Sweet Keeper (Sweet Talkers Book 1)

by Thalia Sanchez

  Oh, God.

  I’m not sure that Luanna knows the whole story behind that song.

  “I want it that way?” I supply, and she nods. “What an amazing song. We should put it—”

  “No!” Bree exclaims, her face red. “That song is banned from my ears forever.”

  Chuckling, I reach for her hand in the back of my neck, guiding it to my lips.

  “You’re one of those couples, huh,” Luanna points out, breaking our moment. “You know, the clingy type that’s absolutely perfect.”

  I made a face in disagreement.

  “I wouldn’t say perfect,” I comment.

  “We argue a lot,” Bree agrees.

  “We always disagree,” I add.

  Luanna’s laugh prevents us from making our list longer.

  “You guys are unbelievably sweet.”

  “Was that jealousy?” Bree quips, changing the course of the conversation.

  The truth is that we’re the clingy couple that everyone hates. We’ve had a pretty solid beginning, considering our strange circumstances. We’ve adapted well and that’s what counts.

  During the last few minutes of our ride, Bree and Luanna stay bickering. In a few occasions I’ve had to fight against a couple of laughs because I wouldn’t dare getting in the middle of their talks.

  Bree’s parents live in a nice neighborhood in the suburbs. At first glance, it presents itself like one of those communities where everything is perfect and the unity among them is strong. However, as we walk towards the entrance of the house, I’m able to hear the loud noise from people screaming instead of talking.

  I look at Bree, seeing her shrug.

  “I told you that my family wasn’t normal,” she defends with a tiny smile.

  She grabs my hand, dragging me with her to the interior of the house. The door doesn’t have the lock on, so Bree simply turns the knob, and we become part of the chaos unfolding inside. The first thing that I notice is that there are a lot of redheads. Full-on ginger people that make me seem out of place. They all have freckles, fire heads, and the same cheerful energy that surrounds Luanna all the time.

  My girlfriend stands out in her family with her wavy brown hair and olive skin.

  “Bree!”

  A shriek leaves Bree’s mouth, and she lets me go, running to the person that called her. She jumps, wrapping the tall olive-skinned guy that lifts her up, turning around with her. I can’t help the stab of jealousy that hits me. But it’s erased as soon as I realize that they look alike.

  That’s her brother.

  “I didn’t know you were coming!” Bree says happily, a smile that can’t be erased is on her face.

  The guy tilts his head.

  “And I didn’t know you were bringing someone, so that’s two unexpected things,” he retorts in the same tone, making her laugh. “Now, who did you pay to join this circus? There’s no way that someone is voluntarily tolerating you.”

  Bree hits him in the ribs.

  “It’s the Ken, Jimmy,” Luanna lets him know, patting my arm as I stand there awkwardly, not really knowing what to do.

  His eyes widen when he acknowledges the presence of his cousin.

  “Fuck, Lu!”

  “Language, James.” A senior lady with lighter red hair scolds him from the living room.

  He rolls his eyes with annoyance.

  “I can’t believe that you’re here.”

  “Me neither,” Luanna says, tilting her head.

  Bree’s brother finally looks at me, and he squints. His eyes scan me from head to toe, frowning as he takes me in. Then he stares at his sister and returns to me.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t get this. Honestly, how are you together?” The question is direct and without a filter. Apparently, that runs in the family.

  “No worries, I’m sure that she asks herself the same thing every day. Between us, I amused her when I beat her in Beer Pong.”

  Bree frowns.

  “You didn’t win. We tied!” she corrects, completely taken aback by my words.

  James laughs.

  “Never mind. I can see why,” he mutters. “I’m James, the brother.”

  He offers me his hand, and I shake it without thinking about it.

  “Stanley, the boyfriend. I think…”

  Bree pinches the side of my torso.

  “What do you mean that you think?” she interrogates. “Do you have somewhere else to be today?”

  James makes a face and lifts his hands, unlinking from the discussion.

