Keatyn Unscripted (The Keatyn Chronicles Book 8)

by Jillian Dodd

  “A helicopter?” (Ahh. To be Abby Johnston.)

  “Well, I mean if you want to avoid traffic in NY, they are the fastest. But that’s like his specialty. Here, I just sent him a text, he’ll take care it. Also did you take swimsuits? Or clothes suitable for the Hamptons?”

  “Oh shit. I only brought one bikini and no, I didn’t!”

  “I just texted Kym. She will have something couriered to you. If we have it there by three tomorrow, will that work?”

  “Yeah, thanks, Mom, so much. And I know this boy stuff seems silly, but thanks for talking to me about it.”

  “Kiki, it’s not silly, it’s your life. Just make good decisions, okay? I really don’t want to have to send you to rehab, although with all these boys, you’re planning on being safe, right? Did you and Brooklyn use a condom?”

  “Ug, Mom!”

  “You know this is important, right?”

  “Yes, and we did.”

  “I think you should go on the pill. Just in case. Plus it will make your periods way shorter and with less cramps. I’ll get the doctor to send you a prescription.”

  “Uh, okay.”

  “But that doesn’t mean you should just go doing it with anyone, okay? And always still use a condom, it’s just like a back up plan.”

  “Uh, okay.”

  “Bye, Kiki.”

  Friday, September 2nd

  Today was a blur. I can’t even tell you what all happened. Nothing really important. I think I was not really engaged in what was going on around me because I was worried about this weekend, thinking about what it would be like with Brooklyn.

  Would things feel the same or different, would we do it again?

  I was worried about going to see Dawson, what would that mean? I mean we want to take it slow, but spending the weekend with someone seems fast, but I know there are lots of friends going, so I’m sure it’s just a friendly type thing.

  I was worrying about Aiden, that I told him I wouldn’t hang out with him tonight because I had other plans. I was worrying that he really didn’t say anything to me in french.

  I was really worried about dancing at the football game. I was so worried that I would mess up. I only flubbed up like four times, and they weren’t too bad, I’m hoping no one really even noticed. Aiden suits up for varsity, but does not start, so he was on the sidelines watching me a lot. And that made me even more nervous. That’s one thing I do like about Dawson, I always know what he’s thinking. I had no idea what Aiden was thinking.

  I hung out with Dawson a little and then the girls later. We didn’t party. Lots of kids left right after school, and everyone else was busy packing and getting ready to leave tomorrow. My clothes arrived, I packed, and now I am going to sleep! I have a car picking me up very early tomorrow! (Blah, blah, blah.)

  Saturday, September 3rd

  A sleezy train wreck (Just this title almost gives me hives. I was SOOOO mad at B here! I was also really upset that Keatyn even went to this. And when the stalker showed up! Eek! But I digress, let’s get back to this.)

  10am

  I’m at the surf tournament. It’s crazy. People everywhere, but when you show up in a limo, at least you don’t have to worry about parking.

  I have chosen my outfit for today very, very carefully. Well, I mean I chose it out of the stuff that Kym sent. I want to look like the Keats that Brooklyn knows and loves, but I want to look more grown up.

  Like seriously, I feel like I’ve aged five years since I left him. He needs to see the grown up Keatyn Monroe.

  Kym sent me a detailed list of ways to wear everything she sent me. A bunch of bikinis, clothes suitable for the Hamptons, which she says is a very casual, but couture place.

  I pick my way though the crowd and look for Brooklyn’s sponsor tent.

  Yeah, his dad made a few calls, and somehow he got him three major sponsors. I see the tent and spot Brooklyn inside. He’s so cute. I can tell he’s been out surfing already. The tips of his hair are dry but it’s still darker close to his head. His bangs are hanging down in his eyes. He’s got on board shorts, my necklace and a pair of sandals. (And now, I love him again. I think K and I both have some sort of boy ADD.)

  There is actually a short line of girls waiting to get his autograph. I watch him laughing, smiling, flirting with a girl. Then I watch him sign the boob she has extended to him.

