by Jillian Dodd
A crowd is still streaming in.
I’m getting ready to text my driver when a face causes me to look twice.
It looks like Vincent.
But it couldn’t be.
I look closer.
Shit. He’s got on the same yellow driving shoes he wore the night we had dinner.
It is him!
And he’s walking straight toward the car.
Straight toward me!
My first instinct is to hide.
I drop down below the window and start to shake.
What am I going to do? Should I call Garrett?
My phone. I go to the special app and hit it three times. 911.
The driver’s side door opens. I fall to the floor and try to make myself small.
Someone pats me on my back and I stifle a shriek.
The driver says, “Are you okay? Why are you on the floor?”
“Shut the door. And lock it, please,” I whisper. “These windows are tinted aren’t they? Can anyone see me in here?”
“They are pretty darkly tinted. Someone would have to be very close to see inside.”
I peek up, see Vincent standing literally right next to the car. He stops to check himself in the window. He takes off his dark sunglasses and fixes an out of place hair.
My heart has stopped beating. I can’t breathe.
I’m still in shock. I can’t believe he would actually come all the way here to look for me.
“Don’t move,” I whisper to the driver. “See that guy there. Checking himself out in the window?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t let him see me.”
“He looks like a actor,” the driver says. “Lover’s quarrel?”
“No, he tried to hurt me.”
“I’m sorry, Miss. What would you like me to do?”
“Don’t move. Keep the doors locked. Pray he doesn’t see me.”
Then I think about where he’s walking. Toward Brooklyn.
Shit.
My phone is buzzing. First a call from the spa and then one from Garrett.
I take Garrett’s call. I whisper into the phone. “Shhh.”
Garrett says, “Are you okay? Did you mean to hit the app three times?”
“I’m at Brooklyn’s surf tournament in New York. He’s here,” I whisper.
I look at Vincent. It’s hard to believe such a nice looking man could be so messed up. I can see why they let him go. Apparently he’s taken an interest in surfing. At least that’s what he’d tell anyone who asked.
He puts his sunglasses back on his face, but then he frowns and reaches in his pocket. He takes a call, walks over, and leans against the town car, talking on his phone.
“Oh my God,” I whisper breathlessly. “Please, please, go away.”
“Should I get out and tell him to get the hell off my car?” the driver says.
“No. Don’t move. Don’t even speak.”
We sit in silence while Vincent leans against the car. He’s having an animated conversation. I can’t really hear what he’s saying, but he sounds pissed.
He slams his fist into the side of the window and I jump about four feet into the air.
“That’s it,” the driver says. He opens the car door and says to Vincent, “What the fuck are you doing hitting my car?”
I dive further down into the floorboards as Garrett yells at me, “What the hell are you doing there?”
Fuck.
Why did he have to do that?
And he’s left his door open.
Vincent slams his phone into his pocket. “I’m sorry, sir. Just got a call with some bad news.” He turns and looks at the window. Literally straight at me. “It doesn’t appear I did any damage.” Then he reaches in his pocket, pulls out a wad of cash, and peels off a twenty. A picture drops out of the wad.
The driver bends down to pick it up.
Vincent says, “You been here long?”
“Only about an hour.”
“You happen to see this girl?” He holds my photo in front of the driver’s face.
I thought my heart stopped before.
I may literally be going into cardiac arrest.
Please, God. Please don’t let him be swayed by a wad of cash. Please let him say no. Please. Please.
Garrett yells in my ear again, “Keatyn, goddammit, answer me.”
“Shush.”
I hear the driver say, “I’ve seen a lot of pretty girls. Can’t say I’ve seen that one, though.”
“Thanks, anyway,” Vincent says. “Sorry about the car.” And he walks away.
The driver gets back in the car.
“I can’t believe you did that after I told you to stay in the car!”
“Nobody is going to hit my car and get away with it. He had a picture of you.”
“I was afraid when you saw that wad of money, you might tell him I was in here.”
“No way, Miss. I saw his eyes. He has cold eyes.”
“Yes, he does.”
“You ready to get out of here, I take it?”
“Yes. Please.” Then I say into my phone, “I’m fine, Garrett. We’re leaving. I’ll call you back in a few minutes.”
After he drives for about ten minutes, with me staring out the back window trying to make sure we’re not followed, I have him pull into a convenience store parking lot.
“I need to make a phone call,” I tell him, then step outside of the car.
I call Garrett back. Tell him what just happened. He puts me on hold to call B’s security team.
I pace the length of the car.
His voice booms in my ear. “What the hell were you thinking going there? All the work we did to get you somewhere safe and you go see Brooklyn at a publicized event?”
“I thought it would be okay. I never thought he would fly all the way to New York.”
“Do you believe me now? Do you fucking believe that you can never let your guard down again? Do you now believe me when I said your life as you knew it is over?”
I start bawling and lean against the window Vincent punched. “Yes, I believe you. I’m sorry.”
“None of this will work if you don’t make it work.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“No. No sorries. I want you to think about what could have happened to you there. I want you to think about what Vincent wants to do to you. Are those pleasant thoughts?”
I sob. “No.”
