Date Me

Book 3: The Keatyn Chronicles®

by Jillian Dodd

Genres: Young Adult

Synopsis

Keatyn’s not scripting her life anymore. She’s living it. She’s done with the god of all hotties, and she’s going to give her heart to the boy who deserves it. The one whose kisses are hotter than molten lava, who offered her the key to his heart, and who asked her to homecoming in a big, sexy way. 

There are so many things to look forward to—parties at The Cave, homecoming festivities, drama tryouts, and shopping trips to NYC. 

But things aren’t always as perfect as they seem. She finds out that her best friend has been keeping a secret from her. Not that she can blame him—she has secrets too. 

But for now, she’s going to pretend she’s just a normal girl. She’s going to pretend the stalker’s not still out there and that he’s not getting more desperate. She’s going to pretend she’ll never see him again. But she will. And this time, she might not get away. 

Release date: January 7, 2014

Publisher: Swoonworthy Books

Print pages: 299

Sample

Monday, September 26th

You have a wild side.

French

 

I float my way to French class on cloud nine.

When I take my seat, Aiden says flatly, “Well, that was something.”

I turn around. I’m beaming. I think my smile will be on perma-blast all day long. “Wasn’t it outrageous? The way he asked. I loved it!”

“You like stuff like that? Being the center of attention.” He rolls his eyes toward the ceiling and laughs in a deep, sexy way. “Never mind. Don’t answer that. Of course, you do. You seemed to be enjoying yourself. So, how come you never danced like that when we danced? It was pretty sexy.”  

“Oh gosh, did I look stupid?” 

“No, everyone loved how you played along. You looked shocked. Were you?” 

“I had no clue. I thought I was in trouble. Even when the dean started dancing, I thought it was some new girl hazing or something.” 

“You have a wild side.” 

“Everyone does. Do you?” 

“You have a boyfriend now. You probably won’t be finding out.”

“If I were wild, that wouldn’t stop me,” I fire back. 

He gazes at me for a beat. “No, I guess it wouldn’t,” he finally mutters.

“You’re right though,” I say. I’m practically bouncing in my seat. “I would never cheat, but he only asked me to Homecoming. Not to be his girlfriend.” 

Annie sits down and grabs my arm. “That was so adorable! I can’t believe you danced with Jake like that! Whitney was seething! It was awesome!”

“Just before it all started, Whitney was telling me that Dawson was going to ask her to Homecoming. Telling me how they bonded in the limo. How they will be king and queen.”

Annie sighs. “Don’t do anything to make her mad at you, Keatyn. She’s not a nice person.”

I nod. Because I think I know that. 

What did I say about Vanessa? Been there. Seen it. Burned the T-shirt. 

I turn back around to face Aiden. “You know, it’s because of you that Dawson and I are still together. I haven’t thanked you properly, but what you did—how you told Riley. Seriously, thank you.”

The look that crosses his face is indecipherable. He nods his head, agreeing with me and giving me a little smile, but he’s grinding his pencil into his notebook. Like it’s a Horcrux and he’s trying to kill it with a basilisk fang. He leans closer to me and says quietly, “I told you in the chapel that I’m done pretend punching your head.”

I smile. “I’m glad, Aiden. I don’t like when we fight.”

He gives me the sweetest smile, but then says flatly, “I’m done fighting.”

I turn around and try to focus on class. 

But I can’t.

He’s completely given up on us. Hasn’t he?

That’s why he told Riley about what Whitney did.

After my breakdown in the chapel, he knew it for sure. 

No way a lunatic like me could be his true love.

 

Life twists and turns.

2:45pm

 

After soccer practice, I run up to Aiden, who is practicing kicking a football through the goal. 

“Hey, would it be okay if we did tutoring in your room tonight? Everyone is talking about lunch, about how Dawson asked me to Homecoming, and I know if we go to the library we won’t get anything done because people will come up to gush about it.”

“Uh,” he says, hesitating, “I’m sure the library will be fine.”

I look at him funny. He’s acting quite strange today. Maybe I should let him go to the library to get his aura recharged or something. But I don’t want to. He’s easier to deal with when his powers are weak.

“Please,” I say with a pout. 

He sighs. “Oh, fine.”

 

After dance, I knock on his door. 

He doesn’t answer. 

I check my phone to see if he’s running late. 

There’s nothing from him. 

I knock again, wondering if maybe I caught him in the bathroom or something. He still doesn’t answer, so I slide down the hallway wall and sit on the floor. Sitting here reminds me of one of my first nights here. I close my eyes and remember the party. The night Dawson gave me the worst kiss ever and how I ran out to this very spot and slid down the wall. I remember Aiden sliding down next to me. Me fighting back tears and telling him how Dawson ruined my lips. How Aiden kissed them and made them better. 

