Distraction (Westbrook Series Book 1)
Read Distraction (Westbrook Series Book 1) Online
Authors: Laura Clark
Distraction
by Laura Clark
Distraction
Copyright
©
2015 by Laura Clark
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/ use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Edition 2 - September 2015
For my Mother-In-Law (and author) Patricia Clark
Your love for writing is infectious; your accomplishments are inspiring, and your advice throughout this process has been invaluable. Thank you for giving me the courage to pursue my greatest passion.
Chapter One: The Magic of a Dress
Chapter Two: High School Boys Are Intimidating Enough
Chapter Three: Did I Just Admit He is Gorgeous?
Chapter Five: Knock Me On The Floor
Chapter Seven: Don't Call Me Lil Sis
Chapter Eight: The Never-Ending Brunch
Chapter Nine: Stained-Glass Window Daydream
Chapter Ten: The Perfect Shade of Bad
Chapter Eleven: A Scooby Doo Ending
Chapter Twelve: My Name is Harry
Chapter Thirteen: Meet Me in the Coat Closet
Chapter Fourteen: This is Not a Date
Chapter Fifteen: Out of the Dead Zone
Chapter Sixteen: What Kind of Name is That, Anyway?
Chapter Seventeen: Like It or Not, Here I Am
Chapter Eighteen: I'm Just So, So Sorry
Chapter Nineteen: Man, Does He Look Good in White
Chapter Twenty: Does This Mean I Get a Rose?
Chapter Twenty-One: What is With the Two of You?
Chapter Twenty-Two: He Called Me Jailbait
Chapter Twenty-Three: Was . . . as in Past Tense?
Chapter Twenty-Four: We Were Summer
Chapter Twenty-Five: Can't Blame the Girl for Looking
Chapter Twenty-Six: Do You Really Want to Win Like That?
Chapter Twenty-Seven: I Need a Distraction From My Distraction
The sound of the music is echoing between the narrow confines of the metal walls, reminding me that I can't hide out in here forever. I tend to do this in social situations. I find an obscure location where I can park myself, and get lost in an onslaught of vivid self-deprecating thoughts.
You'd think by now that I would have ditched this routine. It's not like it helps calm my nerves in any way, shape, or form. It only heightens the fear that is coursing through me, making it that much more difficult to pull myself away, and face the truth.
I catch a glimpse of bright coral passing between the open cracks. With my forehead pressed up against the cool metal, I peer through the sliver of an opening. My eyes scan the length of the long train of coral satin that is gathered in a small pile on the floor behind a petite, very tan, blonde girl, who is busy swiping lip-gloss across her full lips. She briefly touches her hair, which is pulled up into an intricate bun on top of her head. Her lips curl into a big smile, revealing a perfect set of white teeth. She seems satisfied with her appearance.
"Can I borrow some of your lip-gloss?"
Another coral-draped beauty emerges next to the blonde, peering at her own reflection in the large mirror. Her dress is slightly different. The hem is much shorter, revealing a set of long, perfectly shaped, tan legs.
The blonde hands the brunette a coral tube, and turns away from the mirror to face her friend. "He's here you know," she says casually.
The dark-haired girl smiles before swiping her lips with the gloss. "I know," she replies.
"He hasn't even looked my way, though," the blonde adds with a hint of frustration.
"Do you think he recognizes you?"
"It has been a while. I don't know."
"You should ask him to dance."
"He seems a little distracted."
"What do you mean?"
The blonde closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath. "I don't know. Maybe it's nothing. I just could have sworn he was staring at some other girl."
"Well, he does have a reputation . . . ."
"I'm such an idiot. What was I thinking? Sleeping with him before we had the DTR talk."
"You're not an idiot, Valerie," the dark haired girl protests.
I'm starting to feel bad about listening in on this conversation.
Surely, they would not be talking so freely if they knew I was here
.
"I should have made him wait."
"Do you really think it would have made a difference? Sam is who he is. You know?"
Sam
? They couldn't be talking about
my
Sam.
No way
. Sam is a very common name.
"Humph." Valerie folds her arms across her chest as her face scrunches into a petulant pout. "Well, I sure hope I don't run into that girl he's been ogling all night. I might just have to pull on her kinky, dark hair until she trips and falls."
An obnoxious giggle escapes from the dark-haired girl's lips. "Come on, Val. That girl has nothing on you. Do you realize how many hot, available men are out there right now? Get your booty out there so you can make Sam remember why he's an idiot for dissing you." The brunette unfolds her friend's arms carefully, and pulls her towards the door. For a brief moment, the music gets louder.
My mind begins racing as my heartbeat increases. The pounding against my chest drowns out all other sounds. I know I can't stay in here the rest of the night. My parents will wonder where I am. My cousin will think I didn't show up for her wedding. My brother will make fun of me for being a recluse.
I take a deep breath to prepare myself. It would be so much easier if Avery were here. She just naturally blends into any social situation with ease and grace. She probably would have a circle of people surrounding her on the dance floor right now.
