Stalk me. (The Keatyn Chronicles)

by Jillian Dodd

  “You’re serving me alcohol,” I whisper. “Do you really want to know the answer to that? Plus, I can't tell you here; they think I'm old enough.”

  “Then tell me quietly.”

  I look around and notice the waiter is giving me a stare down. I decide it’s best not to say it out loud, so I put my index finger on top of the scrolling Abby tattoo on his forearm and draw my finger down it in a straight line.

  “The first number is a one?” he asks.

  I nod. Then I trace an eight and tell myself it’s the truth.

  “Well, that's a relief,” he sighs. “People are already looking at me like I'm robbing the cradle. At least you're legal.”

  Vincent squints his eyes at me, and I think he’s just figured out I’m lying. Damn, I tried to use my most trustworthy look.

  He taps his finger a few beats on one of the pillows. “You’re lying to me. Tell me the truth this time,” he says in a stern voice.

  I trace another one down his forearm. Then I trace a six.

  “Seriously?” he says, holding my gaze. “You do not look,” and then he takes his finger and slowly traces a sixteen on my forearm.

  I close my eyes and let out an involuntary, “Mmhmm,” when his finger glides across my skin.

  I should not have done that, because Vincent looks concerned by the fact that he practically made me orgasm just by tracing a number on my arm.

  “When will you be?” He traces a one slowly on my wrist.

  I swallow hard and try not to act like a horny, sixteen-year-old boy. But I can’t help wondering what that finger could do to the rest of me. What a man could do to the rest of me.

  Okay, Keatyn. Stop.

  Stop this.

  You're being ridiculous. He wants you for a movie, nothing else. Stop with the silly school-girl crushing and be professional. That's Mom’s number one rule. Don't get involved with anyone in your movie.

  When he traces the figure eight, I don’t sigh. I pretend like it didn’t affect me.

  “Next August,” I say flatly.

  He leans back on his elbows across the platform, and I can tell he’s doing some mental calculations.

  “So, technically, I have fifteen months until you're legal.”

  “I won't tell if you don’t,” I flirt.

  “Unfortunately, you will when you fill out the paperwork,” he pauses. “Assuming you'll want to be paid for the role?”

  “Uh, well sure.”

  “You have to put your social security number down, and we’ll have to follow child labor laws until you graduate from high school or turn eighteen.”

  Child labor laws? He’s talking about how many hours I can legally work? Oh, I'm so dumb! He’s not the least bit interested in me. He’s not flirting with me. I deserve dumb boys, not this gorgeous man.

  I can't hide the disappointment from my face.

  “What’s the little pout for?” he says.

  “Nothing,” I sigh. “Just wishing I was older.”

  He cocks his head at me. “Are we talking about the movie?”

  I just shrug my shoulders and gulp down some more wine.

  He refills my glass again.

  I know he’s just being polite and gentlemanly and all, but I’m not completely sure how much I’ve had. He’s never let my glass get empty.

  The wind blows a piece of my hair out of my barrette and across my face. Vincent slides his hand gently across my forehead, catching the offending strand, and tucking it behind my ear.

  The way he touches me is so tender.

  Our gazes are fixed on each other.

  The waiter comes by and checks our now empty wine bottle. “Another, sir?” he asks, which breaks our little moment.

  Vincent gives the waiter an irritated glare. “Yes, please.”

  He turns back toward me and says seductively, “So do you want to make a movie with me?”

  I answer with a breathless, “I do.”

  Vincent pours wine out of the new bottle and pops a shrimp in his mouth.

  “I think we're gonna need to do this a lot.”

  “What? Sit on the deck and get drunk?”

  His face sobers. “Shit. Are you getting drunk?”

  “No, I'm just teasing. But I should probably have some water before I drink much more.”

  “I like getting to know you,” he says softly.

  “I like getting to know you too.”

  And I do. He has his sunglasses up on his head now, so I’ve been studying his dark, thick eyelashes. His deep mocha eyes. When the sunlight hits them right you can see the blue of the ocean reflected in them.

