But now, here with Shane, I’m wearing the farce as a shield of protection—I’m his enemy’s girlfriend. (As though being “Witchy Woman” isn’t enough to keep us from doing what my dreams have me longing for. But just in case—I’m his enemy’s girlfriend.)
“I’m surprised you’re not there,” I tell Shane.
“Nah. I don’t like those parties. I don’t drink.”
Wha—??? Shock! I swallow, “Neither do I.”
“I know,” he says softly. “Don’t you kind of find the parties stupid?—I mean, when you’re not being stupid with everyone else?”
“Kind of.” I sigh. “Yeah … definitely.”
His voice is soft, “And don’t you get tired of hanging out with people that aren’t up to your chosen life standards?”
Oh my gosh! He’s lecturing me on life standards and the people I spend time with??
When I (dryly) point this irony out, he says sardonically, “I just thought you’d be more judicious on who you spend your time with. Clearly I was wrong. Sorry, didn’t mean to ruffle your feathers.”
Ohhh, he totally meant to ruffle my feathers. (… Didn’t he?)
Talking to Shane is always kind of confusing to me. He’s full of contradictions. The nice bad-boy (with the secret heart of gold)—that about sums up Shane. (And leaves me breathless and swoony.) Or maybe it’s because that picture of him on my phone still plagues my mind (and, okay, all my steamy dreams.)
Shane probes me with his eyes. “Seriously, it doesn’t bother you to be around people that drink when you don’t? It might be different for a guy. But I have trouble with it. Being with a girl that drinks a lot—when I don’t drink at all. It seems most of the girls at our school—they say they don’t drink a lot, just a little to be sociable—that’s what they say. But by the end of the night they aren’t too sociable. They’re usually puking their guts out.”
Again, I swallow. That’s how I feel too—exactly how I feel. Going to Blake’s kinds of parties, watching him and his friends all turn into idiots.
Buuuut—
I’d thought Shane was like that too. I’d assumed he was worse. Way worse, actually.
I tilt my head up at him. “You really don’t drink?”
“I really don’t.”
After a moment, he grins wryly, seeming to read my mind. “Just drain-cleaner—but I didn’t much care for it.”
My breath hitches and my heart squeezes.
He seems to know the emotional impact his words crash on me. He winces and says quickly, “Look, that was a crazy moment in my life. Don’t think of me that way, alright? Don’t sweat it—it was just a crazy moment. I’m not really like that—I know you don’t really know me, just that Remington Drake cloud that you get lost and mushy in sometimes—but this is me: I don’t drink. Not the drain-cleaner, not anything else. My family is full of alcoholics. It’s not a pretty sight. It’s grim. And I don’t want to be like them.”
My heart pounding and twisting, I have this impulse, I want to reach out to him. Tell him that I understand. That I get that he’s an abused puppy-dog, and that I very much want to adopt him and take care of him. Treat him nicely, and make sure drain cleaner never comes near his lips again.
I open my mouth, but before I can say anything—
Suddenly there is someone behind us.
The word “Seriously?!” is ground out.
It’s growled bitterly with a dangerous edge to it.
My heart stops and a chill runs down my spine. I whip around, knowing the voice. Too well.
It sends a chill through me.
“Blake, we were just—”
“Save it!” he yells. “I don’t want to hear it. You’re ripping out my heart, Bethany! You want to get me back for one stupid mistake?—fine, mission accomplished. I am in purgatory every minute of the day—but this! This—!!”
He gestures at me and Shane, swearing under his breath then storms away.
Shane watches him go with his lips parted slightly. Then he turns to me, “He seems a little mad.”
“You think?”
Shane raises his eyebrows, seeming all kinds of delighted, “You want to make-out?”
Ugh! Probably the only reason Shane even left the party and his precious “star” Trisha was for the very moment we just had—Blake flipping out.
I growl, “Oh, really? You want to make-out with a ‘Witchy Woman’?” I say it dryly as I rise to my feet.
