First Love (Winning at Love Book 2) Read online

  Originally, I’d offered to make Holly breakfast this morning, got all the shit out to cook and everything. Now, I think it’s best she heads out. I need time to deal with my head. Knowing Holly spoke to Kami on the phone has me jacked up. Worried. Kam knows I date a lot, and her knowing that is fine. But actually having it thrown in her face? Not so much. Fuck, this newfound stream of consciousness sucks. I had hoped to follow up breakfast with another roll in the sheets, but that plan has pretty much fallen to the wayside.

  Holly didn’t tell me Kami called when I was in the shower last night. It seems Holly conveniently only remembered to tell me Kami called when she saw me pull my phone from the pocket of my track pants this morning. Thankfully, Holly swears Kami said it wasn’t important, but from the dozen texts I now see, I can’t help wonder if maybe it was more important than Holly let on. Important or not, I would’ve called Kami back had I known.

  By the time I’d come out of the shower, Holly had been ready for Round Two. And after? She hadn’t said a word about any calls as she snuggled up on my chest, drifting off to sleep. And it’s not like I cared about checking my phone at that moment; I was sated, and that’s what mattered. Or so I keep trying to convince myself, anyway. Because, honestly, I’m pissed right now. If I’d known, I would have tossed Holly aside to talk to Kami. And it’s this fact that has my mind at war this morning, trying to figure out what the hell that says about my feelings for Kami. In reality, I’m not sure there’s any woman I wouldn’t toss aside for Kami Sutherland. It’s that realization that has me fucked up the most this morning. I’m not so sure I’m ready to admit what I know deep down inside that means, either. ’Cause if you ask me, my reactions are pretty fucked up for missing a “friend’s” phone call. Even I can see that.

  “I don’t get why you’re so mad? She’s just your friend, right? She’ll still be there after I leave. Now, how’s about I let you have at me again before I go? I’ll let you do that thing you like,” Holly says, my words obviously not registering. She glances at her watch before giving me the crooked smile I’d found so sexy up until about ten minutes ago. “I don’t need to be anywhere else, Keaton. We could go for Round Three. Besides, maybe I could be the best friend you ever have?” she says, running her hands up and down my chest, her eyes honing in on the array of tatts covering my body. Ones she had licked and admired all last night. My jaw tightens, uneasy with the feel of her hands on my skin. The positive effect she once had on me with her smooth touches has been completely obliterated in the morning light.

  Did I just imagine the part of our conversation where I told her we were done?

  “She’s my best friend, but that isn’t even the point anymore,” I say, placing my hands over hers to remove them. Turning, I head for the hallway. Luckily, she follows.

  “I said I was sorry. Jeez. Let me make it up to you. I could do that thing wh—”

  I cut her off. “No thanks, Holly. Like I said, we need to chill for a while. And I got a ton of shit to do today around here. Drywaller’s coming tomorrow, and I need to prep stuff. I need to get moving,” I tell her. We are both standing in the foyer now. I reach for her black cardigan on the coat rack, and retrieve her gold-coloured purse from the table that holds my grandmother’s Tiffany lamp.

  “Are you sure? I could stay and help. As a friend?” she asks, seeming desperate now.

  “Isn’t much you could really do, but thanks anyway. I’ll take you up on the friend offer, though,” I smile, opening the heavy wooden door.

  “Hmm. Did I just get friend-zoned?” she asks, licking her lips and giving me her best doe eyes.

  “It’s for the best. I can’t offer you more.”

  The look in her eyes changes.

  “Oh. My. God. How didn’t I see it? You’re into her! You’re just in total denial!” Holly starts laughing. “I’m so stupid. I always fall for the guy who’s closed off, or hung up on someone else. Un-freaking-believable! Admit it. You want her.” She glares up at me, toe tapping. Waiting.

  “Kami’s and my friendship isn’t anything you should concern yourself with.”

  “Fine, whatever. But you know what, Keaton Hatfield? You. Are. An. Asshole. Damn you for leading me on, making me think I had a chance at some actual happiness.”

