Want To Hate You ... Too Bad I Love You

by Melanie Marks

  Summary of

  Melanie Marks’ book starring Zoey, Riley, and Finn:

  FALL FOR ME

  (Note: Right now this book only costs a dollar)

  http://www.amazon.com/Fall-For-Young-Adult-Romance-ebook/dp/B005GYEF4M

  When Zoey Jones’ long-time boyfriend, Finn, cheats on her—kissing a girl he “just can’t resist”—he gives Zoey a “free pass,” telling her she can kiss any guy she wants. Finn is so cocky and sure of their relationship that the arrangement seems perfect. He’s not worried Zoey will fall for another guy, and he’s itching to get rid of his feelings of guilt. But the thing is, Zoey knows exactly who she wants to kiss—longs to kiss—Finn’s best friend, Riley. But, she wants the kiss too much. She knows that. So, she resists the “Free Pass.” Still, she’s pushed into it when Finn loses a bet to Riley, and Riley wants his payment—a kiss from Zoey.

  Excerpt from the book, FALL FOR ME:

  “Don’t worry Riley,” I growled, “I’ll stay out of your way. I wouldn’t dream of getting between you and Ava.”

  Riley blinked, then tilted his head, like he was trying to figure out what I was saying. “Get between us?” He blocked my way as I tried to storm past him to the door. “Jones, I broke up with Ava.”

  “Oh.” My heart started doing a strange flutter thing. “You did? Oh. Well, that’s good.” I breathed—tried to breathe. I choked out, “I mean, the way you two were—it seemed like it would be hard to …”

  Riley raised his eyebrows, waiting for me to go on. But I didn’t wanna.

  Still, he waited, watching me.

  “—I mean, in case someone else, better for you …”

  He tilted his head. “What?—you mean if my true love ever comes along?” His lips quirked. “She did, Jones. Just unfortunately, my best friend saw her first.”

  ***

  Fall For Me is available now

  Summary of

  Melanie Marks’ novel:

  LOUDER THAN WORDS

  When seventeen year old Summer Baker is stalked by her obsessed ex-boyfriend she’s forced to ask for help from her secret weapon—her “bad-boy” ex-friend, Mason … but that’s a lot of ex’s. Also, Summer’s not sure her heart can take re-connecting with Mason. Mason who had once—no matter how brief of time—been her “stepbrother.” Mason with his smokin’ hotness and lingering stare.

  Still, Summer is forced to call on him, and he comes to her rescue. Just like she knew he would. But the problem is: Summer has always had a secret crush on Mason. But—whoa!—suddenly he’s looking at her all hungry and longing-like. And he says all the right words to get her heart spazzing. It almost has her thinking he craves her too. Almost. But let’s face it, actions speak louder than words and Mason has put out zero action … unless you’re talking about action with other girls. He’s put out plenty of that. Grrr! He breaks girls’ hearts at lightening speed and has made-out with every hot girl at their school … that is, every hot girl except Summer. Because in Mason’s mind, Summer is off-limits. But that bites.

  ***

  Louder Than Words is available now

  http://www.amazon.com/Louder-Than-Words-Fall-Me-ebook/dp/B00I3OX6IS

  *Note: Below are the first chapters of Melanie Marks’ novel, Louder Than Words. Keep reading. After that there are two more romantic teen stories in this book.

  LOUDER THAN WORDS

  by Melanie Marks

  CHAPTER 1

  Furious, I text, “Bring me back my clothes. Now!!”

  I’m in the school’s empty locker room in only a towel, dripping wet. Freezing. And seething.

  My nostrils flaring (probably), I quickly text more, “Blake, I know it was you. I SAW your smug face during swim practice this morning. Bring. Them. Back. NOW!!”

  Only moments later Blake texts back, “I don’t have your clothes, Summer. Try the thousands of other boys whose hearts you broke.”

  I growl, making motions to throw my phone. Only I don’t throw it. ‘Cause it’s my phone.

  Shivering, I cringe realizing this nightmare almost didn’t happen. I almost didn’t come to swim practice this morning. Almost. I was so close to skipping it. ‘Cause practice isn’t mandatory on Fridays. Totally optional. But I’d wanted to show Coach I’m as devoted to swimming as I am to cheerleading. So I came. Then Coach didn’t even show. Nor most of the team. Just a couple of guys.

