Designer Genes - The Boyfriend Cut

by Brooks, Harley

  Designer Genes

  "The Boyfriend Cut"

  a novel by

  harley brooks

  AMAZON KINDLE EDITION

  PUBLISHED BY

  HARLEY BROOKS

  Designer Genes—"The Boyfriend Cut" © 2013 Harley Brooks

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  AMAZON KINDLE, LICENSE NOTES

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be circulated in any format, resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an addition copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. This ebook contained herein constitutes a copyrighted work and may not be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, or stored in or introduced into an information storage and retrieval system in any form or by any means, whether electronic or manual, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the copyright owner, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This ebook is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  The Cataloging-In-Publication Data for Designer Genes—"The Boyfriend Cut" is on file in the Library of Congress.

  ISBN: 978-0-9856598-3-7

  Cover Design © Kelli Ann Morgan

  Inspiration Creative Services

  www.inspirecreativeservices.com

  Editing by Lynne Harter

  Word Nerdy Editing Services

  http://www.wordnerdyediting.com

  Formatting by Bob Houston

  http://about.me/BobHouston

  Printed in the United States of America

  Dedication

  For renowned author, Ivy Ruckman who told me one rainy afternoon four years ago, Designer Genes would be published.

  Thanks for believing in me.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  1. . . Chosen

  2. . . The Interview

  3. . . Hijacked

  4. . . Kismet Unleashed

  5. . . Busted

  6. . . Gossip Train

  7. . . Devil's Advocate

  8. . . Last Dance

  9. . . Game On

  10. . Graduation Presence

  11. . Beach Party Breakup

  12. . Door Number 3

  13. . Hide And Seek

  14. . My Alaska

  15. . Burying The Past

  16. . Collision Course

  17. . My Mission Impossible

  18. . No Choice

  19. . Park City

  20. . Complicated Goodbyes

  21. . Tuscany Romance

  22. . Jordan

  23. . Puppy Love

  24. . The Scavenger Hunt

  25. . Tropical Bliss

  26. . Things That Go "Bump" In The Night

  27. . Revelations

  28. . Full Disclosure

  29. . Close Call

  30. . Bartering

  31. . Expect The Unexpected

  32. . Thanksgiving

  33. . Hearts And Roses

  34. . Bittersweet

  Acknowledgement

  About the Author

  Love is supposed to be a choice made by the heart…not the government.

  Born with the genetic markers the government seeks, an unassuming seventeen-year-old girl is dropped in the middle of a covert cloning program where her future is secretly decided. Marli Davis wants out of the government's clutches until she meets her destiny…and his twin brother.

  Over six feet of lean muscle, lips that should be registered as lethal weapons and the perfect link to Marli's genetic code, Jordan Mason's only strategy is to fulfill his government contract, not fall in love. His heart, however, changes the game plan and when jealousy spins everything out of control, he chances losing Marli forever.

  Jesse Mason offers Marli the one thing Jordan can't give her. Freedom. All he asks in return? Her heart—a price she's not sure she can pay.

  Is a life without love, or Jordan, a sacrifice Marli's willing to make? Is Jordan's love for Marli strong enough to fight for her, or strong enough to let her go?

  A choice ruled by the heart. A destiny ruled by the consequence.

  1

  CHOSEN

  Red. A powerful color demanding immediate attention, yet foreboding and suggesting danger—proceed with caution. The total opposite of what I intended to do, but not alone.

  Overhead, the spring sun burned with the same impatient intensity vibrating within me. I drummed my bare toes against the warm concrete stairs and picked at a piece of mortar between the bricks. Fifteen minutes had passed since the courier delivered the envelope and I'd launched a panicked call for help.

  "Hurry up," whispered across my lips delicate as the brush of dragonfly wings, while save me thundered inside my rattled brain. My eyes dropped to the bold letters on the label.

  April 10, 2072. Interview Request for Candidate 5846—Selection A for Candidate 2255.

  The heartbeat in my ears thrummed louder. I'd never received a red envelope—a request for an interview—one for my possible assigned genetic link: mate. If I listened closely, I heard the sound of my normal life skidding to a halt and felt the tentacles of The Program reach for me, leaving the edges of my dreams to fray until they disappeared.

  Chosen at age fourteen, my selection for candidacy met with mixed reactions. A child accepted into The Program signified prestigious standing and guaranteed special benefits. To my father, however, it meant letting the government decide his child's destiny—something he refused to allow.

  Scheming behind his back, my grandmother, aided by my mother, secretly enrolled me without my father's knowledge. When he discovered the personal betrayal, the resulting chain of events forever altered my world.

  Powerless to change things, Dad forbade the government's interference before I turned seventeen. It seemed the moment I blew out the candles on my last birthday cake, queries flooded my cyber mailbox from compatible candidates. Today, however, I received the first request for an interview.

  A soft whirring sound started up the block and seconds later, a solar car holding the two people who'd shared almost every major moment in my life, parked at the end of the walk. Alex, who appeared pixie-like with her tiny build, mischievous eyes and spiky hair, bounded up the sidewalk first. She tugged at the cropped neon-green fabric that barely qualified as a skirt, while twisting her celestial bleached stalks into fine points. A yellow band circled her wrist allowing her the freedom to live life on the edge and not under the confines of The Program. The problem, however, was Alex believed consequences happened to others, not her.

