Sophie's Secret Crush - [Whispers 05] Read online

  Sophie’s Secret Crush

  Book Five of the Whispers Series

  Tara West

  Sophie’s Secret Crush

  Book Five of the Whispers Series

  Copyright © 2013 by Tara West

  All rights reserved.

  First epub edition, published May 2013

  Edited by Theo Fenraven

  Cover Art by Tamra Westberry

  Formatting by Danielle Blanchard

  Published by Shifting Sands Publishing

  License Notes:

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Publisher’s Note:

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without express written permission from the publisher. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, resold (as a “used” e-book), stored or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited.

  This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. The characters, incidents and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

  Dedication

  Kelly, thanks for listening to my concerns about this book and for your friendship. Hannah and Sheri, and everyone in my fan club, thanks for your continued support of my Whispers series.

  Chapter One

  My life…. Hmmm, what can I say about my life? At the moment, my life is centered around three things: my strengthening telepathic powers, a cute witch named Ethan and my starring role in the school play. Needless to say, I don’t have time for much else.

  And I certainly don’t have the patience for any more drama.

  But, of course, drama seems to be drawn to me like a moth to a flame. Or in my case, like a whitehead to a pimple. Luckily, Aunt Flo’s monthly visitation just ended. I seriously hated PMS, which was nothing more than another layer of drama heaped on top of bloating, cramps and sheer misery.

  Oh, joy! Insert sarcastic eye roll.

  Since I was finally getting over missing my two BFFs, who were studying witchcraft with AJ’s aunt in Salem, and since I was actually enjoying my time, however awkward, with Ethan and the rest of the drama club during our grueling rehearsals every day after school, and since my dad and I had discovered a really cool father/daughter bond, something was bound to come along and screw up my little slice of happiness.

  And that something, or should I say someone, was none other than my very first boyfriend, Frankie Salas.

  Still tall, dark and melt-all-over-the-carpet-in-a-puddle-of-goo gorgeous. That melt all over the carpet thing was almost not an exaggeration. Because as I looked up into his warm brown eyes and killer smile, I swear my feet were burning holes through my shoes and sticking to the mat beside the open front door. In fact, my whole body was burning up, and the closer he inched toward me, the higher my internal temperature soared. I had to wonder as I continued to stare at him, mouth agape, why was it so easy for Frankie Salas to trigger all my fire alarms with just one smile.

  And how in the heck was I going to put out this inferno?

  “Hey, Sophie.” Frankie batted impossibly thick eyelashes while stepping toward the threshold. “You okay?”

  He was so near me now, I could smell his minty breath and heady cologne. I’d forgotten how good he smelled…better than any boy had a right to smell.

  I tried to swallow down a lump that had wedged itself in my throat. It felt as if someone had shoved a wad of cotton balls into my mouth and soaked up every last drop of moisture. “I-I’m just surprised! What are you doing here?” I barely rasped the words.

  His smile hitched to the right. Oh, no! Not the lopsided grin! He was so damned hot.

  “I missed you, too,” he added, dryly.

  But the mirth in his gaze told me he was joking. Maybe joking wasn’t the right word. Maybe teasing or toying. Yes, toying. Like he was a cat, and I was a mouse trapped in his death grip of angsty, hormonal overload.

  “I’m sorry,” I said as I took a step back and he took another step forward. “It’s just… I wasn’t expecting you. Did you drive here?”

  His nearness had me on edge: the deep sound of his voice, his scent, and heaven help me if he touched me. That would be the trifecta of torture. The closer he inched toward me, the farther I backed away, until he was now inside the threshold of my house and my heels were hanging off the edge of the carpet.

  “I borrowed my grandpa’s car.” He nodded toward a hunk of metal parked in my driveway.

  “Uh, huh,” I mumbled. I didn’t get a good look at it. Maybe because I was being distracted by a towering heap of hotness.

  He ran his tongue over his upper lip before flashing another crooked smile. “Do I get a handshake or a hug or something?”

  Holy crap!

  Pull it together, Sophie! Please don’t pass out, or wet yourself, or do something else totally stupid and embarrassing.

  “Yes,” I said. “I’m just still in shock.”

  Though my arms felt like deadweights, I barely lifted them before he was there, wrapping me in a hug. Despite the trembling in my limbs, I sighed as I sank against his chest, letting the scent and feel of him envelop my senses like a warm, soft cloud.

  And before I had the chance to stop myself, three stupid, traitorous words slipped from my mouth. “I’ve missed you.”

  Warm breath tickled my ear. “I missed you, too, baby.”

  Oh, GAWD, he’d called me “baby.” I was done for.

  *****

  Frankie Salas was sitting beside me at the kitchen counter sipping a glass of sweet tea. I smiled like an idiot.

