Distraction (Westbrook Series Book 1) Read online

When I hear the doorbell ring, my stomach drops. I know it's probably not him, but it reminds me that he will be here soon. Just knowing that is enough to make my insides do crazy things.

  I can hear her flirtatious laughter echoing through the stairwell. She must be chatting up my dad. I sigh and roll my eyes. Avery has this really creepy crush on my dad. I know he is younger than most fathers, and is supposedly handsome for a dad, but it just isn't right for a 17-year-old girl to have any kind of crush on a 43-year-old man. As if that isn't enough, she also has a crush on my older brother, all of my brother's friends, and my history teacher.

  I kind of get the crush on Mr. Channing though, because he is seriously hot, and he's really young for a teacher. I have spent quite a bit of time myself, daydreaming during class about what it would be like to have him kiss me. When he is lecturing, I always find myself staring at his full lips. He has dangerously kissable lips.

  I imagine they would be very kissable, anyway. It's not like I have that much experience in this department. I've only kissed one boy, and let's just say it was an experience I'd rather forget. It was messy, slobbery, and entirely void of that so-called electricity that seems to be exchanged in every romantic comedy I've ever seen.

  I'm sure kissing Mr. Channing would be far better than my kiss with Ricky Schrater. Yeah, I know, and to answer your question, no. Ricky looks nothing like the '80s blond heartthrob, who my mother apparently had a major crush on when she was a kid. Their similarities end with his name, which isn’t even spelled the same way.

  I'm not even sure why they would hire a first-year teacher who looks like Mr. Channing, to teach high school juniors and seniors. I'm guessing he's no more than four or five years older than us. He does a pretty good job of keeping the star-crossed girls at bay, but you have to wonder if he has ever been tempted.

  Avery swears that she is going to be the first student to get his attention. I have my doubts, but if I could put money on one girl to catch his eye, it would definitely be Avery Brookes. She is seriously gorgeous, and it's definitely more like a womanly, Sports Illustrated swimsuit model type of hotness verses the cute, girl-next-door look that most girls our age have. Let's just say she could easily date any guy in our school. That is, if she actually wanted to. She won't date high-school boys, though. She says they are "too immature" and that she wants to be with a "real" man. She has never been with either, but she thinks that is what she wants.

  My door opens abruptly, pulling me out of my head. Avery struts over to my bed and drops her bright orange Michael Kors handbag, no doubt a new gift from her auntie. She dramatically falls back against my bed and sighs, sending throw pillows flying everywhere. Her cheeks are flushed and she seems to be out of breath. Unfortunately, I do not think it was from the rigorous climb up the stairs.

  "I seriously do not know how you live here."

  Avery always speaks dramatically and it is often in extremes.

  Playing the part perfectly, she shakes her head and sighs again. "I mean you are always surrounded by beautiful men. If I lived here, I would be so flustered all the time, I wouldn't know what to do with myself."

  I highly doubt that. I can't think of a single time where I've witnessed Avery being even remotely flustered around anyone. I, on the other hand, pretty much make it a regular habit when I am even within the same vicinity of the opposite sex.

  "First of all, gross. The only men I live with are my dad, and barely-even-here brother. On rare occasions, Kyle has a hot friend or two over, but that is a far cry from always being surrounded by beautiful men. Plus, it's not like his friends even notice me when they are here."

  "That's not true. I thought that Saaam finally noticed you at Jack and Taylor's wedding," she challenges me in her singsong voice while drawing out the letter "a" in his name just to tease me.

  "I didn't say that. He just, um . . . I don't know. He looked at me different. That's all."

  She is laughing and shaking her head. I'm not even sure why I am downplaying it so much. Deep down, I know that he was checking me out. For some reason, it really embarrasses me to admit it out loud to Avery, though.

  "That is not what I heard," she sings again with a knowing smile. "He. Wanted. You," she says in a clipped matter-of-fact way while pointing her finger at me. "He thinks you are a hottie and he should." She speaks with such finality as if there is no room to disagree. It makes you want to agree with her even if you don't.

