Brooke Bait

by Rachel Kiss

  He made it sound so pathetic, I finally did what he said, went and got dressed for the ‘party.’ But I huffed and yelled about it the whole time—and called Summer for back up.

  I’m shy!!!

  … and I had never been to a high school party.

  CHAPTER 3

  As Noah drives me home from the party, all smug (I suppose) from forcing me to associate with … people; I glance through his unread messages from girls. Oh my!! I get more than an eyeful.

  When I start reading the messages aloud to him, he grins and yanks the phone from me. “Give me that,” he says with a little laugh.

  “Dirty, dirty,” I tsk at him.

  “I told you it’s not your kind of party,” he says, a faint grin still hovering on his lips.

  When we get home, for some reason we’re both lingering in the foyer. I don’t know about him, but I’m still all dazed from the kiss, that’s why I’m standing here—just dazed. Can’t remember where my room is, or how to walk … or breathe.

  Noah tilts his head, eyeing me lazily. With a curious grin, he juts his chin, “Why do you let Bianca get to you?”

  I know what he’s really asking is—why did I let her goad me into kissing him. I mean, the way I did—so far beyond the requirements of ‘spin the bottle.’ Especially when before that very second I had treated him cold and offish and like I’d rather snuggle with a muddy shoe than go anywhere near him. But then, no—I kissed him. And not just a tortured, put-upon, quick little peck like he probably expected. You know, since I’d tried so very, very hard to make him think I despised him—then wham! I blew that.

  I shrug. “You said those were the rules.”

  I can’t help grinning slightly as I say it though, since he’d only explained the ‘rules’ to me teasingly. And he certainly didn’t say I needed to kiss him like I was ravenous for his hot, velvet tongue.

  I sigh and finally just answer his question, “It’s just usual Bianca—her being all smug and mean. We … don’t get along.”

  Understatement of the year.

  I add, stating the obvious, “… she likes you, though.”

  “No-o.” He says it like he’s shocked. But he’s just being playful. Amusedly sardonic. Bianca has made it quite clear—she’s insanely obsessed with him.

  I do a little grimace about it.

  Noah notices.

  His eyes twinkle with amusement and he draws closer to me. The seductive move makes my heart pound wild and the room kind of tilt. But then Noah winces and jerks back. With another wince, he carefully keeps a semi-brotherly distance—like he’s trying to remember I’m not a ‘normal’ girl … and he can’t do his ‘normal’ moves. The kiss seems to have thrown him off with that. Confused him. Like he has to keep reminding himself, ‘Must not pounce.’

  His pink lips quirk up at the corners from his safe distance away from me, but his words paw at my heart. “I have no interest in Bianca—just in case you want to know,” he says with a lazy grin. “The girl bugs me.”

  I roll my eyes. “Yeah, right, with all her curves?” I scoff dryly, “Yeah, I hear that bugs all the guys.”

  He grins slightly. “Not going to lie—she’s nice to look at. But painful to listen to.”

  I lean the back of my head against the wall and want to thump it. Hard. “So, I guess to shut her up you had to make-out with her all last Friday night.”

  He shoots me a sideways glance, but he’s smirking. Of course. He grins, “How do you know what I was doing Friday night?—keeping tabs on me?”

  I shudder my eyelids. “No. But Bianca is. And she announces stuff like that on every social media site she gets her hands on. I mean, when she gets her hands on someone she likes she doesn’t keep it a secret. And she obviously had her hands all over you.”

  He bites at his lip to hide a grin. “You jealous?” He gives me a tiny teasing look, “You sound jealous.”

  “I’m just annoyed. You say how you’re ‘bugged’ by Bianca—but you made-out with her.”

  “Look, she’s pretty persistent,” he says. “And I don’t know if you’re aware, but I’m totally single and free.”

  He says this kind of flirty.

  It’s so weird.

  Ever since the kiss he’s been semi-flirting with me! Soo weird. Before the kiss he was just being all nice and stuff. Like he feels guilty that he and his mom barged into my life—you know, by taking my dad away from my mom. But now, suddenly, since that stupid bottle landed on him, bam!—he’s Mr. Flirt.

