Metamorphosis (Book Boyfriend Series 1) Read online

  When we stood up to go back inside to refill our drinks, he grabbed both my hands in his and pulled me close to him. My chest was pressed against his and my entire body buzzed in anticipation. He released one hand and moved his finger under my chin, tilting my face up toward his. I looked into his desire-filled eyes and the butterflies in my stomach took flight. Leaning down oh so slowly, he lightly pressed his lips against mine and then backed up as to gauge my reaction, never taking his eyes off my mouth. I then moved my free hand around to the back of his neck and pulled his face down to mine and kissed him with much more force. I felt his tongue tease against my bottom lip, and I eagerly opened up to better taste him. I wasn’t sure how long we stood there kissing, exploring each other’s mouth.

  “Ummm… I hate to interrupt, but I was going to see if you wanted to come inside for an acoustic session. Ash was going to play, and I thought you might want to join us.” I turned to see Evie standing there with a grin spread from one ear to the other. “But if you’re busy, that’s cool.”

  “No, it’s fine. We were just coming inside anyway. I need a glass of water,” I said as I turned and walked toward her. The look on her face was priceless, beaming at me like a proud mom.

  “Have you met Dylan?” I asked, trying not to sound like an equally giddy schoolgirl.

  “Yes, I think Jess introduced us earlier, but honestly, I’ve met so many people tonight the names are all starting to run together,” she replied. “It’s good to meet you again, Dylan. I’m Evie.” He smiled at her and shook her hand. “You too, Evie, very nice to meet you.”

  We all went back in the house, grabbing drinks as we moved into the living room where everyone had gathered. The couches and chairs overflowed with bodies, and the floor was almost full as well. Jess called out for us to join her; she had saved us some room. We made our way over to her and Jacob, trying not to step on anyone as we climbed through the people, and took our seats on the floor. As I scanned the room, I found Ash sitting in a chair by the fireplace with a guitar in his lap. I made the mistake of bringing my eyes to his, and he was staring at me again.

  I looked away quickly and wished away the uneasy sensation he stirred inside of me. I glanced over at Dylan, hoping he hadn’t noticed Ash paying attention to me, but his eyes were locked on him. Abruptly, Dylan claimed he wasn’t comfortable with how he was sitting and repositioned us so that his back was supported against the couch and I was nestled in between his legs, my back pressed against his chest. He wrapped his arms around my stomach and softly kissed the top of my head. I looked over at Evie and Jess, both of their faces full of questions. They were questions I didn’t know the answers to, so I just shrugged, smiled, and decided to make the best of it. My first night out was turning out to be quite interesting.

  “So, Ash, what are you going to play for us tonight?” asked one of blondes in the most annoying voice known to mankind.

  “Yeah, baby, what are you going to play?” asked the girl sitting on the other side of him. Nope, I was wrong. She had the most annoying voice ever… and she called him “baby.” I rolled my eyes—how pathetic.

  “Because we have some new faces here tonight—” He looked up in the direction Evie and I were sitting. “—I thought we’d do a little variety, mix it up a bit.”

  For all my life, books, music, and dance had been my only outlets, my only escape from my parents, and they were the things I felt most passionate about. I loved to watch live music, to see the emotion and passion on someone’s fingers, on their lips. It was awe-inspiring to me. I couldn’t wait to hear Ash play and sing, but at the same time, I was scared shitless of the feelings it would evoke in me.

  I assumed he would be good. I was pretty sure he was good at just about everything he did; he was just one of those guys. However, nothing could have prepared me for how amazingly talented and incredibly sexy he was when he made music. It took every ounce of willpower in my body to not look at him while he performed. There was no doubt he was extraordinary; I looked around and everyone in that living room, both male and female, was completely mesmerized by Ash’s voice and the music coming from his fingers. I could hear the sex dripping from his voice, radiating from the strings of the guitar.

  At times, I could feel him looking at me, like he was singing to me, but I refused to turn in his direction. I was pretty sure Dylan sensed it as well, because several times when I knew Ash was staring, he would tighten his arms around me and nuzzle his face in my neck, leaving behind soft, sweet kisses that made me tremble with desire.

