Sweet Keeper (Sweet Talkers Book 1)

by Thalia Sanchez

  Someone that has self-doubts just like me.

  I admire that he’s able to say it out loud. I can’t allow myself to be that vulnerable in front of people, let alone someone that has only caused me trouble. Not even with my friends.

  I clear my throat, recovering.

  “That’s why I said that I guessed. The appreciations of ourselves are usually built by what people think about us,” I speak in a low murmur, almost if I was using an inner voice that doesn’t want to meet the daylight. I shake my head. “Anyway, what’s your major? I know that is not chemistry.”

  He smirks and chuckles. I can swear that his smile lightens up the whole place and the cashier at the other side of the counter melts a little.

  “Guess.”

  I tilt my head at his dare.

  “Do you think I won’t guess?” He keeps smiling. “Okay. I accept the challenge. I rule out any science and also psychology.”

  “Keep going.” Stanley encourages me.

  I purse my lips together, analyzing him. There’s something about how he’s smirking that tells me that he’s confident that I won’t make the right assumption.

  “I don’t see you in politics or communications,” I go on as my mind tries to rule out the majors that Moss offers. “Do I get more than one chance?”

  He shakes his head as he says, “Just one.”

  I groan.

  “Shit. Can I make an approximation by department?” Stanley nods. “Okay, then I’ll say… Business administration.”

  Stanley laughs. A burst of raspy laughter that grabs the attention of the cashier and a couple of people that surround us. That lets me know that my attempt at guessing was a complete failure that he saw coming. It’s like he was expecting me to be wrong the whole time. I admit it, I’m intrigued now.

  “Do you want to know what I study?” Stanley asks, putting his elbows on the table, leaning forward.

  “Now, you’re not going to leave me hanging,” I reply, imitating his actions.

  I’m not bothered by the proximity because the table keeps us apart. However, it still feels like we’re trying to decrease the wall between us. Are we crossing our differences by having this conversation? No, this just feels like a secret. We’re holding a secret between us, not only with the phone but with his career too.

  “English lit with a minor in education.”

  Astonishment takes over my system, hitting me like a cold and unexpected wave. I’m amazed and incredulous, but I don’t laugh. I don’t question it because Stanley has this unique expression that lets me know that he’s not lying. That’s his major, and he’s proud of it. His green eyes shine with enthusiasm by the mere mention of it. He’s passionate about it.

  “Wow.” It’s the only thing that I can manage to say.

  “You didn’t see it coming, did you? People are usually shocked when they find out that my goal is to become an English professor, but it’s what I want.”

  I gave him exactly what he was expecting. The same skeptical reaction that he probably gets all the time. The only difference is that I can respect his decision and admire his confidence to admit and fight for what he wants. I appreciate his career choice more than I admire specific majors. At the end of the day, we would be doomed without teachers and professors. There wouldn’t be professionals in the world; they are the real pillars of society.

  “I admire that.”

  He scoffs in a lame attempt at hiding the fade blush covering his cheeks.

  “I wish I could go back on time and record that Bree Pierce said that she admires something about me,” he comments in a lighter tone, trying to break the awkward tension from that serious moment.

  “Don’t be an idiot. I still don’t like you.”

  I bite my inner cheek to avoid laughing. Trying to hold back a smile, I grab the cup of coffee to cover my mouth. I blow the liquid, barely wetting my lips with it. Stanley’s gaze is on me, seeing straight through my bullshit.

  He leans closer, and I’m paralyzed in my seat, unable to move away from him. Nor do I want to because that would let him know that I’m bothered by his actions. Letting him know my weaknesses? Hell no.

  “If that helps you sleep at night...” Stanley’s voice is a whisper that barely caresses my face before he goes back to his seat, winking at me.

  My awkwardness shows up, and I look away, focusing on the people that surround us. Silence installs in our table, but I’m not going to be the one to break it. Maybe we shouldn’t be talking at all. What other things do we have in common that don’t include college or the phone? Nothing. We’re two different kinds of people. Water and oil, always fighting but never mixing.

