Never now, p.1
Never Now, page 1
Never Now
Scarlett Hopper
Copyright © 2020 by Scarlett Hopper
Cover Design © 2020 by Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Formatted by Brenda Wright, Formatting Done Wright
Edited by Nicole Mentges Nam Editorial
ISBN: 978-1-64970-670-6
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
“ocean eyes” by Billie Eilish
“Both Sides Are Even” by The Boxer Rebellion
“1234” by Feist
“Cold Love” by Rainbow Kitten Surprise
“Stuck in A Moment You Can’t Get Out of” by U2
“Emmylou” by Vance Joy
“Dreams” by The Cranberries
“Cosmic” by Kylie Minogue
“Everywhere” by Fleetwood Mac
“when the party’s over” by Billie Eilish
“Summer in the City” by Regina Spektor
“Shameful Company” by Rainbow Kitten Surprise
“I Walk The Line” by Halsey
“Ho Hey” by The Lumineers
“Again” by Lenny Kravitz
“Underneath Your Clothes” by Shakira
“Wasted” by Rainbow Kitten Surprise
To my readers
February 2015
Stupid fucker. I clutch my champagne glass, hoping it doesn’t shatter in my hands as I watch some blonde rake her manicured hands down his shirt-clad chest. I scan the crowd, my vision slightly blurred thanks to my fourth glass of champers, and make sure no one is watching me.
Owen is in the corner chatting with some mates while my brother, Ali, checks his phone, no doubt replying to his current but soon-to-be-ex girlfriend, Poppy. She just doesn’t know it yet. Poor thing, she’s a close girlfriend of mine but anyone can tell she isn’t right for Ali.
Anybody who would notice my visual path is occupied, and that means I can continue to creepily gaze at Reeve, the stupid fucker I referenced initially, and the dumb blonde practically giving him a breast exam. Breast exam, is that what it’s called for men? Fuck, I’m drunk.
I chug the rest of my champagne and place the glass on the bar countertop, smirking at how the surface looks. I cleaned that shit for hours today, so Ali’s bar opening looked amazing. Saint Street, this bar, has been closed for the past few years since my parents’ unexpected deaths, but after some healing and a healthy dose of grief, Ali decided to reopen it four months ago. The place has been packed ever since, and tonight is no different—we’re celebrating Valentine’s Day. Too bad I’m alone, like all the other years.
Tonight’s supposed to be fun, but fucking Reeve has to go and pull this shit. I grab another glass of bubbly from the bar, and my heels lose their balance in the carpet, causing me to reach for the woman next to me for stability.
“Sorry,” I say as I pull away, and she gives me an awkward smile before turning back to her friends. Fuck, do I really look that pathetic? I’m feeling like a complete Bridget Jones right now. Total and utter joke.
I mean, here I am, two months shy of twenty and everyone can probably tell I can’t hold my liquor for shit. Plus, toss in the fact that I’ve been watching a lad who thinks of me more like a sister. Did I also mention he’s my brother’s best friend and I’ve been totally obsessed with him my entire life? I am a hot mess and I don’t even seem to care.
I pick at the embroidered flowers on my dress, the scratchy fabric a bad choice for tonight’s festivities. Maybe if I’d dressed like that girl all over him I’d have a shot, she looks incredible. But that isn’t me at all, and I’m not too keen to change who I am. This is all total crap. And now I feel like crap. Fucking men.
I pull my eyes from my dress, sneaking one more peek at Reeve before I head out for the night, but of course he and the little blonde are no longer there. Shit—they’re probably snogging in the back room for all I know. I snag another drink and take a gulp, the bubbles causing pressure in my chest.
“You sure seem to be enjoying the champagne,” a familiar voice says from beside me. I turn quickly, not bothering to hide my excitement that Reeve has clearly ditched the girl.
“I’m an adult, Reeve. I can have a bucket of champagne if I want,” I retort.
He runs a hand through his overgrown black hair, his green eyes shining down on me. I’ve never been a tall girl at five foot four, and Reeve’s six-foot stature towers over me, not that I’m complaining.
“I’m just observing, Emmy,” he says, clearly doing more than observing.
“Can you not call me that?” I snap. “I’m not a child anymore, Reeve. I mean, just because I’m not out snogging every guy I see doesn’t mean I still play with Barbies.”
At my mention of kissing other men, Reeve’s eyes pinch together before he recovers quickly.
“I know you’re not a child, Emilia”—he says my name painfully— “but since your brother is too caught up elsewhere tonight, someone has to look out for you. You’re not really a huge drinker, and it’s easy for anyone to get carried away.”
I scoff, then shove the champagne glass into his hand and walk toward the stairs. I like to think that I’m not leaving because of him, that I was already planning my exit, but deep down I know it’s because of Reeve Sawyer. I’ve been in love with that asshole for as long as I can remember.
As I reach the top of the stairs and push open the big fucking door to exit, my heel snags on the step and I stumble.
