Back to You Page 11

  “Are you okay?” Michael demanded.

  “Jesus, you scared the hell out of me,” Lauren exhaled.

  “Are you okay?” he repeated firmly, his hand still gripping her.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Did he do something to you?” he asked, his eyes darting back and forth between hers.

  “Yes.”

  In an instant, his eyes turned murderous as he straightened, releasing his grip on her as he turned to scan the party.

  Lauren stuck out her chin. “But I wanted him to. I liked it.” It wasn’t entirely true, but for all intents and purposes, it seemed fitting.

  His eyes flashed back to hers. “Lauren, what the hell did you do?”

  Her stomach turned uneasily. He never called her Lauren. Ever.

  And in that moment, she began to second-guess her decision to take Jenn’s advice. She felt the bravado leave her body. “Not that. Not what you’re thinking,” she said meekly.

  His eyes softened ever so slightly, but Lauren could tell by the set of his jaw that he was still fighting to keep calm. “Mark Valero?” he nearly hissed at her. “I don’t get it. I’ve never seen you talk to him. You never even talk about him. Since when are you interested in this kid?”

  Lauren shrugged. “Since tonight, I guess.”

  He studied her for a moment before he asked, “How much have you had to drink?”

  “Not that much,” she said, feeling more and more regretful as the seconds passed.

  Michael shook his head before he turned to scan the party once more. Lauren followed his gaze to where Mark was standing with his friends. He bumped fists with one of them before another handed him a beer, and then a third came up behind him, clapping him on the back and saying something in his ear that made both boys laugh.

  “And now he’s done with you?” Michael said angrily, whipping back toward Lauren so suddenly that she flinched. “He’s just gonna go back to the party? He can’t even hang out with you for a little bit?”

  Lauren bit her lip and looked down. When he put it that way, she couldn’t help but feel kind of stupid.

  “Good choice,” he added, his voice livid. “Brilliant pick. He seems like a real fucking class act.”

  “There you are!” Jenn said cheerily as she came out of nowhere and grabbed Lauren’s hand. “Excuse us.” She smiled up at Michael before she dragged Lauren into the other room.

  As soon as they were out of sight, she spun toward Lauren. “So, what happened?”

  “With Mark?”

  Jenn rolled her eyes. “I can figure out what happened with Mark,” she said, purposely giving her the once-over, and Lauren felt her cheeks get hot as she started combing through her hair again. “I meant with Del.”

  “Nothing happened. He’s really mad.”

  Jenn smiled. “Good.”

  “No, you don’t understand,” Lauren said, shaking her head. “I don’t think this was a good idea. I think he’s really mad at me.”

  “No. He’s mad at himself for not being the one in the room with you.”

  Lauren glanced over her shoulder skeptically, but Michael was gone.

  “Now,” Jenn said, pulling her attention back. “We get another drink, and we let him come to you. Moth to a flame, baby,” she said with a smile. “And he will.”

  Jenn dragged her back to the keg that was set up in the kitchen so they could get another drink, and then they sat on the coffee table in the living room, sipping their beers. Jenn made small talk with the people around them, and Lauren followed suit, but every few seconds, her eyes would scan the crowd, looking for Michael.

  She couldn’t see him anywhere.

  After about a half hour with no sign of him, Lauren finally decided that he’d probably gone home.

  She looked down, awkwardly playing with the lip of her plastic cup. This was bad. She had to fix this. She’d call him when she got home, she promised herself.

  But what the hell was she going to say?

  Lauren looked up again, scanning the kitchen one more time, and she found Mark standing in line for the keg with two of his friends.

  Michael had been right. It would have been nice if he’d at least hung out with her for a little bit afterward.

  She was an idiot.

  And just as the thought crossed her mind, she saw a crowd of people part as someone entered the kitchen from the opposite side.

  Her heart leapt into her throat when she realized it was Michael.

  He moved quickly, passing everyone who was waiting in line for beer as he walked right up to the keg, cutting in front of Mark and grabbing the tap.

  “Whoa, buddy,” Mark said. “There’s a line—”

  Instantly Michael whirled, punching Mark in the face so hard that his feet came off the floor before he crashed back against the boy behind him and tumbled to the ground.

  Lauren gasped loudly as she jumped up off the coffee table, her beer splashing to the floor. The sound—the sickening, cracking thud as his fist connected—carried all the way to the living room. She knew she’d never forget that sound.

  Within seconds, people were scattering everywhere, most moving away from the scene as Mark’s friends moved toward it, some of them trying to help him off the floor while the others tried pulling Michael away.

  Lauren ran toward the kitchen, immediately noticing the blood on the floor as she entered. It was everywhere, looking like it was coming out of Mark’s mouth or nose.

  And then her eyes were pulled to the sudden, sharp movement of Michael ripping free from the boys who held him as he charged Mark again.

  “Stop!” Lauren screamed, launching herself on top of the island counter that stood between her and the chaos, knocking over several bottles in the process. “Stop it!”

  She tried to take his face in her hands, tried to get him to look at her, but his forward motion caused her to lose her balance. She flew backward, gripping the front of his shirt to steady herself as she landed on her backside on the countertop, sending a few more bottles shattering to the floor.

