Read Online Anabel Unraveled by Amanda Romine Lynch - Free Book Online
Authors: Amanda Romine Lynch
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other secret. I still couldn’t understand my attraction to Jared, how it managed to persist after everything that had happened, but it made me angry at myself—and at him. So, when the Congresswomen brought up our relationship, I knew that I had to be the one to talk about it—otherwise, I would blow my cover. Besides, in terms of the blossoming of the saga of Jared and Anabel, I knew the perfect story to illustrate what had happened.
***
After I caught Jared going through my stuff, I was more than a little mad at him. I didn’t care what Sam had said, I felt wronged. He had no right to go through my desk. I was also angry that his actions had forced me to lie to my brother, and so, I thought about how to punish him . . . until it came to me. Brushing aside any moral scruples, I told myself the ends of this one would justify the means. So I avoided him for a couple days, and when I could take it no more, I decided to put my feminine wiles to work.
Okay, so I might not have had much experience using said wiles, but I’d seen enough movies to know what to do to get a guy excited. At dinner the night before, I had sneaked glances at him—and then I realized that Jared was looking at me in a way that reminded me of how my father used to look at Miss Marilyn.
I kept turning over in my mind what he had said to me—the flimsy excuses, how he was growing to care about me, and all that other absolute garbage. What drove me the most crazy was how Sam had said Jared was his best friend. If Jared was indeed his best friend, why was he hitting on me, his best friend’s sister? Now, I may not have had a lot of experience with relationships, but I knew what was wrong when I saw it. If he cared about Sam, he wouldn’t try to put the moves on me. And as for caring about me, well . . . I kept coming back to the same thing. The reality was Jared didn’t care one bit about me. He just wanted some.
“That’s all men really want, anyway,” I told myself, smoothing my favorite white dress as I stood in front of the mirror. Oh, my white dress. I wish I still had it. It’s a gorgeous number. My father had ordered it for me as a gift, and had not realized how immodest it was until the first time I wore it and he screamed at me to put on a sweater and not run around half-naked. As an insurance policy (it would ruin my resolve if I ran into Jonathan), I draped a powder blue sweater around my shoulders to bring out the color of my eyes. Jared Sorensen was not interested in me, I repeated to myself. Of course, my knowledge of relationships had, up until this point, been a result of what I had learned from movies and television. Until I was about sixteen, I had thought all couples were like Buttercup and Westley in The Princess Bride: sweet, romantic, and while sometimes dangerous, they always wound up happily ever after.
Then I discovered Sex in the City and concluded that all men were swine. It was a lot easier to watch these things that my father didn’t want me to see with my babysitter out of the way.
And for those reasons, I had made up my mind not to care about Jared.
Even if I had wanted to. Which—and I had to firmly remind myself of this—I didn’t.
On top of our fortress is a piazza-type area that I had seen Jared admiring. It has an incredible view, overlooking the forest on one side and the vast expanse of the Pacific on the other. I had caught him eying the site and had a hunch—call it women’s intuition—I would find him up there.
As I came up the stairs I saw him leaning over the rail. I approached him, letting my sweater fall from my shoulders. I leaned over the rail. “Beautiful view, huh?”
He started. “Anabel!”
“Yes, that would be me,” I said in my most offhand manner.
“Listen, I wanted to tell you—”
”Jared, I really—” I said at the same time. We looked at each other and laughed, and I could not deny that I liked the look on his face.
“I said some things I shouldn’t,” he
***
After I caught Jared going through my stuff, I was more than a little mad at him. I didn’t care what Sam had said, I felt wronged. He had no right to go through my desk. I was also angry that his actions had forced me to lie to my brother, and so, I thought about how to punish him . . . until it came to me. Brushing aside any moral scruples, I told myself the ends of this one would justify the means. So I avoided him for a couple days, and when I could take it no more, I decided to put my feminine wiles to work.
Okay, so I might not have had much experience using said wiles, but I’d seen enough movies to know what to do to get a guy excited. At dinner the night before, I had sneaked glances at him—and then I realized that Jared was looking at me in a way that reminded me of how my father used to look at Miss Marilyn.
I kept turning over in my mind what he had said to me—the flimsy excuses, how he was growing to care about me, and all that other absolute garbage. What drove me the most crazy was how Sam had said Jared was his best friend. If Jared was indeed his best friend, why was he hitting on me, his best friend’s sister? Now, I may not have had a lot of experience with relationships, but I knew what was wrong when I saw it. If he cared about Sam, he wouldn’t try to put the moves on me. And as for caring about me, well . . . I kept coming back to the same thing. The reality was Jared didn’t care one bit about me. He just wanted some.
“That’s all men really want, anyway,” I told myself, smoothing my favorite white dress as I stood in front of the mirror. Oh, my white dress. I wish I still had it. It’s a gorgeous number. My father had ordered it for me as a gift, and had not realized how immodest it was until the first time I wore it and he screamed at me to put on a sweater and not run around half-naked. As an insurance policy (it would ruin my resolve if I ran into Jonathan), I draped a powder blue sweater around my shoulders to bring out the color of my eyes. Jared Sorensen was not interested in me, I repeated to myself. Of course, my knowledge of relationships had, up until this point, been a result of what I had learned from movies and television. Until I was about sixteen, I had thought all couples were like Buttercup and Westley in The Princess Bride: sweet, romantic, and while sometimes dangerous, they always wound up happily ever after.
Then I discovered Sex in the City and concluded that all men were swine. It was a lot easier to watch these things that my father didn’t want me to see with my babysitter out of the way.
And for those reasons, I had made up my mind not to care about Jared.
Even if I had wanted to. Which—and I had to firmly remind myself of this—I didn’t.
On top of our fortress is a piazza-type area that I had seen Jared admiring. It has an incredible view, overlooking the forest on one side and the vast expanse of the Pacific on the other. I had caught him eying the site and had a hunch—call it women’s intuition—I would find him up there.
As I came up the stairs I saw him leaning over the rail. I approached him, letting my sweater fall from my shoulders. I leaned over the rail. “Beautiful view, huh?”
He started. “Anabel!”
“Yes, that would be me,” I said in my most offhand manner.
“Listen, I wanted to tell you—”
”Jared, I really—” I said at the same time. We looked at each other and laughed, and I could not deny that I liked the look on his face.
“I said some things I shouldn’t,” he
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