“Your dad. Now, three degrees?”
I huffed. Trust my dad to tell him everything. I did not fail maths, I quit it. There was a good difference. And I was good at it too, well sort of. I was okay, not that bad, I just didn’t like it.
“Aluminium.”
“Huh? Oh right, yes I am positive it is three degrees. Okay, maybe ten. No, five,” I said nodding. “Yes, five.”
He turned around a bit. I wasn’t sure exactly how many degrees it was, but it was enough. “Now take a step forward. Yep. Whoa-!” My palms went up in a protective defense in case he fell on me. Thankfully he didn’t.
“I said step, not a lunge, T-Rex,” I told him as he steadied himself from running into the couch. What was he, a bulldozer?
“Just help,” he said with gritted teeth. Aw, was the big boy asking for help? Ew no, that sounded weird.
I raised my hands, but got disappointed they didn’t reach him. I then slowly sat up, tugging at his shirt.
Oh wow, he was actually stuck. “What did you do?” I asked, trying to give it a harder tug. He shrugged, which then made it worse.
“Ouch!”
I winced. “Sorry. This is why you don’t put clothes on,” I shook my head and froze when I realised what I said. “I mean, like when you come straight out of the shower, ya know? You have to completely dry yourself off-”
“Ivory, just pull on it.”
I rolled off to a sitting position. Fine, bossy boots.
I sat up even straighter and then decided to just be on my knees, giving me a bit of height as he was bent at an awkward angle. Now at least I can see what was happening. It was pretty clear how he got into the mess.
The tag on the shirt was still on it, making the plastic thread hook onto the other side. He was a complete prisoner of his own shirt. “Stay still,” I said, giving the plastic a good tug. It was strong. They usually were, though the cardboard attached to it came off easily and I chucked that to the floor.
I debated whether I should give it a harder pull or not. Last time I did that, I ripped a hole in my shirt, and happy because mother bought that bright yellow shirt, not me.
This time this wasn’t my shirt.
“You done?”
“Nearly,” I said. There was only one way to do this. The kitchen was too far for me to get the scissors.
“Stay still.” I leaned down while I pulled the plastic up to my mouth. He froze.
“What are you doing?”
“Shut up,” I said, placing the thin plastic between my canines and cutting at it. This usually worked.
“Are you eating my shirt?”
I scoffed. I loved my food, but not clothes. Finally, after the third bite the plastic snapped. I dropped back onto the couch as he pulled his hand through and his shirt down.
“I think I sprained my neck.” To prove his point, Darius massaged the back of his neck, looking irritated as his green eyes stared on the floor. His hair was another story, sticking up in various directions. It made me laugh, but I decided it looked funny and I wasn’t going to tell him.
“Did you bite it?”
I shrugged, stretching my legs out and picking up my magazine again. “You could have ruined a tooth, you know,” he said, which surprised me because I more or less expected an ‘ew, Ivory, you got your saliva on me.’
He looked at the couch and I moved my legs so he could sit. He sat down and grabbed the TV remote. It was weird seeing him home. Didn’t he have work or something? Not to mention he was dressed in casual clothes, another weird and rare sight.
He flipped the channels till he got to the news. Practical. I shook my head at him, going back to the comic section in the magazine while keeping my legs at a ninety-degree angle on the seat, like I was doing crunches or sit-ups.
I flipped the page, reading the comic section when I felt something on my feet, making me wince in surprise. Cold hands.
“What are you doing?” I asked as he pulled on my legs and stretched them out on his lap. What the hell was he doing?
“Watching the news,” he said, nodding at the TV. Not what I meant but okay. I stared at him, confused, before shrugging it off and going back to my comics. They were currently mocking the political debate in Australia, and the drawings were always funny. They made the prime minister overly evil-looking, which was something weird.
I jumped when I felt his fingers draw circles on my foot, perhaps subconsciously. Did he forget I was ticklish? Before I could say anything, he spoke up.
“Is that your phone?”
I looked at where he was looking and nodded. Oh yea, it was.
“Are you going to pick it up?”
The phone was flashing, a called name rocking up and I shook my head. “Nah. Why else would I pay for voicemail? They should hear my cool ringtone.” I flicked the page over.
Darius raised an eyebrow at me, his handsome face staring at me. The sunlight was facing him, so his eyes sparkled and I tried to keep my eyes on my magazine.
Oh look, spiderman, isn’t he hot? Sort of, his face was all covered in his mask. Well, that was a help.