  “I’ve just decided something about the movie.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Whoever we cast as your love interest will be ugly, and there will be no kissing scenes.”

  “You can't do that if you want a blockbuster. People are suckers for romance. And happy endings.”

  The look that crosses his face makes my cheeks feel warm, and I’m sure I’m blushing. “I mean, uh, they like happily ever after and all that.” OMG, I am such an idiot. I can’t believe I just said that!

  “I know. I was just teasing you, since you said you’re done with boys. I used to say that about girls when I was in high school. I always thought I was so mature. I wanted a woman. I’ve always kind of had a thing for older women.” He stares at me for a few beats then says, “So, I know you can surf, which would help if I change the title to something like A Day at the Beach, but what other talents do you have?”

  “Well, I’ve had years of dance classes. I play soccer, and I've been a Varsity starter since I was a freshman.”

  “That’s impressive.”

  “I also do kickboxing workouts with Tommy’s trainer. He says I have a strong right hook and a good jab.”

  “That’s excellent, since you're gonna kick somebody’s ass in the movie.”

  “Tell me more about the script.”

  “Would you like to order dinner first?”

  “Sure. I’m actually pretty hungry. The little shrimp aren’t quite doing it for me.”

  “And would you like to stay here or move inside? Somewhere a little more private.”

  “Somewhere more private. We don’t want anyone overhearing your movie details,” I whisper.

  “Good. Because people are starting to stare at me.”

  “Why would they stare?”

  “I suspect it’s because I look like an older man trying to seduce a much younger woman.”

  “Well, you are aren't you?”

  He doesn’t reply, just gets up, and gestures for me to do the same. He puts his hand on the small of my back and guides me through the bar.

  When we reach the end of the bar, I see someone I know. She hops off a barstool, says, “Keatyn, darling,” and air kisses my cheeks.

  Vincent moves past our conversation, but he stops to wait for me.

  When I rejoin him, he guides me to a private table in the corner. He pulls out a chair for me that lets me view the ocean, but puts my back to the rest of the room.

  “So back to seducing you,” he says sexily.

  “So you are, huh?” I raise my eyebrows and smile.

  “That wouldn't be very professional of me.”

  “I know. I meant you’re trying to talk me into making your movie. Seducing me to do it.”

  Vincent licks his lips.

  I realize what I just said. To do it. That might have been the wrong choice of words.

  I bite my lip, because I’m pretty sure doing it just crossed Vincent’s mind.

  He touches my lip and gently pulls it away from my tooth. “I love when you do that. When you try not to smile, you do that. You bite down on the side of your lip. But when you're upset or thinking hard, you bite your front teeth down across the middle. And when something makes you happy and you try to hide it, you lick your bottom lip. It’s very sexy.”

  “I think you've been looking at my mouth an awful lot.”

 
; He runs the pad of his thumb across my bottom lip.

  It feels so sensual that I close my eyes, wrap my lips around it, and give his thumb a little kiss.

  I slowly open my eyes. Vincent’s expression is indecipherable. He looks both amused and a little offended.

  I back away quickly and nervously take a big gulp of water.

  “I shouldn’t have touched your lip like that,” he finally says. “I gave you the wrong impression, but you’re right. I have been spending a lot of time looking at your mouth. At your face. I feel like a little kid right before Christmas.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because in you, I can see my dream again.”

  We watched the sun sink below the horizon, ate dinner, had dessert, and talked more about the movie. He does have some really cool ideas, and it’s easy to get excited just because he’s so seriously passionate about it. I didn’t drink any more wine with dinner. I realized when we got up earlier that I was a bit tipsy.

  He looks at his watch. “Do you need to be home soon? It’s getting late.”

  “No, not really. I’m good.”

  “Let’s go for a walk on the beach, then.”

  My phone buzzes as I pick up my purse. “It’s my mom. I should probably answer.”

