15. Chapter 14
Chapter 14
Layne
The repercussions of being out and about and meeting Keaton’s family hit me hard the next day. It wasn’t uncommon for the symptoms to flare twenty-four to forty-eight hours after physical or mental exertion and last for days, weeks, or even months. PENE was one of the main symptoms of ME.
Muscles burning and limbs leaden as if I’d conquered Mount Everest the day before, I rolled out of bed. A quick stop in my very own bathroom, then I dragged myself downstairs into the kitchen. It was still early, and the house was quiet. Either Keaton was still asleep or already at work. I had yet to find out more about his schedule.
Yesterday he’d gone straight back to work after dropping me off post funeral. When I had gone to bed, he still hadn’t come home. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d said he worked from early till late.
Not having the energy to cook myself breakfast, I grabbed two slices of gluten-free bread and put them in the toaster. My legs started shaking, and I slid down along the wooden counter to the floor. Hopefully the symptoms wouldn’t last too long.
Movement in the yard caught my attention. I squinted, trying to make out the form hovering over the pool deck dimly lit by the illuminated water and increasing daylight.
Keaton. He was cranking out one-arm push-ups at a steady rhythm.
My heart squeezed as I counted along with his reps. When would I get to work out again? I missed it so much.
The toaster spit out my bread, causing me to flinch. I fought to my feet, found a plate in one of the cupboards, and tossed the slices on it. This and a cup of herbal tea had to do.
I turned to the kitchen island—and deflated. The stools didn’t have a backrest.
Groaning, I lowered myself to the hardwood floor again, leaning against the fridge. Didn’t have the strength to go to the dining room. My gaze traveled back out the window. Keaton had finished his push-ups and stood with his back to me, hands propped on his waist and head tilted skywards. This was the first time I saw him wearing something other than a suit. He looked like a different man in gym shorts and tank top, his hair tousled. There were people who exuded something rare that drew me in, and Keaton was one of them. Maybe it was the way he carried himself with an easy confidence, maybe his charm, maybe his way-too-handsome face. Whatever it was, I couldn’t stop drinking him in.
Rolling my eyes at myself, I chomped into the bread. Not superficial at all, Layne.
Keaton turned and came for the sliding door.
I started. What if he thought sitting on the floor was impolite? I scrambled to my feet, rushed to the island, and sat down just as the sliding door whooshed open.
“Morning.” He stepped inside, that easy smile of his adorning his face.
“Morning,” I answered. Popped a piece of bread in my mouth.
“Enjoying the view?”
I nearly choked on the gooey clump on my tongue. Had he seen me watching? I had deliberately only turned on the small light over the stove. Stupid floor-to-ceiling windows.
“You have a beautiful backyard,” I said around the bite. To hide my burning cheeks, I picked up the tea cup and brought it to my lips.
A cocky smirk took over Keaton’s face as he sauntered to the fridge. “I thought we already established that you find me attractive.”
“Hot!” I yanked the tea away, but it had already scorched my mouth. Eyes watering, I got up and shoved past Keaton to the sink, where I stuck my tongue under the cold stream. Ow, ow, ow.
One hand on the fridge handle, Keaton turned to me. The smuggest expression I’d ever seen on anyone spread across his features. “Hot, huh? Now we’re getting to the bottom of the truth.”
“I men se sea.” I blindly pointed at the tea cup somewhere behind my back.
“Oh yeah? Does the tea make you blush, too?”
Snorting, I turned off the water and straightened. “Not exactly, but I bet I can have a more sophisticated conversation with it than you.”
“There she goes again.” Keaton chuckled. His bicep bulged when he opened the fridge.
Stop staring, Layne. But the way his veins protruded under his tan skin, running the length of his muscular arms like steel wire . . .
I shook my head. Seriously?
“When do you usually go to work?” I asked, returning to my spot at the bar.
“Six thirty.” Keaton grabbed the milk and poured some into the blender. He tossed two scoops of protein powder in, followed by a banana from the fruit bowl, peel and all. Ew, did he eat raw eggs, too?
As soon as he put the lid on, I covered my ears. The shrill sound of the blender penetrated anyway, hurting like a sucker. Another symptom of ME—noise sensitivity. This illness had turned my body into a “touch me not” plant, and I loathed it.
“What about you?” Keaton asked, once he’d finally turned off the ruckus. He removed the tall cup, flipped it, and replaced the blade with a lid. “Got any plans?”
