Are You In The House Alone? (plus: Love Me)
Read Are You In The House Alone? (plus: Love Me) Online
Authors: Y.A. Love
Are You In
The House Alone?
By
Yolanda Love and Melanie Marks
Copyright
2015 Yolanda Love
Copyright
2015 Melanie Marks
Image
©
MJTH
|
Shutterstock.com
All
Rights Reserved.
Melanie Marks’ newest book is:
EVEN WHEN I SLEEP
Summary:
I stood fixated, watching her play
the drums—the drums I taught her to play.
I stepped back, feeling like I was
falling. Falling right back in love with her, like I never left. I didn’t want
that. I needed to keep my distance from her. I had to.
But I didn’t want to. ***Darius
CAMMY: my best friend, Darius,
stopped talking to me four years ago. No explanation. No goodbye. He just
changed schools and never talked to me again. But suddenly the beautiful boy is
back in my life. Can I trust him with my heart? Four years ago he broke it. Now
I have the perfect boyfriend, and I’ve heard all the rumors about Darius’s
many, MANY girlfriends. Only secretly I’ve always loved Darius. Even now. Even
in my sleep.
**
Even When I Sleep
is available now**
(Right
now it only costs a dollar)
***
Also
new by Melanie Marks:
Smokin’ Hot Accidental Kiss
Okay, I’m just going to start by
saying I did NOT mean to make-out with my total enemy’s (smokin’ hot)
boyfriend. I swear! I mean, I know it sounds like the perfect revenge, since my
total enemy
became
my total enemy by
making out with
my
boyfriend (who,
you know, became my
ex
boyfriend
after that). Still, even so—I did NOT make out with my enemy’s (hot)
boyfriend on purpose. Really!! TRULY!!! Not gonna lie, though—Mmmm. Oh
man! That kiss … I can’t get it out of my head. Or dreams. Smokin’ hot Sutter
Sinclair, that boy can kiss!
**Smokin’ Hot (Accidental) Kiss
is
available now**
***
Note: Both books are only one
dollar right now
(Or you can read them for free if
you have Unlimited.)
CHAPTER 1
My (hot) new stepbrother took the
ladle from me. “Here, I’ll get your punch—I mean, since you’re the
birthday girl and everything.”
He edged closer to me, purposefully
too close. Invading my space and making my insides go up in flames. Totally on
purpose.
He had probably noticed I was shaking
just having him near—and being in the kitchen alone with him. I mean,
that’s why he gently (pointedly) took the ladle. His passive/aggressive way of
saying,
‘I know you want me.’
That was why he took it, because I
my shaking (with want).
I take the cup of punch he hands
me, though we both see that my hand is trembling. He eyes it with a smirk, but
doesn’t comment. Instead, he trails his eyes up to mine, daring me to keep
looking into his deep seductive pools of sin.
I clear my throat, trying to ignore
it—my quivering hands. And heart. Instead I try to act chill. (Though,
yeah, it’s totally pointless.)
“I’ve read about you on the
bathroom walls at school lately,” I tell him, trying to be, you know,
conversational—and breezy.
He lifts his eyebrows, and actually
seems mildly surprised. Which is not easy to do—surprise the guy. He
smiles, “Oh yeah? What did you read?”
I hedge slightly. Since I can’t
really
believe what I read. I mean, he
doesn’t seem the type. At all. Especially not after the “gift” he gave me for
my birthday.
I tilt my head. “Do you spend a lot
of money on the girls you date?”
A slow, puzzled grin spreads on his
face. “No.”
That’s what I thought. So, the
messages about him on the bathroom walls are perplexing. To say the least.
His lips quirk. “Why are you asking
me this, Brandy?”
I shrug, still pretty bewildered,
“On the bathroom walls, it says you’re a ‘giver.’”
He chokes out a soft laugh. “Oh.”
He laughs again, his eyes dancing. “I don’t spend money, no. That’s not what I
‘give.’”
After an amused pause, he explains
with a gentle grin, like I’m this cute little kid that he has to inform there
is no Santa Clause, “It’s a sexual thing.”
Hearing this, I almost drop my cup
of punch, but he takes it from my sweating, shaking hands and places it on the
kitchen counter, his eyes not leaving mine.
He grins slightly, “Are you wanting
a different birthday gift from me, Brandy?” His grin grows, “—want me to
show you why girls call me a giver?”
He only offers it to tease me. Of
course.
And to make me blush.
Which I’m doing. Big time.
Actually, I’m on fire.
He grins sardonically, “Are you not
super impressed with the awesome birthday gift I gave you?”
Again he’s teasing.
I roll my eyes.
He’d given me a coupon—for a
back massage. His eyes had twinkled when I opened it at our “family” birthday
party. He’d watched me stare at it, then when I finally dared look up at him,
he winked playfully, “I’m a good back massager,” he said.
Yeah, I had no doubt he was. Though
I knew that wasn’t why he’d given me the “coupon.” He’d given it to me not
because he was awesome at massages, but because he hadn’t actually thought to
buy me a gift. He hadn’t exactly come to live with us under the best of terms.
His mom had been put in a mental clinic—after she tried to kill herself.
He totally blamed it on his dad—because the jerk had cheated on her. With
my mom. So, yeah, he wasn’t a fan of my mom either. Or me, for that matter.
(Probably.) But every girl at our school became
his
fan the second he moved here. I guess because he’s a ‘giver.’
Apparently. But more because he’s Drop. Dead. Gorgeous.
He edges closer to me, teasing yet
hypnotic. His warm breath heats up my neck as he whispers in my ear, “Want me
to give you a real gift, Brandy?”
Right as he murmurs it (so
seductive that I practically do a face-plant)—right then, my mom comes
into the kitchen. I jump.