How perfect it felt.

It’s funny to me now. Life twists and turns in ways you never expect it to. I could practically see my future with Aiden. I thought he spoke to my soul, for goodness’ sake! 

I’m suddenly aware of a body sliding down the wall next to me. I open my eyes and see him. He looks out of breath. Like he ran all the way here. 

I fight the urge to reach out and put my hand on his chest. To feel his heartbeat. 

“Sorry, I’m late.”

I nod. “It’s okay. I haven’t been waiting that long.”

He takes a deep breath and gives me one of those smiles that almost blinds me. The kind of smile that makes me want to drag him to a little chapel in the woods, say I do, and make him the last boy I ever kiss. 

“This is familiar.”

“What is?” I say, pretending not to know exactly what he’s talking about.

“Don’t you remember the party? When I kissed you right here?” He reaches up and gently touches my lips with his finger. “Fixed your lips.” 

“Yeah, I remember, Aiden,” I say. What I don’t say is, And it makes me sad. Sad to know that you knew so quickly that I wasn’t the one.

I start to get up. 

He grabs my arm. “Why don’t we just sit out here and study? Um, my room’s a mess.”

“You’re such a liar. Your room is always perfect.” I almost say, I love that about you, but I don’t. 

He rolls his eyes at me again, then says firmly, “I think out here would be better.”

“Aiden, what is in your room?”

“I just . . . there’s something I don’t want you to see, okay?”

I grin, wondering what he’s hiding from me and now totally curious. 

I get up and open his door. Look around. “It looks normal.”

He looks around his room, like whatever used to be there is gone, maybe? 

“Okay, well, let’s get to it.” He sets his backpack on the ground and pulls his French workbook out.

I grab mine too and set it on his desk. “It’s been an exhausting, crazy day,” I say, and then flop down on his bed. 

He gets all nervous-looking again.  

He’s acting very strange. I’m half expecting a naked girl, or a blow-up doll, or something embarrassing to appear. I look around his room again. All is completely in order, so I close my eyes. “Okay, so I worked on the first page of our homework during Drama today. Do you want to copy it and just go over it? It’s mostly review.”

“Uh, sure,” he says. “Give me a minute.” 

I hear him turning pages and then writing. 

I open my eyes and look up at his ceiling. 

“You don’t have the twinkle lights on,” I say. “It looks weird.”

He looks up from his workbook and makes a sort of coughing sound. I glance at him, but he appears to be fine. My eyes go back up to the twinkle lights. Then I notice there’s something new on his ceiling. Stars. 

“Aiden! Oh my gosh! You put up stars. Are they the glow-in-the-dark kind? I love those! My little sisters had them all over the ceilings of their bedrooms.” I study them more and realize they aren’t just randomly scattered. They are in some kind of pattern. It’s hard to tell since they are sort of blending into the ceiling right now. 

“Yeah, they’re in a pattern.” He taps his pencil on his workbook and says in an irritated tone, “You were the one who wanted to come here so we wouldn’t get distracted. Let’s focus on French. We have a lot to do.”

“No. I want to see them lit up first. I’m gonna turn your lights off for a minute.” I start to hop up but, in a flash, Aiden is sitting on the edge of the bed, blocking me. 

 His eyes bore into mine. The gold surrounding them seems to be brightening, speaking to me. His eyes are trying to tell me something.  

Something I can’t translate. 

Finally, I say, “What?”

“I didn’t want you to see this, but I know you won’t stop bugging me.”

I smirk at him. I love getting my way. “That is true. Can I turn off the lights now?”

“No. We’re gonna do this my way. Scoot over to the edge of the bed and then close your eyes.”

I don’t really like to be told what to do, but fine. I do it. 

“You promise to keep them closed until I tell you to open them?”

“Sure.”

“Okay,” he says. He gets off the bed, walks over to his door, and then flips off the light. Then he walks back toward me and pulls down his window blind. 

Obviously getting it dark enough for the stars to glow. 

He lies back down next to me.

I swallow, suddenly realizing I am lying on a bed next to the God of all Hotties. His shoulder and arm touch mine, causing my whole body to feel like it just got plugged into an outlet and its current is running through me. I wonder if this is how my cell phone feels when I recharge it? Like it’s alive.

His pinkie reaches out and grabs ahold of mine, like we’re pinkie swearing. 

He whispers, “Open your eyes now.”

