Keep Me Still (5 page)

O
ur
first date involves milkshakes, my favorite, so I’m smiling at him more than I normally do at anyone. Probably more than I’ve smiled in my entire life.

“How about I give you a hint and let you guess?” Landen asks as he lowers himself into our booth, carefully holding the frosty glass my shake is in, the silver cup with the extra, and a small, clear container of bright red maraschino cherries.

“Oh-kay,” I answer slowly, unsure as to what exactly he’s referring to. I’m still reeling from watching him buy dinner for Clyde. And talking to him like they were old friends. Respectful. Genuine.

Somehow, Landen O’Brien is becoming precious to me. I may have zero relationship experience but I’m pretty sure it’s not supposed to happen this fast.

On a napkin in the middle of the table, he’s using my extra cherries to make a letter. It’s an R.

“Ralph?” I guess.

He shakes his head so I keep at it.

“Remy, Rudolph, Rusty?”

His brow creases and he stares at me. “Seriously? How many guys do you know named Rudolph?”

I smile and continue. “Rick? Roger?”

He shakes his head and adds a Y.

“Ryan?” I pop a cherry into my mouth.

“Your prize, pretty lady,” he says, handing me my shake finally. Taking a hard swallow of the frozen chocolaty goodness, I close my eyes and barely stifle the shiver from the cold.

“Your name is really Ryan O’Brien?” God, parents are so weird sometimes. Not that I would really know, but why would they give him such a rhyme-y name?

“Ryan was my mom’s maiden name and she’s an only child. Her parents passed away right before I was born. I guess it was her way of making sure her family name was carried on in some way or something.”

Oh. Well. That makes perfect sense. “So why do you go by Landen?”

“Because my parents were smart enough to know a rhyming name might be grounds for an ass-kicking, or at least a few teasing jingles. And we move a lot. Figured it’d be ammunition for picking on the new kid.”

“I kind of like it. Sounds like a weatherman or something.”

Landen laughs, and the deep timbre combined with the icy cold of my shake have chillbumps prickling my skin.

“Well, I’m pretty shitty at science so a degree in meteorology is probably out.”

“Ah, that’s too bad. What a waste of a perfectly catchy name. Sportscaster maybe?”

He laughs again and I’m quickly becoming addicted to the sound. And to the companionship. It’s intense in a nerve-wrackingly electrified way and yet relaxing in a comfortable way I can’t understand. We barely know each other and yet…I don’t have time to finish my thought because Landen reaches over and swipes some whip cream from the corner of my mouth. His finger is so hot it leaves a burning trail in its wake.

“Sportscaster is a possibility,” he says quietly, and I’m too busy reeling from the memory of him touching my lips to say anything. “So, Layla Flaherty, what are your future career aspirations?”

“Um, Lawyer maybe, like a child advocate one,” I answer. “Or special education teacher or counselor of some sort.”

“Ah. Quite a list you got there. Any idea what college you’ll go to?”

“UGA is a possibility. It’s where my parents went and where my Aunt Kate graduated from law school. She teaches a night class there. But I’m also thinking of going somewhere as far from Hope Springs as possible. Like maybe California.”
Please don’t ask why.

“Nice. UGA is a good school, decent football and soccer teams.”

“You planning to play sports in college?” It seemed like a perfectly normal question, or at least I thought it did. And I wanted to get the focus off of me. But Landen’s eyes go dark and his mouth draws inward.

“Guess so, if I get a scholarship.”

He’s stopped meeting my gaze and I’m confused. “Soccer or football?” I ask, hoping not to upset him further.

“Soccer if it’s up to me. Football if you ask my dad.” His look gets even darker and I feel like I’ve hurt him somehow. Reaching across the table, I put my hand on his. He jolts upright and his eyes brighten.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” I say, holding his stare.

He exhales loudly and relaxes under my hand. “It’s not a big deal. I just want to play soccer somewhere, maybe even overseas. Maybe I’ll follow you to Cali.” He pauses to wink at me before continuing. “But the Colonel has dreams of West Point. Playing football and learning military strategy. Because that’s what it takes to be a man.” His voice goes all deep and loud at the end and I know he’s mocking his dad. He rolls his eyes but they’re still strained.

“There are worse things than having a dad who wants the best for you,” I say softly.

An emotion I don’t recognize flashes in his eyes and he raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything.
We both have secrets
, I think to myself.
Wonder if they’ll bind us together or tear us apart?

A
week after our date that might not have been a date, the morning announcements start off like normal. Lunch menu, volleyball, football, and soccer scores. I’m only paying attention to see if they mention the six goals Landen scored last night.

Watching him play is like watching a hurricane. He’s an unstoppable force of barely contained energy tearing down the field. And seeing him after, sweaty, breathing hard, eyes bright, and an adorably self-assured smile spreading across his face…I can barely think straight around him as it is, but after soccer games I feel like he might just grab me and run away caveman style. And the terrifying part is, I would probably let him. Happily.

Football games are a whole other story. He’s controlled, stiff, and almost unfeeling before, during, and after. He’s good, and he’s made some amazing field goals, but he’s like a robot version of himself. I asked once why he even bothered with football when it was so clear he loved soccer so much more and he looked so angry I wished I hadn’t brought it up.

“My dad is the reason I play football,” is all he said, and that was the end of that. Something is definitely up with him and his dad, but I figure if he wants to talk about it, he’ll tell me. It’s certainly not like I can hassle anyone for trying to keep secrets.

My name on the announcements tugs me out of my contemplation about Landen and his dad.

