Love Me(The Keatyn Chronicles #4)

Back in the saddle again.

5:35pm



Dawson texts me while I’m lying on my bed studying.



Dawson: Nothing is going on tonight. Wanna get some dinner? We haven’t hardly talked since Friday.



Me: I’d love to. I miss talking to you.



Aiden calls me as I’m throwing on a cute dress.

“Do you want to go out for dinner tonight?”

“Um, I can’t. Dawson asked me to have dinner with him. He was out of town and then I was out of town, so we’re going to catch up.”

“Catch up? Great.”

“Aiden, it’s just dinner. I still want to meet you in the library to study later. Say eight?”

“Yeah, sure.”

I can tell by the tone of his voice that he’s not happy about it. But Dawson is my friend and I’m still going to hang out with him.



Dawson takes me to the little Italian restaurant where we went on what was sort of our first date.

“Remember when I first brought you here?”

“Yeah, Dawson. I do.”

“Are we going to have sex again?”

“Not right now. I can’t. It was making me sick.”

“Sex with me was making you sick?”

“Not literally, no. You know I loved it. But kissing Aiden one night and doing that with you the next felt slutty.”

“Slutty would have been having sex with us both.”

“I think it’s easy to say that. To call girls sluts. To make judgments about them. But our sex lives should be personal. It’s no one’s business who or how many people I choose to sleep with. If people worried about their own personal lives and judged themselves rather than others, I think the world would be a better place.”

“Does that mean you won’t judge me when I tell you I hooked up with the pre-med girl?”

His confession takes the breath out of my lungs. I press my fingertips into my eyebrow.

“Keatie . . .”

I close my eyes tightly. “It’s okay. I understand.”

“I needed to see.”

“If it would be good with someone else? Was it?”

“She was drunk and threw up as soon as we were done.”

“What happened to not wanting to do it with drunk girls anymore?”

“Try to find a girl at college on a Saturday night who isn’t drunk.”

I laugh. “I’m sure there are plenty.”

“Not at the party I was at.”

“Did it feel good?”

“I mean, yeah, it felt good, but it didn’t feel the same. You know?”

“No, Dawson. I don’t know. I haven’t done it with anyone else.”

“Great. Make me feel guilty.”

“I wasn’t trying to make you feel guilty. I was just stating a fact. Because I don’t know.”

“Cam said I needed to get back in the saddle again.”

“Well, of course. I mean, it’d been a whole week since you were last in the saddle.”

“That was sarcastic.”

“Yes, Dawson, it was. I don’t think you should listen to Camden. I know you are close, but I don’t think he gives very good advice. Honestly, Riley has a way better head on his shoulder.”

“Riley is stranded on third base.”

“Riley is in love.”

“Well, I’m not. So . . .”

“You’re a good guy too, Dawes. Don’t let Cam or college change you. I would never fall for someone like Camden, but I fell for you.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“So, aside from that. What else did you do?”

“Nothing. We got high, played video games, ate, slept, drank, partied.”

“Sounds fun.”

“I’m not sure it’s what I want.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure I want to go to college with him.”

“Where are you thinking about going?”

“Maybe NYU with Jake. Did you know he’s thinking about going there? His family is going to have a fit, but he’s excited. We could get a cool apartment. Or a loft.”

“Do you know what you want to do? What you want to major in?”

“Cam says he’s majoring in p-ssy.”

I laugh out loud at that. “I’m sorry, but that’s really funny.”

Dawson grins. “I love hearing you laugh. I hope we can still have fun together.”

“It will be a little hard at first, but I think we’ll get through it. I want to stay friends.”

“It’s always a little hard at first,” Dawson snickers.

“Your mind is always in the gutter.”

“Just like yours.”



Still my bliss.

7:30pm



I text Aiden.



Me: I’m back from dinner. Ready to study?



Hottie God: I studied some before dinner. Do you have much left to do?



Me: Well, technically, I have two days to turn in my missed assignments :)



Hottie God: So, technically, you don’t have to study?



Me: I can think of some things that might be more fun.



Hottie God: Like what?



Me: Actually, I do have some homework. It’s research for a very important project.



Hottie God: Oh, really? What kind of research?



Me: I’m doing a clinical study on the effects of French kissing. It’s for French class. Extra credit.



Hottie God: You should probably conduct that research in my room.



Me: I agree.



I freshen up my makeup, brush my teeth, and hurry over to Aiden’s room. When I knock on his door, he doesn’t answer. So I peek inside.

“You looking for me?” he says, coming out of Bryce’s room on the other side of the hall.

He looks completely delectable. School jacket slung over his shoulder, tie half undone, top button unbuttoned.

“I am.”

He gives me a blazing grin as I grab his tie and pull him straight to my lips.

This time it’s no sweet, feather-light kiss. No slightly open mouth. His tongue slides right into my mouth and tickles my tongue. It’s playful and fun for a second, but quickly turns more serious.

He walks me backward into his room, shuts his door, and pulls me onto his futon without his lips leaving mine.

His tongue is like a drug.

And I’m completely addicted.

He gently grabs my bottom lip with his teeth, pulling at it slightly.

“Observation number one,” I say. “Kissee thinks it’s hot when kisser bites her lip.”

He runs his tongue across my lower lip.

“Observation number two: Kissee likes to be greeted like that.”

I put both my hands on his cheeks and kiss him slowly.

“Observation number three: Kissee believes kisser’s tongue contains some type of addictive, and possibly illegal, drug. Either a love potion or crack.

This causes Aiden to chuckle.

“Addictive, huh?”

He runs the back of his hand down the side of my face, then under my jaw.

I close my eyes and feel. Let myself feel all the emotions for Aiden that I’ve been trying not to feel. Trying to talk myself out of.

“Very.”

He sits up on the futon and pulls me sideways onto his lap. I rake my fingers through his hair and kiss him like a girl who’s desperate for a fix.



Two and a half hours of making out and it’s still not enough.

I stand on the first step outside my dorm, making me almost as tall as him, wrap my arms around his neck, and kiss him again and again.

Then I wander to my room in a daze.

Maggie and Katie are in my room still studying for whatever test has been completely wiped from my mind.

