The Almost Boyfriend (The Boyfriend Series Book 2) Page 7

  “Oh my God! I thought we agreed to forget last night!”

  “Christ, we did! But this is what I mean.”

  “What?”

  “You said you wanted to start over.”

  “So?” Sam retorted sharply.

  “Well, I was hoping we could start over as friends.”

  Sam eyed him suspiciously.

  “I mean it. My life’s a mess. I could really use a friend right now, and I think you could too.”

  “I don’t need a friend,” she scoffed.

  “I can tell. I mean that winning attitude of yours is probably going to get you all kinds of friends at Eddington,” he teased.

  Sam rolled her eyes. “Fine, we can be friends. But just friends.”

  Devon smiled and stuck out his hand to Sam.

  She took it and added, “Friends don’t kiss, you know?” A hint of a smile cracked her delicate features. She was even prettier when she was trying to look mad.

  Devon couldn’t help himself. “Sometimes they do,” he said squeezing her tiny, warm hand.

  “Then we’re the kind of friends that don’t kiss.”

  We’ll see, Devon thought as he shook Sam’s hand while trying to contain the hope that fizzed in his chest. It felt like someone had cracked the window again—just enough for him to breathe.

  11

  Sam

  Despite yesterday being a total disaster and this morning starting out even worse, Sam found herself enjoying the drive to Eddington with Devon. At least she was out of that stuffy mansion.

  Who would have thought you could feel so claustrophobic in such a large house?

  Devon had stopped at a petrol station and came out with two Styrofoam cups of hot coffee and a bag of pastries.

  “I noticed you didn’t eat anything at breakfast,” he said handing her the coffee and putting the bag in her lap.

  She couldn’t protest. Her stomach had been growling since last night so she sucked up her pride and thanked him before stuffing her face. The food really did improve her mood. And with the sun shining while they drove the rolling green hills, Sam found it hard to be so angry. Plus, she reminded herself that she and Devon had just called a truce. She might as well give this friends thing a chance, because he was right, since she was fighting with her dad, Devon was really the only other person she had left to talk to.

  “So, tell me about Eddington,” she said.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything. The good, the bad and the ugly. Like who do I avoid? Where do I sit at lunch? What are the mating rituals?”

  Devon laughed. “It’s just school, Sam. We don’t sacrifice a virgin at the beginning of term.”

  “That’s a relief,” she said laughing. “I’d be safe even if you did,” she added, instantly regretting it.

  It was a total lie. Sam was still a virgin, but that was just the kind of thing she was used to saying. At her old school being a virgin was worse than having leprosy. Freshman year she and her friend Toby made a pact to say they had sex with each other at their co-ed soccer camp that summer. It was better to lie than risk going to Stanton with their v-cards.

  Sam had done other stuff with boys. She wasn’t a total prude. But she had never really found anyone she liked enough to have sex with. Megan said that was because Sam was too in love with soccer to have time for boys. Megan was probably right.

  Devon seemed uncomfortable when he glanced over at Sam. His full lips were pressed together like he was concentrating and his brow was furrowed again. She couldn’t see his eye behind his sunglasses, but the sun was kissing his golden skin and Sam turned away. It physically hurt to look at someone that perfect.

  “So, there’s about sixty or so students in our year,” Devon ventured. “Which we call sixth year, by the way. First term is kind of intense. Eddington makes us cram all of our core lessons in so we can take our leaving certificate exams before break. That way if anyone fails they can make up the lessons and retake exams second term. That’s how Eddington keeps their perfect graduation record.”

  Sam groaned.

  “It’s not all bad. There’s a big party at the end of first term. We call it the Grad Ball. It’s like your prom in the states. Everyone gets flashy and goes out on the lash.”

  She gave him a questioning look.

  “It means we dress up and go drinking.”

  “Got it.”

  “Then, second term is a breeze. It’s mostly just internships and electives. Which basically means coasting to the finish line and partying.”

