Chapter Seven
“What is the power house of the cell?” August’s voice floated across the worn cushions of the sofa in the middle of his room. He leaned back against the armrest, long fingers tapping against a set of color coded flash cards.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“Mitochondria,” I answered easily, plucking a potato chip from the ceramic bowl perched between us and popping it into my mouth.
We’d been going back and forth like this for the past half hour. He’d ask me a biology question, and if I got the answer right then I was allowed to ask him a personal question. He had come up with an arrangement, and reasoned: what motivates a teen girl more than gossip?
I hated how well it was working.
So far I’d learned that August turned eighteen only two weeks after I had in July, he’d never been on a date, and had only ever broken one bone—his pinky, after his sister slammed it in a car door when he was seven.
The last one I discovered only because I’d asked him if he had any piercings other than the few in his ear, which he refused to answer so I replaced it with: ‘What’s the worst physical pain you’ve ever been in? ’
“Are there any girls at school that you like?” I asked, covering my mouth as I talked around the chip.
He peered at me over the top of his flash cards, dark lashes shadowing his green eyes. “Not really.”
I nudged him with my foot. “Outside of school?”
“No.” His answer came out flat as he flipped to the next card in the stack. “What other purpose does the Mitochondria serve?” he challenged, voice teasing.
I pouted and folded my arms. “It’s still my turn.”
He lifted a brow. “No, I answered your question.”
“Not in totality,” I protested.
He sighed, setting the cards down on the coffee table. He reached for a chip, one of his heavy rings clinking against the rim of the bowl. “Fine. What is the totality of your question, Sin?”
“Sinley,” I corrected him.
“I know your name,” he said with a raised brow. I swallowed tightly before moving on.
“I want to know what kind of girls you like, so I know which direction to steer you in.” I stretched languidly and let out a soft breath.
His brow furrowed. “When you asked me if I wanted girl friends, I thought you meant girls who were friends.”
“I did,” I said, leaning forward, my long dark hair fanning across the cushion. “But one day you’ll date someone—and she’ll probably be a friend first. So why not befriend girls you’d want to date?”
He shook his head. “That feels disingenuous. Shouldn’t I be friends with someone because we click, not because I hope to date them?”
I thought this over. “I think there can be some overlap.” August let out an exhausted sigh.
“Do you think I’m attractive?” I asked, tilting my head.
His gaze held mine as he gave me a let’s not go there kind of look. I smiled, and he let his eyes drop to where his fingers were spinning one of his rings in his lap. I nudged his knee with my foot again. His attention came back to me grudgingly.
“You can say yes,” I urged him with a soft smile.
“You know you’re pretty,” he said dryly.
“That’s not the same as knowing that you find me attractive,” I pointed out with a raised eyebrow.
He rolled his eyes, and looked away again.
I took this as a challenge and leaned forward to move the bowl to the coffee table.
August watched me from the corner of his eye, refusing to fully face me as I crawled across the couch.
I stopped right in front of him, dropping my head to rest by his elbow perched on the back cushion.
I looked up at him through long lashes, and said with a mock pout, “If I wanted to kiss you right now, would you let me?”
His eyes finally met mine. “No.”
My bottom lip jutted out dramatically. “Because you don’t find me attractive?”
He hesitated, breathing in slowly. “Because your breath smells like cough drops, and now that I know what that means, the smell is a little unsettling.”
My faux pout curdled into a genuine frown. “Don’t act so high and mighty, August. If you had a girl’s mouth wrapped around your cock you’d be pretty enthusiastic about it too.”
He grimaced. “I would never want to hurt someone like that.”
I laughed. “So you’d, what, make love to her throat?” A flush of coral blossomed across his cheeks. “Oh my god, you would!” My eyes went wide with delight.
He said nothing to deny it.
“Have you?” I teased, almost giddy.
“Have I what?” he groaned.
I studied the profile of his face, his full lips that seemed to sit in a permanent scowl, his deep green eyes, and the firm set of his jaw.
I wanted to lift the cap of dark curls from his head and peer inside his thoughts.
I wanted to lay them all out like his color coded index cards, so nothing could hide from me.
“Have you done anything with a girl?” I asked in a low tone.
The coral in his cheeks deepened to near crimson.
I couldn’t hide my smile as I sunk further into the couch.
We were close enough to touch, though we weren’t.
August looked down at me, his green eyes flickering between my own.
I knew he could see down my blouse from the angle if he wanted, but he kept his eyes locked firmly on mine.
“Yes,” he finally answered, making my stomach flip.
“Like what?” I asked, pulse fluttering.
“I’ve touched a girl before.” His voice turned clinical.
“Where?” My own voice was barely audible. His gaze flickered to my lap, and I understood what he wouldn’t say out loud.
“Did you like it?” I pressed.
He nodded.
“Did she like it?” My throat felt dry. I didn’t know if I really wanted to hear the answer.
He lifted his shoulders. “How would I know?”
I smiled gently. “Did she come?”
His lips twisted in thought. “She said she did. But I’m pretty sure she faked it.”
“Well, that was nice of her.” I shrugged.
The crease between his brow deepened. “How is that nice?”
“Better than her telling you it was terrible, right?”
August’s attention dropped from my eyes down to my lips before he finally said “No.”
That surprised me. “Why?”
“Because if she didn’t like what I was doing she could have instructed me on how to do something else. What good does faking it do?”
I laughed. “Guys hate being told what to do. We’re supposed to make them feel in charge.”
He shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I think you might know less about sex than I do, Lola.” I hated the way my body reacted to hearing him say my name.
“Says the virgin,” I shot back.
He smirked. “You’re supposed to enjoy it, you know?”
I rolled my eyes. “I enjoy it!” I protested.
A knowing smile raised the corner of his mouth. “So, you don’t have to fake it with the football player?”
“His name is Andy,” I said pointedly.
“I know what his name is,” he said a bit too coldly.
“Every girl fakes it at least sometimes, August. It’s not that big of a deal.” I shrugged.
His smirk deepened. “I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I knew my girl was faking it.”
“Well, your girl probably did fake it,” I said pointedly.
His eyes narrowed. “She wasn’t my girlfriend, and never had any intention of sticking around, so it wasn’t anything for me to lose sleep over.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so I ended up staring at his mouth for too long before I finally said “You never really answered my question.”
“Which one?” he asked.
“Do you find me attractive? Minus the smell of cough drops.”
He drew in a breath, then met my gaze. “Yes,” he answered in a low voice. My teeth found my bottom lip, and he tracked the movement.
“And we’re friends?” I asked.
He seemed to take longer to consider this question. “Yes,” he finally agreed.
I grinned. “Are you secretly scheming ways to get me naked?
“Totally.” His smirk broke into a wide grin. I pinched his arm and he let out a small yelp, then pinned me with a severe look.
I smiled sweetly. “You can be friends with girls you might also want to date without being a bad guy, August.”
“Is that your point? In totality?” he asked, reaching for the flash cards again.
“Yes.” I beamed.
“Alright, lesson learned. Now, what other purpose does the mitochondria serve?” he asked, looking pointedly at me.
“It’s the power house of the cell.” I folded my arms and huffed.
He rolled his eyes.