I look up at his ceiling and see that the glowing stars are definitely in a pattern. They spell out Homecoming? 

My first reaction is, That’s so adorably romantic. 

But then, I feel a little sick. 

Like I could throw up. 

That’s why he didn’t want me to come here. 

He didn’t want me to see this.

He didn’t want me to know he’s going to lie next to some other girl. That he’s going to touch her pinkie. That she’s going to say yes and kiss him.

I launch myself off his bed, grab my workbook and backpack, and bound toward his door. 

In my haste, my foot catches under his desk chair. 

The chair and I do a sort of slow-motion dance before it darts out from underneath me and sends me crashing to the ground. 

I pick myself and my bag up quickly. “I’m fine,” I say to Aiden. He’s getting off the bed to come help me. “I’m not feeling well all of a sudden. I’m sorry. I, uh, I have to go. Call Annie if you need help.”

I rush out of his door and shut it quickly behind me.

I run down the hall to the stairs. When I get there, I realize I’m not lying. I don’t feel very good. I look down at my knee. It’s gushing blood and turning my white knee-high sock all red. 

I limp down the staircase then collapse three steps from the bottom to inspect the damage. 

I hurt. 

I hurt a lot. 

And at this point, I can’t determine which hurts more. My knee or the pain in my heart when I think of Aiden with another girl. 

I know it’s not a rational thought, but it’s there. 

I start to get hot and feel like I’m going to pass out. 

I examine my knee closer. 

Just below my kneecap is a large gaping cut that is bleeding heavily.

Something tells me I should probably try to stop the bleeding. I pull my other shoe and sock off, thinking I’ll wrap my sock around the wound.

A shadow passes over me, causing me to look up. 

Jake bends down in front of me and looks at my knee. “Damn, that’s really bleeding. Like. A lot.”

“You gonna pass out at the sight of blood?” 

“Nope, but you need to see the nurse. What’d you do?”

“I tried dancing with a chair. It wasn’t a very good partner,” I sort of chuckle.

“Nice,” he says, as he wraps his arm around me, picks me up, carries me to his room, and sets me on his bed.

“I was going to wrap my other sock around it,” I say, holding up my sock.

“Don’t do that, Monroe. Your sock is furry and the fibers will get in the cut. Which will then have to be cleaned out before you get stitches.” He walks over to his perfectly organized closet and grabs a washcloth. 

“You’re so neat,” I say, taking in his room. 

“I’m not sure how I managed to room with Dawson all these years. He never makes his bed.” He cuts into their shared bath, bangs a couple of cabinet doors, runs the water, and then walks out and sits next to me. He has a bottle of vodka in one hand and a damp washcloth in the other. 

He takes a drink of the vodka and hands me the bottle. “Take a big drink. This is gonna hurt.” 

I take a little drink. “How much worse can it get? It’s already throbbing like crazy.”  

He takes off my sock and shoe then puts the wet washcloth across my knee.

“Jake!” I yell and take a big swig of the vodka. “That hurts!”

We hear Dawson’s door open and shut. 

“Hey, Dawes!” Jake yells. “C’mere.”

I take another swig of vodka, bracing myself for how my heart will feel when it sees Dawson. I’m afraid that, after what just happened, I won’t be happy to see him. 

But I am. 

So happy.

When Dawson sees me sitting on Jake’s bed, vodka bottle in hand, he gets a big grin on his face. “You two better not be partying without me.”

Jake holds up my bloody white sock, which looks a bit like an oversized used tampon. 

“Oh my god. Gross. What is that?” Dawson asks.

Jake points down and takes the white—well, now pinkish red—washcloth off my knee.

“Keatie!” Dawson rushes over to the bed and gently sits down next to me, quickly wrapping an arm around me. “What’d you do?” 

I lean into his chest and feel safe. Safe and happy. Happy he wants me and no one else. “I fell.”

He grabs the vodka bottle out of my hand, takes a swig, and then kisses me. “You need stitches.”

“Why do you two keep saying that? I don’t need stitches. I just need a couple of those butterfly bandages. Run down to the field house and get some. I’m sure they’ll work fine.”

He hands me back the bottle and looks at me seriously. “You need stitches. Nothing else will hold on your knee. Drink.” 

I take another drink. “Why the vodka?” 

“Because it’s gonna hurt,” Jake says. Like, duh.

“Really? I’ve never had stitches before. Isn’t the cut, like now, the worst part? It hurts. A lot.” I start to get tears in my eyes. 

Tears about everything that feels hurt.

Jake pulls back his hair, showing me a hairline scar. “Six stitches.” He holds out his wrist. “Four stitches.” He points to his own knee. At a thin white line across the top. “Eight stitches.”

