The Almost Boyfriend (The Boyfriend Series Book 2) Page 3

  Spam! Spam! Spam! “No idea,” Sam mused. “But it’s good to see you again, Henry.”

  “Oh, it’s Uncle Henry to you,” he wheezed pulling Sam into a feeble hug.

  “Well, now that we’re all acquainted. I really must insist you lie down, darling,” Cara begged.

  “Yes, fine dear, but only if I can bring Thomas with me. We have much to discuss.”

  “Yes, that’s fine,” Cara conceded. “But please try not to exhaust yourself.”

  “To the bat cave,” Henry proclaimed.

  Sam’s father smiled and started humming the theme song to Batman. She forgot how silly her father was when he was with Henry. It seemed he’d left that part of himself in Ireland. And now that he’d returned, it was back, like nothing had changed.

  But everything had. Seeing Henry made Sam’s stomach knot up. Cancer. Henry had cancer. She remembered now. How could she ever forget? Cancer had stolen her mother too. She had the same gaunt gray skin in the end. And the same sickly sweet smell—like funeral flowers.

  What about me? Sam wanted to scream as she watched her father walk away leaving her alone with Cara. But that seemed like such a childish thing to say. Being back in Ireland made her feel so young and uncertain again, and she hated it.

  Instead of chasing after her father like she wanted to, Sam turned to Cara and smiled. “Would it be all right to check my email while they catch up?”

  “Of course,” Cara replied. “Thorton, please take Miss Connors to the study and set her up with Wi-Fi.”

  “Right away, madam.” A third identical butler-looking man had appeared. He seemed to have materialized from thin air, making Sam jump. She would never get used to that. Maybe it was a good thing her father hadn’t found them their own little McMansion. It seemed they came with McButlers and Sam hated having people sneak up on her.

  Devon

  Devon snuck Eggsy in the back entrance to the house after hosing him off in the stables. He hated feeling like he was sneaking about in his own home, but Cara would be murderous if she caught a wet dog inside her house. It was ridiculous how she presided over the place. It was bad enough that she demanded Devon’s father buy the palatial home, but she ran it like she thought she was some kind of royalty. They had more staff than occupants. And Devon was always afraid one of them would rat him out for keeping Eggsy in his room. But so far they hadn’t. Maybe they disliked Cara as much as Devon did.

  Cara O’Leary was twenty-four years old. It would be more appropriate for Devon to be dating her than his father. But that hadn’t stopped Cara. She had Henry James pegged from the beginning and got herself knocked up with twins before he had a chance to wise up. And now she’d just had his third child—who she grotesquely referred to as his last child, since she was just waiting for him to die so she could inherit his fortune.

  Devon hated Cara. But mostly, he hated himself. Because it was his fault Cara ever met his father. Devon tried to drive the unsettling thoughts from his mind when he reached his room. He undressed and jumped into the shower. He needed to concentrate on better things, like Sam.

  4

  Sam

  Sam followed Thorton to the study, which turned out to be a massive Beauty and the Beast-worthy library. She pulled her laptop out of her shoulder bag and connected to the Wi-Fi. As soon as she was online a message pinged. It was Megan.

  MEG-lomania: R U IRISH YET?

  Sam-I-am: dork

  MEG-lomania: WHERE R U?

  Sam-I-am: Belle’s library

  MEG-lomania: FOR REAL?

  Sam-I-am: no! But seriously you should see this place. It looks like Hogwarts.

  Sam’s computer screen was suddenly filled with Megan’s goofy face as her video chat request came through. Sam rolled her eyes but accepted the chat.

  “You’re killing me! You can’t say Hogwarts and not show me. And stop mixing fandoms. You know it makes me crazy. Only Emma Watson can pull off Disney and Potter.” Megan spoke in rapid-fire like always and Sam’s eyes teared up.

  “Where are you for real?” Megan asked.

  “At my dad’s business partner’s house.”

  “Ooo, let me see.”

  Sam picked up her laptop to give Megan a 360-degree view of the breathtaking library. She could hear Megan squealing a world away.

