Stalk Me (8 page)

We’re standing near the crowded bar, sipping on beers, and singing along to some of our favorite songs. The dance floor is crowded, but he hasn’t asked me to dance yet. 

I notice Mom, Tommy, Damian’s dad, and his wife, Marisa, squeezing their way up to a reserved table at the edge of the dance floor. We go greet them.

I grab a beer from the bucket that appeared on the table the minute Tommy walked in, excuse myself, and walk back to the ladies’ room. Of course, the place is packed, which means getting back there is crazy. Honestly, I’ve had to pee for a while, but I’ve been a little afraid to leave Brooklyn. Afraid I’d come back out and find him talking to some girl. I’m single, finally. He’s mine tonight.

Like, I hope.

Now that Mom and Tommy are here at least I won’t worry about some random girl hitting on him while I’m gone.

I work my way through the crowd and say hey to a few people I know. I’m almost to the long bathroom line when someone pushes me from behind and knocks me straight into a pair of strong arms. 

I see a lime green polo, pleated khaki shorts, and an upscale version of a topsider. I’m pretty proud of the fact that I manage not to spill a drop of beer. As the guy pulls me up, I’m surprised to find myself face to face with the hot Armani guy from the beach. 

He recognizes me and gives me the kind of smile that has probably bedded many a woman.

“Thanks. Vincent, right? From the beach?”

“In the flesh,” he says.

I get pushed closer into his broad chest when someone else bumps into us. 

“I’m sorry,” I say. The poor guy. I’m practically in his arms!

He looks straight into my eyes, like he did at the beach. Like he’s searching them for answers to a question he’s yet to ask. 

He puts his mouth by my ear and yells over the music. “I saw you standing next to your mom.”

I can’t help but roll my eyes. “Look, I know you’re a fan. But if you want an autograph or something, you’ll have to be a big boy and go ask her yourself.”

“Already have her autograph,” he says, in a smart-ass way. “I don’t really know her, but we kinda run in the same circle.”

“And what circle is that?”

“The movie industry.”

“Oh, really? You a movie star?” He certainly is good looking enough. If I were to typecast him, I’d make him the guy you know you’re not supposed to fall in love with, but you can’t help yourself.

He laughs. “No, I finance movies.”

“Moneybags, huh?”

He blinks slowly. “Something like that.”

“Cool. Well, it was nice to see you again.” I make a move toward the bathroom. 

He stops me. I look down at his muscular arm and read the now fully exposed scrolly tattoo. 

It makes me laugh.

“Abby? Are you that big of a fan?”

He shrugs. “Not really. I dated a girl named Abby in high school. She left me for a guy with a Harley and unfortunately couldn’t take the tattoo with her.”

“Sorry,” I say, sort of awkwardly. I could picture myself getting a Brooklyn tattoo. 

Once he finally tells me he loves me and all. 

“You know, you’re stunning. Prettier than your mom. I’m sorry I keep staring at your eyes, but they really are remarkable.”

I can’t help but smile. “I have my dad’s eyes.”

Vincent lowers his voice. “He died a few years ago in a plane crash, didn’t he? I’m sorry.”

I nod my head. “Thanks.”

“You ever thought of acting? I could cast you in my next movie.” 

I roll my eyes and smirk at him. “That line usually work for you in a bar?”

He touches my nose with the tip of his finger, cocks his head at me, and curls his lips into a smile. “You are a spunky one.” He clinks his beer bottle gently into mine. “Just how old are you anyway?”

“Is that a trick question?”

He replies with a hearty laugh. “Well, you look old enough here, but on the beach I would’ve guessed you to be too young.”

I put my finger up to his lips. “Shh, don’t tell.”

Then I work my way to the restroom. 

When I come back out, he’s waiting for me by the door. He looks me over again. 

I look at him like,
What?
 

“Forgot to give you my card.” He pushes a business card into my hand. 

I take it to be polite.

“Uh, thanks, but if I want a part, I could get one through my family.”

“That’s too bad. This isn’t just any part.”

“Let me guess: I’m gonna win an Oscar? Have my name in lights?”

“I own the rights to remake
A Day at the Lake
. I’ve been hoping to do it for a few years now, but I haven’t been able to find the right actress. You would be perfect.”

