Louder Than Words (Fall For Me)

by Marks, Melanie

  I groan. “Right.”

  “Well, Mason’s hot.” She blows on her fingernails, drying them, but I can tell she’s biting back a huge smile.

  She thinks I have a crush on Mason. But I don’t. (Well, I do … but not one that I will ever, ever admit. Not out loud, or even to myself.) Because he’s my brother … sort of. Well, he was my brother … sort of. But my mom and his dad had only been married about a year, then divorced. But, well, Mason still lived with us. And slept in my room in a sleeping bag—sometimes. Just to keep me from having nightmares. He doesn’t do that so much anymore—but I’m getting older and the nightmares are going away. Slowly. Now my dreams are more about him than the scary ones I used to have. Though really, these new dreams kind of scare me too. Because they involve kissing—Mason. I wake from them going, Whoa! What the—?? And sort of freak out. Because it’s so wrong (and twisted) having a crush on your stepbrother … even if he isn’t your stepbrother anymore.

  I don’t say anything to Zoey’s ‘Mason’s hot’ comment. Instead, I look through my closet, though now my cheeks are burning. That’s why I keep my face away from Zoey, and act as though I didn’t even hear what she said about Mason, so she doesn’t know I’m blushing up a storm.

  “What should I wear?” I murmur. “I want to make him drool.”

  “Who? Mason or Clark?” Zoey asks with a laugh.

  That answer is so easy that I can turn and face her, “Clark.”

  I definitely don’t want Mason drooling over me. We live in the same house. Yuck. It’s one thing to dream about kissing him—it’s so another if it were to happen for real. No. It just can’t. Ever.

  CHAPTER 16

  As I said, the wanting to make Clark drool was totally a pride thing—on many levels. One being, Kirstin seemed sort of smug that she was dating the guy I used to be quite crazy about. Two, the guy I used to be quite crazy about was now dating a “sort of” friend that was smug about dating him. Stuff like that sort of made my claws come out.

  So, though I felt sort of creepy asking Mason for the date—I couldn’t help myself. I did it. Because while I knew my dress would make Clark drool, I knew Mason would make Kirstin drool.

  And he did … big time.

  We showed up at the party and Kirstin’s eyes lit up. I swear, they turned all sparkly and me-likey.

  Ha!

  “This is my boyfriend, Mason,” I told her and Clark with a smile, snagging Mason’s large warm hand in mine. But then, WHOA!!! H-o-l-y Smokes!! Unexpected sparks and tingles shot through my body. Sparks and tingles!! I swear. Just from holding Mason’s hand!

  Um, what???

  Wait, no!! No, no, no!! What the—???

  The intoxicating sensation raced up and down my freaking insides. Totally wreaking havoc with my heart and concentration. I mean, hello. Who expects that? Flippin’ sparks and tingles (!!!)—just from holding a boy’s hand? I’d held tons of boys’ hands. Oodles. Gobs. But never this. Never, EVER this.

  Mason’s eyes narrowed and his lips parted slightly—like maybe he felt it too. Or probably he was just curious by my over the top reaction to his simple touch. You know, my sudden ragged breathing. (Panting.)

  Whatever. I tried ignoring it all—the tingles … and the tickling in my stomach, and the pounding in my heart—all of that stuff. I was on a mission. A mission that did not involve tingles or pounding hearts over Mason’s touch. It was a mission to save my pride. That was it.

  Yet suddenly, the night got even hotter. Fast.

  Mason shocked me by totally playing his part to the hilt.

  “Hi,” he said to the dazzled couple, putting his strong, yummy Mason arms around me (!!!). (He never did that before—ever!) Instantly I was jealous of Liza and all of his other many, many girlfriends. Being in Mason’s hot arms—feeling his warm, tantalizing breath heat up my neck, and his soft, tempting lips brush absently against my now feverish and ultra-sensitive skin—oh, my gosh! It was total heaven.

  I swear—my knees buckled and I practically swooned at his feet. I kid you not—swooned!! (And I’m so not a swooner. I swear!)

