Not Since You by Jenna Jared Read Free Book Online Page A

thing is...why did he tell me he loved me? And then, Sarah? I think it was just because I was leaving for college. But why did he have to use me like that? I mean, I know we were kids, but—"
                  Ellie lifted her head and yawned.
                  Boring to Ellie, maybe, but not her. She knew she'd be running it over and over in her mind all night. Along with the thought of his kiss. His latest, mind-blowing kiss. The jerk.
                  She wanted to kiss him again. He was like an addiction. I should've stayed off The Zack, she thought. Kissing him required a twelve-step program. The twenty-year one didn't appear to work.
                  "Wuff."
                  "Okay. I get the picture." Carrie pushed herself to her feet; she was stiff. "You're right. Let's just go to bed. I've got a lot to do tomorrow if I want this house on the market in a week." She paused. "Where do you usually sleep?"
                  The dog turned and trotted across the floor to the stairs, gallumphed up them without looking back, and a moment later, Carrie heard the creak of Nana's old bed. Weird. Not only had it seemed like the dog understood what she'd said, but—she slept in Nana's room, too. Creepy.
    She shivered and climbed the stairs to her own bedroom so she could torture herself with thoughts of Zack and his kisses. And how wonderful it had been when they could fall asleep there, in each other's arms, so many years ago.
    *****
                  The next morning, Carrie had gotten up early, gone for a run and then stopped at the pet store, all before the sun was high in the sky. She'd bought a giant bag of dog food that cost fifty of her precious house-repair dollars. It was supposed to be one of the best products on the market, without all the vegetable fillers and junk stuck in most commercial dry pellets. What made Carrie buy it, however, was the salesperson's promise it would cause Ellie to poop less. Less poop was a good thing. The dog produced more waste than a nuclear power plant, and it was just as toxic.
    When she'd gotten home, she'd made a pot of coffee and started painting. She'd shower later, after she finished.
    When the phone rang, she climbed down the ladder and put the paint roller in the tray. She hoped it was the lawyer; she'd left him two messages the day before.
                  "Good morning," she said, reaching for a mug and pouring her first cup of the day.              "You need to come and get your dog."
                  "My…oh. My dog." When she’d gone to the pet store Carrie had gotten a bone-shaped tag for Ellie with her name and cell phone number on it; she’d hooked it onto the dog's collar the minute she'd gotten home. She should have waited to put it on until at least having her first cup of coffee. She had a feeling she needed to be caffeinated for this.
    "My dog?" Carrie repeated. Last time she'd checked, El Beast had been lying on Nana's favorite chintz chair by the front window. "Are you sure it's my dog? She was in the house a few minutes ago."
    "Yeah? Well, she's on my lawn right now, trying to climb a tree."
    "Climb a…okay." It had to be Ellie. Climbing a tree fit her M.O., somehow. The thing was…how had she escaped, this time?
    Carrie had learned that Ellie could push open the latch of screen doors with her nose. She also had the uncanny ability to lift window screens and climb over the sill. As a result, the house was closed up tighter than Fort Knox, with all the air-conditioning units blasting.
    Carrie had even locked the doors and chained them shut for good measure. She was determined there was no way the dog was going to escape again, because even if she could somehow turn knobs, no dog in the history of canine-kind could turn knobs, undo locks and unchain chains, too. So the dog the neighbor was calling about definitely wasn't Ellie.
    Even so…Carrie went down