22. Zeke
Zeke
After a lot of back and forth, a round of rock-paper-scissors, paintball, drawing the high card from a stack and arguing over who won like children, we played one last game. We went old school and drew straws, all agreeing the winner of this was it. The longest straw out of the pack won.
I couldn’t help the display I put on when I drew that beautiful piece of wood. Winner, winner, chicken dinner is all that was running through my mind.
I’m the first to attempt to explain to Selena our grand fuckup. Something I don’t plan to fail at.
Sleep eluded me last night because all I could think about was seeing her. Everything has to be perfect. Idea after idea ran through my mind before I finally settled on one. I just hope it is the right choice.
I’m not sure if she likes coffee but I’m taking my chance on it. I make a pit stop at the coffee shop around the corner from her apartment and get two cups, along with an assortment of muffins, some doughnuts, and a bear claw. I mean, who doesn’t love a bear claw?
I just hope he’s not there. Sam. Ugh, I hate his name as much as I do his face.
It should be me with her, not him. Well, me and my brothers, if all goes to plan.
Otherwise, my brothers are going to have a fight on their hands.
I’m sure they’ll eventually be able to move on and find another woman to love if she doesn’t want a trio of brothers warming her bed.
My jaw drops when I pull to a stop in front of her apartment building.
It’s older looking and could use some repairs from what I can see on the outside.
It’s six floors high and has a small parking area and limited spots on the streets for overflow parking.
The neighborhood itself is a little rundown.
I’m beginning to wonder how safe this area is and plan to do a check when I get home.
When I get out of the truck, my eyes scan the neighborhood, and I can’t help the nagging feeling in my gut. This area is not where she should be living. It makes me even more pissed that her mother would think of selling her home instead of giving it to Selena.
Taking hold of the to-go tray and the bag of sweets, I shut the door and click the fob, locking the truck. I cross my fingers that when I come back down it’s not sitting on blocks with tires nowhere to be seen.
As I walk up to the building, the door opens and an elderly woman steps out with a metal grocery cart.
“Let me hold the door open for you,” I tell her and she smiles and nods her head in thanks.
“Well thank you, young man.” Young; wait ‘til I tell my brothers.
“You’re welcome,” I tell her, slipping inside. I know Selena’s on the fourth floor, so I head to the elevator, only to see it’s out of order.
What the hell? That means she’s climbing the stairs. My eyes immediately dart to the door, where just outside, the elderly woman still stands with her cart. Please tell me she's on the first floor.
When was the last time the fire inspector was here? She shouldn’t have to trudge up and down four flights of stairs, not to mention the poor elderly woman who just left.
I contain my anger and head up the stairs, going over what I’m going to say to Selena all the way up. There may have also been a prayer or two in there that she doesn’t slam the door in my face. It doesn’t hurt to ask for help from everyone possible.
I take the last step and turn right, heading down the hallway to her apartment.
My nerves cause the hair on my skin to stand on end and my stomach to twist into knots.
I’ve never had a woman make me feel like this before.
Not even when I was a horny teenager. I’ve never been as scared as I am now to talk to someone as I am her.
Not the talking, but the fact she may turn me away before I even get a chance to explain.
Taking a deep breath in and slowly blowing it out, I lift my hand and knock on the door.
I wait, but nothing, so I knock again. Fuck, what if she isn’t home?
Do I sit here and wait? I don’t know what she drives, so it wouldn’t have done any good to check the parking lot.
Lifting my hand, I knock on the door again, louder this time. Maybe she’s just asleep.
This time, I can hear movement. Footsteps get louder the closer to the door they get. They sound like a woman’s, and I just hope she’s here by herself. I sure as fuck don’t want to see Sam.
“Sam, why didn’t you—” She stops midsentence as the door opens and her eyes land on me.
“Hey Selena, I hope it’s okay that I stopped by.”
“Zeke, what are you doing here? How do you know where I live?”
Her hair is a mess, and she's in an oversized shirt and a pair of shorts, with her legs on full display. Her skin is pale and blotchy, and her eyes are red.
