For Kurt Karl,
My husband,
Best friend,
Love of my life,
Favorite snuggle buddy,
Go-to person,
Most amazing father to my children,
And aggravating pain in the butt who always
makes me talk it out,
which just might be what I love most about you.
Thank you for being you,
And thank you for keeping me.
With all my love,
Linda Kay
“Hope is the thing with feathers that
perches in the soul and sings the tunes
without the words and never stops at all.”
— EMILY DICKINSON.
26. Wick
27. Henry
28. Wick
29. Haven
30. Haven
31. Wick
32. Haven
33. Henry
34. Haven
35. Haven
36. Wick
37. Haven
38. Haven
39. Henry
40. Haven
41. Haven
42. Henry
43. Haven
44. Haven
45. Wick
46. Haven
47. Haven
48. Henry
49. Haven
50. Epilogue
My Mama’s No-bake Cookies
Darcy’s Complete Road Trip Playlist
Forbidden Men Family
Acknowledgments
About the Author
1
HENRY
ISSUE 1 OF “HOPELESS HENRY”
BY ALICE BENNET
TAKEN FROM THE UNIVERSITY GAZETTE
THERE SHE WAS AGAIN.
From the back of class, I slunk further into my
chair so she wouldn’t notice me staring as she
entered the lecture hall with her two friends.
Tipping my chin down just enough to shade most of
my eyes under the bill of my baseball cap, I brought
my hand up to my mouth so I could bite down on
my thumbnail.
God, she was pretty.
And she was wearing the shirt, which made me
smile behind my hand. That shirt was what had
drawn me to her in the first place. A crossover from
two of my favorite shows, it depicted Lucille, the
bat from The Walking Dead, and the Winchester’s
Chevy Impala from Supernatural, with text that
read, “Dad’s still on a hunting trip.” A fan of both
shows, I’d understood the message and laughed the
first time I’d seen it, wishing I had a shirt like that.
It’d actually taken me a couple of seconds to
realize the material of that shirt stretched across a
very lovely set of feminine breasts. When my brain
finally registered what I was seeing, my eyebrows
perked up and my gaze wandered on to the rest of
her.
Since then, I’d been hooked.
As she and her friends found three open seats
next to each other near the front, she said
something that made the other two laugh. Their
reactions had her smiling in satisfaction, which was
awesome because I loved her smile. It lit up the
entire room.
A band of longing tightened across my chest as
I wondered if she was the jokester of the group.
And what kind of wit did she have: biting and
sarcastic or goofball friendly?
I had no idea. But I wanted to know. I wanted
to know everything about her. Like her name. I bet
she had a kickass name. Anyone who looked like
her must have an amazing name.
She wore her hair down today. As she leaned to
the side to fetch a book from her backpack she’d
set by her knee, the blonde locks tumbled into her
face, and she tucked some behind her ear with one
smooth hook of her middle finger as she
straightened. She made each move look like art.
And as much as I felt like a creeper for always
staring, I could never seem to look away whenever
we shared this class together.
She fascinated me on every level.
“Yo, man. You hear about Baxter?”
Startled by the interruption as Jordan Rush—a
fellow member of the marching band—flopped
heavily into the seat beside me, I blinked the girl
from my vision and straightened to address the
question.
“Uh, yeah,” I mumbled, still shaking my head in
an attempt to jostle myself from all the wants and
dreams coursing through me. “Car accident. That’s
gotta suck.”
Rush snickered in disagreement. “Sucks for
him, yeah, but this is an opportunity of a lifetime
for you, bro.”
“Huh?”
When I frowned out my confusion, he sighed,
rolling his eyes.
“His playing hand is all fucked up. He’s gonna
be out for the rest of the year. They’re going to
need someone to take his spot as trumpet section
leader.”
“What about Chad or—”
“Dude, no one else plays like you. And you
gotta be tripping if you think the director doesn’t
see that. If you tried for it, you’d get his spot.”
Rush gave a low whistle and bumped my arm. “You
should totally try for it.”
I pulled back, not having even considered the
possibility. But now that Rush had planted a seed…
I shook my head, a part of me instinctively
rejecting such a hopeful suggestion, and I laughed it
off. “No,” I murmured. I couldn’t advance that far
as a freshman.
Could I?
Rush pointed at me knowingly, as if reading my
mind. “Think about it,” he said with all seriousness.
Across the room, I saw light hair move from the
corner of my eye. I glanced over just as she stood
from her chair and crossed the floor to a trash can
where she threw something away. Was it a gum
wrapper? A phone number some lame loser had
tried to give her? The secret to her heart?
