11. Nina #2
I glare in response to that correct observation, hating that he sees through my defenses so easily.
Glaring at him is better than showing any other feeling or vulnerability.
A glare is my natural reaction when someone I don’t trust or know tries to take care of me.
It’s the safest way to live life, to be over the top and push people away.
Scaring people away is part of my personality.
That way, no one gets to know the real me.
I’m too much for anyone, no matter how much I wish it weren’t true.
“I don’t care how many glares you throw my way,” he says, plopping some more of the lamb on my plate. I don’t even want to begin to guess how he knows that’s my favorite. “Your eyes are gorgeous, and I’ll take it.”
“You’re the most infuriating person I’ve ever met and?— ”
“—and you hate that I’m right.” He nudges my plate toward me.
“You’re brave to give me a weapon like a plate at a time like this.”
“Out of the two of us, I think we know my skills in self-defense are far superior to yours.”
“Did I mention arrogant, too?” I huff. “You know, not all women like an alpha male.”
He arches an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”
Ugh. Why does he have to say it like that? All sexy and smooth, like he can detect all the bullshit I throw his way. I pick up my fork and eat the food, because it’s too delicious to waste.
“Why are you so scared?” he asks.
“I’m not scared,” I lie. “Maybe I’m just tired of a dinner that turned into a lecture.”
His jaw clenches. “I’m just trying to have a conversation with you.”
“About things I don’t want to talk about.”
“Other people may let you run and hide when things get tough, but that’s not me. I’m sorry for caring, for wanting to get to know the real you.”
“No one asked that from you,” I say.
“No one had to.”
“Why do you care? Why do you want to know the real me?”
“Those questions,” he says, “are the same ones I’ve been asking myself every single second since I’ve met you. I’ll let you know when I have an answer. ”
I blink at him in shock as his phone rings. He glances at the screen and sighs. “I’m sorry, but I need to take this. Just leave everything on the table when you’re done, and I’ll pack it away.”
I’m left gaping at him as he excuses himself, walks down the hall and up the stairs. I’m still in a state of shock as I shakily wash my plate and put the leftovers away. I’m still mulling over his words, and the implications, while I walk to the pool house.
And it’s all still there, rolling around in my head nonstop while I lie in bed.
The truth is, I care about him, too.
And no matter how much I wish it were different, at the end of the day, we’re a dead end.
“Nina,” Zeki singsongs from the door to the pool house the next evening.
“What do you want?” I come outside and join him on the patio.
“It’s movie night, and you’re joining.”
“And what if I’m busy?”
“Easy, become unbusy.”
I chuckle. “And where are you having this movie night? We don’t even have couches in the house, or a TV.”
“I brought some beanbag chairs and a TV.”
“Now this, I have to see. ”
We walk into the main house and into the living room and find a massive TV that wasn’t there this morning, three beanbag chairs in various shades of green that remind me of vomit, and…
Evren. Evren who’s sitting demurely on his vomit-green beanbag while wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt.
Evren who I’ve been avoiding since last night, after he admitted to caring about me.
I don’t know what to do with that information, or the realization that I like him.
So avoidance is the best course of action.
Or it was until Zeki brought me to movie night.
Zeki jumps onto his beanbag, leaving me the one that’s closest to Evren.
I glare at Zeki, blaming him for the seating situation, and he just grins and stuffs a handful of popcorn into his mouth.
“Hi,” Evren says quietly.
“Hi,” I say, slumping into the chair. “What movie are we watching?”
“Only,” Zeki says, “the best movie ever: Mission Impossible .”
“Best movie, huh?” I ask. “Maybe if you’re stuck in the nineties. Were you even alive then?”
“Hey now,” Zeki says. “You’re younger than me.”
“Here,” Evren says, passing me a beer. “You’re going to need that to get through it.”
I take the beer and chug it. Evren chuckles and then passes me my favorite snack food—chocolate-covered pretzels.
“How did you know?” I ask, shocked. I haven’t eaten any in front of him, at least not that I’m aware of. I normally don’t buy them, hating to spend that much on something so frivolous.
“I pay attention,” Evren says simply.
“I pay attention, too,” Zeki says. “Like how could I not notice how beautiful you look tonight.”
I chuck a pretzel at him. “Shut up. I haven’t even showered today.”
“Sexy.” Zeki wiggles his eyebrows. “Is that something you regularly forget to do?”
“Yup,” I say, popping a pretzel into my mouth.
Zeki shudders and I grin. He tries to stick his hand in my pretzel bag, and I hide it behind me. “Hell no, get your dirty hands away from my food.”
