Chapter Seven

Kendall

With the sun warming my back and the sparkling, chlorinated water of the swimming pool just a few feet away, I leaf through the pages of Cosmo, stopping on the article, “The Career Inside You—How to Find the Perfect Job for Your Personality.” Could it be that easy? Read a couple of pages and come to a realistic and more importantly, father-approved, occupation? (So far I’ve gotten zero response from the résumés I sent out.) I scan the bold type, searching for the magic words to help me discover what’s inside my head without breaking my dad’s heart. Not only am I following in his professional footsteps, I’m attending the same prestigious law school he did. More than one professor at the University of Chicago has my dad on speed dial. The dean knows stories about my father no one else does. And I’m already on the short list for Law School Musical, a group that puts on a law school parody every spring and was founded by a small group of students that included my father. It was video of my dad performing way back then that sparked my interest in theater. As a young child, I watched those annual performances over and over again, not exactly understanding the songs, but falling in love with the energy and spirit of the performers.

So it was no surprise, really, when I announced at six years old that I wanted to be an actress. TV, film, Broadway, I dreamed about doing all of it. When I was accepted to NYU, I knew I was that much closer to making my dreams a reality. Mason got accepted, too, into the film school, and aspired to be a director. We’d planned together, worked hard together, and were ready to take New York and our futures by storm. Together.

Until I ruined it.

That night changed my life forever. I gave up my dream of acting and stopped believing I could be anything I wanted to be. My so-called friends treated me like an outcast, talked about me behind my back, and looked at me with contempt. I’d wished so hard I could trade places with my boyfriend.

The magazine slips out of my hands at the thought. Wished, past tense. It took college, therapy, and an amazing friendship with Brit to help me like myself again. Turns out I’m not the only human being who’s made a horrible mistake, and knowing I wasn’t alone, that others got through the regret and shame and self-hatred, made living easier.

I reach over to grab the magazine then press up from my stomach so I’m sitting cross-legged on the lounge chair. A bead of sweat trickles down the middle of my chest, sliding underneath my bikini top. This afternoon, I’ll resume my job search.

Dixie wanders into the backyard in nothing but miniscule black bikini bottoms, dark sunglasses, and a shimmering coat of sunscreen. She carries a large clear plastic tumbler full of some icy beverage and a notebook with a pen tucked into the spiral. A red-and-white striped beach towel I recognize from Aunt Sally’s stash drapes her neck. When she catches me looking, she says, “What’s a matter, princess? Never seen tits before?”

I ignore her, as I should have done all along. Silence is our friend.

She, Amber, and I have reached an unspoken truce built on the understanding that we keep to ourselves. We each have our own bedroom and bath, Dixie taking the downstairs guest room rather than her usual room where a Jack and Jill bathroom links to Amber’s. Meals have been hit or miss with our own preferences for eating times. Three cars at our disposal mean we can come and go as we please. Without my aunt here to keep us connected, we’ve found it fairly easy to avoid one another in the six-thousand square foot space and vast city less than a mile down the road.

This afternoon, however, the only two lounge chairs in the backyard force Dixie and me into close proximity. I was here first, I remind myself. She can lug the free chair to the other side of the pool or skip the effort and go back inside the house.

Retreat’s not Dixie’s style, though. She settles herself on her stomach in the other chair. “You’re the only freak I know who keeps her top on while lying out alone in the backyard.”

“I happen to like tan lines and preserving the appearance of my skin on certain areas of my body. Especially these babies,” I say, cupping my boobs. I’m at least a full cup size up on Dixie and don’t mind rubbing it in.

“Bet that’s the most action they’ve gotten since you landed in Cali.”

I drop my arms. “Don’t burn your nipples,” I answer sarcastically.

“I won’t, but I appreciate the concern.”

At the mention of concern, my mind races to Vaughn. I’ve been the responsible one for four years—the friend who made breakfast for her hungover college roommates, cleared her day to help a classmate study, and stayed up all night to talk when boys behaved badly. It’s my comfort zone, being the one to take an interest in others. Not that I didn’t always like to take care of my friends. I did. But when you screw up so spectacularly, it becomes even more important. I want to give back a thousandfold, knowing it still will never make me even for my sin.