  He nudged my thigh with his knee. “You look smokin’,” he said with a wink.

  I smiled like an even bigger idiot. I was glad I’d used a little extra eyeliner today to highlight the green in my eyes, and I’d worn my chestnut hair down. It had grown a few inches this summer and was well past my shoulders.

  Frankie moved his hand to my knee and squeezed. A bolt of electricity shot up my leg to my body’s core. Holy crap! Not good. The last thing I needed was to get turned on by this guy. Not when we were alone like this. Not when my parents weren’t home. And certainly not when I still had feelings for Ethan Maeson.

  I abruptly rose and walked to the counter, refilling both our glasses, even though they were over half-full.

  “When did you get into town?” I asked, trying to keep my voice casual and not at all hot and bothered. I was pretty sure I failed, because despite my best efforts, my voice had this husky rasp with an undertone
of stupid teenage lust.

  I was such a terrible actress. How had I managed to snag a lead in the school play?

  “About ten minutes ago,” he answered from behind me, amusement clearly ringing in each word.

  Oh, this cat was having a fun time playing with his little mouse. Now would have probably been a good time to pop inside his head and hear what he was really thinking, but after my awkward mind reading incident with Ethan last weekend, I figured it was best to stay out of hot guys’ heads for a while. At least until I got back my nerve.

  I cleared my throat before betraying my common sense and turned to look into his eyes. “Ten minutes ago? So you came straight here?”

  “I told you, I missed you.” The heat coming from his gaze was hot enough to melt lead.

  Oh, gawd, no! My insides bubbled and boiled, turning me into a pile of mush from the inside out. My knees weakened as the slightest gasp escaped my traitorous lips.

  Must. Resist.

  “Really?” I said with forced indifference. “You never wanted to talk when you were gone.”

  His perfectly sculpted brows hitched, and his smooth forehead furrowed just the slightest bit. “Didn’t you get my message last week?”

  “Yeah,” I said, not bothering to mask the sarcasm in my voice. “I got that one message.”

  And in the span of a heartbeat, I went from really hot and bothered to just plain bothered. Who did this player think he was? He’d practically ignored me for a year: no emails, phone calls or text messages. Now he’s making moves on me?

  “Sorry.” His shoulders fell as he dropped his gaze to the tile counter. “I’ve been going through some stuff.”

  Without warning, his emotions projected into my brain, and I was overcome by rejection and depression driven by a strong sense of guilt. This guy had serious problems.

  And curse me for feeling sorry for him. Why did I have to be a telepath? Life would be much easier if I didn’t fall for his pathetic pity party.

  I carried the drinks to the counter and sat down beside him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  He shrugged while frowning into his cup. “Parents might get a divorce.”

  “Oh, Frankie.” I leaned toward him and squeezed his hand, hoping this time his touch wouldn’t cause me to have a hormonal aneurism.

  He turned his hand around and laced his strong, smooth fingers through mine. “They sent me here while they try to work things out.”

  Again, I tried to pretend like his touch meant nothing. I was just offering him comfort. It was a gesture of friendship. That’s all. But when the pad of his thumb began to trace a light circle in the center of my palm, I jerked my hand away and scratched a fake itch on my scalp.

  Great. Now Frankie thinks I have psoriasis.

  “So you’re living with your grandparents?” I asked, casually lowering my hand to the counter.

  “Yeah, probably for the rest of the school year.” He turned in his seat and leaned closer so his knees were practically straddling my body.

  Oh, crud. I really didn’t need Frankie this close to me. Not when my brain was so mixed up already. But he smelled so good, and warmth practically radiated off his broad shoulders. That’s when I noticed he’d filled out a lot in the past year. Beneath his tight, long sleeved T-shirt, his chest and arms had grown.

  I swallowed hard as I looked into his big chocolate eyes. Big mistake. Big, big mistake. This boy was smokin’! How had I managed to get through the month we dated without passing out from heat stroke?

  “It’s like living in the stone ages over there.” He sighed. “They don’t own a computer.”

  My jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope.” He shook his head. “And my parents took my phone.”

  “Why?”

  “They’re having money problems, too.” A pained expression crossed his features as he ran his fingers through his thick, wavy hair. “That’s mostly why they’re fighting.”

  Damn, the boy was gorgeous, tempting and pitiful. I didn’t know if I wanted to take him in my arms and sooth him, kiss him senseless, or both. “You can always come here if you need to use a computer. I just have to work it out with my parents.” Even as I said the words, I regretted them. I’d just given Frankie Salas an open door to my bedroom.

  He perked up like my dog, Buster, whenever I give him table scraps. “Can I use it now?”

  My limbs began to shake.

  Oh, no, Sophie what have you done?

