IF | A Novel Page 2

  Everyone seems to give him space to swagger in, as if he’s some kind of celebrity. I stare, because he is impossible to ignore. He makes his way over to a group of people, acting as if he owns the world. Lean muscles stretch under his sun-kissed, tattoo-covered arms as he crosses them casually over his broad chest, hidden under a white T-shirt.

  My breath hitches as I watch the corner of lips lift at something the guy in front of him says. Whatever it is seems to mildly amuse him. After a minute, he lifts a hand and brushes some of his messy short blond hair off his forehead before running the same hand over the light scruff on his jawline.

  Captivated, I watch as the entourage surrounding him hangs on his every word. He speaks with confidence and yet gives off a casual ease—like a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

  Without thinking about what I am doing, I take a step toward him but stop abruptly when Kennison’s face suddenly appears in front of mine. She’s eyeing me strangely.

  “Em?”

  “Mmm?”

  “You okay?”

  “Fine.” I meet her questioning gaze.

  She looks at me with an odd expression. “What are you doing?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You were walking off as I was talking to you.”

  “I was?”

  “Are you sure you’re okay? You’re acting weird.”

  I shake off whatever odd spell I seem to be under. “Sorry. Um, yeah. I’m fine.”

  Her eyes hold mine for a moment, filled with judgment, before she looks over her shoulder at the blond guy, and then back at me with an understanding sly grin. “Ah.”

  “What?”

  “He’s cute.”

  “Who?” I act like I have no idea who she is talking about.

  She rolls her eyes. “Jill and Kylie just arrived. Let’s go say hello.”

  I nod, distracted. “Let me grab a drink first.”

  “A drink?” she repeats, surprised. “You want a drink?”

  I don’t drink at parties. She knows this. “Yeah. Do you want one?”

  An amused smile crosses her lips. “I’m good. I’ll meet you over there.”

  My gaze slides over her shoulder and lands on the blond guy again.

  He’s standing in the middle of what appears to be an all-female fan club.

  “M’kay,” I reply absentmindedly.

  “Em?” Kennison attempts again, but I step around her.

  “Be there in a sec . . .” I trail off, walking away.

  I walk by him as I casually make my way over to the corner of the room. The keg and other booze are over here, surrounded by a bunch of loud, obnoxious guys funneling beer.

  For a moment, I stare at them, impressed by their gulping skills.

  A smooth voice at my ear sends shivers across my skin. “Need a drink?”

  I suck in a sharp breath through my teeth before lifting my gaze, only to look up into the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. They’re steel gray, like the color of the sky right before an unexpected storm. Unable to speak, I stand and stare at the guy I’d seen from across the room. He’s so close, I can feel his breath as I take in the perfect angles of his face. Everything about him is sharp, pointed and—underneath his breathtaking façade—maybe a little bit dangerous. He smells like cigarette smoke and freshly cut grass.

  His gaze doesn’t stray from mine, and he seems amused at the way I’m regarding him.

  “Your eyes are ocean blue,” he says with awe. “They’re fucking beautiful.”

  My lips part at the velvety sound of his deep voice as it wraps around me.

  “Thank you,” I breathe out.

  “You’re flushed,” he points out, looking at my cheeks.

  “Am I?”

  “Did I embarrass you?”

  “No.” I shake my head.

  A sly grin falls across his lips at my response, and his eyes roam over me. With each passing moment, I try to remember how to breathe. There’s no denying that being this close to him is a bad idea, but for some strange reason I can’t bring myself to move away.

  “So?” he prompts.

  “So?” I repeat on a breathy exhale.

  He cocks his head. “Did you want a drink?”

  “Y-yes,” I falter. “But, I-I was hoping for something with a sealed cap.”

  “Sealed cap?” he repeats, frowning.

  “I, um.” I take a small step away from him so I can think more clearly. “I don’t drink anything at parties from an open cup. Girl safety rule number one: always open the bottle yourself and hold your hand over the top when not drinking out of it,” I explain lamely.

