First Love (Winning at Love Book 2)
Page 16
Gathering up my stuff, I do one last sweep of the house, making sure I have everything I need.
“You didn’t need the Urban Dictionary to tell you if it was a date, Kam. Dates don’t look for potential ‘real dates’, even when they’re on ‘fake dates’ with their friends. Not the good ones, anyway,” I scold. I can be so ridiculous sometimes. I’m the epitome of lame, and if Jane were here she’d confirm it by whipping the empty piss pot at my head.
At least I didn’t end up telling him about my new nipple piercings at dinner, even if I did wince with discomfort a couple of times, so that’s a win. Lord knows, if he had bugged me enough, I probably would have.
Clearly I’m an idiot. Why did I think things were shifting between us?
Instead of looking up dating definitions, I should have spent my time looking on Vistaprint’s website to see if they were having a sale. I could have priced out some fancy schmancy Keaton Hatfield Harem official business cards for Keat’s birthday gift this year, to allow him to subtly share his number with potential new members without offending anyone, including his “non-dates”. Yeah, that’s what I should have done. Naïve Kami.
“That’s what buddies are for, right? Being wingwomen,” I mutter to myself. I grab my suitcases with gusto and start to lock the door behind me, thankful my dad’s horn blowing distracted me from obsessing about all of this nonsense when he pulled into the driveway.
I feel like I need this vacation more than ever after today.
Walking down the path toward’s their SUV, luggage in hand, I greet my parents feeling lighter, and with a newfound direction.
Winning the Moving On game has just become my sole priority.
24
Some Much Needed Distance
Kami
21 days.
The number of days they say it takes to break a habit.
I’ll have 23.
23.
The number of days I’ll be in the province of Prince Edward Island.
The number of days I won’t see Keaton.
The number of days I’m telling myself to not engage in meaningless text exchanges, meme wars, or gushing over his talents. I can’t pinpoint exactly when we’d started having daily chats, I just know they need to stop now.
I can’t move on if I keep spending the majority of my day talking to a man I can’t allow myself to have.
I can and will do this.
And, most importantly, there will be no more late-night texts, drunken or otherwise. Those ones where it seems all too clear how badly I want to not only blur the lines of our colouring book, I want to push, bend, and curve all the lines into the loops and doodles of love.
1,765. The distance in kilometres I’ll be away from Keaton.
23 days. I can do this…
Ping!
As soon as the plane takes off, the clock will start then—because, right now, he keeps texting and, like a true addict, I’m not strong enough to go cold turkey.
Ping!
“You should probably answer that boy at some point, Kam,” my mom says, and (despite my protests) keeps elbowing me, trying to prod me into responding before take off, from her window seat on the plane we’ve just boarded. The plane that is going to take me to my 23 days of freedom.
“Are you reading over my shoulder again?” I ask, knowing she totally is.
Tracy Sutherland thinks the world of Keaton, and always has. So much so I wouldn’t put it past her to have secretly put Katie Hatfield on retainer to not only bake Keaton’s and my wedding cake, but also to help her plan the day, too.
“Well, he’s as handsome as all get out and just as sweet as pie. He’s perfect for my girl. And the tension you all have is better than my daytime soaps,” my mom says, shrugging with an impish grin, her dark eyes shining with excitement. “What can I say? I’m addicted. Now what are you going to say back?” she asks. She draws my attention once again to the revolting floral-print bag literally attached to her waist when she pulls a pack of gum before finally shifting the bag off to the side. It’s been poking my side over the armrest since we sat down and put on our seatbelts.
“Mom!”
“All right, all right. I’ll just look out the window and pretend I’m not here.”
As if she could. Ten to one, she’ll be right back looking over my shoulder within seconds.
I pause, reading over his message. He’s such an entitled ass.
“Why can’t I hear any tappin’?” my mom asks, shifting in close to me again. So much for looking out the window.
“I’ll message him in a second. I’m still trying to convince myself not to tear him a new one. No way will he demand shit from me,” I say, in reference to his text.