“You’re no fun.” Zeki pouts.
“No,” I say, “you just can’t handle my kind of fun.”
“Ohhh,” Zeki says, “tell me more.”
Evren stares at me, as if also waiting for the answer and ready to take notes.
“Let’s just say,” I say, “it involves a lot of glitter and some questionable decisions.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Zeki says, “but I think that’s more up Evren’s alley.”
Evren chuckles softly and I swear I feel it skate across my skin as if it were a tangible thing. “Should I be concerned,” Evren says to Zeki, “that you know I prefer glitter?”
Zeki laughs and I glance at Evren, surprised he’s playing into the joke.
Evren acts differently when it’s just us versus when his brother is around or if there are people from the team.
He grows quieter the more people that are around, and I never thought it was the case, but I guess he’s an introvert?
I just thought he was stoic and abrupt when I first met him, but I’m going to have to start rearranging the image I have of him.
The pieces aren’t really fitting anymore.
The rest of the movie passes with us all making jokes and drinking. It’s fun, more fun than I thought it’d be.
By the time the movie ends, I’m tipsy and relaxed. It’s been nice to not have to think about anything important.
“I have an announcement.” I stand on my beanbag, or at least try to, to make my grand speech.
Zeki claps in encouragement and Evren moves to stand close by.
“The movie inspired me.” My legs shake and I giggle.
“I want to learn some self-defense moves.” I kick with my right leg, but lose my balance when I forget that I’m still on the beanbag.
My world tilts to the side as I fall, but Evren catches me before I can hit the ground.
“Easy,” he murmurs in my ear. “You okay?”
I giggle. Why the hell am I giggling like a schoolgirl? “I’m more than okay.” I clamp my lips shut. Now is not the time to let alcohol talk for me.
“I already offered to train you,” Evren says, frowning at me.
He did, but it’s not like we’ve met up and done anything of the sort. “I didn’t think you were serious. ”
“Evren’s always serious.” Zeki laughs, like he just made a joke.
Evren sets me down, shooting a glare at Zeki. Zeki must not know his brother well, because Evren, most definitely, isn’t always serious. I sway to the side and Evren places his hands on my shoulders, stopping me from toppling over again.
“You keep catching me,” I say.
“Because you keep falling at my feet.”
I scrunch my nose up, about to argue, when Zeki clears his throat, loudly. “Aaannnddd that’s my cue to leave. Catch you two tomorrow.”
Neither of us moves as I listen to Zeki open and close the front door.
“He’s right, you know,” Evren says, nodding toward the hallway Zeki just walked down. “I am a serious person, and I wouldn’t have offered to train you if I didn’t mean it.”
“But we haven’t met up to train.”
“Because I didn’t think you wanted to, and you’ve been busy. But if I knew you wanted to be on your back beneath me, I would’ve offered multiple times already.”
“I’m sure.” I chuckle. “But Zeki’s wrong. You aren’t serious all the time.”
He shrugs, like he doesn’t believe me. “Can I walk you back to the pool house?”
“Why? Afraid I’m going to fall in?”
“It wouldn’t surprise me. ”
I huff out a laugh. “Fine, but only because you got me my favorite food.”
He places a hand on my lower back and guides me through the kitchen, out the door, and across the stone surrounding the pool. I’m hyper-focused on his hand that’s scorching through my shirt and straight into the marrow of my bones. Why does this feel so good?
I blink and we arrive at the pool house before I’m ready.
“Why didn’t you come to coffee or dinner today?” His gaze searches my face. For what? I don’t know. But I don’t hate his eyes on me, taking me in.
“You know why…”
“Do I?” He raises an eyebrow. “Did I scare you by admitting I care?”
“No.” He narrows his eyes and I sigh. “Okay, fine, maybe?”
“Fine, then let’s pretend that conversation never happened,” he says lightly. “Just like our kiss. Please…just please don’t pull away from me.”
“Okay,” I whisper, not able to stop myself from agreeing. I don’t want to pull away from him, either. It feels unnatural.
He tugs me closer, using that hand on my lower back to do so. My heart accelerates like it’s trying to win an Olympic gold medal. He leans in, his mouth brushing against the shell of my ear. I shiver and his hand flexes on my lower back as if he felt my response.
“Good night, pariltim .” He lets me go and takes a step back.
“Good night, Mr. Keeps-his-language-a-secret-and-won’t-tell-me-what-that-word-means.”
He walks backward and chuckles. “There’s a thing called Google Translate, you know.”
“But where’s the fun in that?”
His grin widens. “Where, indeed.”