Keatyn Unscripted (The Keatyn Chronicles Book 8)

by Jillian Dodd

  Shit.

  What did I tell Mom? I would have wanted some answers. I would have asked him how he could do that to me when he said he loved me.

  We know who the root is.

  Brooklyn.

  It’s 2:30am here, so only 11:30 on the other coast. If that’s even where he is. Should I?

  Yes.

  I dial the number. He answers on the second ring.

  “Keats! Hey, how are you?”

  He sounds like we are old friends. Friends who haven’t seen each other for years.

  “Uh, not so good. How bout you? You find your balance yet?”

  “No. I haven’t. I’ve been wanting to call you.”

  “But you haven’t.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”

  “I get now why you called me and wanted me to forgive you so you could get your inner chi back.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah, you figured out it was the root of the problem. I just figured out it might be the root of my problem here as well.”

  “What’s your problem there?”

  “I met a guy.”

  “I’m not sure I want to hear about this.”

  “I’m not sure I wanted to watch you make out with a girl and then stand outside a cabana while you screwed her either.”

  “Good point. Keep going.”

  I sigh. “You hurt me. You told me you loved me, took my virginity, and turned me into a slut who thinks love is a lie.”

  “You’ve been sleeping with a lot of guys?”

  “No, only one. He was my boyfriend.”

  “You’re not a slut, Keats. And was your boyfriend?”

  “Yeah, my um, experience with you was good. I like sex. You upset me, I went straight to him, slept with him before we were in a relationship, knowing he was still hung up on his ex. We got closer, started dating, he was going to come meet my parents, and then she texted him. It was a total of about eight texts. And he ditched me, thought he would get back with her. This was after he told me he loved me about a million times and kept telling me he was over her. So my question is this. What is it about me that makes guys tell me they love me, but when their ex texts them or some faked boobed girl wants to do them in a cabana, they forget all about me? What am I doing wrong?”

  “You’re not doing anything wrong, Keats. You’re just with the wrong guy.”

  “I thought you were my dream guy, Brooklyn. You told me we were going to be together for a long time.”

  “Did you believe me?”

  “What?”

  “In your heart. Did you believe me? Did you feel it too? Because from my perspective, you left me first. And I think if I was really the one, you wouldn’t have ditched me for boarding school.”

  “You encouraged me.”

  “Yeah, cuz I love you. I knew it was what you wanted, even though I didn’t.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? If you would have told me you didn’t want me to go, I wouldn’t have.”

  “Because you wanted to. You were excited. It was your path, I couldn’t let myself get in the way of that. Maybe there is a guy there that you were supposed to meet. Maybe it’s your destiny to be there. I couldn’t mess with that. Have you found him? Are you afraid to fall for him?”

  “Yes. Very.”

  “Don’t be, Keats. Do you forgive me? Do you even understand why I have been behaving the way I have? I got hurt too.”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry. You know I look at you everyday. The big picture on my wall.”

  “I love that. I miss you. I’m glad we’re okay now.”

  “Me too, Brooklyn. Bye.”

  Friday, September 30th

  True love leaves a mark.

  7:20 am

  I wake up to an email from Grandpa. It’s one line.

  So did you find yourself yet? Cause we haven’t heard from you.

  I reply.

  I’m working on it. Grandpa, what’s the difference between love and true love?

  He replies back immediately. I can picture him sitting at his desk, overlooking his rose bushes in the back yard.

  True love leaves a mark. Sometimes with a frying pan. LOL

  When did Grandpa learn what LOL is?

  Grandpa, this is serious. Ask Grandma if you don’t know. And HOW CAN YOU NOT KNOW?? You have been married to the same woman for 39 years!!!

  True love is a crap shoot, sometimes you get lucky and hit the jackpot, sometimes you’re left wallowing drunk and broke.

  You are not much help. (Grandpa steals the show in every scene he’s in.)

  We get to wear Parisian looking clothes today, instead of our uniforms, so I put on the casual look Kym sent me. A pair of dark skinny jeans, black and white striped long sleeved T-shirt, red bolero jacket with thick black braided trim, black scarf, big black bag, black patent platform pumps, thick silver men’s watch, black Raybans. If I had a cup of coffee, a cigarette and a beret, I’d be set. Actually, she sent a black beret to go with it. I decided not to wear it. I’m sure everyone will have on berets.

  But as I’m walking to class, I’m thinking about Grandpa’s email and wondering if true love does leave a mark. Like the way Aiden’s kiss seared my skin last night. Is that what it was? The mark of true love. Some sort of invisible hickey?

  Speaking of hickeys.

  Riley’s neck is covered in them.

  “What? You get in a fight with a vacuum cleaner last night and lose?” I ask him.

  He flips his collar up against his neck.

  “You know what they say, True love leaves a mark.”

  “Somehow I don’t think that’s what the great philosophers had in mind.”

  He grins naughtily at me. “You should see my chest. She wrote her name in hickeys.”

  I laugh.

  “Have you slept with her yet?”

  “Naw, I like her. Besides we’re having too much fun doing other stuff right now. I actually like this girl.”