“Kamilla! Language! We’re on an airplane!” Mom scolds, looking around the cabin like she’s mortified.
“Flight crew, please prepare for takeoff.” The captain’s distinctly-female voice echoes throughout the plane’s interior as my mom and I stare at Keat’s texts.
Keaton: Text me when you land.
No “Hey, how are you? Have a good flight” or a hint of an “I’ll miss you”. Nope. Just bossy-assed Keaton Hatfield barking orders once again.
Grinning, I finally tap out a reply.
Me: Wow, I’m sure the flight will be a safe one. So happy my well-being is in your thoughts. Thank you!
I sass him as best I can via text. Stupid text messages, lacking the wonders of intonation.
Keaton: Easy, Hellcat.
Fucker. I swear I can see and hear him chuckling at me right now.
“He’s right, Kamilla, no need for that nasty tone” my mom says, and I want to scream at the flight crew to let me off the plane, thinking I won’t last the flight with my mom being all Team Keaton.
Me: What do you want, Keaton?
Keaton: You there and back, quickly. Safely.
“Cheeky bastard,” I mutter, trying in vain to ignore the dip in my stomach and the needy way my heart pangs, wishing so badly I could take his words at face value.
“See?” My mom claps happily beside me. “That boy sure does care for you.”
“Yeah, we’re friends,” I hedge.
She smiles knowingly as I shift myself so I can reply without her prying eyes.
“Sorry, sorry!” My mom raises her hands in surrender, and makes a show of moving away from me as much as she can in the tiny space. She tries to appear fascinated watching the ground crew dragging the staircase across the tarmac away from the door of our plane, even though I know her heart’s not really in it.
Me: See you soon, bossy.
His reply is immediate.
Keaton: Not if I see you first, Hellcat.
Me: Try not to miss me too much.
I want the last word for once. I’m just about to shut off my phone when another reply from Keaton comes through.
Keaton: Impossible.
I feel my cheeks flush. And it’s this reaction right here which is why I need to distance myself. He makes me weak.
Despite seeing him get another girl’s number, a huge part of me still longs to be the only girl in the KHH with the card that matters, the laminated one. It’s this train of thought that has me switching my phone to airplane mode and dropping it into my bag as if it were about to explode. I stuff my bag under the seat in front of me as the flight attendant approaches and checks our seats to make sure everything is stowed away.
“Gah, such suspense! See? So much better than daytime!” My mom elbows me again, a triumphant look on her face, and I roll my eyes at her. The only effect that seems to have is to make her smile wider.
23 days…
25
Set Adrift on Memory Bliss
Keaton
“You know, you’re lucky I figured out that it was you on the first day of your seven days in a row of patheticalness, otherwise, I would have called the cops.” I hear a slight tease lacing the familiar voice behind me. “Standing and staring outside people’s houses at the break of dawn i
s frowned upon. Stalker-esque by legal standards, I’m sure.”
“Busted,” I relent, from where I’ve been caught lingering near the blue porch in front of Kami’s little yellow house.
“Totally.”
“Hello, Jane,” I say. I turn to face her, and hang my head, defeated.
“Hey, Keat. You’re a little early. You know Kami’s not back until next week, right?” she says, a mischievous glint in her eye. A private smile crosses her lips.
Of course, I know. I know all too well. What I also know is that I haven’t heard from Kami in more than sixteen fucking days. My text messages have gone unanswered, and her phone goes straight to voicemail when I call. Longest fucking couple of weeks of my life. So, yeah, I’m well aware she’s not home yet. If only my shameless heart would get the memo.
Turns out I miss her. A lot. The most I’ve ever missed her, in fact, since she’s been going away, every July since we were kids.
“Just getting home?” I ask, dodging her question. She laughs, and thankfully lets it slide.
“Worked a double shift. I’m beat, or else I’d invite your sorry ass in for a coffee and a therapy session.”
