Chapter 16
Lazy Boy
Sinta
There was a storm rolling in.
I liked storms. The way they darkened the sky and made everything feel small and muted was like catnip to me.
The world looked better through the grey lens of a storm.
I also now had the perfect window seat to curl up in and draw or read while the wind and rain lashed the earth.
The only downside was it was located in a shared space.
Which meant a possibility of socialising.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see them, or was trying to avoid them.
I was simply a natural introvert, and talking to new people meant effort.
Picking up the A3 sketchpad I’d gotten today, and the pack of artist quality coloured pencils, I open my door enough to peak into the hall.
The coast was clear. Not a voice or a footstep to be heard.
Closing my door behind me – and remembering that I needed to ask someone how to lock it – I move over to the window seat and climb onto it.
As wide as a twin bed but only the length of a two-seater couch, it looked a little like a dog bed with a cushioned rim and an overly stuffed middle.
There was an assortment of small pillows ranging in shades of grey and one of those chunky hand-knitted throw blankets folded up in a corner.
Arranging some of the pillows so they were piled in the corner of the window and the wall, I situate myself against them and pull the blanket over my folded legs.
Setting my pad down perfectly against my knees and grabbing out a lead pencil, I couldn’t help but sigh contentedly.
This was perfect.
My dragon rumbled a sound of agreement, her movement in my stomach sluggish. Relaxed.
Breathing for a moment, just taking in the air and the cold feel of the window against my left shoulder, I let my mind drift as I put pencil to paper.
Drawing had always relaxed me, especially mindless drawing.
No plan, no layout, no careful measuring and sizing then shading.
I simply let my hand and mind run free.
For several hours I sat there, the world growing darker and darker beyond the window, and took a much needed break.
I was so immersed in my own little world that I didn’t realise one of the guys was standing beside me, until he leaned over to look at my work.
Ashy blond strands tickled my face, my head jerking back on instinct and bashing my skull into the wall.
“Ow.” I hiss, hand rising to cradle my head.
“Shit, sorry.” Rapid apologises, his hand settling over mine. “I thought you heard me come up the stairs. I should have known better; Fade gets like that when he reads. And Bastien when he draws. They just block the world out.” He laughs.
“You don’t?” I murmur, letting my hand fall.
His hand remains on the back of my head, gently rubbing the area. “When I surf, or when I get really into a song.” He tells me.
“Do you write your music?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“Most of it.” He glances down at my drawing, and I do as well.
My creativity had spun away and left behind a whimsical version of the fountain in the courtyard’s centre, the gold accents of the statue gleaming with a pointed ray of light.
“That’s really good.” Rapid murmurs, a long-fingered hand reaching out to smooth down the side of the pad.
“Thank you.” I mumble, not able to fight my blush.
I’d never received a lot of praise for my art, from teachers or peers.
Power was everything to Fae. Having no power and a mild talent still equated to nothing, as I’d been constantly reminded.
“Were you going to practice your music or something…….” I question, glancing up at him and trying to ignore the fact that he was still petting my head.
“A nap, actually.” He laughs, his grin roguish. “Busy day tomorrow, and I like to sleep before dinner. Easier to wake up early in the morning.”
“Ah.” I shrug, tapping my pencil against the pad. “Whatever floats your boat, I guess.”
He stops petting my head, gently messing with a lock of my hair before letting his hand fall to his side.
I take in the fact that he’s actually wearing a shirt for the first time in my presence, a blue one with some sort of surfing logo on it.
The jeans he’s wearing are dark and hang low on his hips, his shirt only just managing to conceal his navel.
And his feet are bare.
Somehow I get stuck on that and struggle to peel my eyes away.
“I guess I’ll see you at dinner, Devil Eyes. New girl gets to pick.” He says and turns to stroll away.
“Wait.” I call, then immediately bite my lip and mentally chastise myself.
“Yeah?” He turns back to me, a fluid rotation of his abdomen and hips.
That was hotter than it should have been.
“Did you want to…. Um, want to nap here?” I offer, pointing to the vast space beside my curled form.
He raises a brow.
“I mean, I wouldn’t mind the company is all.” I stutter, looking back down at my pad. “As long as you don’t snore. That’s kind of distracting.”
He's quiet for a moment, long enough that I start to feel stupid, and I was sure my face was red with embarrassment.
“On one condition.” He announces. “You promise you aren’t a psycho that may or may not try to cut my hair to make a voodoo doll and turn me into your personal sex slave for all eternity.”
I stare up at him, my mouth gaping a little. “That was…. Weirdly specific.”
He shrugs. “Crazy ex. Promise?”
I nod slowly, still stuck on the voodoo doll. “Yeah, I promise. You wouldn’t have much to worry about, anyway. I know nothing about magic so it’d be a crappy voodoo doll.”
He laughs through a huge smile, making his way over and lithely climbing onto the window seat. “Good to know.”
He settles on his side, his head on a pillow by my hip and his long legs curled to fit comfortably on the cushion.
I look down at him, pulled into a pair of blue eyes darker than the heart of the ocean.
“Is this okay?” He checks, and I nod mutely. “Perfect. Mind sharing the blanket?”
Setting aside my pad, I hand him a corner of the blanket so he can pull it over himself and then help arrange it so we are both covered.
Once re-settled, I pick the pad back up and flip it over to a new page.
“Are you comfy? I can move down by your legs or something.” I offer.
“I’m good right where I am.” He purrs, eyes closed and face relaxed. “You get back to your art, Devil Eyes.”
“Why do you call me that? Devil Eyes?” I demand.