  And his words burned my in my brain for the rest of class. We’re having too much fun doing other stuff. That’s what I missed with Dawson. I’ve never sucked on his neck long enough to give him even one hickey. Let alone write my name on his chest. I did take things way too fast with him. And I think because I did, we can’t really start over. I can’t take it back.

  I feel like I should make a public service announcement over the loud speaker in the school.

  Note to all you daters out there. In spirit of this weekend’s theme, lets all embrace true romance.

  Enjoy making out for hours.

  Enjoy the way his lips feel on yours.

  Enjoy embarrassing him with hickeys.

  Enjoy him holding your hand when he shifts gears.

  Enjoy the way he says your name late at night.

  Enjoy the way you feel when he shows up outside your classroom to carry your back pack.

  Enjoy how he licks hot fudge off your face.

  Enjoy staring at the stars with him.

  Enjoy feeling crazy in love.

  Like you will die if you don’t see him.

  Like you will die if you have to stop kissing him.

  Enjoy making out in movies.

  Enjoy letting him woo you.

  Revel in the slow pace.

  Let your relationship build.

  Fall in love.

  I think about what Aiden said last night too. About how when you know you are going to be together forever, waiting doesn’t seem like that big of a deal. That’s how it felt with Brooklyn. It’s how it feels with Aiden.

  Where that leaves me and Dawson is something I don’t know. Dawson is like me satisfying my sweet tooth.

  When I eat something rich, sugary, sweet, it tastes so good.

  But when I’m done sometimes I think I shouldn’t have eaten that. It had way to many calories, so I feel guilty.

  Dawson is a five layer chocolate cake with ganache filling. Impossible to resist, but leaves you feeling a little guilty after.

  I
need some cake.

  10:30am

  Most of the classes today have very few people in them, most of us are working, setting up Top of the Eiffel Tower, sunset.

  The cafe has been transformed with black drapes and huge canvas artwork depicting a Paris street. The artwork is really good. You can smell the croissants baking.

  Outside the student center there are pink and black fabric awning put over the normal green ones. A rental company is bringing in bistro tables and chairs and sprinkling them all over campus. Each dorm has an activity or game or something. Our dorm decided something about bringing out your inner artist and we have all sorts of sidewalk chalk. And we thought it would be cute. People can write like hearts and love notes or something. Our sidewalks are already getting filled with parisian drawings, hearts, people’s initials. I look down and see a big heart. Right outside my dorm door. Inside it says, Dawson + Keatyn = forever.

  And just like that, Dawson’s sweetness makes him impossible to resist. I need some cake.

  So I text him.

  Me: Saw the heart.

  Dawson: I love you.

  Me: Are you in class?

  Dawson: Naw, helping Coach get all this lawn bowling stuff organized for tomorrow.

  Me: Think you could sneak away?

  Dawson: Why?

  Me: I’m craving you.

  Dawson: My room, as fast as you can get there.

  There are a lot of people coming and going, so I don’t look the least bit suspicious when I sneak into the dorm. I am careful not to run into anyone in the hall. And I make it safely to his room.

  He’s sitting on his bed, his shirt off. He is so freaking hot. And the second I walk through the door, he is up and has me pinned against the back of it. He’s kissing me, pulling off my jacket, my scarf, kissing my neck.

  “Did you see your brother’s neck today?”

  “Did you see my brother’s stomach today?”

  “We’ve never done that. Given each other hickeys.”

  “You’ve given me a couple little ones before.”

  “I think I ruined us when I took things too fast.”

  “You think we’re ruined?” He backs away from me.

  “Not like ruined, like we missed out on all that. The wooing, the dating, the kissing for hours, all that.”

  “Is that what you want? Shall I write Dawes across your stomach. I’ll do that before the next game. When you wear that little half top you’d have my name blazed across. Maybe I could put my number on your back too.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Okay, fine. Come here.” He pulls me onto his bed on top of him. “Were just going to make out. That’s it. So don’t get any of your naughty ideas.”

  We kiss and kiss and kiss for about fifteen minutes. But I’m laying on top of him, and as our kissing gets deeper, both our hips start that little movement toward each other. That movement that I’m going to fight today.

  “Keatie, baby, you gotta stop that.”

  “Stop what?”

  “Every time you kiss me, you like move your hips into me, you’re like practically humping my leg, and you keep making those sexy little noises. I don’t know how much more I can take.”

  “Thats cuz you keep pushing my butt into your leg and moving it against me.”

  I roll off him. Lay next to him. Wrap both my arms up around my head. It pulls my shirt up off my waist. He puts one big hand on my exposed skin.

  I moan, then sigh. Try to shake this desire. “Remember, we’re just going to kiss. We’re just going to kiss.”

  He runs his hand down across my back, undoes my jeans, pushes them down my legs, pulls my back in toward him, and thrusts himself towards me. I use my feet to kick my jeans the rest of the way off.

  “I don’t think that’s gonna happen,” he whispers.

  Then he’s pulling off my thong. I’m trying to undo his belt, finally get it undone, unzip his shorts, pull down the front of his boxers. When I do, he’s so hard, it like springs out at me. He flips me over, holds my hands down above my head with one hand, sliding his shorts and boxers off with the other. Then he grins at me and says “We’re just gonna kiss.” I wrap my legs around his waist and say, “Yeah, we’ll just kiss.” And pull him towards me.

