First Love (Winning at Love Book 2) Page 13

  “I just don’t think I can run with you looking like that.” I move in closer, eliminating any space between us.

  “Keaton.” Her voice weakens, as our chests brush from the proximity I’ve created. I sink my face down into the soft spot where her shoulder meets her neck and inhale her intoxicating scent without a word. Within seconds, she wraps her arms around my neck, and pulls me in closer. Hands resting on her hips, I squeeze.

  “I need you to change. You’re making me weak. I am but a mere mortal. Please, Kam.”

  Her breath hitches, and I can feel her body trembling.

  “Please.” I say again against her skin, my lips moving briefly over the soft skin of her neck, when I feel her nod in agreement. “Thank fuck,” I mutter, gliding my tongue quickly along her skin, desperate for a taste, before I give her neck a loud zerbert.

  She squeals and tugs the ends of my short hair, her hands shaky, before unhooking her arms from me and looking me in the eye. Her cheeks are flushed, her pupils are dilated—lust-filled. She shakes it off. “You’re such a pain,” she says, giggling, while rubbing my saliva off her neck with the back of her hand.

  “You love it. Now hurry and change.” I clap my hands. “We gotsta build up that stamina of yours if we’re both gonna have a chance this year,” I tease, knowing I’m pushing her buttons.

  She rolls her eyes. “Three things you have to agree to before I change,” the little minx says, smiling wide, knowing she has me.

  Our gazes catch and lock in challenge. “Shoot.”

  “First, you cannot let that Barry win either the Highland Games 10K or the Marden Marathon. I mean it, Keaton. I’ll be so mad if he wins either.”

  I toss my head back in laughter. “I can do that. I’ll make sure he doesn’t. Second?”

  “You must bring me lunch all next week. Not store-bought or takeout. Brown-bagged, made by yours truly, ya Neanderthal.” She taps her finger against my chest.

  “Easy. Consider it done,” I nod in agreement, internally high-fiving my Neanderthal self. I’ll pretty much agree to anything at this point if it will make her change out of that skimpy top.

  “Third?”

  She moves up to her tiptoes, almost brushing her lips against mine. “Book me in for my tattoo, Keat.”

  Anything but that.

  “You know I can’t do that, Kam.”

  “Fine. I guess I can’t change then, Keat,” she shrugs. I’m about to argue when she slips out from under me and runs down the stairs, making a point of shaking her ass. I groan, watching.

  “Kami!” I call, once I’ve gained my bearings.

  “Are you coming with me or what?” she calls over her shoulder, her head cocked to the side. She jogs in place in the middle of the pathway, waiting for me to decide.

  I try to find words. I’m tongue-tied. The sight of her tits bouncing steals away any witty comments I might have responded with. She looks like she can’t wait to get going, when really, I know she’s working to get and stay under my skin. As if I’m about to let her out of my sight dressed like that! A fact she knows damn well.

  “You played me, you sneak,” I say, shaking my head, while grudgingly walking down the stairs to join her. “I’m coming,” I say, and for a fraction of a second I see her eyes dip down to my bulging crotch. She smirks.

  Oh yeah, she totally fucking played me.

  “I did!” she laughs, her eyes shining with satisfaction.

  I could fall in love with seeing that look of triumph on her face. And that’s not the only thing you could fall in love with, you asshole…

  “You ready to try keeping up?” Kami raises a questioning brow before turning to face the road, thankfully taking my thoughts with her.

  “Yeah, I think I can manage,” I chuckle, falling in line behind her on the narrow path, but I’m lying. There’s no way I’ll keep up, I realize, as my eyes drop down to her waist and hips, following every movement as she gains her stride.

  How the hell am I gonna jog for 10K with a raging hard on? I guess I’m about to find out.

  18

  Do Not Disturb

  Kami

  “I don’t like you very much. You know that, right?” I say, giving my best friend some cut eye.