Has she been crying?
“I wanted to talk to you and asked Julia for your address.” Not the entire truth, but she doesn’t need to know we got it under false pretenses from my dad. “But how did you know it was me? No one but Eli has been able to tell us apart.”
“Stalker much?” she asks. “What do you want? Sam is on his way over.” She doesn’t gesture for me to come inside, just stands in the doorframe so I can’t move past her. Not that I would try. I want her to let me in willingly.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Your scar. If that’s all you want, can I shut the door?” God, this makes her even more perfect. Oh no, Spitfire, you’re not getting away from us that easily.
“Can I come in, please? I just want a few minutes to talk to you. I brought coffee and sweets.” I hold up the container with the cups and the bag, giving her the biggest smile. “You know you want it?” I sing-song.
I give the bag of pastries a shake, and I can see the moment she relents, her face softening from the scowl she was displaying.
“Fine, you have five minutes. Is it decaf?”
“Umm, no.”
Who the hell drinks decaf coffee? Like, what’s the point?
“I’ll take the bag then.” She steps back, allowing me room to step past her as she takes the bag from my hand and opens it. “Come on, time is ticking.”
“Fucking bear claw, my favorite.” She lets out a moan, and I can’t help but beam with pride. I knew it would be.
Zeke 1, Brothers 0. I’m going to be the one to win her over. We’re not going to count the fact that they haven’t had their chance yet.
My mom always said that they were wrong about food. It’s not only the way to a man’s heart, but a woman’s as well. Flowers are overrated; they wilt and die. But food never goes out of style. I always thought she was crazy, but maybe she was right.
“They’re mine too,” I add proudly.
“Okay, well, what did you want to talk to me about? You’re down to four and a half minutes now.” She wobbles a little as she walks across the room, and I notice how she grabs hold of the back of the couch to steady herself.
“Are you okay?” I’m asking as I rush to her side, trying not to drop the coffees at the same time.
“I’m fine. Just got dizzy. I’ve got a headache.” She mumbles the last part, and my eyebrow raises. “Go on, your time is ticking away.” She manages to sit on the end of the couch and I take the spot in the chair across from her.
“I wanted to talk to you about what we said at the wedding. What you overheard.”
“Are you here to stick the knife further in my hea—my back?” She clears her throat, but it’s too late. I caught her slip of the tongue. She didn’t finish the word but something tells me it was going to be heart.
“No, I came to tell you that you only heard part of the conversation. Yes, what you heard was said, but it was our sad attempt to rationalize why we couldn’t be with you. Not only were you with all of us, but you were now our stepsister.”
She just glares at me, saying nothing, and my heart races. She picks off a piece of the pastry and puts it in her mouth, chewing.
“Stupid, but it’s how we had to look at the situation.”
“Maybe I was a slut. I mean, in hindsight, I only thought I had slept with two people in the twenty-four hour period. Turns out it was three.” She goes to pick off another piece of the bear claw, but stops.
“But it was still pretty shitty what the three of you said, wouldn’t you say?
In this day and age, I thought we were past slut shaming women for having sex.
It’s a double standard. Men get high fives while women are scorned for their loose morals. ”
“You’re right, and we don’t think of you as a slut. You have to believe me.” I scoot closer to the edge of the chair, placing the tray of coffee on the table, just realizing I’m still holding it.
“No, I don’t. We don’t even know each other. It was one night. Now our parents are married, so it doesn’t matter. We couldn’t have been anything more than that.”
“But we could. We’re not blood-related,” I remind her. “There’s nothing stopping us from dating.” My heart pounds waiting for how she responds.
“It still doesn’t negate the fact that there's three of you and one of me.”
“What if it doesn’t matter to us?”
“Honey, I’m home. How’s Chick—” a male voice booms, as the front door opens.
“Sam, we have company,” Selena says loudly, and I can’t help but notice the sweat peppering her forehead or the way she’s suddenly gripping the bag tightly.