Distraction (Westbrook Series Book 1) Page 22

  "Fine by me," I mutter to myself, as I slam my iPad down onto my bed.

  "Who pissed you off?" His smooth voice sends calming waves through my tense body. I look up to see Sam's sparkling blue eyes. He has a mischievous grin is on his face, even though he is trying to hold it back.

  "Nobody important."

  Man, does he look good in white. I pop up from my bed, and tug at Sam's damp shirt to pull him closer to me. Water is still dripping down his face. His button-down is open, exposing his glistening chest. He looks around, as if Kyle might be standing right outside my bedroom. At this point, I just need his lips on mine, and I really don't care who sees us. Thankfully, Sam has enough sense to close and lock the door behind him before doing anything.

  He wraps his arms around my waist and lifts me up. Unsure exactly what to do, I awkwardly wrap my legs around his waist, but they keep sliding down because he is still wearing his wet board shorts. His hands move to cup my bottom, to hold me close against him. My clothes are getting wet, but I don't care. As always with Sam, my body is pulsing with the need to be closer to him.

  His lips are not gentle this time. He presses his mouth hard against mine, as he let's out a low, smooth groan that sends tingles down to my toes. My fingers are buried in his dripping-wet sandy waves, as I match his moves with my lips and tongue. He stumbles back toward my bed and spins us both around. He drops me so I am lying on my back.

  We are both breathing heavily, and looking at each other with hungry, greedy eyes. I grab my television remote and hit the power button. I have no idea what channel it is on right now. I just want the sound to cover up whatever noises we are making. Sam laughs softly as his eyebrows pop up.

  "Do you really think Kyle is going to believe you are voluntarily watching Paula Dean?" he whispers, in between laughs.

  I roll my eyes and pick the remote back up. I flip through the channels until I get to one featuring a reality show that I've never heard of. I turn the volume up, and drop the remote again.

  "Shut up and kiss me, would you?" I fire back at him in a bossy, teasing whisper.

  He crawls onto the bed with me. He holds himself above me, playfully taunting me by keeping just enough distance between us, to drive me crazy. I grab his shirt again, and ball it up into my fist so hard that he falls forward. His chest smashes against mine. I can tell he is worried he has hurt me, but the concern dissolves when I lightly bite his neck.

  "I like this feisty side of you, Lis. You are really turning me on," he groans into my ear, as he presses his body into mine.

  "That is the second time you've called me that."

  "What? Lis?" He pulls back, and looks at me with a glint in his eyes.

  "Yeah. Where did that come from?"

  "I don't know. I guess it just seems strange to keep calling you lil sis now that we are together."

  I smile, as I get all warm and fuzzy inside. I really like my new nickname. It's reassuring to know that he no longer sees me as Kyle's little sister. He flips onto his back, and pulls me up so I am straddling him again.

  I can feel a gush of warm liquid down below, and it's not from Sam's swimsuit. My underwear is suddenly so drenched through that I'm worried about them soaking through to my shorts, and even worse, onto him. This thought makes me pull away and roll over, out of sheer embarrassment. Why my body insists on torturing me like this is beyond me. I doubt other girls have this problem. My face must look like a jar of hot sauce right now, because that is exactly what it feels like.

  "Where did you go, my little hot one?" he whispers in my ears, trying to pull me back against him.

  "Just catching my breath." I bite my lip and close my eyes. I sit up, tucking my knees under my chin. "We are kind of moving a little fast. That's all."

  Sam's face quickly transforms to concern. He sits up and places his hand lightly on my back.

  "Shit, Laila. I'm sorry. I keep forgetting how much . . . younger you are. I'm probably scaring the crap out of you. I just get so caught up. You're so much sexier than you should be at your age. Damn, girl. I really need to keep it in check, but you are making it very difficult. I'm really, really sorry."

  He scoots down next to me on the edge of my bed. I can see his swim trunks are pulled tightly across his lap, revealing just how worked up he is, too. I try to pretend not to notice, but it's too late. Even worse, I'm pretty sure he caught me looking, too. I look away and close my eyes tightly. Could this get any more embarrassing? I blink hard, as if the extra force will somehow make my shame disappear.