  We’re sitting around our table in The Cellar, located in the nearby town of Elora, for our year-end staff party. I’d persuaded my bestie to stay on and party with a few of our favourite work friends now that the dinner part was over and most of the older staff had left, including Liza, our outgoing principal, whom we had celebrated with a decadent chocolate cake. It took some convincing to get Eastlyn to stay—because it is still technically a school night—but in the end, she bent to my iron will.

  Unfortunately, I’d admitted to her earlier that I might be on the prowl tonight, needing a cute boy to kiss, which has led to our current topic of conversation: Keaton and I. That’s what being full of shit leads to. I really should just keep my trap shut.

  It’s just that my emotions are all over the place. I can’t stop thinking of Keaton and what it could be like between us. Then I get scared and think of all the risks, too. Just when I think I might finally go for him, I think of another reason I shouldn’t. So, being a dumb-ass, I begged the wrong person to stay out with me and help me kiss a random boy, to see if maybe I’m just in need of some male attention. Facepalm.

  “You know, for a virgin you’re a horny bitch. Maybe I should just let Keaton at you,” she’d said in response to my “kiss a boy” comment, and now here we are.

  “Ha. Twenty-six years of foreplay will do that to you,” I snicker, taking another sip of wine while I wait for the shots we ordered to arrive.

  “Don’t you mean twenty? You were six years old when you met Keaton and I,” Eastlyn volleys back, and I know she’s implying that’s how long she thinks it’s been since I’ve been “in love” with her brother. And really, she isn’t too far off. Still, I neither confirm or deny it. “Okay, maybe it’s not been exactly foreplay with Keat, but it’s definitely been puppy love,” she suggests, and like always, when she gets this way, the best tactic is to ignore her. Which drives her crazy because after all these years, I never give in and tell her straight up how I’m feeling about her brother.

  Eastlyn is my best friend which makes this all so hard for me. I’d never want to do anything to ruin our friendship. What if Keat and I got together, and I hurt him? She’s always warning me about him, worried the opposite could happen, thinking only of my feelings.

  But what about Keaton’s? What if all that I’m feeling is simply lust, or the comfort of a childhood buddy? What if I were the one to end things with Keaton once they’d started? There are many factors to consider here, which is why I need to tread lightly. Even if Eastlyn and I both know that I absolutely feel all the things towards Keaton—and many not-very-friend-like things. By holding myself back, I feel like I’m looking out for all three of us.

  “I still don’t like you very much. You know that, right?” I say, and once again give her my cut eye, but she knows better than to take me completely seriously.

  “Kam, please. You might be generally boy crazy, but I know Keat’s the only one you really want.”

  Eastlyn starts to pass around the tray of drinks that our server, Anne, has just delivered. She’s not wrong, I do tend to give off a boy-crazy vibe. I’ve dated a lot, I talk about boys a lot, so I’m generally okay with that assessment, even if deep down it’s all been a distraction, a way to try to bury the feelings that come up no matter how many dates or new acquaintances I end up with.

  This conversation does get exhausting. It’s hard to keep it all bottled in, and lately it seems as if everyone only wants to talk about Kami and Keaton. If it’s not Jane, it’s Eastlyn; if it’s not Eastlyn, it’s me questioning myself.

  Deciding I need this to end tonight, I focus on having fun. I decide to try a new tactic. I’ll give her a morsel. I lean in closer to her, so only she can hear. The others are all talking about Marcy’s e
x, summer plans, and some new dating app.

  “It doesn’t matter, East. Even if I did want your brother—which I will neither confirm or deny—he’s not interested in me that way. The guy gives me nothing but mixed signals,” I huff, because it’s true. One minute, he’s flirting, looking like he wants to consume me, the next he’s back to being playful, and making me feel like I imagined it. “Just this morning on our run, he didn’t want to go until I changed into jogging pants and a sweater, muttering on about my ass or my chest or something.” I say, exasperated, flailing my hands in frustration. I think about, but don’t share, how I’d backed myself against the door as he came close to me, how his body touched mine, and how his mouth felt on my skin. I get a shiver as I remember how warm his lips felt. I may be lying to Eastlyn about him not being interested in me that way, because if his body’s reaction to mine is anything to go by, he’s definitely interested. Too bad I’m not ready to say it out loud for fear it was only a momentary lapse that meant nothing. After all, he is a man, and I was trying to test him with my choice of outfit today.

