Embrace (Evolve Series #2) (4 page)

Chapter 5

Lead the Way

~Evan~

T
he Sig house is hoppin’. Trash, toilet
paper and a few smokers huddled together for warmth decorate the front lawn. A
loud bass line thumps from inside and Sawyer’s head is bobbing to the music
like a dashboard doll as we make our way up the walk. Neither one of us is a Sig,
but I’m thinking nobody tells Sawyer he can’t join the party, so I figure I’m
golden.

All I want to do tonight is forget; I want erase
from my mind all that is my new school, my forfeited jersey and my lost girl.
Maybe I can just pretend to be somebody else.

Seeing Laney in Algebra every week is gonna suck,
and I’m not sure how long I’ll be able to treat her with cold indifference; it
just doesn’t feel right. We were friends for so long before we were anything
else, but I’m not sure yet if we can get it back there. Not having her in my
life at all is foreign and hurts like hell, but I don’t know if I can pull off
anything more than cordial distance right now, and the cordiality is sometimes
a stretch.

Not wanting to do the mental debate thing for the
hundredth time, I follow Sawyer into the party, vowing internally not to think
of it, her, us, them, again tonight. We hit the keg straight away, then head
over to a group of people Sawyer knows. Introductions are made and the only one
I register is Josie, a short, really pretty brunette across from me. Yes—I
still have eyes.

I give her a smile and hold her hand in mine longer
than a normal “nice to meet you” shake, rubbing my thumb across her wrist on
the release. I just want to connect with someone, anyone, even for a moment.
I’ve always been half of a whole, always known the girl in the room who was
“mine,” and now I’m lost.

Sawyer picks up on my interest in her and gives me a
nod, turning his attention to her friend, guiding her away to dance.

Very nice.
 I’ve got one foot in the stirrup,
ready to fling my leg over and get back on the horse when a pair of small hands
covers my eyes from behind.

“Guess who?” a sweet voice says in my ear.

The hands lift and Whitley pops in front of me,
totally disregarding Josie, who’s now standing behind her. I have to grin at
her boldness.

“Hey, Whitley, how are you? Do you know Josie?” I
awkwardly indicate to the girl throwing daggers into her back.

Whitley swiftly turns her head, giving Josie a once
over, then looks back to me. “Nope,” she says nonchalantly with a shrug. “Who
are you here with?”

“Sawyer. He’s around here somewhere.” I cast my eyes
around as though looking for him, not daring to make eye contact with Josie. I
don’t think I’ve ever been the ball of nip in a catfight before, and the
thought is making me sweat in a nervous, “I’m not breaking this shit up” kind
of way.  Don’t get me wrong—I love a good catfight as much as any other guy,
but I don’t want to be in the middle of one.

“I don’t care where Sawyer is.” She giggles. “Come
on, let’s dance.” She drags me into the middle of the room, furniture moved to
provide a makeshift dance floor, before I can decline.

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?

T
urns 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.”