Distraction (Westbrook Series Book 1)

by Laura Clark

  I keep glancing over at Sam. My heart is pounding hard against my chest, almost in perfect rhythm with the gunfire.

  "So, who is the guy?" Kyle asks casually, although there seems to be the slightest hint of disdain in his tone. I notice his cheeks are even a little pink. What is that about?

  "Trevor Maddox. I guess they hit it off last night at the party."

  I notice how Sam's lips turn up into a slight smile when I say this. Is he relieved that Trevor is interested in someone else? Was he really worried about Trevor after all? He kind of acted that way at breakfast, but then he seemed fine when we were all together earlier today.

  Kyle sighs like he is frustrated. "Yeah, they did seem kind of cozy last night." He says it like he is forcing the words out, but doesn't particularly like it. Even though he doesn't say anything else about it, I can tell it's still bothering him. His jovial game face that he sported before has been replaced with his I'm pissed at the world face.

  I can't tell if it's outright jealousy, or if he's just being like an over-protective big brother. That's when it dawns on me that Kyle and Avery are a little bit like Sam and me, or how we were, before the party. Is Kyle secretly looking at Avery differently? Does he see her as more than just his baby sister's BFF?

  I stare at the screen, watching their soldiers wander around what appears to be a never-ending maze of brick walls. They appear to be searching for something, always searching. In room after room, they roam. In and out, in and out, looking for answers or clues. It is kind of how I feel about Trevor. I keep digging, looking for clues. However, the more I look, the more lost I end up.

  Here we go again. My mind is racing, consumed with thoughts of Trevor, even with Sam only a few feet away. I wish I could sit on the couch right next to Sam. I know the second his big arms wrap around my body, I will be lost in him, and Trevor will once again become a fading shadow.

  Sam looks at me and discreetly nods to the staircase with his eyes. Where does he want me to go? My parents are home, which means we can't hang out on the main floor. Plus, isn't Kyle going to come looking for him if Sam disappears? The only place I can think to go to is my bedroom. I guess I will just hide out there until he finds a way to escape.

  As I ascend the stairs, I overhear Sam telling Kyle that he has to make a phone call. He said he will probably just go ahead and take a quick shower, too, so he is ready for their big party tonight. Kyle doesn't seem to question it, even though we are practically walking upstairs together. I thought Sam would continue following me all the way up to the second floor, but he stops off in the kitchen. No doubt, he is trying to keep a low profile.

  I leave my door slightly ajar and sit down on my bed. Time seems to be frozen as I wait. Seconds feel like minutes. Minutes feel like hours. Finally, I hear him walk up the stairs, but instead of slipping into my room, he closes another door, and the water starts running. I let out a frustrated sigh. Is he really taking another shower right now?

  I fall back onto my bed, flailing my arms to the side. My pillows bounce all around me, forming a little fort for me to hide in. I suddenly feel stupid for reading too much into the fact that he glanced at the staircase when he did. I really thought he wanted to spend some time with me. Did I just imagine the slight nod with his eyes? Boy, I really am terrible at this whole sneaking around thing.

  "Don't do that," Sam says in a low, teasing way, as he leans against my bedroom door, to close it behind him. I prop myself up onto my elbows, so I can get a better look. Sure enough, Sam is standing here in my room, but I still hear the water running in the bathroom. The frown on my face softens, when I finally I realize that the shower was just a cover. I have to admit, it is a pretty good one.

  "Don't do what?" I ask innocently.

  "Lay back on your bed like that. It makes me have bad thoughts, very bad thoughts," he says as a slow, sexy smile sneaks onto his face.

  My cheeks are literally on fire when I think about what kind of bad thoughts he is having. He makes his way over to my bed, and sits down next to me. I wonder if I should sit up, but I don't want to make it look like I'm scared of him. I mean, I know I'm not ready to take things to the next level, but I hope that I will be some day, and I certainly don't want him to be afraid to try. I feel like there is this delicate balance I have to maintain, so he doesn't slip back into the mode where he thinks of me as his best friend's baby sister.

