Free Break Away (Away, Book 1) by Tatiana Vila

talking, Mr. Everyone-is-at-my-feet,” I said while
stepping down two slabs of wood. I wanted to level my eyes with his
and show him I wasn’t afraid.
    “And I think you’re a…” He stopped himself
and shook his head, as if pushing away the words that had died on
his mouth. “Look, I didn’t call you back for this charming
chit-chat.” He held up his hand when I opened my mouth. “Let me
finish, please.” I swallowed back the sting in my words. He took a
deep breath and continued. “I know we can’t stand being around each
other without snapping back every two seconds—or doing stuff to
piss off the other—but I’ve been thinking…and the more I think, the
more things get clear, and, I mean, this isn’t healthy. This mordant thing between us it’s just, too, out of bounds—and
we should fix it. You’re soon going to be eighteen, and I'm
nineteen already, so let’s do this like adults and be mature.” He
stepped closer and stretched out a hand. “Let’s make a truce.”
    I watched his hand as if the devil itself
had shown up asking me to sell my soul. “Why would I do a truce
with you?” I asked, unsure, my mind trying to decipher, again, the
machinations behind his eyes. But there seemed to be none. Was he
being honest? Or did he want me to unfasten my arms to check out my
“perks” and make fun of me while a tide of embarrassment raked
through me all over again?
    “Because I’m your sister’s boyfriend?” He
arched his eyebrows. “And because you did a truce with her that
includes me in the whole package. I’m part of her life,
whether you like it or not, Dafne.”
    To my dismay, he did have a point. Treating
him like scum would only bother Buffy, because he clearly didn’t
care. I looked down at his hand again, his long, pianist fingers
waiting to hold mine in agreement, and my heart skidded over a few
unsteady beats. Why was I so skeptical about this, so nervous? I
wanted to press my palm against his, so that should’ve been my cue
to proceed. If my skin was so impatient to shake hands with him,
then that meant I’d already made up my mind on the matter.
    I gave it no more thought and clasped his
hand, keeping the other arm tight across my chest. The friction
sent funny tingles through the tip of my fingers to the full length
of my arms, weakening them a little. Was I really so anxious about
this truce that I couldn’t help the shivers running under my skin?
I pulled up my eyes and stared at him. That odd nervousness was
cornered in his eyes once more, bordered by an intense emotion that
I couldn’t read, but that wasn’t what bowled me over in that
moment. The texture of his hand was an artistic fusion. It was soft
and gentle, like the petal of a flower in full blossom, yet rough
on some of the edges, like the calluses of a sculptor. It was as if
I was feeling Church’s painting Above the clouds at sunrise with my bare hand—the roughness of the shadowy trees, the softness
of the pink fog and soothing sunrise—a beautiful antagonism of
natural elements.
    “So, we’re good?” Ian prompted, shooting to
my brain an electroshock of awareness, scorching my thoughts into
charcoal. I realized I’d been staring at him longer than I’d
intended, and suddenly my face joined that burnt chunk, which I
immediately hid by dropping down my gaze when I took back my
hand.
    “I guess,” I said, pulling up my arm to the
other one.
    “Whoa,” he sighed, “and I thought I had to,
at least, reincarnate five times to see this happen. The Big Guy up
there must love me.”
    My lips curved up, slowly, and after a full
grin stretched out, I let a small chuckle escape my mouth.
    “Okay, I take that back.” He sounded
incredulous. “He must adore me. Is that a real smile?”
    “Shut up,” I looked at him, the said smile
still playing above my chin.
    “No, really, I think he’s spoiling me too
much all of a sudden.”
    “If you don’t stop with that your luck will
end. I can tell.” It