  There’s a girl with her, who apparently doesn’t want to be outdone, so she turns around, wiggles her thong toward him, and he signs one of her butt cheeks.

  Who knew surf competitions were so classy.

  Then three girls crowd around him to take their picture. Two of the girls start to walk away, but the third one, who is sporting orange tanned skin and huge fake boobs, grabs him and starts kissing him.

  I can barely believe my eyes.

  And what’s worse is he doesn’t seem to mind.

  I watch her kiss him deeply, finally stopping. He gives her a huge grin, she gives him her number, and I’m standing here feeling like I need a shower. (Me, too.)

  Seriously?

  Ick!

  I don’t think i could ever kiss those sun-chapped lips again. (Also, I remember cutting the sun-chapped part. Because that doesn’t sound attractive.)

  I suddenly have the urge to leave. I want turn around, chase my tail back to the limo.

  But I don’t.

  I drove all the way here and really after his little display, I feel even more confident because I think I am done with Brooklyn.

  And I’m thinking he needs to know it.

  I stand in front of his tent until he notices me. I’m wearing a skin colored macramé bikini, little chunky turquoise and coral stones run down around my cleavage, and the bikini’s strings have little stones at the end of them. There’s a single long gold chain around my neck with a large turquoise stone. I’m wearing turquoise and straw colored platform wedges that are surprisingly easy to maneuver in the sand. Big gold Dolce & Gabbana aviators on my face. Gauzy white shirt all unbuttoned, holding a straw cowboy hat, my hair in beachy waves.

  He seems me, smiles, checks out my bikini. Doesn’t recognize me.

  I put my sunglasses on top of my head and smile back.

  He takes a second look. His eyes get big as he recognizes me. (Also just realized...OMG! In this version, they don’t have matching chaos tattoos!)

  “Keats!!!” He leaves his line of admirers and pulls me into a big hug, leans into kiss me. I totally turn my cheek.

  “I just saw your make out session with fake boobs, you’d have to sanitize your mouth before I’d kiss you.”

  He laughs, doesn’t seem to be the least bit worried I just watched him kiss another girl, throws an arm around me, and leads me to his tent.

  I stand there basically while he finishes his autograph session. Watch girls fawn all over him, watch him loving it, and wonder what the hell I’m doing here.

  But worse case, he’s my best friend, right?

  I should be supportive.

  But then he says, “Hey, I have to, uh, run somewhere real quick, I’ll be back in a few. Uh, hold down the fort.”

  That really doesn’t make sense to me. Where would he be going that I couldn’t tag along? Plus he looks sorta sneaky as he’s walking away, and for some reason, I follow him.

  He meets up with the orange, big boobed girl, and she pulls him into a changing tent. He does not resist.

  About ten minutes later, they sneak back out, him looking satisfied, and her just looking like a sleezy train wreck.

  I walk straight up to him. “It’s a good thing all we are to each other is friends, or I might have been really hurt by that. And I’d say, have fun, enjoy your first tournament, but you obviously already are. I’m outta here.”

  He starts to come after me, yelling, “But, Keats.”

  I flip him off and continue to walk away.

  I call Marcus, say, “Get me that chopper and get me the fuck to the Hamptons.” (LOL)

  He says,
“I take it Brook is history?”

  “You could say that. He made out with a girl right in front of me and then snuck off and screwed some chick in a cabana.”

  “Oh....uh, that sucks, sorry Kiki. I’ll make a few calls and get right back to you.”

  So I retreat to the cool quiet air in the limo and call Dawson.

  “Hey, so I was thinking about heading your way.” I try to sound happy.

  “Already?”

  And for a second I think he doesn’t want me any more either.

  “Uh, well, I mean if you still want me.”

  “Oh, I want you,” he teases.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah I do, and it’s awesome! I can’t wait for you to come up here. Hang, party, have some fun. Oh wait, what happened with surfer dude? It must’ve been bad if you’re leaving all ready. You okay?”

  “Lets just say he and I are very finished.”

  “What happened?”