  “All right, I’m going to do one last song and then turn the guitar over to anyone else who wants to play,” Ash announced. “Feel free to join me in singing this one.”

  I released a huge breath I hadn’t even realized I was holding. One more song… I could get through one more song. Ash decided to close his set with “Let’s Get It On.” It was as if he purposely picked that song to irk me or get under my skin. It felt like he was trying to make fun of me. Of course, everyone else in the room thought it was awesome. They screamed in approval as the opening line left his mouth, and most of the room joined him in verse. I cringed and tried to block him out; I didn’t want to give him the pleasure of knowing how he affected me, but I couldn’t take it any longer. I didn’t want to make a scene and walk out of the room in the middle of the song, so instead I did the next best thing. I turned around in Dylan’s lap, straddled his legs, and kissed him… hard. And I didn’t break away from his mouth until the song was over.

  Ash received a standing ovation from the intimate crowd, and I saw him take an exaggerated bow through my peripheral vision. He then invited anyone else who wanted to play to come up.

  “Do it, Sam. Come on.” Evie nudged me in the side.

  “You play?” Dylan asked. Without lifting my head from his neck, I shook my head.

  “Oh yes, she does. She’s just being modest. She’s really good,” Evie insisted.

  I really did not want to play. I was an emotional roller coaster from everything I was feeling about Ash and Dylan, a bit tipsy from the several drinks, and was already uncomfortable with the number of strangers in the room. However, with Evie, Dylan, and Jess’s prodding, soon our half of the room was chanting “Scarlett! Scarlett!” I had never been so embarrassed in my life.

  When Ash realized they were calling for me to go up, he held out the guitar toward me. “By all means, Scarlett. Let’s see what you can do. I can’t wait to hear your rendition of ‘Amazing Grace.’” His voice was saturated in sarcasm. God, he was an ass.

  Anger raged through me, partly due to his mocking of my innocence and his apparent doubt that I could play, but I was even more infuriated with myself for allowing him to repeatedly upset me. There was just something about him; in having known him for just a few hours, he had stirred feelings inside me that I didn’t know I had. And it scared me to death.

  Fueled by my fury and the alcohol intake, I snatched the acoustic out of his hands and took the chair he had just occupied. I was reeling in my brain about what to play. I wanted to respond to Ash’s not-so-cryptic musical messages with something just as witty. I decided just to sing songs about guys who were dicks—there were more than enough of those to choose from. They didn’t have to relate to Ash particularly, but enough man-hating that he’d get the point.

  “Hello, everyone,” I began nervously. “I’m Scarlett, a friend of Jess’s. I’m new here in Houston, just moved in yesterday, so I want to thank you for showing me such a good time tonight. I hope you enjoy.”

  I took a deep breath and began with a song I was certain most everyone would recognize, Pat Benatar’s “Heartbreaker.” I felt a little shaky at first, but I refused to let my fears get the best of me. By the middle of the first chorus, I felt much more comfortable and then I really let it go. Many of the girls in the room joined me in singing the parts they knew. Well, it was more like screaming, but I loved it nonetheless, because I knew they were having fun with it. I debated internally on whether
or not to look at Ash when I sang. On one hand, I wanted him to be clear this was indeed an answer to his earlier performance, and I also secretly hoped I could make him feel just a fraction of the frustration he bestowed upon me, both in my mind and body. However, the other part of me knew that if I locked my eyes with his, there was a good chance I’d completely lose my train of thought and stop midsong. I opted to play it safe and not throw any more fuel on the fire; he knew my song selection was no accident.

  I played a couple more songs that fit nicely in my guys-are-jerks-palooza before wrapping it up. “Again, thanks for the hospitality,” I said before I began to play my final song for the night, “You Oughta Know.” This was one of my favorite man-hater songs, and I thought it was a perfect way to end. Even though I had never experienced the things written about in the song, the lyrics had always struck me as so raw, so real. I could feel the hurt… the anger… the bitterness caused by rejection and being replaced. It was my fear of all fears—putting myself out there for someone, only to have them not want me in return. I guess that was true for most people; no one welcomed rejection.