“You look like Maggie did when she walked in. Dreamy. Dazed. Red lips. You been kissing Aiden?”

“I heard you went to dinner with Dawson,” Maggie says. “Who were you kissing?”

“Aiden,” I say with a dreamy sigh. “Dawson and I just had dinner. He hooked up with a girl this weekend.”

“Really?” Maggie says. “That was fast.”

“I know. Makes me feel like I made the right choice, though.”

“You went against fate.”

“No, I went against chance.”

“Whatever. I’m glad you two are happy,” Katie says.

“You’re one to talk. You and Bryce have been awfully cozy.”

She smiles and bounces a little. “Yeah, we have, but I’m trying to be smart about it.”

“I’m gonna go shower before bed,” I tell them. I give Maggie a quick hug. “See you tomorrow.”

I take a shower and expect Katie to be asleep by the time I finish, but she’s still awake, texting Bryce.

“Wow. You must like him. You’re still awake.”

“He’s fun to talk to,” she says, going back to her text.

I look at my phone.

There’s a text from Brooklyn.



B: Call me if you have a chance. I want to talk to you about some stuff.



I tell Katie that I’m going to the kitchen to scrounge for a snack, but go in the stairwell and call him.

“Hey.”

“So I’ve been researching stalking cases. Want to hear some statistics?”

“Sure.”

“I found out that half of all stalkers threaten violence but that only two percent actually kill.”

“So I have a 98% chance of surviving this. I like those odds.”

“Stalking is a felony but often dismissed due to lack of evidence. Do you remember that pop singer that was stalked? The guy told everyone they were secretly engaged. Sort of reminds me of Vincent saying that he’s going to make a movie with Abby, you know?”

“Uh, huh.”

“Stalkers also tend to have inflated egos, impersonal sex, no remorse, and superficial charm. But it all comes down to one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Control and domination.”

“Garrett already told me all that stuff.”

“Well, I was thinking of something. Possibly a different approach to fighting him.”

“What’s that?”

“What if we made him feel out of control?”

“I suggested that I do a slutty video or something like Mom’s new movie. I wonder what will happen when it releases. Hopefully it won’t send him over the edge.”

“What if the control had nothing to do with you?”

“How would we do that?”

“My dad’s company is fighting off a hostile takeover.”

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s what I think we should do to Vincent. We do a hostile takeover of his production company. Giving us the rights to the film. If that film is as important to him as I think it is, he would fight the takeover like crazy. It might not make him forget you, but it might give him something else to do besides a nationwide search for you. It would keep you safer, longer. Then if we get the rights . . .”

“We could make the film ourselves.”

“Exactly.”

“Do you know how much his film company is worth?”

“No, but I know someone who can find out for us.”

“He inherited a lot of money when his grandmother died.”

“You inherited a lot of money from your dad, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“And I have a big trust fund too. And if we didn’t have enough, we’d raise the capital somehow.”

I start to get tears in my eyes, then accidentally let out a little sob.

“Keats, don’t cry.”

“Thanks, B. Everyone has been great in trying to protect me. But I feel like I have no control. I want to fight back.”

“We’ll fight together. I want you back on the beach with me.”

“It’s late here. I need to get some sleep. Let me know what you find out.”

“It will probably be a few weeks. They have to get through their deal first. Night, Keats.”



I go back in my room, loosely braid my still damp hair, and lie down.

My phone buzzes.



Hottie God: Observation number four: You lips are still my bliss. Speaking of that . . . You still owe me $40 for getting our phones out of jail.



Me: I might owe you $20 for my phone, but you have to learn to be more responsible with your belongings.



Hottie God: I am willing to negotiate a trade.



Me: Does the trade involve kissing?



Hottie God: Yes.



Me: Then I totally owe you $40.



Hottie God: Night, Boots.



I’m almost asleep when my phone buzzes again.



B: Remember when I told you that Keats quote in the hot tub before we first kissed? I just found out there’s more to it. And it gives me hope. “A thing of beauty is a joy forever: its loveliness increases; it will never pass into nothingness.”
    

Thursday, November 10th

He doesn’t know you.

4:30pm



After dance, Peyton asks me if I want to get coffee. It’s a cold and dreary day and coffee sounds really good.

Right before we get there, she says, “Whitney is meeting us.”

“Why—”

“Thanks for meeting me,” Whitney says, interrupting my question. “I thought we should go over the French weekend menu.”

She babbles on, but I’m not sure why she thinks we’re going over it. Basically, she is just telling us what she’s already picked out.

She’s just closing her laptop when Cooper wanders in and orders a coffee.

“Did you know that he comes here every day after soccer practice?”

“Uh, no,” Peyton says, as I shake my head.

“He’s interesting. Mysterious.”

“How so?” I ask.

“No Facebook page that I can find. No girlfriend that I can tell.”

“He just moved here,” I counter. “He probably doesn’t know anyone.”

“Speaking of not knowing anyone,” Whitney says, looking me directly in the eye. “It turns out that I’m Facebook friends with a guy from your old school. Such a small world. Funny thing is, though, he doesn’t know you.”

“How would you know where I used to go to school?”

“I’m sure you mentioned it.”

I shake my head. “No, I’m pretty sure I haven’t.”

“Well, I must have seen it somewhere.”

Yeah, like maybe when she broke into the dean’s office.

“Okay?”

“I just think it’s a bit odd that he didn’t know you.”

I need to sound unconcerned, so I use my Alpha girl bitch voice to reply. “What’d the guy look like?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, was he hot? Why would I bother being friends with a guy who wasn’t hot?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t really pay attention. Is that the only reason you hang out with Dawson?”

I laugh and try to change the subject. “Actually, I wanted his brother.”

Peyton tries unsuccessfully to stifle a chuckle as Whitney’s eyes get huge. “You wanted Camden? But you . . .”

“Why would I want Camden? I meant Riley,” I say innocently, but knowing full well that I struck a nerve.

Whitney sneers at Peyton, but Peyton just shrugs a shoulder.

While they stare each other down, I text Cooper because I’m freaking out.



Me: Meet me in your office in ten?



Whitney grabs my phone. “Who are you texting? We’re having a discussion here.” She looks at my phone, sees my text, and can’t disguise the mad crinkle between her eyebrows. “You’re texting him?”