I still do not know why my best friend wastes her time with me. We are so very different. She is everything I wish I could be. I am simply a painfully shy and awkward ball of insecurities, who hides behind the cloak of her best friend's popularity.
What I wouldn't do for that cloak right now
. . . .
When I push the heavy wooden door open, a rush of cool air sneaks under my skirt, sending a shiver up my body.
You can do this, Laila
. I pull at the hem of my new dress, wondering if it is too short. I don't remember this much of my bare legs being exposed when I tried it on in the dressing room. My mom tried to convince me to wear panty hose tonight. When I asked Avery about it, she made a face that let me know that
panty hose are not okay
.
Thank God for Avery and her innate sense of style
.
"Excuse me?" an irritated voice fills my ears, grabbing my attention. It takes a moment before my eyes fully adjust to my dark surroundings.
"Could you maybe
not
block the entrance to the ladies room?"
My eyes grow wide when I realize there are a few girls waiting to get past me. "I'm so sorry," I say, only it comes out as a whisper. I step back so the girls can access the restroom door.
With my back pressed up against the wall, I hold my breath, and wait for the scowling girls to pass. Like the two bridesmaids I saw earlier, these girls are gorgeous and confident. They walk with their shoulders back and their chins tilted up. They are not fretting over whether or not their dresses are too short because they know they look good. Avery probably would be besties with them, if she were here.
I peel myself away from the wall, and take another deep breath. I focus on pulling my own shoulders back, and force myself to keep my chin off of my chest. I try to mimic my best friend's confidence as I make my way toward the ballroom. While stretching my legs out into long, graceful strides, I pretend I'm one of those girls. I repeatedly tell myself to be confident.
Just as I am beginning to feel more at ease with the situation, my eyes stumble upon
him
from across the room. His head swings around twice, as if he suddenly recognizes someone. This, of course, catches me off guard. My heel wobbles a little, causing me to lose my balance for a moment. I quickly recover, and fall back into step, pretending I didn't just stumble at the sight of my life-long secret crush.
I try to avert my attention, not wanting to see his reaction to my clumsiness. However, I can still
feel
him looking this way. I allow my eyes to peek at him again, only to find his attention fixed in this direction.
I turn around, sure that he must be looking at someone else. When all I see is the closed door behind me, I swallow hard. A wave of panic washes over me.
He must be staring at me
.
Why me
? I carefully inspect my dress to be sure I haven't spilled anything on myself. My eyes fall to my feet, looking for signs of toilet paper or gum. Nothing seems to be out of the ordinary.
Baffled, I force myself to continue on, but I can tell from my peripheral vision, his eyes have not budged. When I feel like I can't stand it any longer, I bite my lip, and bravely glance in his direction. His eyes slowly scan the length of me until they stop at my face to meet my gaze. Those gorgeous blue eyes are staring directly into mine, although it feels like he is looking into my soul.
I have always been drawn to his eyes, but I feel like I am seeing them for the first time tonight. They are alive, magnetic, and intense. His cheeks are actually flashing some pink as he smiles at me in the most sexy, yet adorable way. I am absolutely positive that I have never seen this particular smile before.
A flash of heat rushes to my face as the realization sets in. I have no doubt that my cheeks are a healthy shade of crimson by now.
Thank God the lights are dimmed
.
I once again swallow hard before forcing my lips to stretch into an uneasy smile. This whole fake confidence thing seems to be working, even though I feel completely transparent. My stomach drops when my view of him is obscured. I try to decipher what had just happened as I complete my short journey to our table.
Chapter One:
The Magic of a Dress
Do you ever look at a photo and think, "Now, that is a moment I would like to live in forever?" After all, that is what a photograph is, isn't it? It's proof that the moment indeed happened. When you look at it, you remember everything your brain and body allows you to recall. It's the absolute closest you will ever be to actually re-living the moment. It's how we travel through time and reflect back on our lives. I feel like I'm lost in my very own time machine as I gently run the pad of my thumb across the smooth surface . . . .
I can hear the lawn mower in the background humming as I feel the gentle breeze tickle my nose and face. It is one of those rare, perfect summer days. The birds are chirping almost in perfect harmony with the deep moan of the lawn mower and the warm, whispering breeze. I have my favorite outdoor blanket spread across the deck. It's the navy, olive, khaki, and white striped wool one. My best friend, Avery, gave it to me for my 16th birthday. She brought it back from her family vacation in Mexico.
I smile because I remember her telling me the story about how she haggled with an old man until he finally broke down. Apparently, she snagged such a good deal on it that he was "practically paying her just to take it off his hands." I smile and shake my head. No one can resist the will and charm of Avery Brookes. She has that effect on just about everyone who crosses her path.
