Adoring Keaton: A Stand-Alone Friends-to-Lovers MM Romance (The Kennedy Boys Book 9) Read online

  DEDICATION

  For Gavin.

  Table of Contents

  DEDICATION

  NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  Prologue

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  EPILOGUE

  RESURRECTION SAMPLE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  BOOKS BY SIOBHAN DAVIS

  COPYRIGHT

  NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  While you do not need to have read the previous books in this series to enjoy Adoring Keaton, it is recommended you start at the beginning to have a greater understanding of the Kennedy Boys world and to avoid spoilers to the earlier books contained within this book. However, you can read it as a stand-alone romance if you prefer as it focuses on a brand-new couple with a HEA.

  This is a male-male romance, focusing on Keaton, the second of the Kennedy triplets to get his story. I understand some readers might not have read this genre before or it’s not a favorite genre to read, but if you are enjoying the series so far, I implore you to give this book a chance as it may pleasantly surprise you! Some of my beta readers hadn’t read MM romance before, and they loved it; many said Austen and Keaton are now their favorite Kennedy couple!

  This is a heartwarming, emotional romance with a sprinkling of angst and drama, a little humor, and some cameos from other characters you have come to know and love. Happy reading!

  Prologue

  Austen – Spring Semester. Sophomore Year

  I tune out Preston and Alan as they flirt up a storm with the fawning sorority girls surrounding them, scanning the packed basement room for my buddy Colton. A concoction of alcohol fumes, weed, and the overpowering scent of perfume and cologne poisons the air, and my nostrils twitch in aggravation. Beats pulse through the large wall-mounted speakers in the four corners of the room, and the party is in full swing with no signs of slowing down.

  I like to party as much as the next guy, but these regular Saturday night events are grating on my nerves. I understand the guys want to celebrate or commiserate after the game, but some Saturday nights, I just want to fall into bed and sleep into oblivion, but that’s impossible when I live at party central.

  At least there’s only six weeks until spring semester is over and the torture ends. I’m not rooming with my football buddies next year. My sanity depends upon it.

  “What about you, Austen?” a female asks in a sultry voice as a soft hand lands on my bare lower arm.

  “What about me?” I inquire, removing the busty redhead’s hand.

  “We’re moving the party upstairs.” She waggles her brows suggestively. “You coming?”

  “He’s taken, ladies,” Colton confirms, magically appearing at my side. I flash him a look of gratitude although I had it handled. “Me, on the other hand...” He puffs out his chest, dazzling them with his trademark blinding grin. “I’m as free as a bird and ready to get it on.”

  The girls swoon, practically melting into a puddle at his feet, and my lips tip up at the corners. The only person I know who gets away with that cheesy shit is Colton Barnes. As quarterback of the Cal Bears, there isn’t much he can’t do. He’s as revered as Drake around these parts.

  “Catch ya later, man.” Colton punches my upper arm, grinning devilishly as he swats the redhead on the ass before trailing her up the stairs.

  Grabbing a bottle of beer—my first of the night—I shove my way through the masses, avoiding the grabby hands and shouts directed at me, until I’m pushing through the basement door, out into the rear yard.

  The door closes behind me, muting the thump, thump of the music, and the quiet darkness is a balm to my sore ears and my tired eyes. A few guys and girls are huddled in lounge chairs, in a semicircle, at the far end of the yard, drinking and talking among themselves. Wanting to avoid them, I walk off in the opposite direction, toward the side of the house.

  “Hayes, my man. Come join us,” Nolan shouts, jerking his head at me.

  “Later, dude. I’m just getting some air.” I dismiss him with an effortless smile, and he drops the issue without hesitation. Ten of us on the team have lived here since freshman year, and they know when to back off and leave me to it.

  I’m the only one in the house in a “committed relationship.” The only one not banging a different girl every Saturday night.

  Drinking another swig of beer, I round the corner of the three-story house, enjoying the fact I can wander around in jeans and a tee. Although the weather is cooler at night, April in California is a vast improvement over April in Colorado. I don’t miss the snow or the rain, and I already know I won’t be returning to my hometown when I graduate from Berkeley in two years, even if the NFL doesn’t come calling.

  Tipping my head up, I stare at the starless night sky, wondering how much longer I can keep up pretenses.

  My sneakers meet resistance, and I thrust my arm out, slamming my hand against the side of the house, to stop myself from falling over the unexpected obstacle blocking my path. “What the fuck,” I mumble, as a strangled groan filters through the air. Regaining my balance, I crouch down over the dark lump at my feet.

  The long, lean body is curled into a ball, tucked into the side of the house, and if it wasn’t for the low-level moaning escaping his mouth, I might’ve assumed the dude was dead.

  “Hey, man. You okay?”

  He shifts, unfurling long jeans-clad legs, while one hand moves to his stomach, rubbing his belly. His shirt lifts a little, revealing toned, tan skin. I say nothing as he sits up, resting his back against the wall.

