I freeze, somehow unable to register what’s happening, what he’s doing. WhatI’mmeant to be doing.
“Of course it is,” he murmurs, his voice husky.
My lips part almost unconsciously, until I realise what he’s doing. I slap his hand away, and his mouth morphs into that devilish grin.
“See.”
“That doesn’t count. You’ve had experience firsthand, and if you’ve forgotten, I haven’t had a boyfriend yet. It might be easy for you, but not for me.”
Marlon rolls his eyes, sighing dramatically. He picks up his seat and drags it over to my side of the table.
“Okay, here, let me teach you how to make a boy’s heart race. Use me as a test.”
“Ughno!” I exclaim, horrified at the suggestion. Heat rushes to my cheeks at the thought of trying to flirt with Marlon of all people.
“Come on. How else am I meant to help you?”
I groan inwardly, dreading this. Though, I guess it couldn’t hurt. Not all the time do you get to have active feedback on your flirting.
“Fine.”
He smiles, a little too satisfied. The cheeky glint makes me feel uneasy, just like when we were kids.
“Okay, so, the first rule is maintain eye contact.”
I remember Diane telling me that. Marlon taps the side of his eye, and I roll mine. As per his instructions, I fixate my gaze on his.
Brown fills my vision. Suddenly, that's all I see.
How hadn’t I noticed that in the sunlight, they have slivers of light brown in them, like flecks of gold?
“There,” he says, “Then, you compliment something about me. Abouthim. Rafayel. Pretend I’m Rafayel.”
I breathe deeply, and remember Rafayel’s smile. He’s so pretty, it hurts even remembering him.
It’s with that image that I smile with what I hope is a cross between bashful and suggestive. I even blink a little slower, hoping it emphasises my eyelashes. Realistically, I don’t know what I’m doing. Maybe flirting is all about winging it.
“Your eyes,” I begin, my voice growing soft, reminiscing on Rafayel’s green eyes, yet somewhere in between my thoughts, they begin to morph into Marlon’s brown, sunkissed ones.
And suddenly, I’m just staring into Marlon’s eyes.
Just Marlon.Like hot chocolate that warms you even on the coldest days.
“They’re warm, like coffee. And like coffee they make me feel…”
How do they make me feel? How does Rafayel make me feel? How doesMarlonmake me feel?
“Alive.”
There’s a sharp intake, and from who, I am unsure suddenly. A beat passes. And another.
It’s after the third beat I realise we’re just holding each other’s gaze. Waiting for the next move, for the other to bite. To see who’ll jump. To do what, I’m not sure.
Marlon breaks it first.
“Well,” he begins, but his voice cracks. He clears it, chuckling with what I detect is nervousness, “And you were out here worrying. That was good Garcia.”
I can’t help the laugh that bubbles from my throat, an attempt to clear the weird air between us.
