Break Away (Away, Book 1) (8 page)

“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.

“W
hat 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
crowning the top. After all Linda’s talk about
tasting the rain, my throat had squeezed in delight and dried in
anticipation.