Chapter 3 #2
“I believe that kind of biological warfare is against the Geneva Convention,” he says. “However, I respect the power move. The slice is yours.”
“Thank you,” I say primly as I pick it up and take a large bite, trying to hide the relief shooting through me. I make a show of savoring it, maybe moaning a little too theatrically because if you’re going to win a pizza battle through saliva terrorism, you might as well commit to the victory.
“Just so we’re clear, that tactic won’t work with the last brownie,” he says. “I’ll still eat that no matter how much you slobber on it.
“But you’ll be able to make more,” I complain.
“Maybe making brownies that taste good was a once-in-a-lifetime planetary alignment situation. The oven may never cooperate again.”
I can’t help laughing out loud, and it’s my real, deep belly laugh that makes Jared grin broadly.
This is the first time in a long time I’ve forgotten to monitor myself. Forgotten to make myself smaller and quieter.
With Jared, it’s easy to accidentally be myself again.
The thought terrifies me almost as much as it makes me want to cry with relief.
The next morning, I spend far more time thinking about what I’m going to wear to the aquarium with Jared and his niece than is probably healthy or normal.
I used to love fashion, and I delighted in wearing clothes that attracted people’s attention.
But since my accident, I’ve found I get enough stares without trying to look like I raided Elton John’s closet during his most experimental phase. So my clothes choices now involve various shades of beige and “please don’t notice me.”
Still, I have a wardrobe full of amazing clothes that no longer see the light of day.
I imagine them having secret meetings in the dark corners of my closet, plotting their revenge.
My metallic silver bomber jacket is definitely the ringleader, reminding the mesh tank tops about the glory days when they got to feel the strobe lights of nightclubs instead of collecting dust. And I’m pretty sure my leather pants have started a support group for abandoned statement pieces.
But this morning, I find myself hesitating instead of reaching for another one of my collection of hoodies that make me look like I’m in a witness protection program.
Instead, I choose a deep teal T-shirt, the kind of color that exists somewhere between the ocean and a peacock’s throat. The T-shirt hugs my torso like a really supportive friend who’s determined to show off my good qualities and makes my blue eyes pop.
Taking the risk with my outfit turns out to be worth it when I see the flicker of appreciation in Jared’s eyes after he invites me into his apartment and runs his gaze down me.
“Hey,” he says.
He, of course, is looking good enough to lick in a forest-green sweater and jeans that sculpt to his perfect ass.
Between the warmth in his gaze and how good he looks, my mouth goes dry.
And okay, okay, we’re doing the friend thing, but it doesn’t mean I can’t notice things. My vision isn’t impaired, after all.
“Hey,” I reply, not managing to completely keep my voice neutral.
But we don’t have much time for mutual ogling because Jared’s front door bursts open and in comes a woman who can only be Jared’s sister. Her dark hair falls in waves past her shoulders and her eyes are the same warm brown, though they’re framed by dark circles.
She’s in her early twenties at the most and looks far too young to have a four-year-old daughter trailing after her.
“Sorry we’re so late. We had a meltdown about socks. Twenty minutes about whether the dolphins on them were happy enough. I’m not equipped for philosophical debates about hosiery happiness before coffee.”
I laugh, and it brings her attention to me.
“Hi, I’m Felix,” I say.
Her gaze immediately fixates on my scars before drifting back to meet my eyes.
“Ah, yeah, hi. I’m Sophie,” she says. “Jared told me about you.”
Jared’s told her about me? That’s got to be a good thing, right?
Her gaze slides to Jared, and there’s something in her expression I can’t quite read. “You’ve just moved in down the hall, right?”
“Yeah, I’ve just moved up from Hamilton.”
“The mighty Ton,” she says, but her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
She glances down at Emmy, who has already cuddled into Jared’s legs and is staring up at me with wide eyes. “Mummy’s got to go now. You have a good time with Uncle Jared and Felix, okay? I’ll see you later.”
With a flurry of hugs for Emmy and Jared, she whirls out of the apartment.
I blink slightly, still trying to process that look Sophie gave Jared.
Did Jared say something to her about me that prompted that look?
Or is it just a reaction to my face? Maybe she’s wondering why Jared didn’t warn her that his new friend looks like he got into a fight with an overly enthusiastic blender.
But when I glance over at Jared, all thoughts of Sophie disappear at the adorable sight of Jared fixing the dark hair escaping Emmy’s lopsided pigtails.
