The Almost Boyfriend (The Boyfriend Series Book 2) Read online

  Sam could never forget Devon, no matter how hard she tried. It had been nine years since she’d last seen him, but that didn’t stop her from having nightmares about him. He’d made her summers hell. Every year they got stuck at the same summer camp while their parents worked together. Which meant 24/7 with Devon following her around putting spiders in her hair and calling her Spam. One day he’d even pulled her skirt over her head and everyone saw her flowery underpants.

  Then, as if he hadn’t hurt her enough, he’d kissed her! It was the day she left Ireland to move to Boston. She’d been crying in the back of her father’s car while he said goodbye to Henry James, Devon’s father. Devon had slipped into the car and held Sam’s hand. For a moment, Sam had been so shocked by his kind gesture that she stopped crying. And that’s when Devon kissed her. She shoved him away and screamed for her father. And that was it. She’d never seen Devon again, but she couldn’t forgive him for stealing her first kiss.

  While she was packing, Sam had found a framed picture of her and Devon from camp. She tried to throw it out, but of course Megan saw it and wanted to know everything about the dark-haired boy with the bowl cut and caterpillar eyebrows.

  “That’s Devon James. He’s my dad’s business partner’s son. He’s the worst.”

  “He looks like Neville Longbottom!” Megan exclaimed.

  “Who?”

  “You know, from Harry Potter?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Sam laughed. “I guess he kinda does.”

  Megan wanted to be a film writer. She was always comparing everyone to characters in books and movies. Most of the time Sam had to read the same books just so she could carry on a conversation with her best friend. It sort of gave them their own secret language, which was dorky and endearing all at once.

  “Don’t worry.” Megan had told her. “Neville gets hott in the end.”

  “Megan, this isn’t a fairytale. This is my life! I don’t care if Devon is hott. He used to call me Spam. He’s a dick.”

  A dick I’m going to use to get myself back to Boston, Sam thought giddily. She was having entirely too much fun scheming ways to make Devon look like a villain. Sometimes her wicked imagination scared her. Perhaps she spent too much time talking fiction with Megan. She wished Megan were with her. She’d have a million fantastical ideas about how to set Devon up.

  Sam’s father interrupted her scheming. “Look, Sam, can we put this argument on pause?” he asked. “It’s been a long day.”

  She smiled. “Sure, Dad.” Why not give him one last day of his agreeable, loving daughter? “So, where to?” she asked.

  He pulled out his phone and turned on the GPS. “The James’s house.”

  “What?” Sam felt panicky as she glanced at herself in the side view mirror. She was suddenly regretting her choice of comfy travel clothes. “Why?”

  “There are some things I need to discuss with Henry.”

  She groaned. “Can’t you drop me off first?”

  Sam felt grubby from the flight and the last thing she wanted was for Devon to see her looking like a train wreck. Her brown hair was in a messy bun, she didn’t have any make up on and she needed to shower the airport film off before she would feel presentable enough to see anyone—which she was hoping wouldn’t be until classes started the following week.

  “Dad! I look like crap. I can’t see anyone looking like this.”

  “The James’s aren’t anyone. They’re almost family.”

  “Daaad,” she groaned.

  The last thing Sam felt like doing was sitting through a meeting with her father’s business partner. And if she ran into Devon looking like this he might not take the bait, ruining her scheming before it even started.

  “Samantha,” her father said sternly. “Henry is my oldest and dearest friend. After we lost your mother . . .” Sam watched her father’s dark eyes pool with tears and her throat dried up.

  This was why they never spoke about her mother.

  This was why she could never truly argue with her father.

  This was why she didn’t want to come back to Ireland.

  They weren’t ready for this. The memories were still too raw here. They’d been on terra firma for a solid sixteen minutes and already her father was losing it. He took a deep breath and seemed to regain his composure. “Henry and his family have been there for us through everything. And now it’s our turn to repay the favor.”

  “Okay, Dad,” she murmured.