“Yes!” he calls after me as I stomp away.
CHAPTER 31
Shane! Ugh! He probably really would have made-out with me last night, even though I’m totally a “witchy woman” to him. I’m sure it would have been all kinds of fun for him to get to taunt and rub it in Blake’s face: that he made out with his ex-girlfriend (“the witch”).
Jerk!
The dude totally used me.
… and I’d totally fallen for it—like a total sap.
With a groan, I roll over in bed, wishing I could get stupid jerk-face Shane out of my head.
Moaning, I roll over again, stuffing my pillow over my head.
Today is Sunday, and I’m sleeping in majorly late.
I can hear Hanna outside. She’s having another lemonade sale. I’m sure this time she won’t get her money stolen—my dad bolted her money box into her little stand, which is really a small picnic table that came with the house. But it’s perfect for her “stand”—and now it has a permanent money box attached to it, which we may regret in a few years, but it’s perfect now and Hanna was quite tickled when Dad showed it to her.
“Got to one-up the bad elements,” Dad said, ruffling up her hair.
“Thanks dad!” she beamed.
She stayed outside with her sales all afternoon, until Dad called her in for a quick lunch, then she went racing back outside.
But oh-no! She comes back in only a moment later—sobbing.
“They stole it,” she announces through her tears.
“They stole your money box again?” Dad asks, seeming heartbroken and bewildered, like: how’s that possible?
“No,” Hanna sobs. “They stole the whole table!”
Both dad and I run to the window. Whoa! No table.
It’s completely gone!
The pitcher of lemonade and all of its supplies are neatly placed on the sidewalk next to where the table used to be. But the table is gone!
“They took the whole darn thing,” Dad says in astonished wonder.
“They had to do it fast,” Hanna says. “I was only in the house five minutes—if that. And they had to have a big truck.”
“Or it didn’t go far,” I murmur thoughtfully, then march over to Shane—The Shade’s—house.
I pound on his door. When he finally answers I growl out, “Did you steal our table?”
Shane leans against his doorframe. “Hello to you too.”
“Cut the crap, Shane. Do you know where our table—and Hanna’s lemonade money is?”
“Ye-es,” he drawls out. “It’s out in our shed. I put it there since, you know, the other day you pretty much accused me of stealing it.”
“So this time you stole it?”
“No. This time I made sure no one could steal it. I prevented someone from stealing it.”
“By stealing it?”
His eyes twinkle. “Okay. That wasn’t my intent. But now—since I don’t like your tone—or implication—I’m holding the table and all of its contents hostage.”
“Hostage?”
“Yeah. We have to make a trade-off if you ever want to see your table again.”
I fold my arms, waiting to hear his terms, but he ignores me.
He gazes down at my little sister. “You have to give me some of the lemonade.”
She smiles huge, “Deal!”
CHAPTER 32
Ugh! By the end of the afternoon yesterday my little sister pretty much had a crush on Shane. He was so sweet to her, obviously feeling bad that his stunt had made her cry.
As soon as Hanna and I finally got home (I had to drag her away from Shane), as soon as we reached our bedroom and I sat on my bed—bam! “Witchy Woman” came on next door. Thank goodness though, actually. Since I had to fight the urge to make Shane cookies. However, I did indeed fight it (and win), because, well, the dude thought of me as a witch. And also (groan!) he seemed to be back together with Trisha, even if he didn’t approve of her drinking habits. Still, despite that aversion, he had gone to the party with her. (And ogled her like she was a bright shiny star, I might add.) (Grooooan!!)
So yes, I fought (and won) my urge to make flippin’ Shane The Shade cookies. But it was hard!! Because I couldn’t get how incredibly sweet he had been to Hanna out of my sappy, awe-struck brain.
However when I got to school Monday, all thoughts of Shane vanished—poof! Because there was a new girl at our school—! (#@*%)
She was making-out with Blake!! … Right in front of my locker.
