The Boy Across The Street Read online

  The Boy Across The Street

  By Melanie Marks

  Copyright 2019 © Melanie Marks

  Cover Image © grafvision | Shutterstock.com

  All Rights Reserved.

  Table of Contents

  The Boy Across the Street

  Author Note/List of Her Books

  Note: Melanie Marks’ newest books are:

  Your Secret Crush (aka: Me); The Love Contest; and Nicole’s Love Curse

  Most Popular Books: Fall For Me; and His Kiss

  THE BOY ACROSS THE STREET

  CHAPTER 1

  His hands tangle in my hair, his hot velvet tongue entwining mine and—

  My alarm goes off, waking me from my disturbing (hot) dream. It was disturbing because it was about Dmitri, my total (hot) enemy from across the street. The guy is a menace—to my heart … and now to my sleep as well. Ugh.

  In exasperation, I throw my pillow across the room, since I’d been hugging it—dreaming it was Dmitri. I wince from the shame of it … and the complete horror of it. Dmitri. How could my traitor heart do this to me? Start longing for Dmitri of all people. Unfortunately though, I know why it is suddenly so plowed for the guy. It was his kiss. Yes, his actual kiss. The jerk actually kissed me—for real. In true life. And it had been … heaven.

  Ugh, ugh, UGH!!

  Okay, I’m not going to think about it. I’m just not. The way his soft sensual lips had delighted mine, or his hot, hungry mouth thrilling me with his hungry kiss that had gone on and on until I couldn’t breathe. Or stand straight. And the way he had held me up, and kept on kissing me anyway—passionately, like he could never get enough of me or my enrapturing mouth.

  Groan. My face is burning up thinking about it. So is my soul. I splash cold water on my face. It helps my scorched cheeks, but not my soul. Nothing can help my soul. It’s now damaged. Now craving the enemy.

  Dang that kiss!

  Okay, here is what happened, what led to the deranged (seductive) kiss: I was sticking up for my friend, Stormy. She was being harassed by a guy from our school … only she didn’t know she was being harassed. Because the guy is popular and on the football team and has a killer smile, one that slices into girls’ hearts.

  I was at my locker and the creep (Ricky) was welcoming Stormy back to school. She’d had a traumatically bad break-up with her boyfriend—a fellow football teammate to Romeo here (Ricky), who was chatting up wounded Stormy and making her think he truly cared about her shattered heart.

  “We should go out sometime,” Ricky told her.

  Stormy seemed to lose her breath. She cocked her head. “Hmm, maybe we should.”

  She suddenly seemed to be on a cloud of happiness. Like I said, Ricky is popular. And cute.

  With a grin, Ricky edged closer to her, his smile growing, “If we go out, I get to choose which personality of yours I go out with, right?”

  A chill went through me. Stormy’s ex-boyfriend—Romeo Ricky’s teammate—had been telling everyone he broke up with Stormy because she is “psycho” (but really he cheated on her, that’s when she went “psycho” on him, but that is beside the point). She hasn’t been able to face school since—so Ricky’s teasing slices through my heart as much as Stormy’s.

  Obviously, I whipped around to Ricky and started yelling at him.

  Ricky only gave me a chastised smirk. “Relax, Piper. I was just messing around with her—flirting. She knows that. Right, Stormy?”

  “Flirting?!” I growled. “That was your demented, deranged version of flirting?!”

  That’s when Dmitri wandered over to us—as I was glaring at his lab-partner. Dmitri looked between Ricky and me with a confused lift to his eyebrow. Then Dmitri said with an amused drawl, “Your scowl is as beautiful and confusing as ever, Piper.”

  Dmitri used to be my best friend. Then he stopped. It was a long time ago, but the wound from it still runs deep. His inexplicably dumping me—that pain will never go away. So, I over-react to him. I know this … yet I can’t stop it. Him standing there, siding with Ricky—though okay, he didn’t know what Ricky said to Stormy, had no clue actually, but still. He was Ricky’s friend, not mine. Anymore. Plus, he’s done a lot of painful, unforgiveable things to me—more painful even than just dumping me as a best friend (though really, nothing is more painful to me than that) so not gonna lie, I kind of lost it at that moment. I started on a loud, dramatic rant, snarling at him about passive-aggressive harassment under the misguided guise of “flirting” and how he should get new friends as his are the lowest of low and, and, and.

