Either he had seen right through her or he was dead wrong, but Farrah liked to think it was the former. She preferred that over a misconception.
That didn’t mean she didn’t have a bone to pick with him, though. “No matter the reason? What kind of messed up motive do you think I’d have for doing this?” she said indignantly, pulling away.
Neal had the decency to look sheepish, at least. “Sorry, that came out wrong. I was just trying to convey my sincerity, you know?” And then his demeanor changed into something she was too slow to identify. “I don’t think I’ve seen you without a hoodie since your wings hatched. Would it be creepy to say that you look better this way?”
In all honesty Farrah had no idea why that flattered her so much. She fidgeted, trying to keep herself collected. “I prefer seeing you, actually,” she confessed shyly. “You make them look natural.”
They were also a reminder of how incredible their circumstances were. It wasn’t just the fact that wings had sprouted out of their backs, it was the fact they had met each other because of these wings; it was how compatible they had always been, right from the start. The past few months had felt like a mistake—coincidence—but looking back now Farrah wasn’t so convinced. If fate existed, she thought, this would be a prime example of it.
That was why she wanted to keep her wings. She didn’t want to lose sight of that, to forget how close she was to never meeting Neal at all, because, well…
Neal laughed, but it was a gentle sound. He wasn’t trying to make fun of her or anything. “Thanks. It’s nice to know all my modeling efforts have paid off,” he said with a grin. “And speaking of which, mind if I join you?”
“Not at all.”
His smile widened and he pulled his sweater off in one swift movement, DVDs in hand and all. With his hoodie slung over one arm and movies in the other hand, she thought she saw him become substantially more comfortable. He didn’t need to flaunt it for her to see the shape all of the exercise had given his wings, either, and all of those things just upped his attraction factor.
He had promised to show her, and she was honestly eager to see it, but she didn’t want tonight to be when Neal flew for her. This evening was supposed to be about her doing things for him, not the other way around. Putting himself on display via flight would be him doing something; it would ruin all the things she was working for.
Farrah did want to see him fly, though. She wanted to match the image in her head with the real thing, because in her head it was magnificent.
She beamed back even as these thoughts scampered through her head, and she asked, “What movies did you bring?”
About that point she realized that they were both still standing behind the front door, and quickly beckoned him to follow her into the living room, where she started setting up the Blu-Ray for whatever they decided to watch.
“The greatest of pretty much every genre,” he said, spreading the movies out on the glass coffee table. “Horror, action/adventure, romantic comedy, straight comedy, happy stoner—”
“Wait a minute, happy stoner?”
Neal only shrugged. “My parents like this movie, and only their friends agree, so I figured it was as good a name as any.”
“I guess that makes sense,” she said after a moment of thought.
“Yeah—anyway, your choice. I’ve seen all of these before at least a dozen times. I like them all.” He swept his arm out at the collection and looked at her, polite and waiting.
Farrah scanned the titles, only recognizing some of them but nonetheless trusting his judgment. One title in particular caught her eye.
“Pineapple Express?”
“The king of comedy,” said Neal with flourish. He picked the DVD up and held it like those show girls presented the prizes from game shows. “Excellent choice, if you wish to piss yourself laughing.” Then he became slightly more serious. “Tell me you’ve seen this before.”
“I’ve heard everybody go on about it, but I’ve never actually seen it.”
Neal’s jaw literally dropped. “What? Tell me you’re just pulling my leg, Fare, please. Not seen Pineapple Express?”
She smiled and lifted her shoulders apologetically. “Sorry.”
He was already stacking up the rest of the movies. “That’s it, you don’t get a choice anymore. This is what we’re watching.”
“Okay,” she said (like her opinion really mattered at this point), but she was also laughing. She had no idea that he would get like this over a movie. “You set up the movie, and I’ll grab the food.”
“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to mention that in more detail,” he said, pausing for a moment. “Your house smells awesome—what did you make?”
“Stuffed eggplant?” she said over her shoulder as she went into the kitchen to fetch the plates she had had the foresight to prepare in advance. She had ended up making a salad to go with the eggplant and brownies for dessert (not as impressive as it sounded, since both were quick fixes), and she hoped that they would do.
By the time she had figured out how to balance the plates and the salad bowls in her arms and carefully trekked into the living room the movie was already ready to go. When he saw what she was carrying, Neal immediately jumped up to help her. “You know, when I think movie food I think Dibs and popcorn, not a gourmet meal,” he said, and while his tone was teasing his eyes were prodding, wondering what all of this was really for.
She pretended like she didn’t notice and put the plates down next to the bowls on the coffee table. Then she went back into the kitchen to get utensils and drinks. “I don’t know, I just felt like doing this,” she said when she came back, handing him a glass and a rolled-up cloth napkin with silverware.
At first he didn’t seem to know what to say, but then, as she was settling on the still stiff and mostly unfamiliar couch with her eggplant, she heard a somewhat awkward, “Well, thank you.”
“Don’t even worry about it, Neal,” said Farrah, grabbing the remote and starting the movie. After everything he had done for her, he shouldn’t be the one saying thank you.
