Authors: Tammy Blackwell
Tags: #Young Adult, #Paranormal & Supernatural, #Werewolves
I placed my lips just below his ear, letting his warmth and smell envelop me.
“What are you doing?” Angelʼs voice was like a shock of cold water.
“I was looking at the scratch your evil cat left on Alexʼs neck. Weʼll be lucky if he doesn't come down with Cat Scratch Fever.”
“You were looking at his neck with your mouth?”
Crap.
She might be able to keep the news of an unexpected visitor to herself, but catching me making out with my brotherʼs archnemisis in the hallway? She would tell anyone and everyone that would listen.
Crap, crap, crap.
I searched my brain for something - an explanation, a bribe, a diversion - anything that might salvage the situation.
“Do you want some brownies?”
Brownies? Yeah, that one so wasnʼt going to work.
“
We have brownies?”
Or maybe it was.
“We have a box of brownie mix. Iʼll make them for you.” A look very akin to horror etched itself onto Angelʼs face. “You want to
cook
me brownies?”
“Sure I do. Itʼll be fun.”
“I thought you were supposed to be a total zeppo in the kitchen,” Alex said. He had propped himself against Angelʼs door frame with one long arm. He was the picture of ease, whereas I was bordering on a complete breakdown.
“I can make brownies from a box,” I said, my tone a bit harsher than necessary. Couldnʼt he at least pretend to care that we were in serious trouble here?
“But youʼll burn them,” Angel whined. “You always burn everything. Even toast.” I was about to lose my cool. The idea of fratricide wasnʼt totally unappealing. Mercifully, Alex jumped to Angelʼs rescue.
“It just so happens that not only am I incredibly good looking, but Iʼm also an expert brownie maker,” he said. “Although, Iʼll need some help.”
Alex and Angel did not follow the directions on the box. When I attempted to point this out, Alex informed me that cooking was an art and he was an artist that didnʼt do paint-by-numbers.
I could only assume that he considered following the tried-and-true instructions that would produce fudgey brownie goodness paint-by-number.
“How about these?” Angel asked, holding up a half-empty bag of semi-sweet chocolate chips and a similar package of peanut butter chips.
Alex squirted some chocolate syrup into the batter as he considered. “What are your feelings on peanut butter, Scout?”
“Peanut butter chips are not part of the directions,” I said, gesturing with the empty blue box.
“Do you always have to follow the rules?”
“
Always
,” my ever-helpful little sister answered for me. “And she loves peanut butter.” After adding in at least ten different unsanctioned ingredients, the cooks/mad scientists declared their creation ready for the oven. We sat around the kitchen, listening to Angel detail all the first grade drama as an intoxicating smell filled the room. Alex held my hand under the table, his thumb tracing circles on mine.
The brownies were better than I ever believed food could be. We didnʼt even cut them into squares. Alex sat the entire pan in the middle of the table with three spoons. I was entrusted to pour glasses of milk.
I caught Angel sniffing her glass to make sure it was okay before taking a drink.
Conversation lulled as we stuffed our faces. With the exception of the occasional, “Yum,”
“Oh my God,” “This is good,” or moan, the table was silent. I was aware that Angel had been staring intently at Alex, but thought nothing of it. She had never been secretive when it came to her affection for him.
I should have realized what was coming. I should have looked at the situation from her point of view and remembered that God put little sisters on this earth expressively to torture their siblings.
She asked with the same casualness that someone might ask if you would pass something across the table or how your day at school went, but she didnʼt want the salt or to know about a surprise pop quiz in English. Instead, she asked Alex, “Are you in love with my sister?
A glob of brownie landed on my chest. Shock had made me forget how to feed myself.
“Is it that obvious?” Alex looked only slight abashed.
“You have googly eyes when you look at her.” Angelʼs didactic tone and wise expression would have been humorous if I had been capable of finding anything entertaining. “Boys only get googly eyes when theyʼre in love.”
“The eyes always give it away.” The two of them nodded sagely at one another. Alexʼs attention stayed on Angleʼs face, which meant that he couldnʼt see the way embarrassment colored my own. Of course, the fact that his neck was battling my cheeks for the reddest thing in the room made me feel a little bit better.
“She likes you too,” Angel continued.
“Are you sure?”
