TRIP

  TRIP

  Calling all 80s girls!

  Layla Warren first introduced us to Trip Wilmington in

  REMEMBER WHEN...

  Now read his side of the story!

  Trip Wiley wasn’t always a Hollywood movie star.

  In fact, he wasn’t always Trip Wiley.

  Back in 1990, he was better known as Trip Wilmington, the new kid in town.

  New place, new school... same old story.

  No big deal. It’s not like this is the first time he’s been forced to start over.

  But seventeen years of city living hasn’t prepared him for life in the suburbs...

  or for Layla Warren.

  Layla is smart, funny, beautiful... the kind of girl every guy dreams about.

  Trip should know.

  He’s been falling for her since the first minute he saw her.

  And his life hasn’t been the same since.

  ~

  Prepare to travel back to your teen years... That time in your life before the real world kicked in, that limbo between adolescence and adulthood, that trial of hanging onto the past while figuring out where the future will lie.

  With heart-shredding romance, steamy love scenes, and hilarious 80s references, readers of all ages will find themselves falling in love with TRIP all over again.

  ***Author's note: This is no copy/paste job. This is a brand new story that fills in the blanks during Trip and Layla's separation while still bringing all the magic moments of the two of them together.

  It is highly recommended--but not required--that you read Remember When prior to reading TRIP. (Remember When is FREE everywhere!)

  READ WHEN YOU’RE IN THE MOOD FOR: nostalgic, steamy, angsty, sweet, funny

  TRIP: Remembering

  Remember When 1990-1991

  PROLOGUE

  “Trip! Trip! Trip! Trip!”

  The chanting accompanied the funnel of beer I downed, much to the entertainment of the whole party.

  Well, I guess “party” might be overstating things. My buddy Ramsey had invited some people over to send me off properly. It was my last night in town, and my friends wanted a chance to say goodbye.

  Then again, I guess “friends” might be overstating things, too.

  They were the people I hung with by default. The sons and daughters of the city’s richest and most powerful. Indianapolis didn’t have the same social scene as L.A. or Chicago, but it did exist. In every place I ever lived in, status could be determined by whether or not you had the cash to buy your way in.

  My father built his fortune, but Ramsey’s dad inherited his. Most of the families around here did. This crowd was old money all the way. Born rich, and they’d probably stay rich until the end of time. Spoiled, entitled, and sheltered from reality by their brick mansions, fancy cars, and preppy clothes...

  You know the “bad guys” in every ‘80s teen film? Yeah. That was them.

  I chugged the last drops of Heineken and threw my arms in the air, causing the two dozen or so onlookers to hoot and holler with marked enthusiasm. I may have been the man of the hour right then, but I was pretty sure everyone in that room would forget all about me within two minutes of walking out that door.

  It really sucked that it was time to move again. Actually, it was time to move two weeks ago, but I’d simply been postponing the road trip. My new school already started last week, but I just couldn’t bring myself to get there in time. My parents had taken a flight out to Jersey, and I was supposed to drive out in my truck the next day. Ramsey let me crash in his family’s poolhouse for that final night in town... which turned into fourteen. But tonight really and truly was my last night. If I didn’t get on the road by tomorrow, I’d never go.

  Not that I really had anything keeping me in Indy. I was as attached to that place as I’d been to any of the cities I’d ever lived in, which is to say not at all. I’d become friendly with enough kids in each place to afford me some sort of social life while I was there, but it never made much sense to get too close to any of them. I’ve lived my entire life as an outsider looking in.

  Actually, that’s not true. I guess I was more of an insider looking out.

  I was always accepted into the “coolest” social circles anywhere I went, but I just never felt like I was a part of things. I was normally too focused on the next move, the next city, the next group of rich kids I’d be forced to hang out with. It was always the same story no matter where I went.

