Anything More Than Now (Sutton College #2) Read online

  I’m proud of the fact I don’t suffer from senioritis like the rest of my classmates, but it seems I caught something else entirely. Two hookups, one amazing kiss, and a flirtatious touch, and now I’m head over heels for one Noah Burke.

  I flip open my laptop and quickly hop from checking emails to Twitter, waiting to hear from Greg. For all the money I’m paying him, he still hasn’t found anything promising about Kelsey.

  I sigh before I gather the nerve to peek at Noah again. A pen is trapped between his lips, his fingers drumming a rhythm over the chair’s arm, his foot tapping while he scans his notes. Pieces of his long hair peek out from beneath his gray knit beanie. The memory of his hair, the feel of it as it brushed over my skin while his lips blessed my body….

  His eyes dart to me and I shut mine tight, sighing before I open up my résumé and decide that writing out my job history and a professional objective is exactly what I need right now. Not to stand up, to sit in his lap, to kiss him with my mouth and teeth, to feel the rake of his fingers over my ribs, to push beneath my bra and cup my breasts, to feel him between my legs.

  That’s not what I need at all.

  I need to tutor Noah for the next…I glance at the clock in the corner of my screen…for another thirty minutes and then I can go home and be done with him for the week. And maybe with some distance, it’ll be easier to focus and I can get over this stupid….well whatever this is. It’ll be over, and I can graduate, and then he won’t be anything more except that guy I hooked-up with. Twice.

  “What are you trying to work on?” he asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.

  “My résumé.” I want to say more but I’m staring at the way he flips his pen between his fingers, and then I think about those fingers and how good he is with his hands. And then I can’t say much of anything at all.

  “I’m guessing it’s not going well.”

  There wasn’t much point in lying. “No, not at all.”

  “I think Career Services will help you write it, if you need help.”

  I nod, hating that he’s being nice. It was easier when he was flirting. No, that’s not true. It was easier when he was the dumb frat guy who was always getting Beau into trouble. It was easier to hate him then.

  “Come over here. I can help.”

  I roll my eyes, certain he’s flirting again. That is until I see his earnest face when I pull myself together. I. Am. An. Idiot. I need to get over myself and us, and whatever happened.

  “I’m not sitting in your lap.”

  His eyebrows shoot up. “For the record, you’re the one who just mentioned laps.” He stands and walks over to corner window, then sinks down to the rug. He pats the spot next him, waiting.

  I sit beside him, careful to keep space between us. Noah motions for the laptop and I give it to him, crossing and uncrossing my legs in front of me as he reads over my experience.

  “I’m impressed, Landry.” Noah glances over at me, his face washed over in sincerity. “You have some knockout experience if you want to get into publishing.”

  I don’t ask how he would know, I’m too stuck on how I swear my heart cracks open a bit more. It’s not as if I had him read a paper I wrote on microeconomics. My résumé is me, it’s what I want in life, and it’s a piece of paper with my future at stake. It’s personal, and I just let Noah read it without thinking twice.

  I brush over the compliment. “What needs to be fixed?”

  To my surprise, he doesn’t counter back with some smartass comment. “You need to summarize more, use stronger verbs. Just tighten it up. You don’t want each bullet point to be a paragraph.”

  “Okay,” I say, grabbing the corner of my laptop to take it back, instead he tugs.

  “We’ll work on it together—”

  “But your paper—” My hands fall away as he takes my laptop back and licks his bottom lip, already diving into reworking my objective.

  “Don’t worry about my paper. I’ll pass.”

  At the beginning of the semester, that wasn’t the case. “Except—”

  “I’m trying.” His head snaps up. “You don’t think I’ll pass?”

  I keep quiet, not wanting to be a bitch anymore. It’s easy to push him away like that, and I just don’t have the energy to when I see him typing out a sentence to describe me and my drive to succeed. It feels deeply personal. It feels a lot like that kiss.

  “What’s the E stand for?” he asks, skipping down to edit my summary as editor-in-chief of The Sutton Tribune.

