Louder Than Words (Fall For Me) (5 page)

CHAPTER 14

MASON

Summer and I—we always had
a closeness
.
Right from the start.
Well, it was like that for me anyway. I never had a little sister. And so what
that she was my age? I mean, that’s what I thought—so what? To me she had
been that—a little sister. A smokin’ hot one.
But
still, a sister.

Okay, if I had to admit it, my
feelings for her were all over the place, even then.
Right
from the beginning.
A tangled up mess.
But I
was able to ignore it. Pretty much.
Because I wanted to be
part of her life.
What I’m saying is, I liked her. And I didn’t like
that many people. So, that was saying something.

Also, it was sort of like she needed
me. She was used to having her mom all to herself, but since her mom married my
dad, I could see
Summer
was feeling abandoned. So, I
invited her to do things with me. Dumb things, yeah. Like drive the cart while
I golfed. (Yeah, I liked to golf—and no, none of my friends did.) I used
to go alone—I didn’t mind. But Summer coming along—I didn’t mind
that either. She was a chatterbox. But not like most girls … I actually liked
what she had to say.

So, I took her to do a lot of stuff
with me—batting cages, racetracks,
the museum
(though, that was her that dragged me to that one—she liked to draw
statues for some reason … it was pretty cool, actually). Also, I took her to
the ice-rink with me a lot while it was closed. We’d sneak in early in the
morning. I’d practice my shots and she’d practice twirls and stuff.
Of course that was kind of distracting—her twirling.
I’d always want to watch her rather than practice my hockey. But let me tell
you, the practices were way better with her around than when I used to go
alone—without her. Everything was better with her.
To
me.

So, anyway, like I said, I didn’t
mind having her around. In fact, I
liked
having her around. And I liked being a brother to her.
And
protecting her.
Like, sometimes she would have nightmares.
Really bad ones.
See, when she was twelve, this guy tried
stealing her from the library—no joke. He followed her out to the library’s
underground parking lot and tried pushing her into his van. But she bit him and
kicked him and scratched him and started screaming her head off. She caused
such a raucous that he finally let go of her and sped away—probably
terrified someone called the police on him.

But after that, she was left with
nightmares about it.
About the guy grabbing her, or coming
after her.
When I found that out, I’d sleep on the floor in a sleeping
bag by her bed. She told me having me around helped her not have the
nightmares—or when she’d wake from them and see me laying there, near
her—like protecting her—she was able to go back to sleep. And she
never could do that before—peacefully go back to sleep.

So, I felt good about that.

Brotherly.

Only, we were getting older, and
things were changing—fast. She was looking more and more like the girls
in magazines to me … and less and less like a sister. And that didn’t seem
right. Like the way it was supposed to be, you know?
Me
thinking of her as a hot girl.
It disturbed me.

So, I started hanging around her
less. And hanging out with girls that I wasn’t exactly fond of—but they
looked good. And could get my mind off
Summer
—for
a while. Usually. Well, sometimes.

But then I got sick—again. It
was my second time since I’d moved in with them. And I’m not talking the normal
sick. I was holed up in my bed for a couple weeks both times. But
Summer
would come in and be my nurse. It was nice being
taken care of like that. My mom died when I was young, so I wasn’t used to
that—being taken care of. And it was especially nice being taken care of
by sweet
Summer
. She smelled so good, and would feed me
warm soups and read me long, epic books. Books that I found fascinating and would
make my heart pound. (Summer being the one reading them probably had a lot to
do with that. Probably. Okay, definitely.) But like I said, my mom died when I
was young, so I didn’t get read to—ever. It was nice having
Summer
do it. She was really good at it—like
exceptional at it. And … I don’t know. Having her be all soft and caring and
warm. It did something to me. Made me fall in love with her, I think.

So when my dad moved out of the
house—which I knew he would eventually do (‘cause he does that)—I
didn’t go with him. He moved in with some chick, but I stayed living with
Summer
and her mom. They were the closest
thing
I had to a family. And they wanted me. So I stayed.

But I also kept close to other
girls—so I wouldn’t get
too
close to
Summer
.

Then, the summer before tenth grade
she came outside while I was playing basketball in the driveway.

I remember it as clear as if I was
relieving it, every aching detail….

I’m shooting hoops, and then
there’s
Summer
. She just came home from cheer practice
and she’s wearing her uniform—a new one that they were trying on for
fitting purposes. Man, hers definitely fits. She looks sexy as anything.
Bordering on a siren screaming,
‘Yowza!’

I try to look away, but I can’t.
She’s my sister … but she’s not. It’s been this way for a while now. All
tangled up. There’s this sudden torture to being related to her—because
it’s only
sort of
related to her. So,
my eyes and body don’t listen to my brain sometimes. I mean, my brain tells me,
“Calm down freak-show. She’s your
sister.”
But my heart pounds.
And wants her. And
it has no interest in what my brain’s saying. The two—they don’t
communicate anymore. Not when she’s around.

I make my shot with the hoop, but
don’t try for another. I can’t concentrate with her watching me like that. I
wipe the sweat off my face with my sleeve.

“Is there something you need
Summer
?” I ask because she doesn’t usually stand around
watching me shoot baskets. Or watching me
do
anything.
Not lately. Maybe she knows the crazy thoughts that go through my brain about
her lately. (Man, I hope not.)

“Um … well, I can come back if
you’re busy,” she hedges.

