Wednesday, August 31st
You have seven minutes to be at class.
Stayed up waaay too late last night.
Note to self. Stop staying out until 2:30 with Dallas.
Must have beauty sleep, or some kind of decent sleep. I’m so tired there’s no way I’m going to get breakfast before class. I’ll be lucky to be dressed in today’s uniform combo, which is a plaid skirt, white long sleeved tee under a red sweater vest. Matching plaid tie, not quite done up, tall white knee highs, red ballet flats, red headband and straight hair. I’m going to have to practically sprint across campus to make it to History before the bell rings.
I text Riley, who has class with me.
Me: Hey, you still at breakfast by chance?
Sex God: Yeah, where are you?
Me: Hung with Dallas last night. Very tired 🙁
Sex God: I hate you. Invite me next time! (I don’t think in this version Riley and Dallas were roommates. Just realized that.)
Me: Okay 🙂 I’m soooo late, will you bring me some food to class?
Sex God: Sure…what do you want?
Me: Skinny soy chai latte, maybe some of that pound cake? or a banana or a whole grain bagel. Anything really.
Sex God: I’ll see what I can scrounge up.
Me: You are THE best friend ever!!!
Sex God: My brother is becoming obsessed with you.
Me: Haha!! No, he’s not!
Sex God: Um, yeah. You serious about him? I thought you liked Aiden. And he doesn’t need to have some girl string him along, you know?
Me: Um, your brother still loves Peyton, I think I’ll be the one to get strung along. That’s why we are taking things slow, being friends. (This sounds so weird. Also, I love the backstory that comes out later how Peyton dated Camden even though Whitney was in love with him, and how she decided to go after Dawson so they could be the perfect couple.
Sex God: You have 7 minutes to be at class.
It’s like watching a car wreck.
Annie plops down in her seat a few minutes before class is ready to start and is beaming.
“Okay, so I was up all night editing, and oh my gosh, these are some of the best pictures I have ever taken! I can’t wait to show you!”
As she is booting up her computer, Aiden walks next to me and sits in his desk behind me. And I can’t help it, I think about how I forgot to check the back of my hair at lunch. And Dawson was messing with it. Teasing me. Whispering in my ear. He is so freaking cute.
But then there’s Aiden.
Aiden is beyond cute.
Like Buzz Lightyear says, To infinity and beyond.
Aiden is cute to infinity and beyond.
And even though he is sitting behind me, and I can’t see his mouth, I still feel his magnetic pull. Like my body knows things my mind doesn’t. (Magnetic—like Tommy felt with Abby…)
Is it like those animals that migrate back to the same spot every year? Their bodies just know to fly them there. My body just knows that Aiden is where I belong? (Oh gosh, this is a funny story. When I sent the final version of this—which would have been in Kiss Me— to my editor, she said “Did you mean: birds?” I died laughing, because I was literally embarrassed for myself.)
Stop thinking these stupid, stupid things.
Maybe I should drop French 2. I think you can still switch classes this week. And really, I can speak better french than the teacher, so I’m thinking I need to be moved up. Plus, do I really need to be tortured by Aiden sitting next to me every day?
I tell Annie, “I’m thinking about dropping this class.”
From behind me I hear, “Why would you do that?”
“Speak to me in French,” I tell him.
“What do you want me to say?”
“Anything. Ask me where the bathroom is, tell me you want to order chicken, I don’t care, just tell me a simple sentence.”
“Hmm. Um, Vous êtes une fille.”
I say, “Yes, you’re right, I am a girl. You got anything else?”
“Uh, très jolie?”
“Very pretty? Who is very pretty? You have to make a complete sentence.”
“I’m trying to say you are very pretty, I just don’t know how.”
“And that is why I am thinking of switching classes. I think I can speak french better than the teacher.”
“So, stay. You can tutor me. I suck at French. And worse case, you make an A.”
And I say, “Tutor vous? Comme je pouvais m’asseoir que près de vous et de ne pas être tiré dans votre rayon tracteur. Sérieusement?”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing. Never mind,” is what I say to him, but what I actually said was, Tutor you? Like I could sit that close to you and not be pulled into your tractor beam. Seriously?
But then I am thinking, maybe tutoring him wouldn’t be a bad idea. It would help me get over him. It would show me that he is not a god. Cause shouldn’t the God of all Hotties be able to speak French a little better? I mean it is the language of love. Shouldn’t he be like predispositioned or preprogrammed for that or something? (I love her rationality on this and why he couldn’t be a god. French is his weakness. Quite possibly, his only one.)
“I’d really like it if you tutored me,” He sounds both sweet and sincere when he says it and somehow, I find myself agreeing.
Annie says excitedly, “Here!! Look!!! Oh my gosh, these pictures turned out sooo good! Wait! Let me show you my favorite first. I showed it to my teacher this morning, and she says it’s so good, so full of emotion, that I should enter it in the State photography competition. Would you be okay with that? I told her I thought you would be. And ohhhhh, Keatyn, I didn’t tell you!!! ACE texted me last night after the game!!! Can you believe that??? Isn’t he just so cute?”
And I was like, “Uh, yeah, that’s so exciting. And um, how bout we see these pics like later. Um, seriously, you can show me later.”
“NO! I can’t wait!!”
I try to tell her with my eyes that I really don’t want Aiden to see these pictures. But she is oblivious.
“Okay. Look!!! This is the one that is so ammmzzzzing.”
And there on her screen is a picture of me and Dawson. Sitting on the bench, under the tree. Dawson and I are looking in each other’s eyes. His eyes are tentative, like he’s trying to decide to kiss me or not, but he has sorta already decided because his body is leaned into mine, one big hand is cupping my waist.
It’s an extremely romantic and beautiful picture, and if I didn’t know the people in it and what was really going on in their minds at the time, I would have thought they were incredibly in love. And the picture is brutal proof to me just how gorgeous Dawson is. His dark hair is perfectly messy, his skin is tanned and gorgeous, his jawline is strong and his nose looks like it belongs on a Beverly Hill’s plastic surgeon’s nose chart for perfection.
I look surprisingly pretty too. There is a slight breeze, and my long hair is just moving slightly back, the lighting is soft, my skin is so perfect it almost looks airbrushed and there are highlights perfectly glistening on my cheekbones.
It looks like a very tender moment caught on camera.
We look like we are totally in love.
The thing about this photo is I see what was really going on. I felt the emotions, I know what he was thinking. What looks like tenderness and uncertainty in his eyes about should I kiss her is really uncertainty about should I even kiss her when I am clearly in love with someone else. And I was thinking pretty much the same. Should I kiss a boy, whose brother I have made out with, who I know is in love with someone else, who I know is probably not the love of my life? But I can’t say any of that. She is so excited about it.
“Wow. That’s really a good photo,” I tell her, commenting on the lighting and the trees and ignoring the subject matter.
“Wait til you see the rest.” Then she starts clicking through picture after picture. Showing us a slow motion version of our kiss. Us moving closer toward each other, our lips touching, his hand moving toward to my face, my hand running through his thick, dark hair. It’s like watching a slow motion video of a car wreck. You want to tell her to stop, but yet you can’t get the words out.
From behind me I hear a SLAM, as Aiden gets his french textbook out of his backpack and slams it on his desk.
I’m thinking he doesn’t like the photos. (I wonder why?)
Annie looks at him, then at my face and says quietly, “Oh, um, class is about to start, I will just show you these later.”
The rest of the day goes on without a hitch. Finish school, dance practice, dinner, go to the library, pretend to study, flirt with Dawson instead, back to my room, fall asleep the second my head hits the pillow.
Thursday, September 1st
The shot heard round the world.
Apparently whilst my head was sleeping happily on my pillow, other events were occurring, unfolding, whatever you would call it.
And the event that triggered it all was Annie deciding to post the pre-kiss and a few of the kissing photos on her facebook page, tagging both me and Dawson.
Not only that, but she added titles to the pictures.
Cutest couple EVER!!