Rush chattered on next to me, still talking about
band. I didn’t hear a word he said.
Probably just a gum wrapper. Cinnamon
flavored, I bet. She looked like a cinnamon kind of
girl.
I tracked her as she returned to her chair and
sat again, just as a hand waved in front of my face.
“Hey. Wow. Where’d you go there, buddy?”
I blinked Rush back into focus and frowned at
him for butting into my staring. “What?”
I only had this one measly hour to watch her,
three days a week. This was some precious-ass time
for me.
“Dude, you just totally phased out for a minute.
And… You’re doing it again.”
When I realized I’d returned my gaze to her, I
jerked my attention to Rush and frowned. “What?”
“Seriously, what has you so…?” But he’d
already followed the direction of my gaze and was
lifting interested eyebrows. “Oh…” he drew out in
understanding and nodded sagely. “It’s a girl. Hey,
wait.” His eyes widened as he whirled back to me.
“Is this the girl? The one you always go on about at
band practice?”
“I don’t always go on about her,” I muttered,
lowering my voice and glancing around to make
sure no one was listening in on us. Then I sank a
little in my seat, because shit, had I gone on that
much about her during band practice?
“Um… Yeah, you kind of do. Which one is
she?” He moved confidentially closer as he studied
her and her two friends. “The one in the middle,
right? Or maybe the one on the left?”
I shook my head, frowning because why
couldn’t he already tell? And how in all that was
holy had he guessed completely wrong? Twice!
“The right end,” I said, scowling at him.
He wrinkled his nose, before sending me a
sideways glance. “You shitting me? The one on the
right? That’s the one you’re so crazy about? What
the hell, man? I mean, don’t get me wrong, she’s
cute and all, in a bring-home-to-mama-and-bake-
cookies-with kind of way, but damn… The one in
the middle screams do-me-dirty. She’s fifty times
hotter.”
My frown deepened as my back straightened.
No one knocked my dream girl.
No one.
“Um…no,” I told him in no uncertain terms,
ready to get physical if he dared to disagree. “She
isn’t. The one on the right is the best-looking one.”
She was prettier than the other two put
together. Hands down.
Rush merely lifted his eyebrows. “Easy there,”
he murmured, letting out a low whistle. “Down,
boy.” Then he shook his head. “Wow, you have it
bad.”
I sniffed and returned my attention to my dream
girl, finally focusing on her friends before
comparing. But seriously, Rush was so wrong in his
opinion it was almost comical.
He patted my back as if worried about me.
“Have you even learned her name yet?”
I tried to ignore him, but he persisted. “Have
you?”
“No,” I muttered from between clenched teeth.
Which only got him going again. “What? Are
you fucking serious? What the hell, Henry? You
need to grow a pair and just talk to her already.”
“I will,” I mumbled petulantly, glancing toward
the girl as the professor entered class. She opened a
spiral binder on her desk and uncapped her pen
with her teeth, ready to take notes. “When the
time’s right, I will.”
At the front of the room, class began. Next to
me, Rush nudged my arm. “The time won’t be right
unless you make it right.”
And say what? I wanted to argue.
I needed a reason to approach her, some kind of
strategy that made me appear amusing and
awesome, where I could say or do something that
would really capture her attention and leave a
lasting impression. She didn’t know I existed yet. I
wanted to stand out so that she wouldn’t forget me
once we did meet.
I just hadn’t thought of the perfect plan yet.
Rush grabbed his crotch and shook his package,
mouthing the words, “Grow a pair,” yet again.
I rolled my eyes and focused on the professor.
Maybe it was merely lack of nerve that held me
back. I’m sure I did need to grow a pair. But I
didn’t want to mess this up, either. I’d been
daydreaming about her for two solid months now.
Our first meeting had to be classic, unique,
memorable.
It had to be amazing.
I alternated between watching her and trying to
pay attention to the professor for the rest of the
hour. It was a good thing I could usually just read
the textbook and catch up later because I never
retained much the teacher actually said. Not when
she was in the room.
When the hour let out, I started to pack my
things in my bag, only for Rush to swipe my phone
from the corner of my desk.
I sent him a dry glance. He lifted the phone
meaningfully. “I’ll give this back as soon as you
talk to her.”
Sighing, I shook my head and reached out. “Just
give me my phone back, dick head.”
He held it away. “Not until you talk to her.”
I dropped my hand and narrowed my eyes.
He laughed. “Come on, man. I’m not saying
you even have to ask her out. Just talk to her.