  "Ohmygod." I mutter to myself, while burying my face into my hands.

  "Don't be embarrassed, Laila. It's okay. This is all very natural. The way our bodies respond to each other? There is no reason to hide it, or feel weird about it." He gently peels my hand away from my face, and holds it in his. He wants me to look at him, but I can't pry my eyelids open.

  He scoops me up, draping me across his lap, with his arm gently tucked under my thighs, just above my knees. His other hand is stroking my hair affectionately. My eyes are still closed, but I feel much calmer. He has a way of soothing and comforting me, in just the way he holds me. He makes me feel safe, even though I know that I am anything but safe in his arms.

  He is drawing tiny circles on my legs over and over again. "Laila, will you please talk to me? Will you tell me what you are thinking right now?" he asks softly, his tone almost desperate.

  "I'm just embarrassed. I don't really know what I'm doing. I mean, you've probably been with so many girls that are more experienced, and I haven't even had a boyfriend before you," I say quietly.

  "You've never had a boyfriend?" Sam looks truly shocked.

  I just shake my head, and shrug my shoulders, once again, wanting to crawl into a hole. Now, we can add that lovely fact to my long laundry list of embarrassing realizations for Sam, thanks to my big mouth.

  "I had no idea. So, you've never . . . I mean I didn't think you had, but I guess I just assumed you've at least . . . I don't know, made out before?" He just keeps looking at me, and shaking his head in disbelief, which only fuels the pot of humiliation that is burning inside of me. Why did I just admit that?

  "Was I your first kiss, Laila?" he asks with that same stunned look on his face.

  "No. I mean you were my first good kiss, but not my very first kiss."

  His eyes light up. The corners of his lips twitch happily, but he forces back his smile. "I'm your first good kiss, though?" he asks teasingly. He places small, soft kisses on each of my cheeks, and wraps his arms around my waist. "We'll slow it down a bit, okay? We can go at your pace. I don't want you to do anything you aren't ready to do, okay?"

  I nod. I am relieved to finally be breathing at a normal pace, but I'm still embarrassed. No matter how badly I want to prove to him that I'm not young, I really am.

  After holding me in his arms for what seems like days, Sam finally sneaks out of my room. We haven't heard Kyle looking for him, but it is bound to happen.

  I grab a towel and head to the bathroom to take my third shower of the day, hoping I can wash away the memory of that brief breakdown that was not supposed to happen in front of Sam.

  I'm a little giddy because I overheard Sam and Kyle talking earlier. From what I could make out from their muttered conversation, Kyle is taking Georgia out tonight. On a date. Alone. Meaning, Sam is completely free tonight, to be alone with me. That is, depending on what my parents are up to. Please have plans. Please, please, please go out somewhere. Be anywhere but here tonight.

  I really hope my parents aren't staying in. That would definitely hinder my plans to make up for my childish freak-out session earlier today. I want to prove to Sam that despite my lack of experience, we can have a normal relationship, where making out can progress naturally, without me getting scared.

  Unlike the first two, this shower is a quick one. I'm careful not to wet down my hair, after having spent so much time getting it straight earlier. Although, the steam still manages to sneak in there,
creating a few bumps that will need to be flat ironed again, at least I won't have to start from scratch.

  My legs are silky smooth, and I'm wearing my favorite apple-scented lotion. It makes me feel clean, which is exactly what I need right now. It's like a fresh start, my chance for a do-over. I throw my deep plum, floral maxi dress over my head, and clasp on a soft pink, stoned necklace, with plum and aqua accents. My mango nail polish doesn't quite go, but it's hardly the kind of thing Sam or any other guy would notice.

  By the time I hear the loud clanging of the garage door opener, signaling the arrival of at least one of my parents, I am ready. I'm overly anxious to get Kyle and my parents out of the house as quickly as possible. I dash downstairs to find out what my parents are up to tonight.

  My dad is struggling to balance a stack of mail, a small brown UPS package, and his ridiculously large Big Gulp drink, in his hands as he slips through the doorway.

