It’s kind of become our spot. And it’s there where he kissed me then asked me to officially be his girlfriend.
After that, we couldn’t seem to get enough of each other. He’d go out of his way, sometimes running across the entire school because his class was in the far hallway, and he’d walk me to class. And on the days he had to work at the coffee house and we couldn’t ‘study,’ he’d walk me home and then run to work.
We don’t have to do that anymore, because another thing I didn’t know about Trevor Jordan Criss—he’s brilliant. As soon as I turned 14, he had his parents hire me and made it so we work the same shifts. I don’t work as much as he does. Mom will only let me work 10 hours a week while he works more like 18. But that’s at least three days a week where we get to spend an extra 3 or 4 hours together.
His parents know about us. How could they not? In fact, I’m not sure how anyone wouldn’t notice the glances we share. The touches we steal. The pure energy that surrounds us whenever we’re together. It’s torture having to hide all those things when Mom comes in for coffee, which isn’t often because she’s usually tired after work. But she’ll sometimes pop in on a Saturday during my shift just to surprise me. She’ll make a production of ordering some fancy coffee just to watch me make it. Then she’ll taste it and fawn all over it like it’s the best coffee she’s ever had in her entire life. Then she’ll tell me how proud she is of me that I have a job and still make straight As.
All the while, guilt eats at me. Because she has no idea that I couldn’t care less about the job. She has no idea how many times I’ve lied to her about going to Regan’s house only to meet up with Trevor at our tree.
I love my mom. My whole life it’s been just the two of us. And she’s been so good at being a mom, it’s kind of made me not even miss not having a dad. Which is why I feel so guilty about lying to her. I’ve never lied to her. Not one time before Trevor. Am I a bad person, Diary, for lying to my mom so I can see the boy I love? Because I do love him. I know I do. And I figure if that’s what this is, true love, shouldn’t I be able to lie to get to experience it?
We haven’t said it. Because, come on, we’re ONLY 14 and what could 14-year-olds know about love? That’s what people would say, right?
But, Diary, even though we haven’t said it, here’s one more thing I didn’t know about Trevor. He loves me too.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Ava
There’s always been a slight creak to the bedroom door. I’m not sure why I’ve never fixed it. Maybe because I sleep with the door open and rarely shut it. But tonight, I did. I think I needed a barrier between us because everything is scrambled up in my head right now. I don’t know who he is. I’m not even sure I know whoIam anymore.
Regan was right. I’m different. And I’m lying to him in more ways than one.
If there’s going to be a chance of us getting back what we had before, I need to come clean. But it’s not that easy. I’m scared. Of how he’ll react. To the baby. To the lies. To my deep desire to have bits and pieces of both versions of him.
I sigh into my pillow, mentally berating myself for being such a horrible person. Because I no longer want only what I lost. Now, I want parts of this new Trevor along with parts of the old.
Could that happen if he gets his memory back? Could he return to the boy I fell for more than twenty years ago while still keeping this new edgy, untamed side to him? The side that both scares and entices me. Infuriates and seduces me. Confuses and excites me.
It’s two in the morning, and I’m fearing yet another sleepless night, when the door creaks. My body instantly reacts, electricity flowing through me as if I’m connected to the central grid.Thisis what I’m talking about. How can I crave him in my bed when I know he’s only coming in for a late-night booty call with the girl who gave it up yesterday with barely a second thought?
Trying to control my breathing, I pretend to be asleep.
His footsteps seem to echo in the room as he pads across the floor. Or maybe that’s just the blood rushing through my ears.
This man—a virtual stranger to me—is spiking my arousal merely by hearing his footsteps. It’s like the promise of a repeat of yesterday is making all the reasons I should deny him fly right out the window. Because that strong, scruffy, angular jaw is what I crave. I want it between my thighs, already wet in anticipation. It’s a feral need I’ve never experienced before.
And I try hard to quell all these unwelcome feelings I’m having about the man who might as well be my houseguest.
My eyes are open, staring at the opposite wall that casts shadows from a light he left on in the office, when the other side of the bed dips. It feels wrong. Like he’s not lying next to me, but rather just sitting there. There’s no more movement, no adjusting to get comfortable, no heat against my back. Just a presence in the space.
He sighs deeply. It’s one of thoseI’ve got a lot on my mindsighs.
Join the club, pal.
“Ava.”
My name comes out in a whisper, and my heartbeat spikes. Even when he whispers it, my name sounds different when he says it. He puts more emphasis on the first ‘A’ than he used to. And darn it, somehow that makes it sound sexier.
I stay completely still.
“I know you’re awake,” he says a little louder, but still quietly. “I can tell by how you’re breathing.”
I roll over. He’s sitting up, staring at me. I can’t make out the expression on his face because the light is behind him. But I’m sure he can clearly see the expression on mine, so I try to be unreadable.
“What do you want, Trevor?” I ask as if I don’t already know. As if I don’t want him here for the very same reason.
Well, I do… but I don’t.
