A chill wracked a shiver through me, but people making grand plans to change their lives weren’t put off by a little snow.
“Are you okay? Need the extra blankets?” he asked.
I really did, but I figured I should wait as long as possible before adding the extra heat because, after that, it was over. Again with the worry. I wasn’t used to this much notice. Even Deckard was a typically oblivious guy most of the time.
“No. I’m okay. I’m tricking my brain into thinking my body isn’t cold,” I said.
“How’s that going?”
“Splendidly.”
Not true. It was going terribly, and I couldn’t think about anything but the biting cold of the seat on my butt or the way my nose felt like it was minutes from falling off my face.
What we needed was a distraction. I reached for topics of conversation with Owen, but it felt like every single word had been blown out of my brain with this windstorm. What were words? What were icebreakers? Heh. Icebreakers. Relevant.
How did we kill time when we were trying not to freeze to death?
But more frightening was that I wanted to understand more about him. I felt intrigued by his gentleness and depth. I wanted to learn how he knew what a contronym was and to hear more examples. Were there any other cool words he could teach me? I found myself just basking in his general worry for me. This wouldn’t do. I was meant to be changing my life, not developing a crush on the guy who was supposed to stop me.
I had to stay focused.
For every fidget of my hands or tap of my heels, bouncing my head, he was as still as though in meditation. How could he be so serene? What sort of worries occupied his thoughts?
He just kept looking at me, checking on me.Seeing me.
I couldn’t stand this. If I had to stay looking at him, cataloging his attractive features and thinking of all the ways he’d cared for me already, these confusing, muddled feelings I was developing would only get worse. I wouldn’t make it another ten minutes if something didn’t change. My mind raced, and my body refused to stay still. It had only been ten minutes, yet a hundred years had surely passed.
I had to do something.
“Play a game!” He jumped when I shouted out of nowhere. I lowered and smoothed my voice. “To pass the time, we could play a game.”
Chapter 9
Owen
The longer I studied Bee,the more contradictory she became to me. She wore bright patterned clothes (usually), yet nobody seemed to know who she was. She was impulsive and hotheaded but listened to rational explanations and seemed naturally curious. She was stubborn in her mysterious pursuit but then thanked me for teaching her something new.
To think that I could be capable of teaching anybody anything was a laugh.
And based on her inability to sit still under my assessing gaze, she didn’t appear to like that I was studying her. But I liked looking at her. Even with her new hair and her ridiculous snowsuit. I liked the playful gleam in her dark eyes and how expressive her features were. I swore every thought that passed through her mind played out on the pout of her full lips or the scrunch of her pert nose.
Within five minutes, her foot began to tap. Not long after, she looked around, eyes never settling on me, desperate for something to comment on. Her body was never still, like a kid in the waiting room of a doctor’s office. It was as though wordswere bubbling from her gut up into her mouth, and the longer we sat there, the more I expected a verbal onslaught would come exploding out.
Sure enough, the words came.
“A game?” I repeated.
Bee nodded, rubbing her hands gleefully. The good news was there wasn’t a chance that Bee was afraid of me. The bad news was I hadn’t had a full conversation with a person outside Ivy in … a really long time.
I had nothing against it, but most people assumed I was not the chatting type. They assumed stringing more than two words together was a challenge for me. Then, when I did speak, the pressure not to sound like a moron usually manifested in exactly that. I stumbled over words that I read often and knew well but somehow sounded wrong when said out loud. Sentences I’d rehearsed in my head only to fumble, firming the perception of me as a big dumb idiot who only communicated through violence.
But I had taught Bee a new word.
I blinked at Bee, face placid. If we played a game, would she see me trip over my sentences? Would she mock me if I struggled to say the five-dollar words I could say perfectly in my head but only to stumble in execution? I didn’t think she would, but I wasn’t ready to find out.
“No,” I said. Her mouth snapped shut into a tight line. “Thank you,” I added when that line of her mouth turned into a pout.
“Fine. I’ll just play with myself. And I will have the best time.” She crossed her arms and lifted her pointed chin. After a second, a frown formed, and her eyes widened comically. “I said that wrong. I’ll play a gamebymyself. I won’t playwith?—”
