Stalk Me

Even though I know what just happened was all about making him feel good, it kinda made me feel good too.

Like, powerful. Like, intoxicated with power.

Brooklyn rolls up against me and gently caresses my chest, across my stomach, and down my leg.

His fingers gently stroke the insides of my thighs and then move between my legs.

“I want to make you feel good too,” he whispers, as he slides his finger inside of me.

It’s not the first time a guy has done this to me, but Brooklyn seems to be doing it a whole lot better. I start to feel light-headed, and my breathing is labored, much as his was a few minutes ago.

He does it faster and harder, and oh, my, it feels good.

My hips start to move with him.

“Oh, God,” I say, then make an odd whimpering noise. A noise that sounds like a cross between a plea and a prayer.

He kisses me hard, and I gasp into his mouth.

Then I collapse in a relaxed heap.

Wow.

I’ve never felt so amazing in my life. No expensive massage, no amount of weed, not even the pain pills I got when I sprained my ankle, have ever made me feel this way.

I stretch out on the bed and practically purr.

We’re kissing when Mark bursts through the door and says loudly, “Dude, surf’s up.”

It’s not unusual for me to sleep in Brooklyn’s bed, and although I’m mostly covered up, I’m sure he saw us kissing. He gets a fu

“It’s about fucking time. So, hey, we’re go

“Wake and bake,” Brooklyn says excitedly. “Abso-fucking-lutely. We’ll be right down.”

We’ll be right down? I’m a little disappointed by those words. I wasn’t pla

Instead, he kisses my cheek sweetly. “This was fun.”

I can’t hide my grin. It was fun.

But I was kind of thinking it was about love?

While Brooklyn gets our boards out, I walk down to the beach. The guys, including Damian, are sitting in the sand, passing around a joint. Everyone but Mark heads into the water. I sit down next to him, and he offers me a hit.

Normally, I never smoke in the morning. Really the only time I smoke is at night with Brooklyn, to chill. Still, I take a small hit. Not that I need it; I’m already feeling very relaxed.

“You’re single now, huh?” Mark asks.

“Yeah.”

“So you and Brook?”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“So it was just a hookup?”

“Uh.” Ohmigawd! Was it? Was it a one-time thing? Is that what he meant by this was fun? Could it have been just a hookup to Brooklyn? “I'm not sure,” I finally say.

“Well, if you’re ever looking for a hookup, call me.”

“I, uh . . .” I’m so eloquent this morning. I don’t know what to say—I don’t want hookups. I want to be in love. But I hang out with enough guys to know that’s usually all they want. And really, what’s wrong with it? We’re young. Mark’s kinda cute. If I weren’t crazy about Brooklyn, I could be sort of attracted to him.

“She’s not calling you, Mark,” Brooklyn says from behind us.

My heart races again, but I don’t know what it means. Is he looking out for me, or does he only want me to hook up with him?

Or, like, whatever it was.

Like, again.

Brooklyn shoves my board into the sand as Mark heads out in the water.

“I told you. Guys will be glad you're single.”

He puts his hand out to help me up. I take it, and he pulls me straight into his arms.

“Keats . . . ”

He looks like he wants to say something more, but he kisses me instead. His hands glide down my entire backside.

I let out a little involuntary sigh. “No one’s ever made me feel that way. It was my first time.”

Brooklyn swallows hard and says, “I’m trying to go slow.”

I wrap my arms tightly around his neck and kiss him deeply.

The significance of his kissing me in front of his friends and possessively squeezing my ass is not lost on me.

It makes me feel sexy. Bold. Desired.

“Slow is over rated,” I say.

Monday, May 16th

Too good to be true.

Lunch

I ignored Vanessa and RiA

Vanessa immediately took that as a cry to shop.

She felt it imperative that we look good at school today.

Like, too good to be true.

Which is her favorite saying.

She thinks she’s too good to be true. Even though I know deep down she’s not really that confident, has serious daddy issues, and zero self-control, she projects an outward image of nothing but confidence. And everyone sees her lack of control at parties as more of her lure.

The rich party girl.

When I started dating Sander, she started partying. Once she realized Sander seemed to really like me, she decided not to compete in a game she couldn’t win. If I had the part of the sweet girlfriend, she was going to be the sexy hookup. RiA

Vanessa acted like a general pla

I didn’t bother to tell her that I’m pretty sure Sander is going to be the one sitting somewhere else.

Nor did I tell her that Sander may show up at school looking very different.

I also failed to mention my di

Brooklyn, who I haven’t talked to in over twenty-four hours.

Aren’t you supposed to call a girl—or at least text her—after you do stuff together?

I have a feeling the fact that he hasn’t means that it was just a hookup to him. That it didn’t mean anything.

But then, why did he say he was taking it slow? And why did he say it like going slow was difficult, but that he was doing it for me? And why did he call me his Keats? His Keats!!!

If a guy is taking it slow, in theory, it means he likes you. It should mean there is going to be a next time, right?

Right?!

And it’s been really hard to think about anything school-related today because thoughts of Brooklyn are raging through my brain.

And I’m wearing the shoes from hell.

Which means my brain has been alternately thinking about Brooklyn and how bad my feet hurt. It’s been hard for me to even keep up.

What if it was just a hookup? 

Ohmigawd, poor little pinkie toe is being smooshed to hell. 

When does a person going slow call you? 

For sure there’s going to be a blister. 

Should I text him? And what would I say? 

Oh, walk a little slower. The ball of my foot feels like it might burst into flames. 

You could just text him and be like, hey.

I feel another hotspot on the back of my right heel. 

No, he should text you first. 

Can we please just sit down? 

I have no one to blame for my discomfort but myself. It’s not the shoes’ fault I bought them a half-size too small so I could wear them today instead of special-ordering the proper size.