Aiden Read online

  When I open my door, the stars are glowing.

  I consider grabbing the ladder and ripping them all down. But I can’t.

  For some damn reason, I just can’t.

  Tuesday, September 27th

  Five stitches.

  7am

  I highly doubt Keatyn will be at our Social Committee meeting this morning. I consider going back to sleep, hating how early our meetings are.

  But I go anyway, on the off chance that I’ll get to see her. Sit with her. Spend time with her.

  When I arrive, I see her sitting in a chair, pulling her sock down, and inspecting the gauze over her cut.

  I sit down next to her. “Five stitches, huh?”

  “Yeah,” she slurs.

  “Why did you run out of my room and pretend you weren’t hurt, when you obviously were?”

  “I felt sick. I didn’t really know about the cut until I saw it was bleeding.”

  Peyton and Brad start the meeting, so I stop talking.

  Peyton goes through all the details for the Homecoming after party. I watch Keatyn struggling to stay awake.

  They must have given her some pain medication.

  I let her sleep for a bit, but then wake her toward the end of the meeting.

  “Boots,” I whisper. “I think you dozed off.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she says, as Brad goes over more details.

  Considering she’s a little messed up, I figure I might as well make one last effort. “Will you save me a dance at the after party?”

  “I don’t know,” she says with a playful smirk. “Can you dance?”

  Can I dance? Of course, I can dance.

  But . . . an idea pops into my brain.

  I put my head down in embarrassment.

  It works. She says, “Oh my gosh. Is that why you only wanted to dance to slow songs? Is that all you know how to do?”

  “I’ll get my French homework done before tutoring. You can teach me to dance instead.”

  “I don’t really feel like dancing, Aiden. The knee and all.”

  No way she’s getting off that easily.

  “I’ve gone above and beyond the call of duty in Social Committee. It’s not something I really had the time to do, but I did it for you. So you owe me.”

  No rhythm.

  4:40pm

  Keatyn is in my room after school, getting ready to teach me how to dance.

  “This is silly,” she says. “I can’t teach you how to dance. Plus, I’m injured.”

  “I saw you jogging at soccer practice, even though I doubt you were supposed to.”

  She giggles. “I took another pain pill. Felt healed.”

  I raise an eyebrow at her, causing her to give me a dramatic sigh. She turns on a dance playlist, grabs my hips, and moves them to the beat.

  Well, tries to.

  I pretend to have no rhythm.

  She seems to give up, turning around. I’m about to tell her the truth when she stands in front of me, pushes her back firmly into my chest, and pulls my arm around her waist.

  Then she grinds her ass into me.

  Holy shit.

  I grind back, forgetting that I’m not supposed to know how and simply loving the feel of her body—and kinda wishing we were naked. I consider sliding my hands up her skirt.

  She puts her hands on top of mine and moves them around her body in the name of dancing.

  And I’m pretty sure I’ve died and gone to heaven.

  After about six songs, there’s a moment when I feel myself start to harden. I’ve been controlling myself pretty well up until now, but she just slid my hand across from her stomach down further. And there’s only so much a guy can take.

  So I don’t embarrass myself, I spin her out of my arms and break out my dance moves.

  “What the hell?” she says with a genuine look of surprise on her face. “Did you used to be in a boy band? Are you here in some embarrassment protection program?” I give her a sneaky grin as she shakes her head at me. “Don’t tell me you can sing, too.”

  Now that I’ve regained control, I find myself going back for more. “We’ll have to save that for another day, Boots. I don’t want to overwhelm you with all my talents at once.”

  “Everyone says you have great hands,” she says.

  “These?” I ask, holding them up in front of her.

  She studies them, then glides a finger across my pinkie and middle finger. “What happened here?”

  “Knife attack. In the war,” I tease.

  “Very funny.”

  “Fine. Cleat attack.”

  “Now I know why you’re such a good goalie,” she says, further examining my hands.

  “Because I'm fast.” I quickly slap the tops of her hands. Like the game we used to play when we were kids.

  She slaps mine back quickly, surprising me. “Not fast enough,” she says with an adorable smirk. She takes my hands in hers again, holding them up and scrutinizing them. “They’re too big for your body.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Proportionately. They’re off. They’re too big.” She tilts her head at me, taking in my six-foot-two-inch frame. “That, or you’re not done growing yet.”

  “I’m probably not done growing yet,” I shrug, then start doing the robot to the music. I’d much rather be dancing with her.

  “You so know how to dance,” she says with a laugh.

  “Naw, you’re just a really good teacher. I couldn’t do this until today.”

  “You’re such a liar. How do you know how to dance like this? You dance alone in your room to music videos or something?”

  “No. I have a bossy older sister.”

  “So?”

  “So, instead of wanting to play school or Barbies, she wanted to play dance instructor. If I played nice, she snuck me cookies.”

  “So everyone at school knows you can dance like this but me, right? Very funny. Ha. Ha. You tricked me.”

  I take a step closer to her, wrap my arm around her waist, and put my leg between hers—our lower halves entwining in an intimate way.