  As I ranted on and on, Dmitri’s beautiful lips parted, like he was bewildered and had no words, and then …

  He kissed me.

  … and left me breathless. And seeing stars.

  So, of course, I slapped him.

  And then marched (well, more like wobbled) away from him, not able to breathe.

  I was just kissed by Dmitri.

  What the #@^-?

  CHAPTER 2

  **That Same Morning, Right After I Was (Really) Kissed**

  After being inexplicitly kissed by the boy that has been my enemy for the past four years, I collapse into my seat in English class, and have a little meltdown. Then I groan (in my head) when I hear the writing assignment, because it is to write about a traumatic event that has occurred in my life. Of course I want to write about that kiss that just took place. But no way. I refuse to dwell on it. As it is, it has me all shook. Seriously, I’m a mess. Trembling and sweating, and tenderly fondling my lips—ugh. I’m totally perplexed. And stunned. But I don’t want to think about it—the baffling kiss—since I know that is probably exactly why Dmitri did it: to get me stirred up and thinking about him. Fantasizing about him. Well, I refuse. Though man, it was weird. (And hot.) I keep picking up my phone to text him, ‘What the fork was that, Dmitri?’ But no. I delete it every time. Set down my phone with determination. Thou shalt not engage with Dmitri. Or write about him. I crumble up my fervent scribbling about my innocent lips being attacked (by a male-seductress). Instead, I write the stress-inducing assignment about the shock of seeing this teenaged boy in my room that had crawled through my window one night. The story is creepy and emotional and totally true. I may tell it to you sometime, but not now.

  Right now I’m scribbling away about Window-Boy (and determinedly not my first kiss since my boyfriend, Willis, moved away). As I’m pouring out my heart and blood and soul onto the assignment, I get a text from this guy I’m kind of maybe “dating” sort of. His name is Branden. (He’s dreamy.)

  Branden: “…Um, you kissed Dmitri?”

  Me: “No, I slapped Dmitri.”

  Branden: “Yeah, what was that about?? And may I just say, you can slap me if I can kiss you first.”

  Um, okay, yeah. We’ve never kissed. Actually, I’ve never been kissed by anyone but Willis, who has just recently moved away. Sadly, I’m still sort of licking my wounds from my first ever boyfriend no longer in my life. Willis is the only boy I’ve ever kissed, ever…. Well, I guess I can’t say that anymore, can I? Thanks for that, Dmitri. (Not!) The dude stole my first non-Willis kiss! Jerk.

  See, Willis and I had dated for over two years. (Two years!) That’s a big deal. So, I had explained to Branden that my next kiss would be a big deal to me, because it was going to be the second boy I’ve ever kissed, and the beginning to a new chapter in my life. Life without Willis. I didn’t feel I should waste my very first non-Willis kiss on just anyone. It needed to be special. And mean something more than just a random kiss with a random guy. It was me moving on—not just re-bounding. Well, that’s what I wanted. Me to move on. Not rebound. Though that seems to be most people’s advice to me: “Find a hot rebound g
uy to get over the emptiness you are feeling from losing Willis.” But that in itself seems empty. And not what I want. At all. Like I said, I want my next kiss to be special. And mean something wonderful. And yes, help me to move on. That’s a lot of responsibility placed in my next kiss. So, I’ve been waiting to make sure it’s right.

  But so, I was saving my first non-Willis kiss for my first official non-Willis date—which I thought would be with Branden: my first kiss and my first date. But now (today) I have been robbed of my special first non-Willis kiss. But also, I’m not exactly certain I want my first official non-Willis date to be with Branden anymore. I mean, while I was away on vacation with my family last week, I heard rumors he was getting really close and flirty with this evil cheerleader, Sabrina. It had me worried and anxious the whole time I was on vacation, which is not pleasant. And not how I expected things to go down, at all—me now feeling pain from Branden instead of the tingles and warmth and happiness that I used to always feel from Willis. I’m not used to this, feeling worried and jealous. It makes me sweaty and cringe and tremble, all at the same time.