Dawson points to a scar above his right eyebrow. “Four stitches. Camden threw a golf club at me.” He shows me his elbow. “Five stitches. Sliding into home plate.” 

I touch Dawson’s cute little eyebrow scar. “That doesn’t look bad.” 

He leans in and gives me a sweet kiss.

I don’t care that Jake is watching. I give him a deep kiss back. I want him to know that I appreciate him. Appreciate the way he asked me to Homecoming. Appreciate how sweet and perfect he’s been to me. Appreciate that he’s not a hottie god.

Jake grabs another clean washcloth, puts it across my knee, and wraps bright yellow athletic wrap around it to hold it in place.

Dawson kisses me while he does it. He’s trying to distract me, but I still cringe and make a pitiful ouch sound into his mouth.

“I’d say another,” Jake says to Dawson.

Dawson hands me the bottle. “Big drink this time.”

I actually take a bigger drink this time. I want the pain to go away.

Dawson stands up. “It’s time to get you to the nurse.” He picks me up and carries me to the student center, and into the nurse’s office.

Jake says to the nurse, “We need some stitches.”

“Well, let’s get her in here and take a look,” the nurse says. I remember meeting her briefly during my orientation tour. She looks like a sweet grandmother who would never hurt a fly.

She undoes the wrapping and removes the washcloth. “Oh, my, sweetie, that is a nasty cut.” She smiles at Jake, almost flirtatiously. “You were right. She needs stitches.”

She cleans the cut, which hurts like a bitch. I squeeze Dawson’s hand tightly, tears streaming down my face.

Then I watch as she goes over and prepares a shot.

“What’s the shot for?” I say, in a panic, to Jake and Dawson. “My tetanus shot is up to date. I don’t think the chair was rusty.”

When she walks out of the room for supplies, Dawson explains, “She has to numb your knee to do the stitches.”

Jake agrees. “That’s why I gave you the vodka. So it won’t hurt as bad.”

 

He lied. 

Even with the vodka, it hurts a lot. 

She sticks my kneecap about a thousand times, each time sending burning medicine into my already hurting knee. 

Then I watch in horror as she shoves a needle threaded with blue thread into my skin.

I bury my head in Dawson’s shoulder. I have one of his hands in a death grip and Jake is squeezing my other hand every time she pushes the needle in again. 

Eventually, the nurse says, “That should do it. Five stitches.” She covers it with a big gauzy bandage and rattles off a bunch of instructions I don’t quite catch. 

I think the vodka is finally starting to kick in. 

Dawson carries me back to his dorm and lays me on his bed. 

Jake pats me on the arm. “You were a trooper, Monroe. And she gave you pain pills. Score.”

“Thanks for taking care of me,” I tell him as he walks through the bathroom door to his room.

“Five stitches,” Dawson says. “That is pretty impressive.”

He kisses around my knee, up my thigh, and to my waiting mouth. He gives me a yummy kiss, then says, “You were brave.”

I roll my eyes at him. 

He laughs. “I should have asked for a shot to numb my hand. You were squeezing so hard I think you killed it.” He holds his hand up, making it look limp and dead.

“That’s cuz Jake was squeezing my other hand every time she did a stitch.”

“He was trying to distract you.” 

He leans up on one arm and grins at me. “So, everyone seemed to like the way I asked you to Homecoming.”

“It was amazing, hilarious. Awesome. I loved it. I’m so excited to go with you. I really didn’t think you were going to ask me. I was so surprised.”

He scrunches up his nose. “You think I’d let anyone else take you wearing that dress? No fucking way.”

“You like my dress?”

“I love your dress. Love your loft. Loved the whole weekend.” He touches my face gently and his brown eyes look at me with such sweetness. These eyes look so different from the ones I saw that night at the Cave. There’s no more hurt in them. 

I push my lips hard against his. 

And kiss him. 

“Dawson, remember the night at the Cave? How you told me your goal was to take Whitney to Homecoming.” 

“A lot’s changed since then.”

“I know, but we had a great weekend, and you helped me pick out my dress, but you never said anything about us going together.”

“That’s because on the long drive back to get you, we decided I should ask you in a big public way. We had it all planned out. I wanted you to be surprised.”

“When I was sitting there waiting for you, Whitney told me that you bonded in the limo. How you had gone to the last three Homecomings together, how you wouldn’t want pictures with me, and how you’ll be king and queen. That’s part of why I wouldn’t take the key. I didn’t believe you yet.”

He smiles. “Does that mean you believe me now?”

