“Rough night? You been partying like a rock star?”
“Ha. No. You know I don’t drink much. I was just out until almost four.” I smile at him. “But I couldn’t miss surfing with my two favorite boys.”
“More like one favorite boy,” Damian says under his breath.
“Shut up. I have a boyfriend.” I turn around and see Brooklyn walking out of his garage, carrying my board.
“S’up, Keats,” he says to me. “I just waxed your board to perfection.”
“Thanks.” I smile at the boy who stole my heart the day I met him. He’s eighteen, has shaggy blond hair and eyes the color of the ocean. He’s tan, almost six feet, and kinda thin, but he has the strong core of a surfer.
As in abs to freaking die for.
Drool over.
“Don’t give me any shit, okay. It’s cold this morning, so I’m definitely wearing my wetsuit.” I roll the full wetsuit up my legs, over my waist, and then struggle with one of the sleeves.
Brooklyn grabs the sleeve, turns it right-side out, and smirks at me. “Helps when it’s not inside out.”
Wetsuits are a pain in the ass to get into because they fit so tight. I turn toward Brooklyn, pull the sleeve on, and do a little shimmy to get it up over my shoulders. Brooklyn tries to help me just as I succeed, and his hand ends up sprawled across my bikini top.
I freeze.
I can barely breathe. I think all the air just got sucked off the beach.
Brooklyn removes his hand from my boob, grabs the big wetsuit zipper from down by my crotch, and slowly zips up the suit. His eyes are glued to the zipper as it snakes its way up my body.
I swear, I think he purposely tries to torture me.
His eyes move upward to my face, and he smiles at me, flashing perfect white teeth that contrast with his bronzed skin. That smile always makes my heart beat just a little faster.
“Now that Keats has her skirt on, we can get out there,” he says to Damian.
Damian looks down at his chest. “I’m nipping out just standing here. I don’t care if you think wearing a wetsuit makes me a girl. I’m cold.” He runs back up to Brooklyn’s house, leaving us alone. It’s safe to say that I may have a teensy crush on the boy.
“You look tired,” he tells me.
“I didn’t get much sleep last night. I was at a party.”
“With your boy-friend?” he drawls, making boyfriend sound like a dirty word. For some reason I’ve yet to determine, Brooklyn doesn’t like Sander.
“Yes, with my boyfriend and all my friends from school. What’d you do?”
“Just hung out with Damian. Played some COD. Chilled. You know he leaves in a week?”
“Yeah, I know. I’m going to the dinner his dad is having for him tomorrow night. You’re going, right?”
“I don’t know. You know I don’t like that ritzy shit.”
“B, you live in a house in Malibu. That’s ritzy shit.”
“You know what I mean. It’s at some pretentious hotel. Damian has to wear a fucking suit. How’s that a party for him?”
“Damian looks good in a suit. You would too. And I got the cutest dress to wear. And the shoes I got—ohmigawd, they’re adorable.”
“Your boyfriend coming?”
“No, I’m going with Mom and Tommy. You could come with me.”
Or you could stalk me.
Or kiss me.
Or date me.
Or love me.
Or take me to your room and attack me.
“Will you help me figure out what to wear?”
I smile at him. “That’s practically my specialty.”
He shakes his head back and forth like it’s a tough decision.
“They’re having a seafood buffet before dinner.” He loves seafood. I figure that will tip the scales in favor of his going.
Brooklyn grins at me and then touches my hand. “Bet it won’t be as good as our spicy shrimp.”
I can’t help but grin back. Spicy shrimp at Buddy’s is kind of our thing. Brooklyn and I hang out a lot, but it’s always just as friends.
Sadly.
All guys want in a girl’s pants.
10am
I come in from the beach to find Mom and Tommy having what appears to be a serious conversation. I overhear the words sex scene and know what they’re talking about. Mom recently filmed some very steamy scenes for the movie she’s shooting. The buzz is that this role will finally win her an Academy Award. She had been wavering back and forth about whether or not she should do the scenes and how they might affect her good-girl image.
“Sit down, honey. Tommy and I were just talking about sex.”
I roll my eyes at them. “I really don’t need to hear any more about your sex scenes. Aren’t you done with them by now?”