  "Your cheeks are showing," Brittany stated in her usual judgmental tone. A tall, lithe figure with a mane of glistening black hair edged at her waist, Brittany Johnson, or Brit, probably had the most common sense in our trio. Raised by strict parents who held fast to their Asian background, she policed everyone's moral conduct. Nonetheless, her comment didn't faze Alex. Nothing did.

  "Maybe I mean to expose a little tush."

  I tipped my head toward the house across the street. "I'm sure the neighbors appreciate the show."

  "Old man Baxter probably needs something to kick-start his heart. He's got to be like a hundred." She turned and purposely waved as if he watched.

  "You're impossible, Alexandra Nichols."

  Brit tap
ped the red envelope. "So that's it?" I nodded. "Wow. Guess I expected more—diamond crusted or something more spectacular by the way they describe the 'honorable request.' Did the thing at least come on a satin pillow?"

  I laughed. "No, but the delivery guy did bow before handing it to me. I should have checked for wings tucked inside his shirt, or a halo hanging off the handlebars of his scooter."

  "More like a retractable pitchfork in his back pocket if he was a messenger from The Program."

  "So…are you going to open it?" Alex asked.

  "I don't know. Dad will have a come-apart if I do."

  Brit drew a deep breath. "You're only reviewing—not accepting, right?"

  "Right," I said aloud while inside an emotional war waged. Curiosity plagued me, but once I inserted the pod in my computer registering I'd received the request, I crossed a point of no return. I'd activate my candidacy, officially entering the clandestine world surrounding The Program.

  Without my father's permission.

  Brittany's voice pulled me from my thoughts. "When does Rick get home?"

  "In about an hour, depending on how late he's running with patients."

  Alex scoffed. "Patients? Marli, they're cats and dogs."

  Veterinarians fell into the same category as street sweepers in some people's eyes. Saving animals' lives didn't hold the significance as saving humans, until one of society's elite needed to give "Fluffy" a tenth life. Then vets were considered gods.

  I tugged hard on a bleached spike.

  "Ouch! Fine. Patients. Either way, we better hurry."

  I opened the front door and paused. "So we're clear? We look at the pod then reseal it. Dad never knows and you two take this secret to your graves."

  Upstairs in my bedroom, Alex sprawled across my bed, head propped on a pillow against the footboard. Brittany perched on the edge of the desk, close to the computer. I passed them each a candy straw from my junk food stash and folded one knee on the chair, keeping a foot on the floor. Half of me grounded, the other half uncertain and frightened. I inserted the pod, no longer feeling a breath exit my lungs or a heartbeat in my chest.

  A bead of moisture prickled my upper lip. Dad would have a meltdown of epic proportion if he knew what we were doing. At this moment though, I only cared about Candidate 2255—my supposed assigned "link." I rolled the cinnamon candy stick between my lips and shoved the image of my father's enraged face to the back of my mind.

  A tall, well-built boy walked into view and perched on a stool against a white screen.

  "Oh. My. God," Alex whispered.

  Brit's chin dropped and she braced her arm on the desktop to lean closer. I slumped onto the chair, mouth bone dry, the candy straw stuck to my tongue.

  "Hi."

  The tone of the voice on the video feed sounded gentle, kind. The single word—a friendly greeting, felt intimate, and an unexpected blush tingled across my cheeks.

  "I'm Candidate 2255."

  A shiny bronze curtain of waves followed his jaw line and hid his face when he lowered his head. He scraped at the corner of a fingernail before smoothing his hands down his thighs. Shifting a hip on the stool, he flipped his head, sending his wayward locks swinging neatly back in place. His mouth pinched, a deep breath drawn and held as if weighing a decision.

  "I know it's against protocol, but I hate being referred to as a number. My name is Jordan Mason and…I'm really nervous."

  Mesmerized, I watched him push the sleeves of his light blue sweater to just below his elbow as if the simple gesture was the most incredible thing I'd ever witnessed. The corner of his bottom lip tucked into his top teeth for a second before slowly slipping back into a heart-shaped mouth. A kissable mouth. When his fingers slid through his thick hair, a nervous flutter wiggled in my stomach. I pulled my legs tight to my chest and dangled my toes off the edge of the chair.

  "Okay—" he continued on a rush of air, "—about me. I attend Cornell University. I'm in the second year of their accelerated medical program." He rubbed the back of his neck and a sheepish grin scrunched his mouth. "I, uh, graduated high school early."

  An immediate grimace twisted my face and I dropped my gaze to the pink bracelet adorning my wrist. Four diamonds and a whopping seventeen years old. My unimpressive portfolio didn't even include a high school diploma yet.

  A light chuckle rumbled over the speaker and the voice, smooth as warm caramel, continued. "Wow, I sound pretentious. Something I hate, by the way. So what do I like? That's easy. For one, I love animals. Dogs, especially. They're happy if you simply scratch behind their ears."