“I’m starting to.”

 

Tuesday, September 27th

He can't be a god.

7am

 

I didn’t take a pain pill last night before I went to bed because I had that vodka, so I woke up at three this morning with a throbbing knee. I tried for a couple hours to go back to sleep and finally gave up. 

I hobbled into the bathroom, got some water, and took a pill around five. I got ready, thinking it would help me forget that it hurts. It didn’t really work then. But now, as I walk into the social committee meeting, I’m feeling completely relaxed and pain-free. 

I sit down, pull my over-the-knee sock down, and inspect the gauze, making sure it’s still in place.

Aiden sits down next to me. “Five stitches, huh?”

“Yeah,” I slur a little. 

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

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

Peyton and Brad start the meeting, so Aiden stops talking.

I listen to Peyton go through all the details for the homecoming after party. It’s interesting and I can’t wait, but I’m really struggling to keep my heavy eyelids open. 

Maybe I can close them for just a second. 

 

I’m lying in Aiden’s bed looking up at his ceiling. He touches my pinkie and tells me about the sexual dream he promised to tell me. I’m turned on by his dream and he knows it, so he rolls over, pulls me hard up against his chest, and says, “Since it’s a dream, we can act it out and, technically, it’s not cheating.”

Then he kisses me. A mouth open, full-on tongue, hot, hard kiss. The kind of kiss I didn’t know he was capable of. I feel like fire and energy are rolling through my body. When he bites my bottom lip and tugs on it gently, that fire pulses directly between my legs. He rolls on top of me, but is holding himself above me. Like he’s doing a push up. I run my hand across his arm, across the muscles that are all pumped from holding up his weight. 

He slowly lowers his lips to my neck without letting any part of his upper body touch mine. I feel the fire on my neck, but all I can think about is what is touching. His hips have mine pinned to the bed. His legs are between mine. 

He runs his tongue slowly from my neck, down my chest, and straight down to . . . 

 

“Boots,” he whispers with a grin. “I think you dozed off.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say breathlessly, as I try to push the feel of Aiden’s tongue and hips out of my mind.

I listen as Brad goes over more details.

 Aiden leans toward me. “Will you save me a dance at the after party?” 

“I don’t know,” I tease. “Can you dance?”

He puts his head down. Like he can’t. 

And I feel bad. Embarrassed for him. “Oh my gosh. Is that why you only wanted to dance to slow songs? Is that all you know how to do?”

He can’t be a god. I’m certain of it now. 

Happy Homecoming to him and whoever he asked to go with him. 

Although, I’m a bit surprised I haven’t heard about it. Or seen the stars glowing from the ceiling on someone’s social media post. 

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

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

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

 

I stop for a latte on the way to History and as I’m walking up the stairs, I decide that I’m very concerned that my subconscious believes that acting out a dream in real life is not cheating. 

But then I think about it. If you were pretending to be dreaming or were possibly in a heightened state of consciousness, would it be cheating? Like, technically?

That sounds like a question for Brooklyn. If I were ever to speak to him again. 

Surely, if this were the case, someone would have figured out that loophole before me. So, probably not.

Then I have an odd sense of déjà vu. I think I said those exact words to Aiden in the dream, and he said, No, you think outside the box. You color outside the lines. For you, it’s not cheating.  

I wonder if Aphrodite was good in bed. 

I mean, we know she was clearly capable of seduction but, technically, once they were seduced, was she? 

I have the sudden need to find out. 

 

Passion, nakedness, and sex.

History

 

Riley and I are working on another stupid history project. 

Our project is: How did transportation affect the Industrial Revolution?

Uh, hello. Who thinks up this stuff? 

The answer is pretty simple: The use of widespread transportation allowed the Industrial Revolution. 

Project done. 

But, no. 

We have to waste our time cutting out little pictures of trains, highways, cars, and boats to glue on a poster. I’m supposed to be looking on my phone for some statistics.

But instead, I just googled: Was Aphrodite a good lover? 

Just as I hit the enter key, Riley grabs my phone looking for statistics. He sees my search and says, “What the hell?”

I bury my face in my palm. “Shut up.”

“Didn’t you just have an amazing weekend with my brother?”

“Yeah, so?”

“You’re still obsessing over the god.”

“No, I’m not. I’ve just developed a scholarly interest in Greek mythology.”

“Bullshit.”

I roll my eyes and pretend to put my phone away but, later, when he goes to refill his water bottle, I peek at it. 

 

Aphrodite represents the power of love. The kind of love from which you cannot escape. 

 

No wonder she had so many guys captivated.

 

She rules all aspects of love, desire, beauty, and sex. 