  “Michael!” she screamed. For the first time since she’d known him, she felt a genuine flash of fear. He looked crazed, not even present.

  “Michael, please!” she cried, feeling the tears building behind her voice.

  He grabbed her wrist firmly, his eyes darting to hers, and once he realized who was gripping his shirt, she saw his eyes soften slightly. In that moment of hesitation, the boys that were behind him grabbed him again, yanking him out of her grip and restraining him long enough for the other boys to get Mark out of there.

  Lauren sat on the counter surrounded by broken glass, her chest heaving and her eyes wide.

  “Relax, bro! Relax!” one of the boys was yelling as a third ran to help them restrain Michael.

  Lauren’s eyes were locked on him as she watched him scan the scene, taking in the people backing away, the blood on the floor, the arms fighting to control him.

  He jerked forward again, breaking free from the boys, but this time he moved toward Lauren.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said through labored breath, extending his hand to her.

  Her body was shaking with adrenalin, her breath coming in gasps. She glanced over at Jenn, who was standing on the threshold of the kitchen, both hands clamped over her mouth and her eyes wide.

  For a moment, it looked like she regretted the advice she’d given Lauren.

  But then Michael grabbed Lauren’s hand and pulled her off the counter, towing her out of the room, and as he dragged her past Jenn, she dropped her hands and smiled. “This is it. Call me,” she whispered quickly as Lauren passed her.

  As soon as they were outside, Michael released her hand as he tore down the driveway, and Lauren walked double-time to keep up.

  When they reached his car a few feet down the road, he yanked open the passenger door before he stormed around the front of the car to his side.

  “Are you okay to drive?” she asked softly.

 
He got in and slammed the door, and the next sound was the thunderous sound of the car starting. She stood there, hesitating for a moment as she took a shaky breath.

  “Please just get in,” she heard him say roughly from inside the car, and she swallowed before she slid into the seat and closed the door, buckling her seatbelt.

  He took off like a shot, peeling rubber as they turned down the street, and Lauren leaned forward and grabbed the dash.

  “Michael, please!” she said, and instantly, he took his foot off the gas and the car slowed to a reasonable speed.

  She exhaled heavily, sitting back in her seat as she glanced over at him. He was looking straight ahead, his expression unreadable.

  Maybe this was it. Maybe Jenn was right, and this would be the moment he’d confess his feelings. I want you. I don’t want you to be with anyone else. I want you to be mine, only mine.

  But there was nothing.

  They drove the entire way to her house in silence. He didn’t even turn the radio on.

  When Michael finally pulled into the top of her driveway and cut the engine, they sat there for a few silent moments before Lauren finally sighed. “That really wasn’t necessary,” she said. “You could have gotten arrested.”

  “That kid mouthed off to me!” he snapped.

  Lauren turned toward him, her expression unimpressed. “He said ‘whoa, buddy’ because you cut him in line.”

  “He’s got a big fucking mouth!” Michael yelled, cutting her off. “And you had no business getting involved. You could have gotten hurt!”

  Lauren closed her eyes and shook her head. She knew better than to try to have a conversation with him when he was like this. She took a small breath and turned to get out of the car.

  He reached out and grabbed her arm, gently this time.

  “You’re not hurt, are you?”

  His voice had softened significantly, although she knew him well enough to know that he was still annoyed.

  “No, I’m fine,” she said softly.

  Michael released her arm and exhaled heavily. “I’m sorry if I scared you.”

  “You didn’t scare me,” she lied. “I just…I wish you would try to keep your head next time, okay?”

  “And I wish you would use better judgment when it comes to guys next time, okay?”

  Lauren looked at him for a second before she nodded silently.

  “Good night, Red,” he said, leaning over to kiss her forehead before he reached across her and opened the car door.

  She got out and walked down her driveway in a stupor, knowing Michael wouldn’t leave until she was safely inside her house.

  No sooner than she opened her front door, she heard the phone in her bedroom ringing, and she ran upstairs, although she already knew who it would be.

  “Yeah?” Lauren said as she sat on the edge of her bed.

  “You’re killing me. What happened?”

  “Nothing,” Lauren said, half-heartedly kicking off her shoes.

  “Nothing?” Jenn asked. “What do you mean, nothing? Guys don’t beat up other guys over girls they don’t want.”

  “He went after him because he mouthed off to him at the keg,” Lauren said.

  “Oh, come on, Laur, you don’t really buy that, do you? Even Del’s not that crazy.”

  Lauren sighed as she flopped back onto her bed. “Either way. Remember when Tommy Greene beat up that guy who slept with his sister?”

  There was only silence on the other end of the line, and Lauren knew she had Jenn cornered. “I’m telling you, I’m like his little sister. He told me to use better judgment with the next guy. That’s hardly claiming me for his own.”

  There was another silence before she heard Jenn sigh on the other line. “So that’s it, then?”

  Lauren closed her eyes, because she didn’t know what other choice she had. The bottom line was Michael Delaney never held back from what he wanted, and if it was her, she would know.

