by M. A. Foster
When my dad’s eyebrows skyrocket to his hairline, I know it’s because he’s found the picture of me kissing Zach on the cheek. And yeah, he’s not happy.
“Daddy, stop,” I say softly. “I’m sixteen, not six. And it’s just a kiss on the cheek.”
“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.” He narrows his eyes. “It doesn’t matter if you’re six, sixteen, or twenty-six. You’re beautiful and sweet and I worry about boys taking advantage of you. I was his age once, and I know exactly what I was thinking and doing.” Gross. “Tell me he kept his hands to himself.”
“Oh my God! Daddy, it wasn’t like that,” I lie.
He smirks, giving me that “you’re so full of shit” look. “There isn’t a boy in this world good enough for you. Not even Zach.”
“Stop it, Marcus,” Mom says, playfully smacking him on the chest. “My dad said the same thing to me about you after we eloped. You proved yourself and now I’m pretty sure they like you more than me.”
My dad chuckles. “They do.”
Taking my phone back, I say, “You guys never gave me this much crap about Zach before.”
“You didn’t have boobs before,” Mom teases.
I hold up my hand. “Please stop.”
Dad groans. “Yes, Em. For the love of God, please stop. My heart can’t take it.”
“Get over it, Marcus. And Jayla, stop lying. You have the same love-struck look on your face every time you come home after spending time with Zach.” My mother’s bullshit meter is on point today. “You’re in love. It’s written all over your face,” Mom says with a laugh.
My dad jerks his face down to hers. “She better not be.”
“I am not!” I lie again. I totally love him. “Yes, he’s gorgeous.” I roll my eyes. “I’m not blind. But we’re friends.” That is the truth. Being anything more than friends right now isn’t an option. “Zach and I were talking, and we were wondering what happened between you and his mom, Elizabeth?”
Mom’s smile disappears. “Why?” she snaps.
Wow. Okay.
“Because the Parkers are family,” I explain. It’s true.
My Mimi and Zach’s grandma, Kate have been friends for nearly sixty years. The Parkers are not only my grandparents’ closest friends, but they’re godparents to my mom and her two brothers, Max and Liam.
Growing up, my mom and Zach’s mom, Elizabeth, were best friends all the way through high school until they got into a fight and ended their friendship. Even after twenty years, neither of them will say what their fight was about.
However, my mom’s youngest brother, Liam, and the Parker’s youngest son, Cam, have been inseparable since they were babies and somehow ended up on the same MLB team. How does that even happen?
“Settle down, Em.” Dad chuckles. “It’s a valid question. I’m surprised it hasn’t come up sooner.”
Mom blows out a breath. “Sorry. I try not to think about my life before I moved to California and married your dad. Elizabeth and I were best friends—sisters, basically. We had a misunderstanding, and it turned out that she wasn’t the person I thought she was. Elizabeth got pregnant with Logan right after we graduated high school, married Mike, Logan and Zach’s father, and started her family. I moved to California for college and a fresh start.” She shrugs. “We both moved on with our lives and never looked back. It’s been over twenty years and nothing’s changed. She still hates me. She’s never wanted me around her boys, which is why I’ve never met them and why your father and I don’t come with you on vacation. It’s also the reason why the Parkers have never brought Zach and Logan to our home. If your grandparents and the Parkers hadn’t kept their friendship going all these years, you probably would have never met Zach and Logan.”
Thank God for long-lasting friendships.
“I’m sure Mimi and Grandma Kate would’ve helped you and Elizabeth work it out. Maybe if you had, we’d all be spending our summer vacations together.”
Mom shakes her head. “I love my mother, and Kate, but it was between Liz and me. I’d never let our drama cause a rift in their friendship. Too many people would be hurt by that. Besides….” She tilts her head and smiles up at my dad. “If Mimi and Kate had gotten involved, I never would’ve met this guy.”
True story.
My parents met on the plane the day my mom left Heritage Bay for California. They spent the whole flight talking, and, it wasn’t until they landed at LAX that she realized she’d been talking to the Marcus King the entire time. My dad said it was fate that brought them together, and he knew, without a doubt, he was going to marry her. And less than a week later, he did.