  "Hey there. How is my little Lays doing?" My dad winks at me, as he sets everything down on the kitchen counter.

  I can't help but gawk at my father. Why does he all of a sudden look twenty years younger? To give you an idea of just how shocked I am by his new look, I manage to trip, and fall flat on my ass. This is all because my eyes are glued on him, instead of paying attention to where I am going.

  "Lays, are you okay?" He is holding out his hand to help me up. When he knows that I am not hurt, he chuckles a little. "There she goes again. My beautiful baby with two left feet."

  I roll my eyes, but can't even come up with a retort, because I am still trying to recognize this strange person standing before me. My mouth is still agape, as I pull myself up and try to straighten out my dress.

  Did someone give him a makeover? He is wearing a short-sleeved polo with navy, gold, and white horizontal stripes on it. There is a big bird emblem on it, which means it is most likely one of Kyle's Abercrombie or Hollister shirts. He also has on a pair of faded, and even slightly torn, way-too-hip-for-my-dad jeans, and a pair of navy washed canvas Topsiders with no socks. His dark hair is cut and styled perfectly. It has just enough gel to keep his short locks with exactly the right amount of messy to be hip.

  "So, Dad, um . . . why do you look like you just stepped out of Kyle's frat house?" I ask, trying my best to muffle my laughter.

  "What, you don't like my new look?"

  I can't tell if he is being sarcastic. "No, that is exactly the problem, Dad. I do like it and way too much."

  My dad's eyebrows relax, as a proud smile stretches across his face. "So what's wrong, then?" he asks, while sifting through the pile of mail.

  "Do I need to remind you that I'm only seventeen?" I ask, while plopping down in front of him on one of the barstools. "Aren't you a little too old to be dressing like Kyle?"

  His amused expression seems to suddenly vanish, which makes me think I may have overstepped a little. I thought we were joking around.

  "First of all, you are sixteen. Stop trying to grow up so damned fast. It's freaking me out, Lays. You're my baby girl." He shakes his head, and looks down to inspect his ensemble. "So, I really look that ridiculous, huh?" he asks with the most straightforward, honest-to-God, concerned facial expression.

  This is so not how my dad is normally. He's always the relaxed one. If he isn't cracking jokes, he's throwing out witty little one-liners, and making everyone laugh. He is the king of corn and cheese. Between his new look, and this serious reaction to my teasing, Dad does not seem like himself at all.

  "No. I didn't say that or mean anything by that. I was just wondering what brought it all on, is all." My foot is jammed so far down my throat right now, all hope for getting it out smoothly has pretty much dissolved.

  He sighs and rubs his temples. "You know, I told Riley this is ridiculous. Nobody is going to buy this look on a forty-three-year-old man. It's just not right. Who does she think I am? Ryan freaking Seacrest?" He shakes his head with frustration.

  Ryan Seacrest isn't really that young, but I am not about to tell my dad this.

  "Are you talking about your new boss, Dad?" I ask casually. He sighs again. He has a scowl on his face, which is not typical. He doesn't usually get stressed very easily.

  "I was strongly advised that we quote-un-quote adjust our appearance to coincide with the new company initiative."

  I look at him curiously. "And the new company initiative is to look like Ryan Seacrest?" I ask him.

  His face relaxes, and he chuckles lightly, which makes me feel a little better. Now, he looks more like himself.

  "No, Lays. They are just really pushing this younger, more entrepreneurial spirit and philosophy at the office. Our new Chairman, Mr. Parker, is completely enamored with creating buzz. The idea is to look younger, feel younger, and that is what is going to bring in all of these fresh ideas."

  "Is that bad?"

  "No, not really. It's just the way he is going about it that is all wrong. He thinks he knows what he's doing, but he's just so . . . . Look, it isn't really working so far. We're losing clients."

  "Because of how you look?"

  "No, not exactly. I probably wouldn't even care about any of this, if he'd worry as much about our clients as he does our physical appearances. This is what happens when the board hires a thirty-something with very little experience, to run a multi billion-dollar company. It's just asinine."