That’s all. Find out her name and learn if she’s even
worth all this daydreaming she’s got you doing.”
“No,” I argued. “The time’s not right.”
“And just when the hell will the time be right
for you?”
“I don’t know. Just…not now.”
“Why not? Because you’re a pussy?”
I glowered. He lifted his eyebrows mockingly.
Then he pulled his head back as if a new thought
had just occurred to him.
“Wait, you do know how to talk to girls, right?”
Not really.
With a groan, I growled, “Stop being such an
immature asswipe and give me my phone already?”
He leaned closer, holding the phone against his
chest. “Not until you talk to her. Think of this as a
learning experience, because if you can’t even talk
to a girl, then you’re never going to land one. And
if you don’t land one, you’re going to grow old
alone, a poor, miserable, pathetic virgin. And I
don’t hang with pathetic miserable virgins, so…
Go!”
“God. Fine!” I jerked to my feet and stomped
moodily toward the front of the class. “Whatever
gets you to shut up.”
Now I really had to do this or he’d know I was
a coward. He’d realize that one girl whose name I
didn’t even know intimidated the shit out of me.
He’d never let me live it down, then he’d tell
everyone else in band, and no one would respect
me for the next four years until I graduated.
This was like high school shit. I glanced back,
scowling at him for reducing me to high school shit.
The fucker merely grinned and waved me on.
Once I reached the edge of the desks and
stepped into that open space where the professor
lectured, I paused. I could either go left and
approach her or right toward the exit.
Fuck. My stomach began to churn. Nausea
welled. Sweat clogged my glands. My vision
darkened at the corners, and I suddenly felt dizzy.
So I shifted to the right, away from her.
The nape of my neck burned, knowing Rush
was back there in his seat, laughing his ass off
because I hadn’t been able to do it.
A new fear rose when I pictured the humiliation
I was going to have to endure at practice later that
afternoon. I couldn’t decide what would be worse:
trying to talk to her and just flat passing out at her
feet or living through hell from my bandmates for
the next four years.
Dammit, dammit, dammit. I paused at the
doorway and stepped to the side, letting others
pass, then I turned to look her way.
She and her friends were standing, all their
things gathered.
What the hell did I say?
My mind went blank. My palms went damp.
My breathing stuttered. My vision grayed out
completely before sharpening and focusing on only
her to the point that everything else blurred around
her, giving me a surreal sense of vertigo. Oh God.
What if I really did pass out?
I guess that would leave a lasting impression.
Who would forget the guy who collapsed at the
sight of you?
Seriously, though. What did I say?
Nice shirt?
No. Too lame.
I love you?
Shit. No. Anything but that.
She approached.
It was now or never time.
I stepped forward.
She smiled over her shoulder at her friends,
who were leaving out the other exit on the opposite
side of the room, calling goodbye to them as she
veered my way without looking where she was
going.
Oh, damn. Too close. We were going to collide.
I tried to step back, out of her way, but she
plowed right into me, her shoulder bumping against
my arm.
“Oomph,” she said, stumbling a step back, her
slight frame no match against my bigger one. “I’m
so sorry.” Then she looked up, and that was it.
Game over.
Her eyes were so freaking big and brown and
beautiful; I was instantly lost.
She looked better up close than she did from
across a room. And her scent…holy fuck. She
smelled really good. I might’ve swayed forward,
my nostrils eager for another whiff.
Which probably appeared weird. So I pulled
back, only to realize…
Damn it all to hell.
This wasn’t going to work. This wasn’t going to
work at all. I’d built her up too much in my head.
She may be a complete stranger, but I’d already
convinced myself she was perfect. If I got to know
her now and she didn’t live up to all my
expectations—which I don’t see how she could—
I’d only be disappointed. And if she actually got
anywhere close to the person I imagined her to be,
then I’d never be worthy of such an amazing girl.
The entire relationship was fucked before it had
even started.
It was my own stupid fault for obsessing about
her before ever talking to her. I had ruined
everything.
And now… Now I was totally staring at her for
far too creepily long.
Her brow crinkled over my ogling ways. “You
okay?” she asked when I swayed on my feet, my
head so empty of oxygen that it left me disoriented.
Reaching out, she clutched my arm to steady
me. Her grip was firm but friendly, and the
compassionate concern in her gaze as she scanned
my face slaughtered me.
A million visions flashed through my head: our
first kiss, me kneeling in front of her, proposing,
then standing beside her at an altar in a tux as she
wore a wedding gown, Christmases together,
Thanksgivings, zoo trips, vacations, late nights
watching TV on a couch, raising children, spoiling
grandkids, sitting in a pair of those old-time rocking
chairs side by side and holding hands as we
watched the sun set on our golden years.
