The Keeper © 2016 Jillian Liota
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This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 Jillian Liota
Book Cover Design and Layout by Jillian Liota
Editing by Jillian Liota
Cover Photo © iStock.com/AleksandarNakic
ISBN e-book: 978-0-9982224-0-0
To my amazing husband:
who has stood by my side through all of my ups and downs
who has been my never-ending support
who has loved me in spite of all of my failures and faults
You are my keeper,
and I plan to keep you forever.
<3
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Chapter One
“Remind me why I agreed to go to this stupid party again?” I shout to Charlie from the entryway as I shove my feet into a pair of Chuck Taylors. When I look up, I see her prancing down the stairs in what can easily be classified as a shirt and heels. “And please tell me you’re gonna put on some pants. What are you wearing?”
“I am clearly wearing a costume designed to attract male attention at an event surrounding sports,” she responds, twirling in a little circle - without teetering in the slightest - once she’s made it to the base of the stairs.
I’m always astounded by Charlie’s ability to practically pirouette in a pair of sky-high heels. My ass would be flat on the ground if I ever tried something like that. My body was made fun-sized, and I’m perfectly happy remaining close to the ground at all times. Charlie and I are essentially exact opposites. Where she is long, I am short; where she is dark, I am light. We are living, breathing antonyms.
She saunters past where I stand waiting in the entry, her shoulder-length brunette locks loose and wavy in that ‘I just rolled out of bed’ look that takes at least an hour to pull off successfully. She’s wearing a purple Laker Girls “dress” - I use that term sarcastically - with her favorite pair of heels, accentuating her long, lean legs.
“It isn’t a costume party, Charlie,” I say as she passes me. Although, internally, I wonder if maybe I missed something when Jeremy invited us. “We’re just heading over to watch the game with a few of the guys from the team.”
“Of course it’s a costume party, my sweet, naive RJ. It’s October. All October parties are costume parties,” she calls to me from the kitchen. “And you can’t back out because I need you there!”
I roll my eyes and follow in her wake.
“You do not need me there,” I respond. “You just don’t know anything about basketball.”
Charlie looks up at me from where she stands digging through her clutch and scowls.
“Exactly!” she responds. Apparently I’ve made her point for her. “Not only are you my best friend, but you’re also my only female friend who knows sports and can keep me from saying something really stupid.” She snaps her clutch closed and rounds the kitchen island with a smirk. “Plus, you have a car. How else am I supposed to get to Jeremy’s? Take the bus?”
“You’re using me for my car!?” I shout with excessive dramatics, slapping my hand against my heart in feigned distress. “You’re making me reconsider our entire friendship.”
Charlie rolls her eyes, but I see a smile creeping onto her face.
“You’re an idiot.” Throwing her arm around my shoulders, she starts walking us towards the door. “But seriously girlie, you need to help me understand what’s happening on the field.”
“Basketball isn’t played on a field, Char. It’s played on a court.”
“See!” Her smile grows wider. “You’re helping already.” She winks at me, letting her arm drop from my shoulders, and turns towards the door. “Let’s go, bitch! Time’s-a-wasting!” And she struts out, heels clicking, ass swaying.
Charlie, Charlie, Charlie.
I exit our apartment, locking the door with as much sass as I can, and begrudgingly follow her out to Trusty Rusty, my light green ’66 VW Beetle. Come to the party with me, she says. It will be so much fun, she promises. I’m already starting to regret acting as her sports translator and we haven’t even left the parking lot.
“In all honesty, you don’t need me there,” I say, as we click into our seat belts and I start the ignition. “You just need to find a guy who finds your sports-illiteracy to be charming. Like Jeremy. He won’t think you’re dumb just because you don’t know anything about basketball. If anything, maybe he’ll see it as an opportunity to lean in towards you and whisper in your ear.” I wiggle my eyebrows and give Charlie a super cheesy smile before pulling away from the curb.
“I don’t need Jeremy getting all into my personal space. Thanks, but no thanks.” Her reply is quick and sharp. I glance over and catch her eyes before she quickly turns away, her cheeks tinting to a soft pink. She acts like her lust-fueled obsession with my brother is completely off my radar. What am I? Blind?
Her infatuation began freshman year when she returned to our room one night and found him there. Alone. In the buff. Okay, he was in boxer shorts. But still, practically naked. Apparently he was mid-hook up with one of the girls in my building when her boyfriend showed up. Jeremy doesn’t ‘throw down over chicks’, so he didn’t put up much of a fight when he was shoved out of the room. Sans clothes.
