Chapter 1
He stepped closer.
She should have moved away.
She knew she should have. Everyone at school knew exactly what kind of guy he was. He was arrogant. Mean when he wanted to be. The kind of guy who could make someone’s entire day miserable and then walk away laughing with his friends like he’d done nothing wrong.
He was a bully.
Unfortunately, he was also ridiculously cute.
“You don’t have to be afraid of them anymore,” he said.
She looked up at him. “And why is that?”
His mouth curved into that stupid half-smile that probably worked on every other girl in school.
“Because you’ve got me.”
“I don’t remember asking for you.”
He laughed softly and leaned closer.
Too close.
Her back was already against the wall. There was nowhere else for her to go without ducking underneath his arm, and judging by the way he had positioned himself in front of her, he knew it.
“One kiss,” he said.
She stared at him.
“That’s all I’m asking.”
“And what exactly do I get out of this?”
His eyes dropped to her mouth.
“Protection.”
She almost laughed.
Of course.
One kiss, and suddenly the guy who had spent half the school year making her life miserable was going to become her personal bodyguard.
He leaned closer.
She could smell his cologne now.
He really was cute.
Annoyingly cute.
The kind of cute that made terrible decisions seem slightly less terrible.
His lips were only inches from hers.
What should she do?
NO, DON’T KISS HIM.
She turned her face away.
“No.”
For once, he didn’t argue.
He stepped back.
She wasn’t sure whether the surprise on his face made her feel guilty or victorious.
Maybe a little of both.
But she’d made her choice.
She wasn’t going to kiss someone just because he was attractive. And she definitely wasn’t going to kiss someone in exchange for protection she hadn’t asked for.
She left him standing there and went home.
By the time she reached her bedroom, she had replayed the conversation at least a dozen times.
Maybe she’d been too harsh.
No.
She hadn’t.
He was a bully.
Cute didn’t erase that.
Neither did offering to protect her.
She tossed her bag onto the floor and looked at the dress hanging from her closet door.
The party.
She had almost forgotten.
She checked the time and groaned.
If she didn’t start getting ready now, she was going to be late.
She pulled off her shirt and reached for the dress.
Something scraped outside.
She stopped.
Her bedroom had a small balcony overlooking the backyard.
Another scrape.
She stared toward the doors.
“What the...”
A hand appeared over the railing.
Then another.
Her stomach dropped.
He pulled himself over the balcony.
“Are you serious?”
He grinned.
She grabbed the first shirt she could reach and held it against herself.
“What are you doing here?”
He walked toward her.
“I told you no.”
He kept coming.
“I have to get ready. Get out.”
He crossed the room before she could move.
His hand caught her around the waist.
“What—”
He kissed her.
Her eyes widened.
Before she could even process what was happening, he pulled away just enough for his lips to brush her ear.
“You’re mine.”
SLAM.
Melissa stared at the Kindle she’d just slammed onto the bed.
“No.”
She stared at the screen.
The book app had closed on impact.
“No, no, no. What the fuck was that?”
She opened it again.
Flipped backward.
Found the page.
There it was.
The choice.
She hadn’t read it wrong.
She hadn’t accidentally followed the wrong instruction.
She hadn’t somehow skipped a page.
NO, DON’T KISS HIM.
Melissa jabbed her finger against the words.
“I picked no.”
She flipped forward again.
He still climbed the balcony.
He still kissed her.
He still whispered you’re mine like that was somehow supposed to be romantic instead of creepy as hell.
Melissa dropped the Kindle onto her bed.
“Then why the fuck did you ask me?”
It landed beside three paperback books.
Three other interactive books.
Three other books that had promised her choices.
Three other books that had lied.
Melissa grabbed the one underneath it and flipped through the pages.
Different story.
Same bullshit.
Don’t trust him.
She chose not to trust him.
The heroine trusted him anyway.
Another one.
Don’t follow him.
She chose not to follow him.
Twenty pages later, some ridiculous coincidence shoved the heroine directly into his path.
The third had been the worst.
Melissa had spent half the book trying to get the girl away from a man who clearly didn’t understand the meaning of the word no, only for the ending to reveal that he was misunderstood, secretly loved her, and apparently everything he’d done was fine because he had a tragic childhood and nice abs.
“They all end the same!”
She threw that one down too.
It didn’t matter what she picked.
That was what pissed her off.
Not the romance.
Not even the obnoxious men, although they were definitely high on the list.
It was the choices.
Why give her choices if none of them actually mattered?
If the author wanted the girl to end up with him, fine.
Write a regular book.
Melissa read regular books all the time. She had no problem following somebody else’s story when that was what she’d signed up for.
But don’t put a decision at the bottom of the page and ask her what the character should do if the answer was already decided.
Don’t ask:
Kiss him?
Melissa says no.
Too bad. Kiss him anyway.
Trust him?
No.
Too bad. He’s your soulmate.
Follow him?
Absolutely fucking not.
Too bad. Here comes a plot device to drag your ass after him.
Melissa fell backward against her pillows and glared at the ceiling.
“That’s not interactive.”
The room didn’t answer.
“It’s an illusion of choice.”
Still nothing.
She pointed toward the pile of books as if someone were there to witness her argument.
“If I say no, she should not kiss him. If I say don’t go through the door, she shouldn’t go through the fucking door. If I say run, her ass better run.”
Melissa dropped her hand.
Maybe she was taking this too seriously.
Actually, she was definitely taking this too seriously.
But she’d spent money on those books.
More importantly, she’d spent hours reading them.
She wanted one—just one—where the choices actually changed something.
Where choosing the wrong thing could screw everything up.
Where choosing something different meant she got a different story.
Where the author didn’t hold her hand and quietly shove her back onto the path they wanted her on.
She wanted consequences.
Real ones.
Different people.
Different endings.
Maybe even completely different lives depending on what she chose.
Melissa looked toward the pile again.
“How hard can that possibly be?”
She reached over and switched off her lamp.
The room went dark.
Melissa pulled the blankets over herself, still irritated enough that she knew it would probably take another twenty minutes before her brain shut up and let her sleep.
Four interactive books.
Four disappointments.
Tomorrow, she was finding something else to read.
Something where, when the book gave her a choice, it actually had the balls to let her make it.
