Kiara （Age 17） #2
I look out my window—the night is really warm, the moonlight the only thing lighting up my room. My stomach fills with butterflies, not just happy ones, but also annoyingly panicking ones.
“Why would I give my address to a jewelry thief?” I tease.
“I’m a thief now? That’s rude,” he laughs again and I don’t think that sound will leave my head for a long time.
“What do I know? All I know is your name,” I say, my tone getting cocky.
“Will I get the address if I tell you more about myself?”
“Maybe,” I mumble, barely audible, my fingers nervously playing with the string on my sleep shorts and it’s already getting ragged.
“Okay,” he thinks for a moment. “I don’t like prosecco.”
“You had three today.”
He laughs.
“So you were counting my alcohol? Who’s weird now?”
“You were the one staring at me.”
There. I said it.
“I wasn’t.”
I can hear in his voice that he’s smiling.
“And you’re also a liar,” I conclude.
“That’s right. You already know so much about me. Now the address please,” he adds with an annoying amount of confidence.
I laugh, then panic.
“It’s twenty-two fuck off,” I say soundly, with enough emphasis on the last words to show what a badass I am.
The line goes dead.
The bastard hung up.
Then my phone beeps again. He’s sending me a picture of the bracelet as he holds it above a trashcan. I silently laugh and then zoom in on his hand. A wave of heat runs through my spine when I see the scars.
Why am I being so intrigued by something so damaged? It’s quite hard to look away from.
Fine.
I text him my address and throw away the phone instantly, starting to pace around my room like a freak.
What the hell did I just do? It’s after midnight.
I can’t stop smiling though, resting my hands on my hips and walking around my room to get the nervousness out of my system, when my phone rings again.
He’s calling back, so I pick it up quickly.
“Don’t you dare fall asleep,” he says in a commanding tone, with beeps and motor sounds in the background.
He’s already on his way. Shit.
“I don’t think I could even if I wanted to,” I mumble, admitting my current nervous breakdown.
“I’ll be there in ten,” he says with an audible smile.
My stomach flips upside down and I take up speed as I pace around my room, biting my nails. I guess I could expect that. The Varner mansion is basically on the other side of the woods from the suburbs where I live.
“Are you still there?”
“Yeah. I’m here,” I say weakly.
“You sound nervous.”
Oh really.
“You called me at midnight and now you’re driving to my house. What exactly did you expect?”
“Actually something like don’t come or go to hell. Something like that.”
“I can still say that.”
“Please don’t,” he says softly.
My breath gets shallow, my brain too hypnotized by the sound of his voice.
He seemed so cold at the event and now he’s so different. As if he had some mask there and now it’s off. As if he feels comfortable about this too, but also doesn’t know how to act around me either.
“Don’t park right outside my house, okay?” I say. “Just park at the next one.”
“Am I getting you in trouble? Are you getting out the window? Should I come and catch you?”
I chuckle under my breath. Now it looks like I have one of those strict parents when it’s actually the opposite.
“I just don’t want to wake up my mom, that’s all.”
“Okay, and,” he pauses, then adds, “The window?”
“Stay in the car,” I reply through a grin.
“Understood.”
Another moment of silence, every second stretching into quiet comfort.
“I’m here,” he says.
I gulp as I hang up and take an oversized sweatshirt, just so I’m not in the tank top that is showing way too much for my liking. The sleep shorts will do. It’s summer and it’s just for a moment.
I open my bedroom door slowly so it doesn’t creak and take the stairs, knowing exactly where to put my feet so I don’t make a sound.
I grab some sneakers by the door and take the back garden exit, since the main door is too loud.
I slip out into the garden and ridiculously crawl over the fence made of low bushes, tripping and catching myself on all fours.
Perfect.
I hope he didn’t see that. It was way too embarrassing for me to acknowledge that it happened. But the moonlight is quite bright so it’s possible I just made a good show.
Then I see the car. Big and black and the only one with the lights on. That’s him.
I walk toward it, open the passenger door, and get in, shutting the door behind me without looking at him yet.
The scent of cardamom, leather and a hint of cigarettes suddenly swallows me, making it feel like I just entered some highly intoxicating universe of his.
I take a second before I look at him. I need it.
His raven hair is even messier than back at the event. He’s drowned in the darkness of the night, lit only by the lights from the dashboard, the colors floating around his sharp features.
But he’s—
Oh he’s gotta be fucking kidding me. He’s holding in a laugh, his hand covering his mouth.
“So I guess you saw that,” I say finally, accepting the horrible embarrassment.
