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I scan her face, trying to see if she’s telling the truth or just trying to appease me and make me feel comfortable.
But of course she’s telling me the truth, because I don’t think Scar gives a damn if anyone else is comfortable or not. She wouldn’t say something she didn’t mean, just to mollify someone else.
Sitting back, I un-wedge the remote from a crack in the couch, likely left there by Nikolai and not in the little holder next to the TV, and kick my bare feet up, hitting the power button and turning my attention back to Scar. “What kind of movie are you in the mood for?”
“What were you planning on watching?” she answers my question with a question.
“Not sure, maybe Transformers?” It’s not as if I haven’t already seen the movie about a hundred times, but it’s a comfort watch. And while my body slowly drains itself of the adrenaline, I want something familiar to watch, not something that I have to pay too close attention to or something that only further pumps me up.
Scar shifts on the couch, reaching near me to grab one of the throw pillows to stuff behind her back so she’s in an elevated position, and as she does so, a waft of vanilla and something warm tickles my nose. I inhale, trying not to make it too obvious, and let the scent wash over me. Beautiful, pleasant and inviting.
So at odds with the disposition she presents to the world.
“Haven’t seen it,” she responds.
I turn to her, mouth aghast as if it’s the most preposterous thing I’ve ever heard and lay a hand over my bare chest dramatically. “How dare you!”
And there it is, just at the very corner of her mouth is an inkling of a smile, the first one I’ve gotten out of her in these past couple days. Something I’ve learned in the very short amount of time living with Scarlett is that she’s not one for showing much outward emotion, positive or negative. But as hard as she tries to keep her eyes on lockdown, every once in a while, I’ll catch a look into what lies deep inside, past the steadfast mask she keeps in place.
She reminds me a bit of Reid in that way, keeping a neutral exterior, only those closest to him privy to seeing what’s underneath it all.
“This was my favorite movie growing up. God, Jane must even have it memorized at this point, even if not by her own free will.”
She gives a slight frown, and I note her confusion. “My sister,” I say. “Twin sister, Jane.”
“Jane and James?” she says, a mild note of humor in her voice.
Not the first time I’ve been teased about that one. “I know,” I say with a sigh. “It’s a miracle I got any creativity at all with parents like mine.”
“So very creative,” she responds.
I smile in return, a realization hitting me.
“What?” she asks.
“I never told you my first name,” I say. “How’d you know my name is James?”
The flush on her cheeks turns darker, more pronounced, and for the first time in all of our interactions, she is the one to crack in our little stare down.
“Must’ve heard one of the guys call you by it,” she says, the usual confidence in her voice not present.
That makes me smile even more and I sit up straighter, abandoning the remote. “You most definitely haven’t. The only ones who call me James are either my mom, my dad, or sometimes Jane. And since none of them have stepped foot onto this bus, there’s no way you would’ve heard anyone call me by that name.”
She looks back at me, fire in her eyes, knowing she’s been caught but refusing to back down.
“So what’d you do then? Google me?” I smirk and lean my elbow onto the top of the couch, flicking my eyebrows up, eating up the way the flush works its way down her pale neck to the top of her hoodie.
Scar glares at me, her cutting gaze meeting my playful one, and I know I’ve nailed her. She’s been so aloof, not wanting to socialize much with myself or any of the guys so far, and I took that as a lack of interest in getting to know any of us.
My my! Who knew Scarlett Lane sat up in her bunk at night Googling me.
Well, hopefully just me. Selfishly.
“Fine,” she states. “I looked you up. I don’t like living with complete strangers without a little knowledge in my back pocket.”
“You know how you gain some of that knowledge, sweetheart?” I lean closer, and she leans back. “You talk to people.”
Her lip curls, as if the idea of sitting around the table with us for a meal sounds like the most repulsive thing that could’ve come out of my mouth.