  Meanwhile, (while I was off in La-la land over Mason’s heavenly embrace) Mason chatted with the love-birds flawlessly, being completely, totally all boyfriend-like—running his rough but oh-so-divine-and-gentle hands through my hair, and down my arms—so perfectly acting like we were the perfect, happy, so-in-love couple, and he was such the enamored boyfriend, unable to take his hands off his alluring, mesmerizing girlfriend. (Me!!!)

  Kirstin’s eyes were glued to Mason the whole time he talked—to his hands in my hair and his lips on my head, and his left cheek’s adorable dimple that was so incredibly breathtakingly amazing that it brought all girls—all girls—to their knees.

  With a beguiling smile Mason answered Kirstin’s inquiring unending questions, wrapping his heaven-inducing arms around my waist as he did so.

  Kirstin eyed him like candy and he pulled me in even tighter. So close!! So knowing how to masterfully play his part to the aching, yearning fullest—play the adoring boyfriend who lives and breathes only for me—his goddess-like girlfriend that he can’t keep his hands off of.

  He was perfect. Beyond perfect. (Gave me goose bumps and wave after wave of unexpected delighted shivers and trembling butterflies and heart-stopping thrills.)

  But Kirstin and Clark? Not so much. So not perfect.

  I don’t know if it was because they felt they needed to show us up, or Mason’s attention got them all whipped up and wild, or they are just absolutely inappropriate. But they suddenly started totally making-out—right in front of us—gag!

  Mason looked from them to me like, Um ...

  “Hey, this is our song,” he said, his eyes cutting to them again for a moment—in case they were able to hear over their loud lip mackin’ and moaning. “I’m going to go dance with my girl.”

  He led me away from the tongue-wrestling couple, probably realizing my heart had stopped. And I couldn’t breathe.

  Mason practically held me up, gently, carefully leading me over to the dance area. Without a single word, he took me in his arms again (heaven!). Instantly, the haunting (traumatic) scene of Clark kissing my ex-cabin-mate dissolved as my cheek met Mason’s inviting, chiseled chest. Purrr!! My heart slammed against my ribcage. Hard. Then started pounding wild. Not because of the backstabbing couple, but because of my dance partner—Mason.

  Mmmm. I was truly in heaven … and I was freaking out. I mean, what was going on? Mason’s mere touch practically had my skin on fire. And the way he held me—so perfect and possessive—it took my breath away.

  Still, we danced—sensual, and slow and perfect—because I couldn’t bear to take my cheek off his hard, firm chest. Couldn’t possibly bear it. Though his arms around me like that was making my breathing so hard and my head say, Uh-oh. And then soon it was screaming, “Run away, Summer! This was only to keep your pride, not lose your heart!—especially not to MASON who LIVES in your house and kisses a new girl every weekend.”

  Still, I didn’t move one tiny inch away from Mason. Only clung to him, hypnotized by his strong, delightful hold. Reveling in it.

  HOWEVER …

  Annoyingly soon Clark and Kirstin were slow dancing beside us. Close, because the place was packed.

  They were still making out. Groan!

  That gave me the power to move.

  “Um, I have to go to the bathroom,” I told Mason.

  It was a lie. I just needed to get away from them—and him.

  I felt sick. I mean, they were in love—or something. And me and Mason were just faking it. Well, he was faking it. I wasn’t sure what I was doing anymore. That was the problem—well, a huge portion of it.

  I just needed to get away from the situation for a moment so I could get a grip. And breathe.

  But Mason followed me outside.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. He gently ran his hand down my arm—giving me goose bumps.

  Ugh! What was happening?
??

  I stepped away from him. “No. I’m not. Can we go home?”

  He shrugged, gazing at the distance I’d put between us, looking perplexed by it. “Sure. It’s your party.”

  “Thanks for taking me,” I whispered, my voice hitching a little, “—and being my date.”

  He took my hand in his again, being supportive. He grinned impishly, “Sure. That’s what brothers are for, right?”

  I laughed. Because it was so messed up. “Um, I don’t think so.”

  “No?” He gave my hand a gentle squeeze, his lips twitching up at the corners—so not missing the irony. “Oh, I thought I read that in the handbook.”

