You Had Me At Thirteen

YOU HAD ME AT THIRTEEN AMANDA KADE First published – 2023 This edition published 2023 by Amanda Kade Brisbane, QLD Australia www.amandakadeauthor.com Copyright © 2023 Amanda Kade The National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication ISBN: 978-0-6456792-0-5 (ebook) All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronically, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any persons, who do any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims damages. The author asserts her moral rights. The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred. Book Cover by Amanda Kade 1st edition 2023 For all my beautiful romance lovers. What do we do when a brooding dark-haired male turns up on our doorstep? Let him in, of course! CONTENTS Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Chapter 49 Chapter 50 Chapter 51 Chapter 52 Chapter 53 Chapter 54 Chapter 55 Chapter 56 Chapter 57 Chapter 58 Chapter 59 Chapter 60 Chapter 61 Call To Action - Leave a Review Become a VIP Reader and join my mailing list Acknowledgments About the Author ONE Matilda * * * I remember the first time I laid eyes on Wren Stevenson. It was three days after my thirteenth birthday, and my two best friends had gone to the lake because it was one of those scorching summer days where the bitumen melted before your eyes, and cold showers did nothing to stop the profuse sweating. I had refused to go because I’d just gotten my first period, and I feared I’d attract sharks. Even though Mum had tried to convince me otherwise, I’d seen enough documentaries to know that sharks could smell blood from half a kilometre away. So instead of enjoying the summer with my best friends, I set myself up on the front porch of my house, intending to suffer in silence. With my favourite Goosebumps book in hand, I settled into the egg chair, before a removal truck pulled up in the driveway next door. I was glad the previous owner had left – albeit after she’d destroyed my family. But I was excited about getting new neighbours, so I stretched up to peek over the balustrade, as a young teenage Wren jumped from the cab of the truck. For a moment my breathing faltered, and I remember thinking he was the most beautiful boy I’d ever seen, but he never smiled. Not once. That day was a day of many firsts. The start of my first period, and also the first day I recognised boys; or rather, one boy in particular. He was tall even back then, his dark hair parted in the middle as it hung on either side of his face. He would push it back, only for it to fall straight back into place moments later. I watched him for over an hour as he hauled box after box from the back of the truck into the house. Then my mum dragged me over there two days later to introduce us. Wren had stood in the doorway next to his parents, his hands in his pockets, his eyes probing into mine, causing my face to flush, and me to avert my eyes for fear he’d know I was bleeding into what I had referred to as a woman’s nappy. When Mum had handed me a pad that first day, I’d pushed it away, praying I’d never lay eyes on one again. So, from that first encounter, I promised myself I’d stay away from boys like Wren. You know, the ones who stop your beating heart with just one look. And so far, I’d done a bang-up job, considering we lived next door to each other. With our final year of high school fast ending, my physical attraction to him has stayed put in the back of my mind. But Wren has transformed from a good-looking teenager into a fucking God. Muscles everywhere, tanned skin, perfect brooding face. And those eyes. Warm honey-brown with a tinge of green around the pupils. Now, I’m not obsessed with the guy. In fact, I hate him. Hate everything about him. Especially the fact that he’s a total fucking man-whore. I’ve seen his dick more times than I’d like to admit. With his bedroom opposite mine, I’ve seen my fair share of Wren’s acquaintances over the years. So, when our English teacher Mr Hughes read out the names Matilda Maxwell and Wren Stevenson in the same sentence, I knew that my magical five-year streak of avoiding Wren had ended. And my life with it. Fuck. My pencil tip snaps under the pressure of my hand, so I drop it to the desk before crossing my arms and sinking into my chair. When I get the nerve to glance at Wren, he’s glaring at me, his head cocked to the side, a smirk on his stupid face. The light coming through the windows on the far wall has him halo’d up like a goddamn angel. He’s anything but. There is nothing holy about him except the fact women scream Oh God! in his presence. No, he’s carved from something much more sinister. He’s the peanut butter used to bait a rodent.