But last weekend, for the first time in forever, I felt deserving of a guy’s interest. I’d melted under Vaughn’s gentle touch and hard body when he draped the necklace around my neck. Craved more. I was relieved when he had to leave to catch his flight—but a small, long-dormant part of me was woken enough to register disappointment.

“What is with the grandma attire?” Dixie asks, interrupting my thoughts.

My white bikini is far from grandma gear. “It’s called a swimsuit. You should try one sometime.” Insult returned, I pick up my magazine and flip back to the article on jobs and personalities. I shove Vaughn out of my mind and focus on my goal for the summer: if I can figure out what I want to do and set a plan in motion, maybe I can avoid law school. The thought of three grueling years of academics for a career I don’t want makes my stomach roil. That my dad expects me to work for his firm afterward is gut-wrenching. Will more time away from my hometown make it easier to go back? Will pretending law makes me happy bleed into my cells enough for me to completely get over breaking the law and destroying the boy I loved?

“Saving the goods for Prince Charming?”

God, she never stops. I’m not saving anything for anybody, including a nonexistent Prince Charming, but the careless barb hits home anyway, because the goods have gone unused. I’m still a virgin by choice. Still feel promised to Mason, because when our lives irrevocably changed we were madly in love with each other.

“Since I’m blessed with the joy of your company this afternoon, I take it you’ve had no luck finding a bartending gig,” I say. “Hard to believe nobody’s fallen for your sparkling personality.”

She cuts me an annoyed—and dare I think impressed—glance. “Haven’t started looking yet. I put a little savings aside, so I can kick back for a minute. But don’t worry. I’m perfectly capable of standing on my own two feet. Something you’d know nothing about.”

“You have no clue what I’ve had to deal with,” I fire back, pissed that she thinks she knows what it’s like to walk in my shoes. “Stop thinking you’re the only one who knows life’s not fair.” Rather than wait for her to say anything else, I jump to my feet.

The swimming pool is freezing, but I’d rather deal with cold water than a cold sister. I’ve attempted a swim twice already and stepped down only to the fourth step, but third time’s the charm. This time, I walk over to the deep end. I stare into the tranquil blue water. Just jump, Kendall.

Just.

Jump.

Laughter—deep, masculine laughter—floats to my ears, and I look up. Beyond my aunt’s beautifully kept backyard and up to the patio next door, Vaughn and another guy have walked outside. My breath catches at the sight of him. Even from a distance he makes my skin heat, my heart stop, then start. A week without any contact has done nothing to diminish this unfamiliar tug toward him.

I watch him put his hand on the railing near their pool and turn his head in my direction. Our gazes collide. I think the guy next to him is looking at me, too, but I can’t say for sure, because I’m stuck on Vaughn. Tingles break out over my skin.

There’s something else I can feel. Or sense? It’s weird, and my heart beats faster. On three, Vaughn is silently saying without moving a muscle. Encouraging me to go for it. I quickly drop my gaze and shake off the weird sensation.

I pull in a deep breath and on the count of three, I dive into the water. I swim underneath, fanning my arms out in smooth, even strokes, using my legs in short, leisurely kicks. It’s blissfully calm, the weightless feeling, the quiet. I forget how chilly the water is and float the last few feet to the shallow end.

Breaking the surface, I take a deep breath. The sun is quick to warm my shoulders. I dip my head back to smooth my hair away from my face then step up the stairs out of the water. Dixie pays me no attention, so in an uncharacteristic move, I flip her the double bird. It feels good. And then it doesn’t. Because Vaughn claps, having caught my rude gesture, I’m guessing. I immediately drop my arms and, without looking in his direction, hurry back to my chair. I didn’t think he and his friend were still there, watching. Luckily, hedges block their view of where Dixie and I are situated. “I’m so embarrassed.” I palm my cheeks to hide the pinkness I’m sure is there.

“Why?” Dixie questions as she cranes her neck to see where the applause came from. “Because your bikini turns transparent in water?”

My bikini is fully lined. I know she’s trying to mess with me, and yet I can’t help but check myself.

She resumes scribbling in her notebook. “Who’s the hottie with Vaughn?”

“I don’t know.” I lift up the back of the lounge chair so I can sit against it, my legs straight out in front of me.