Which makes Garrett grin. (That’s
his name by the way.) (Though I guess he’ll also answer to “The Giver.”)
Mom gives me an exasperated look,
though she’s clueless that Garrett is hot. (She just thinks he’s a
foul-mouthed, bad-behaved pain in the house.) She sighs, “Grandma’s getting
ready to leave Brandy, go say goodbye and thank her for the lovely sweater.”
As I’m scrambling out of the
kitchen, Garrett informs me loudly—so my mom can hear yet be absolutely
clueless, “I’ll give you the gift later, Brandy.”
“What gift is that?” Mom asks
dryly—making it clear she’s being sarcastic, “Your
thoughtful
back-massage?”
“Even better,” Garrett tells her
cryptically.
I freeze and peek back at him.
He winks.
CHAPTER 2
“What did
Garrett
give you
for your birthday?”
my best friend, April, texts as I’m getting ready
for bed.
I read the question and laugh,
knowing she’s going to die when she hears the answer.
I quickly type,
“A
coupon for a back-massage.”
She sends me a bunch of emojis that
tell me that she’s koo-koo gaga excited … and jealous. (I mentioned that
Garrett is gorgeous, right?) When my friends saw who I was going to be “living
with” from now on they dropped their jaws and immediately informed me that they
were going to be spending a lot more time at my house. When I informed
them
that the guy was kind of a dirt-bag
and hated my family and living at my house and basically
everything
… they basically didn’t care. At all. Garrett is
eye-candy. And makes them wild and hungry. And drool. So, yeah, they want him.
Big time. Doesn’t matter that he smirks sardonically at
everything
—‘cause even his smirk is sexy.
Once April is through with her
emojis (it takes a while), I explain to her about the “giver” thing.
“… Ohhhhh!”
she texts.
“I
guess we should have figured that out.”
Um, yeah. I guess we probably
should have. But my boyfriend is very “gentlemanly.” And hers is non-existent.
So … we’re basically clueless about stuff that gets put on bathroom walls.
Actually, we look a lot of the stuff up, but hadn’t thought to do that about
the “giver” thing. We thought it was that he was generous (though, yeah, that
didn’t
sound
like him). But
still, it had seemed, you know, innocent. For the most part.
Wrong!!!!
Though, okay—apparently he
is
“generous.” Just not in an
innocent way. (He just makes sure the girls are satisfied.) He explained it to
me later—groan!!
This is how it happened:
I’d been waiting outside the
bathroom (which we share)—waiting to brush my teeth. When he opened the
door and saw me waiting, he had smiled, slow and sexy (and teasing), “Waiting
for your gift?”
I grunted. Like,
get real
.
Then I muttered, “I should have
known it was a sexual thing.”
His grin grew, “Yeah, you should
have. But you’re dating a gay guy.”
I huffed. “He’s
not
gay—he’s just not gross.”
Garrett’s eyes raked over me. They
went kind of … dreamy. But then he smirked, “If the guy’s not trying to attack
you, he’s gay.”
I was a little rattled (and, okay,
turned on) from the way he was looking at me. I mean, he used to look at me
with pure hate. Seriously. When he first moved into our house he’d glare at me
and my mom and his dad like he wanted us all dead. But lately things have
started to change. A little. Well, a
lot
actually. I’d started helping him with these poems he had to decipher for his
English class. (I really like to do stuff like that—figure out what the
author was trying to say.) Garrett had given me a double-take at a bunch of the
stuff I came up with.
He’d had to do the assignment as a
punishment. For getting into a fight with a guy in class. He had to decipher
ten poems a night for a whole week. The first night he had been reluctant when
I asked him if he wanted help, like he’d rather dump a trashcan full of garbage
over his head than sit at a table with me.
But by the last night of the
assignment, he had knocked on my bedroom door. “Are you ready to turn a bunch
of incoherent crap into flowers and romance?”
I had blinked at him, not realizing
that’s what I had been doing.
He grinned, “You have to admit,
Brandy—you’re really romantic. To be able to turn the phrase ‘I stand
shuddering’ into ‘my heart is full of love.’ I thought the guy was scared.”
“Well, love is scary,” I murmured
under my breath.
He’d blinked. Then did his usual
smirk. “Is that why you date a gay guy?—‘Cause you’re afraid to have a
real guy love you?”
“Phoenix is
not
gay.”
Garrett smirked again. “Whatever.
Are you going to help me or not?”
His voice was teasingly impatient,
yet it was just for play.
A jet of warmth washed through me
from the request. I mean, at the beginning of the week, he really, truly hated
the thought of my help. But now he was
asking
for it. And seemed to be looking
forward
to it.
Anyway, since then things have
changed between us. His disgust for me seems to have eased up. It seems. Now
he’s started flirting with me instead—but in a teasing way. Not a real
way. Since I have a boyfriend … and he has every girl in school.
Tonight in front of the bathroom,
when I answered his “gift” question, informing him that I would not be needing
his “services” he smirked and raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure? You seem a
little tense.”
I growled. “I don’t want to have
sex with you.”
He smirked. “K. Keep telling
yourself that. But the giver thing—it’s not actual sex.”
When I looked at him blankly, he
chuckled. He raised his eyebrows, “It’s oral.”
I really had absolutely no clue
what he was talking about.
He seemed to know that. So his
words “Think about it” had double meaning. He said them, then strolled away, a
grin hovering on his entertained lips.
I groaned in frustration.
Pressing myself against the wall, I
called after him, “I have absolutely no clue what you’re talking about.”
He stopped, then turned back to me.
His smirk was sardonic. “I know that, Brandy. That’s why I’m telling you: the
guy you’re dating is gay.”