My jaw dropped seeing them going at it. Deep sharp betrayal mixed with pain sliced through me. It was like a knife in my heart and my back. Pain, pain, PAIN!
But before I had a chance to respond, Shane pushed Blake away from the girl, a scary dark inferno burning in his dark eyes. “If you ever go near her again, I’ll kill you.”
Shane’s voice was pure danger.
Blake narrowed his eyes, wiping at his bloody lip from Shane’s violent blow. He growled, “Like I’d even want to go near her again.” He said gruffly, “She’s a bad kisser, and easy as they come.”
Whoa! Shane’s terrifying dark eyes darkened even more. Immediately he punched Blake again, then kept punching, and punching, and punching.
“Shane!” the girl cried. “Stop! Just stop! You’re going to get in trouble and he’s not worth it!”
Shane stopped punching Blake at her words. He got up and tenderly put his arms around the crying girl. “Yeah. He’s not worth it,” he told her soothingly; so gently.
With the utmost tender care, he walked her to the bathroom so she could wash away her tears, then he walked her to class like he was her bodyguard—or devoted boyfriend.
Who was the girl??
I’d never seen her before in my life. But Shane obviously had. He obviously cared for her deeply, like she was a fragile cherished piece of china he felt he needed to protect.
But at lunch, the pretty girl ate with a group of snooty rich stuck-up girls from our school. Shane hovered close by her, keeping an eye on her, but I heard her hiss to him in an irritated whisper, “Shane—go away!”
Awww!
Wow—mean! Sympathy crashed through me.
My heart instantly ached for him. Poor Shane! The girls he loved wounded him (his heart) as much as his father used to wound his bones. I wished so bad I had baked him the cookies after all.
However, Shane only stared at the girl after she hissed at him. He did it rather challengingly. But slowly he backed away from her.
Only moments later I saw him kissing “Wild Willa,” so I guess he got over New Girl’s rejection fast enough.
Well, that’s what I thought. For a second. But then I saw his eyes go to New Girl even while he was kissing Willa.
Actually, his eyes stayed on the girl all day. Though he stayed away from her direct vicinity, he still hovered near her every chance he got.
Oh my gosh!! Shane loved the girl. Like, really, truly loved her. Deeply. The realization crashed through me like a hard slug in the gut. For some reason it felt like a knife jabbed into my heart. Even more so than seeing Blake kissing her had done. Way more.
Apparently I was completely over Blake.
… And dementedly taken by The Shade.
CHAPTER 33
“How did that feel, Bethany? Seeing me betray you like that? It hurts doesn’t it?” All day long Blake has been sending me texts like that.
All day.
Well, the whole day at school, anyway.
Yet now he has the nerve to send me this gem as I’m at my kitchen table, scarfing a pop-tart: “If you want me to still be in your play, you have to tell me you forgive me. AND you have to kiss me.”
“Yeah, fat chance, buck-o,” I type back quickly. “I’m never going near those cheating lips again.”
“Then I’m never going near your play again—and neither will any other guy.”
I read his words and want to chuck my phone.
This has been a thoroughly sucky day.
As I’m thoroughly thinking it over—how thoroughly sucky it is, I’m struck with a plan that can help me get back at Blake for being such an evil bully. It won’t help with my play situation, but it will help give me a little pay-back to the evil manipulative dirt-bag.
The plan is royally petty. Yet it makes my heart pitter-patter and actually feel better. (But again, I stress, the plan is p-e-t-t-y.)
Still, I just go with it—since my life is so full of suck at the moment, I don’t see a huge downside to the consequences, though I know they will be huge. And painful.
Still, I just go with it. Because at the moment I really, really want to.
With only a moment or two of thumping my head on the kitchen table, knowing I should be mature, and resist, I finally gave in and tromped over to Shane’s house, quickly knocking on his door before I could chicken out, or fully grasped what I was doing.