  Scheming be damned—Sam would have agreed to just about anything if it meant her father wouldn’t get teary eyed. She wasn’t a monster. It was bad enough that Sam looked exactly like her mother—same wild brown hair, sea glass eyes, oval face and porcelain complexion that freckled in the sun. She often wished she looked more like her father so he wouldn’t look at her like he did—with a searing mixture of love and pain. She was a constant reminder of what her father had lost. But DNA aside, the waves in Sam’s hair were the only apparent trait she’d inherited from him.

  Sam reached over and squeezed her father’s hand while he collected himself.

  “And I expect you to be polite and courteous,” her father continued. “Their family is suffering enough. They don’t need to worry about us.”

  Sam nodded. “Of course, Dad.”

  Henry James was her father’s college roommate-turned-business partner. They’d founded a software company, Cor-Tec, right out of college and it had become rather successful. Henry ran the UK headquarters, while her father ran the ones in the US. And Henry was the reason she’d been dragged to Ireland. He was ill and needed her father to help out with their international clients. But now that they were driving to the James’s house, Sam wished she’d paid better attention during her father’s initial conversation about Henry’s health.

  It’s not that Sam was heartless; she just didn’t remember what exactly was wrong with Henry. When her father had first mentioned going to Ireland to help take the reins while Henry recovered, Sam thought he meant only he was going. And maybe he had at first, but somehow, taking the reins for a while turned into a permanent move, leading Sam to think things must be pretty bad for Henry.

  As they escaped the congested traffic of Dublin and headed out to the rolling green countryside, Sam tried to piece together what she remembered of Henry and his family. She remembered they lived in a cute stone cottage in the middle of nowhere. She remembered his wife had blonde hair and her name was Gretta or Gretchen—something with a G. She sort of remembered a pretty flower garden she used to chase butterflies in. But the only thing Sam remembered perfectly was Devon.

  She shook thoughts of him from her head as they drove up to a sprawling stone mansion. Perhaps her eight-year-old-mind didn’t quite remember things accurately. The James’s house looked like a castle!

  “Is this where they’ve always lived?” Sam asked as they were buzzed through the massive iron gates.

  “No, they moved about four years ago, when the business really took off.”

  “Oh. So the tech biz is big in Ireland?”

  “It’s big everywhere, Sam,” he replied giving her a weathered look.

  Her father hated that Sam wanted nothing to do with the business he’d built from the ground up. The truth was, she didn’t really get what he did. She knew he built software, but beyond that, her eyes glazed over whenever he started talking tech. She didn’t really know what she wanted to do, but tech wasn’t it. It seemed boring. All she ever saw him do was stare at his laptop and yell on the phone. Neither of which appealed to her. She changed the subject. “Our house in Boston sure didn’t look like this.”

  Her father laughed. “They don’t make houses like this in downtown Boston.”

  “What about here? Do we get a McMansion, too?”

  “No, I’m afraid not. I just rented something close by. It’s cozy, but it’s just the right size for the two of us.”

  “Isn’t it just the three of them?” Sam asked staring at the massive stone fortress in front of her. I
t was larger than her old school—and Stanton Prep was nothing to scoff at.

  “No, I told you Henry and Gretta got divorced. He remarried and has three more children now. They needed a little more space.”

  “I’d say. This place is ridiculous.”

  “Sam, please don’t be rude.”

  “Sorry. What’s Henry’s new wife’s name again?” she asked trying to focus.

  “Cara. She has twin girls, Tallulah and Isabella. And a son, Charles.”

  None of this sounded familiar. Maybe Sam had thought ignoring everything pertaining to Ireland would make it seem less real. “Right,” she said. Her chest squeezed anxiously. Ireland certainly seemed real now. Sam gave herself a mental pep talk. Well, I’m here. Might as well put my plan into action.

  “What about Devon?” she asked as her father parked and a butler-looking man approached their car. “Does he still live with Henry?”

  “Yes. He’ll be taking over his father’s position in the company. I’ll be working with him as much as his schedule allows, so you’ll probably see him around a lot.”