  “…You’re making me weak. I am but a mere mortal. Please, Kam.”

  The thrill those words sent up my spine, hearing them directed at me, felt way too good and, god, how I wanted him to take me inside. Of course, I don’t share any of these thoughts with my best friend, that would only encourage her. Something’s got to give. One of us needs to take the leap. We can’t keep doing this to one another. I’m so tired of feeling unsure about something I’ve always felt was so right. And I think me leaving to go Down East will be the best medicine I can give myself. It will give Keaton and I the break maybe we both need.

  Shoving those thoughts aside, I smile, remembering how I ended up with the last laugh, continuing to share what happened with Eastlyn. “He was so pissed.” I tell her about my three demands, and how in the end I won. “I refused to change,” I laugh. I share how he was a total pill on our run, and how he lagged behind me.

  “Good girl. Ha! I can imagine him being a complete grump.” She raises her Lemon Drop shot, tilts her head back and slugs it down.

  Yeah. A grump with a hard on.

  I smile. “I couldn’t quite make out what he was going on about. I caught him mumbling about not being able to run, though. It definitely felt like, for the first time in ages, I had the upper hand.” I puff my shoulders out at the thought of his face. I could hear him growling behind me for the whole run, and I knew then those spandex capris I wore were definitely a hit. Score one for Kami. Tonight, I’ll be buying Marcy a few drinks of gratitude, that’s for sure.

  “That’s a total rarity, having one up on my brother,” Eastlyn says, in understanding. “Still…” she trails off.

  “Ugh, I don’t want to go there tonight. Let’s move on before I start analyzing his and my relationship…or the lack of it.” More so than I already have been…

  “You’re clueless.” East huffs out an irritable breath. “Hell, if it weren’t for me, Keaton would be all over you. I keep telling him he’s not good enough for you and that you’re not interested, ’cause that’s what you keep telling me and I know you’d never lie to me…” she laughs, as my jaw goes slack. If only it were that simple. If only it were true. “What?!” she says. “It’s true, right? You aren’t interested in him that way? Well if you change your mind and decide to come out of the closet, I could probably help make it happen a lot faster. I would at least stop making up bullshit to Keat about all the dates you go on—and how hot and attentive some of those guys are.”

  “You little shit! You’ve been doing that?” I sound surprised, I know I do. I mean, I know Eastlyn has mixed feelings about the idea of me and her brother giving a relationship a try. We’ve talked about it, and the biggest thing holding her back from giving us her full blessing has been the fact that Keaton has always been a player. Eastlyn worries if things didn’t work out that it would affect our relationship, just like I do. Our jobs and families are so intertwined.

  “Of course, I do,” she howls. “I know he has feelings for you. We need to draw him out, then reel him in. I just need to make sure he’s serious before I let him at you,” she laughs. “Honestly, Kam, I’ve known you two have liked each other for years. I’m almost supportive of it. He just needs a little more time to prove to me that he’s the man I know he can be. I know for a fact, though, that he’d love to be the one to pop that cherry—if I gave him my blessing.”

  “Oh my God, East!” I hiss, my head shaking furiously. Not everyone in the place needs to know I’m a frickin’ virgin. Especially the people I work with. “Enough! We need to stop talking about this.” My eyes dart around the table, my heart beating way too fast. Lucky for me, most of the other staff have left and it’s just our small group, who are still more or less ignoring us and having a passionate conversation about the nerve of them remaking Dirty Dancing.

  “What? I love you, and I’m not willing to risk our friendship if my brother isn’t in it to make you my sister. You can’t fault me for that,” she says sincerely, a look of compassion washing over her pretty face.

  And, dammit, she’s right. How can I be pissed when she puts it like that? I’m such a fucking mess. When did I let things get so screwy? Distance. I need to get some distance to see if it changes how I feel. I’ve been talking to and seeing Keaton way too much of late. That’s got to be it, right?