  “Good luck getting out of that one, buddy. Lu, are you coming? I have a lot of man-whore stories to tell you.” He wraps his arm around his cousin and drags her with him away from us. “Nice meeting you, Ken!”

  I turn to face Bree.

  “Why does everyone call me Ken?” I wonder.

  She hesitates.

  “Because you kinda look like one.”

  I scowl. “I do not.”

  Although thinking about it, I’m not that far from the freaking doll. That’s not a comparison that I want, but fuck. I can’t change the way I look. No matter how much my mom tries to convince me to let her dye my hair. I guess I have to get used to the nickname.

  “Sorry, babe. At least you’re a good Ken.” Her offer doesn’t make me feel any better. “Are you ready to meet the Pierces?”

  Inhaling deeply, I prepare myself for what’s coming.

  “Of course.”

  We zigzag our way through the people in the house, occasionally stopping to introduce me to some cousins, aunts, and family friends. There’s someone that she doesn’t even stop to look; a ginger guy that’s wearing a suit for a family reunion. He’s watching Luanna with an unhappy scowl. I assume that’s the uncle that she hates, her mother’s brother and Lu’s father. I don’t get good vibes from him. He exhibits dark and douche energy.

  Bree leads me to the kitchen that, even if it’s not far from the entrance, it feels like it’s miles away. There’s a woman around my mother’s age handling the whole kitchen like an expert. There are pots in the stove, platters on the counter, and the oven is on. But she’s not even sweating.

  Because she does it all the time. I have no doubts that she’s Bree’s mom. The chef of the family.

  Her hair is not as ginger as the rest of her family. It’s almost crossing the shade of brown. Maybe around mahogany and red oak. However, I can see the resemblance between Bree and her. Especially with the galaxy of freckles that cover their faces. She’s taller than her daughter, but just by an inch or two. It’s hard to say because she’s wearing high heels that could be a lethal weapon if someone wanted to use them like that.

  I may be a little intimidated by her. A woman who can handle knives as if they belonged to her body and cooks in heels is more intimidating than half of the male population.

  “Mom,” Bree calls her.

  The woman’s face lightens up with a warm and radiant smile.

  “Honey, I didn’t know that you were already here,” she says. “I’d hug you, but I’m sweaty.”

  Her comment catches me off guard because I don’t see a single drop of sweat coming from her.

  “Ignore her. She never sweats, but swears that she does,” Bree explains and tugs my arm, making my presence known. “Mom, this is Stanley.”

  Her mother’s eyes salute me with a hint of maliciousness, her sight alternating between her daughter and me.

  “So this is the friend that your father was telling me about,” she comments, and her voice hides a joke that I don’t seem to get. “I’m Sabrina, your friend’s mother.”

  Realization punches me.

  “Wait, Sabrina… Bree… Your name is your mother’s nickname?” I question, and they smile as if I just deciphered the family’s enigma.

  “He’s fast,” Sabrina observes. “So, Stanley, where does your name come from?”

  My mom thinks that she conceived me during a hockey game.

  “My parents like hockey,” I reply instea
d. It’s not a total lie, but it’s less embarrassing than the fact that my mother is entirely transparent with me. A detail that has caused me a few traumas in the past.

  I know facts about her that I shouldn’t.

  “Oh, mom, by the way, what dad didn’t tell you is that Stan isn’t my friend,” Bree intervenes out of nowhere. “He’s my boyfriend.”

  “Boyfriend, huh? Interesting,” Sabrina manifests, whistling under her breath. “Does your father know?”

  Bree forces a smile, but I can tell that her mom is playing with her.

  “The good thing is that I don’t need his approval to have a boyfriend, isn’t it?”

  A scoff sounds behind our backs, and all of my muscles tense. Especially when I turn around and see Bree’s father, who probably heard half of the conversation. At least the part where I’m her boyfriend.

  Well, on the bright side, we’re together.

