Mean Crush Read online

  Mean Crush

  K. L. Bryce

  Mean Crush

  Copyright © 2020 Kayley Wood

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organization, places, events, and situations are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted or re-sold in any form, including photocopying, recording, electronic, mechanical, or otherwise without the written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews.

  Editor: Christy Kaye, Meghan Stoll

  Contents

  Prologue

  I. How It All Began

  1. His Lair

  2. Diary Disaster

  3. Officially an Adult

  4. Meeting the Boyfriend

  5. Prom

  6. Dreams Come True?

  7. Will You Be My First?

  8. Pookey Bear and Monkey Butt

  9. Annoying Little Girl

  10. I Love You

  11. I Will Survive

  12. Darkness Sees the Light

  13. A Chapter Closed

  II. How It Ends

  14. Hot Dog Girl

  15. Truth Time

  16. Surprise Guest

  17. Turning the Tables

  18. Mr. Savage

  19. Orgasms and Dinner

  20. I Challenge You to a Duel

  21. Kiss Me

  22. Missing Her

  23. PP Play

  24. Unexpected Guest

  25. Broken

  26. Safe and Familiar

  27. Roller Coaster

  28. Cut Wide Open

  29. Moonbow

  30. Our Lair

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  For believers in true love.

  PRESENT

  Tabitha

  When a guy pops the question, there are two likely responses:

  1. Yes!

  2. Um…

  That “um” or long silent pause is only a stall while your brain freaks the hell out, trying to come up with a way to say “no” without sounding like a heartless jerk. At least, that’s what normal people do.

  Me? I expected this would happen sooner or later. We talked about our future before, mapped out a solid plan we both agreed on. We lived together and got on great. Marriage was the next step. I knew this.

  But as he got down on bended knee during the seventh-inning stretch of a Red Sox vs. Yankee game, I froze. A packed stadium of over thirty-seven thousand people all cheered and woo-hooed as if Mark had a great at-bat and now the bases were loaded.

  My mouth opened, but no words escaped. In my head, it was like I was on some insane roller coaster ride, shooting me through moments and memories I’d thought were locked deep away in a vault.

  At the worst possible time, Reed Walker clawed his way into my mind, invading places in my heart he didn’t belong. My first love, my mean crush, a man I swore to loathe for all eternity, yet he still sent my heart in a whirl every time I saw him.

  Reed Walker. My storm, my hurricane, my weakness.

  I hated him for that.

  “Tabitha?” Mark swallowed, his face a little paler.

  All eyes were on me, awaiting my response. I felt like the next batter up in the bottom of the ninth with two outs on the board and two strikes under my belt. The game rested entirely on my shoulders. This next play would either send the crowd roaring like I’d hit a grand slam or silence them with a strikeout and a loss.

  A painful, humiliating loss for the man who looked up at me, worry saturating his dark brown eyes. Mark was sweet, predictable, comfortable, and safe. Everything Reed wasn’t.

  Heat coursed through my body, and sweat prickled under my arms. My heart banged so fast in my chest, I could hear the throbbing in my ears.

  I had to give an answer…and I had to give it now.

  I

  How It All Began

  He stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking.

  Leo Tolstoy (Anna Karenina)

  1

  His Lair

  Fifteen Years Earlier

  Tabitha

  Light poured in through the darkness as I unhooked the latch, letting the wooden door to the sky view fall open. The sun rays warmed my face and tickled my nose. I imagined a black owl with ice-blue eyes flapping his wings as he perched on the rooftop, a letter for me stuck in his pale white beak. My personal invitation to Hogwarts.

  I freaking wish.

  With a sigh, I tied the rope from the hanging door onto a hook. The futon mattress on the floor had one small square pillow and a navy blue blanket, enough space for one person to lay down. Reed came here a lot, always with a library book tucked under his arm.

  His lair.

  This place was originally meant for his mom, a she shed his dad was building off a path into their woods, but Reed had manipulated her into letting him have it for himself. She agreed so long as he kept up his grades and stopped getting into trouble at school.

  In the end, Reed always got what he wanted.

  He finished the project himself, building a private getaway all to himself. What he didn’t know was I liked to read here, too, away from the hustle and bustle of the vacation house. Between my parents, his parents, and us three kids, the place was a little too crowded for my taste.

  Reed would probably have my head if he knew I snuck in here. He was a huge jerkface who scowled every time I entered a room, and he never let me or his sister, Paige, step foot in his precious lair.

