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

by Melanie Marks

  “Blake Johnson.”

  Mason blinks, like he’s surprised. Since Blake is known more as a computer geek than someone who needs his butt kicked. But then Mason shrugs again like, whatever. “Where is he?”

  CHAPTER 5

  I lead Mason over to Blake, who’s at his locker looking through a computer magazine. Or maybe it’s a game magazine. Whatever it is, he looks very peaceful and happy and content. Like life is good. Couldn’t be better. Of course he doesn’t see us coming. Or he’d scream like a girl. Because Mason is huge. And scary. (And okay, gorgeous. But that part wouldn’t make Blake scream. That part would just make him mad—because Mason is next to me and everything. And Blake is a stalker.)

  Without saying a word, Mason grabs unsuspecting Blake and pounds him in the face—hard.

  Blake falls back against his locker, covering his bloody nose with his hands, his magazine falling to the ground.

  “That’s for the picture,” I snarl at him.

  Both him and Mason look at me questioningly like, what picture?? Then they both ask it—only sounding completely different. Blake sounds baffled and terrified. Mason sounds furious and like Blake is a dead man. He grabs Blake by the collar, looking like he’s going to kill him.

  Blake yelps out, “I don’t know anything about a picture—I swear. I just took your clothes.”

  Mason’s grip on Blake’s collar tightens, and the veins pop out in his neck like he’s going to rip Blake apart. “You took her clothes?”

  He swings his arm back as though he’s going to punch the lights out of Blake, but Blake blurts out in a terrified rush, “As a joke, only a joke. I left her a clown suit in the bathroom.”

  Mason narrows his eyes, but he doesn’t carry through with the punch. The muscles in his jaw tick. He seems intrigued. His voice tight, he threatens, “You better talk—fast.”

  Blake gulps. “I took her clothes from her locker—while she was at swim practice. But I didn’t take a picture—or even see her naked, I swear.” He adds quickly, talking a mile a minute—at least, “I didn’t hang around the locker room, I just left her the clown suit for her to put on—that’s it. I swear. Go check.”

  Mason looks back at me like, What do you want? Want me to kill the punk?

  I bite my lip, my whole body stiff. I feel sick. Blake sounds sincere. I actually believe him. What he’s saying is way more his thing than the picture and threats. More his lame style—a clown suit to show me he’s nobody’s clown. Well, ha-ha. Anyway, his sorry attempt to show that. Only now he’s groveling and terrified. With maybe a broken nose. Poor clown.

  “I didn’t take a picture of you, Summer,” Blake says.

  Even in his condition he takes a small moment to eye my outfit longingly. Even while his nose is gushing blood. He leans his head back against his locker and closes his eyes with a wince. “I might threaten stuff like that. But you know I wouldn’t do it…. I was hoping we could get back together.”

  Mason’s dark eyes narrow. He looks at me again, his brow lowered and his gaze hopeful, as though hoping for confirmation that he can now continue to beat Blake’s sleazy face in. But unfortunately, I believe the jerk.

  “Let him go,” I tell Mason with a shaky sigh. I feel nauseous.

  Reluctantly, Mason lets Blake go—but with a violent shove, his dark eyes blazing. “Don’t ever threaten her again,” he growls, his angry tone scary deep. Pure anger. “Or I swear, I’ll break every bone in your body.”

  Mason’s narrowed eyes cut to me. Probably sees that I’ve turned white and light-headed. Blood does that to me—and he knows it.

  He grunts, and grabs me, wrapping his strong arm around my middle. Instantly, he turns completely gentle as he walks me towards my next class, basically holding me up, since I feel woozy and sick—not only from the blood, but from my huge, horrible mistake. I mean, Blake was gushing blood. His nose was probably broken … and the loser didn’t even take the picture! Groan!

  Guilt washing through me, I stop in my tracks. Can’t take it. I hate violence. So much. And I’d brought it on. Caused it. Asked for it.

  I clutch my stomach. “I feel bad,” I whisper to Mason. “I need to go apologize.”

  Mason’s hot hands tighten around me. He pulls me back to him and keeps making me walk towards my class.