  “Oh my God! I hate you so much right now, Sam. I would kill to be there.”

  “Calm down. It’s just a bunch of dusty old books.”

  “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that. Anyway, how’s everything else?”

  “Fine, I guess.”

  “Where’s Devon?”

  “I dunno. Haven’t seen him yet.”

  “I bet he got hott!”

  “Give it a rest. We’re supposed to be focused on getting me back to Boston, not boys. Besides, if this place is any indication, he’s probably an even bigger pain in the ass than I remember.”

  “Who’s a pain in the arse?” a smooth male voice interrupted.

  Sam whipped around and her heart fell into her guts as she locked eyes with the most gorgeous human that ever walked the earth.

  “Hello, Sam,” he purred.

  “Devon?” There was no way this gorgeous specimen of man was Devon. Right? Right!

  I mean, it was genetically impossible for someone who used to look like a buck-toothed weasel as an eight-year-old to now look like . . . like . . . this. Sam had no words for this level of hotness. But the boy—no, strike that—the man in front of her was nodding his head confirming his identity. And even though there was nothing remaining that resembled the Devon she remembered, there was a familiar twinkle in his gray eyes.

  Sam blinked waiting for her brain to catch up to the masterpiece she was viewing. The dark-haired boy standing in the library now had to be at least 6’3’’ and he was easily the most beautiful person Sam had ever laid eyes on. And the way he was smiling at her. No, smiling was too simple a word. This boy’s smile was scandalous—offensive even. It devoured his face and it was gobbling her up with it. She had to look away.

  “Sorry, Meg, gotta go.”

  “Wait!”

  Sam heard Megan’s squeals of protest but slammed her laptop shut anyway, turning back to face the Irish god who was striding toward her—still swallowing her whole with his sinful smile. How was it fair for someone to have a smile like that, when they had everything else too?

  This new and improved Devon had cheekbones that would make a supermodel cry, and the bushy eyebrows she remembered now looked like tailored shutters framing the most beautiful gray eyes she’d ever seen. And that smile . . . Shit! She couldn’t look directly at it. But even looking near it was dangerous. Devon’s smile left ripples of dimples on his flawless skin like it was the surface of a lake, and Sam suddenly couldn’t remember how to swim.

  Devon took her hand giving it a single shake before pulling Sam into an all-consuming hug. “It’s so good to see you again, Sam,” he said into her day-old hair making her feel faint.

  She couldn’t even speak if she wanted to. Her face was mashed into his soft blue sweater that stretched across his broad chest. When he finally released her she stumbled back, acutely aware that she was wearing eight-hour old leggings, Uggs, an oversized t-shirt and a wrinkled gray zip-up hoodie. Not her best look. She probably still smelled like the Pringles she ate on the plane, too. And he smelled like . . . like heaven. Shit!

  Shit, shit, shit! It was the only thought running through Sam’s head. This was not how she wanted to meet Devon again for the first time. She wanted to dress cute and make him regret ever calling her names. She wanted to be the one who looked hott. Sam could be hott when she wanted to. She knew she had a great figure. She played soccer. And when she and Megan got all girl’d up to go out, Sam could really pull off hott. But right now, the only thing Sam was pulling off was Jersey Shore.

  How embarrassing!

  Why the hell hadn’t her father told her they were coming to Henry’s house straight from the airport? Then, a
ghost of a conversation came back to her. He did tell her they were coming here. She just hadn’t paid attention. Apparently, she had a mental block for anything pertaining to Ireland. She needed to get it together. Sticking her head in the sand wasn’t doing her any favors. All it did was strand her in Uggs.

  Devon finally released Sam from his bone-crushing hug and held her out at arms length. “Look at ya!” he exclaimed, squeezing her fit arms. “You’re not one of those anorexic American girls at all, eh?”

  Yep! Definitely Devon. And apparently, he was still the same jerk she remembered from childhood, but now with a more adult repertoire of insults—great!

  Sam wriggled out of his grasp, and mumbled. “Thanks, I guess.”

  “So anyway,” Devon continued running his hands through his McDreamy hair. “I hope you don’t hold all that childhood rubbish against me. They were only pranks,” he said grinning again.

