Sweet Keeper (Sweet Talkers Book 1)

by Thalia Sanchez

  We’ve been getting closer during the past month, and it’s not like the friendships that I’m used to having. Being completely honest, I’m an independent person. Sometimes I don’t even see my friends and we live in the same apartment, but somehow, I’ve found a way to squeeze Stanley in my schedule multiple times a week because I like his presence.

  In a weird sense, I can understand where she thinks that we have something going on. However, we’re nothing more than friends. There’s not that type of chemistry between us.

  A friendship between guys and girls can happen.

  But my friends don’t know when to stop, so this joke will keep going for a while. I’ll let them believe whatever they want.

  Karma scoots to the side when she opens the door, revealing two guys dressed as people from centuries ago. The attire is composed of royal blue and gold brocade blazer, white shirts, black pants, and riding boots in the same color. Ryder has his shirt cut in the middle, revealing his amazing abs that can make any girl weak. On the other hand, Stanley’s costume is not as revealing. He even has a waistcoat over his shirt.

  There’s something vaguely familiar about their costumes. I think it’s the makeup on the corner of their lips, resembling a trace of blood.

  “What are you two supposed to be?” Cora asks, frowning.

  “Vampires, duh,” Ryder answers in an obvious tone, and spins on his place, showing us his attire.

  “Lestat and Louis from Interview with a Vampire,” Stanley specifies proudly. “Where’s your mini friend?”

  His green eyes spot me. His jaw falls wide open for a couple of seconds before recollecting himself. Stanley clears his throat, but his sight doesn’t leave me.

  “Wow, Bree, you look...”

  He’s speechless. I know that I can cause an impression when I clean up, but it’s oddly satisfying that he doesn’t know what to say. The hours that I spent getting ready were worth it because the fact that I managed to leave him without words is oddly satisfying.

  I shrug, smiling innocently.

  “Like I can drag you to hell?” I offer, dragging the last word in a way that the tip of my tongue caresses my upper lip, provoking him.

  Stanley’s gaze travels from my face, descending to my cleavage. It doesn’t stop there because it keeps going south, admiring my legs, and then going all the way up to my face again. He gulps, his apple bobbing.

  “Definitely, and that’s a lot to say, considering that I work a lot to go to heaven.”

  I almost choke on my saliva because I didn’t expect that answer from him. Yes, I was provoking him, but I was hoping he’d blush and change the subject. Hell, I even expected Ryder to answer. Not that.

  Stanley went straight for it in a husky tone that made my knees a little weak. The thoughts that pass through my head shouldn’t be there, but they are. I can think of other situations in which his baritone voice can talk to me, whispering in my ear or from behind…

  Nope, I refuse to go there.

  Silence governs the apartment. Everyone is surprised and I can’t blame them because I’m the first one. I know that the girls aren’t going to let this pass.

  Flirting among friends is allowed, right?

  It makes the friendship stronger.

  Ryder and I sure make plenty of flirty comments. Why am I having dirty thoughts about Stanley then? Because I’m positively not thinking about fucking Ryder any time soon.

  “Are you girls ready? Because we’re already fashionably late,” Ryder mentions, saving the night from becoming an awkward one.

  “We can’t leave yet,” Ash says.

  Ryder arches a brow in her direction.

  “Why the hell not? The pun wasn’t intended, by the way,” he clarifies with a smug grin. “You already look perfect.”

  “Because you need to take photos with us,” I explain.

  I grab Stanley’s warm hand, dragging him with me to the wall. Ryder stands next to him in the middle. Ash positions herself at his side while Cora and Karma sit on the floor in an angelic way.

  Pressing the button, I rush to Stanley’s side, and he puts his left hand on my lower back. Tonight, that simple gesture feels different. Unlike that night at his apartment, he’s confident, and there’s something on his touch that I can’t quite decipher, and I don’t want to find out either.

