KEEPER

by Ingrid Seymour

  In the following days, things had changed. Sam grew distant, distrustful. And how could he blame her? All along, he’d seen the situation more clearly than she did, and yet he’d allowed things between them to get out of hand. Her resentment and caution shouldn’t have come as a surprise.

  They continued with their lessons, and his math skills improved considerably, if not his ability to control his feelings toward her. If anything, with every passing day his attraction and feelings grew a little bit more. So much that he feared he was falling in love, as impossible as that should be for a Singular.

  Summer school finished, and—after passing his final exam—Greg enrolled in his new school as a junior. Everything was quiet, without attackers or Ashby to disturb the peace. This was his only comfort, although something told him it wouldn’t last. Theories about Ashby and Veridan whirled in his mind all the time, and the more he thought about it, the more he believed there was a connection between them. They were both English, well dressed and arrogant. It was just too much of a coincidence.

  “I think I should sign up for the same classes as you,” Greg had told Sam a few days before registration.

  “Okay,” Sam said. No protest, but her indifference hurt even worse.

  Although Rose maintained her open invitation to dinner, Greg had spent every night in his apartment since that day, eating TV dinners and all sorts of pre-packaged goods. He just sat on the carpet and stared at the bare walls, wondering why people liked to pretend that living alone was a wonderful thing. No one to do the chores. Nothing good to eat in the refrigerator. No one to talk to. It sucked. He’d learned that much in just a couple of months. By now he was so desperate, he kept wishing for the first day of school to hurry up and get there. At least during classes, he’d be able to see Sam almost every day.

  Tonight, his latest pathetic excuse for a Friday night, he sat cross-legged on the beige carpet, eating cereal. He chewed with disinterest, spoon clinking against the bowl. He was on his last bite when his cell rang. Mechanically, he picked the phone up never taking his eyes off the spoon. His parents called him every day around this time. Greg was more than surprised when Sam’s voice resonated on the other side.

  “Hi, Greg.”

  “Hi,” he said, swallowing his surprise.

  “Um, are you busy? Is this a good time?” She was apologetic, as if she were talking to a stranger.

  No, it’s not a good time. I ordered pizza and have all my buddies over. “No, I’m not busy.”

  “My friend, Brooke, came back from New York today. There’s a party tonight at our friend Reed’s house. Would you . . . like to come?” Greg felt his heart swell until Sam added, “Brooke wants to meet you.”

  -Of course she’s not asking you on a date, you dumbass. A surge of spiteful pride made him want to say he’d made other plans, but it quickly passed. He was tightly wrapped around Sam’s little finger, and would always lose this battle.

  “Sure. I’ll come.”

  “Okay. We’ll see you there at nine-thirty. Do you have a pen?”

  After writing down directions, he hung up and looked at his watch. It was just past seven. For half an hour, he paced up and down, wearing out the already-battered carpet. When he couldn’t take it anymore, he showered. After changing into a pair of clean jeans and gray button-down shirt, he checked his hair in the mirror. He looked damn good, and even the two-day stubble on his angular jaw added to his appeal. So why do I feel like the ugly duckling?

  But he knew why. Ever since meeting Ashby he couldn’t stop making comparisons, and he always came up short. The guy should have looked ridiculous in that over-the-top, tailored suit just to come see Sam and, although Rose had mocked him, it was clear Ashby belonged in those expensive clothes.

  Cursing his bad luck and his watch for not moving fast enough, he left his apartment and drove to the party. After finding the house, he parked at the farthest corner and waited. Slowly, people started to arrive. As they stepped out of their cars, laughing and hopping in excitement, Greg focused his sharp eyes on every face, trying to find the only one he cared about. Both sides of the street filled up with cars before he spotted Sam walking across the lawn, arm in arm with a tall, slender girl.

  He got out of his car and casually headed toward them. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, trying not to betray the butterflies in his gut. He hated being such a fool for her. He was so hopelessly lost he might as well have morphed into a Companion. If only his Keeper side were strong enough to make him feel nothing at all.

  “Hi,” he said when he was a few paces from them.

