If It's Only Love (Lexi Ryan)

Chapter Twenty-One

Easton

I wasn’t planning to come back to Jackson Harbor until Sunday, but after seeing Professor Douche with

his . . . whatever she was to him this morning, I couldn’t wait to talk to Shay. Not that she replied to my

text messages.

I thought about going to her apartment, but if there’s anything I’ve learned during the last couple of

weeks, it’s that Shay doesn’t spend much time there. It seems like she’s always at work, the bar, or on

her laptop in the apartment upstairs.

I’m not surprised to see her when I step out of the cold and into Jackson Brews. I am surprised to see

that she’s working—not tapping away at her laptop, but pouring beers behind the bar, taking orders,

and mixing drinks like a pro.

I’m already high on her list of Least Favorite People, and I secured my place on that list years ago by

sharing information she probably would’ve been happier never knowing. It was a mistake and I regret it

to this day, but this is different, isn’t it?

No matter how many times I think it over and plan my words, I know she’s going to hate the messenger

for what I have to tell her, but what if I didn’t tell her and she found out I withheld that her boyfriend was

screwing around with at least one other woman? There’s no doubt in my mind that she’d consider that

a much worse crime.

I slide onto a stool and am all too aware of the way she stiffens when she registers my presence.

“Hello, Shayleigh.”

She flicks her gaze over me quickly. And hell, if their coolers break, Jake can just have Shay keep the

beer cold with her attitude toward me. “What can I get you?” Ice cold.

She already hates me. Might as well make myself public enemy number one by being the bearer of bad

news. Fuck. Not just bad news. The shittiest news. “Can we talk?” I’m starting to sound like a broken

record with this question.

She sighs, but she sounds more tired than annoyed. “Not right now, Easton.”

I spot her brother pushing out of the kitchen. “Hey, Jake.”

He lifts his chin at me and serves a basket of fried something to the couple at the end of the bar before

heading down to our end. “What’s up?”

“Can I steal Shay for a few minutes? I need to talk to her about something important. It has to do with .

. . her dissertation committee.”

He nods eagerly. “Please do. She’s not even supposed to be here.” I didn’t notice, but now that he

mentions it, Shay’s not even dressed for work. Everyone who serves here wears jeans or a skirt and a

Jackson Brews T-shirt, but Shay is dressed in a sweater dress that hugs her curves like whoever

designed it was on a mission to torture me. “Cindy’s pissed that she’s going to make fewer tips

because she has to work back here with Shay.”

“I told her she can have the tips.”

“And I told you that you aren’t needed,” Jake says. He turns back to me. “The only reason she’s here is

because she’s procrastinating.”

“Luckily, I can help with that,” I say, smiling at Shay. “Why don’t you grab a drink and meet me back

there?” I point a thumb toward the back of the bar and head that way without another word. I’m better

off not giving her the opportunity to deny me.

I slide into a booth, knowing there’s a good chance she won’t follow.

When she does, she doesn’t take the seat across from me. She stands at the foot of the table like she’s

my fucking waitress or something. “What?”

Fine. We’ll do it her way. I take a breath. “I just got back from Chicago.”

“Obviously.”

“I saw Professor D—George while I was there.”

She lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “His daughter lives in Chicago. He spends half his week there.”

George has a daughter. Didn’t think Professor Douche had it in him. I wonder if the blonde knows. Or

maybe the daughter is a convenient lie that allows him to lead a double life. “Shay, he was with

somebody else.”

She folds her arms and frowns. “Were you spying on him?”

It’s official. She thinks I’m a psycho. Can I blame her? “It was a total coincidence that we were at the

same restaurant, but it was a lucky one, if you think about it. I know it’s not my business. I know you

want me to stay out of your relationship—”

“And yet here we are.”

“He was all over this woman.”

She just stares at me.

Jesus. Was I wrong about this? Does she have some sort of open relationship with this guy? It seems

so out of character. “That doesn’t bother you at all?”

I swear hurt flashes in her eyes before she cuts her eyes away from me. “It doesn’t matter.”

How the fuck does that not matter? “Because you broke up?”