“I just did, yes. I asked him earlier if we could meet to talk about a summer soccer camp.”

“Bullshit,” she counters. “He’s sitting right there. You could’ve walked over and asked him. You’re hiding something. Don’t think Peyton and I don’t know that.”

“I just didn’t want to bother him,” I state as my phone lights up in Whitney’s hand.

She squints her eyes at me. “It seems to me like you and Mr. Steele are together quite a bit.”

“You’ve had meetings with him too.”

She huffs.

I don’t bother to reply. I stand up and say, “I better get going.”

I walk over to where Cooper is sitting, lean down, and say quietly, “Let’s go.”

He gathers his stuff up.

When we get outside, I grab his elbow and pull him around the side of the building.

“What are you doing?”

“We’re hiding. And we’re not going to your office. We need to go somewhere else. Somewhere private. I have a big problem.”

He glances at his watch. “Let’s go to the Teachers’ Lounge. It’s late enough that no one will be in there.”



When we get locked into the room, he says, “What’s the big problem?”

“I need to delete all my old social media. Now that I think about it, I don’t even understand why Garrett didn’t do that in the first place.”

“He was looking for clues and proof anywhere he could. Why do you want to delete it now?”

“Whitney told me that she’s friends with someone from my old school.”

“Your old school?”

“The school that’s in my transcripts. The one I didn’t actually go to.”

He puts his fist up to his chin. “Oh. That could be a problem. How does she even know that? Why did you tell people?”

“I didn’t. But a while ago, someone broke into the school office and accessed my records. I thought at the time it was Vincent, but now I’m almost positive that it was her.”

“She’s a piece of work, that girl. She doesn’t understand the meaning of no.”

“Right. So what if she gets really serious about figuring out who I am? What if somehow she finds an old picture of me and pieces it together? Do you know how many pictures I have on my Facebook page? She’d love nothing more than to tell everyone that I’ve been lying to them. To embarrass me. Ruin me socially. I’m gonna call Garrett.”

“I’ll do it,” Cooper says.

He calls Garrett and fills him in on the situation in a very businesslike manner. He ends the call and then turns to me. “He’s out of town but says that he just informed the office to change your passwords back to your old ones and agrees that deleting them is a good idea at this point.”

Cooper stands up and paces while I log into Twitter. I don’t bother looking at any of it. I just hit Delete and then verify that I’m sure. I do the same for Pinterest, Instagram, Polyvore, and Tumblr.

I do pause, taking a minute to scroll through the magnificence of all the hot guy photos I collected over the years on Tumblr. RiAnne and I dubbed it the Hottie Vault.

I smile. Happy memories of parties, shopping excursions, and days spent by the pool with Vanessa and RiAnne roll through my head. I think back to all the mistakes I made with Brooklyn and realize I probably made plenty with them too. Maybe part of loving yourself is taking responsibility for your actions. Vanessa didn’t make me into a bitch. I’m pretty sure I did that all by myself.

Then I get on Facebook.

This is harder. My cover photo is of me and Brooklyn in Monaco. My profile picture our new matching tattoos.

I scroll down through my wall. No one seems to be commenting anymore or wondering where I am. The mystery of why I left is now old news.

But every week—make that every Saturday morning—there is a post from RiAnne. It simply says, I miss you.

And it touches me. Really touches me.

Maybe if I go back home someday, we’ll be friends again.

I pull up her photos, clicking through pictures of her and Vanessa. At parties. On dates. At Homecoming.

But the pictures look off. Because I’m missing from them.

Since I’m a glutton for punishment, I click on Cush’s profile.

I squint my eyes at his profile picture. It’s a photo of him and a girl dressed up for Homecoming.

I click on the photo to make it bigger because my eyes must be deceiving me.

But they aren’t.

This girl, who is pretty but sort of plain looking, mostly because she isn't even wearing mascara—to Homecoming, seriously? I mean, I’m all about fresh-faced beauty. I'm fine surfing, working out, or hanging out with no makeup on. But on a special night with a special guy that you are going to have pictures of for the rest of your life?

Come on! At least put on some mascara and some lip gloss!

You know how Vanessa wanted to make the rugby player hotter?

This girlfriend of Cush’s is like the anti-Vanessa. She's somehow made larger-than-life Cush look plain too.

His slacks and dress shirt are slightly crumpled looking. There’s no product in his hair. And his posture is off. He doesn’t look like the tall, proud, cocky Cushman that I know.

I click through some more photos.

Oh. My. God.

He’s losing his abs.

Seriously. He looks like he's already gone to college and gotten a beer belly.

What the hell has this girl done to him?

I can't stop my fingers from typing.



Me: Cush? Where the hell did your abs go?



He's not showing online, but he messages me back instantly, probably from his phone.



Brandon: Haha. Keatyn, I haven't talked to you in forever and that's the first thing you ask?



Me: I’m sorry. That was rude of me. How’s the Cushman?



Brandon: Well, first off. I’m not that guy anymore. Cushman was a conceited a*shole. Everyone here calls me Brandon.



Me: Um. Okay.



Brandon: You said you were somewhere good for you. Are you learning looks and partying aren't all that important?



Me: I’d say I’m learning that life is all about balance. I have to go. It was nice talking to you, Brandon.



The Cushman is dead.

And I want to cry.



The computer chimes. Cooper stops pacing and looks over my shoulder. “Are you chatting? You’re supposed to be deleting.”

“I am. I just . . .”



RiAnne: Please say hi to me.



Me: Hi.



RiAnne: Is it really you?



Me: Yes. Thank you for messaging me every week. You are the only friend to do that. It’s so sweet.



RiAnne: Vanessa is still mad you left us, but she's with me at the coffee shop every Saturday morning when I post it.



Me: Tell me what's going on. I miss you.



RiAnne: I miss you too. Vanessa is dating the rugby player. They were Homecoming prince and princess this year.



Me: That's cool.



RiAnne: And guess what? I was nominated!



Me: That's a big honor, Ri.



RiAnne: Thanks. Where are you?



