Love Me For Me Read online

  Love Me For Me

  Safe Haven, Volume 1

  by Lauren Hawkeye

  Published by Lauren Hawkeye, 2014.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  LOVE ME FOR ME

  Second edition. January 5, 2014.

  Copyright © 2014 Lauren Hawkeye.

  ISBN: 978-0991916603

  Written by Lauren Hawkeye.

  Table of Contents

  Love Me For Me (Safe Haven, #1)

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  LOVE ME IF YOU DARE

  WHITE TRASH BEAUTIFUL

  For Sara Fawkes, for her tireless enthusiasm.

  Praise for Love Me For Me

  “I stayed up until 3 am to finish this book-—it’s that good! If you want something that will pull at your heartstrings and make you root for the main characters-—this is it! Love! Love! Love! Lauren Hawkeye has a bright future in the New Adult genre! I’m eagerly awaiting her next book and can’t wait to see how far she will go!”

  Rachel Van Dyken, #1 New York Times Bestselling Author of The Bet

  “If I ever did a New Adult romance novel, Lauren Hawkeye’ debut would be what I’d strive for!”

  New York Times Bestselling Author Sara Fawkes

  Chapter One

  He wasn’t supposed to notice me.

  But as the two of us hovered awkwardly in the hallway, outside of the closed door to our American Lit class, he looked me right in the eye. His left hand rumpled the raven dark spikes of hair on his head as he grinned at me sheepishly.

  He caught me at a rare off guard moment and slowly, tentatively, I smiled back.

  “Tardiness will not be tolerated.”

  His mimicry of the words our professor, the man with elbow patches on his sweater, had spoken the first day of class, startled a laugh from me. The boy seemed to like that, and as he shifted weight from one foot to the other I studied him, daring to look more closely than I ever had before.

  I’d noticed him. How could I not have? But I’d always forced myself to look away. Boys like him weren’t for girls like me.

  He was tall, nearly a full foot taller than me. Eyes the color of the sky at night peered out from beneath a long, thick fringe of black eyelashes. They were lashes that any girl would kill for and he, being a boy, likely didn’t appreciate. His face was a study in sharp angles and planes, his lips full and soft in contrast. Black ink, indelibly etched into his skin, peeked out the neck of his black T-shirt, and I could see it on his biceps, too, when he moved.

  The tattoos were at odds with the clean cut image he otherwise emanated. He was too damn good looking, the kind of guy that in high school had been happy to spend time with me in dark closets, under the bleachers, or in the backseat of a car, but who would scorn me in public, ashamed to be associated with that girl.

  Except he didn’t seem ashamed, even though I was dressed in my usual uniform of faded blue jeans and a plaid flannel shirt open over a tank top. My long blonde hair was in a tight braid, with pieces left down deliberately, so I could hide behind them if I needed to.

  I frequently did. I would shake the ribbons of pale hair over my eyes, eyes that were blue but were so pale in comparison to his that they scarcely seemed the same color.

  Those eyes widened when he grinned casually, hiking his backpack up further on his back.

  “Well, no way he’ll let us in now,” he said. This professor liked to verbally humiliate anyone who tried to sneak in once the door had been closed, and he had a sharp, acerbic tongue that I was in no rush to receive a lashing with.

  “Right.” I tried to smile, tried to act like a normal girl, but found myself shaking those long strands of hair over my face instead. I dropped my gaze away from the boy in front of me, all the way down to the tips of my black sneakers.

  It felt... almost... like he was flirting with me.

  I knew better.

  “I’d better get to the library. I need to do the extra reading to make up for missing this class.” I hated being late, but the Psych class I had right before American Lit was all the way across campus.

  I was not happy to miss a class either, but this professor left me no choice.

  The thought of falling behind made me sick, though I knew, rationally, that I was getting ahead of myself. The fear of falling behind, of losing my scholarship, of having to return home was acid, ate away at my gut.

  “Bye,” I muttered, as I walked away. I cursed myself as I did—why couldn’t I be a normal girl, why couldn’t I just have a conversation with a member of the opposite sex?

  I heard his steps, heavy on the floor behind me, as he followed me. I cringed at the gentle tug on my backpack, though I’d swallowed the knee jerk reaction to lash out.

  I managed to shore up my courage, shake my hair out of my face, and look up at him.

  “Why don’t we go study together?” he asked. There it was again—that certainty that he was flirting with me, though I couldn’t understand why.

  Maybe he knew someone I’d gone to high school with. Even though I’d moved two states away, maybe he’d heard about the way I used to be.

  But there was no innuendo in his tone, nothing overtly sexual in the way he studied my face.

  I don’t know what came over me, but after a long moment I felt a shy smile tug at the corners of my lips.

  “Okay.”

  ***

  Daily Grind was the coffee shop located in the middle of campus. It was small and dark, with tables that seemed sticky no matter how many times they were wiped clean. The bitter scent of brewing coffee permeated the air, not quite overpowering the lingering hint of cigarette smoke left over from previous decades, when smoking indoors had been permitted.

  He led me to a table in the middle of the cafe, which surprised me. I’d thought he would take me to the back corner, where there would be less chance of being seen with me.