  “I have a question. How are you so good at Beer Pong?”

  Of all the things he could’ve been interested in.

  “I don’t know. I always have been.” I move my hand in a soft gesture to take the importance of the topic.

  “You’re certain about that?” Stanley interrogates without any malice. He’s genuinely curious about it, and I don’t know if that makes it worse.

  I nod, surrounding the cup with both hands and bump the ceramic with my nails. The slight tinkling keeps me focused.

  “I used to be my brother’s gold mine back in high school. Imagine if I’m sure about that.”

  “Was I a good opponent? I almost beat you,” he remembers, and a cocky smirk reappears.

  The bitterness from that night comes back and I can’t help it when my wounded ego shows up. Maybe I’m a sore loser like John Carter.

  “It was a tie,” I correct him. “Don’t let it get to your head. I liked you before,” I say and instantly regret it.

  Did I just say that I was liking Stanley? I shrink with embarrassment. My uncontrollable mouth doesn’t know when to shut up. It was an impulse that my brain didn’t get the chance to process.

  Stanley doesn’t respond or makes any egocentric remarks. He stays still without making a single sound.

  The door of the diner opens, and Ryder Weiss, looking like a hot male model, enters the place. His presence is intense and immense. The cashier stops sending smoky hearts to Stanley when she notices the new guy in here.

  I don’t blame her at all because Ryder is probably one of the most attractive guys I’ve seen in my entire life. He’s taller than I remembered. Shit, I probably am a dwarf next to him. I’m grateful that I’m sitting and not standing up because I have no interest in knowing how small I look by his side.

  Ryder spots us and walks to the table. His strides are long, but without being rushed. He takes his time, pacing gracefully as if he owned everything in a five-mile radius. Finally, Ryder arrives at the table and sits next to me, instead of taking Stanley’s empty side. He passes his right arm over the back of the seat and, with the other hand, grabs my cup.

  I’m frozen in place, gawking at him drinking the coffee that I paid for.

  “Is this guy for real?” I ask Stanley, pointing at his friend with my thumb.

  Ryder sounded confident in his messages but seeing him in person is a whole different experience. Does he even know about that wild concept called boundaries?

  “Sadly, yes.”

  I blink a couple of times as I process the information.

  “This guy has a name and can hear you perfectly, you know?” Ryder speaks in a calm and unbothered tone. There’s a smile decorating his face, his dimples visible. He takes off his black sunglasses and puts them on the table.

  His eyes are a Caribbean blue, and they shine flirtatiously.

  “We’re aware of that. We just don’t care,” I quip.

  Ryder gasps loudly and puts a hand on his chest, acting offended.

  He’s as dramatic as I am.

  “So, you are mean.”

  I smile without showing my teeth and look at Stanley, wondering what things he’s said about me.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re excused, darling,” Ryder says and smiles at me. “I’m your fan, Bree. You don’t know how d
ifficult it is to keep this beast and the other asshole at the apartment, but you put them both in their places on the same day. Reveal me your secrets, master.”

  Oh, my God.

  I don’t know if he’s being serious or not, but the way he speaks and gets distracted from the initial point is priceless. A laugh emerges from the back of my throat. I can’t help it, I’m amazed.

  “Man, keep it in your pants. I didn’t call you to show off,” Stanley intervenes, rolling his eyes. He reaches for the phone in his pocket and puts it on the table. “We have a small problem.”

  That’s a euphemism.

  We’re in deep shit.

  Ryder’s eyes widen when he spots the shattered screen and the dark ink patches inside the crystal. The only way that you can spot that it’s on is through the top right corner where a glimpse of light tries to shine.

  “Is that Carter’s phone?” Our silence is enough, and Ryder groans. “It was nice meeting you both. I’ll make sure that you have a nice funeral and cherish the fond memories because you’re going to die when he finds out.”

  A desperate moan escapes from my lips.

