Zoey's POV
Boyfriend?
No no no, I don't want a boyfriend. Relationships freak me out.
Chris and I are just good friends. I admit that he's hot, attractive, caring, kind and even cute at times, but we're just good friends. I'm sure that he wouldn't be thinking otherwise.
Relationships are freaky.
You either end up getting married to the other person, or you'll have to endure a heartbreak from him. Not my type of thing.
I like books and calculators.
"Zoey! Are you dreaming of Chris?" Evelyn calls out and waves her spoon of ice cream at my face.
"What? No! I'm just thinking of homework. Yea... homework." I scowl at Evelyn when she shoots me a 'oh shut up, I know what's up' smile.
-
After we finished our ice cream, I went home. It's been quite a while since I last had some time together with Mother. She's been coming home late since Monday. It's Sunday today, she should be home earlier.
"Zoey? Are you at home?" The front door clicks unlocked. I hear shuffling and then heels clattering to the floor. Water starts to run from a faucet. Yay, she's back.
"Mom, I'm in my room." I drop my pen and push myself off the floor. Taking long strides, I jog down to see Mother. She's wearing a white blouse with a black pencil skirt. Her gray heels are scattered at the doorway. She splashes her face with water and pours herself a glass of ginger ale.
"Zoey, I'm going out for a dinner with my client, here's some money, get yourself dinner." Mother gulps down the cool liquid and rushes to her closet and pick out a black blazer and black heels.
"Take care, I'll be late, don't wait up. Love you," she instructs and gestures for me. I press my lips into a line, begrudgingly scoot over to her. She has just gotten home, and now she's going out!
With just a light peck on my temple and a tight squeeze on the shoulder, she closes the door and jogs to her vehicle. I sigh. And all along I thought we could spend some together today. I shove the money under an apple on the coffee table.
Heading into the kitchen, I gather the ingredients needed for a quick stir-fry.
My lips curve into a frown as I begin to slice the red peppers. I sigh mentally. I want to spend time with Mother. She's been so busy ever since the second week we moved here.
As I start to dice up the defrosted chicken, my phone starts to buzz.
I put down the knife and press my elbow onto the speaker button.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Zoey. It's Chris, can I go over to your's for a minute?" His voice sounds stoical, distant even. I can imagine him pressing his lips into a grim line, clenching his fingers tightly together by his side.
"Sure, okay. Have you eaten?"
"No." His voice remains impassive.
"Okay, come over then."
"I'm at your door."
I hang up and sashay my way to the door. He's fast.
With my elbows and the back of my forearms, I twist the door knob. The door clicks open and I'm greeted with Chris looking all glorious. He's dressed in a gray hoodie with a leather jacket over it. Then, there's the loose ripped jeans that he bought last time on a shopping trip with the boys and Evelyn and I.
I frown, and there's two reasons behind it. Firstly, I'm sporting a very thin and sheer sweater with my sweatpants, while he's looking so attractive and all. Secondly, why is he dressed up? It's already 9.27. Surely there wouldn't be any meaningful reasons for him to go out at this time.
"Hi," I murmur and forces a smile onto my face.
"Hi."
He smiles lightly, his eyes slowly taking in my appearance, then he frowns.
"Put on a hoodie or something. It's getting cold outside," he hops in and quickly pushes the door shut to prevent the cold wind from whipping in.
"I'm cooking up some stir-fry, you want some?" I head into the kitchen and continue to dice the chicken.
"Sure. Thank you," he murmurs. He seems so far away... so... so distant. I wonder what he's thinking.
As I begin to drop in the ingredients into the heated pan, Chris appears beside me. His expression guarded, impassive and stern.
"I need to make a call." And he disappears upstairs. I sulk. What is going on with him? I did not realise I was standing way too close to the stove for my own good, until I feel the sharp, prickling pain on my wrists.
"Owww!" The hot oil continues to sizzle around the chicken, popping out of the pan loudly. My wrist begin to turn an alarming shade of red.
Expeditiously turning off the gas, I rush towards the faucet and put my hand under the cold running water. There is a prickly sensation on the skin. I fight off the urge to scratch it furiously to get rid of the itch.
"What's wrong?" Chris suddenly appears from behind. He peeks over my back and gasps. Gently lifting my wrist up, he inspects it carefully.
His eyes are staring so intently at the scalded area. I stare intently back at him. His eyebrows are squeezed together, forming a 'v' at the area above his well sculpted nose.
He twists my wrist around, with utmost care and sensitivity, and continues to inspect it. His blonde locks fall casually over his forehead, casting a faint shadow.