  I pushed the psycho-self-analytic thoughts to the back of my head and focused on the song. The room was exceptionally quiet, and all eyes were focused intently on me. I saw many faces light up as they recognized the song with the first few lines. There were several hoots and hollers when I seductively asked about giving blow jobs in cinemas; I was pretty sure Dylan was one of them. I had successfully kept myself from even glancing Ash’s way the entire time I sang and played; however, I couldn’t leave well enough alone. Midway through the second verse, I looked over to where he was sitting and locked our eyes just in time to ask, “Are you thinking of me when you fuck her?” His eyes darkened, and I could feel the heat from his desire across the room. Immediately, I turned away from him so that I could finish the song and not melt into a puddle of shameless lust.

  Relieved I had made it through the impromptu session and exhausted from the previous forty-eight hours, I told Evie I was ready to go back to the house. Jess and Ash decided to return home as well, since it was a little past 1:00 a.m. Saying goodbye to Dylan was a little awkward with Ash standing a few feet away. I wasn’t sure what happened to Ash’s friends from earlier. I had honestly expected at least one, if not both of them, to follow him to his bed, but neither were anywhere around. Dylan and I exchanged cell numbers, and he brushed several light kisses across my lips before I walked away.

  Four

  When we got back to the house, Meg was sitting on the couch in her pajamas, eating directly from a tub of ice cream.

  “Good, y’all are back. I can go to sleep now,” she said as she stood up and went to put away the ice cream. She kissed all four of us on the cheek and said goodnight before she disappeared behind her bedroom door. I hadn’t even realized she wasn’t still at the party; I thought we had left her there.

  “When did she get home, and does she always wait up for you?” Evie asked, laughing.

  “Yeah, she’s got this motherly, protective thing over us. Despite the wild-child image, she portrays, Meg’s really not much of a partier. She’ll stop in say hi to everyone, but she would rather be hanging out at the house. She always has to know when we’ve made it to our final destination of the night if we don’t stay here. She’s a worrier,” Jess explained. “Now, let’s get some sleep. I’m tired.”

  “Come on, Sam. You definitely need some rest. We all do,” Evie said to me, and I followed her into the room, doing my best to ignore Ash’s presence in the house.

  After the three of us washed our faces, brushed our teeth, and changed into night clothes, we all climbed into Jess’s king-sized bed. Evie and Jess both fell asleep instantly; they never said a word once their heads hit the pillows. Even though I was physically and mentally drained, I could not fall asleep. I laid there staring at the ceiling for what seemed like hours, but a look at the clock told me it had only been thirty minutes. I could not get my brain to shut down.

  The evening’s events replayed over and over in my mind—Ash and Dylan and Ash and Dylan and Ash… It just wouldn’t stop. I decided a glass of milk, if they had any, might help, so I quietly got out of the bed and tiptoed into the kitchen. I tried to be as discreet as possible, so I wouldn’t disturb anyone, but as I leaned over to put the milk jug back in the refrigerator, a male voice startled me. Actually, it scared the absolute shit out of me.

  “Why does she call you Sam?”

  “What?” I hissed as I flung my head around.

  Ash was standing in the entrance to the kitchen, his hair still wet from the shower and his face cleanly shaven. He was only wearing a pair of plaid pajama pants that hung sinfully low on his hips. I just about died. There was nothing I could do but gawk at the near-perfect male specimen standing a mere three feet in front of me. I ran my eyes over the entirety of his body and admired the muscular definition in his shoulders, chest, and abs. If I had thought a dressed Ash was breathtaking, then a half-naked one was heart-stopping. Every angry and negative thought that had passed my mind earlier in the night disappeared instantly. The look he gave me was full of hunger. And I wanted to be eaten.

  “I asked why Evie calls you Sam,” he repeated. He then looked down to the drink in my hands and chuckled. “Do you always drink other people’s milk?”

