Dearest Series Boxed Set (16 page)

“Sure.”

We walk up to the big glass doors that lead to the dorm. Once we’re in the elevator, my heart starts pounding.

“Relax, Clem.” Harper tightens her arm through mine. “He’s your friend, right? If you decide to not go out tomorrow night, a friend will understand.”

She has a point.
And if I’m his friend, I shouldn’t bail.
I’m chewing on this idea when the doors open to the eighteenth floor. Gavin’s door is open, but there’s no one there, so I knock and call out his name. That’s when I hear the music coming down the hall from the common area.

I let go of Harper’s arm and walk toward the sound of the guitar. When we reach the big open room, I see Gavin softly strumming, while about a dozen students crowd around, listening. His back is to us, and his head is down. Harper leans on my shoulder as we stand in the doorway listening.

His muscles flex through his fitted t-shirt as he plays. He’s such a natural. He plays well, but then he starts to sing, and holy shit, he’s amazing. His voice has a gravelly quality to it, but it’s also somehow soft and alluring.

Harper nudges me, whispering, “Wow.”

Everyone claps and hollers when he finishes. I clap too. Suddenly, the students seem aware that Harper and I are strangers, and their attention on us gets him to turn around. I don’t know what I’m expecting, but the grin on his face melts me and the knots in my stomach. My face breaks into a smile. There’s something so honest and pure about his expression that it makes my chest hurt. How could I have been avoiding him?

He gets up to hug us, but as he’s wrapping his arms around my shoulders, he tilts his head back to look at me.
He’s probably wondering what the hell we’re doing here.

“Hey, guys,” he says to the students as he grabs my hand and tugs me into the middle of the room. “You need to hear Clementine. Now this girl can sing.”

“Gavin, I don’t think—”

“C’mon, darlin’. Think of it as payback for all that inspiration.” Then he winks at me.

Damn that wink.

I shake my head as I rub the back of my neck.
Pull it together, Clementine.

Harper is laughing. I’m trying to pretend I’m cool, but I’m sure the heat on my face gives me away.

Gavin repositions his guitar while he gets one of the guys to pull another chair next to his. He motions toward it, and with an eye roll I sit.

“Any requests?” he asks the room. Immediately, one girl shouts Maroon 5. He snickers. “Fiona, that’s a little high for me. Hmm…” He messes with a few chords, trying to piece together a tune before he turns to me. “Do you know their song
Daylight
?”

Nodding, I gulp, hoping that sound actually comes out of my mouth when I open it.

He smiles at me, and all of the doubts I’ve been harboring subside. “Great. The verses are low enough, so I’ll sing those, and you can do the chorus, okay?”

“Uh, sure.” Glancing around the room, I finally notice the girls are looking longingly at Gavin, or Murphy, as they call him. In the back, I see Carly wave to me. I grin, glad to see her back in her bubbly state.

Gavin starts playing, and I turn to watch him. There’s something really sexy about how his fingers work up and down the strings.
But his voice.
Adam Levine is a hard guy to follow, but between Gavin’s playing and the way he works the melody, it sounds fresh. I clear my throat, and on the chorus, I start in.

As I sing the chorus, I feel myself blush more. Thinking about the nights we’ve spent together makes me realize that the pain in my chest, the one that started when I walked in the room, is longing. I’ve missed him.

My pulse quickens when he looks at me and sings the verse about wanting to slow down time because he doesn’t want to leave.

When I come in on the chorus again, he harmonizes, and our voices meld together. Hearing how right this sounds sends chills down my arms.

I’ve never sung with anyone other than my roommates when we’re driving somewhere, but he makes this easy. I can’t keep his eye contact, though—it’s too intense—and I look away, but I sense him watching me, along with all the kids on the floor.

The instant we’re done, the room erupts in applause. I look at him and smile. “Not bad, Mr. Murphy.”

