First Love (Winning at Love Book 2)

by Gillian Jones

  Eventually, I fall asleep on the couch.

  I wake some time later. Check my phone. There’s a new voicemail, and it’s from Kami.

  “It’s me. I believe you. You’re right. I did.” She pauses. “I can’t feel like this every time a woman comes around, Keat. I can’t do it anymore. You’re right to be mad. I’m mad and hurt, too, Keat. Confused. I need some time.”

  I tap out a simple text, because what else can I do, but give her time?

  Me: Okay, Hellcat.

  I feel like something’s missing. I sit here, the house silent, my mind reeling, hoping I don’t have to wait forever to get it back. I’ve waited long enough for Kami Sutherland. I’m not sure I can wait any longer.

  Yet, I know I’d wait an eternity for her if I needed to.

  30

  Getting There

  Kami

  “What a great turnout today,” I mumble, nibbling on a piece of carrot muffin. I’m trying to not be awkward as I sit here with Keaton.

  “I bet they raise a lot for the kids’ athletic programs this year,” Keaton comments.

  “Hope so,” I say, flicking a piece of sweaty hair from my face. We just finished running the Fergus Highland Games 10K run, and now we’re sitting in a Tim Horton’s because Keat asked me to. I couldn’t manage to say no, even though I’m still not ready to talk or be around him for long periods of time just yet. If it wasn’t for the race, I probably wouldn’t be here.

  “You know, Kam, I invited you for coffee hoping we could talk,” he says, his voice soft and concerned. I know he’s upset about what happened with Holly. He’s trying and I know I’m not making it easy on him. I’m hurt. Confused. And I don’t know how to fix this. It’s been over a week since I’ve been home, and this is maybe the second time we’ve seen one another. We send the odd text message, but it’s formal, so not much the us I’m used to.

  Keaton: Are we running?

  Me: No.

  Keaton: Are you ready to talk?

  Me: No.

  Keaton: Can I drive you to the Games?

  Me: No, meet you there.

  Stuff like that.

  “I am talking,” I snap defensively, then meet his stare.

  “But you’re distant. You’ve been distant. I want to fix this. Tell me how, Kam. Hell, you practically sprinted the whole race,” he jokes, but it’s true. I pretty much bolted at the sound of the starter pistol.

  I shrug. “I had a lot riding on it. I had to beat Barry. You’ve met the guy. He’d have bragged all year. Strutting around our school like he’s some famous Nike spokesperson.” I scoff at the imagery.

  “Kam, you literally shoved me out of the way at the starting line and didn’t look back. We were supposed to be in this together. We’ve been training together, to run together.”

  He sounds annoyed—hurt—and I don’t blame him. I feel the same. Ever since Holly opened his door, I’ve been trying to avoid this. I knew I’d make him suffer by shutting him out. Despite hearing from Keaton about what happened—or, rather, didn’t happen—between the two of them, I can’t help but think it was a sign, and frankly, I’m just not ready to put myself out there again. I’m more afraid than ever I’ll get hurt again if I do. Once the line is crossed, how can we ever uncross it if things don’t work out?

  “Kam. Look at me,” Keaton pleads. I shift my eyes, meeting his regretful-looking ones again. God, he’s beautiful: those intense forest-green eyes that see me so clearly, a smile that makes me weak in the knees, and dirty blonde hair I want to mess up so badly (mostly because I know he hates it).

  I miss him. Miss us.

  I came home early to be with him, to hopefully start something new, and this divide has been slowly killing me. There’s an ache where there should have been a smile, a feeling of happiness like I’d never felt before.

  “Give me your hand, Hellcat,” Keaton says, stretching his out across the small table.

  “Why?”

  “I want to hold it. I can’t stand this distance. I need to touch you. I meant it, Kam, nothing happened. I’d never. You came, she told me, then she saw I was upset so she left.”

  “I know. I said I believe you, and I do,” I whisper.

  “Then why are you punishing me?” he grits, and I get it.

