Page 3 of Only ever you-Ana & Byron (Blindsided #2)

Cadi and Gray were pretending to "look for something" behind the old cricket shed, which mostly involved a lot of giggling and suspicious rustling. Byron threw a twig at them.

"Honestly," he grumbled, "since that rugby match fiasco, they've been stuck together like Velcro."

Ana sat cross-legged beside him, the spine of Of Mice and Men bent delicately against her knee.

Her long, inky black hair was twisted into a messy knot, and a pencil stabbed through it to hold it precariously in place.

A few silky strands curled around her face.

Her skin had that smooth, creamy olive tone she inherited from her Sicilian dad, offset by her Irish mother's sharp cheekbones and those brilliant moss green eyes.

She wore her glasses functional, oversized and slightly askew and the new curves that had the boys looking twice filled out her sixth-form blouse .

Ana hummed noncommittally, pretending to stay focused on her book. She didn't say it, but she still remembered the other conversation from earlier that week that Cadi had whispered in her room, her face half-hidden behind a pillow.

"He kissed me. Properly on the lips and put his tongue in my mouth. And then he... y'know... touched my boob."

"Was it alright?"

"Yeah. It felt... good."

"Okay, but listen. You need to be careful. Teen pregnancy isn't a plot twist in an Agatha Christie book, Cadi. It's a full-blown end-of-career, kinda thing."

"Ana!"

"I'm serious. You know, they said to use condoms in PHST. Use your brain as well as your-"

"Alright, alright! God, ANA!"

Her cheeks had gone the same colour as her hair. Ana had tried to play it cool, but her voice had taken on the no-nonsense tone of her mother. She meant well, but she knew she'd come on a bit strong. Not that she knew what she was talking about. Theory only, no practical.

Back in the present, Byron sighed dramatically beside her.

He grinned before drawling slyly, "Bet you anything they're snoggin' right now."

Ana raised a brow. "You think everything is snogging. Including stealing your neighbour's panties. What about meaningful conversation?"

"We've had those," Byron said, eyes still on the sky. "Doesn't mean I wouldn't snog you."

Ana blinked. "Excuse me?"

He turned his head lazily to look at her and just.. .

The sun caught on her glasses, throwing tiny speckles across her face.

Her expression was all challenge, lips pursed, one brow lifted, like she was daring him to say something stupid again.

Her hair had half fallen loose, curling around her jaw.

She smelled like peppermint chewing gum and something vaguely citrus from her mum's shampoo.

And in that weird, flickering second, Byron felt his heart kick in his chest like it had been doing recently with Ana.

Bloody hell, she's gorgeous. Even back when he was with Marianne, he still thought of Ana.

He blinked, shook it off and forced a smirk.

"Kidding," he said. "Relax."

"You wish, Manc boy."

"You're just sayin' that 'cause you haven't been kissed yet" Byron shot back. "You need some experience, Ana."

She snapped her book shut. "Excuse me. Unlike you, I don't measure my self-worth by saliva exchange."

Byron laughed, folding his arms behind his head as he lay back on the grass. "So, you admit it then, still unkissed?"

Ana rolled her eyes. "At least I don't go around bragging about things I barely understand."

"Hey, I understand boobs. I've got some experience."

Ana rolled her eyes. "Holding a bra doesn't count, Byron. Especially one you have stolen from the neighbour's clothes line along with the panties. "

He clutched his chest theatrically. "You wound me, Bartolini."

Ana went back to her dog-eared copy of Of Mice and Men. Byron sprawled beside her, stretching like a bored cat, throwing twigs in the air and letting them fall on her head.

"Stop it," Ana said without looking up .

He pulled a strand of her hair and let it bounce back. "Can't. It's that gravity you keep raving about."

"Touch my hair again and I'll stab you with my biro"

"Why don't you stab me through the heart, love?"

"Moron."

She smoothed her page and didn't look at him, even when he leaned back and openly watched a group of girls walk by the tennis courts. Cathy Liston was among them, all mascara and legs and an obvious hair flip as she caught Byron's eye.

Ana glanced up just in time to see his eyes follow her swaying back. The sway seemed a wee bit more exaggerated now.