“Fuck,” I mutter, pulling the strappy shoes off my feet, angry at myself that I didn’t wear my chunky Betsey Johnsons and instead let Poppy convince me these were more sophisticated. Fuck sophistication. If I wanna wear bright red high heels with silver stars on them, I bloody well will.
I race down the paved streets of Notting Hill to get to the Tube, and it’s eerily quiet for a Saturday night, so it doesn’t take me long to realize someone is walking behind me. My gut drops for a moment, and I fear I’m about to be a segment on the morning news.
“Emilia, wait,” Reeve calls out, and I stop abruptly.
“Jesus Christ, has anyone ever told you not to follow a girl alone at night? You nearly scared me half to death, you dickhead.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you probably shouldn’t walk home in the middle of the night after a few drinks? One wouldn’t exactly call that safe.” He smirks at me, and I want to slap it right off his face.
“Asshole,” I mutter before I continue to walk.
“I’m sorry I scared you,” he says, now walking next to me. I try to hide my surprise at Reeve apologizing. I doubt I’ve ever heard him say it before.
“You didn’t scare me,” I say stubbornly.
“Come on.” He nudges my side. “I’ll give you a ride home.” He heads toward his Beamer parked out front of my favorite coffee shop, The Blue Café. I’m still, not making any move to hop in, annoyed at how tonight turned out.
“Come on, Emilia, I’m not letting you take the Tube home at this time of night.” He stands stoic with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Whatever,” I mumble, getting into his fancy-ass car. He chuckles while I buckle my seat belt.
When he hops in, my body instantly heats at his close proximity. I sit on my hands as he revs the engine and pulls out of the space.
“You should text your brother. Ali will be worried.” He keeps his attention on the road as he says it, not even bothering to look at me.
“Yes, Dad.”
His hands tighten on the wheel and we both ride in silence until I can’t bear it anymore. I turn the radio on, Selena Gomez’s new song blasting. I turn it up, then hum along as we drive until Reeve reaches out and changes the channel to old rock.
“Um, I was listening to that,” I snap, reaching to change it back before he swats my hand away.
“I’m not listening to that shit.”
“Sorry, not everyone can be in an indie band and be a snob,” I retort, referencing the band he’s in with my brother.
“Ali should have taught you better with your music taste. He did you a disservice, Emilia.”
“My brother did teach me about music. Hence why I love the Stones and INXS, but I’m not so stuck up that I can’t also jam to current pop. Being a music snob isn’t a great look, Reeve.”
When he doesn’t say anything, I realize I’ve probably b een a bit of a bitch, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. Reeve isn’t exactly peaches and cream for most people. When his attention is fully on the road again, I change the station back, relishing in the fact Britney Spears is now on. He doesn’t try to change the station for the rest of the drive.
As we pull up to my flat, that I share with my brother, that I realize how much I’ve had to drink. My head is spinning slightly, and I’ve been staring at Reeve the entire drive home.
“Will you walk me up?” I ask, knowing he won’t say no. Reeve may be a major asshole to most, but for his friends, his family, he would do anything. I’m lucky to be in that category.
He doesn’t say anything, just turns off the engine before rounding the car to open my door. I’m a little wobbly on my feet, so I cling to him, my body relaxing as his arms slip around my waist to hold onto me.
“Don’t worry,” I say as we make our way up the stairs, one of his hands wrapped around my waist while the other holds my heels. “I messaged Ali that you’ve given me a lift home.”
He nods, and I reach into my pocket to pull out my keys. It takes a few tries before I get it in the door, but eventually we have success.
“Want a drink?” I take my shoes from him, then throw them into my bedroom before swaying to the kitchen to pour myself another champagne. I love champagne; champagne is good stuff.
“Not tonight, Em,” he replies, leaning against the kitchen bar.
“Right,” I mumble. “I always forget you don’t drink much. Water then?”
His lips thin as he watches me prance around the kitchen. “I should get going. I’m supposed to give Owen a ride home.”
“You’re going back to the party?” I focus back on him, my drink no longer holding much importance. He’s leaving.
He nods.
“Ah, I see, wouldn’t want to leave that blonde bombshell waiting.” The words are out before I have the instinct to know better. Damn drinking.
Reeve’s eyebrow quirks up. “Blonde bombshell?”
I try to brush it off. “The one you were with at the party. She was practically mounting you.”
Again with the loose lips.
“You watching me at the party, Em?” There’s that smirk again.
“Don’t be so self-involved, Reeve. It was impossible to miss. Anyone with a set of eyes could have seen it.”
It doesn’t take me long to walk over to him, my height even smaller without my heels.
“No one else said anything. Did it bother you?” he retorts.
“No,” I say, rearing back.
“You sure, Emmy?” He looks down at me, and my body melts from the heat coming off each of us. Lord, someone open a window.
“So what if I was,” I reply, catching him off guard. Sure, there have been times I wanted to climb Reeve like a tree, but I’ve always controlled myself. I’ve had to. But I’m an adult and I’m sick of being treated like a child. I’ve just never known if he felt the same way, but tonight, his actions and his questions stop me from holding back.