  “Oh. Em. Gee!” Brooke exclaimed as soon as she laid eyes on him, her mascaraed eyes growing round and doe-like. Her dirty blond hair was fake, judging by the dark, fashionable roots showing through and her olive skin.

  An elbow hit Brooke on the side.

  “Ouch,” Brooke complained, then added, “You’re going to break my ribs, girl.”

  Sam spoke up before Brooke managed to embarrass her even more. “Greg, this is Brooke.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Greg said, extending a hand.

  Brooke shook it and said, “Total sugar coma of the eye.”

  Sam’s elbow went into action again.

  “Okay, okay, I’ll behave,” Brooke promised, putting her palms up in surrender. But Greg almost wished she wouldn’t. Sam’s chagrin was oddly satisfying.

  “Let’s not stand here all night. C’mon.” Brooke pulled Sam along toward the party.

  While she wasn’t looking, Greg admired Sam. She was wearing a form-fitting black skirt and a backless red top that revealed her creamy, smooth skin. She looked gorgeous.

  As they walked in, all eyes turned to them. Greg towered above everyone, which made the upturned faces pointing in his direction painfully apparent. Loud music muffled the greetings Brooke and Sam received. They worked their way past a crowded kitchen and into the dining room where they met Sam’s friend, Reed. Immediately, Greg found a reason to dislike him.

  “Samantha!” he exclaimed as they walked in. “So glad you could make it.” He rubbed her bare arm, keeping his hand there a little too long while he plastered a fawning grin on his round face.

  Greg cocked his head to one side and imagined bending his glasses out of shape and stuffing them down his mouth. Jealousy had been unknown to him until recently, but it was easy to see how it could turn someone into a caveman. He took a deep, calming breath. He couldn’t blame the guy for liking her, after all. She was beautiful.

  Sam shied away from Reed’s touch and offered a meek smile in return.

  “Good to see you, too, Reedy,” Brooke said, pretending to feel slighted.

  Greg liked Brooke more and more every minute.

  “Hi, Brooke,” Reed answered, barely letting his eyes stop on her before they settled on Greg. “Who’s the . . . giant?”

  Greg took another huge breath.

  “Sam’s boyfriend,” Brooke announced. “His name’s Greg.”

  Both Sam and Reed went pale. Reed looked to Sam for confirmation. Or, more likely, hoping for denial. To Greg’s surprise, Sam simply shrugged and offered neither. Reed swiftly turned toward the dining table, pretending to fool with a tray of sandwiches. He shifted it an inch over to the right. Then he left, murmuring something about more drinks.

  “Is he all right?” Greg played innocent.

  “Hey, anyone hungry?” Sam played avoidance. She picked up a small triangular sandwich that looked suspiciously like pimento cheese.

  He wrinkled his nose. “No, thank you. I just ate.”

  “I’ll eat some.” Brooke snatched the morsel off Sam’s hand and sat at the table. “I don’t think Cody’s here,” she said with a pout, frowning as she chowed down on the sandwich and snatched another one. “Sam, get me a drink, will ya?” she mumbled, cheeks bulging with food.

  Sam obeyed instantly, glad to get away. While she was gone, Brooke eyed Greg up and down like one of the little sandwiches she seemed to be enjoying.
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  “You’re a sight for sore eyes,” she said. “Once the initial blinding shock passes.” She said with a chuckle. Greg hoped Cody showed up soon, whoever he was. “So, what’s your story?”

  “Um, story?”

  “Yeah, you know . . . are you into her?”

  Oh, that story. “I—”

  Sam came back before he had to answer. She handed Brooke a juice box.

  “What the hell is this?” Brooke looked at the tiny box as if it were a dirty diaper.

  “It’s all they have. Reed’s parents have the situation under control.” Sam made air quotes.

  “How lame.” Still, Brooke peeled away the accompanying straw, viciously speared the box and sucked on it until it made gurgling sounds.

  Walking around the table, Sam sat in the chair opposite Brooke’s and started bobbing her head to the music, doing her best to ignore Greg. A couple was making out in a corner of the room, partially hidden by a large china cabinet.