  “I’m not trying to. I’m scared, Keat. There are so many Hollys and Ambers out there, and I’m me,” I shrug, putting my insecurities out on the table. We still haven’t broached the subject of an us, but I think we both know there could be one, if we’d only let ourselves find our way to each other.

  “You’re right, there are. Too bad for them.” He pauses, taking a sip of his coffee. “Know why?” he asks, before bringing the mug to his mouth again.

  “Why?”

  “I only want a Kami. The one sitting right here,” he says, and I see a grin start to pull up at the corners of his lips. “The one who just took second place overall in the Highland Games run!” he adds, pride evident in his voice.

  “Yeah, I did. I was pretty amazing!” I shrug, starting to feel a little lighter at the thought.

  “Always so modest.” He squeezes my hand.

  “Give me some time, Keat.” I take a deep breath. “Seeing her there at your house that late and you in the shower, knowing you have a past with her, especially right after our conversation the night before, hurt. It reminded me why you scare me, made me question everything all over again. It’s given me new things to fear.” I pull my hand away from his, needing a sip of my Double Double to distract myself.

  “I know.” He lowers his gaze. “I wish I could go back and change it, but I can’t.” He takes a deep breath. “Don’t give up on me so easily, baby.”

  Now it’s me grabbing his hand and squeezing. “I just need a little more time to process things.”

  “Okay, I can give you space. I’ll back off…a little,” he promises, a small smile skating its way across his handsome face.

  I exhale, grateful for his understanding.

  Leaning in, I ask, “Know what’s super exciting, though?”

  I wait, trying to keep a straight face.

  “What?”

  “I totally kicked your ass today! And I get the whole year to remind you of it, too!” I smack the table for effect.

  “Jesus, I might have to change your name to Barry if you plan to keep this shit up for an entire year. Guess I should’ve eaten my Shreddies this morning,” he pouts, and I throw my head back laughing—thankful we’re still us. We may not be the very best version of us right now, but it doesn’t matter. At least we’re here together.

  31

  Full-Court Press

  Kami

  Keaton: I know I’m supposed to be giving you space, but I need your help.

  I read the text message Keaton sent a minute ago, and try really, really hard not to reply right away. Classic Keaton, he can’t leave me alone for long. He never could. He’s always hated it when I’m mad at him, he has since we were kids. It makes me smile a little, knowing I have that effect on him.

  Picking up my phone, I tap out a reply, unable to last the five minutes I’d dared myself to try and wait before responding. Note: Never bet on me where Keaton is concerned.

  Me: What do you need?

  I expect a delay when, really, I should know better. His reply comes immediately.

  Keaton: Now that’s a loaded question.

  I laugh. I should know better by now than to leave myself wide open like that. Rather than play it off, I decide to go fishing.

  Me: Oh yeah?

  Me: Anything I might be able to help you out with?

  I giggle, knowing he’ll most likely be shocked.

  Keaton: Fuck, yes. A lot.

  I haven’t seen him since the Highland Games. And it’s been almost two days since I last reached out via text message. So far, Keaton has been respecting my request for time, and I’ve hated every minute of it. I’m still not ready to have the conversation I know we need to have. What has me running sca
red is how freaked I am about how deep my feelings are for him, feelings I’ve been trying to get a handle on. Not to mention, I’m scared. Look at what this did to us? Imagine if we were to give us a chance, and one of us decided to end the relationship once we were together? How would we ever recover? All the things I worry about happening could become reality and that scares the shit out of me to the point I feel almost paralyzed.

  Me: What do you want, Keat?

  Keaton: Again. You gotta stop asking questions you aren’t ready for the answers to.

  Me: Fine, how can I help you today?

  Keaton: Come kitchen shopping with me. Table, chairs, countertops. I’ll let you pick it all.

  I read the text and feel a wave of excitement. Keat’s been working on his house for ages, and he’d promised me when it was ready I could help him decorate and furnish it because he thinks I have good taste, and he knows I love doing that kind of thing.

  Me: Eek! Yes. I’ll get ready.

  Keaton: Be there in an hour.