  "Why Laila Patterson, I'd say you are having some bad thoughts of your own, by looks of it." He reaches over, lightly brushing my cheek with his fingers. "Yep. Your cheeks are definitely the perfect shade of bad," he says playfully, while wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

  I feel like every time he says the word bad, my whole body shudders. Before I can protest, his lips are covering mine. His beautiful, solid chest hovers over me, causing my clumsy elbows to slip until I fall flat on my back. I can feel more of his weight pressing against me, but I can tell he is being careful not to crush me.

  Lying together like this, with me under him, in my bed, is enough to make the room spin. Our kissing is almost rushed. I have this deep yearning, all the way from my stomach down into my thighs, that I can't ever remember feeling before. It's like I need him to be closer, even though his chest is practically cemented to mine.

  I bravely bend my knees and scoot my feet back further on my bed, while trying to gently pull him along with me. This is my silent invitation for him to lie all the way down. He hesitates for a moment. He is looking at me in a way that makes me wonder if he isn’t battling with himself. When I tug at him a second time, he doesn't waste any time to join me. Whatever he was thinking before is long gone. He gently nudges my legs apart with his knee, and moves his body so he is resting in between them, on top of me.

  His eyes are smoldering and needy. He looks at me with this unmistakable hunger, like he is a wolf eyeing his prey. When he starts kissing my neck with his tongue, I moan. I'm not embarrassed like I was last night. Now, I know that he likes hearing my reaction because he just intensifies the kissing. He brings his lips back to my mouth, and swirls his tongue around.

  I thought bringing his body closer to mine would help satisfy my craving to have him near, but it doesn't. The need only grows and I am unsure how to relieve it. I am experiencing so many new sensations right now that it's hard to understand all of them.

  He presses himself against me, making sure I know that he feels the same way. I've never felt a guy in this way before. It is both frightening and exhilarating because it reminds me just how inexperienced I am. I can still hear the water running in the bathroom, and it brings me back to reality. His shower would have certainly run cold by now.

  "The water. You need to turn off the water. You’re getting ready to set the world's record for the longest shower, like ever," I half whisper, breathlessly by his ear. This sends what appears to be a shiver through his body.

  "I'm going for the book," he says quickly, before returning his lips to mine. I can feel his lips pulling back into a smile even as he kisses me.

  "What book?" I ask in between breaths and kisses.

  "The Guinness Book of World Records," he says playfully, while placing short, gentle kisses on the corners of my lips.

  "That record could be days," I throw back.

  "I wish it were even longer," he says, before kissing me one more time on my forehead.

  "I'm pretty sure our hot water heater isn't big enough to support your marathon shower record," I add.

  "That's okay. I'm pretty sure that I will need a cold shower now, anyway." He slides his body off of mine, making me feel bare, like a turtle without its shell.

  "Laila Patterson, you have no idea what you do to me, do you?" he asks, pausing in the doorway.

  I have pretty good idea because I'm pretty sure I feel exactly the same way about him. He is just standing by my bedroom door with his hand on the doorknob, looking over his shoulder, while he shakes his head.

  "You are completely destroying me, lil sis."


  I don't think I will ever think about that nickname in quite the same way. He takes another deep breath, and swallows hard, before slipping out of my bedroom. I lay there in stunned silence, trying to catch my breath, while my heart clamors against my chest. This sensation is starting to become familiar. It's this paralyzed feeling that washes over me, leaving me dumbstruck, after Sam leaves me. It's like he has zapped me with a stun gun, and my muscles no longer work.

  When the feeling finally comes back into my legs, and I am sure they will not give out on me, I peel myself off of my bed to grab a robe. A hot bath sounds like the perfect start to my big night at home. Plus, I probably need it after our day outside and this latest make-out session.

  There is nothing quite like a bath. I welcome the tingling sensation of the bubbles. They massage my skin into submission when I dip my toes down into the tub. The water is both hot and soothing. It reminds me of the way the hot metal bench felt, pressed against my bare skin, earlier in the day.

