I thought it was too late. I thought our story had already been written.
College sophomore Brooke Anderson thought she had it all − a loving family, her sexy high school sweetheart, a supportive, quick-witted best friend and dreams of being the next hotshot reporter for the Washington Post.
Fate had something else in mind when Brooke collided with the devastatingly handsome upperclassman, Rich Davis. Rich was cocky, conceited and arrogant. He was everything that Brooke didn’t want, but Rich never gave her the option. He had already made the choice to be, at the very least, her friend. Would Brooke accept this egotistical man’s friendship? Would she choose to want more? Would it be too late if she did?
Fast forward nearly ten years. Brooke’s life hadn’t played out quite as she had envisioned it. She was suffering from the heartbreaking loss of her mother, her high school sweetheart was long gone, and her dreams of the Washington Post had turned into a career at a small town paper. Brooke decided it was time to follow her dreams. If she couldn’t be happy in love, at least she could be happy in life.
Brooke’s dreams brought her to the lobby of the Washington Post where fate intervened once again as she collided with none other than the devastatingly handsome Rich Davis. As her potential employer, Rich now seemed off-limits. Brooke wanted her successful career more than a chance at love. But, was it really her choice to make, or was it beyond her control?
Maybe our story is, in fact, Unwritten …
Ethan gets up, and it looks like shutters are closing over his eyes. The heat in them fades to a simmer and then flattens until his gaze is completely unreadable. Impenetrable. It’s the expression he had on the phone with Donna. It’s the expression he uses on me when he’s digging that chasm between us. I already know that expression too well.
He gazes into my eyes, cool and distant. “As I said, I don’t do relationships. And that’s what you need. Someone who’ll be there for you. That’s not me.”
Kyle told me about how Ethan hasn’t been photographed with a woman for eight years. Has he not had a girlfriend for eight years? “But why?”
He doesn’t answer. The most he’ll give me is a shake of his head.
I want to pull out my hair in frustration. It seems simple: I want him. He knows it. He said he wanted me too. Then why not act on it? All this “I don’t do relationships” crap—who cares? This isn’t a happily ever after. This is just being together.
He’s being presumptuous to think he knows what’s best for me, anyway. There’s no way he could possibly know what I need.
A thought slams into me. While my nature is to care about people I’m physically close to, maybe I can switch that part of myself off. I want to be with Ethan, and if I enter into a physical relationship with my eyes wide open, then there will be no concern of bringing emotions and thoughts of “relationships” into it.
Our time together is limited anyway. There’s no reason this needs to go beyond the time parameters of this trip.
I can do it. I can control this. I want to do it.
“You’re wrong about me.” The steel hardens in my own eyes. “In a few weeks, I’m going to be starting a new job, and I want to focus on that. But we’re out in the middle of the ocean, and this isn’t the real world. We can do whatever we want out here—be whatever we want to be.”
The shutters over his eyes fly open suddenly, and there’s a storm raging behind them.
“Do you think I haven’t thought about that?” he grits out, taking a step closer to me. Energy bristles from him. “But what happens when we go home? We go our separate ways, back to our lives? It’s not going to be that easy, Tara, and you know it. I don’t want to hurt you, damn it.”
I want this—want him—so badly, I’m going to fight for a chance. I’ll wash my hands of him and go on with my life when we get back to LA. I can do that—I know I can.
“You’re not going to hurt me, because I understand what you’re saying. I understand that this can’t continue once we’re home, and that you don’t want a relationship. I get it. I don’t need or want a relationship either. I have a life to go back to in LA, too. But for now, I want you, Ethan.”
He closes his eyes and makes a low noise that sounds like a groan.
“Give me two weeks.” In two weeks’ time, we’ll be in Hawaii, and he’ll probably be heading home.
I remember that night at the convenience store a year ago—how leaving home and walking down the block was the bravest thing I’d done since the accident. But it doesn’t even hold a candle to this.
This is the bravest thing I’ve ever done—before or after the accident. I’ve thrown myself out there, laid myself out as some kind of a temporary offering. But that’s exactly what I want, and I’m going after it.
Where did this assertive Tara come from? I like her.
My face is blazing hot. Tiny shudders skitter over my skin from my toes to my hair.
But I know he wants me. And judging by the look on his face, my offer has tempted him. He stares at me, his expression torn.
Then his lips tighten, the shutters over his eyes slam shut once again, and pain stabs at me, bitter and cold, in my chest. I know what his next words are going to be.