Submitting to MTV Awards as the BEST KISS OF THE YEAR!
And so on.
Now, I have obviously been a busy girl this week. Between getting settled in my room, getting to know my roommate, trying to learn four dances for the football game this Friday, sneaking out to smoke and kiss Dallas, hanging with Dawson, doing homework, and trying to avoid the god, needless to say, I haven’t been on facebook. I really was never that into it to begin with, but apparently everyone here is. And I do remember Annie stealing my phone during the football game and logging on to my facebook account to confirm our friend status, but I really wasn’t paying attention. (This obviously got changed due to the stalker factor, and Annie created her a profile, and she included a picture of her backside while wearing her plaid skort. It was taken by Dallas. She used it because even though Garrett warned her about facial recognition programs, he didn’t mention they had those yet for asses. Also, in this version, I miss Garrett.)
I believe that everyone else at the school was paying attention. Because these photos have become like the shot heard round the world. Honestly, I don’t know what the shot heard round the world was. Seems like I studied that at some point during history. I can’t remember, but I am pretty sure that this facebook post was like that shot. (But the shot happened, regardless.)
So keep in mind, I have no clue. No one has said anything to me directly in my morning classes. There was some murmuring behind me, but I didn’t really pay attention. One girl asked me if I was going out with Dawson and how he was SSSSOOOOOO HOTTT, but I was just like, Uh, no, not yet.
But at lunch, Dawson pulled me aside, “Did you see the pics on facebook?”
“The ones Annie took of us kissing.”
“EVERYONE has seen them. Everyone is talking about them, I’m kinda freaking out a little about this.”
“So you don’t want anyone to know you have been kissing me? Is that the problem?”
And I have to say, that pissed me off a little. Because I know exactly what he is not saying. And what he is not saying is that he doesn’t want Peyton to see them, or maybe that she’s already seen them and is mad about it. I really don’t know.
“I, uh, no, it’s not that. I mean people have seen us kiss and stuff. I don’t know. I just wasn’t prepared for it to be quite so public, I guess.” (My own blood is rising here.)
And to me, what he said is that he is a little embarrassed by them. And although I don’t know how much I like him, that didn’t make me feel very good. In fact, it made me mad. and honestly, a bit hurt.
So I said, “Hey, don’t worry about it. If you’re embarrassed by them, untag yourself and I’ll make sure that we don’t do anymore kissing in public,” and then I added strongly, but quietly, “OR IN PRIVATE for that matter.” (Good for you, Keatyn. Ass. LOL.)
And I walked away. Took my tray, threw my lunch in the trash, and walked outside by myself.
I’m sitting on a bench far away from the scene of the crime and texting Brooklyn.
Me: Sorry for acting weird last night, I’m just trying to figure this all out. It’s confusing. I’m sorry for thinking we’re something we’re not.
Brooklyn<3: For us to get through this, be together long term, we are going to have to be flexible in our relationship. Either until you graduate, or decide to come back home. I’m trying to be realistic and still keep you in my life. I want you in my life Keats, in whatever way I can. And remember, you are the one that decided to go away to school. I’m just trying to make the best of it. (B is very mature and realistic here. I love that he wants her in his life, and the “In whatever way I can” is totally foreshadowing!)
Me: Maybe I should just come back home. I miss you. I miss the beach. (Luckily, abs are plentiful at Eastbrooke. But we probably shouldn’t say that to B.)
Brooklyn <3: Do you miss me or you just having a rough day?
Me: Probably both.
Brooklyn <3: Give it some time. I love you.
I read his text and throw my phone back in my backpack. What he said was sweet and probably both true and wise but really, it didn’t make me feel any better. I lean back and just close my eyes. Tell myself to be chill. Tell myself I’m at the beach. Pretend I can feel the salty air, the ocean breeze.
(This was added here. And it’s important. First, she’s riding a white stallion. Aiden has a white car. The same car that he and Riley later smashed into Vincent’s van when he kidnapped her and Dallas in order to try to rescue her. She’s wearing the pink dress he has made for her to wear to the movie premiere. Vincent was keeping Brooklyn at a house on the beach. Aiden, Aiden. Aiden for Moonboy!)
I start to daydream.
FADE IN: A BEACH IN MALIBU BATHED IN MOONLIGHT
A young prince is riding down the beach on a white stallion.
A girl is also on the beach. She’s wearing a gorgeous pink strapless gown with a corseted waist. The skirt of the dress is layer upon layer of pale pink ruffles. Her hair is half up, the rest is cascading in curls onto her shoulders. A tall, dark man dressed in a black suit has a hold on the princess’ wrist and is dragging her up the beach to the dragon’s lair.
No one is going to hear you scream.
The prince hears the fair maiden’s scream. He turns his horse around and gallops toward the noise. He sees the girl. And instantly falls in love. He’d do anything to protect her. He jumps off his steed and pulls out his sword. Fights the man to death.
Then he turns his attention toward the princess, who was knocked to the ground in the scuffle.
(Turns to face her rescuer. And recognizes his handsome face.)
I feel someone sit down on the bench next to me. It’s Dallas.
“Well you sure told him,” he laughs.
“What are you talking about?”
“Dawson. How you basically said you weren’t gonna kiss him again. Is it bad that I was sorta applauding under the table? And by the way, are your panties purple today? It feels like they are.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. Dallas is freaking funny. And he has a way of being funny at just the right times.
“Close, they are pink. Hot pink.”
“Yeah, I told you about lying to me, Kiki. I think you’re lying to me. I’m gonna have to call for a panty check.”
“I’m not showing you my underwear.”
He leans in closer to me and says quietly, “Well, of course not here, sweetie. I was thinking somewhere more private.”
The bell rings for us to start getting to class, and I tell Dallas, “I’m pretty sure that I am done with boys.” And walk to French.
I am so done with boys.
Is it too soon in the year to consider skipping? I wonder what happens when you skip? Maybe I should go to the nurse with a fake case of cramps or pretend I am gonna vomit.
Honestly vomiting sounds fun compared to sitting in front of Aiden, with his judgmental eyes boring into the back of my head.
He sits down, leans forward in his desk, and says quietly in my left ear, “So I heard you and Dawson are through.”
What!??? It’s been, wait let me check, I look at the clock. It’s been seventeen minutes, give or take a few, since I told Dawson I wouldn’t kiss him again. And Aiden already knows about this??!!
I don’t turn around. I can’t. I don’t dare look into his eyes, or stare at his smile. I just say, “Where did you hear that?”
“Lunch. Heard he was upset about your stupid facebook pics.”
“They aren’t my pics. I didn’t post them.”
“You know what I mean. The pics of you two.”
“All I know is I. CAN. NOT. WAIT. FOR. THIS. WEEKEND.”
“What are you doing this weekend? Are you going back home?”
“Nope. Going to watch the guy the quotes me Keats surf in a tournament on Long Beach. I can’t wait to see him. Have him wrap his arms around me and make me forget about all the stupid boys here.”
We’re walking out of class when he says to me, “Hey, you coming to watch the JV game tonight? I was thinking about scoring some more points.”
“Good luck with that,” I tell him and leave him in my dust.
Seriously, I AM DONE WITH BOYS.
Wishing it was laced with rum.
Apparently it is okay to be done with boys, but I still have to go watch them play football. Katie told me I had to go with her to the game. Plus I was going to honestly go anyways because Riley told me this morning that he is starting at quarterback for the JV tonight and wants me to watch and cheer for him, even if he makes a fool out of himself. He was nervous. Oh course, I agreed.
Katie and I sit in the bleachers with Maggie, Beth, Dallas, Carson, Parker and some of the other Freshmen boys not on playing on the JV team tonight.
Riley does really well. He lines up under center, drops back and throws a perfect long spiral down the field, straight into Aiden’s open hands. He catches it, runs about 8 yards and into the end zone. Everyone is screaming, cheering, shaking paper pompoms. Aiden tosses the ball back to the ref, looks straight into the stands, and I’m pretty sure at me, kisses his glove and blows a kiss into the stands. (Very Cush-like.)