  With the water only up to my ankles, I am starting to get impatient. I slide my body all the way down against the cool, smooth surface of the tub. My legs are now completely immersed. I have to take a deep breath as I get used to the scalding temperature. I continue taking deep breaths, and lazily watch the water rise until it covers each part of my body. Thankfully, Sam had enough sense not to waste the hot water.

  The white suds are piling up all around me like a light, warm blanket. My hair is pulled up into a messy bun, but as the water rises, I can feel the water wetting the edges of my hairline at the base of my neck. I love the way that feels for some strange reason. I turn off the water just before it starts spilling over the sidewall of the tub. I like a really full bath.

  I close my eyes, and inhale the sweet aroma of my favorite plumeria-scented body wash. It smells like a cross between my old Strawberry Shortcake doll and freshly-spun cotton candy. For now, all of my thoughts drift away, like a stray piece of seaweed being swept away from the shore into the ocean bliss. I feel calm and at peace. I don't move again until the water turns cool.

  As I wrap my big, fluffy robe around my body, I realize I am actually looking forward to a night all by myself. Don't get me wrong. Would I rather have a sequel make-out session with my sort-of boyfriend? Absolutely. Still, a night with the house all to myself could end up being a nice retreat. It so rarely happens.

  Chapter Eleven: A Scooby Doo Ending

  I touch up my makeup and make sure my hair looks decent enough. I guess there really is no hope for my hair, especially after taking that long, hot bath. The curls are sprung so tightly all the way around my head that I have no other choice but to embrace my natural curl tonight. I spray on some leave-in conditioner, hoping it will help tame the frizz, and call it a day.

  Why am I getting ready for a date at home with my book? Well, Sam and Kyle haven't left yet, and I want to be sure that I look good. No, I want to look downright hot. I want to look so good that Sam thinks about me the whole time he is at his stupid party with his college friends.

  I know I am being childish, but I can't help it. Kyle is a big player, and I suspect that Sam once was, too. I just hope that college really has changed him, and now he is more mature. I want him to be the one woman kind of mature, the type of guy that only wants to be with his sort-of high school girlfriend.

  Even saying this in my head, I know that I sound ridiculous. Why would a hot, single college guy like Sam be hung up on a high school girl, when beautiful college girls are everywhere? I'm really getting sick of referring to him as my sort-of boyfriend, even if it's only to myself. We need to have the talk that I am dreading. We need to define our relationship.

  We went out on our date. We have even progressed from kissing to full on making out in my bed, in only the matter of a day. I definitely do not want to go any further with him until I know he isn't doing this with anyone else.

  I spray myself with perfume and inspect my outfit. I am sporting a loose, flowing, slightly gauzy black tank top, where the edge kind of folds under at my hips, similar to the hem of a bubble skirt. It looks pretty good with my peacock-blue skinny jeans, and my black gladiator flat sandals. At first glance, my top looks simple and nice, but there is nothing about it that screams "Pull me back behind the bar again to kiss me."

  I turn around and look at the back, as I walk away from the mirror. A sweet, satisfied smile washes over my face because I know that the back should have the desired effect. It is split down the center, all the way from the top of my spine, where a tiny button holds the fabric together, down to the small of my back. The ends kind of twist together, forming that same bubble effect that the front has.

  It's a little deceiving because you don't notice the open slit in the back until I start moving around. Avery says it flashes just enough bare skin to drive any hot-blooded male crazy. I just hope it drives my hot-blooded male crazy enough that he comes home early from his party.

  I am wearing a special front-only bra that looks more like a sexy bodice than a traditional bra. It covers my entire chest, abdomen and waist, leaving a nice open V. So, my back appears completely bare. My mom bought it for me so I could wear one of Avery's old designer dresses to Homecoming last year. It gives you the illusion of being braless without actually having your girls flapping around recklessly.