“Appreciate it. I’m good, though. Was just in the neighbourhood, figured I’d check on the house. Thought you might be working,” I try.
“Right,” Jane smiles, warmly. “It’s okay, Keat, I miss the little pain in the ass, too.” She pats my shoulder as she walks by, her hospital ID swinging on its lanyard over the top of her purple scrubs. “By the way, I’m off tomorrow, so no need to check on the house.”
“Noted,” I chuckle.
“I’ll have to be sure Kami knows just how awesome her new security service is when I talk to her later tonight,” Jane calls over her shoulder. I try really hard to ignore the huge pang of jealousy that hits my chest when I hear her say that she’ll be talking to Kami, when I haven’t heard Kam’s voice in what feels like a lifetime.
“I just happened to be in the area on my morning run. Make sure you tell her that, Jane.” I cup my hands around my mouth like a megaphone to make sure she hears me across the lawn, compelled to make sure she knows what to say about why I was here, knowing full well chances are she’ll rat me out to Kam anyway. “Shit.” The last thing I need is Kami knowing I’ve been standing out in front of her house like some kind of unpaid watchdog.
Jane laughs, stopping midway up the porch stairs. “Maybe you were just in the neighbourhood today. What about all the other days?”
“I needed a running buddy. Wanted to see if you were home?” I shrug, like it could be a possibility.
“Yeah, right. Because I suddenly grew out of my two left feet?” She tilts her head back and laughs. “You’ve got it so bad, Keaton Hatfield. Maybe as bad as my sister has it for you. Jesus, wasn’t it her crush on you that started this whole running routine of yours in the first place?” Jane’s hands slam up to cover her mouth. My brain short-circuits, replaying Jane’s obvious slip-up. What?
“Wasn’t it her crush on you that started this whole running routine in the first place?”
We say a quick goodbye; Jane looks suddenly exhausted and eager to get inside. As my feet hit the pavement and I pick up my runner’s stride, I can’t keep the smile from my face. Jane’s slip of the tongue repeats in my mind, setting me adrift on a blissful memory, back to the first time a shy and timid Kami Sutherland had asked if she could run with me. Kam was in third grade, I was in the fourth, and it was one of the best offers I’d ever had…
“Whatcha doin?” I hear a soft voice ask. It’s a Saturday morning, and I’m sitting on my front lawn, legs spread wide as I stretch my hamstrings.
“Getting ready to run,” I say, looking up and smiling when I see Kami’s inquisitive hazel eyes trained on me as if this is a completely new concept to her.
“You’re going to run? On purpose?” she asks, making me chuckle.
“Yeah. I run almost every day.”
“On purpose?”
I laugh harder when she repeats herself. “Yeah, Kami. On purpose.”
“Are you trying to get an A in Phys Ed?” she asks, confused, and I shake my head, smiling at the shocked expression on her face.
“No, I like running. It’s quiet. It makes me feel good. Plus, it helps make me stronger. I guess I might get an A,” I quip, and we both laugh.
“Can I come?” Kami asks, shifting from foot to foot like she’s nervous.
As if I could say no to Kami Sutherland. She’s pretty sweet and, besides, my sister would kill me if I was mean to her friend. Plus, Kami and I are friends, too, right?
“Sure. Get a water bottle and put on some runners. I’ll take you to the track at St. James High, that way we’re just down the road in case you don’t like it. It’s faster to walk home from there than from the trails where I usually go.”
“Your parents let you go alone?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“I’m not sure mine will let me go off by myself.”
“You’re not alone. I’m with you. Like I said, we’ll just go to the track today, it’s only a five-minute walk,” I tell her confidently. Her parents love me, and I know they’ll let her go with me. I stand up, and start walking down the sidewalk towards her house. “Come on, I’ll come with you and ask your parents. And help you pick better shoes,” I say, glancing down at her tattered navy Chucks.
“Okay. Let’s do that,” Kami says, as she falls into step beside me. Turns out I was right. Kami’s parents had no problem letting her run with me. And so we did….