When Shane answered the door, he looked surprised to see me.
“Cheerleader,” he greeted me with an intrigued note in his voice. “Come in.”
Ignoring him I asked, “Who was that girl Blake was kissing this morning?”
Shane frowned slightly. He paused a long moment before he finally answered, “Her name is Faith. She’s new.” He gave me a wary look. “It wasn’t her fault—Blake moving in on her like that. He did it to get at me.”
“To get at you? Why?” I cleared my throat since I could feel a lump rising. I choked out, “Because—because you love her?”
Shane gave me a look. A long one. Then he said softly, “Yeah. I do.”
I swallowed, feeling all kinds of jealous of the girl for some reason. “H—how do you even know her?”
His eyes closed at the question. After a long moment he finally answered, “She was my sister once.”
A strange feeling jetted through me, tugging at my heart. I guess because I knew how close he probably felt towards her—them at one time being foster siblings. I’m sure that gave them a tight bond, having so much in common, and having at one time been somewhat “family.” I’m sure it drew them together in all sorts of emotional ways.
“She’s lucky to have you,” I said.
“Not really,” he murmured. “And she doesn’t ‘have’ me. She doesn’t even want me.”
“She seemed to want you—the way you were holding her—and the way she was crying into your chest. That looked like love.”
He gave me a curious look. After a long moment he asked sardonically, “Are you jealous?”
“No. I just think you’re wrong. She wants you.”
He breathed out a tiny husky laugh. “Why are you here, Cheerleader? You’re wanting to give me love advice?”
I drew out a breath. “No, but you shouldn’t go kissing other girls if you love Faith.”
He laughed softly again. “Faith doesn’t care who I kiss.”
“I think she does. She probably cares a lot.”
He shook his head. “Trust me, Cheerleader—she doesn’t.”
“I think you’re stupid.”
Deadpanning he drawled, “Sweet talker.”
He leaned against the doorframe and grinned, “Don’t be shy, Cheerleader. Tell me how you really feel.”
“You don’t get girls.”
He raised his eyebr
ows.
Instantly I reddened. “Okay, you might get them, I guess—but you don’t understand them. They want to feel special—like they’re the only ones.”
He grinned sardonically. “The last girl I tried to make feel that way put me in Sunny Brooke Hospital. It was a pleasant stay, but I don’t really want to go there again, Cheerleader.”
Pain clobbered my heart remembering that incident. I winced. “That was just crazy, Shane,” I whispered.
His grin twitched, “You think?”
“Look, why don’t you not be crazy with her?—just try that? Just be yourself with her, and be honest and tell her how you feel.”
He tilted his head, smiling again, seeming highly amused. “You really did come over here to give me love advice, huh?”
He gave a little laugh when I didn’t answer. “Look, she knows how I feel, okay?”
“I don’t think she does, Shane. She clung to you when you saved her—like she really, really loves you.”
His eyes softened. He drew out a breath and looked up at the sky a moment. His voice huskier than usual he said, “Look, she probably does, okay? But things aren’t exactly the same in my world as they are in yours, Cheerleader. Far from it. Believe it or not, my life isn’t all hearts and rainbows—and the people in it aren’t all full of hugs … and some of them would rather not know me.”
“She loves you,” I whispered adamantly.
Another grin quirked on his lips. “And you would know this how?”
“I saw her today—she would look at you when you weren’t looking. And you looked at her all day.”
He breathed out a laugh, “You really are a stalker.”
Heat swamped my cheeks. “No I’m not. And I didn’t come over here to give you love advice, actually. I came over to give you a proposition.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You came over to proposition me?”
The corners of his lips soared skyward. “Okay, proposition away, Cheerleader.”
I reddened. “I mean more like I came over here to offer you a job,” I backpedaled quickly, since he seemed way too entertained with me “propositioning” him.
Please Love Me Back Page 8