  I needed to get these thoughts out of my head. I wasn’t that girl anymore.

  “What would you like?” he asked. I hefted my backpack into one of the empty chairs, and pulled my wallet out of the front pocket. I started when he placed his large hand on top of mine, gently pushing my wallet away.

  “No way. I’m buying,” he spoke firmly. Startled, I blinked. My mind, being what it was, immediately wondered what he would expect in return. I bit the inside of my cheek, resisted the urge to shake my hair over my face, and smiled up at those assessing blue eyes.

  “Um. Dark roast, please. Just skim milk.” I looked down at my fingers while he got our drinks.

  Returning, he handed me the cup and our fingers brushed. I jolted at the heat that sizzled out from the small touch. His eyes were on me as I jumped, but he said nothing, did nothing and I was sure that I had imagined it.

  He waited for me to sit before he did—something I couldn’t help but notice, though I might have been reading too much into it. He sipped at his drink, and then offered it to me.

  “What is it?” I didn’t really care—I was more focused on the fact that he was offering to share a cup with me, a stranger.

  “It’s a triple latte with caramel and vanilla.”

  I had been tempted to try it, just for the unexpected intimacy, but I recoiled at the words.

  “No, thank you. I can’t.” I picked up my own cup, swigged. The skim milk wasn�
�t enough to cover the acidic taste of the coffee, but I had become used to it.

  “Too much caffeine?”

  I couldn’t help my smile—I could drink a pot of coffee in a day, easily. “No. It’s all the sugar you added.” I waved my cup at him, then sipped again. For some reason, rather than unnerving me, the fact that all of his attention was focused on me made my muscles relax, just the slightest bit. “If I drink that, I’ll have to run for an extra hour.”

  “It’s sugar free, if it helps.”

  I thought it was a bit strange that someone with a body like his would bother to order something without sugar. Still, I shook my head.

  “Don’t tell me you’re one of those girls who’s obsessed with her weight.” His eyes raked over me, slow and assessing, but not lecherous. Rather than the shame I’d felt in the past when other boys looked at me, I instead felt my skin prickle to awareness.

  “Not weight, not really.” My mouth was dry, and I drank to wet my lips. “Just... health. I... once I was really heavy. I don’t ever want to be like that again.”

  I couldn’t stop the surge of defiance in my voice. I’d been heavy in self defense. Once I’d been able to guard myself in other ways, I’d worked hard to regain the figure that I nonetheless refused to play off.

  I wouldn’t let my past make me unhealthy. But that didn’t mean I was interested in attracting the opposite sex.

  As he smiled slowly at me, I wondered if that wasn’t rapidly becoming a lie.

  “Do you like to run?” His eyes only left my face for a moment, long enough to open the zipper of his backpack and to extract a copy of Henry James’ The Portrait of a Lady, the story we were studying in class.

  Studying. Right. That’s why we were here—to catch up because we’d both missed class. Nothing more.

  Pinching my lips tightly together, I pulled my own copy from my bag, along with the binder that held the notes I’d made on it so far. As I was bent over, I saw two sets of feet, both clad in those stylish, high heeled boots that only popular girls can pull off, mincing by.

  When I sat up, I saw that they were eyeing him with undisguised interest. I didn’t look at him to gauge his reaction—of course he would look back.

  Instead I answered his question.

  “It depends. I run because I have to, to stay in shape. I hate it.” I wasn’t pretty when I ran—I was a sweaty, panting mess. “I also teach yoga here on campus. I like that.”

  I wasn’t prepared for the interest on his face when I finally slid my book and binder onto the table and looked at him.

  “Yoga. That helps with strength and flexibility, right?”

  I nodded, suddenly wary. Yoga, even when students were present, was time for me, a time when I could truly blank my mind of everything. If he joined my class, I would be a nervous wreck.

  I waited for the comment that I was sure was going to come. Something degrading disguised as a flirtation, something about flexible yoga instructors that turned into a demand for sex.

  The comment didn’t come. Though the way he looked at me told me he was interested, he didn’t take it any further than that.

  “I play football.” He nodded, commenting no further. I tried not to notice the way his lips looked as he chugged the last of his coffee, then scrunched up the cup in large hands. Cracking open his book, he looked over at me expectantly.

  “We’d better get to it.”

  ***

  It wasn’t until after I’d left Daily Grind that I realized I didn’t know his name. I racked my memory, and was certain that he hadn’t asked for mine, either.

  The realization put me into a funk. Clearly he didn’t care. I’d just been a diversion, someone to entertain him during the hour until his next class.

  Well, what had I expected? He was tall, athletic and gorgeous. I had to exercise six days a week to keep my figure down to what could kindly be called curvy. I wore denim and flannel, and I had secrets that I would never tell.

  It was better that he hadn’t asked.

  Still, I found myself searching for him over the next week, both before class and after. I caught a glimpse of him during one, when he skidded into the class just as the prof was closing the door. He slid into a seat in the back row, and was gone at the end before I was even out of my seat.