I swear, an entire lifetime we could share
together zipped through my brain.
Then she let go of my arm, and the moment was
over.
I nodded my head stupidly, bowing my face and
bereft at the loss of her touch, the loss of that
future I’d just envisioned. “Uh…yeah. Fine,” I
mumbled, briefly squeezing my eyes closed.
“Sorry.” I stepped back to let her by. “I-I didn’t
mean to get in your way.”
“No, you’re okay.”
I risked a glance up, just in time to catch her
uncertain smile of reassurance before she stepped
past me.
“Well… See you,” she murmured before taking
off out of the room and away from me.
Forever.
“Stupid,” I hissed under my breath. I was so
incredibly—
“Wow. That was just plain painful to watch.”
Rush stopped next to me and whistled under his
breath. “Bud, you really suck at this shit.”
“Shut up,” I muttered, punching him in the
shoulder. “Give me my phone back.”
He let me grab it from his hand without a fight,
which told me one thing. He wasn’t going to make
fun of me. Hell, he probably wasn’t even going to
tell the others about my epic failure of a
conversation. Because the bastard felt sorry for me.
Which was so much worse than getting heckled.
“Never fear, my friend,” he said, throwing an
arm around my shoulders as he ushered me toward
the door. “I can help you. By the end of the week,
I’ll have you sweet-talking your way into her
panties like you were born a fucking Casanova.
You just trust ol’ Rush here. I am the love doctor,
and I got your back.”
“Or how about you just fucking kill me now,” I
uttered.
Because I was doomed.
I was never going to grow enough courage to
really talk to her. And all the what-ifs were going to
haunt me forever.
2
HAVEN
MY EYES!
Oh God, my eyes had lost their ability to see
correctly, because I had to be seeing things. A
mirage, or hallucination…or something. That’s all
there was to it.
Because I absolutely refused to believe what
my brain was trying to tell me that my eyes
seriously thought they saw.
No other way could my boyfriend of three
years be inside my dorm, naked, with my roommate
—also naked—as he gripped her hair hard enough
from behind to cant her head back at an awkward
angle while he pounded into her ass on, yes, my
fucking couch that he’d helped me pick out this
summer and haul up two flights of stairs to move
into this very apartment.
But why would my eyes play those kinds of evil
tricks on me? That was just cruel and unusual
punishment. Did they hate me for some reason?
Had I pissed them off for staying up late one night
too many, straining them to exhaustion as I’d
squinted at my laptop and furiously tried to finish
papers I had due the next day? They thought they’d
get their revenge on me and play this kind of
horrible game, telling me I was seeing things that in
no way could actually be real.
The couple on the couch startled in surprise
when I accidentally alerted them to my presence by
losing my grip on the two grocery sacks I was
holding, which crashed loudly to the floor by my
feet.
Annabeth glanced over her shoulder and
screamed when she saw my silhouette in the
doorway. Grabbing a throw pillow—also mine—she
desperately tried to cover her bouncing breasts,
while Topher yanked himself from her body to spin
my way and flash me with a disturbing view of his
dick that was still hard and wet from dipping itself
inside Annabeth.
“Oh, fuck! Haven!” he cried in guilty despair,
covering his junk with both hands as if to prove no
misdeeds had been going on here. Nothing to see,
just two people hanging out on a couch, all chill and
relaxed. It was just total happenstance they both
happened to be naked and their privates had been
connecting…repeatedly. No biggie.
“Baby, I can explain.”
Well, hell. Now my ears were in on the
conspiracy because that sure sounded like my
boyfriend’s voice as he flew off the couch, away
from Annabeth.
But what had I done to piss off my ears into
making me hear things that weren’t real? I didn’t
play music too loudly or attend eardrum-bursting
concerts. I swear I even kept the volume in my
earbuds at a nice, moderate level. Why would my
ears betray me like this, too?
It must be my eyes, going behind my back and
tempting my ears over to the dark side. Yeah. Let’s
fuck up Haven’s life and make her see and hear
things that aren’t real. It’ll be fun.
Bastards.
Topher staggered toward me, stretching out a
hand, his eyes filled with concern and apology. I
jerked a step back, freaking out, because what if he
touched me and I actually felt him? Two senses
turning on me and playing tricks on my mind I
could buy, but if a third joined the game…? I don’t
know. That would make this feel a little too real.
And if this was real, then… Then my boyfriend of
three fucking years was cheating on me. In my
apartment. With my roommate. On my goddamn
couch!