Me: I can't tell you. Random question, but I saw some pictures of V and Bam and there was a guy there. That hot older guy I talked to at the hotel. Do you hang out with him?



RiAnne: We see him at the club sometimes. I think he's a creeper. But V thinks he's hot. She's gone to his house and stuff. Like for the whole weekend. You know.



I want to throw up.



RiAnne: But not lately. She's actually pretty into rugby. Like she's gone to all his games. And she hasn't cheated on him in three weeks, which is a record. Apparently, he’s great in the sack.



Me: I’m glad she's happy. What about you?



RiAnne: Same. So many guys to kiss, so little time. Lately I have been kissing on Alex Littleton.



Me: Ri!! He is hot!!!



RiAnne: I know, right? I'm all that. We’ve been working out together and I've lost 6 1/2 pounds.



Me: Is he a good kisser?



RiAnne: The. Best.



Me: I have to go. I'm deleting my profile.



RiAnne: No! You can't.



Me: I have to. There is a girl here who hates me and I don't want her to know about my old life.



RiAnne: Keatyn, you of anyone ought to be able to handle a mean girl.



Me: Yeah, I know. And I promise, if I ever get back home, I’ll call you.



RiAnne: Pinkie swear?



I get tears in my eyes as I type.



Me: Yeah, Ri. I do.



RiAnne: You know, if you would’ve stood up to Vanessa, like to her face, she would’ve respected you for it.



Me: That’s good advice. You taking it yourself?



RiAnne: Yeah. And I’m much happier. (That, and I’m skinnier than her.)



I don’t reply. I wipe a tear from my eye. Then I do it.

Delete, delete. Yes, I'm sure.

“Done,” I say to Cooper.

“Tonight after curfew, meet me in the small gym. We’ll get to work.”
    

Friday, November 11th

Shoe porn.

3:15pm



After soccer practice, Cooper herds me into his office and shuts the door.

I’m tired from being up late last night learning an assailant’s attack zones. Muscles I didn’t even know existed are sore.

“You need to lay off on the workouts. I’m so sore from last night. Thank goodness I don’t have dance or a game tonight.”

“Tonight is what I want to talk to you about. Going to New York is not a good idea.”

“I’m going.”

“Then I’m going with you.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Where are you staying?”

“I’ll be at my loft, Cooper. No one from my old life—not even my family—knows about it. A few people from school have been there but other than that, only Garrett and the guy that handles my money know where it is. I’m safe there.”

“What if someone sees you in the street? Or worse, in front of your loft, and thinks you look like Abby and calls him? He already did auditions there.”

“That’s why New York City is safe. Everyone is too busy to notice me. And I really don’t look that much like her in passing. It’s only the combination of my voice and gestures when people seem to notice. So I won’t talk to anyone. I’ll wear sunglasses.”

“You should be more afraid. How can you not be scared after Vancouver?”

“I am scared, but I can’t let it rule my life. I know we had a close call. I’m grateful that you planned ahead and he couldn’t trace our flights. I know you got out the guns and we all kind of freaked out, but he wasn’t going to forcefully take me in front of all those people.”

“All what people? Me and two pilots? That’s nothing. In Miami, he would have lied his way out of the club. Said you were drunk or sick. He could have drugged you. He could flash a fake badge like I did and say you were a fugitive. No one would think twice. He’s a brilliant liar. Hell, he’s lying to the whole country right now.”

“I gave up everything I love to keep my family and friends safe. Garrett told me I may never get to go back.” I start to cry. “That I have to start a new life. I’m trying so hard to do that.”

He pulls me into a hug, just as Whitney bursts through the door.

I jump and pull out of Cooper’s hug.

“What’s wrong?” Whitney snaps.

Cooper takes control, herding her out of the room and saying harshly, “Don’t ever barge into my office like that again. Do you understand me?”

“But she barged in your office just the other day. Why was that okay?”

“She’s on my soccer team.”

“And I’m in your health class.”

“Make an appointment.” The force that he says it with makes me glad he’s on my side.

Whitney nods obediently and says politely. “I’m sorry, Mr. Steele, I hoped to talk to you about the French Weekend.”

“As you can see, I’m busy. If you don’t stop randomly dropping by without an appointment, I’ll withdraw my help on the project. We clear?”

“Uh, yes, sir.” She turns and walks quickly away.

“And if I open this door and catch you eavesdropping, you’ll be finding yourself in detention.”

He sits on the corner of his desk. “Continuing. You’ve been there how many times before?”

“Just twice. Once with Dawson and once with my friends.”

“And one of those times Vincent was there?”

“Yes. But he was following my mom, not me. And Garrett told me to trust my gut. My gut tells me I’m safe there. For now. Like I am at school.”

“For now,” he adds somberly.

“The loft is where Garrett told me to go if Vincent ever found out I’m here.”

Cooper nods. “I’m just trying to think ahead. Of what could go wrong.”

“What do you think could go wrong?”

“A million things. But, realistically, he’d have to know you were here to know you went there. So then it becomes the possibility that he sees you somewhere there. That’s probably not going to happen randomly. So he’d have someone looking for you. Like he did in Vancouver. Like I’m pretty sure he had on the beach. He’d go to the places he’d expect you to go. Clubs. Shopping. Favorite restaurant. Could he know any of those things about you?”

“I never told him.”

“On Facebook maybe?”

“No. I never posted anything about New York. The only thing could be . . .”

“Could be what?”

“Shoe porn, maybe.”

“What the hell is shoe porn?”

“It’s when you post a photo of a hot shoe on social media. Shoes that other girls will drool over. Kind of like you would over a hot guy.”

Cooper laughs and shakes his head. “Shoe porn. Now I’ve heard everything. So, I’d go to shoe stores, flash a photo of you, give them my card, tell them it’s a hundred bucks if they call me.”

“Would you do that in New York?”

He thinks for a second. “New York. Miami. Near the rehab in Utah. And probably Vancouver. Upscale stores. Shoe department.”

“So I can’t go shoe shopping?”

“No shoe shopping.”

“I can’t . . .”

“Do you want to go by yourself? I like New York. I could come stay with you and Aiden. That’d be cozy.”

“Fine. No shoe shopping.”

“Do you promise? I’m serious. Do you promise?”

