Stalk Me

“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.



“See, I told ya. So are you gonna go out with them?”



“I don’t know. I haven’t replied yet.”



He smiles and says, “Good,” then leans closer and slides his finger slowly across my jawline.



I hold my breath, afraid to breathe.



Afraid I’ll wake up and find out this isn’t real.



I look down shyly and try to steady my breathing, because I think this is finally it.



After almost two years of dreaming about his lips, I think I’ll finally get to kiss them.



He gently pushes my chin upward, and that’s when our lips finally meet.



They melt together in a slow, easy kiss.



A very Brooklyn kiss.



There are no fireworks or fanfare.



Just sweet, soft, adorable kisses.



Laid back.



Easygoing.



Relaxed.



His lips kiss my top lip.



His lips kiss my bottom lip.



His lips press against both my lips.



His lips slowly kiss across my cheek and then softly kiss my neck.



And then, just when I was starting to miss them, his lips are back on mine, and he deliciously slides his tongue into my mouth.



Slowly.



Gently.



Like he’s tasting it.



Then like he’s exploring it.



Over and over again.



I have no concept of time whatsoever while we kiss. I just know I don’t ever want it to end.



He forcefully pulls me onto his lap, facing him. His hard pull is a shocking contrast to his soft kisses and it makes me feel warm all over.



I respond by roughly raking my fingers through those curls at the back of his neck and kissing him hard.



His mouth finds his way to my ear, and he whispers poetically, “A thing of beauty is a joy forever.”



Then he kisses hard down my neck. Sucking my skin into his mouth then letting it go. Moving down slightly and then sucking on another spot.



There are no more soft, easy kisses. While he’s sucking on my neck, he reaches back with one hand and unties my bikini top.



I’m thankful that we’re still outside. The sounds of the waves crashing into shore are almost loud enough to drown out the sound of my heart.



I’m nearly breathless as my top falls down, and when his lips move down my chest, I gasp with pleasure and realize I need him closer to me. I must have every part of me touching every part of him.



I wrap my arms around his waist and pull him closer to me. I run my hands wildly across his back and shoulders, then grab the back of his neck tightly and rock my hips into his.



I have scripted and imagined so many scenes where this would finally happen, but this is so much better than any of them. Whatever nervousness I felt before is gone. I feel bold, so I slide my hands down inside the back of his board shorts, finally getting to touch the naked version of what I’ve always admired.



He stops kissing my chest and puts his forehead against mine. He’s breathing as heavily as I am.



“We need to stop, Keats.”



Stop?



But I don’t want to stop! I feel like we just got started.



“Um, okay. I guess I should head home then,” I say. But I don’t move. I have no intention of going anywhere.



“I don’t want you to go home, but we should probably get to bed. It’s late and everyone will be back here early.”



“Oh.” Bed, huh? Well, hell, that might just be the one place I’m willing to get out of the hot tub for.



But then I worry. Is this his sneaky way of getting me into bed? Or is he actually tired?



He hops out of the hot tub, grabs a towel, and holds it out for me.



As I stand up, my bikini top falls completely down, and I instinctively cover up my chest.



His pleased grin makes getting out of the hot tub worth it. I step out of the tub and let him wrap me up in a towel. He wraps his arms around the towel, kisses me some more, and lets out a little moan.