  I don’t reply. Instead, I scramble off the couch to get ready. So much for sticking to my guns about needing space. But I’ve been a loafer on the sofa for way too long. It’s shameful, how excited I am. I know we both need this.

  *

  We’ve been walking around Paragon Kitchens for almost two hours and picked out everything except a dining room table. Best of all, Keaton and I have been acting like our usual selves. We’ve been flirting, laughing, and—my favourite part—touching. Subtle touches, but they’re still enough to send a thrill to my heart.

  “How about I leave you and Kami to discuss the dining sets you like best? Might I suggest sitting at them, testing them out, see which one you feel will be most durable and comfortable to suit your needs?”

  “Sounds good. There were two we liked best. I wouldn’t mind checking them out a little further,” Keaton says to Mr. Friedman, the sales rep who’s been helping us all afternoon, the same one who’d assumed Keat and I were married until I corrected him. Mr. Friedman now assumes I must be Keaton’s girlfriend, because when he’d apologized for his mistake, Keaton simply put his arm around me and kissed my temple (leaving me to melt a little from the gesture).

  “I’ll be up front starting your paperwork. The showrooms are just down that hall. Please come find me if you have any further questions?”

  “We will,” I say, as Keaton grabs my hand and pulls me to the back of the store. “Whoa, where’s the fire?” I tease. Keat slips behind me, hands on my waist, and guides me to the second set we’d looked at, a beautiful distressed set with a reclaimed tabletop and black base, along with six lush, tan-upholstered chairs, complimenting the medium-brown varnish, and a gorgeous matching hutch. It was the set I loved best.

  “We need to take a closer look, as Mr. Friedman suggested. I’m going to need your help for this part,” Keaton says, shifting his gaze and looking around us, before his eyes land on mine again.

  “Sure, what can I do?” I ask, feeling Keaton’s hand on the curve of my hip. He chuckles, then leans in close, so only I can hear. “You have to stay quiet for this very important mission. Can you do that?” he asks, a sneaky glint in his eyes.

  I nod.

  Next thing I know, my ass lands on the table’s edge. I brace myself by planting my hands behind me on either side of the table, my legs open a bit awkwardly from the shock as I regain my composure. It doesn’t last. Keaton steps in between my legs, and automatically I widen them to give him more room. He slides one hand up the side of my thigh then the other, until both hands are gripping my bum. I stifle a yelp when he pulls me forward. His crotch pressed up against mine. He moans hoarsely, and it sends a shot of lust right through me, making me whimper.

  “I said shh, remember?” His eyes search my face, and all I can do is nod. “Good girl,” he whispers.

  We’re so close—the closest we’ve ever been—that I can feel how hard he is. I wonder if he can feel how wet he’s making me?

  Keaton leans his face down into the soft spot of my neck. “You’ve had me rock hard all fucking day. Shopping for this shit with you, it does something to me. Seeing you getting excited. Knowing you’ll want to be at my place, enjoying it all…” he trails off, nuzzling my throat as he pulls my legs higher and slings them around his hips, then begins grinding himself against me. If he keeps this up, I’m going to explode, right here on a showroom table in the middle of the afternoon.

  “Keat,” my voice is breathy, “what are you doing?”

  “Testing out its durability and comfort, like Mr. Friedman told us to.”

  I shake my head, pushing on Keaton’s chest, pushing him away from me, so I can escape off the table and move a safe distance away. We’re both working to catch our breath, mine from nerves and the aftershocks of his proximity, Keat’s from lust, if the look in his eyes is anything to go by.

  “I’m not so sure he meant it literally,” I say, but I can’t keep from smiling.

  “Well, I want it to be the perfect height. And sturdy.”

  “You usually have sex on tables?” I smirk.

  “I’m only making sure it works, just in case, babe,” he winks, then drops his gaze down my body in a slow perusal.

  “Just in case?” I repeat.