“Definitely. When youʼre around she actually smiles instead of looking like this all the time.” Angel puckered her lips, scrunched up her nose, and squinted her eyes.
“I do not walk around looking like Iʼve been eating lemons.” Really, where did she come up with this stuff?
Angel ignored me. “And she was sucking on your neck like a vampire. That means she
really
likes you.”
Every drop of blood in my body was pooled in my face and the massive amount of brownies I ate threatened to make a reappearance. I barely heard Alex ask, “Scout, what are you doing?” over the roar in my ears.
“Waiting for the ground to open up and swallow me.” My words were slightly muffled by the thick oak table I had planted my face down on.
“So, is that a sign that she likes me or doesnʼt like me?” I swear I could actually hear
him smiling.
“Ummm....that just means sheʼs weird.” I lifted my head to glare at her. “See,” she said,
“lemon face,”
The two of them proceeded to discuss the finer points of my lemon face and what activities were most likely to trigger it. When I could no longer keep my expression smooth and un-lemony, I fled the kitchen in the most dignified manner possible.
Alex was immediately by my side. “Hey, youʼre not mad, are you?”
Yes, I am, thank you very much.
“No.”
“Sheʼs lying,” Angel said from somewhere behind me.
Alex dropped his head and peered at me through his eyelashes. “Iʼm sorry if we hurt your feelings.” He captured my fingers in his hand. “I think your lemon face is adorable, and I like that you only smile for me.”
“Are you going to kiss her now?” Angel was practically standing on top of us with a look that could only be described as lemon-like. “I donʼt like mushy stuff.”
“No mushy stuff, huh?” Alex stepped back, but left one finger hooked around mine. “Is holding hands mushy?”
Angel mulled it over. “A little bit, but itʼs okay if youʼre at the movies.”
“How about watching a movie on TV?”
“I guess that would be okay.”
Alex grinned. “In that case, Iʼm very much in the mood to watch a movie.”
***
What was I thinking? Of course he wasnʼt in love with me. He was Alex Cole, for the love of all things shiny. Alex Cole who had a face that belonged on the cover of a magazines. Alex Cole who had a body that made college girls stop and stare. Alex Cole who actually understood what was going on in AP Calc and genuinely enjoyed Shakespeare. Alex Cole who probably smiled in his sleep and was nice to absolutely everyone, even my bratty little sister.
How could a boy like that be in love with me? At best, I was awkward and plain, though most days I came across as anti-social and freakish.
“Scout?” Alex squeezed my hand, snapping me out of my why-is-Alex-the-Awesome-holding-hands-with-Scout-the-Freak quandary. He motioned towards the end of the couch where Angel lay like a discarded porcelain doll - head lolled to the side, arms and legs scattered about, her unruly curls spilled out in every direction. Sleeping, she actually looked like her namesake. “So, I was thinking,” he said, his voice a husky whisper. “I never did get to finish my tour of the house.”
I was temporarily confused, but when his eyebrows raised mischievously I caught on.
As I led Alex into my room my stomach gave a familiar you-are-breaking-the-rules lurch. My parents didnʼt have Mrs. Matthewsʼ strict No Boys Allowed in the Bedroom EVER rule, itʼs kind of pointless with Jase and Charlie around, but I knew they would consider this a no-no.
“So, this is my room,” I said, kicking a pile of dirty laundry under the bed. “As you can see, Iʼm a clean freak.”
Alex stopped just inside the door to examine a picture that hung on the wall. Dad had snapped it at the lake several summers ago. I was sitting on a picnic table with Angel, a toddler at the time, in my lap. She was waving with one hand and pulling my hair with the other. Talley sat on my right, an ice cream cone dripping down her hand. Jase and Charlie were on my left, giving each other bunny ears. We had spent the day swimming in the muddy water under a hot sun, so we looked a bit grimy, but we were happy. You could almost feel the perfect day vibe coming off the picture.
“How old were you here?”
“It was right before my thirteenth birthday. I think it may have actually been Jaseʼs family celebration.”
He moved on, carefully examining every picture and poster that hung on the wall.
Thankfully, Zac Effron had recently been replaced by a print of Van Goghʼs
Cafe Terrace
.
When he paused in front of my bookshelf to read titles I felt a familiar warmth return to my face.
