Page 17 of Tell Me Softly
“Your reputation precedes you. I’ve talked to girls who still remember you from when you were breaking hearts in sixth grade.” Her approach caught my attention. I liked a girl who pushed back a little. I eyed her up, trying to figure out what she was getting at. Her smile was actually friendly, with white teeth and one canine slightly twisted. With that sweet face, I couldn’t just blow her off, but I didn’t really know how to just be friends with a girl––I never had been, not since what had happened with Kami when I was a kid. So instead, I turned to my old tactics, stepping closer to her and looking down. That always made girls nervous. But they liked it too, and this girl was no exception. I could see her subtly licking her lips.
“What’s your name?” I asked, setting my beer down on the counter.
“Amanda,” she whispered.
I smiled. I had her eating out of the palm of my hand.
I was about to kiss her when a hand landed on my shoulder and pulled me away. My reflexes were fast, and before I knew it, I had reversed our positions, and I was grabbing the guy’s arm. Not just any guy, though: a guy more or less my height, a guy whose blue eyes I knew well. Taylor.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked, pushing my hand away.
My mind went blank. What was my brother asking me? What did he mean, what was I doing? Wasn’t it obvious?
“Thiago, you can’t,” he murmured. People were watching us, I saw now, and even if I couldn’t hear them over the music, they were talking too. I realized what I’d been about to do as Taylor continued, “Bro, she’s a student. If they find out…”
I turned away, cursing myself for being so stupid. Amanda was watching me, waiting for an explanation, clearly not amused with my brother.
“See you ’round, Amanda,” I said, ready to leave. I’d been a moron for even coming. Even if I was just barely older than them, I couldn’t be hanging out with Carsville High students, and especially not drinking with them. That alone was stupid, but if I actually made out with a girl here and someone told, the life I’d just begun to build here could immediately fall apart…
On my way to the door, I left my beer on the counter. Then the last person I wanted to see showed up in front of me before I could even react.
“I want my phone,” she said, her eyes glowing with intense anger.
I observed her for a moment. Seeing her so pissed off strangely cheered me up.
“Buy a new one,” I said, leaning against the doorway. Maybe I would stick around for a while.
“Thiago, don’t be an asshole. Just give it back.” She must not have realized I was devouring her with my eyes. It didn’t matter how much I resented her; I couldn’t help but stare.
“I see Little Miss Perfect learned herself some bad words,” I replied. “Be careful no one hears you.”
That pissed her off more, and she exhaled as she came closer to me.
“Thiago, I’m tired of your insults, and I’m tired of you treatingme like something on the bottom of your shoe. Give me my phone and let’s just enjoy the party in peace.” She was speaking so softly only I could hear her.
Like something on the bottom of my shoe? She’d clearly misread me. Even with all those people around and the noisy music and the scent of sweat and beer, her lithe form, her voice, the soft fragrance of her hair and skin were all I could sense.
I didn’t react, so she took the lead, moving so fast that her hand was in my pants pocket before I realized it. I shivered and shoved my hand in as fast as I could. My own hand, big, with calluses, wrapped almost entirely around her small, elegant one. She tried to resist me, and I pulled her so close that there were just inches between us.
“You’d better not touch me, Kamila,” I said.
Her brown eyes looked at me, offended.
“Since when do you call me that?” she asked. Somehow that seemed to have angered her more than me stealing her phone.
“Since when do I call you by your name?” I asked, toying with her again, curious as to what she would say.
She looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping. When she turned back to me, that mask of hers had returned, but I thought I could still see a slight crack in it.
“If you don’t give it back, I can’t call my dad and tell him to come pick me up,” she admitted.
I gave her a quizzical look. “Aw, princess, you don’t have a chauffeur to drive you around?” I asked, provoking her.
“I don’t.”
“What about your car?”
She exhaled audibly, exasperated. “Thiago, let me go!” she said.
