Use Somebody: Plantain Series Book Four Read online

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  EPILOGUE

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  Use Somebody

  A Plantain Series Novel

  Written By Amelia Oliver

  Copyright © 2017 Amelia Oliver

  All rights reserved

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons living or dead, events or locations are entirely coincidental.

  This book’s is dedicated to all my Plantain Addicts.

  Thank you for all your support.

  Love all of you. XX

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  EPILOGUE

  PROLOGUE

  DAISY

  I thought once I confessed my crush on Wyatt Frederickson, to my dad of all people, that I'd feel better. Maybe not better, but I thought that as soon as the words left my lips, the curse would lift and I’d be free. Regardless, that didn’t happen. If anything, I feel worse, more tormented. I don't necessarily want to love Wyatt, the platonic friend of the family relationship was fine with me. But my stupid heart had a mind of its own, it locked onto him and decided to become a love-sick fool. But I’m skipping ahead, let me take you back to where it all started.

  The incident when my heart became an asshole, was innocent enough. Irys being my best friend, we've spent many days and nights at one another's parents’ houses. There was nothing out of the ordinary about that, there was also nothing different about us watching a movie with her brothers, Nolan and Wyatt. It was also normal for either brother to tickle me, joke with me, and be affectionate. But one night, before high school graduation, I'd come over right after volleyball practice, sore from falling on my back after a spike. The whole evening, I iced it and just couldn't get comfortable. So preoccupied in my pain, I hadn't noticed that Irys and Nolan had dozed off during “Top Gun.” When I adjusted my pillow for the hundredth time, Wyatt put his hand on my arm.

  "Come here," he said.

  I shuffled across the mound of pillows occupying the sectional couch in the basement and watched as he spread his legs. His long, muscular legs, like he was suggesting I sit there. Not thinking too much into it, I did. Then, his large hands began rubbing my lower back. I inhaled sharply because there was something different about this. The way we were sitting, him touching me deliberately, practically alone. His fingers moved under my thin tank top, skin on skin.

  "This okay?" he asked.

  I nodded, because words, what were words? This boy barely had to touch me and I was a goner. Boy? No, no, Wyatt was a man. He made me feel something I'd never experienced before, my body’s reaction out of my control. No one had ever been like this with me, but it didn't feel strange being Wyatt. I waited for my brain to remind myself that this was my best friend’s brother, that he was being nice, making me feel better. But that gear never clicked, if anything, it turned me on more because this was Wyatt. His hands strong and big, one spread out nearly spanned my entire back. Rough fingertips alerted every nerve, but his touch was soft as he massaged the sore beneath the skin. My skin covered in goose bumps but heated where he touched me. My back arched, as a sound emanated from me, a low whimper. My eyes widened as his hands paused, should I say something? Mortified, I licked my lips to speak, but my voice caught in my throat as his hands moved up. Slowly, inch by inch, his fingertips grazed over the clasp to my bra, and my heart stuttered. Then my heart began thundering in my ears, my pulse banging out an erratic tune. Warm breath breezed over my shoulder and neck, and I felt as Wyatt leaned upcloser behind me. My hair was pulled up into a ponytail, the tendrils of my baby hairs that escaped the elastic band danced across the hypersensitive skin of my neck. His breath quickened, and the heat from his body soaked into my skin like rays from the sun. Queue “Take my Breath Away,” as Tom Cruise and Kelly McGillis make love on the screen before us. Things were happening to my body that I didn't ever notice before. Reactions to his touch and heat, I wanted more. My body was aching to be touched in places I’d never desired, basically, I was a mess. A heavy breathing-nipples hardening-wet panties-mess. As if he could read my mind, fingers tentatively spread across my ribs and I inhaled sharply at the caress.

  "Sorry," he whispered, placing his lips delicately on the back of my neck.

  "I'm ticklish," I whispered, but of course he already knew that.

  Did I sound breathy just then? Damn, this was heaven. He was working me into a frenzy, and I wasn't about to stop him, ticklish or not. Again, his lips pressed on the same spot but firmer this time. Then, he slid his hands further around me, just under my breasts. His fingers touched one another as they spread over me. I never thought about a guy’s hands making you feel so small before, but shit his did. I wasn't tiny at all, almost five feet, eleven inches. I was thin but always considered myself a bit masculine due to muscles from years of athletics. Anyway, I felt minuscule between his legs. Those massive hands cupped my breasts, fitting perfectly in his palms. They urged me toward him as he leaned closer, pulling my back against his chest. His heart thrummed against me, his lips attaching to my neck and suctioning to my skin. My eyes closed, head falling back against his shoulder. My hands dropped to my sides and found purchase on the legs of his shorts. He kissed my neck like I tasted good there or something, his tongue lapping between presses of his lips. I turned my head, his nose bumping my jaw, before raising his head. Eyes zeroed in on my lips, my parted wet lips. I wondered if Wyatt knew that I've never been kissed before, should I mention it? Anything I was thinking is erased from my mind as his lips take mine in a soft kiss. Soft until his tongue slides across mine, I gasp and my body startles slightly. Two things happen at this moment, one: his hand moves from my breast to caress my cheek, and two: I feel the firm press of something on my lower back. Was he hard? It had to be his penis I felt, but wow, it was long and so very hard.

