Meant To Be (The Callahans #4) - Monica Murphy Page 0,35
of my hair completely, making it fall past my shoulders. He’s frowning as he rakes his fingers through it. “You got a weird lump in your hair.”
“I’ve had it up all day.” I try running my fingers through the back of it to make it look better, but it’s pointless.
“Wish you showed up here in your uniform. That always gets me, seeing you like that.” He nuzzles my cheek with his nose, whispering in my ear, “Maybe you could come over to my house one night, wearing that uniform and nothing else under the skirt.”
“Eli,” I whisper in protest, just before he kisses me again. Not that I’m really protesting his idea. It actually sounds kind of fun.
“Ava,” he whispers back, his hands starting to wander.
And that’s my cue to pull away and grab that wandering hand, shifting him away from the door. “Let’s go,” I tell him, just before I open it and march out of the room. He follows after me, squeezing my hand and I know…
I have never felt more triumphant than in this moment. He’s mine again.
Mine.
Ten
Eli
Was I too easy on her? Maybe. Was she too easy on me? Probably.
But earlier when we were outside, I caught her watching me with those big green eyes, her body swaying to the music as she stood next to her best friend. Jackson was singing that song and I absorbed the lyrics completely, the words hitting me like a smack upside the head. Players only loving you when you’re playing, or some shit like that. Got me right in the feels, I can’t lie. Reminded me that everyone thinks I’m that guy. The player. The one who’ll fuck you and leave you. The one who struts around like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Laughing and acting stupid and drinking and smoking another blunt and hey, you wanna get loaded? You wanna get fucked? Oh, you want to get punched in the fucking face? I can manage that too.
I can’t blame everyone for thinking that’s who I am. That’s how I portray myself. It’s how I want people to see me. Acting that way makes me feel strong. Tough. Above it all—above my problems.
The only one who knows I’m more than that is this girl. Ava. The one who’s tugging me through the house after I so thoroughly kissed her. Her hair is a fuckin’ mess and I kissed all the gloss off her lips—I can still feel a little bit of it on mine, sticky and sweet—and her eyeliner is smudged. Gives her an edgy look, which is not typical Ava. But every time she moves, I catch a glimpse of her flat stomach and her belly button, the sight of her bare skin making me want to trace it all with my tongue, so…yeah.
I can’t worry about if I did the right thing or not. Or if I forgave too easily. She’s here. I believe what she said about Cami. Wouldn’t put it past her to confess all my secrets to that asshole Jake. Why is she so drawn to that guy? Why is anyone drawn to him?
Fuck him. He’s the last person I want to think about right now.
Instead, I focus on Ava. The way her ass looks in those jeans makes me a little crazy. I want her. I’m in love with her. I’m not going to stop chasing after her. As long as she wants to hold my hand, I’ll keep her.
Forever if she’ll let me.
We walk through the crowd of people in the tiny living room, a few of them giving us odd glances when they see we’re holding hands, but I say nothing. Neither does Ava. This is my crowd that’s here tonight, and I’m sure the moment we leave this room, they’re all gonna talk.
Let ‘em.
Her people are all over at Tony Sorrento’s house, doing their traditional drink and drug and fuck party they have after every home game. I’m sure she was invited. Maybe her little friend Wyatt thought he had a chance with her tonight. Well, fuck that. I still can’t believe she agreed to meet me here. But she did.
She glances over her shoulder when we walk outside, her gaze catching mine as a smile curls her perfect lips. I take a couple of extra steps, so I’m standing right beside her, and we’re both poised on the edge of the porch, ready to go down the steps, but I stop her.