  “Don’t want them to think I’m staring,” Greg said, taking the chair next to Sam’s and turning his back on the face snatchers. It was a convenient excuse to be close to her. As he sat, their arms brushed. Her inviting warmth instantly reminded him how lonely he’d felt lately. The touch wasn’t lost on Sam. She shrank away and—even in the semidarkness—he could swear she seemed to be blushing.

  “Oh, gross. Those two need to get a room.” Brooke swiveled on her chair and faced away from the oblivious couple. “Cody said he’d be here. I bet you anything his idiot kid brother has something to do with this. If I could get my hands around his chubby little neck. Do you know what he did the other day when I called Cody from New York?” She didn’t wait for an answer, or even take a breath. “Well, he picked up the phone and told me that Cody had been checked into rehab. He said his parents found drugs in his room and . . .” For the next fifteen minutes, Brooke ran her mouth about Cody, New York and all the boys she’d ever dated or would like to date. Greg and Sam grunted and nodded at the right moments. Meanwhile, he stole glances at Sam, wondering what was going through her mind. She didn’t seem to be paying too much attention to Brooke’s monologue, either.

  “Sooo,” Brooke said, once she seemed to run out of things to talk about. “Are you guys dating or what?” A mischievous glint sparkled in her eyes, accompanied by a raised eyebrow and an upturned smirk.

  “Brooke!” Sam used her name as if it was an expletive.

  “’Cause you totally should be,” Brooke said, without missing a beat.

  Sam crossed her arms and gave her friend a silent, murderous look. Sensing waves of discomfort and confusion flowing from his Integral, Greg squirmed as if his seat were red-hot.

  “Awk-ward,” Brooke said splitting the word in two and rolling her eyes in a big, distracted circle. “Uh, I’ve got to use the restroom. Be right back.”

  For a second, it looked as if Sam would reach out and beg her to stay, but instead she sighed in frustration and stared up at the ceiling.

  “Something interesting up there?” Greg asked, looking up. He followed his question with what he hoped was his most charming smile.

  “I’m sorry about Brooke. She’s very . . . crazy.”

  “Yeah.” Greg couldn’t think of a better adjective either.

  They were silent for a moment.

  “Sam.” She held her breath as he crooned her name. “I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “Please, let me say what I have to say.” This was the first time in several weeks when there hadn’t been a trigonometry textbook between them. Sam had kept her guard very high to avoid this very conversation, but it was time he had his say. She agreed with a feeble nod.

  “I screwed up, Sam. I should’ve been more honest with you about the turn our relationship was taking. I should’ve told you there’s something wrong with me, that somehow I’m broken, that the part of my nature making me . . . feel for you is defective. I was selfish. I shouldn’t have listened to that half of me. I should’ve listened to my Keeper side, ‘cause it was screaming, telling me I’m not supposed to like you this way.”

  He stopped, waiting from her to slap him or something, but she just stared, hanging on his every word. Encouraged, he continued.

  “I should be incapable of . . . of . . .” he couldn’t finish.

  “Of what?” she asked in whisper.

  Greg squeezed his eyes shut for a second and tried to muster the courage to tell her how he felt. When he blinked his eyes open, he saw Sam’s beautiful face twisted into a plea. She wanted to know. Her eyes were practically begging him to finish. His stupid heart started thudding out of control. Slowly, he leaned toward Sam, hypnotized by her moist, parted lips. He inched closer, allowing her ample time to back away. She didn’t.

  Her breath caught. Their lips met.

  Greg’s heart was suddenly locked in a vise grip of dread. The feeling was so absolute, so overwhelming that their kiss became nothing but a slight, fleeting caress. With a gasp, he recoiled.

  Damn his Keeper side. It’d stolen their kiss.

  He must have looked sick, because Sam looked worried. “Are you all right?”

  He struggled to catch his breath and couldn’t respond.

  “Answer me,” she said, throwing her arm around him and pulling him into a shy but desperate embrace. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m fine,” he breathed out, wrapping his own arms around her waist and pulling her closer.