  This isn’t what I had in mind when Stanley decided to call him for help. I don’t know what I was expecting but it definitely wasn’t this.

  “Can’t you call someone? You know everyone. There’s gotta be something you can do,” Stanley insists, refusing to give up. “Please.”

  Stanley glances at me, begging me to help him out. I pout at Ryder, making sure that my eyes are begging too. At least I try.

  Ryder growls in defeat.

  “Who’s going to handle our funerals now?” He exhales loudly. “Give me a day to see what I can do, and I’ll let you know. Does that work for you?”

  I bit my lip and nod.

  A day.

  I’m sure that I can survive a day. After getting into this mess, I can wait a day even if my dignity is at stake. I don’t have another choice.

  “We’ll make it work,” Stanley answers.

  Ryder moves his head in agreement as he drinks the rest of my coffee. Grabbing his glasses from the table, he stands up.

  “I’ll see what I can do. See you at home, dumbass,” he tells Stanley and then glances at me. “You still owe me a drink, Bree.” He winks before he puts the glasses on and leaves the place the same way he entered it.

  “He’s… quite something,” I mutter in disbelief.

  “Yeah. Ryder’s like that,” Stanley agrees, shrugging. “I guess we need to wait.”

  “Yeah,” I whisper.

  We leave the shop together. However, we’re going in opposite directions. Stanley says a quick goodbye and starts walking away. A new impulse blooms in my chest.

  “Hey, Stanley!” I yell his name before he disappears from my sight. He stops at the corner of the street and turns around. I catch up with him, so I don’t have to shout. “I’m going to talk to my cousin. I’ll see you tomorrow at the library. Seven o’clock sharp. Bring your assignments, and don’t be late, okay?”

  With a happy smile, Stanley nods effusively. “Okay, okay. I’ll see you tomorrow, Bree.”

  Chapter Ten

  My mother FaceTimes me when I’m getting ready to meet Bree at the library. Being the momma’s boy that I am, I drop everything to answer her call. Sitting down in the corner of my bed, I smile widely. Not going to lie, talking to my mother makes me happy.

  It’s been a couple of days since we last spoke, and I feel like it has been an eternity.

  I was raised close to my family, always being around them and sharing time with my parents. The time that I’m far from home tends to get hard sometimes. I only travel home during the holidays, which isn’t a lot of time. I only get to spend Christmas with them and a couple of weeks during summer. It’s the downside of playing a sport that requires warmer weather.

  Sometimes I envy Ryder because he gets to see his parents weekly. I have to wait long months to get a couple of days with mine. It’s entirely out of our control, I’m aware of that, and I’m also aware that I’m away for my future. However, that doesn’t mean that I’m not allowed to get homesick every once in a while.

  “Stan!” My mother’s melodic voice fills my ears, and happiness blooms in my chest.

  Mom is smiling so wide you’d think she just won the lottery. That’s probably the main reason why I love her. She can make me feel better with her bright and contagious smile.

  “Hi, mom. How are you?”

  For a split second, her smile fades.

  “I’m good.” But her somber tone says otherwise. She’s not carrying the same enthusiasm that she did before.

  A wave of worry tackles me, tingling under my skin. My mother is a ball of energy. She’s always the loudest person in the room, and she wears a smile twenty-four-seven. The fact that she’s quieter makes me uneasy. My stomach turns into an uncomfortable knot.

  “Did something happen?” I ask.

  Mom tilts her head, and her teeth dig into her bottom lip. She only does that when she doesn’t know how to approach a subject. I know her that well.

  “Your dad had a small accident a couple of days ago.”

  My world shifts, and everything is a blur around me.

  “What?” My voice is choked by anguish. “How? What happened? Is he okay? Why didn’t you tell me before?” Every question comes out quick and demanding, desperate.

  I need to know that my dad is okay. A couple of days ago? There’s a spark of anger in my system. I was left in the dark for so long it’s unbelievable. What if it had been bad? Why couldn’t she tell me when it happened? Now more than ever, I hate being away from them. I’m helpless.