She still had yet to say it properly, actually, but now wasn’t the perfect moment. When that time came she would let it all out, but until then she didn’t think he would take it the right way.
So they ate and watched the movie, their shoulders and knees touching when either of them moved even the slightest bit. Farrah’s whole body prickled and became sensitive every time, but a part of her kind of liked it. It made her realize just how alive Neal made her feel, both mentally and physically. She didn’t want to feel as if she were sleeping with her eyes open; she wanted things to always be like this.
“God, Fare, I think eggplant is my new favorite food because of you,” he said through one of his last mouthfuls.
“Thanks.” She wasn’t quite so far along with hers because she had been laughing so much. He had been right: Pineapple Express was one of the funniest movies she had ever seen.
He was always right. It was nearly psychic, how accurate Neal was. She didn’t think she would ever stop being amazed by that.
Farrah almost said something else, but then she made the mistake of looking back at the TV screen and started laughing again. Her abdominal muscles were tired from doing it so much, but she couldn’t help it. It was just so damn hilarious. Slumping against him with her silverware clinking on her plate, she said a little breathlessly, “Man, I feel like I’m working on a six-pack over here.”
He snorted and held her up with one hand as he bent over and put his cleaned dinner ware on the coffee table next to his already-empty salad bowl. That done, he replaced his hand with his shoulder and leaned against her nearly as much as she did against him. It was a nice feeling, that mutual support.
“Yeah, it would be the perfect set up if laughing counted as exercise,” he agreed. She heard him move his head and his tone became more teasing. “And are you eating or are you just playing with your food? You know, if you need help you can always ask me.”
“It’s your fault for introducing such a distraction. I can’t eat and laugh at the same time, like you,” she retorted with absolutely zero vicious intent. But, just because they were talking about it, she ate a big forkful of her dinner. Then the film inspired a sudden laugh from her and she nearly choked on it. Neal sat up fast, concerned, but then started laughing himself when he saw that she was fine.
That was it, she wouldn’t pay attention to anything while she was eating. Maybe that would help.
“Leave me alone and watch the movie,” Farrah grumbled half-heartedly, fixing her gaze on her plate.
He settled against her again with a smirk of sorts. “You’re just as bad, you know that?”
“Shut up.”
Farrah did eventually manage to finish her dinner, even if it was when the movie was three-quarters of the way over. When she was done Neal muttered something about her taking an eternity, but he still put his arms around her, stretched out and adjusted until she was positioned comfortably against his chest.
It was a really nice feeling, being held. It was warm and safe and invigorating, all at the same time.
“Can you still see?” she asked nonetheless. This felt nice, but that didn’t make her hair any less bushy, or her wings any less there. It would be embarrassing if either blocked his view.
“Yep, I’m good,” was his pleasant reassurance. “I’m at the perfect angle for everything to avoid my face.”
Farrah wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be a dig or merely a tactless comment, so she ignored that last bit. “Okay.”
Of course, the movie ended pretty much right after that, but the moment had been nice while it lasted.
It wasn’t perfect, though. She still hadn’t found the moment.
“So,” said Neal, letting her go and stretching out on the couch as if this was as comfortable as his house. He didn’t seem to notice the way his wings stretched with him, but Farrah did. It made him seem otherworldly and awesome in the very literal sense of the word. “You seem to have a secret agenda for this whole evening—what’s supposed to happen now? Do we watch more movies?”
“Well, there’s brownies, chocolate syrup and whipped cream and all that in the kitchen, if you want—”
He was already sitting up. “Does grass grow green?” he said (clearly a rhetorical question), moving her out of the way so he could swing his legs over the edge of the couch and stand.
Farrah had to smile as she followed him into the kitchen. Typical teenaged boy. “Why did I ask?” she muttered, getting the whipped cream and chocolate sauce from the fridge.
“I was wondering the same thing.” Without even bothering to ask, Neal was rummaging through the drawers and cabinets for things with which to serve and eat with. He found them all after a few tries (she liked to think that the kitchen had a logical order to it), and by the time she remembered to put their plates and salad bowls in the sink to wash later he was eating. Nearly halfway through the brownie, to be exact.
“Did you make this, too?” he asked around a particularly large bite.
“Not really. We have a ready-made mix in the pantry, so I just sort of threw it together.” Since she had finished her dinner so late Farrah wasn’t very hungry, herself so she just propped herself on the counter next to him as he chowed down. “Did they come out okay?”
He gave her an enthusiastic thumbs-up and waited until he swallowed before he said, “Yup. Still warm and everything.”
“They had better be.” She was only partly joking with that. “Eat as much as you like.”
“Don’t mind if I do, being the bottomless pit I am and all.” And he grinned at her with chocolate-stained teeth.
Farrah tolerated the poke with good cheer, even going so far as to laugh. “I’m just trying to make sure you don’t go hungry. Guys always eat a lot.”
“Hmm,” he mused. “So this is what it feels like to be a pet: Oh, don’t forget to feed Neal, honey. He’s always so ravenous.”