  Spam, he’d called me Spam! There, that seemed to work. Sam wasn’t blinded by his good looks anymore. Every time she thought Spam, she could picture Devon as the eight-year-old who called her that.

  “God! Put that thing away, will you? It’s blinding,” Sam said, shoving her laptop back into her bag.

  “Pardon?”

  “Your smile! It’s ridiculous.”

  Devon laughed.

  His laugh was still the same.

  “Good to see you’re still as charming as ever, Sam.”

  “It’s Samantha now,” she said.

  That was a total lie. Her father and Megan still called her Sam. And so did pretty much everyone she’d ever played sports with. But she’d started filling out college applications last year as Samantha and she sort of liked the way it felt—older and more sophisticated. Exactly the way she wanted Devon to see her.

  Devon shrugged. “I’ve always liked, Sam. Anyway, my father sent me to see if you wanted company. It looks like they’re going to be a while.”

  “I don’t need a babysitter,” she replied, laying on the snark.

  “I was thinking more of a field trip?” He smiled again, holding up a set of keys.

  Damn it! That smile was going to be the death of her. But it could just be her ticket back to Boston if she played her cards right.

  “You hungry?” Devon asked.

  Sam flashed a grin of her own. “Famished.”

  Devon

  Really? ‘Anorexic American girl?’ Why the hell had he said that?

  Blimey! Devon had basically just called Sam fat, in a total backhanded way. He blamed Sophie. When they were dating Devon spent way too much time watching those mind-rotting gossipy shows with her where the girls were all fake nice to each other and said passive aggressive things. The damn shows must have rubbed off on him. Or maybe it was just that Sam made him so nervous.

  Devon should have thought through what he was going to say when he saw her. He basically had. He was going to keep it simple. ‘Good to see you.’ ‘You look grand.’ ‘I’ve missed you.” That sort of thing. But Devon had been so stunned by how beautiful and real Sam was, that words just sort of fell out of his mouth. Stupid words.

  Christ. Who waits nine years for another shot at a girl and blows it in one sentence? This wanker, that’s who.

  Everything about Sam was just like he remembered it, yet better somehow. She wasn’t like all the other girls he knew. She didn’t hide behind caked makeup or have bottled blonde hair. Sam was raw and refreshing, just like he knew she’d be.

  Well there wasn’t much to do now but try to move forward. At least she’d agreed to go get something to eat with him. He’d just have to win her over with dinner.

  5

  Sam

  “So where do ya wanna go?” Devon asked once they were buckled in his shiny black Land Rover Defender.

  “How should I know? I haven’t been to Ireland in nine years.”

  “Well, not much has changed,” Devon replied.

  Yeah, right! Did the boy not own a mirror? “That still doesn’t help,” she quipped. “Nothing’s like I remember it.”

  He raised his eyebrows like he didn’t believe her.

  “What?”

  “Come on, don’t tell me you forgot about me? I never forgot you.”

  “Oh, spare me. Just take me to get some food, okay?”

  Devon laughed. “Yep, that’s the attitude I remember.”

  They drove in awkward silence for about ten minutes or so until they came to the small town of Dalkey. It looked sort of familiar to Sam, but then again, everything in Ireland looked sort of the same—cobblestone streets, window boxes full of petunias and ancient looking buildings. Devon parked outside a sleepy pub called Finnegan’s. He came around to open the door for her, but she was already on the street, shooting him a dirty look. “This isn’t a date,” she said.

  “Of course not, but I still have manners.”

  She snorted. “Then I’d say a lot has changed around here.”

  Devon trailed behind Sam as she pushed her way into the pub. She was momentarily overpowered by its woody-ness. Everything inside seemed to be the same shade of polished wood—the bar, the paneling, the barstools, the floor, even most of the tables. Sam grabbed a small table near the window with a green marble top. She hated dark colors. They made her feel boxed in. Her old house in Boston was modern and all the walls were white. God, she missed Boston.