That’s when it happened. Sensory receptor
number three kicked in, and my nose perked to
cycek77
Arkusze
E-book english 
THE REVENGE PLAN
LINDA KAGE
The Revenge Plan Copyright © 2019 by Linda Kage This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses or establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this book—except in the case of brief quotations in reviews—may be used, reproduced, or translated without written permission of the author. Contact Information: linda@lindakage.com Publishing History Linda Kage, May 2019 Credits Cover & Formatting: Kage Covers Editor: Summer @ Red Pen Revolution Proofreader: Shelley @ 2 Book Lovers Reviews Proofreader: Judy @ Judy’s Proofreading Created with Vellum
For Kurt Karl, My husband, Best friend, Love of my life, Favorite snuggle buddy, Go-to person, Most amazing father to my children, And aggravating pain in the butt who always makes me talk it out, which just might be what I love most about you. Thank you for being you, And thank you for keeping me. With all my love, Linda Kay
“Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tunes without the words and never stops at all.” — EMILY DICKINSON.
CONTENTS 1. Henry 2. Haven 3. Wick 4. Wick 5. Wick 6. Henry 7. Haven 8. Haven 9. Haven 10. Wick 11. Haven 12. Henry 13. Wick 14. Haven 15. Haven 16. Wick 17. Haven 18. Wick 19. Wick 20. Haven 21. Haven 22. Henry 23. Haven 24. Wick 25. Haven
26. Wick 27. Henry 28. Wick 29. Haven 30. Haven 31. Wick 32. Haven 33. Henry 34. Haven 35. Haven 36. Wick 37. Haven 38. Haven 39. Henry 40. Haven 41. Haven 42. Henry 43. Haven 44. Haven 45. Wick 46. Haven 47. Haven 48. Henry 49. Haven 50. Epilogue My Mama’s No-bake Cookies Darcy’s Complete Road Trip Playlist Forbidden Men Family Acknowledgments About the Author
1 HENRY ISSUE 1 OF “HOPELESS HENRY” BY ALICE BENNET TAKEN FROM THE UNIVERSITY GAZETTE THERE SHE WAS AGAIN. From the back of class, I slunk further into my chair so she wouldn’t notice me staring as she entered the lecture hall with her two friends. Tipping my chin down just enough to shade most of my eyes under the bill of my baseball cap, I brought my hand up to my mouth so I could bite down on my thumbnail. God, she was pretty. And she was wearing the shirt, which made me smile behind my hand. That shirt was what had drawn me to her in the first place. A crossover from two of my favorite shows, it depicted Lucille, the
bat from The Walking Dead, and the Winchester’s Chevy Impala from Supernatural, with text that read, “Dad’s still on a hunting trip.” A fan of both shows, I’d understood the message and laughed the first time I’d seen it, wishing I had a shirt like that. It’d actually taken me a couple of seconds to realize the material of that shirt stretched across a very lovely set of feminine breasts. When my brain finally registered what I was seeing, my eyebrows perked up and my gaze wandered on to the rest of her. Since then, I’d been hooked. As she and her friends found three open seats next to each other near the front, she said something that made the other two laugh. Their reactions had her smiling in satisfaction, which was awesome because I loved her smile. It lit up the entire room. A band of longing tightened across my chest as I wondered if she was the jokester of the group. And what kind of wit did she have: biting and sarcastic or goofball friendly? I had no idea. But I wanted to know. I wanted to know everything about her. Like her name. I bet she had a kickass name. Anyone who looked like her must have an amazing name. She wore her hair down today. As she leaned to the side to fetch a book from her backpack she’d set by her knee, the blonde locks tumbled into her
face, and she tucked some behind her ear with one smooth hook of her middle finger as she straightened. She made each move look like art. And as much as I felt like a creeper for always staring, I could never seem to look away whenever we shared this class together. She fascinated me on every level. “Yo, man. You hear about Baxter?” Startled by the interruption as Jordan Rush—a fellow member of the marching band—flopped heavily into the seat beside me, I blinked the girl from my vision and straightened to address the question. “Uh, yeah,” I mumbled, still shaking my head in an attempt to jostle myself from all the wants and dreams coursing through me. “Car accident. That’s gotta suck.” Rush snickered in disagreement. “Sucks for him, yeah, but this is an opportunity of a lifetime for you, bro.” “Huh?” When I frowned out my confusion, he sighed, rolling his eyes. “His playing hand is all fucked up. He’s gonna be out for the rest of the year. They’re going to need someone to take his spot as trumpet section leader.” “What about Chad or—” “Dude, no one else plays like you. And you
gotta be tripping if you think the director doesn’t see that. If you tried for it, you’d get his spot.” Rush gave a low whistle and bumped my arm. “You should totally try for it.” I pulled back, not having even considered the possibility. But now that Rush had planted a seed… I shook my head, a part of me instinctively rejecting such a hopeful suggestion, and I laughed it off. “No,” I murmured. I couldn’t advance that far as a freshman. Could I? Rush pointed at me knowingly, as if reading my mind. “Think about it,” he said with all seriousness. Across the room, I saw light hair move from the corner of my eye. I glanced over just as she stood from her chair and crossed the floor to a trash can where she threw something away. Was it a gum wrapper? A phone number some lame loser had tried to give her? The secret to her heart? Rush chattered on next to me, still talking about band. I didn’t hear a word he said. Probably just a gum wrapper. Cinnamon flavored, I bet. She looked like a cinnamon kind of girl. I tracked her as she returned to her chair and sat again, just as a hand waved in front of my face. “Hey. Wow. Where’d you go there, buddy?” I blinked Rush back into focus and frowned at him for butting into my staring. “What?”
