You and Everything After (28 page)

Don’t miss book 3 in the Falling Series!
The Girl I Was Before
– Paige and Houston’s story

Coming 2015

Preview:

Paige

I’m only half listening to Chandra bark orders at me over the phone.

“We’re going to need more food. The homecoming parties are always crowded. Sigma is coming, and they’ll easily push us over five hundred. And get more shrimp. You didn’t get enough shrimp.”

Somewhere along the way, she hung up. I must have said goodbye. I’m sure I said goodbye.

I hate her.

I hate her for what she did to my sister, when she confronted her about her assaulter in front of people. I hate her for this invisible power she has over me because she’s the president of our sorority. I hate her because her boyfriend is
friends
with my boyfriend.

I hate her because part of me wants to be like her, and I hate her because the weaker part of me doesn’t.

And I hate the person I am when I’m around her.

“Seventeen!” My number is called. Great…it’s the same guy working the deli counter today. He was the one who took my order for the party last week. Carson was with me. He was drunk…and an asshole. This guy, he knew—and he judged me for it. Or at least, it felt like he did.

“I’m seventeen,” I say, stepping up to the glass case and handing over my number.

“I don’t really need the number,” he smirks. Maybe he doesn’t remember me. “Adding to your order?”

Shit. He remembers me.

“Yeah. Party just got a little bigger,” I say, smiling. I can’t help but smile at him—he has one of those faces. It’s like a forced reflection, and I want to mimic whatever he does.

“Okay, hang on. I’ll get the file from the back,” he says, patting the counter once and winking.

Houston.

I noticed his nametag the last time, too. I like the name. That’s why I noticed. Not because he’s tall, broad shouldered with dark hair that flops over the top of his visor and green eyes that practically glow under the shadow.

I like the name. That’s it.

“Okay, let’s see…Paige. Right…I’ve got you right here,” he says, pulling the pen from behind his ear and clicking it to take more notes. “What are you adding?”

“You better not have ordered yet!” Carson’s voice bellows from behind me. “Did she order yet? Get mine in on this ticket. I don’t have a lot of time.”

“I haven’t ordered for lunch yet. This was just the party order, relax,” I say, turning to face him, dreading turning back around to face Houston, the guy with the cute name. I turn anyway because I have no choice, and that same look is on his face again—the judgmental one.

“Order that crap second. I’ve got practice, so I only have a few minutes. Hey, yeah…so, get me one of those burrito things,” Carson says, leaning over the counter and pointing down as if Houston wouldn’t know what he was talking about. When he leans back on his heels, he lays his heavy arm over my shoulder and pulls me into him tightly.

“I guess I’ll have one of those too,” I say, my eyes on Houston’s nametag instead of his eyes. I don’t want to see the look in his eyes.

“We only have one left,” he says. Of course they do.

“Oh,” I say, sucking in my top lip and looking into the case of food for an alternative. I’m not hungry anymore. “I’ll just take a sandwich then. Tuna.”

“Right…okay,” he says, reaching to the side for a bag. He pauses, though, before picking out one of the pre-made sandwiches for me. “Or…maybe
this guy
could pick something else and let
you
have the burrito.”

“Fuck that, bro! I ordered first. Give me the burrito. She’s fine with a sandwich,” Carson bellows. His phone rings, so he steps to the side and answers the call. “Yo, what up, man?”

I can still hear his entire conversation even though he’s twenty feet away. Everyone can hear him.

Houston is standing still, his arms propped on top of the counter and his brow bunched while he stares at my boyfriend. Carson is pacing and talking so loudly that he’s starting to interrupt others eating lunch at the small tables in the corner of the market.

I used to like his big personality. His confidence and swagger was what turned me on when we first met at the Sigma-Delta mixer. He’s a starter on the McConnell team, a fullback. He’s a year older than I am, and I liked that too.

Houston is moving again, wrapping the burrito and dropping it in a plastic bag. He lets the burrito hit the counter with a thud, and he watches Carson pace the entire time. When he sees his burrito is ready, he reaches across my body and grabs the bag, holding his phone to his chest and kissing me with nothing but forceful indifference. “I gotta run. You got this?” he asks…sort of.

I nod, only because he’s already gone before I could answer.

“That guy’s your boyfriend?” Houston asks, finally packing up my sandwich. Normally, I’d respond with something snarky, something strong that would put him and that damned disapproving look on his face in its place. I can’t seem to find that fire today, though.

“I still need to make the party orders,” I say, instead opting to ignore his question completely.

“Right,” he says, his lips pushed into a tight, flat line.

I add two more trays of shrimp and up the order of meat and cheese, and Houston notes it all on the order sheet. I wait at the register while he walks to the back office and tucks my order file away again. When he comes back, he slides a bottle of tea toward me—the same sweet tea I ordered and drank the last time I came.

He remembered. It makes me smile.

