February 14, 2017 by Evelyn Summers
Everyone’s had a summer crush. One that’s etched into your memories so hard that it leaves an indelible mark, like a scar on your heart. For me, that crush is my first love, Carver Edwards. I met him at fifteen at summer camp, and for three perfect summers, he was mine. Until the blazing heat of the summer sun faded and reality crashed in. Carver went off to college, leaving me trapped in my small farming town, with no way of reaching him and a problem I needed solving.
As the senior captain of my college basketball team, all I’ve been focused on the past four years has been playing, school, getting drafted in the NBA, and steering clear of relationships. I didn’t want them. I had nothing to give another girl. I’d given it already. So, I built my rep as a player, and honed my natural ability to charm the pants off girls. It’s what I did. Who I was. Who I am.
Until March, when a lay-up during a tournament landed me in an emergency room, under the care of Logan Shaw – my first love. Of all the people I could run into, why did it have to be her? Not only did my face get split wide open, but so did the locks that held the pain I’d attempted to bury for so many years.
Now that she’s back in my life, we must face the truth and the consequences of our actions – even if it could destroy us. We must uncover the truths that have kept us shackled from moving forward. That could possibly set us free.
I tuck the corner of the towel a little tighter between my boobs and step out of the bathroom, quietly tiptoeing around the corner to see what’s going on.
I’m stunned when my eyes land on a very familiar pair of latte-colored irises. Holy shit. Carver is standing in my living room, whooping it up with my roommate. And he’s an hour early for our date. What kind of parallel-universe is this?
Forgetting all about my attire, I step into view and clear my throat to gain their attention.
Carver’s head pops up and his eyes slowly rake over me with a look that I can only describe as unfiltered desire. My knees may even wobble a bit. My stomach does an Olympian-sized flip.
Having Carver’s lust-filled eyes peruse me from head to toe is unnerving. But makes me feel insanely good. The way he makes me feel is better than chocolate-caramel ice cream. Better than a hot bubble bath on a cold, dreary Seattle night. Just better than anything else I know.
I don’t miss the dimple that makes an appearance as the corner of his mouth tips up into a smirk.