  As we walk out of the restaurant, I say into the phone, “Hey, Mom.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Just finishing up with dinner. Why? What’s up?”

  “Are you having dinner with a much older, smoking hot man?”

  “Um, no. Tommy had a business meeting tonight. Didn’t he tell you?”

  Mom starts laughing. “That’s not what I meant. Millie’s friend, Barbara, called her and wanted to know who the hot man that you’re having dinner with is and why she’s never seen him before. She also said she prays he’s your uncle, and you can set them up. Millie said she sounded a little drunk, though.”

  “Can we talk about that when I get home?”

  “So you are at dinner with a hot older man?”

  “He’s not that old, and yes. Bye, Mom.”

  “Gossip flying already?” Vincent asks.

  “You have an admirer.”

  My car is parked up front, so the valet hands me the keys. Vincent follows me to my car. He keeps taking steps closer to me and, pretty soon, I’m leaning with my back up against the side of it. His entire body is about six inches away from mine.

  “Is it you?” he asks.

  I laugh. “The lady from the bar. You did say you like older women. Want me to set you up?”

  “Probably not.”

  “So, when will you have the script done?”

  “I’m shooting for August.”

  “I can't wait to read it. So, I think I better skip the walk on the beach and get home.”

  He cups his hands on my shoulders and slides them slowly down my arms. “I had a nice time tonight. You have my mind going a million places.”

  “Where is it going?” I ask.

  “Just all the things we talked about, brainstormed. I need to get home and write them all down. This isn't a slam to your mom's talent, okay? She’s one of the best actresses around.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll admit we’ve been struggling a bit with the script. I think because I was still picturing her in the movie. And even though we knew we wanted a kick-ass heroine, I was having a hard time imagining your mom doing any of those things. You're right. She did just stand around and scream. Now that I’m envisioning someone else in the role, I can see it more clearly.”

  “That’s good, right?”

  “You want this as bad as I do, don’t you?”

  I smile. “Yeah, I think I do, so you better get finished.”

  He leans in and gives me a kiss on the cheek. It’s the kind of kiss your dad might give you, except he holds his lips there way longer than a dad would. It’s sweet, sexy, and sort of confusing.

  He pulls back, studies my face, and shakes his head. “Hmmmm. Well, we can’t have that.”

  “Can’t have what?”

  “I’ve gotten good at reading your face.” He softly touches my other cheek. “This side is jealous.”

  He chuckles at himself then gives my other cheek a matching slow kiss.

  “Um, so, thanks for dinner, Vincent.” I get inside my car quickly. Mostly because I almost asked him if my lips looked jealous too. I can’t help it. Part of me wonders what it would be like to kiss a man.

  “We’re doing this again soon,” he says as he shuts my car door.

  Mom meets me in the entryway. “Were you actually on a date? With a man?”

  “No.” I roll my eyes.

  “So who were you with?”

  “His name is Vincent Sharpe.”

  Mom squints her eyes. "I know that name."

  “You should. He’s been in on the financing for a couple of your movies. He's also Viviane Sharpe’s grandson. You heard she passed away, didn’t you?”

  “Oh, no. I didn’t. That’s so sad. She was an amazing actress. So how do you know Vincent?”

  “Brooklyn and I met him the other day. He’s buying a house down the beach. Actually, it’s really sad. He was buying it because it’s the same piece of land where Viviane and her husband used to live. He was going to surprise her with it on her birthday next month. He was all alone on the beach yesterday. I helped him spread her ashes. We’ve kinda gotten to be friends.”

  “That was sweet of you, Keatyn, but how old is he?”

  “I don’t know, maybe late twenties, early thirties. I didn’t ask. And it was not a date. It was a thanks-for-being-nice-to-me dinner. We also talked a lot about a movie he’s working on. He wants me to be in it.”

  “Keatyn, I’ve warned you about that.”

