Summer (Four Seasons #2) (2 page)

The rock star life fits him well, but like anyone, it’s changing him. Will he still be the boy I grew up with after staying in Cali for the rest of the year? And, most importantly, the thing that worries me the most: What if it isn’t just a year? What if it’s much, much longer?

I pull my phone from my back pocket as I shut the door to Luke’s apartment. Breathing in deep, I try and catch a subtle hint of him on the air, but the place smells like laundry detergent and old books. He hasn’t been here in so long that the scent of him has all but vanished. It would be impossible to choose a favorite of my senses when it comes to Lucas—he tastes, feels, looks, sounds and smells amazing in equal measure—but up until now it’s been reassuring to have the faint echo of him hit the back of nose every once in a while. I guess until he comes home next, I’ll have to make do with being surrounded by his belongings instead. Anything to feel a little closer to him. I collapse onto the black leather sofa where Luke and I kissed for the first time, and I pull my phone out, unable to stop myself.
 

Me: I’m home. Well, back in your apartment. Flight was good. Miss you already.
 

I wait a few minutes. Usually, when I text him the small bubble pops up below my message immediately, showing that he’s writing something. Not this time, though. The little text bubble is painfully absent. He’s working. He’s meeting with the guys. He’s writing something. He’s sleeping. He’s busy, and that’s totally fine. I repeat this over and over again, but sometimes it’s hard to accept. It would be remiss of me not to mention that my boyfriend has to be one of the sexiest guys in LA. Nowhere is safe for him. Not with hordes of girls following him so closely all the time, which they apparently do now that the band’s popularity is picking up.

Will I lose him to this new life of his? I can’t contemplate that. I’ve lost far too much already. Wouldn’t that be ironic, though? We both survive near death experiences together. We survive our awful pasts, only to be separated by something as fleeting and shallow as fame. I eject that thought from my brain, physically forcing it out of my head as I slide my phone away. I can’t worry about that. I won’t. It will only serve to drive me crazy, and I have months and months to go before Luke returns to New York.
 

When I first moved to New York, the constant hum of the activity in the background whenever I was trying to eat, sleep, or study would be really distracting. After a few weeks, I became attuned to the music of the city, though. I hardly hear the loud slams and police sirens that seemed to be wailing twenty-four seven. Blocking out the sound of Morgan hammering on my front door is another thing entirely, though. I’m deep in thought, trying to reassure myself that this whole Luke situation is going to be just fine, when the loud slam of her open palm against the wood nearly has me jumping out of my skin.
 

{“Jesus.” I hold my hand to my chest, adrenalin coursing through me, my skin breaking out in a cold sweat.

“Avery, hurry the fuck up. It’s hot out here.”

“All right. All right, I’m coming!” I open the door and my best friend practically jumps into my arms, grinning from ear to ear.

“Oh my god. You were gone
forever
. Next time I’m coming with you.” She moves into the apartment as I shut the door, slowly spinning to face her.
 

“Three days. I was only gone for three days.” I kick the door closed behind her, wondering briefly why time seems to go so fast when I’m with Luke, and yet painfully slowly whenever he’s not around.

“And?” Morgan leans her weight on one side and places her hand on her hip, eyebrows listing. I know exactly what she wants.
 

“And it was good. I had a fun time. I really needed a beat to hang out and spend some time with Luke.”

“Shit. Everyone needs to see Luke. How you scored such a hot piece of a—” She pauses, her grin growing even more fiendish. “Sorry. I know. Don’t worry. As you can see, I’m learning the art of keeping my damn mouth shut.”

“Pssshhh. At this point, why bother?” I laugh. “And you can say it. My boyfriend is hot, and he’s all the way over on the other side of the country, in LA along with perhaps ninety percent of the world’s most beautiful women.” I stick my tongue out at her, heading toward the kitchen. I don’t want to seem like a crazy, jealous girlfriend, though, so I brush the thought away. “I just walked through the door. Have you been watching the place? Or did you implant me with a personal tracker or something?”

Morgan’s eyebrows nearly hit her hairline. “After the innumerable fights you get yourself into, maybe I should. And no, I was
not
watching the place, smart-ass. I was just doing an assignment. In my car. Outside the apartment.”