“Of course you don’t,” Dixie huffs in a tone that suggests my uselessness has reached a new benchmark. She doesn’t even bother looking up.

I contemplate going inside the house to hang out with Snowflake and Google help wanted ads, but I’m not about to let my sister run me off with her toxic attitude. As of this moment, I’m over letting her bother me. The warm SoCal sun is glowing, the air is citrus-fresh, and I’m free to be who and what I want for the rest of the summer.

Settling more comfortably into my chair, we sit in silence that lasts until I hear a heavy knock, the white picket side gate unlatching, and a guy call out, “Hey, mind if we join you?”

I don’t recognize the voice, but then I hear his. “It’s Vaughn,” he shouts, his voice deeper than the first, and a little hesitant, like it wasn’t his idea to show up here. “And my friend Dylan.”

Dixie and I look at each other. My eyes feel like they’re about to cannonball out of their sockets. She’s half naked, for God’s sake. Her eyes, on the other hand, are inscrutable behind dark glasses. I don’t hear the gate close, so I think the guys are waiting for the okay. “Do we mind?” I ask quietly.

“I don’t mind,” she says, sitting up and slinging the towel around her neck again. She’s covered. Barely.

“We come with libations,” Dylan shouts.

“Well come on back, then,” Dixie calls in return. I remind myself this is our backyard and I can relax. Vaughn might make me nervous, but I’m in control here.

“Sweet Jesus,” Dylan says, looking between Dixie and me. His eyes dart to Vaughn and I’m not sure what that’s about, but I don’t have time to ponder it, because then he looks back at Dixie and gives her a full-wattage smile that really is dazzling. She smiles back. It’s not the kind that says she’s impressed. More like she’s clocking his cocky game from a mile away.

“Hey,” Vaughn says to Dixie with a nod before he turns to look down at me. “Hi.”

“Hi,” I say softly.

“This is Dylan.” He gestures over his shoulder with his thumb. “Dylan, meet Kendall and Dixie.”

“Great to meet you both,” Dylan says. He’s holding a pitcher of what looks like margaritas in one hand and some clear plastic cups in the other. “Hold this for me?” he adds, deliberately handing the pitcher to Dixie.

She takes it, giving anyone who’s looking flashes of the twins. Vaughn’s not looking, and his lack of interest lifts my heart dangerously close to crush level. Dylan’s a different story. He grabs one of the nearby cushioned chairs, the iron feet scraping the brick while he gets comfortable next to her lounge chair.

“That spot taken?” Vaughn says. He nods right next to me, and my pulse gallops.

I’ve thought about him a lot this week. A. Lot. I followed him on Instagram for a glimpse into his model life—and grinned like a fool when he followed me back. Most recently, he posted a couple of pictures from his photo shoot in Miami. I posted one of me eating a hot dog from Pink’s Hot Dogs. (For the record, it wasn’t as good as Mo’s.) Our lives are completely different. His face is on display for millions to fall in love with. He hangs out with celebrities, travels, parties. I’m most comfortable in my pajamas, savor solitude, and sometimes feel like I carry the weight of the world on my shoulders. The very last thing I want is to be on people’s radar. Once upon a time I dreamed of being in the spotlight, but not anymore. Part of the reason I gave up on acting is because I value my privacy. Call me a coward, but I can’t handle having my mistakes splashed around for public consumption. It’s not that I don’t own them—I do—but they affect more people than just me, and I never forget that.

But right here, right now, it’s just us, and all Vaughn wants is a place to park his super-fine butt. Next to me. “Have a seat,” I say, patting the spot. He looks too good to be true in cargo shorts and a white threadbare T-shirt that’s half tucked in the front. His light brown hair is finger-combed back from his face. Stubble lines his angular jaw.

He sits, his gaze sliding over me from head to toe and back up until his eyes meet mine. “Thanks.”

“Ladies, my lemon margarita. There is nothing better on a warm day.” Dylan hands one to Dixie. Pours another and offers it to me.

“Oh, I don’t know. I can think of one or two things to do on a summer day that hit the spot better than a cold drink,” Dixie says, innuendo clearly lacing her words.

“No, thank you. I’m good,” I tell Dylan.

“I knew I liked you the second I laid eyes on you,” Dylan says to Dixie.