  I told myself it didn’t matter as I jogged along the river that bordered campus. I pretended that I didn’t care while I studied in the dorm room that I shared with my best friend, Kaylee. I reminded myself that he only fascinated me because he was the first male in years to pay any attention to me, and not expect a blow job in the parking lot after.

  Despite all that, I thought about him for an entire week, even as I met Kaylee at the library for a study date. She liked to meet on the main floor, a better place to check out the cute guys who were cramming for exams.

  I preferred the individual study carrels on the upper floors. Though Kaylee was an exception, I really preferred to be alone.

  “Serena! Over here!”

  I winced as Kaylee stood up at the table she’d commandeered. Her books and papers were strewn over the entire surface, even though library rules stated that we had to share.

  She was so damn loud, not caring that everyone in the place was now staring. Knowing Kaylee, actually, that was probably the point. She’d certainly caught the attention of the guys, who were looking at her slender, big-boobed figure in its fitted jeans and white tank.

  “Hey.” I slid into the seat across from where she’d set up her laptop—pink, of course. I knew from experience that asking her to quiet down wouldn’t go well.

  She slid back into her seat, but not before smirking at the guy the next table over. He was tall, skinny and very pale, with a baggy T-shirt that said Bazinga in bright red letters.

  He flushed under her stare, before returning his attention to a tablet that looked like it could launch a spaceship.

  I rolled my eyes, then gestured to the paper coffee cup that was sitting next to Kaylee’s computer. The rim was covered with dark lipstick.

  “You’re not supposed to have drinks in here.” I pulled out my book—the copy of The Portrait of a Lady from American Lit. The cover, glossy and colorful under the neon lights, made me scowl, grumpy all over again that I’d let a guy get under my skin.

  I knew better. I was the not kind of girl who could date.

  Kaylee grinned at me, picked up the cup and drank what looked like cold coffee. I shuddered—she never cared how long it had been sitting there, sometimes nursing the same cup all day. She’d take it with cream or without, with milk and sugar or black. She bitched about the instant coffee and powdered milk that I kept in our room, but drank it anyway.

  I had to have it hot, hot enough to burn my tongue, and with precisely one shot of skim milk, or one scoop of powdered milk. Anything else ruined it for me.

  “You worry too much.” Kaylee scrunched up the paper cup in her hands, and the gesture reminded me of the way he had done the same thing. “And you need to get out more. You’re starting to look like a vampire, girlfriend. A drink, grinding with a hottie—that’ll put some color back in those cheeks.”

  Her words did just that, making me blush.

  “Kaylee!” My voice was a hiss. “Keep your voice down!” I glared at Bazinga-boy, whose attention had been recaptured by the word grinding.

  “Seriously, Serena.” Kaylee closed the lid to her laptop and, bracing her elbows on it, leaned over and looked me in the eye. I wanted to shake my hair in front of my face to hide from her piercing stare, but knew from experience that she would only hand me a hair elastic.

  Rather than looking at her probing golden eyes, I looked at the two hands that were planted on the wooden table. Hers were long, slim and adorned with sleek burgundy nail polish. Mine were short, pale, and the nails were bitten down to the quick.

  “Kaylee, I just don’t like attention. You know that.” What she didn’t know was why, because I’d never told a soul.

  My finger
s curled inward with tension, relaxing only slightly when she patted me lightly on the wrist.

  “I know that, Serena. But... don’t get mad, okay?” Her voice was wary.

  I looked up then, my eyes narrowing. If she had to say that, then I was probably going to be annoyed.

  “What?” My voice was flat.

  “You freak me out sometimes, the way you shun everyone. I get worried that you’re going to shut me out someday.” Her face, so pretty, was so forlorn at that moment that she looked like a sad puppy. I felt a pang through my chest.

  I might not have told Kaylee my secret, but it wasn’t because I didn’t trust her. On the really bad days, her friendship was the only thing that kept me going.

  “Not going to happen.” I sounded a lot brighter than I felt. I couldn’t make any promises, because I’d learned long ago that what I wanted didn’t always have any bearing on reality.

  “Good.” Kaylee settled back into her chair and grinned. Picking up her phone, she pulled up an image and held it out to me. “There’s a party at the Deke house tomorrow night. We’re going. I’m going to be blowing off steam after this Art History exam.”

  I groaned as I studied the phone. It was a photo of a colorful flyer, advertising yet another bash held by the wildest fraternity on campus.

  Their parties were loud, saturated with alcohol and lecherous undergrads. Not my scene at all.

  “Uh, Kaylee...” My response shouldn’t have been news to her, since the Serena King that she knew did not go to parties.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t want to have fun. I just didn’t know if could handle all of the people—all of the men. I didn’t know what memories the press of bodies on a dance floor, the scent of beer on breath, would pull out of me.

  It was self preservation, really. Nothing more.

  “Don’t worry about it.” Despite how silly she seemed sometimes, Kaylee was still fairly astute. Something flickered in her eyes as she closed the image on the phone screen and opened her laptop again. “I’ll find someone. Maddy, maybe.” Her face blank, she reached for her Art History text, a massive tome, and flipped to a page in the middle.