  I mean, just look at this effing room. Golden boys John Ramsey and Ward Whitney, stars of the basketball team. Melissa Andresen, who, after a well-timed nose job, quickly rose the ranks of Moreland Prep royalty. Chloe Ephraim and her Rah-Rah crew. Bradley Preston and a handful of his fellow Young Republicans. A few football meatheads, some lacrosse guys, a couple of debate club weenies... and the two hot girls in the corner presently eyeing me up and whispering to each other: Heidi and Greta, The Brennerman Twins.

  Heidi caught my eye and took that as her cue to come talk to me. “Trip,” she slithered, stepping a little too close. “I can’t believe you’re really moving! This city won’t be the same without you.”

  “Yeah,” I shot back. “Thanks, but I think Indy will be exactly the same as it ever was, whether I’m here or not.”

  “I hope you’ll still remember me after you leave.”

  My lips curled into a lethal grin. “Now how could I ever forget the one and only Heidi Brennerman?”

  “I’m Greta.”

  Shit. “That’s what I meant.” She stood there scolding me with her eyes, so I quickly added, “I was only trying to say that I’ll remember your sister and you. Especially you, Greta.”

  Greta didn’t seem too insulted by my screwup, however, judging by the way she leaned in and danced her fingertips along my neck. Her graduation presents pressed against my arm as she stood on her tiptoes and whispered in my ear, “Well, at the very least, my mouth would like the chance to make sure of it.”

  Nice. I could get down with a little blow-and-go.

  “Well, if you insist,” I teased, before leading her out the back door.

  Five minutes later, I’d find myself lain out on the couch in the poolhouse, getting a going away blowjob.

  Five hours after that, I’d be sitting behind the wheel of my black Ford Bronco setting out for Norman, New Jersey.

  My new home.

  Chapter 1

  COME SEE THE PARADISE

  New Jersey.

  Jesus Christ, it was the last place in the world I thought I’d end up.

  I’d just driven through downtown Norman, taking notice of the tree-lined streets and rows of mom-and-pop stores. The place was straight out of Anytown, USA. A shrine to suburbia. A Norman Rockwell painting come to life.

  In other words, boring as shit.

  I mean, I wasn’t a town kinda guy. I was a city kid. New York? Sure, sign me up. But Jersey? What the hell was waiting for me here? Rumor had it the entire state smelled.

  Well, to be fair, I hadn’t yet noticed any overly offensive stink since crossing the border, and thankfully, my new town didn’t reek of anything other than middle class and fresh-cut grass. I guessed that was one perk I could log in the “pro” column.

  I wished I had more time to check out New York but there was too much stuff to do at the new house. Plus, school had already started. A week ago. I’d been agitated the whole twelve-hour drive over, but I was sure my anger would be nothing compared to my father’s. Man, was he gonna be pissed. I wasn’t looking forward to the inevitable confrontation regarding my late arrival. I’d avoided talking to him the past two weeks and simply timed the phone calls to my mother when I knew he wouldn’t be home.

  I turned my truck up North Road and was stopped at the gate house. The man inside slid the glass wind
ow open and said, “’Afternoon. Where ya headed?”

  “Wilmington. One-oh-one North.”

  “Ah. The old Calloway place. You working or visiting?”

  “Neither. Both. I uh... I live there.” I held my hand out toward him. “Trip Wilmington. I guess we’ll be seeing each other around, huh?”

  His expression turned amused as he shook my hand. “I’m Peter Clarke, but everyone up here in The Hills calls me Big Pete. Nice to meet you.” He reclaimed his hand and added, “But I’m still going to have to call up to your house and confirm that you are who you say you are.”

  I couldn’t help but chuckle.

  It wasn’t thirty seconds before Pete hung up with my mother and opened the gate. “Welcome to the neighborhood, Trip. See you around.”

  “Sure thing, Pete.”

  I gave him a salute and wove my truck up the long, winding road, peeking at the massive houses visible through the trees. All the homes in Norman Hills were apparently built with seclusion in mind. I hadn’t been able to get a clear line of sight at too many of them while driving, but I was sure that even on foot, the entire neighborhood would be obscured by the woods.