  I guess kissing me let him see how vulnerable I actually am to his charm. I’d tried keeping a shield up to block that, but obviously my shield came down when he kissed me. It totally crumbled while I was swooning, and apparently he got a peek at what’s going on inside me. Maybe ‘cause I got all trembly and weak in the knees. I mean, he’d literally had to hold me up while he was kissing me.

  Anyway, I really have no idea how to handle this—his semi/almost flirting—with me. So, awkwardly, I don’t handle it. At all. I just silently (without a word) start heading for my bedroom. But he makes me freeze in my doorway by saying, “Was that true?—what Bianca said?”

  I know he’s talking about the ‘never been kissed.’ So I go up in flames. Before I can mange to speak, he goes on, “Doesn’t seem like it. That kiss was smokin’ hot … but you were home-schooled since middle school, right?” He adds, “—and living under that rock.” Of course he has to get his ‘living under a rock’ barb in at me. It makes him smile playfully as he says it, but then he goes on sounding seriously curious, “—so, is it true?”

  “No,” I lie.

  “Okay,” he doesn’t sound like he believes me though “—just checking,” he says.

  Then he adds, “But it was an honor, okay? I mean, if I was your first.”

  I swallow. “You weren’t.”

  The corners of his mouth quirk. “Yeah, that’s what your lips are saying—but your eyes are saying something else.”

  Groan!!!

  “Whatever,” I say crisply, like I’m so used to kissing, this whole conversation is boring me to death.

  Trembling, I start to walk away, but he places his large palm on my shoulder, gently pulling me back to him. His eyes look into mine. (Oh my heart! Have mercy!!)

  His warm, tender stare makes me lose my breath. “It was an awesome kiss, Peyton. But I’m sorry if it was your first—I mean, that it happened there—at a party. In front of a bunch of people.”

  “Whatever,” I mutter again.

  I’m so full of witty conversation, yeah, I know. But unfortunately, it’s all I can come up with … since my brain has turned to mush.

  The way his eyes are glued to mine has me lost in a fluffy cloud full of cupids and rainbows.

  And his warm hand is on my arm.

  And his sinful mouth had just recently been on mine. (Ohhh that mouth! Mmmm.)

  So, even though he’s being all tender and caring—fantasies of him taking me in his arms and kissing me wild (like he did at the party) flash through my brain, making me unable to look at him, let alone speak. Or able to actually hear his sweet words.

  But I don’t want him to know any of this.

  So, since I can’t look at him, instead, I glare down at his tender hand on my arm, like I’m not thrilled beyond words that it’s there, though really its giving me warm, electrifying tingles and making me wobbly (though that also has to do with the unending kissing fantasies clogging up my hormonal, star-struck brain).

  Noah lets out a breath and reluctantly releases my arm. He curls his fingers in his hair. “Are you ever going to let it go?” he asks me gently.

  I know he’s talking about my dad marrying his mom; my dad leaving my mom for his mom … and all the drama that came after.

  “No,” I choke out hoarsely. “I don’t think I will.”

  Then I bolt away from him. I dash into my room and press myself against my closed door. For a moment I can’t breathe.

  I slide down to the ground,
hugging my knees into my chest. Squeeze them tight, tight, tight. I need to hate him. It’s so twisted to like him.

  Suddenly, I hear Noah on the phone, telling a girl he’ll be to the party in just a minute.

  “I swear—fifteen minutes at the most,” he promises her.

  I hear him so heartbreakingly clear as he goes on distractedly, “Where was I? A different party, but just as a favor. And it was uneventful—so, don’t hook-up with anyone, okay? I need an event: Your mouth—on mine.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut, pain slicing through me.

  Great. My kiss was uneventful to him.

  I rub my eyes with the palms of my hands. That kiss was like a life-altering event for me … yet for him it was a non-event. A favor!!!

  I thump my head against the door. Why did I let him talk me into going to that party? Why??!! Now I won’t be able to get his kiss out of my head.

  I can’t help it, even now, though I’m dying inside of pain, I trace my lips with my fingers, imagining I can still feel his hot hungry mouth on mine, yet he needs Phone-Girl’s mouth on his just to give it ‘action.’

  (Yeah, I heard him tell her that right after all that other stuff—that he needs her ‘mouth action.’ Groan.)