  “Elizabeth,” I answer without thinking. My mom’s name passes my lips for the first time in years, but I don’t miss her. Kelsey was my mother while we were together. Most of the other foster parents didn’t care except Trina, and the groups homes certainly didn’t. Even my caseworker. I was too old to find another family. I was just another kid who needed to be fed and pushed through the system.

  Noah knocks against me, pulling me out of my spiraling thoughts. I knock back against his shoulder, my heart picking up as he continues to glean over my résumé, polishing up my life. He’s taking time to pick the words, to edit out the weak ones. He’s making me a stronger candidate, highlighting accomplishments I made light of. He’s giving me a shot at a future, he’s listening.

  “Reagan Elizabeth Landry.” He whispers my name a few times, soft wonder filling the spaces between as if he’s finally found the corner piece of the puzzle so he begin building it out to completeness. “I like it.”

  I rest my head against his shoulder and together, the two of us finish my résumé, then write a cover letter, and I even get the nerve to tell him about my dream of heading to New York City after graduation.

  When we’re ready to leave, it’s dark outside and his hour was up five hours ago, but the two of us don’t seem to mind.

  Noah

  Reagan and that beautiful mind of hers made a habit to come back. To me.

  She came back over the next week, always quiet when she entered my room, her eyes always cast down at the floor as if she was forced to come, or ashamed. On days when she tutored me, she’d leave with me after the appointment. On days when I hadn’t seen her, she’d just show up. No calls or no texts, no emails. I’d just open my door to a very angry girl, too alone to smile.

  We never kissed either.

  It was some unspoken rule that happened after the library. I catch her looking at me sometimes as though she’s thinking of kissing me, but she’d frown or make some insult and push me away, not letting me in. I don’t know her. I know what she allows me to see, and that’s not a whole lot. So I’m left trying to figure her out while she sits next to me on my bed, playing video games. Or I’m left trying to pick apart the few words she says to me, or I’m left watching her and puzzling her together, waiting for more brash words to shove me away.

  “Are you hungry?” I ask, not taking my eyes away from the TV by my desk.

  She pauses the game and stares at me. “I’m not going on a date with you.”

  I set down my controller, mindful that if I sigh and she hears me, she’ll gloat. “I wasn’t asking you on a date. I’m not stupid.”

  “You’ve kissed me enough times, I know you’re stupid.”

  I push my luck. I’m sick of giving her space to figure everything out. “You kissed me back.”

  She shoves her hand into my shoulder, but I’m quicker. I don’t let go. “I asked a simple question, are you hungry or not?”

  Reagan stares down at my hand wrapped around her wrist, her breathing growing shallow.

  When she pales, I let go. “Sorry, I didn’t mean….”

  Her voice is small when she answers, “Yes.”

  I grab my phone off my bedside table and order a pizza, watching as she folds into herself. It’s the tiniest detail. I notice the nervous habit she has of adjusting her glasses and tucking her feet underneath her, how her arms are folded and she’s holding on to herself as if life itself depends on it. To Reagan Landry, she’s her own world and I’m guess
ing it’s constantly on the verge of collapse, even if it appears she’s a cold bitch. At least there I understand her.

  “Are you going to tell me what just happened?” I ask. She shoves the controller into my hand and ignores me. “All right then….”

  We play until pizza arrives. I’m on my third slice when she finally breaks her silence. “Thank you. For the pizza, I mean.”

  “Why are you here anyway?”

  “I’ll leave.” She folds the rest of the pizza in half and stuffs into her mouth, never taking her eyes off me.

  “Impressive.”

  She points her finger at me, a cascade of silver bracelets sliding down her forearm. “No grinning. No flirting.”

  “Who’s flirting?”

  Reagan keeps chewing. “I know what you’re doing. You’ve got that smile on that means trouble and your eyes always….” She stops, her own eyes widening behind her glasses.

  “Tell me.”

  Her voice is quiet, trailing off as she says, “They light up finally when you’re happy.”