  He nods, considering my words as some of his hair falls over his forehead.

  When his eyes meet mine again, they seem to get darker. “You like safe?”

  I hold his intense gaze and feel like his question runs deeper than beverages.

  “I like safe,” I reply.

  Suddenly, I’m shoved from the side and pushed into his arms.

  He growls and looks over my head. “Hey! Watch what you’re doing, asshole.”

  “Sorry, Daniels,” the kid mumbles, and quickly moves away from us.

  “Come on,” Daniels says.

  He grabs my hand, pulling me toward a closed door in the back corner of the common area. I look around and realize he must be one of Tyler’s suitemates. I know the sports teams here all have suites with four private rooms and a common area connecting them.

  I watch as he slides his hand into the front pocket of his jeans and produces a keycard before slipping it in the lock and opening the door. Flipping on the lights, he motions for me to enter. Biting my bottom lip, I contemplate whether I should follow him for a minute before he smiles and lifts his chin to someone behind me.

  When I turn, I see that Tyler is watching us with narrowed eyes, but he isn’t making any efforts to stop me, which is good. Kennison is next to him, holding up her cell, and I touch my back pocket, double checking that I have mine before nodding to her it’s there.

  Facing him again, I hesitate for the tiniest of moments.

  I have a feeling the moment I step into his world, everything in mine will change.

  Forever.

  4

  I look around his semi-clean dorm room as he makes his way over to a small fridge in the back. Baseball gear and some clothes are strewn around the bed and floor. Some books, an iPad, and a few other items are sitting on his desk. It all looks normal. He opens a mini-fridge in the back corner and pulls out two bottles of beer, then grabs a bottle opener.

  With a cool swagger, Daniels makes his way back over to me and hands me a bottle and the opener. This guy oozes sex and rebelliousness, and I force myself not to sigh or roll my eyes at his attempt to suck me in. He cocks his head to the side, considering me.

  “I’d offer to open your beer for you, like a gentleman, but you strike me as the kind of girl who prefers to open your own beer bottles,” he jokes with an amused challenge in his tone, given that I’ve already informed him of my capped-bottle preference.

  I lift my chin, taking the bottle and opener from him. “You would be correct.”

  Once I get my bottle open, I hand him back the opener and he opens his own bottle, then throws the opener on the bed next to us. I take a long drag of my beer, trying to do something other than stare at him.

  “I’m Lincoln. Lincoln Daniels,” he says. “But everyone calls me Daniels.”

  “It’s nice to meet you.” I hold his eyes. “Lincoln.”

  He smirks at my purposeful use of his first name, taking a sip from his bottle.

  “And you are?” he prompts.

  I shrug. “Does it matter?” I motion with my chin toward the Lincoln Daniels fangirl club watching us with annoyance from across the party. “Do you know all their names?”

  Lincoln’s expression tightens. “Yours matters. Not theirs.”

  I take a breath and let it out slowly. “Emerson Shaw. Everyone calls me Emerson.”

&nb
sp; Amusement softens his eyes and face as he chuckles at my words and I smile at him.

  Lincoln clinks the top of his bottle to mine. “It’s a pleasure”—he pauses—“Em.”

  As I smile, I try not to show how much he’s affecting me—how his intense gaze makes me want to melt into him or the way his velvety voice has this insane lulling effect on me.

  “How do you know Tyler?” he asks.

  It’s an innocent question. But I panic, remembering Tyler is friends with Lucas. Lucas, my boyfriend. Shit! What the hell am I doing flirting with this guy? I look into his eyes as he stares at me. “Tyler is in my English class,” I answer, sounding more calm than I feel.

  “That so?” he asks, but it’s more of a challenge. Like he can see through my vagueness.

  “That. Is. So.”

  Inexplicably drawn together, we just watch each other with a magnetic intrigue.

  Lincoln takes a step in my direction and lifts a strand of my long wavy hair. “What color is this? It’s not really brown, but it’s not blond either. I’ve never seen it before.”