  A couple of photos later, Ryder is shoving us down the hallway, claiming that we’re already late enough and that there won’t be any good beer left. I roll my eyes when we get to the parking lot, and I spot two cars that are not familiar here. Who the fuck drives an Audi and a BMW to a sorority party? These dumbasses.

  “You guys are unbelievable,” I mutter, glaring at them.

  Ryder smiles as he opens the driver’s door of the black Audi, putting his elbows on the edge of the door.

  “Thanks, Bree.”

  “It wasn’t a compliment,” I argue through clenched teeth.

  “It was for me,” he retorts, winking.

  I realize now that we haven’t spoken about how we will split to go to the party.

  “You’re coming with me, little devil,” Stanley announces, taking out the key from his pocket.

  I glance at my friends, expecting them to follow me, but the traitors walk to the other car. Ash has a malicious smile on her face.

  “I think I like the Audi better,” she comments and looks at Ryder. “Is that okay?”

  He smirks.

  “You kidding? I get to enter a party surrounded by three beautiful ladies. I’m a lucky son of a bitch.”

  “Then it’s settled. See you there, devil.”

  Fighting a groan, I do my best to suppress my annoyance. Instead of telling her to go to hell, I pass a hand through my hair, covertly showing her my middle finger. Actually, to all of them because they’re all traitors.

  They should’ve dressed as Judas.

  Doing everything in my power to drown the irritation, I convince myself that there’s nothing wrong with going alone with Stanley. Nothing weird at all. We’re friends, so sharing a small space shouldn’t be a problem. Hell, now I sound like I’m trying to convince myself that we’re not like that.

  But I’m not.

  I shouldn’t think about us like that.

  It’s just the girls’ pressure that has been getting under my skin. There’s nothing wrong with Stan and I being close or having a different friendship. Only we know what goes on between us.

  We’re just friends, I repeat myself for the hundredth time. Even if there’s a ghost of a chance that there is something else sparking between our feisty banters.

  “C’mon, bloodsucker. We have a party to go to.”

  The party isn’t all that different from the last one that I attended. The only huge difference is that everyone is wearing a costume and in a party mood. I don’t feel too uncomfortable and anxious like I was that night. I still hate the smell that invades the house and the unnecessary loud music, but I do my best to ignore it. I didn’t come here to whine. I’m here to drink cheap beer and regret this tomorrow.

  Stanley’s hand is resting on my lower back as we zigzag through the crowd of people that arrive excessively early. His palm feels warm against my skirt, making me shiver slightly when his thumb barely caresses the bare skin above the fabric. I bite my tongue, trying to suppress the tingling sensation that’s sending goosebumps all over my body.

  “Is there a reason why your hand is still on my back?” I ask, standing on the tip of my toes, so I don’t have to shout, and he can hear me.

  Stan backs away, staring directly into my eyes.

  “Does it bother you?”

  His answer isn’t what I was expecting. Stanley’s filter has taken the night off for the second time, and I’m not sure that it will clock in soon. His gaze intensifies as he waits for me to reply. Even when people surround us, it’s like we’re the only ones in here. Everything slows down, his eyes piercing through me like he’s trying to take a look at my soul.

  Or maybe I�
�m complicating this, and he’s always like this.

  Does it bother me that he has his hands over me? No, it doesn’t. His touch is balmy, and my skin welcomes it, craving for more. However, I do feel scared. I’m afraid that we’re falling into a path that we’re not ready to explore yet, that we’ll end up hurting each other in the process.

  “No,” I murmur, swallowing the lump in my throat.

  “So?”

  My teeth dig into my bottom lip, doubting for a second.

  “Maybe we’re going down a dangerous path,” I say, putting a hand on his chest, keeping a safe distance between us that assures me that I’m careful enough. His minty breath barely grazes my face. “I really don’t want to ruin our friendship, okay?”

  Honesty feels like drinking a heavy shot; it burns my throat, and it makes my stomach twirl. I can’t help that I’m a blunt person. My mouth is always three seconds ahead of my mind, forcing me to deal with the consequences of whatever my words cause.