  “I’m sorry, Hols. I didn’t mean for things to end like this. But I think I’ve been pretty clear all along.”

  “I deserve better than this, Keaton. Better than being second best,” Holly huffs, snatching her purse from my hand before flinging the door all the way open and flying out of it.

  “You do,” I call after her, “and I hope you find it, Holly. You’re a great girl.” My words make her pause on the edge of my porch.

  “Hey, Keat?” she turns, her eyes meeting mine.

  “Yeah?” I sigh, annoyed at myself for not leaving well enough alone.

  “If this Kim—”

  “Kami,” I grit, correcting her, knowing full well she is more than aware of Kami’s name.

  She rolls her eyes, her voice turning husky. “Whatever. If this Kami chick fucks up and isn’t there when you need her, or she doesn’t want you, call me. I might let you be my friend again,” she clucks, batting her lashes.

  “I think I’ll be good, but thanks,” I reply as politely as possible, realizing this whole conversation has gone right over her head.

  What a waste of time.

  “What the hell is your damn problem? I’m a catch. No need to be so fucking rude!” she yells, while tossing her head and stomping her way down the walkway to her navy-blue Jeep Compass.

  I stick my head out the door and look quickly side to side, checking to see if any of my neighbours caught the drama with their morning coffee. Luckily, the coast is clear. I close my door as I hear Holly’s car tear up the street.

  Shaking my head, I run my hands through my hair, tugging the dirty-blonde strands in frustration at the morning’s turn of events.

  Not for the first time, I think that my feelings for Kami could be a bigger part of my “damn problem” than I like to admit.

  6

  The Virgin on the Bus

  Keaton

  For as long as I can remember, Kami Sutherland has been a permanent fixture in the Hatfield household.

  After school.

  On weekends.

  At family dinners and parties.

  Always there, always drawing me in—even if it was innocent and unintentional.

  It was that way in the beginning, at least.

  As the years have passed, however, I’m not so sure Kami Sutherland is as innocent as I thought she was. Days like the other day—when she showed up at my shop, trying to creep in undetected for a tattoo, using that lame alias, looking as beautiful as only she can—makes me wonder if after all these years she’s known what she does to me. If she knows, she’s starting to test my resistance.

  “Always there,” I mutter, cleaning up the kitchen after eating my breakfast once Holly left. Shaking my head, I scrub the counter after loading the dishes into the dishwasher, and then chuckle, thinking just how true that statement is.

  All the times we celebrated what my mom, Katie Hatfield, considered special milestones that my sister and I would hit. The ones which—according to Mom—we couldn’t let pass by without some over-the-top festivity or party. Acknowledgments that wouldn’t be complete without one of mom’s famous cakes. Nothing says driving a memory home better than a good ol’ themed cake. Like the tit cake she made to celebrate Eastlyn’s mosquito bites sprouting and the new training bra she’d now be wearing. Jesus, that was mortifying, and, of course, my sister’s biggest crush—my buddy McCoy—was there for that one. God, Coy and I teased the hell out of her. I laugh at the memory while wiping down the stove. Shit was funny when it wasn’t about me. Unfortunately, I too was the target of a Katie Hatfield original. My most embarrassing celebration, in my opinion, was the cake she made to look like a tube of Clearasil when I hit puberty and my face broke out. I was mortified; who the h
ell celebrates acne? My mom, that’s who. I suppose the celebration did help to take the sting out of the whole ordeal. But the most mortifying part was that Kami had been there, sitting right across the table, those big hazel eyes and her soft strawberry-blonde hair drawing me in even as she sat laughing along at my expense while my mom cut the cake and assured me that the hairs growing on my unmentionables were a bit too graphic to frost, even for her. My mom’s words, not mine. Words which gave my sister Eastlyn and her best friend Kami their own ammunition for future retaliation for years to come.

  My mom has always been so extra. I cringe at the memory. Thank fuck my dad interjected before the woman could finish her train of thought on how good things would soon come along (Momspeak, meaning girls) with the bad of all my zits. So, yeah, Kam’s pretty much seen it all where my wacky family is concerned. Lucky me.

