Ball Peen Hammer (44 page)

All of a sudden, the truth is slamming me upside the head. Having sex with Keane without any kind of commitment hasn’t made me feel like a man-eater the way I thought it would—it’s just made me crave something real with him... which is something he’s been clear from the beginning isn’t something he’s willing to give me.

Oh, God, I’m so screwed.

I swear I had the best of intentions when I suggested this “friends with benefits” arrangement to Keane, I really did. Honestly, I wasn’t trying to trick or change him. But that’s life for you—it’s full of surprises. How was I supposed to know I was gonna unburden my soul on the guy on Sunday night and tell him things I never tell anyone? Or that he’d respond to the unexpected baring of my soul by making love to me in a way I’ve never experienced with anyone—with the kind of breathtaking tenderness and passion and
beauty
I’d only ever dreamed of experiencing? Talk about a “quiet moment of magic.”

I rub my forehead, panic flooding me.

Oh man. This is
so
not good. Keane’s definitely not feeling what I am. Keane hasn’t told me that, of course, but it’s suddenly clear to me Sunday night had the opposite effect on him as it did on me. Yep, in retrospect, it’s so damned obvious the guy is freaking out. I guess I just didn’t want to believe it before now.

When I woke up on Monday morning and nuzzled into Keane, aching for a repeat performance of the prior night, he pulled away from me and leaped out of bed. “I can’t,” he said, his massive hard-on contradicting his words. “I’ve got a meeting with my new agent first thing this morning.”

“Wow,” I said. “That’s exciting.”

“Yeah,” Keane continued. “I’m gonna meet with him this morning about a bunch of auditions he’s got lined up for me, and then I’m gonna hit the gym for a marathon work-out sesh this afternoon.” He patted his rock-hard abs. “Gotta keep my moneymaker in top form.”

“Oh, sure, no worries,” I said. “I’ve got plenty to do. I’ve gotta buy my books for all my classes and then I’m attending this transfer-student orientation thing on campus. Plus, I really should start editing Dax’s video. It’s gonna be a big job.”

“Cool. So I’ll see you later, baby doll?” Keane said.

“Sure,” I replied, my eyes trained on his huge boner. “But, um, you’re
sure
you don’t have a little time to...?” I asked, motioning to his hard-on.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he replied. And that’s when Keane kissed the top of my head with a curt “See you later, sweet meat” and headed into the bathroom, his gorgeous ass teasing me as he went.

Okay
, I thought at the time,
so there’s not gonna be an immediate sequel to last night’s soul connection. No big whoop. This isn’t a fairy tale—it’s real life. And in real life, people have shit to do
.

So I didn’t sweat it.

Of course, not. Because I’m not insane. Shit happens.

But when everyone converged on our two apartments later that evening and our whole group went out to dinner, there was no mistaking Keane’s aloofness. He didn’t secretly hold my hand under the table or rub my back or rest his hand on my thigh, or do any of the little things I’ve grown accustomed (and addicted) to him doing. And yet, I shook it off, figuring we’d go back to my apartment and bone the fuck outta each other, Lionel Richie style.

But when we got back from dinner, Keane plopped himself onto Dax’s couch to watch
Inception
with the guys, despite the fact that I’d texted him five minutes earlier to say: “Hey, hot stuff, you ready to make me scream?”

But, again, I shook it off.
Keane just hasn’t seen my text
, I thought (which isn’t a crazy notion when talking about Keane Morgan). So I sat down next to Keane on the couch, snuggled close, and watched the damned movie, figuring we’d go back to my apartment
after
the movie and bone the fuck outta each other, Lionel Richie style.

But we didn’t.

Unfortunately, Dax and Keane fell asleep together on the couch like two puppies in a litter before the movie had even ended—and since Dax’s head was resting adorably on Keane’s shoulder as the two of them snoozed, I couldn’t figure out how to wake Keane without waking Dax, too. So I put a blanket over the two of them (after taking several photos of their adorableness) and went to bed alone.

But this morning, when I crept into Dax’s apartment intending to wake Keane up and motion for him to sneak into my room for a little bonin’ sesh to start the day off right, I was surprised to find him already dressed and sitting at the kitchen table, quietly eating a bowl of granola while Dax and the other guys slept soundly in the bedrooms.

