Brooke Bait

by Rachel Kiss

  Note: The next page has another story. It’s called, “Spin The Bottle.”

  Spin The Bottle

  CHAPTER 1

  Trying to act casual, I spun the bottle. It landed on a hot guy, alright. But it was my new stepbrother … so, you know, awkward. And not going to happen.

  When my stepbrother saw that it landed on him, his gorgeous eyes twinkled. It made my body shiver with excitement. And heat. I definitely felt heat. But—hello! My STEPBROTHER.

  His slow grin sent fireworks shooting through my body.

  I gulped and quickly yelped, “I’ll spin again.”

  But as I reach for the bottle, he puts his warm hand on top of mine, stopping me.

  Ohhh man!

  Just the feel of his rough hand on mine sends embarrassing thrilled sparks and fantasies skittering through my body. And that’s, you know, just his hand! So no way can I deal with his hot mouth on mine. I’ll … explode.

  How embarrassing! A crush on my stepbrother—gross, right? Only, he’s … so not gross.

  It’s not fair! He lives in my house now. Taunting me with his gorgeousness.

  Also, what’s not fair is though he’s smokin’ hot, he’s also nice—you know, in a cocky yeah-I’m-smokin’-hot sort of way. Well, actually, in all other ways too. Unfortunately!! It’s not fair to my not-used-to-guys, inexperienced heart. To suddenly have one living right in my house!

  A slow smile crept on his lips when I said I was going to spin again, and his lips quirk now as he keeps his hand on mine, probably knowing exactly what he’s doing to my spazzing heart.

  He drawls out with an amused grin (cuz, you know, this is hilarious to him—me all flustered), he says, “I’m pretty sure the rules were specified—you kiss the person the bottle lands on.”

  His eyes are laughing, but he says it all deadpan, like he’s trying to explain the rules to me—like that’s what the problem is here: I don’t get the concept of ‘spin the bottle.’ (Though, okay, it’s true, I’ve never actually played it before.) But still, I get the gist. I mean, I haven’t lived under a rock. Well, not exactly. Though he likes to act like I have. And that’s what he’s doing now—all smirky and smiley—and acting like I don’t get the rules to spin the bottle.

  I grunt. “I just mean I don’t want to kiss my stepbrother,” I inform him, yanking my hand away from his, trying to do it like I’m annoyed—and not like I’m swooning (which I am) (big time). Grrr!

  He gestures at the bottle, then winks, “We’re going to get closer, sis.”

  “No bro—we’re not,” I tell him, trying to ignore the fact my face is on fire. But boy, I need an extinguisher! His wink and smile and the thought of those gorgeous lips of his on mine has my insides torched like he lit a freakin’ match.

  But I try to play it chill, and like I haven’t been fantasizing about his hot, sexy mouth on mine for the past week. Instead, I announce, “I don’t want to kiss my stepbrother.”

  “I’ll kiss him,” a skank in a mini-skirt announces.

  Noah smiles. (That’s his name by the way, Noah.) Noah’s grin darts between the skank and me—like he’d like to see us duke it out—you know, for the chance to kiss him. (Probably happens all the time.)

  But then witchy Bianca pipes up and shocks everyone (purposefully humiliating me, by the way). She announces, “Peyton won’t kiss you, Noah. But it’s not because you’re her stepbrother. It’s because she’s afraid to. She’s never kissed a boy.”

  Of course everyone oohhs and awwws and makes shocked noises and gapes and all that humiliating stuff. (Die Bianca!!!)

  Groan!

  Okay, it’s true—I’ve never kissed a boy. I have been living under a rock. But I hate Bianca and her smugness. I’ve hated her and her smugness since kindergarten.

  Before I even know what I’m doing, I grab Noah by the collar and I kiss him, hard on the mouth. Instantly, he kisses me back, but with a lot more passion than I expected. I mean, okay, I hadn’t expected any passion. At all. ‘Cause I hadn’t ‘expected’ anything. I’d just done it on sheer impulse.

  Crazy impulse.

  But whoa! I’m kissing Noah!!! And it’s magical.

  It’s a blur, but it’s this—his hands in my hair, his tongue in my mouth, my heart exploding. What I mean is, fireworks. I feel fireworks. And dizzy.