  Our house was at the very top of the street. It was a large stone mansion with oversized windows and a huge wrap-around porch. I reluctantly admitted that it was really nice.

  I hopped out of my truck and gave a knock on the front door before trying the handle, finding it unlocked. “Honey, I’m home!” I joked, stepping into the foyer.

  Mom’s voice echoed throughout the house as she exclaimed, “Terrence! Hi! I’m in the library!”

  I gave a scan around the expansive front hall and laughed out, “I don’t know where that is yet!”

  Mom launched into a game of Marco Polo in order to guide my way, and I followed the sound of her voice through a den into the correct room. The library was a large, one-and-a-half-story, wood-paneled cavern lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves with a couple of well-placed bay windows to brighten things up. Mom was kneeling in the center of the room, surrounded by box after box of our old books when she looked up at me. She brushed a strand of dark hair out of her face, trying to hide a smile. “Well, look who finally decided to show up.”

  Her jovial greeting led me to believe I wasn’t in as deep of shit as I thought I’d be. “Hi, Mom,” I said, bending over to kiss her hello.

  “About time you got here.”

  I ran a hand through my hair. “Yeah. I know. Sorry.” I dropped into a crouch next to her and tore open one of the boxes. “How mad is Dad?” I asked, afraid to hear the answer.

  “Well, he wasn’t happy, I can tell you that.” I physically winced at the thought of what awaited me as Mom added, “But after the first week, he stopped ranting and cooled off a bit. You might live after all.”

  I stacked an armload of books on a nearby table. And then another. And when that box was emptied, I went to work on the rest. I knew better than to even try to mess with my mother’s vision for where they should go, so I didn’t even bother to offer to put them on the shelves. But at least I could save her the trouble of hunching over to unload all those hundreds of books from the floor.

  When the last box had been unpacked, Mom thanked me and asked, “Are you hungry? We’re not eating dinner until six tonight.”

  “No thanks. I grabbed some lunch at a rest stop about an hour ago.”

  I didn’t specify that my “lunch” consisted of two Big Macs and a bag of Funyuns.

  “So,” she said, rising to her feet and dusting herself off. “Are you ready to see the rest of the house yet?”

  “Sure. Do you have a map?” I teased. We’d lived in some big houses before, each place bigger than the last. But Jesus. This place bordered on the obscene. Three stories—not including the semi-finished basement—consisting of six bedrooms and eight full baths sat on two solid acres of rolling green hilltop. It was pretty overwhelming.

  My mother gave me the nickel tour of the downstairs before heading to the second floor. There were four bedroom-and-bath combos on that level, one of which was mine.

  I guessed Mom had gotten the jump on the decorating, because there wasn’t much left for me to do in my room but put my clothes away. She’d had the walls painted tan and it looked as though I had a new bedspread. Mom reassured me that she’d stored my old one right there in the walk-in closet but that she “couldn’t resist that gorgeous blue plaid comforter set.”

  Whatever. I didn’t care either way, but if buying me a new blanket was going to make her happy, I didn’t see the harm in letting her do it. “No, it’s cool. Thanks.”

  She’d even hung all my sports pennants over the dresser. I had a pretty big collection of them; hockey, football, basketball, and baseball banners from every city I’ve ever lived in. It was hard enough to deal with leaving my friends behind, but it really sucked having to switch team loyalties all the time. I did it, though, for all of my favorite sports except hockey. I’d never betray my allegiance to the Blackhawks.

  Mom opened the closet door to show me where she’d had the movers put the rest of my boxed crap, then pulled a hanger off the rod and held it out to me. “Your school uniform. Pressed and waiting for you.”

  I checked out the dark green blazer with its golden crest. I knew all too well there’d be rows of khaki pants and a rainbow of Oxford shirts to keep it company in my closet.

