Break Away (Away, Book 1) Page 6

  I hissed back a breath and threw my hands over my stiff shoulders. Who’d left the doorway open? I stopped before the edge of the solid wooden door, not wanting to cross that stream of polar air slicing through the middle of the foyer, and leaned over to see if I could spot the villain who’d done this. The lights in the porch were sleeping, a dark veil wrapping the front of the Lady. I frowned. I looked back at the far end of the hall. The lights in the living room were off duty as well. Purposely, maybe. I could hear Buffy’s dim voice buzzing somewhere. Snuggling and making out with her darling on the couch most certainly—or rug. It would’ve given them more space to…

  The snap of a car door outside ripped my hot-blooded visions. I jerked back my eyes to the porch and focused on the tall shape crossing the road, the lights of the fancy Range Rover blinking behind it in acknowledgment. So I’d been wrong about the tonsil hockey game on the couch, then. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Of course the villain was Ian. Who else?

  “I should’ve known that uppity car was yours,” I said when he reached the porch steps, stepping out straight into the polar stream breaking through the threshold. There was nothing shaky about my stance, even if I was freezing my ovaries by standing in that torturous spot, even if my toes were purple-colored. But I wasn’t going to give it away.

  He stopped on the first step and looked up at me. The light in the foyer cast shadows over his face, sharpening his angles and hollows in a dazzling way—a beautiful ballet of contrasts, worthy of a 2B and 6B pencil—not that I would ever sketch his annoying face. His eyes were rimmed with surprise and a pinch of nervousness danced in there—which was remarkably odd. If there was something steady about him, it was his steel-confident nature.

  He cleared his throat after a moment of odd staring and looked down. “A gift for good behavior,” he explained the car, climbing up the last four steps.

  “From whom this time? Daddy?” I cocked my head.

  “Your psychic skills amaze me.” He strode through the threshold and circled around me, leaving behind him a soft breeze suffused with the cold nocturnal breath. My arm shivered.

  “You were patting those leather seats, weren’t you?” I turned and closed the door behind me, mentally grateful for cutting off that stream of ice inside. “I bet you can’t stay away from your rocking Rover for more than two hours. I bet you even sleep in it, cuddling that dead skin you love so much.”

  He snorted a laugh and spun on his heels to look at me. “Yeah, I even take my naps there and fantasize about you wearing that dead skin. It makes the whole experience more pleasant and addictive somehow.” He paused and stared at me, crooking a wicked smile. “Though I think I won’t need to fantasize anymore since you’re considering the PETA photo shoot more seriously.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I snapped confused at the swerve the conversation had taken.

  “I have to say the view is now very promising.”

  The view? I lowered my eyes to my body and almost plummeted to the floor. Oh. My. God. My arms and feet hadn’t been the only things that had reacted to the cold. And Ian’s X-ray male vision had certainly noticed it. No wonder he’d stared at me that oddly. With the open view I’d given him when standing there under the full light with my two friends saying hi, no more explanations were needed.

  I flung my arms around me in a flurry of deep embarrassment, and anger for not putting on a well worthy bra, and for wearing that stupid, treacherous, white camisole. Tornadoes and fires paled next to this.

  “You’re actually blushing,” he said in awe, amusement edging his voice. “How interesting this day ended up being. First you cry and then you blush—victim of soft emotions. I guess you’re not the ice queen everyone thinks.”

  In a regular situation, I would’ve shoved back his words deep down his throat, but the mortification coursing through me with the strength of a tsunami veered my worries. “How dare you looking at me like this you…you Peeping Tom!” I barked in red-hot rage.

  “Well, they were the ones practically poking my eyes. I wasn’t the one looking for it.”

  “Couldn’t have you just turned around or…or told me something?”

  “No, I couldn’t have, and yes, I did,” he said leaning his shoulder against the staircase railing with his arms crossed over his chest. “And it’s the best thing I’ve done so far. Your face was priceless—still is,” he added with a mocking grin.

  “I swear I'm going to claw out your eyes.”