  “When they’ve told me to make myself at home, I do,” I snapped at him. “And the other is a long story and not a very interesting one at that.” I walked closer to him, as he was blocking my exit from the kitchen, and cocked my head as if to ask him to move.

  “I don’t have anywhere to be anytime soon,” he said, standing his ground in the walkway.

  I rolled my eyes at him and thought if I just ignored him, then I could escape the conversation. I was still pissed at him for being such a jerk at the party, and I didn’t trust myself to spend time alone with him. The effects of the alcohol had long since worn off, but the sexual frustration that had been stirred up by both him and Dylan earlier in the night still pulsed throughout my body. I didn’t want to do anything I’d regret the next day, and I thought I had endured enough excitement for my first night out.

  However, when standing mere inches from him, waiting for him to move out of my way, I became keenly aware of how thin the material of my cami and boyshorts pj set was when I felt the heat from his body radiating on my skin. My pulse was racing once again, and I was certain my hard nipples were visible through the cotton, but I knew if I shifted my sight down to inspect the situation, his vision would follow. And I didn’t want that… right?

  Before I had time to think up another excuse to avoid his company, he grabbed my hand, pulled me to the kitchen table, and guided me into a chair. My first instinct was to fight him, yank my hand out of his grasp, and tell him to go to hell, but the jolt of electricity that shot through my body when his skin touched mine kept me silent. Earlier, when I was first introduced to Ash, I thought my brain and body reacted the way they did, because I was overly excited to finally be meeting members of the male species, and it didn’t hurt he was drop-dead gorgeous. However, after meeting all the guys at the party and kissing Dylan tonight, I knew our attraction/connection was different somehow.

  “So… Sam?” he asked again, determined to make me explain.

  “Okay, okay,” I began. “It’s really nothing. I have this weird dislike for nicknames, always have. I don’t mind calling other people nicknames if that’s what they prefer, but I’ve never liked to be called something other than my name.”

  “Why?” Ash interrupted.

  “I’m not sure really. I guess because I feel like they are overused and undervalued.”

  He cocked his head at me as if he wanted me to continue.

  “For example, look at the five of us in this house right now. Your full name is Ashton, but the majority of people call you Ash. Evie is actually Evelyn, Jess is truly Jessica, and I’m assuming Meg is a Megan.

  “The most common nicknames for people are a
shortened version of their full name, like with the four of you. My name shortened is Scar.” I wrinkled my nose. “When most people hear Scar, they either think of a physical marking associated with a bad memory and lots of pain or Simba’s evil uncle who had Mufasa killed so he could be the Lion King. Neither of those are really the image I’m going for.”

  For the first time, I heard Ash laugh a sincere, whole-hearted laugh, and it was a sweet, sweet sound in my ears that warmed my entire body.

  “Other types of nicknames include those that are terms of endearment and those that are used to make fun of someone. It’s obvious why I don’t like the latter of the two; I’m not a hateful person and don’t want to make others feel bad about themselves. And as for all the beautifuls, honeys, sugar pies, sweeties—believe me, I could go on for hours—I just hear it so much I feel like they’ve lost their meaning, ya know? People just call each other those names to have a nickname to call each other. I don’t know; I just don’t get it.

  “So anyway, one day in junior high, Evie and I had this exact discussion we’re having now, and she made it her mission to find a nickname I would like. For over a week, she tried out different names on me; it must’ve been a thousand. When finally, one day, she was at my house looking at some school forms I had left on the table, and my initials—S-A-M, Scarlett Alexandria MacGregor—were written across the top. By this point, my resolve was weakening, and I felt bad rejecting her suggestions day after day. So I agreed to Sam, with the one caveat being that she’s the only person who gets to call me that. And thus Sam, my evil alter ego, was born,” I said as I finished the story.

  “Well, I’m sorry— I mean, I’m glad I asked,” he teased.

  “Oh shut up… I warned you it was long and boring!” I retorted. Then without thinking, I leaned over and brushed back a strand of his hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. He caught my hand as I tried to pull it back and pressed my fingertips to his lips. I gasped at the sudden contact.