I burst out laughing at the wistful look in her eyes. “Wow, there’s a description I’ve never heard before. And with that visual, I think this conversation is officially over.”
“Yeah,” she shakes her head, “that’s probably a good idea. I’m not getting any right now, either. Men stink, and I’m in need of a ride, badly. Single rider here,” she tacks on, and we both laugh.
I move in to give her a hug. “Thanks for looking out for me, sis.” I squeeze her tight. “Jeremy’s an ass if he can’t see what he’s let go,” I whisper, hugging her tighter.
“He really is, eh?”
“Biggest ass in Assholeland,” I say, pulling away as she wipes away the tears that are trying to escape. “He’ll come around, I think,” I assure her, and she nods.
“Netflix we will watch, and chill we will not,” Jane says, in a terrible Yoda-wannabe voice.
“I liked it better when you were just my sister,” I say, “and not my roommate slash sister. You know this, right? I can’t handle you for this long.”
She smacks me on the arm before gathering up the empty bags.
“You know you love me,” she singsongs as she walks to the pantry, tucking the brown paper bags away with the others.
“I’ll make the popcorn,” I offer.
“Grab wine I will, meet you in the living room I shall.” Jane winks and walks away, carrying a bottle of red and two stemless wine glasses from the mahogany kitchen hutch into the living room.
Okay, I kind of love having her living here.
Deciding to tackle the “pisspot” debate and the decision-making another day, I place a bag of popcorn in the microwave, looking forward to an evening of Netflix and not chilling with my sister.
4
That Son-of-a-Cake-Baker!
Kami
“I’m so glad you lived to tell the tale,” I say to my best friend Eastlyn over the phone, doing my worst at containing my laughter. Not a very friend-like thing to do at a time like this. A time when she’s just survived a face-to-face encounter with her childhood crush and Public Enemy No. 1—McCoy Graves himself—at the local grocery store. I guess I’m not the best best friend.
“I really don’t like you most of the time. You know this, right?” she deadpans, making me giggle again, despite my efforts to keep my laughter to myself.
She’s spent the last twenty minutes talking non-stop about running into McCoy, and how horrible it was and how she “almost died!”, not only from embarrassment but also from a Ritz Cracker attack when she crashed into a stacked floor display of the red boxes while trying to escape the man, dodging through the supermarket aisles and utilizing what I imagine were some of her best ninja and parkour moves as she stealthily, and masterfully, made it back out to the safety of her car with only that one little disaster.
Despite my bestie being a little melodramatic when a certain man was involved, I need to show more compassion. I know she’s freaked right out, because she not only called me on my old-school landline (the one my father insisted I “needed” in case of a zombie apocalypse or if my cell were to ever lose service during an emergency), when I didn’t answer my cell the fifty times she called (it was in my purse on vibrate), she actually scolded me for not having my phone at the ready for her call. And, well, there’s the talking a mile a minute, too.
“Aww, did you land your ass cheek on a box corner when you fell and knocked the crackers all over the place? That why you’re so gritchy?”
“I’m hanging up now,” she scoffs.
“Okay, okay. I’m kind of sorry,” I say, taking a sip from my wine glass.
“Kam!”
“All right! Seriously, though…it’s over. You survived. And McCoy’s probably only in town for a quick visit or something. It was a chance encounter, so you can keep on living with your mock indifference about him. Bumping into him like that was probably a one-off,” I tell her, then pause, allowing my words to sink in and comfort her. “Anyway,” I continue, when the silence goes on longer than normal, “Keaton would’ve told you if Coy was back for good. In fact, that big shit would probably be first in line to give you the news so he could watch the expression on your face when you found out.” Holding the landline phone in one hand, I grab my cellphone and tap out a text to said big shit. I need to know that Keaton’s worth my defending him to his sister.
Me: Did you know?
I wait a beat.
Me: Shithead, you better not have known McCoy was in town and not told your sister.
I write another.
Me: You can’t ignore me! I am relentless.
I drop my cell in my lap and give Eastlyn my full attention.