  Not that I’ll even be here then, Sam thought.

  “And as far as where to sit at lunch, your guess is as good as mine.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, I used to sit with my mates from football club. But—”

  “You play soccer?”

  “Football,” he corrected. “I used to.”

  “You quit?” Sam scoffed, appalled that anyone would ever give up the beloved sport. She planned to try out for Eddington’s team right away.

  “Not by choice, but things with my dad . . .” Devon sighed. “It’s complicated.”

  “I’m no stranger to complicated father relationships,” Sam offered.

  Devon ran his hand through his hair twice before resting it back on the stick shift. Sam was starting to notice he messed with his hair when he was nervous. She smirked, because it was a girly thing to do. She tried to straighten out her face. She really did want to try to be friends with Devon. Especially when it came to dealing with his father’s illness. She knew what he was going through. And as much as Devon had been an eight-year-old jerk most of the time she knew him, he was also the boy who held her hand at her mother’s funeral, as if he’d known how empty Sam’s hand felt without her mother to hold it. She owed him.

  “I know I can come off kinda harsh . . .” she started.

  “Oh, so you’re aware of it?” Devon mocked.

  Sam ignored him. “You don’t have to talk about it. But I’m here for you if you want to.”

  Devon ran his hand through his dark hair again. After an awkward silence, he spoke. “My dad made me quit the team. Said the time for boyhood games are over. It’s time I step up and take his place in the business.”

  “But it’s your last year to play,” Sam argued, incredulous. She’d do more than mentally strangle her father if he ever tried to take soccer away from her.

  Devon just shrugged. “He’s right though. It’s not like I’m good enough to play professionally.”

  “So. That’s not the point. It’s your life and this is your last year to be young and stupid. It’s the last year we get to make mistakes and have fun without consequences.”

  “Yeah,” Devon said quietly. “But I guess my timeline has been shortened.”

  “Your dad . . . how bad is he?” Sam asked.

  “He has grade four Glioblastoma. It should have killed him already. The tumor’s inoperable. Radiation and chemo don’t seem to do anything but make him weaker. His doctors gave him twelve months to live. But that was fifteen months ago. This is all just borrowed time.”

  Sam didn’t know what to say. She let the heaviness of the situation settle over her while Devon silently clenched his jaw and ran his hand through his hair again. When he put his hand back on the stick shift, Sam placed her hand on top of his. She laced her fingers with his. They were warm and dry—like a big baseball mitt.

  “Maybe we can sit together at lunch,” she said.

  Devon grinned and squeezed her fingers. “I’d like that.”

  The rest of the drive went by rather quickly. Sam had started asking Devon questions about soccer. It turned out they both played offense. Devon was a striker and Sam played forward. They immediately filled the rest of the trip debating strategy. It was awesome having someone to talk soccer with. Her father wasn’t interested in sports. And Megan came to some of Sam’s games, but the only sport she really understood was Quidditch.

  Sam was enj
oying chatting about her favorite pastime with Devon and was actually disappointed when he pulled up to Eddington. The school reminded Sam so much of Stanton Prep that an eerie wave of déjà vu fell over her as they drove under the stone archway onto campus. It was stone rather than brick, but everything else was the same as Stanton—arches, pillars, perfectly manicured grounds, expensive cars. Eddington had a bit more of the old-world, Irish flare, with stone crosses adorning the towers and porticos, but otherwise, Sam felt pretty much at home. Maybe a few months here wouldn’t be too bad?

  “So,” Devon said, “How ‘bout we divide and conquer? I’ll take your class schedule and pick up your books, you go to the school tailor and get fit for your uniform. That way I’ll have time to show you the sports complex.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “If we’re lucky Coach Tomlin will be in and I can introduce you,” Devon offered.

  “That’d be great!”

  “Grand.”

  Sam smirked. Okay, Megan was right. The whole Irish accent thing was sorta cute. At least when it was Devon speaking and not her father’s lame attempts.