 

And, oh my. 

 

She is considered the mistress of pleasure. She symbolizes passion, nakedness, and sex. 

 

Oh, wait. There’s more. 

 

Once Aphrodite enters into a relationship, her powers go beyond love and sex to include deep friendship and the connection of souls.

 

Oh. My. Gosh! That’s why I thought he spoke to my soul. It is just a stupid godly love trick. He can do it to anyone he smiles at!

And now, thanks to my research, I know. 

I’m not crazy.

Riley says, “I think I know how I want to ask Ariela to Homecoming.” 

I light up. I’m so excited for him. “How?!”

“Well, I want to do something at the football game Friday night. While I’m in my uniform and she’s in her cute little cheerleading skirt. What should I do?”

“I thought you said you knew?”

“I know where. I just need to figure out how. Something all her friends will see. And I was thinking it’d be cool if whatever I do had, like, something she could keep. A memento.”

“So cupcakes and balloons are out.”

“Yeah.”

“You could write it on her megaphone.”

“Would she see it?”

“Probably not. Plus, she’d probably get in trouble. Um, what else is out there?” I think for another minute. “Oh, I know! You could change the sign the guys run through. I could even help with that.”

He shakes his head. “She’d keep ripped paper?”

“This is hard.”

“I know. I want it to make her melt. For her to think it’s super sweet.”

I raise my eyebrows at him in surprise. “Who the hell are you and what have you done with my friend?”

“Shut up and think. What else is on the field?”

“The scoreboard?”

“Only has numbers.”

I get an idea. “A football! You could write it on the football and while you’re warming up, call her name and toss it to her. And you could both sign it and date it afterwards. That’d be really cute. It’d be cool to have a keepsake. Speaking of that, I’d like a keepsake to remember how Dawson asked me. Can you stand in my room with your shirt off and an M painted on your chest?”

He flicks my nose. “Hey, that was for you. I was embarrassed to be seen shirtless.”

I laugh out loud. “Now that is bullshit. You’d walk around shirtless all day if they’d let you.”

He smirks at me. “I’d be better off if they’d let me walk around with no pants. Now that is impressive.”

 

Hollywood royalty to trash.

Math

 

While we’re supposed to be doing some math problems towards the end of class, I poke Logan, who sits in front of me. 

“Hey, I heard you’re trying out for the play. What part do you want?”

“I’m trying out for the Bad Prince. You know, the guy who screws everything up for the trashy girl you want to play?” He looks down his nose at me, like I’m actual trash, then turns his back on me.

I purse my lips and scratch my temple. 

I have to admit, this kind of response from a guy is sort of new to me. At my old school, well, anywhere really, boys who I didn’t know seemed thrilled, almost honored when I talked to them.

What happened to me? 

Why isn’t he flirting with me? Is he like Whitney? Does he think I’m trash too?

I look down and scrutinize myself. Run my hand down a chunk of my hair. It’s still blonde and shiny. My clothes are still cute. I check my reflection in my phone. My teeth are still white. My legs still long and tan. 

How did coming to a new school cause me to go from Hollywood royalty to trash?

 

Classy is overrated.

Ceramics

 

Jake folds his arms across his chest and sits on the stool next to me. “So now I have to figure out a way to ask Whitney to Homecoming that is classy but compares to what Dawson did for you. You’re stealing her spotlight, Monroe. She doesn’t like it.” 

“You must be high if you think I’d help plan anything for her.” 

He shakes an adorable freckled finger at me. “See, that’s where you’re wrong. I am asking you to help me. Because I gave you vodka for your knee. Because I came back with Dawson and because I helped him ask you. That’s what friends do. They help each other.”

I sigh. He’s right. I need to be a friend back. 

“I doubt I’ll be much help. No one did this kind of stuff at my old school. My last boyfriend didn’t even ask me to the dance. He just told me to tell him what color my dress was so we could match.”

“Come on. You have good ideas. Brainstorm with me. Think romantic.”

“You could spell out Homecoming in rose petals on her bed. She could take a picture of it. She’d like that, wouldn’t she? It’d be private. Classy.”

“I think she’s thinking classy is overrated.” 

“She wants you to top the dean’s sizzling ass and a bunch of naked chests?”

“I think so.”

“Hmm. You could jump out of a plane with a heart-shaped parachute. You could streak across campus in nothing but a raincoat. You could . . . You know, it’s really hard because she isn’t really in anything. Like, guys have put stuff in the girl’s dance locker. Or one guy asked on stage during Drama. It was so cute. So that leaves you with lunch or maybe at a football game.”

