Available now:
Show Me How
Read an excerpt of Book 2, available now:
SHOW ME HOW
Brandon just parked the car in the lot of a Halloween haunted house, and I’m already regretting my decision to come. It was originally supposed to be a big group of guys from the baseball team along with us, but they all bailed at the last minute, going to a house party instead. I tighten the earrings he got for my birthday six months ago, a habit I’ve developed for fear they’ll fall out.
“Why are we still going?” I ask him.
“Because it’ll be fun.” He walks around to open my door.
“I hate these things, Brandon. Who purposely wants to be scared?” My hand pulls at the door, showing him my hesitation.
“Come on. It’s not scary. It’s fun.” He grabs my hand and tugs me toward the entrance.
“Fine, but I plan on keeping my eyes shut the whole time and following you.”
He laughs. “How are you going to follow me if your eyes are shut?”
“I’ll just hold on to your shirt or something.”
“You’re such a baby.”
I punch him in the shoulder, and he mocks injury. He pays for the tickets, and as we stand in line I shiver from the cool fall air. Strong arms come around me and his hands run up and down my arms, trying to bring warmth. Little does he know that every time he touches me, my body ignites, starting a fire low in my belly that only he can put out.
“Next!”
It’s our turn in the line, and before we enter, a man offers to take our picture for five bucks. I stand in front of the gory backdrop, huddled into Brandon while the creepy clown snaps the shot and prints it quickly then hands it back to Bran don. He puts it in his back pocket and leads me into the dark, abandoned warehouse.
A chainsaw revs, and I scream, burying my face in the back of his sweatshirt. Shuffling my feet along the floor, I try my best not to run into him, but every time he stops or jumps back, I kick him. “Would you let go and walk next to me? It’s not that bad, I promise.”
“You sure?”
“I’d never lie to you. And I’d never put you in a place where you can get hurt. We’re already halfway through.” His voice holds so much sincerity. I nod and grab his hand as my eyes try to adjust.
I scream every time someone jumps out, which is about every five seconds. We’ve gotta be almost done. My heart is pounding from fear, but I can’t help laughing. As we round a corner, we’re suddenly in a pitch-black room, and I’m ripped from Brandon’s grasp.
“Brandon!”
“What the fuck? Mary!”
Loud, creepy music plays and colored lights flash. Doors squeak open and closed. I’m not sure if it’s the sound effects, or if they’re real. The cackling and yelling are so loud, I cover my ears, trying to squint through the darkness to find Brandon.
I yell for him, but there’s no way he can hear me. Someone grabs my arm roughly, and I scream. I’m dragged through the dark room into an even darker hallway and shoved hard against a brick wall.
“Let me go!” I push and hit, trying my best to get away. It’s really hard because I can’t see anything. “You can’t touch me!” I yell at the worker. At least, I think it’s a worker and this is a sick part of the experience.
“I don’t work here, bitch.”
My brain scrambles as I try to take stock of what in the hell is going on. A door opens down the hall, and for a brief moment, light shines through. I open my mouth to scream, but it’s quickly covered. The man holding me—teenager, I should say—is wearing our rival school’s letter jacket and baseball hat.
“Your boyfriend thinks he can embarrass me? First, he hits me with a pitch, then he strikes me out. Then the fucker has the audacity to wink at me when he rounds the bases after his homer.” His voice is filled with so much hatred, my fear rises even more.
“Let me go. Please,” I beg him, but his grip tightens.
“On my home turf!” His spit hits me on the cheek and mixes with my tears as they roll down my face.
His hand releases from my mouth, and he pinches my breast through my sweatshirt, hard.
“Ow! Stop!” I’m not strong enough to push him off me, but I try. I’m panicked and frenzied, trying to fight him. My hand somehow has enough strength to hit him in the face, but it only fuels him on.
“We’ll see how embarrassed he is after this.” Then his hand grabs between my legs and over my jeans.
This is not happening. This can’t be happening. My muscles ache from the fight, my throat is hoarse from screaming. But nobody can hear me. The music I thought was creepy at first is now horrifying, sending chills down my spine.
He kicks my legs out from under me and I fall on my back, but manage to keep my head from colliding with the cement. I spit on him, and he slaps me across the face.
When I scream again, he covers my mouth and I bite his fingers. When he pulls back his injured hand, I think I have a moment to free myself when I see his fist flying through the air, coming right at me. I squeeze my eyes shut and gasp when his weight is suddenly gone.
Red emergency sirens now flash and the lights blind me when they come on, but I quickly adjust and see Brandon in a standoff with the other kid. Blood drips from Brandon’s eyebrow, and his sweatshirt is ripped. I stand and run next to him, but he grabs me and pulls me behind him.
“Come at me, motherfucker,” Brandon taunts. I’ve never heard his voice like this—dark, scary.
I can’t see the other kid from behind Brandon’s back, but the tension in the hallway is palpable.
“You fucking pussy. Put your hands on my girl. Try to outnumber me with your fucking minions. Over a fucking baseball game.” He uses a hand to push me back further. “Come the fuck at me!” He roars, then all I see is a frenzy of fists and bodies.
I never thought if I were in a situation like this, I’d not know what to do. But I’m clueless. I call for Brandon, trying to get him to stop, but he ignores me. There’s no way I can get between them. Should I leave? Go get help? No. I can’t leave him. Instead, I stand there while I watch him go blow for blow with some asshole. Brandon’s anger is something I’ve never experienced firsthand. He has a reputation for having a hot temper, but he’s always kept it in check around me.
There’s commotion outside the door, and the security guards bustle in, finally breaking up the fight.
“He was attacking me,” I tell them, pointing at the other kid, but they ignore me and pull them both outside. I follow behind, pleading for them to let Brandon go. He tells me not to worry, and that he’s fine, but I still try. “He didn’t do anything wrong. Please. Let him go.”
Both guys are held by security until the cops get here. I’m not allowed to talk to Brandon anymore, but I stand across the parking lot, both of us watching the other. He spits blood and wipes some dirt from his cheek on his shoulder, all the while his eyes never leaving mine.
When the cops arrive, I give my statement, and they let Brandon go. I run to him and wrap my arms around his waist, burying my head in his chest. He holds me tight and kisses the top of my head. His arms welcome me, but every nerve in his body is tense and on edge.