  Devon pointed her in the direction of the school tailor. She found it easily and a sweet old woman, named Tara, helped her gather everything she needed to be a proper Eddington lady. It seemed it would be another semester of plaid skirts and blazers. The Eddington uniforms even looked like Stanton’s. The blazers at Eddington were heather gray instead of Stanton blue, but the plaid skirt was nearly identical. Sam wished she could use that as an argument for sending her back to Boston. Dad, these schools are identical. Why not let me stay at the one I’m happy at?

  But she could already hear his response. If they’re the same, it shouldn’t matter that you’ll be going to Eddington.

  Sam waited patiently while the woman folded all her new clothes and put them in crisp white shopping bags with the Eddington crest on them. Tara informed her that everything would be charged to her school account, so Sam grabbed her bags and headed back out to find Devon.

  She spotted him striding toward his Defender with his arms full of books. Sam trotted over to help him with the door. “You weren’t kidding about first term being hard,” she retorted eyeing the pile of thick textbooks.

  He laughed. “Are you mad? They’re not all yours. I grabbed mine too.”

  “Oh, thank God,” Sam replied, relieved.

  “Looks like we have some classes together too,” he said handing her schedule back. He’d circled Honors English and Physics. “Ready to check out the sports complex?”

  Sam paused. “Are there going to be any students there?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure some of the teams have started practice already.”

  Sam cringed as she glanced down at her stretched out leggings and grubby Uggs. “Would you mind if we skipped it?”

  “Why? I thought you wanted to meet Coach?”

  “I do, but . . . I’m wearing two day old airplane clothes and I was sorta hoping to put my best face forward, ya know?”

  “You look fine,” Devon replied staring at her like he thought she always dressed like pop star going through a rehab phase.

  “Well, I’m sorta going for more than fine.”

  He shrugged. “Okay. So, what do ya wanna do?”

  “Is there anywhere I could do some shopping? My dad said the rest of my clothes won’t be here for a few weeks and I really don’t want to wear that frilly nightgown again.”

  “It was cute,” Devon replied, trying not to laugh.

  “Yeah, if you’re into Little House on the Prairie. Besides, I need other stuff. So far all I have are school uniforms. I need normal clothes, and shoes and soccer gear.”

  “Well, your dad said to make ya happy,” Devon replied pulling a black credit card from his pocket and handing it to Sam. She grinned like she’d just won the lottery! Devon smiled back. “Come on, I know just the place.”

  Devon

  Devon took Sam to his favorite sports outfitter in Dublin and actually had a great time helping her pick out cleats and gear. He normally hated shopping and thought it would kill him to walk into the sports store knowing he wouldn’t be playing this season. But he and Sam talked non-stop so he hardly even noticed that he was picking out gear for someone else. Sam went crazy over the selection of balls, saying they didn’t have such variety in the states. She picked out a white ball with big blue stars on it.

  It wasn’t until they went to pay that reality came rushing back. Sean Dougherty, one of Devon’s mates from the team, was manning the cash register. He gave Devon a smug look as he rang up Sam’s gear. He held up a pink sports bra and grinned. “Ah, this explains why you quit on us. I always knew you were a fag, James.”

  “Buggar off, Dougherty,” Devon growled.

  Sam looked between them trying to figure out what was going on.

  “And who’s this?” Dougherty asked looking at Sam. “I know you’re not with a stook like him, are ya sweetheart? He doesn’t wear a jersey anymore if that’s what you’re chasing.”

  “I’ll be wearing my own jersey, thank you very much,” Sam said shoving three more sports bras across the counter. “And I’m only using him for his fine ass,” she said giving Devon’s backside a fierce squeeze. Devon coughed roughly, trying to disguise his surprise. “Isn’t that right, baby cakes?” Sam asked, apparently continuing her charade.

  “Uh, yeah. And I love your sweet arse too, kitten,” he said cupping Sam’s perfectly toned backside with one hand.