  When I finally pull away from the smokin’ hot kiss, Noah is all out of breath and smiling. “That was nice,” he says with a soft laugh. He raises his eyebrows, “—and unexpected.”

  “Yeah, I’m full of surprises, bro,” I tell him, like I’m not all dizzy and about to pass out. But I am. I mean—hello, the boy I’d been fantasizing about—constantly—just had his tongue in my mouth. And it was … awesome!!!

  Everyone is all hooting and hollering ‘cause our kiss was that steamy. It was. It was so hot everyone is flushed—not just me. (I swear!)

  “After witnessing that we all need to take cold showers,” my best friend, Summer, whispers to me.

  She has a weird crush-thing going with her ex-stepbrother so she might be a little more flushed than the rest of my hot-kiss audience—maybe fantasizing about doing the same thing with Mason (her hockey playing, ex-stepbrother that she secretly craves with all of her cheerleader heart).

  “Or you could just find Mason,” I whisper back to her. You know, in reference to her need for a “cold shower.”

  She does a (totally fake) gasp, like the thought is inconceivable, but her eyes are all alight and seem to say: I was just thinking that!

  She smiles, and her smile says it too.

  She doesn’t really mind me knowing she has a thing for Mason, but then again, she won’t admit that she does (not even to herself). Instead, she dates tons of other guys. Tons. And she dumps them all lightning fast. (Because she really only wants Mason.)

  “So … was it as hot as it looked?” Summer whispers to me.

  I know she’s talking about the kiss (duh), but I play dumb. Like it’s already forgotten. Because though she doesn’t really mind me knowing she has a “thing” for Mason, I can not admit my thing for Noah. I just can’t. Because for one thing, we are in two totally different situations. (Summer and me, I mean.) Summer has dated tons of guys. Tons!! I’ve dated … no one. Ever.

  Ever, ever, ever.

  For another thing, I’m so not Noah’s type. At all. As I’ve already pointed out, I have zero experience with the opposite sex. Noah on the other hand has had way more than his share. Wayyy more. And the kiss kind of proved that. I mean, if I didn’t already know. (Which I did.) Because, well, that kiss was beyond spectacular. It was masterful. Like, sinful.

  I’m not even exaggerating—(I wish I was, but I’m not)—he could get paid big bucks for that hot yumminess he bestowed on my fan-girl enraptured mouth. I mean, holy smokes, let’s face it, I’d pay in a heartbeat. (I mean, if I wasn’t totally trying to act like his presence annoys me and I wish it would go away.) You see, I’m weird. And complicated.

  (But mostly just weird.)

  Anyway, the game goes on. The one that has rocked my world and was caused by a spinning bottle (and my stepbrother’s hot, talented tongue).

  Though I’m still in a daze, Summer informs me, “I was talking about the kiss.” She says it with a smile, so knowing that I already knew that. She grins, “Was it as delicious as it looked?”

  “Um … it was okay. I’ve had better,” I lie.

  “In your dreams,” she teases.

  Yeah. Exactly. Though really, in my dreams the kisses weren’t better—yet they were given by the same guy. However, my swoony dreams didn’t do him justice. I had no clue what I was actually missing. Now I’m like WHOA!!! (My dreams are about to get so much steamier.)

  Summer nudges me playfully, since she knows that was my first kiss. Duh. She’s my best friend.

  Still, I ignore her nudge. I can’t look at her because if I do, she’ll know I love my stepbrother.

  So, instead, I busily check out the doorway, like I’m hopin
g someone cool will walk in and save me from this dull, uneventful party. (Kissing, yawn. Sooo boring.)

  Noah texts me while the other party guests hold their breath, hoping they will be the next to get to kiss Noah, so obviously praying the bottle will land on them. I really can’t blame them, since I’m secretly praying right along with them—let me get Noah again! PLEASE!!!

  I read Noah’s text and all the air whooshes out of my lungs.

  ‘I’m now praying for the bottle to land on me again,’ he texts, (that part doesn’t really do that much to my lungs—it’s the next part) he adds, ‘—I mean, when it’s your turn again.’

  When I don’t text him back, just lose my breath, he texts: ‘You’re turning red.’

