Are You In The House Alone? (plus: Love Me) Read online

  Are You In The House Alone?

  By Yolanda Love and Melanie Marks

  Copyright 2015 Yolanda Love

  Copyright 2015 Melanie Marks

  Image © MJTH | Shutterstock.com

  All Rights Reserved.

  Table of Contents

  Are You In The House Alone

  Love Me

  List of Dollar Books By Melanie Marks

  Melanie Marks’ newest book is:

  EVEN WHEN I SLEEP

  Summary:

  I stood fixated, watching her play the drums—the drums I taught her to play.

  I stepped back, feeling like I was falling. Falling right back in love with her, like I never left. I didn’t want that. I needed to keep my distance from her. I had to.

  But I didn’t want to. ***Darius

  CAMMY: my best friend, Darius, stopped talking to me four years ago. No explanation. No goodbye. He just changed schools and never talked to me again. But suddenly the beautiful boy is back in my life. Can I trust him with my heart? Four years ago he broke it. Now I have the perfect boyfriend, and I’ve heard all the rumors about Darius’s many, MANY girlfriends. Only secretly I’ve always loved Darius. Even now. Even in my sleep.

  **Even When I Sleep is available now**

  (Right now it only costs a dollar)

  ***

  Also new by Melanie Marks:

  Smokin’ Hot Accidental Kiss

  Okay, I’m just going to start by saying I did NOT mean to make-out with my total enemy’s (smokin’ hot) boyfriend. I swear! I mean, I know it sounds like the perfect revenge, since my total enemy became my total enemy by making out with my boyfriend (who, you know, became my ex boyfriend after that). Still, even so—I did NOT make out with my enemy’s (hot) boyfriend on purpose. Really!! TRULY!!! Not gonna lie, though—Mmmm. Oh man! That kiss … I can’t get it out of my head. Or dreams. Smokin’ hot Sutter Sinclair, that boy can kiss!

  **Smokin’ Hot (Accidental) Kiss is available now**

  ***

  Note: Both books are only one dollar right now

  (Or you can read them for free if you have Unlimited.)

  Are You In The House Alone

  CHAPTER 1

  My (hot) new stepbrother took the ladle from me. “Here, I’ll get your punch—I mean, since you’re the birthday girl and everything.”

  He edged closer to me, purposefully too close. Invading my space and making my insides go up in flames. Totally on purpose.

  He had probably noticed I was shaking just having him near—and being in the kitchen alone with him. I mean, that’s why he gently (pointedly) took the ladle. His passive/aggressive way of saying, ‘I know you want me.’

  That was why he took it, because I my shaking (with want).

  I take the cup of punch he hands me, though we both see that my hand is trembling. He eyes it with a smirk, but doesn’t comment. Instead, he trails his eyes up to mine, daring me to keep looking into his deep seductive pools of sin.

  I clear my throat, trying to ignore it—my quivering hands. And heart. Instead I try to act chill. (Though, yeah, it’s totally pointless.)

  “I’ve read about you on the bathroom walls at school lately,” I tell him, trying to be, you know, conversational—and breezy.

  He lifts his eyebrows, and actually seems mildly surprised. Which is not easy to do—surprise the guy. He smiles, “Oh yeah? What did you read?”

  I hedge slightly. Since I can’t really believe what I read. I mean, he doesn’t seem the type. At all. Especially not after the “gift” he gave me for my birthday.

  I tilt my head. “Do you spend a lot of money on the girls you date?”

  A slow, puzzled grin spreads on his face. “No.”

  That’s what I thought. So, the messages about him on the bathroom walls are perplexing. To say the least.

  His lips quirk. “Why are you asking me this, Brandy?”

  I shrug, still pretty bewildered, “On the bathroom walls, it says you’re a ‘giver.’”

  He chokes out a soft laugh. “Oh.” He laughs again, his eyes dancing. “I don’t spend money, no. That’s not what I ‘give.’”

  After an amused pause, he explains with a gentle grin, like I’m this cute little kid that he has to inform there is no Santa Clause, “It’s a sexual thing.”