“I’m not sure about that,” she muses. “You know how tight those two guys are. I think Keaton’s loyalties lie with his best buddy McCoy instead of me, his own sister.”
“Whatever, you’re his blood. He’ll always have your back, even if it has to do with Coy.” I take another sip of my wine, before peeking at my phone. Still nothing.
Me: Keaton Hatfield, answer me or I will kick your ass when I see you.
Crickets.
That son of a cake baker!
“I’d hope Keaton would tell me if anything had changed regarding Coy. I did, however, once tell Keaton never to mention McCoy’s name to me again, sooo…” she rambles.
“True,” I say, “but if McCoy’s here for more than just a short visit and your brother didn’t tell you, I’ll kick his ass myself.”
We both laugh.
“Okay,” Eastlyn says. “You know, I haven’t seen Coy in forever. He looked good, Kam. Really good.”
I roll my eyes, although she can’t see me. “East, stop right there. McCoy is the crusher, the boy who wouldn’t give you the time of day. Do not go there,” I warn, “but, like, how good looking are we talking here?”
“Kami! Not helping! You need to be the strong one, encouraging me to keep my distance, to keep him out of sight, out of mind; that’s always been your advice. No encouraging this! Do for me as I do for you with my traitorous brother,” she barks.
“I can’t believe it’s been four whole years since McCoy left,” I mutter, bringing the conversation back to she and McCoy, and away from me and her brother.
“I know,” she sighs. “I didn’t expect that seeing him again would impact me like this…”.
I know how she feels. I live with exactly the same feelings. The only difference is, I see Keaton almost every day. McCoy lives almost four hours away in Brockville, so lucky for Eastlyn, we rarely see him. And because Eastlyn, Keaton, and I are still close, I have no choice but to continue to make memories with him. Plus, I don’t think I could ever build a wall of protection big enough to keep my heart completely safe from him—no matter how much I might want to.
“It’s all going to work out, don’t worry. Running into McCoy will be like comparing it to the worst sex you’ve ever had: a quick in-and-out, then poof, he’ll be gone again.” I burst out in a snort.
“Says the virgin,” she teases.
Looking at my phone, a wave of disappointment crashes over me. Keaton still hasn’t responded.
“I have two sisters who used to get around, remember?” I joke. “Plus, I used to read a lot of Cosmo.”
I may be a virgin, but I’m no saint. I’m pretty well-versed in the whole sex thing, I’ve just never found anyone I wanted to share that part of me with. Call me picky. And, despite what Eastlyn thinks—and myself, sometimes, deep down inside—I’m not purposefully holding out on some childhood fantasy about giving up the goods to her brother, Keaton. Or, at least, I keep trying to convince myself I’m not. Especially at times like this, when the shithead is ignoring me.
Me: Where are you? You better text me back, your sis is freaking out. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll call you every two minutes until you fill me in.
He should know I’ll do it, too. I’m enough of a pain in the ass to keep my word. Besides, it’s not like I have other plans tonight. Even N
etflix senses how pathetic I am. It’s asked me three times already if I’m still watching “Brooklyn Nine-Nine”. Judgy bastards.
“This is why I called you, Kamalot. Thank you. I needed a laugh,” Eastlyn says, breaking me free from my worries about Keaton’s silence, my virginity, and the pricks at Netflix.
“Anytime, babe.”
“’Night.”
“’Night.” I end the call, placing my cordless phone back in its cradle. Picking up my cell again, I swipe the lock screen, pull up Keaton’s number, and hit call. After a few rings, an unfamiliar voice answers the phone, catching me off guard.
“Hello?” a sultry female voice answers.
I move the phone from my ear, checking to make sure I dialled the right number.
“Hello?” the voice says again, sounding put out this time.
“Uh…hey. I—is Keaton there?” I stammer.
“Who’s this?” she snaps, not impressed one bit.
“Who’s this? Where’s Keat?” I question right back. Typical fucking Keaton. My heart beats a little erratically, knowing her answer before she speaks.