  “Greg,” she exhaled in his ear. “I don’t want to change. I’m so confused.”

  “I know, I know.” Her hair smelled like some forgotten, blissful dream. His limbs went weak.

  “It would be like . . . being possessed.”

  He nodded, burying his face deeper into her hair. Heat rose in his veins as he found his way to her warm, pulsating neck. In spite of himself, he brushed her skin with his lips. She yielded, and he had to fight to restrain himself.

  She pulled away one short inch at a time, her arms clinging. “What do we do?”

  In that moment, he suspected Sam might agree to whatever he dared suggest, but he knew it would be wrong to speak his heart. His senses were full of her scent, her taste, her touch. He couldn’t think of anything honorable.

  “I—I don’t know,” he managed, wanting nothing more than to take her out of here. From the corner of his eye, Greg saw Brooke step into the dining room.

  “Are you two done? ‘Cause I’m sick of watching you not make out!” She was pretending to be irritated, but promptly switched her tone to a regretful one. “Okay, guys. Sorry for interrupting this heart-pounding love affair, but I have to get home. I didn’t exactly ask for permission to stay out late, and I’m kind of grounded already. Anyway,” she turned to Sam and added suggestively, “Greg can give you a ride home, if you want to stay.”

  As he exchanged glances with Sam, Greg was immediately struck by the eagerness and fire in her expression. She definitely wanted to stay.

  -Bad idea! Bad idea! A siren went off inside his brain. “Um, I think maybe she should . . .” Greg started.

  “Actually,” Sam cut him short. “I think I’d better go with you, Brooke.”

  Greg wasn’t sure whether he’d hurt her feelings, or if—in the last moment—she’d realized what could happen if they left together and what a bad idea that particular step would be. All he hoped was that she didn’t go back to giving him the cold shoulder. For her part, Brooke looked at them as if they’d just grown donkey ears. Clearly, she had no qualms about taking relationships to the next step.

  They said their goodbyes outside. More than ever, parting from Sam felt like trying to pry two chain links apart. More than once, Greg bit back the urge to offer her a ride. He knew in his gut Sam would go with him if he asked her. They could go back to his apartment and . . .

  . . . and when she morphs, she’ll hate you forever for taking advantage of this moment!

  More than anything in the world, this thought frightened him. He c
ouldn’t afford to lose her trust again. One more failure and he knew the hope of ever being together would die. And he would do anything to save it. Even if it died the day she came of age, at least he’d have her friendship.

  Chapter 26 - Greg

  Late after the party, Greg was in his apartment, brushing his teeth, staring dreamily into the mirror when there was a knock at the door. He rinsed his mouth and went to the front, wondering who it could be. He hadn’t gotten a single visitor since he had moved in. He looked through the peephole and was surprised to see Sam standing there.

  Looking around as if he needed to straighten up the place, he blinked, remembering there was little that could be out of order. His apartment still had an absolute minimum of furniture. He wiped sweaty hands on his jeans and opened the door.

  “Hi,” Sam said with a shy smile.

  “Hey.”

  She suddenly looked like someone who wanted to be far, far away. “I think . . .” she cast a glance toward the stairs, ready to bolt, “Maybe I shouldn’t be here. I don’t know what came over me. I—I should leave.”

  Sam turned as if to go, but Greg snatched her wrist and pulled her inside. In one quick motion, he closed the door, pressed Sam’s back against it, and seized her lips in his. Her response was immediate. She wrapped eager hands around him and returned his kiss with the same body-swaying passion he felt. Forgetting himself, he lifted her up, pinning her with his body against the door. Sam wrapped her legs around his waist and dug her fingers into his hair, making him groan deep in his throat.

  His mouth left hers and began tracing a path along her jaw. She clung to his neck and whispered his name, eyes pointing to the ceiling as she stretched her neck, inviting him to sample the sweet taste of her collarbone. He obliged, tasting her, making her sigh.

  Drunk with passion, they staggered to the floor, Greg falling on top of her as he continued to kiss her.