  “Oh, come on, that braless thing is, like, the ultimate trend in fashion, right? It’s not that bad,” he said, as if trying to douse the fire in me, which only fueled it even more. The infuriating amusement in his voice lightened his words, as if he was drinking a coconut in a serene white-sand beach on an exotic island while an airplane plummeted into the ocean miles away. “It would’ve been quite a shocker several years ago but women don’t use underwear anymore for Christ’s sake—not that I'm complaining,” he said with a small, mischievous smile.

  Guys, I thought with a roll of my eyes. “You can like that nasty exposure all you want, but I am not part of that.” I tightened my grip around me. “Underwear has a purpose, and I'm happy to follow that purpose—thrilled even. What happened tonight was just a…slip.” A mayor slip.

  “You don’t have to explain anything, just avoid doing these slips around other people. Lucky you it was me and not some randy guy.”

  Meaning, he wasn’t interested in me and that not even a white thin shirt would change that. Good. “Whatever,” I told him and walked to the staircase, my arms wrapped firmly around my chest. I’d decided the Bugs Bunny water glass wasn’t a go tonight.

  My frozen foot was about to climb up the fifth slab of wood, when Ian’s hand shot up from downstairs, over the rail, and grabbed my elbow. “Wait.” I looked down at him confused. “There’s something I need to tell you.” He schooled his face into a serious expression, no mockery, amusement, or sarcasm playing in his voice this time.

  He dropped my elbow and stepped back a little to see me better. “Okay,” I turned and neared the dark glossy rail. The thick piece of oak pressed against my stomach. “Where’s Buffy by the way? I thought you were half way down her pants earlier,” I said, suddenly remembering those hot-blooded visions on the couch.

  “On the phone with Jessica and Jennifer.” He motioned his strong chin to the kitchen door. I bit my tongue to not add ‘and Charlie’ to his answer, but the Charlie's Angels analogy only seemed funny to Linda and me. “That’s why I went to take that out from the car.” He glanced back at the white blazer draped over the curved backrest of the mahogany settee. “Not because I suddenly had the urge to fantasize about you in the car, which would’ve been a big waste of time since I had the real thing waiting for me here—with perks and all.”

  Back on the taunting, are we? “Why don’t I show you how fun and creative doodling with a key over a new car is,” I said with a sweet voice, leaning over. “I assure you it’s dead funny.”

  His emerald eyes narrowed. “Since I'm in the mood for funny things tonight, it’ll be my greatest pleasure to let you show me—only if you promise not to cover yourself while we’re at it. My humor seems to get a boost when you’re hands are dangling by your sides.”

  “How nice,” I gave him a lady-like smile, full of corrosive syrupiness. “I’ll go and change for the raucous graffiti, then.” I leaned back.

  “No changing either.”

  “Because…”

  “Because I say so.”

  “Just like that.”

  “Yep, just like that.”

  I snorted. “I think you’re forgetting to whom you’re talking, Mr. Everyone-is-at-my-feet,” I said while stepping down two slabs of wood. I wanted to level my eyes with his and show him I wasn’t afraid.

  “And I think you’re a…” He stopped himself and shook his head, as if pushing away the words that had died on his mouth. “Look, I didn’t call you back for this charming chit-chat.”
He held up his hand when I opened my mouth. “Let me finish, please.” I swallowed back the sting in my words. He took a deep breath and continued. “I know we can’t stand being around each other without snapping back every two seconds—or doing stuff to piss off the other—but I’ve been thinking…and the more I think, the more things get clear, and, I mean, this isn’t healthy. This mordant thing between us it’s just, too, out of bounds—and we should fix it. You’re soon going to be eighteen, and I'm nineteen already, so let’s do this like adults and be mature.” He stepped closer and stretched out a hand. “Let’s make a truce.”

  I watched his hand as if the devil itself had shown up asking me to sell my soul. “Why would I do a truce with you?” I asked, unsure, my mind trying to decipher, again, the machinations behind his eyes. But there seemed to be none. Was he being honest? Or did he want me to unfasten my arms to check out my “perks” and make fun of me while a tide of embarrassment raked through me all over again?