“What did they say?” I twist around to ask him.

“You’re supposed to report to the practice field after school,” he whispers.

“Why in God’s name would I have to—” but I don’t get to finish because Mr. Baxter nails me with a glare as he begins taking attendance.

The day seems to drag on as I contemplate why in the world I’d have to go to the practice field after school. I’ve never played a sport or been in the band or anything that would’ve necessitated my spending time on the practice field. The only reason I even know where to find it is because we run on the track around it during P.E.

Landen tells me after sixth period that he has to check out early but that he’ll be back in time for practice if I want to stay and catch a ride home with him.

After school I grab my stuff and head to the practice field where the soccer team is warming up. The football players are on the actual field, and I’m not sure which one Landen will be on first. He usually just gets a few kicking drills in and then heads over for soccer, but today I see him standing around with the guys on the practice field. As I’m looking around for anyone who might have needed me here for whatever reason, his eyes meet mine and my face begins to tingle as if I’ve been stung by something.

The shy smile teasing his lips tells me it’s him. Somehow he bribed someone to get it on the announcements. The whole soccer team turns and each of them holds up a sign. It takes me two tries to focus and read the message.

Layla Flaherty, will you go to Homecoming with me? Pretty please, with a cherry on top?

Landen’s the only one without a sign. He strolls past them, coming to a halt just in front of where I’m standing, blushing and dying.

“In case you need a little more incentive,” he says, holding out a Styrofoam cup I recognize from Our Place.

“Chocolate?” I ask.

“With extra cherries,” he adds, smirking because he’s so proud of himself. But I can see the wariness in his eyes. And once I take the shake from him, his hands seem at a loss for something to do.

I take a long swallow of my drink and it’s the best milkshake I’ve ever had. My face has gone completely numb and my knees are weak, but I’m enjoying watching him squirm. He’s an exceptionally confident guy, I’m pretty sure his ego can sweat it out a few more seconds.

“Layla?” he asks, tilting his head in that way that makes me want to kiss him in front of the whole soccer team.

My mouth curves into a wide grin and I nod slowly, because of course the answer is yes. And every cell in my body is alive with panic. Because I couldn’t have said no if I’d wanted to. And also, because I’m falling a little bit in love with Landen O’Brien.

T
he
sight of Layla in a deep purple strapless dress and black fuck-me heels makes my mouth go dry. And dammit, I do not want to take this girl to Homecoming. I don’t want to take her anyplace where other guys can see her.

She sashays down the stairs and I’m struck dumb by how different she looks from the first time I saw her. Her chin is tilted up and her shoulders are back like she knows she could make me come just by looking at me the right way. I don’t know where that girl went that hid behind her hair and tried to disappear into herself but I don’t exactly miss her. But now everyone’s going to see what I saw all along. And I have a seriously shitty feeling that the fight I braced myself for when I first saw her is coming after all.

“You look…” I don’t finish because there aren’t words for how she looks. Now I can see why that Shakespeare dude made up some of his own. Her smile is like a club to my kneecaps, and I’m grinning like an idiot.

“Let’s go outside,” Layla’s aunt demands, ushering us out the door so she can take enough pictures to wallpaper the entire house. She pulls Layla aside for a moment, and it looks like they’re arguing so I turn away. Before I have time to wonder what the deal is, she’s back to snapping away.

And I hope she’s not using zoom because some inappropriate things are happening in my black dress pants. And I’m the bravest son of a bitch alive when Layla leans close to me for each new pose. My fingers skim her bare shoulders, the zipper of her dress, and as I help her into my truck, I chance a hand on her backside just to see where she’ll draw the line. I must’ve done something right in a past life because she doesn’t. Though her cheeks are a little pinker than before when I join her in the cab of my truck.

“Bad news,” I say with a shake of my head. “School burned down. They’re holding the dance at a local hotel. I got us a room.”

For a split-second her eyebrows twitch and I can see the
is he serious
in them. But my grin gives it away and she slaps my arm.

“You’re an idiot,” she tells me with a laugh.

“Yeah, but I’m your idiot,” I say without thinking. Her potent peaches and warm honey scent has me intoxicated and unable to control myself or my mouth. To hell with it. It’s not like she doesn’t know. Like everyone doesn’t know.

“Are you?” Her eyes widen. Okay, maybe everyone doesn’t know.

“Layla, seriously? What, you think I skip school to buy milkshakes for just anybody?” I clear my throat because this is going way heavy sooner than I’d planned.

She’s biting her lip and it’s making it hard to concentrate on my driving.

“If you want to make it safely to the dance, please stop doing anything that draws attention to that perfect mouth of yours.” There, now it’s out there. If she didn’t know how I felt before, she sure as hell does now.

Her face is full-on blood-red now, and it turns me on even more knowing that I put that color there. But I am so wrong if I think for one second I’m in control. Layla scoots over, close enough that her side touches mine, and rests her head on my shoulder. She sighs into my ear and I have to stifle a shiver of my own.

“Just so you know,” she says, “I don’t
accept
milkshakes from just anybody.”

I force my throat to swallow as I kiss the top of her head. Yeah, I knew that. And the weight of what she’s really saying presses down on me. I’ll be her first everything. Date, boyfriend, kiss, and however far she’ll let me go. I don’t think I’ve ever been anyone’s first anything before. God, please don’t let me fuck it up.

Before I’ve even finished my silent plea, the Colonel’s face flashes in my mind. Of course I’ll fuck it up—that’s all I’m capable of.