  He growls near my ear, tugging me in tight, “Don’t apologize to him.” His warm breath tickles my neck, though he has no idea. He goes on, sending heat through me with his rough, dark voice. So haunting. And beautiful. “He shouldn’t have pulled that crap. Or threatened you.”

  His warm hands gently come on either side of my face, making me look up at him, into his achingly gorgeous eyes, so tender and full of concern I could cry. “He deserved that punch, Summer. Man, he deserves a broken jaw. You should have come to me sooner.”

  My breath hitches from his glistening stare. The way his dark, intense eyes are so full of anger at Blake, yet so full of care for me. Trembling, I shake my head.

  Though my knees are weak from his unyielding stare, I shudder.

  Like I said, I hate violence—and I don’t like to use Mason. Not only because being near him does this—turns me into a trembling puddle, but because he gets into enough trouble on his own. “No I shouldn’t have,” I whisper. I’m shaking all over. “I just—I don’t know who’s doing this to me.”

  ***

  End of the peek

  Hope you liked it!

  Louder Than Words is available now.

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

  Blackmailed By The Hot Boy

  Authors note: The following story was co-written by Melanie Marks and Yolanda Love. It does have parts of their other novels included in the story. It was written just for fun. Enjoy.

  Additional note: The story is an hour read, then there is a full-length teen novel, Ex-Boyfriend.

  Blackmailed By The Hot Boy

  Chapter 1

  Super. (Not.) In Psych 101, right as class ends, we get assigned our partners. When I hear mine is my ex-crush, Dutch, I about sob—loudly.

  I face-plant my desk, inwardly groaning, ‘Not Dutch! Why Dutch??? ANYONE but Dutch.’

  But no.

  Of course it’s Dutch.

  Because that’s my life—a cruel, sad, torturous joke.

  When I look up, I see Dutch’s gorgeous eyes on me—twinkling. He’s probably inwardly laughing his head off at me, since he knows I don’t want to work with him. (Cruel world!!)

  Also, well, I just face-planted my desk—that could be adding to his merriment. As well as the fact it’s possible I moaned out loud.

  Dutch slings himself into the empty seat next to me and slides me a piece of paper. “I don’t know if you have my number anymore,” he says. “So here you go. Tonight we can start on the project if you want. Come over to my house and we can work on it, and hang out.” He watches me closely, “—spend time together.”

  I shudder my eyelids. “No thanks. I’ve spent enough time with you.”

  “What?—you didn’t have fun?” He laughs his soft husky laugh, “Come on, you know you had fun.”

  My face goes up in flames. I did used to have fun with him. I used to adore him. But that was until the “incident.”

  His lips twitch weakly. “I miss you.”

  Right. The dude dates constantly—like, non-stop. Not that he ever “dated” me. Because I wasn’t up to his high standards—or the right age. Or something. I was always his ‘little buddy.’ His best friend’s little sister. Nothing more. The only reason he misses me is because I used to be his slave. I worshipped him and would do whatever he asked—like babysit his turtle, or fill-in on his newspaper route. He’d ask it, I’d do it.

  But all of that is over now, so of course he misses it. Who wouldn’t miss a slave?

  Now rather than do anything he asks, I’d rather dunk his head in a toilet.

  However, he was my very first crush and I had it forever … so maybe tha
t’s why he’s still so deeply planted in my heart. Though I try to dig him out of there. Try so hard. So, you know, being his project partner is going to bite. Royally.

  As I’m busy inwardly moaning about that—my sick, cruel life—Dutch tries to look into my eyes. “Don’t you miss me, Audrey?”

  I press my forehead against my desk and grumble, “I try not to think about you.”

  He grunts. “Yeah, I was getting that—from you blocking me from everything. And looking anywhere but at me.”

  Slowly, he gets up, and starts to walk away, to his next class—late. “Call me, Audrey,” he says softly. “Or text. Whatever you want. The ball’s in your court.”

  CHAPTER 2

  “You TRANSFERED out of the class??”

  I read Dutch’s message, and grimace while at the same time, my heart gets all twisty.

  Yeah, I’m a mess.

  So, I don’t respond.