  Dawson may not touch my soul, but the parts he does touch, he makes feel really good. (And this is part of his pull on her.)

  We get dressed, Dawson says, “I’m starved. Lets go get lunch.”

  We’re sitting at the lunch table, probably looking way too happy. Bryce says, “So what’s going on with you two? Like I saw the it’s complicated thing, but then I heard you had a date with Aiden.”

  “We’re allowed to date other people.”

  “So are you still hooking up?”

  Dawson says, “Um, we decided for now, we’re just gonna kiss.”

  “Yeah,” I say with a goofy smile, “just kiss.”

  And he squeezes my hand under the table.

  My phone makes a little email ding. I have a message from Grandma.

  Grandpa says you want to know the difference between love and true love. Joan Crawford said this, “Love is a fire, but whether its going to warm your heart or burn down your house, you can never tell.”

  And I think Joan was very profound.

  Dawson is walking with me to class. “Do you believe in true love?”

  “Uh, I think so, why?”

  “Like do you think you just know?”

  “Like love at first sight? All this french romance stuff going to your head, Keatie?”

  “Was our um, just kissing romantic?”

  “Hell, yeah.”

  I look at him, like seriously.

  “Okay, so it probably wasn’t romantic. It was hot. Sexy. That’s what all this is about, huh? The romance? We have the sex, but not the romance? Wasn’t last night romantic?”

  “Last night, dinner was romantic. I loved that place. I’d like to go back. And I loved that you made me dance with you. Even though it was sorta embarrassing.”

  “So tonight you’re mine, right?”

  “I think already was yours.”

  He laughs, “Naw, we just kissed.” The he kisses me and smacks my butt toward French class. “Six thirty. Be ready.”

  Uh, yeah, just kiss.

  French

  I do have to go to French class. We are working on organizing all the picnic baskets. Everyone had to pre-order them, then a local specialty grocery store put them all together. They also sent us some smaller basic ones to sell before the movie starts. That’s what Aiden and I will be doing Saturday night. Everyone is supposed to pick up their food an hour or two before sunset. Then they are supposed to go put a blanket down on the field, pick their spot for the movie, eat. There is going to be French music playing over the loudspeaker during this time. Everyone is really excited for this part.

  Aiden says, “So tonight?”

  “Um, tonight, I have to hang out with Dawson, but I’m yours all day tomorrow if you want.”

  Bryce told me you and Dawes decided you’re just gonna kiss for now.”

  I blush. Look down, hope he didn’t notice.

  “Uh, yeah. Just kiss.”

  I don’t want to lie to Aiden, so I add, “Well, we’re going to try.”

  He narrows his eyes at me and says, “So you might not succeed?”

  “We’re going to try. I don’t want to sleep with him,” is what I say.

  I just can’t help it, is what I don’t say.

  “I don’t like this.”

  “This basket?” I ask.

  “No, this dating me one night and him the next. It sucks.”

  “I know. I’m going to try and not drag it out.”

  “Just break it off with him. After Saturday night is over, you’ll be mine anyways.”

  “What do you mean?

  “You’ll see.”

  “I think they have this under control. Come over to the my dorm. I want to show you our decoration. It should be
up now.”

  And I’m thinking uh, I was just over at your dorm, but yeah, I don’t say that.

  “Okay, cool,” I say like an airhead.

  He holds my hand, and I can see this big cardboard thing. “Is that what I think it is?”

  He laughs, and his eyes are bright. “Yep, we built the Eiffel tower.”

  “What did you make it out of? It’s so tall!”

  “Come closer.”

  I do, and see that it is made out of pop and beer cases all glued together. No, make that duct taped together. It seems a little odd seeing Coca Cola and Bud Light blazed across the sides of the Eiffel tower. But still.

  It’s like an advertiser’s wet dream.

  “That’s amazing. Very cool. How did you ever come up with that?”

  He stops me at the base of it. Holds both of my hands, facing me. “I wanted to make it for you.”

  And at the exact same time, we leaned in, still holding each other’s hands down at our sides and kissed. It felt so natural. No guy pulling me toward him. Is was so right. All about us. Our magnetic pull.

  And I think I need to get serious about my diet. (The French weekend where they build an Eiffel Tower doesn’t happen until much later in the series. Instead of asking Keatyn to Homecoming, he asks her to Winter Formal. I had to keep them apart even longer.)

  How do you say fuck off in French?

  6:30 pm

  With Dawson, getting ready to go inside for our first part of tonight. The french dinner in the cafe. The dinner is our kick off to the evening. The cafe has totally be transformed by the art and theater department. There are little votives burning on each table. A few wine bottles with candle coming out of them, the fake Paris walls up lit. The smell of the food. It’s really good.

  I’m wearing a cute little black tulle skirt with a wide black silky belt, pink tank top, black sequined ballet flats, a pink, black, and white crystal necklace. My hair is pulled back into a sleek ponytail held by a black pouf of tulle.