“You’ve got eyes that could bewitch a man, Sinta Cora.” He mutters. “Not a lot of people know this, but I’m a history buff. In medieval England, if a woman was too visually satisfying, they would accuse whatever feature that stood out to be ‘of the devil’. Devil breasts, devil hands, devil hair.”
“Devil Eyes.” I murmur.
A small smile creeps onto my lips, not just from the round-a-bout compliment but also the little gem of knowledge he’d gifted me of him.
“Wake me up around 6:00pm, Devil Eyes, and I’ll show you how to order dinner.” He mumbles and promptly falls asleep.
Staring down at his handsome face for longer than was probably appropriate, I begin tracing on the fresh piece of paper, a form quickly taking shape.
Half an hour into my sketch, and I realised I was staring into a pair of deep blue eyes and a half-formed face with high cheekbones and a wicked smile.
I can’t decide if it is cool, or really lazy that you could order food to the student village from the cafeteria.
Kind of like UberEats.
“No, I’ll pay for it.” I insist, holding the phone out of Rapid’s reach.
“You technically can’t, Sinta. You got a food scholarship.” Rapid laughs, reaching with his very long arms, his chest too close and very distracting.
The phone is pulled from my grip, but it wasn’t Rapid.
“So shouldn’t she do it anyway? They give her a code to use to make the food and delivery free, don’t they?” Elijah laughs and comes to stand beside us, my phone in his hand.
“No. Gentlemen don’t let the lady pay.” Rapid croons.
Elijah smirks, tapping away at my phone. “You’d have to have basic manners to be slapped with the gentlemen label.”
Not even offended, Rapid snickers a laugh, and my phone makes a ding sound.
“There. Food is on the way.” Elijah announces. “Great choice with the pizza platter – not sure about the salad though.”
“I like salad. And their Ceasar salad looks amazing.” I quip.
“The food is on its way?” Fade questions, stepping off of the stairs and into the kitchen.
“Yup. Shall the battle commence?” Rapid grins.
“Battle?” I echo.
Handing me my phone, Elijah whips around to face Rapid and extends his hands, one fisted and resting on the others palm.
Rapid echoes him, hunching down, their stare-off intense.
“I want a clean fight, and no cheating.” Fade intones, taking a place to the side of them.
“Why are you playing scissors-paper-rock?” I question.
“To see who is picking the movie line-up for tonight, of course.” Rapid snickers.
I blink at them as Fade begins a countdown, my lips pursing against a laugh.
I knew living with boys would bring some odd moments, but I found myself trying not to laugh more often than I was wondering if they were dropped on their heads.
I don’t know why I’d thought they would be more mature, it was very clear that being Elite and Royalty did not affect their behaviour inside this house.
“And, go!” Fade shouts.
“SCISSORS-PAPER-ROCK!” The boys chant, their eyes locked together and expressions pinched.
“Elijah takes paper with scissors. Round two!” Fade announces.
“Fuck.” Rapid gripes, settling into position and glaring at Elijah’s grin.
“Ready…” The boys tense. “Go!”
“SCISSORS-PAPER-ROCK!”
Rapid produces rock, and Elijah scissors.
“Ha!” Rapid laughs, dancing around. “Got you, motherfucker!”
“There is another round yet.” Elijah huffs.
“Alright, come on, round three.” Fade instructs, waving Rapid back to them. “Alright, ready……… Go!”
“SCISSORS-PAPER-ROCK!”
Elijah cuts Rapid’s paper with scissors.
“Damnit!” Rapid sulks, pouting.
Elijah lets out a victory whoop and dances into the loungeroom, snatching up the TV remote.
“Why didn’t you play?” I ask Fade.
“I won last time. The losers battle each time, but Tomashi isn’t here, so it was just them.” He explains. “Come, we will set you up in the best seat. Rapid tends to hog the lounge.”
“Yes I do.” Scooping me up in a fireman’s carry, I squeal when he runs into the loungeroom and drops me onto the long couch.
“Rapid!” I laugh.
Falling down beside me with an evil chuckle, Elijah collapses on my other side, caging me into the corner of the L-shaped couch.
“What are we watching?”
“Iron Man – as many of them as we can get through.”
“Oh, yes! RDJ has got to be my favourite sassy human playboy.” I sigh dreamily, settling into my seat.
“Have a particular wet spot for morally grey billionaire playboys, do you?” Rapid croons.
I eye the salacious grin on his face with a taunting smirk. “Oh yeah. A few of them.”
His eyes turn dark and wicked, the playful replaced with predatory.
I raise a brow in challenge.
Fade clears his throat. “I will get the food.” He says and rises from the lounge just as the doorbell rings.
I glance away from Rapid before I do something stupid, clearing my throat.
Elijah clicks onto the movie and pauses it, then leans forward to pull the long dark wood coffee table closer.
Fade re-enters with two long cardboard boxes and a clear plastic container filled with salad.
I shift forward and help him and Elijah arrange it all on the table, ignoring Rapid’s burning gaze on my spine.
Fade passes out the plastic cutlery, though Rapid and Elijah don’t even bother with it, and flips open the lids to the pizza boxes.
Packed full of exactly 48 pieces of rectangle finger-sliced pieces of pizza, a mix of meatlovers, peperoni, BBQ chicken, double cheese burger, Hawaiian, and margarita – it also has two scrolls of delicious garlic bread.
“We all better be eating the garlic bread. I refuse to be the only one with bad breath for the rest of the night.” I say and rip a piece of it off.
“No chance.” Rapid laughs and grabs half of a loaf for himself.
Elijah picks up the other half, and Fade takes two pieces.
“Alright, people, let the show begin.” Elijah murmurs and presses play.