I only had this one measly hour to watch her, three days a week. This was some precious-ass time for me. “Dude, you just totally phased out for a minute. And… You’re doing it again.” When I realized I’d returned my gaze to her, I jerked my attention to Rush and frowned. “What?” “Seriously, what has you so…?” But he’d already followed the direction of my gaze and was lifting interested eyebrows. “Oh…” he drew out in understanding and nodded sagely. “It’s a girl. Hey, wait.” His eyes widened as he whirled back to me. “Is this the girl? The one you always go on about at band practice?” “I don’t always go on about her,” I muttered, lowering my voice and glancing around to make sure no one was listening in on us. Then I sank a little in my seat, because shit, had I gone on that much about her during band practice? “Um… Yeah, you kind of do. Which one is she?” He moved confidentially closer as he studied her and her two friends. “The one in the middle, right? Or maybe the one on the left?” I shook my head, frowning because why couldn’t he already tell? And how in all that was holy had he guessed completely wrong? Twice! “The right end,” I said, scowling at him. He wrinkled his nose, before sending me a sideways glance. “You shitting me? The one on the
right? That’s the one you’re so crazy about? What the hell, man? I mean, don’t get me wrong, she’s cute and all, in a bring-home-to-mama-and-bake- cookies-with kind of way, but damn… The one in the middle screams do-me-dirty. She’s fifty times hotter.” My frown deepened as my back straightened. No one knocked my dream girl. No one. “Um…no,” I told him in no uncertain terms, ready to get physical if he dared to disagree. “She isn’t. The one on the right is the best-looking one.” She was prettier than the other two put together. Hands down. Rush merely lifted his eyebrows. “Easy there,” he murmured, letting out a low whistle. “Down, boy.” Then he shook his head. “Wow, you have it bad.” I sniffed and returned my attention to my dream girl, finally focusing on her friends before comparing. But seriously, Rush was so wrong in his opinion it was almost comical. He patted my back as if worried about me. “Have you even learned her name yet?” I tried to ignore him, but he persisted. “Have you?” “No,” I muttered from between clenched teeth. Which only got him going again. “What? Are you fucking serious? What the hell, Henry? You
need to grow a pair and just talk to her already.” “I will,” I mumbled petulantly, glancing toward the girl as the professor entered class. She opened a spiral binder on her desk and uncapped her pen with her teeth, ready to take notes. “When the time’s right, I will.” At the front of the room, class began. Next to me, Rush nudged my arm. “The time won’t be right unless you make it right.” And say what? I wanted to argue. I needed a reason to approach her, some kind of strategy that made me appear amusing and awesome, where I could say or do something that would really capture her attention and leave a lasting impression. She didn’t know I existed yet. I wanted to stand out so that she wouldn’t forget me once we did meet. I just hadn’t thought of the perfect plan yet. Rush grabbed his crotch and shook his package, mouthing the words, “Grow a pair,” yet again. I rolled my eyes and focused on the professor. Maybe it was merely lack of nerve that held me back. I’m sure I did need to grow a pair. But I didn’t want to mess this up, either. I’d been daydreaming about her for two solid months now. Our first meeting had to be classic, unique, memorable. It had to be amazing. I alternated between watching her and trying to
pay attention to the professor for the rest of the hour. It was a good thing I could usually just read the textbook and catch up later because I never retained much the teacher actually said. Not when she was in the room. When the hour let out, I started to pack my things in my bag, only for Rush to swipe my phone from the corner of my desk. I sent him a dry glance. He lifted the phone meaningfully. “I’ll give this back as soon as you talk to her.” Sighing, I shook my head and reached out. “Just give me my phone back, dick head.” He held it away. “Not until you talk to her.” I dropped my hand and narrowed my eyes. He laughed. “Come on, man. I’m not saying you even have to ask her out. Just talk to her. That’s all. Find out her name and learn if she’s even worth all this daydreaming she’s got you doing.” “No,” I argued. “The time’s not right.” “And just when the hell will the time be right for you?” “I don’t know. Just…not now.” “Why not? Because you’re a pussy?” I glowered. He lifted his eyebrows mockingly. Then he pulled his head back as if a new thought had just occurred to him. “Wait, you do know how to talk to girls, right?” Not really.
