Keatyn Unscripted (The Keatyn Chronicles Book 8)

by Jillian Dodd

A forehead against mine.

  “I told Coach I forgot my lucky charm and had to go back and get it.”

  “Real swan feathers dipped in gold. Made in Paris.”

  “I like when you can’t think.”

  Saying “Now, I can’t lose.” after I draw a four-leaf clover on his bicep.

  “This is the view from a gorgeous hotel in Crete. Someday we’re going to stand on this balcony and watch this sunset together.”

  “I want to watch a million sunsets with you.”

  “‘The heart has its reasons which reason knows nothing of.’”

  “You’re beautiful. Like, you take my breath away. Sometimes when you’re tutoring me, I feel like I can’t breathe.”

  A slow, tender, amazing kiss. that feels like he’s waking up something inside of me.

  Kisses that make me feel poetic—kissing him is like watching fireworks: a little flash as it goes up in the sky, an explosion of colors, those colors falling and fading in the sky, and then you hear the boom.

  “Le coeur a ses raisons que la raison ne connaît point.”

  “Ever think that’s cuz he doesn’t care as much as I do?”

  Running his hand across my face.

  “Forever, huh?”

  A deep blue oxford with contrasting paisley fabric inside the collar. A navy blazer. And a purple and blue paisley tie, partially tied around his neck. Shoulders that still have little drops of rain on them. Looking like he does after football practice, his hair wet, slightly messed up. But instead of being sweaty and gross, he’s all dressed up. The combination of the two make him look unbelievably, adorably sexy.

  “You have an unusual way of thinking, but I’d like that. I don’t think I want to collapse into a heap.”

  “So, Boots, I was wondering if you would be my escort for the Compass Cup. Wear my jersey. Walk me out on the field. Go to the banquet with me. Be my lucky charm?”

  Looking like someone just opened the gates of heaven.

  A slow, perfect, knock-me-off-my-feet, slide-down-a-rainbow and then soar-through-the-sky kiss.

  “I’m sorry I kinda got mad the other night. I’d love for you to be my date for the banquet.”

  Looking at my Halloween costume and saying, “I wouldn’t have let you out of my room.”

  “Boots, I want to build a framework with you. Do you still want that?”

  “I want the framework—the foundation—built on love, not sex. Build a foundation with me. A nice, strong foundation. Then we’ll build a huge sprawling mansion of love on it. The kind no one could ever knock down.”

  A kiss on the nose.

  “You’d be a cute piggy.”

  “I bought tickets to every showing.”

  “I love this play because the good guy wins.”

  Taking me to the soccer goal and saying, “This is where we first met.”

  “I can’t take this anymore. I want you to be my date for the banquet, but that means you have to wear my jersey and escort me onto the field. Period. No negotiation. Otherwise, you can go with Dawson. And if you do, I’ll give up. I’m trying here.”

  “I want to drag you away from Dawson any time I see you talking to him!”

  Grabbing my arm and dragging me up to his room.

  Picking me up and setting me down hard on his desk, sending his perfectly stacked books onto the floor in the process.

  His lips landing hard on mine.

  A full hot-tongue-straight-into-my-mouth kiss.

  A kiss so hot, it’s incendiary. Like the white-hot blazes of the underworld. Or the electrical charge of a lightning bolt.

  A god’s full power being unleashed on me.

  His tongue destroying my mouth. Devastating it. Owning it like no boy ever has.

  “You’re dumb because you can’t see that I’m so fucking jealous, I can barely function. So I’m gonna ask you one last time. Will. You. Wear. My. Jersey?”

  A skillful tongue.

  A tongue going so deeply in my mouth that I’m pushed roughly down across his desk, causing me to almost scream, Unleash the Titan!

  Causing my panties to melt clean off my body and end up nothing but a little pile of ashes smoldering on the floor.

  Being wild and out of control.

  “God, you make me crazy.”

  “I do want to be your friend, Boots. I want to be your everything.”