  It really hurts, you know?

  Once he’s off the phone—and I can finally breathe again—I quickly fake a call to Summer, talking really, really loud. Saying how hot I think Fenton is.

  “Oh my gosh, Fenton is amazing!” I gush as I press my forehead against the door, feeling like I might barf.

  I figure since I could hear Noah’s call so clearly, he can hear mine. I want him to know how ‘uneventful’ his kiss was for me too. So, I don’t even mention it. At all. My loud (fake) conversation is all—Fenton, Fenton, dreamy-sigh, Fenton.

  I know it’s lame and pathetic and every loser-thing like that. I know!!! But NO WAY do I want Noah knowing he rocked my boring little world with his amazing kiss. Or knowing how I really feel about him. Or that he has hurt me deeply. Like, killed me.

  I really, really need him to think I don’t care about him. Or actually, it would be really super awesome if he thought I despised him.

  Because really, I want to. I really do.

  It’s just … he makes it hard.

  CHAPTER 4

  The morning after kissing Noah, I roll over in my bed and finally check my phone, ‘cause earlier I heard that I got a text, but I was too lazy to move. I feel like I got zero sleep last night. None. I kept tossing and turning thinking about that stupid (amazing) kiss. THEN when I finally fell asleep, I dreamed about it. Of course.

  Because it was that amazing.

  And because it’s just my luck—to have a crush on my stepbrother. The one I vowed to hate for life. But no. He has to be all nice. And brotherly. Well, until he did me that ‘favor’ and kissed me. That was not brotherly. Or nice. It was mean, actually. Since now I can’t get it out of my head. And grrrr!! He only did it as a ‘favor.’ Geez, jerk! Don’t do me any favors!!!

  Especially since now I feel lame and pathetic. I mean, I ADORED that kiss … and he found it ‘uneventful.’ Knife. In. Heart.

  I read my one and only text message (yeah, I’m really popular). It’s from Summer. ‘Hey, don’t worry about Fenton being crushed at the party last night. You know, when you so enthusiastically ditched him when he was trying his best fish moves on you. I heard he bailed Bianca’s party right after you left and went to a wild one the hockey guys were throwing—and he hooked up with Aspen.’

  I text back: ‘Awesome.’

  Sincerely, I mean that—awesome. Late last night, during all my tossing and turning and fretting, I’d started to worry that maybe I was being a player at the party—you know, leading poor Fenton on with my lame attempt at flirting. But geez, it was sooo lame, I have no idea how it actually worked. I mean, that was my first attempt—ever. And it was EMBARRASSING.

  Still … it had worked, apparently.

  So bizarre.

  I quickly text Summer: ‘Thanks for letting me know.’

  She gives me a thumbs-up emoji and texts, ‘Dodged a fish.’

  Then she adds, ‘—thanks to your brother.’

  I don’t bother to remind her about the infinitely important word she left out—‘STEP.’ Instead, I want to just steer the convo away from Noah. But before I can, she texts: ‘That was quite the ravenous kiss you guys thrilled and entertained us with last night. Did you do more mackin’ when you got home?????’

  ‘No, he went off to that hockey party to ‘mack’ some other girl.’

  ‘Aw.’ Frownie emoji.

  Me: ‘Whatever. It was dumb to kiss him. I didn’t mean to.’

  ‘Oh, the ‘accidental hot make-out’—been there.’ Then she adds, ‘ … but never in front of an audience.’

  ‘It’s Bianca’s fault.’

  ‘Mm-hm.’

  Me (adamantly)—‘No really!!! I would have just spun again, if she didn’t goad me with that never-been-kissed outing.’

  Summer: ‘Yeah, that was harsh. Still, she’s so … insignificant. Why do you let her get to you?’

  Good question. Bianca and I have been competitive/enemies since birth. Our mothers are super close friends, so we grew up together, forced to do activities together. Like dance lessons and cheer squad and well, the list goes painfully on and on.

  The pathetic thing is though—what last night’s call-out was really about—Bianca likes Noah. An abnormally lot. That’s why she was so quick to speak up and humiliate me about the never-kissed-a-boy thing. She’s totally hot for Noah, and last week she caught him helping me with a fund-raiser task that he had said he didn’t have time to help her with. (Bianca is on the school’s cheerleading squad with me, and always giving me the lame assignments.) (Because she sucks.)

