If It's Only Love (Lexi Ryan)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

Prelude

Shay

I was seven when I fell in love with Easton Connor. He was four years older than me and best friends

with my brother Carter, but that didn’t matter to me. I never thought of him as too old back then. Never

thought of him as off-limits.

When I fell off my bike while racing down the street after my brothers, it was Easton who circled back to

help me. Easton who took me inside, helped me clean the bits of gravel out of my knee, and then

dabbed it with hydrogen peroxide. Easton who turned my tears into laughter by telling me about

Carter’s inability to speak every time he saw his crush in class.

I decided right then that I was going to marry Easton. Because I was seven and didn’t understand the

realities of romantic love. Because Easton hadn’t yet become the Easton Connor. Because I hadn’t hit

puberty and become chubby Shay. Because I still believed in fairytales, I believed I would marry this

boy with the light brown hair and blue-green eyes.

It was my secret. One I vowed to keep to myself until the time was right. Easton didn’t know my plans.

And I had no idea he’d break my heart.

***

Shay

April 27th, draft night, thirteen years ago

“Shay!” Easton hoists a shot glass in the air and wriggles it in offering. “Tequila? What do you say?”

Carter spins on him and frowns. “What the fuck, man? Don’t give my little sister alcohol.”

“Shit, sorry,” Easton says, but his mischievous eyes are on me as he says, “I always forget she’s so

young.”

The tequila must be going to his head, because there’s no other explanation for the way he’s looking at

me. His eyes drop to my mouth, and warmth spreads through me. If I didn’t know better, I might think

that . . . No. That doesn’t make sense. This is Easton. My friend now, sure, but East is everything. Girls

everywhere are crazy about him—a football star on the brink of NFL fame, he could have any woman

he wanted.

Carter grabs a beer and leaves the kitchen and pushes out the back door to join the party. And then it’s

just me and Easton. Alone with a bottle of tequila and the full shot glass that’s still in his hand.

He flashes a glance over his shoulder toward the back door. “Does Carter have any idea that you’re not

a little girl anymore?” he asks, closing the distance between us.

I bite my bottom lip. My skin flushes hot when he’s this close, and I swear he’s looking at my lips again.

Do I have something on my face? Spaghetti sauce from dinner or something? I discreetly wipe my

mouth with the cuff of my sweatshirt—or as discreetly as I can when he’s so close.

Easton grins, as if he knows he’s making me uncomfortable and likes it. “Have you ever done this

before?”

A thousand possibilities fly through my mind at that question—most of them involving the hands and

mouth of the man asking. “Done what?”

He lifts the shot glass and sniffs the tequila. “A snakebite. Salt, tequila, lime.”

I shrug. I’ve had alcohol before. My family isn’t exactly puritanical when it comes to alcohol. But I’ve

never done a shot, and certainly never a snakebite. Whatever that is. “How do you do it?”

Grinning, he hands me the shot glass then grabs the salt shaker from the counter. He lifts my free hand

to his mouth and licks the inside of my wrist. My breath whooshes out of me at the sensation of his hot

tongue on my skin. I want to close my eyes, but he’s watching me, and I’m afraid he’ll laugh if he has

any idea what affect he has on me.

Grinning, he sprinkles salt on the wet patch of skin before putting the shaker down and grabbing a

wedge of lime from the counter behind me. “Lick the salt. Take the shot. Suck on the lime.”

“Lick, shoot, suck.” I nod. “I can do that.”

His nostrils flare and his pupils dilate, turning those blue-green eyes dark. “I think I’d like to see you try.”

I swallow hard. Is Easton Connor coming on to me? I don’t want to be the idiot who believes that could

be true. I don’t want to be the dumb fat girl who fell for the practical joke because she believed a guy

like Easton could be attracted to her.

I don’t know how long I stand there trying to decide, but my skin tingles where he licked, and my mouth

has gone dry.

“Want me to go first?” he asks, his voice a little husky.

I nod.

He takes my wrist and brings it to his mouth, licking off the salt. Shocks of pleasure roll down my spine

and settle into a riot of butterflies in my stomach. He doesn’t even take the shot glass from me, just

wraps his hand around mine and leads the glass to his mouth so he can shoot it back. Then he pops

the lime in his mouth and makes a goofy face at me as he sucks the juice.