  So, I’d given myself a pep-talk. ‘At least I’ll have the girl’s locker room all to myself,’ I told angry, tired me.

  Seriously, at least there was that. And I was actually sort of jazzed about it. A little bit. To have the outlets and a mirror all to myself. (Silly, I know, but the rest of the week I have to fight twenty [20!!] other girls for them. Twenty!! All of us trying to get ready for school at the same time. It’s a cutthroat madhouse.)

  So, this morning when I hopped into the locker-room shower, washing the pool’s chlorine out of my hair, I was trying to be all upbeat, thinking: “Well, at least I’ll have the luxury of my very own outlet to plug in my hairdryer.”

  The thought didn’t exactly make up for my lack of sleep this morning. But it was all I had, so I worked it. But THEN!!! When I got out of my shower … my locker was empty. Empty!! Not one scrap of clothes (or even my frickin’ hair dryer). Nothing!

  I just had my phone ‘cause I took it in the shower room with me so I could listen to my tunes in the shower. But well, I couldn’t exactly wear my phone, could I? I could only yell at my stalking ex-boyfriend, Blake, with it—via text, ‘cause if I actually called him I’d get laryngitis from all my yelling.

  “Blake—again—I know it was you. First you steal my emails. Now you steal my clothes??? If you don’t bring them back in the next three minutes you’ll be sorry.”

  Blake smugly texts back: “Sorry how? … You’ll break up with me?—break my heart? You’ve already done those things, Summer. You have nothing else to threaten me with.”

  I squeeze my phone, pretending it’s Blake’s head. “This is your last chance, buck-o. Are you bringing them back or not?”

  “Not.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “I won’t.”

  I crumble against my locker. I’m so frustrated, I could scream. Or rip out all of my hair. (Well, Blake’s hair.)

  Ugh! I’m close to crying. I won’t do it, of course. Break down and cry. But Blake is seriously making my life unbearable. He’s hacked into my computer many, many times—changed passwords, stolen emails. (My advice?—never date a computer geek … unless you have another one around to save you after the one you dated goes berserk after you break up with him. And if you have a spare one, don’t date HIM or you’re screwed. Like me.)

  Ugh!!! School is going to be starting soon.

  I text my best friend, Zoey, asking her to bring me some clothes, praying she gets my message on time. Or at all. I love the girl, but she has a habit of not charging her phone. It’s enough to make me scream, ‘Just plug it in every night before you go to bed!’

  Okay, I’ve screamed it at her a couple of times. Emergencies come up where you need your best friend—like when you get your clothes stolen.

  She texts back, “I’m running late. But I have a spare outfit in my locker. Help yourself.”

  Thank goodness!!

  Ha-ha, Blake!! Zoey has way better clothes than me, so really—the joke’s on him. Well, anyway, the joke kind of backfired on him. At least there’s that, right? Right???

  I do Zoey’s combo, which I know by heart, because she’s my girl. But then when I see her “spare” outfit, I about have a meltdown. Not that the outfit isn’t attractive. It is. Big time. But now I remember what it’s here for. It’s her giving-Riley-a-smile-outfit. I mean, the outfit is … hot. It’s a mini (not super short, actually [just letting you know that]), but she wears it with these long, sexy boots. ‘Heart stomper boots,’ her boyfriend, Riley, calls them.

  The boots get Riley to do whatever Zoey wants. Not that he doesn�
�t do that anyway. Riley is a sucker for Zoey. Always has been. But with the boots? He dissolves.

  Slowly, slowly, I pull the boots out of Zoey’s locker, wincing as I do it.

  Great. This is so not what I need—a jaw dropper outfit. Not at this moment in my high school career. I mean, I’ve had enough drama with boys lately to last me until I’m thirty. Seriously. Boys are crazy.

  ‘Well, anyway,’ I think as I hike the boots on, ‘this’ll show Blake he didn’t win. That I’m not in any sort of panic or despair over his stupid prank.’

