New: GAVIN {Published• 7-Chapter Sample}

Chapter 2

Car was in park, but I sat there, thumb running over the Lamborghini emblem on the steering wheel while I stared out at all of them running amok across campus. A week ago, I was in our building on Wall Street, helming million-dollar client meetings, chasing cabs in the rain, getting trashed with Luca and Stefano every night. Now, I was watching fucking toddler time under this blazing San Diego heat. I didn't belong here—story of my fucking life.

I knocked the car door open, catching my reflection in the rearview mirror at the same time. Jesus. I looked like a true fucking Italian this morning, wild ass hair, that for the first time, I didn't bother to handle before I left and overgrown stubble all over my face, ready to compete with Luca. I grabbed my sunglasses, sliding the aviators on to cover my still-hungover eyes.

One foot was out, touching down on the concrete, hands staying on the wheel. Fuck it. I couldn't do this today. I couldn't be this Gavin, sitting in a lecture I should be teaching, listening to squeals and chirps and screams of sun-drunk, way too happy fucking kids.

My leg was back in the car, antsy finger ready to start the ignition, except bailing wasn't my style either—hadn't missed a class yet, and wasn't about to start with only a few months left. So with another shove, I was up and out, heading for the main quad.

"You look like hell!" Dan's shout hit from somewhere, and a minute later, he was walking at my side.

"New York'll do that." Too many chicks, too many hits, too many drinks. "My brother's fucking nuts."

"Luca or Stefano?"

"Luca." Always Luca.

Hands popped up ahead, waving ridiculously to get our attention, Chris finally breaking from the herd, fist out for either of ours, which we ignored. "Welcome back, Gavin. How was the East Coast? I wouldn't mind some New York pussy! Bet you were balls-deep all week."

God, he was such a fucking idiot, but he wasn't wrong. Luca's place was a revolving door of chicks. I'd had my fill and then some—not that it was any of his fucking business. I looked over his head to speak with Dan, "How was Texas?"

His shrug gave me the answer I already knew. I felt his pain; going home was never the same for me either. There was always a void I couldn't fill. "Christmas is hard on my little sister," he said more to himself. "She needs to get out of there, clear her head."

"So get her out here." I had to do the same shit: new air, new place, new people.

"We'll see. She doesn't want to leave my dad; needs a little more convincing."

I was good at that. "Want me to convince her?"

His warning grunt rumbled his shoulders. "Try and I'll kill you!"

"With what?" I veered toward the building. "A spur from your boot?"

"Don't mess with Texas!" he shot back.

"Hi, Gavin!" some chick called as we passed.

"Hey, Gavin. Hey, Dan!" another added.

Chris huffed, desperately waving back at the chicks for us. "Why do you two get all the attention? Whatever, I'll see you jackasses later."

Like we cared. He went right while we went left to the stairs, both ducking to clear the doorframe of the lecture hall. This place wasn't made for six-three giants like us.

"You should come to New York with me. Fly out next month for my birthday. We'll show you how it's done."

"You're already booked for your birthday, remember! Plus—" His laugh belted out. "Too many Gavin's in New York. I barely put up with you."