“He’s here, just in the shower. This is Holly, his girlfriend. Now who are you?”
No one important, is what I want to say, but that would be showing I care. If anything, over the years, whenever I’ve come face to face with the many, many card-carrying members of the Keaton Hatfield Harem, I’ve learned to feign indifference with these women who think they matter. Women whom I know don’t. Women who may hold a harem membership, but don’t realize that unless it’s laminated, it will eventually tatter and fall apart, just like whatever relationship they think they have with Keaton.
I’ve taught myself—and my stupid heart—not to go there, not to dwell on the times I thought he made a comment about being attracted to or having feelings for me, too. I’ve worked hard, with little to no success, to convince my heart of what she thinks Keaton and I could be. And despite my efforts, my damn heart still thinks if he’d only open his damn eyes and see me, he’d agree.
So, rather than let Holly here in on the fact that she’s in no way sporting the label of “girlfriend”, I let it be. Keaton can fill her in on that tidbit, as we all know Keat doesn’t do “the girlfriend thing”, he only does the “tonight thing”. Instead, I simply say, “Please tell him Kami called, and to give me a call when he can. It’s kinda important.”
I hang up before she can say a word. Tossing my phone on the couch, I guzzle the last of my wine and head to the bedroom.
Once in bed, I lie there playing the “If He Were Mine” game until I piss myself off. Maybe it’s time for a new game? A game I can imagine Jane approving of, considering her advice from earlier. I think I’ll call this one “Time to Move On”. And it’s one I’m pretty sure I can win, if I really put my mind to it. If only I could will my heart to follow my mind as easily on this one, the way it does with the “If He Were Mine” game.
“You can do this, Kami,” I whisper to myself, “you know you can’t keep things this way. It’s too confusing. You either confront or move on. No more being a waffler. Times up, Sutherland,” I say, in my best coach’s voice, while working to convince myself of what I already know, what I’ve known for ages.
With my mind mostly made up, I let out a deep cleansing breath.
It’s time to make a change.
Accept just friendship, or put myself out there to him, hoping for more.
“He’s here, just in the shower. This is Holly, his girlfriend. Now who are you?” Holly’s words from earlier pop into my mind.
“He’ll never change,” I remind myself.
As I lay thinking, I can feel a smile start to pull across my lips as I imagine tearing up my own KHH membership card, the one I’ve been carrying for years, even if Keaton didn’t know it.
It feels good.
I think I’ve made my decision.
I think I have a new goal.
Friendship. Moving on.
A goal I plan on being an overachiever at obtaining.
I close my eyes, ready to fall asleep, feeling accomplished.
Take that, shithead…
Now if I can only hold myself accountable to actually follow through with this master plan of mine.
5
Another One Bites the Dust
Keaton
I’m in the doghouse with Kami and I know it. Without even having read the many, many texts she’s sent, I know it.
Holly answering my damn phone. Who the hell does she think she is?
Oh, right. My girlfriend.
What a crock of shit.
“I’m sorry, green eyes.” Holly’s whining breaks through my thoughts. “I thought you were cheating on me, and I needed to stake my claim! I care about you and I really like where this is going between us. I assumed we were exclusive, so when I saw another girl’s name, I freaked.” She shrugs like it’s no big deal. And maybe if it weren’t Kami calling, it wouldn’t be.
“Cheating” on her?
“Stake my claim?”
Where is this going?
Whoa.
Whoa.
Whoa!
Sure, we’ve been sleeping together. And Holly’s right, I’ve been exclusively sleeping with only her. But, shit, it’s Kami, and the last thing I want is Kami thinking I’d dodge her call for a fling.
“I didn’t realize you’d get so upset,” Holly says solemnly from the other side of the island, the divider I’d put in to separate the living room and kitchen when I started to remodel my home.
Neither did I.
“I’m not upset,” I lie. I really am, though not entirely at her. At me, and my reaction.
“You seem upset. Do you like her or something?”
Yeah. So much so it’s fucking with me.