  Although I had to admit the place was pretty badass, but I’d never tell him that.

  I kicked off my hiking sandals, grabbed my copy of Anne of Green Gables, and sat crossed-legged on the small, lumpy mattress. I set my alarm for one hour, just around the time Jerkface would come back from his swimming lessons.

  Just as I started the last chapter, the sound of bells pulled me out of Green Gables.

  Crap.

  I hit the snooze button, determined to finish.

  A huge shadow cast over me, blocking out the sunlight. With one hand clutched around a book and the other balled into a fist, Reed practically growled at me like a dog. I almost laughed, imagining fur on his back standing on edge.

  “What the hell are you doing in here?”

  “Finishing my book.”

  He tossed the novel on the futon. “Like hell you are. Get out.”

  “I only have two pages left,” I said. “Then I’ll gladly get out of your stupid lair.”

  “If it’s so stupid, then why are you in here?”

  That smirk on his face made my blood simmer more than his scowl. “Because our parents are loud, and all your sister wants to do is play with my hair. You’re not the only one who needs space sometimes.”

  His eyes narrowed, and his jaw twitched. “Finish your dumb book then get the fuck out. Understood?”

  I snickered. “Does your mom know you swear like a truck driver?”

  He flopped down on the bed and picked up his book. “Rule number one: when you come here to read, no fucking talking, or you’re kicked out.”

  Huh? He’s actually letting me come back?

  I didn’t say another word and planted my eyes on the page. My brain couldn’t process a thing. This was the first time in the two years I’d known him that he’d ever sat this close to me by choice. The feelings that stirred in my belly were strange, like I was both fascinated and unsettled by him.

  I dared to turn my head to look at him. He let out a frustrated sigh and set the book in his lap. “What?”

  “Why do you hate me so much?” I didn’t mean for the question to slip out. I never wanted him to know that it bot
hered me. Our parents were best friends. We lived three houses away from each other. From the very first day he’d met me, his first words were, “Great. Another stupid girl I have to walk to the bus stop.” His mother smacked the top of his head and scolded him, and I grinned, sticking my tongue out at him. I didn’t like him from the start, and he obviously didn’t like me, but when I learned he loved to read as much as I did, curiosity won out over hate.

  A small frown touched his lips, and I realized I never really looked at him long enough to notice how dark pink and plump they were. He was cute, as far as boys went, but he’d be even cuter if he smiled once in a while.

  “I don’t hate you. I hate people in general, so don’t feel special.”

  “If that were true, you wouldn’t have any friends.”

  “I don’t like them all that much, either.”

  “Then they’re not really your friends.”

  “I don’t need any friends.” He turned away and picked up his book. “I’m better off alone.”

  I pushed down the strangest urge to touch him. “Everyone needs a kindred spirit.”

  “A what?”

  I shut my book and handed it to him. “Read this and you’ll see.”

  He looked down at the cover and scoffed. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “What? It’s a classic.”

  “Yeah, for prepubescent girls like yourself. Not my thing.”

  “Oh, please, you’re only two years older than me. It’s not that much of a difference.”

  “I’m two and a half years older than you. I turn twelve in a month.”

  “Whatever, I’ve seen your scrawny butt in a bathing suit. You still haven’t hit puberty, either.”

  He glared at me a few seconds before looking down at Anne of Green Gables. “Give me one good reason why I should read it.”

  “Because she loves books as much as we do.”

  This time, Reed smiled. Not a smirk, but a full-out grin that lit up his dark blue eyes. That act alone made my stomach flip and flutter with feelings I wasn’t used to having for Reed.

  Did I actually like him now?

  “I’ll read it if you promise to keep your mouth shut about it.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “You trust me with your deep, dark secret?”

  “Well, you didn’t blabber to our parents about that time you caught me smoking with my friends behind the shed. So I figure you’re good for it.”

  “I was seven, and you threatened to cut off the head of my favorite stuffed bunny.”

  There was that smirk again. I wanted to hate it like I usually did, but somehow this one didn’t bother me as much; in fact, I kind of liked it.

  “Finish the pages you have left,” he said, “then leave the book here.”

  2

  Diary Disaster

  Six Years Later

  Tabitha’s Diary

  Dear Diary,

  Sadly, this will be my last entry. I can barely look at your pink and white stripes without reliving the most humiliating experience of my entire life.