  I snapped to attention. On my twelfth birthday, a robin hit the living room window, breaking a wing. Dad and I nursed the bird until it took flight one morning. Ever since, I wanted to follow in his footsteps and become a veterinarian.

  Could I possibly be assigned to someone who'd allow my dream to come true?

  A slight curve pulled Jordan Mason's mouth and dimples bracketed the corners. "Next would be water, whether sailing, encased inside a huge wave, or sitting nearby on a beach, I love it." His eyes twinkled, his expression animated as he wandered in his thoughts. "Surfing is one of my passions. In fact, I'm a fan of the old-fashioned long board—had one custom made. It catches a wave perfect every time."

  Hmm. Water sports. An embarrassing memory flickered. I tried surfing a couple of times with my brother and his friends when we lived in California, but rather than "catch a wave," I spent most of the time under one.

  Jordan laughed, the sound wrapping and holding me in a dizzying vice. His eyes glittered with excitement. "Cars are another obsession. I love them fast and flashy. My Porsche, Sweet Sally, is my best friend. She's taken me on lots of road trips. I know, not 'environmentally acceptable,'" he air-quoted. "I love the open road almost as much as I love flying. Another favorite hobby. I'm a licensed pilot—personal aircraft and helicopters."

  Alex sneered. "Of course you are."

  Brit reached over and smacked the top of her head.

  "SHHH!" I hissed.

  This time, two hands scrubbed roughly over his scalp and another sigh ruffled his mouth. A weird feeling rushed through me like hot and cold water running side-by-side. I pushed my fists into my eye sockets to stop watching.

  "There I go again, bragging. Sorry," he said, the lilt unnerving. "What I really mean to say, is I love doing anything that makes me feel free."

  Freedom. Not a lot of that in The Program and I sensed a connection to Jordan Mason right then. Like me, he always fidgeted with his bracelet. His body language, the harsh angles his expression suddenly took, revealed being a candidate and required to jump whenever the government asked, might be something he didn't like either.

  I stared as he fingered the blue band around his arm, unaware I touched my own. When the light above sparked the diamonds on his bracelet, I gasped. Five diamonds. Crap! The cinnamon stick dropped off my lip to the floor.

  At age thirteen, the government issued colored bands representing your life status. Outside of The Program, yellow, orange, and green were the three major colors. If my dad had his way, yellow would still surround my wrist, but the pink ring I wore served as a constant reminder he'd lost…and so had I.

  The special blue and pink bands issued to candidates had diamonds representing status, and five diamonds symbolized the highest—the elite. Four diamonds sparkled on my wrist, but the fifth one on Mr. Mason's band made him the equivalent of royalty in The Program. He out ranked me.

  "Stop!"

  The computer paused at my voice command. I shoved away from the desk and paced, twisting my hair tight enough to break it off at the roots. "There's been a mistake. His band has five diamonds, not four!"

  Alex's forehead twisted. "I don't get it. That's a good thing…isn't it?"

  Brittany, also a candidate, her pink band trimmed with four diamonds like mine, understood immediately. "Not really. It means he can claim Marli."

  Alex kneeled in the center of the bed, waving her can
dy straw like a magic wand. "So? The guy's hot."

  "It's not that simple. If he claims me, I don't have a say in my own future."

  She pointed at the handsome face frozen mid-sentence on the screen. "Hell of a 'future.' What's your problem? Someone who's smart, obviously rich, and beyond sexy, wants you."

  "Exactly. Why me? His assignee should be a politician's daughter, or a wealthy heiress. Not some ordinary teenage girl from Ohio. I'm-I'm—" I leaned on my knees, breathed deep to get my lips to stop tingling. "—scared."

  I backed against the wall, pressed a hand to my squirming stomach. The computer beeped, possibly alerting someone on the other side of the cyber-curtain. Before Jordan Mason's video request could open, I had to sign into The Program's database using my candidate identification number, allowing the government access to my computer.

  Brit's brow rose when it chimed again. "Marli, do something."

  "Go!"

  "One last thing," Jordan said gently, "I know this whole setup is about an assigned mate, but you should know honesty is important to me. I need a girl in my life who's real. Someone sincere, compassionate, and funny. A sense of humor is important, if we're going to survive this."

  Survive this?

  "Stop!"

  Alex threw her hands in the air. "Now what?"

  I parked on the window seat and stared at the stilled close-up image. I knotted my T-shirt in my fist and tears choked my voice. "I can't do this. I'm only seventeen. What about college? A career?"

  Alex's fell back on the bed, her head hanging off the side. Her wide eyes looked at me upside down. "Davis, you're messed up." She pointed at the computer. "Look at him!"

  I had no argument. Jordan Mason could be the finest example of the male species ever, and he seemed sincere—trustworthy. The computer started the countdown beep. I checked the screen. The camera shot had closed in on Jordan's face and my heart pushed my ribs.

  "Alex, you don't understand."

  She rolled over and crossed her legs behind her. "I understand that you get to have sex with that hunk."

  Suddenly, my brain felt like it might explode. "Sex?"