  So, I don’t discuss kissing with Branden now. Instead I read his words and know that he is just playfully teasing and that I should not bring up the fact I would like to slap him for flirting with Sabrina. We are not a couple. Yet. He can flirt with whoever he wants … however, it will keep me from giving him my pivotal first date and kiss. (Well, willing first kiss.)

  Well, probably. Maybe. I mean, I need to feel special about it—not insecure. Right? That seems to be the point of waiting for so long. Right? To be emotionally ready for it. And in the right—mature—frame of mind. And know what I want. And not settle for less than I dreamed about. (And I dreamed about it a lot.)

  When I don’t respond to Branden’s text, since I’m pretty intent on my writing assignment, and face it: trying to respond to Branden right now would take way more emotional effort than I have to spare at the moment. I mean, I need to confer with my best friend, Ally, on the subject—kissing—before I can involve others on my feelings of the topic. (At the moment, I am now very unclear of my feelings about it—my planned kiss as well as otherwise) (aka: the stolen kiss.) It is all very baffling … and I don’t have time for it. I have to just concentrate on my task at hand: conveying my traumatization about Window-Boy—and not about my first non-Willis kiss. Stay. Focused.

  But Branden won’t let me. He texts: ‘Seriously, what was that kiss about? Dmitri was just trying to tick me off, right?’

  Um, excuse me? I stare at the text. A long time. Suddenly, I am filled with a baffling overwhelming feeling of—gasp!—disappointment. Because sure. Yep. That’s it. The big mystery is suddenly solved. Why did Dmitri kiss me? To piss off Branden. After all, they are enemies. Probably even bigger enemies than me and Dmitri. What better way to get at Branden than to kiss the girl Branden has been insinuating will be his next girlfriend? And if it will make the girl pine and yearn for him (Dmitri), all the better for Dmitri. Especially because the hapless girl is none other than me, his emotional punching-bag for the last four years.

  Awe-some.

  I smack my lips, since I caught my fingers gently, lovingly tracing them again. Idiots.

  I thump my forehead on my desk, wishing so much I hadn’t adored that kiss. That I hadn’t spent the whole class-hour haunted/possessed by it—reliving it over and over. In vivid detail. Even though I had been trying to focus on my traumatic event—Window-Boy—and what had led up to the guy’s arrival. That stuff was very traumatic. I mean, I have to take medication over it … yet the kiss had even eclipsed it. Well, for the moment. But face it: I have my whole life to despair and perish over it.

  … only now I have the feeling I will over that kiss too. Sigh.

  So much to despair, so little time.

  *

  When English class is over, Lola Cavanaugh glares at me as we are leaving the classroom. Instantly, I get what the glare is about. Not that the chick doesn’t glare at me every time she sees me anyway. But right now she has steam coming out of her ears. Because Dmitri is hers. Always has been. Well, for the past four years. She snatched his heart away from me and Dmitri never looked back.

  … however, he kissed me this morning.

  That has to have pissed her off.

  So at least there is that.

  “Guess you heard Dmitri kissed me,” I tell her smugly. “I guess he’s not as whipped as you thought after all.”

  “Oh, please. The boy is devoted to me and you know it,” she sneers. “I told him I wanted a break—just this morning. Apparently, he kissed you to prove a point. And it’s loud and clear: if I let him free, he will kiss anyone.” She sighs dramatically. “Even go so low as to kiss you.”

  Ouch. Yet of course I pretty much knew that pathetic fact. I mean, Dmitri is devoted to her. It kills everything inside me to admit it, but it is sadly (and dementedly) true. Dmitri worships the ground Lola walks on. I mean, he even dumped me as a best friend for her. That’s how tightly wound around her finger she has him. Even now. Four years later.

  So, though I manage to keep a smug smirk on my face, it is just for show—and to hide the fact I’m bleeding inside. Since I adored the kiss so much. And even though I knew better, I kept harboring the slightest wisp of hope that the kiss was somehow special to Dmitri too. I mean, okay, I knew in my head it couldn’t be. I knew that. But my heart is a sucker. It always has been for Dmitri. Even though it should know better by now. I mean, Dmitri has pretty much gone out of his way to make it clear to me for the past four years: anything he felt for me is over. Long gone. Our once close friendship is now a joke to him.