“Because we’re . . . seeing other people.”

“Clearly he is seeing other people. What other people are you seeing?”

She drops her arms. “Have a nice night, Easton. I have shit to do. And for the record, I don’t need you

barging into my life and trying to fix everything.”

“When are you going to stop pretending we don’t have anything to talk about?”

“When I’m feeling up for the conversation.”

“How can I make you feel up for it, Shay? Tell me.” I lower my voice. “If you’ll listen to nothing else I

have to say, at least let me apologize for your dad’s funeral. I never should’ve told you. It was wrong,

and it was selfish. I wish I could take it back.”

She stares through me, and the ache in my chest amplifies with each second. “You’re right. It was

selfish, and I wish you could take it back too. But you can’t. You can’t change any of it, so please stop

trying to bring it all back to the surface.” She turns on her heel and walks away. I don’t take my eyes off

her as she strides purposefully all the way to the bar and disappears into the kitchen.

Fuck that. I push out of the booth to follow her.

“Hey, East. How’s it going?” Carter asks. Unless I missed him when I got here—which, to be fair, is

completely plausible—he must’ve arrived while I was talking to Shay.

“Just trying to get your sister to give me the time of day.”

He lifts his chin, his jaw hardening. I wonder if Carter has ever noticed that his sister is all grown up

now. But then he says, “Good luck with that.”

I push into the kitchen after Shay and find her standing with her arms braced against the stainless-steel

counter, her head bowed. “If you’re here to give me more of your opinions on George, save your

breath.”

“You deserve better than him. Is that really what you want? A relationship with a guy who doesn’t even

realize how amazing you are? If you were mine . . .” My stomach cramps. She was mine. For the

briefest moment, Shay was all mine. And I lost her. I knew I screwed up, but at the time, I was doing

what I had to do. And I can’t regret any choice that gave me my daughter. “I wish I’d handled everything

better.”

She releases a puff of air and shakes her head.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Shay?”

When she turns and meets my eyes again, only bitterness glitters in hers. “You didn’t have to sleep

with me. You didn’t even have to kiss me. You could’ve been the hero just by showing up in Paris when

I needed a friend. Then none of this . . .”

“You want me to regret that night or just apologize for what happened after?” I prowl forward, caging

her against the counter. Her brothers are on the other side of the kitchen door and could walk in here

any minute. I lower my mouth to her ear before I continue. “I don’t regret taking you to bed. I’m not

sorry that I made you moan my name even if the sound has haunted me, even if knowing how good we

were together made me miss you that much more.”

She uncurls her hands from my shoulders but doesn’t push me away. I brush my hand along the side of

her jaw, and her breath shudders out of her.

“Do you truly not feel this? Did it end for you?” I close my eyes. I need to back away, but I don’t want to.

She’s letting me touch her. Letting me close. “Because it didn’t end for me. I don’t think it ever will.”

She stares at me for a long beat before sliding out from between me and the counter and turning into

the office just off the kitchen. Am I supposed to follow her or let her go?

Jesus, if I had any clue how to let Shay go, I would’ve done it ten years ago. I follow and close the door

behind me. “We need to figure this out.”

She spins back to me, her eyes blazing. “Do it yourself.” © 2024 Nôv/el/Dram/a.Org.

I huff out a laugh and prowl toward her. “What did you say?”

Those defiant eyes brim with tears and her bottom lip trembles. “I said do it yourself. I have nothing to

say, but you’re the one so determined that we have this conversation.”

I come closer. She backs against the wall, and I keep coming until there are only inches between us.

“That’s real mature, Shay.” I cup her jaw and stroke her bottom lip with my thumb as I study her face.

“This is what you want?” I dip my head and bring my mouth a breath from hers. “You want me to corner

you and make you talk? Maybe I need to remind you how good we are together.” I cock my head to the

side, touching the bridge of my nose to hers. “You try to keep hating me, but you lose your grip on it

when I get close, so I wonder what would happen if I got closer.”

Her breath is sweet against my lips, and she grabs my arms and curls her fingers into my biceps.

