Page 67 of Unstable

NEVER LET IT BEsaid, again, that I don't think things all the way through. Because now, I do.

By the time I get out of the shower, my feet are pruned. That’s how long it took me to evaluate, flip it over, spin it, and then reevaluate the issue that is Keaton.

Currently in my kitchen. Supposedly armed with an acceptable justification for his rendezvous with Addison.

And after taking more time than needed getting dressed and drying my hair, I’ve settled on my final answer.

I’m not even going to give him a chance to spew some spun bullshit at me—because I no longer trust my good judgment when it comes to him. I can’t be objective when he penetrates straight into my core with those magnetic blue eyes. I can’t stop my body from responding in heavenly ways when he gives me that cocky smile of his. And my heart? It doesn’t listen when I specifically tell it not to listen to his suave words spoken in a spellbinding timbre.

Keaton.

The boy I pretended to hate. The pretense—my sister. The truth—I knew from day one I had to fight or I’d fall.

I slink into the kitchen as quietly as possible and start spouting out my forceful demand before he has a chance to spin around and cast his net that’s sure to capture me.

“Keaton, you have to go. I don’t want to discuss things. We can be friends, but that’s it. No more ‘baby,’ no more touching me, and most definitely no more kissing.”

He turns around slowly, a coy curve playing on his mouth, misplaced triumph shining in his bold stare. “Ah baby, it’s precious that you still think you call any shots over how I choose to love on you. Means I’m not being too bossy.”

I don’t roll my eyes. My jaw doesn’t drop…nothing. Unbelievable. He’s managed to shock me into a state of frozen non-reaction. While wearing a fucking chicken apron.

“Now have a seat, your plate’s ready.”

Are you kidding me? I am truly, completely dumbfounded. I’d probably still be standing in the same place if not for the knock at the door.

Saved by the distraction, I sprint to answer it.

“Gatlin, morning! Do you want to come in?” I more beg than ask, more scream to be overheard than talk.

“No, but thank you. I just stopped by to let you know I won’t be around today. Need to go take care of some things. If that’s okay?”

“Of course,” I smile in understanding despite inwardly cringing. “I can handle it. You go do what you need to. Are you sure you won’t have some breakfast first though?” I try once more.

“I’m good,” he lowers his voice, “unless you’re not?”

His worried expression asks everything else. Do I need his intervention or am I alright with Keaton being here? Of course he saw his truck outside.

I nod in reassurance and whisper. “He wants to explain. He’d never physically hurt me. He’d just as soon die first.”

“I never doubted that. So, are you gonna let him? Explain?”

“I’m almost positive Keaton has no idea what the word let means,” I stop shy of a snicker. “So yeah, he’ll be talking. Despite my speech to the contrary five minutes ago. Might as well listen I suppose.”

He chuckles, patting my shoulder. “Good for you. Sometimes, one sentence can change a lifetime.”

The man has a way with words. I should let him write the ending for me.

“I gotta go. Good luck, and I’ll see ya later.”

“Bye, Gatlin. Have a good day.” I wave and shut the door, taking my time to walk back to my awaiting “talk.”

I trudge to the table and sit across from him, my eyes on my food. I do notice he’s removed his manly apron though. “Looks great, thank you. That was Gatlin at the door. Wanted to tell me he has stuff to do today.”

“I know. Heard ya.” He takes a bite. After he swallows, he continues. “Works out perfect, already said I’d help you.”

“No need, I can do it.”

“Know that too. Can’t really think of anything you can’t do,” he winks. “Still gonna help ya. Eat, Henley.”

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