Uh, I think.
Dallas turns to me and says in a high pitched voice, “Oh, how adorable, Aiden just blew me a kiss. Now I just need to find out what color his panties are and we will get married, buy an organic farm, adopt twins and wear pink happily for the rest of our lives.”
I roll my eyes at him.
Katie grabs my arm with excitement and says, “OH MY GOSH!! DID AIDEN JUST BLOW YOU A KISS?”
“I’m not really sure. Maybe he just does that whenever he scores, you know, like blowing them into the stands at his fans or whatnot. Or maybe he has like a girlfriend we don’t know about.”
“Or maybe he considers YOU his girlfriend, and you just don’t know it yet.” (Bing. Bing.)
“Uh, that is definitely NOT it. Hey, I’m gonna go get a hotdog. Anybody want anything?”
I threw my lunch in the trash, skipped dinner to sulk, and now I’m starved. Dallas asks me to bring him some skittles, and I clump down the bleachers. Dawson has been sitting in the bleachers just below and slightly to the left of us with a group of friends, cheering enthusiastically for his brother. Which I was really glad to see. Peyton and Jake are no where to be found. I heard in dance today that he asked her to go out with him, and she said yes, but Katelyn told me it is not FBO, facebook official, yet, so she said to not believe the rumors.
I have to walk in front of them to go to the concession stand. I really should’ve sent Dallas. Tyrese, who is sitting right next to Dawson, yells at me, “Keatynbaby, come here!”
And I want to pretend like I didn’t hear him, but I’m like a dog, when I hear my name I can’t help but turn my head toward the noise.
But guess what, boys? I’m not coming here. I look at him, lift my chin in the air, give them a little princess in the crowd wave, smile and keep on walking.
Get to the concession stand. Decide to feed my depression with food. Buy two hotdogs and three types of candy. I’m stuffing one of the hotdogs into my mouth, quickly eating it, so when I get back to the stands, it will look like I really just bought one and am now sitting in the stands eating it.
My mouth is stuffed full when Dawson rounds the corner and beelines straight to me.
I chew as fast as I can and choke down a piece that was way too big to swallow, but I managed, chug some coke, seriously wishing it was laced with rum, as he says, “Keatyn.” (Keatyn is normally a very healthy eater, and this scene cracks me up. Of course, no one is around until you are trying to sneak-scarf a hotdog. And the wishing it was laced with rum…also one of my favs.)
“Hey, Riley’s doing great tonight. You should be proud.” And try to walk past him. He grabs my arm, holding me back.
“I’m sorry, okay,” he says, hanging his head.
“Yeah, okay,” I say back. He just stands there, looking at me. “Anything else you needed?” I ask him. “I need to get this hotdog back to Dallas.”
“Yeah, there is,” he says, pulls me in, and kisses me. And it was a soft, sweet kiss. An I’m sorry kiss. And it makes me feel surprisingly happy. “Can we hang out tonight, after the game?”
And I think I’d like to, but I am also thinking about the possible blown to me kiss, and I’m not sure what to say. So I say, “I wish I could, but I have homework still to do and posters to make for dance.”
He looks unsure as to if I am telling him the truth. But I really should do those things tonight. Especially the homework. It’s one thing to run back home because I choose to, it’s an entirely other thing to get kicked out because I am failing. Mom and Tommy would not be too pleased about that. “Okay, uh, well, see you tomorrow then, I guess.” (This is exactly why I had to add the stalker. She totally would have run back home.)
“Sounds good.” And I walk back to the safety of my friends.
This is where we stand.
Katie, Maggie and I are laying on the floor of our room, sniffing markers trying to get high, it’s not really working, and making posters to put on the Varsity football player’s lockers in the morning, when my phone buzzes.
An unknown number: Scored 10
Me: Who is this??
An unknown number: Aiden
OH MY GOSH!!!! HE TEXTED ME!!!! HE GOT MY NUMBER SOMEHOW, AND HE TEXTED ME!!! But I try to play it cool, replying, and adding his number to my contact list.
Me: I was at the game, I saw. Good job.
Hottie God: Would you be interested in 10 more dances tomorrow night after the Varsity game?
And I can’t help it. I scream out loud. Katie grabs my phone, reads the texts and screams along with me. Then she says, “Wait. Who is the hottie god? Is that Aiden or Dawson?”
“Hmm, personally, I think Dawson is hotter, and Aiden is kinda immature if you ask me,” Maggie states.
“How is he immature?”
“This is the FIRST time he’s texted you since this weekend. And also, you should never say yes when a guy asks you out at the last minute. My sister says that’s how you know a guy is serious about you. He asks you out on Tuesday or Wednesday for the weekend because he wants to make sure you don’t make other plans.”
“So what should I tell him?”
“I’d teach him a lesson. Say, Oh shoot, I wished you would have asked me earlier, but I already have plans. You are a woman in demand. Lots of boys want to ask you out, and he needs to learn to plan ahead.”
“But in his defense, he just heard today at lunch that Dawes and I are through. Maybe that’s why he didn’t ask before.”
“But you and Dawson weren’t going out, you were just hanging out. He knows that. He still should have asked.”
I don’t want to do it, but I do. He can’t think I am going to come running every time he decides to blow me a kiss or text me. (I love how girls think. How they rationalize things. How we can obsess for an hour over a single text, trying to decipher it’s “true meaning.”)
Me: I really wish you would have asked me sooner. I already made plans.
Hottie God: With who?
“Shit, y’all!!! He just asked me who I have plans with. And I don’t have plans with ANYONE!! What am I going to say?”
“Well, you can say that we’re having a girls night,” Maggie offers.
“Except that I already told Tyrese I would hang out with him after the game. He asked me yesterday,” Katelyn beams.
“Well shit. Wait. I know.”
I text Dallas.
Me: Do you have plans for after the game tomorrow night?
Dallas: Yes, I’m going to be checking your panties.
Dallas: Wait?! Really?
Me: Oh, I meant good, you’re free, not good about the panties. Can we hang?
Dallas: Well we can, but I’m hanging with the guys and maybe this girl from my math class. She’s pretty cute and has been flirting with me. But don’t worry, you’re still my favorite.
“What am I gonna do? I just lied to the God of all Hotties. And I know even though he can’t see me, that he knows. I know he knows!!!! What am I gonna do?” (I know he knows!)
Vibrate. Two new texts.
Hottie God: I think you should change your plans.
Dawson: Come outside, now. Please.
“Look at this!! Look at this mess, what am I supposed to do with this?” I throw my phone down onto the floor in front of Maggie. (I love Maggie. She’s that friend you have who tells it to you straight. Who is so funny.)
She reads and says, “I think you should tell Aiden, no. That he should ask you sooner next time, and tell Dawson you will be right down.”
And I also think you should tell Dawson you’ll be right down, but I think you should tell Aiden yes,” Katie disagrees.
Maggie considers this, says, “No, wait. See what Dawson says. Maybe he will ask you to hang out.”
“Wait, it’s okay for me to hangout with Dawson when he asks on Thursday night, but not Aiden? That’s not really fair is it? (No, it’s not. Go dance with the god!)
“Well, didn’t Dawson ask you to spend the whole weekend with him?” Maggie argues.
“Sooooo tell Aiden no.”
But I don’t wanna tell Aiden no. (This. This right here. Her gut was telling her not to say no to Aiden. Ever.)
But they are probably right and I’m too freakishly confused to make an intelligent decision.
Me to Hottie God: I can’t. Sorry. Hey I gotta go. See you in class tomorrow 🙂
I end it with a smile face, trying to soften the blow.
Me to Dawson: Coming
So I go outside. Dawson is sitting on the brick wall, looking hotter than ever. He has on a red Cougars T-shirt and it almost looks like he bought it last year, and it’s grown with him. Like it’s stretched perfectly across his broad chest. The short sleeves show off his muscular arms, and it fits tight against the sculpted abs that I know are underneath.
