Because of Lucy: 2016 Revised Edition (Butterfly Days #1) Read online

  Because of Lucy (2016 Revised Edition)

  A Butterfly Days Novel

  Lisa Swallow

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Because of Lucy

  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

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Finding Evan Sample

  Other Contemporary Romance books by Lisa Swallow

  FREE BOOK

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2016 Lisa Swallow

  Cover designed by Najla Qamber Designs

  Photo by Lindee Robinson Photography

  Models: Julianna Gentile & Jared Stilwell

  Editing by Hot Tree Editing

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Dedication

  For everybody who read and loved the original, this is for you.

  Because of Lucy

  (Revised and Expanded 2016 Edition)

  "In life, there are some people you have to lose in order to find yourself."

  Ness watches girls fall over themselves for Evan’s attention, but she has no interest in the hot English student who includes poetry in his seduction techniques.

  Evan is amused by the uptight girl who refuses to fall for his charms, and engages in a battle of wits to win her over. But Evan is struggling with a side of his life he keeps hidden and the secretive behaviour threatens his new relationship with Ness.

  When everything falls apart, Ness and Evan are both faced with difficult choices. All because of Lucy.

  This new version of the book has been re-edited, revised and additional content added.

  1

  NESS

  There’s a stranger lying in my bed. The streetlight casts an orange glow through the open curtains and across the tell-tale mound, and underneath my brand new and expensive bedding is a snoring figure. A male, judging by the size, and by the decibels. When I left for work this evening, the bed was definitely vacant.

  I drop my bag on my carpeted bedroom floor and swear loudly. He doesn’t hear. I’m not surprised; the noise of voices and music downstairs would drown out the sound of my murderous intent towards this moron. I’m exhausted after an eight-hour shift and this is not what I need.

  Slamming the door behind me, I head for the stairs. The tatty furniture of the lounge room is covered with people, although littered is the term I’d use. Half a dozen inebriated, scruffy students are draped over the brown sofa or propped against each other on the threadbare carpet. A couple gaze at me absently. My housemate, Abby, squints and pulls herself unsteadily to her feet. She staggers towards me, her drink sloshing from the cup onto the dirty floor.

  “Ness!” she cries, trying to hug me. “You’re home!”

  I step back. “I’ve been home for half an hour.”

  She blinks. “Have you?”

  Her long brown hair escaped the straightening tongs this evening and sticks up on one side. Abby’s smeared lipstick and her boyfriend, Matt, nearby indicate why she didn’t notice me coming home.

  “Who is in my bed?”

  Abby gives me a look; one I’ve learned to identify over the years. She’s beyond any chance of reasonable conversation. “No idea.”

  “Abby, I’ve been working all night. I’m knackered. I want to go to bed and there’s one of your guests occupying it.”

  Abby giggles.

  “Not funny!” I snap. “You can’t do this every night; weekends only for parties. Please.”

  We agreed to share a house, her as a student, me working full-time. What a huge mistake.

  “It’s not my fault…”

  “What? You mean we were invaded? They just let themselves into the house?”

  The people in the room are becoming familiar, the same set of friends arranged in their favourite places around the room. Drinking and smoking, discussing politics and listening to Lou Reed. So hip, so retro. So clichéd.

  “No, but…” She puts a hand over her mouth, making a noise somewhere between a hiccup and a burp. No, but… she’s the only first year student in the group who lives in her own house. When the pubs and clubs shut, the friends can’t fit everyone into one of their dorm rooms, and I have the pleasure of their company most nights. I want to shout at Abby, tell her how selfish she’s being, but there’s no point. Her goldfish memory is worse when she’s drunk, and she won’t remember a thing I say in the morning.

  “So where do I sleep?” As if I’m going to get any sleep in party central anyway.

  Again, Abby looks at me blankly.

  “For god’s sake, Abby!”

  This is pointless. I pick my way through the bohemian bodies on the floor and into the kitchen. Empty bottles and dinner plates vie for a place on the cluttered kitchen counter. There’re two glasses left in the white cupboards and I fill one with water.

  Why did I join student Abby in Leeds when I’d rejected a place at the university myself? I’m rubbing my parents’ faces in it while I lower myself into the life of a call centre drone. Pride of the family, Vanessa, was always going to be a doctor, like Daddy. Or she was until I said ‘screw that’. I’m not their precious Vanessa who they can mould into what they decide I should be. I’m Ness, and I’m doing what I want with my life.

  As I regard the state of the so-called elite, studying class around me, I’m doubly glad I’m not one of them.

  “’Scuse me.”

  I sidestep the sink and turn to the voice. A tall guy leans against the doorframe, trying to appear nonchalant, but his slackened stance indicates he’s attempting to keep himself upright. His brown hair is longer at the front and spills into his face; unfocused brown eyes look in my direction. This person is one of the regulars. I don’t pay a lot of attention to Abby’s friends, but he’s a good-looking guy; and however hard I tried not to, I’ve noticed him, but not only because of his looks.