“Right. You just so happened to be doing an assignment in your car. You’ve officially ventured into stalker territory, you know.”

“That’s not the worst thing I’ve been accused of.” She winks and beelines for the refrigerator, pulling the door open and leaning down to stick her head in.

Morgan’s doing better with her drug addiction. The thought of her even having to struggle with something so foreign is still pretty difficult to understand. Like all addicts, she’s very good at hiding her problems until she physically can’t hide them any longer. Never in a million years would anyone guess that she’s attending counseling for drug abuse these days, under the strict and watchful eyes of her parents. The almost fatal overdose that she went through last semester was a blessing in disguise. She was found and rushed to the hospital just in time, thank god. Luke was still a cop then. He was summoned to the scene, and he kept her calm until the ambulance arrived. He rode with her to the hospital. He came and found me, broke the news to me, was there for me in the same way he’s always been there for whenever I’ve needed him in the past.

I lean against the counter, waiting for the barrage of questions I’m sure is about to commence any second now. Morgan straightens and looks over her shoulder, one perfectly plucked eyebrow lifting. “How was it? How was Luke? You guys good?”

“Yeah. He has a tan.”

“Sweet Jesus. Luke Reid with a tan. There should be a law against anything that will make that man more attractive to the opposite sex.”

“Yeah, it’s…it’s pretty disarming.” I grab some glasses, doing my best not to remember how amazing Luke looked when he tore his clothes off three days ago after I walked through the door of Cole’s apartment. Morgan tosses me a soda, which I barely catch.
 

 
“Something’s wrong,” she says. “You’re normally quiet, but this,” she waves a hand in my general direction, “is
too
quiet. Even for you. Spill.”
 

I pour the soda out for us, feeling itchy and uncomfortable even admitting this out loud. “I guess I
 
just hate knowing that girls are hitting on him every night of the week.”

“Every night of the week? Fuck. Yeah, that’s gotta be exhausting.”

“You’re not helping.”

“Sorry, babe.” Morgan accepts the drink I hold out for her, slinging her arm around my shoulder, and then planting a wet kiss against my temple. “I’m the worst. Tell me.”
 

I shrug. “It was hard enough thinking about him being a cop back in New York, in danger of getting shot and stabbed every five minutes.”

“And now he’s in danger of severe alcohol poisoning and ball-withering STIs?” She grins like a mad woman. “He’s totally in love with you. I’ve never
seen
a guy so in love. You have nothing to worry about. I mean, how many girls can say their man gave them CPR for forty-five minutes while they were dying themselves?”

“Yeah. True.”
Great
. That’s the last thing I need to be thinking about. Other girls may need help moving heavy furniture in their apartments. Their cars might break down and they might need a ride. My life is so filled with drama that I needed rescuing from a crazed psychopath.
 

“He’s one of the last good guys out there,” Morgan continues. “He’s more concerned with love than lust.”

“I don’t know. He can be pretty focused on lust when the mood takes him.”
 

Morgan starts to glow in that odd way she does when she’s excited about something. “Details. Give me every last moment.
Now
.”

“No.
Hell
no,” I tell her, shaking my head. It suddenly dawns on me that she’s dressed up, her black shirt dipping into her breasts, her jeans white and classy. “Wait...where are you going after this?”

“Where are
we
going?”

“Morgan, I’m exhausted. I’ve been travelling all day. I’m not going anywhere.”
 

My friend bounces on the balls of her feet, a wild glint in her eye. “Yes, we are. I met a new guy, and you know me. I am
not
a lone wolf. I need my wing woman.” She takes a long drink of her soda before belching in a way that would make my Uncle Brandon quite proud. My father’s best friend, Brandon, raised me after the events of my childhood caught up to me. He’s crude, hilarious and just about the most spectacular man I know. I should really let him know I’ve arrived home safe and sound.

“Hey! I’m talking to you!” Morgan snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Stop disappearing into your porno daydreams and get dressed. Think of us poor serfs who aren’t lucky enough to have porno dreams of their own to relive.” Morgan waves in front of my face, her smile wide. Her eyes contain promises of debauchery and a bad hangover tomorrow morning.
 