  That’s because he’s flirting!!! Noah doesn’t flirt with me. Ever. The boy teases me to no end (like a brother), but flirt with me? No. He treats me like I’m his little kid sister. Though it’s crazy. For one thing, we’re the same age. For another, we’ve only lived in the same house together for less than a month. So, obviously, it’s not like he’s formed any familial attachments to me.

  Yet … he’s been totally nice. Even though I’ve been cold and bitter towards him (but there’s a reason that I’ve been like that—and believe me, it’s a good reason. So, my dopey crush on him is beyond annoying—because really, I should hate him.)

  But anyway, he’s treated me nice—beyond nice. But not like a girl. I mean, not like the ones he dates. Not a girl that he would be interested in as more than a … well, a sister. (Groan.) He dates gorgeous model-looking Barbies with tons of ‘experience’—and he knows I have none. Thus the ‘living under a rock’ teasing that he is always throwing at me—and which he used to get me to come here … to this party.

  But I swear, he’s never flirted with me. Ever. Well, until tonight, when he put his hand on mine to stop me from re-spinning the bottle. When he wouldn’t let me spin again, but made me kiss him.

  Which, at the time, I just chalked up to him teasing me—since he enjoys that so much. Getting me flustered. And, holy smokes, I was flustered.

  But his text?—and his passionate kiss? That stuff is definitely flirting … right? Right??? My heart is going bananas about it like it is. But it’s totally new. And unexpected. I have no idea how to deal with it. (Remember, I’ve been living under a rock.)

  But here’s the thing—I don’t want him to know that his kiss and text mean soooo much to me. I mean, it’s embarrassing!! Since, like I said, he dates the whole, entire friggin’ world—and flirts with everybody. And he’s used to super experienced girls, and I’m a total joke to him. A gawky kid sister. Grrr!

  So, I quickly text him back about his my ‘turning red’ comment: ‘Yeah, I think I’m allergic to the activity I just partook in.’

  His reply: ‘Or … you liked it.’

  My reply: ‘Nope. It’s the allergic thing.’

  Just to prove it, I start chatting with the guy sitting next to me. His name is Fenton and he works with me at this restaurant that I just started working at. Normally, I would be too shy to talk to a guy I hardly know, but at the moment, I have something to prove. Namely, that I didn’t just have my mind blown by that mind-blowing kiss. In fact, my mind is so not blown, I’m flirting with the guy next to me. At least that’s the way I try to make it look. (I have no idea if I’m actually succeeding because my mind is still too blown to have a clue what I’m actually doing or saying.)

  Still, I turn to Fenton.

  “I work with you, right?” I smile really, really big—like I’m flirting.

  But, unfortunately, that makes Fenton think I’m flirting. He eyes my big smile and his eyebrows go up, like: ‘Wow, I had no idea this chick was into me. But obviously she is, because boy, look at that huge, dopey smile. I obviously totally dazzle her. And hey, lucky me, she’s a total kissy-girl. I know, because I just saw her kiss her stepbrother’s face off. Looks like I’m next. Score!’

  Yeah. His eyebrows say all that. And more.

  Groan.

  Still, I go on—smiling and chatting inanely at him a mile-a-minute, because I’m dazed and mind-blown (and still trying to prove I’m not). “I don’t get that many hours at work,” I tell him, “—not yet. Because I just started there. But I really like working there. Anna Cooper, do you know her? She’s really nice. She got me the job there. Doesn’t it seem like Tate is more the boss than Tate’s dad? She—Tate—is a good boss though, don’t you think?”

  Fenton nods, eyeing my lips, like he’s still thinking about that kiss I planted on unsuspecting Noah. “Tate’s a good boss,” he agrees in a murmur, looking like he’s willing to kiss me right now—since I’m into that—kissing hot and heavy right in front of everyone. (Plus maybe it will shut me up.)

  Whatever. His eyes look like he’s fantasizing it—kissing me. So, okay, the appearance of what we are doing is good. It appears like we are both eager to kiss. But poor Fenton. He has no clue he is talking with Miss Virgin Lips. And that the action he just saw is the only action these lips have had—ever. And it’s kind of sad, really. Because, honestly, it seems like it’s the only action my lips will ever get, because I can just tell—no other guy is going to live up to that kiss. Certainly not Fenton.