I gesture at the ball in my
hands—the one not going for hoops anymore. The one just being gripped
tight and getting plastered with sweat as I wait for her to speak. “I’m not
busy,” I tell her. “What do you want?”

“Um, it’s nothing. I’ll talk to you
about it later.” She starts to walk away.

What
the—??

I clasp her arm as gentle as I can
and pull her back to me. Then I kind of cage her against the garage door, so
she can’t get away from me like she seems to want to. “What is it,
Summer
?” I ask softly, totally not getting why she’s so
hesitant to talk to me. I mean
,
I do anything she
wants. Always.

“Are—are you and Liza together?”
she finally squeaks out. “—
like
a couple?”

My breath hitches in my
throat—strangling me practically. I tilt my head, suddenly finding it so hard
to breathe. Why’s she asking me this?

I shake my head slowly, feeling
cautious. Knowing I shouldn’t be so excited by the question. But I am. I’m way
too excited. “We aren’t together. It’s not anything.”

She lets out a little breath.
Relief?

I draw closer to her. She smells so
good. I want to stroke her soft hair and whisper in her ear that I’ve never
wanted to be a “couple” with anyone but her. Instead, I plant both my sweating hands
on either side of her, against the garage wall. “Why are you asking about us?”

She breathes out another little
breath. But this one is different.
Embarrassed … or unsure.
She swallows. “Because I have this favor to ask.”

My eyes close.

Oh.
Hm, a favor.
Not jealousy. Should have known. My muscles relax.

I move away from her, and make a
shot. The ball swooshes in, no net. It’s cake now. All of the pressure is off.
Gone. She just wants a favor.
Of course.
Not me.

Of course.

“What is it?” I ask without looking
at her.

She bites her soft pretty lip.
Still hesitant.
But I’m over it.
The
pounding heart.
“The favor, Summer—what is it?”

“I need a date.”

My pulse thumps.

I hold the ball.
And
my breath.

All the adrenaline in me is roaring
in my ears. Man, how does she do this to me?

Without looking at her, I bounce
the ball a couple of times. But my heart is back to pounding. Big time. Like
it’s going to explode. “With me?” I finally ask.
Finally able
to get my mouth to work.

“Um … yeah.” She twirls her hair.
Something she does when she’s nervous. Not to drive me wild. I mean, that’s not
why she does it—it just works out that way. She twirls her hair and my
heart goes wild. Every time she does it.

“Okay.”

“It’s just I need to show up with
someone hot—and most hot boys are jerks,” she says quickly, like she
needs to explain. Explain that our date isn’t going to be real. As if I can’t
get that on my own—that she doesn’t think of me as a real date … because
I can’t be, right? I’m just her semi-sort-of-step-brother. (Only, I have to
admit, my heart gets a little thrill hearing she thinks I’m hot.)

I interrupt her explanation.

 
“I said I’d do it.”

“I know, but—Thank you,” she
says with a little breath, like she gets it, finally. I don’t care what the
details are. She needs a fake date. Fine, I’ll be her fake date.

She watches me a moment longer.

I hold the ball again. “Is there
anything else?”

She shakes her head like she’s
snapping out of an embarrassed daze, probably still embarrassed that she had to
ask me for the “favor.” Like she had to twist my arm to do it. Like the thought
of it isn’t making my heart slam against my chest.

She says softly, “I’ll make you
some cookies—to thank you.”

“Okay, you do that,” I tell her, my
voice kind of throaty. So it doesn’t really sound like the words that come out.
I mean
,
the words are like it’s right—like it
shouldn’t be
me
making
her
the cookies. But that’s not what’s
inside of me. And probably doesn’t sound that way. I hope.

I bounce the ball a couple more
times, not looking at her. “Could you make them peanut butter—with those
little smiley faces of chocolate chips?”

That’s the kind she always makes
me. It’s my favorite.

I can feel her smile, though I’m
still not looking at her. “Right on it,” she says.

As soon as she
leaves I text Liza.
“I want to break up.”

CHAPTER 15

SUMMER

“I asked Mason on a date,” I tell
Zoey when we’re up in my room.

She was painting the word “Finn” on
her fingernails, and little hearts and flowers. But suddenly she chokes on her
gum.

“What
?!
”
she gasps.

I laugh. I love to freak her out.
“It’s just a fake date. Remember how I had that cabin-mate at cheer camp, Kirstin?
Well, I’d introduced her to this guy I was dating while I was there at camp—Clark.”
I sigh dreamily. “He was to die for. Anyway, it ended up Clark started going to
the same high school as Kirstin—long story. But now—” I sigh, this
time so not dreamy; in fact, with a grimace, “—now their dating.”

“Awwhh,” Zoey makes this
sympathetic noise.

“Well, it’s not that big of a
heartache,” I admit. “More of a pride-ache.
After all, I came
home from camp and started dating loser Camden
,
remember
?
So, it’s not like Clark owed me his heart for life or anything. It’s just …
ANYWAY,” I huff, getting back on track, “Kirstin invited me to this birthday
party she’s throwing for Clark. They live practically an hour away from
here—so I could’ve got out of it. But I guess I should go, since Kirstin’s
a friend.
Sort of.
Well, a camp friend.”

“But of course you can’t show up
alone,” Zoey says, totally getting it. That it’s a pride-thing. And well,
Kirstin kind of
stole
my boyfriend.
Sort of.
Not enough for me to be super mad about … but
enough that no way can I show up at the party without a hot date.
One hotter than smokin’ Clark.

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.