I close my eyes and nod. “Yeah. I promise.”



For a rainy day.

8pm



Aiden walks in my loft and says, “Wow. The ceiling is amazing.”

I tell him about the history of the building. Its former life as a small concert hall.

“What about all the furniture?”

“A designer chose all the pieces. I did some design boards that mixed pieces of furniture with colors, clothes, and shoes I love and somehow he extrapolated that to furniture and accessories.”

“I want to see it all,” he says, grabbing my hand and leading me around like he owns the place. I think about Dawson. How he barely got me in the door before attacking me. Part of me was hoping the loft would have the same effect on Aiden.

But part of me is glad it hasn’t.

When he lets go of my hand to examine a funky hand-blown glass piece, I notice how perfect Aiden looks in here. Almost like the designer picked him out too. He's wearing jeans that are fashionably ripped and frayed at the seams. A Band of Outsiders jersey hoodie that skims across his muscles. A casual blazer.

Having Aiden here makes my loft feel more like a home.

It’s weird. When I think of home, I think of Malibu. Of my family.

I’ve tried to write new scripts. Ones where I go home. Ones where I don’t get to go home. Ones where Dawson and I live in the Hamptons. Ones where Aiden and I live in Napa and watch the sunset together. Ones where Brooklyn tells me he wished on the moon the night of prom and where we stay up to watch the sunrise together.

But when it comes time to write it down—to actually script it—I can’t do it. Instead, I keep writing what happens every day in my journal.

I figure if Vincent gets me, maybe someone will find it and use it for a Lifetime movie.

I’m brought back to reality when Aiden says, “I think I'll take this one,” in one of the guest rooms. He walks out of the room then returns with his leather duffle and backpack and sets them on the bed.

Is it bad that when he told me that he wanted to use the feather on me here that I assumed that we were going to sleep together? And that I have a purse full of condoms?

Aiden takes my hand in his and continues to explore, now landing in the kitchen. “Love the teal island. And the stainless steel appliances mixed with the rustic painted furniture.” He pulls me into his arms and kisses the tip of my nose. “Did I tell you I'm a pretty good cook?”

I want to say I'm not surprised; you're good at everything, but I say, “Does that mean you’re gonna cook for me tonight?”

He opens the fridge and looks inside. “You're prepared.”

“Yeah, I wasn't sure what you'd want to do, so I ordered in a bunch of food.”

He grabs an apple, takes a big bite out of it, and shuts the door. “Let's see everything else, then we’ll decide.”

“This was another big selling point,” I say, leading him out the door off the kitchen. “Outdoor space is hard to find, so this made up for the fact that it isn't on Park Avenue.”

“My sister told me about the hot tub. Love the outdoor space. Show me your room.”

My room.

My bed.

I lead him into the bedroom, where he lets go of my hand to check it out. First, he peeks in the bathroom. "So you've never taken a bath in here?"

“No, not yet.”

“We’ll add that to the list.”

“The list?”

“Yeah, of the things we’re going to do this weekend. This your closet?” he asks, interrupting my thoughts of him lying naked on my furry rug.

I nod as he opens the door. He steps in and then turns and grins at me. “This has to be your favorite room in the house.”

“Why do you think that?”

“It just feels different. Has a different vibe.”

“I had it decorated exactly like my closet at home.”

Aiden is listening but he's also poking through the closet. Looking at the shoes I bought last time I was here but didn’t take back to school. Some basics I ordered online just in case I ever have to leave everything at school and run. He glances at the book of Keats’ poetry that’s lying on the table next to my chaise, not knowing that the four-leaf clover he gave me is safely pressed inside.

“You don't have any pictures of your family,” he states.

“I haven't had the chance to add many personal touches yet.” I open a drawer and pull out a small silver frame. “This is me holding my little sister when she was born.”

He takes the frame out of my hand and studies it. “She's tiny and adorable. You look young.”

“It was three years ago. Thanks for encouraging me to go to her party. I’m so glad I didn’t miss it.”

He flashes me a beaming smile, hands me back the photo, then makes a beeline for the long burgundy dress I bought when we went shopping for Homecoming. “What's this for?”

“Oh, I don't know. I found it when we were shopping for court dresses. I'm saving it.”

“You do that, don't you?”

“Do what?”

“Buy clothes in the hopes that you'll have somewhere perfect to wear them. Like the dress you were saving for Paris.”

“Yeah, I guess I do.”

“You're hopeful. Optimistic. I like that about you. What about these?” He points to a shoebox as he pops off the lid. “Why are these in their box and not displayed on the shelves with the others?”

He pulls out the shoes I was wearing when Vincent tried to kidnap me. A lump forms in my throat and I can't reply.

"Oh. This one’s broken,” he says. “What happened?”

I’m trying to think up a lie when a note falls off the shoe.

Aiden picks it up and reads it aloud. “I thought you needed to be reunited with footwear that is the real you. -G. Who's G?”

“Garrett. My um, uncle. You met him at Homecoming.”

“Why does he think a broken shoe is the real you?”

Seeing Aiden holding my shoe makes me long for the white knight. For the prince who kills the dark man. The prince who saves me.

“I was kinda nervous when I came to Eastbrooke. You know, wondering if I'd fit in.”

“So he sent you broken shoes?”

F*ck. Why does Aiden have to ask so many questions? Dawson never thought twice about the shoes or my closet.

“They are my favorite shoes ever,” I answer honestly, as I take the shoe out of his hand and put it back in the box. “I wore them at my 17th birthday party. But then I got, um, drunk and fell and broke the heel and I just . . .”

I can't do it. I can’t stand here and lie to Aiden’s face.

Lying to him hurts me.

Literally, physically hurts me.

“Anyway, you haven't seen the upstairs yet. Come on.” I tear out of my closet, praying he will follow me and forget about the shoes.

He does.

We climb the stairs. Since it’s dark, the stars are glowing. And they are everywhere. I think the designer went a little overboard, but they’re amazing. I love them.

Aiden pulls me onto the chaise with him. “Look at that,” he says, pointing. “There's a moon over there in the corner.”

“I never told them to put up a moon.”

“It probably came in the packet. One came in mine.”

“Why didn't you put it up?”

