Stalk Me (The Keatyn Chronicles, #1)

by Jillian Dodd

We have so much fun at the club, and he wasn’t lying when he said I could grind on him all night. It feels amazing. The way his hands feel on my hips. How, if I move too far away from him, he grabs my ass and pulls me back close. How he runs his hands all over my dress in the name of dancing. If this is how he usually dances with girls, I can see why they fall into bed with him. Everything he does is just plain sexy. Especially when you make him grin big enough to be treated to those dimples.

He leans closer to my face. I can’t help but look at his mouth. God, I want that mouth. Please let him kiss me. Lying in the sand, under the moonlight, in a beautiful gown, would make for the perfect first kiss scene.

“She’s having a meltdown, sir,” Cush says. “It’s the shoes. They’re slowly trying to kill her.”

“I think it was Betsey Johnson who said women dress for other women. If we dressed for men, we’d all run around naked.”

“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.”

“What would you think of coming here? Damian says we could hang with the band on tour. That we could surf Europe’s hot spots. What do you think? You up for an adventure?” “That all depends,” Brooklyn says slowly. “On what?” “Us.” “What about us?” “I want there to be an us, Keats. Do you?” I suck in my breath. Those are the words I’ve wanted to hear for so long. The tears that were prickling my eyes start streaming down my face. “I want there to be an us too,” I choke out. “I’ll be on the first plane I can get.”

He leans in and kisses me. It’s weird how even though kissing is kissing, every guy you kiss feels different. When Sander and I kissed, it was sweet. Mostly friendly. When Cush and I kissed, it was fiery. When Brooklyn and I kiss, it feels like a day at the beach. Easy, breezy, soft kisses. Kisses that warm my heart. Kisses that make me feel like a girl in love. I can’t deny it. I’m in love with him. I have been for a long time.

“It’s not where you’ve been that matters, Keats, it’s where you end up that does.”

“I feel like I made a deal with the devil. I grew up on movie sets. I’ve always scripted versions of my life. Like how I thought it should happen. What I wanted to happen. I even wrote scenes where you told me you loved me. When you told me you loved me, it was nothing like the script. We were supposed to be on the beach in the moonlight. I always looked perfect and glamorous. In real life, I was crying when you said it. Life has not been following my scripts.”

“Life is divine chaos. It’s messy, and it’s supposed to be that way.”

Damn Disney, and all their happily-ever-after, unrealistic, bullshit stories.

Please, do not tell me you are in love with me, I plead with him telepathically. My brain may literally explode if you do, and that would not be a good way to start my birthday party.

A relationship should be defined by your feelings not by a status.”

Emery gives me a rock that she’s colored on. She whispers in my ear. “You can smash people’s fingers with it when they’re mean.”

He leans in toward me and sorta breathlessly says, “How do you know it’s not just cuz I haven’t met the right girl yet? Maybe I’m really a hopeless romantic, a sensitive soul. I know that doesn’t sound very cool, but it’s true. I’m looking for that special girl, so I guess you’re right. I figure out pretty quickly if things are good or not. And if they aren’t, well then, why waste my time? And I haven’t scored with all the girls I’ve dated. I’m really not all that experienced.”

I almost faint when he touches me. What the hell is wrong with me? Repeat after me: Do not fall for a player. Only date nice boys. No! Don’t date any boys. Remember the list. Do not fall in love. You can not fall for a player. I could probably kiss him though. Would that be doing me?

“I think I’d like to do nothing but stare into your eyes.”

I’m thinking so hard, I barely realize we’re now sitting on the Ferris wheel together. He’s sitting close to me, and he casually puts his arm around my shoulder. I can’t help it. My body leans into him, and I rest my head on his shoulder. I feel like I’ve died and gone to hottie heaven. Please, God, or hottie gods, whoever, don’t let this ride end. Pretty soon we are stuck at the very top of the Ferris wheel, looking down at the pretty lights. He says, “Boots.” I raise my head up, and that’s when he kisses me. A slow, perfect, time-stood-still, fireworks-in-my-eyes kind of kiss. And it was just a little kiss. No open mouths, no tongues; just a kiss. A little teeny kiss. Holy shit. I’m in love with him. The kiss has stopped, but I’m stupidly still sitting here with my eyes closed. I realize this and open them. “That was amazing,” he tells me. I can’t form a sentence, so I nod breathlessly. He kisses me again. And I don’t change my mind with the second kiss.

After a kiss like that, he should know I’m the one. He should be down on his knees begging me to marry him and have his little hottie babies.

Note to self: Do not stare directly at his smile. It holds special powers. Also: Do not kiss him. His mouth is definitely the source of his power. Stay far away from it. Far, far away. But far, far away was the wrong thing to think as my mind is now dwelling on fairy tales and true love’s kiss.