CHAPTER 23
Nash
I swiped a rag across the counter before rinsing it and hanging it over the faucet. Bacon had turned into eggs, then toast. I felt satisfied having watched Sybil eat a horse’s ration of the feast I built.
Why was feeding a woman you cared for so satisfying? It was a caveman instinct to hunt and gather, something deep inside that gave me a sense of pride and accomplishment.
Sybil and Bee were sitting in the front room, Bee painting her toenails in the same hell-forsaken red as the bra I’d caught Sybil putting on last night.
It’s as though she knew exactly what hid under that sweatshirt Sybil wore and what I’d gotten an eyeful of.
The shade niggled at the back of my mind, reminding me of the pleasurable aftermath.
Bee was handling Sybil with such finesse and care, it impressed me. When our mother passed away, my sister was a teenager. I was busy starting my career and regretted not being there to see how they interacted at the end.
I imagined it was like seeing her with Sybil now. What she said to her put the power and decisions entirely under Sybil’s control, and she was responding well.
This morning, I couldn’t help myself when I reached out and trailed a finger across Sybil’s shoulder blades. I needed to touch her to confirm she was actually there. She didn’t shy away at the touch.
The full extent of her parent’s neglect was unknown to me, nor did I know the reason for it. I wasn’t sure I could cope if they’d hurt her. To my deep relief, physical touch didn’t seem to make her squeamish.
Sybil’s talking bloomed as the day progressed, and I loved hearing her voice. It was melodic, soft, and a little shy. Some women, when they spoke, would rub me the wrong way. They were often shallow, self-centered, or single-minded. But these two? I enjoyed their banter.
Sybil and I had been messaging a lot recently, and it really helped us now. She wasn’t a stranger anymore. The familiarity made this entire transition a lot easier. We’d developed inside jokes and shared a bit of history. This playful dynamic seemed to work well.
Bill was resting at my feet as I stood near the island. I knelt and gave him a rub behind the ears in the spot I’d deemed his favorite when we’d bonded at the hospital. He yawned with a grateful whine, tongue lolling.
Wanting to remain in Sybil’s orbit, I made my way into the front room and chose a seat right next to her. I feigned interest in Bee’s handiwork as I sat down on the cushions, my weight causing her to lean toward me a little.
I didn’t care that there was more than enough room on the couch. This spot was my only option. A man like me wasn’t shy about his intentions. My knee brushed against hers. Sybil didn’t flinch away, though she tensed a little before letting herself relax, her thigh against mine.
Lacing my fingers in front of me, I forced myself not to reach out and touch her leg. Her gravity pulled me toward her at all times, like an energetically charged need to flow as one.
“Wow,” I said, a little flat. “Nice color choice.”
Bee smirked. It was a knowing smirk, and it confirmed my suspicions that she was indeed playing games. She knew red was my favorite color. “Okay, we’ve picked out several movies. Can you believe Sybil has never seen Beerfest?”
Sybil giggled with a shrug, a sound that sent a current of energy through our touching knees and right to the center of my ribcage.
“Comedies never really did it for me,” she said in defense.
“The only ones I ever enjoyed were the Austin Powers ones, but I saw those with Cat. She was obsessed with the seventies vibe. It was her era. But after I moved out, watching comedies alone didn’t make me laugh. If anything, they were depressing.”
Bee guffawed. “That’s because you have to watch them with someone, for sure. Comedies make little sense unless you’re with friends—everyone feeds off the laughter.”
“She’s right,” I added.
“Nash, I need you to run to the bodega and get champagne and beer. We can’t watch Beerfest without beer.”
She had a point.
“And also, like… soft pretzels, cheese dip, all that kind of stuff,” she added.
“And Skittles,” Sybil chimed in. “Please?”
Her please nearly killed me.
I shifted in my seat. “I think you forget we have work tomorrow,” I reminded Bee.
Bee shushed me. “Fuck work. I’m due for a day off. You can be all goody two-shoes, but I’m sleeping in and having fun. After the weekend we’ve had? It’s owed.”
I chuckled and leaned back, stretching my arms along the back of the couch and behind Sybil’s head. The sound of a day off felt good. It’d been years since I allowed myself a break.