My grandparents were pissed that their only daughter had run off with a rock star and eloped. Luckily, things worked out because my grandparents absolutely love my father. Not because of his celebrity status, but because he’s a good man, and he loves the hell out of my mother. And me.
I shift my gaze to my dad. “I told Zach about you,” I admit. His brows pull inward, and a confused expression crosses his face. “Not about the cancer,” I quickly clarify. “He told me his dad was a lawyer and wanted to know about you.” I shrug. “I told him you were a rock star.” I snort, remembering the look on Zach’s face. “He thought I was kidding. You should’ve seen the look on his face when he realized my dad was the Marcus King of Royal Mayhem.”
“I assumed he already knew.”
I shake my head. “You told me I wasn’t allowed to talk about our family.”
Dad laughs. “I meant to the media.”
“It probably would’ve never come up if the other boys had been there. All they talk about is football and girls.”
“It’s fine, Jay,” Mom cuts in. “It’s not like people don’t know who you are. The media just hasn’t figured it out yet. Hell, for the first three years of our marriage, everyone thought I was just your dad’s PR rep. They had no idea we were a couple until the paparazzi snapped a photo of us holding hands while I was pregnant.”
That’s when my dad hired Bass as his head of security. Mom and Bass met freshman year at UCLA, and after he was injured playing football, which took him out of the game, Dad hired him as a bodyguard for Mom. He’s been with us ever since. Bass has always been more than just a bodyguard; he’s my mom’s best friend, and my dad’s right-hand man. He’s family.
“I’m gonna go unpack.” I lean over and kiss my dad once more before standing up from the bed and heading for the door. “Weenie’s on her way over.”
“Evangeline,” he chides. “You two are too old to be using those ridiculous nicknames.” Ha! Never. I’ve been calling Evangeline, my best friend, “Weenie” since I was seven because I had a hard time pronouncing Evangeline. My dad hates it. Obviously. I do it more out of habit now than anything.
“Jaybird,” my dad calls. I pause at the door and turn around. “Before I forget, I scheduled an interview for you next month with Miles Townsend from Rhythm & Riffs magazine.”
“Why?”
“The album,” he drawls out slowly like a smartass, as if I’d forgotten.
Off the top of my head, I can name six things I inherited from my dad: his height, his eyes, his olive skin, his talent, his sense of humor, and his quick wittedness, which sometimes borders on the side of smartass.
Did I mention he’s a smartass?
Like I’d ever forget. The new Royal Mayhem album, Jaybird, which I co-wrote with my dad, and named after me, is expected to release sometime in the early spring of next year. We spent the last year and a half working on that album. I’m still recovering from the long, agonizing hours working in the studio.
“I figured that much, but why are you letting him? I thought I wasn’t allowed to talk to reporters.”
“You’re not. Miles is a writer, and he interviews all my new artists at King Records. He’s also an old friend. I trust him with you.”
“Okay.” I shrug. “If you trust him, then so do I.”
“And we’re not done talking about Zach,
” he quickly adds.
I scoff. “Yes, we are. Bye. Love you. Mean it.”
“HEY, JAY, IT’S Zach. Just checking to see if you made it home okay. I hope you were serious about coming Labor Day weekend because I’m already counting the weeks until I get to see you again. Anyway, I’m on my way to my friend Brad’s house for his annual end-of-summer party. I’ll call you tomorrow. You’re my girl, Jay. I miss you. Bye.”
I haven’t stopped thinking about her since we parted ways at the airport in St. Thomas. I missed her the second she boarded her father’s private jet, heading home to California while I went back to Heritage Bay.
I still can’t believe the girl I’ve known all these years is the daughter of the Marcus King.
I’m in love with Marcus King’s daughter.
I’m shaking my head in disbelief right now; I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried.
It makes sense now why she didn’t come on vacation every year with the rest of us.
