Wait for You
The New York Times number 1 New Adult bestsellerSome things are worth waiting for…Travelling thousands of miles from home to enter college is the only way nineteen-year-old Avery Morgansten can escape an event that changed her life forever. All she needs to do is keep her head down – the one thing she didn’t plan on was capturing the attention of the only guy who could shatter her defences.Cameron Hamilton is six feet and three inches of swoon-worthy hotness. She knows she needs to stay away from him, but Cam is everywhere, with his charm, his banter, and that dimple that's just so… so lickable. Getting involved with him is dangerous, but ignoring their simmering tension is impossible…When Avery starts receiving threatening emails and phone calls, she realises that someone from her past is refusing to let her go. When the devastating truth comes out, will Cam be there to help her or will he be dragged down with her?
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Wait for You
BY J LYNN
Dedicated to those who are reading this book right now. Without you, none of this would be possible. You guys rock my fuzzy socks.
Contents
Dedication
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
About the Author
Also by
Pre-order Trust in Me
Pre-order Be With Me
Buy Scorching Summer Reads
Copyright
About the Publisher
There were two things in life that scared the ever-loving crap out of me. Waking up in the middle of the night and discovering a ghost with its transparent face shoved in mine was one of them. Not likely to occur, but still pretty damn freaky to think about. The second thing was walking into a crowded classroom late.
I absolutely loathed being late.
I hated for people to turn and stare, which they always did when you entered a classroom a minute after class started.
That was why I had obsessively plotted the distance between my apartment in University Heights and the designated parking lot for commuter students over the weekend on Google. And I actually drove it twice on Sunday to make sure Google wasnât leading me astray.
One point two miles to be exact.
Five minutes in the car.
I even left my apartment fifteen minutes early so I would arrive ten minutes before my 9:10 class began.
What I didnât plan for was the mile-long traffic backup at the stop sign, because God forbid there be an actual light in the historical town, or the fact there was absolutely no parking left on campus. I had to park at the train station adjacent to the campus, wasting precious time digging up quarters for the meter.
âIf you insist on moving halfway across the country, at least stay in one of the dorms. They do have dorms there, donât they?â My momâs voice filtered through my thoughts as I stopped in front of the Robert Byrd Science Building, out of breath from racing up the steepest, most inconvenient hill in history.
Of course I hadnât chosen to stay in a dorm, because I knew at some point, my parents would randomly show up and they would start judging and start talking, and Iâd rather punt-kick myself in the face than subject an innocent bystander to that. Instead, I tapped into my well-earned blood money and leased a two-bedroom apartment next to campus.
Mr. and Mrs. Morgansten had hated that.
And that had made me extremely happy.
But now I was sort of regretting my little act of rebellion, because as I hurried out of the humid heat of a late August morning and into the air-conditioned brick building, it was already eleven minutes past nine and my astronomy class was on the second floor. And why in the hell did I choose astronomy?
Maybe because the idea of sitting through another biology class made me want to hurl? Yep. That was it.
Racing up the wide staircase, I barreled through the double doors and smacked right into a brick wall.
Stumbling backward, I flailed my arms like a cracked-out crossing guard. My overpacked messenger bag slipped, pulling me to one side. My hair flew in front of my face, a sheet of auburn that obscured everything as I teetered dangerously.
Oh dear God, I was going down. There was no stopping it. Visions of broken necks danced in my head. This was going to suck soâ
Something strong and hard went around my waist, stopping my free fall. My bag hit the floor, spilling overpriced books and pens across the shiny floor. My pens! My glorious pens rolled everywhere. A second later I was pressed against the wall.
The wall was strangely warm.
The wall chuckled.
âWhoa,â a deep voice said. âYou okay, sweetheart?â
The wall was so not a wall. It was a guy. My heart stopped, and for a frightening second, pressure clamped down on my chest and I couldnât move or think. I was thrown back five years. Stuck. Couldnât move. Air punched from my lungs in a painful rush as tingles spread up the back of my neck. Every muscle locked up.
âHey â¦â The voice softened, edged with concern. âAre you okay?â
I forced myself to take a deep breathâto just breathe. I needed to breathe. Air in. Air out. I had practiced this over and over for five years. I wasnât fourteen anymore. I wasnât there. I was here, halfway across the country.
Two fingers pressed under my chin, forcing my head up. Startling, brilliant blue eyes framed with thick black lashes fixed on mine. A blue so vibrant and electric, and such a stark contrast against the black pupils, I wondered if the color was real.