“Got it?” he asks, still squinting from the sourness.

“I think I can do that.”

He refills the tequila then looks over his shoulder again.

“Why are you so worried about Carter seeing?” I ask. “He knows I’ve had alcohol before. He’s just

being a prude about the shot.”

“I don’t want him pissed at me,” he says, shrugging. “God knows he did worse than take a couple of

shots when he was sixteen, but—”

“I’m seventeen. Eighteen in a few months.”

He slowly turns his attention away from the back door and back to me. “My timing is shit.”

“Timing for what?”

His eyes are so intense on mine, but it’s a good kind of intensity. Like he sees me. Has anyone ever

looked at me before? Really looked? “Nothing.” He lets out a puff of air and shakes his head. “Then

Carter really would kill me.”

I laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“What? Why do you say that?”

“You just got drafted into the NFL, and you’re acting like you’re attracted to me.”

His gaze skims over me, from my hair all the way down to my bare feet and the bright pink polish on

my toes. “What does one have to do with the other?”

I don’t understand what’s happening here. Am I dreaming? Has he had more to drink than I realized? I

throw the shot back before I can lose my nerve, totally forgetting the salt.

I shudder. “That’s awful!”

He laughs. “You did it wrong. Are you always this terrible with directions?”

Only when you’re here. Only when you’re looking at me like this and making me think I can have things I can’t. But as awful as the taste was, warmth blooms in my chest. It’s more intense than the effects of

the glass of wine I drank with Easter dinner, and I do like that.

“Now I risk getting you drunk if I make you do it the right way.”

“I’m not drunk.” I shake my head. “I don’t feel anything.”

He grunts. “Give it a minute.” He steps around me and stands at the counter, pouring himself another

shot. I guess he’s not going to drink it from my glass this time. It’s dumb to be disappointed.

He doesn’t bother with the salt or lime, just throws it back. Doesn’t even grimace. Then he braces his

arms on the counter and hangs his head.

I’d have to be emotionally stunted not to feel the change in his mood. He just went from playful flirt to

morose jock in the span of a blink. “What’s wrong?”

He shrugs. “Nothing.”

“Liar.”

He drags a hand through his hair and finally turns to me. He leans back against the counter. “Can you

keep a secret?”

“Of course.”

He hesitates a beat, and I see the emotions playing across his face—he’s trying to decide if he can

trust me with this, or if he even wants to own up to whatever it is.

“I never told anyone when I caught you with that dirty magazine when you were thirteen.”

His eyes widen and he grins. “Oh, fuck. I’d completely forgotten about that. Jesus.” He scrubs a hand

over his face. “Okay, fair enough. That kind of discretion so young is definitely meaningful.”

“Meaningful? Are you kidding me? That’s preteen blackmail gold, and I never used it. Not even when

you wouldn’t dump that girl you took to senior prom.”

His forehead wrinkles, and I can tell he’s trying to remember his date.

“Hilary,” I remind him.

“I didn’t know you wanted me to dump her.”

“I didn’t realize I needed to spell it out for you. I told you she was a bitch and you deserved better.”

“Honestly, I was eighteen, and she was hot and willing. I probably didn’t care that she was a bitch.”

“She called me a fat tagalong.”

“What?” The tops of his ears turn pink—a tell I learned long ago means he’s angry. “You never told me

that.”

I shrug. When Easton was with Hilary, I was fourteen. I’d foolishly believed that he wouldn’t notice I was

fat if no one ever told him. Not the dumbest thing I’ve let myself believe in the name of loving him, but

not a delusion I’m particularly proud of either.

“You’re not fat,” he says.

I fold my arms and arch a brow. “Come on, Easton. I might be naive and shamefully inexperienced for a

girl my age, but my eyes work just fine.”

He holds up a finger. “One, so do mine, and you’re not fat. You’re not skinny. You have a nice body.”

A nice body. The words are both the balm and the blade. On the one hand, I’m intelligent and rational

enough to know I should be glad he thinks of my body in better terms than I do. Intellectually, I know

nice is as good as it’s going to get for a girl like me. On the other hand, part of me wanted to believe I

saw heat in his eyes earlier. As irrational as it is, I want to believe he might think I’m beautiful, even

while I know I’d never believe it if he used those words.