Kami and I have been running together as often as we can ever since that day way back when, and the feeling I had then of the excitement of her showing interest in something important to me, and wanting to join me, hasn’t subsided after all these years.
Best of all? Not only was that day the start of our “runningship”, it was also the first time Kami Sutherland opted to hang out with just me, and not my sister. I grin now as I take the familiar dirt path behind the old track, because knowing she picked me then still makes me feel good today.
Kami chose me that day.
Maybe now it’s my turn to choose her back?
“Yeah, only if she stops ignoring my dumb ass,” I laugh as I pick up the pace, that familiar feeling of freedom and limitlessness hitting me as I reach my runner’s high. I leave the woods and head towards my parents’ house.
The only thing missing is a pint-sized strawberry-blonde talking my ear off the whole way.
26
A Man’s Gotta Do What a Man’s Gotta Do
Keaton
“Mom, East…you guys still here?” I shout, winded and sweaty, as I burst through the front door of my parents’ house.
“In the kitchen,” my mom hollers. I don’t bother taking my sneakers off because I’ll only be a second; I’m prepared to suffer the wrath of Mom if she catches me.
“Hey,” Eastlyn says, standing in front of a large bowl mixing what I assume is frosting.
“Smells great in here. Red velvet?” I ask, peering over East’s shoulder to the two cakes already resting on the cooling racks set up on the granite countertop. I catch my mom’s eyes glancing down at my feet. I mouth a “Sorry.”
“Mrs. Luong’s favourite,” my mom shares about the cake she and Eastlyn are busy prepping for our neighbour Sen’s eighty-fifth birthday party tonight.
“Your cell around?” I ask my sister.
“Yeah, over on the other counter by the sliding door in my purse. Should be right on top. What do you need it for?” Eastlyn asks. I ignore her as I watch her add a bunch of what looks like sprinkles to the frosting. “It’s for vanilla cupcakes.” She laughs, reading my mind.
“Good. I was worried you were going to try to add that ‘special’ frosting of yours to the red velvet, and that would be a travesty,” I say, referring to my favourite cake flavour.
“Don’t worry, the red velvet’s virtue is safe from the Whirlwind. We made cream-cheese frosting for that one.”
A call from Kami.
Enough is enough.
“You really should put a passcode on this thing, East,” I say, as I swipe open the Messages app and find her thread with Kami.
“Why? Who’d want my phone? I’m boring,” she says.
I laugh as she pokes fun at herself.
“True.”
She lifts a frosting-covered spatula in my direction. “Watch it.”
I focus back on the text box and begin typing each letter with purpose and promise.
“Who are you texting, anyway?” my sister asks, but I again ignore her. “Keat? That’s my phone, I have a right to know. You’d better not be texting McCoy as me, or some warped shit! And no dick pics!” I hear her drop the spatula with a ding against the stainless-steel mixing bowl, and see her moving around the island towards me in my peripheral vision. It doesn’t stop me from typing away like a fiend. Almost done.
“Eastlyn Hatfield, language!” my mom scolds, making East groan.
“Done,” I say, closing Messages and placing the device into my sister’s outstretched palm, then making a mad dash back out the way I came in.
“Oh my god! Keaton!!! I’m going to kill you!” I hear my sister shouting as I close the front door behind me and carry on with my run.
27
Winos, Texting, and Falling off the Wagon
Kami
Hiccup.
Hic-cuuup.
Hiccup!
“I think I’ve had enough wine,” I tell my mother and Aunt Belle through a montage of very unattractive hiccups and burps, making them keel over with laughter. We’re sitting on the back deck of my aunt and uncle’s house and what had started off as a glass of vino with lunch on a Saturday afternoon has quickly morphed into a ladies’ day drinking session. Belle’s just opened a fourth bottle of red.
“Aww, party pooper. We still have all this to get through…” my mom calls, waving the wine bottle like a drunk pirate hoisting a bottle of rum, sploshing a little out the neck and onto her shorts. “Oops.”