"So careless..." he mumbles and scowls.
"You're so careless," he chides, making me feel like a child. His palm still holding my wrist.
What am I supposed to do? Apologize?
"Sorry?"
"Apology accepted," he stares straight at me. Then, he releases my hand and for some unknown reason, his eyes travel. He's taking in my appearance again.
This time, I feel it. The air is different. I can feel it.
It's there, the palpable electricity.
His eyes are clouded and dark. "I told you to put on something so you wouldn't catch a cold," he murmurs quietly. Yet, his eyes remain hooded.
All of a sudden, I become very aware of the skin that could show through the thin fabric. My neck and collarbone are way too exposed to the cool air. I tug onto the collar of the sweater and pull it closer to my neck.
This action causes the neckline of the sweater to drop down loosely. I flush and scrambles to adjust it. Meanwhile, I peer through my lashes privily.
He's regarding me with the same hooded and mystifying stare, although this time, there is a hint of amusement.
I stare at him, into his eyes, trying to gauge what he's thinking. Does he feel it too?
His hand raises and he tugs onto thin sweater. I gulp. His finger brushes against my collarbone. There it is again, the electricity. I let out an inaudible gasp. The warmth from his fingers in contact with my cold skin makes me jump a little.
"Put on a jacket," he hums, his voice low. My lips part as I intake a sharp breath. The intensity emanating from his body, his eyes, his posture makes me grovel - not from fear or servility, but from the overwhelming anticipation and closeness.
His finger traces my shoulder blade, my stomach doing somersaults. A flow of sensation surges through my limbs. It's tingling.
"Put on a jacket... don't want you to catch a cold..." he insists, the finger still tracing my skin.
"Okay."
But I didn't move. I remain still in this position, so close to him. I scoot closer to him.
The proximity is killing me, my breathing is shaky.
"Go," he whispers and inches closer too. I look up at him. The once dark blue eyes are now a shade darker, just like the dark washed denim jeans he is sporting.
The intensity of the electricity increases steadily. I gasp and swallow.
"Okay... kay..." With one more longing glance, I scramble off up to my room.
As I climb up the stairs, I can see Chris over my shoulder, still standing in the kitchen, in a daze.
-
After wriggling my way into a gray hoodie that I stole from Evelyn, I jog down to the kitchen to resume my cooking. How I wish for Chris to be gone... just away from me, so I wouldn't have to face him after the encounter in the kitchen. Did he feel the electricity?
Deep down, I know that I wanted him here, to keep me company. Since I thought I will be able to spend some time with Mother tonight, I rented movies. It will be way too mind-numbing to watch all of them alone. Chris will be the perfect candidate for me to share popcorns with.
Talk about movies, I thought about yesterday.
Never would I, in a zillion light years, imagine that Chris Martinez, the so-called 'bad boy', will actually be scared of horror films.
Just thinking about how adorable it is when he squeezes his eyes shut tightly when a gory part was playing can leave me laughing in a pool of humour and inclination.
Chris has disappeared from the kitchen. He is now sitting on the couch, speaking on his phone. I was trying to poke my head nearer to him to get a better distinguishment of what's he's talking when halfway through I realised how stalkerish and inconsiderate that was.
He might be talking to someone important! I'm positive that I wouldn't want anyone to overhear my conversations.
I mentally chide myself and poke myself hard on the cheek twice, maybe it can poke in some consideration into me.
Eavesdropping is bad.
I wait quietly for Chris to finish the call. As seconds ticks by, the volume of his voice increases. Though my curiosity is hankering to burst into actions, I cover my ears with my palms as tight as possible. No, curiosity, no, go back to sleep.
I start to chant the mantra diligently, mentally. Eavesdropping is bad. Eavesdropping is bad. Eavesdropping is bad...
The faint voice from behind stops unanticipatedly. I release my ears from the hands and slowly poke a head into the room.
Chris has ended the call. He is sitting on the couch, his arms spread out lying on the back of the couch, hands clenched into fists. His head tilted back. He's breathing raggedly.
"Is everything alright?"
He spuns around so quickly that I'm worried that he'll sprain his neck for a second.
"Yeah, everything's fine." He heaves out a heavy breath. I nod.
I return to kitchen. Finally, I can cook! Turning on the gas, I turn to retrieve a bottle of water from the refrigerator. As I do so, I notice a crumpled sheet of paper interred in the trashbin in the corner.
Speculatively, I bend to pick up the piece of paper.