“I figured it'd get lost in all the stars.” He leans me back and kisses me.

Another perfect kiss.

I run my hands through the back of his hair and kiss the side of his face.

He stops kissing me and pulls me up off the couch. “You need to go change.”

“Like into something more comfortable?” Oh, yippee-freaking-yay!

“No, like into that dress you were saving.”

“Why?”

“It's a surprise. Meet me in the kitchen in five minutes.”

“Ten. If I'm gonna wear that dress, I need to touch up my makeup.”

He nods in agreement and heads down the stairs.

I run in my bedroom, touch up my makeup, throw my hair back into a messy bun, slide on the dress, add some strappy heels, and head back out to the kitchen just in time to watch Aiden popping a bottle of champagne.

He hands me a flute and clinks my glass. “Here’s to not waiting for a rainy day.”

“You look nice,” I say, knowing it’s an understatement as I take in his black suit and black shirt. I've never seen him wearing all black. It makes him look a little dangerous. Especially with the naughty gleam in his eyes.

He grabs my hand, leads me to the door, and says, “Our car’s here.”

We go outside and get into a big black limo.

“Where are we going?”

He pulls me into his arms. “You’ll see.”



Soon, the car pulls up to the Empire State Building. I smile. “Are we going to the top?”

“We are.”

He pushes me into the corner of the elevator and gives me a kiss. A kiss that I can feel all the way to the tips of my Louboutin-encased toes. A kiss that has way more tongue than is appropriate for a crowded elevator.

“That's because you look beautiful,” he whispers in my ear.

I slide my hands inside his jacket, feeling like I just stole a cookie.

Aiden holds my hand tightly as the elevator dings and we file out.

I love how small my hand feels in his. And the possessiveness and control I feel in his firm grip.

He leads me to an empty spot at the railing, where he stands directly behind me, whispering in my ear and pointing out lights I should look at.

But I’m focused on our hands.

It's hard to feel where my hand ends and his begins.

They are interlaced. Entwined.

My ruffled dress is blowing in the wind and I feel like I belong on a movie set.

Aiden squeezes my hand. “I think the guy next to us is getting ready to propose. I’m gonna record it.”

He grabs his phone out of his pocket and presses record. He holds me tight, keeps his mouth next to my ear, and gives me a play-by-play in his deep, sexy voice.

His breath tickles my ear. “He's so nervous. Look how he keeps smoothing out his jacket. I bet the ring’s in his pocket there. Oh. Look. He's grabbing both of her hands.”

“Shhh. I want to hear what he says.”

“Lisa, my butterfly,” the man says in a strong, confident voice. He may have been nervous before, but the strength in his voice tells me that whatever else he’s about to say, he means. Deeply. “You’ve made the world as I used to know it uninhabitable. I’m not the same man you met a year ago today. You've turned my life upside down and turned this cynic into a lovesick fool. With you, the sun shines brighter, food tastes better, and I'll never be able to go back to my old world. I need you to marry me. Save me. Have my babies. Grow old with me.”

He takes her hand and gets down on one knee. Even though Aiden and I totally knew this was coming, she seems utterly shocked by it. Her eyes are big and teary and you can tell her heart has stopped beating. She’s holding her breath as he says, “Lisa Monterrey, will you marry me?”

Lisa cries instead of replies.

“Uh oh,” Aiden whispers. “Is she gonna say no?”

I shake my head, because it’s so obvious to me that she's going to say yes. She’s just overcome with emotion.

“Butterfly?” he says tentatively.

Lisa she throws her arms around him and sobs, “Yes. Yes. A million times, yes.”

“He forgot the ring,” Aiden whispers.

They kiss and then he pulls a ring box out of the jacket pocket he kept smoothing down earlier.

Inside is a glittering emerald-cut diamond. “It's beautiful,” she and I both whisper at the same time.

It’s a magical moment. I’ve seen people get engaged in the movies. But this is different. Their love feels so raw. So imperfectly perfect.

He slips it on her finger and they kiss.

I can't help it. I clap.

Lisa shows me the ring and hugs both Aiden and me.

“Congratulations,” I tell her.

Aiden says, “I could tell he was going to propose, so I recorded it for you. If you want it.”

“Really?” Lisa says, falling in love with Aiden in an instant. “Ohmigawd, I love you.” She lays a big kiss in his cheek. “I can't even remember what he said.”

“He said you are his world,” I whisper.



“That was amazing!” Aiden says as we’re getting back into the limo.

“I know! It was so romantic. Actually, that kiss in the elevator was pretty romantic too.”

He leans over and presses his lips into mine. Gentle at first, like always, then that slow buildup to when he slides his tongue in my mouth. How he likes to tease me with it. How I try to catch it so I can suck on it but how he always catches mine instead. How good it feels as his hands grip my bare shoulders. How I can’t believe we got dressed up just to go to the top of the Empire State Building.

“What’s next?” I ask.

He kisses me again in reply.

And then again and again.

“What do you want to do?”

I don’t answer, just stand up, stick my head out of the sunroof, and scream, “Whoooooooo!”

Aiden joins me immediately. He laughs and screams with me. Then he turns toward me and places both his hands on my waist. I stop moving and gaze into his eyes. It’s one of those moments where time feels like it stands still. The city is rushing by, the crowds are moving busily down the streets, the taxis are honking, but it feels like it’s just us.

It’s a beautiful, perfect moment.

“Let’s go dancing.”

“Dancing? Really?! That sounds fun! Where to?”

“I don’t really know any good clubs, do you?”

“Hmm. Let me make a quick call.”

I sit back in the limo and call Damian. “Hey, big favor. Do you think you could get me on the VIP list at Feel in New York City?”

“How many?”

“Just two.”

“Ooohhh.”

“Shut up.”

“I’ll have our manager call. He can get in anywhere. VIP. Two for Douglas.”

I cough. “Uh, Monroe.”

“Oh, shit. My bad. Monroe.”

“Excellent. Thank you.”

I pull Aiden back in the car with me. “Why don’t you tell the driver to take us to Feel?”

“Feel?”

“Yeah, it’s a new club. I haven’t been, but I’ve heard it’s crazy.”

