Page 5 of Only ever you-Ana & Byron
"Hey, I understand boobs. I've got some experience."
Ana rolled her eyes. "Holding a bra doesn't count, Byron. Especially one you have stolen from the neighbour's clothes line along with the panties. "
He clutched his chest theatrically. "You wound me, Bartolini."
Ana went back to her dog-eared copy ofOf Mice and Men.Byron sprawled beside her, stretching like a bored cat, throwing twigs in the air and letting them fall on her head.
"Stop it," Ana said without looking up.
He pulled a strand of her hair and let it bounce back. "Can't. It's that gravity you keep raving about."
"Touch my hair again and I'll stab you with my biro"
"Why don't you stab me through the heart, love?"
"Moron."
She smoothed her page and didn't look at him, even when he leaned back and openly watched a group of girls walk by the tennis courts. Cathy Liston was among them, all mascara and legs and an obvious hair flip as she caught Byron's eye.
Ana glanced up just in time to see his eyes follow her swaying back. The sway seemed a wee bit more exaggerated now.
She didn't let that tight feeling that crawled into her chest show on her face.
"Oi," Gray called, dragging Byron back into the moment. "We going or what?"
"Where is 'what'?" Byron asked, but his gaze dropped to Ana, who had her nose back in her book. "Hey, you doing anything later? I need help with English Lit. It's a proper pain in the arse."
Ana blinked. "You want my help again?"
"Obviously," he said. "You're the only one who didn't fail the last essay."
"I didn't fail because I read the book."
"That's what I'm hoping you'll shortcut me through."
Ana rolled her eyes. "Fine. But I'm not doing your homework."
"Of course not. But we have been mates for so long, Ana. Admit it, I have grown on you."
"Like a fungus," she muttered with a long-suffering sigh. "Right fine, come over in the evening."
Later, Byron turned up at Ana's house, slouching awkwardly in the doorway while her mother, still in her nurse's scrubs, cheerfully ushered him in with a lilting, "Byron? Lord, you've gotten tall, lad."
"Must be all the fish fingers," he offered, flashing his usual grin, “You are looking as beautiful as usual, Mrs. B. Whats for dinner?”
Her dad, a stern Sicilian with arms like tree trunks, eyed Byron once and nodded "You're staying for pasta."
It wasn't a question.
As Byron flirted with her mom, Ana involuntarily took in Byron's profile. He was huge-shoulders, broad and packed with muscle, biceps peeking out under a rolled sleeve, like a work of art. At sixteen, he could've passed for eighteen easily, especially with that sharp jaw, bright hazel eyes, and blinding white smile. His voice, when he spoke, carried that low, smooth Manchester drawl-lazy and confident. He didn't have to try hard or raise his voice to be heard. His hair was slightly longer than usual and brushed his collar in a disarray of soft brown curls. A five o'clock shadow darkened his jaw. Ana's eyes met her dad's knowing ones and quickly looked away.
Ana's mum was already stirring the sauce at the stove. The smell of garlic and basil wafted through the air, warm and familiar. She turned to head up with Byron following her. She turned just in time to see his eyes glued to her backside. When his eyes met hers, there was a flush on his high cheekbones.
“Boys!!” she thought.
Ana's room was upstairs-books stacked in haphazard towers, posters of authors and obscure bands on the walls, her bed perfectly made, and one corner completely overtaken by notepads and half-filled sketchbooks with flow diagrams.
They sat cross-legged on the carpet, book between them.Of Mice and Menlay open, and Byron was failing to take it seriously as usual.