He grins back, that sexy-as-hell smile that is so incredibly delicious it makes my heart flutter. I’m trying hard to keep my breathing in check because being with him has me worked up. I don’t know why. I’ve never been into musicians. Never saw the appeal. I always thought they were too mercurial. Too undependable. Too capricious. But Gavin isn’t any of those things. He’s a steady, even force who’s loyal and good and, dear fucking God, hot.

Still foggy from the rush of that performance, the only thing that stands out right now is that I really, really want to kiss him. Now.

He’s about to say something when one of the kids shouts at us. “Why doesn’t she sing in your band?”

Gavin laughs and shakes his head. “Clementine has far too much class to sing with us.”

“Shut up.” I shove him playfully. He grabs my arm and pulls me into a hug, making me giggle.

“Dude, your girlfriend is hot,” one of the guys says from the back of the room.

I stiffen, not sure how to respond. We’ve been playing pretend these last few weeks, and the realization that my emotions might be just the side effect of some fictional flirting dawns on me. What if this is all about Samantha and Aiden, and Gavin’s just playing the dutiful book boyfriend? Maybe he doesn’t feel the same way.

I start to open my mouth, but Harper walks up, interrupting me.

“That sounded great, guys! I’d love to stay and hear more, but I gotta run,” she says, waving her phone as though she got an important message. “See you back home, Clem. Bye, Gavin!”

As she leaves, Gavin pulls me closer to him, and when his lips touch my ear, he whispers, “I’ve missed you.” And suddenly, I don’t care that I’m scared by how much I want to be around him, by what he makes me feel, by the things I want to do to him. All I can do is shiver.

Because I’ve never missed anyone more.

* * *

M
y chest aches
, swelling and stretching with the emotion of the lyrics we sang. When he pulls me into the hall, I want to press my lips to his and run my hands along his fabulously hard body. My heart starts to beat faster as we get closer to his room.

So when Gavin stops in front of the elevators, I’m confused.

“Do you want to grab some coffee with me, and I can walk you home?” he asks softly as he presses the button.

Trying not to look disappointed, I agree. Did I do something wrong?

Gavin is unusually quiet as we head down to the corner coffee shop. He orders a black coffee, and I get a medium latte. We make small talk, but it’s uncomfortable and forced, a hundred-and-eighty-degree difference from the intimate moment we shared while singing.

Shit, maybe what happened with Jax weirded him out. Maybe he overheard all of that and thinks I am a big head case.

He stops in front of the steps of my brownstone.

“I’m going to head back,” he says, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

Finally, I can’t stand it any longer. “Are you okay? Did my singing suck?” I joke.

He looks confused, and then he gets that crinkle in his forehead. “No. God, no. I only…” He stares at me a long minute and sighs. “Can I be honest with you?”

This can’t be good.
My head speeds ahead to all the possibilities. He doesn’t like me. He
is
dating Angry Red. He wasn’t lying when he said he just wanted to be friends.
Fucking hell.

I brace myself for the worst. He clears his throat as he watches a car drive by.

“I don’t trust myself to be alone with you.” What? He’s turned to the side, so all I see is his stoic profile. “I’m seriously fucking attracted to you, and I know you need to take things slowly, and I don’t want to screw this up, whatever this is, so that’s why I’m walking you home and stopping on your front steps. Because I want to be a gentleman.”

My heart goes into some kind of arrhythmia. Gavin saying that makes me want him so much more. I take the cup of coffee out of his hands and put it on the step next to mine. Turning to him, I push up on my toes so I can reach up and wrap my arms around his neck. With my body pressed up against his, I look up as a range of emotions cross his handsome face—surprise, confusion, desire—and when we’re nearly nose to nose, I pause.

“That’s the hottest thing anyone has ever told me,” I whisper before I touch my lips to his. It’s a sweet, soft kiss even though part of me wants to strip naked for this man. But he’s right. I need to take this slow, so I break from him after a minute and smile. Handing back his drink, I wink.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. For our date,” I say, and I walk inside.