“And, oh, what a perfect role it is!” I say in mock happiness, clasping my hands up by my cheek, and giving him a huge, fake smile. “I’d get to wear a bikini and scream! Please, sign me up!”

He laughs at me. “You’re very funny, and you have a very expressive face. If you could harness that, call it up on cue, you’d probably be a better actress than your mom. Have you acted much?”

“I grew up on movie sets, but no, I haven’t. And I’m not sure if I want to, but if I did—no offense—I’d probably want a more challenging role.”

He nods his head. “I can respect that, but I’ll give you a piece of advice. Don’t turn anything down until you have all the facts. The remake I want to do will have the spirit of the original, but not the script. I want this to be a blockbluster. We’re adding special effects and doing a total rewrite. There will be full marketing. Posters, Barbie dolls, lunch boxes. The lead role needs to be more like Lara Croft or Buffy the Vampire Slayer than the helpless victim your mom was. We want a kick-ass heroine. I saw you out surfing, and you seem pretty athletic. Still, I’d be taking a big chance casting an unknown like you.”

“You might be right. I should’ve listened. Something like that I might be interested in. I just thought—you know—we’re in a bar; you hear stories about that kind of stuff. So, is there a script I could see?”

“Not yet. I’m still working on the financing.”

“I see.” Hmm. Now I’m not sure there ever will be a script, and Mom has warned me about men that make promises to young girls that they can’t keep. I’m firm, but polite. “I’ll call you,” I say.

But I’m not going to call him. You can’t read for a part that has no script. Even if the producer is hot. 

Well, not unless you want to sleep with him. And, to be honest, if I was a little older and not in love with someone else, I might consider it. Not for the part, of course. For his hotness. For his dark eyes. For his surprisingly strong arms. For his great taste in clothes. 

Brooklyn is sitting at a table with my parents and Sander, who has just joined the group. Sander has Mom engrossed in conversation while Tommy and Brooklyn are watching the band. As I walk by, Sander grabs me, kisses both my cheeks, and hugs me tightly.

Brooklyn looks irritated at me.

Damian yells out to the crowd. “This song is for Brook and Keats. I better see both your asses out on the dance floor.”

The band starts to play, and Damian sings, “Little surfer, little one . . . ” Their cover version of the classic Beach Boys song is one of my favorites. 

Brooklyn doesn’t look irritated anymore as he takes my hand and leads me out to the center of the dance floor. He wraps his arms around me and holds me tight. I’ve danced with him a few times in the past, but this feels different. And I’m pretty sure it’s not just my imagination or wishful thinking.

He’s holding me tighter than usual. 

His body is pressed close to me.

His forehead is against mine, and his eyes are closed. 

I want to scream at him,
KISS ME, KISS ME! 

I mean, how perfect would it be? 

I haven’t written this exact script—we’re supposed to be on the beach when we have our first kiss—but I’ve always considered this our song. If he kissed me now, it always would be.

But he doesn’t. 

When our lips finally meet.

2:30am

Damian, Brooklyn, and I are sitting in the hot tub. We decided to spend Damian’s last night in town doing what we always do: smoke a little, and then stay up late talking in the hot tub. Brooklyn just ran in the house to grab some towels.

The second he’s gone, Damian turns to me. “So what’s going on? Why does Brook seem weird?”

“He doesn’t seem weird to me.”

“Did you guys hook up?”

“I wish.” I immediately cover my mouth with my hand. 

He grins at me. “You’ve always had a crush on him, haven’t you?” 

“Is it that obvious?”

“Kinda, but it’s okay. He crushes back.”

“Shut up! He does? No. Like, really? Has he told you that? Do you know that for sure?” 

Damian laughs at me then says, “He thinks you’re hot. His friends all think you’re hot. Why do you think none of them ever hit on you?” 

“Cause I have a boyfriend and they see me as one of the guys?”

“No, they see you as Brook’s. Remember that night you got drunk?” 

“I thought we agreed to never talk about that night again?”

