When You Come Back to Me (Lost Boys #2) - Emma Scott Page 0,75
page, the university had a “vibrant LGBTQA+ community.” The page was accompanied by a photo of beautiful, happy queer students, laughing in the bright California sun. I even let my cursor wander to the mental health services department. That’s how bored I was.
You’re going to walk around campus like an average schmuck? You’re going to sit in a stuffy classroom, taking notes, and letting someone with half your IQ judge your writing?
Wow, my ego was bitchy today. I compared the scholastic life in Santa Cruz to my vision of Parisian parties, fountains of champagne, writing in a garret overlooking the Seine, and having meaningless sex until my dick fell off.
In the past, I’d have said no contest, but now…
How about this: You’re going to let amateurs poke and prod at your PTSD until it wakes up and devours you?
I shut the laptop and told myself the small pang in my chest was only my imagination.
I called James and had him take me to the parking lot closest to the Cliffs. I trudged the rocky, unforgiving path to the Shack, hoping Miller or Ronan or both would be there. Miller worked every Saturday, but maybe I’d get lucky and he’d have the day off. Maybe he’d play a song for me and I’d get out of my head for a while.
As I drew close to the Shack, I heard voices. One low and deep, one soft and smooth. I peeked into the window and found Ronan with Shiloh Barrera, Violet’s best friend and more frequent guest at our nightly bonfires. I didn’t know her well, but her sharp tongue and lack of bullshit made me an instant fan.
“Is she okay?” Ronan was asking.
“She’s okay. Miller’s with her now.”
“About time.”
“Agree, but those two are giving me an ulcer. Literally hours before, River Whitmore asked Violet to Prom. As friends. And Violet, the dummy, said yes.”
My heart dropped to the sand as jealousy rampaged through me, green and sour like nausea.
“Doesn’t mean anything,” Ronan said. “If Miller’s with Violet now, he won’t let her slip away again.”
“I just wonder what River’s endgame is.”
To be accepted. To not be alone. To have a normal life.
My initial stab of jealousy mellowed to a dull ache. I waited with breath held for Ronan to spill everything I’d told him about River and me in private.
“River asked her to Prom as a friend, right?” Ronan shrugged. “Maybe that’s what he needs. A friend.” He moved close to Shiloh with an intimacy that said this wasn’t the first time they’d been in each other’s space. “And maybe it’s none of our fucking business.”
I should’ve left them alone, but I’d become mesmerized by the energy tensing between them. A push-and-pull dance I couldn’t take my eyes off of.
Ronan moved closer to Shiloh, his huge body looming over her lithe form. She was beautiful in a loose, flowing white skirt and a tight white T-shirt. Metal bracelets slid down her warm brown skin, and hundreds of tiny box braids fell over her slender shoulders. She held her ground, staring back at Ronan defiantly. The heat that burned between them was strong enough that I felt it from outside the Shack.
“We’re doing this now?” Shiloh asked, her voice hardly more than a breathy whisper.
Ronan nodded. His large hands went to her small waist and he hefted her easily, setting her on the edge of the table. Her fingers trailed up his tattooed arms, tracing the muscles, their gazes locked. Ronan pressed her legs apart and moved in. Shiloh welcomed him, her skirt sliding up her skin, ankles locking behind Ronan’s thighs. She tilted her chin and said something I couldn’t hear. A challenge, maybe.
Whatever she said, it was a spark to Ronan’s constantly burning flame. He made a fist in her braids, hauling her mouth to his. Shiloh took his kiss and gave it back with equal fire, her fingernails raking across his broad back as she lay over the table, pulling him down on top of her.
I wrenched myself from the window and stepped back.
“Congratulations. You can add voyeurism to your long list of depravity,” I muttered as I trudged back the way I’d come. But it wasn’t pervy curiosity that’d kept me there. In those moments, no one had existed for Ronan except Shiloh. The world could have exploded, and he would have seen and felt and known only her. And vice versa. The intensity that