  Kami Sutherland may have been my sister’s best friend, but Kam and I have always shared a special bond. She’s been my friend, too, in her own way, for almost as long.

  Friends since kindergarten, it didn’t take long for Kami and Eastlyn to become a life-like version of Thelma and Louise. Seeing those two grow and change, everyone knew they had that ride-or-die kind of friendship, one that would last forever. Where Kami and I might not have stayed tight like they did, the soft spot I had for Kami Sutherland never seemed to change or diminish, even when the evolution and dynamics of our friendship did.

  I’ve always liked Kami, and more recently I’ll admit my feelings have wavered into that uncharted territory of a Do I want more with her? kind of thinking. The idea of more with her plays in my mind on the regular. I’m just not sure I’m what she deserves, whether or not I can be what she needs.

  The first time I realized my feelings towards Kami were possibly changing came like a shot to the gut. It winded me, and from that day forward, I could never quite catch my breath when Kami Sutherland was around. I’ve always been drawn to her, my feelings were different for her, stronger than simply friendship, but being so young it took me a while to understand. I can pinpoint the big revelation to when I was in the seventh grade, and Kami was in the sixth.

  It was the first time I ever saw her hurt. Kami was sitting by herself at the back of the bus; we’d all been assigned new seats by the driver. We’d gotten in shit for being too loud, so Lou separated us all. Put the good kids at the back, and spread out the loud ones nearer to the front. It was the end of the week, the first Friday of our new seating plan, and as I mounted the bus, my eyes sought Kami out. My sister was home sick with the flu, so I knew Kami would be sitting alone. For some reason, I’d taken to checking up on her the same way I did with my sister.

  I remember feeling a simmering anger as my eyes landed on her, something I’d never felt before. She sat against the window in the last seat. Crying. Wet tears streamed down her pretty face, her cheeks flushed, her strawberry-blonde hair doing nothing to hide the hurt expression on her face despite her clear efforts to try to look brave. There was no way to shield how upset she was. There she was, surrounded by Markus, Webster, Cal, and a couple other eighth-graders who’d obviously gotten out of their seats when Lou was distracted to join in with the laughing and carrying on. I felt my jaw tense and my heart start to pound as I registered the scene. Despite being a year younger than the boys, I was bigger, always had been. And being in a seventh-and-eighth-grade split class, we were all friends. Or…we were.

  I pushed my way down the aisle of the school bus towards the back, never once taking my eyes off of Kami…

  “Ohhh! Here comes Keaton to save his little princess,” Cal teases, once he sees me approaching. Never have I wanted to turn someone’s blue eyes black the way I do when he opens his mouth, a satisfied smirk tugging on his soon-to-be fat lips.

  “Piss off, shithead. What did you do to her?” I ask, my voice feral.

  Kami still hasn’t looked my way. Her head is down and I can hear her sniffling. Inching closer, I see her nervousness spiking in the wringing of her hands on her lap. A slight quiver moves through her bottom lip, and it almost kills me. I want nothing more than to make this all go away. It’s a feeling I’ve never felt before, one I’m not sure I even understand, but, nonetheless, it’s there. Even though Kami hasn’t acknowledged my presence, I know she’s as aware of me as I am of her. I could tell by the catch in her breath when she heard me speak.

  “Aww, aren’t we sweet, coming to save our girl,” Webster taunts.

  I don’t miss the little gasp Kami lets slip when I tell Webster to sit the hell down when he tries to step up to me. I elbow past him, ignoring the boys’ pathetic muttered catcalls, low enough that they won’t alert Lou. Rolling my eyes, I move into Kami’s seat, taking up the empty space beside her.

  “Kam,” I whisper, resting my hand on her back. “Kami? Hey, you all right?” I ask.

  And that was the moment. Right there. That’s when I felt the sucker punch to the solar plexus. The whooshing in my ears. It was when I saw those big, whiskey-hazel eyes of hers—with predominant flecks of gold, much more noticeable now that she was in tears—meeting and holding mine, silently telling me how relieved she was to see me. Seeing how the tears she was trying to stop shedding were welling up and about to spill, and seeing the way her chest heaved up and down as she battled to keep her sobs from escaping in front of those jerks broke something in me. Or maybe it awakened something? I’m not sure. But on that day, I knew I never wanted to see Kami Sutherland cry ever again. I knew my soul couldn’t take it.