“This is Emmy. Say hi to Felix, Emmy.”
Emmy just snuggles further into Jared.
I crouch to her height. “Hey, Emmy. I’m Felix. I heard we’re going to see some fish today. Do you want to know a secret?”
She stares at me suspiciously.
“I can speak fish. Want me to teach you? It goes like this: blub blub blub.” I puff out my cheeks and make a ridiculous fish face.
Emmy giggles, and she loosens her death grip on Jared’s leg.
“What happened to your face?” she asks.
My chest tightens, but I put on my most dramatic face, looking around like I’m checking for eavesdroppers, before I lean in close to her.
“Well, I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but…
I got into a fight with a dragon. Over the last chocolate biscuit.
The dragon wanted it, I wanted it, and things got a bit heated.
Literally. Dragons breathe fire, you know.
Very inconvenient when you’re trying to eat a biscuit. ”
Emmy’s eyes go wide. “Did you win the fight?” she whispers.
“Of course I won. I always win when chocolate is involved.”
When I straighten, there’s a weird look on Jared’s face. Shit. Is it sympathy? I really don’t want sympathy from Jared.
“Let’s go see the fish,” I say quickly.
The aquarium is busy, which I suppose should be expected for a Saturday morning. I’ve only been to Kelly Tarlton’s aquarium once before, when I was a kid, and I don’t remember much of it.
Emmy holds Jared’s hand tightly as we navigate through the crowds, but she keeps glancing back at me like she’s making sure the dragon fighter is still following.
The penguin enclosure is our first stop because, apparently, penguins are Emmy’s favorite animals after dolphins. As they waddle around their ice habitat, they remind me of tiny butlers who’ve had too much wine at the staff party.
“Hey, Emmy, do you know how penguins know when there’s something wrong?” I ask.
She looks a bit suspicious, but that doesn’t deter me from telling her the answer.
“It smells a bit fishy.”
Emmy screws up her face in confusion, but Jared cracks up laughing.
God, I love Jared’s laugh. I liked it from the first moment I heard it, even in the dark when I was in all kinds of pain.
But I like it even more when I can see his face, see the way his eyes crinkle at the corners and his nose scrunches just a tiny bit, like joy is trying to escape through whatever exit it can find.
“Why did the penguin cross the road?” he asks back.
“Why?”
“It was the chicken’s day off.”
Now it’s my turn to watch Jared react to the sound of my laughter.
Emmy gets bored with our joke-telling and wanders off toward the next exhibit, but that doesn’t stop Jared and me from slyly using our phones to outcompete each other with the worst penguin jokes as we follow her.
“How do penguins celebrate their birthdays?”
“With fish cakes.”
“Why should you not write a book on penguins?
“Because writing a book on paper is much easier.”
We move on to the rocky shore exhibit, which turns into spending ten minutes watching a crayfish that Emmy’s convinced is playing hide and seek with her.
A couple walks past us, and I catch the woman doing that now-familiar double-take at my face.
Her eyes widen, then she quickly looks away, whispering something to her partner.
My stomach hollows.
I used to love being looked at, used to love the way I could make people lose their train of thought and stop mid-conversation. Now I achieve that for all the wrong reasons.
Until my accident, I never realized how much I relied on my face to attract people.
Good for the soul to have that taken away from me, I guess.
For my sex life, not so much.
“Felix, what’s that one saying?” Emmy tugs on my shirt, pointing at a bright-blue fish.
I shake off my thoughts and crouch next to her to peer into the tank. “He’s complaining about his roommate. Apparently, the yellow fish snores.”
“Fish don’t snore!”
“How do you know? Have you ever had a sleepover with a fish?”
Emmy skips off to press her entire face against the glass of the next tank, leaving nose prints and breath fog like she’s trying to meld with the exhibit.
“She’s great,” I say.
“I know.” Jared watches his niece with a fond expression. “She’s probably the best thing that could have happened to us.”
My eyebrows fly up at that.
“Sophie must have been a young mum,” I venture.
“Yeah, she was only seventeen when Emmy was born. Our mum died the year before,” he says quietly.
Oh wow. I didn’t expect that. Poor Jared. At the look on his face, I have the urge to give him a hug. But I don’t want to overstep the friend definition between us.
“How did she pass away?” I ask.
Jared swallows. “Cancer. It was quick but not quick enough, you know?”
I make a small sound of understanding. “How old were you when it happened?”