  He texts it again: “Audrey, you TRANSFERRED out of the class to get away from me?”

  I groan, then quickly text: “I’d do a lot more than that to keep away from you.”

  Dutch: “Ouch.”

  More Dutch: “Wow. I had no idea I had such power over you, Audrey.”

  Actually, he totally knew.

  Which is why I don’t respond.

  CHAPTER 3

  **DUTCH**

  DUTCH

  I’m at the campus café doing my homework while I chug down breakfast—a chocolate milk, and a can of Coke. I need both to get me going this morning. Actually, I usually get a donut too, but I didn’t have the funds on me—and I couldn’t go without the Coke.

  … or the chocolate milk.

  But I truly miss the donut.

  As I’m doing differential equations (math) a girl plops into the chair across from me.

  “Megan’s description of you was so wrong,” she tells me. “If you weren’t wearing that baseball cap, I wouldn’t have had a clue it was you I was waiting for.”

  Either this is a very good pick-up line, or the girl is confused. I’m going with the confused, as she doesn’t seem the type to pick up guys. She seems like the type that is hit on—yet clueless that she’s being hit on. She seems … sweet. Of course I only get this from her shy smile, and bewildering nervous chatter.

  I cock an eyebrow. “How did Megan describe me?”

  “Gorgeous,” the girl gushes, then she blushes and blurts out, “Not that you aren’t gorgeous—you are. But Megan said you have light brown hair—only you don’t. You have dark hair. And she said—well, I don’t remember what else she said. So, it’s good you’re wearing the baseball cap.”

  My lips twitch. “Yeah. Good thing I’m wearing it.”

  “I don’t usually do this—just so you know,” she tells me. “I’ve never done it before—ever.”

  I nod slightly. Like I get that. Though really I have no clue what she’s talking about.

  She goes on, talking a mile-a minute, “I’m so glad you’re going to help me though—thank you. I really appreciate. I mean, I know I’m paying you for the help—but still. I really, really need it. So much. I mean, obviously. Since I’m hiring a guy. So thank you so much for the help.”

  I have no idea what she’s talking about, so I’m not too sure how much help I’ll be. But I’m willing to try. I mean she did have the words “pay” and “hire” in that non-stop chatter … and I’d like to get my donut.

  I tilt my head, “What am I helping you do again?”

  She giggles nervously. “You’re going to kiss me. When my ex-boyfriend comes in—which he does every morning about this time.”

  “Kiss you. Got it.”

  Hey, I’m a good kisser. And I’ll only charge her half of whatever she was going to pay the hired guy. That’s fair. Right?

  My stomach growling tells me it is.

  Still, I feel it’s my obligation to give her fair warning. “I’m not actually whoever you think I am,” I tell her. “I’m a good kisser though.” I raise my eyebrows, “Guaranteed.”

  I grin, “—or your money back.”

  CHAPTER 4

  **AUDREY**

  AUDREY

  “He was such a good kisser!”

  My roommate Lindsey is gushing on and on about a guy she met this morning. She’s like ready to burst into confetti. And hearts and rainbows. I’m thrilled to see her so happy. It’s beyond awesome, since her break-up with her boyfriend had crushed her. Royally. I mean, devastatingly so. So much so she’d been institutionalized. (Sadly, I’m not even exaggerating.)

  But now look at her, gushing away, happy, happy, happy.

  Over a new guy—not her ex-boyfriend. So, yay!

  She apparently met him this morning at the Campus Café.

  Lindsey moans, so blissful, “That was the first time I ever kissed a stranger. But it was soooo amazing. It was the best kiss I ever had—ever. Ever, ever, ever!”

  “And Trevor saw it?” I ask with a grin.

  Trevor is her heart-stomping ex-boyfriend. We used to think he was sweet. Which is why Lindsey was trying to get him back—but I didn’t think it was a good idea. And I would have tried to stop her if I knew about her kooky plan.

  But hey, it seemed to turn out for the best. She met a nice guy and now Trevor is on the side-burner. Yay!!