  In fact, instead of being able to gloat about a victory, he’ll be eating his heart out. Big time. ‘Cause I guarantee it, this look will make him drool. Only, unfortunately, it will also make the rest of the male population at our school drool. And like I said, I don’t exactly need that. Or want it. Ugh! Oh well, it’s not like I have a choice—it’s either this, or the towel. (And the towel would let Blake think he won.)

  The thing is, though—I’m curvier than Zoey. Wayyy curvier. So, what looks innocent and sweet and fun on Zoey, looks, well—not sweet and innocent on me. It looks sexy. Bordering on yowza. And makes it look like I want attention from guys. Which, believe me, I don’t. I get way too much of it these days as it is. Way too much.

  So, I look in the mirror and shudder, knowing I’m in for a long day.

  I plug in Zoey’s blow-dryer and I’m messing with my hair, giving it an ultra-body, sexy look to go with my outfit. (‘Cause, well, if you’re going to go hot—make it burn, right?) All the while, I’m fantasizing ways to get back at Blake. I mean, besides just making him drool, ‘cause really I don’t want to do that. You know, since he’ll like it. Instead, I want to make him see stars—from being knocked out, or I want to blow things up … like his computer … or his head.

  As I’m fantasizing that stuff—violence—I get another text. This one’s not from Blake though. Supposedly. The name and number come up as “Blocked.” The message says, “Missing something?”

  I blink, staring the text. I’m thinking: Yeah, my clothes.

  Oh!

  A chill runs down my spine as a scary thought crosses my brain.

  Suddenly, I’m wondering if the text is actually related to this somehow—me missing my clothes.

  I swallow down bile. No. No way.

  Still, I suck in my breath. And for a second close my eyes. Then with trembling fingers I finally, hesitantly click on the attachment that came with the text.

  Oh man.

  My stomach rolls.

  I have to grip the sink for support to keep from doing a nose-dive.

  The attachment is a picture of me.

  At my locker.

  Wet and naked.

  CHAPTER 2

  Okay, just to be clear—in the picture you can “tell” I’m naked. But you can’t actually “see” anything. Not exactly. The “view” is partially obscured by my open locker door.

  What I mean is, in the picture, my locker door is open, partially blocking my body. The major stuff. But, you get a “partial view”—which is way, way too much. I mean, there’s a lot of skin.

  I freak out.

  And quickly text “anonymous.” “You’re so dead.”

  The “person”—(Blake!!)—quickly types back. “You’re so NAKED.”

  Then he types, “I could send this picture to the whole school.”

  “Do it and you’re even more dead.”

  He types: “You think you’re so hot…. Seems like you want me to send it.”

  I text back: “Seems like you want your face smashed in.”

  “Ohhh Summer, you’re going to get what’s coming to you.”

  My stomach falls to the ground.

  I stare at the message, my heart slamming against my chest. This really doesn’t sound like Blake. I mean, he’s truly gone off the deep end. Sure, he steals my emails … and my clothes. But taking pictures and THREATENING me??? He’s turned off of Stalker Boulevard and on to Psycho Street.

  “No, YOU’RE going to get what’s coming to you!”

  Shivering, I click off my phone. Sort of terrified he means what he said—that he’ll send the picture out—to the whole school. But what’s just as terrifying—or actually even way MORE terrifying is that he had been here—in the locker room. And had seen me naked. And snapped a PICTURE of me naked.

  The thought sends a shudder through me.

  Oh, he is so dead!!!

  CHAPTER 3

  I storm out of the locker room. Well, half-storm … but half-run. I mean, I’m mad. Of course. But I’m also scared. Scared the crazy psycho is still in the locker room with me.

  Until I got that dirty picture from him, I just thought of Blake as a nuisance. Very, extremely annoying. But fairly harmless. Fairly. Just your normal run of the mill stalker. Pretty much. I mean, sure he’s creepy. No doubt about it. (Though I strangely used to think he was cute. I mean, before the stalking.)

  But he’s definitely a proven bona-fide psychopath stalker. Besides the fact he keeps hacking into my email account and stealing messages to me from boys and friends—mostly boys. Now he’s taking dirty pictures of me??? And THREATENING me? Well, it’s too much. Way, way, WAYYY too much. He has to be stopped. Right this second. But I don’t know how to make him do that—how to make him stop … but Mason will. Mason can.

  Mason is my secret weapon.