N
othing seems right
. Jeans are too casual, but I don’t have anything dressy, and I want to look good tonight. Lately, the only things Gavin has seen me in are sweats and t-shirts, and if he’s used to dating supermodel clones, I need to bring my A-game. I eventually relent and slink into Jenna’s room to ask her for an outfit.

I end up borrowing a simple black sheath wrap-around dress that’s a little low-cut in the front, but it fits well. I even break out the Victoria’s Secret underwear my roommates got me for my birthday.

After a hot shower where I do all the requisite grooming, my eyes fall on the fishbowl of condoms. Desire starts to pool in my stomach, and I have to tell myself that sleeping with Gavin on our first official date is not the smartest decision. Of course, I’m hoping we do
something
because after what he told me last night, I’m dying to touch him. I guess there’s nothing like saying “no” to build desire.

Slipping on a lacy black push-up bra, I have to admit that Victoria and her Secret have it right. Extra boobage is so worth the cost. Once I’m pushed up in all the right places, I roll on a pair of thigh-high tights and slip into my chunky black heels that were hibernating in the back of my closet.

My long hair, which I usually pull up into some kind of ponytail or messy bun, is in need of something drastic, so I blow-dry it straight. I slide on the dress, and smooth my hands over the beautiful stretchy fabric. For makeup, I play up my assets and emphasize my blue eyes, dabbing them with smoky eyeliner before I smack on some pale pink lip gloss.

“Whoa, Mamma!” Ryan shouts as I walk out of my bedroom. I’m not expecting to see him in my living room, but at this point, I really should get used to the idea that he’s a permanent fixture, like a lamp or a poorly trained puppy. “Gavin is one lucky man. Do you know how many of my friends have wanted to go out with you?”

“Shut up, Ryan.” I grin, embarrassed.

“It’s totally true. They’ve always looked at me like I was crazy when I told them you didn’t date. At least now I can say you have a boyfriend.”

I start to explain that Gavin and I haven’t defined what we are, but I’m interrupted when Jenna and Harper come out of a bedroom and start crooning that I look great. When Gavin knocks a few minutes later, nerves shoot through me, and I feel like an awkward teenager, unsure of what I should do with my hands or arms.

Jenna opens the door, and Gavin gives her a quick hug, but when he walks in and his eyes meet mine, his smile drops. For a second, I wonder if something’s wrong, that maybe he doesn’t like how I’m dressed, but then that sexy grin spreads on his face and makes me melt.

“Damn, baby, you look hot.”

I let out a relieved laugh before I realize that I’m blushing like a total lunatic. Gavin Murphy has reduced me to a giggling fool.

He looks breathtaking in dark pants, a pin-striped button-up and a dark jacket. Gavin kisses me sweetly on the lips, and I’m grateful his arm goes around my waist because being close to him has me feeling like I’m made out of paper and might blow away. He smells like fresh laundry and a hint of cologne, and for just a second I nuzzle up against him.

Of course, it only takes that brief show of affection to get our friends catcalling. Gavin laughs while I blush more, but when Ryan starts humping the couch, I give him the finger and drag my guy out of my apartment.

We head for dinner at a cozy Italian restaurant in the North End, and after we get seated at a quiet table in the corner, he reaches across the table for my hand and laces his fingers through mine.

“You look gorgeous in that dress. The whole restaurant was staring at you when we walked in.” His eyes are piercing, making the fleet of butterflies in my stomach crash into each other.

“That’s not true.” I look away so he can’t see my cheeks flush.

“So you have a hard time taking compliments, huh?” He laughs at me, and I keep my head turned because I know he’s going to press this issue. “If I told you that I’ve wanted to ask you out since freshman year, would that also mortify you?”

My mouth falls open, and I turn to look at him. “Really?”