“Hey,” I say, greeting him.
“You’re still mad at me, huh?”
“Not mad, but I definitely know where I stand.”
He kicks his feet, hops off the wall, grabs me around the waist. “This is where we stand.” And he kisses me.
“I have absolutely no idea what that means.” I laugh because really we are kinda a pathetic pair.
“I want to take us slow, but I also want to be with you. Look, we’ve both been confused and honest with each other about how we feel, right?” (You can say what you want about their love, but they were so honest with each other. Even though in the final publication, she was lying about who she was, this openness about her feelings was something she hadn’t really encountered with a guy up until this point.)
“Yeah, so far.”
“Well, here’s how I’m feeling. I like you. I’m still getting over her. I have been kissing you in front of people, in front of her, and I’ve been fine with it, but seeing it in the pictures, well, it sorta caught me off guard. I was feeling good about it, but I wasn’t ready to see it. Look.”
He pulls a little box out of a sack that’s sitting on the wall. He opens it and shows me a bunch of loose photos. Of them. Him and Peyton, happy, kissing, going to dances, snuggling. (I keep mentally inserting the word Whitney when I read this. Another fun fact. It was not long after I wrote this that I had a dream where Damian was at a wedding and got up on stage and sang a song (Sorta Like Fate) to Peyton. It was acoustic, and the melody was so engrained into my head when I woke up, I immediately began writing down the lyrics. But I couldn’t recall them all. I got dressed, wouldn’t talk to anyone, and went outside for a long walk. The whole time I was walking, the song was playing in my head, and by the time I came back home, I had remembered all the lyrics. The other crazy part is that I didn’t know Peyton would end up with Damian. I had never planned to put them together. Which meant I then had to figure out how they would meet, fall in love, and be together at a wedding. This was further complicated by the fact that in the published version, Keatyn shouldn’t have let her two worlds collide. I also very seriously considered having Brooklyn show up in St. Croix. Either with Damian or on his own. Can you imagine? But after Aiden did the dirt, which was something else I dreamed about, I couldn’t ruin their time together, so I changed it to his phone call when he won his first tournament and thanked Keatyn. Which was enough damage. And as everyone said when they still didn’t know if Aiden as Moon Boy—We’ll always have Adore Me.)
“You two are cute together, I tell him honestly because they were.
“Well, this is who I’m used to seeing myself with. And I know we’ve only known each other for a week now, but you’ve become like my best friend. I’ve told you stuff I never could have told her, stuff I’ve never even told my friends. Her and I were never friends. I worshiped her, and then I dated her. ”
“Yeah. I can see that. That’s how you look at her. Like she’s better than you. I mean you ever look in a mirror? You’re gorgeous, hot, amazing. Plus you can be really nice when you want to be. You need to start seeing yourself the way other people do. The way I do.” (The way I do. So sweet.)
“I think I’m starting to. Look.”
He pulls a frame out of the sack, flips it over. In the frame is the picture of us, the one Annie wants to enter in the contest.
“Annie gave me this tonight after the game, and she told me the camera can’t lie. So when I got back to my room, I really looked at it. And then I started looking at the pictures of me and Peyton. This picture. The way we’re looking at each other, the uncertainty. I knew what you were thinking when you kissed me. I knew you were unsure, and I knew why. I knew you knew that I was unsure. When I look at the pictures of me and Peyton, I have no idea what she was thinking at the time. I still want to take it slow, I still can’t tell you how I feel, but I’m thinking this picture has the potential to be way better than what I’m used to. Please hang out with me tomorrow, please try and come to the party this weekend.”
I don’t answer, I just jump into his arms and kiss him.
Kinda Eenie Meanie
Stop kissing Dawson in time to make curfew. I’m back in my room, calling Mom.
I tell her about my plans for the weekend. Well, actually I was trying to gather advice for who I should go see, how much time I should spend with them.
I tell her about Aiden, Dawson, Brooklyn. Give her updates on where I stand with each of them. Ask her, based on what I told her, where she thinks I might stand with them.
Finally I tell her about the photo. She tells me to send it to her, so I do. I also cut and pasted Riley, Dallas, Dawson, and Aiden’s photos from their facebook and put them in the email. I even wrote cute little captions for each photo. (Although they do have a similar conversation about boys, some of this got cut, due to the fact that Abby’s Facebook could have gotten hacked.)
Gorgeous, aka Dawson, adorable, but hurt.
Sex God, aka, Riley, brother of Dawson, thinks he’s a stud. And probably is.
BFF, aka Dallas, starting a new business called the Psychic Panty Hotline. Reminds me of Brooklyn.
God of all Hotties, aka Aiden, enough said.
She puts me on speaker, as she looks at the first photo of me and Dawes going in for the kiss.
“Kiki, oh my gosh! Look at you! This picture is amazing, you look beautiful, and it doesn’t even look like she edited it! Look at your skin! Oh, lets take a moment to rejoice in your smooth wrinkle free skin. Seriously, look at it, someday you will understand.” (Sadly, I understand how Abby feels.)
“And what is this? You’re wearing look number twenty-two in your first week?” (OMG. LOL. This is so funny, and I forgot I wrote this. I love her advice. Also, notice down below the Golden Goose boots? Those were the brand of boots that Cush ended up giving Keatyn, which she then wore to kick the soccer ball at his head.)
“How do you even know that?”
“I’m good with fashion, and I have the contact sheet here with all your looks on it hanging on my bulletin board. Why did you do that? How are you deciding what to wear each day?”
“Uh, kinda eenie meanie.”
“Are you recording it?”
“Key! The whole reason you have a look book is so that you rotate the looks once every thirty days, past peoples short term memory. Go right now, and rearrange your pictures so what you have worn this week, is in the front of the book and then paperclip it and work your way straight through the book. Remember she worked hard to put them in a particular order, to maximize both the look and your laundry.” (LOL. I have a sneaking suspicion that Keatyn has never done a load of laundry.)
Mom has a part time assistant that does nothing but catalog and record what she wore when, how it looked photographed, if it was photographed, etc. Which really, I don’t know why they bother, she could never wear the same thing twice, like in public anyways, like when she would be photographed. Even if you are going to the grocery store one day and two weeks later you wear the same boots, they will show it all lined up, titled, Abby really loves her Golden Goose boots. But I’m pretty sure no one is going to be quite that critical here.
“Okay, I did it.”
“Oh, also Kym told me that she is putting together a few more outfits, working on some more cooler weather looks, and she will be sending you a few care packets and boots and things. So be looking of those. She showed me one with a pale pink shirt under the red cardigan. How do you feel about that kind of look?”
“Do I want to look like a valentine?”
“With your already confused love life, maybe not.”
“Okay, so back to my love life and this weekend.”
“Okay, so I’m looking at the pictures now. So this Dawson, he is gorgeous, and he looks very sweet and vulnerable. It’s a very sexy look.”
“And he’s the one that invited you to their house in the Hamptons for the weekend?
His parents going to be there?”
“Oh, I’m sure.” (Or not.)
“Did you ask?”
“Fine. They aren’t going to be there, but he said they have a housekeeper, cook, and groundkeeper that are on permanent staff and will be. So we will have some adult supervision. I mean, sorta.”
“Okay, lets see this hottie god. Oh. Wow. He’s got that magnetic charm, that I don’t even realize how good looking I am because I’m too busy playing soccer look.”
“Yeah, that’s him, but I’m pretty sure he knows he’s good looking because he is not ashamed to use it against me. So who should i choose? Aiden, Dawson or Brooklyn?”
“It’s like trying to chose between Brad Pitt, George Clooney, and Matthew McConaughey, it’s impossible. But you said Aiden is out of the picture?”
“No, um, he’s like, uh….”
“On the back burner?” (I’m realizing now that pretty much this entire scene got cut. She still talks to her mom here, but not all of this.)
“Yes! He hasn’t been very nice, so I’m leaving him back there to simmer.”