  Perfect. Well, almost. It would be perfect once Devon won her a ticket back to Boston.

  Devon

  When Devon saw the small white BMW rolling up the drive to his house, he nearly choked. She was here. Sam Connors was finally here! He’d dreamt about this day for so long, he had to pinch himself to be sure it was real. “Of course it’s real, ya arse,” he muttered to himself.

  When Devon’s father told him that Thomas and Sam would be arriving today, Devon had immediately grabbed his dog, Eggsy, and gone out for a run. He would’ve gone crazy waiting around the house with his thoughts racing circles in his head.

  Ever since Devon had kissed Sam, nine years ago, she’d become this unattainable creature that he pined for. It was quite ridiculous, really. Sam probably didn’t even remember him. But that didn’t change the fact that he’d been in love with her. Sure it was eight-year-old-boy-love, which manifested as bullying and name-calling, but still, he couldn’t get her out of his head.

  The day Devon found out Sam was moving to America had been the worst day of his life. He’d gotten some idea into his mind that if he kissed her, she’d stay—like life was some big fucking fairytale. Christ, what a wanker.

  Of course it didn’t work out. She cried and shoved him away and that was that. He’d never seen Sam again. Well sorta. He of course kept tabs on her through Facebook and such. It’s not like he was stalking her. He wasn’t some creepy git. But she was his first kiss—it’s something a boy holds on to.

  Or at least he did for a while. But the past few years, Devon had been so busy with school and football that he didn’t have time to think about Sam. He didn’t have time to think about anything. Okay, well that might be a wee bit of an exaggeration. It was mostly the partying and girls that kept Devon busy. But come on, he was a strapping young lad. A footballer. Devon was striker for Eddington’s football club and that combined with his father’s social stature basically made Devon the drug of choice among the Eddington girls. And damn him if they weren’t his kryptonite. Or they were.

  Things had changed over the summer when Devon’s father got sick. He’d been diagnosed with a cancerous brain tumor—the fast growing kind. Not that Devon knew if there were any other kinds, which was surprising, because he knew way more than he’d ever wanted to about cancer. But ultimately, the only important thing to know was that his father’s cancer was incurable. That one tiny word changed Devon’s world.

  Now, at seventeen, Devon was being pressured to take over his father’s role in the massive tech business he ran with Thomas Connors. Never mind what Devon wanted—which was go to uni for environmental studies, by-the-by. Tech was now his future. And everyone was pushing him so hard toward it that Devon hadn’t even been able to attend summer football club with his mates. And worse still, he’d been forced to give up his spot on the team a few weeks ago.

  It pissed him off. But pretty much everything pissed Devon off these days. He was mad that his father was dying. He was mad that there was nothing he could do to stop it. He was mad that everyone was counting on him. He was mad that no one had ever stopped to ask him what he wanted. Not even his girlfriend, Sophie. Well, ex-girlfriend, actually.

  Sophie was another thing Devon had lost because of his father’s cancer. She wasn’t too pleased with the prospects of being attached to a bloke who wouldn’t be starring on the football pitch this season. Sophie was a total jersey chaser. But damn, what a ride. Sophie was smokin’ hott. Devon had felt like a million bucks whenever he had Sophie on his arm. But other than physical chemistry, they didn’t really have much in common. So Devon wasn’t that broken up about it when she dumped him. Especially when he heard Sam was moving back to Ireland.

  Devon felt like fate was finally noticing he’d been dealt a raw hand lately and decided to bring a ray of hope back into his life. When Devon found out Sam was coming home, all those old feelings he had for her returned. And now that Sam was actually here, he didn’t know what to do. It was like someone had opened a window in his chest and he couldn’t catch his breath.

  “Eggsy!” Devon called. “Come on, boy!”