He pulls me on top of him and slides his tongue up the side of my neck. “Crazy sounds good.”

I respond by running my hands inside his suit jacket, from his hips up his tight torso, and to the top of his chest. Then I wrap an arm around his neck and run my fingers through his hair.

He lets out a little growl. “My hands are going to be all over you in the club. Feeling every bit of you.”

“Why do you think I picked that club?” I reply with a smirk.

We pull up in the limo, are escorted past the long entrance line, and allowed direct access to the lush VIP area. Complete with deep purple couches and a bird’s-eye view of the dancing going on below. You can feel the beat of the music, but the area is insulated so you can talk.

Aiden checks his jacket.

“Do you have a T-shirt on under your dress shirt?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

I move close to him and slowly unbutton his shirt.

“That’s pretty forward of you,” he says, his grin blazing.

“You’ll be way too hot in it. I’m being thoughtful.”

“You think I’m hot, huh?”

“Actually, yes. And I want to see those arm muscles when you’re dancing.”

He hands his shirt to the coat check girl, who is also admiring Aiden in his t-shirt. I put my hands on top of his shoulders, then slowly slide them down his arms, feeling every curve of muscle. He puts his forehead against mine and says, “Boots, I hope you’re planning to do that all night.”

I turn away from him and head toward the stairs to the dance floor. Looking back over my shoulder, I smirk and say, “Come find out.”

He catches up to me quickly and pulls me onto the dance floor, where he wraps his arm around my waist and moves his leg between mine.

I can already tell that this long gown is not going to work well for serious dancing. But it does have a long slit up the front. Maybe I could . . .

I speak loudly over the music. “Let me fix my dress.”

“Your dress is perfect,” he yells back. “You look gorgeous.”

“Well, now I wanna look hot. So back off for a second.”

He smiles at me, holds his hands up, and backs away. Just a little.

I reach down, grab each side of the hem, slowly scrunch the layers up, and then tie it into place at mid thigh.

I raise my eyebrows at Aiden to see what he thinks. He grabs my ass and pulls me closer. “Mission accomplished.”

We dance forever.

Sometimes fast, laughing, and making a spectacle of ourselves. Other times, slow and mellow. Always, his leg is between mine, radiating energy up my thighs.

Just his hands all over me and his leg between mine turn me on in ways no one else has. What is it about this boy? Why does he feel like my other half? How does he anticipate my moves before I know them myself?

The music is blaring. The crowd is hot and sweaty. Aiden pulls me closer and sways slowly with me. And his delicious lips find my neck.

I hold my arms up in the air and sway to the music while he bites me.

Teeny little adorably hot bites.

Somehow in between the bites, I feel his tongue on my neck too. I’m not even sure. I’m pretty sure he is a vampire.

But a special one.

One that doesn’t suck my blood with each bite. One that injects love potion or some sort of ecstasy type drug into my skin.



Apparently this is like the date in the play. The amazing, never-ending date.

After the club, we go out for breakfast at a total dive. I find out that he loves chicken and waffles, something I have never considered pairing together, and is a Southern thing.

And, I have to admit, damn good.

It’s nearly four in the morning by the time we get back to my loft.

“Bath or hot tub?” he asks me.

My mind races. Trying to script out scenarios. But it’s on overload and all that I can process is bathtub = naked. Hot tub = swimsuits.

“Bath tub?”

“That sounds nice. All that dancing, it will be nice for you to relax.”

“Me to relax? As in you’re not joining me?”

He kisses the tip of my nose. “Why did you choose a bath? Because you were hoping for nakedness?”

“Oh, uh, no. Of course not. I just, thought, I mean, we talked about a bath. I have bubbles.”

Ohmigawd. Am I ten? I have bubbles?

He gives me a sexy grin. “I like bubbles. Should we finish the champagne in there too?”

“Uh, yeah. Um, you do that and I’ll, um, be in my closet.”

I walk in my closet and jump up and down. I was starting to get tired, but now my body is racing with energy and adrenaline. I want to run through the house singing, I’m going to have sex with the hottie god. I’m going to have sex . . . Shit. I’m going to have sex with him? Do I want to?

I hear him walk back into the bathroom. I peek out the closet door and see that he has the bottle of champagne in an ice bucket and two flutes. He sets it all on the floor next to tub and starts the water. Then he starts opening cabinets. He pokes around, pulls out two fluffy white towels and a bottle of bubble bath, and dumps a bunch in.

He’s also wearing a swimsuit.

I quickly pull off my dress, hang it up, slip on my cashmere robe, and saunter out.

He immediately pulls me into his arms, kisses me, and slides his hand inside my robe.

Straight on top of my naked boob.

“Oh!” he says, quickly pulling his hand out from under my robe, like my skin just burned it. “I didn’t know . . .”

“It’s okay. I wasn’t sure what the plan was.”

“The plan? Tonight is about not making plans.”

“Uh, okay. I’ll, uh, go put on a, uh, swimsuit.”

I run back into my closet, throw on a bikini, and hurry back to the bathtub before he changes his mind.

“Why don’t you get in first?” I tell Aiden. While I was changing, he dragged my bedside table into the bathroom and has the champagne within easy reach.

“This is hot,” he says, slowly lowering his sexy body into my tub.

I’m not sure how to get in. I want to sit on top of him. Straddle him. Make him want me.

But he turns me around and says, “Lean back and relax.”

Not only do we fit together when we’re dancing, but my back nestles perfectly into his chest.

“I'm never taking a bath by myself again.”

“Why's that?”

“Because your chest is warm and soft. The back of the tub is cold and hard.”

He cups a handful of bubbles and places then on my chest, making what looks like a huge towering penis.

“Is that what I think it is?”

“If you think I'm trying to create the Empire State Building out of bubbles, you'd be right.”

“Oh,” I giggle.

He kisses my neck. “You have a dirty mind.”

“Maybe,” I laugh. “Can I rub it? Will bubbles come out?’

“You’re bad,” he says, kissing my neck some more. “It's cute.”

“It is?”

“Yes,” he replies, handing me a flute.

“Are we still drinking to rainy days?”

“Hmm, no. Now, we’re drinking to ice.”

He clinks my glass and we both sip champagne.