“The hell are you talking about, woman? You came out of the womb with porno dreams.”
 

“We. Are. Going. Out. To. Night. The bar on sixth and Jefferson is featuring my new guy’s band. I’m not going alone. You’re coming with—”

“No, I’m
not
.”
 

Morgan folds her arms across her chest. “I went with you to see Luke when he played. Now it’s your turn.” She lifts an eyebrow, as if daring me to defy her.
 

I sigh, trying to meld myself with the couch so she can’t possibly drag me away from it. “You think this place still smells like Luke?” I ask quietly.

“No, I think it smells of laziness and terrible friendship. Come on, Avery. You’re my best friend.” She sticks out her bottom lip, and I instantly feel sorry for her parents. Morgan really does get what Morgan wants. She must have been impossible to say no to as a child.

It’s no wonder she has a new boyfriend. With her dark auburn hair and piercing gray eyes, by rights she should be on the covers of magazines all over the country. Too bad she’s bat-shit crazy most days. “Fine. But I’m not drinking, and we’re not staying out all night. I’m exhausted and I have assignments to do.”

“We’re on summer break, Avery! No one actually does those assignments.”

“Yes. Yes, they do. That’s what mandatory means, babe. They’re non-negotiable.”

Morgan pouts. “You’re obviously just not as good as negotiating as I am. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about school. We are about to have the best fucking night of our lives.”

“Ugh. Fine.” I groan as I reluctantly stand. “Do I even know this guy?” I place my drink down on the counter, fighting the need to locate a coaster. My mom would always flip her shit if I put a glass down without one. Abandoning my drink without resting it on something seems like a form of rebellion. My mother’s a self-serving, class-A bitch. After my father’s death, she abandoned me with my Uncle Brandon and changed everything about herself but her face. New name, new city, new life and a new girlfriend. Have I told Morgan about Mom being a lesbian now? Probably not. I sure as hell don’t feel like bringing it up now, that’s for sure.
 

“I’ve mentioned him, but you’ve been pre-occupied.” Morgan shrugs, pointing toward the bedroom. “Go. Hurry. They’re the opening act tonight. They go on at eight-thirty.”

“You are the most demanding person I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing,” I tell her.
 

Smiling sweetly, she sidles up to me and rests her head on my shoulder. “But it is a pleasure, though, isn’t it?”

I do as she wishes, heading to the bedroom to get changed. I make a point of leaving my cell phone on the couch, determined not to let the damn thing rule my life. Luke will message me when he gets a chance. I have my own life, and I need to live it. Dependency is
not
a good look on me.
 

“And don’t think you’ve gotten out of spilling all of your dirty sex secrets,” Morgan calls as I change. “I need to know how many times you fucked.”

Damn it. She’s never going to quit. “Eight times,” I yell, scowling as I wriggle into my dress. I sure as hell wouldn’t normally be wearing something to fancy, but by the look of Morgan I’m going to have to do better than my usual Saturday night get up, or she’ll be physically dressing me herself.
 

“Eight times in three days? You dirty whore.” Morgan enters the room, eyes wide, playing at being scandalized.

“Not eight times in three days,” I correct her. “Eight times on Thursday night. Six on Friday. We only had sex four times yesterday. We were starting to get a little sore.”

 
Morgan collapses onto the bed, hands pressed against her cheeks, groaning, like the idea of that much sex is enough to kill her dead. “Where’s the prude who chastised me for my whoring last fall?” she wails.

“I guess she died in that pool in Wyoming.” I know it isn’t right to bring it up, but having death so close at hand changed everything. Living life to the fullest everyday is my focus, as best it can be. If that means giving in and screwing my boyfriend at every available opportunity, then so be it. Sex injuries be damned.

“I’m glad she died in that pool,” Morgan says, her eyebrows waggling up and down. “This Avery is a badass. She and I are soul mates if she’s getting laid this much. Fuck, girl, your tits look so great in that dress. I hate you right now.”
 

I don’t know what she’s complaining about. Her cleavage is impossible to miss at the moment. This new guy of hers will be able to see her boobs from the other side of the venue, no doubt about it. “I’ll wear a trash bag instead, shall I?”