Emotions are dumb.

He holds up another finger. “And two, I’m going to need you to tell me what you mean by shamefully inexperienced.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Please?”

My face is on fire. Why did I say that? I would be fine if no one ever knew the extent of my innocence,

but Easton is the last person I want to admit it to. “Forget I said anything.”

He steps closer. “I’ll tell you my secret if you tell me yours.”

“You go first,” I blurt. Because who am I kidding? Anyone who had to guess would know I’ve never

kissed anyone. It’s not like I’ve ever had a boyfriend.

His eyes soften and something like pain flashes over his features for a beat. “I wish the Demons hadn’t

drafted me.”

I don’t know what I expected him to say, but that came out of left field. Easton’s dreamed of the NFL his

whole life, and tonight we’re celebrating him being selected in the first freaking round of the draft. Now

he’s telling me that achieving this lifelong dream is what has him down. “Why’d you enter the draft if

you didn’t want to be picked up? Carter said you could’ve waited until next year and finished school.”

“I wanted to be drafted. I suck at school and I . . .” He chews on the inside of his cheek. “I wanted to be

drafted, but I was hoping Chicago or Detroit would draft me. I’m scared to move so far from home.

Which I realize is dumb, but . . .”

“It’s not dumb.” Easton had his pick of colleges, and he went to Starling College in Grand Rapids. They

have a good football team, but he could have gone to Florida or LSU—teams whose football programs

are practically NFL breeding grounds. I figured it was because he wanted to stay close to home, but it

never occurred to me that those preferences would hold true three years later. Only, this time the Material © of NôvelDrama.Org.

choice is out of his hands. “You can visit, though, right? A contract that big means you can fly home as

often as you want.”

His gaze locks on his feet. “Right. Of course. It’s stupid, I know.”

“It’s really not.”

“Don’t tell anyone. I don’t want to come across like the ungrateful rookie or like I’m too immature to

handle the move.”

“I promise.” I squeeze his wrist, but I’m suddenly all too aware of the fact that I’m touching him. His skin

is warm under my fingertips. I can feel his strength and the power of his big hands. How many times

have I imagined those hands on me?

I jerk away, but he grabs my hand before I can get far.

“It’s your turn,” he says, threading his fingers through mine. What is he doing? “Why do you think you’re

shamefully inexperienced, Shayleigh? Your friends aren’t pressuring you to have sex, are they?”

Sex. Oh my God. He thought I meant sex. Now my dumb secret feels even more mortifying, but he’s

still holding my hand, and even as embarrassment warms my cheeks, I don’t want him to let go. “No

one’s pressuring me.”

The back door clangs closed as Carter pushes into the kitchen. Easton jumps back and drops my

hand.

“What are you two talking about in here?” my brother asks. He crosses the kitchen between us and

opens the fridge. “Don’t you know the party’s outside?”

Easton’s throat bobs and he tucks his hands in his pockets. “We’re just catching up.”

Carter pulls out another beer and uses the opener on the wall to pull off the cap. “Well, I hope you’re

finished, because people are starting to wonder if you already moved to L.A. or something.”

“Relax, Carter,” I tell him. “The night is young.”

He frowns as he looks back and forth between me and Easton. “I don’t like you two being alone in here

together.”

I snort and for the millionth time in my life wonder what it would be like to not have five overly protective

brothers. “Why not?”

Carter stares at Easton for a long beat. Easton gives a subtle shake of his head and Carter sighs.

“Because you’re my little sister, and this punk breaks hearts in his sleep.”

“My heart is fine.” Liar, liar. Does Carter know how I feel about Easton? I’ve never told anyone. “We’re

just talking.”

Carter taps Easton’s arm with the neck of his beer. “You. Outside. We’re celebrating your news, after

all. And anyway, that redhead Tri-Delt showed up and is looking for you.”

Easton heads toward the back with my brother. “Why didn’t you say so sooner?” He opens the door

and turns back to wink at me before heading toward the lakeside bonfire with my brother.

I guess Easton doesn’t want to know my secret after all. I dodged a bullet.

So why do I feel so disappointed?