  No offense to Fenton.

  Well, okay, sort of offense to Fenton. Summer dated him for about a week last year. She said he kisses like a fish—so … you know, I’m not too terribly interested in that.

  But, hey, other girls are, obviously. Fenton gets around.

  Also, he’s cute. (But not cute enough to fish-kiss.) I mean, before it wouldn’t have mattered so much, since I wouldn’t have had anything to compare it against. But now—well, now the bar is very, very high.

  Impossibly high.

  I mean, I’m still reeling from the kiss. (And left chattering from it like a crazy person.) So … this is not good—though Fenton thinks it is.

  Apparently.

  From out of nowhere (pretty much), he puts his hands on my cheeks and suddenly tries to kiss me.

  Whoa!

  I lurch away from him with a yelp, not sure what just happened or why. One minute I was talking to him idiotically, the next minute his hands came on either side of my face and his fish lips plastered on mine—for a second. Until I did my fancy yelp/lurch thing.

  Before I have time to process what just happened—(the actual assault on my lips)—suddenly, Noah is next to me, reaching down to pull me to my feet.

  “Sorry, Fenton,” he says, “but I’ve got to go—which means my stepsister has to go too, because I’m her ride.”

  This isn’t exactly true. I could easily catch a ride with Summer—in fact, that was basically the plan.

  But I eagerly jump to my feet anyway, grateful for the rescue.

  Summer smiles to epic proportions, like she knows what’s going on in my lovesick brain.

  But really, I’m just glad to get away from the threat of another fish attack.

  Really!!

  (Well, pretty much.)

  CHAPTER 2

  On the ride home from the party, I feel awkward. Not just because I just kissed Noah, but because he’s no longer even teasing me about it. Instead he’s all in-a-hurry-like. I guess he really did need to get home.

  Maybe he didn’t even notice Fenton tried to kiss me. Maybe since our parents aren’t home tonight, he just felt responsible to make sure I made it home safely from the party (since I just recently came out from under a rock and everything)—and also in his eyes he’s my ‘older brother’ (groan) needing to watch out for his poor little never-been-kissed-before ‘sister.’

  Well, that’s the way he acts.

  He hands me his phone, “Hey, can you text my friends for me?—tell them I’m on my way? That I’m just dropping you off at the house first?”

  My eyes scan his unread messages, tons are from popular people from our school asking where he is and telling him he’s missing all the fun.

  “Where are your friends all at?” I ask him,
as I send out his requested message: ‘I’ll be there soon.’

  But … where is ‘there’?

  “A different party,” Noah says, “—a real party.”

  I tilt my head. “And what was it we just left?” I scoff, “You made me go to that party.”

  “Yeah,” he says. “Because you were going to stay home and work on a science project.”

  He says it like that is so lame. And pathetic.

  I slink in my seat. “Hey, that project is worth ten percent of my grade.”

  “Peyton—it’s Friday night.”

  I stare out the window. “Right. Well, grades are important.”

  “So’s living,” he says.

  I sneak a curious look at him. “So, why did you make me go to that party instead of the ‘real’ one that all your friends are at?”

  “Because the kind of party my friends are at you need to stay away from. It’s full of hockey players—and, well” he clears his throat, “Well, not stuff for you.”

  Because I’m his little sister.

  I roll my eyes. Geez. He sent me to a “fake” party, with spin-the-bottle and cheerleaders—and I dragged poor Summer to it. Summer, who had been planning to go out with a guy named “Andreaus” that she met at the mall. But no, she came with me. Because I begged her and she’s a good friend. She came with me even though she hates all the other cheerleaders—though she’s one of them … and so am I.

  Earlier tonight Noah had hidden my science project that I was working on. I had gone to the kitchen to get a slice of cheese, and when I came back to the den—no science project. Anywhere.

  “I’ll give it back to you after you go to the party,” Noah told me. “So go get dressed.”

  I gaped at him. “You’re holding my science project ransom?”

  He nodded, “I am.”

  And he was serious!! (Though he smiled about it.)

  He made me go to the party. He said, “At least stay an hour. Then I’ll give you your project back and you can spend the rest of your Friday night in your pajamas being an old lady with cats.”