  His hand on my face was so light and delicate, just like his lips. He wasn't shoving his tongue down my throat or grinding up behind me. He was kissing me reverently, like he was trying not to scare me. Maybe he did know this was my first kiss, or at least thought I was inexperienced, which I totally was. Minutes pass as we kissed, I didn't know what else we should be doing, but I liked this just fine. The hand on my breast slid fully over the mound, fingers peeling back the material of my sports bra. When he touched the hot skin there, skin no one other than myself had ever touched, I moaned or made some sort of noise. But then he froze, stopped everything. My eyes opened to see him looking at me, like he just realized what we were doing. H
is eyes wide as he quickly removed his hands from me, sitting back and then standing from the couch. I was mortified, had I done something wrong? Running a hand through his short blonde hair, my eyes trailed down to the noticeable bulge in the crotch of his basketball shorts.

  "I, uh, I'm sorry," he stammered, his eyes bouncing around the room.

  "It's okay," I replied in a rush.

  Not sure what he was sorry about exactly.

  "I..." he trailed off, then, turned and headed for the steps.

  I felt like a fool, he kisses me, then could barely look at me. The days following, I thought he'd say something to me. But again, he barely even noticed me, never meeting my eyes. Not when I went to pick my mom up at the auto-body shop, where he worked in the summers. Not even Sunday dinners at his parents’ house, he was avoiding me. I knew I was over it, like you just think you can kiss me then act like I don't exist? Fine, two can play that game, ace. Problem is, my heart isn't getting the message.

  Not telling Irys was easy, I knew she wouldn’t care about it, but still, he's her brother and I'm her best friend. I just didn't want to go there, I had no energy to deal with Irys and a thousand questions. Besides, it was a one-time thing, never mind that the experience took over my every waking thought and dreams. I caught myself sitting down to draw a landscape and twenty minutes later, I'd be staring at the jerk’s portrait I just sketched. All I could do was count down the days that school started, he'd be gone away to college again, and I could go back to a Wyatt-free life. Never mind that summer’s just started.

  Except something unexpected happened. Sven, my surrogate grandfather, and Irys and Wyatt's paternal grandfather passed away. It hit everyone hard, he had strokes over the years, but this last one he couldn't recover from. We were all in funks and life just seemed a little less happy around Plantain. Wyatt and Nolan took it the hardest, they were the closest to Sven. The bars had seats reserved for the two they hit the bottle so hard. I didn’t really see either one of them during that time, and when I had, my heart broke for them. Both looked a mess, the loss clearly taking its toll on them. But still, I was shocked when I heard the news from my parents that Wyatt wouldn't be returning to college that semester. He’s a year into medical school, no matter what, Wyatt always seemed focused and always wanted to be a doctor his whole life. Not like he wouldn’t eventually go back I’m sure, but it still made me hurt for him even more. The helplessness that I was unable to comfort him, the urge to hug him was overwhelming at times, but I knew touching him was out of the question.

  High school graduation came and went, and Irys threw a party at her parents’ house for our graduating class. Our parents hung out in the barn on the property, but they weren’t lame so as the party got underway, it was like they weren’t even there. My dad and Dornan built a massive bonfire out in the yard as the night cooled. Most of my fellow classmates made their way outside, but I lingered behind. I was in the kitchen, filling a red solo cup with water when I looked up and saw Wyatt behind me in the reflection of the window. He was looking down at my body, my legs were bare, my shorts ending just below my ass cheeks. I had on black Chuck Taylor’s and one of my brother’s oversized baseball sweatshirts, which covered my shorts completely. Tipping the cup at my lips, I drank the contents before turning around. His eyes snapped up to mine, his beautiful blue eyes weren’t as bright anymore with dark circles shadowing underneath. Again, the urge to hug him had me balling my free hand into a fist and fighting the need.

  “Hi,” I say.

  The house had music pumping through the speakers, but most everyone was outside. A few people cut through the kitchen between us, and I smiled at them, but Wyatt remained focused on me.

  “What does your dad say when you wear shorts like that?”

  His question catches me off guard, my brow furrow and I blink, looking down at my clothes.

  “Nothing,” I shake my head.

  “You look naked,” he states.

  He sounds angry, he’s never talked to me like this before. In fact, I’ve never heard him talk to anyone with this tone of voice. Wyatt’s reserved, one could say quiet. He’s a bookworm, and would technically be considered a nerd. But he’s all bad boy rebel on the outside. He usually wore black, and since turning sixteen, has driven a Harley. All the girls want on the back of his bike. His hotness, combined with his varsity baseball stats, along with the body of Thor, and eyes that melted all self-control, made him popular and every chick wanted him.