With a groan, I growled, “Stop being such an immature asswipe and give me my phone already?” He leaned closer, holding the phone against his chest. “Not until you talk to her. Think of this as a learning experience, because if you can’t even talk to a girl, then you’re never going to land one. And if you don’t land one, you’re going to grow old alone, a poor, miserable, pathetic virgin. And I don’t hang with pathetic miserable virgins, so… Go!” “God. Fine!” I jerked to my feet and stomped moodily toward the front of the class. “Whatever gets you to shut up.” Now I really had to do this or he’d know I was a coward. He’d realize that one girl whose name I didn’t even know intimidated the shit out of me. He’d never let me live it down, then he’d tell everyone else in band, and no one would respect me for the next four years until I graduated. This was like high school shit. I glanced back, scowling at him for reducing me to high school shit. The fucker merely grinned and waved me on. Once I reached the edge of the desks and stepped into that open space where the professor lectured, I paused. I could either go left and approach her or right toward the exit. Fuck. My stomach began to churn. Nausea welled. Sweat clogged my glands. My vision darkened at the corners, and I suddenly felt dizzy.
So I shifted to the right, away from her. The nape of my neck burned, knowing Rush was back there in his seat, laughing his ass off because I hadn’t been able to do it. A new fear rose when I pictured the humiliation I was going to have to endure at practice later that afternoon. I couldn’t decide what would be worse: trying to talk to her and just flat passing out at her feet or living through hell from my bandmates for the next four years. Dammit, dammit, dammit. I paused at the doorway and stepped to the side, letting others pass, then I turned to look her way. She and her friends were standing, all their things gathered. What the hell did I say? My mind went blank. My palms went damp. My breathing stuttered. My vision grayed out completely before sharpening and focusing on only her to the point that everything else blurred around her, giving me a surreal sense of vertigo. Oh God. What if I really did pass out? I guess that would leave a lasting impression. Who would forget the guy who collapsed at the sight of you? Seriously, though. What did I say? Nice shirt? No. Too lame. I love you?
Shit. No. Anything but that. She approached. It was now or never time. I stepped forward. She smiled over her shoulder at her friends, who were leaving out the other exit on the opposite side of the room, calling goodbye to them as she veered my way without looking where she was going. Oh, damn. Too close. We were going to collide. I tried to step back, out of her way, but she plowed right into me, her shoulder bumping against my arm. “Oomph,” she said, stumbling a step back, her slight frame no match against my bigger one. “I’m so sorry.” Then she looked up, and that was it. Game over. Her eyes were so freaking big and brown and beautiful; I was instantly lost. She looked better up close than she did from across a room. And her scent…holy fuck. She smelled really good. I might’ve swayed forward, my nostrils eager for another whiff. Which probably appeared weird. So I pulled back, only to realize… Damn it all to hell. This wasn’t going to work. This wasn’t going to work at all. I’d built her up too much in my head. She may be a complete stranger, but I’d already
convinced myself she was perfect. If I got to know her now and she didn’t live up to all my expectations—which I don’t see how she could— I’d only be disappointed. And if she actually got anywhere close to the person I imagined her to be, then I’d never be worthy of such an amazing girl. The entire relationship was fucked before it had even started. It was my own stupid fault for obsessing about her before ever talking to her. I had ruined everything. And now… Now I was totally staring at her for far too creepily long. Her brow crinkled over my ogling ways. “You okay?” she asked when I swayed on my feet, my head so empty of oxygen that it left me disoriented. Reaching out, she clutched my arm to steady me. Her grip was firm but friendly, and the compassionate concern in her gaze as she scanned my face slaughtered me. A million visions flashed through my head: our first kiss, me kneeling in front of her, proposing, then standing beside her at an altar in a tux as she wore a wedding gown, Christmases together, Thanksgivings, zoo trips, vacations, late nights watching TV on a couch, raising children, spoiling grandkids, sitting in a pair of those old-time rocking chairs side by side and holding hands as we watched the sun set on our golden years.
