Keaton’s mom was at the helm of Kennedy Apparel, a billion-dollar global fashion brand, until she sold it a few years back. His entire family are celebrities, initially off the back of their mom’s success. But that’s changed in recent times.
Keanu and Selena Kennedy are well known in their own right, even though they have now retired from modeling, and Lana Kennedy—she is married to Keaton’s brother Kalvin—is a New York Times bestselling author. Lana and Kalvin got together under...unusual circumstances that fascinated and disgusted the world at large. His brother Keven’s fiancée, Cheryl, is starting to make a name for herself as a shit-hot photographer while Keven is known for keeping a low profile. Keats’s brother Kyler was a large presence on the motocross circuit when he was a teen, gaining him a devoted fanbase. His marriage to his cousin Faye was a big scandal even though it’s not illegal to marry your cousin in Massachusetts and she’s not his blood relative, because Kyler, Kaden, and Keven share a different dad than the other four brothers. Kaden’s affair with Eva—the woman who is now his wife—made all the headlines because she was married to a known mobster. And Kent, one of the triplets, is notorious for getting into trouble with the law. He’s the so-called black sheep of the family.
The interest in the Kennedys only seems to have multiplied since Alex Kennedy sold her business, helped along by a succession of scandals and dramas that has kept America riveted and fixated on the famous family.
But, as far as I know, their influence doesn’t extend to the sports world. So, Nolan is talking out of his ass again.
“You’re preaching to the choir,” Colton says, gesturing the pretty waitress over. “Two more waters, sweetheart.”
“Coming right up, Mr. QB.” She shoots him a flirty wink, sashaying her hips as she walks away.
“I know the house wasn’t your scene, man,” he adds, kicking his sneakers up on the seat beside me. “If I had a girlfriend, I’m sure she’d want me to move out too.”
“Gia had nothing to do with it,” I truthfully admit. “It was my decision, and I don’t regret it. Keats is cool, and he’s easy to live with. We have space, and it’s quiet, and I can study in peace.”
Unlike a lot of the players on the team, my GPA actually matters to me. It’s important that I graduate with a degree. I’m realistic enough to know my chances of an NFL career are slim.
Don’t get me wrong.
It’s my dream.
Always has been, and I’m giving it my all in the hopes I secure a contract, but if I don’t, I need to ensure my backup plan becomes a reality.
Getting this degree goes a long way toward achieving that goal.
“Just don’t be a stranger, yeah?” Colton smiles as the waitress sets our food down in front of us. “We might not share living space anymore, but you’re still the only person I trust completely. On and off the field.”
“That doesn’t change because I moved out.” I cut up my steak. “And I’ve got your back. Always.”
***
Stifling a yawn, I close my textbook and call it a night. I stand, rotating my shoulders back and forth until the corded knots are less tight. I make a mental note to order a new chair for my desk because this one is a piece of shit that provides little support for my back, despite the manufacturer’s claims.
My hand is curled around the door handle when my cell rings. Spotting Gia’s glossy auburn waves and striking green eyes staring at me from the screen, I immediately pick up. “Sup, babe?” I lean back against the door, awaiting her response.
“If the rents ask, I’m with you this weekend, ’kay?”
“Sure. Thanks for the heads-up.” I cross my feet at the ankles. “Where will you actually be?”
“Hendrix has a gig in Kansas City. I’ll be with him and the band.”
“He treating you right, Gia?” I ask, like I always do, because I feel a responsibility to check often.
Her heavy sigh filters down the line. “He isn’t a bad guy, Austen. I wish everyone would cut him some slack.”
To be clear, Hendrix is an ass. I mean, what indie rocker changes their name to Hendrix in a nod to the legendary rock giant? Could he be any more unoriginal? Find your own groove. Your own rhythm. And make something of your own name. Don’t hang off someone else’s coattails. To me, that just sums the guy up.
While he’s never done anything to deliberately hurt Gia—to the best of my knowledge—he’s too self-obsessed to truly cherish her the way she deserves. Last time I was home, I heard rumors his drug use is out of control, and that does little to ease my concern.