  “Well, good thing you’re not my dad,” I reply, setting my cup onto the counter.

  “You look like a-” he stops, swallowing hard.

  “A what?”

  He shakes his head and looks down.

  “Like a what?” I demand, my jaw clenching.

  “You look like you want guys to notice you.”

  Was that a nice way of saying I look like a whore or something?

  “Hello, I’m a girl, we want guys to notice us. And furthermore, did you have this talk with your sister, whose vulva I can practically see her skirts so short.”

  His jaw ticks, eyes narrowing in on my mouth. Just to see if I can get a reaction, I lick my bottom lip. He swallows again, his Adam’s apple bobbing. I step closer until I’m standing before him. He’s six foot four and towers over me, so I tilt my head up, our eyes locking.

  “I’m surprised you even noticed, since you do your best to act like I don’t even exist lately.”

  My body pivots, ready to storm out the door in an overly dramatic fashion. His large paw grasps my arm, yanking me into his chest. His body curls over mine, the tip of his nose running along the shell of my ear.

  “You do exist, no matter how hard I try to pretend you don’t,” he says low against me.

  “Why?” I whisper.

  “Because, I want you…you ignited something in me, and you’re only seventeen,” he growls.

  “I’ll be eighteen soon, so that’s bullshit,” I sneer.

  His exhales beat across my face, the smell of his cologne is light and manly. The hand on my arm slides down to my hand, fingers playing with mine.

  “I’m fucked up,” he sighs.

  “Talk to me,” I plead, looking to face him.

  His eyes are so sad, I feel his pain emanate off him and onto me. Willingly I followed, as he led me through the kitchen toward the staircase. Our shoes the only sound on the wooden steps as we ascended. Holding his hand made me feel, special, chosen, but also his touch put me at ease. We walked toward the end of the hallway, his room’s the attic, and it had been many years since I'd been up there. The music and laughter from the bonfire reminding me we’re at a party. I know I should go out there, but I felt like Wyatt obviously needed to talk, and I wasn’t about to pass that up. When we get to the top of the attic steps, his body reaches across mine to flip on a light switch. I scanned the space, not much had changed since the last time I’d been in here. The walls are painted a dark grey, a white comforter pulled back on his bed, exposing rumpled white sheets. There were four massive bookcases filled with books against the walls. A desk with a laptop sat in front of a large window, his acoustic guitar perched beside it. He walked in and attempted to straighten his bed, but left the few pieces of discarded clothes on the floor where they were. Moving toward one of the bookcases, my fingers stroked the spines of the varied collection. He had everything from Kurt Vonnegut, and Jack Kerouac, to medical books and guitar sheet music.

  “I forgot you played,” I state, more to myself.

  When he doesn’t say anything though, I turn and see him standing closely behind me, looking at me.

  “Yeah, I haven’t in awhile,” his eyes look down at the instrument in question. “I haven’t been doing much of anything in a while.”

  The tone his voice takes, the way it drops almost like he doesn’t want me to hear, causes my heart to tighten.

  “Would you play for me?” I ask.

  When he looks back at me, I can’t tell if he’s irritated I asked, or hopes
I tell him he doesn’t have to. But then he nods and walks over to retrieve it from its stand. My first instinct is to sit on the bed, but then my brain gets a hold of itself and instead, I pull out the desk chair. The wood creaks as I settle my ass on the seat, watching as Wyatt pulls open the drawer beside me, retrieving a pick. I can’t help but notice condoms in the same drawer, and a flush creeps over my skin and I tuck my hair behind my ears in a nervous habit. My eyes look down and I realize how much of my legs are exposed, and I attempt to pull the sweatshirt toward my knees. He sits at the edge of his bed, and I look up to make sure he hasn’t seen my action, but his eyes are trained on the guitar. Resting it on his thighs as he turns the knobs, strumming the strings, then repeating. I watch his long fingers on the thread board, moving gracefully. He’s so natural playing, he doesn’t even need to look at his fingers, just closes his eyes and listens. After a few chords, he begins humming and I recognize “Not the Sun” by Brand New. Instantly, the sound tickles my belly, filling me with warmth. I watch him, mesmerized, like in a trance. My mind floating away, recalling when he kissed me. How his strong hands made me melty, his lips made me throb, how softly and delicately he cherished me.

  “Sven is the reason I wanted to be a doctor,” he says.

  My eyes blink, my mouth closes, and then I focus on him. He’s still strumming the guitar and looking down.

  “Really?” I whisper, not meaning to, but apparently my voice was still playing catch up.

  He nods once.

  “Growing up, seeing him having strokes, I wanted to make him better. I thought if he had another one, I’d be out of school by then, that I could save him or something.”

  “You can still save people,” I reply.

  He lets out a small humorless laugh.

  “My dad and grandpa, and your dad…I look up to them so much, I always have. They always seemed invincible, like nothing would ever take them down. Even as Grandpa was getting older, he bounced back after every setback, stronger than the last.”

  He stops playing, his hands fiddling with the pick in front of him.