She rolled her eyes, hopefully not displaying how embarrassed she was. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just—you know—”
“Yeah, I know. I’m just busting on you, Fare.” Neal smiled warmly, teeth clear this time. It made her realize, probably for the thousandth time, exactly how handsome he was. He made her pulse zing with electricity, just from a look.
She glanced away, a little flustered. “I know, too.”
The brownie was gone now (yeah, already) and he left the plate in the sink with a soft clunk of porcelain on metal. “What do you say?” he said, either politely ignoring her lack of composure or simply not noticing. “I wash and you rinse?”
Farrah was a taken aback by that, but she pulled herself together and said, “Sure thing” all the same. So much for that being the perfect moment. She had almost said it, too.
“Hey.” Neal nudged her arm with his elbow a minute or so later. “What’s got you so lost in thought over there? You’re pretty quiet.”
“Oh, sorry,” she said reflexively. She couldn’t tell him what she was thinking about. Not yet. Scrambling for a distraction, she said, “What do you think they’re doing at prom right now?”
“I don’t know,” he said with an unbothered shrug. “Dancing like fools, probably, like every other prom. Why? Do you wish you could have gone?”
“No, actually.” She supposed she shouldn’t have surprised herself by genuinely meaning that. Prom was basically a party where the beer and weed weren’t obvious and, like parties, she could live without fairly well. It wouldn’t have been worth it without Neal, anyway. “I was just wondering what you thought.”
He handed her the last of the dishes to rinse, and their fingers brushed in one of the most deliberate ways she had ever experienced—but then again, maybe it was obvious to her because she was so attuned to him and gestures of attraction right now.
Not that she was complaining or anything. The thrill that zipped down her spine at the contact was… well, a thrill.
“Was that really what was on your mind?” he asked with a knowing look.
Farrah stopped the water and set the plate in the drainer next to the others. Neal passed her a hand-towel and she dutifully dried her soggy fingers, responding vaguely, “Yes and no.”
God, she didn’t even know what she meant by that. Why was she being so secretive? Her whole idea for tonight had been to communicate with him, once and for all. Didn’t that make it counterproductive if she evaded the subject when she was offered a decent opening?
He was standing closer now, closer than he had in what felt like her entire life. Just sensing his closeness made the hairs on her arms raise, and it wasn’t a bad thing. “Because if it’s about dancing like fools,” he said quietly. “We can always pretend there’s music.”
Farrah turned to face him fully, an honored smile stretching across her lips. She didn’t even know why this gesture felt so meaningful, it just was. “But you said you didn’t like dancing.”
His eyes slid into her perfectly, almost as if they were made to align. Hers were only brown, but Farrah imagined that the combination they made was beautiful, just because his were so blue. “Well, I liked dancing with you last time. Maybe you’re the exception,” he said.
Farrah took the tiniest of steps nearer and slid her arms around his neck, her fingers tangling softly in his dramatically highlighted hair. “I thought that was because you weren’t exactly sober,” she murmured.
Her body flamed with electricity when he placed his hands squarely on the curve of her waist. “Well, I might have fudged that a little bit,” he said in kind.
There wasn’t any music playing, but they swayed like they were listening to the slowest song in the world. Farrah never stopped looking into his eyes. “How much constitutes as a little bit?”
Neal’s mouth quirked up at the edges, though he seemed to be trying to resist. “Pretty much the entire thing. Dancing isn’t normally my cup of tea, but with you I could drink that tea for days on end.”<
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She smiled back, but this time it was much wider and more confident than his. “I was hoping that you would say something like that, because I felt the same way,” she said, holding the back of his neck and urging him down to kiss her. Neal’s reaction was nothing if not compliant. She thought she caught a hint of chocolate taste, but while that was likely she also didn’t know for sure. The kiss was still all lips, and this time that was more than okay. She was about to burst with oversensitivity as it was.
“Have I ever said that you’re my best friend?” she said when they separated, lingering and slow. Naturally, Farrah was aware that she had never said such a thing before, but it felt like a good intro.
Neal’s eyebrows went up a little. “What are Ruby and Michael, chopped liver?”
She understood what he was getting at, but he hadn’t heard her side of it, either. “Don’t get me wrong: they’re awesome, incredible people and I’m lucky to know them, but they only come second.”
“Why?” He really didn’t seem to get it. She couldn’t figure how. He couldn’t event take a guess?
She was nervous; she was so nervous right now, she almost didn’t want to answer. But he deserved to know what she thought of him. She never expressed herself enough, and she didn’t want to make the same mistake that had almost gotten her sent to the doctor a week ago. Neal had always done so much for her, this was the least she could do for him.
“That’s a pretty long story,” she said, trying to ease herself into it. To maybe soothe herself, she began sifting her fingers through the hair on the back of his head. He didn’t mind, if the way he was gazing at her was any indication. She hoped not.
At his patient expression she forced herself to just talk already. This was so much easier than telling her father about her wings—this time the person already had to have some kind of an idea—and yet she was just as hesitant to get the words out.
“You’ve been there for me since the day we met, for starters,” she said.
“Except for—you know—the insignificant parts where you’re harassed by crazy magazine reporters and protected by the CIA.”
Matters of Circumstance Page 17