  “Basically he’s an idiot, no wait, I’m the idiot. (I might agree with her on this point, but I get it. Love makes you do dumb things sometimes.) I’ll tell you about it later. After you have made me one of those amazing drinks you have been bragging about.”

  “I’m sorry if he hurt you, I know how that feels, but still, I’m kinda excited cuz I can’t wait to see you. It will probably take you a good couple of hours with traffic.”

  “Hang on...”

  I look at the text I just got from Marcus. It has a address to meet the chopper and says, eta Hamptons, 22 minutes.

  I click back to Dawson, “I might be there a little sooner than that.”

  And I can’t help but smile to myself.

  I just gave you goosebumps.

  12:30pm

  He’s waiting for me outside a huge rambling colonial mansion when I pull up in a limo.

  “Sweet ride.”

  “Well, I can't drive yet.”

  “Oh wow. I forgot. You’re a baby fishie.” (So odd to think of her as a Freshman.)

  “Shut up.”

  The driver drops my bags, Dawson grabs them and leads me into a gorgeous house.

  “So um, lots of people showed up, so um...”

  “What? Why are you acting all nervous? Do you have an old girlfriend here or someone else you like because you didn’t think I’d be here?”

  “No.” He shakes his head at me. “What I was gonna say, well, ask, if it’s okay, if you like um, bunk up with me. I took the master bedroom.”

  “So I'd be sleeping with you?”

  “Yeah, but, I mean, we'd just sleep, and there's a couch in there. I can sleep on that if it makes you more comfortable. I'm not expecting, you know, sex or anything. Well, I, uh, do wanna kiss you some more, for sure, but you know what I mean, right?

  I smile at him. He is seriously so sweet. (Especially on the tail of what transpired with B. It makes him seem even sweeter.)

  “Okay.”

  I follow him into the master. I've stayed at some incredible five star resorts, on yachts, our Malibu house was photographed for Architectural Digest, but this room is stunning. Huge colonial pineapple four poster bed, sweeping ocean views, private deck out the multitude of french doors, which are open, causing the gauzy white sheers to flutter in the wind.

  “Wow. This room is beautiful. I may never leave.”

  He gets a sexy smile, drops my bags onto the floor, takes my purse off my shoulder, then peels off my white gauze shirt off my shoulders.

  He drops it on the bed and stands back, scrutinizing every inch of my bikini clad body.

  All he manages to mutter before he kisses me is, “Damn.”

  We kiss a bit, and then he says, “Come on. I’ll show u the rest of the downstairs and most importantly the deck, the pool, the beach. Hey, do you play tennis?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “Cool. I'm gonna have to beat you at that. I'm house champ.”

  “Really?”

  Um, did I mention I took private lessons from the guy that won Wimbledon two years ago because my mom was filming a movie about a country club wife and had to perfect her backswing? Yeah. I think I might surprise him. (Also cut. God, is it just me or does she sound like such a little b*tch here?)

  The rest of the house, the view, the grounds are almost as breath taking as the bedroom. As we walk through the big white kitchen, he points out a brunch spread on the island and asks if I am hungry. I say, not yet, so he gets me a drink instead.

  It’s a pretty pink summer punch. I take a drink and am shocked by the potent alcohol taste.

  “Jeeze, what's in this?”

  He laughs, “That’s our special Kool-Aid.” (Always drink the Johnson bros Kool-Aid!)

  We walk out to the pool, drinks in hand, and he introduces me to everyone I don't know, and I say hey to the ones I do. Riley, Dallas, Carson, Tyrese, Parker, and Ace. (Carson? Chop. Chop.) The rest are a combination of school friends and old friends. Everyone seems pretty well primed with alcohol already. There's also only me and three other girls out of the 20 or so people staying here. (Also, K ended up being the only girl staying there in the published version.)

  “I didn’t sign up for a sausage fest,” Parker says. “Let's hit the beach.”

  Ace agrees, “Yeah, we need to take a bunch of that Get drunk and screw punch with us.”

  “Naw,” Riley says, “that's not how its done. You bring them back here, and then let them drink the Kool-Aid. But we can take a little for ourselves.” (Riley<3)

  Dawson gives me a piggy back ride down to the beach.