  “You’re the only one at school who knows I can dance like this. Well, besides my sister.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s embarrassing. You asked me if I was in a boy band witness protection program or something.”

  “Ohmigawd, did your mom video tape it? I'm so asking your sister.”

  I stifle a laugh. Seriously, she’s so cute. And I have so much fun with her. Doing nothing. Although with the heat radiating off her leg, I probably can’t call this nothing. Somehow, I don’t think Dawson would be thrilled to see us like this. Not that I care. I practically live for these moments. And tonight has just reconfirmed what my heart says—she’s not in love with Dawson. And that means I still have a chance. “You are not. Or you’ll be in trouble.”

  “Oh, really?” she sasses, getting in my face. “What kind of trouble?”

  I grab her ass firmly in each hand, squeeze it, and raise an eyebrow in challenge.

  She does the same, grabbing the back of my jeans. She licks her lips as she pulls my shirt up over my head and tosses it on the floor.

  I slide my hands across her curves, from her thin waist to her slender hips.

  She responds by gliding her fingers down my sides.

  “You gonna do that at the dance?” I ask.

  “Maybe.” She plants her palms firmly on my pecs, then closes her eyes and dances with me—grinding on my leg.

  I don’t care anymore if she can tell how much she turns me on.

  When we danced during our twenty-nine songs, it was our bodies pressed together and swaying, barely moving and completely caught up in each other. This is different—a playful mix of crazy fun and sinfully sexy foreplay.

  A faster song starts, and she pushes off my chest, jumps up and down, then turns around and shakes her shapely ass at me. It takes everything I have not to pick her up, throw her on my bed, and ravish her.

  But I’m enjoying this moment with her too much. There will be plenty of time for that later, so I spin her around and put my knee back between her legs.

  She runs her hands over my shoulders, so I start a fast, exaggerated version of a waltz—pulling her toward me, spinning her out, then back in tightly to my chest.

  She’s only wearing a little bra top, so I place my hand on her bare stomach and caress it, causing her to reach up and wrap her arm around my neck.

  I drop my head, allowing our cheeks to touch. Even though the beat is fast, our bodies have slowed down. I let my hands roam slowly across her body, causing her to shiver in their wake.

  Then the music stops.

  She turns around to face me.

  Our faces are so close.

  Our lips torturously closer.

  My hand tangles in her hair, and I look into her eyes, knowing they convey both fire and love.

  She lets out a big breath of air, her posture suddenly shifting.

  “I think you’re ready for the dance,” she says, grabbing her jacket from my chair.

  I steal it from her and plop down on the futon.

  “Dance for me,” I command. I’m not ready for her to leave, and I could tell by the look on her face, she just thought about Dawson. About how she shouldn’t have been dancing with me like that. But she couldn’t really help it. She belongs with me.

  “Dance for you?” she asks.

  “Yeah.”

  “You wanna see my Kiki stripper moves?” she laughs, trying to make a joke. “Cuz I really don’t have any.”

  “No. I want to see you move. Show me your new routine. My sister’s been telling me about it.”

  “I can’t show you. It’s totally top secret.”

  “It’s either that or I pull
you on this futon and make a cheater out of you.” And I’m so not kidding at this moment. Her hands all over me have left me on fire.

  “Look, Aiden. It’s nice that we’re getting along better. But I like Dawson, and I shouldn’t have danced with you like that. I don’t want to give you the wrong idea. So if I’m going to keep tutoring you, it’ll have to be in the library. No more dances. No more almost kisses. No more talking on my neck.”

  “But you and Dawson aren’t exclusive. You still aren’t wearing the key. So go on a date with me. Date us both.”

  She seems to consider this by staring into my eyes, maybe trying to decide if I’m serious or not.

  “I’m sorry, Aiden, but I can’t date a guy like you. A guy who can’t decide if he loves me or hates me.” I’m going to counter her argument, tell her how I feel, but she says, “And I know we had some crazy love at first sight thing, but we obviously would be a disaster together.”

  She felt it, too.

  I can’t help but grin. She just admitted that she loves me.

  A smile spreads across my face. I tap my foot, my whole body practically humming.

  “Why are you grinning?”

  “Love at first sight, huh?”

  “No. It’s just an expression. That stuff doesn’t happen in real life,” she says, unconvincingly.

  I stand up and move close, my chest touching hers. She sucks in a breath and moves slightly backward.

  But when she takes a step back, I take another step forward.

  She takes another step backward into my wall. Now there’s nowhere for her to go.

  I put my palms on the wall, boxing her in. The fire I’ve been feeling—the desire—is practically radiating off my body. I’ve never felt this kind of hunger before.

  She sighs and closes her eyes.

  I let my cheek graze against hers as I whisper in her ear. If she wants to play hard to get, well, two can play at that game. “I think being just your friend will be fun.”

  She doesn’t open her eyes, just pants out, “How so?”

  Dancing like we just did comes to mind, but that was more than friendly. I open my mouth, place it on her cheek, then slowly pucker, forming a kiss. Then I gently pull my top lip off her cheek first, the bottom lip staying in place and then—bit by agonizing bit—receding.

