Page 23 of Don’t Say You’re Sorry (Hawthorne University #2)

EASTON

FOUR YEARS AGO

“ W hich of these stars do you think have burned out?”

I turn my head to look at Adam, his hair tickling my nose. “What?”

“The stars.” He’s lying on his back on the lawn beside me, the joint resting between his pink, full lips, eyes fixed on the night sky.

“Look at that one.” He points. “Say it’s ten thousand light-years away.

That means we’re seeing it as it was ten thousand years ago, right?

Do you think it’s still there? Stars live for millions of years, so they can’t all be gone.

Maybe some of them, though…” He trails off, head tilted as I inhale deeply—weed, grass, and the sweet scent of his shampoo clinging to his hair. “Easton?”

“Hm?”

“Are you even listening to me?”

“I’m listening to your voice. Does that count?”

He breathes a laugh, finally turning his face toward mine. “Hi.”

“Hi. Feeling good?”

“Mm. My lips feel weird.”

I chuckle, dropping my gaze to his lips.

It’s his first time smoking weed. He’s usually pretty sensible, choosing not to indulge even when everyone else does, but today’s the fifteen-year anniversary of my mom’s death, and when I walked out of the party we’re at to smoke a joint in the backyard, he followed me and asked if he could have some.

I hesitated, but only for a second. Adam’s a big boy.

If he wants to get high, who am I to stop him?

How we ended up on our backs on the lawn, so close that I could count his eyelashes…not a clue.

“Will you tell me a secret?” he asks, and I nod. I’ll tell him anything. “Do you miss your mum?”

“That’s a hard question for me to answer,” I say honestly. To anyone else, I’d say yes like I’m supposed to, but since this is Adam, I tell him, “It’s not that I don’t miss her. I do. But I don’t remember her. It’s more that I miss what could have been. Why do you ask?”

“You never talk about her.”

“I don’t have a lot to talk about. All I have are pictures and the stories my dad told me. They’re not my stories to tell. Not really.”

He swallows, the click of his throat audible since we’re so close. “You don’t have one memory of her?”

I shake my head.

“That sucks.” He scoots even closer to me, his bent knee knocking into mine.

“Yeah.”

His forehead touches mine, our breaths mingling, syncing together, his fingers wiggling between us, his knuckles brushing mine. I look down just as he turns his face away. “We should go back inside,” he says suddenly, his breath turning ragged.

“Why?”

“Because my lips feel weird, and yours look really fucking tasty right now.”

He drops his hands over his face with a groan, making me laugh.

“Why is my mouth saying everything my brain is thinking?”

That makes me laugh harder. He laughs too, the two of us rolling around on the grass as we struggle to our feet. When we finally get there, I wrap my arm around his neck and pull him into me, my mouth on his temple. “I’m hungry.”

“No shit.” His hands find my waist, and I pull him to my chest, my fingers raking through his hair.

“Not for food,” I clarify, giving him one of the many thoughts my mind is thinking. “Wanna leave?”

He nods against me, and I pull my phone out, glancing around to make sure no one’s seeing the way we’re touching each other as I order an Uber.

At home, sitting cross-legged on top of the kitchen island, Adam sips on some water while I make him a snack, the two of us trying and failing to be quiet as I share stories about my parents. They’re not funny stories, but we find ourselves laughing at them anyway.

After cutting the tomatoes, I add them to his BLT sandwich, cut it in half, and slide the plate toward him. He offers me half, and I smile as I take it.

We’re both leaning in, our knees knocking together, my eyes zeroed in on his mouth as he chews.

“This one time?—”

“At band camp,” he says around a mouthful of food.

“—when I was seven, my dad hired a new babysitter. The last one quit because of the way he spoke to her. But that’s another story.

Anyway, the new one was hot. Like, smoking hot, dude.

Tall. Blonde. A cheerleader. I had a crush on her, but she wouldn’t give me the time of day.

She sent me to bed early, and when something woke me up and I realized my dad was home, I came downstairs and saw him fucking her against the front door out there.

” I tip my chin at the entryway behind him, solemnly shaking my head. “Broke my heart, man.”

Adam stares at me, wide-eyed and silent, before he doubles over laughing. “That’s the most traumatic thing I’ve ever heard.”

I’m laughing too, holding on to the sleeves of his hoodie to stop him falling off the counter.

The sound of a throat clearing has us both straightening up, whipping our heads around to find my dad and Veronica standing in the doorway. Dressed in their pajamas, their hair mussed from sleep, they look pissed. A quick glance at the clock tells me it’s almost two in the morning.