I swear, an entire lifetime we could share together zipped through my brain. Then she let go of my arm, and the moment was over. I nodded my head stupidly, bowing my face and bereft at the loss of her touch, the loss of that future I’d just envisioned. “Uh…yeah. Fine,” I mumbled, briefly squeezing my eyes closed. “Sorry.” I stepped back to let her by. “I-I didn’t mean to get in your way.” “No, you’re okay.” I risked a glance up, just in time to catch her uncertain smile of reassurance before she stepped past me. “Well… See you,” she murmured before taking off out of the room and away from me. Forever. “Stupid,” I hissed under my breath. I was so incredibly— “Wow. That was just plain painful to watch.” Rush stopped next to me and whistled under his breath. “Bud, you really suck at this shit.” “Shut up,” I muttered, punching him in the shoulder. “Give me my phone back.” He let me grab it from his hand without a fight, which told me one thing. He wasn’t going to make fun of me. Hell, he probably wasn’t even going to tell the others about my epic failure of a conversation. Because the bastard felt sorry for me.
Which was so much worse than getting heckled. “Never fear, my friend,” he said, throwing an arm around my shoulders as he ushered me toward the door. “I can help you. By the end of the week, I’ll have you sweet-talking your way into her panties like you were born a fucking Casanova. You just trust ol’ Rush here. I am the love doctor, and I got your back.” “Or how about you just fucking kill me now,” I uttered. Because I was doomed. I was never going to grow enough courage to really talk to her. And all the what-ifs were going to haunt me forever.
2 HAVEN MY EYES! Oh God, my eyes had lost their ability to see correctly, because I had to be seeing things. A mirage, or hallucination…or something. That’s all there was to it. Because I absolutely refused to believe what my brain was trying to tell me that my eyes seriously thought they saw. No other way could my boyfriend of three years be inside my dorm, naked, with my roommate —also naked—as he gripped her hair hard enough from behind to cant her head back at an awkward angle while he pounded into her ass on, yes, my fucking couch that he’d helped me pick out this summer and haul up two flights of stairs to move into this very apartment. But why would my eyes play those kinds of evil
tricks on me? That was just cruel and unusual punishment. Did they hate me for some reason? Had I pissed them off for staying up late one night too many, straining them to exhaustion as I’d squinted at my laptop and furiously tried to finish papers I had due the next day? They thought they’d get their revenge on me and play this kind of horrible game, telling me I was seeing things that in no way could actually be real. The couple on the couch startled in surprise when I accidentally alerted them to my presence by losing my grip on the two grocery sacks I was holding, which crashed loudly to the floor by my feet. Annabeth glanced over her shoulder and screamed when she saw my silhouette in the doorway. Grabbing a throw pillow—also mine—she desperately tried to cover her bouncing breasts, while Topher yanked himself from her body to spin my way and flash me with a disturbing view of his dick that was still hard and wet from dipping itself inside Annabeth. “Oh, fuck! Haven!” he cried in guilty despair, covering his junk with both hands as if to prove no misdeeds had been going on here. Nothing to see, just two people hanging out on a couch, all chill and relaxed. It was just total happenstance they both happened to be naked and their privates had been connecting…repeatedly. No biggie.
“Baby, I can explain.” Well, hell. Now my ears were in on the conspiracy because that sure sounded like my boyfriend’s voice as he flew off the couch, away from Annabeth. But what had I done to piss off my ears into making me hear things that weren’t real? I didn’t play music too loudly or attend eardrum-bursting concerts. I swear I even kept the volume in my earbuds at a nice, moderate level. Why would my ears betray me like this, too? It must be my eyes, going behind my back and tempting my ears over to the dark side. Yeah. Let’s fuck up Haven’s life and make her see and hear things that aren’t real. It’ll be fun. Bastards. Topher staggered toward me, stretching out a hand, his eyes filled with concern and apology. I jerked a step back, freaking out, because what if he touched me and I actually felt him? Two senses turning on me and playing tricks on my mind I could buy, but if a third joined the game…? I don’t know. That would make this feel a little too real. And if this was real, then… Then my boyfriend of three fucking years was cheating on me. In my apartment. With my roommate. On my goddamn couch! That’s when it happened. Sensory receptor number three kicked in, and my nose perked to