“Is that how it has to be, then? You want me to press you against this wall and kiss you until you can’t

remember your name and can’t blame yourself for letting your guard down?”

Her pulse quickens beneath my fingers and her back bows as she arches into me. “We have nothing to

talk about.”

“Bullshit. But maybe first you want me to track down that fucker you’re sleeping with—the one who

you’re fine to let ‘see other people’? I could throw my weight around a little. He’d probably leave you

alone just so he doesn’t have to deal with me.” I drag my nose along her cheek until my mouth is at her

ear. “Then you wouldn’t have to tell him that you don’t want him. You wouldn’t ever have to admit that

even after all these years, even after all the shit fate threw at us and all the mistakes I made, you still

want me more than you’ll ever want him.”

She swallows, and when she draws in a breath, I think she’s going to deny it. But she doesn’t say a

word. Her only response is sliding a hand up to cup the back of my neck. Fuck yes.

“I’m not going to do that for you.” It takes every drop of my will to force myself to step back. “I want you

to talk to me. I want you to scream at me for every shitty decision I ever made. Then I want you to kiss

me and tell me I get another chance. I want you to break it off with that douchebag completely and be

with me, but I’m not going to do it for you.” I take another step toward the door. “You’re going to have to

make the choice yourself.”

My hand’s on the knob when she says, “East. Stop.”

I turn back to her, just like she knew I would, and she’s right there. She pushes me against the door

with flat palms to my chest. Then she has a hand in my hair and is tugging my mouth down to hers.

And the taste of her . . . Fuck. She’s better than I remembered, and as soon as those lips part under

mine, I’m all in—kissing her with more intensity than I’ve ever kissed anyone.

Our mouths are eager, desperate, nipping and stroking. This isn’t making love with our mouths. If

there’s a kissing equivalent to fucking, this is it. Her hands tangle and tug in my hair and she presses

herself against me like she’s trying to mold us together permanently.

But I’m too damn tall and I need her closer. I grip her behind her thighs and hoist her up. I spin to press

her against the door, and she hooks her feet behind my back, locking us into place, right where we

match. She rocks into me, and Christ. So good. Her body. Her hands. Her mouth. Everything. All over.

I know what she’s saying. It didn’t end for her either. She feels something when I’m close. Despite my

mistakes, she’s never stopped wanting me.

Clinging to my self-control, I try to slow the pace, stroking a hand up her side, caressing the curve of

her breast with my thumb. She tugs harder at my hair and bites my bottom lip until it stings. I’ll give her

whatever she wants. This girl could ask me to bleed out, and I’d be helpless to deny her. In seconds,

my rhythm matches hers. I’m wild, frantic. I’m terrified she’ll walk away again.

I pinch her nipple through her bra and greedily swallow the sound of her moan. She rubs against me,

as desperate as I am for connection. When her hand comes down between our bodies and she

unbuttons my pants, I groan. “Shay. Fuck. Slow down.” Her hand’s in my pants, stroking me, squeezing

me.

“Condom,” she says.

I pull away and shake my head. I don’t have one. “Sorry. I wasn’t prepared for this.” But it’s better,

right? We need to slow down. To put on the brakes for a second and fucking talk about what’s

happening right now.

“Top drawer.” She nods to the desk.

I don’t want to let her go, but I know what she’s saying—condoms, in there. “Good to know.” I trail an

open mouth down her neck. I’m so proud of myself. It’s taking superhuman strength of will to ignore the

fact that there are condoms a couple of yards away. I could be suited up and inside her in less than a

minute. Instead, I stroke the nipple I just pinched and slowly lick the column of her neck. “You’re as

sweet as I remember,” I say, but I want to sample every inch, just to be sure.

A frustrated growl tears out of her. “Condom,” she repeats.

“Shay . . .”

She untangles herself from me, dropping her feet to the floor and pushing me away.

I drag a hand through my hair and try to catch my breath—try to think one clear thought that doesn’t

involve taste, suck, fuck—but she’s opened a desk drawer and pulled out a condom, and I’m a goner.