  “He’s fine, Stan. Calm down,” she says in a sweet and soft tone. “He fell and cracked his collarbone. The doctors recommended that he rests for a couple of weeks.”

  I understand now where her worry comes from: dad won’t be able to work. He’s a mechanic. It’s not like he works in an office and a calm environment. His job involves his body and his strength. The next couple of weeks are going to be tough for them.

  “Do you need money?” I offer, concerned with the situation. “I don’t have much, but I have some savings. I can make a deposit and—”

  “We’re okay,” mom interrupts me but stays in silence for a couple of seconds. That means that something more massive is coming my way. “Though we had to use the savings we had to cover part of the hospital bill. I’m sorry, sweetheart, but we won’t be able to visit you on Thanksgiving.”

  My heart drops to my feet. I was counting on their visit in less than two months. Hell, I was almost counting the days. We had it all planned out. They were going to be here for four days since Moss gave us half of the week off. I guess that sometimes things don’t go as we want them to.

  “Don’t worry, mom,” I mumble, trying my best not to sound bumped out. “The important thing is that dad gets better.”

  “I knew that you were counting on us to visit, but you’ll have to wait for winter’s break.” If I don’t have to move back home, I think wryly. “Let’s talk about something happier. How are you? How are things going?”

  If she only knew.

  Mom is always making the most challenging questions without realizing it. But I don’t want to drop more weight on her shoulders. If Bree’s cousin is as good as she says, I might have a chance to hide all of this from my parents. I don’t need to make her worry. And if I do end up losing my scholarship, I guess dad won’t have to stress about going back to work because I’m going to end up doing that for him.

  “It’s going well. The classes are hard, but I’m doing my best. I have to hang up because I’m meeting a classmate to study,” I tell her, checking my watch to see if I’m not running late to meet Bree.

  She will call this off if I’m late.

  “Oh, is it a girl?” Her curiousness comes to light, and I roll my eyes, knowing the path that this conversation is taking.

  “Yes, mom. It’s a girl,” I specify through cle
nched teeth.

  She pauses, pursing her lips together to fight a smile. “And… is she pretty?”

  Oh, my God. I returned to high school.

  As I shake my head, I can’t help but think of the answer. Bree’s chaotic appearance claws its way to my mind, installing before I can stop it. I can’t remember a single time where I’ve seen that girl put effort into the way she looks.

  Her hair is always a tangled mess, she doesn’t wear makeup, and she doesn’t bother picking a presentable outfit to class. Bree’s closet seems to be full of leggings and hoodies. But even when I don’t have a single memory of her trying to look good, she doesn’t need it. I can’t say that she’s ugly, because she isn’t. I’d be feeding me lies. Bree’s beauty is effortless; she has olive skin that gives her a light bronze, hazel eyes, and her face is covered by a net of freckles.

  However, it doesn’t matter what I think about her. I refuse to give my mom material to picture something that’s not happening between Bree and me. The girl can barely stand my presence without wanting to kill me. The mere fact that she’s willing to share her fountain of chemistry knowledge with me is surprising enough. Not that I blame her for feeling murder-ish toward me. A couple of days ago, the feeling was entirely mutual.

  “She’s normal, I guess.” I tilt my head as the lie slips from my lips in a neutral tone.

  Mom scoffs. “Boo, you’re a party pooper. Someday you’ll find a girl that’s going to be your forever fuck partner, and not just for a hookup.”

  “Mom!” I exclaim, and a loud laugh erupts from my lips.

  “What?” she asks, batting her lashes with innocence. “Back in my day, studying was a code for something else.”

  Jesus Christ. A shiver runs down my spine with her comment. Maybe we’re exceeding some trust boundaries because there’s no way that Bree and I are ever ending up like that. She’s not my type.

  “Please, stop,” I beg, a mortified timber decorating my tone. “I’m not sleeping with Bree.”

  “Oh, so Bree’s the lucky girl of the week, huh?” she quips and arches a brow.

  For fuck’s sake.