"She doesn't want to move."

"It'll all work itself out, Keatie. I promise."

I run my hand across his stomach, down his abs, and then down a bit further. "You're hard.”

"As much as I’d like to again, I'm saying no."

"You never say no."

"Keatie, last night was perfection. That's what I want you to remember. Also, ten minutes means ten minutes."

"Are we eating here? Do I have to be dressed?"

"Well, I know I’d enjoy you being naked at the breakfast table, but my mom might not appreciate it."

“I meant do you wear your pjs or do I need to put on a dress or something? What will your mom be wearing?"

"Oh, she'll be fully dressed and ready. She gets up early."

"Shit." I start to jump up. He pulls me back down into his chest. "I love you.” Then he smacks my butt and says, "You better hurry. Right now you’re kinda a mess."

I pout.

"A hot mess. I love it. Your mascara is smeared and your hair is a wreck and I made it that way."

I jump up, throw on his robe, sneak out the door, and tiptoe down the hall to the guest room I was supposed to sleep in. I open my door and safely get inside.

But sitting on my bed is Braxton. "You're a mess."

"Shut up." I run into the attached bathroom and see he's right.

Shit.

I brush the tangles out of my hair, rub in some balm, and brush it again. It looks surprisingly good. I grab some eye makeup remover pads and get the smudges out from underneath my eyes, wash my face quick, and sweep on some powder foundation.

I grab my Nars blush. It’s a pale pinky peach called orgasm, which makes me smile. I run my big fluffy brush across the top of the blush, add a little sweep, use the blush as eye shadow, curl my eyelashes, coat on some mascara, and brush my teeth.

Braxton is sitting on the bed watching me.

"Why are you in my room?"

"Well, I was going to tell you it’s time for breakfast."

He gives me Riley’s naughty grin.

“I know it’s time for breakfast, so you can go now."

"I lost track how many times you and Dawson hooked up last night. Really, I was pretty impressed. You were kinda loud. You always that loud?"

"I'm not discussing that with you."

I grab clean clothes, run in the bathroom, lock the door, and throw them on.

I open the door, dressed and ready in record time.

Braxton licks his lips. For a little kid, he's pretty sexy. He’s going to break a few hearts next year, for sure. "So you'd rather talk about it at breakfast in front of the family? That's cool with me. Mom will probably freak, but whatever."

I stop and glare at him. "You say one thing, make even one little innuendo, and next year, I will tell every girl at school that you suck in bed."

"I love to suck on things when I'm in bed."

“No girl will come near you."

He squints his eyes at me, sizing up my seriousness.

"Fine. But after breakfast, you're telling me what he was doing to you in detail. I wanna make a girl moan like that."

“You know, you haven't said a bad word once this morning."

He grins, pops off the bed, and says, “Come on, I'm starved."

As we're going down the stairs, he says, "You really gonna go out with that Aiden guy?"

"Were you listening?"

"Hell, yeah. Tried the glass up against the wall and everything, but it was best through the air vent. I had you on speakerphone too so my friends could hear. I had to stand on a chair for hours, but I didn't mind."

"Oh my gosh."

"Riley, Cam, and Dallas were in my room too. They were trying to figure out what he was doing to you based on the noises you made. I learned a lot. They made a drinking game out of it. Every time you moaned, they did a shot. They were all fucked up."

I follow Braxton into a huge sunny formal dining room. So glad I didn't come down in my pajamas. Everyone is sitting patiently waiting for us, steaming plates of breakfast foods in front of them.

Braxton pulls out a chair for me, I give him a surprised thanks and sit down.

"Did you sleep well, dear?" their mother asks me.

Riley and Cam both chuckle.

"Yes, thank you. This looks wonderful."

"This is the birthday boy's favorite breakfast,” his mom tells me, pointing at, well, everything. It’s a huge breakfast much like we ate in the Hamptons.

"He has good taste,” I say politely.

His mom puts candles in Riley's waffles and we sing “Happy Birthday.” Then the formal dining room becomes a feeding frenzy.

Braxton has four waffles. "I'm still growing,” he tells me.

The boys eat. And eat.

Then it's time for presents.

Riley opens a bunch of presents. Clothes, a new phone, a couple video games, and a tiny extreme sports video recorder from me.

When I think we’re all done, his dad slaps him on the back and hands him a small box. Riley gets the hugest smile ever on his face, opens the box, pulls out a set of keys, and goes rushing out of the dining room.

“Dawson, did he get a car? He already has one.”

“That car isn’t really his. Our parents just let him use it. If we get good grades and stay out of trouble, we get a cool car for our 17th birthday. Let’s go see what they got him.”

He leads me through the kitchen, a laundry room, and then out a side door.

Sitting in the little driveway is very flashy car. So different from Dawson’s badass, but subtle, BMW. Riley's present is a neon green Viper with big black stripes down the middle. It’s perfect for him.

There are a chorus of That's so sick, Tight, Hot-ass car. Riley hugs his parents, hops in the driver’s seat, and revs the motor.

Dallas slides up next to me and whispers, "I am so freaking hung over, and it’s all your fault. Hell, I might still be drunk.”

"Dallas, I don't know what I'm going to do."

"We heard him tell you to go out with Aiden."

“Aiden’s mad at me. He’s not going to ask me out.”

"I can see now why you're having a hard time deciding.”

"I'm mortified."

"No, you're not. That's why we love you. But seriously, I need to know what he was doing cuz I wanna make, well, every girl sound like that."

"You're gonna have to ask him what he did. I can’t even remember. And he’s never made me sound like that before.”

"Oh, we are. You're gonna go to talk to his mom while we have a conference. Even Cam was like, Damn."

Now, I’m sitting with his mom in the living room, knowing the boys are upstairs discussing my sex life.