She holds my gaze as she inches a hand under her dress and pulls down her panties. They’re black,

lacy, and hot as hell, but they have nothing on her. She saunters back to me, a spark of challenge in

her dark eyes. I’m a desperate fool, because when she frees my cock from my underwear, I can only

watch, dumbstruck and entranced, as she rolls the latex over me.

She tangles her hands in my hair again, tugging me down to her. I try to kiss her gently, but she turns it

savage fast, and I can’t help but respond in kind—nipping, sucking, biting. I could eat her up right here.

And fuck, I want to.

“You feel so good,” I whisper, and she covers my mouth with hers and moves her hips in a silent

demand for action.

This isn’t the reunion I’ve fantasized about. It’s primitive need—her nails scraping down my back, her

teeth sinking into my neck, her breathy plea of harder until I’m fucking her against the goddamn wall of

her brother’s office. Not what I imagined, but it’s good. So good. I lose myself a little and forget where

we are and why this is a bad idea, why this is too soon and too fast. My thoughts have narrowed to the

most primitive instincts to thrust and retreat, thrust and retreat, my attention focused on the way her

body perfectly fits mine and the sound of her moans as she buries her face in my neck.

I hold her, clutching her close as I bury my face in her neck. The smell of her is a drug. I want it on my

pillow. I want it in my house. I want to wake up to this scent every day.

She grips my shoulders, squeezing before she pushes me back. I gently lower her to the ground. She

searches my face, and I wait, wondering what she can really see in my eyes. Can she see how I feel

about her or does she just see the man who hurt her?

“Thanks,” she whispers, biting back a smile.

I choke on a laugh. “Um, you’re welcome?”

Pans clang outside the office, and I wince. Right. We just had sex in the middle of her family’s bar. In

Jake’s office.

“Have you seen Easton?”

Shay and I share a moment of wide-eyed horror at the sound of Carter’s voice.

Someone clears his throat. “Don’t see him, nope.” Jake.

If I had to guess, “don’t see him” means he knows damn well where I am and is trying to save me a

beating. I definitely owe him.

“Well, if you do, tell him Scarlett Lashenta is out front asking for him.”

I feel like I’ve been punched. Not because of Scarlett. I can deal with her. But because Shay’s pink

cheeks just turned ashen. Because this is really shitty timing. Again.

I catch her gaze and shake my head. “Don’t freak out,” I whisper.

Jake coughs. “Scarlett is here?” Coոtent оf

“Yep,” Carter says. “And not even a little incognito. She’s holding court at the bar.”

“I have to see this,” Jake says.

The sound of their voices fades until I can only assume they’ve left the kitchen.

“She’s right on time,” Shay says, a cruel smile twisting her lips.

“She likes to be unpredictable,” I tell her. “It’s just the way she is.”

She huffs out a wry laugh and bends over to grab her panties off the floor. “You’d better get out there

before she comes in here looking for you. I’m sure she has some life-changing news.”

“Don’t do this. Don’t shut me down.” I swallow. “Shay, what just happened between us . . . That was too

fast. I’m sorry.”

She pulls her underwear up her legs then smooths down her dress. She won’t even look at me. “Stop

being a prude. We scratched that itch, and now we can move on.”

Is she kidding me? “You’re going to drag me in here, beg me to fuck you senseless against the wall,

and then go back to being cold? Back to hating my guts?”

She shrugs. “That’s all we’re good for, Easton. Fucking. Getting each other off.” She rakes her gaze

down my body and back up. “And you’re good, I’ll give you credit for that. But I do remember you

having a little more stamina.”

When I turn back to her, she’s frozen by the door, like she’s torn between running away and chewing

me out.

“Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking I was the most obvious person to warm your bed since you’re back in this tiny town, but

now she’s here, so I can go.”

I press a palm flat to the wall to steady myself. “That’s fucking unfair, and you know it. I never assumed

you’d climb back into bed with me. I want what we had.”

“We talked. Then we fucked.” She cocks her head to the side, ice-cold Shay returning so quickly I have

whiplash. “Don’t you remember how it goes? Next, you walk away.”

“Shay—” I reach for her, but she shakes out of my grasp and pushes past me and out the door. I see

her run for the back exit and watch the door shut behind her.