  CHAPTER 4

  I clomp around the school hallways in my heart-stomper boots getting whistles (not even kidding) and leers and risqué remarks from boys (some playful, some I’m not so sure) but I ignore them all. I’m on a mission, hunting up my secret weapon, my ex-step-brother, Mason Archer. (AKA: trouble.)

  When we were in eighth grade, Mason’s dad was married to my mom for about ten minutes. (Well, actually I guess it was a little, tiny bit longer than that. But not much. They didn’t even make it to their one-year anniversary.) But anyway, Mason became dear to my heart during that short time. Ultra-special and important and everything like that. But now … well, now we never talk. Ever. It breaks my heart, but … yeah, we stay away from each other.

  Anyway, when I’m almost to Mason’s locker, I start getting trailed (and harassed) by one of Mason’s hockey teammates, Jake Edwards. The guy is huge. And a loud-mouthed ruckus-maker (that some girls fawn over for some reason. I have absolutely no idea why). The guy makes my skin crawl.

  “Heyyy, looking good, Summer.” Somehow Jake backs me up against the nearest wall of lockers, getting way, way too close.

  I push at him, more annoyed than anything else—though I have to say, big guys scare me. Especially when they get too close—and back me against things. My nerves fray.

  I clench my teeth and order (though it sounds more like a yelp), “Get away from me, Jake.”

  “Just admiring the view up close,” he drawls, his gaze dripping down my body. Gag.

  Immediately, he’s jerked away from me—violently—by Mason.

  “That’s my sister, Jake,” Mason growls, sounding like Watch it or I’ll pound you to the ground.

  Jake grins sheepishly, since he’s been told by Mason many times to stay away from me. Far away. Jake juts his chin about the sister-thing (‘cause it’s not quite technically true anymore), “Yeah, but she’s still hot, dude.”

  “Still my sister.” Mason’s rough growl has a dangerous edge to it—so not fooling around. (He’ll beat a guy to a pulp for me—I’ve seen him do it. Many times. But like I said, we never talk anymore. Ever.)

  Mason pulls me with him towards his locker with one hand, while using the other to shove Jake warningly (since Jake’s somewhat trailing us and still eyeing me like I’m a piece of candy he wants to devour). Mason’s eyes are an inferno. “Don’t look at her. Back off.”

  We get to Mason’s locker, and he shoves it open. For a minute it’s like I’m not even here. Then, without looking at me, Mason says, “Summer, what do you need?”

  That’s not the nicest greeting. It squeezes at my heart, since we use
d to be so close. I purse my trembling lips. “Can’t I just come here to talk?”

  His eyes flicker to me a moment. Then he shuts his locker with a throaty grunt. “You can. But I know you didn’t. What do you need?”

  I twirl my hair nervously. Something I do a lot when I’m around Mason. ‘Cause he gets me all stirred up. He’s gruff at times—achingly gentle at others. And he’s ripped and hot … and not really my brother. Not really my anything anymore. (Just my secret weapon … that I try to never, ever use. Ever. ‘Cause he’s a weapon of mass-destruction.)

  I wet my lips, still twirling my hair. “What makes you think I need something?”

  He eyes my twirling, then his stare drags back to mine. “Because you wouldn’t even be talking to me unless you needed something.”

  Heat rips through me. Because what he says is completely true. I try to avoid him these days. I do. Mason is trouble. But now I seem to be in trouble and it seems Mason is my only answer.

  I draw out a long breath, then stammer out, “Okay, yeah. I need a favor.”

  His eyes wash over me again, not like before, when he was trying to do it subtly. Now he does it blatantly. Sparks flicker in his eyes. “Did you dress like that for me?”

  I gasp. “What?!”

  His eyes meet mine. “Did you put that outfit on thinking: ‘I’m going to ask Mason for a favor’?”

  My jaw drops. “No!!”

  He leans back against his locker and closes his eyes. “Just checking.” Without opening them he asks again, “What do you need, Summer?”

  I hesitate—for a long moment—then grimace. “Can you beat up someone for me?”

  “Yeah,” he says with a shrug. Totally matter-of-factly, though kind of curious sounding, since I don’t usually ask for that kind of favor.

  His brow lowers. “Who?”