  It’s dark on this side of the house, but I can make out his features under the dim glow of the moon.

  Holy fuck. What the hell is the infamous Keaton Kennedy doing passed out on the side of my house?

  “What happened?” he asks, running a hand through his thick dark hair. His head pivots as he glances around, his brow puckering. “Where am I?”

  Alcoholic fumes roll off him in pungent waves, and I’d say it’s pretty obvious what happened.

  “You’re at the football house,” I explain. “I’m guessing you passed out as you were leaving.” It’s the only logical explanation as most guests enter and leave the party via the rear basement door.

  “Shit. That’s embarrassing.” He scrubs his hands down his face.

  “Happens to the
best of us.” I straighten up and offer him my hand. “And no one’s around but me.”

  He takes my hand, and I help him to his feet. He’s almost the same height as me, give or take an inch or two, so we’re nearly eye level. “Thanks, Austen.”

  “He knows who I am.” I smirk, cocking my head to one side.

  He slides his hand from mine, and I miss the warmth of his touch instantly. “That surprises you?” he inquires, looking genuinely curious.

  “Nah. That’s the point.” I’m sure he’s familiar with the concept, given how most students on campus know his name too. But he hasn’t asked me, and I’m not going to make him more uncomfortable. He just stares at me, and I think I’ve lost him. “You need help?”

  A slow scowl replaces the previously intrigued look on his face. “I’m good.” His words are slightly slurred, and he sways on his feet when he attempts to walk away.

  “I’m a judgment-free zone. No shame in asking for help if you need it.”

  “I’m fine,” he grits out, forcing a smile on his face. “Thanks for, eh, waking me up.”

  Shoving my hands in my pockets, I watch him stumble away, following him at a discreet distance, to ensure he’s safe.

  My brows pull together when he stops at a blacked-out Land Rover, parked at the curb outside our house, removing keys from his jeans pocket. The keys fall to the ground with a distinct clattering sound, and he curses, bending over, delectable ass up in the air, fingers searching the asphalt.

  I stride toward him, purposely not concealing my advance so I don’t freak the guy out. He stands, keys in hand again, but he doesn’t unlock the car door. Leaning back against it, he tilts his face up, closing his eyes. A low groan rumbles from his chest, as his hand moves to his stomach again. He rubs his hand back and forth across his toned abs, and it’s clear he’s not doing so hot. Keaton’s eyes pop wide at the sound of my approaching footfalls, and he stares at me as if I’m an apparition.

  “I’m sober. I can drive,” I offer, stopping a couple feet away from him. “You’re in no condition to get behind the wheel.”

  I expect him to argue, but he doesn’t. “I know.” He sighs, his tone sounding resigned. “Thanks, but I’ll just call an Uber.”

  “Then you’ll have to return to pick up your car tomorrow.” I flip my palm over for the keys. “Let me drive you home. I’ll Uber it back. Problem solved.”

  His mouth opens and closes rapidly, and I hold still as his gaze roams me from head to toe. I don’t need to remind him I’m not exactly a stranger. As wide receiver for the Bears, I’m as well known on campus as he is.

  Everyone knows who Keaton Kennedy is, because his arrival at Berkeley turned more than a few heads. His family is as famous as the Kardashians, and everyone knows who the notorious Kennedy boys are.

  Unless you’ve been living under a rock.

  Keaton drops the keys in my hand, never breaking eye contact. “Thanks.”

  “No sweat.”

  We climb into the car, and I crank up the air-conditioning when I get a good look at his face. He’s pale and sweating and on the verge of puking.

  “Where to?” I inquire, starting up the engine.

  He directs me to an apartment building a couple blocks from campus. I’ve walked past it several times, so I know where it is.

  Keaton leans his head against the window as I glide out onto the empty road, heading in a westerly direction. I cast quick glances at him as I drive one-handed, wondering what his story is.

  By all accounts, he keeps his head down and stays out of trouble. We share some classes, and I’ve noticed how focused he is. How he doesn’t like to draw attention. The guy’s a bit of an enigma, and I’d be lying if I said he didn’t intrigue me. But our paths have rarely crossed, and with my hectic schedule, my friend pool is limited to my football buddies and a couple of acquaintances from my freshman year.

  His phone pings in his jeans pocket, and he angles his hips so he can extract his cell. His muscular thighs fit snugly in his dark jeans, and from the way his tight shirt stretches across his firm chest, it’s clear he works out. He’s definitely broader and more ripped than freshman year. Trust me, I’ve noticed that too.

  “Shit,” he murmurs while scrolling through his phone.

  “Is everything okay?” I slow down as we reach an intersection.

  “My friends are worried,” he admits before hitting the dial button and bringing his cell to his ear. I listen to his one-sided conversation, not even pretending I’m not.