  “Yeah, Kam, just in case. And it will, it’ll work real well,” he says, prowling towards me, crowding me backwards until my back meets the showroom wall, his body pinning my chest and hips. “Fuck, you smell incredible,” he growls, leaning in and running his mouth along the side of my jaw and down into my neck. All I can think is This is it. He’s going to kiss me. After all these years, I’m finally going to feel Keaton’s lips touching mine. I close my eyes when I feel his mouth skate back up along my neck to my cheek, waiting with bated breath to lose myself in him when he slides his lips to mine.

  But our mouths never meet.

  My eyes fly open when I feel his lips brush against my forehead.

  My forehead!

  I swear, I must have grumbled or something, because I hear him chuckle.

  The guy can grind on me, but he can’t kiss me?

  As if knowing what I’m thinking, he leans back in and whispers in my ear. “I’m worried I’ve pushed you enough today. You’d asked for space.”

  This time do I growl.

  “Ball’s in your court, Kam. Let’s go pay, then I’ll take you home.”

  The bastard winks, picks up my hand, kisses it, and then takes it in his as we exit the model dining room and walk around the corner to the front of the store to find Mr. Friedman.

  I’m speechless. I got nothing.

  Well, we did end up getting the table I liked.

  And, best of all, I got Keaton back.

  32

  A Girl Like You

  Keaton

  Walking into Brass Tapps with McCoy in tow, I know this is going to go down in one of two ways: we’ll either survive, or we’ll both be eaten by wild animals—my sister and Kami.

  It’s trivia night, and with a new season starting now that it’s almost September, I figured it was about time McCoy joined our team. Funny thing, though. It seems I forgot to give the girls a heads up. Again. I can’t help it if I’m a forgetful guy like that.

  “Ready to enter the lion’s den?” I ask, once he and I are inside. I nod to Cassie, the owner, who signals for us to go on ahead to our table at the rear of the bar.

  “Can’t wait. I remembered to wear my cup, too. Your sister has some wicked claws,” McCoy deadpans, and I burst into laughter.

  “Shit. I hope you bought stock in said cups, your crotch is going to be a mess,” I joke, but seeing his eyes light up at the idea, I don’t think he minds at all. Guy’s got it bad. “Looking forward to it,” he says, confirming my suspicions. Dude is a glutton for punishment, not to mention a total pussy when it comes to my sister.

  “Come on, let’s see how long you last unscathed,” I say, as I lead McCoy towards our table.

  I spot Kami right away. She looks ra
diant, leaning conspiratorially over the table, a blue drink in a huge round bowl in front of her. Her cheeks are flushed a pretty pink, and she looks happy. Her eyes are sparkling with a hint of mischief-making, and the maroon-coloured tank she’s wearing is doing everything right for her.

  As McCoy and I approach, I watch Kami struggling to deliver a joke with a straight face, and the reason for that look in her eye becomes obvious.

  “What’s the difference between a G-spot and a golf ball?” she says.

  “Oh, Jesus. I have no idea,” I hear my sister answer, shaking her head.

  “A guy will actually search for a golf ball,” she deadpans, and Eastlyn lets out the loudest snort. Coy and I stop and share a look as we take them in for a few seconds. Thankfully, they haven’t made us yet.

  “This is why I love you, Kamalot,” Eastlyn gushes, her equally huge-ass container of blue fluid raised up in both hands to toast. It’s almost as big as her head.

  “That’s our cue,” I say to McCoy over my shoulder, and we make ourselves known.

  “What’s so funny?” Coy’s deep voice interrupts, and both girls stop laughing. My sister’s cheeks turn a burning red.

  “Oh shit,” I hear Kami mutter, as I slide in beside her.

  I shift my body in so we’re close. The sides of our arms and legs press against each other, and with that simple touch—that simple connection—my sister and McCoy are forgotten.

  “I always look for the G-spot, and with gusto,” I say, leaning in so only she can hear my dirty words.

  “Jesus, Keat,” she mutters, her chest heaving, eyes finding mine in surprise and curiosity. Fuck, that was a bad thing to say. Now, all I can think about is how good she’d feel wrapped around me.