Chapter 22
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
I drag my exhausted body towards the offender, pressing my eye to the peephole.
I have to suppress a groan of anguish. A blonde with a smile so wide it almost looks plastic, and a brunette with a permanent scowl etched into her brow, hover in the doorway, just managing to block ninety per cent of their other brunette friend.
A ripple of unease slides through me, my stomach turning.
I hate lying to people, even by omission.
I know something they don’t, and that’s close enough to a lie for me.
That’s a secret, not a lie, the more disastrous recesses of my brain try to reason, but it’s futile.
My mind is already made up about the morality of my current predicament.
I peer over my shoulder at Adhira, whose face clearly reads, “Well, who the hell is it?”
“It’s your friends!” I mouth back, flailing my arms around my head, making gestures that I think clearly convey who’s beyond our door, waiting to stomp all over our peaceful night in.
Her brows pinch as she leans in closer. “What?” she asks, her voice loud, as if she totally missed the memo that we’re supposed to be quiet. “I can’t read lips when you’re standing in the dark.”
I roll my eyes, releasing a huff of annoyance, and put up three fingers, point to the door behind me, then wave a hand down my body—surely enough to show there are three people in the hallway.
Her brow quirks higher. I toss my head back like some woman in a shampoo commercial, hold up an invisible football, bounce it on my knees, then cup my hands at my chest and squeeze as if honking two horns.
Adhira stares at me, dumbfounded and unimpressed with my miming act. “Are you asking me to tweak your nipples? If so, I’ll have to pass.”
“We can hear you! Let us in!” one of her friends shouts from the other side of the door.
I smack my forehead, scrubbing my hand down my face before surrendering to my fate, doing my best to recall each of their names from our brief interactions during our practices at the end of their football season.
“Howdy, Elijah,” Chelsea says, her bright-blonde hair streaked with purple and blue, swishing in a high ponytail like Lyla always begged me to give her, but I repeatedly messed up.
“Are you just going to stand there like a bodyguard, or do we get to come inside?” Elise asks, a sharp dark brow quirked as she tilts her head at me in a silent challenge. This woman is bloody terrifying.
I release a loud exhale, stepping to the side and holding the door wide for them to come in, not that my body blocking it would have deterred them.
The flat now feels small and suffocating, packed with a torrent of big personalities, but it’s nothing compared to living in my nan’s basement with my sisters.
Letty passes me, flopping down on the sofa beside Adhira, whose grumpy face leaves no room for misunderstanding. And only I know why.
My stomach roils, churning with the mixture of bile and lies so damning I can feel their weight pressing on me.
Letty swings an arm over the back of Adhira’s seat, leaning into her. “Clearly, Miss Pouty Face doesn’t want us here right now, but you’ve given us no choice. You can’t just move out and answer our messages with the bare minimum for two weeks and expect us not to show up at your door.”
“You know, in a civilised society, that would be exactly what I could do, but evidently, I’m living amongst a crew of unlawful outcasts.” Adhira rolls her eyes. “And the bare minimum for you happens to be the maximum for what I can presently handle. I’ve been busy.”
Letty makes a show of peering around the tiny living room, lifting the corners of Adhira’s blanket mountain before meeting her eyes again.
“I’m sorry, busy doing what exactly? Your classes are during the day, and I’m fairly certain you haven’t been spending your nights at a clinic that’s only open till five.
Is Elijah really keeping you that entertained?
” she challenges, and my body flames with embarrassment.
Adhira’s lips quirk, and I just know I’m not going to like whatever is about to come out of her pretty mouth, if the glint in her mischievous brown eyes is anything to go by. “As a matter of fact, he is.”
My eyes grow wide before I can school them, the four women swinging their gazes to meet mine.
I scratch the back of my neck, swallowing around the lump in my throat.
Whereas Adhira’s gaze challenges me to call her out, her friends look almost as shocked as I do.
They each wipe their expressions clean in a flash, their faces morphing into disbelief so strong that it almost makes me feel self-conscious.
Why would it be so hard to believe that Adhira would want me? I have a great ass, and I know the crop tops and short shorts aren’t for everyone, but they’re comfy. Maybe it’s the glasses?
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. You expect us to believe this gentle giant is railing you? Or that you, of all people, even want that?”
I stare at Chelsea in horror, my face twisted.