  Her eyes fly open in shock.

  “I have to go.”

  “See ya, friend,” I say playfully, but I don’t move. Just raise one of my hands off the wall, giving her a small pathway to squeeze through.

  Then she’s out the door.

  But it doesn’t matter, because I know how she really feels. I just need her to stop fighting it.

  As I’m lying in my bed later that evening, I realize that it might be more. I try to put myself in her shoes. What if I had to leave home? What if even though I was making friends with everyone here, I knew I was lying to them. She said she hates having to lie to people. It’s got to be hard for her. Tonight, although amazing, ended with her leaving pissed off.

  She’s probably not going to trust—let alone, let herself love—someone who does nothing but piss her off.

  I need to be her friend first, I think, if I want to become her everything.

  Wednesday, September 28th

  Stop grinning.

  French

  Back in French and Keatyn hasn’t spoken to me at all day. So I’m surprised when she spins around and says to me, “Isn’t Logan one of your best friends?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “I heard he’s trying out for the part of the Bad Prince.”

  I can’t help but frown as I nod yes. Logan really wants the part. Probably because he will act like a playboy in it. And he’ll be kissing numerous girls on stage.

  “Is he nice?”

  “Logan?” I ask.

  “Yeah. He’s in my math class. Sits right in front of me. He has a nice looking back, but that’s all I know about him. I tried to talk to him yesterday about the play. I don’t think he likes me.” She sighs. “And I’m not sure why.”

  “Uh, that’s probably my fault,” I reply, knowing full well why he doesn’t like her.

  “Your fault?”

  I push my pencil around in a tight circular motion before raising my head. I don’t want to answer this question. But, if I want her to be honest with me, I suppose I need to be honest in return. “I may have told him about some of my past frustrations with you.”

  “So he hates me,” she says flatly, putting her head down and turning back around.

  Once again, she’s mad at me.

  Annie looks over at her. “What’s wrong? You look like you’re going to cry.”

  I can tell by her motion that she wipes tears away, but she replies, “I think I have something in my eye.”

  I lean up and whisper in her ear. “He doesn’t hate you.”

  She quickly turns back around, anger written all over her face.

  “You must have had wonderful things to say about me to make him hate me when he doesn’t even know me.”

  “He thinks you kind of played me.”

  “Played you? Are you kidding me? You’re the one who got all pissed off and didn’t call.”

  “He’s also sort of down on love.”

  “That must be why he wants to play the Bad Prince. He’ll get to be the cynic.”

  I nod, agreeing. “He is kind of cynical about love.”

  She gazes into my eyes and, I swear, all I see reflected there is love—no trace of anger, just maybe a little bit of hurt. She sits up straighter and changes the subject. “I think it’s funny that Jake is trying out for the part of the Good Prince. He’s so not good.”

  “He’s a Prefect,” I counter.

  She grins. “Yeah, but he’s naughty.” I can be naughty too, Keatyn, I think. “I love that about him.”

  Love. “You said that so easily.”

  “Said what?”

  “That you love him.”

  “Well, not in love. That’s different.” It sure is.

  “Have you told Dawson you love him yet?”

  She fidgets nervously. “I told him that I’m ready for the key.”

  “That’s not what I asked.” Is it bad that I want to shout for joy? That I’m thrilled she isn’t ready to say she loves him, because it just might mean that she’s in love with me.

  “Well, that’s all I’m answering because it’s none of your business what I say to him.”

  I can’t help but smile. Big.

  “Stop grinning,” she says, swiveling back around in her seat. “It’s annoying.”

  And awesome.

  Feel like giving up.

  Late

  I’m in my room studying when my sister calls me.

  “Hey, what’s up?”

  “Just studying.”

  “Can we party in your room tonight?”

  “I’m tired, Peyton. I don’t really feel like partying. I just want to go to bed.”

  “Aiden, I really need to blow off some steam. Please,” she begs. “You can go sleep in Bryce’s room if you don’t feel like partying. You do that all the time.”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because you love your sister?”

  I look up at the stars on the ceiling. No one has seen them, and I want to keep it that way.

  “Who’s all coming?”

  “You know, the usual. Dawson, Keatyn, Jake, Whitney, Bryce, and whoever else I feel like hanging out with.”

  I glance at the clock. It’s already past curfew. That doesn’t give me much time.

  “Sure,” I say, giving in.

  I put my homework down and set up the ladder. With each star I pull from the ceiling, I think about all the memories I’ve had with Keatyn this year in my room already.

  Maybe I should tell her they were for her.

  Only for her.

  I’m tempted to throw them away, but I just can’t. It’s like admitting defeat so, instead, I pack them all away in a shoebox.

  I’m putting them in the closet when my sister barges into my room.

  “I thought you were tired?” she says. “Change your mind? Let’s do a shot before everyone gets here.”

  “Naw. I’m still not finished with my homework.” I pick up my notebook and head toward the door. “Have fun tonight.”