  “Yeah, Trevor saw!” Lindsey does a happy little dance. “He looked jealous, too. I swear, he did. But at the time I wasn’t able to really focus on that, because the kiss was so hot I was swooning and breathless and too dizzy to think straight. And afterwards, the kisser-guy didn’t even take my money, he wouldn’t. He just had me buy him a donut and he helped me with my math while he ate it. He was soooo nice. And SEXY!”

  She laughs shyly as she says that—the sexy part.

  Then she gushes on, “That kiss—wow! I’ve never been kissed like that before.”

  She falls across her bed all dreamy, like she’s in love.

  I finish polishing my nails. “Well, did you get his name and number?”

  “Well, no. I wanted to—really, really bad. But I was too shy. There were a bunch of girls that kept flirting with him. I mean, he was all polite and stayed sitting with me, being so nice, helping me with my math. But those other girls were really pretty.”

  “But he stayed with you.”

  “Yeah, but only because I needed the math help … well, that’s what I thought at the time. But I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about it. Over and over—actually. It’s all I can think about. Maybe he possibly did like me. I mean, he was pretty flirty, and he didn’t take my money, and he was soooo nice. Maybe he really did like me.”

  Lindsey totally beamed as she said that.

  So I’m thrilled. I mean, she beamed!!!

  She’s been so depressed and sad … but now she’s beaming!

  “So how are we going to find him again for you?” I muse aloud.

  Lindsey shakes her head, looking discouraged. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen him before. But the school is huge—I don’t recognize a tenth of the people in it.”

  She grins. “But hey! I know one of his classes! It was written on his folder—Dutch!”

  I almost drop my soda.

  And my heart falls to the ground.

  CHAPTER 5

  “Dutch,” I say nervously as he’s entering the bathroom.

  He freezes, and I pull the closing bathroom door back open, propping myself against it.

  Dutch slowly turns to see what girl is bothering him now—even as he’s going into the bathroom.

  He tilts his head quizzically when he sees it’s me. He raises his eyebrows with an amused—though intrigued—grin, “Yes?”

  I scan the bathroom. (We’re in a restaurant, by the way. I work here.) I conclude there is no one but Dutch inside, so I hop in as well, closing the door behind me. This does not erase Dutch’s obvious bewilderment.

  He gives me a puzzled grin. “What’s up Audrey?”

  I’m not sure what has him more baffl
ed, that I actually followed him into the bathroom, or that I’m talking to him, at all; since, you know, I transferred out of a class to get away from him—and haven’t voluntarily spoken to him in over a year.

  I figure I should just get to the point, since he obviously needs to pee or whatever. Only now that I have his attention (he’d come into the restaurant with a gorgeous girl, so I didn’t feel at liberty to ask him my request while I was hiding from him), but now that I have him alone, with his eyes on me like that, all interested and curious and, well, hot; I’m having trouble remembering what I came to ask him.

  But then it suddenly hits me, because I get a text from Lindsey. You know—my dear, fragile, in-lust-with-Dutch roommate. So, instantly my reason for stalking perplexed Dutch clobbers me—Wham!

  I scold myself: ‘You’re not here to drool over Dutch, Audrey—sad little dope. You’re here to help your friend.’

  I drag my eyes away from Dutch’s curious stare. Hesitantly, I peek up at him. “Um, you know my friend, Lindsey Hayes?”

  “No. I don’t think so,” he says.

  Ugh! Yes, he does. It was just last week that he had his most recent conversation with Lindsey. (She said she had told Dutch her name, like ten times, just as a hint to Dutch. She had kept pulling into the conversation—over and over—her name.)

  Poor Lindsey had gushed forever about their swoony kiss at the campus café. THEN, last week she couldn’t stop talking about their latest flirty conversation. It was like that moment was the brightest, shiniest encounter in her entire life … and yet Dutch doesn’t even remember.

  What did Lindsey gush about him this time? Well, I don’t want to tell you, because it will warp your image of the guy—and I don’t want it warped. Yet. So, I’ll just say, she went on and on about the sweet thing he did … and I have to admit, what he did was sweet. It really, really was. But Dutch isn’t sweet. (Just making that clear—I so didn’t follow him into the bathroom because I think he’s sweet.) (I used to think he was—but I don’t anymore.) (Because he’s not.)