“Hmmm. And Brooklyn wants you to see him surf. So what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know! That’s why I called you! I think I want to go both places, I need transportation, and mostly I just need you to tell me what to do, who I should like.”
“I can’t do that sweetie, you have to follow your heart.”
“My heart is confused.”
“Then tackle one at a time. Go see Brooklyn, first. See if things feel the same, better, or if they just feel kinda over.”
“Then go see Gorgeous, have fun, let loose a little. Then when you go back to school on Tuesday, you will know more. And you have your credit card for a reason, or even better, call Tommy’s assistant, Marcus, and tell him to book all your travel arrangements. He can get you a car, helicopter, whatever you need.”
“A helicopter?” (Ahh. To be Abby Johnston.)
“Well, I mean if you want to avoid traffic in NY, they are the fastest. But that’s like his specialty. Here, I just sent him a text, he’ll take care it. Also did you take swimsuits? Or clothes suitable for the Hamptons?”
“Oh shit. I only brought one bikini and no, I didn’t!”
“I just texted Kym. She will have something couriered to you. If we have it there by three tomorrow, will that work?”
“Yeah, thanks, Mom, so much. And I know this boy stuff seems silly, but thanks for talking to me about it.”
“Kiki, it’s not silly, it’s your life. Just make good decisions, okay? I really don’t want to have to send you to rehab, although with all these boys, you’re planning on being safe, right? Did you and Brooklyn use a condom?”
“You know this is important, right?”
“Yes, and we did.”
“I think you should go on the pill. Just in case. Plus it will make your periods way shorter and with less cramps. I’ll get the doctor to send you a prescription.”
“But that doesn’t mean you should just go doing it with anyone, okay? And always still use a condom, it’s just like a back up plan.”
Friday, September 2nd
Today was a blur. I can’t even tell you what all happened. Nothing really important. I think I was not really engaged in what was going on around me because I was worried about this weekend, thinking about what it would be like with Brooklyn.
Would things feel the same or different, would we do it again?
I was worried about going to see Dawson, what would that mean? I mean we want to take it slow, but spending the weekend with someone seems fast, but I know there are lots of friends going, so I’m sure it’s just a friendly type thing.
I was worrying about Aiden, that I told him I wouldn’t hang out with him tonight because I had other plans. I was worrying that he really didn’t say anything to me in french.
I was really worried about dancing at the football game. I was so worried that I would mess up. I only flubbed up like four times, and they weren’t too bad, I’m hoping no one really even noticed. Aiden suits up for varsity, but does not start, so he was on the sidelines watching me a lot. And that made me even more nervous. That’s one thing I do like about Dawson, I always know what he’s thinking. I had no idea what Aiden was thinking.
I hung out with Dawson a little and then the girls later. We didn’t party. Lots of kids left right after school, and everyone else was busy packing and getting ready to leave tomorrow. My clothes arrived, I packed, and now I am going to sleep! I have a car picking me up very early tomorrow! (Blah, blah, blah.)
Saturday, September 3rd
A sleezy train wreck (Just this title almost gives me hives. I was SOOOO mad at B here! I was also really upset that Keatyn even went to this. And when the stalker showed up! Eek! But I digress, let’s get back to this.)
I’m at the surf tournament. It’s crazy. People everywhere, but when you show up in a limo, at least you don’t have to worry about parking.
I have chosen my outfit for today very, very carefully. Well, I mean I chose it out of the stuff that Kym sent. I want to look like the Keats that Brooklyn knows and loves, but I want to look more grown up.
Like seriously, I feel like I’ve aged five years since I left him. He needs to see the grown up Keatyn Monroe.
Kym sent me a detailed list of ways to wear everything she sent me. A bunch of bikinis, clothes suitable for the Hamptons, which she says is a very casual, but couture place.
I pick my way though the crowd and look for Brooklyn’s sponsor tent.
Yeah, his dad made a few calls, and somehow he got him three major sponsors. I see the tent and spot Brooklyn inside. He’s so cute. I can tell he’s been out surfing already. The tips of his hair are dry but it’s still darker close to his head. His bangs are hanging down in his eyes. He’s got on board shorts, my necklace and a pair of sandals. (And now, I love him again. I think K and I both have some sort of boy ADD.)
There is actually a short line of girls waiting to get his autograph. I watch him laughing, smiling, flirting with a girl. Then I watch him sign the boob she has extended to him.
There’s a girl with her, who apparently doesn’t want to be outdone, so she turns around, wiggles her thong toward him, and he signs one of her butt cheeks.
Who knew surf competitions were so classy.
Then three girls crowd around him to take their picture. Two of the girls start to walk away, but the third one, who is sporting orange tanned skin and huge fake boobs, grabs him and starts kissing him.
I can barely believe my eyes.
And what’s worse is he doesn’t seem to mind.
I watch her kiss him deeply, finally stopping. He gives her a huge grin, she gives him her number, and I’m standing here feeling like I need a shower. (Me, too.)
I don’t think i could ever kiss those sun-chapped lips again. (Also, I remember cutting the sun-chapped part. Because that doesn’t sound attractive.)
I suddenly have the urge to leave. I want turn around, chase my tail back to the limo.
But I don’t.
I drove all the way here and really after his little display, I feel even more confident because I think I am done with Brooklyn.
And I’m thinking he needs to know it.
I stand in front of his tent until he notices me. I’m wearing a skin colored macramé bikini, little chunky turquoise and coral stones run down around my cleavage, and the bikini’s strings have little stones at the end of them. There’s a single long gold chain around my neck with a large turquoise stone. I’m wearing turquoise and straw colored platform wedges that are surprisingly easy to maneuver in the sand. Big gold Dolce & Gabbana aviators on my face. Gauzy white shirt all unbuttoned, holding a straw cowboy hat, my hair in beachy waves.
He seems me, smiles, checks out my bikini. Doesn’t recognize me.
I put my sunglasses on top of my head and smile back.
He takes a second look. His eyes get big as he recognizes me. (Also just realized…OMG! In this version, they don’t have matching chaos tattoos!)
“Keats!!!” He leaves his line of admirers and pulls me into a big hug, leans into kiss me. I totally turn my cheek.
“I just saw your make out session with fake boobs, you’d have to sanitize your mouth before I’d kiss you.”
He laughs, doesn’t seem to be the least bit worried I just watched him kiss another girl, throws an arm around me, and leads me to his tent.
I stand there basically while he finishes his autograph session. Watch girls fawn all over him, watch him loving it, and wonder what the hell I’m doing here.
But worse case, he’s my best friend, right?
I should be supportive.
But then he says, “Hey, I have to, uh, run somewhere real quick, I’ll be back in a few. Uh, hold down the fort.”
That really doesn’t make sense to me. Where would he be going that I couldn’t tag along? Plus he looks sorta sneaky as he’s walking away, and for some reason, I follow him.
He meets up with the orange, big boobed girl, and she pulls him into a changing tent. He does not resist.
About ten minutes later, they sneak back out, him looking satisfied, and her just looking like a sleezy train wreck.
I walk straight up to him. “It’s a good thing all we are to each other is friends, or I might have been really hurt by that. And I’d say, have fun, enjoy your first tournament, but you obviously already are. I’m outta here.”
He starts to come after me, yelling, “But, Keats.”
I flip him off and continue to walk away.
I call Marcus, say, “Get me that chopper and get me the fuck to the Hamptons.” (LOL)
He says, “I take it Brook is history?”
“You could say that. He made out with a girl right in front of me and then snuck off and screwed some chick in a cabana.”
“Oh….uh, that sucks, sorry Kiki. I’ll make a few calls and get right back to you.”
So I retreat to the cool quiet air in the limo and call Dawson.
“Hey, so I was thinking about heading your way.” I try to sound happy.
And for a second I think he doesn’t want me any more either.
“Uh, well, I mean if you still want me.”
“Oh, I want you,” he teases.
“You know what I mean.”
“Yeah I do, and it’s awesome! I can’t wait for you to come up here. Hang, party, have some fun. Oh wait, what happened with surfer dude? It must’ve been bad if you’re leaving all ready. You okay?”