Like most people, I am completely taken with her. She won me over the very first time we met. It was the first week of school in second grade. We were on the playground when she picked me to be on her kickball team, despite my obvious clumsiness. It was also when her family moved here after her grandfather passed away. We have been best friends ever since. I'm certainly not glad she lost her grandpa, but I can't help but be happy that it brought Avery and her family across the country to live here. I honestly cannot imagine my life without her.
So here I am, sprawled out on my blanket, staring at the never-ending sheet of blue. It's such a perfect day already, and I know it is only going to get better. I still cannot believe it.
He
will be here, at
my
house, sitting on
my
deck, breathing in the very same fresh-cut grass scent that I am right now. Suddenly, my stomach is exploding with a million frantic butterflies. My cheek muscles even begin to ache from smiling so much.
That's when I realize I have completely lost track of time, and I am far from looking presentable. I am sporting my favorite vintage white Busch Light t-shirt. It is my dad's old tee that he probably got as a freebie at a promotional event, back in the '80s when he was a kid. It's not exactly the coolest shirt, but I don't really care because it is tissue-soft, and they just don't make t-shirts like this anymore, not without them costing a fortune.
I look down at my ripped up cut-offs and shake my head. My shorts are so pathetic that the white pocket linings are even peeking out from under the frayed hem.
There is no way I'd let anyone see me like this
.
I have the perfect dress picked out for tonight. It's my,
I look fabulous even though I am not trying too hard, even though I really am trying hard,
dress
.
It is what I wore to my cousin's wedding when my brother's best friend, my life-long secret crush, noticed me for the first time.
It was the most exhilarating feeling to have this beautiful boy that I have crushed on my whole life finally notice me, and look at me like I was a woman instead of a little girl. It was empowering, to say the least. It was almost like being a super hero, and discovering my powers for the first time.
I caught him looking at me several times that night. He was quick to play it off and pretend like he was looking at something else, but I knew. Every glance just made me feel stronger and more sure of myself.
That night was one of the best nights of my life. I felt different, more confident. I even subjected everyone to my embarrassing lack of ability to move, or even look remotely cool on the dance floor, without a care in the world. This was all because Sam Woodson noticed me for the first time.
It's not like Sam hasn't seen me or been around me for the past 15 years he and Kyle have been friends. I guess he just recognized how mature I've become. Hopefully, he no longer sees me as Kyle's annoying little sister.
I realize that just because he noticed me that one time, it doesn't mean he's going to ask me out. After all, he is in college and
college boys simply don't date high school girls
. Still, it made me feel really good about myself. I know it is just a dress, but I want more than anything to feel that same way tonight.
After folding up my blanket and tossing it back into the closet, I charge up the stairs. I have a laundry list of things to do in order to get ready. I need to blow out my hair and flat iron it. It's always a process to make my stubborn, curly hair, silky-smooth. I think about how effortlessly perfect Avery's hair is. She steps out of the shower, and simply runs a brush through her golden locks. An hour later, it is glistening
Red Carpet Perfection.
That is with no product, no hair dryer, and no flat iron.
She thinks it's ridiculous for me to have hair envy. She swears that she would
die
to have my curly hair.
She is nuts.
My hair takes a lot of work. If I don't load it up with product, it frizzes out, and I end up looking like a '70s disco dancer with a big 'fro. Everyone with straight hair thinks that curly hair is some sort of rare blessing. Those of us who have it, know the truth. It's really just a life-long curse
. God help us all when it is humid.
Today, I am grateful for the mild, dry, summer heat.
One last glance in the mirror, and I think I am finally ready. I spray on my favorite, vanilla-scented Christian Dior perfume, and slip my feet into my gold-flecked linen wedges. I admire how my midnight-blue painted toenails compliment my dress, without looking too
matchy-matchy
, which Avery loves to remind me is a fashion
no-no
.
Avery is obsessed with fashion and personal style. Her aunt lives in New York and works for Michael Kors. She is apparently an Assistant Technical Designer. I don't know much about what that is exactly, but hearing Avery talk about it, you would think she was the assistant to the president. She sends Avery samples all the time, keeping her a little ahead of the curve when it comes to new trends. Twice a year, Avery even goes to New York because, according to her, "There is no better place to shop."
Upon one last review, I realize that my chest is bare, and that I have broken the
cardinal rule
in
Avery's Book of Style
:
Never leave without accessorizing.
I open the door to my jewelry armoire, and scan through my small collection of necklaces, in search of the perfect complement. I try to remember what I wore to the wedding. The more I think about it, I realize that I didn't even wear a necklace. Keeping my chest bare allowed for the dress to be the focus. It really doesn't need a big, loud, statement necklace. Plus, I am wearing my new, strapless Victoria's Secret push-up bra that Avery insisted I buy. I have to say it does make my modest chest swell in all the right places.
I glance at my clock for the tenth time, wondering where Avery is. She was supposed to come over early and get ready with me. People will start arriving soon. I check my iPhone and don't see any missed texts or calls. It's not unlike her to be running late. However, this seems to be a bit extreme, even for her.
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.