  “Because I’m your sister’s boyfriend?” He arched his eyebrows. “And because you did a truce with her that includes me in the whole package. I’m part of her life, whether you like it or not, Dafne.”

  To my dismay, he did have a point. Treating him like scum would only bother Buffy, because he clearly didn’t care. I looked down at his hand again, his long, pianist fingers waiting to hold mine in agreement, and my heart skidded over a few unsteady beats. Why was I so skeptical about this, so nervous? I wanted to press my palm against his, so that should’ve been my cue to proceed. If my skin was so impatient to shake hands with him, then that meant I’d already made up my mind on the matter.

  I gave it no more thought and clasped his hand, keeping the other arm tight across my chest. The friction sent funny tingles through the tip of my fingers to the full length of my arms, weakening them a little. Was I really so anxious about this truce that I couldn’t help the shivers running under my skin? I pulled up my eyes and stared at him. That odd nervousness was cornered in his eyes once more, bordered by an intense emotion that I couldn’t read, but that wasn’t what bowled me over in that moment. The texture of his hand was an artistic fusion. It was soft and gentle, like the petal of a flower in full blossom, yet rough on some of the edges, like the calluses of a sculptor. It was as if I was feeling Church’s painting Above the clouds at sunrise with my bare hand—the roughness of the shadowy trees, the softness of the pink fog and soothing sunrise—a beautiful antagonism of natural elements.

  “So, we’re good?” Ian prompted, shooting to my brain an electroshock of awareness, scorching my thoughts into charcoal. I realized I’d been staring at him longer than I’d intended, and suddenly my face joined that burnt chunk, which I immediately hid by dropping down my gaze when I took back my hand.

  “I guess,” I said, pulling up my arm to the other one.

  “Whoa,” he sighed, “and I thought I had to, at least, reincarnate five times to see this happen. The Big Guy up there must love me.”

  My lips curved up, slowly, and after a full grin stretched out, I let a small chuckle escape my mouth.

  “Okay, I take that back.” He sounded incredulous. “He must adore me. Is that a real smile?”

  “Shut up,” I looked at him, the said smile still playing above my chin.

  “No, really, I think he’s spoiling me too much all of a sudden.”

  “If you don’t stop with that your luck will end. I can tell.” It was funny how I suddenly didn’t want to leave. I was, surprisingly, enjoying Ian’s company, something I wouldn’t have imagined in a million years—or in hundreds of reincarnations. How had this happened so fast?

  He barked a clean, joyful laugh, and something inside of me widened.

  The door of the kitchen swung open. “What’s so funny?” Buffy inquired, ping-ponging her eyes between Ian and me, back and forth.

  “Nothing,” he breathed.

  She frowned, as if not convinced, and then shrugged, letting it go. “Are you cold?” She looked up at me.

  “I, uh, yeah,” I pulled up my shoulders below my ears, trying to give the impression of feeling colder. It was easier than explaining this vest I’d made with my arms, which I knew wouldn’t be so greatly taken. Buffy was my sister, but exhibitionism was exhibitionism, and nobody wanted a semi-naked girl around her boyfriend. “I should go. See you tomorrow,” I told her and glanced at Ian on my way up. He was smiling. My stomach squeezed and I bit back a smile.

  When I reached the hall, a strange force stilled my legs, dragging me to stay. I suddenly found my ears perking up to catch the soft mutter of voices downstairs and realized that strange force wasn’t that strange, after all. It had a well known name: snooping.

  I ignored the prick of guilt and the little voice saying ‘it’s none of your business’ and sat down on the edge of the step, feeling like a disobedient kid all over again. I leaned forward a bit more and opened my ears.

  “…said that?” Buffy asked about something.

  “Yeah,” Ian answered. “She agreed and everything. I never thought she would.” There was a short pause, and then, “Amazing, huh?”

  “Totally,” Buffy sounded impressed. “You look happy about this.” I imagined her eyes scanning his face.