  Plus, it is the old-school, boudoir kind of sexy, with the black lace and a pale pink underlay. I am wearing matching panties just for fun. Even though I plan on being the only one to see them tonight, wearing lingerie like this makes me feel more confident. I'm sure that college girls wear matching bra and panty sets like this all the time. Unfortunately, this is the only matching set I own.

  I fasten the clasp on my gunmetal Aztec necklace, and slip on some matching triangle stud earrings to complete the ensemble. Now that I am ready, I make my way downstairs. I’m going to pretend like I'm waiting around for my friends to pick me up for our fake big night out.

  There is no reason for me to reveal to Sam my dull Saturday night plans. I want him to think I am busy and having fun, without a care in the world. He doesn’t need to know that I’m really locked up in my house, all alone, reading, and obsessing over whether or not he is flirting with other girls at that party.

  Kyle is sprawled out on the couch with his feet kicked up onto the back of the sofa. His hair is wet, and he is wearing a nice, blue button-down with the sleeves rolled up, and a pair of khaki shorts. He looks very J-Crew, which means he is definitely out to impress the ladies tonight. I remember that Sam had mentioned some girl named Georgia last night. Will she be at the party? Hopefully, she doesn't bring any of her girlfriends with her. I sure would hate to lose Sam so quickly, even though I know that I don't really have him.

  Sam must be upstairs getting ready because I don't see him anywhere. I noticed the guest bedroom door was shut when I passed by on my way down. Is he getting all J-Crewed up like Kyle? I hope not.

  I suppose it doesn't really matter with him anyway. His hair could be wind-blown, his face unshaven for days; he could be wearing a dirty t-shirt with sweaty basketball shorts, and he'd still make the greater female population weak in the knees with one smile. No kidding, that is how completely and totally hot Sam is.

  I grab a bottle of Smirnoff Ice out of fridge, as if my drinking is a normal occurrence, and plop down onto the couch next to Kyle. He is watching an old rerun of Charles in Charge. That stupid theme song is playing and will probably be stuck in my head for the rest of the night.

  "What are you doing?" Kyle asks pointedly, as he nods towards my hand.

  "I figured I'd have one before I go out tonight. Mom and Dad are gone. Why do you even care?"

  "Laila, it is one thing to see you drinking at home, at a party, where I know you are safe, and I can keep my eye on you. But it's another for you to drink, and then go out with God knows who, to God knows where, and nobody is watching out for you. I don't like it."

  Kyle is going all big brother, overly protective on me. It's ki
nd of cute and comforting to know he still worries about me, but I pretend to be annoyed, and roll my eyes.

  "Please. You were doing way worse at my age. Plus, it's just one drink. I'm not even going to drink later tonight, and I'm not driving." I'm not lying. There is no reason to get tipsy when you are at home alone.

  "That may be true, but you are a girl. You have to be more careful than I did, Laila. Girls don't slip pills into guy's drinks so they can take advantage of them."

  Kyle looks at me in a way that reminds me of Dad. I have to blink a few times and shake my head. It is a little disconcerting to see your brother as your dad, especially when you are holding alcohol right in front of him.

  "I know a girl that really had that happened to her, and it totally messed her up. Shrug all you want, but date rape is serious."

  I roll my eyes, even though I know he is right. In fact, I think I know what girl he is talking about. She was in his high school graduating class. She had just transferred to our school in the middle of their senior year when it happened. The story I heard is that she went with her friends to a party from Eastbrook High, which is our school’s biggest rival. There was plenty of under-age drinking, and of course, there were no parents at this party. Things got out of hand really fast. Next thing she knew, she found herself passed out in a room with some guy she had just met.

  The next day, her friends drove her to a clinic to get checked out. They found traces of some sort of Rufie in her blood stream. She was never the same after that. Nobody could understand why she didn't charge the guy who raped her. She pretty much stayed to herself for the rest of the year. Her family ended up moving right after graduation. Hopefully she is okay now, but I wonder if you ever really get over something like that.