But he’s her choice, and it doesn’t look like that’s changing anytime soon.
“Be safe. And I’m always here for you. You need me anytime, just call.”
“You’re my best friend, Woody. You still know that, right?”
I smile. “To infinity and beyond, Jessie.” The words glide off my tongue without thought. Gia and I were only six when the first Toy Story movie debuted in movie theaters, and we were obsessed. We dressed as Woody and Jessie every Halloween for years.
Fun times.
“You’re my favorite deputy!” Her light laughter tickles my eardrums, and my gaze drifts to the two framed photos by my bed.
The picture taken last year—at the outdoor market near our homes, the one with our arms wrapped around each other—is purely for show, though the happiness radiating between us was completely genuine, even if the circumstances were fake. The second photo, taken the Halloween we were ten, always brings a smile to my face. We’re wearing our Toy Story costumes, sporting matching goofy grins as we smile at the camera, carrying bags loaded with candy and goodies.
Most of my childhood memories include Gia, and there isn’t anything I won’t do for her.
Including fake dating her so she can sneak around with her no-good, talentless rocker boyfriend behind her disapproving parents’ backs. She deserves better, and I’m not the only one who knows it.
We hang up, and I saunter out to the kitchen to grab a snack. The TV is on, and Keats is lounging in the leather recliner, staring at the screen in a bit of a daze, looking like he’s a million miles away. “You want anything, Kennedy?” I shout out, opening the refrigerator. My question snaps him out of it. Blinking rapidly, he shakes his head, not answering with words. I study the back of his head, wondering what’s up. He’s been uncharacteristically quiet since he returned from his newspaper meeting last night.
Grabbing a shake and a banana, I head toward the living area, flopping down on the leather sectional. Keats stares straight ahead, not even acknowledging my presence, which is weird, because the guy is politeness personified. My eyes roll to the screen, and my lips curve into a smile. “I didn’t know you were into Ink Master. I love this show.”
He turns his head to me, his eyes roaming the tattoos covering both my arms, the ink fully visible in the sleeveless training top I’m wearing. “That doesn’t surprise me in the least.”
I grin. “This show started my interest in tattoos. I think I was like eleven or twelve when it first aired. Been hooked ever since.”
“I only started watching it when we decided to get inked,” he admits.
“We?” I inquire, peeling my banana.
“My brothers and me. We got inked when we turned eighteen. It was Kent’s idea. He thought I’d chicken out, but I didn’t.”
“Why would he think that?” I ask, taking a large bite of the banana.
“Because he thinks I’m a prude.” He swallows hard while watching me finish the banana in three quick bites, squirming on the chair, his eyes dilating a little.
“Why?” I fold the banana peel on the arm of the couch to dispose of later, chugging back my shake as I eyeball my friend with fresh curiosity.
Keaton shrugs. “Kent likes to live on the wild side. Drugs. Booze. Sex. You name it, he’s tried it. I’ve always been too tame, too meek, too good in his eyes.”
“Doesn’t make you a prude,” I say, emptying the contents of th
e shake down my throat.
“He doesn’t understand me. No one does,” he quietly adds, and I’m more intrigued than ever.
I sit forward, leaning my elbows on my knees. “Who are you, Keaton?”
His gorgeous blue eyes stab mine, and a whole host of emotions washes over his face. We stare at one another, and a simmering electrical charge ignites the air. It’s not the first time, and I doubt I’m the only one who feels it. Just when I believe he’s not going to answer, he clears his throat, looking pained when he says, “As soon as I figure it out, you’ll be the first to know.”
CHAPTER THREE
Keaton
Pushing open the door to the diner, I blow a kiss at Angela, the kind older waitress who always looks after me and my friends when we dine here, as I stride toward our usual booth at the back, with the last-minute dinner guest following in my wake.
“Hey, guys. This is—”
“Austen Hayes,” Kate confirms, cutting across my introduction. Tossing her long dark hair over her shoulders, she extends her arm, offering my roommate her hand. “Delighted to meet you. We were beginning to think Keats was making you up.”
