Stalk Me

I sit on my board and watch him. I swear, I could watch him all day. He’s such a good surfer. He enters and wins all sorts of local competitions. He just finished college and now dreams about going out on the pro tour. Even though he looks like a slacker surfer, he’s really very smart. He went to a school where he was able to work at his own pace, graduated high school at fifteen, and already has a college degree in Literature. For the last six months, he’s been trying to decide what to do with his life. I just hope whatever he chooses keeps him nice and close to home.

And, well, me.

I wait for another wave, paddle out, and ride it back to the beach.

When I get there, Brooklyn is talking to some guy I’ve never seen before. He looks like he’s in his late twenties, maybe early thirties. He’s quite a bit taller than Brooklyn, has dark, slicked-back hair, and deep mocha-colored eyes. He looks really out of place on the beach, though. Like he got lost on his way to the boardroom. He’s wearing a well-cut navy Armani suit, crisp white shirt, red paisley tie, and shiny black Ferragamo wingtips that have to be totally filled with sand.

I shove my board into the sand and jog over to them. I should be polite and say hi.

When I walk up next to Brooklyn, he grabs my waist and pulls me into his side in a surprisingly affectionate and possessive way.

“And this is Abby Johnston’s daughter, Keatyn,” he says, introducing me. “Keatyn, this is Vincent Sharpe.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say, and extend my hand.

I notice a scrolly tattoo peeking out from underneath Vincent’s French cuff when he holds out his hand.

He lets go of my hand and lets his eyes slowly wander down my body. Then he looks closely at my eyes. Like he knows me.

But he couldn’t know me. This guy is hot. I would definitely remember meeting someone that looks like him.

“Nice to meet you too,” he finally says to me. “Sorry if I was staring.” He lowers his voice and smiles a very charming smile at me. “You look just like your mom did in A Day at the Lake. I kinda had a big crush on her when I was fourteen. You bring back some memories.”

I roll my eyes.

Figures.

He was only checking me out because of my mom. A Day at the Lake was her very first movie. It didn’t do that well at the box office, but the poster of her blowing a kiss in a bikini sold millions of copies and made her a household name. Now the movie is sort of a cult classic.

“It’s okay,” I say without hiding my disappointment. Seriously, someday men are going to notice me and say, Damn, that’s Keatyn Douglas, not, Oh, it’s Abby Johnston’s daughter. “You seem a little overdressed.”

He smiles and points his thumb up the beach. “I was just touring a property up the way. It looks like I’ll be in good company when I buy.”

“Yeah, I guess. There are some famous people that live around here, but you might want to rethink your wardrobe,” I tease.

He looks down at his suit. “I am a little overdressed. So, your boyfriend looks like he knows his way around a surfboard.”

I start to say, He’s not my boyfriend, but he says to Brooklyn, “If I’m going to embrace the beach life, I need to learn how to surf. You ever give lessons?”

“I’ve taught a few people,” Brooklyn says, nodding toward me. “She was my first student.”

Vincent smiles at me. “You looked great out there too,” he says, but the way his eyes slide down my bikini, I’m not sure he’s referring to my surfing skills.

“So we’re go

He grabs my hand and leads me over to our boards.

When we’re back out floating in the water, he says, “That guy seemed pretty cool.”

“The suit was a bit uptight looking, but did you notice he had a tattoo on his arm? He’s probably cool.”

“Yeah, maybe. Although, he was flirting with you even though he thought you were my girlfriend. That doesn’t say much for his character.”

“He was not flirting with me.”

Brooklyn laughs. “Yeah, he was. I told you, guys will be glad you’re single.”

I stare into his eyes. They look beautiful sparkling in the sun.

He smiles at me—causing his eyes to crinkle adorably around the edges—puts his hand on top of mine, and says, “I’m glad your broke up with him, Keats.”

I practically have a heart attack, drop dead over my board, and fall into the water as the words tumble out of his mouth.

For the first time ever, Brooklyn followed my script.

I start thinking about a script for tonight. About how he’ll dance with me. How, later, he’ll take me for a romantic midnight stroll on the beach. How he’ll pull me down into the sand and make mad, passionate love to me.

BwookLYN is my BOYfwend.

11:45am

I walk in the back door to total chaos. Two of the girls are finger painting. Gracie runs up to me. She’s only wearing a pair of princess panties, and her entire chest is covered with bright red paint. She looks like an extra from a war movie. She even has red paint oozing down her hair like she has a head wound.

“Kikiiiii!! KiKi!!!” Kiki is their adorable nickname for me. As in Key, Key. “Look, hands!” she screams, holds her red hands in the air, and then presses them into my stomach.

I now have blood red paint ru

I scoop her up and tickle her. She screams Kiki some more.

Avery, who is wearing a swimsuit and a tutu, holds up the paper she’s been cutting into teeny little pieces. The triplets have recently mastered cutting and think it is their mission in life to chop as much paper as possible into confetti and throw it around the house. The confetti has mixed with the paint to make some very special artwork.

And a freaking mess.

“Look! We cut very good!”

I lean down and kiss the top of her head. “Good job, Ave. You’re all getting so big!”

“Can we go make sandy castles?” Ivery asks, as she wipes purple paint down the front of her Bella dress-up gown. She holds her hands up and says, “All clean!”

The na

I pat the top of her head as she runs to the sink. “Not now, honey. I’m going shopping with Sander. How about tomorrow? I’ll see if Brooklyn can help us.” The girls adore Brooklyn.

“Piggy, piggy!” Gracie screams.

Apparently Brooklyn gives the best piggyback rides. I’d like him to give me a piggyback ride, but I don’t tell her that.

“Bwook-LYN is my BOY-fwend!” she yells at the top of her lungs.

She has a huge crush on him.

I can’t blame the girl.

Kym walks into the kitchen. She’s weighed down by an armful of hanging garment bags; probably some new outfits for Mom’s upcoming press tour. “Oh my word, I could never have kids. They’re so messy. Look at them. Look at this place.”

“It’s all washable,” the na

Kym turns to me. “Why are you going to meet Sander? I saw on Facebook that you broke up. Is there going to be a big makeup already?”

I grab a kitchen towel and wipe the paint off my stomach. “We broke up, but we’re still friends.”

“I get that. That’s what I’m doing. Working on me.”

“Do you need work?”

She laughs. “Hell, no. I’m perfect. It just sounds insightful.” She lowers her voice. “Plus it sounds better to say, I’m doing me, than saying, I have no man in my life. Like it was a choice.”

Kym makes me laugh. “Well, I’m working on making Brooklyn fall in love with me, and I’m going shopping with Sander to find the outfit to make it happen.”