by Charisse Moritz
GENRE: YA Romance, (mature)
He’s the boy who wants to disappear.
One mistake and seventeen-year-old Shake LeCasse lost everything. Now there’s no going back and no way to move forward. The once-popular Varsity hockey captain is living in the basement of a grandmother he barely knows, ditching school, avoiding friends and working hard on self-destruction.
She’s the girl nobody sees.
Cleo Lee survives however she can. Lie, cheat, steal, whatever it takes, and saving Mr. Popular isn’t part of the plan. Telling him the truth about the night that destroyed his life is downright dangerous. She needs to keep quiet, be smart and let the guy she’s been half in love with since middle school throw away a future she’d do anything to have. Too bad she sucks at playing it safe.
I might bite:
His alarm rings and rings and rings, and then maybe he falls out of bed because there’s a heavy thump. He is loud coming up the stairs and finally staggers into the kitchen, looking rumpled and unfairly adorable in his underwear.
Shake stops when he sees me. He is definitely surprised but not good-surprised. More like when you find a raccoon in your garbage. I think he’d like to shoo me away but is worried I might bite. He’s right.
He stares, and I stare back.
I don’t like having him between me and the door to the outside. He’s so goddamn big. Hulk-sized. I brace myself for whatever he’s planning to dish out, clutching my fork, but he just disappears into the bathroom and slams the door. The toilet flushes, water runs in the sink and the shower starts up. He drops something and grumbles.
I finally start breathing again. I finish mopping up the last little bit of runny yellow goodness with my toast, sip my coffee with my feet propped on the table and wonder if life can get any better. My answer comes out of the bathroom in a towel, and I think he should only wear towels from now on. His hair is wet and dripping. His eyes are patriotic. Very red white and blue. His skin is the color of death after its floated in a pond for a few days.
“What’re you doing here?” His voice croaks a bit.
“You were too wrecked to get home last night.”
He thinks this over. “So?”
“Brought you home. Duh.” I singsong the last part, cuz I’m mature like that.
“You spent the night?”
“What was your first clue?”
“Why’re you still here?”
“So you wouldn’t feel cheap.”
“You can go now.”
“School, dude. We’re both going.”
“I’m going back to bed.”
“Is that an invitation or should I just wait?”
He frowns, definitely pissed but with no idea how to get rid of me.
“That’s my shirt,” he points out.
“And your underwear.”
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Emily Award Finalist and Melody Of Love Award Finalist, Charisse M Moritz divides her life between upstate NY and northern Florida. When not barricaded inside her writing cave or enjoying every possible minute with her husband and three kids, you’ll find her listening to 60’s music, singing offkey and looking for new reads.
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