Sybil’s scent fell over me—lavender and chamomile. “I could take calls from home,” I thought out loud.
Sybil craned her neck to look up at me from her position in the crook of my arm. Her gaze, full of hope, trailed over my face, a smile on her lips. She fluttered her eyelashes, and her irises glittered.
She cemented my decision with that look. I was officially staying home. Her thigh pressed further into mine as she turned back, as though she saw the decision on my face. I don’t think she meant to press into me like that, but I liked it.
Calls to auction patrons were going to have to happen, but I could do it from home. My father wouldn’t mind, especially if I told him why. He’d always put my mother first, and wouldn’t hesitate in allowing me to do the same once I explained the situation.
“Then it’s settled. You hit the bodega while we shower and put on pajamas.”
I grumbled, head falling back. “Please don’t tell me you got matching ones.” I recalled her comment to me from a while back about matching pajamas and blanket forts. “Bee, you didn’t.”
She couldn’t hide her enthusiasm. “I did! But not for you, grumpy asshole, so calm down.”
Sybil looked amused. “Matching pajamas?” Her exploratory excitement was a balm to Bee’s over-the-top exuberance. They balanced each other well.
Bee looked up, pride on her face over Sybil’s reaction.
“I told you we were gonna be besties, and you loved the idea of twinning before. Trust me. They’re comfy.
Nothing weird, I promise. I’m gonna give you a crash course in what it means to have a best friend.
Consider this lesson number one. Best friends get matching pajamas. It’s a must.”
Sybil blushed, looking rueful.
“Sorry, girl, but you have little choice in the matter. I have chosen you, and you’re stuck with me now,” Bee added. “Don’t make me lock you in the basement, because I will if I have to.”
Sybil seemed to glow at her obsessive admission. Feeling wanted was something I’m sure she struggled with. Again, Bee was making sure she was comfortable, and that she knew she wasn’t a burden.
Sybil looked down into her lap, fumbling with her sleeved hands. “It’s been a while since I had a friend,” she admitted. “Cat’s my friend, but, you know, she’s old enough to be my grandmother.” She laughed.
Bee nodded. “I always think as long as you’ve got one good friend, you’re set.
Any more than that just seems like work.
You just need that one ride-or-die and everything is good.
Lucky for you, I don’t have one at the moment.
The position is open if you want it.” She winked at me. “Sorry, Nash. You can’t apply.”
“We’ll have to share her,” I protested. “It’s not like I have friends either.”
Bee chortled. “That’s cause you work too much. Your best friend is the coffee machine in the workroom.”
“Speaking of coffee, does anyone need more?” I ventured.
Sybil and Bee both raised their hands.
“And go to the store so we can get started!” Bee whined. “I’m ready to day-drink. It’ll help digest all that bacon.”
Sybil agreed.
???
Returning from the bodega a few blocks away, a few hours had passed since our couch planning session. Bill greeted me at the door, chattering a series of barks and rooting his nose into the bags.
“You can’t stand not knowing what is in a bag, can you?” I mumbled to him.
I’d bought the store clean of every essential junk food item. Three bags in one hand, and loaded up with bottles of beer and wine in the other. I deposited all of it on the island before shucking off my coat and placing it over a stool. The floor was quiet; the girls were nowhere to be found.
My phone dinged, the sound bouncing around the space.
Bee: We’re in the basement! Bring everything down here. I’ll set it up at the bar.
Me: Sure.
I grabbed the bags and bottles and made my way down to the garden floor. Walking into the movie room, I placed the bags on the bar. Beginning to unpack them, I assessed the situation of the room.
Our movie theater was cozy, with a large floor to ceiling screen, projector, and surround sound. We had comfortable chairs, but it appeared Bee and Sybil had pushed them to the back of the room. In its place, a chaotic pile of pillows and blankets spread out.
I felt at this point I should be concerned with Bee’s need to re-live our childhood with Sybil, but when I saw the grin on Sybil’s face as they talked, Bee’s efforts were worth it.
Maybe it’s human nature to crave the company of others. Some parts of us must possess an innate ability to socialize, waiting to be unlocked under the right circumstances. Our survival as a species hinges on cooperation, after all.