“Good. Remember them next time you think about doing something stupid like this. Let’s get you back to school.”
“I’m going to the Hamptons. Some friends from school have a house there. I’ll be safe. It’s my new life. I swear, Garrett, I’m trying. I really am.”
Garrett calms down. I hear him take a deep breath.
“Please don’t tell my mom or James or Tommy. Promise me?”
“I’m putting you on hold. Don’t hang up.”
“Okay.”
I wait on hold for a few minutes. A text from the spa pops up with an address.
Garrett clicks back on. “I want you to get the driver to take you to the address that was just sent to you. Do not, under any circumstances, tell him where you are going next. Do you understand?”
“I understand. What is at the address?”
“A helicopter. I’m getting you the fuck to the Hamptons and fast.”
I let out a huge sigh of relief. “Thank you.”
“As for telling your family, I will keep quiet if you promise to never do something so stupid again.”
“I got it.”
His voice softens. “Are you okay?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know.” I start to cry again and stutter out, “I went . . . to . . . to . . . see Brooklyn . . . and he . . . hooked up with a girl . . . in a cabana . . . while I was there.”
“Damn. That’s not cool.”
“I know. You’ll make sure he’s safe though, right? As much as I’d like to kill him right now, I don’t really want anyone el
se to hurt him.”
“They said he’s out surfing. He’s fine. Right now I want you to tell your driver to take you to the address. Remember not to tell him where you are going. Okay?”
“Okay.”
I get back in the car, give him the address, and try to compose myself.
Then I call Dawson.
He answers, “Hey,” in his sexy voice.
“Hey, so I was thinking about heading your way.” I try to sound happy. I try not to cry.
“Already?”
Already? Is he not ready for me to come? Does he not want me to come?
“Uh, well, I mean, if you still want me.”
“Oh, I want you,” he teases.
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah I do, and I’m pumped! I didn’t think you would be able to come so soon. We’re gonna have some serious fun. Oh, wait, what happened with the guy? You okay?”
“Let’s just say that he and I are very finished.”
“What happened?”
“Basically, he’s an idiot. No, wait, I’m the idiot. I’ll tell you about it later. After you’ve made me one of those amazing drinks you’ve been bragging about.”
“I’m sorry if he hurt you. I know how that feels. But still, I’m excited and can’t wait to see you. It’ll probably take you, what, at least a couple of hours with the weekend traffic?”
I smile thinking about the helicopter. “I might be there a little sooner than that.”
I just gave you goosebumps.
2pm
He’s waiting for me outside a huge, rambling colonial mansion.
A different driver drops my bags. Dawson grabs them and leads me into the gorgeous house.
“So um, lots of people showed up, so, um . . .”
He’s acting funny.
“What? Why are you all nervous? Do you have an old girlfriend here or something? Oh, no. Is Whitney here?!”
“No. Hell, no.” He shakes his head at me. “What I was gonna say—well, ask—is if it’s okay if we bunk up together. I wanted you to have the master bedroom. It’s the nicest room in the house. But then some extra people showed up and all the beds and couches are full.”
“So I’ll be sleeping with you?” I tease.
“Yeah, but, I mean, there's a couch in there. I can sleep on it if it’s okay with you. It’d sure be more comfortable than the floor.”
I smile at him. He’s seriously so sweet.
“Okay.”
I follow him into the master bedroom. I've stayed at some incredible five-star resorts, on yachts, and our Malibu house was photographed for Architectural Digest, but this room is stunning. Huge colonial four-poster bed. Sweeping ocean views. Private deck out a multitude of French doors, which are open, causing the gauzy white sheers to flutter in the breeze.
“Wow. This room is beautiful. I may never leave.”
He gives me a sexy smile, drops my bags onto the floor, takes my purse off my shoulder, then peels off my gauzy white shirt.
He drops it on the bed and stands back, scrutinizing every inch of my bikini clad body.
All he manages to mutter before he kisses me is, “Damn.”
We kiss for a bit and then he says, “Come on. I’ll show you the rest of the house.”
The rest of the house, the view, the grounds, are almost as breathtaking as the bedroom. As we walk through the big white kitchen, he says, “Ready for the Kool-Aid?”
He pours me a glass and I take a drink.
“This is just Kool-Aid. I thought you said it was special? Like had alcohol in it. Or is it too early?”
“On the beach, it’s never to early. And you’re not supposed to taste the alcohol. It takes skill to mix it properly. My older brother, Cam, and I invented it last summer and perfected it this summer. Our parents have tasted it and don’t know it’s loaded with alcohol. Well, they do now, cuz we got them drunk on it one night.”
We walk out to the pool, drinks in hand, and he introduces me to everyone I don't know, and I say hey to the ones I do. Riley, Dallas, Tyrese, and Ace. The rest are a combination of their cousins, school friends, and old friends.
“I didn’t sign up for a sausage fest,” Tyrese says. “Let's hit the beach.”
Besides me, there are only two girls in the group.
Ace agrees. “We need to take a bunch of that get-drunk-and-screw punch with us.”
“Naw,” Riley says, “that's not how it’s done. You bring them back here and then let them drink the Kool-Aid. But we can take some for ourselves.”