  Honestly, she could say that I’m her best friend with a chastity belt, and I wouldn’t mind at all. The Lord owns my soul and frowns upon sexual contact before marriage. Amen, hallelujah. I’d do everything in my power to keep him from castrating me.

  “You’ve never asked for permission to do anything,” he retorts and steps closer to me, patting my shoulder. A nervous chuckle abandons my lips. “Bree, do you mind if I steal your boyfriend for a second? I need help bringing the beer from the other freezer.”

  My eyes widen, panic taking over my body. Silently, I plead Bree to put up a fight and protect me, but she just shrugs.

  “You’ve never asked for permission either,” she uses his words.

  Fuck me.

  I follow Bree’s father down the hall to the back of the house, feeling like I’m making my way to my death. He’s my hangman, waiting to kill me for my sins. I can barely gasp when he guides me to a room that only has freezers. Separate freezers all around. My chest contracts.

  “Relax, kid,” he says as his lips curve in a smile. Great. This is just great. “You’re okay. I want Bree to get crazy for a couple of minutes.”

  I’m paralyzed. It takes me several seconds to process if I’ve heard him right. He did all of this dreadful thing to mess with Bree.

  “What?” I croak.

  “I rarely get the chance to mortify her for something,” he explains while he opens one of the freezers, taking out the boxes of cold beer from there. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty.”

  He opens one of the boxes, taking out a beer bottle, offering it to me. I hesitate, wondering if this is some kind of test.

  “If someone asks, you told me that you were twenty-one,” he insists.

  “And be charged with underage drinking?” I inquire, tilting my head.

  He shrugs.

  “I’m a lawyer. You’d be walking free of charges.” He looks at the beer, insisting for me to take it. I grab it, but I don’t open it. “Honestly, even if it doesn’t seem like it, I remember what it was like to be a young college student, and the perks of my girlfriend not living with her parents. However, that doesn’t give you the green light to do whatever you want with my daughter. Treat her right, don’t break her heart, and you’ll have me happy. Otherwise—” Bree’s dad trails off, and I gulp.

  “I won’t hurt her. That’s the last thing that I want to do,” I assure him.

  “Good. Just be careful, kid. You don’t want to end up like me.”

  “Like you?” I dare to ask, missing the point in his speech.

  “With a baby when I hadn’t finished my degree. A fucking nightmare, but at least James was cute.”

  I have mixed feelings because it’s hilarious how he talks about his firstborn, but I’m also horrified. I think that having a baby is as scary as being burned alive. At least for now, it seems like it. I don’t know if I’ll change my mind someday, but that’s not a topic I want to touch for another decade. There’s always a chance of that happening when you’re sexually active. I’m not stupid, but I want to be as careful as possible to avoid that.

  As the seconds pass by, I realize something.

  “Did you just give me a safe sex talk?”

  He lifts his hands innocently and then frowns as he figures out what he did. It comes slowly, like smoke spreading into a room.

  “I-I think so,” he stutters. “As you can see, I’m not the best one to give it, but you get what I mean,” he comments, scratching his jaw.

  “Yes, sir,” I say instantly. “And don’t worry. My mom has made sure to give me that talk at least once a week since I entered middle school.”

  “Your mom is a wise woman,” he concedes, opening his bottle of beer.

  If he only knew.

  “Sometimes.”

  “I like you, kid. Just don’t fuck it up with Bree because then I’ll be forced to dislike you,” he warns with a smile.

  The air abandons my lungs with relief. I think that I might be able to survive this, after all. I’m convinced that things will get better after this.

  They have to.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  On Monday, Bree and I are still in our perfect bubble, where nothing can affect us. Things are slowly taking its natural course on campus. Bree still has to deal with the constant stares—I think she always will—but it’s gotten better. Fewer people are giving relevance to the incident, and the students seem to have forgotten all about it. The memories of the screenshot were replaced by the video of Ryder punching Carter at the cafeteria. It’s a treasure, and I’ll save it for when I feel down because I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t enjoy it.