  Much to my relief, my dad's frustration seems to be with his new boss, Riley. She is very young, fresh-out-of-college young with no real world experience, as my dad has put it many times. He does not consider her two years as a publicist for One Direction, experience.

  However, that paired with her MBA, PHD, business-savvy instinct, and charming personality (and by this I mean ridiculously hot, movie-star good looks), she was a shoo-in for her position. I once overheard Dad telling Mom that Mr. Parker just wants to get into her pants.

  "Sorry, Dad. I know she has been driving you crazy." I look at him again, and cock my head to the side. "For what it's worth, you really do look great. I was just teasing before."

  "Thanks, kiddo." My dad forces himself to smile at me, but I can tell he is still feeling uneasy.

  "If those aren't Kyle's clothes, how did you . . . " I start to ask.

  "She actually sent me shopping with a stylist. Can you believe that? She hired a freaking stylist." He shakes his head again, but he is genuinely smiling, as if he is truly amused by his boss's antics.

  I laugh to myself, as I picture my dad shopping with Stacy and Clinton from What Not to Wear.

  "She said ‘As leaders, our image is almost more important to the company's success than what we contribute’. It's as if I am some sort of company celebrity now. ‘How are we going to build your Facebook profile in order to help make the company look current? What kind of image do we want you to have while you represent the company?’ She actually asked me those questions. It's all about marketing and the story we tell."

  I look at him curiously because he does work for an advertising agency. Isn't marketing what they are supposed to be doing?

  "I understand that in this day and age, those things are important, especially for an agency like ours, but I want to focus on real actions with real solutions. What are we going to actually do to increase profits, not what do we look like we're doing. Then, we can figure out how to put it in a nice, pretty little package, and tie a neat little bow around it."

  He grabs a chilled mug out of the freezer, and pours a cold Blue Moon into it. I shimmy over to the fridge, and grab the plastic container off the top shelf. I take an orange wedge out, and gingerly drop it into his glass for him. His eyes narrow questioningly.

  "I sliced these for Sam and Kyle earlier." Dad's frown relaxes a little. The easy-going warmth that I'm used to is back.

  "Thanks, Lays. Sorry to unload on you about all of this work stuff. It must be tragically boring for you to listen to."

  He takes a long, slow sip of his beer, as if he is savoring every last drop. He licks his lips, and le
ts out a deep sigh. "So, why don't you tell me how your summer is going? What exciting new things have you been up to?"

  My face immediately flushes, and he looks at me curiously. "Not much. I mean, we've only been out of school a couple of weeks."

  I pause and look at him, wondering how red my face really is. Did he even notice, or is he just genuinely curious about my answer? Of course he has noticed. It's not exactly something you can easily hide, Laila.

  "I really don't mind hearing about your work, Dad. I would much rather hear all about what is happening at your work versus Mom's."

  I figure I'd try to push the focus back on him, so he doesn't ask me any more questions. I feel bad enough for sneaking around with Sam. I really don't want to straight-up lie to him.

  "You and me both, kiddo. You take more after me. We don't speak numbers, do we?"

  I laugh. "Um, no. Kyle got that gene. Not me."

  My mom is an accountant. Kyle is always asking her questions about her job, but my eyes start glazing over every time they talk about it. I think Dad is a little better at hiding his disinterest, though. Speaking of Mom, I really need to find out what their plans are for tonight.

  "So, what are you and Mom doing tonight?" I ask casually.

  "Shoot. That reminds me. Your mother texted me this morning. The Maddoxes are coming over for a barbecue tomorrow. I need to pull the steaks out of the freezer."

  A sharp pain shoots straight down to the pit of my stomach. I am not ready to see Trevor so soon after his confession, and certainly not while Sam is here. It was awkward enough spending the day with the two of them last week at my school. How can I possibly hang out with both of them now that I know how Trevor really feels about me?

  "Dad, are you guys going out tonight?" I ask again.

  "Yes. Your mother and I have a date night planned tonight. You guys can order a pizza for dinner," he says, while placing a couple of Ziploc bags with frozen steaks into a bowl in the sink. He pulls a twenty out of his wallet, and hands it to me. "Here you go. I think there are some coupons in the mail bin."