Boomerang
By E.M. Denning
Publisher: Paper
Gold Publishing
Genre: Stepbrother Romance
Content Warning: 18+
Eli Cooper and
Violet Holt haven’t gotten along well in the year their parents have been married,
so it’s better that they don’t see each other often. After an averted disaster,
sparks fly and now Violet can’t get Eli off her mind. Violet only has to avoid
him for thirty more days, then she’ll be safely back at college and can focus
her energy on her studies, but Eli isn’t so easily ignored.
Eventually, passion
flares and they both give into temptation. Only one question remains when it’s
over– What do you do when the one person you can’t get over is the one person
you’re not supposed to be with?
“Eli!” I screamed
up the stairs as I led his dog toward the back door by the collar. “Keep your
stupid mutt out of my room.”
Eli sauntered in
through the kitchen, shirtless, as always. I didn’t think he knew how to wear a
shirt anymore. He grinned. “What did Boomer do this time?” He loved the fact
that I hated his dog.
I held up a pair of
shredded panties. “Your dumb dog was eating my underwear, again.”
He shrugged. “So he
likes to eat things that smell.”
I punched him in
the arm. “My underwear does not smell.”
“Tell that to
Boomer.” Eli grinned and walked outside to join his stupid dog.
I stormed upstairs
and then gathered the shredded underwear off my floor. I tossed them into the
garbage. I was half-tempted to steal his credit card and go shopping at
Victoria’s Secret for a bunch of lingerie, but there would be no point in
spending all that money to show them off to no one. I went to my window and
looked out at the backyard. Eli lounged in a chair by the pool. He lifted a
hand and wiggled his fingers at me. I flipped him the bird.
Eli smiled, then
put his hands behind his head. He thought he was some kind of hotshot just
because most girls fell all over themselves to be near him. I closed my blinds,
grabbed my iPod and flopped down with my sketch pad. I’d been on a series of
re-imagined Disney Princesses for weeks. I drew them as science fiction
heroines outfitted with laser blasters and badass space suits.
If I had things my
way, I’d draw for the rest of my life, but Dad had other plans. He said the
term “starving artist” existed for a reason, and no child of his was going to
spend even a minute on unemployment.
He had me stuck in
business school for a stupid degree that I had little intention to use. When he
wasn’t looking, I was drawing, illustrating, building my portfolio. Anything in
the art world was better than the best job in the business world. My classes
made my brain bleed. Luckily for me, it was summer vacation, my dad was in
France with my stepmother, and the only annoyance I had to suffer was Eli.
Over my earbuds, I
heard something thump. I killed my music and listened. Someone hammered on my
door.
“Go away, Eli.”
“Open the door,
Violet.”
His voice sounded
weird. He was probably going to make me regret it, but I opened the door. He
had Boomer in his arms.
“What did you do to
my dog?” His face was red with anger, pinched with worry, as if he didn’t know
whether to punch me or cry his eyes out.
“What are you
talking about? I didn’t touch your stupid dog.”
“He threw up a
whole bunch outside. Now he won’t even walk around. What did you do to him?”
Eli screamed.
I tried not to get
mad, I tried to remain sympathetic because he was clearly worried about Boomer,
but he was always a dick to me.
“I didn’t do
anything to your dog.”
As if on cue,
Boomer vomited all over my carpet.
“Eli. Fuck, that’s
so gross.” I took a step back. “I’m not cleaning that.”
Eli looked at me.
“What’s wrong with him?”
Crap. So much for
not giving a shit about Eli and his stupid dog.
I sighed. Boomer
really didn’t look well. “Go downstairs and get into my Jeep. I’ll clean this
up and be right there. We have to take him to the vet.”
For once, Eli
didn’t argue with me. He cradled Boomer against him, which was no easy feat.
Boomer was a full-grown German shepherd, but Eli carried him as if he were weightless.
“Don’t be long,” he said before he left the room.
E. M. Denning is a
writer from British Columbia. She loves her family and her animals and anything
cute and fuzzy. She was born a hopeless romantic and when she’s not writing
romance, she’s probably reading it. She loves love.
No comments:
Post a Comment