Stalk me. (The Keatyn Chronicles) Page 5

  Cush has one of those dads whom he both idolizes and hates. Last year, he asked me to go to dinner with them. His dad was newly engaged to a thirty-year-old woman. He’s been engaged twice since, each fiancée younger than the first. I’ve joined them for dinner every month since.

  Cush: He broke off the engagement with Juliette. Has a new one for me to meet. This one’s probably still in diapers.

  Me: Of course I’ll go.

  Cush: Pick you up at 7. Look hot. It’ll distract him.

  Me: You’re bad.

  Cush: Most girls tell me I’m good. Wanna find out?

  I just want you.

  9:10am

  I walk out onto the deck, grab my board, and head down the beach. Brooklyn’s back is to me, but Mark notices me. He lets out a whistle, but I can tell by his goofy grin that he’s just giving me shit. They treat me like one of the guys, which is probably why I love hanging out with them. They are just so chill about everything.

  And high most the time, too, but whatever.

  Damian looks up from waxing his board and gives me a wave, then Brooklyn turns around and looks at me. His look is like something out of a movie.

  FADE IN: MALIBU BEACH

  A FEW PEOPLE ARE SCATTERED ON THE UPSCALE PRIVATE BEACH OF THE MALIBU COLONY. PAN SCENE OF THE GORGEOUS HOMES LINING THE BEACH.

  A group of boys are preparing to surf. A blonde girl walks down the beach to join them. She is in a very skimpy bikini. A couple of the boys greet her.

  BROOKLYN

  (Turns to face Keatyn. His eyes take in her skimpiest bikini. He realizes she’s grown up. She’s not the girl he became friends with. His eyes fill with desire, but he greets her casually.)

  Hey, Keats. Surf’s up.

  KEATYN

  (Walks closer to him. Makes him uncomfortable.)

  I see that.

  BROOKLYN

  Forget surfing. I need to talk to you.

  (He drags her up to his bedroom.)

  KEATYN

  (Pretends to look surprised, but she isn’t. She speaks in a slow, sexy way, plays with her hair, and licks her lips suggestively.)

  What did you want to talk about?

  BROOKLYN

  (Pulls her into his arms.)

  I don’t want to talk. I just want you.

  (He kisses her and throws her on the bed. They kiss passionately, and then he ravishes her body. She can’t think or speak; she’s so overwhelmed by his touch. He strips off her bikini then they make love.)

  (Or maybe they have sex. Whichever one would be hotter.)

  (Probably sex.)

  (And it wouldn’t hurt. Even though it’s her first time.)

  (Because that wouldn’t make it as sexy.)

  (And then they would do it again. And like again. Because he can’t control his passion for her. He’s been keeping it locked inside him for far too long.)

  (Oh, and be sure to get numerous close up shots of his abs. They really are amazing.)

  I picture the scene in my mind as I walk toward him.

  It makes me feel sexy.

  Desirable.

  I walk with a little extra sway in my step, but as usual, Brooklyn refuses to follow a script. The damn boy says, “Hey, Keats. Last one out is a rotten squid.”

  So we all run out into the waves like a bunch of fifth graders.

  The sun gets hot, the waves die down, and the guys all head out. I strip off my rash guard and catch a few rays, letting the heat dry my bikini.

  “Wanna go back out there and play a little while longer?” Brooklyn asks.

  “Sure.”

  We’re floating on our boards when I decide it’s the perfect time to tell him the news. I’ve been dying to tell him all morning, but I wanted to wait until we were alone.

  So he can finally profess his love for me and all.

  “So, I’m officially single.”

  “Really?”

  “You look surprised.”

  “I didn’t think you’d do it. You’re a great girl, Keats. You shouldn’t worry so much about what people think. Maybe if you’d let people at school get to know the real you, like I do, you’d have more real friends. You’re cool. Start acting like it.” He gets distracted by a wave rolling in. “I’m gonna go tame that bad boy,” he says, and quickly paddles off.

  Guess the professions of love will have to wait until later.