  CHAPTER 17

  We have to ride the bus home from Kirstin’s party—’cause, you know, we’re not quite sixteen yet, not old enough to drive. When we get off the bus, it’s about a two-mile walk home. I’d be nervous about that, because it’s nighttime and dark out and everything, but I’m with Mason and he’s huge. So any scary guys had just better watch out—’cause Mason can clobber them. And he’d be happy to do it. He likes to fight.

  As we’re walking home, we come across Jake from school—he’s with two big guys that eye me like I’m what they’re out looking for.

  I hide behind Mason while Jake tells him about a party that one of the guys from the hockey team is having. I so don’t want to go. At all. But I can tell Mason does. The guy is his good friend. And Mason had just gone to a party for me—one where he’d had to fake like my boyfriend. I owed him. Big time.

  “You want to stop by the party?” Mason asks me once Jake and his thugs finally move on their way—though they keep looking back at me. Making me want to crawl into Mason’s shirt and hide. Instead, I try to concentrate on what Mason’s saying—his wanting to coax me to go to the party.

  “Um …” I can’t really tell him no … can I?

  He nudges me playfully, knowing I don’t like the guys on the hockey team—none of them but him. (Look, I was almost thrown into a van. Big guys scare me.) “We don’t have to go.” He messes up my hair playfully. “You can say no.”

  I bite my lips together, knowing I should be a bigger, braver person. But I really can’t stand the hockey guys. Still, I find myself saying, “Whatever. They’re your friends.”

  He tilts his head like, really? You’ll come?

  “We’ll just stay a minute,” he promises. “We’ll just say hi, and then leave.”

  But of course when we get to the party we can’t just leave. Everyone has to chat with Mason—Mason is cool. And loved. By thugs. And party girls. And everyone.

  I see one too many girls hanging on him and I go outside. No one’s out front. They’re all either in the house or in the backyard playing football. Or soccer. Seriously, both games are going on.

  I sit on the front steps and try not to think about Clark and Kirstin kissing. Or the many, many girls that I saw hanging on Mason in the house. I feel alone. And lonely. But I know Mason will be out soon. He doesn’t really like me at parties. ‘Cause he feels obligated to keep an eye on me. I don’t think he likes to be a babysitter any more than I like having one. Yet he always invites me to his many, many parties. Well … he used to. I can’t really say he does that anymore.

  But anyway, here I am sitting on the front steps—trying not to think about earlier tonight when Mason’s strong arms and gentle touch had made me all gooey. I mean, what was that about? Sure, I’d had a weird little tiny crush on him forever. But it had all been fantasizing and completely safe—‘cause it had always, always, always only been in my head. So this stuff was scary. Because this was for real stuff.

  Of course, I guess seeing him at this party helps. Brings reality crashing back down. Mason isn’t someone for me to do anything more than dream about—and really I shouldn’t even do that. Duh.

  So, I’m getting lost in my sensible thoughts when suddenly there’s this guy, Drew. He sits down beside me.

  “Hi Summer,” he says. I can smell beer on his breath. Gag.

  I used to think Drew was cute … until I dated him. Now I think he’s a total loser dirt-bag. So, I’m not exactly pleased that he’s now sitting next to me, breathing on me.

  “You kind of hurt my feelings when you broke up with me.” He says this with a completely straight face, like he wasn’t a cheating scum-ball. Then he adds with a dopey grin, “I never got a goodbye kiss.”

  Okay, I admit it—I have issues with guys. I do. I admit that. I date. A lot. Not for long though. Ever. I go through guys like Kleenex. Use them up and throw them away. (Those are Blake’s words, not mine.) I don’t ever intend to do that to guys though. Ever. I just have trouble finding the right boy. Good guys are hard to find. I mean, good ones that aren’t semi-related to me.

  My mom has the same trouble. (Well not the related part … I hope.) But so, I don’t hold out much hope for finding “true love.” But I do yearn for it. So … I’ve made some mistakes. Well, a lot of mistakes. Drew is definitely one of them.

  He scoots closer to me, looking hopeful. His voice goes husky, “Can we have that kiss now?”

  “No way.” I push his smelly beer face away from me—semi-teasing, but really not teasing at all. I want the guy gone. Away. Now.

  “Come on, Summer.” He grabs onto my wrists, suddenly loosing any playfulness.