  Picking me up off his desk, laying me across his bed, and kissing me some more. With his tongue.

  “Tell me more about the framework.”

  “I’ve been trying not to pressure you. You once told me something about the Keats guy. That you didn’t know if he loved you so much he let you go, or he let you go because he didn’t care enough. I want you to know with me. I want you to know exactly where we stand.”

  A sexy, deep laugh. The kind of laugh I want to hear every day.

  “Night, Boots.”

  “You can trust me, Boots. You can tell me anything.”

  “Vous avez volé le spectacle.” (You stole the show.)

  “It’s your job to paint this neon stuff on me for the pep rally.”

  Making him groan while I brush paint above his waistband.

  A curled up fist, placed gently under my chin, and a kiss.

  “You look good as my number one.”

  A tongue that feels like heaven.

  Drawing hearts on my leg, forming a perfect four-leaf clover.

  Kissing the glass clover, tucking it back inside my bra, and telling me to, “Break a leg, Boots.”

  A bouquet of lavender roses and white feathers.

  “I think you know exactly what both the feathers and the lavender roses mean. You were amazing. You seriously light up the stage when you're on it.”

  “I don’t care what you say. I want to be the first to get your autograph.”

  A beaming smile.

  “Only if I get to end up in the moonlight with you.”

  “I just like that you’re spunky, wild, and full of life. It’s that little spark of fearlessness that made you steal the soccer ball from boys you’d never met and kick it at my face. It may be the thing I like best about you.”

  A murmur in my ear.

  “I’m never walking away again.”

  How perfect he looks in my loft. Almost like the designer picked him out too. He's wearing jeans that are fashionably ripped and frayed at the seams. A Band of Outsiders jersey hoodie that skims across his muscles. A casual blazer.

  The way he makes my loft feel more like a home.

  A black suit and black shirt. Looking a little dangerous.

  A naughty gleam in his eyes.

  A kiss that I can feel all the way to the tips of my Louboutin-encased toes. A kiss that has way more tongue than is appropriate for a crowded elevator.

  “That's because you look beautiful.”

  How small my hand feels in his. And the possessiveness and control I feel in his firm grip.

  Taking me to the top of the Empire State Building and making me feel like I belong on a movie set.

  “My hands are going to be all over you in the club. Feeling every bit of you.”

  Delicious lips finding my neck in the middle of a crowded dance floor.

  Swaying to the music while he bites my neck. Teeny little adorably hot bites. Ones that inject love potion or some sort of ecstasy type drug into my skin.

  “Bath or hot tub?”

  Not only fitting together when we’re dancing, but my back nestling perfectly into his chest. I am seriously never taking a bath again by myself.

  Ice between his lips, gliding purposefully down my neck. Then slowly— excruciatingly slowly—down into my cleavage. Then across my stomach. I’ve died and gone to hottie heaven.

  A look that speaks directly to my soul.

  “This is the good part, Boots.”

  Watching him take a shower.

  Thinking I look beautiful when I have mascara under my eyes and look like the zombie apocalypse.

  Rea
lizing I was wrong when I said it looked like my loft was designed for him because my bed was designed for him.

  A pillow fight.

  “You look good pinned underneath me.”

  Snuggling my face into his chest, breathing in the heavenly scent that is him, and closing my eyes.

  Waking up to find him making snacks in my kitchen.

  A big Barneys box with a purple handbag for no reason other than I loved it.

  “When my mom was going through chemo, she was tired a lot, so we watched movies together. And popcorn was one food that usually didn't make her feel sick.”

  Knowing for certain that his tongue is laced with love potion.

  “Because us, this, is not about fun. It’s serious.”

  Rubbing a feather lightly all over his chest. His neck. His perfectly shaped arms. Across his abs. In a little tickle motion up his sides. Across his neck. His face. Even though I’m. Dying.

  “You told me that you wanted to work on our foundation, our framework.”

  Pulling me against a raging Titan and asking: “Does this feel like I want to reject you?”