  Suddenly popping up from my bed, she takes my hand and spins me around so I am facing the mirror again. "I mean, look at you Laila." She rests her chin on my shoulder and gazes into the mirror. "You are one smoking, hot piece of ass, and any guy with eyes can see that." She smacks me on my tushy causing me to jump forward. "Especially when you are dressed up like this. I love your dress, by the way. When did you get that?" she asks, while tugging at the hem.

  "I got it for the wedding and figured it would be okay for tonight. Do you like these gold wedges with it?" I ask while shifting my position so she can see my feet from various angles. Honestly, I'm just relieved for the change of subject.

  "They are perfect," she says approvingly. They must look good because Avery does not lie, especially when it comes to fashion.

  She glides a light coral-tinted lip-gloss across her lips, and rubs them together, making a pop sound. After carefully inspecting her makeup and hair, she sweeps some bronzing powder across her lightly-freckled cheeks and nose. She smiles, knowing that she has a perfect, sun-kissed glow now. As always, she is effortlessly stunning.

  "You look great, Aves."

  "Thanks, but this hair is . . . I don't even know what it is," she groans as she starts tugging at her golden locks.

  Her hair is swept up into a messy, yet put-together bun. A few loose strands have fallen onto her shoulders, framing her oval face perfectly. I've always wondered how some people manage to artfully master the messy bun look. It amazes me how they always seem to have the perfect ratio of mess to style. It always looks effortlessly cool, and yet they never appear sloppy or unkempt. Unfortunately, when I attempt to twist my hair up into a messy bun, I look like I have just stepped off of a motorcycle, and there is nothing even remotely stylish about it.

  "So, I didn't see Kyle downstairs . . . . I thought you said he was going to be home this weekend."

  I roll my eyes because I know how badly she is crushing on my brother.

  "I have no idea." I shrug before continuing. "Mom said he would be here, but maybe he changed his mind. He's probably not going to hang around here tonight, even if he does come home. I mean, now that he's in college, why would he want to hang out with a bunch of high school kids, right?"

  I don't know why I didn't think about it before, but I wonder if Kyle is bringing Sam home with him. Suddenly, my stomach drops. I am short of breath and my hands start sweating. What on earth is happening to me?

  "Please, Laila. He is only nineteen. I swear. You act like he's so much older than us. Cindy Dixon's boyfriend is in college and they started dating the summer before her junior year."

  "Yeah, but he probably cheats on her all the time. I mean, would you really want to have to worry about all of the college parties, and girls constantly throwing themselves at your boyfriend while he’s away?" I surprise myself when the words slip out of my mouth.

  I'm not really sure where all of this negativity is coming from. Actually, I do remember. I went to one of my brother's frat parties last fall when my parents and I visited him on campus. I saw exactly what kind of stuff goes down. Knowing my boyfriend is going to parties like that would just make me paranoid. No thank you.

  She shrugs and replies, "I'm not worried about it. My man will only have eyes for me, anyway. That is why I am saving myself for him. I am not going to waste my time on some hormone-crazed player, who doesn't appreciate his girlfriend."

  "You don't say." She is so busy talking that she misses my sarcasm completely.

  "Laila, that's what high school boys do. College men are so mu
ch more mature. They know what they want and aren't afraid to go after it," she says in that pointed way that only Avery can get away with.

  I agree with her that college boys aren't afraid to go after what they want. However, I'm not so sure what they want is really all that different from what the high school boys want. In fact, I remember the college guys I saw being the very same hormone-crazed players that Avery so badly wants to avoid. If you add the fact that they were usually drunk to the mix, they might even be worse than high school boys.

  "And you think my brother isn't one of those hormone-crazed players?" I ask sarcastically while rolling my eyes.

  "He just hasn't found the right woman yet. He keeps wasting all of his time with ditzy, brainless sorority girls that bore him. In high school, it was always cheerleaders." She rolls her eyes while I start laughing.

  "You are a cheerleader, Avery," I remind her.