  Stanley leans, and, for a brief instant, I think he’s going to kiss me. I hold my breath, waiting for something that never happens because his mouth never meets mine. Why do I feel disappointed? At the last second, he changes the path, and his lips brush my earlobe. My muscles warn me that they’re a minute away from melting in his hands.

  “Believe me, I don’t want to ruin it either.” He stops talking, and I feel drunk from the essence of his cologne and the hoarse tone of his voice. It’s absurdly intimate and, why deny it? It’s scorching hot. “But it’s Halloween, so I’m going with the flow. Tomorrow we can go back to being awkward and careful around each other.”

  I lick my lips, my mouth dry as a desert.

  “Can we?” I question, allowing the fear to speak for me. “Can we go back to normal if we ruin our friendship?”

  Stanley gulps visibly.

  “We’re not crossing that line,” he clarifies, although I can perceive his voice trembling with nervousness, like part of him does want to go over the invisible line that we don’t want to erase. “But I don’t want you to freak out if I have my hands on you.”

  This is dangerous. The reason why I didn’t want to think about this was that the signs are right in front of me, and I’m scared to death that this won’t work out. They have present between us for weeks, but I prefer to be blindly ignorant and deny it until my last breath. I’m not willing to risk it. The last thing I want to do is lose one of the few real friends I’ve made in a long time.

  “I can handle the hands,” I mutter in response. “It’s everything else that scares me.”

  Stanley takes a step away, his eyes focusing on me. Once again, his intense gaze turns my legs to jelly. The tension wraps us so tightly that I feel like I can’t breathe. But I’m not as terrified as I should be because I know that I can trust him. He hasn’t given me a reason not to.

  “I won’t do anything that makes you uncomfortable. You know that, don’t you?” he asks cautiously.

  A small sigh abandons my lips as I slowly slide my hands up to his neck. He observes every movement, analyzing what I’m doing through half-shut eyes. Stanley said that hands were allowed tonight, right? That means that I can touch him too if I want to. This moment is the right one for me to let my hands wander his figure.

  “I know, Stan.” He puts his forehead against mine, absorbs the sensation for a second, and then retrocedes. “Just hands?” I make sure that we’re both on the same page. Stanley nods. “And tomorrow we go back to normal?”

  “Yes.”

  I move my head in agreement. “Okay. I can work with that.”

  Letting his tongue caress his bottom lip, Stanley steps back, but his hand reaches for mine, intertwining our fingers. I hope that my palm doesn’t start sweating because I don’t want to turn this into an awkward situation. Especially when we’re diving into unknown territory.

  “Now, do you want a drink?”

  I arch a brow. A playful smile draws on my face.

  “Are you trying to get me drunk?” I shake my head with disapproval. The truth is that I wouldn’t mind getting tipsy. I need the liquid courage to handle whatever happens tonight.

  He rolls his eyes.

  “I didn’t specify what kind of drink. Tsk, that devilish mind of you always thinking the worse of me. I could be talking about sodas for all you know.”

  I laugh, allowing for the stress levels to go down.

  “C’mon, Lestat. This devil wants alcohol.”

  We walk together to the kitchen. Stanley grabs a plastic cup and washes it in the sink.

  “Why?” I point at the cup.

  He shrugs, approaching the keg.

  “You can never be too careful,” he replies as he fills the cup with beer.

  The only reason why I accept the cup from him is that I watched the whole process. As he said, you can never be too careful, and one thing that my parents taught me was never to drink anything that someone else served unless I was absolutely sure that there weren’t any drugs inside.

  I hand him my phone before I taste the beer. He grabs it, frowning in confusion.

  “Can you take care of it? In case I end up drunk,” I ask, and his confused expression lets me know that he needs more than that vague explanation. “The last time that I drank, I broke the screen, and I ended up doing a few stupid things.”

  Stanley puts the phone inside the front pocket of his pants.

  “I promise that I won’t let you do anything stupid,” he assures me.