  I roll my eyes and brush it off, but if I was looking for something to hurt me, that was definitely a start. I thought was I happy. I’m trying. It’s an everyday thing. It’s not easy, but I don’t ever expect to be the same guy I was before the accident. I don’t think I want to be, not unless it meant I could have it all back.

  “You don’t like it, do you?” She throws a perfect shot and her napkin lands in my trash can.

  I collect her plate and grab the box of pizza to take downstairs. “Being antagonized by you?”

  According to my solid C average, I’m not much of a poet, but I could write a book of poetry on the way her hips move as she walks toward me, how her eyes soften and she loses her sharp edges. She’s the avalanche that moves mountains, the surreal quiet after a snowstorm. Reagan is fire—a girl of embers and smoke.

  “No, being forced to see the truth. You’ve been trying to pick me apart since you came back from Canada.”

  “That’s because I don’t understand you.”

  “I never asked you to try.” She approaches me and glances at the pizza box, then back up to me. “I don’t want you…to keep trying.”

  “You’re the one who keeps coming over.”

  “You’re the one who keeps kissing me,” she shoots back.

  “You’ve kissed me back plenty for that not to be entirely true.”

  Reagan yanks the pizza box out of my hand and sets it on my desk. In two quick steps, she rests her body against me as mine goes rigid. She tucks herself against my chest and wraps her arms around my waist.

  I let out a shaky breath and place my hands lightly on her back, tracing circles over her T-shirt as she settles closer, pressing her ear against my heart. I’m not sure what she hears, but it feels as though it’s splitting open. I think she’s set on killing me, one slow touch at a time. I wrap my arms tighter around her and stay locked in each other’s arms for what seems like hours. Her heart beats calmly against me, while mine hammers against my chest. Her hands grip my back as though she never wants to let go and I softly hold her in mine, hoping I’ll never have to.

  I do though, only to wrap her legs around my waist so I can carry her to bed. Reagan doesn’t object, she doesn’t do much of anything really except stay quiet and close to me. I roll to my side and cover us up while I find something to watch on TV.

  “Do you still hate me?” she asks finally.

  “I never hated you and you know it, Reagan. You know exactly how I feel about you.”

  “The truth can be so hard to believe, you know?”

  I brush my hand over her hair and set my chin on top, doing my best to stem the million questions I want to ask, or how I want to roll her over and kiss her and her body until she finally believes me. I just want her to give me a chance. I’m willing to deal with the rest of the bullshit that’s going to follow if only she’d be with me and not think of him.

  “I’m going to tell you a secret, Noah Burke.” Her hand grabs mine and she holds them out, her fingers overturning my hand as if my life reads out on my palm. “I like kissing you when it’s just you and there’s no one else in my head, when the world quiets and your mouth is on mine. I like how simple that can be. I like how everything seems possible for a few seconds with just the touch of your lips. I like how your eyes light up when I walk into a room and you actually smile. I like how you hold your breath when I touch you. And I like how for such a tough-looking guy, your hands hold me so gently. I like all of that. That’s my secret. Don’t believe me if I pretend not to like it. It’s just new to me, and I guess I need time.”

  I loosen my hold and we both roll over to face each other. The TV softly glows in the background and the room smells like pepperoni. This is not at all how I ever imagined this going down. I’ve thought about it plenty, dreamed about her here in bed with me, her body moving under mine, the soft sighs she’d make when I’d kiss the pale skin between her breasts.

  “What are you doing this weekend?” I ask.

  Her eyes are sleepy, her cheeks rosy. I can’t help it, I reach out and take off her glasses and lean up to place them on the table, then settle back into the pillow.

  “You were listening, right? Time means you don’t start whatever it is you are right now.”

  “I’m not starting anything. Just a question.” I laugh when she squints her eyes at me. Words are going to be the end of me and Reagan.

  “I’m not doing anything special. Why?”

  “I’m heading home for Easter. Want to come? It’ll be a quick trip but we might have to miss Monday’s classes.”

  “As friends?”