  New school... same damn clothes.

  While we were busy unpacking my stuff, I heard the garage door opening, announcing the arrival of my father.

  Shit.

  Dad’s footsteps coming up the stairs were like a death knell, his voice a booming echo. “Who’s truck is that in the driveway?” he hollered down the hallway.

  I braced myself for a verbal tirade as his large form filled the doorway to my room. “I had a son with a truck like that once, but he went missing years ago.”

  His raised eyebrow didn’t escape my notice, and I answered as light-heartedly as possible, “Yeah, I think I heard something about that kid being a real good-for-nothing.”

  Dad didn’t bust my chops beyond that and simply chuckled as he hugged me hello. Thank Christ. “How was the drive?”

  “Flat. Boring. But I broke it up with a stay in Youngstown last night.” I left out the part about finagling a couple beers at the bar next door to the motel.

  He kissed my mother hello before asking, “So? What do you think of the new place?”

  I didn’t know whether he was asking about the house or the town. I decided to comment on the one thing I could be positive about. “It’s... big.”

  Dad chortled a hearty belly laugh as he threw an arm across my shoulders. I could tell he was making a concerted effort to project optimism, which is probably why he wasn’t giving me too much crap about getting into town as late as I did. “Yes, I suppose the house is big. But the town is small, and I say that in a good way. I’m sure you don’t realize it yet, but you’re going to like living here.”

  Mom piped in to add, “It’s really a nice town to grow up in, honey. You’ll love it as much as we did. I just know it.”

  It was hard to keep the chip on my shoulder when they were so intent on knocking it off. “Just point me in the direction of the arena and I’m sure I’ll like it just fine.”

  Dad scratched his chin, saying, “Hmm. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”

  Are you kidding me? Dad’s main selling point of this town was that it had a state-of-the-art sports facility. It was the only thing I was looking forward to.

  But before I could blow my top about being conned, he explained, “The sports complex is actually in Shermer Heights. It’s only one town over, though, about ten minutes from here, door to door. I’ve already registered you for membership and picked up the forms to sign up for their hockey league.”

  Damn. Looked like the old man was really trying, here. “Hey, thanks, Dad.”

  My parents left me alone to finish unpacking, but I wasn’t in the mood. Instea
d, I scanned my eyes over my new surroundings, taking in all the new stuff. Infinite riches in a little room.

  Nothing seemed like mine yet. Not this stuff, not this house, not this life. I let out with a huge exhale as I flopped down onto my bed and stared at the ceiling.

  I figured I’d better get used to the view.

  Chapter 2

  TRIPWIRE

  My new school was supposedly some hoity toity elitist institution called St. Nicetius. As it turned out, it wasn’t that different from my old prep school back in Indy. Same teachers, same kids...

  Same old shit.

  I spent my morning learning how to navigate the halls, figuring out the school’s layout, finding my way around. I was trying to keep a low profile, but I knew the deal. Being the new kid in a new city brought attention enough. But being the new kid in a small town felt like I was an animal on display at the zoo.

  I think that was the part of moving to a new place that I hated most. It wasn’t the loss of friends or familiarity or having to start all over again at a brand new school during my senior year for fucksakes... it was the ogling.

  I’d already endured an entire morning of gawking, flirting, and never-ending questions. By third period, my patience was shot. I didn’t know how much more I could take. Which of course is why I just had to be assigned a seat next to a chatty redhead during Computer Lab. We shared a work table, so not only was it easy enough for her to chew my ear off, but there was no getting away from her. Blah, blah, blah. Yes, I know where I’m going next period. No, I don’t need a personal tour guide. The bell couldn’t ring fast enough.

  After computer class was lunch, so I fought my way through the crowded halls on my way to the cafeteria. Or, as I liked to think of it, the Coliseum. In my vast experience as a new kid, the simple act of grabbing a bite to eat was a cutthroat gladiatorial event. Lunch period may as well have been held in a prison yard.