“Lets just say he and I are very finished.”
“Basically he’s an idiot, no wait, I’m the idiot. (I might agree with her on this point, but I get it. Love makes you do dumb things sometimes.) I’ll tell you about it later. After you have made me one of those amazing drinks you have been bragging about.”
“I’m sorry if he hurt you, I know how that feels, but still, I’m kinda excited cuz I can’t wait to see you. It will probably take you a good couple of hours with traffic.”
I look at the text I just got from Marcus. It has a address to meet the chopper and says, eta Hamptons, 22 minutes.
I click back to Dawson, “I might be there a little sooner than that.”
And I can’t help but smile to myself.
I just gave you goosebumps.
He’s waiting for me outside a huge rambling colonial mansion when I pull up in a limo.
“Well, I can’t drive yet.”
“Oh wow. I forgot. You’re a baby fishie.” (So odd to think of her as a Freshman.)
The driver drops my bags, Dawson grabs them and leads me into a gorgeous house.
“So um, lots of people showed up, so um…”
“What? Why are you acting all nervous? Do you have an old girlfriend here or someone else you like because you didn’t think I’d be here?”
“No.” He shakes his head at me. “What I was gonna say, well, ask, if it’s okay, if you like um, bunk up with me. I took the master bedroom.”
“So I’d be sleeping with you?”
“Yeah, but, I mean, we’d just sleep, and there’s a couch in there. I can sleep on that if it makes you more comfortable. I’m not expecting, you know, sex or anything. Well, I, uh, do wanna kiss you some more, for sure, but you know what I mean, right?
I smile at him. He is seriously so sweet. (Especially on the tail of what transpired with B. It makes him seem even sweeter.)
I follow him into the master. I’ve stayed at some incredible five star resorts, on yachts, our Malibu house was photographed for Architectural Digest, but this room is stunning. Huge colonial pineapple four poster bed, sweeping ocean views, private deck out the multitude of french doors, which are open, causing the gauzy white sheers to flutter in the wind.
“Wow. This room is beautiful. I may never leave.”
He gets a sexy smile, drops my bags onto the floor, takes my purse off my shoulder, then peels off my white gauze shirt off my shoulders.
He drops it on the bed and stands back, scrutinizing every inch of my bikini clad body.
All he manages to mutter before he kisses me is, “Damn.”
We kiss a bit, and then he says, “Come on. I’ll show u the rest of the downstairs and most importantly the deck, the pool, the beach. Hey, do you play tennis?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Cool. I’m gonna have to beat you at that. I’m house champ.”
Um, did I mention I took private lessons from the guy that won Wimbledon two years ago because my mom was filming a movie about a country club wife and had to perfect her backswing? Yeah. I think I might surprise him. (Also cut. God, is it just me or does she sound like such a little b*tch here?)
The rest of the house, the view, the grounds are almost as breath taking as the bedroom. As we walk through the big white kitchen, he points out a brunch spread on the island and asks if I am hungry. I say, not yet, so he gets me a drink instead.
It’s a pretty pink summer punch. I take a drink and am shocked by the potent alcohol taste.
“Jeeze, what’s in this?”
He laughs, “That’s our special Kool-Aid.” (Always drink the Johnson bros Kool-Aid!)
We walk out to the pool, drinks in hand, and he introduces me to everyone I don’t know, and I say hey to the ones I do. Riley, Dallas, Carson, Tyrese, Parker, and Ace. (Carson? Chop. Chop.) The rest are a combination of school friends and old friends. Everyone seems pretty well primed with alcohol already. There’s also only me and three other girls out of the 20 or so people staying here. (Also, K ended up being the only girl staying there in the published version.)
“I didn’t sign up for a sausage fest,” Parker says. “Let’s hit the beach.”
Ace agrees, “Yeah, we need to take a bunch of that Get drunk and screw punch with us.”
“Naw,” Riley says, “that’s not how its done. You bring them back here, and then let them drink the Kool-Aid. But we can take a little for ourselves.” (Riley<3)
Dawson gives me a piggy back ride down to the beach.
And wow. He’s so tall and dark and strong and dreamy. Brooklyn used to give me piggyback rides, but I sometimes felt like I was as big as him. I feel small compared to Dawson, and I love that. I throw my arms around him, and I can’t help but plant a few little kisses on his neck. Riley and most of the boys have surf and boogie boards with them.
I’m laying here in the sand with Dawson. He’s laying on his side, and I just finished telling him all about my reunion with Brooklyn.
“Wow, that’s pretty low. Especially since he wanted you to spend the weekend. And to do that with another girl while you were there, that’s like effed up.”
I laugh, “Sounds like something your brother would do.” I watch Riley out by the water talking to three very pretty girls. Does he know those girls?”
“Heck, I don’t know.”
“Wait! This is your whoredom, isn’t it? Wow, do all the girls know you?”
He looks embarrassed.
“Uh, some. Honestly, most of the times I hooked up this summer, I was like pretty drunk. The whole summer’s sorta a blur.”
Sorry, but I’m kinda glad about that.
Even though there are people around, I feel sorta like we are the only two people here.
“Did I tell you how much I like this bikini?” He’s playing with one of the strings.
“Um no, I don’t think you did.”
He runs a single sandy finger down my arm, and even in the blazing sun, my body does a little shiver. (Oh, Dawson!)
Grins. “I just gave you goosebumps. It’s hot out.”
“I got a chill, ocean breeze, you know.”
“You’re lying.” He grazes his thumb across my bottom lip. Is staring at me.
“I think you look ridiculously hot in your dance uniform, so I don’t know why I was so surprised by how amazing you look in a bikini. It took all my willpower not to undo these strings,” he touches the string on one side of my bikini bottoms, “in the bedroom, not come out for days.”
I laugh, “Don’t you have to take me back to the house and feed me some Kool-Aid first?”
I take a drink and smirk at him.
He squints his eyes at me.
I laugh, “I have to give you some shit. I can’t help it.”
His face get serious. “That’s not how I want it to be with you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Pretty much all the sex I’ve had, one of us has been drunk, usually both of us. Even Peyton, like I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but she never really wanted to. She felt guilty or something, so pretty much she had to get drunk to want me.” He’s lazily playing with a strand of my hair. “When we do it, like for the first time, whenever that is, I wanna do it right. Like romantic. Not sloppy and drunk.”
“I wanted you to take off my bikini in the bedroom, and I hadn’t had a single drink.” (Hot.)
He stares at me for a couple beats. Kisses me. Is practically laying on top of me kissing me. And it’s a different kind of kiss than his usually sweet romantic kisses. This is an I want you now kiss, and it takes my breath away.
Cold water suddenly splashes all over Dawson’s back and hits my arms. He goes, “Ahhh,” and jumps up.
Riley is standing there with a sand bucket in his hand, grinning. “Jeeze Dawes, you’re gonna get us fined for indecency. Besides, this girl needs to show us her surfing skills. The waves have picked up some. Dawson gets up, chases Riley down the beach and tackles him, while I take off my necklace and my wedges.
“Wish me luck,” I tell Dawson, as I jog by him with a surf board.
Riley and Ace grabs boards and paddle out with me. Riley sees a decent wave come in, it’s small, I mean there won’t be a curl or tube to ride through, but it’s big enough to ride back to shore. He paddles out, stands up, goes about twenty feet. Crashes.
Ace takes the next one, doesn’t even get up all the way standing before he bites it.
I wait out three more waves, there’s a bigger one building. I catch it, ride it easily, carving back and forth through the water, and take it all the way until the board glides up on the beach.
Dawson grabs me, kisses me, and says, “That was amazing.”
“That wave was like the bunny hills you learn to snow ski on.”
“It knocked my brother down.”
“Yeah, well his foot placement is all wrong, and he’s leaning too far forward.”
“Don’t tell him that, I like to see him crash and burn. I have some great videos.”