  “Sure.”

  “No kissing…no—”

  “Fucking.” It’s an ugly word for what we did those first couple of times, even if they were full of complications. Her eyes connect with mine. “I know now you liked it, you just told me you did.”

  “Nope, moment of weakness,” she says, shaking her head. Something incredible happens, something so small but so impossible at the same time. Her mouth stretches into something resembling a smile.

  “Wow, a joke, Landry?”

  “You’ve addled my brains with pizza and your stupid warm arms.”

  “Are you saying I give good hug?”

  Reagan makes this funny sound in the back of her throat and slides down into the sheets, wiggling around. Her jeans fly out from beneath the covers and she settles against my chest again, wrapping her arm tight around my waist.

  “Don’t let it get to your head, Noah.”

  Her breathing evens out shortly after and she’s asleep. And she’s here in my bed, half-undressed, staying the night. I had chapters to revise and schoolwork to do and I wanted to go for a run, but this is too good to be true and I’m afraid that if I move, I’ll wake her and she’ll run away again.

  So I close my eyes too and drift off to sleep with Reagan wrapped around me, and for once, for a few hours at least, the world doesn’t seem so impossible.

  Chapter Eight

  Reagan

  I pack and unpack twice. Okay, three times.

  It’s not that I don’t want to go with Noah, I’m just not sure about the guy I’ll discover outside of life at Sutton. Here, I know who he is. Well, that’s not true either. I thought I knew who he is, but it’s proving to be difficult to pin him down.

  I don’t want to leave Sutton, I don’t want to leave Portland, and yet I’m about to endure a seven-hour drive with Noah to his place in Montana.

  The house is so empty now. I really need to get my ass in gear and start searching for new roommates. I leave a note downstairs letting Ethan know I’ll be gone, then lock up the house and walk down the driveway to Noah sitting in his truck, the passenger-side window rolled down.

  Pickup trucks have never been a turn-on, but Noah’s black pickup is gleaming, and with him inside, his plaid shirt rolled up to his elbows, no beanie, and a bit of scruff on his face, I think I need to pick my jaw up from
the ground.

  “Think you can get in?” He pulls down his aviators and smiles. “Come on, Landry. We’ve got a long drive.”

  I can’t find any fighting words in my mouth. I’m mute. And then he goes ahead and gets out, opens the door for me and grabs my bag from my hand. When I don’t follow, he reaches back and holds my hand, leading me along.

  I sputter, trying to tell him I can do it myself, that I don’t need someone set on knighthood, when my door closes on me and he runs around the truck and climbs inside. He winks before throwing the truck into drive.

  “Time for icebreakers,” he says, pulling out of my street. “So you go first. Tell me your life story.”

  I grab a piece of gum from my purse and offer Noah a piece, but he shakes his head. I let the silence settle in, mistakenly thinking he’d give it up.

  “Come on. Who’s Reagan Elizabeth Landry?”

  I turn in my seat and study him with the sun filtering in around his profile. I rarely see him without his beanie. His tawny hair is pulled up into a man bun and I notice how he has these incredibly long lashes that sweep down to his cheekbones. It’s another brief glimpse of the man hiding behind that roughhewn hipster boy—with those tattoos and piercings meant to scare people away.

  “Well, that’s one hell of an icebreaker,” I say finally, turning my gaze to the road before us. Seven hours in a truck with Noah. What was I thinking?

  *

  “Rea?”

  A hand skims over my cheek, brushing hair away from my eyes. It’s a warm hand and a warm voice. I snuggle closer, keeping my eyes closed. I don’t know when I found a blanket, but I’m wrapped up and comfortable.

  “We’re here, Rea.”

  We’re here. We?

  My eyes flutter open to a darkened truck cab and Noah leaning over me. Everything’s washed in a soft green light from the dashboard, and that softens Noah too. Those solid, sturdy edges of his melt away and I’m left staring up at his face, pressing my cheek into his palm.

  “I’m sorry I fell asleep and left you alone,” I whisper.