It Was You (12 page)

“Want to show you something. If you want to see it.”

“
Show me what?”

He smiled. “It's a surprise.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Didn't I tell you that...”

He smothered my protests with a kiss that left me both speechless and senseless.

When he pulled away, he said, “Yeah, you told me. But I'm a slow learner.”

He pushed himself up and held out his hand. Trying to regain my composure, I took it and he pulled me up.

“Better pick up the pace,” I told him.

He laughed. “I work at whatever pace I want to, Abby Sellers. Better get used to it.”

SEVENTEEN

“
This is the surprise?” I asked.

We were outside of a two-story apartment on Lamont Street. A white stucco building with garages built into the side, a narrow stairway leading to two apartment doors on the top. Two cypress pines stood sentry, side by side, in the miniscule front lawn.

“No.” West parked outside of one of the garages and killed the engine. “It's inside.”

I studied him. “And who's inside is this?”

He grinned. “Mine.”

I felt a shiver of anticipation. One question had been answered. He definitely didn't live at home.

“And the surprise is in there?” I asked, doubtful. “What kind of surprise is it?”

West shoved his keys in his pocket and opened his door. “Come inside and see.”

I hesitated. If I was being honest with myself, I barely knew him. I wasn't sure going into his apartment—alone—would be the wisest decision I'd ever made. What did I really know about him?

He had a bitter ex-girlfriend and a penchant for beating the crap out of people. By his own admission, he'd gotten in “a little bit of trouble” last year. Was starting school a year late.

But he was also hot. Deliciously so. And his kisses and touch melted me. And he'd changed my tire and bought me dinner and baked me cookies.

He was a mess of contradictions. And I wanted to know more.

He pulled open my door. “I'm not gonna jump on you, if that's what you're worried about.”

I felt my cheeks redden. “I wasn't worried.”

“Yeah, you were,” he said. “Are, I should say. But I won't do anything you don't wanna do.”

I didn't say anything, just sat in the truck and stared at him.

“Besides,” he said, a smile spreading across his face. “If I'd wanted to take advantage of you, I would have done it in solitude. Like at a secluded beach. After a romantic dinner of rolled tacos. Not some crappy apartment with a nosy roommate.”

I couldn't help but smile back. He had a point. “Fair enough.”

I stepped out of the cab and followed him up the stairs. He stopped at the apartment door on the right and fished his keys out of his pocket. He inserted one, turned the knob and opened the door.

The smell hit me first. There was the lingering aroma of chocolate chip cookies but a curtain of smoke hung heavy in the air. Griffin sat on the couch, a faded gray futon, with a bong in one hand. He grinned at us, his cheeks flushed red.

“Hey,” he said. “Just in time.” He held up the bong. “Got a few hits left if you want in.”

West shook his head. “Nah, man. We're good.”

Griffin nodded. “Right, right. Not with the lady.”

“
Or ever,” West said, his voice a little sharp.

Griffin just nodded and put his lips to the plastic tube. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. West grabbed my hand and pulled me through the living room, past a tiny eat-in kitchen and down the hallway. There were two bedroom doors on the right, a bathroom at the end of the hallway. He stopped at the last bedroom door and pushed it open.

I stayed in the hallway.

“
What?” he asked, puzzled.

“
The surprise is in your bedroom?” I asked, my eyebrows raised.

“
Yes,” he said. “Promise.” He held up his hands. “We can sit on opposite ends of the bed. If we sit at all. I just want to show you something.”

He looked so sincere that I couldn't say no. Besides, my curiosity was piqued. I took a step into his room and he shut the door behind me.

I whirled around.

West held up his hands, an innocent expression on his face. “Just wanted a little privacy. You want the door open, we'll keep it open.”

“No,” I said slowly. “It's fine.” I could scream—loudly—if I needed to. But that wasn't what I was worried about. I was worried about being able to say no if I needed to. Because he was pretty much irresistible.

He nodded, seemingly satisfied. “OK. Good. Griffin doesn't always get the hint. A closed door is usually a good one.”

My heart sank a little. I wondered how many other girls he'd brought back to his apartment to show his “surprises” to. I shook my head, trying to clear the doubts. I was here now. Not another girl. And definitely not my sister.

I surveyed the room. It was sparsely furnished. A simple bed, a tall dresser, a desk and chair. What caught my eye was the style of furnishings he had. They weren't thrift store finds or cheap laminate stuff you'd buy at Walmart or Target. The desk and dresser were solid wood, a rich walnut, as was the bed. A thick, steel-gray comforter draped across it, an array of plump pillows piled up near the headboard. The chair parked in front of the desk was a wheeled, leather chair that looked like it would be more at home stationed in a board room than some college kid's apartment in PB. On top of the desk was a sleek, silver laptop. A Mac.

I sat down on the very edge of the bed and set my purse in my lap. And waited.

West opened the closet door and withdrew a large moving box. It looked an awful lot like the ones my dad had loaded into the U-Haul for my sister.

He sat down on the opposite side of the bed, placing the box between us. The edges were well-worn, as were the flaps. It looked like it had been opened and closed several times, perhaps moved around a lot.

I looked at him.

“Open it.”

I frowned and gestured toward the box. “You keep giant tarantulas in here?”

He shot me a puzzled look. “What?”

“
The picnic basket,” I reminded him. “Snakes...”

His expression cleared and he laughed. “Oh, gotcha. Uh, no. No snakes.  Or tarantulas. Just a few falcons.”

I stared at him. “Falcons? As in, birds? You keep live birds in a box?”