“It’s possible.” The corner of his mouth turns up into a crooked grin. He watches a couple cross the room, and he chuckles. “Ever since you told Professor Nevil that you disagreed with his interpretation of
Pride and Prejudice
. He was ranting about Elizabeth being a hypocrite because although she hates her mother’s obsession with marrying off the girls, Lizzy marries Mr. Darcy at the end.”

He laughs and runs his free hand across his jaw. “You told him that wasn’t the point of the novel. You said it was groundbreaking because Lizzy broke social norms to be with someone who outclassed her, that their love helped them overcome what would have shattered an ordinary relationship.”

“I said that?” I look at him skeptically. The conversation sounds familiar, but that fall was a blur.

He nods. “Jane Austen has never turned me on quite as much as it did that day.”

I laugh, tempted to roll my eyes at him. “She’s my favorite author. Well, and F. Scott Fitzgerald.”

“
This Side of Paradise
, right?”

Smiling because he remembers that I love this book, I realize how much I enjoy talking to him about literature. “I know the end of that story pisses people off, that the main character went through that whole ordeal, and in the end, he only knows himself—the result is simply self-awareness—but I think there’s something to be said for going through hell and coming out the other side understanding your limitations.”

I’m tempted to tell him about my stories—the ones that are half-written, the ones I haven’t been brave enough to publish—and what inspired them, but the thought of him reading my work and seeing so much of my past is still a little terrifying.

When dinner arrives, I accidentally knock over my purse, and a Sharpie rolls out. I’ve been using it to autograph books for my boss. Gavin sees it and amusement lights his eyes.

“I once got in a lot of trouble with one of those,” he says, motioning toward my pen. “When I was seven, I went to summer camp, and one day I got a brilliant idea for a prank, so I waited until the kids in my cabin went to sleep and then drew on everyone.”

I cover my mouth to stifle a laugh. His chiseled features look so handsome as he recalls this memory, the soft lighting creating dark planes of shadow under his cheekbones.

He smirks as I take a sip of wine. “It wouldn’t have been such a big deal if I hadn’t accidentally used a
permanent
marker on their faces.”

“Oh my God!” I nearly choke, and a few drops of wine dribble out my mouth, leaving dots of wetness on the white tablecloth. “Sorry, this is very ladylike.” I wipe away the evidence and cover my face with my napkin, horrified that I’ve basically drooled all over the table.

“It’s okay. I tend to find most things you do adorable.”

My mouth opens slightly at his compliment, but he doesn’t give me a chance to say anything. “Now that I’ve shared my embarrassing story, I want one from you.”

He twirls a fettuccine noodle around his fork and waits for my answer.

“Hmm.” Opting for something safe, I decide to go with a story from middle school. “When I was in seventh grade, I made the mistake of falling asleep early at an overnight birthday party, and when I woke up, one of the girls had frozen my bra in a plastic cup. Her older brother thought it was hysterical. He stood there laughing at me, holding out the frozen bra-cicle for everyone to see.”

He laughs, but I hold out my hand. “That may not sound like a big deal, but when you’re twelve, and you’re just getting boobs, it’s horrifying.” As I’m explaining, I motion toward my chest, which of course attracts his gaze, making me totally self-conscious, but his eyes make it back up to my face a split second later, a hint of a grin on his lips.

“I can top that. In fifth grade, we got a new teacher, Ms. Holloway, and all of my friends thought she was hot. I didn’t really see what the fuss was all about. I thought she was pretty, but nothing worth losing sleep over. But when we came back from winter break, she had gotten a makeover and was wearing this really tight red sweater…”

My eyes widen because I know what’s coming.

“Yeah, I guess my fondness for her, uh,
grew
that day.”

I snort, and his face reddens a bit. “Luckily, that only happened whenever she wore that outfit, and the next year she switched to a different school, thank God.”

“Adolescence is plain embarrassing. Parts are growing, hormones are raging, and things are coming out of your body that have no business seeing daylight.”