  “Ash brown. With blond highlights.” God I’m lame.

  “Ash brown.” He twirls it between his fingers. “It’s pretty. Soft and silky.”

  Lincoln steps closer, his smile carrying a hint of sensuality. I take a sip from my bottle and step around him, taking my hair with me, needing to put some distance between us.

  When I see his textbooks, I exhale. “Are you a sports medicine major?”

  Suddenly, I feel his hard chest pressed against my back as he looks over my shoulder, down onto his desk. At his closeness, all the blood rushes to my head and starts pounding.

  “I am. What about you?” Lincoln’s beer-laced breath tickles my cheek.

  My stomach does small flips at his nearness. After a moment, I look up and meet his eyes, and he grins playfully, like he knows he makes me feel all spastic and crazy inside.

  “I’m not into sports,” I manage through a dry throat.

  “What are you into, Em?” he whispers, holding my gaze.

  Slightly unsettled by his question, I swallow. “I’m undecided.”

  “Yeah?” His eyes twinkle.

  I nod. “I haven’t decided . . . on a major yet.”

  “Well,” he says, his eyes darkening. “Let me know if I can help you . . . decide.”

  Feeling hypnotized and light-headed from his scent, I tear my eyes away from his and take a step away from him, determined to find something safe to look at or talk about.

  Something that doesn’t turn into a weird intense sexual energy or subtle flirting between us. I have a feeling that is going to be an impossible task. Walking toward the left side of the room, I pick up his team jersey and turn to face him, holding it up to him.

  “How long have you played baseball?”

  “My whole life. I’m on full scholarship here because of it.”

  “What position?”

  “Third base.”

  I smile and shake my head. “Of course you do.”

  “It’s my favorite base.” He winks and I raise a brow at him.

  “Not a home run kinda guy?” I tease.

  “Sometimes being close, without actually scoring, is just as rewarding.”

  Lincoln throws me a roguish smile and I melt. I’m way too attracted to this stranger for it to be normal. Or healthy. What is happening to me? I toss his jersey back down because clearly baseball is off-limits. Nervous, I continue my tour of his personal space.

  As I look at shelves and furniture, I notice something odd.

  “No photos?” I question. “From home, I mean?” I look over my shoulder at him.

  He arches an eyebrow. “Are you asking if I have a girlfriend at home?”

  I hold his stare. “I was asking why you don’t have any personal photos or items.”

  Lincoln nods his understanding, but there’s a flatness to his response. “I’ve never needed photos to remind me of people who are important. And I like things . . . uncluttered.”

  I frown at his odd response. He seems edgy. I decide to shift the conversation.

  “So, no girlfriend at home pining for you, then?”

  “Nope.” He takes a long pull from his beer, swallowing while holding my gaze. “Or here.” My insides light up with excitement at his admission, even though they shouldn’t.

  “Why not? I mean . . .” I pause. “Have you seen you?”

  That earns me another chuckle. “I’m not boyfriend material.”

  “No?” I challenge, then turn and lean back on the empty nightstand. “Why is that?”

  Lincoln stares straight into my eyes, his voice void of emotion when he speaks. “I’m not the kind of guy that girls want to—or should—bring home to meet Mommy and Daddy.”

  I tilt my head, hating that he thinks that. “What kind of guy are you, then?”

  “The kind of guy that will fuck you in a dark hallway when you’re trying to escape your sheltered life, or want to piss off your parents.” He holds my eyes in an intense stare as he stalks toward me. “The kind of guy that you let touch you, even when you have a boyfriend. I’m the kind of guy who brings darkness into your world as I destroy it. And you.” I hold my breath as he takes a final step into my space and dips his mouth toward my ear, whispering, “I’m the kind of guy who isn’t, and won’t ever be, good for you.”

  Something inside me wants to tell him that he’s full of shit. Even though I don’t know him, I sense that there is more to him than this bad-boy persona he’s trying to give off.