  “When you decide that you want me and only me, that’s when I’ll let you keep your clothes off. Until then, we’re going slow. I have never turned down a girl before.”

  “Boots, I promise you. I want you. It took every single ounce of my conviction to do that. To walk out of the room. The foundation was your idea.”

  Pushing me onto the kitchen counter, ripping open the front of my robe, shoving it off my shoulders, and staring at my naked chest.

  A single finger tracing the curve of my breast. Circling my nipple. Grazing across the top of it.

  The hunger in his eyes.

  “Does that feel like middle school?”

  Studying French body part words.

  “Mmmm, you like my tongue?”

  Sitting on his lap. Okay, straddling his lap.

  His sexy growls.

  “You're gonna have to stop doing that or I'm gonna—”

  Replacing my hand with his. “I'll do that.”

  “Do you think it’s been easy for me? I’m doing it for you. Because you need to go slow.”

  “Because the last two guys you’ve been with, that you loved, hurt you. I want to be the guy that doesn’t hurt you.”

  Face bruised, posture off, no sparkle in his green eyes, no smile. But still. . . . My god of all hotties.

  Making a four-leaf clover before kicking a field goal.

  A moon.

  “While others may wish on a shooting star, it’s the moon the holds my dreams afar.”

  A hard, possessive kiss on a plane.

  A cotton-candy-has-filled-my-brain kiss.

  The way he smells.

  “I’m going to keep kissing you until you stop talking.”

  His soul telling me the same thing it always does. That we should be together forever.

  “Boots, I give up.”

  “You were right. It wasn’t all about you. I jumped into relationships last year. I did things with girls I didn’t have feelings for. I wanted to do things differently with you. And I know you loved the Keats guy. It was unfair of me to judge your relationship when I know nothing about it.”

  “Boots, I don’t care about my past, or yours. I only care about your future. Our future.”

  A mason jar full of dirt to build our mansion of love on.

  “It’s symbolic dirt. It also means a fresh start. I don’t care if everything we’ve told each other up until this point is a lie. We start over. Here. Today. This second. Both of us. On fresh dirt.”

  “What, baby?”

  This text: I’m not giving up on us. I can’t give up on us.

  Giving me his penny, so I could have his wish.

  “I’m far from perfect, Boots, but I know that I’m perfect for you.”

  “‘A thing of beauty is a joy forever: its loveliness increases; it will never pass into nothingness.’”

  “You make every moment beautiful.”

  “Before Keatyn. Because since you came into my life, no one else fits.”

  Imaging him forty years from now, dressed in jeans and dusty cowboy boots, his dark blond hair starting to gray at the temples, those bright green eyes still speaking to my soul as he wanders onto our front porch, our grandchildren in tow, their hands and mouths full of dark red grapes they just picked from the vineyard.

  The kind of kiss that infuses me with so much more than love potion. It infuses me with hope.

  “You’re stronger than you know, Boots, and if you ever have to fight something, I’m confident you’ll be able to handle it.”

  “Life with you is never going to be boring.”

  “I’ve been dreaming of slowly undressing you.”

  “The sound of the ocean, watching the sun set, a good glass of wine, and your lips on mine.”

  Thinking I hear him whisper, I love you.

  “I love you naked in my shirt.”

  “A beautiful wreck then. Wearing my shirt. I’d like to wake up like this every morning of my life.” He gives me a naughty grin. “So back to last night.”

  “I want you to jump with me. Off the love cliff.”

  “Do you trust me?”

  “He better not be trying to steal my girl.” (About a dolphin who is showing off.)

  Writing love in the sand.

  Doing everything on my vacation bucket list.

  Being a tease.

  “You better always come back for me.”

  Watching him in the shower. And then joining him.

  The Titan covered in white washcloth.

  Seeing the green flash together.

  “Everyone falls in love at different times in their lives. And when you’re in it, you think you know what it’s like to be in love. Until you meet your true love and feel the real thing.”