“This isnʼt what I was expecting,” he finally admitted.
I grabbed a stack of library books, all urban fantasy titles, and shuffled them off to my desk.
“It looks like youʼve got quite the supernatural fetish,” he said, thumbing through a stack that was out of my reach.
“Itʼs research,” I said. “Even fiction can be full of useful facts. Iʼve learned a lot from these books.” Mostly I had learned I was somewhat addicted to mildly trashy novels that had the ability to make me blush.
“Really?” Alex pulled out a Laurell K Hamilton paperback. “And what exactly did you learn from this one?”
My face was giving off enough heat to melt the polar ice caps. “Nothing.” At least it was nothing I could repeat out loud. I snatched the book out his hands before he could flip through the pages and find out exactly what that nothing was. Alex just chuckled and continued his survey of my stuff.
After making a full lap around the room, he sat on the edge of my unmade bed and plucked something from the tangle of covers. “Hiding a man in your bed? I must say, Iʼm quite shocked, Miss Donovan.”
“Alex, meet Guido. Guido, Alex.” I flopped down next to him. “Guido and I have been falling asleep in each otherʼs arms for years.”
Alex examined the battered old sock monkey. “I can see why. He certainly is handsome.” In truth, Guido has seen better days. Mom, who isnʼt much of a seamstress, has performed various surgeries to stitch up arms, mend holes, and even reattach eyes over the years. He may have been ugly, but I loved him all the same.
“Mom took Jase shopping one day when he was two,” I said. “She and Dad werenʼt married yet, so it had to have been either late summer or early fall. Anyways, they go into the toy store and Jase starts pointing at this sock monkey and saying ʻScoutʼ over and over. Mom tried to explain that his soon-to-be sister was not a monkey, but he threw a major tantrum. She ended up buying the thing just so people wouldnʼt call Child Protection Services.
“He carried it through the mall and all the way home. Anytime Mom tried to take it from him he would tell her, ʻNo, Scout.ʼ That night he brought it with him to the apartment Dad and I were living in. As soon as he came through the door he ran over, handed me Guido, and said, ʻFor you.ʼ” I reached over and patted Guidoʼs head. “Iʼve slept with him practically every night since.”
“That could be the sweetest story Iʼve ever heard. I think I may have a new cavity.” He had been shooting for indifferent and deadpan, but dimples and dry sarcasm donʼt go together all that well.
“Shut up. Like your brother hasnʼt ever done anything sappy to show you that he loves you.”
“Youʼve met my brother, right?”
He had a point. I couldnʼt exactly picture Liam being all warm and cuddly.
“But heʼs a good big brother, isnʼt he?” It was obvious that Alex adored and respected Liam.
Surely he had done something to deserve it. Then again, we were talking about Alex. He would probably find redeeming qualities in Hitler.
“The best.” He said it in a way that left no room for argument. “Heʼs just not big on the Hallmark moments.”
“It must be hard,” I mused out loud, “for the two of you to be on your own without parents.” All the emotion drained from Alexʼs face. “We do fine.” I was at a loss as to where to go from there. It seemed like every time I tried to broach the subject of Alexʼs parents, he shut down. It was impossible to keep the conversation going. I felt completely inept at being alone with him as he sat with his elbows on his knees, scrutinizing Guido, who was still clutched in his hands.
“Youʼre staring at me.”
I dropped my eyes and muttered an embarrassed “sorry”. Warm fingers glided under my chin, lifting my face to his.
“I wasnʼt complaining,” he said. “Guido, however, was getting a little jealous. I thought you should know.”
“Just a little jealous?” It was slowly occurring to me that I was alone with Alex in my bedroom. “I think we can do better than that.” With one hand I tossed Guido onto the bed while the other pulled Alexʼs mouth to mine. I had only a second to be shocked by my sudden forward behavior before his lips parted under mine, pushing away all doubt and fear.
It was the first time we didnʼt have to worry about someone opening the door or a broom handle jabbing me in the side. Our kisses were slower and sweeter. My hands lazily trailed over his face, neck, and arms, marveling at the smoothness of his skin and tautness of his muscles. When he pushed me back against the pillows I froze up in a moment of panic. “Just kissing,” he assured me. His breath was warm and moist on my ear. “Clothes stay on.