  A loud knock on the open door has Lincoln slowly backing away from me to reveal Tyler. He’s standing in the doorway watching us with a scowl on his face, holding his cell. He glances back and forth between us, so I quickly shoot him a what’s up look.

  “Everything okay in here?” Tyler asks, with a bite to his tone.

  “Fine,” Lincoln says casually. “I was just getting to know your friend Em.”

  “Emerson,” I push out quickly.

  I don’t know why I clarify what my full name is; it’s not like he’s been using it this entire time, but for some reason letting him use Em in this moment seems inappropriately strange, given I’m always correcting Tyler for trying to shorten it in a cute way.

  At my correction, Lincoln’s grip on his bottle tightens, and his knuckles become white.

  “What do you need, Hamilton?” Lincoln asks Tyler, but keeps his attention on me.

  He’s doing it again. Looking at me in a way that makes me feel naked and vulnerable.

  Tyler steps closer to us, holding up his cell to me. “Lucas called looking for you.”

  “What?” I unglue my eyes from Lincoln and meet Tyler’s scolding expression.

  “He’s been calling and texting you. When he couldn’t reach you, he called me to see if I knew where you were,” he explains. “I said you were with me and I’d have you call him.”

  “Who the fuck is Lucas?” Lincoln asks rudely, causing my eyes to cut back to his.

  In my peripheral vision, I see Tyler frown. “Her boyfriend, asshole.”

  Lincoln exhales a long breath, slowly lifting his face to look at me. “Boyfriend?”

  I fall silent. Oddly, his eyes are full of hurt, and all I can do is stare at him curiously.

  “Lucas is a friend of mine from prep school,” Tyler states.

  Even though I don’t really know Lincoln, he somehow looks like he is in a world of pain at this information. His eyebrows are furrowed and his breathing is slow and shallow.

  “Em, you have a prep school boyfriend?” His voice is cold and distant.

  I stare back because I’m confused at the change in his demeanor. He’s intimidating. Angry. Watching me as if I should be giving him an apology, or explaining myself.

  I place my bottle down on his nightstand and stand to my full height.

  “It was nice meeting you, Lincoln.” I drop my tone, ignoring his question.

  Tyler takes a step back, givi
ng me space to slip out the doorway, but before I can even take a step, Lincoln reaches out, grabbing my elbow. His gentle hold forces me to stop.

  Annoyed, I look at where he is holding my arm, because even through the cotton of my sleeve, my skin burns under his touch. “What do you want, Lincoln?” I whisper.

  “I don’t know,” he replies quietly.

  For a moment, I squeeze my eyes shut and try to drown out the smooth sound of his voice as it slides over me, setting off every nerve in my body, warming me. With a deep inhale, I open my lids and look up at him from under my lashes.

  As he looks down on me, his expression turns soft and tender.

  “Do me a favor and take a step back,” I croak.

  To my surprise, he does. With every ounce of willpower I have, I walk past Tyler and toward the open doorway to escape whatever insane moment we’ve been sharing.

  As I leave, I hear Tyler’s cool voice. “Emerson belongs to someone, Daniels.”

  “You’re right, Hamilton. Em does belong to someone. Just not who you think.”

  5

  I don’t bother to look up when the seat across from me moves and Lincoln folds his body into it. Instead, I keep my head down, focusing on my reading as he unpacks his stuff and settles in, like he does every Tuesday. This weekly study date began a few days after the party. One Tuesday afternoon, I came into the library and there he was, studying.

  Even though I had no right to be, I was annoyed I hadn’t seen him in days. Instead of talking to him, I ignored him and picked the farthest table from his, then set about getting comfortable. Fifteen minutes into what I thought was a clever dodge, he packed up his stuff and my insides filled with disappointment that he was leaving. Sulking, I turned my full attention to my schoolwork, which is why I didn’t notice his approach until he pulled out the seat in front of me. When I looked up, his eyes sparkled with delight and held mine as he wordlessly sat down, opened his textbook, and then proceeded to ignore me.

  Since that day, this is our Tuesday afternoon ritual.

  We don’t speak.