“Hey,” I whispered, sitting down next to Keane at the table. “I was hoping you’d come find me this morning. Everything okay?”

“Everything’s great,” Keane said. “Sorry. I just needed a little quiet time to myself to get my head in the game before all my auditions today. It’s gonna be a big day.”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” I said, suddenly feeling stupid for not appreciating the stress Keane was feeling. “If you need me for anything, just lemme know.” I put my hand on his and squeezed, and his face softened.

“Thanks, Maddy,” Keane said, his eyes actually focusing on mine for what seemed like the first time since Sunday night. “You’re the best. You really are. You’re incredible.”

Relief flooded me
. I’ve been imagining the weirdness between us
, I thought.
Keane’s just been stressed out about his auditions. His distance hasn’t been about me at all.

“Will you let me know how everything goes today?” I asked, stroking his forearm. “I’m so excited. I want to hear every little detail.”

“Of course,” Keane replied, flashing me his dimples. But his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“I’ll be waiting by the phone all day,” I said. “So let me know how things are going the minute you have a chance, okay? I won’t be able to breathe until I hear from you—even if it’s just a brief text to say things went okay.”

“Sure thing,” he said. He got up from the table. “Bye, sweet thing.”

“Bye, sugar buns,” I replied, my heart palpitating wildly. “Knock ’em dead.”

“That’s always the plan, baby doll.”

He winked, kissed me on the cheek, and walked out of the apartment in full swagger-mode... and that was the last I’ve heard from him all frickin’ day.

I look up at the ceiling fan in my bedroom, flapping my lips together in exasperation. Where the hell is he? And why the hell hasn’t he texted me even once? Has it truly been
impossible
all day long to text me, even once, to say “First audition done! Went great!” or maybe “One down three to go! Going great!” I just don’t understand why he hasn’t texted me, even once.

I’m tempted to creep over to Dax’s place to see if Keane’s back, but I’ve already done that twice today and I don’t think having a restraining order slapped against my ass is the best way to kick off my new life in California.

“Shoot,” I say out loud. I grab my phone and tap out a quick text to Keane: “Was hoping to hear from you. Been sitting by the phone all day. Going to sleep now. Left the front door unlocked in case you wanna sneak into my room and maul me when you come back. Hint hint. If for some reason you don’t want to have amazing sex with a crazy, ravenous, savage beast tonight, at least come say hi and tell me about your auditions, okay? I’m dying to hear. I know they loved you—but I just can’t wait to hear about it from you.” I pause, my heart panging. “And if for some reason you’re too tired to come to my room at all,” I continue writing, my cheeks flushing, “then do me a favor and lock my front door so it doesn’t remain unlocked all night. (Hannah’s at Henn’s.) Hope to see you soon. I miss you. Hope you had a great day. XO M.” I attach a heart emoji to the end of my message and place my finger over the “send” button, reading and re-reading the message before pressing down. Damn. This text is coming off as pathetic and lonely and just plain desperate. Which is appropriate, actually, because I
am
pathetic and lonely and just plain desperate. Fuck it. I take a deep breath and press send.

Aw, shoot. The minute the text is gone, panic seizes me. Why’d I send that? Do I have no self-respect at all? That text was the equivalent of baking Keane a basketful of brownies at three in the morning! Shit!

I rub my eyes, a lump rising in my throat.

I’m clearly losing my mind. I’m pulling on my crazy-pants and zipping those bad boys right up.

Damn it!

I just wish I knew what Keane is thinking.

And where he is.

And if he’s okay.

I’m ninety-nine percent sure he’s perfectly healthy and off somewhere thinking up ways to tell me this thing between us is over, despite the fact that he hasn’t left Los Angeles yet, but what if I’m wrong? What if he’s hurt? Or what if, by some miracle, he’s feeling exactly the way I am, but he’s just too afraid to say it first?

I sigh.

No, I’m being naïve. Keane’s not feeling what I am. He’s been clear from the start he doesn’t want a relationship. To the contrary, he wants nothing but exactly what I agreed to give him: friendship and no-strings sex. Two things I’ve unfortunately just figured out don’t actually go together. At least not for me.

So there you go.

I’m about to get my heart broken. It’s as simple as that. I’m now officially Lana Del Rey.