“We’re close friends.”
“You sure it’s not more?” She cocks her head to the side in challenge.
“Enough. We’re not talking about my feelings for Kami,” I snap, not really meaning to.
“Hey. You can’t be mad at me for asking, Keaton. No way.” She waves a finger in that obnoxious “Oh no, you didn’t!” gesture as she drones on. “I deserve to know what I’m up against!” Her temper is flaring, and her arms wave, causing her red hair to fly wildly. My eyes shift and I notice her tits are bouncing, as well. Unfortunately, this morning, they don’t interest me in the least. Instead, I’m finding it annoying, which is ironic because if it was last night, I’d be demanding she crawl across the island in slow motion to give me a show. Funny how a missed call can fuck up your whole day.
“Like I said, I’m not mad, but you gotta respect the boundaries. My phone is off limits. Even if it’s ringing and you think you see something you might not like. Ask me, don’t assume I’d be okay with you invading my privacy. I wouldn’t do that to you.”
“You don’t need to be an ass. You’re my boyfriend, so of course I’m going to react. I’m trying to get to know you. That’s the point of all this.”
“Boyfriend”? What the hell? Is she kidding me? Holly knew the score. I’ve been upfront from the beginning about what this was—and wasn’t—going to be. Holly’s definitely not my girlfriend, we’re friends—fuck buddies, really, if there needs to be an official label. We’ve been hanging out on and off for the last couple of weeks. I met her through my buddy McCoy’s brother, Rory; she’s a friend of his fiancée’s. We first met at their engagement party, then ran into each other later at the bar. Things sort of took off from there, but “boyfriend”? Absolutely not. I don’t do the whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing. Apparently, I need to take a page from Sheldon Cooper from The Big Bang Theory and modify things slightly, maybe draw up “The Fuck Buddy Agreement.” That way I’d have a paper trail to fall back on when shit goes astray.
I listen to Holly defend her actions, droning on and on, and all I can think is: We’ve reached our expiration date.
“Keaton, I’m sorry. Please, baby. I didn’t mean to mess up. I really like y
ou.”
I run my hands down my face in exhaustion. Really, I try to be a good dude. I’m always upfront with the women I hang out with. I’m not looking for serious. If I was, I’d have been off the market ages ago. I fucking know this. So why some women can’t accept that is beyond me, and honestly, it’s not my problem. I cover my ass every time, and if they choose to ignore what I want, that’s on them for getting involved with a guy like me in the first place. Yet, every time, it ends similarly to this.
“Listen, this has been great…” I meet her cold blue eyes, and offer a small smile.
“It is great you mean, Keat,” Holly interjects.
“I think we’re at an impasse. I’m not looking for a relationship, but it seems you are. I thought we were having fun, and I thought you knew this, wanted the same thing,” I say, watching her eyes widen as if I’ve shocked her. Then they start to turn glassy and I feel like a dick. I’m not trying to be an asshole, I’m not. But I can’t have her thinking I’m her boyfriend and fucking things up with Kam. It’s a line I need to draw in the sand.
“Baby, please.” She pauses. “We’re so good, me and you,” she whispers. “You don’t mean it, you’re just angry. I’m sorry. I’ll never answer your cell again…unless it’s a woman other than Kami.”
“Did you really just say that?” I have to ask, because I must be hearing things.
“We’re wonderful together. We don’t even need a label, we can just be fun,” Holly bounces back, placing her cup on the counter before slinking around the island towards me. “Come on, Keat. Forgive me,” she tries, but it does nothing. I know she has feelings for me, and I refuse to lead her on.
“I’m sorry, Hols. It’s obvious from what you’re saying that you’re looking for more than what I have to offer at this point. Not telling me that Kami called upset me. I feel like you’re playing games, and I hate games,” I tell her, banging my coffee down with a bit more gusto than I’d intended as I start to imagine what Kami must be thinking. I’d never not call her back over some rando. “I think it might be best if we took some space for a while.”
First Love (Winning at Love Book 2) Page 4