  "Yeah, but I'm not the kind that he hooked up with." She makes a face, crinkling up her nose in disgust. "When Kyle realizes I've been here this whole time, he will have no choice but to change his ways and fall deeply and madly in love with me." She bats her eyelashes dramatically and says it with so much conviction that I would probably believe her if I didn't know my brother better.

  "So when do you think people will start showing up?" she asks, finally changing the subject.

  "Well, my parents' friends are probably already trickling in, but I don't expect anyone from our school to show up until later. Let's go downstairs and get some food before everyone arrives," I suggest.

  Chapter Two: High School Boys Are Intimidating Enough

  Both sets of our French doors are open, allowing the fresh breeze from the backyard to trickle in. It's hard to believe we've had record heat this entire week because today is damned near perfect. The deck looks amazing. It looks like a page right out of Better Homes and Gardens. Last week, Dad re-stained it to a beautiful mahogany color, which makes it look brand new. Plus, Mom has white lights draped across the pergola, which makes it feel like we are at an outdoor bistro. She has fresh, vibrant flowers in all of the planters and has added a couple of new hanging plants by the entrance.

  I can tell Mom has on her Jason Mraz Pandora radio station, but it sounds better than it normally does. I almost forgot that Dad had wired up new outdoor speakers last weekend in preparation for this party. I wonder if I will be able to change the music when my friends get here later.

  There is a huge copper bin full of ice, beer, wine coolers, and my favorite flavored Smirnoff Ice drinks on a small table on the deck. Avery and I immediately spot it. We share a look, knowing we will discreetly score some drinks after more people show up. I think my parents probably know that we drink. After all, they were in high school once and they are still pretty young. I think they get it, but I still do not think they would approve and certainly not if they knew it was at their house. What they don't know will not hurt them.

  My mom rushes by with a platter of something that smells a little bit like heaven. My stomach growls and I realize that in all my excitement, I completely forgot to eat. Drinking on an empty stomach is not a very good idea, especially not for someone who isn't used to it. I tug on Avery's arm and pull her along with me back inside the house.

  "Oh, hi girls. I didn't see you there. I'm just trying to do some last-minute prep. Laila, will you please take this outside and set it on the patio bar with the rest of the appetizers?" she asks while handing me a large plate with guacamole and colorful tortilla chips. My mouth starts to water because I absolutely love homemade guacamole.

  Mom and Avery are busy chatting about the decorations as I make my way back outside. There is a huge assortment of appetizers and snacks covering the outdoor bar on the patio that sits right off the deck. I shove a couple of loaded chips into my mouth and snag a mini stuffed tomato thingy that I'm pretty sure was taunting me. They are amazingly delicious. I wonder what is stuffed inside as I make my way back up the stairs and into the house.

  Avery sneaks up behind me whispering, "Find out if Kyle is coming," while elbowing me.

  I just look at her.

  "Please?" she mouths while smiling nervously. She is holding her palms together as if she is praying.

  I roll my eyes and sigh. "Fine, but you owe me."

  She grins proudly as if she just won a competition.

  "So, Mom, do you know when Kyle is going to be home or did he change his mind and stay at school this weekend?" I ask casually.

  Her eyes are suddenly large fish bowls. "Oh my goodness. That reminds me, he is coming and he's bringing Sam with him. I need you to run upstairs and make up the guest bedroom for him. I completely forgot about it and they are going to be here soon. Would you please do that for me, Laila?"

  I simply nod as I feel my throat closing in on me.

  "There should be clean sheets in the linen closet," she adds while rushing out of the kitchen to take care of something else that is no doubt, party-related.

  My stomach suddenly explodes into a million frenzied butterflies and they are doing some serious gymnastics in there. I'm not really sure why I am so nervous. It's not like it's the first time Sam has stayed with us. After all, our home is practically Sam's second home. Like Kyle, he stays here when he isn't at school.

  Sam used to live right down the street, but his parents moved to Portland, Oregon, when he and Kyle went away to college two years ago. They go to Northeastern University, which is two hours north of Brookville. My mom insists that Sam stay with us on breaks, weekend visits, or whenever he feels like visiting. She feels really bad that he can't just pop home on a regular basis the way Kyle can.