  I sit on my board and watch him. I swear, I could watch him all day. He’s such a good surfer. He enters and wins all sorts of local competitions. He just finished college and now dreams about going out on the pro tour. Even though he looks like a slacker surfer, he’s really very smart. He went to a school where he was able to work at his own pace, graduated high school at fifteen, and already has a college degree in Literature. For the last six months, he’s been trying to decide what to do with his life. I just hope whatever he chooses keeps him nice and close to home.

  And, well, me.

  I wait for another wave, paddle out, and ride it back to the beach.

  When I get there, Brooklyn is talking to some guy I’ve never seen before. He looks like he’s in his late twenties, maybe early thirties. He’s quite a bit taller than Brooklyn, has dark, slicked-back hair, and deep mocha-colored eyes. He looks really out of place on the beach, though. Like he got lost on his way to the boardroom. He’s wearing a well-cut navy Armani suit, crisp white shirt, red paisley tie, and shiny black Ferragamo wingtips that have to be totally filled with sand.

  I shove my board into the sand and jog over to them. I should be polite and say hi.

  When I walk up next to Brooklyn, he grabs my waist and pulls me into his side in a surprisingly affectionate and possessive way.

  “And this is Abby Johnston’s daughter, Keatyn,” he says, introducing me. “Keatyn, this is Vincent Sharpe.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I say, and extend my hand.

  I notice a scrolly tattoo peeking out from underneath Vincent’s French cuff when he holds out his hand.

  He lets go of my hand and lets his eyes slowly wander down my body. Then he looks closely at my eyes. Like he knows me.

  But he couldn’t know me. This guy is hot. I would definitely remember meeting someone that looks like him.

  “Nice to meet you too,” he finally says to me. “Sorry if I was staring.” He lowers his voice and smiles a very charming smile at me. “You look just like your mom did in A Day at the Lake. I kinda had a big crush on her when I was fourteen. You bring back some memories.”

  I roll my eyes.

  Figures.

  He was only checking me out because of my mom. A Day at the Lake was her very first movie. It didn’t do that well at the box office, but the poster of her blowing a kiss in a bikini sold millions of copies and made her a household name. Now the movie is sort of a cult classic.

  “It’s okay,” I say without hiding my disappointment. Seriously, someday men are going to notice me and say, Damn, that’s Keatyn Douglas, not, Oh, it’s Abby Johnston’s daughter. “You seem a little overdressed.”

  He smiles and points his thumb up the beach. “I was just touring a property up the way. It looks like I’ll be in good company when I buy.”

  “Yeah, I guess. There are some famous people that live around here, but you might want to rethink your wardrobe,” I tease.

  He looks down at his suit. “I am a little overdressed. So, your boyfriend looks like he knows his way around a surfboard.”

  I start to say, He’s not my boyfriend, but he says to Brooklyn, “If I’m going to embrace the beach life, I need to learn how to surf. You ever give lessons?”

  “I’ve taught a few people,” Brooklyn says, nodding toward me. “She was my first student.”

  Vincent smiles at me. “You looked great out there too,” he says, but the way his eyes slide down my bikini, I’m not sure he’s referring to my surfing skills.

  “So we’re gonna get back out there,” Brooklyn tells him. “I’m around pretty much all the time. So when you’r
e ready, just let me know.”

  He grabs my hand and leads me over to our boards.

  When we’re back out floating in the water, he says, “That guy seemed pretty cool.”

  “The suit was a bit uptight looking, but did you notice he had a tattoo on his arm? He’s probably cool.”

  “Yeah, maybe. Although, he was flirting with you even though he thought you were my girlfriend. That doesn’t say much for his character.”

  “He was not flirting with me.”

  Brooklyn laughs. “Yeah, he was. I told you, guys will be glad you’re single.”

  I stare into his eyes. They look beautiful sparkling in the sun.

  He smiles at me—causing his eyes to crinkle adorably around the edges—puts his hand on top of mine, and says, “I’m glad your broke up with him, Keats.”

  I practically have a heart attack, drop dead over my board, and fall into the water as the words tumble out of his mouth.

