can’t give me these hints and then clam up.”

Silence.

Liam came to my defense. “She’s right, guys. Someone should have told her a long time ago.” He looked at Joe with a kind expression, one that made me like him even more. “Can you tell the story, Joe? It’s yours to tell.”

“Of course I can.” All traces of Joe the Asshole from high school washed away suddenly, and the man staring into my eyes was a compassionate, pained human being.

“You won the debate.”

No shit
, I thought. Instead of saying that, I just nodded.

“So, Sam snapped. Something in him made him go into some kind of state of shutdown. He wasn’t himself, and it was like watching a zombie wander down the hall and out of the auditorium. I thought he was just destroyed by being beaten by a girl—”

Liam snorted.

“Hey—I’ve evolved in four years,” Joe hedged. “Anyhow,” he said, glaring at Liam, who raised his eyebrows and gave Joe a gesture to continue, “I offered him a ride home and he took it. On the drive there he said his dad was going to kill him for not winning.”

I nodded. “I know it was important to him. And the scholarship.” Choking back a mouthful of tears, I said, “I didn’t know that day. I wish I had.”

“Would you have thrown the debate?” Joe asked, incredulous. “Because that would have been worse than winning.”

I’d underestimated him. Most guys would have been thrilled with a win, no matter what. Joe had been so...slimy back then. But this?