The Art of Starting Over

Chapter 15 - Ipokriti

My stomach churns. "That's disgusting!" I tell him.

"No. You leading on that jughead is disgusting."

"He's not a jughead! And I wasn't leading him on," I protest.

"And yet you let him fall madly in love with you knowing you didn't even like him. And don't blame it on the bet. Your three weeks were technically over. Going out with him tonight was just cruel. To be frank, agreeing to that deal was wrong from the start, Sparky," he fires returning his eyes to the screen. His face contorts as Nancy pushes Rafel's wheelchair into the pool.

I feel the guilt weigh heavily in my gut and I don't like it one bit.

"First of all, Mr Cordina," I start, realising my voice is a notch higher than it should be. "What I do and why is none of your business. And secondly, what do you mean I don't even like him?" I demand, adjusting my body to face him. "I never said anything about not liking him."

"But you don't like him. You can't like him, Ally, you have nothing in common with him," he shrugs.

"How would you know?" I ask, finding it harder and harder to keep my anger under control. "You met him for two seconds."

"I can tell a lot about a man in two seconds," he answers curtly. "And I looked him up on Facebook."

Nanna Millie goes very still beside me. She's been so quiet I had forgotten she was here.

"You did what?" My voice is dangerously low.

"And LinkedIn," he adds unashamedly.

I glare at him. My brain is paralysed with rage. "Why?"

"Because you wouldn't tell me anything about him," he says simply as though this explains everything.

"That's because it's none of your business," I reply through gritted teeth.

"I thought that might be it. Then I looked him up and I realised it's because there was nothing to tell," he challenges with a hint of ridicule.

I gape at him open-mouthed. "And what's that supposed to mean?" 

He turns to face me once again, the irritation at my raised voice evident in the line between his brows. "It means," he grinds impatiently as though I'm the one being unreasonable, "that he bores the hell out of you, Ally."

I open my mouth to fire back but for some reason, I hesitate for one millisecond. He takes advantage of this and ruthlessly goes on, his piercing eyes so completely focused on me I find myself wishing he would go back to watching the soap. "Just admit it. He's boring and you hate spending time with him. Tell me, hand on heart, you didn't put on that dress just to prove a point tonight." His eyes travel down my body like seeking hands as he says this and I see his Adam's apple bopping up and down as they settle on my leg that's completely exposed through the slit. The muscles around his jaw clench slightly as he tears his eyes away and turns his focus back to my face.

I sit up a little taller and try to adjust my dress without being too obvious. "Yes, I did," I counter. "The point being that he's worth the effort."

"And who exactly were you trying to convince? Him or yourself?"

His quiet voice and seemingly calm exterior infuriate me even more than his words. My breathing is heavy. Red spots flash before my eyes. The room starts to spin and before I have time to stop myself, I grab the glass sitting on the coffee table and throw its contents in his face.

I sit there motionless, the glass glued to my hand, eyes wide open in shock as he stares back at me trying to figure out what just happened. From the pungent smell filling my nostrils, I realise the glass was full of beer. The sticky liquid drips from his eyebrows, nose and stubble onto his crisp, white shirt. Time stops as we stare at each other, neither of us able to move.

Then the sound of Millie's loud cackle breaks through the tension like a whip. She stands up and totters to the kitchen clutching her side. Jeremy and I look incredulously at her as she returns with tears in her eyes and a dishcloth in her hand gives it to Jeremy.

"You two are hilarious. Try not to kill each other and figure this out, alright? Good night, sweetheart. Good night, Mr Cordina." And with that, she heads upstairs still gasping for air.

Alone in the living room, we turn back to each other. Jeremy shakes his head and wipes his face with the cloth Nanna Millie gave him but he only makes it worse. Bits of cloth stick to his stubble and eyelashes and I can't help but laugh at him. He looks absolutely furious and equally ridiculous. I remove the white fluff from his face as best I can until his features soften, then point him over to the bathroom. He disappears through the door and I go up to my room to see if I find something he can change into. I dig out a purple hoodie that's three sizes too big for me. My father had sent it over from the U.K. 

Just as I'm coming back down the stairs, Jeremy comes out of the bathroom with a small towel draped over his shoulders. His whole head is wet. He must have tried to clean up in the sink. "Here," I say handing him the hoodie. "Try this."

"Thanks," he replies with his refreshing half-smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners like they always do when he lets his guard down a little.

He swiftly lifts his stained shirt over his head and goes back to the bathroom to rinse it under the tap. The muscles on his back flex firmly as he wrings the shirt thoroughly before hanging it on the door to dry. He splashes water onto his chest and over his shoulders and then pat dries his torso with the hand towel that was just around his neck. He's surprisingly burly in an effortless sort of way. Not as toned as Shaun, but he looks stronger. More... solid?

He raises his head and catches me admiring him through the mirror. I try to look away but it's too late. Our eyes lock. He holds my gaze through the glass as he slides my hoodie over his back.

"What do you think, Sparky?" he growls using his low voice, turning around and walking up slowly towards me, his blue eyes so melded with mine I can't figure out how he turned around without breaking eye contact.

I lean against the bannister and rip my eyes away from his, letting them wander down his chest. My hoodie barely reaches his waistline. The sleeves stop a few good inches above his wrist and the zipper doesn't go up all the way because it's too tight for him. I put a hand over my mouth and purse my lips tightly to stop myself from snickering. When I look back up into his face, his own lips stretch into a broad smile.

"I'm going to pretend I'm not offended by that," he says flicking off the bathroom light and leading me back to the sofa.