  For the first time ever, Brooklyn followed my script.

  I start thinking about a script for tonight. About how he’ll dance with me. How, later, he’ll take me for a romantic midnight stroll on the beach. How he’ll pull me down into the sand and make mad, passionate love to me.

  BwookLYN is my BOYfwend.

  11:45am

  I walk in the back door to total chaos. Two of the girls are finger painting. Gracie runs up to me. She’s only wearing a pair of princess panties, and her entire chest is covered with bright red paint. She looks like an extra from a war movie. She even has red paint oozing down her hair like she has a head wound.

  “Kikiiiii!! KiKi!!!” Kiki is their adorable nickname for me. As in Key, Key. “Look, hands!” she screams, holds her red hands in the air, and then presses them into my stomach.

  I now have blood red paint running down into my belly button.

  I scoop her up and tickle her. She screams Kiki some more.

  Avery, who is wearing a swimsuit and a tutu, holds up the paper she’s been cutting into teeny little pieces. The triplets have recently mastered cutting and think it is their mission in life to chop as much paper as possible into confetti and throw it around the house. The confetti has mixed with the paint to make some very special artwork.

  And a freaking mess.

  “Look! We cut very good!”

  I lean down and kiss the top of her head. “Good job, Ave. You’re all getting so big!”

  “Can we go make sandy castles?” Ivery asks, as she wipes purple paint down the front of her Bella dress-up gown. She holds her hands up and says, “All clean!”

  The nanny grabs her. “You’re silly. Go wash your hands like a big girl.”

  I pat the top of her head as she runs to the sink. “Not now, honey. I’m going shopping with Sander. How about tomorrow? I’ll see if Brooklyn can help us.” The girls adore Brooklyn.

  “Piggy, piggy!” Gracie screams.

  Apparently Brooklyn gives the best piggyback rides. I’d like him to give me a piggyback ride, but I don’t tell her that.

  “Bwook-LYN is my BOY-fwend!” she yells at the top of her lungs.

  She has a huge crush on him.

  I can’t blame the girl.

  Kym walks into the kitchen. She’s weighed down by an armful of hanging garment bags; probably some new outfits for Mom’s upcoming press tour. “Oh my word, I could never have kids. They’re so messy. Look at them. Look at this place.”

  “It’s all washable,” the nanny says calmly. She speaks four languages, has the patience of a saint, and is teaching the girls both French and Spanish.

  Kym turns to me. “Why are you going to meet Sander? I saw on Facebook that you broke up. Is there going to be a big makeup already?”

  I grab a kitchen towel and wipe the paint off my stomach. “We broke up, but we’re still friends.”

  “I get that. That’s what I’m doing. Working on me.”

  “Do you need work?”

  She laughs. “Hell, no. I’m perfect. It just sounds insightful.” She lowers her voice. “Plus it sounds better to say, I’m doing me, than saying, I have no man in my life. Like it was a choice.”

  Kym makes me laugh. “Well, I’m working on making Brooklyn fall in love with me, and I’m going shopping with Sander to find the outfit to make it happen.”

  Just as Brooklyn was walking up to his house, he turned around and said, Do you wanna grab some dinner before we go to the bar? And I was like, Sure. All the guys going? And he said, Naw, just us.

  And I really had to control myself to not start jumping up and down with excitement.

  I can picture the scene.

  FADE IN: BUDDY’S RESTAURANT ON THE BEACH - SUNSET

  A young couple is sitting at a picnic table on the big deck. The breeze is slightly blowing back the girl’s golden blonde hair. Handsome surfer boy reaches across the table and takes her hand.

  BROOKLYN

  (grinning)

  I’m so glad you’re single. I’ve thought of you every day since we met. I recall it was your birthday. You had gotten a new surfboard and were desperately trying to use it.

  KEATYN

  (smiling sweetly)

  You taught me how to surf.

  BROOKLYN

  (leans across the table and kisses her)

  There’s a lot I want to teach you. I want to be your first, Keats. You haunt my dreams. I love you.