I’ll never forget the day my older brother, Logan, and I met Jayla for the first time. She wore a white T-shirt with a hot pink princess crown printed on the front, denim shorts, and hot pink Converse with the tops covered in tiny crystals. I remember wondering if they were real diamonds. Before you judge me, I was six, and going through a pirate phase. Logan kept teasing her and calling her “Sparkles,” so Jay kicked him in the shin and called him a punk.
I think I might have fallen in love with her right then. If I knew what love was.
When my grandparents told me that we were going to St. Thomas this summer, and that Jayla would be there, my only thought was when do we leave?
Before St. Thomas, it’d been two years since we’d last seen each other. Two years since we shared our first kiss. I’d always been a little shy with girls, so I considered myself a late bloomer. It took everything I had to get the courage up to kiss her. I remember being nervous as hell, heart racing, and palms sweaty. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever have another chance, so I went for it.
I remember everything, from the smell of mint on her breath when she gasped, to the softness of her lips against mine.
The kiss was perfect, and sweet, just like her.
It changed my life.
I thought I was the shit after that kiss, even though my friends had already made out with half the school. Then I met Gabby, my first girlfriend. Sweet and innocent. She reminded me of Jay in that way. We weren’t together long before Gabby’s dad got a new job, and she moved with her family over Thanksgiving break. I haven’t had a girlfriend since.
Even though I’m not that shy kid anymore, I’m not good at talking to girls; most of the time I come across as an asshole. I have zero experience when it comes to relationships, and, to tell you the truth, girls scare the shit out of me. They’re pushy and loud and full of endless drama.
Except my friend Evan’s girlfriend, Lexi. Of course, she can be all the above, but she doesn’t scare me. She’s cool.
And there’s my best friend, Chelsea.
Chelsea scares me sometimes. She’s loud, annoying as shit a lot of the time, and the queen of drama. But she has her moments. She’s still my best friend, and she’s always got my back. So, that makes her tolerable.
And then there’s Jayla.
Easygoing, laid-back, sweet, funny, and sassy as hell.
With her, I’m just me. She doesn’t scare me or make me feel awkward. She makes me feel like I can say anything.
She hangs on my every word.
She laughs at my dumb jokes.
She gets me.
She loves me.
And she calls me “Z.”
God, I sound like such a pussy.
I knew I was in trouble when she climbed out of the pool wearing a white bikini, her drenched raven hair cascading down her back, and her jewel-colored eyes pinned on me.
She looked good.
No.
She looked smoking hot.
And when she smiled at me, I knew right then that it was going to be the best. Summer. Vacation. Ever.
And it was.
“Zach!” I turn my head at the sound of my name and see Chelsea running toward me. I brace for impact when the little fireball slams into me, nearly taking us both to the ground. Oomph!
“Finally!” Chelsea squeals, her arms tight around my waist. “Did you have fun building sandcastles with your little girlfriend?” she teases, but I hear the jealousy in her voice.
Chelsea is jealous of any and every girl who isn’t her. Although she denies her jealousy, claiming it’s because she’s protective of me, I know better. She’s jealous. Our mothers have been trying to marry us off since we were babies. Don’t get me wrong, I love Chelsea, but in a sisterly way. I have some great memories of the two of us growing up. She really is my best female friend, but she’ll never be my girlfriend.
Chelsea doesn’t know Jayla, but she’s been jealous of her ever since she found out that Jay, from California, and my best friend’s, cousin—who vacations with us over the summer—is actually Jayla. A girl.
Then all I heard for weeks, months, years, was “What does she look like, Zach?” “Is she pretty, Zach?” “Do you like her, Zach?” “Do you have any pictures of her, Zach?” “Does she have a Facebook, a Twitter, an Instagram, or a Snapchat, Zach?”
You get the idea.
I can’t help the stupid grin that spreads across my face when I deliver my answer, “Hell yeah, I did,” with a wink.
Because I’ve known Chelsea my whole life, I know every single one of her expressions, and what they mean. This one means she didn’t get the usual “she’s not my girlfriend” response she was expecting. The one she usually gets when she teases me about a girl. Her expression morphs into shock, but she quickly recovers by plastering on a fake smile. I call it her cheer smile. It’s the one she uses to rile up the students at the pep rallies or people in the stands during a game.