  “Because of you,” he lowered his voice. I heard a step and the rustling of clothes being pressed together. “I'm happy because you’re with me. I could care less about that stupid truce with her. I'm only doing it for you. It’s just pretense.” He said with a smile on his voice. “Just pretense,” he repeated, as if he needed to say that one more time.

  My ears shut. A cold fog clouded my mind. I could feel my hands fisting and the nails digging in my palms, more sharply every second. A hot whirlwind formed inside my stomach and turned with fuming strength, burning my insides as if with fire. I rose to my feet with extreme slowness, deciding whether to go down and throw my rock-hard fists into Ian’s mouth or hold back and do something meticulously planned later.

  At the end, I went for the latter. Good things always took time.

  CHAPTER 5

  “What are you doing?” Linda asked, with a seed of worry blooming in her hushed voice. “Do you have any sugar deficiency that I don’t know about?”

  I pushed another quarter through the slot and stepped back when the clink of the coin reverberated underneath the metallic skin. I reached the small rectangle of rounded buttons on the left and pressed two of them sharply, impatience turning my index finger into a hammer. The soft mechanical response touched my ears and a silver loop coiled back from the red sachet, like a snake releasing a victim from its grip. A few seconds later, a light thump flattened at the bottom.

  “Whatever this is, you have to stop,” Linda added. Her voice was a combination of exasperation and concern.

  I bent forward and shoved my hand past the PUSH door. “Just in need to taste the rainbow,” I said while pulling out the bag of Skittles. I straightened, dropped the candy into my tote, and glanced at Linda. “No need to freak out over that, grandma.”

  “Please, you are more than welcome to taste the rainbow, and the clouds, and the rain all you want, but this?”She squeezed the bottom of my tote and got a dry crackling sound in answer. “You can load an entire Christmas sock with this—and have an overdose of calories. Not that it would affect you, anyway.”

  “Exactly,” I said, taking my cue to carry on.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Can’t you find something more original to ask?” I took out more quarters and neared the life-saving vending machine. “You sound like a parakeet with poor talking skills.”

  “Dafne, stop. You are not buying more crap. You have enough chocolates and candy to feed an entire nation.”

  “Actually, there’s no way I would feed an entire nation without Hot Tamales. I mean, how can they not have them here? That is an outrage.” I waved my hands in the air. “An offense to high-quality food dispensers.” I moved on to the next machine with the words GET A GRIP ON YOUR THIRST crowni
ng the top. After all Linda’s talk about tasting the rain, my throat had squeezed in delight and dried in anticipation.

  “Food? You call that food?”

  “Everything you take into your mouth and ends up in your belly is food. That includes the occasional spider that crawls up into your open mouth while you’re sleeping, or some other type of nasty bug. It doesn’t matter.” Another thump and the iced tea was ready for my hand.

  “Couldn’t you at least leave aside your iced tea ritual today and take water instead?” She aimed her brown eyes over the large can, disapproval flickering in them like two torches on a shadowy passageway. “Give your body a break from the caloric savagery.”

  “Like the one you need to give me from the nosy assault you can’t seem to stop?” I asked her with ice-sharp voice, the cold indigo in my eyes unearthing icebergs between us.

  She planted her feet and stood there silently, her shoulders slumped. I knew she could sense the cold walls I’d erected, thin as a gauzy veil and hard as glass. But a veil was fragile and glass was breakable, and she knew this, too. She knew they weren’t as impervious and paramount as the ones I placed with other people, but they were there, etching a scar between us. And that hurt her.

  “Linda, I’m…” I caught my lower lip with my teeth and gave a frustrated sigh. “This is why I need chocolates, okay? Now you see it?”

  “No,” she said. “I don’t.”

  I looked aside, bringing down my shoulders in despair and struggling to find a way to explain why my temper was balancing on a wire instead of being tied up. And the candy outburst gave me an idea. “I’m on my period,” I muttered, looking back at her. It’d been a lie, of course. But she didn’t have a way to know—unless she highlighted the days on that meticulous agenda of hers, which wouldn’t have been as bizarre as one would think. Her enhanced motherly instinct pushed her to do things like this. That candy rebuke was one among hundreds.

  “So?” She shrugged off my excuse.