First, he's telling me he likes me then he gets all pissed off again?
I want to yell back at him that I didn't do the four-leaf clover and the dances because I wanted to dance with him! That it was just a sacrifice I made.
That I was paying it forward!
Isn't that supposed to get you bonus points, karma-wise?
Oh, I hate him sometimes.
Because me + being nice to him = bad.
I’m the one who got the stupid detention because of him. And now he’s mad at me!?
And he never even let me finish my stupid sentence! I was going to say it makes it hard to resist because he’s been my friend for so long. I didn’t mean that I would ever get back together with him. We are never, ever getting back together. No freaking way. Ahhhhhhhh! I want to scream out loud.
What the hell. I’m already pissed off. I might was well call Brooklyn.
He answers.
“Got your text,” I say.
“I was up looking at the dawn, thinking how much I miss you,” he says.
And, even though he was a total asshole, I sigh because I know I’m about to forgive him.
“I miss the dawn. I miss the beach. I miss the way things used to be.”
“Damn, Keats, that was almost poetic.”
“Yeah, well, whatever.”
“Are you going to forgive me?”
“I might after I have someone kick your ass or something.”
“You don’t need to do that. Trust me, I’ve been beating myself up over it. My chi is way out of whack. My surfing sucks. My life is out of balance.”
Or not.
You’ve got to be freaking kidding me!
“Wait. You want me to forgive you so you can get your groove back?”
“Well, kinda.”
“So, you don’t feel at all bad about what you did?”
“Uh . . .”
“That’s why I won’t forgive you. It’s always all about you!”
I hang up, mad.
Oh, I hate boys.
Okay, not all boys, just two in particular. And then I think of the one boy that has been nothing but sweet to me. So I call him.
He answers in a hoarse, sleepy, you-just-woke-me-up voice.
“You sound like you’re still in bed.”
“I am. You done with detention?”
“Yes. How would you like some breakfast in bed?”
“I just want you in my bed, but food would be nice too.”
On the way to his room, I stop and grab three glazed donuts, a caramel latte for him, and a bottle of water for me.
When I open his door, I grin.
He looks so adorable when he’s just waking up. His dark hair is messy, and he hasn’t shaved since yesterday morning, so he’s got a five o’clock shadow. It looks so sexy on him. His hair is sorta smooshed up on one side, like you can tell exactly how he was lying when he was sleeping. Plus, he’s shirtless.
“Mhmmm, come here,” he says, pulling back his covers, and then covering us back up.
I snuggle up to his chest and think about going back to sleep, but I kiss his neck instead. Just soft little lazy kisses.
Well, they start out that way.
Then I kiss his neck with a little more intention. Up by his ear, around his earlobe, back down the side of his neck, then across his check, and to his waiting mouth.
The minute our lips meet, a wave of desire runs through my body.
Or maybe it’s because he’s got his hand between my legs now. I’m not sure. It’s sorta hard to focus on thoughts just now, because he’s quickly pulling off our clothes.
“You make me feel like a superhero, Keatie.”
“A superhero?” How?”
“In bed. I feel like I could fly, kick the Hulk’s ass, bust Superman’s chops, all before lunch.”
“Well, in bed, you are my superhero.” I giggle. “You make me feel sexy. It’s kinda addictive.”
“You’re addictive. I can’t get enough of you.”
Pretending it was your head.
2pm.
We crash for a while, me finally getting some much-needed sleep, then we get up and go work out. Dawson is lifting weights, while I rotate through a little exercise circuit, trying to concentrate and not just sit and drool watching his muscles flex. I will admit, I’m not working out all that hard. I’m mostly drooling.
Plus, I feel lazy today.
I go over to the punching bag, where I have a good view of Dawson’s muscles, and punch the bag a little. I slowly do some of the different kicks and moves Tommy’s trainer used to make us do.
Just as Dawson lies on a exercise ball and starts doing crunches, Aiden steps in front of me, blocking my drool-worthy view.
“I was punching that earlier. Pretending it was your head,” he says, pointing to the bag.
“You need to grow up. Figure out what you want before you go telling girls you like them, then two seconds later deciding you don’t and walking away. It’s no wonder you don’t have a girlfriend.” I maybe, kinda snarl a little.
Not because I care. But he is blocking my view.
“I could get a girlfriend like that,” he says, snapping his fingers.
“Why don’t you then?”
He shrugs and lowers his voice. “I’m not sure.”