“Whatever. You know we’re just friends,” I say, my tone dismissive.
“Yep. Keep telling yourself that, big brother.”
“Just you wait, East. Yours is coming,” I holler, as my pain in the ass sister heads out the patio doors.
“Don’t worry, family. I’ll clean up the rest of the mess,” I say, trying to sound martyred, starting to clear my dishes, the jam jars, and the economy-sized jug of maple syrup from Costco.
I love my sister, but she pisses me off.
How convenient that Eastlyn seems to forget the role she’s played in helping to fuck up my headspace where Kami and my feelings for her are concerned. Eastlyn, after all, is the one who’s made me question all these years whether or not I could ever be truly worthy of calling Kamilla Sutherland mine.
Lucky for my sister, I’m not about to remind her.
For if the day ever comes that I do decide I’m worthy of Kami, chances are I’ll have a shit ton of feelings to deal with, mainly ones of resentment. And I know some of that resentment would be geared toward my sister, whom I let get inside and stay inside my head all those years ago. Mostly, I’d resent her because I will have missed out on all those years where I could have been calling Kami mine.
And, honestly, I’m not sure even a Hatfield-style intervention could help at that point.
15
Bikini, Tankini, Toe-May-Toe, Toe-Mah-Toe
Keaton
Summer 2009
Tonight’s Labour Day party is sure to go down in the history books as the worst, and it’s all because of one infuriating steal-my-breath-away-stunningly-beautiful girl, Kamilla Sutherland.
“Over my fucking dead body. Jason! Hold my beer,” I say, shifting through my group of friends towards Kami. I hear a collection of appreciative whistles from the guys start as soon as her bare foot alights on the deck pavement. Whistles I want to punch them in the face for directing her way.
“Just what the hell do you think you’re wearing, Kamilla?” I ask, referring to the tiny scraps of black fabric which show off way too much of her tanned skin for my liking.
“It’s called a bikini, Keaton,” she snarks, not at all phased by my tone.
“No, that’s a bikini.” I point at the diving board, where Victoria Mercuri is getting ready to jump, her arms high above her head.
“Actually, what Vicki’s wearing is called a tankini. And your point? Look, Lucy, Caro, and Charlie are all wearing bikinis, too. What of it?” She points to a bunch of our friends who are all wearing two-pieces, yet theirs all seem to cover much more skin than Kam’s. Caro is wearing a sports bra-style top that doesn’t push up her breasts like Kam’s does. Kami’s looks as if it’s being held together by only the flimsiest of straps, ready to give way at any second. The thought almost makes me moan. I take in Lucy. Sure, she’s wearing a blue bikini, but it’s not nearly as revealing as Kam’s either. Lucy’s bottoms look almost like high-waisted granny panties compared to Kami’s, which are both high-cut and low-waisted. Kami stands silently, waiting me out while I scan the yard. Her head’s cocked to one side, her big copper-coloured eyes trained on mine, not getting it at all. Or is she?
“Yours appears to be missing something,” I say, once my eyes land on her again.
I stubbornly cross my arms over my chest, and can’t fail to miss the way Kam’s eyes trail along my biceps and pecs. Her heated gaze sweeps all over my exposed body. She licks her lips without realizing it, and then those doe eyes of hers shift their way back up to meet mine. It takes a second before what I just witnessed clicks: she totally just checked me out. And I liked it. No, I fucking loved it. A hell of a lot.
“Oh, yeah? What’s it missing?” Kami starts, making show of looking down, around, and behind her as if searching for the missing item. Her movements draw attention to the way her perky tits bounce and shift with every motion. And this time it’s me who’s doing the checking out, the salivating. Kami Sutherland is a knockout—and she’s clearly trying to kill me.
“About half of the damn material is what’s missing, Kami. Go change. People are looking, guys are drooling…”
My voice is a low growl, surprising both of us—especially me—as my eyes trail down her smooth and toned body again of their own volition. Hell, when did Kami start to look like this? And when did I become that asshole guy who tries to tell a woman how to dress?