Propping my purse up on the counter, I pull out my wallet and start to unsnap the clasp so I can pay for my lunch, but Houston stops me. The warmth of his hand is surprising against mine. I don’t jerk or flinch; I only freeze. It takes me a second or two to look up at him, to register that he’s stopping me from paying for my lunch. I don’t like that. I don’t like being beholden to someone. Favors—they’re like making a trade sometimes.

“It’s on me,” he says, and I refuse quickly, shaking my head no. His hand squeezes mine tighter. “I won’t take your money. Not for your lunch…or
his.
It’s on me.”

“I can buy my own lunch, thank you,” I say, starting to resent being ordered around. I shake his grip from my hand and hold out my card. He takes it and swipes it hard along the register, shaking his head and mumbling under his breath.

“Damn, you mean that asshole can tell you to do something and you just obey, but me—an actual
nice
guy—I can’t buy you lunch without getting your foot up my ass?”

“I’d like my receipt,” I say, ignoring him again. He rips it off and crumples it in his hand along with my card and throws it on the counter. “Thank you,” I say, stuffing it in my purse and clutching my sandwich bag in my other hand.

I can feel the force of his eyes on my back as I turn to leave, and my heart is kicking the insides of my chest in anticipation of his voice. The closer I get to the door, the stronger the sensation is, and I almost make it outside when I feel his hand on my shoulder. I spin around, ready to lay into him now—my fire flickering.

“You can do better,” he says before I can open my lips to speak. His gaze is direct, and it halts me, if only for this moment. “That’s all I want to say. I just thought you should know. You. Can do. Better.”

His face is serious. There’s a part of me that wonders if this is flirting, if he’s flirting. But it doesn’t feel like a pick-up line. Houston—his being here today, his words—
this
feels more like a rescue.

I smile, perhaps a little indignantly, and spin back around through the exit. When I round the building, I tuck my purse higher on my arm, and I clutch my sandwich and tea to my chest, running my hand along the cool spot on my skin where Houston touched me seconds ago.

Save your rescuing for someone else. I have a plan. I’m sticking to it. And I don’t need rescuing, I think to myself.

No, I don’t need rescuing…

Acknowledgements

You And Everything After
is my sixth book. Six. This number blows my mind. Finishing my first book was a dream for so long. And not a day goes by that I don’t stop, for at least a moment, and wonder at where I’ve arrived. When
This Is Falling
went live, I held my breath—as I always do—and crossed my fingers that someone…anyone…would love it. Just a little. Or almost as much as I did.

And then someone did.

This book—book two in the series—is for you. It is for the readers and book bloggers out there who have graciously given their time to my words. It is for those of you who have left reviews, posted about my book, tweeted me, sent me emails, messaged me, told a friend to give me a try or cheered me along the way. And it is for those of you who found me, stumbled upon
This Is Falling,
and decided to take a chance. I am blessed to have connected with each and every one of you, and you have no idea what your support has meant to me.

Writing a book is such an incredibly personal journey; sharing it with the world is borderline terrifying. I took a leap, and you caught me. For that, I will be eternally grateful.

There are so many people I owe thanks to for helping me tell Cass and Ty’s story accurately and with heart. First and foremost, I must thank Ashlea Miller for schooling me on multiple sclerosis. An awesome beta reader, your medical knowledge and personal experience kept me honest, and your time on this story was truly a gift. I must also thank Kathy from Love Words and Books as well as a good friend (you know who you are) for answering my questions on spinal cord injuries and nerve damage.

My amazing beta readers: Shelley, Bianca, Jen, Debbie and Brigitte—thank you for always opening your inbox to me, for meeting me with piles of paper and Post-It notes, and for reading and telling me exactly how my words make you feel. May you never close your inbox to me!

Thank you, Tina Scott and Billi Joy Carson, for being more than editors. You are the safety net into which I fall easily. I am so glad to have you!

A special shout out to my boys, my husband and son, who make me smile morning, noon and night. You are the reason I live. You
are
the good in my life, and you are
real
men who deserve stories that prove you exist. Thank you for making me believe in love, hope, romance and joy on a daily basis.

And last, but not least, thank you, baseball. I love you, and I’ll see you again in the spring.

About the Author

Ginger Scott is a journalist and writer from Peoria, Arizona. A proud Sun Devil, she is a graduate and associate faculty member of Arizona State University’s Cronkite School of Journalism. When she’s not typing feverishly on her MacBook during the wee hours or reading in the dark on her iPad, she’s probably at a baseball diamond somewhere watching her son or her favorite team, the Arizona Diamondbacks, take the field.

Books by Ginger Scott

Waiting on the Sidelines

Going Long

Blindness

How We Deal With Gravity

This Is Falling

You and Everything After

Coming in 2015

The Girl I Was Before – Book 3 in the Falling Series

…and…

A raw, dark, heartbreaking, yet hopeful and (I think) beautiful, high school romance – title to be released soon. This one might be my favorite thing I’ve written.

Ginger Scott Online

www.littlemisswrite.com

www.facebook.com/GingerScottAuthor

Twitter @TheGingerScott