  Hearing this, I almost drop my cup of punch, but he takes it from my sweating, shaking hands and places it on the kitchen counter, his eyes not leaving mine.

  He grins slightly, “Are you wanting a different birthday gift from me, Brandy?” His grin grows, “—want me to show you why girls call me a giver?”

  He only offers it to tease me. Of course.

  And to make me blush.

  Which I’m doing. Big time. Actually, I’m on fire.

  He grins sardonically, “Are you not super impressed with the awesome birthday gift I gave you?”

  Again he’s teasing.

  I roll my eyes.

  He’d given me a coupon—for a back massage. His eyes had twinkled when I opened it at our “family” birthday party. He’d watched me stare at it, then when I finally dared look up at him, he winked playfully, “I’m a good back massager,” he said.

  Yeah, I had no doubt he was. Though I knew that wasn’t why he’d given me the “coupon.” He’d given it to me not because he was awesome at massages, but because he hadn’t actually thought to buy me a gift. He hadn’t exactly come to live with us under the best of terms. His mom had been put in a mental clinic—after she tried to kill herself. He totally blamed it on his dad—because the jerk had cheated on her. With my mom. So, yeah, he wasn’t a fan of my mom either. Or me, for that matter. (Probably.) But every girl at our school became his fan the second he moved here. I guess because he’s a ‘giver.’ Apparently. But more because he’s Drop. Dead. Gorgeous.

  He edges closer to me, teasing yet hypnotic. His warm breath heats up my neck as he whispers in my ear, “Want me to give you a real gift, Brandy?”

  Right as he murmurs it (so seductive that I practically do a face-plant)—right then, my mom comes into the kitchen. I jump.

  Which makes Garrett grin. (That’s his name by the way.) (Though I guess he’ll also answer to “The Giver.”)

  Mom gives me an exasperated look, though she’s clueless that Garrett is hot. (She just thinks he’s a foul-mouthed, bad-behaved pain in the house.) She sighs, “Grandma’s getting ready to leave Brandy, go say goodbye and thank her for the lovely sweater.”

  As I’m scrambling out of the kitchen, Garrett informs me loudly—so my mom can hear yet be absolutely clueless, “I’ll give you the gift later, Brandy.”

  “What gift is that?” Mom asks dryly—making it clear she’s being sarcastic, “Your thoughtful back-massage?”

  “Even better,” Garrett tells her cryptically.

  I freeze and peek back at him.

  He winks.

  CHAPTER 2

  “What did Garrett give you for your birthday?” my best friend, April, texts as I’m getting ready for bed.

  I read the question and laugh, knowing she’s going to die when she hears the answer.

  I quickly type, “A coupon for a back-massage.”

  She sends me a bunch of emojis that tell me that she’s koo-koo gaga excited … and jealous. (I mentioned that Garrett is gorgeous, right?) When my friends saw who I was going to be “living with” from now on they dropped their jaws and immediately informed me that they were going to be spending a lot more time at my house. When I informed them that the guy was kind of a dirt-bag and hated my family and living at my house and basically everything … they basically didn’t care. At all. Garrett is eye-candy. And make
s them wild and hungry. And drool. So, yeah, they want him. Big time. Doesn’t matter that he smirks sardonically at everything—‘cause even his smirk is sexy.

  Once April is through with her emojis (it takes a while), I explain to her about the “giver” thing.

  “… Ohhhhh!” she texts. “I guess we should have figured that out.”

  Um, yeah. I guess we probably should have. But my boyfriend is very “gentlemanly.” And hers is non-existent. So … we’re basically clueless about stuff that gets put on bathroom walls. Actually, we look a lot of the stuff up, but hadn’t thought to do that about the “giver” thing. We thought it was that he was generous (though, yeah, that didn’t sound like him). But still, it had seemed, you know, innocent. For the most part.

  Wrong!!!!