  Part of me wants to believe him, but I’m a realist person. I’m challenging to handle when there’s alcohol in my system. I don’t want to put that responsibility on his shoulders.

  “Just take care of my phone, and we have a deal.”

  He nods.

  “Okay, Rumpelstiltskin.”

  Scoffing, I lead the cup to my lips and drink most of the bitter liquid. A cough escapes my mouth when I swallow half of it in one swing. I have to fight against a wave of nausea that attacks me.

  “Oh, Lord. That was disgusting,” I choke out, still feeling the beer in my throat.

  A few tears burn my eyes. I had forgotten how awful keg beer tastes… or beer in general. The taste is bitter and creates a small coat of foam that sticks to my inner cheeks.

  Stanley chuckles.

  “You’re an awful drinker.”

  “Are you realizing that now?”

  Stanley’s arm wraps around my shoulder and stares at me, silently asking if I’m still okay with this. To let him know that I am, I pass mine behind his back.

  “Let’s go find our friends before they get the wrong idea,” he says, and I immediately shrink because I know that he noticed that my friends are pushy with the subject. However, by the annoyance on his voice, I can only guess that Ryder is messing with him too.

  “I don’t think our position will make them think differently,” I comment, tilting my head so I can point at his arms with my chin.

  “Does it bother you what they say?”

  I shake my head.

  “We promised each other this night, didn’t we?” I remind him, shrugging. “I don’t care about what they’re going to say. Only if we’re clear about what we’re doing.”

  His gaze falls on my lips for a brief instant, but I’m hyperconscious of his movements. I also notice when the tip of his tongue touches his lip before he pulls his eyes from me.

  “Then let’s go.”

  We said that we weren’t crossing the line, but I’m sure as hell that we’re going to push it.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Not crossing the line with Bree becomes almost impossible when she’s rubbing her ass against the front part of my pants. But she’s drunk, so I’ve been mentally singing every song from my childhood to avoid my blood flow from descending to my lower area. My hands are tightly grabbing her hips, fighting against the urge to grab her butt and squeeze it hard.

  I can’t take advantage of her when she’s not in her five senses.

  If she was sober
or if I was in the same condition as her, then it would be slightly acceptable for me to make a move, to scratch that itch of exploring her figure with my hands. But she isn’t and I haven’t tasted a drop of alcohol the whole night, so I have to force myself to be a decent guy and take care of her while she’s on the road to getting wasted. I do enjoy her hypnotic and sensual dance against me because I’m a hormonal and sexually active man. I’m not a monk. Every guy would be pleased to have a gorgeous girl moving her ass against his dick.

  Her movements are slow, lilting and they’re driving me insane. I lower my eyes to where our bodies are grazing, and immediately regret it because it’s a wonderful sight. The red skirt hugs her butt like a gift and my hands are dying to unwrap it.

  What is she wearing underneath?

  The dirty thoughts creep in my mind, tempting me to imagine situations that won’t happen any time soon, and Bree is definitely not helping with the subject in matter. It’s not like she’s completely conscious about her acts, but it’s not aiding me at all. They simply inspire my brain in need of some action.

  I’m not sure what time is it. What is time anyway? I feel like a century passed since the last song ended. The last time that I checked the hour it was past midnight. We met Ryder and her roommates a while ago, and we spent a couple of hours together. Ash and Bree decided to play Beer Pong against each other, which was interesting because they’re both great at it, but it was also how the little devil ended up in these conditions.

  When the song ends, I trace the line. I’ve reached my limit of what I can handle without getting a raging boner. If I don’t get a breather, I won’t be able to resist touching her more than I should, and I’m going to end up with a severe case of blue balls because I prefer to chop my dick off before I do anything remotely sexual with a drunk person. Unless she’s able to give consent, my hands are staying at her waist.

  I’m sure that the temperature has blown up since she started dancing against me. Is it really that hot or I’m the only one feeling it? My whole skin is on fire, consuming me. For an instant, I wish that Bree wasn’t drunk so I would know if she’s okay with this.