“I should go.” He takes a step back.
“Don’t get scared now, Reeve. You asked me a question and I gave you an honest answer.” I prowl toward him, confidence in my movements. My dear friend alcohol is definitely contributing.
He still says nothing, his gaze burning into my own. I don’t hesitate, just reach up to pull his head down to mine. For a few moments it seems as if he’s gonna do it, gonna kiss me, but then he abruptly pulls away.
“What the fuck, Emilia?” he says, panic etched into his face.
“Don’t ‘what the fuck’ me, Reeve. I’m not the only one feeling this. Don’t act like I’m crazy.” Wow, I’m sure on a roll right now.
“I don’t know what you think I’m feeling, but I can assure you I see you like a sister and that’s all. I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression.”
He turns around, dragging his hand through his hair as he lets out a breath. I take that as my cue to turn too, afraid he’ll see the hurt and rejection.
“You should go,” I tell him, blinking back tears before he can see them.
“Fuck, shit, Emilia, I didn’t mean to snap at you, I’m sorry. You’re drunk and you don’t know what you’re saying. When you wake up in the morning, you’ll realize this was a mistake.”
I internally scoff. A mistake. Sure.
“It’s fine, Reeve, let’s just forget about it. But you should still go. I’m tired and I need to go to bed.”
He darts his gaze from me to the door, seemingly unsure if he should believe me or not.
“Emmy,” he says, a softness in his voice I’ve yet to hear before.
I plaster on a fake smile. “It’s fine, you’re right, I’m drunk and not thinking straight. Let’s forget about it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I don’t wait for his reply. I open the door, not giving him a choice to stay. With one last look at me, he turns and exits, and I quickly shut the door behind him.
It’s less than a second later that the tears fall and regret begins to creep in. I grab the bottle of champagne, bypassing the glass, and then I head to bed, eager to forget this entire night.
January 2018
I push open the red door of Saint Street, the midafternoon sun peeking through. My successful morning gives me extra pep in my step as I barrel down the carpeted stairs, my feet careful not to trip over one another. My mouth tilts upward as I take in the familiar red velvet booths and spot Owen leaning against one of the deep-brown walls. Ali is thinking about changing the color and adding wallpaper, but there’s something so intimate about how he’s got it set up, I’d hate for it to change.
“Slow your roll, Em.” Owen laughs before walking over. He perches himself on a round table in the middle of the room, flashing me his golden boy smile that matches his golden hair. Owen could charm the pants off anyone. Too bad for me, I’m not that girl. All he’s ever been to me is a surrogate big brother.
“What’s got you in such a good mood?” Ali’s voice catches my attention and I turn to face him, behind the bar, cleaning already sparkling glasses. Perfectionist. Saint Street is no ordinary pub. It took Ali a few years, but the 1920s speakeasy feels are instantaneous.
“I’ve had a great day,” I announce, throwing my bag onto a free table before walking over to Ali, him placing a ginger beer on the bar for me. Perks of having a brother like Ali, who probably knows me better than I know myself.
“Well, don’t keep us waiting. What made it so great?” A voice I’d recognize a mile away catches my attention. Of course he’s here; there’s never Owen and Ali without Reeve. The dynamic trio.
I can’t contain my grin. No matter what, Reeve Sawyer has the ability to bring a schoolgirl giggle out of me. Reeve smiles back—it’s brief but I see it—as he saunters off the stage to the far right, which the lads use when their band plays.
“I sold a bunch of art at the Portobello Market this morning,” I say, gaining approving looks from the guys. “And I think I made a new friend!” I beam as I think back to Stana who I met at the market.
“A girlfriend or a boyfriend?” Owen teases. It’s an instinctive and completely irrational response on my part, but my gaze seeks out Reeve. I’m hoping for any trace of a reaction, but to my dismay, his expression is indifferent.
“A girl!” I reply to Owen, grabbing my drink to go sit by him. Owen never hesitates to be interested in my life. He’s the ultimate hype man.
“Well, tell us more. This is what, your first girlfriend since Poppy left?” he asks.
Ali grimaces at the mention of his ex and my former best friend. Poppy and I didn’t end on bad blood at all, but her abrupt move to Paris put a pin in our friendship.
“Who has time to make new girlfriends when I’ve always gotta look out for you three?” I tease. He smiles, shaking his head before downing his pint in a few sips.
“Anyway, that’s beside the point. Her name is Stana; she’s American and she’s just moved here. Around my age,” I throw in. “Absolute doll, plus a complete stunner, and seriously in need of a mate.”
Owen leans forward, interested, while Reeve pulls out the chair beside me and sits down. Ali’s still prepping for the night, his head clearly only half in the conversation.
“You gonna bring her around Saint Street?” Reeve asks. He’s always had a slight aversion to new people; his friendship with Poppy was practically nonexistent, and she was around for a few years. But to give Reeve credit, when he warms up to someone, as he has us three, he’s there for you, hell or high water.