  But Noah caught me struggling in the gym with the unwinding of the twinkly lights that I was assigned to unwind, and he stopped to help me, though he was on his way to hockey practice. In fact, he was late for his practice, yet when he saw me struggling … he sighed and stopped. (I’ve mentioned Noah is nice, right? And that he’s taken being a ‘brother’ to heart?—the teasing part and all.)

  So he said, “Need help, sis?”

  He said it with a huge grin, because I was getting all tangled and wrapped up in the lights and it was quite obvious I needed help. Like, major help.

  I was kind of stunned when he came over and helped me though. I’d just barely moved in with my dad (aka: Dad and his whole new super cool ‘family’—Fenton and his home-wrecker mom) I hadn’t been nice to him—at all. In fact, I’d been a total witch. Yet, he came over and patiently helped me—untangled me carefully with a grin, like I was his cute little puppy/sister that of course would get tangled in a cord. After all, I’d just come out from under a rock. Cords and stuff were new to me—just like dances and parties and kisses.

  It cracked him up.

  (By the way, I’m up on cords.) (Really!) (I just had a little trouble unwinding them. They were loooong and a total mess.)

  After untangling me, Noah patiently sat helping me untangle the unending tangles of cord. He was being super nice. It was baffling to me. I mean he was so … hot. Hot guys are stuck-up and mean … right? I didn’t actually know this (since, you know, I’d been living under a rock since middle school) but I’d read lots of teen books and seen teen movies. And I’d seen tons of pictures of my hot ‘stepbrother’ long before I met him (since I refused to go to my dad’s wedding or acknowledge his existence once he ditched my mom for a another woman, AKA—Noah’s mom) but I’d seen the pictures of Noah, and although they’d made my heart race, they’d also made me pretty certain he was stuck-up and we wouldn’t get along and it would be easy for me to hate him.

  But he was making that plan super hard. And doing it on purpose. And it seemed to make him laugh that I was trying to hate him.

  “I bet these will be pretty when you have them up in the gym,” he was saying. “They’re for the school dance right?
I’ve seen you dance, by the way. You’re—wow.”

  Right then Bianca came by and caught us together—him helping me. It seemed to make smoke come out of her ears.

  She put her hands on her hips, looking extremely annoyed. “I thought you were too busy to help with the lights,” she snapped at Noah. “You’re never too busy to make-out with me, but when I ask for your help—wham! Such a busy boy.”

  A half grin played on his lips. “Well, I’m too busy to even make-out with you now.”

  That was his great comeback. Needless to say, it didn’t calm her down. It made her growl.

  Noah chuckled slightly at that. (My heart rejoiced and danced a jig. Him so unmoved by gorgeous always-gets-what-she-wants Bianca. Ha!)

  Bianca was getting so mad he finally tried to calm her down. A little. He drew out a breath and explained, “My sister needed my help.”

  “Your sister?!” she scoffed. “She’s only been a ‘sister’ to you for a week.”

  “And yet she’s my sister,” he shrugged. “And she needed help. So, I stopped to help her. She was going to strangle herself in the cords otherwise.”

  He got up. “But I’m late for practice, so I’m going to go.”

  He turned back to Bianca before heading out the door though. She seemed to hold her breath like she was expecting him to say something ultra-romantic or at least apologetic or flirty—something—but all he said was, “Help my sister—I don’t want her to die.”

  It was rather touching, really. Right? (Kinda???) But Bianca didn’t think so. (I think she wanted me to die.)

  Once Noah was out of earshot, she glared at me and snarled, “He flirts with everyone.”

  She said it like she was letting me know I wasn’t special.

  I blinked. “He wasn’t flirting with me, Bianca. He was helping me.”

  “Well, just don’t think you’re special to him,” she said. “Because I guarantee, you’re not. You’re so not his type.”

  She smirked, “And by the way, I can’t help you with the lights.” Her smirk grew to epic proportions, “I have a date—with Noah. He’s taking me to a party after his practice, and I have to look hot.”