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He’s still smiling, but his tone is biting as he murmurs. “And lose the fucking attitude.”
“Can we go in your car, Xan?” Kir jumps, oblivious to the tension brewing between us. “Can we?”
“No.”
“Of course.”
Xander and I speak at the same time. I shoot him a glare. “I have a car, let’s go separately.”
I pull on Kir’s hand, but he refuses to budge. “I want to go in Xan’s car. It’s sooo cool.”
“You little ungrateful brat.” I stare down at him, incredulous. “Whose car drives you to school every day?”
He pouts, blinking up at me with those puppy eyes. “But today, we can go in Xan’s car. Please, Kimmy, please?”
The resident arsehole’s lips tug in a smirk as he watches me fighting the Kirian pleading effect and losing miserably.
Still, there’s no way in hell we’ll go in Xander’s stupid car. I just have to find a way to convince my baby brother of that fact.
As if sensing my intentions, Xander retrieves his keys from his pocket and throws them in Kirian’s direction. The latter clutches them with both hands, staring at them with wild eyes.
“Go ahead.”
“Really?”
At Xander’s nod, Kirian runs towards the dark blue Porsche, trotting and grinning like an idiot. I’d hate to put an end to that joyful expression and I hate that this bastard is the reason behind it.
Maybe if I weren’t such a chicken shit, I would ask Dad for a sports car instead of my safe MINI Cooper.
“You’re a wanker, okay?” I sigh in both frustration and resignation.
Xander kills the space between us until his face is mere inches from mine. His mint breath intertwines with my shaky one as his eyes darken to a bottomless blue colour.
I’m so taken aback, it takes me a moment to realise the proximity.
He hasn’t been this close since that time at the beginning of the year when he cornered me in the garden and told me – or rather, snapped at me – to stop wearing short skirts.
It was the first time he’d gotten close after so many years of tormenting me from afar and blatantly leaving the room whenever I came in as if I had a contagious disease.
He cornered me a few times after and they all had to do with my dress code.
Fuck him. It’s not like he’s my dad.
Like every time he gets close, I can’t control my breathing. I know it’s inhale, exhale.
In. Out.
But sometimes, even those simple steps are the toughest thing to do. For one, I keep breathing him in with every inhale and breathing my confusion out with every shaky exhale.
It’s as if I’m about to vomit my heart, not my food. His lips twitch and I nearly faint, stopping the breathing struggle altogether.
Is he going to kiss me?
Shit. Shit.
“What are you doing?” I hiss, pulling my head away.
“I wasn’t doing anything, but if you keep the attitude, I’ll do things you won’t like.”