  Though, okay—apparently he is “generous.” Just not in an innocent way. (He just makes sure the girls are satisfied.) He explained it to me later—groan!!

  This is how it happened:

  I’d been waiting outside the bathroom (which we share)—waiting to brush my teeth. When he opened the door and saw me waiting, he had smiled, slow and sexy (and teasing), “Waiting for your gift?”

  I grunted. Like, get real.

  Then I muttered, “I should have known it was a sexual thing.”

  His grin grew, “Yeah, you should have. But you’re dating a gay guy.”

  I huffed. “He’s not gay—he’s just not gross.”

  Garrett’s eyes raked over me. They went kind of … dreamy. But then he smirked, “If the guy’s not trying to attack you, he’s gay.”

  I was a little rattled (and, okay, turned on) from the way he was looking at me. I mean, he used to look at me with pure hate. Seriously. When he first moved into our house he’d glare at me and my mom and his dad like he wanted us all dead. But lately things have started to change. A little. Well, a lot actually. I’d started helping him with these poems he had to decipher for his English class. (I really like to do stuff like that—figure out what the author was trying to say.) Garrett had given me a double-take at a bunch of the stuff I came up with.

  He’d had to do the assignment as a punishment. For getting into a fight with a guy in class. He had to decipher ten poems a night for a whole week. The first night he had been reluctant when I asked him if he wanted help, like he’d rather dump a trashcan full of garbage over his head than sit at a table with me.

  But by the last night of the assignment, he had knocked on my bedroom door. “Are you ready to turn a bunch of incoherent crap into flowers and romance?”

  I had blinked at him, not realizing that’s what I had been doing.

  He grinned, “You have to admit, Brandy—you’re really romantic. To be able to turn the phrase ‘I stand shuddering’ into ‘my heart is full of love.’ I thought the guy was scared.”

  “Well, love is scary,” I murmured under my breath.

  He’d blinked. Then did his usual smirk. “Is that why you date a gay guy?—‘Cause you’re afraid to have a real guy love you?”

  “Phoenix is not gay.”

  Garrett smirked again. “Whatever. Are you going to help me or not?”

  His voice was teasingly impatient, yet it was just for play.

  A jet of warmth washed through me from the request. I mean, at the beginning of the week, he really, truly hated the thought of my help. But now he was asking for it. And seemed to be looking forward to it.

  Anyway, since then things have changed between us. His disgust for me seems to have eased up. It seems. Now he’s started flirting with me instead—but in a teasing way. Not a real way. Since I have a boyfriend … and he has every girl in school.

  Tonight in front of the bathroom, when I answered his “gift” question, informing him that I would not be needing his “services” he smirked and raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure? You seem a little tense.”

  I growled. “I don’t want to have sex with you.”

  He smirked. “K. Keep telling yourself that. But the giver thing—it’s not actual sex.”

  When I looked at him blankly, he chuckled. He raised his eyebrows, “It’s oral.”

  I really had absolutely no clue what he was talking about.

  He seemed to know that. So his words “Think about it” had double meaning. He said them, then strolled away, a grin hovering on his entertained lips.

  I groaned in frustration.

  Pressing myself against the wall, I called after him, “I have absolutely no clue what you’re talking about.”

  He stopped, then turned back to me. His smirk was sardonic. “I know that, Brandy. That’s why I’m telling you: the guy you’re dating is gay.”

  CHAPTER 3

  A few days after my birthday, I’m sitting at the kitchen table, kind of dying as I have a math test tomorrow, but I’m having troubles!!!

  I thump my head on the table a couple of times, then grumble at my incoherent math book.

  As I’m busy doing this, someone slides into the chair next to me. I’m incredibly not interested in who; since, you know, I’m having a brain aneurism and everything.

  But as I’m busy grumbling and erasing yet another mistake, I can feel that the person’s eyes are on me and not on their food or whatever, so I finally glance up, then do a double-take. ‘Cause it’s Garrett. Garrett!!

  His eyes are half-amused, yet half-sympathetic. He grins sardonically, “Need help?”