“You’re joking, right, Keaton?” Her eyes narrow, and I school my face so she sees I’m dead serious.
She gives an exasperated huff, then twirls slowly, arms out like Vanna White’s when she gracefully points at the puzzles, as she makes a show of pointing to each of the other girls in their bikinis. I feel my dick twitch in my Hurley swim trunks when my eyes land on her full, barely-covered bottom, and my fingers twitch, itching to undo the bows resting on each of her hips. I’m tormented by what I imagine I’d find once the skimpy fabric gave way.
“My bikini’s not even that bad,” she laughs “Ha! Wait until you see your sister.” I’m about to argue, but then what she said about my sister sinks in. No fucking way.
“McCoy!” I call him over. After a quick word, I can tell he’s not impressed when he takes notice of Kami’s suit after I warn him that according to Kam, Eastlyn’s is even worse. Like I knew it would, the information gets a reaction from my best friend.
“No fucking way.” He waits all of five seconds before he moves past me, ignoring everyone around him, and silently heads toward the upper deck to the sliding doors into the house, heading in to check on my sister. Despite what he tries to deny, I know he’s got feelings for her. I can only hope he makes it out alive once he confronts Eastlyn. It will no doubt be about as effective as me trying to talk to Kami.
“Tattletale. Eastlyn is going to kill you for that,” Kami says.
“I’m not sorry,” I scoff, then go silent, taking her in. I can’t help staring at how lovely she is. At 18, I realize for the maybe first time that Kami has morphed from a cute girl into a stunning young woman. Her chin-length blonde hair is a mess of sexy beach waves framing her sun-kissed face, a tiny cluster of freckles is sprinkled across her nose and over her makeup free cheeks. And those lips. God, those lips of hers. Lips I’m quickly coming to associate as being undeniably kissable. Even though I shouldn’t, I can’t stop myself from wondering what that plush mouth of Kami’s would feel like against mine. And the longer I stand face to face with Kami in her bikini here in my backyard—taking her in as she talks a mile a minute, giving me shit for being such a chauvinistic asshole in front of our families and friends—all I can hear is one question on repeat in my mind: How have I missed what’s been in front of me all these years?
It becomes abundantly clear in that moment.
I want her.
Unfortunately for me, I’m so caught up in my thoughts that when I do register what she’s saying, it’s too late.
“…so, no, Keat, I will not be changing my bathing suit. Don’t like the view? Go find yourself some better scenery and leave me alone,” she says, sashaying as she walks away from me, leaving me speechless. The only sound I can muster is the small groan that escapes when my eyes connect again with her picture-perfect ass.
After a beat, I manage to croak out a final, “Go change, Kam!” while still absolutely transfixed on the sight in front of me.
Kami Sutherland is the whole package—and a dangerous one. Not only is she intelligent, Kami is sweet, loyal, an amazing friend and running buddy, and best of all, a young woman who isn’t afraid to give as good as she gets, even to me. And as if that isn’t enough, she has suddenly become my new definition of the ultimate tits and ass, and that realization has completely blown my mind.
While I’m standing here having what probably will be one the greatest epiphanies of my life, Kam responds by flipping the bird at me over her shoulder, making me bark out a laugh in spite of myself. This girl.
“Watch it, Hellcat. I bet you’ll listen to your dad, though!” I call out, knowing if an
ything will make her turn back to look at me again, it’s the double-teaming of her nickname and her father.
“Knock yourself out, asshole,” is all I get from over her shoulder, without even a look back.
“Fuck this,” I mutter, looking around for Wayne Sutherland. I know there’s no way in hell he’ll be okay with his daughter being dressed like that in front of all these people. He’ll set her straight for sure.
“Son, is it possible that you’re the only one having issues with Kami’s wardrobe because you don’t like the idea of someone else being interested in her?” Wayne mocks, once I find him over by the grill with my dad, the pair of them shooting the shit and drinking Coronas. Both my father and Kami’s let out deep chuckles as my face falls in shock when I realize that he’s okay with his daughter being almost naked in front of everyone. “By the way,…being a tattletale isn’t very becoming for someone your age, is it? Buck up, son.”