  My mom goes out of her way to make him feel welcome. Sam knows he can stay here anytime, even if Kyle isn't with him. He has never done that, though. I imagine it would be a little weird, although, he does make himself at home when he's here. He doesn't think twice about grabbing a soda out of the fridge or fixing himself a sandwich. He even does his laundry here. I should say that he tries to do his own laundry here, but my mom usually takes over before he can finish even one load. She insists that she is "already doing everyone else's laundry anyway" and "that she might as well throw his in there, too."

  Sam isn't one of those freeloader types, though. He is really grateful and is always looking for ways to repay my parents for their hospitality. I've seen him wash my parents’ cars. He runs countless errands for my mom and is always offering to help clean the house. As my mother would say, "His parents have raised him right."

  Why am I suddenly feeling all flustered? I guess it's because I have no idea how he's going to be around me. I haven't seen him since the wedding. Is he going to act differently now or will he even notice me? That's when it hits me. I am wearing the exact same dress that I wore to the wedding. I suddenly have the urge to go change my clothes.

  I take a deep breath and try to reason with myself. I just need to calm down and remember what this night is about. I've been waiting for an opportunity to see Devon Mitchell outside of school for a very long time. Plus, I am not even ready to date college boys even if Sam Woodson were to give me the time of day, which he won’t. I'm more than happy to stay in the little leagues for now. God knows that high school boys are intimidating enough.

  I spread a soft, plush blanket across the clean sheets and tuck it neatly under the queen-sized guest bed mattress. I imagine Sam sleeping in this bed and wonder what it would be like to be snuggled up against him in it. How would he hold me? What would his lips feel like if he kissed me? I bet they wouldn't feel rubbery or slimy the way Ricky's did. I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks and I start to feel a little dizzy. Luckily, I hear a car pull up and it breaks me out of my Sammy trance.

  I hurry back downstairs. "We're all set. Do you need help with anything else, Mom?"

  "No thanks, sweetie. Why don't you and Avery go on outside and enjoy yourselves? I think we've got everything under control." She smiles in that warm, motherly way that makes me fuzzy inside.r />
  Avery loops her arm around mine and drags me outside. There are already a few small clusters of people sprinkled across the deck, but it's mostly just our neighbors.

  We go down to the patio to sit by the pool and wait. Later, when our friends show up, it will most likely be where we all hang out anyway. The adults usually stay up on the deck. At least, that is how it was when my brother used to have his parties.

  This is my first attempt at hosting my own high-school party. I'd probably be more nervous about having one with my parents here if I hadn't seen Kyle do it so many times before. His parties were always a hit. For some reason, everyone thinks our parents are cool, and they are not bothered by their presence, even though most kids wouldn't be caught dead having a party with their own parents at home.

  Chapter Three: Did I Just Admit He is Gorgeous?

  As the evening wears on, I become increasingly anxious. The sun is fading and the lights up on the deck look like a strand of glowing pearls, twinkling against the darkening, purple sky. I didn't realize just how many of my parents’ friends were here until I came up to the deck to get some drinks.

  I weave my way in and out of the crowd, trying my best to remain invisible so I can snatch a couple of bottles of raspberry-flavored Smirnoff Ice drinks out of the bin, and make my way back downstairs unnoticed. So far, everyone is fully engaged in lively conversation. I nonchalantly slip two bottles under my cardigan, and grab a can of Pepsi to hold in plain sight.

  As I am sneaking my way back down the stairs, I spot Kyle fist bumping one of Dad's golf buddies in the kitchen. Suddenly, I feel like my knees are going to buckle. I scan the entire kitchen (at least what I can see of it) and the length of the deck. I don't see him anywhere. I suppose it is possible that Sam changed his mind and didn't end up coming home with Kyle. While the thought relieves me at first, I can't help but feel a little disappointed. Why are you disappointed? Remember what this night is all about, Laila. It has nothing to do with Sam.