This could not get any worse. He clears his throat, holding the laugh back.
“It was really impressive. Are you doing this often?” he asks, a slight tease in his voice, but beside that, he feels controlled, composed, confident.
His whole body is angled toward the passenger seat, filling his side of the car as if he’s seven feet tall. He’s wearing just a black T-shirt and jeans, both arms visible, unlike today at the event when he was covered by his suit.
Suddenly he looks almost like a normal teenager. A disturbingly handsome one.
“Not really. Are you?” I reply, trying to sound casual.
“Not really,” he says quietly, a slight smirk appearing on his face.
I glance around the car. The whole interior is too clean and shiny, as if he’s not using it that much, but then I notice a few things in the cupholder, one of them a pack of cigarettes.
Of course.
Then my gaze lifts back to him, only to see he’s been staring this whole time.
My mouth won’t shut up when it needs to, but now it’s blank?
“So are you going to kidnap me now or what?” I finally blurt out.
He’s watching me as if he’s trying to catch every syllable that comes out of my mouth, as if he’s interested in everything unsaid between the words.
“Do you want me to?”
He doesn’t sound flirty, but rather serious. That makes me silently chuckle under my breath.
He’s somehow intimidating in the sweetest way possible. It doesn’t make sense to me yet. So I just stare at him, trying to figure out if he’s nervous too but is somehow capable of masking it. I sadly don’t know how to do that.
The car lock suddenly clicks and I flinch, lifting my eyebrows.
“It’s automatic,” he mumbles and I hum, then both of us break into an unsteady smile.
“So,” I breathe out. "Didn’t you come here to give me my bracelet back?”
He lifts a hand and runs it through his hair, a nervous gesture that only makes it fall messier across his eyes.
It’s black as a night, slightly wavy at the ends, the strands brushing his lashes.
My gaze unintentionally follows his arm, catching a few lines of ink there, still a little red, as if it’s fresh.
His scent reaches me again as he moves, and goosebumps prickle along my skin. I quickly press my palms between my legs in reflex, hiding them before he can notice how fidgety I am.
“I forgot it,” he finally admits and gives me an apologetic smile.
“You were wearing it.” I squint my eyes.
“It must have slipped off,” he says, a slow half-smirk tugging at his mouth like he’s enjoying the lie.
My breath catches, but I can’t fight a smile either, my stomach flipping over itself.
“So,” he starts, visibly unaware of what he’s doing to me. “Do you like working in catering?” he asks and rests his body in the seat, still not taking his eyes off me.
It feels like he hasn't even blinked since I got in.
My legs are stuck to the leather seat, my hands are laced together between my thighs, and I suddenly realize what a stupid idea it was to keep the sleep shorts on. I’m in my fucking pyjamas. Sitting in his car. What the hell.
“Did I look like I was enjoying it?” I lift my eyebrows.
I’m painfully aware he saw how clumsy I am.
“Well, you dropped only a couple of glasses.” His lips curve in a soft, teasing smirk.
“Will you remember every embarrassing thing that happens to me?” I ask, annoyed, but not really.
He slowly nods, the smile spreading on his face. “I probably will.”
I sigh in surrender, my shoulders relaxing.
“I’m saving up for a car and catering pays well,” I reply, feeling a bit weird talking about this with him since he’s a Varner.
I look out the window, acting way too interested in the pitch black street.
“Do you have a driving license already?” he asks.
“Not yet. I don’t have time for the classes because of catering,” I explain, finally looking back at him.
He’s calm, like a statue, yet somehow I’m sure he has no idea what he’s doing either.
“So,” he pauses, looking like he just got the best idea. “Do you want me to teach you?”
“What?”
His face is serious. He nods toward the steering wheel as I shake my head and continue, “I’ve never driven a car before.”
My father was supposed to teach me, but I don’t think that’s gonna happen since that bastard took off.
“So let’s do it now.” His eyes light up—the soft colorful buttons from the car are glistening in the green forest up there.
“Are you crazy?” I mumble.
His eyes flicker around for a moment, as if he’s trying to decide how much he’s going to give away.
“Well,” he pauses, “I have a few diagnoses, to be honest, but crazy isn’t one of them.”
I blink.
What?
I stare at him, confused, then my lips curl into an amused expression because I’m not sure if he’s serious or not but either way—it’s funny.
But he doesn’t wait for my answer as he shuts off the motor and gets out of the car. He walks around it and opens my passenger door, offering me his hand.
I hesitantly take it.