“Keep going,” he says. “You’re thinking big now. And it’s good you haven’t been here to see all the ways people have asked. That means you should be able to come up with something new and creative.”

I shake my head. Trying to come up with something. 

“Paint it on the football field?”

“I can’t do that.”

“Do it with rose petals then.”

“They’d blow away.”

“Balloons?”

“Not original.”

I throw my hands up in the air in frustration. “Then why don’t you just hire a freaking airplane and fly a banner over the field?”

He gets a big smile on his face and fist bumps my ceramic deer. “I knew you’d come up with something.”

 

Embarrassment protection program.

4:40pm

 

Aiden is standing in front of me, expecting me to teach him how to dance. Why did I ever agree to this?

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

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

I laugh. “I took another pain pill. Felt healed.”

He stands there and stares at me. Knows he wins whatever game he’s trying to play. If I could jog, then I should be fine to dance. I sigh and figure I’ll just get it over with. I turn on my favorite dance playlist, grab his hips, and move them to the beat. Move them with mine. 

He moves awkwardly. Strangely. With no rhythm whatsoever.

Um, okay. 

This is not working.

I turn around, stand in front of him, push my back into his chest, and pull his arm around to my stomach, where it presses against my bare skin. 

Leaving a scar, I’m sure. 

I shake my ass into him, and he finally seems to be getting it. He’s moving with a little more rhythm. 

What can I say? I’m a good teacher. 

I put my hands on top of his and move them around on my body in the name of dancing.

This would be even funner if we were naked. 

Shit. 

Hello? You can’t think that. 

This is you helping a dance-disabled friend. 

It’s practically philanthropic. I bet I could get community service hours for this.

 

After about six songs, Aiden spins me out of his arms and breaks out boy band dance moves.

“What the hell?” I say, shocked. “Did you used to be in a boy band? Are you here in some embarrassment protection program?”

He gives me a radiant smile. 

I shake my head at him. “Don’t tell me you can sing too.”

He walks close to me. “We’ll have to save that for another day, Boots. I don’t want to overwhelm you with all my talents at once.”

“Everyone says you have great hands,” I blurt out. 

“These?” he asks, holding them in front of my face. 

I look at his hands. 

Really look at them. 

They’re beautiful. 

Seriously, is there any part of him that’s not complete perfection? I run my hand across them, searching for something. Then I find a scar that runs across his pinkie and middle finger. “What happened here?”

He laughs. “Knife attack. In the war.”

“Very funny.” 

“Fine. Cleat attack.”

“Now I know why you’re such a good goalie,” I say, further examining his hands.

“Because I’m fast.” He quickly slaps the top of my hands. Like the game Damian and I could play for hours when we were kids. 

I slap his hands back quickly before he can pull them away. “Not fast enough,” I say with a smirk. I grab his hands again and hold them up, scrutinizing them. “They’re too big for your body.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Proportionately. They’re off. They’re too big.” I tilt my head and look at him. Size up his six-foot-two-inch frame. “That, or you’re not done growing yet.”  

“I’m probably not done growing yet,” he shrugs, then starts doing the robot to the music.

It makes me laugh. “You so know how to dance.” 

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

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

“No. I have a bossy older sister.”

“So?”

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

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

He takes a step closer to me, wraps his arm around my waist, and pulls me in. His leg moves between mine. Our lower halves have never been entwined like this except for in my daydream. His leg feels even warmer than it did in the dream. Like it’s radiating energy into my thighs.

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

“Why?” 

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

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

He tries not to laugh. “You are not. Or you’ll be in trouble.”

“Oh, really?” I sass, putting my face right in front of his. “What kind of trouble?” 

He grabs my butt cheeks firmly in each hand, squeezes them, and raises an eyebrow at me in challenge.

Oh, two can play this game.

I grab the back of his jeans.

Jeans I hardly ever see him wear. Jeans that sit low on his hips. The Cougars soccer T-shirt that he’s wearing just barely meets the thick band of his underwear.

I pull his shirt up over his head and toss it on the floor. 

As he slides his hands down my sides, I take a moment to touch those hips. Touch the edge of the deep-V that is now visible. 

I try not to think about what isn’t visible. 

“You gonna do that at the dance?”

“Maybe.” I place my palms firmly on his pecs. Close my eyes and dance with him.

I run my hands over his chest, grind on his leg, move to the beat.

We dance well together. 

I seem to know what he’s going to do before he does it.

 

Another one of my favorite songs comes on, so I push off his chest, jump up and down, then turn around and give him a booty shake. He spins me around and puts his knee back between my legs.  