  And I’m not exaggerating, like, at all. I am seriously thinking of calling the company that made you and demand titanium locks with unbreakable chains. But that wouldn’t do me any good now! You betrayed me! You lured me in and got me to spill my innermost secrets—secrets I don’t even share with my best friend—and then what did you do? You let Reed Walker pick your sorry excuse of a lock and handed him my heart and soul without my permission.

  Backstabber! I will burn you in the fireplace tonight and not even feel bad about it.

  But first, I have to skim through all my entries one last time to understand how bad this situation really is…

  One hour and twenty-seven minutes later

  This is bad. Like nuclear-war-level bad.

  I have a whole page dedicated to practicing my signature as the future Mrs. Reed Walker!!!

  I spent three stupid pages talking about his lips and what it would feel like to kiss them. WTF was I thinking???

  Oh, and I can’t forget about the part where I talk about my virginity and wanting him to be my first. Ugh. I literally wrote out how I wished that night to go. Prom night, rose petals on the bed? How cheesy. He’s a senior, and I’m a freshman. He’ll be away at college by the time I put on a prom dress. I highly doubt he’ll be thinking of me then.

  And, of course, there’s the fact that he’s my best friend’s brother. How am I ever going to be able to step foot in their house again?

  Oh god, please let him have read only the parts he read aloud.

  Two Days Later

  Dear Diary,

  I saw Reed today for the first time since the incident. He’s being weird about the whole thing. Won’t even look at me, which is what I thought I wanted, but in a way, I kind of miss him teasing me like I’m his baby sister. He’s known me since we were in elementary school. I’ve slept over at their house countless times. I walk through their door without knocking, like a member of the family.

  Now it’s just…awkward.

  I don’t know how much he read of you, dear diary. He was reading aloud as I caught him and tried to pry you from his hands…until he got to a part where he realized the “he” I was referring to was him.

  At first, he made fun of me, reading in a totally exaggerated imitation of a stupid, lovesick teenage girl:

  “He stands there talking with friends. He has his arm around her, and I want so badly to be that girl by his side. She’s beautiful. Perky boobs and a butt that fills his hand perfectly. They look like the heavens made them to be together. Arm candy for each other. A natural fit. It’s not that he doesn’t notice me, but he doesn’t truly see me. If he did, he’d know I was in love with him—and I don’t just love those kissable lips or that tousled dark hair or those gorgeous midnight-blue eyes that I could stare into for hours…”

  The mockery in his voice faded away as he kept going.

  “I love that he secretly likes to read every free moment he can and that he loves using outdated idioms even though he’s considered a jock. I love his wall of book quotes because he was moved enough to write them down…”

  And that’s when he stopped reading aloud, obviously catching on.

  I can still picture the way his face fell as he silently read a little further before closing you and handing you back to me. His response? “Diaries are for little girls.” And then he walked out of the room, crushing me with five little words.

  The rest of what he must’ve read?

  “I love how even though he teases me like a sister, he’s protective of me. He may act like the big king of school with his side smile, snarky comments, and confident stride through the hallways, but there’s another part to Reed most don’t see—his heart. It’s much bigger than he lets on.”

  What he said was worse than his taunting.

  It was a total rejection.

  Three Years Later

  Reed’s Journal

  Just to be clear, this isn’t a frigging diary. It’s a journal. Men have journaled for centuries. Captains of famous ships kept daily logs. Without the written word, so much history would be lost or unknown. Not that I’m trying to write history, but I was told this is a great way to sort out your thoughts.

  And, man, I’ve got a lot of them.

  Here are a few that come to mind:

  1. College isn’t what I thought it would be. For some stupid reason, I thought college would be a different kettle of fish, but it’s the same old high school bullshit, but on a larger scale. Everyone wants to know where the party is at. There are the same cliché cliques. Since I’m on a soccer scholarship, I didn’t really get to choose my clique. And this fraternity shit is for the birds. Screw college. I vote we go back to the days of mentors and apprenticeships when a record time doing a keg stand or a beer pong win isn’t a guy’s crowning level of achievement.

  2. I like sex way too much. I am obsessed with making a girl come in every way. That gasp that leaves her lips when I touch an
d tease those spots she aches for—it’s like a fucking drug. I want it more and more until I hear her scream out my name. But my relationships get way too intense…until we start trying the other parts that aren’t so physical. I really do try to connect with girls on a deeper level, but it never works, and then we end up going back to what I do best, until she finds someone else she does connect with and she breaks it off with me. Sometimes I get the late-night booty calls when things don’t work out. I’m Mr. Rebound, because they know nothing more than good sex will come of us in the end. I hate it. And I hate myself when I cave into it.