“I assure you I’m a real boy,” Austen quips, and warmth spreads across my chest.
Kate snorts out a laugh, making Austen smile. They shake hands, and then I formally introduce my roommate to Kathryn Whitley aka Kate and Molly Irwin aka Mol. He already knows Sebastien Hewitt, or Seb to his friends, because the three of us share several of the same classes.
The girls have heard all about Austen, including how we met after I finally came clean about the night we attended our first and only party at the notorious football house. They know we became fast friends after that, sitting together in class, texting all the time, and although they joined me at a few of his football games, this is the first time the girls are meeting him in person.
Austen slips into the booth alongside me and Seb, across from the girls. It’s a bit of a tight squeeze, and as my thigh brushes against Austen’s muscular one, I hope to fuck that won’t become a problem, because some days I only have to look at the guy and I’m instantly hard.
“I can’t believe you’ve been hogging this football god all to yourself, Keats,” Kate says, pouting up a storm. “Haven’t you heard sharing is caring?”
“Austen has a crazy busy schedule and not a lot of free time,” I explain, not rising to the bait as I pass a menu to him.
“Congrats on the game today,” Mol says. “You were amazing out there.”
She’s not wrong. He fucking nailed it today. Like always. Austen has oodles of natural talent, and he’s got to be a shoo-in for the NFL. Guy sure works hard enough to deserve it, but I know how fiercely competitive it is and that only a small percentage of college football players get signed.
Her cheeks flush a little, and she’s working hard not to stare at him. I get it. Austen is drop-dead gorgeous, and it’s almost impossible to tear your eyes from him, especially when he gives you his undivided attention.
I probably zone out at least fifty percent of the time during our conversations, because the way he looks at me—with this dark, intense concentration, like every word that comes out of my mouth is the most fascinating word in the English language—turns me into a drooling space monkey.
“Thanks. They were tough competition, and it was touch and go for a while, but we got our shit together.” He turns to me, the movement bringing our bodies even closer. “What’s good here?” His green eyes are bright and clear, and at this proximity, I can count his long, thick, jet-black lashes and the light smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. His lips curve at the corners, as is his habit, and my eyes drop to his lush mouth before I get a grip. Heat floods my cheeks as I look down at my menu, pretending to scan the options I already know by heart. “Depends on what you’re in the mood for,” I mutter, desperately trying to regain my composure.
Crushing on a taken, straight guy is not cool, Keaton. I remind myself of this at least ten times a day, but it’s not helping.
See, this is what happens when you’ve got the worst case of blue balls this side of the Pacific Ocean.
“What am I in the mood for. Hmm.” Austen drums his fingers on the tabletop, and his deep, sultry tone is like a shot of liquid lust straight to my groin.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was flirting with me.
My cock surges to life, straining against my jeans, and I inwardly cringe as I attempt to focus on unsexy thoughts.
My brain, unhelpfully, returns to that alleyway on Wednesday night, and anger and frustration wipe the board of every other emotion. I’ve been in the worst mood since Brock made his latest demand, and I was determined to push the asshole from my mind and enjoy tonight, but it’s a virtual impossibility, because my life is a clusterfuck of epic proportions right now, and I can see no light at the end of the tunnel.
At least my boner’s gone though.
Austen clicks his fingers in my face. “Earth to Keaton. Where’d you go?”
I snap myself out of it, running my hands through my hair as air whooshes out of my mouth. “Sorry. I’ve a lot on my mind.”
“I’ve noticed.” Concern leaks from his eyes, as it has the past couple days. I appreciate that he hasn’t pried, but I know he’s noticed how introspective I’ve been.
“Is everything okay?” Seb asks, pressing his back against the side of the booth, pinning me with a strange look.
“I’m fine. It’s fine. Just some family stuff.” Guilt slams into my gut, and I hate that I’m always lying to my friends.
I’m the shittiest friend.
The shittiest brother.