With a heavy heart, I swipe into the videos on my phone and look at the short clip I took of Keane during our road trip, when he was fast asleep in the passenger seat of my car. I look at Keane’s perfectly symmetrical face. The little indentation in his chin. The long lashes shooting out of his closed eyelids. His stunningly beautiful lips. And I’m suddenly bone-certain I’ll never kiss those beautiful lips again, never feel them between my legs, giving me pleasure like I’ve never experienced before.

I sigh.

Even though I know I’m about to torture my aching heart, I swipe out of the video of Keane sleeping and click on the one of Keane telling his handsome and happy lads what to do in an argument with a woman (the second version where I’d instructed Keane to think the word “Maddy” every time he said “your girl” or “chick”).

“Hey guys,” Keane says in the video. “Today I’m gonna tell you what to do if you find yourself in an argument with a chick. It’s pretty simple actually: concede. Look, let’s face it, your girl’s a helluva lot smarter than you are, not to mention she’s the sweetest girl who ever lived, so you might as well save yourself a ton of time and energy and just admit when you’re being a dick. Just say, ‘Oops. I’m being a dick. Sorry.’ Otherwise, you’re gonna miss out on valuable time you could have spent hanging out with her and having a blast.” He winks. “You’re welcome.”

I exhale loudly in my quiet room and put my phone down, forcing down my emotions. Well, it was amazing while it lasted. At least I got to feel like the coolest, sexiest, most beautiful girl in the world for a few magical days of my life.

With a heavy sigh, I reach over to my nightstand, turn out the light, and try my damnedest to drift off to sleep, despite the aching of my heart.

Chapter 48

Keane

Tuesday, 10:48 p.m.

When I enter Dax’s apartment, he’s on the couch with Fish and Colin, smoking a joint and watching some Tom Hardy movie. I sit down and Fish wordlessly hands me the joint.

“Thanks,” I say. I suck on it and pass it to Colin.

“How’d your auditions go?” Dax asks.

“Pretty good, I think. But who knows?”

“So does that mean you’re gonna move down here or what?”

“I dunno. We’ll see.”

“Why not?” Dax says. “You’re on the verge of super-stardom, Peen Star, I can feel it in my bones. Take a flying leap, dude.”

“Meh, I’m not counting on anything, brah. A guy can’t feel disappointment if he has no expectations.”

“Yeah, but he can’t feel
excitement
that way, either.”

I shrug. “I never count on anything ’til it’s written in ink. Today went pretty well, I
think
, but everything’s still in the callback stage. I never count on anything ’til the money’s in the bank.”

“Since when? Peen, you’re the guy who buys a lottery ticket and starts planning the party celebrating your win before you’ve even put your ticket in your pocket.”

“Not anymore, I’m not.”

“Since when?”

“Since I was just about to get called up to the bigs and everything went to shit on me.” I rub my elbow absentmindedly.

Dax sighs.

“Nowadays I’m a new man, son. A machine. I count on nothing. Look forward to nothing. Expect nothing. That way, I don’t feel like shit when nothing happens.”

“Jesus, Keane, that’s a shitty way to live.”

“Works for me.”

“Okay, well, have fun with that. Sounds super awesome. Just know the couch is yours whenever you decide to stop being such a fucking downer and take a leap of faith.”

“Thanks.”

“Why’d you take so long getting back tonight? I thought you’d be home hours ago.”

I lean back onto the couch and spread my legs wide, suddenly feeling exhausted. “The last meeting of the day was with this producer for a reality show about male strippers,” I say. “They’re looking for six guys with ‘dazzling personalities and rock-hard abs.’”

“Oh,
hello
, Ball Peen Hammer,” Dax says.

“The producer seems to think so. So, yeah, things were going super well in the meeting and it was starting to get late, so she was like, ‘Hey, let’s grab some dinner and drinks and keep talking.’ So that’s where I’ve been for the past
three
fucking hours.” I rub my face, totally spent.

“Female producer?” Dax asks.

“Yeah.”

“You think she was hitting on you?”

“Oh, fuck yeah.”

“You take her up on it?”

“Of course not. I acted like I didn’t realize what she wanted. Just pretended to be a total dumbshit like I always do. Worked like a charm.”

“Good thinking,” Dax says. “Don’t wanna burn that bridge. You never know.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured,” I say.