“I can’t. I’m sorry.”
He turns and walks away.
EXCERPT
Ethan gets up, and it looks like shutters are closing over his eyes. The heat in them fades to a simmer and then flattens until his gaze is completely unreadable. Impenetrable. It’s the expression he had on the phone with Donna. It’s the expression he uses on me when he’s digging that chasm between us. I already know that expression too well.
He gazes into my eyes, cool and distant. “As I said, I don’t do relationships. And that’s what you need. Someone who’ll be there for you. That’s not me.”
Kyle told me about how Ethan hasn’t been photographed with a woman for eight years. Has he not had a girlfriend for eight years? “But why?”
He doesn’t answer. The most he’ll give me is a shake of his head.
I want to pull out my hair in frustration. It seems simple: I want him. He knows it. He said he wanted me too. Then why not act on it? All this “I don’t do relationships” crap—who cares? This isn’t a happily ever after. This is just being together.
He’s being presumptuous to think he knows what’s best for me, anyway. There’s no way he could possibly know what I need.
A thought slams into me. While my nature is to care about people I’m physically close to, maybe I can switch that part of myself off. I want to be with Ethan, and if I enter into a physical relationship with my eyes wide open, then there will be no concern of bringing emotions and thoughts of “relationships” into it.
Our time together is limited anyway. There’s no reason this needs to go beyond the time parameters of this trip.
I can do it. I can control this. I want to do it.
“You’re wrong about me.” The steel hardens in my own eyes. “In a few weeks, I’m going to be starting a new job, and I want to focus on that. But we’re out in the middle of the ocean, and this isn’t the real world. We can do whatever we want out here—be whatever we want to be.”
The shutters over his eyes fly open suddenly, and there’s a storm raging behind them.
“Do you think I haven’t thought about that?” he grits out, taking a step closer to me. Energy bristles from him. “But what happens when we go home? We go our separate ways, back to our lives? It’s not going to be that easy, Tara, and you know it. I don’t want to hurt you, damn it.”
I want this—want him—so badly, I’m going to fight for a chance. I’ll wash my hands of him and go on with my life when we get back to LA. I can do that—I know I can.
“You’re not going to hurt me, because I understand what you’re saying. I understand that this can’t continue once we’re home, and that you don’t want a relationship. I get it. I don’t need or want a relationship either. I have a life to go back to in LA, too. But for now, I want you, Ethan.”
He closes his eyes and makes a low noise that sounds like a groan.
“Give me two weeks.” In two weeks’ time, we’ll be in Hawaii, and he’ll probably be heading home.
I remember that night at the convenience store a year ago—how leaving home and walking down the block was the bravest thing I’d done since the accident. But it doesn’t even hold a candle to this.
This is the bravest thing I’ve ever done—before or after the accident. I’ve thrown myself out there, laid myself out as some kind of a temporary offering. But that’s exactly what I want, and I’m going after it.
Where did this assertive Tara come from? I like her.
My face is blazing hot. Tiny shudders skitter over my skin from my toes to my hair.
But I know he wants me. And judging by the look on his face, my offer has tempted him. He stares at me, his expression torn.
Then his lips tighten, the shutters over his eyes slam shut once again, and pain stabs at me, bitter and cold, in my chest. I know what his next words are going to be.
“I can’t. I’m sorry.”
He turns and walks away.
About the author:
M.C. Decker is the author of the debut novel, Unwritten. She lives in a suburb of Flint, Michigan with her husband and spoiled-rotten Siamese cat, Simon. For the last decade, she has worked as a journalist for several community newspapers in Michigan’s Thumb region. She enjoys all things ‘80s and ‘90s pop culture: movies, boy bands, music and especially the color, hot pink. She also strictly lives by the motto, “Life is better in flip flops,” and is a diehard Detroit Tigers fan.
2 comments:
Ummmmm...CALL ME CRAZY, BUT THE EXCERPT DOESN'T QUITE SYNC W/THE SYNOPSIS.....
I love adding new bloggers to my list, even for the rafflecopters, but I have to say that the entry for Like "For-the-Love-of-Books" on FB doesn't have the FB link, & when I type in "For-the-Love-of-Books" I come up w/five different pages that have the same name.....which one am I supposed to like? HEEEEELLLLLLPPPPPP ;) 8-O
Oh hey, wait a minute....I've already liked all of them so I guess one of them has to be the correct one...right?
Seriously, even though it's almost time for the rafflecopter to end, I thought I would let someone (hopefully the right person) know....
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