Dawson gives me a piggyback ride down to the beach.
And wow. He's so tall and strong. Cush used to give me piggyback rides, but I sometimes felt like I was as big as him. I feel small compared to Dawson, and I love that. I throw my arms around him and snuggle into his neck.
Dawson is lying on his side in the sand next to me. I just finished telling him all about my failed reunion with Brooklyn. Although I did leave out the part about Vincent being there. About being scared to death. About getting chewed out by Garrett. And I must be a pretty good actress because I’ve been able to make him think I’m just mad at Brooklyn and that’s all that has me upset.
“Wow, that's pretty low,” he says. “Especially since he wanted you to spend the weekend. It’s, like, fucked up.”
“Sounds like something your brother would do.” I watch Riley out by the water talking to three very pretty girls. “Does he know those girls?”
“Heck, I don't know.”
“Wait! This is your whoredom, isn't it? Wow, do all the girls know you?”
He looks embarrassed. Actually blushes.
“Some. Honestly, most of the times I hooked up this summer I was pretty drunk. The whole summer’s sorta a blur.”
“So did your brother, Cam, participate in the whoredom?”
“Ha. Yeah. He’s just like Riley. I’m shocked he’s not here, but he’s got some party at school he didn’t want to miss. Which means he’s hot for some chick and hasn’t gotten her yet. He always told me I shouldn’t have a girlfriend unless I was having sex all the time. Which, well, I wasn’t.” He’s quiet for a minute then grins at me. “Did I tell you how much I like this bikini?” He plays with one of the strings.
“Um, no, I don't think you did.”
He runs a single sandy finger down my arm and even in the blazing sun, my body does a little shiver.
He notices and grins.
“I just gave you goosebumps. It’s hot out.”
“I got a chill—ocean breeze, you know.” I roll my eyes, bite my lip, and try not to smile.
“You’re lying.” He grazes his thumb across my bottom lip. Stares at me with those adorable brown eyes. “I think you look ridiculously hot in your dance uniform, so I don’t know why I was so surprised by how amazing you look in a bikini. It took all my willpower not to undo these strings,” he touches the string on one side of my bikini bottoms, “in the bedroom, not come out for days.”
I giggle. “I thought you had to take me back to the house and feed me some Kool-Aid first?” I take a drink of punch and smirk at him.
He squints his eyes at me.
“I have to give you some shit. I can’t help it.”
His face gets serious. “That's not how I want it to be with you.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s kind of embarrassing, but for most of the sex I've had, at least one of us, and usually both of us, have been drunk. Even Whitney, she never really wanted me unless she was messed up.” He lazily plays with a strand of my hair. “When we do it, if we do it, whenever that is, I don’t want us to be drunk.”
“Dawson.”
“Yeah.”
“I wanted you to take off my bikini in the bedroom, and I hadn't had a single drink.”
He stares at me for a couple beats then rolls on top of me and pushes his mouth onto mine. I part my lips in surprise, mostly at the force of his kiss. Up until now our kisses have been sweet, safe kisses. Friendl
y kisses.
This is not a friendly kiss. This kiss is full of desire. He grabs my tongue with his, sucking it into his mouth forcefully. He sucks on it greedily. Like it’s his to own.
He slides a hand into my hair and pulls my head closer to his. As close as I can get.
I wrestle my tongue away from him and slowly tease his lips with it. Then I grab the back of his head, sucking his tongue into my mouth with equal force.
I can't stop a little moan from escaping.
I rake my other hand down his back, settling on the back of his board shorts and kneading my fingers into them.
“Ahhh!” we both scream out when cold water splashes down across Dawson’s back.
He rolls off me saying, “What the f—” and sees Riley standing there, holding an empty sand bucket.
Riley says, “Jeez, Dawes, you’re gonna get us fined for indecency. Thought you needed some cooling off. Besides, that girl needs to show us her surfing skills.”
Dawson gets up and chases Riley down the beach and into the water, where they have a shoving match. Dawson gets Riley in a headlock and dunks him. Then Riley kicks Dawson’s feet out from under him and they both go down into the water.
They’re laughing as they run up the beach.
“Wish me luck,” I tell Dawson as I jog by him with a surfboard.
Riley and Ace grab boards and paddle out with me. Riley paddles out to a small wave, catches it, stands up, goes about twenty feet, then crashes.
Ace takes the next one and doesn’t even get to a standing position before he bites it.
I wait out three more waves, there's a slightly bigger one building.
I ride it, easily carving back and forth through the water, and take it all the way until the board glides up on the beach.
Dawson grabs me, runs his hands down the back of my swimsuit, and kisses me. “That was amazing.”
“That wave was like the bunny hill you learn to ski on.”
“It knocked my brother down.”
“Yeah, well his foot placement’s all wrong, and he's leaning too far forward.”
“Don't tell him that. I love to see him crash and burn. Makes for great videos.”
A couple hours later the punch we brought is gone. Everyone’s tipsy and worn out. We decide to go back to the house, where we chow down on sandwiches.
After we eat, I tell Dawson, “I'm kinda tired.”