I can only shake my head and walk away. What the hell is wrong with these people? How is he not seeing this as a big deal?
Needless to say, I’ve spent the whole day—and now most of the evening—like a damn watchdog. Kami and Eastlyn both stayed practically naked all fucking day and night, fluttering around the pool—Kam in her black, barely-there bikini, and Eastlyn in her bright pink one, until finally the sun went down and both girls threw coverups on, giving McCoy and I a reprieve from duty. I’ve already had to warn a couple of my friends to keep their damn eyes averted from Kami’s direction when I saw them goggling at her. And I even had to cuff one of the asses upside the head for making comments about her, about how “smokin’ hot her bod is.” Fortunately, the girls decide to head inside to grab some food and hang upstairs in my sister’s room for a while, so no one else will get hurt.
And now, hours later, I’m standing outside Eastlyn’s room, coming to see if the girls are up for sitting around the firepit with us guys now that it’s late and most of the adults have left. I’m about to knock on the door that’s been left a bit ajar, when I hear my sister Eastlyn’s singsong voice: “Truth or dare, Kamalot.”
16
Only When You’re Ready
Keaton
Summer 2009
I know I should leave, go back down and sit by the fire, eat another hot dog, drink a beer with the rest of the guys and try to forget this.
But my feet won’t budge. My curiosity is piqued. I teeter back and forth trying to squint through the small sliver of the crack in Eastlyn’s almost-closed bedroom door as best I can without making my presence known.
Eastlyn hiccups before taking a swig from a bottle of vodka she obviously lifted from the pool bar. “We’re waiting, Kamilla.”
Kami’s soft giggle goes straight to my dick, forcing me to grip the wooden door frame with both hands. I catch a glimpse of her face through the opening. She looks so fucking cute, sitting on the carpet with her legs curled underneath her, now wearing an oversized navy Roots hoodie. Her face is flushed, her hazel eyes a little glassy from the alcohol and her day in the sun, her blonde hair up in a messy pile on top of her head. She’s perfect.
“Truth,” she says, trying not to let her nervous smile show.
“Ohhh, I love truths. Best part of Truth or Dare.” I recognize Kami’s older sister Jane’s voice. Jane’s only a year older than me, but runs in a completely different circle than mine. Jane’s more studious and doesn’t usually stay up this late when we have parties, so I’m a bit surprised to see her here, drinking and just hanging out.
“Yeah, make it a good one.” I see through the sliver of space that the comment comes from Kelsea, our cousin, who is rocking back and forth and excitedly clapping. “Kami got you so bad last time we played, with that prank call to McCoy dare!”
“Oh, I plan on it,” Eastlyn shrieks, following up with a maniacal laugh.
I’m about to turn and leave. I shouldn’t be listening outside the door, and the guys are waiting. But when I do turn to leave, I hear my name woven into the question, and I freeze. My feet root in place, and my heart starts to pound in my chest when my sister says, her voice calculated, “No bullshit. No lies. No skirting. Answer for once in our goddamn lives, truthfully…for you and me. Kam, is Keaton Hatfield your secret dream guy? The guy you see yourself with until the end of all time? Like…your ending?” I hear Eastlyn ask. I shift to get a better look through the crack, and see her lips curling up into a devious smile like the Grinch.
“Eek! That’s such a good one,” Jane chimes in. “She’s always so guarded about Keaton. ’Course, the best part of this whole deal right here is she has to tell the truth. Not that we don’t already know it, anyway, sooo…”
So what?
Kami has feelings for me?
Is she as curious about me as I am about her?
My thoughts are interrupted by Kelsea’s reassuring voice. “We won’t say anything, Kams. You know the rules. This is the circle of trust here. Our once a year game of tell—and do—all. Come on,”—I shift a little, and see Kel raising her red plastic cup—“I told you guys about Vincent, and my V-card finally falling outta my wallet,” she laughs.
Whoa.
Whoa!
Whoa! Way too much info about my cousin. My ears are bleeding.
They all crush their cups together in a toast. All but Kam. She’s quiet.