  Do I want to haunt his dreams?

  No. Don’t want this to be a horror flick. Let’s fix that.

  BROOKLYN

  (leans across table and kisses her)

  There’s a lot I want to teach you. Come back to my place. I want to make love to you, Keats.

  Ha. That sounds so dorky. I’d totally laugh in his face if he said that.

  My thoughts are interrupted by Kym. “So you’re going shopping with your ex-boyfriend to find an outfit to snare your next boyfriend? Oh, what a tangled web you weave. Best to leave this to the experts, though. Where are you going?”

  “We’re grabbing some dinner on the beach, probably Buddy’s. Then going to The Undertow to listen to Damian’s band. It’s Twisted Dreams’ last gig.”

  She nudges my shoulder and raises her eyebrows. “You already got him to ask you to dinner. You work fast!”

  “It’s not a date or anything. Just friends, as usual. But I wanna look really hot. Like, sexy, but still casual, like I don’t care. Like I didn’t try.”

  “You wanna knock his socks off!”

  I laugh. “He never wears socks! Just flip flops.”

  “Well, whatever—we need the perfect outfit. It has to have that casual I-didn’t-really-try-I-just-always-look-this-amazing look.”

  “Exactly!”

  “It’s a tricky combination. What about that cute Saucey t-shirt dress you ordered online? The one with the monkey on the front. You haven’t worn that yet, have you?”

  “No, that would be cute.”

  “We can add those embellished chunky Marni heels or maybe the short Burberry motorcycle boots, a bunch of your key necklaces, and some big hoop earrings?”

  “I think the boots. Will you be here when I get back?”

  “Yeah, I’m working on some looks for a couple interviews your mom’s doing next week.”

  “You know, sometimes I think it’d be cool to be an actress, but then I don’t know if I’d wanna deal with all of that. Always having to look perfect. Having to look perfect every day at school is about to do me in and nobody is even taking pictures of me.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with always wanting to look your best. Did you tell Tommy you want to act? Because I overheard him talking to someone about you for a role the other day.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “I don’t know. He just said you’d be perfect. That you’d light up the screen like your mom.”

  I roll my eyes. “Doubtful.”

  “Haven’t you seen pictures of your mom at your age? You look just like her. Well, except for those gorgeous eyes of your dad�
�s. He was such a hunk.”

  “A hunk?”

  “Yes, that’s what we used to call hot boys back in the Stone Age when I was in high school.”

  Be still my heart.

  2:30pm

  I throw on a pair of hot pink Ralph Lauren skinny jeans, a royal purple polo shirt with a big pink pony, a multi-colored web belt, and some Haviana flip flops to wear shopping with Sander. I didn’t think about how my shirt would match his car until he pulled up in it.

  When he got out of the car, I about fainted from shock. All Sander’s gorgeous perfectly highlighted brown hair is now a dark shade of chestnut.

  “Ohmigawd, Sander! I would not have even recognized you. You look so different!” He grins at me as I study him closely. “But good. Like, damn good. Did they darken your eyebrows too?”

  “Yeah, they had to. So, you like?” He holds his arms out and spins in a circle like the girls do when they put on their little fashion shows.

  “I do. Wow.” The way he looks almost makes me wish I wouldn’t have broken up with him. “I may have to rethink this breakup.”

  His smile dazzles me.

  “No, no. I’m the brokenhearted one. You’re moving on, leaving me in the dust. Get in. Let’s go find me something a little less preppy.”

  We hit some of the shops in the Malibu and find a great vintage-looking deep-brown leather jacket, skinny black jeans, black motorcycle boots, an assortment of solid T-shirts, and classic aviator sunglasses.

  I look at everything we have piled at the cash register. “I think you’re going to look more like James Dean than Danny Zucko.”

  He puts his hand to his chest. “Be still my heart.”

  In case you couldn’t tell by his dogs’ names, James Dean is his idol. Except he doesn’t want to die young. He wants to be one of those actors who gets better with age. I can’t help but laugh at how dramatic he is.