  “Seb. It’s me.” He wets his lips, and I try not to stare at his lush, full mouth. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened. Guess I passed out by the side of the house.” His bloodshot eyes latch on mine. “No. It’s cool. I’m, ah, in an Uber.” He cringes as the lie leaves his lips, and it’s adorably cute. I toss him a smile, letting him know I don’t give a rat’s ass what he tells his friends. “Okay. I’ll text you when I’m home. You too. Tell Kate and Mol I’m sorry for worrying them.”

  He hangs up, avoiding eye contact, resting his cell on his thigh.

  “You know,” I say, as I turn the corner toward his apartment building. “Most people would brag about Austen Hayes driving them home.”

  “I’m not most people,” he replies, staring out the window.

  “No. You’re not,” I readily agree.

  His head whips around, his startling blue eyes meeting mine. “What does that mean?”

  “Relax, man.” I drive down the ramp into the basement parking lot. “It wasn’t an insult. I like that you don’t give a fuck who I am.”

  “I never said that.” He shifts on his seat, looking uncomfortable. “Park over there.” He points at a reserved space at the end on the right.

  I pull the car into the vacant space and kill the engine. Silence engulfs us as I turn to face him.

  “I didn’t tell my friend because I thought you might appreciate the privacy.” He shrugs, looking a little sheepish.

  “I do, and I’m sure you do too.”

  He exhales heavily. “You know who I am. Great.” Sarcasm is thick in his tone.

  A smile dances across my lips. “Is there anyone on campus who doesn’t?”

  “I keep a low profile,” he supplies.

  “I know that too.” I swivel in the driver’s seat so I’m looking him straight in the eyes. “I bet you don’t realize we’re in a lot of the same classes.”

  Shock splays across his face. “We are?”

  I rest my forearm on my knee, smiling. “I’m studying biz admin with a concentration in global management too.”

  A groan tumbles from the back of his throat. “This just keeps getting better.”

  “Ouch.” I grin, not in the least bit upset.

  “Look, man. I’d appreciate it if we kept this between us.”

  My grin fades. “I would never tell anyone. Your business is your own. I’m the last person to spread gossip.”

  His broad shoulders relax when he sees I’m sincere. “Thanks, Austen. That means a lot.”

  “You need me to come up with you?” I ask, because the guy looks a heartbeat away from collapsing or puking.

  He shakes his head. “I’ll manage.”

  “You have a roommate?” I ask, as we get out of the car.

  “Nope. It’s just me.” He doesn’t look at me as he talks, messing with his phone.

  “You sure you’re okay?” I ask, reluctant to leave him, for reasons I haven’t yet worked out.

  The corners of his mouth lift as he pockets his phone and eyeballs me. “I’m drunk, not disabled. I can still make my way into the elevator and up to my apartment without a chaperone, although it’s sweet that you care.”

  I shrug, smirking as I lean back against the side of his car. “Just call me one of the good guys.”

  His smile expands. “I know you’re joking, but I think you are one of the good guys, Austen Hayes.” He drags a hand through his hair, and my eyes greedily follow the motion, hypnotized by the glorious
ink on his arm, the way his muscles flex and roll with the movement, and the elegance of his fingers as he glides them through the silky strands of his dark hair. My libido has noticed this guy on more than one occasion, and simmering attraction lingers in my tissues.

  Keaton Kennedy is hot, and his girlfriend is a lucky woman.

  But if he knew the thoughts swirling through my brain right now, I doubt he’d be so quick to assert my good guy status. “Maybe. Maybe not.” I toss him another smirk, pushing off the door. “And I think that’s my cue to leave.”

  “Your Uber will be here in three minutes,” Keaton says to my retreating back. “And I’ve picked up the tab. Least I could do.”

  I spin around, talking to him as I walk backward. “I think you’re one of the good guys, Kennedy. For real.” Truth. The guy oozes goodness and purity from his every pore.

  “Good night, Austen.” He moves to walk away.

  “Drink water and pop a couple pills before you crawl into bed,” I shout out.

  He narrows his eyes and purses his lips. “Yes, Dad.”

  I chuckle, saluting him one final time. “See you around, dude.”

  “You can count on it,” he replies with a searing-hot grin, before disappearing into the elevator, leaving me open-mouthed and rethinking my theories.

  I’m still grinning when the Uber drops me off at the house a short while later.

  That was the night I became friends with the hot famous one.

  Although, I didn’t fully realize the implications of our meeting at the time or how Keaton Kennedy would come to turn my entire world upside down.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Keaton – Fall Semester. Junior Year.

  “Sounds like fun,” I tell Mom, pressing my cell between my ear and my shoulder as I juggle my overloaded book bag while opening the door to my sixth-floor penthouse apartment.

  “Good. Now I only need to work on Kent.”

  Dropping my bag on the floor in the hall, I shut the door with my foot, putting Mom on speaker. “Don’t give him an option. Just tell him you’re organizing a party for our twenty-first and he must be there.”