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3
Saturday night comes around sooner than I expected. In fact, the whole week since my hearing has rushed past in a blur like old father time is having a laugh and speeding up the hours just to screw with me. My little brothers, Sebastian and George, six and four respectively, were their usual adorable selves when I visited them the other evening and weren’t in the least bit worried about not seeing me for three months. The little buggers thought Oceanside sounded like some boarding school for magic kids in one of those books their foster mum likes to read them. I didn’t want to burst their bubble, so I just went along with it. They’ll have plenty of years to find out that life isn’t some great big fairytale.
Now, as I hold my finger against Eastern’s doorbell, I decide that tonight I’m gonna go all out and get shitfaced just like we’d planned. Might be the last time for a while.
“Alright, alright, hold your fucking horses,” Eastern shouts from the other side of his front door. Half a second later, he yanks it open and for a moment I allow myself to appreciate his sexiness before cussing him out like I usually do.
“Where do you think you’re going, dressed like some Eastend gangster born fifty years too late?” I ask him, cocking a brow and ignoring the low thrum of attraction that seems to want to screw with me these days. He’s wearing smart black trousers and a black shirt rolled up to the elbows with a white tie and a Crombie hat tilted jauntily on his head. Teamed with a pair of expensive white trainers that he nicked from the Nike store, he’s the perfect mash up of old versus new. Sasha’s not going to be able to keep her hands off him. I grit my teeth, bracing myself for the night ahead. He’s my friend. We might’ve shared a kiss but that’s it.
Friendzone, Asia. Fucking Friendzone,I remind myself.
Eastern grins, showing off his perfectly imperfect crooked teeth. I love the little chip in his front tooth, got when we playedKnock Down Ginger.The irony is,hewas actually knocked down when Mr Roberts of number fifty-eight sprinted after us and gave him a wallop that had him sprawling face first onto the pavement. We stopped playing the game after that. Tracy ripped us both a new one for annoying the neighbours and banging on their doors all day.
“Tom Hardy, eat your heart out,” he smirks.
“You been shopping at the charity shops again?” I laugh, ribbing him further.
He leans against the doorframe, making a point of looking me up and down. “Don’t talk to me about style, Asia, at least I don’t look like someone who’s had a fight with a rainbow and lost.”
His eyes rove over my outfit as he steps closer, a little too close for comfort if I’m honest. Grabbing the hem of my bright blue belly top, his finger skimming against the bare skin of my stomach, Eastern’s smile turns salacious.
“Love being different, don’t you?” he murmurs.
“Pot, kettle, black,” I retort.
I’ve never been one to follow the crowd. I wear what I want, not adhering to any kind of style. Mostly I like bright colours, just like the spray paint I use in my art. Every month I change my hair colour. Last month my dark brown bob was dyed green at the ends, this month blue. But I’ve pretty much had my hair all colours of the rainbow at one point or another. Right now, I’m glad that I matched my top with my newly dyed hair. Blue suits me even if I do say so myself. Paired with a short black denim skirt that shows off my wrap around tattoo that sits high on my thigh, I’m feeling pretty sexy.
“You do realise that looking this hot can get you into all sorts of trouble with the wrong kind of people,” he warns, a look I can’t quite interpret drawing his eyebrows together in a frown.
I grin to hide my sudden nerves at his closeness. “Did you just say I’m hot?”
“You’ve always been hot, Asia.”
I’m not sure how to respond to that, so I don’t.
“Seriously, that skirt barely covers your arse…”
“Maybe I’m looking for trouble?” I respond, shrugging.
“That so?” he questions, his fingers still feathering against my bare skin.
Suddenly the space between us has closed dramatically and that same chest-tightening feeling I’ve been getting around him lately snatches my breath. Eastern leans forward as though he’s about to kiss me, his mouth a few inches from mine. His dark eyes flick to my mouth as I suck in my lip ring. For long moments we stare at each other, neither one of us moving. The air is fraught with tension and I feel a sudden tingling warmth over my skin as his tongue runs over his bottom lip.
“What the hell are you doing, Eastern? Let Lissy come in and give me a hug, you great big oaf!”
Eastern pulls back sharply as I draw in a ragged breath, the rest of the universe rushing back into focus.Damn, that was close.
“Hey, Tracy,” I manage to say as Eastern stands aside, drawing a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket and sticking one in his mouth. He lights up in front of his mum, not in the least bit bothered.
“Eastern, go smoke that cancer stick outside. I don’t want Braydon breathing in that muck,” she says, tapping him on the shoulder then wagging her finger at him.
“Sure, Mum,” he responds leaning in to give her a peck on the cheek before casting his gaze back at me. “See you in a second?”
“Give me sixty, need to say goodbye,” I murmur.
“Done,” he nods, the moment between us well and truly over. He strides off down the corridor, disappearing through the door outside.
“Lissy,” Tracy coos, opening her arms to me. “Give us a hug.” Her nickname for me has remained the same since I was a baby. She calls me Lissy, and I let her. So long as it’s not Alicia, I’m good. Stepping into her embrace, I allow her to pull me close. She smells of bleach and baby wipes, of hard work and love, a combination that should be gross but is somehow comforting to me.