  “I know. I know. But he owns the rights to remake your old movie, A Day at the Lake. He said he’s been having a hard time finding someone to fill your shoes. He thinks I look like you.”

  “Hmm. I know a lot of people say that, but when I look at you, all I see is your father. So are you going to get to see a script soon? Do you want me to call my agent? Is acting even something you want to do?”

  “Not yet. The script won’t even be done until this fall.”

  “Okay. Just use your head.” She gives me a kiss and says, “I’ve got to get to bed. I have an East Coast phone interview to do at five am, then I have to get on set. Night.” She starts to head toward her bedroom then turns back around. “Oh, hey, Brooklyn stopped by earlier looking for you.”

  “REALLY!? What did he say!?”

  Mom looks at me kinda funny. “Uh, he said to tell you to come down to his house when you get home, like he always does.”

  “Ohmigosh!” I say, and go tearing out the back door and up the beach.

  I try to walk leisurely down the beach, rather than running like a maniac, in case he’s sitting on his deck.

  It’s a good thing I do, because he says, “Hey, Keats, what’s up?” as I walk up the stairs to his deck.

  I realize I’m sweating.

  This is nothing.

  Just two old friends catching up.

  “Not much. Just got home. What have you been up to? I haven’t talked to you in forever.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that,” he says. “I lost my phone.”

  “That sucks; did you find it? I mean, you don’t usually call me anyway. You usually just stop by.”

  “I did on Monday night, but you weren’t home. Didn’t the nanny tell you?”

  “Uh, no.” Note to self: fire the nanny immediately.

  “Where were you?”

  “Monday night? Oh, I was at the Pier with a friend from school.”

  “Was it a date?”

  “No, just, no. I had a bad day at school. Everyone was talking shit about me and Sander’s break up, and I just needed to get out of there, so Cush and I skipped school and went.”

  “Do you like him?”

  “Cush?” I laugh. “No. He’s, we’re, um, we’re j
ust friends.”

  “Good.” He releases a big sigh. “I was afraid you were mad at me or started dating some guy from school.”

  I’ve been awkwardly standing in front of him. He leans forward in his chair, grabs my arms, and pulls me onto his lap.

  “I’ve missed you,” he says as he kisses me.

  And I am back on cloud nine.

  We make out for a while, but unfortunately I have a test I still have to study for. And I need to do well on this test. I totally bombed the last quiz.

  “I don’t want to leave,” I tell him. “But I have to study for a test.”

  “That’s okay. I’m beat. I had a busy day. So, me and the guys are going down to Hermosa Beach on Saturday morning. We’re gonna surf, camp, party, then come home late Sunday night. You want to come with me?”

  “I’d love to,” I say, and give him a really long good-bye kiss.

  I go home and try to study, but my brain is having a hard time concentrating. It’s busy imagining scenes with Hermosa Beach as the setting.

  B and me, alone in a tent.

  By a campfire.

  On the beach in the moonlight.

  I mentally revise the scripts of losing my virginity to include a cozy tent. In the sand under the moonlight. Or maybe in the ocean.

  I picture myself stripping off my bikini and running out into the ocean. B takes off his board shorts and follows me into the water, wraps his arms around me, and can’t control himself. I finally shut my History notebook and let myself dream.

  Thursday, May 19th

  Pay for what you’ve done.

  8:10pm

  Tommy and I just got home from grabbing a quick dinner and are sitting at the breakfast bar in the kitchen. I’m trying to finish up an English essay, but Tommy is giving me crap.

  “You know, my parents never would’ve let me go to a club at your age, let alone drive a freaking Ferrari.”

  “Tommy, your parents didn’t have a Ferrari, and I’ve heard all about your hell raising from your mother. You’re right: they wouldn’t have let you, but it wouldn’t have stopped you. You would’ve just snuck out and done it anyway.”

  Tommy laughs. “Yeah, I know. I’m glad you don’t do stuff like that. Really, you’re a pretty good kid.”

  “Gee, thanks, that means so much coming from a terror.”