  Devon joined her, pulling off his blue sweater before he sat down. The hem of his t-shirt lifted, flashing the bare skin of his perfect abs. Sam bit her lip and stared out the window. Spam, she repeated in her head until Devon’s eight-year-old image returned. Why did he have to be so gorgeous now? It was making it impossible for her to scheme.

  Devon finally sat down and handed her a menu. “The cottage pie is amazing. Or if we’re lucky they might have Guinness stew.”

  “How about just Guinness?” She smirked.

  Devon’s dark eyebrows shot up, followed by a grin. “Two pints it is.” Then he disappeared toward the bar.

  Sam wasn’t a big drinker. Especially beer. Appletini’s were her favorite. Or at least they had been—for about three hours until they turned on her and decided her stomach wasn’t inhabitable. That had been the one and only time Sam ever got wasted. She’d been out with Megan at a party last year and they both drank way too much. Megan ended up having sex with a much older boy, while Sam puked her guts up in the bathroom. Which, thinking about it now, was probably the only reason Sam hadn’t given it up to Ryan that night. Saved by the Appletini. Both girls did the walk of shame home the next morning. When they got back to Megan’s house, they decided to never get that drunk again.

  But, in order for Sam’s back-to-Boston plan to work she needed to get drunk, or at least make Devon think she was.

  Devon

  “Who’s the lucky lass?” the bartender asked jutting his chin over Devon’s shoulder.

  Pete was tending bar tonight. He was one of Devon’s father’s old fishing buddies. Devon tried to shrug off answering, but Pete was like a bloodhound. Plus, it didn’t help that Devon’s cheeks were probably turning on him. His face always flushed color when he was nervous.

  “Oh, come on. She must be somebody,” Pete pressed.

  Devon slapped a few euros on the counter and grabbed the pints, but Pete didn’t let go. “If you don’t tell me, I guess I’ll just have ta go over and card ‘er me self.”

  Devon paled. “Christ, Pete. If ya must know, it’s Sam Connors.”

  “No! Thomas and Elizabeth’s daughter? It’s can’t be!”

  “It is. Now don’t make a big deal about this.”

  Pete gave a raspy laugh. “Yer still in love wit her like the day ya was born.”

  Devon leveled his eyes with Pete and scowled. Pete got the hint. He was still laughing but he took his hands off the pints and backed away with them in the air.

  Devon loosed a breath as he weaved his way slowly to the table trying not to spill the pints. It was nearly sundown and the bar was starting to fill
up. He didn’t like the idea of his first date with Sam being at Finnegan’s. But it was pretty much the only pub worth visiting in Dalkey—which was half the problem. He didn’t want to run into any of his mates while he was with her just yet. They’d rib him way worse than Ol’ Pete. Devon glanced at the clock—plenty of time. The boys didn’t usually come out until after the dinner crowd left.

  He turned his attention back to Sam. She was gazing out the window, the last glow of summer sun casting a golden glow over her. She looked like a painting. And if possible, she was even more beautiful than he remembered. Her clothes were a bit grungy, but who knew what passed as keen in Boston? That kind of thing never mattered to Devon anyway. It was Sam’s spirit that drew him in. She was always so feisty and sure of herself. None of the girls at Eddington were like that. All they cared about were appearances.

  Devon set the pints down on the table. “Guinness for the lady.”

  “Thanks.” Sam offered him a big smile and held up her glass. “Cheers.”

  “Sláinte,” Devon said, clinking glasses.

  He watched her take three big gulps. Shite! He didn’t know it was a chugging contest. He took a few more swigs himself and put the beer down shaking his head.

  “What?” Sam scoffed. “Don’t Irish women drink?”

  “You are an Irish woman, ya know?”

  She laughed. “Just because I was born here doesn’t make me Irish.”

  “That’s exactly what it makes you,” Devon argued.

  “I barely remember this place.”

  “Well, it remembers you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing,” Devon said taking another swig of his pint.

  Sam raised her glass and drained it. “How ‘bout another round?”

  “Don’t you think you should pace yourself? And maybe order some dinner?”

  “Look, Devon, I’m not eight-years-old anymore. You can’t bully me. If I want another drink, I’ll have another drink.”