Dixie laughs. “Everyone likes me when they first lay eyes on me. But fair warning, I don’t play nice.”

Dylan arches a brow. “But you do play.” He turns his attention to Vaughn, moving his arm so the cup he offered me is now in front of his friend. “Here, bro.”

“Thanks,” he says. “But I’m good, too.”

“Suit yourself. Means more for us.” He raises the cup, taps it to Dixie’s, and then downs half the contents like it’s water. When he’s done, he flashes another smile. “What do you think?”

Dixie takes a small sip. “Not bad.”

I stifle a laugh. Dylan has no idea Dixie is an expert at making drinks. He leans over so he’s in her personal space. “I can make it better. Want me to show you how?”

“Oh, would you please? Maybe while we’re naked?” Dixie’s delivery is so over-the-top there’s no mistaking the mockery in her voice.

He scoots back and aims a grin at Vaughn. “Oh, I really like this one.”

“Of course you do,” she says. “You think you see ‘fuck me’ written on my forehead in invisible ink put there just for you.”

“You mean it’s not?” Dylan deadpans.

“How’s the house-sitting going?” Vaughn asks me with a shake of his head.

“I haven’t burned down the kitchen, so good.”

“Hold up,” Dylan says, eyeing the oatmeal raisin cookies on the table between me and Dixie. “Those are fresh baked?”

I pick up the plate. “Yep. Would you like one?”

“Hell, yeah.” He takes two. I offer them to Vaughn. He also takes two, and I wonder if these boys ever get anything homemade.

“Fuck me, these are good,” Dylan says, talking with his mouth full of cookie.

Vaughn nods and when he’s finished chewing says, “They’re fantastic. And I don’t really like raisins.”

I laugh. “Maybe I’ll make you some chocolate chip ones.”

“By ‘you,’ you mean ‘us,’ right?” Dylan says. The puppy dog look on his face makes it hard not to like him.

“No, I meant Vaughn,” I tease.

Dylan feigns a sad face then reaches for the plate. “In that case, I’ll polish these off now.”

Vaughn leans over, his arm brushing my shoulder, his mouth at my neck, and little shock waves race across my upper back. “Dylan grew up on reservations and takeout.”

“And you?” I whisper back.

“Pretty much the same.”

“I hate to break up this little foursome,” Dixie says with a glance at her cell, “but I need to head out.”

“Where you rushing off to, Dix?”

“Word of caution, Dyl, the last guy who called me Dix couldn’t use his for a week.”

Dylan leans back in his chair and with a straight face says, “Punish me, Dix.”

Dixie stands and rolls her eyes. I suck in my bottom lip to keep from laughing and peek at Vaughn. He’s staring at my mouth. So of course I look at his. His lips are full, the bottom lip a little more so, and I want to slide my tongue over it and then taste inside his mouth.

I quickly turn away. “Where are you going?” I blurt out. I need something else to focus on before I fall face first into my hot neighbor. I haven’t wanted to kiss anyone since Mason. Mason. I picture his handsome face, his smile. What does he look like now?

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’ve got a guitar lesson.” She gathers her towel against her chest with one hand while she holds her notebook in the other and slides her feet into a pair of black flip-flops.

“You any good?” Dylan asks, propping his elbow up on the top of his chair.

“I can hold my own.”

“She sings, too,” I offer. She’s got an amazing voice. Not that I’ve heard it in a while. “You ever performed at an open mic night, Dix?”

I inwardly smile as Dixie presses her lips together. See? It isn’t so nice being called a name you hate. I make a mental note to bake Dylan cookies ASAP.

“I have.”

“Tomorrow night. Seven o’clock. Come to The Cabana on Sunset and let’s see what you’ve got.”

“Dylan owns the club,” Vaughn supplies.

“I don’t take orders. Especially from bar owners.” Dixie twists around to go.

“I guess you’re not as talented as you think you are,” Dylan says.

Dixie turns on him. “Is that a challenge?”

“Let me be straight up with you. Yes.”

She studies Dylan with an intensity I have no idea how to read. “I’ll be there. And just so we’re clear it’s because I assume there’s a purse for the winner.”

“There is.”

“Excellent. Bye, Vaughn. It was nice to see you again.”

“You, too,” Vaughn says as Dixie turns and walks away.