  Of course I need help. My paper is so worn thin from all my erasing that it practically has holes in it—everywhere.

  I groan, “Yes, I need help—obviously.” I gesture at my wreck of a page, wanting to rip it to shreds.

  But because he’s being so unexpectedly nice, seeming to be offering (?) to help me, I’m hesitant to inform him that he probably can’t. I squeak out, “I take advanced classes.”

  He grins slightly. Then juts his chin, “What is it?”

  Since he seems somewhat cocky about it (though the dude is cocky about everything) I inform his challenging smirk, “Advanced calculus.”

  He raises his eyebrows, then informs my challenging smirk, “I already took it last year—smoked it.”

  I widen my eyes. Dude!! The guy isn’t only gorgeous, he’s smart? Who knew?—not me, that’s for sure. Of course until lately he used to just glare at me. (He sure doesn’t do that anymore, by the way.) But so, until like a week ago, we didn’t actually communicate, or have an actual conversation. I didn’t know a thing about him. Except that he was gorgeous—and sort of a wad. And he hated me—because I was attached to my mom, who was attached to his dad, who was a dirt-bag that cheated on his mom.

  He was angry—he made that loud and clear.

  He doesn’t look angry now though. He looks amused at my shocked, and hopeful expression. I mean, the dude can actually help me!!

  I bite my lip, “Would—would you help me?”

  His grin grows. Instead of answering, he informs me, “Usually you’re sitting here doing your math with your boyfriend—ogling him like he’s a rock star. Purring and holding his hand and making him cookies.”

  Whoa!

  My heart speeds up. He noticed that? Noticed me?—my life and routine???

  It’s just so incredibly shocking because he used to act like I was the plague and he couldn’t get out of my site fast enough … but I’d been in his sight?

  Again, whoa!

  He juts his chin curiously, “So where’s your boyfriend tonight?”

  “He’s gone with the school’s marching band to the state competition—they won’t be back until Monday.”

  He smirks, like Phoenix is a nerd. He lifts an eyebrow, “Marching band?”

  “Hey, our school’s marching band is really awesome.”

  His eyes twinkle playfully. “Then why aren’t you in it?”

  “I used to be,” I inform him, like—slam. Then I admit, “I had to quit, because it conflicted with my cheer practices.” I add defensively, “Hey, I’m a good dancer.”

  He nods slightly
. “I know.”

  My heart bursts into confetti.

  When I gaze at him all stunned and starry-eyed, he chokes out a laugh. “Stop looking like you want to kiss me and show me your math problems. I need to go to bed.”

  Just to clarify, since it’s so unlike him, I stammer out, “You—you’re going to help me?”

  He presses his head against the table, then looks up at me, “Are you going to make me cookies?”

  I nod. “Definitely.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Garrett leans over my calculus book, helping me figure out problem after problem.

  He’s being soooo incredibly patient and sweet that I’m starting to feel sort of warm towards him, and mushy inside.

  “You’re looking like you want to kiss me again,” he murmurs, not even looking up from the equation he’s skimming.

  Flames shoot through me. (Embarrassing!!!)

  I huff all indignant-like, “I don’t want to kiss you,” I add, just as indignant-like, “—I have a boyfriend.”

  Garrett grins teasingly, “Well, sort of.”

  Grr!

  I’m tempted to stab him with my pencil. “No, not ‘sort of.’ We’ve been dating for almost two years now.”

  His eyes flick up to me, then back down to my equation. He says dryly, “Yet you had no idea what I was talking about the other night.”

  I redden. “Well, I do now.”

  His gaze trails back up to me, his eyes sooo amused. He juts his chin. “Because you looked it up?—or because your boyfriend finally tried giving you a better present than new shoes?”

  “Heyy!” I growl defensively, “I love the shoes.”

  “I’m sure your boyfriend does too.” He says it total deadpan, though there’s a sardonic twinkle in his eyes.

  He grins. “But you’re avoiding the question—did you look it up?”

  Groan. Yes I looked it up. Of course.