A couple hours later, the punch we brought is gone, and everyone is feeling good and worn out from playing in the surf. We decide to go back to the house, chow down some sandwiches.
After lunch, I tell Dawson, “I’m kinda tired.”
“Oh, come with me.” He leads me into the bedroom, then out one of the sets of french doors to a screened porch with a big padded hammock blowing in the breeze.
“Best place in the house for a nap. Come on.”
We snuggle up in the hammock. I put my head on his chest. We kiss for while and then fall into a happy sleep.
I’m awakened by him stirring in the hammock. My face is right by his neck, so I kiss it. Other than my kissing him at the football game, I really haven’t been initiating stuff with him. I’m mostly letting him kiss me. But after his comment, his feeling like Peyton didn’t really want him, I figure, he needs to feel wanted. So I’m kissing up his neck, my leg’s tossed across his.
He says, “You realize we just slept together.” He laughs.
“Yeah we did.”
He runs his hand like he did in the picture. Gently pulling my hair off my face. Says, “I think you need to keep doing that.” Pulls me on top of him. I kiss gently down his neck, teasing him, driving him nuts, I’m hoping.
I sit up, my knees still straddling him. Then I lean down, kiss down his neck, down his chest, run my hands in a little tickle down the sides of his abs.
He can’t take it. He moans, grabs me, and tries to flip me over. He apparently wants on top of me, but uh, yeah, I think he maybe forgot we are in a hammock because he rolls up over the side of the hammock. The hammock flips, he falls onto the floor on his back, with me falling right on top of him.
“Shit,” he mutters, but then laughs. “I’m real smooth, huh?”
I reply with a long, deep, slow kiss.
Then he manages to flip me over, pinning me against the floor under his weight. He’s kissing my neck, down my chest, moving his hips against mine, untying my bikini top, taking in what he sees, kissing what he saw, and my body is enjoying this. And the way he is moving his hips, how’s he’s maneuvered himself between my legs, how I’m hot, my body is ready for him. And I know he wants me. But we said we were gonna take it slow, and this, wonderful as it my be, is moving a lot faster than slow.
“Dawson,” I manage to breath out.
“Hmm??” He smiles at me, kisses me.
“Uh. I thought we were gonna take things like slow.”
“Maybe we should rethink that.”
God, he’s dreamy.
I squint my eyes at him.
He kisses me again, says, “No, you’re right.”
But what he says and what he does are two entirely different things. He’s kissing me deeply again, running his hands through my hair, across my back, each one of his hands covers each one of my butt cheeks and pulls them in tighter towards him. Slamming my pelvis into his, his hardness is pushing on what little there is of my bikini bottoms.
“Don’t worry, Keatie. We’re not. Not yet anyways.” (Is this the first place he says Keatie? He didn’t tell her why!)
Then he gets up, snatching his hardness away from me. I’m left lying on the floor, my body saying, But wait!!!!! Your brain may have been saying no, but your body majorly disagrees. Get him back here!!!!!
But I let him pull me up, instead of pulling him back down on top of me.
“Let’s go get a drink, see what everyone’s up to.”
We drink more, eat more, relax more, kiss more, swim more, hot tub more, and drink more Kool-Aid.
We are both a little tipsy, well, maybe kinda drunk. And I’m feeling a little naughty. I drag him back to the bedroom and start attacking him.
I’m taking off his polo, undoing his shorts, sliding them off him.
He stops me, “Keatie, we talked about this. We’re not gonna do it drunk. We’ll wait.”
I laugh, “Yeah, you’re right.”
Then I drop down on my knees in front of him, look up at him in question, and he says, “Uh, well, that’d probably be okay.” (I’m sure it would be, Dawson.)
Sunday, September 4th
So um, last night.
Too freaking early
Wake up to sunlight streaming in the windows. Look at the clock. It’s freaking sunrise early.
I feel a bit fuzzy, confused about where I am, and thirsty. I look down and see I slept in my bikini.
Dawson walks out of the bathroom, board shorts on, looking sexier than ever.
Maybe I should pull him into bed with me.
“So the early bird gets the surf. Us guys always go out and surf at sunrise, then we come back and eat a huge ass breakfast. Come with us. Or do you want to sleep some more? The girls always sleep in.”
“I slept in my swimsuit?”
He sits on the bed next to me and grins, “Yeah, you remember last night? You were pretty tipsy, maybe drunk. I don’t know. I haven’t been around you enough yet to be sure. You were kinda naughty though. Do you remember that part?”
“Yeah, I do, but then it gets kinda blurry, not because I was drunk, more because I was just so tired. Yesterday was a long day.”
“You were tired. You told me Kool-Aid makes you tired and you needed sleep. Then you snuggled up next to me and crashed. Maybe even snored a little.”
“Oh, God. That’s embarrassing.”
“Naw, it was cute. And I would have never guessed you, Miss Independent, as such a little snuggler.” He grins, then looks kinda sad when he says, “Peyton never wanted to snuggle. She always said it hurt her neck, or she got too hot.”
“I’m really not a snuggler.”
“Yeah, you are.”
“No. Brooklyn used to complain I wouldn’t snuggle with him. But it always made me feel kinda claustrophobic.”
“Well I don’t know about that, all I know is you were glued to my side all night, my right arm is still numb. So if you wanna go, get dressed and meet us down there okay?”
I get up, pee, brush my teeth, throw on a different bikini and a rash guard, spf my face, pull my hair back into a ponytail, grab my flip flops and head down the beach.
He’s just getting the boards all down there when I get there.
We surf, get some decent waves and boogie board a bunch.
It was fun. I made Dawson tell Riley what he was doing wrong, he grudgingly agreed, then looked like a proud parent when Riley rode a big wave all the way to shore. He ran over to him, high fived him, and was like, Riles, dude, that was awesome.
And he wasn’t kidding when he said they come back and eat a big breakfast. I don’t think I’ve seen this much food consumed in one place. Growing boys apparently can eat a whole freaking lot. The cook, Margie, brought out plate after plate of bacon, eggs, pancakes, fried potatoes, biscuits, gravy, sausage, and they must have drank three gallons of milk.
I sat there eating my egg white omelet just watching the frenzy. Oh, I did eat some of the fried potatoes and had some perfectly ripened raspberries on top of yogurt. I had worked up quite an appetite myself.
Riley said to me, “Dude you need to eat more, we need to fatten you up a little.”
Dawson, lifting the fork to his mouth stopped and said, “Naw, she looks damn good in a bikini, perfect if you ask me.”
And that like made my whole day.
We’re walking over to play tennis when Dawson says, “So um, last night.”
“Yeah, it was great. The sunset was amazing, and the partying, and hot tubbing. It was all fun.”
He kicks his racquet gently with his foot, ‘Uh, I was sorta referring to after that.”
“After that?” And I’m thinking after that we went to bed. Ohhhh. After that. “Oh. What about it?”
“What about it?” His eyes get big, like I could be so nonchalant about it. “Hands down. The. Hottest. Thing. Ever.”
He’s so cute, and so excited about this. You’d think we were talking about cars or xbox or something. But what did Grandpa’s ranch hand say about boys? They have two moods, hungry and horny. And if you see a boy without an erection, you should go make him a sandwich. That made Grandpa laugh, and Grandma say, Keatyn, don’t you dare listen to them. You tell them to make their own damn sandwiches.
I say, “Really?”
He suppresses a big smile. “You. Down on your knees. Uh, yeah.”
And I’m pretty surprised by this, considering his summer in whoredom.
“Hmm. Well, good. Does that mean you’d be okay if I wanted to get down on my knees again sometime?”
Dallas walks up behind me. “And just what were you going to do down on your knees, Kiki?”(Dallas, calling her on it. He is very observant and knows what’s up. Always. Except later, with Chelsea, but that’s another story.)
“Look for seashells, what else?”
Dawson chokes down his Kool-Aid laughing.
But as soon as he walks away, I have to ask. “I don’t get why it was so hot. I mean I’m sure you’ve done that like a million times.”
