AllFreeNovel
Share Us
W
A
Y
S
He doesn't mind showing off like that because Manasseh is too wicked to be modest.
“Put some clothes on!” I turn my back and hear an amused chuckle.
“Have you forgotten summers spent only in underwear by the pool?” he walks past the desk and casually drops the keys right in front of me.
“It was different back then,” I catch a glimpse of the USB stick so close to me, yet so far. “Now, we've grown up,” I still shield my hand in front of my eyes.
“And if we've grown up, do we have to take showers dressed?”
“Don't be stupid! I’m talking about us"
“The two of us?"
“All of us in general,” I roll my eyes and glance at the nightstand next to the bed, where he has a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. “We can't see each other in these situations and act like nothing ever happened.”
“And what if you did see me like that?” I feel him leaning over the chair, right above me, and the sweet smell of shower gel fills my nose. “Tell me, Becca!” he insists, and I watch his lips part, briefly moistened by his tempting tongue.
“Nothing,” I raise my gaze and come face to face with him.
He gazes at me with such intensity that it sends shivers down my spine, as if he's enveloping me with his very presence.
I gulp and avert my eyes, scanning the room aimlessly, searching for an escape route.
“So, what's the deal, Becca? I really don't understand!” he taunts me, because Manasseh isn't completely clueless, he just enjoys playing games with me.
Why does he think it's okay for us to be in these circumstances? He should know better, being older than me and undoubtedly having had experiences with other girls.
Does he not see me as a girl? That must be it.
As we grow up, the dynamics between boys and girls change; it's no longer just child's play. My father once told me that, and it's etched in my mind like an indelible stamp.
Surely, Manasseh still perceives me as a child, not as a girl, but as their childhood friend with whom they frolicked around in swimsuits during carefree summer days, when this heavy veil of awkwardness didn't hang between us.
Manasseh doesn't take me seriously.
Manasseh doesn't see me as a girl.
To him I’m Becca, the girl next door and their childhood friend, always the target of his jokes.
“The problem is, you're using a few pictures to blackmail me, and I don’t understand why,” I stand up, crossing my arms and circling the desk in frustration.
“Thousands of pictures,” Masse corrects me with a smirk, plugging in the USB stick and ruffling his damp hair.
He's sporting a loose white tee and black shorts.
“It doesn't matter. You promised to delete them, yet you kept a backup.”
“I never made such a promise,” he dismisses with a shake of his head, infuriating me even more with his nonchalant attitude. “And it's not a backup; it's the same stick.”
His remark cuts deeper. He doesn't even bother to come up with a lie.