“No offence, but I can’t imagine you’ve got her locked up in your bed all day,” she deadpans, and my cock twitches in my shorts at the image.
“None taken,” is all I manage, my mouth growing dry.
I know I’ve said the wrong thing because Elise’s eyes narrow on me, and I feel like I’m being skinned alive under her attentive glare.
“I don’t buy it either, but I’ll drop it for now,” she says, flicking her haunting blue gaze back to Adhira and allowing me to suck in my first breath since their arrival.
“Now move over. Apparently, we have a lot of”—she squints at the telly—“whatever the hell this is to watch.”
It’s been over an hour since Adhira’s friends crashed our plans of rotting on the sofa, and I’ve only tried to flee the premises twice. I think those are pretty good numbers, but each time I try to excuse myself, I’m pinned to my seat with four death glares.
I can’t help but peer at Adhira every few minutes, checking that she’s okay.
Her voice remains her normal melodious alto, but her lids have grown heavy and her shoulders slumped.
She’s been doing better on the nausea front, but it’s day three post-chemo, and she admitted that’s been the worst for her, same as it had been for Mum.
Adhira pushes at the blankets wrapped around her legs, kicking me in the spine as she does. I grimace but hold in the pained sound that accompanies the sharp blow to my back. I twist from my seat on the floor, grabbing at the blankets to help wrangle them off her.
“Everything okay?” I ask as she stands.
“Mm-hm, just using the loo,” she mutters, sauntering off to her bedroom. I keep my eyes trained on her, unable to tear my gaze away because she’s just too pretty, and I am too weak.
The door clicks shut behind her, and the moment it does, the telly flicks off. Silence settles around us, and a shiver races down my spine with the awareness that I’m being watched.
“So, how have you liked living with Adhira?” Elise prods.
I swallow around the sharp-edged boulder wedged between my trachea and epiglottis. “I’ve enjoyed it. The place is great. There’s an incredible pottery studio downstairs, owned by a really wonderful couple, and it’s been nice getting to know Adhira.”
“And from the sounds of it, you’ve been getting awfully close. Is that right?” Letty asks, one brow raised.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, hopefully saving me from this interrogation until Adhira returns.
“Sorry, one sec. I need to check this,” I say, fishing my phone out.
Roomie
I need you.
Those three words send my heart galloping in my chest, purely from how nice they feel coming from her. In the same breath, a prickle of anxiety shoots through my gut. What if she’s hurt? Or sick?
Be right there.
I tuck my phone back into my pocket, anchoring my hands on Adhira’s empty seat and pushing myself up.
“Sorry, I’ll be right back. Adhira says she needs me.
Must be”—I clear my throat, face flaming red—“horny. Or—or something,” I finish, excusing myself and scurrying off like my arse is on fire as their laughter chokes out behind me.
I practically throw myself into Adhira’s room, shutting the door behind me. Her bedroom is both everything and nothing like I expected. I want to stand here basking in it, taking in every detail for a better glimpse into her mind, but she needs me, so it’ll have to wait.
I knock on the bathroom door, and it swings open with my fist still raised.
“Hey, you okay? Is it your stomach? Do you need antacids or anything?”
She dismisses me with a flick of her wrist. “No, nothing like that.” She ushers me inside, shutting us in the small space, and I’m overwhelmed by how much of her surrounds me.
It’s the same layout as mine, but her bathroom has brightly coloured towels and her green robe hanging on the hook, making the space so unmistakably hers.
“I have a plan,” she says, drumming her fingers along the edge of the sink like some conspiratorial super villain.
“Oh-kay? For what?” I miss when she spelt everything out for me. Is this how she feels when I don’t give her a straight answer?
“All I want is a bowl of that coconut milk ice cream you’ve been making me, and then to curl up in bed and watch orca videos until I fall asleep. Which means they”—she points in the direction of the living room—“have got to go.”
“Do you want me to go tell them that or something?” I ask, running a hand over the scruff on my jaw as confusion cartwheels through me.
She shakes her head. “No, they already suspect something’s up, and they’ll demand answers if we ask them to leave now. They’ve only been here an hour.” Her eyes brighten. “But don’t worry, I have a plan. You just have to pretend to fuck me.”
My head rears back, eyes narrowing on her. “I’m sorry, wh-what?”