She didn't let that tight feeling that crawled into her chest show on her face.

"Oi," Gray called, dragging Byron back into the moment. "We going or what?"

"Where is 'what'?" Byron asked, but his gaze dropped to Ana, who had her nose back in her book. "Hey, you doing anything later? I need help with English Lit. It's a proper pain in the arse."

Ana blinked. "You want my help again?"

"Obviously," he said. "You're the only one who didn't fail the last essay."

"I didn't fail because I read the book."

"That's what I'm hoping you'll shortcut me through."

Ana rolled her eyes. "Fine. But I'm not doing your homework."

"Of course not. But we have been mates for so long, Ana. Admit it, I have grown on you."

"Like a fungus," she muttered with a long-suffering sigh. "Right fine, come over in the evening. "

Later, Byron turned up at Ana's house, slouching awkwardly in the doorway while her mother, still in her nurse's scrubs, cheerfully ushered him in with a lilting, "Byron? Lord, you've gotten tall, lad."

"Must be all the fish fingers," he offered, flashing his usual grin, “You are looking as beautiful as usual, Mrs. B. Whats for dinner?”

Her dad, a stern Sicilian with arms like tree trunks, eyed Byron once and nodded "You're staying for pasta."

It wasn't a question.

As Byron flirted with her mom, Ana involuntarily took in Byron's profile.

He was huge-shoulders, broad and packed with muscle, biceps peeking out under a rolled sleeve, like a work of art.

At sixteen, he could've passed for eighteen easily, especially with that sharp jaw, bright hazel eyes, and blinding white smile.

His voice, when he spoke, carried that low, smooth Manchester drawl-lazy and confident.

He didn't have to try hard or raise his voice to be heard.

His hair was slightly longer than usual and brushed his collar in a disarray of soft brown curls.

A five o'clock shadow darkened his jaw. Ana's eyes met her dad's knowing ones and quickly looked away.

Ana's mum was already stirring the sauce at the stove.

The smell of garlic and basil wafted through the air, warm and familiar.

She turned to head up with Byron following her.

She turned just in time to see his eyes glued to her backside.

When his eyes met hers, there was a flush on his high cheekbones.

“Boys!!” she thought.

Ana's room was upstairs-books stacked in haphazard towers, posters of authors and obscure bands on the walls, her bed perfectly made, and one corner completely overtaken by notepads and half-filled sketchbooks with flow diagrams.

They sat cross-legged on the carpet, book between them. Of Mice and Men lay open, and Byron was failing to take it seriously as usual .

"So, wait," he said a little later while flipping to the right page with a grin, "you reckon Curley's wife is hot, or just lonely?"

"She's lonely," Ana said, elbowing him.

"Yeah, but Steinbeck made her all-red lips and curled hair and soft voice... bit of a tease for a tragedy, don't you think?"

"She's symbolic," Ana muttered, cheeks warm. "Of isolation. And gender roles. And dreams that get people killed."

Byron leaned back on his elbows, watching her. "You get properly worked up about this stuff, don't you?"

"It's called passion," she said. "You should try it sometime."

He didn't reply. Just stared at the ceiling a bit too long, before murmuring, "I did. Once."

She didn't ask what he meant. She had a feeling it involved that girl from the other school.

Marianne. The one with the long legs and sharp eyeliner.

Ana had pretended not to listen to the gossip.

Marianne had a Myspace account, and she had lurked in the corners.

They'd had a messy breakup last term, from what Cadi had said in passing.

Because Byron told Gray, Gray told Cadi, and Cadi told Ana.

It had stung more than she expected. Not because she'd thought she had a chance, but because she'd hoped...that maybe someday...

Now, Cathy Liston was hovering, and Byron's eyes lingered longer than they used to. Ana had long decided that distance from Byron was smart. Necessary. Safer for her sanity.

Byron nudged her knee. "You alright?"

"Yeah. Just thinking about Curley's wife."

"Let me guess. Tragic victim of a misogynistic society'?"

She looked at him. "Actually, yes."

He gave her that grin again-the 'playboy grin' in Ana's book.

They went back to reading. And if Ana found herself glancing at him when he wasn't looking, well... she was only human.

Just smart enough to know better.