Stalk Me

It’s a nice kiss. Cush kisses quite nicely.

No.

Nice is not the word for it.

Hot. Smoking hot. Sexy. Steamy.

Those are better words.

“Um, we should probably get to the party,” I tell him, pulling my lips away from him. I can’t keep letting him kiss me.

His lips leave mine, but he doesn’t stop. He blazes a trail of kisses down my neck instead. The scruff on the side of face is tickling my skin, and I breathe in the wonderful, musky smell that is Cush.

Am I really in love with Brooklyn?

I mean if he was my one truelove, isn’t he the only guy I’d ever want to kiss again?

If I’m kissing Cush, and liking it, what does it mean?

The only answer I can come up with is that I’m going to have a very large glass of wine and see if I can get my brain fuzzy enough to shut the hell up.

A doorman escorts us to a bar in the entryway, where I get a Chardo

“There they are,” I say to Cush.

“Is that Deron Wallace?”

“Yeah, he’s a beast on the court, but he’s really a big teddy bear. His wife, Millie, and my mom have been best friends for years.”

I take his hand and lead him back to where they are and introduce him to everyone.

“Keatyn, you look stu

“You’ll have to ask Mom. I think she’s supposed to wear it.”

“You thief,” Mom says playfully.

“It’s Kym’s fault.”

“Well, you make a very handsome couple. Where have you been, all dressed up?”

“Had a school party to go to. It was Monte Carlo themed, but it was kinda lame, so we left.”

While Cush is involved in an intense discussion with Tommy and Deron about the varying horsepower of exotic cars, I walk out onto the deck to get some fresh air and think.

I’m kinda upset that Brooklyn left me.

No, I’m really upset.

Because I realize I was completely wrong about everything. Brooklyn doesn’t like me. He doesn’t love me. I’m just a convenient hookup.

I’m absentmindedly swirling my wine around in my glass and staring out into the ocean when a man leans his arms onto the railing next to me.

“We seem to keep ru

“Yeah.” I’m not in the mood to chat. Not even with Vincent. I take a very large sip of wine and hope he’ll take the hint and go away.

“You look amazing,” he says. “A little over-dressed for a beach party, but incredible. Prettiest girl here, if you ask me.”

I turn to look at him. He’s wearing a crisp aqua shirt, unbuttoned at the neck. Softly draped taupe slacks. Buttery leather loafers. Expensive gold watch. Everything about him screams money and privilege.

I take another big drink. Swallow.

“What’s wrong?”

I shake my head. “Nothing, really. Same shit, different day.”

“I know how that goes. Even though I’m excited about our movie, it’s still been a rough week. I miss her.”

“I’m glad I could help a little. It must be hard going through something like that by yourself.”

He nods. “Yeah, but I do have some good news. Our movie is a go.”

“Really? That’s exciting. So you got the financing?”

“Grandmother left me a pretty large estate. I met with her attorney today and got all the details. I don’t have to worry about the financing now. I can do it all myself.”

“Is that smart to do? What if it bombs and you lose all your money? You haven’t even seen me act yet.”

“I’ve seen you surf. I’ve seen your emotions. If you can be yourself on camera, we’ll both make more money than we’ve ever dreamed about. Why don’t we get started tonight? I’m dying to get you on film. I know it will inspire me even more.”

I don’t reply, just take another sip of wine.

He leans closer to me, causing our shoulders to touch.

I don’t want to make him mad by saying that I don’t know him well enough to go anywhere with him. Mom has warned me about stuff like that. About photographers who say they’re going to make you the next supermodel, they just need to “take a few photos” first. About producers, who promise to make you a big star, they just need you to “come read” for them first, but what they really want is to get you on the casting couch.

“You always go to parties like this?” I ask him. I’m trying to be polite.

“Free drinks and beautiful women. Who wouldn’t?” he says.

“You trying to meet that special girl on the beach?”

“I already met a special girl on the beach. Fine. I get it. You don’t know me well enough yet, right?”

I touch his forearm. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re smart. There are a lot of men out there that lie about this kind of thing just to get girls. I’m not one of them, though. I usually don’t have a problem finding women.”

I look at his handsome face and laugh. “I don’t suppose that you do.”

“So go for a walk with me. I’m in mourning. It’s the least you can do.”

“I can’t. I’m here with my . . . um, like, we’re friends, but . . . ” I roll my eyes, thinking about Brooklyn. “Story of my life, apparently.”

“All the more reason for a mind-clearing walk on the beach. The party is getting pretty revved up. No one will even notice you’re gone.”

“Keatyn! There you are,” I hear Millie say. “Get your ass in here and come dance with that handsome date of yours before all the old women try to get their hands on him.”

“Thanks for the offer, Vincent. It’s sweet of you, but I don’t think anyone can solve my boy problems.”

“Maybe you need to solve them yourself.”

I had just started to walk away, but I turn back around. “What do you mean?”

“If a guy is interested in you, really interested in you, he’ll let you know it. If he doesn’t, he’s not worth it.”

I walk back to him and give him a hug. “Whatever I did to help you the other day, we’re now even. That’s exactly what I needed to hear. Have some fun tonight, okay?”

He raises his glass to me as I walk back inside.

When Cush leads me out on the dance floor and holds me tight, I start to feel better about getting ditched by Brooklyn. Cush is adorable, fun, and he seems to like me. And Vincent is right. I should stop wasting my time on a guy who doesn’t really like me.

We have so much fun dancing that the next time I looked at my phone it’s almost one. There isn’t a single text from Brooklyn, but many bitchy ones from Vanessa. I ignore those. I’m in too good a mood.

“Cush, I’ve kept you out so late, and you have soccer tomorrow!”

He runs his hands down the sides of my arms. “I’ll be fine for soccer. And it’s not like my mom’s waiting up for me. She’s in Milan this week. Or maybe it’s Thailand. I can’t remember.”

“Do you wa

“That sounds better than going home to a big, empty house. I’m also really not ready for this night to end.”

Please say yes.

1:15am

Back at home, I go into Tommy’s closet to grab a pair of athletic shorts and a t-shirt. I run back in my room and throw them at Cush.

“Here. You can put these on.”

“Will you untie this tie for me?”