I make a mental note to check in later with Eastlyn, to make sure she isn’t feeling any pressure to lose her card from some douche canoe. Also, I want to reiterate to my little sister what I’m pretty sure she already knows—that I’m here to kick ass if she ever needs me.
Shit. Thinking of Eastlyn being taken advantage of puts me in an even more protective mood. Then the thought hits me about Kami maybe being sexually active. I start to feel twitchy, edgy, almost feral. My ears start to heat, my chest heaves as each breath becomes more shallow and erratic. The colour red is seeping in, clouding my vision as I stand here thinking of Kami giving herself to someone who’s not me. I clench my fists tightly at my sides to keep from bursting through the door and demanding that Kami tell me what’s really none of my business. But I suddenly need to know so badly. I need to hear her say it. I need to know if she’s a virgin.
I feel like I’m losing my mind. My reaction to her bikini today has got me completely messed up. I need to get the fuck out of here—now—and clear this bullshit from my head. It’s Kami. There’s no way something could exist between us, and both of us be completely unaware that each feels something for the other. Is there?
“Do I like Keaton?” I hear Kami whisper, putting the brakes on my inner tirade. I start to feel exhilarated. “Yes. But please don’t anyone say anything.” It’s a plea she’s making to the other women for privacy, one that makes me feel extra asshole-ish for being an interloper at this intimate moment. Nonetheless, excitement starts to course through my body as each word slips from her mouth. I need her to keep talking, want to hear her explain, to elaborate.
“We’d never,” Jane assures her, followed by East and Kelsea, who also promise.
“Keat’s perfect, at least to me,” Kami mutters, and I can see her shrug. Her gorgeous head is bent over, and she picks at something invisible on Eastlyn’s bedroom rug, where they’re all sitting in a circle. I almost topple over at her admission. “He’s sweet, funny, and caring, even if he can be a big jerk sometimes, like today.” My face reddens. “I know he means well, that he cares. And he’s just so easy to be with.” She takes a deep breath before lifting her head, and smiling the most beautiful, lopsided smile I have ever seen. “And, fuck, he’s nice to look at, too. I’d be lucky to have him as my anything, let alone my ‘ending’. He’s pretty amaz—”
I’m frozen. There’s no way Kami can possibly be talking about me. Jesus Christ, how long has she felt this way?
“I damn well fucking knew it!” Jane shrieks, cutting Kami off and stopping me from hearing what else she was going to say, the moment gone. I see Eastlyn reaching for the vodka and topping up their Solo c
ups. She stands and tosses the empty bottle in her wastebasket without a care.
Jane starts talking about some guy named Mark, and Kelsea pipes up about wanting to share some techniques she’s learned for giving “the most amazing head”.
That’s my cue to bolt. The last thing I need to hear is these girls having that conversation, especially when one of them is my cousin; I’d be scarred for life. Besides, at this point, if Kami were to start speaking from her own experiences about giving some schmuck a blowy, I would most likely go all Big Bad Wolf and huff and puff and blow the fucking door down, giving myself away.
I’ve tiptoed about three steps from Eastlyn’s door when I hear it creak open.
Shit. I stop in my tracks, knowing I’m busted. There’s no point in lying when I’ve been caught red-handed.
“Keat?” My shoulders sink slightly in relief hearing Eastlyn’s voice hissing my name, and not Kami’s. “What the hell are you doing? Fuck you, how long you been out here?” she whispers.
I slowly turn to face her, stuffing my hands in the pockets of the black cargo shorts I’d changed into, guilt no doubt lining my face.
“Damn it, Keat!” she says, glancing over her shoulder and pulling the door closed. “How much did you hear?”
“Enough to know I’m not the only one who’s feeling it,” I say, but Eastlyn’s head immediately begins to shake “no”.
“Don’t you dare.” She steps towards me. “No way, Keaton Hatfield, that girl is my best friend, and you are a player. A good guy only when you want to be, which isn’t enough of the time. No, you stay away. There’s no way I will let you break her.” She pulls in her lips and shakes her head.
First Love (Winning at Love Book 2) Page 11