  Kami looked right at me and before I could say anything more, she flung herself into my arms, burying her head in the crook of my neck. And instead of feeling freaked that she was touching me so intimately—literally clinging to me—in front of everyone, it just felt right.

  “Thank you, Keaton,” she says, pulling away just far enough to face me, a nervous smile stretching across her face…

  …a face I’d come to associate with the word beautiful. I hadn’t ever really noticed it before that moment on the school bus, not when we’d hung out with my sister or went running together after school, just me and her. But Kami was—and still is—beautiful. Even at twelve years old, I could see it.

  “Keat?” she says softly.

  “Yeah, Kam?” I whisper into her hair, where she’s now hiding.

  “Is it true, what they were saying about me? Am I a…a ‘v-v-virgin’?” she asks, letting out a hiccup.

  And I lashed out. That day was the first time I’d ever punched another person in my life. Well, three people. And from that moment on, I knew this girl was going to be getting me into a lot of trouble because—if my actions had proven anything to anyone—the message was clear: I would always protect Kami and her honour. That turned out to be only the beginning. I spent so much time in detention, or the principal’s office, or grounded, until my dad finally made me ’fess up about what the hell was going on with me. Thankfully, he was proud of me for always looking out for Kami and Eastlyn.

  I hang the dishcloth onto the sink’s faucet, and pick up my phone on my way to the bedroom, in desperate need of a shower.

  Too bad I don’t deserve her kind of perfect. I’d only fuck it up. And I’d vowed years ago to never be the reason Kami would cry.

  Once up in my room, I tap out a text to Kami.

  Me: Sorry about Holly. She’s just a friend, not my gf. As for McCoy being in town, I’m sworn to secrecy.

  I tell her about Holly because for the first time, it feels wrong not to. And that thought scares the shit out of me.

  “Fuck.” I toss my phone on the bed, and head for the shower. It’s getting harder and harder not to give in and put myself out there where Kami is concerned. Maybe it’s time to test exactly what could be between us? Are either of us ready for that kind of explosion?

  As for McCoy, I know there will be hell to pay for my secrecy soon enough. And that fact makes me smile.

  I love me a feisty Hellcat.

  7

  The Art of Avoidan
ce

  Kami

  “I’m all done, Miss Sutherland. Want me to charge the iPads before I go?” Luca—one of my eighth-graders—asks, his brown eyes darting between me and the device. He zips up his knapsack and tosses it over his shoulder, iPad in hand.

  “No, that’s okay, I’ll put them away before I leave. Thanks, though,” I tell him, standing up from my desk where I’ve been looking over the seating plan for next week’s graduation, making sure we haven’t overlooked anyone’s guests. The end of year is always hectic, but I need to make sure graduation is perfect.

  “Just think, one week to go!” he smiles, and hands me the social studies assignment he’s been staying after school all week to complete.

  I fist pump the air, and Luca laughs.

  “I cannot wait, it’s getting so close!” I say, as I give the two sheets of paper he’s just handed me a cursory glance. Scanning his work, I nod my approval as we move towards the hallway. “On the weekend, I’ll mark everything you’ve handed in so far. But this looks great, Luca.”

  With the end of the school year quickly approaching, I’m trying really hard to keep in teacher mode. My report cards are done, so the last thing I want to do this weekend is mark anything else, and maybe have to change a grade or two. But how can I not when Luca’s been putting in so much effort to bring up his grades and finish his late assignments?

  “Thanks for letting me stay after school. It’s helping get me back on track.”

  “It’s no problem, Luca. I know how hard you’ve been working and it shows. Now the only thing left is to for you to type up your paper on natural resources and their impacts on our quality of life for Monday, and we’ll both be free!” I raise my hand to give him an enthusiastic high-five and he grudgingly obliges, pretty much telling me I’m crazy with his facial expressions, before he steps into the hall.