He showed up at my room at 2am and asked me to go get his clothes, keys, phone and wallet, since he can’t really get back to his apartment without his keys, and security would escort him out if he just wandered around the freshman hall in nothing but his tiny little briefs. As I was smoothing things over with the girl and her boyfriend and tried to collect his belongings, Charlie returned from a party and nearly had a heart attack when she found ‘The Jeremy Jameson’ - her words, not mine - sitting on her bed. I’m surprised she didn’t drop to her knees and offer to show him just how welcome in her bed he actually was.
But Jeremy loved the fangirling, of course, and took his sweet time putting his clothes back on while he oozed his charm and asked Charlie all about herself. Oh, so you wanna be a nurse, huh? So if I need some CPR I can give you a call? Gag me. I could literally see the hearts popping out of her eyes as she soaked him in.
It took all of my efforts to get his ass out of my room. And then I had to listen to Charlie go on and on about him until nearly 4am. It was nauseating. It wasn’t until the following week during our weekly lunch at the quad that I let him know how I really felt.
“You’re a 21-year-old senior in college,” I growled at him. “What? You’ve already stuck y
our dick in everyone your own age and have to move on to the barely legal? You’re so gross.” He scoffed, but I jabbed a finger into his chest. “You should be embarrassed that you have to troll for freshmen to get laid.”
“Hey, I can’t help it if I appeal to everyone,” he said with a shrug. I just glared at him and jabbed my fork into my potato. “Besides, Charlie didn’t seem to have an issue with me.”
My eyes narrowed.
“She is completely off-limits.” Jeremy gave me a little smirk that made me think he didn’t care. “I’m serious Jer! You’ve fucked and chucked enough girls this year. Leave. Her. Alone.”
“I don’t fuck and chuck, Rachel,” he replied with what looked like mock sincerity. “That implication about my character is just rude. I’m offended.”
“Oh really? So Andi, Rebecca, Jennifer… they were serious girlfriends?” I was, of course, referring to three of my high school soccer teammates that Jeremy slept with over the course of the nine days he was home for spring break during my senior year. They didn’t know about each other until Jeremy was back at college and I was left to deal with the rage issues and emotional breakdowns. Needless to say, those girls and I never formed lasting bonds.
“You can’t pull out one example of exercising my right to get in some physical exercise,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows, “from nearly a year ago and make it sound like that’s how I live my entire life, Rach. What if I really like Charlie? I can do the whole… dating thing,” he said with a vague wave of his hand, as if the simple idea of dating was a foreign concept that eluded him.
I sighed, closed my eyes and brought my fingers to the bridge of my nose.
“Jer, you know I have a hard time making friends. Charlie and I get along really well, and I don’t want anything to ruin that.” Then I looked him dead in the eyes. “Please. I am begging you. Turn your penis off for one minute and do your lonely, friendless sister a solid. Pretend. Charlie. Doesn’t. Exist.”
Jeremy’s face become nearly expressionless as he looked out over my shoulder. After a second, he finally nodded his head, looking back at me.
“You have my word. From here on out, Charlie doesn’t exist.”
I breathed a sigh of relief and let my head fall back.
“Thankyouthankyouthankyou.” The last thing I needed was for my brother’s roaming penis to ruin a burgeoning friendship. Again. I crammed a potato in my mouth and smiled. “So, heard anything from the Galaxy?”
Apparently Charlie never got over her obsession with him, even though she stopped gushing about him to me. But even now, several years later, I see the way she looks at him when we head to his house in LA or when he comes over to our apartment. There’s some deep longing there that I don’t entirely understand, and their interactions are particularly stilted. But I decided long ago to limit my prodding on this particular topic.
Besides, now Charlie is the 21-year-old senior with a mile-long list of bed partners. If she wants to get it on with everyone and their brother and pretend she doesn’t have the hots for mine, that’s her own choice.
“So I’m good with being the designated driver if you want to enjoy yourself,” Charlie says, bringing me back to the present and making a pathetic attempt to change the subject.
I smile at Charlie’s topic choice - essentially her one opportunity to prod into my own issues.
“Nice try.”
She sighs and then slaps her thighs with enthusiasm.
“Come on, RJ! You’re such a party pooper. You should be able to let loose every so often. It’s not like I’m saying you should get shit-faced and fuck some random guy.”
“No, that’s normally your job,” I say with a giggle.
Charlie snorts out an awkward laugh.
“Seriously. But still, have one drink. You have been my loyal, devoted chauffeur for months and months. Let me pay you back by letting you get a little giggly tonight.” She wiggles her eyebrows up and down.
I sigh loudly. Our constant battle. You’d think Charlie would be thankful that she has a best friend willing to play DD on a regular basis. But she never lets up, even though she knows my many reasons for staying away from alcohol. The primary reason is called Frank Jameson, and he makes the decision easy. Well, he should make it easy. My brother and I have different philosophies.