  “Wow. I don’t even know what to say to you right now,” I say, “…other than I love you. Even if you do think you could stop us from being together, if that’s what we decide we want. Which we don’t,” I reassure her, although I’m not sure it’s my most convincing statement. I stand up and reach for my black clutch, deciding this conversation is done. “Let’s go dance, ladies. And you…” I say, motioning towards my bestie, a mischievous smile pulling at my lips, “you better get us all more drinks—stat!”

  I knock the last of my wine back, causing everyone at the table to laugh. “And be prepared, East. There will be dancing, and lots of drinking. You’ll be the Goose to my Maverick tonight,” I tease, my shoulder-length, hair swaying as I shift towards the dance floor, “especially after all that, you shithead.” I toss my head back and laugh, even if I’m not fully over everything we’ve just talked about.

  Luckily Eastlyn agrees, and we all make our way to the centre of the dance floor. East gives me a hug, and agrees to have a good time with no more talk of her brother, as the sound of Madonna singing “Bitch I’m Madonna” blares overhead. Within seconds, all is forgotten as my best friend—the world’s worst dancer, next to Elaine Benes—struts her badass self in jerky circles around me on the dance floor, not giving a shit who might be looking.

  We spend the rest of the night drinking, dancing, and carrying on, and true to her word there isn’t another mention of the K word, yet he’s never far from my mind.

  *

  I might not have kissed a boy, or even talked to one tonight, but I sure did text one when I got home.

  Me: I don’t really date a lot, you know.

  His reply comes immediately.

  Keaton: You got home okay?

  I roll my eyes. Before he left after our run this morning, he’d told me to call him if I needed a ride.

  Me: Yes

  Keaton: I’m glad. Real fucking glad.

  I don’t know what part he’s glad about. And I’m too chicken to ask.

  I hate this.

  Why does it seem I have an uncanny talent for setting myself up for ominous Keaton Hatfield responses? Ones that leave me so damn confused, frustrated, and annoyed at myself for texting him after I’d vowed not to. Pissed, I set my phone’s alarm before turning on its “Do Not Disturb” mode, and laying it on my nightstand.

  If only I could set my damn heart to a “Do Not Disturb” setting where Keaton Hatfield is concerned.

  19

  Dead Man Walking

  Keaton

  Bringgg!

  Bringgg!

  Bringgg!

&nbs
p; I ignore the ringing of my cell, focused instead on the buzz coming off the iron in my hand as I turn it on and test it, getting it ready for the day. It’s a sound which never fails to make me feel giddy as fuck. My favourite feeling, though, is the kickback from the needles’ vibration when it punctures the skin as I fill the blank canvas with my creations. The way the machine’s vibrations shoot up my arm and across my chest as the needle hits the skin over and over causes a feeling of rightness to settle over me, each and every time.

  Tattooing is a rush I’ll never tire of. It makes me feel alive. And nothing, not even the sweetest of pussies, can compare to the feeling of being here in my shop—Inkredible. Even if my days are long as hell, I wouldn’t trade the privilege of inking the masses with my art for anything. Inkredible is all my dreams come to fruition. And I’m so goddamn humbled that people trust me to put my art onto their bodies knowing it’s forever. Nothing compares to seeing my designs, lines, and creations coming to life on someone’s body. Thank fuck my parents are the incredible people they are and supported me, even when I dropped out of business school to pursue art classes and eventually found Axel at Ink Smith, who agreed to take my punk ass on as an apprentice. For as long as I can remember, all I ever wanted to do was draw and sketch anything and anyone, wherever and whenever I could. And now I’m living the dream.

  Ping!

  Ping!

  Ping!

  Looking at the clock above my station where I’m busy getting set up and ready to start my long day of back-to-back appointments, I can’t hide my smile knowing exactly who’s texting, as I predicted would happen. Not sure I’m ready to face the music just yet, so I choose to ignore my phone and live in the bliss of ignorance for a few more minutes.

  Ping!

  Ping!

  “Keat, for the love of peace and quiet in the morning, silence your goddamn phone!” Becks shouts, from where she’s sitting at the front of the shop.