“My favorite activity of all times—lie in bed and stare into space.” I couldn’t help the sarcasm. “And of course your investment class tonight.”
My stomach tightened at the thought. The constant brain fog made it hard to stay focused, especially when the subject was complicated. Like finances. What if I couldn’t keep up with what Keaton tried to teach me?
“I’ll be here at eight.” Walking backward, blue eyes still locked onto me, he took a swig of his protein shake. “You need anything, you call me. All right?”
“Okay.”
He slipped a hand under his tank top and lifted the hem to wipe sweat from his face. My traitorous eyes dropped to his six-pack. Holy cow, the guy couldn’t have more than two percent body fat. Only hard workouts and a strict diet produced chiseled muscles like that. I mean, I’d seen that cologne commercial where he only wore jeans, but up close . . .
“You just gotta say the word, and all this”—he made a sweeping motion at his ripped torso—“is yours.”
The gesture made me gag more than the banana peel in his shake. Was this guy serious? “Does this actually work on women?”
“That recurring blush tells me it most definitely works on you.”
I was pretty sure my cheeks weren’t on fire for once. But yes, I couldn’t deny that a part of me liked what I saw. Not that I would have admitted it out loud. “I’m surprised your head fits through the door it’s so inflated.”
He grinned. “Oh, baby, that’s just healthy confidence. I know what I got to offer and won’t shy away from sharing if it gets me something in return.”
“Because everything in life is transactional.”
“Exactly.” He gave me a wink, then turned and exited the kitchen. A moment later, I heard a shower running. Bet he was singing “Sexy and I know it.”
After washing my plate, I schlepped myself back upstairs and laid on the bed for several minutes, praying for the onslaught of symptoms from simply eating breakfast to stop. Thank God I had five days of rest ahead of me before having to escort Keaton to another event. This one would be public.
Public. I shuddered.
I needed a better dress. Blake could help me with that.
My phone vibrated on the nightstand, her face lighting up the screen.
I picked up. “Can you read my—”
“Don’t look at your social media!”
I blinked. “What? Why?”
“Just don’t, okay?” Blake’s Aussie accent sounded thicker than normal, which usually happened when she was nervous.
“You know this makes me want to look at it all the more, right?”
A long sigh came through the line. “There are pictures of you and Keaton from yesterday, and . . . mean comments about your dress.”
I stared at the dark hardwood ceiling, mentally going through the people I’d met yesterday. Had there been someone with a camera?
“Promise me you won’t look at them, okay?” Blake snapped me out of my thoughts.
“Okay, I guess.” That didn’t change the fact that I burned to know what the comments said. “Listen, I need a dress. In five days.”
“What kind?”
“Something elegant that will blow people away.” I winced. That kind of dress would draw a lot of attention I didn’t want. “But not too expensive. I don’t want to exploit Keaton.”
“It’s on me. I have some fabric here and can start tonight.”
“Nu-uh, you can’t just—”
“No arguments. What style were you thinking?”
I sighed. “Er, I don’t know.” I didn’t even know what kind of styles existed. I hardly ever wore dresses. “Please no Grand Canyon V-cut. And nothing too tight.”
Blake chuckled. “All right. I’d say a fitted waist, and since we want it to be elegant, flowing from there.” I pictured her with a pen in hand, jotting down notes. She was absolutely brilliant when it came to sewing clothes. The university students attending her class got to learn from the best. “A side cut will give it an edginess. We don’t want it too light, but also not too heavy.”
No idea what she was talking about, but it sounded good to me.
“Are you familiar with sandwashed silk satin?”
“Uh, no. Doesn’t ring a bell.”
“The texture is . . . hard to explain. It moves and feels beautifully. Soft and velvety, but more like a rose petal.”
Huh, interesting. I knew zero about dresses or textiles, and most certainly had never worn anything that felt like a rose petal.
“Sound good or do you want something else?”
“It’s perfect.” I couldn’t wait to see it.
“For the color I was thinking cherry red.”
“That’s . . . daring.”
“It’ll be just right, trust me.”
If Blake said so, it had to be true. “Okay, yeah.”
She squealed. “It’s going to be so good! I’ll mail it express, so you’ll get it on time.”
Somewhere deep inside of me, excitement flourished. I wanted to feel beautiful for once in my life. Especially after those mean comments on social media. At least I figured they were mean if Blake told me not to look at them.
“It’ll blow Keaton away, trust me,” she said.
Yeah, I feared it would.