  … just like the kiss.

  Man, I hate Dmitri.

  CHAPTER 3

  In Biology class, I slog to my assigned seat next to Dmitri. I glare at him as he stares at me. I attempt very hard to ignore the way his eyes on me makes my heart speed up, or the very vivid flashes of his sizzling hot kiss that keep flashing through my brain. I clear my throat and inform him crisply, “I don’t appreciate being manhandled. If you ever do it again, I’ll tell the school ethics committee.”

  “Noted,” he says.

  … and doesn’t look at me for the rest of class.

  Which is unnerving, since we have only been assigned seats next to each other for the past few days, but he had seemed to truly enjoy mock-flirting with me. Strangely, I miss it. But face it: his ignoring me is for the best. Before you go getting some sick idea that I have a crush on Dmitri, let me be clear—no way. I’ll explain, and then you will get why I am so adamant about this hard true (necessary) fact. As children, we were best friends. Yes, okay, I had a crush on him back then—always—but we were always just friends, and that was okay with me. He had made me feel special and cared for, and proclaimed me his best friend. I was happy. Then, when we were thirteen, my beautiful popular friend (who was more like my ‘frenemy’), Lola, declared she had a crush on Dmitri. My heart sank from the news. All the boys liked Lola. And I had sadly noticed Dmitri was no different. I would catch him staring at her in class. The pain was deep, deep, deep.

  Thirteen-year-old Lola had smirked at me, her beautiful eyes glimmering with a taunting challenge. “I’m going to steal him away from you,” she had said. Then she laughed, like it was just a friendly joke. “I’m just teasing.” She added, “After all, you two are only friends, right?”

  A chill ran through me, but I nodded. Yep, we were only friends.

  “So tell him I have a crush on him,” Lola instructed.

  I drew in a painful breath, not wanting to play match-maker to her and my secret heart’s desire. At all. But face it, Dmitri was going to find out about Lola’s crush on him either way. I mean, Lola wasn’t shy. Not at all. So the opposite of shy that I could barf. She knew she was beautiful and that all the boys liked her. Bleck.

  So with a wince, I informed Dmitri of Lola’s feelings for him as he helped me get my fingers right on his guitar strings. (He was quite determined to
teach me how to play the guitar. And play his favorite video games. And everything else that occupied his time.)

  I held my breath as he touched my fingers, warm sparks scattering through my body from his touch. Then I had gushed it out, the pain bottled up inside me, “Lola likes you,” I told him without breathing.

  He reddened. “I know,” he murmured. “She told me.”

  “She wants you to take her to the school dance.”

  He nods, like he already knows this too.

  Once again I was holding my breath. “Are you going to take her?”

  He looked slightly torn. “Would it bother you?” he asked.

  Yes! But I couldn’t tell him that aloud. Pain slicing through me, I shrugged. “I can’t date until I’m sixteen, so I planned on going to the dance with my best friend,” I nudged him. “—just like we planned,” I remind him, though I can barely choke the words out since I have to say them as though I’m breezy and it doesn’t matter much to me either way. Though it does, it does!

  “Yeah, you and me have been planning to go together—well, hang out there together. I told her that,” Dmitri says, and I perk up. Immensely.

  My lips go skyward. “So, we are still going to hang out there—at the dance?—as friends?”

  Dmitri nods. “Of course.” Then he adds with a playful nudge, “Just like we planned.”

  Relief floods through me.

  I was overjoyed that he was choosing me. That our friendship was more important to him than a shallow romance—that, admittedly, would be with a beautiful girl, but an evil one. One that had smirked at me smugly. One that my friends had warned me about right from the start. My friend, Stormy had sat me down right when Lola moved to town and warned me, “I know she acts like your friend sort of, Piper. But she’s not. Not really. She’s selfish and self-centered and she is jealous of you. She wants everything that you have, and she’s not a real friend.”