The shittiest son.
“Saturday night is my cheat night,” Austen says, refocusing the conversation. “So, nothing’s off-limits.”
“Now that sounds like an invitation and a half.” Kate waggles her brows suggestively, acting more flirtatious than usual. I don’t know if that’s to get a rise out of Seb—the guy I’m certain she’s secretly crushing on—or if she’s genuinely interested in hooking up with Austen.
That thought lands like sour milk in my stomach, and I react without thinking. “He’s got a girlfriend,” I blurt.
“I know.” Kate leans back against the booth, eyeing me curiously. “You’ve told us about her at least a hundred times,” she says, clearly teasing.
“Have the burger,” I mumble, unable to look Austen in the eye at this point. “It’s their signature dish, and you can’t beat it.”
Thankfully, the conversation turns lighter after that, and I relax somewhat.
After we’ve finished eating, we pay the check and head to a local bar we frequent because A. they turn a blind eye to our fake IDs and B. they have five pool tables and run regular pool tournaments where Seb and I have been known to clean up at doubles.
We grab some beers and head to the pool tables, snatching the last free one. The girls climb onto stools at the high table beside us, talking in hushed voices.
“You play?” Seb asks Austen, while chalking his cue.
“Badly,” Austen admits, leaning his arms over the back of a stool. His biceps flex and roll with the motion, and I swear half the damn room notices.
Another reason I like this bar is it’s a little off the beaten track, and I don’t garner too much interest when I’m here. However, showing up with one of Berkeley’s golden boys means there is no flying under the radar.
“Is that the truth, or are you trying to hustle us?” I ask, propping my butt against the edge of the table.
“If I’m hustling, you’d know all about it.” Austen shoots me that lopsided, sexy grin, and it gets me hot. “My talents definitely don’t extend to pool, but I’m game to play.” He shrugs in that cool, casual manner of his, and fuck me, if that isn’t one of the sexiest things about him. He knows he’s shit, that I’ll beat his ass, but he doesn’t care. He’s in it for fun, not for the win.
Kate and I take on Seb and Austen while Mol
sits it out. She’s not a big pool fan, and she usually just comes along for the conversation and the craft beer.
Unsurprisingly, Kate and I win because Austen wasn’t lying. He sucks. Big-time. But he takes our teasing in good humor. After another couple of games, we call it quits, exiting the bar together.
“The night is still young,” Kate announces, looping her arm through Seb’s, as we walk along the street. “Let’s hit up the football party. We haven’t been there since Keats did a disappearing act on us.”
I wouldn’t mind a few more beers to take the edge off my stress, but I know the main reason Austen moved out of that house was because he was sick of the endless parties.
“We don’t have to go,” I say, lowering my voice so only Austen can hear me. “I’m just as happy to go home and drink a few beers there.”
Austen’s tongue darts out, wetting his lips, and I try not to stare. “I don’t mind going as long as we don’t stay all night.”
“Okay, cool.” I call out to the others, and they turn around. “We’re in.”
“Great.” Kate rubs her hands together in glee. “Let’s par-tay!”
***
“Hey.” Austen grabs my arm, holding me back as Seb, Kate, and Mol disappear into the basement room ahead of us. Loud rhythmic beats filter out through the door before it swings shut after them. “Just a heads-up. At least one of my teammates believes I ditched the house to move in with you for your connections.” Lowering his arm, he shoves his hands deep into his pockets.
I focus on his words and not the fact my skin is tingling from where he touched me. “What connections?” I ask, my brow furrowing. “My family has jack shit to do with the world of sports.”
Although, if we wanted to reach out on Austen’s behalf, I’m sure Mom could make that happen. I bet she knows someone through someone else who could help. But I already know Austen well enough to know he’d hate that. It’d be the very last reason he moved in with me. “That guy is a total jerk,” I add, even though he hasn’t identified which one of his teammates is spouting that stupid shit.
Adoring Keaton: A Stand-Alone Friends-to-Lovers MM Romance (The Kennedy Boys Book 9) Page 3