Which means he likes it there.

I grab his shoulders and run my hands across the muscles I have only admired. 

He starts a very fast, exaggerated version of a waltz. He pulls me toward him. Spins me out, then spins me so that my back is now pulled tightly against his chest, our arms intertwining.

His hand glides across my bare stomach. I’m still in my dance clothes, and this bra top doesn’t seem as solid a wardrobe choice as it did earlier. 

I need more insulation from his electrical touch.

I reach up and wrap my arm around his neck. He drops his head, placing his cheek next to mine. Even though the music is still fast, our bodies have slowed way down. His hands move slowly across my body, leaving little shocks of pleasure in their wake.

The music stops. 

My ten-song playlist is over. 

I turn around and face him. 

Our faces are so close. 

Our lips torturously closer. 

His hand tangles in my hair, and he looks at me. His eyes are kissing my soul. Caressing me like a lover. They sparkle and shine with both fire and tenderness. 

I realize I’ve been holding my breath. 

I suck in a big breath of air and back away from him. 

I need to get out of here. 

Like, now.

“I think you’re ready for the dance,” I say, as I grab my jacket off his chair. 

He steals it from me and plops down on his futon.  

“Dance for me,” he commands. 

“Dance for you?” 

“Yeah.”

“You wanna see my Kiki stripper moves?” I laugh. “Cuz I really don’t have any.”

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

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

“It’s either that or I pull you on this futon and make a cheater out of you.” 

At first, I think he’s kidding. But the way he’s leaning on the futon. The shadows playing across his face. His hooded eyes. That freaking mouth. 

It stops me dead in my tracks.

I would be both pissed and hurt if Dawson danced with someone the way I just danced with Aiden.

I used to be the kind of girl who flirted with everyone and anyone. The old me would flirt with Aiden and lead him on. Vanessa would say it’s smart. Smart to have a few guys in reserve that want you. That it keeps the guy you’re with on his toes. And if he turns out to be a jerk, you just tee up the next guy. 

That might be the kind of girl I was, but it’s not the kind of girl I want to be. 

And why is he dancing with me like this when he’s asking someone else to Homecoming? It’s not fair to her either. 

I should do the right thing. 

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

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

I look at him. Stare into those eyes. 

But, I can’t. 

I don’t want this. 

“I’m sorry, Aiden, but I can’t date a guy like you. A guy who can’t decide if he loves me or hates me.” He’s getting ready to counter my argument, but I don’t give him the chance. “And I know we had some crazy love at first sight thing, but we obviously would be a disaster together.”

He grins at me. 

Just keeps grinning. 

Then he taps his foot like he knows a secret and can hardly keep it inside him. His whole body is practically humming. 

And his stupid grin keeps growing. 

Damn that smile. I wish he would just put that thing away.

“Why are you grinning?” 

“Love at first sight, huh?”

“No. It’s just an expression. That stuff doesn’t happen in real life,” I say, even though I know sometimes it does.

He stands up close to me. His broad naked chest is so close to mine I can feel when he breathes. I hold my breath and move slightly backward, trying to increase the space between us. 

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

I take another step and back into his wall. There’s nowhere else for me to go. 

He puts his palms against the wall on each side of my head. I’ve never seen this look in his eyes before. It’s hunger. And it looks so fucking sexy on him.

I let out a little breath. Almost a sigh. And close my eyes. 

I can’t let him look at me like that. I won’t.

His cheek grazes mine as he whispers in my ear. “I think being just your friend will be fun.”

I don’t open my eyes. I just pant out, “How so?” 

Where are those damn magic Spanx when you need them? 

He places his open mouth on my cheek, slowly closing it into a pucker. He gently pulls his top lip off my cheek first, the bottom lip staying in place and then—bit by agonizing bit—receding.

It’s then that I open my eyes. 

And need to move. 

“I have to go.”

“See ya, friend,” he says playfully.

But he doesn’t move. He just raises one hand off the wall, giving me a small pathway to squeeze through.  

He’s such a jerk, I think, as I squeeze past him. 

I get my stuff together and then take one last look at his room. The twinkle lights. The smell. The memories of our dances and his kisses. 

Then I glance up at the stars that are still in place. Waiting to ask a girl to the dance.

When I close the door, I know I’m closing the door on us and not coming back. 

I’m not coming back here. 

Ever. Again. 

And I feel surprisingly good. 

Like a weight has lifted off me. 

Like I just battled an addiction and won.

No, it’s better than that. 

I just kicked fate’s ass. And won.

It’s freeing.

And it’s official. 

My silly schoolgirl crush on the god is over.