“Uh, Peyton didn’t really like to do that either. Thought it was gross basically.”
“And the whoredom?”
“Oh, well, it was just different. I actually like you, I didn’t ask you to, and it was like a surprise.”
“And you like being surprised?”
“Like that? Hell yeah. Although I’m a little concerned about how you are so, uh, good at it. Have you done that a lot?”
“Um a lot, yes, but only with Brooklyn. Brooklyn was the sum total of my experience before I started school. And I don’t know, he’d always get high and just was like do me, and I had a huge crush on him, so I would. You know, I can see now why my mom says you have to date a lot of guys, so you know like what’s good or bad in a relationship. Like you said you worshiped her, then dated her. Same with me, I did stuff with Brooklyn cuz I crushed on him. I wanted him to like me. I did that for you because I think you like me.” (I’m glad this got the ax. This would have made me hate B.)
He grabs my hand, “I do like you. A lot. And you’re right, we both thought our past relationships were so amazing.”
“And they weren’t really, were they?”
“No, not really. I’ve been sorta kicking myself for spending so much time whining about me and Peyton, when it really wasn’t all that good. At least it doesn’t compare to how I feel with you. It feels so much more balanced. Even Riley was like, Bro, I don’t remember when you’ve been so cool, nice to me, happy. It made me feel bad, I have been kinda a jerk to everyone lately.”
I smile. “Not to me.”
We sit down on a bench next to the tennis court.
“So Keatie, any idea when you think you might want to? Like do other stuff?” He looks up in the air. “Never mind I asked. Sorry, last night gave me a preview, and I can’t wait. I mean, I can wait. I will wait. We should probably wait. Like for as long as you think you want to. I just wondered when you think you would wanna, like wait until we decide to go out, or after so long of hanging out, or I mean what are you thinking? Like some girls seem to have lots of rules about when they will do it. Like we have to be going out. Or we have to go out for at least a couple months, or he has to tell me he loves me first. That kind of stuff.”
“Well, I waited over a year with Brooklyn, but I don’t think I would wait that long again. I’d say I don’t wanna plan it. I think we’ll both just know when it’s right. I didn’t plan last night it’s just I wanted to, so I did.”
“I like that.”
I can’t help but grin at him. I love that I can talk to him about all this. You would think it would be awkward, but it’s not at all. It makes me like him more.
“Yeah, I know, and I hope we both like it when it goes further. I think the reason girls give themselves rules about it is because their bodies really want to, but it’s kind of scary. Like say we did it last night. I would worry you what you think about me. Like if you think I’m slutty, if you would still have any respect for me, if you would ever call me again after. If I made you wait until you told me you loved me, I would be afraid you told me just because you wanted it. It’s hard to know when it’s right. I made Brooklyn wait for a long time. Like almost a year, from the first time he talked about doing it. And that kind of makes me mad because my mom kinda led me to believe if you waited it would be better. But obviously waiting didn’t insure his love. So who knows?”
“Yeah, Peyton made me wait seven months. And then after we did it she felt bad, or didn’t like it, or something, and it was another two months before I could get her drunk enough to try again. So how long are you thinking for us? Like have you thought about it? Is it bad I’ve thought about it a lot? Do you even want to be with me?”
I run my fingers through his hair, kiss his cheek. “Yeah, I’ve thought about it. Well I did, but then we kinda got in the fight thing about the pics being on facebook, but then you were sweet again, and yesterday, I’m pretty sure my body was voting for let’s do it right now.”
“Really? That’s hot. So like how long then?”
“Oh, I’d say depending on how things go somewhere between now and the next month or two.”
“Okay. I think I can do that.”
He grins at me, runs his hand across my shoulder, kisses me.
“Ready to play some tennis?”
“Sure, but you’re gonna lose.”
And I can’t help but think during tennis that the fact that he’s not pushing me, but wants to, makes me want to even more.
His hormones kicked into overdrive.
Later after dinner, everyone sat outside, chatting and drinking.
We watched the sun go down from the side deck and at that moment, while I’m wrapped tightly in Dawson’s strong arms, I had a flash of clarity.
This all feels so very right, and I decided that I am going to be quite content without a surfer or a hottie god in my life. Very content. (She’s so lying to herself.)
We moved the party back to the pool/hot tub area, turned the music up, danced around and had fun.
Dawson says to me, “Be right back. I’m gonna grab a couple more beers.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t have anymore.”
“Why not? I’m not drunk or anything. Are you feeling it?”
“I’d say I’m feeling it, but no, I’m just maybe a little tipsy. I feel perfect.”
“Okay?” He gives me a questioning look.
He’s not thinking what I’m thinking, so I explain. “I was kinda thinking that I’d like to not get, um, remember how we said if we do stuff that we didn’t want to only because we were drunk?”
He beams, he gets it. “Soooo, you’re thinking us about doing stuff?” I can tell he is quite excited by this prospect.
“Don’t get all excited just yet. I said thinking. But I do wanna do some stuff. Or don’t you?”
He kisses me. “Are you kidding me, it’s all I’ve thought about all day.” He stares at me for a second, figures he better not waste his opportunity and says, “You know, I’ve had about enough of the outdoors for one day, how about you?”
He tells everyone we’re tired and drags me into the house.
Then I think his hormones kicked into overdrive or something.
He’s kissing me, like fast, hard, long kisses. He pushes me up against the counter in the kitchen, then against the wall in the hall. We finally get to the bedroom, where he quickly shuts and locks the door, then pushes me up against it, kissing me, like ravaging me. I say ravaging because I have snuck quite a few of my mom’s Harlequin Romances, and this is the kind of thing I have always pictured.
Always dreamed of.
A boy that wants me so bad, he can barely stand it.
It wasn’t like this with Brooklyn. It was some intense kissing and then a brief, Come on Keats, you’re leaving me, and then up to his room. It was fun and sweet, not this barrage of kisses.
We start frantically undressing each other, kissing, hugging, breathing.
At this point, I think my hormones kicked in too, and honestly I’m thinking, Just do me, keep going, don’t stop. I’ve never felt such desire in my life. But just when I’m ready to speed things up, he decides to slow them down.
He’s wearing nothing but boxers and all that is protecting my virtue is a skimpy lace thong.
He’s kissing me. My shoulder, my chest, my stomach, and then slowly strips away what little clothing is left on me.
I can’t even tell you how hot I am.
After he slowly slides off my thong, he’s back to a full scale assault on my body.
He’s kissing, touching, rubbing, licking, well, everything.
And it feels very, very good.
I feel like he’s standing outside my front door, knocking on it. No, make that ringing the door bell, repeatedly, and I want to invite him in. I really want to. My body is definitely in agreement with me on this. My body has been pleading it’s case, begging, saying, Please, please, can he please come in and play, be our our friend, make us feel incredible? But my brain is arguing back, saying, You have only know this boy for a little over a week. It took you three years and all summer to let Brooklyn in and now you want to let this virtual stranger in??? Shouldn’t you be in love with him? What if you get pregnant? What if he’s just using you? What if this ruins everything? Then my body yells at my brain and says, Shut up!!!! Seriously, shut up!!! I don’t freaking care if he’s using us, I want him NOW!! Freaking right now!!!
My body wins this round. My brain shuts up for a bit and lets us feel. Feel the electricity running between us, causing every nerve ending I have to practically fizzle and spark. He moves between my legs and, ohhhh, what he’s doing is feeling pretty amazing, and pretty soon I’m trembling and breathing hard with pleasure. And I really don’t think I can take much more. My body screams, OMFFFFFGGGG!!!!! LET THIS BOY IN, NOW!!!!!
I say breathlessly, “Dawson….”
He stops and looks at me, tilts his head at me in question.
I just give my head a little nod. A barely perceptible teeny little yes nod.
And invite him in. (So this line and the house analogy below came from watching Snooki on Jersey Shore. She was telling her friend that she might “let some guy in” and I was like, does she think of her vagina as a house? But then, the below scene happened. And I thought it was a funny analogy.)