His lips were soft at first, before a roughness took over and he pressed his body to mine. My hands instantly go to his hair as he cups my cheek with his hand as the other turns into a fist next to my head.
A sigh leaves his mouth, like this is som...
"In the end, We'll all become stories." -Margaret Atwood
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"Dad!" I yell, huffing and placing my hands on my hips. Dad walked into my room, raising his eyebrow.
"What? Why are you shouting down the whole house?" He asks, crossing his arms over his chest.
"You've done it again, haven't you?" I ask.Dad's eyebrows scrunch and he looks down at me with confusion. "Done what?"
"You sprayed cologne in my room." He grins. "You know how much I hate the smell."
"Why else do you think I sprayed it in here?" He asks, sarcastically. "It smells great."
I slump onto my bed. "It hurts my head."
"You hurt my head, but I don't complain about that." He says, smugly.I huff and cross my arms across my chest. "Haha. You're very funny."
"I know." He grins. "Anyways, is that it? I need to watch the footy." He asks, transferring his weight from one foot to the other.
"Ooh, who's playing?"
"Liverpool."
I groan, falling back on the bed. "Why are you watching them? You don't support them."
"I'll do anything to witness their downfall. Oh, and-" He pulls his phone out of his pocket. "-I just ordered you that book you've been begging for."
I immediately sat up. My eyes widened and I brought my hands to my mouth. "You did?"
He nods his head. I jump up and wrap my arms around him. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" I squeal.
"Uh, okay." He gasps, pulling away from me. I tend to forget that affection isn't his forte.
"Talk to you later, Mr Blobby." He says, walking out of my room and down the corridor.
"Oh my days, dad! Stop calling me that. It's getting old now." I groan, following after him.
"It's not old." He chuckles, turning around to grin at me, before he rushed down the stairs.
My dad died a month ago. And it's moments like these that made me wish that he was still alive; taking me to bookstores when I was in a bad mood. Instead, I was stuck with Preece Logan. Great.
He walks forward, leading me to the history section. "I love reading about history." He says. "It's my favourite genre of books. You can't go wrong with a good, historically accurate book."
I roll my eyes. "Of course you'd love the history books."
"How so?" He questions.
"I-I don't know, that sounded way cooler in my head."
Preece pokes his tongue into his cheeks and smiles, shaking his head. "Sometimes, Alana, I'm concerned for you."
"I'm surprised it's not all the time. I mean, I am dumb, aren't I?" I ask him, sarcastically.
Preece sighs. "You're never going to let that go, are you?" He asks, crossing his arms over his chest. "I apologised."
I shrug my shoulders. "I know you did. That doesn't mean I forgive you."
"I think you should." He says, raising his eyebrow at me. "Haven't I grovelled enough for an apology?"
I almost laugh. "You think you've grovelled? Oh no, honey. You don't even know the definition of the word."
"Do you?" He says, before he stops himself from laughing.
"You're just digging yourself deeper and deeper into a hole, mate." I place my hands on my hips. Preece grins at me, before grabbing my arm and dragging me to another section.
"What's your favourite genre?" He asks, as if the answer wasn't staring him right in the face.
"Romance." I say.
"Aah. It's always the football fans who love reading romance books."
"What? That has never been a statistic- and, I used to love reading. Not anymore."
"Why?" He asks, raising an eyebrow. He crosses his arms across his chest and leans on the bookshelf behind him.
"I don't know... I fell out of love with it. Reading doesn't excite me like it used to." I say, which is partially the truth. Reading still excites me. More than it ever has.
"Hmm." Preece turns around, grabbing a random book from the shelf. He reads the synopsis and shakes his head before putting it back. He grimaces at the cover of another one before finally hitting the jackpot. He pulls the book out of the shelf, and passes it to me, grinning from ear to ear.
"Here's your homework for the weekend. You have two days to read this whole book."
"Huh?" I ask, slowly taking the book out of his hands.
"If you read the whole book, I'll cancel one tutor session. Yeah?"
"One session? You must be mad."
"Maybe I am. But, I'm betting you would read the book if it meant you didn't have to see my face for a whole day."
Yeah. I would read a book so that I didn't have to see him.
I read the back of the book and then flicked through some of the pages. I must admit, it looked like a good read. A sweet, romance book. I think I'd enjoy it.
"Okay." I say, accepting his challenge. "But, if I'm doing this, you have to do something too." Preece raises his eyebrow. "You have to... watch a football game with me."
He frowns. "Haven't we already done that?" I grin.
"No- we have to go to the stadium. And watch it live. And meet the players. And take pictures. And document the whole thing so I can watch it every night."
Preece groans. "Are you kidding?"
"Do I look like I'm kidding?"
"What is this- your way of asking me on a date?" Preece grins, looking me up and down.
I shove him. "No, Prick. In case you haven't noticed, I don't like you. This is my way of torturing you whilst also enjoying myself."
He sighs, pushing himself off of the bookshelf and running his hand through his hair. "Okay, fine. I'll go to watch a football game with you if you read the whole book over the weekend." He says, and I finally register the length of the book.
It was... lengthy. Great. Preece smiles, like he knew that I wouldn't be able to finish if off. Unluckily for him, he doesn't know the power I have to finish off a big book in mere hours.