Veronica folds her arms across her chest, and my dad sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “She was twenty-two, okay? A college cheerleader. Jesus.”

Adam’s shoulders shake with laughter as he ducks his head, hiding his face in his hands. We’re still close, so the top of his head bumps my chin. I curl my hand into a fist, resisting the urge to reach up and run it through his hair.

Ignoring her husband, Veronica looks between me and her son. “Are you done?”

Shoving the remainder of the sandwich in his mouth, Adam hums.

She still looks pissed, but asks, “Are you both okay?”

I nod. Adam nods too, and the two of us climb off the counter to start cleaning up the mess we made.

“Leave it for the morning. You can clean it up while I tear you both a new one. Go to bed.”

She doesn’t have to tell us twice. Wordlessly, we sidestep them and make a beeline for the stairs. I mouth, Sorry , over my shoulder, and Veronica shakes her head at me, though I don’t miss the small amount of amusement there.

When we get to my bedroom door, Adam keeps walking toward his own, and I grab the scruff of his hoodie, pulling his back to my chest. He grins as I push him inside my bedroom, quietly closing the door and locking us inside.

“Did that sober you up?” I ask, his back hitting my bed as I crawl onto it with him.

He inhales deeply through his nose, then exhales. “Nope.”

I chuckle and lie on my side facing him, propping my head up on my hand, my fingers hovering over his chest. “Your turn to tell me something.”

He nods, eyes on the ceiling. “Anything.”

“You ever had your heart broken?”

He turns his head to face me, then his body, mirroring my position. A little vee forms between his brows, his tongue poking out to wet his lips as his eyes bounce all over my face. “No. Maybe.”

“Tell me.”

Cringing, he shakes his head. “I can’t.”

“You just told me you’d tell me anything,” I remind him, scooting even closer until we’re pressed together from our chests to knees. “Say it.”

“No.”

Finally giving in to my urge to run my fingers through his hair, I yank his head back and press my mouth to his cheek. “ Say it ,” I repeat.

He chokes on a groan, wiggling against me, though he’s not trying to get free. “Every time I see you with someone else, I die a little on the inside,” he rushes out, panting against my ear. “Fuck. I?—”

I don’t hesitate. “Then I’ll stop.”

“What?”

“If it hurts you, I’ll stop.” I run my lips over his cheek. “Nothing’s worth hurting you, Adam.”

His throat bobs with a swallow.

Forcing myself to pull back, I stare at his face, and he stares at mine, his cheeks flaming in the low light coming from the lamp on my nightstand.

I want to lick every inch of his beautiful face. I want to bite him, kiss him, claim him. I want to tear his clothes off and see what other parts of his body are stained red. I want to rub against him and find out if his dick is as hard as mine.

Blowing out a breath, I stand, not trusting myself to be near him right now. “You should g?—”

Quickly pushing up to his knees, Adam yanks me back to him by my hoodie, his other hand on the back of my neck, and pulls my mouth to his.

And like the reckless fucker I am, I revel in it.

Sliding my hands to the backs of his thighs, I flip him onto his back and follow him down, settling between his open legs.

I push his hands up near his head, pinning them to the sheet, and drag my tongue over his lips, coaxing his mouth to open for me.

I don’t care how wrong this is—I’m getting a taste this time.

His lips part, and I roll my tongue over his, swallowing the soft moan he rewards me with. As I suck on his tongue before feeding him mine, his body trembling beneath me, all I can think is, Now he’s gone and done it. One taste. One fucking taste and I’m addicted to it. To him .

“Do you have any idea what you just did?” I rasp.

He tears his mouth away, his head turned to the side, his hands still pinned. “I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m s?—”

“Don’t.” Releasing one of his hands, I grab his jaw and turn his face until he’s looking at me again, my hand sliding down to his throat. “Don’t say you’re sorry for this.”

I kiss him again, slower this time, more exploratory, trying to memorize every inch of his mouth, to figure out what he likes, what makes him moan, what makes his body jerk against mine?—

When I suck on his tongue again, he bucks his hips and moans into my mouth. I grin. There it is.

I lace our fingers together beside his head as he rocks up into me, his free hand grabbing my ass to pull me down with every thrust. He’s hard—I can feel it—and he damn well knows I am too, our cocks grinding through layers of clothes.

Tightening my grip on his throat, I kiss him like he belongs to me, as if I’ve kissed him a thousand times before and I’ll do it a thousand times more. But I make every second count, knowing I might never get another shot at this.