Page 115 of Ominous: Part 1
I curve a brow, smiling despite the offense I’m trying to feign. “Talk funny?” I mimic her own Southern accent. “I ain’t the one who talks funny.”
Her eyes widen, gleaming from the lights of the projector across the room,Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.She said it was her favorite. I’ve never watched or read Harry Potter. I don’t like make-believe.
She pauses, mid-bite of her food, teeth dug into the chocolate as she cups her hand around it so it doesn’t crumble on her shirt.
“Excuse me?” she says, and I hear her try to tone down her accent. “I donotsound like that!”
“Hey.” I shake my head and lean back in my seat, feet on the floor. “Don’t try to hide that shit from me.” I wink at her, and she rolls her eyes, but chews her food, setting down the candy wrapper in the console between us and reaching for her red plastic cup. “I like the way you talk.”
She sips from her straw, her knees to her chest, a beige throw over her legs, and she’s still in my shirt. The surround sound hums, the bass loud for a second as she drinks, and her eyes flicker to the projector screen, giving me a view of her side profile.
Her nose might be considered “big” by some standards, but it’s perfect for her face—for those round, lifted cheeks, her swollen fucking lips.
I count the piercings in her ear. Six, just on this side.
I bite the inside of my cheek and force myself not to reach for my dick even though I really need to adjust myself, but I’m in jogging pants, I can deal, I tell myself. I don’t want her to feel pressured, because if she does, she’ll be uncomfortable, and she’ll close up. Then she’ll leave.
Stay.
“I like the way you talk too,” she finally says, dragging her eyes from the screen to look at me, taking another drink. I hear the straw suction air and ice, and she rattles it in her hand, looking confused at the way it’s empty. She’s had a lot of drinks, and there’s a pink flush to her cheeks now that’s fucking adorable but means she’s probably on the verge of having too much. I imagine what it would be like, getting her completely fucked up and fucking with her.
But we’re not there. Not yet.
She just clutches the drink to her chest, though, instead of asking for more, which is good.
“I just don’t get why you don’t talk like me. Is it a rich boy thing?” She waggles her brows, like she just told a clever joke. She is so much softer when she’s drunk.
I lift my middle finger from around my beer, subtly flipping her off, but she just laughs, tilting her head back, chin up, flashing her teeth. Her canines are big, and while her bottom teeth are straight, her top ones aren’t exactly in a perfect line.
It makes my dick swell more.
Jesus Christ.
I tip my drink back, swallowing, before I rest the bottle on my thigh, tucking my opposite hand behind my head as I turn to look at her. “A rich boy thing?”
“You sound like you’re from another country.”
I’ve heard those words before. A lot. “I think it’s just Raleigh.”
She shakes her head vehemently, like I couldn’t be more wrong. “My neighbors are from Raleigh. They sound like they were born in a toolshed, like me.”
My abs contract as I try to hold in my laughter, but it doesn’t work. “Oh my God.” I don’t stop laughing, and it feels weird as I close my eyes a second.
“I like when you laugh,” she tells me. “You hardly ever do.” She sounds so serious, wrapping both hands around her cup as she stares at me.
My laughter dies off.
Dad used to say that to Mom in the shadows, when he thought I wasn’t listening.“He never laughs or smiles.”
“Or cries,” Mom adds, like it’s a bonus. “He never cries either.”
I glance up from my spot on my bed, music in hand, my headphones on, but the volume is turned down, the song paused.
Mom doesn’t fake a smile.
Dad crosses his arms, turning away from my bedroom door. “Yes, even when his friend got a concussion from falling at the playground. He didn’t react at all.” Dad sighs, and I think of Carter’s blood flecked on the cement below where I stood. He’s not my friend. “I just think maybe we’re missing something here, Ari.”
Mom stiffens, her dark brows drawn together, lips pursed. She doesn’t say anything about it, but I know she hates when he doesn’t use her full name.