  Not running away after B called. Talking to me.

  “I can see the sparkle in your eyes. How excited you were. It's like you believed your life could be a fairy tale.”

  “I sat out on the balcony, drank the champagne alone—straight out of the bottle—and, as the sun was almost ready to come up, I made a wish on the moon.”

  “I wished for my perfect girl.”

  “What you feel is my heart beating for you. Always. Only. Ever. For you.”

  “Did you know that each leaf on a four-leaf clover has a special meaning? The first petal is for faith. You need to have faith in us. The second is for hope. The hope that we can get through whatever life throws at us. The third is for love. And the fourth is for luck. We already know that we’re lucky together.”

  “Look, this isn’t at all how I wanted to do this. But I love you. A deep-within-my-soul, heartbreakingly beautiful kind of love.”

  “It’s okay, baby. It’s been a rough night. Let’s go to bed.”

  “I'm up for the competition. By then, we’ll have built such a strong foundation that no one could tear it down.”

  “Wherever you go, I go.”

  “You have my heart and I kinda need it to survive.”

  “When I said we’re going to be together forever, I meant it.”

  “Forever isn’t going to be nearly long enough for us.”

  “I’ve never asked you to promise me forever, Boots,” he says, the hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “Just promise me tomorrow.”

  “I was serious, Keatyn. Wherever you go, I go. Whatever family stuff you need to deal with, I’ll help you. You don’t have to face it alone.”

  “I think I can find a way to keep you warm without a sweatshirt on. Without anything on.”

  “It means we’re going to survive the kiln, too. No matter how high the heat.”

  This text: You’re probably asleep, but I just wanted to tell you I miss sleeping with you.

  This note: All I want for my birthday is you.

  “Je veux vos lèvres sur les miennes.” (I want your lips on mine.)

  In class, when I stuck my tong
ue out at him, he grabbed it with his lips and pulled me into a very steamy kiss.

  “Boots, I told you, you're the only girl I've kissed all semester. The only girl I ever want to kiss.”

  When he looks deep into my eyes, the playful mood turning serious with a single look. He doesn't say anything, just kisses me. And does this kiss ever speak. It's a kiss that's more emotional than it is sexual. It's a kiss that says all our fighting, all our misunderstandings, our lack of communication, all the hurt feelings, were worth it. But when his tongue gets involved in the kiss and he pulls me onto the bed with him, and onto his lap, it takes the kiss to a whole other level. It’s emotion mixed with desire. And I decide that might be the most powerful combination of all. With every flick of his tongue, with every greedy touch of his lips, with every caress of my face, I know it's not just a silly love potion. It's what love is supposed to be. Scary, exhilarating—from the top of the world to the pits of hell—all-consuming love.

  He rubs my face when I’m sick or don’t feel good.

  He told me to wear the boots my grandpa gave me because they are lucky and would make me feel better.

  “I want a night alone with you in my room. No parties. No hanging out. Just you and me dancing before curfew, then you sneaking over to my room after curfew and spending the night. Sleeping with me.”

  How he dunked the ball during warm-ups, then blew me a kiss. How we danced under the twinkle lights to our playlist.

  The way he looked when he pulled me into someone else’s dorm room because he had a surprise. His entire body was bathed in the golden light that’s streaming through the window, almost making him glow. They say some people can see the color of your aura, and I know without a doubt that Aiden's must be the purest of gold.

  When he showed me a gorgeous gold and pink sunset and then his house project, the Eiffel Tower and asks me to winter formal.

  “Keatyn Monroe, vous me faire l'honneur d'être mon jour pour l'hiver formelle?”

  A movie-ending, sweeping-epic-romance kiss.

  He started making the Eiffel Tower when I was still seeing Dawson.

  He’s my control in the chaos.

  “It’s the jeans. I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep my hands off you today.”

  “This has been the best birthday of my life.” And he spent it with me.

  This text, which cracked me up: I’m loving our conversation but I just dropped my phone on my face because I fell asleep.