That night. It was the night Sander yelled at me about personal boundaries. I got pissed and told him I was breaking up with him. Then I walked straight over to Brooklyn’s house and told him I wanted to go to a party that some of the guys we surf with told us about earlier. At the party, I got drunk. My mom lets me drink whenever I want. We spent a lot of time in Europe, where they don’t make such a big deal out of alcohol. Our deal is that I always drink responsibly. And I do. I almost always follow the no-more-than-one-drink-per-hour rule, and it’s rare for me to have more than a couple drinks at a time. But I was pissed, feeling rejected, and didn’t care. A cute surfer with long hair and nice arms offered me shots. Quite a few shots. Then he took me for a walk on the beach. I had never really hooked up much before. I dated a couple boys before Sander and I started going out, but this guy was older and clearly looking for one thing. I remember him kissing me, and his hands being pretty much everywhere. I remember thinking it felt really nice to have a guy actually want me. From there things get kind of blurry. I remember fists flying, punches thrown, and Damian dragging Brooklyn off the guy. I remember Brooklyn yelling at me the whole way home, and Damian holding my hair while I threw up in a plastic sack.

Damian laughs at me. “You try to get me to agree, but I never have. Never will.”

“It’s so embarrassing.”

“It’s really not that embarrassing, Keats. I mean, unless you consider the way you looked. Mascara running down your face. Puke coming out of your nose.”

I hold my hand over my face. “Please, stop. Or I’ll have to remind you of the night you tripped on stage, fell flat on your face, and smashed your guitar in front of a whole bunch of people. Including that girl you were crushing on.”

“We’re getting off topic here. We were talking about you and Brook.”

“Maybe I’d rather talk about you.” 

“I’m ignoring you. And you know Brook is into karma and all that shit. He’s not a fighter. He likes you.”

“He was just protecting me, like a little sister.” 

“You two have fun without me,” he says with a smirk as he gets out of the hot tub. “I’m gonna go crash in the movie room. Hint. Hint.”

“You can sleep with us up in B’s room like always. Nothing’s gonna happen. Nothing
ever
happens.” Brooklyn has a big king-sized bed that the three of us often crash on.

“I saw how he was dancing with you. It’s gonna happen; trust me.”

Brooklyn walks out onto the deck just as Damian gets out of the tub. 

I was getting ready to ask him exactly what he meant by
It’s gonna happen
. Because what’s gonna happen? Does he think Brooklyn will kiss me, or does he think we’ll do more? Because
it
sounds a lot like sex. 

Brooklyn tosses Damian a towel. 

Damian says casually, “I’m off to sleep in the movie room. Wake me up when you’re ready to roll.” He gives me a not-so-subtle wink that I know Brooklyn sees. 

“You want to stay out here for a little while longer?” 

“Yeah, sure,” I say casually, but my insides feel anything but casual. My heart is pounding. My mouth feels dry. 

I take a big sip of beer. 

I think I have stage fright. All of a sudden I can’t think of any of the lines from all the scripts that I’ve written. Which pisses me off, because all those sexy/witty comebacks that are supposed to be stored in my brain for this
exact
moment are gone! 

Brooklyn slides into the tub. 

His tan chest almost glistens in the moonlight. The ocean breeze blows his hair back. His hair got wet earlier and now the ends of it are curling slightly. I want to reach out and run my fingers through them. I want to tell him how I feel. How I’ve always loved him. 

He slides next to me, leans back, and stretches both his arms out across the back of the hot tub. One of them touches my back and shoulders. I lean back against it, wanting to be closer to him. 

When I realize what I’ve done, I lean my head back further and pretend to have only leaned back to look up at the stars. 

He doesn’t say anything, so I nervously ramble. “I’m glad we’re staying out. It’s such a pretty night. Plus, I know when I get out, I’ll freeze. It’s nice and toasty in here. It’s gonna be weird without Damian around,” I babble on, mostly because that’s the only topic of conversation my brain could come up with while it’s rapidly rewriting new scenes for tonight. 

Scenes where he tells me he’s always liked me. Scenes where we share our first kiss under the stars in the hot tub. 

He looks up at the stars then turns toward me and narrows his eyes. “So are you and Sander back together? Is that why he showed up tonight?” 

“Uh, no, we’re not! We’re gonna stay friends though. We went shopping today. It’s all good. And you were right. A couple guys from school saw my Facebook status and asked me out.” 

Well, asked me out is a bit of a stretch. 

More like wanted to hookup.