  And wow. He's so tall and dark and strong and dreamy. Brooklyn used to give me piggyback rides, but I sometimes felt like I was as big as him. I feel small compared to Dawson, and I love that. I throw my arms around him, and I can't help but plant a few little kisses on his neck. Riley and most of the boys have surf and boogie boards with them.

  I'm laying here in the sand with Dawson. He's laying on his side, and I just finished telling him all about my reunion with Brooklyn.

  “Wow, that's pretty low. Especially since he wanted you to spend the weekend. And to do that with another girl while you were there, that's like effed up.”

  I laugh, “Sounds like something your brother would do.” I watch Riley out by the water talking to three very pretty girls. Does he know those girls?”

  “Heck, I don't know.”

  “Wait! This is your whoredom, isn't it? Wow, do all the girls know you?”

  He looks embarrassed.

  “Uh, some. Honestly, most of the times I hooked up this summer, I was like pretty drunk. The whole summer’s sorta a blur.”

  Sorry, but I'm kinda glad about that.

  Even though there are people around, I feel sorta like we are the only two people here.

  “Did I tell you how much I like this bikini?” He’s playing with one of the strings.

  “Um no, I don't think you did.”

  He runs a single sandy finger down my arm, and even in the blazing sun, my body does a little shiver. (Oh, Dawson!)

  He notices.

  Grins. “I just gave you goosebumps. It’s hot out.”

  “I got a chill, ocean breeze, you know.”

  “You’re lying.” He grazes his thumb across my bottom lip. Is staring at me.

  “I think you look ridiculously hot in your dance uniform, so I don’t know why I was so surprised by how amazing you look in a bikini. It took all my willpower not to undo these strings,” he touches the string on one side of my bikini bottoms, “in the bedroom, not come out for days.”

  I laugh, “Don’t you have to take me back to the house and feed me some Kool-Aid first?”

  I take a drink and smirk at him.

  He squints his eyes at me.

  I laugh, “I have to give you some shit. I can’t help it.”

  His face get serious. “That's not how I want it to be with you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Pretty much all the sex I've had, one of us ha
s been drunk, usually both of us. Even Peyton, like I probably shouldn't tell you this, but she never really wanted to. She felt guilty or something, so pretty much she had to get drunk to want me.” He's lazily playing with a strand of my hair. “When we do it, like for the first time, whenever that is, I wanna do it right. Like romantic. Not sloppy and drunk.”

  “Dawson.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I wanted you to take off my bikini in the bedroom, and I hadn't had a single drink.” (Hot.)

  He stares at me for a couple beats. Kisses me. Is practically laying on top of me kissing me. And it’s a different kind of kiss than his usually sweet romantic kisses. This is an I want you now kiss, and it takes my breath away.

  Cold water suddenly splashes all over Dawson’s back and hits my arms. He goes, “Ahhh,” and jumps up.

  Riley is standing there with a sand bucket in his hand, grinning. “Jeeze Dawes, you’re gonna get us fined for indecency. Besides, this girl needs to show us her surfing skills. The waves have picked up some. Dawson gets up, chases Riley down the beach and tackles him, while I take off my necklace and my wedges.

  “Wish me luck,” I tell Dawson, as I jog by him with a surf board.

  Riley and Ace grabs boards and paddle out with me. Riley sees a decent wave come in, it’s small, I mean there won't be a curl or tube to ride through, but it’s big enough to ride back to shore. He paddles out, stands up, goes about twenty feet. Crashes.

  Ace takes the next one, doesn't even get up all the way standing before he bites it.

  I wait out three more waves, there's a bigger one building. I catch it, ride it easily, carving back and forth through the water, and take it all the way until the board glides up on the beach.

  Dawson grabs me, kisses me, and says, “That was amazing.”

  “That wave was like the bunny hills you learn to snow ski on.”

  “It knocked my brother down.”

  “Yeah, well his foot placement is all wrong, and he's leaning too far forward.”

  “Don't tell him that, I like to see him crash and burn. I have some great videos.”