I hate when she smiles at me like that.
“Well, I’m glad you’re back,” she says, giving my waist a squeeze. “I missed you.”
I chuckle, and curl my arm around her shoulders. “I missed you too.”
“Chelsea!” someone calls out from the crowd, drawing her attention.
She waves, and then turns to look up at me. “See you later, Zach.”
“Later, Chels.”
“DUDE, YOU TOTALLY got laid,” Brad says with a laugh, a little too loud, as he slaps me on the back and passes me a plastic cup.
I jerk my head to the side and glance over my shoulder to make sure no one heard Brad’s declaration before I grab his arm and lean in. “Shut the fuck up,” I growl through gritted teeth, steering him away from the bonfire and the nosey fucks lingering nearby, pretending they aren’t listening. “What are you talking about?”
“You’ve got a perma-grin a mile wide.” He laughs again. “What’s got your panties in a twist?”
“Nothing.” I look around again. “Just don’t let Cole hear you.”
His eyebrows dip in confusion. “What’s Mackenzie got to do with you getting laid?” he asks, lowering his voice. “Come to think of it, Mackenzie strikes me as the jealous type,” he deadpans.
I snort. “Shut up.” Brad has always been the clown in the group. He and I have been friends since kindergarten, and our fathers are law partners.
“So, you did get laid?”
I smirk and that’s all the answer he needs.
“You did, you slick motherfucker. Was it one of those island chicks?”
“No.” I pause. “It was Cole’s cousin, Jay.”
Brad gives me a confused look. “The dude from California?”
“Jay is a girl,” I clarify. “Her name is Jayla.”
Brad’s eyebrows go up, and his mouth forms an O. “No shit,” he says with a grin. “Don’t you two have some kind of bro code? Like no banging each other’s moms, sisters, cousins….”
I smile and shake my head.
“Dude, are you insane?” he excla
ims. “Mackenzie will kick your ass if he finds out.”
Don’t I know it.
“He’s not gonna find out.” Not unless Jay tells him. And she won’t.
“Secrets never stay secrets for long, my friend. Remember that.”
“I guess he’ll figure it out when she comes down Labor Day weekend.”
“Can’t wait.” He grins. “So, tell me about this chick. Is she hot? What’s her name again?”
“Jayla, and she’s more than hot. She’s beautiful.”
“Nice.” Brad nods. “I can’t believe all this time I thought his cousin Jay was a dude.”
I chuckle. “He’s protective of her. He probably wanted you to think that.” I pull my phone from my front pocket. “I mean it, Brad. You can’t say anything to anyone.”
Brad gives me a “get real” look. “I won’t… but if Mackenzie finds out, don’t tell him I knew.”
“Pussy,” I tease, shaking my head, as I tap the photos icon and pull up the first picture of Jay and me. It’s of us on the beach with our cheeks pressed together, smiling. I look like a love-struck idiot, and I don’t care.
Brad smirks at me as I pass him my phone, then drops his gaze to the screen. “Ho-leeeey shit, bro.” He glances up at me quickly with wide eyes, then back to the phone. “She’s gorgeous.”
Brad also has a flare for the dramatic, but at this moment, he’s right—Jayla King is gorgeous.
“I know.” A smug grin stretches across my face.
“How is this goddess related to Mackenzie, exactly?” He slides his fingers across the screen to scan the rest of my pictures.
“Her mom is Emerson Mackenzie.”
“Ah, the black sheep,” Brad says knowingly. “Yep, I can see the Mackenzie resemblance. Good-looking bastards,” he mumbles. “So, you got your cherry popped by a goddess?”
“Fuck off.” I laugh and punch him in the shoulder.
I’m far from being a virgin. Cole and I lost our virginity, freshman year, to a couple of college girls during a party we went to with his brother, Dylan.
“So, are you guys doing the long-distance thing?” Brad asks, passing my phone back to me.