  Devon tried to keep the color from creeping to his cheeks, but he was enjoying this game way too much. Dougherty’s face was priceless. He seemed like he wasn’t sure what to say, and honestly Devon didn’t give a damn about his ex-mate right now. Sam had Devon’s undivided attention. Finally running his hands over Sam’s tight little leggings was a wet dream come true. Christ, her ass was divine! It was a work of art. Devon wanted to hang a private property sign on it. This stretch of perfection hereby belongs to Devon James.

  Perhaps this whole friends thing was going to work out after all.

  Dougherty kept his mouth shut and rang Sam up quickly. She kept her hand in Devon’s back pocket the whole time. It wasn’t until they were back outside that she pulled away.

  “Kitten?” she gawfed. “Really?”

  “I don’t know? You said you liked me for my arse! And you called be baby cakes! I had to think fast.”

  Sam laughed. “Sorry about that. But at least we shut him up.”

  “Yeah, thanks for that.”

  “What’s his problem anyway?”

  “His name’s Sean Dougherty. He’s in Eddington’s football club. He’s pissed at me for quittin’. The whole team actin’ a maggot over it.”

  “I’m assuming that means they’re mad?”

  Devon nodded.

  “Didn’t you tell them about your dad?”

  “Yeah, but they’re a bunch of wankers. They think I’m a traitor for abandoning them. They don’t care that I didn’t have a choice in the matter, or that it’s killing me.”

  “Is that why that couple at Finnegan’s was so rude to you?”

  “Those two are their own special case.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Well, the girl, Sophie, she was my girlfriend up until this summer,” Devon shook his head in disgust. “She dropped me when she heard I wouldn’t be on the pitch this season. And Zander, we used to be best mates. We were always sorta rivals, trying out for the same position and that kinda thing. But, when his sister married my father, he started getting all high and mighty. Just giving me shite for no reason.”

  “Wait, so your dad married your best friend’s sister?”

  “It sounds bad when ya say it like that.”

  “It is bad, Devon. Your ex-best friend is your uncle, and I’m guessing from the way they were sucking face, that he’s now dating your ex-girlfriend. That’s Shakespearean!”

  Devon sighed. “I told you my life was a mess.”

  “That
’s the understatement of the year!” Sam replied. “Do you know what this calls for?”

  “What?”

  “Drinks!”

  “Oh no, we’ve already established you can drink me under the table, Boston.”

  “As any good Boston girl should,” she replied grinning at him.

  Christ, he loved it when she smiled. It was like each one caught in his chest and filled him with too much air.

  “Seriously though. I’m starving. Let’s go get lunch and a pint and you can tell me all about your fucked up life so I feel better about mine.”

  12

  Sam

  One pint turned into three as Devon filled Sam in on everything she’d missed in the past nine years. It turned out they had a lot in common. Soccer, no mothers (apparently Devon’s left when he was eleven. She now lived in England and had a new family), work-obsessed fathers, and an obsession with sliders. They’d each polished off five of the delicious mini cheeseburgers and fries while they tried to out do each other in a game of my-life-sucks-worse-than-yours. Devon won hands down. And Sam couldn’t stop staring at the wave of dimples that rippled through his face every time he laughed at one of her sarcastic jokes.

  “No! You don’t get any points in the ex-girlfriend column,” Sam argued. “She left you for your uncle! That goes in the family drama column.”

  “Alright, but you don’t know how to drive and you’ve been wearing the same clothes for two days.”

  “Hey!” she argued. “Neither of those are my fault. Which by the way, you’re supposed to take me shopping for real clothes.”

  “I will, just as soon as you wipe the ketchup off your face.”

  “Oh my God! How long have I had food on my face, you jerk?” Sam self-consciously wiped her face with a napkin.

  “You missed a spot.” Devon swiped the corner of her mouth with his thumb, then licked his finger clean.

  Sam felt her mouth go dry watching him. “Foul!” she cried when she found her voice.

  “What’s wrong now?”

  “Friends don’t lick food off each other.”