  I slowly rose from my seat and nodded toward the stairwell on the other side of the living room. “You can’t stay long. My parents will be home soon, and they’ll freak if they find me alone with you.”

  A slow, devilish grin spread across his face. “When will they be home?”

  “In about an hour.”

  Crap. I should have said five minutes. Why didn’t I lie?

  His smile widened, and I swear I saw two horns sprout on top of his head. “That gives us plenty of time.”

  Time for what? But some part of me already suspected the answer.

  “Where’s your bedroom?” he said as he rose from the stool and pulled me off with a strong hand on my arm.

  Before I could speak, he’d latched onto my hand and was leading me toward the stairs.

  And I followed him like a love struck puppy, the idiot that I am.

  As we mounted the carpeted stairs that lead to my bedroom, I couldn’t help but wonder: how far was he going to go before he crossed the line? And if he did try to cross it, would I want to stop him?

  Chapter Two

  Lately, my room’s been somewhat of a mess. “Somewhat,” meaning old crusty bowls from late night ice cream sundaes left under the bed, bras and panties slung over the lamps, books and papers thrown all over the floor, and then there were those clumps of something gross my cat had gagged up in the middle of my plush carpet.

  It had gotten so bad, my mom threatened to call the Environmental Protection Agency to quarantine my room. Luckily, Mom had nagged me enough times this week that I finally stayed up late last night cleaning.

  Frankie let out a low whistle as he stepped inside. “Nice room.”

  I grinned behind him and silently thanked my mom for her endless, incessant nagging.

  Light from two large bay windows illuminated the room. Beneath the windows were my brand new computer and the beautiful work table my dad had crafted for me. In the center sat my four poster bed. Draped over the bed was a soft satin quilt, nicely decorated with several scratches and a few tears, compliments of Alessia, my sarcastic, demanding—and oh, did I mention, telepathic?—kitty.

  Alessia and I had a very special bond. She bossed me around and I served her every whim. So far it was working out pretty well for her. Alessia thinks she’s special, and I guess she is, considering she’s actually the reincarnated spirit of a dead witch. I often wondered if she was this much of a pain in the butt in her human form, and if her attitude had somehow led to her demise.

  Today, my white fluffy ball of joy was perched on top of my bed, giving Frankie and me her signature diva glare.

  What is a boy doing in your room, little witch? Her feline hiss resonated in my head.

  “What a pretty cat.” Frankie cooed as he turned to Alessia.

  “Don’t touch her,” I warned, but he’d already leaned forward with an outstretched hand.

  Alessia jumped up and lashed out at Frankie.

  Luckily, the boy had quick reflexes. He jerked back as her sharp claws just narrowly missed his arm.

  “Alessia!” I snapped as I scooped her into my arms.

  Your parents aren’t going to be happy, she scolded.

  What they won’t know won’t hurt them, I mentally retorted before dumping her in the hallway and shutting the door.

  I cringed at the sound of her low growl coming from the other side.

  Go, I warned, before I get Buster.

  Even as I thought it, I knew it was an empty threat. I’d never sick my yellow la
b on my kitty. She was a major pain in the rear, but I still loved Alessia. And at the moment, I felt ten degrees of bitch for what I’d just said to her. But as I looked at the guy sitting in front of my computer, guilt was replaced by longing.

  Frankie had been my first and only boyfriend. During that month we were together, he treated me like a princess. He followed me everywhere, opening doors for me, telling me how much he cared for me, and then he moved four states away. But he could have relocated to a new planet for all it mattered. He never messaged me, never called me. It was as if the moment he moved, he’d forgotten I even existed.

  I’d cried so hard over that boy. And now he was in my room, acting as if we’d never broken up. What the hell was wrong with him? What the hell was wrong with me for allowing him to walk back into my life without so much as a major guilt trip? Had I learned no nagging skills from my mom?

  As I walked over to where he was sitting, I caught a glimpse of something that maybe I didn’t want to see: a long list of messages in his inbox all from teen girls. I remembered how, soon after he’d moved, his list of female Facebook friends began multiplying. Within a few months, he’d collected several hundred girly trophies on his wall.

  I felt insignificant lost among a sea of those pretty faces. I had to remind myself it was me he’d chosen to be with today. Me he’d rushed to see the moment he got back to town. I was fairly certain it would be me whose heart he’d soon be breaking. I wondered how long it would take him this time.

  My thoughts briefly flicked to Ethan. I liked him and I knew he liked me, but last weekend, we’d had an awkward encounter when I tried to breach the subject of witchcraft. Like me, Ethan was a witch, but he didn’t know I knew it. Maybe he was like I’d been a few weeks ago and just not willing to accept it yet, so I’d decided to give him his space and let him figure it out. Ethan wasn’t my boyfriend. We’d never even kissed. So why was I feeling guilty about my desire for Frankie?