Or dead ones, I thought, considering the box wasn't sealed. Maybe he was a closet taxidermist.

He rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Abby, and just open the damn box.”

I hesitated for just a moment before reaching out for the top flap of the box. Slowly, I lifted it and then the other, and leaned close.

The box was filled with sports memorabilia. Baseball trophies. Team pictures. A letterman jacket from Torrey Pines.

“
What's all this?” I asked, confused.

“
One more page, Abby Sellers.” A smile played across his lips. “One more page.”

EIGHTEEN

“So this is all yours?”

He leaned back on his elbows and nodded. “Yep.”

I reached inside the box and withdrew a photo. It was one of those posed team pictures and I scanned the faces that squinted into the sun, searching for West among the group of high school boys dressed in white uniforms. He was there, second row back, center. Same dark hair, cut a little shorter or simply hidden by the red baseball cap he wore. Same crooked, almost-mocking smile. Same eyes that, even from a distance, seemed to laser into me, reducing me to a pool of lusting slush.

My heart fluttered just a little and I dropped the picture, picking up a trophy instead. I traced my finger along the metal placard. West Montgomery. Most Valuable Player. Torrey Pines Falcons.

“You were good.”

He said nothing, just sat there and watched me, his eyes shifting from my hands to my face, watching for my reaction.

By the looks of things, he'd been better than good. I sifted through more items. Medals. More trophies and photos. Newspaper articles. There were stacks of these, all paper-clipped neatly together. Articles from the Union-Tribune, the Del Mar Times. I scanned these, not really reading, but certain words stood out. Best third baseman in the school's history. The Falcon's lethal weapon. Future professional.

“
Better than good,” I amended.

He looked down at his hands and picked at his thumb nail. “I was alright.”

I glanced at the article in my lap. “Full-scholarship-to-Stanford-alright, I guess.”

His gaze drifted up and he flashed me a smile. “Yeah. I guess.”

I tossed the articles back into the box. “So what happened?”

He sat up, moving a little closer to me and the box between us. “What do you mean?”

I motioned to the box of memorabilia. “Well, let's see. You were an awesome baseball player with a scholarship to Stanford. I may be going to Mesa but I'm smart enough to know they don't hand those out to just anyone.”

West moved the box toward the wall and shifted even closer to me. “Okay.”

I continued. “And you said you took last year off. From school. I take it you didn't go to Stanford?”

He placed his hand on my thigh. “Bingo.”

His fingers traced circles, feather-light, on my skin and I felt my body respond. I closed my eyes briefly, trying to focus. “And you said you got in a little bit of trouble last year. You were pissed off about something.” I tried to use his exact words but I was having a hard time concentrating.

His hand drifted higher up my thigh. “Right again,” he whispered.

I tried to move away from him but I couldn't. And, if I was being honest with myself, I didn't really want to. “So what happened?”

“
Life,” he murmured, his hand continuing to draw lazy circles on my skin.

“
What about life?”

He leaned closer, his face suddenly next to mine. “That's another chapter,” he said. He lowered his mouth and his breath blew hot against my neck before he fastened his lips to the soft flesh between my ear and my throat.

“Wait...” I said weakly.

His tongue flicked at my skin. “I just wanted you to know.”

“Know what?” I managed, wrapping my arms around his neck, pulling him closer to me.

“
That I'm not all bad, Abby Sellers.”

His lips found mine and I kissed him hungrily. At that moment, I didn't think I'd care if he told me he was a serial killer. Not when he was kissing me and touching me and lighting me on fire with his hands and his lips.

West's hand traveled from my thigh to my stomach, his fingers trailing along my skin, lifting the hem of my shirt. He flattened his palm against my stomach and kissed me hard, his teeth nipping my lower lip. I pressed into him and he lifted his hand, his fingers stopping at the waistband of my shorts. He slipped his fingers inside, his thumb stroking the lacy top of my panties. I inhaled sharply.

“
Mmm,” he murmured against my mouth. “You don't want me to touch you?”

He withdrew his hand and I whimpered.

He laughed softly. “Or maybe not.” This time, his fingers moved deftly, past my waistband and past the lacy fabric. He stroked me, his fingers gentle, probing and I forgot how to breathe, forgot everything except the feel of his fingers inside of me.

“
Oh my God,” I whispered, pushing myself further into his touch.

No one had ever touched me like that. Ever.

His lips sucked at my neck and I grabbed the back of his head, pushed his mouth harder into my skin, his fingers moving further into me as I rocked my hips against his hand. He slid his mouth down my neck, over my shoulder, down over my blouse, until he found my breast. His teeth brushed against my nipple and another wave of electricity washed over me.

His fingers danced easily inside of me, every spot he touched lighting another fire and I could feel the pressure building inside of me. I pushed my hips harder against his hand and his teeth bit down on my nipple through the blouse and a wave of heat exploded between my thighs. I buried my mouth in his hair, muffling the scream, as I worked against his hand until I couldn't take it anymore. I pushed his hand away and he moved his fingers back to my thigh, stroking me softly.

We lay for a few minutes, my heart hammering against my chest, my breath coming in rapid gasps, my fingers woven into his hair. He kissed my neck and ran his hand over my stomach.

“
Well, that was kinda nice,” he whispered into my ear.

Kinda nice didn't do it justice.

“Yeah,” I said, the only thing I could manage. “Yeah.”

His tongue licked my earlobe. “I'd like to do more of that. I'd like to do more of a lot of things.”