  His beloved wolfhound came bounding over. Eggsy was barely two and he was already larger than all the other hounds in the kennel. He had salt and pepper fur with a white chest and belly, and Devon spoiled him rotten. He even let Eggsy sleep in bed with him—something his stepmother hated—which was half the reason Devon did it. The other half was he really did love the lanky mutt. Ever since his step-monster, Cara, and her spawns, had started taking over, Devon felt withdrawn. It was like he wasn’t even part of his own family anymore. But Eggsy was his one reprieve.

  Devon let the giant dog jump up on him, catching his massive paws on his chest while he ruffled Eggsy’s mottled gray fur. “Are you ready to go meet the love of my life?”

  3

  Sam

  Cara James greeted them warmly after another butler-looking fellow escorted Sam and her father to the salon. Ugh! Sam forgot how much she hated all the pretentious names for everything in Ireland. Why couldn’t they just call it ostentatious room number 1 or 2 or 3? We get it, you’re rich!

  It’s not that Sam was poor by any means, but for some reason she always hated it when people flaunted their money. She’d only met Cara for two seconds and Sam could already tell Cara was one of those people. Sam was good at spotting pretentiousness. Probably because she’d spent the last few years attending Stanton Prep, Boston’s most elite prep school. Everyone who attended basically oozed money. The problem was, there were always the few who didn’t, and Sam hated how her classmates ostracized them—not that she ever did anything about it. She wasn’t crazy. Sticking up for the less fortunate at Stanton would land her outsider status faster than a faux Prada handbag.

  But there was no hiding from the wealth in a place like this. The James’s home leaked opulence. It made Rockefeller look like a hack. Sam suddenly wondered if good old Henry was holding out on her father. The thought made her queasy.

  “Thomas! It’s so good to see you,” Cara hailed. “And this must be your lovely daughter, Samantha. Hello, darling.”

  Darling? Cara wasn’t old enough to be calling anyone darling. “Hello,” Sam replied, trying to keep her face neutral. She was shocked by how young Cara was. She looked like she was still in her twenties! Can you say trophy wife?

  A few feet away from Cara, Sam spotted two identical little toe-headed girls playing politely with a tea set—Tallulah and Isabella. Next to them, was a baby sleeping in a bassinet—Charles.

  Sam had been expecting Henry’s children to be closer to her own age. Her palms started sweating. She wasn’t good with little kids. She didn’t really like them. They were always sticky and unpredictable. Her father better not expect her to babysit while he was meeting with Henry!

  Right then a cheery-faced servant strolled in, silently scooping up the baby and escorting the twins from the roo
m. Of course Sam wouldn’t have to babysit. What was she thinking? This place probably had enough servants that you didn’t even have to wipe your own ass.

  For the umpteenth time, Sam found herself wishing Megan was with her. She’d probably be singing Be Our Guest from the library ladder by now—assuming this place had a massive library. The house looked like it could be the castle from Beauty and the Beast. There were even old china cabinets and tapestries—there had to be a dusty old library hidden somewhere.

  “I’m afraid Henry’s not well today,” Cara started. But just then the doors to the salon opened and a ghostly man wobbled in. “Henry!” Cara cooed, rushing to his side. “What are you doing out of bed, darling?”

  “My best mate flies all the way from the states to see me? The least I can do is get my sorry arse outta bed to greet him.”

  “Henry!” her father boomed, crossing the room to hug the thin man.

  If everyone hadn’t been saying his name, Sam never would have recognized him as Henry James. The Henry she remembered was built like a rugby player, with a thick head of brown hair and a dark mustache. He had a boisterous laugh, a big belly and wore ridiculously colorful suits. This man was pale and gray. He had no hair and he looked like he weighed as much as his petite twenty-year old wife!

  “Henry, I really must insist you lie down. The doctor—”

  “Pish! I know what the doctor says, dear. But keeping my spirits up is just as important.” Henry gave her father a conspiratorial grin she recognized before turning his attention to her. “No!” Henry squawked. “This can’t be little Sam?”

  “I’m afraid so,” her father confirmed.

  “Good Christ! I remember her and Devon in diapers. It seems like yesterday. What did he used to call you?” Henry asked.