  Chills slither down my spine.

  Heaving and gasping, I try squirming away from him, but he’s a big guy. The more I try to fight him, the tighter he holds on to me. Instantly, he’s kissing my neck, then my mouth. Everything inside me twists with fear. I push and kick, but it’s doing nothing.

  Nothing!!!

  And it’s like I’m being shoved into a van all over again. I can’t breathe.

  But suddenly—Drew is thrown off me. Violently hard. By Mason. Mason growls, and starts wailing on Drew, slugging the lights out of him.

  Drew yelps, then starts blathering in between Mason’s punches, “She overreacted—I swear. I was just kissing her—that’s it!”

  Mason kind of picks him up, and throws him. “Didn’t seem like she wanted you kissing her.” He starts wailing on him again.

  Whoa! He’s mad.

  I try to get out of the way of their scuffling, but I’m still breathing hard and seeing black and somehow I stumble down the porch stairs—like crash down it and splat and land with a huge, painful, stars-seeing whack on my head.

  I don’t exactly pass out, exactly … but the rest of it’s a blur. Mason stops beating on Drew and races as quick as lightening down to me. His eyes are so full of concern.

  He gently picks me up, cradling me in his arms. “Are you alright?”

  I nod, feeling like a dork. But my heart is pounding and it’s only half because I’m scared to death at what had just happened, Drew turning all psycho and forcing gross kisses on me. But my heart is also pounding at Mason’s tenderness and the great care he takes as he carries me home. All the way home.

  Mom’s on a date—so not around when we get to my house, which is good since this may not look so good—me having to be carried home from a party.

  Mason sets me down on the couch and gently looks over my injuries. Sucking in his breath at the gash on my head. I know he feels guilty. His eyes wash over me and I know he hates himself for leaving me alone at the party.

  “I’m so sorry, Summer,” he says for the hundredth time, his hands running through my hair in this gentle, I-want-to-take-away-your-pain kind of way.

  “I’ll get you some pain killers,” he tells me, and that sounds good, because wow. I hurt. All over.

  He carries me to my bed, then comes back with pain medicine that the doctor gave him when he had his latest hockey injury.

  “I’m only going to give you half a tablet,” he says. “This stuff is pretty strong. I mean like, it’s going to knock you out.”

  That sounds good too. Sleep. With no pain.

  He grinds up the half-of-tablet into a glass of soda for me since he knows I hate to swallow pills
—even half ones (because it’s really big). Then he coaxes me to drink the medicine concoction—the whole thing. It takes awhile. He keeps saying, “Drink a little more, Summer.” Then he reminds me, “A little more.”

  He’s worried for me—I can tell. He looks at my scratches and bruises and winces—every time.

  “The medicine’s probably going to work on you really fast,” Mason says. “Since you never take anything medication-wise. And you weigh, nothing.”

  “Thank you for saving me,” I whisper, the medicine already working. I feel drowsy. And woozy. And sort of … good.

  He gently brushes the hair out of my face. “You’re welcome.”

  “Can I do something?”

  He leans back. “Probably.”

  I edge towards him and press my lips against his—Mmmm. His mouth is so warm and soft.

  For a moment, it seems he’s kissing me back. A moment. Then he gently pushes me away and runs his hands through my hair. “Anything but that,” he says softly.

  “Why?”

  “Because … you’ll be embarrassed in the morning. Lay down. Go to sleep.”

  “Lie down with me.”

  “No.”

  CHAPTER 18

  It’s morning and I’m sitting at the kitchen table eating cereal with Mason. We’re just sitting together—eating. He’s reading a sports magazine. And I’m just reading the cereal box—that’s all I can handle. My head still hurts from my fall.

  Last night is hazy—at best. I was woozy after the fall, then completely out of it after the pain medicine.

  Suddenly though, it hits me—out of nowhere. “Did I kiss you?!”

  My question makes Mason stop eating. He looks up from his magazine. His eyes flicker to mine.

  His answer is a slow nod.

  Oh man.

  Heat and blood fill my cheeks—and whole body. “Did you kiss me back?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  His jaw muscles tick. “Because you’re my sister. And that would be wrong … and gross.”