“What? No good-bye for me?” Dylan calls, but Dixie doesn’t even pause, just waves over her shoulder. He tosses a grin at us. “Oh, yeah. She wants me.”

Vaughn and I laugh at the same time. Dylan picks up the margarita pitcher and cups, then stands. “Shall we continue this back at our house?” he says. “Pick up where we left off before we came over here.”

“Actually, I’m going to hang back for a few and talk to Kendall. I’ll catch up with you.”

“Kendall,” Dylan says, “it was a pleasure meeting you. Don’t be a stranger. We don’t bite.” Then he winks and adds, “Unless you’re into that kind of thing.”

I give him a closed-mouth smile and a polite, “Pleasure to meet you, too,” while praying he doesn’t see how out of my element his teasing makes me. Would Vaughn bite me? Where? And since when do I get a secret thrill from the prospect?

Vaughn turns so we’re looking squarely at each other. “Looks like you made another friend.”

“You think?”

“I do. I’ve known the guy a long time. He’s cocky as hell, but underneath all the arrogance, he’s one of the best people around.” The sound of the side gate banging shut echoes around the pool.

Aaand…I’m alone with Vaughn. I reach under the chair for my cover-up and slip it over my head. “What did you want to talk about?”

His lips part slightly as his gaze rakes over my body. My cover-up is completely see-through, and his blatant appreciation raises the temperature a thousand degrees. “Are you busy tomorrow night?”

“No.”

“Great. Let’s go to the club together.”

Like a date? The suggestion/invitation—whatever it is—sends quivers up my arm and puts fireflies in my stomach. I discreetly suck in a breath.

I haven’t felt this kind of thing since high school. My friends and I used to say the boys we crushed on in our small town didn’t put butterflies in our stomachs; they put fireflies because our faces would glow when we thought about them. I look down at my lap before I embarrass myself by glowing.

I can’t seem to stop this attraction to him, and if I’m reading his body language right, he’s attracted to me, too. I close my eyes for a second to focus on my pounding heart. My head can talk all it wants about accepting things that can’t be changed and moving forward, but the heart is a different organ. My heart doesn’t care about logic. It’s caged in a prison of its own making, stubbornly locked up. I can’t figure out how to set it free. And until I do, I shouldn’t be thinking about a date or a kiss with someone else.

This awareness between us may feel good, and deep down I may want to explore it more, but I can’t. I’m not ready. I’m out of my depth.

“Or not,” he says when I fail to give him an answer. “I just thought I’d be neighborly.”

Oh. Disappointment floods me. My own fault for taking too long to answer him.

I press my lips together, jump to my feet, and slide around to the back of the lounge chair. My fingers curl around the backrest to help steady me. “I, uh, need to head inside to do some reading.”

“Reading? What kind of reading?”

“Boring law school stuff,” slips out of my mouth before I can think about it.

He stands, his eyes traveling over my suddenly sensitive skin before meeting my gaze again. “You’re in law school?”

“Not yet. I’m starting this fall, but there’s some recommended summer reading.” That I can’t believe I’m even peeking at. Routine is hard to break, though. And so is the promise I made to my dad. Hot guy versus Law 101 should be a no-brainer, yet I’m doing what I do best. Keeping my distance. Keeping things safe and steady, under control.

“I admire your dedication.”

I shrug. “Thanks.”

“If you decide you want to go tomorrow night, let me know. I’ll drive you.”

“Oh, um, okay. Maybe.”

Vaughn takes a small step closer. “Look, if this is because of what happened the other night, you don’t need to worry. I don’t make a habit of drinking and driving. You’re safe with me.”

But I’m not. And not for the reasons he thinks. Reasons that scare me because they’re new and unexpected and I don’t know if I want to feel them.

“I do want to, but I’d rather meet you there,” I say firmly, gaining my composure back.

He once again studies me with an intensity that is unnerving. I’m so lost in his stare that I don’t notice he’s moved forward to trace his finger down my arm until I quiver. “Fair enough. But I’m going to prove you can trust me.” He pulls out his cell. “Can I at least have your number in case anything changes?” I give it to him without a thought then stand there for a good five minutes after he’s walked away to contemplate what he just said.

Vaughn wants a next time.

My caged heart rattles the bars.