  “Well, this sucks,” Jenn said. “Because after what Mark Valero went through tonight, you’re gonna have a hell of a time getting another guy to hook up with you.”

  November 2011

  Lauren sat in the passenger seat of Adam’s car, alternating between glancing at his profile and looking out the window, trying to figure out where they were going.

  When he had called her a few days ago to finalize their plans, he’d only told her to dress casually. Lauren had pressed him for more information, but he was deliberately vague. It didn’t bother her then—in fact, she found it kind of endearing—but now that they were in his car driving to some unknown destination, it was driving her crazy.

  When she looked back at him for what must have been the tenth time, she saw a smug smile curving the corners of his lips.

  “You enjoying yourself over there?” she asked, her brow quirked.

  “Am I enjoying watching you squirm? Of course not.”

  “Doesn’t look like it from where I’m sitting,” Lauren said, folding her arms and fighting her own smile as she glanced out the passenger window again.

  “We’re almost there,” he said, his voice breaking on the chuckle he could no longer contain, and Lauren shook her head.

  “That settles it. I’m definitely escaping through the bathroom window once we get there,” she said, earning her a full-blown laugh as Adam slowed the car and turned up what Lauren thought was a side road, but ended up being a wide driveway.

  Through the dusk, she saw the flash of the sign at the bottom of the drive: “South Hills School of Business and Technology.”

  She turned toward him, her brow lifted. “You’re taking me to school?”

  “Sort of,” he said, pulling into a parking space in front of one of the buildings.

  Before she could ask anything else, Adam was out of the car and walking around to her side, opening the door for her. He extended his hand to help her out, closing the door behind her, and Lauren had to bite her lip to hide her smile when he intertwined their fingers rather than letting her hand go as they began walking toward the glass doors at the front of the building.

  They walked down the corridor in silence, stealing little peeks at each other as they went. His playful glances—along with the feel of his hand clasping hers—lit a warmth in her belly that reminded her of being a teenager again.

  Lauren couldn’t deny how good he looked tonight: a pair of nice jeans and a black button-down shirt, his blond hair looking somewhat unkempt and yet still impeccable at the same time.

  And he smelled amazing.

  “Here we are,” he said, gesturing with his head toward the large sign on the door.

  Couple’s Cooking Class: Saturday Evenings, 6:30 p.m.

  As Lauren read it, a slow smile broke over her face.

  “I figured any guy could take you out to dinner, but how many guys can cook you a gourmet meal?”

  “Impressive,” she said, looking up at him. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

  “Oh…well, I can’t, actually,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand and shrugging. “Hence this class.” Lauren laughed as he added, “But it still counts, right?”

  He reached for the door and released her hand, placing his on the small of her back as she walked into the large room. There were about ten cooking stations, complete with stoves, appliances, measuring cups and spoons, and some ingredients already lined up on the counter space.

  “Welcome!” beamed a middle-aged woman from the front of the room. “Have you signed up in advance for this evening’s class?”

  “Yes,” Adam said. “Adam Wells.”

  The woman looked down through the glasses balanced precariously on the tip of her nose, scanning a clipboard. “Ah yes, here you are. Excellent! Help yourselves to any open station,” she said, gesturing grandly toward the room.

  There were five other couples already scattered at various stations, and they all smiled and nodded in greeting as Adam and Lauren made their way to the empty station on the
far right of the room.

  “This was a great idea,” Lauren said as they settled in. “Thank you.”

  “A thank you before the date even begins? Does this mean I no longer have to fear a bathroom exodus?”

  Lauren smiled as she went up on her toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  And when she pulled back, the look in his normally playful eyes was now something else all together, and it turned the warmth in her belly into a full-blown inferno.

  “Okay ladies and gents,” the woman called from the front of the room, breaking the spell. “I think we have everyone for tonight, so let’s get started.” With a quick clap of her hands, she added, “If you’ll please head to the bin in the back of the room and grab yourselves an apron.”

  They walked to the back amid the other couples, each grabbing an apron out of a large container. Lauren slid hers over her head as she walked back toward their station, tying it behind her back as she went. She looked down as she smoothed her hands over the front of it, noticing the white letters scrawled over the red fabric: Kiss the Cook.

  “Can you give me a hand?” she heard Adam ask, and she looked over to see him with his back to her, his normally dexterous hands fumbling with the flimsy strings.

  “A chiropractor with inept hands?” she sighed, clucking her tongue and shaking her head. “I guess I should be thanking my lucky stars you transferred me to someone competent.” She pulled the strings out of his struggling fingers and began tying.

  Adam turned to look at her over his shoulder. “You think my hands are inept?” he asked, and Lauren shrugged, fighting a smile, her knuckles grazing the firm muscles of his back as she tied the apron.

  “That’s good,” he said with a nod, turning away from her again. “That might work in my favor.”

  “Oh? How is that?” she asked, finishing up the bow, and he turned toward her; the mischief in his eyes belied his innocent expression.

  “Because proving you wrong could be kind of fun.”

  Lauren’s stomach twirled with something she couldn’t quite place as she looked up at him, but before she could respond, her eyes dropped to his chest. She burst out laughing, cupping both her hands to her mouth in an attempt to muffle the sound.