Gavin busts out laughing, and I grin back, enjoying that we can share these silly memories.

Our phones are sitting on the table after we shared a few photos from the summer, and one buzzes with a text. He glances at it and grins.

“I think this one is for you,” he says slowly, handing me my cell.

It’s a message from Jenna, and because it’s short, the whole thing fits on my screen as an alert:
Ur hard cock felt good between my moist lips.

“Holy crap.”
Really, Jenna?

I glance at him briefly before I bury my head in my hands, his laughter ringing out in the quiet restaurant. I wait for my mortification to subside before I attempt to text back.

I stammer, “If I don’t write back something… appropriate, she’ll send me more.”
I’m going to kill her!

When I’m done typing the message, Gavin raises his eyebrows as he waits for me to share my response. Reluctantly, I hand him my phone.

He clears his throat. “So that represents a blo—”

“Yup,” I say, cutting him off. My message to Jenna: :0

Yes, that’s our blow job emoticon.

He chuckles, and I give him the finger. “Don’t talk to me right now.”

His laughter is warm as he reaches across the table and peels my other hand off my face and pulls me around the table, settling me in his lap.

Our waitress, who has been ogling him all night, walks up and stares at us. Gavin has his arms wrapped around me, and I’m still blushing.

“Dessert?” she asks.

He nibbles my neck as goosebumps race down my arms. “Yes, she’s dessert.” My face continues to burn as I playfully smack his arm and slide off his lap.

Over a couple of slices of cheesecake and coffee, we talk about our classes, my sex-obsessed romance-writing professor, and all the weird things he’s seen as an RA. He seems careful not to ask anything about my family or Daren, which is a relief. I get the sense I can tell him when I’m ready, a thought that puts me at ease.

Actually, everything about our date makes me relax. The way he laughs at me when I’m being a smartass. The way he ignores our beautiful waitress who looks like she wants to devour him for her own main course. The way he holds my hand all night or wraps his arm around me as we walk home.

So when we reach my building, I’m definitely not ready to say goodnight. He stops in front of the steps and tucks his hands in his pockets. The fact that he’s trying to respect my need to take things slowly makes me want him more.

I stand on the step above him and pull him to me by wrapping my arms around his neck.

“Gavin,” I whisper.

“Clementine.” His breath tickles my ear.

“I’d like for you to come upstairs with me.” I lean back and look up at him, studying his face—his strong jaw, those full lips, his smoldering eyes. Damn, he’s sexy. “I’m not ready for any home runs tonight, but maybe we could go for second or third base?” I keep staring into his eyes as I kiss his lips softly, waiting for him to answer.

“Have I ever told you how much I fucking love baseball?” He leans down to deepen the kiss as I try not to giggle.

God bless baseball!

* * *

T
he instant my
bedroom door shuts, Gavin’s hands wrap around my waist. He whips me around and presses himself against me, and he feels so good.

He threads his fingers through my hair, sending sparks through me like a plasma globe.

“Does this mean you’ll go out with me next weekend? And maybe the weekend after that?” he asks in between kisses. “And the one after that?”

Dear lord. If he keeps talking like that, I might not be able to keep this from going too far. Somehow, I have the restraint to push him back, but I keep my hands on his shoulders. He frowns at the lost contact, but there are things I need to ask.

“Does this mean we’re dating?” I ask hesitantly. Does he think of me as his girlfriend? The thought of that used to terrify me because it means vulnerability and letting someone get close and the threat of getting hurt, but when I think back to Angry Red, it galls me to think of sharing him with anyone.

He chuckles, pulling me closer. “Baby, I hate to tell you this, but we’ve been dating”—he leans down and kisses my neck—”for a while.”

It’s difficult to concentrate as his mouth migrates down to my shoulder, and it takes everything in me to stay focused.

“So you haven’t… you haven’t been going out with anyone else?” His answer scares me, but I need to know.