I removed the beer and put it in the fridge under the bar to keep cool. Unpacking all the snacks, I lined them up on the counter. I set the toaster oven to the air-fry function and began warming the pretzel bites.
Even though a lot of this reminded me of high school—drinking beer in a basement while all my friends stayed over—it was all new to Sybil. I realized then the many facets of Bee’s plans with this single night.
Sybil was sitting in the middle of the pile.
Mr. Beans perched atop one chair against the wall, looking happy overseeing the construction of the space.
The girls were both in matching fluffy white pajamas that looked soft and inviting.
I knew right away it would be hard not to touch Sybil.
She looked like a cloud begging to be gathered in my arms.
My jaw clenched, teeth grinding. I tried to steel my emotions, feeling almost nervous for the first time in a long time. I pulled out a few champagne flutes. When the top popped off the bottle, they noticed me.
“Yay!” Bee shot up, making her way across the blankets to the counter and snatching up a flute.
I was just able to place my hand around the second before she grabbed that one, too.
She frowned at me.
I frowned at her. “I’ll give it to her.”
She narrowed her eyes, but gave up and made her way back to the blankets.
Grabbing a beer from the mini-fridge, I made my way around the bar, toeing off my shoes and making my way to the opposite side of Sybil, sandwiching her between Bee and I.
Handing Sybil the glass of champagne, I let our fingers brush.
I sat down with my beer, bringing it to my lips and watching her down the barrel of the bottle.
She looked at the champagne with hungry eyes. “Thank you.”
I noticed Bee made up her face with some light makeup while I was gone. While Sybil was gorgeous the way I found her that first night—raw and ethereal—the soft blush on her cheekbones, and the definition of her already striking features served as a gut punch.
Fuck, she was something else.
Her lips were plump and glowing; her once heat-ravaged face dewy and alive again. Her hair had returned to its previous luster, curled into loose platinum waves.
I dropped the beer bottle from my mouth, watching as her gaze dropped to my lips before returning to my eyes. “You look nice,” I told her, and I meant it.
A blush crept up her neck at that, making me smile even wider than I already was, but she didn’t look away. She was growing very brave with me indeed.
Bee popped up behind Sybil, snatching a few bags of snacks off the counter and hoarding them back with her to her spot in the blankets. The entire time, I held Sybil’s gaze.
“Okay, let’s start this bitch!” Bee shrieked, tapping at the large remote as the room’s lights dropped to a low glow and the screen came to life.
Sybil finally broke our stare-off and glanced away at the screen. I reached for a bag of chips, snagging one from Bee’s stash while feigning clumsiness to brush close to Sybil. It was a classic high-school move.
“Hey!” Bee squealed. “I wanted those!”
“Too bad,” I teased.
Relaxing back onto a pillow and propping a knee up, I opened the bag of Cheetos and extracted a large handful, not worried about the cheese dust. I took a few Cheetos for myself before offering some to Sybil.
She turned and settled against the pillows, then stretched her legs out under a giant, fluffy blanket. Looking like a shy kitten offered a treat, she took a few pieces from my hand; her gaze flitting between the screen, my eyes, and the Cheetos.
When the movie began, I watched her. She ate in small bites, smiling now and then at the characters and their witty quips—but soon enough the movie drew me in and everyone was laughing and engrossed in the story.
Bee continued plying us with more and more champagne and more bottles of beer.
She tossed hot pretzel bites at us, and snacks got passed around and shared like family.
A comfortable rhythm developed. Bill sampled everything, and Mr. Beans found a new desire for Nacho Cheese Doritos, getting himself stuck in a bag.
Beerfest was a hit, followed by Balls of Fury, and then Hubie Halloween since it was nearly October.
Well into movie night, everyone feeling loose and at ease, I tugged at the edge of Sybil’s furry blanket to test my boundaries.
It was plenty large, and the perfect size to share without being too forward about it.
She was hesitant to give in at first, but soon conceded.
I pulled the blanket over my legs, sharing her warmth.
As she grew tired, she leaned against me. It was slow at first, but then as sleep overtook her, she gave in entirely.