Caveman (Wild Men 1)

“It’s not new. I’ve had it for more than a year now. You’d have seen it on Facebook if you had a look.”

After the accident I avoided social media. Social events. Social everything. For a while, I hadn’t been sure I was even alive anymore.

Dylan nudges me with his elbow. “Didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I’m not upset. I’ve missed you,” I say. “A lot.”

“I thought you’d never come back.”

Time to acknowledge the truth. “I never wanted to leave.”

“Even though the place reminds you of your dad?”

“Because of that.” I smile. “And because I was happy here. I realized that running away wouldn’t make me happy.”

“I’m glad you’re back,” Dylan says. “I hope you’ll find here what you need.”

Finding what I need means deciding what that is. And I have no clue what I need, not yet.

Meanwhile, I drink my beer and move around, talking to people. Dylan’s right: I see familiar faces from my class, and I can scarcely admit it to myself—or Tessa—but I’m having a good time. Alcohol helps me open up and soon enough I’m laughing and even dancing with Tessa in the living room.

I can’t remember the last time I had so much fun. For a moment, I forget the past, my mom, the stress of moving here and enrolling in classes. I have a feeling everything will turn out all right.

Tessa twists against me, throwing her long blond ponytail in my face. I shove her off, laughing and flinging my loose red curls at her.

“Come on, girl, shake those hips,” she shouts over the music, making me wonder just how drunk she is.

“It’s hip hop, not salsa.” I do shake my body, though, and we bump hips. It’s good to have Tessa back in my life. It feels great to know our friendship withstood the time and distance.

I can put the past behind me. I’ll stop having nightmares. I’ll be happy. Hey, it’s a new beginning, right?

That’s when I see him.

Asher.

At first I think I’m mistaken. I’ve gone back to the cooler by the table for another beer and see a guy leaning by the door, a booted foot propped on the wall, a beer in one hand. Messy black hair, arctic blue eyes, a dark tattoo winding up the side of his neck.

No. It can’t be.

The guy looks up and his eyes widen. The color drains from his face and his mouth opens as if he’s about to speak.

Yeah, it’s Asher. There’s no mistaking him.

My breath freezes in my lungs. I can’t help staring, my face heating. Like always, I instinctively lean toward him, drawn like a moth to the flame.

He seems taller, more muscular, his biceps bulging through his thin T-shirt. But it’s the same handsome face, the same beautiful full lips.

The lips that gave me my first kiss. He turned my world upside down. I was so in love with him. He was my neighbor, my best friend, my buddy. He also was my partner in chemistry and math, and he was brilliant. Kind. Funny. Hot as hell.

Then he kissed me.

And ignored me ever after. Granted, he was absent from school a lot by then, for reasons nobody seemed to know. One thing I knew was that he started getting into fights and getting expelled. It was strange and annoying, but worst of all, he stopped talking to me. I’d often catch his cool gaze on me, but he’d turn away as soon as he caught me looking.

It broke my young heart. I swore to forget all about him.

Weird, though, how every single guy I

dated ever since has looked like him—tats, blue eyes, dark hair. Heaps of bad attitude. Lots of anger and violence.