“Ice?” I ask.

He reaches his arm out of the tub, setting down his glass and grabbing a piece of ice. He shows me the ice and then pops it in his mouth. I assume he eats it, but instead I feel the ice between his lips, gliding purposefully down my neck. The ice melts quickly—probably because my body is on freaking fire—so he replaces it with another piece. This piece stays in his hand as he runs the point of the ice like he did the feather. Slowly— excruciatingly slowly—down into my cleavage. Then across my stomach. I take my legs out of the water, bending them at the knee and bracing them on the side of the tub.

And praying the piece of ice will find its way down a little further.

“I’ve died and gone to hottie heaven,” I whisper.

“What kind of heaven?”

“Oh, uh, I don't know,” I say, pressing my back into him and shamelessly raising my hips toward the ice. Toward his big fingers. I let out a little moan and arch my back as his lips find mine.

I roll myself over and lie on top of him. Which is not very comfortable, so I quickly sit up and straddle him. I can feel that he's hard. And I'm . . . I'd say I'm practically dry humping him, except we're wet. I'm wet humping him. Rubbing myself against him. Totally worked up. I reach down to untie his shorts. I have to have them off.

“Boots,” he says. “We can’t.”

“Yes, we can,” I say, grabbing the string again. “I have condoms if you don’t.”

He grips my hand tightly. “Maybe I gave you the wrong idea. We're not having sex this weekend. Remember, you said that you wanted to wait.”

“That was before you rubbed ice down my legs.”

I place my lips hard on his, giving him a fiery kiss. Grabbing his tongue with mine. Sucking on it. Raking my hands roughly through his hair. And rocking my hips.

He grabs my hips, stopping their motion. “Okay. Bath time is over.”

I immediately bite the side of my lip. Trying not to make an obvious pout.

He kisses my lower lip, then my forehead. “Have you had a fun night?”

“Yes.”

“Isn't that what matters?”

“Yeah, it's just I wanna skip to the good part.”

He looks me in the eyes, speaking directly to my soul. “This is the good part, Boots.” He edges himself out of the tub. “I’m gonna hop in the shower and rinse off all these bubbles.”

“I’ll stay here and pout.”

He smirks at me and hands me the bottle of champagne.

I’m ready to take a big swig, but then I realize that he's in my shower. That water is running all over that heavenly body of his.

So I watch.

Watch and chug.

Chug and watch.

Imagine my fingers are the water.

Aiden gets out and wraps a towel around his swimsuit.

I’m not sure if he thought getting out of the tub and showering would help me cool off. Quench the flames of desire.

Um, no.

He’s wet. Glistening. Water droplets running down his chest.

I take another chug of champagne as he slides his shorts off and lays them on the counter to dry.

“You're naked in my towel,” I blurt out.

He grins at me, glances at his phone, and says, “Wanna go watch the sunrise?”

Sunrises have always been B's and my thing. I suddenly feel guilty. Guilty I told B I'd give him another chance. Guilty I'm here with Aiden. Guilty that I’m a liar.

“I’m really tired. Aren't you?”

“I could probably sleep.” He kisses me full on the lips and says, “Goodnight then.”

“Aiden, wait.”

I may be feeling guilty, but the guilt comes wrapped in a loneliness that is almost unbearable.

Especially after the trip to Vancouver when I realized that Mom hasn’t called me even once. And now I understand why. I’ve become the threat too.

And while Vincent is still out there, I can’t see them again.

Aiden grabs the edge of my doorway and turns around. Damp and still wrapped in nothing but a fluffy white towel.

“I, uh, have a big bed.”

He laughs. “There's a big bed in my room too.”

“I don't . . . I’m fine if we don't, but I . . .” Why can't I speak a coherent sentence?

“Do you want me to sleep in here, with you?”

I shut my mouth and nod, thankful for once that he could read my mind.

“I’ll go grab some dry shorts.”

I run in my closet, strip off my wet bikini, and put on some sleep shorts and a cashmere pullover. I stop for a second and look in the mirror.

Ohmigawd. No wonder he didn't want to have sex with me. I look like the zombie apocalypse. How did my mascara end up all under my eyes?

I quickly put some oil on a cotton ball to rub it off. And my hair is a mess. Half wet, half up, half down.

I pull the pins out of it. Attempt to brush through the wet mess, give up, twirling it back into another bun. Then I brush my teeth.

I am so not having sex with Aiden tonight. Not even if he wants. I have to look beautiful and glamorous and draped in silk when we do it. My mind flits back to being kissed on his desk.

Or that would work.

I rub some rose scented lip balm across my lips and open the door.

Aiden is lying on my bed. I was wrong when I said it looked like my loft was designed for him.

My bed was designed for him.

He's shirtless, wearing white athletic shorts, and his hair looks like he dried it with a towel and didn't give it a second thought.

I bound onto the bed, grab a pillow, and smack him upside the head.

“Oh, really?” he says, holding onto my pillow as he grabs another one and hits me with it.

I'm laughing as I roll out of his grip and swing the pillow at him again. He ducks his head so it bounces off his shoulder as he grabs the pillow out of my hand and tosses it off the bed. Then he grabs my waist and flips me over so he’s lying on top of me. I reach out to tickle his sides, but he grabs both arms and holds them down above my head.

“Damn,” I say with a smirk. “Now, I'm trapped. Whatever will I do?”

“I thought you were tired.”

“I was. I am. You look good in my bed.”

He lowers his lips to my neck and says, “You look good pinned underneath me. I'm gonna let you up now. Behave.”

I nod, agreeing, but the second I get loose, I leap off the bed, grab my pillow off the floor, swing it at him, and then go running out of the room. I'm making a run for the loft when a pillow smacks my back. I turn around and swing the pillow wildly.

Sadly, I don't connect as many times as he does, so I throw my pillow at his face, tear up the stairs, and dive onto my big sectional couch.

Aiden has both pillows in his hands when he gets to the top of the stairs. “Give up?”

“Actually, yeah. I think that was my last burst of energy.”

He puts both pillows on the couch, scoops me up, then lies down with me in his arms. I snuggle my face into his chest, breathe in the heavenly scent that is Aiden, and close my eyes.