  However, I don’t think it will be something that lifts a revolution in our student life. We’re part of a temporary drama that won’t stick around for long. People will always carry on with their lives after they’ve done their damage. It’s the path of life. What society has taught us since the moment where we can categorize right from wrong.

  Next semester things will be different, and no one will remember that this happened. It will be a lacrosse season. There will be new gossips and dramas to maintain the student body entertained.

  During chemistry class, Bree’s focused on taking notes so that Luanna can help us. For the first time in the semester, we’re starting to understand what’s going on in the course, but that’s only because Lu spent the whole Saturday tutoring us. She was close to hitting us with the book, but somehow, we understood some concepts.

  Now, we have the chemical knowledge of a high school kid, if that’s worth anything. We’re still far behind, there’s no doubt in that, but we’re getting there. There’s a big chance that Luanna will help us pass the final test. The main problem of this class is that the professor sucks. She’s terrible at teaching, inaccessible, with archaic methods of discipline, and she doesn’t connect with the students. Her nickname doesn’t come from thin air. Professor Byrne truly deserves it and wears it as her honor badge.

  While Bree writes using pens of different colors to concentrate, or that’s what she says, I make doodles on the edges of my notebook—occasionally cutting tiny pieces of paper to throw them at Bree’s back during the class.

  “Stop it,” she mumbles with irritation, passing her hands through the strands of her hair to get rid of the papers.

  I’ve managed to piss her off successfully, and I want to laugh, but I don’t want to attract the attention of the professor.

  “Don’t be bitter,” I tell her in a low tone.

  “You’re exasperating,” she lets out, rolling her eyes.

  I hum.

  “Nah, I’m in a good mood,” I retort.

  “Your good mood is a pain in the ass.”

  Bree turns to pay attention to the professor, and I decide to stop messing with her for the rest of the class. It’s early, and I’ve noticed that Bree’s not a morning person. It takes her a while to fully wake up and adapt to the schedule.

  Unless I’m teasing her, she’s cranky during the mornings. We haven’t done anything remotely sexual during the weekend since she got
her period on Saturday and has been clingier. So, yesterday we spent the day watching a TV show until we became part of the furniture.

  I don’t complain, honestly. Spending time with an excessively affectionate Bree is something that I want to repeat. Today, she’s irritable, and it takes me back to the time where we could barely stand each other. The difference is that she can’t get rid of me now. At least not so quickly.

  “Everyone, turn in your assignments, and you can go,” the professor announces, and I start to put my notebook in my backpack. “Except Bree Pierce and Stanley McKinley.”

  Bree stops in the middle of gathering her things. Her hands squeeze the papers of the assignments as the tension rises in the room. A couple of our classmates give us a curious look, but they abandon the classroom because no one wants to spend more time in here. Typically, Bree and I are the first ones to leave. That room is the closest thing to hell on campus.

  The world seems to be against us. There’s no way that a discussion with this woman ends up well.

  Bree and I get close to her desk sheepishly, being careful. We don’t want to seem happy about being held back, but we don’t want to look guilty.

  “Is there a reason why we have to stay behind?” Bree asks, her voice sounds neutral, but I know that she’s making an effort by the way her neck contracts.

  The Harpy waits until the last student leaves before she breaks the ice, drawing a fake smile that wrinkles her face.

  “I find you to be the most interesting students that I’ve had in a while,” she comments with an ice-cold tone.

  “Thanks?” I mutter without knowing what else to say.

  Her smile fades.

  “Only someone like you would take that as a compliment, McKinley,” she instantly shoots bitterly.

  Excuse me?

  I know what professor Byrne is trying to say, and no matter from what perspective you see it from, it sounds unbelievably bad. The truth is that there wasn’t a place for various interpretations. She’s falling into the same trap that everyone else has, instead of evaluating me from my progress as a student and person.

  “Professor, I truly don’t understand why we’re here.” Bree brings the attention back to the same topic, trying to get her to go straight to the point.