She says to me, “I’ve been trying to figure out who you remind me of since we met. It just hit me while we were eating breakfast. You had your fork out and were gesturing with it when you talked. There’s a scene in one of Abby Johnston’s movies where she does the same thing.”

“Really? No one’s ever told me that,” I lie.

“Did you know that they’re doing a nationwide search to cast an Abby look-alike in the remake of her first film? They’re auditioning in New York soon. You should try out. Riley told us that you’re in the school play.”

“Oh, no. I, um, just do that for fun. For my college applications, you know. I don’t want to be an actor.”

“Oh, what do you want to be?”

“A doctor,” I lie.

“I’m a doctor,” she says, excitedly.

“How cool is that?”

She proceeds to tell me a whole bunch of stories about med school, her former medical practice, and Riley’s birth.

When she has exhausted that topic, she looks at her watch and says, “What are the boys doing up there? They looked sneaky."

"Braxton wants to tell them how he got grounded. Apparently there's a video?"

She rolls her eyes. “We found him at two in the morning filming two girls in their underwear—well, no, they had on teeny jean shorts, high heels, and bras. They were dancing and drinking champagne.”

Ohmigawd. Maybe videos do affect the youth of today. Because I'm pretty sure Braxton was trying to recreate our revenge video.

"And he had them drinking our Dom Pérignon! Do you know how expensive that stuff is?"

Same champagne. Shit. Pray his mother never sees my video. "Yeah, I've heard."

Really nice boobs.

4pm

I'm on the train ride to school. Dawson is sleeping with his head on my shoulder.

“What did you decide to do about Aiden?” Dallas asks me.

“On the train here, I read a Cosmo article. It said if you can’t decide between two boys that means you’re not ready to decide. I thought I wasn’t ready to decide. But now I think I am.”

“Really?”

“Yep. I’m going with the hot sex. You’re right. We’re in high school. We should be having fun. There’s no reason to be tied down and no reason to let your heart get involved. None of us know the future. Since you heard everything else, did you hear the part about how his dad says love grows?"

"Yeah."

"You think that's true?"

"Could be."

“Are you in love with Chelsea?”

"I don't know. I've never felt that instant thing you talk about, but I like her. She's fun and I'm looking forward to getting back to school and seeing her boobs. She has really nice boobs."

I head over to Aiden's room to work on our French homework for a little while before I have to go to rehearsal.

He hasn’t texted me all weekend, so I’m not even sure if he’s still meeting me.

I stand outside his door, my hand up, ready to knock.

As I put my hand on his door, it opens.

And it looks like someone just opened the gates of heaven.

Aiden gently pulls me into his room and gives me a blazing smile.

Then he kisses me.

A slow, perfect, knock-me-off-my-feet, slide-down-a-rainbow and then soar-through-the-sky kiss.

Seriously. It’s like he has some power to unlock whatever sappy love shit is buried in my brain.

"So, I did all my French homework myself. Made Annie study with me this weekend."

"Oh, so you don't need me anymore?"

I'm a little crushed by this.

No. I'm the-bug-you-crunched-under-your-shoe crushed. I feel like my carcass should be lying dead on his floor with a white line drawn around me.

He lazily blinks those emerald eyes at me. "No, silly. I just wanted to be able to talk during rehearsal and not have to study.”

"Oh. Can we dance then?” He looks sort of surprised, so I say, “We have time.”

He shuts his blinds, turns on the twinkle lights, and messes with his iPhone, choosing the sure thing song.

He takes two big steps across his room, pulls me into his arms, and sways with me. I put my cheek against his. Feel the fire. Think about the quote Grandma told me about love either warming your heart or burning your house down. Aiden feels like he has the power to do both. Especially now that he is whispering some of the lyrics to me about how he has faith in us.

And I long for that. That kind of love.

If Dawson and I broke up for good, it wouldn't burn my house down.

But am I willing to play with fire? And what will I do if I get burned?

I’m pretty sure I can already feel the flames of Hell tickling my toes.

Ha! I'm dancing in the flames.

Aiden kisses me. Gentle but hot kisses. Then he walks me back toward his bed and lies on top of me, running his tongue up my neck.

He moves against me. Thrilling me. But only kissing me.

I return his kisses with every bit of passion I possess. Somehow achieving this without using my tongue. Which is a new one on me.

I have one hand behind his neck and my other hand is across his butt, pulling him toward me.

He says, "Hell."

And I wonder if he’s in Hell too.

He pops up off the bed and pulls me up.

"Come on,” he says, as he drags me—practically kicking and screaming—out the door.

On the way to rehearsal, he says, “I’m sorry I kinda got mad the other night. I’d love for you to be my date for the banquet.”

“Okay,” I say happily.

Monday, October 31st

You really are a good prince.

6:30pm

“Well, this is the big scene. You ready?” Jake asks as we’re waiting to go on stage.

For this scene, I’ll be dressed in a ball gown. It’s the big night. The final night in the competition, where each prince has to announce who he loves.

The contestants take turns dancing with both princes.

Part of the contest involves the townspeople’s votes. Who they think each prince will ask.

The Bad Prince happily surprises everyone when he offers to go first.

The townspeople cheer.

They love him. Love how he’s manipulated the girls. Love his cocky, bad boy attitude. Love his tattooed back.

An overwhelming majority of them believe that he will offer his red rose to the Debutante.

The Good Prince, who has alienated most of the country and the contestants, doesn’t share the townspeople’s favor. They voted that no one will agree to marry him.

The Bad Prince walks across the stage. He looks handsome. Rich. Cultured. He waves away the microphone that the announcer tries to hand him and instead speaks directly to the contestants.

“This has been a tough choice. All of you will always have a special place in my heart. But one stands out like the brightest star in the sky.”