Read Phoenix for Free Online

think we were doing?”
    He shrugs. “You’re not the first woman in this town who has tried to
befriend me, Eve.”
    “Oh, no?”
    “No. But you’re not like the others, are you?”
    “I’m not sure. Who are the others?”
    His mouth tilts up at one end. “Bored housewives, mostly.”
    “Oh,” I say, confused. Then realisation hits me. “ Oh . Eww. That’s
awful. I’m definitely not like the others.” A small voice in my head tries to
disagree, but I ignore it. I may find Phoenix attractive, but at least I’m not
married.
    “When I saw you leave that poem in my letterbox the other morning, I
thought you were like them, but using a quirky ploy to get my attention. Now I
see I was wrong.”
    Ah, the poem. I’d been dreading him bringing that up. The fact that he
saw me leaving it at his house is even more embarrassing.
    “I know it was a weird thing to do,” I admit sheepishly. “I just like
giving poetry to people.”
    He doesn’t say anything. I really wish he’d disagree with me about it
being weird. I’m coming to learn that Phoenix isn’t good at reading certain
social signs, like when someone needs you to relieve them of their
mortification. Or maybe he simply doesn’t care enough to provide relief.
    I cough. “So, um, how did you come to the conclusion that I’m not like
them?”
    I really want to know the answer to this question.
    “I watched you when I recognised you in Montgomery’s. You wear your every
emotion on your face, Eve. Believe me, you are nothing like them.”
    Okay, perhaps I shouldn’t have been so eager for that answer.
    “I hate being that transparent,” I say, glancing at him. “You must be my
opposite. You give nothing away. I envy that.”
    “You don’t want to be like me, darling.” Looking away, he picks up his
glass of wine and takes a sip. I do the same.
    “What are you like?”
    “Many, many unenviable things. Dangerous. Bad news.” Another sip of wine.
“Do you still want to be my friend now?”
    I have no answer for that, so I quietly continue eating. His lips turn up
at the ends.
    The tone of the conversation becomes serious when he asks, “What happened
to you?”
    “Huh?”
    “I said, what happened to you? I recognise a runaway when I see one.”
    “I’m twenty-four years old, Phoenix. I’m not a runaway.”
    “You’re running from something.”
    “I’m starting afresh, not running.”
    “You’re not comfortable around people, either. Sometimes when we speak it
is almost as though you are in physical pain. Who made you that way?”
    I blink several times to keep the tears from falling. Good God, he sees
right inside of me. And he has no qualms about putting such personal questions
right out there. “Nobody,” I whisper at last.
     “When I saw you come into Montgomery’s last night you looked like a
cornered animal,” he states.
    I scrunch up my face at his description. I find it uncomfortable knowing
that someone like Phoenix can see me so clearly. My comfort zone is
invisibility. Unfortunately, I’m coming to learn that Phoenix can read others as
though they are an open book, and if I really want to give this friendship a
shot I’m going to have to allow myself to be read. “Yeah well, I’m not a fan of
packed pubs. I have a touch of claustrophobia,” I tell him defensively.
    “I wasn’t being critical.”
    “I know,” I reply, unable to prevent the snappy tone to my voice.
    “I wasn’t criticising you, Eve.”
    “Okay.”
    “You are at ease with yourself in this house.”
    “What makes you say that?”
    “Your breathing is relaxed.”
    Our eyes lock then, because the fact he’s mentioned my breathing feels
sensual. I think he knows it, too. His gaze falls to my chest for a very brief
second.
    I cough and look away. “I like it here. I’ve never had this much space to
myself before. Living alone calms me.”
    “You don’t find it lonely?”
    “Do you?” I ask back, picking up the wine and taking another small