  Some nights as I eat a late dinner after work at the table in the corner, I watch the group from my chair with a mixture of despair and amusement, and this guy intrigues me. Girls gravitate to him, and he turns on his smile and soaks up their attention, but something I can’t put my finger on hovers around the confident persona. This guy has his place as the joker who ensures he’s at the centre of the group, but some nights he’s quiet and focuses more on drinking and less on girls. Like tonight.

  “Yes?” I snap, not in the mood.

  He sweeps a gaze along the length of me, eyes lingering on where my work shirt stretches across my breasts. Unbelievable... I straighten my sleeves
and look at him with an eyebrow raised.

  “Are you Abby’s housemate?” he asks.

  “Who are you?”

  “Evan.” He rubs his nose. “You’re not a student.”

  “Correct, I am the one not lying in a drunken haze on the floor contemplating my navel.”

  Evan takes a step forward, steadying himself on the counter with one hand, as my witty repartee sails over his head. “Why?”

  “Why am I not on the floor drunk?”

  “Why aren’t you a student?”

  “Because I work instead.”

  “Hmm.” He grasps onto the sink, searching for a glass. I pass him the spare one. “Did you fail?”

  “Fail what?”

  Evan fills the glass. “Or are you just not smart enough for uni? What is it you do?” He gulps the water in three mouthfuls then wipes his mouth with his hand.

  The arrogant bloody… “That’s right, I’m not smart enough. I’m living with Abby until I can find a nice man to marry then I can have my kids and a house in the suburbs. Because, as I’m not a student, I have no future.”

  Evan leans against the sink, his tall frame dominating the small kitchen. “Fair enough.”

  Oh my god, he believes me. How drunk is he exactly? “So, you think anyone who doesn’t go to university is inferior to you?”

  I’ve seen Abby’s friends looking down their noses at me. To make things worse, the locals band together and hate students, and the students do the same and clash with the locals. I’m neither. I can’t win.

  We’re close now and Evan smells of alcohol, with a faint hint of a clean scent lingering on his clothes. His plain blue T-shirt rides up as he leans against the sink; that’s a serious set of abs he has. Okay, I can’t help myself, I check him out. Beneath his fringe, Evan has deep brown eyes. Incoherent eyes. I hate to admit, but something about him is seriously sexy.

  Even if he is a dick.

  “Well, if you’ll excuse me,” I say.

  He sniggers.

  “What’s funny?”

  “You sound like the Queen.”

  Not this again. I get enough crap at work; I moved from Surrey to Yorkshire and suddenly I’m ‘stuck up Home Counties girl’.

  I don’t dignify Evan’s comment with an answer, turn away, and walk out of the kitchen.

  “Want me to get the guy out of your bed?” Evan calls after me.

  I stop and look round. “You know him?”

  “I could replace him.”

  My mouth drops open at his arrogance. An attempt at a flirtatious smile plays around his lips, but the unfocused eyes kill the effect he’s trying to achieve. He’s serious. Evan has his ready supply of eager girls; I guess it doesn’t matter to them how conceited he is. Some girls go for his type. Not me.

  I step towards him. “Evan, I am not one of those drunk girls in there. I have no interest in you getting into my bed. Good night.”

  Feeling happy with my retort, I weave back through the lounge in the direction of the stairs. Behind me, Evan impersonates my words with an exaggerated posh accent.

  It’s a good thing I’m sober; otherwise, I’d go back and slap him.

  2

  EVAN

  Light assaults my face, forcing me awake. I squint. Why do student houses never have curtains that do their job? Too short or too narrow; these are both. The sun floods through the three centimetre gap between the thin, pink material pulled across the bay window.

  I unfold my limbs from the confines of the small sofa and stretch my stiff neck. Ugh. There’s a godawful taste in my mouth and a large hole in my memory. Someone bangs around in the kitchen, plates rattle onto the draining board, and a radio plays loudly. Whoever’s in there intends to wake the whole house up. I grope around for my phone and slide the screen. Eleven a.m. What time did I go to sleep? Pass out. Whatever.

  I’m the only person from last night left in the room. Cans and bottles litter the floor, ashtrays overflow, and a couple of open pizza boxes contain congealed cheese and grease. Gross. Good job I have a strong constitution.

  The door bangs and I wince. A draught of cool air passes me, before a girl carrying a plate and a mug sits in the blue-cushioned seat by the bay window, and tucks her legs beneath her. Without a word, she eats toast from her plate.

  “Hey,” I say and smile.

  She turns unimpressed green eyes to me. For a make-up free girl who recently got out of bed, she’s pretty hot. Well, pretty. Her long dark brown hair frames her face and there’s a natural rosiness to her pale cheeks. She’s dressed in shapeless clothes, yoga pants and a sweatshirt, huge socks covering her feet. Only her delicate hands are visible. For once, I’m lost for what to say. Mostly due to the death stare she’s giving me.