After graduating from college, Jeremy took his soccer skills to the LA Galaxy, the Major League Soccer team in the City of Angels. He was a bed-hopper in high school and college, and it only got worse once he got a taste of the tiny bit of fame and money that professional soccer players get. The guys he spends time with are really intense about staying fit and healthy during the season, but during the off-season, they all live a party lifestyle. Women and booze are abundant. I’m just lucky he can afford to pay for drivers when he and the team go out. The amount of times I’ve had to drive his drunken ass home or pick him up from some girl’s house in the morning was so not cool.
After living a childhood that was essentially swallowed whole by alcoholism, I decided that I would never take the risk that comes along with having a single drink. The smell, the destructive behavior, the poor choices - it just isn’t for me. And while it’s highly unlikely that Jeremy is an alcoholic since he doesn’t really drink very often, he still took the chance when he had that first drink. Like I said, we just have different philosophies.
“I’ll be sober. So drink your little heart out, my dear,” I respond as I exit the freeway and begin the drive through downtown to get to Jeremy’s loft. “Besides, you’d get us lost trying to find your way home,” I add with a smirk.
Charlie giggles and lets out an exasperated breath.
“God, I will never get used to LA traffic and freeway mazes. This place is ridiculous,” she says, looking out the window in awe, as if she just arrived yesterday. Charlie is originally from a little town just outside of Omaha, Nebraska, but the way she talks about the freeways in Los Angeles makes it sound like she moved here from the Amazon.
“You’ve lived here for three years, Char. It should be making sense to you by now.”
“It would if I had a car. But you crazy-ass California drivers make me squirm.” She pauses, seemingly struck by an important thought. “You know what? It’s probably best if you stay the DD,” she concludes as I pull into the parking lot beneath Jeremy’s building.
I laugh.
“Glad to hear we’re finally on the same page.”
* * * * *
The minute we walk into Jeremy’s loft, it’s clear I missed the memo that watching a basketball game on October third is actually code for sports-themed costume party: get out your hoochie mama swag.
I send Charlie off into the crowd and step into the bathroom. I’m not a big fan of crowds, and I really thought this was going to be a low-key night of watching basketball with Jeremy and a few of his friends from the team. But there were at least fifty people within my immediate line of sight when we entered his apartment.
Yep, missed the memo.
As I’m washing my hands, I take a look in the mirror. My long blonde hair is swept to the side in a loose French braid that falls over my left shoulder, and my makeup-free face still looks clean and fresh, despite the heat. But I’m wearing what I’ve been wearing all day – a gray and white baseball shirt, tan pants, and red Chuck Taylors. And my glasses. Maybe I could pull off telling people I came as… well, okay so I definitely don’t look sporty in any capacity unless I count the baseball shirt.
I scowl at myself in the mirror. Whatever. I’ve never cared what Jeremy’s friends have thought of me before and we’ve gotten along just fine. Although the crowd in his loft is a bit larger than the small group of friends I’m familiar with, there’s no reason to start caring now. Even if I wanted to dress up, I couldn’t wear half the shit the girls here are probably wearing. My 5’1” size 8 is okay for cute shorts and tops, but a stick-figure model I am not. Luckily I prefer to wear jeans and tees.
; Choosing not to spend another second looking at myself, I exit the bathroom. Before I can take more than one step, I’m immediately swept into an embrace by someone very tall, and from the feel of him, very strong.
“Hey baby, I’ve been waiting for you.”
For a brief second, I am completely overcome with sensation. I am hyper aware of the muscles wrapped around my frame, of the outdoorsy smell coming from the gray shirt my face is pressed into, of the deep timber in the voice that just called me baby. Every instinct in my body wants me to wrap my arms around this body and snuggle in close.
Until I remember that I do not know this man.
The muscular arms wrapped around me, keeping my arms trapped firmly at my sides, suddenly make me feel claustrophobic. Trapped. My whole body tenses and I begin to pull myself free from his arms.
But the hold on me tightens just a fraction, and I hear his low rumble whispering into my ear.
“Please play along,” I hear, then feel a soft kiss on my left temple. In a split second decision, I feel my muscles relax, and in turn the arms encasing me loosen just a fraction, the man standing up straight again.
Now that he’s dropped the vice grip, I tilt my head back, back, back and get a look at a guy who made my pulse race for several reasons at once. And when my eyes collide with his, my stomach falls out of my body and onto the floor, my lungs collapse, and my heart flies up into my throat, leaving me nauseous, unable to breathe, and mute.
He’s handsome.
Like, really handsome.
The cover of GQ, campus heartthrob, Love Actually silent happy dance, kiss me now kind of handsome.
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