  “You live here?” I ask, pushing hair out of my face.

  “We established that last night.”

  “Oh?”

  “Oh.” She savagely bites her toast.

  “I don’t remember.” Crap. I hope I didn’t try to hit on her. No, if I had I’d be in her bed.

  “I remember all too clearly. Are you going soon? Or do I have to tell you politely to piss off?”

  Wow. Rude. I must’ve hit on her. Or said no, although I don’t think I would’ve said no.

  “Whoa, okay, babe.”

  She drops the toast to her plate and chokes. “Babe?”

  “I’m only trying to make conversation; you’re being shitty for no reason.”

  “Apart from you insulting me last night, no reason.” She drains the contents of her mug and stands. “I need to get ready for work.”

  Work. A memory filters into my brain. This girl is around sometimes when I crash here with Matt and the guys; but she never stays in the room long enough for us to talk, so her face is a blur. Guess I had my chance with her last night and blew it somehow. “You’re Abby’s housemate.”

  “No, I’m the Queen.”

  The blast of cool air follows her back into the kitchen. She does sound a bit like the Queen, but it’s an odd thing to say. I rub my sore neck, stretching out my shoulders. The girl passes me again. This time she stomps up the stairs and I watch her small frame disappear around the corner.

  I wish I could remember how I insulted her. Normally I wouldn’t insult a girl to her face, and then usually just the dodgy-looking ones trying to come on to me when I don’t want them to. Nothing about this girl would’ve put me off. Maybe the attitude, but sometimes that makes things all the more interesting.

  * * *

  I’m in the kitchen drinking my third glass of water in ten minutes when the front door slams. I push the net curtain in the window to one side and peer out. Grey skies and rain, as usual. Cars line the narrow street and people hurry along the cracked pavements to the bus stop at the end of the road. If I crane my head far enough, I can see the local shop I trip into every evening, to pick up beer and snacks.

  Abby’s housemate fumbles with the key in the door of her small blue car. She’s dressed in a knee-length grey skirt with black stockings and sensible shoes. Her matching jacket pulls in at the waist and accentuates her hips. When she leans into the back seat to deposit her bag, her skirt rides up and my imagination disappears on its own tangent. Nice. I might be hungover but my body responds. I adjust myself and turn away from the window. How depressing for this girl that she has to go to work. Me? I’ve no classes until this afternoon. Most afternoons. My days are awesome—wake up, gym, uni, pub, or party, and maybe a girl. Rinse and repeat. Freedom. The cool water soothes my throat as I swill down the rest. Yep, life is awesome. God knows I deserve a life after the shit of the last few years.

  The front door slams again, shaking the windows, and footsteps stomp up the stairs. A muffled conversation upstairs ends in another door slamming and the footsteps returning down.

  “I’ll get the bloody bus then!”

  The girl’s voice. I peer back out of the window and her car is still there.

  “Sorry! I know I should’ve bought petrol!�
�� Abby’s voice carries downstairs.

  “I haven’t got time to drive in the opposite direction to get petrol now!”

  I duck my head out of the kitchen. “What’s up?”

  The girl glances up from where she’s rummaging in her bag, gives me that death stare again, and empties the contents on the table. Most girls I know have bags full of make-up and girly crap. Not her. All she has is a purse, tissues, and pens.

  “Everything okay?” I ask.

  “No. My car has no petrol and I’m going to be late for work. And now I can’t find my MetroCard.”

  Brown hair swings across her face and she pushes a strand away; her cheeks redden as her eyebrows knit together. Normally when I’m around angry girls, I’m the reason and it’s stressful. Her glistening eyes warn of impending tears. Girls often do that around me too, and I’ll do anything to avoid them.

  “Where do you work?” I ask.

  “At the call centre in Beeston. They get really shitty if I’m late for shifts. This was such a stupid idea…” She’s talking to the items she’s pushing back into her bag, and won’t look up at me.

  The rain slams against the window and when she looks out at the new downpour, the girl throws her bag down and scrubs at her eyes with the edge of her jacket.

  Oh crap, don’t cry. “I’ll take you.”

  Finally, she turns reddening brown eyes to me. “Take me?”

  “To work. I drove here last night.” What I really want to do is go back to my room and get ready for the gym, but I’m too sucked in by tearful girls.

  “No, it’s okay.”

  “I’d like to help,” I say and push empty boxes around the floor as I look for my shoes.

  * * *

  NESS

  I never expected chivalry from him; stepping in to help and taking me to work doesn’t seem Evan’s style. Weighing things up, I have a choice between getting drenched at a bus stop plus an hour-long journey, or thirty minutes in the car with him. The stress of work dramas if I’m late versus having to make conversation with a Neanderthal. The Neanderthal wins.