Don’t shower yet
The thing about the Fairfax bloodline is that they do not consult.
They announce.
They tell you what is about to happen, and then they look faintly surprised if the rest of the world has not already rearranged itself accordingly.
I met Collins first. Then, when he was about to graduate, his younger sister transferred here and took over his room.
That was Lizzie.
For the rest of his last semester, Collins slept on our couch or at his girlfriend’s at the time.
The house had previously belonged to four basketball players, which meant it smelled permanently of protein powder, damp towels and whatever Nate had cooked in the kitchen.
Then Lizzie arrived with twelve candles, decorative cushions and very loud Benson Boone on speakers. She started making breakfast on Saturdays and baking proper English pies on Sundays. Of course I didn’t eat the pies.
Except for the steak-and-ale ones.
And the chicken ones she made last month.
The point is, I still resent her.
I didn’t walk dramatically in the rain then locked myself in the room composing poetry. I had two threesomes in one night and almost regretted both of them.
Some of them turned out to be friends. And one of the girls had a boyfriend, which I only discovered the following afternoon when he threw a fist at me while screaming, “We were not on a break, asshole.”
I am still unclear on the exact relationship details.
Lizzie kissed me once, decided she liked someone else and that someone just happened to be my best friend, aka DJ, aka my teammate, aka my housemate.
The same DJ who enters a group chat fifteen minutes late and asks what happened instead of reading the messages immediately above his.
Unfortunately, it becomes difficult to move on when the girl who rejected you starts sleeping in the room next door with the guy she chose instead. Especially when they begin playing music at nine in the morning to conceal sounds that are not remotely concealed by music.
One night, over quinoa salad, because God forbid Lizzie Fairfax eats anything but complex carbohydrates, she put down her fork and announced, “I’m moving into DJ’s room.”
She did not even glance at me to appreciate the annoyance moving through my face.
Cool.
I took a drink of beer to wash down the quinoa. “What happens to your room?”
“Maddy’s moving in.”
I lowered the bottle. “Maddy as in your baby sister?”
“She isn’t a baby. She’s eighteen.”
That did not answer my question.
“She got kicked out of her dorm.” Lizzie told the rest of the house.
Of course she did.
Collins had also been kicked out of campus housing before moving into this house. Three Fairfax siblings rotating through the same bedroom.
At that point, we should have engraved their surname on the door and accepted that the rest of us were living in the Fairfax family timeshare.
Lizzie took another bite of quinoa, completely unconcerned. “You’ll like her.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Will I?”
Honestly, why did I even ask?
I was friends with their brother. I had a crush on her. Naturally, I would also adore the youngest sibling. Perfectly logical. I should probably move into the Fairfax family home next and start kissing their mother on the cheek at Thanksgiving.
Lizzie pushed the plate of poached chicken towards me. “My little sister’s really cute.”
That turned out to be the most inaccurate statement Lizzie had ever made. Second only to I don’t know, when I had asked whether DJ was the reason she rejected me.
Maddy arrived inside one long, high-pitched “Hiiiiiii!” that nearly made me flinch while I was lifting weights on the back patio. The dumbbells in my hands did nothing to drown out the vaguely familiar voice tearing through our living room like a tornado.
The fly screen door flew open so violently that it bounced against the frame. A tall blonde girl appeared in tiny denim shorts, an oversized white T-shirt and sunglasses pushed into hair the exact same shade as Lizzie’s.
Same long bouncy hair. Same bright Fairfax eyes. Same expensive face that promised innocence and had absolutely no intention of delivering it.
“You’re Will, right? Heard lots. I’m Maddy.”
I almost dropped the dumbbell. Her voice was even higher up close, delivered at a volume capable of frightening the local wildlife.
Before I could answer, she looked me over.
“Wow. Sweating already?” She tilted her head, openly assessing me. “You must be the hot one around here. Those arms are delicious.”
I had not said a single word to the girl. Before I could decide whether delicious required a response, she disappeared back into the house.
“DJ!” she shouted. “Do you want orange juice? Fuck, this is so good. I didn’t know they had fresh orange juice here.”
DJ’s voice came from the kitchen, considerably lower. “There’s a place around the corner. I can get it in the morning.”
“Fuck yeah.”
I stared through the open door.
I had known Collins and Lizzie for years. I had not heard either of them swear as many times as Maddy managed during her first five minutes inside the house.
“Is this my cupboard?” her voice called.
A pause.
“Fuck no. Why is there protein powder in every cupboard?”
Another pause.
“No shit. All of you drink this?”
DJ laughed. DJ barely laughed around people unless he had known them for long enough. Maddy had apparently managed it before unpacking a single box.
As soon as I walked back into the kitchen after my set, the girl immediately lowered the bottle of orange juice she was drinking straight from, all while Lizzie tried to take the bottle from her.
Maddy scanned me from head to toe and broke into a massive grin. “Your arms got bigger.”
“It’s been ten minutes.” I leaned against the doorway and gave her an easy smile.
“A very worthwhile ten minutes, then.”
“Arms day.”
“Damn.” She nodded seriously. “I’ll put it in my calendar.”
Lizzie finally wrestled the bottle from her. “Use a glass.”
“Why?” Maddy protested immediately. “We’re family.”
“We are. They aren’t.” Lizzie pointed at me and DJ.
Maddy glanced at DJ, then at me. Mischief lit up her entire face. “Easy fix. All I have to do is kiss DJ and Will. Then we all share the same germs.”
I tried to hold my laugh in, glancing at DJ slowly going pale while Lizzie pinched the bridge of her nose. “You can’t— Maddy— just stop talking.”
The laugh punched out of me. I caught the doorframe, shoulders shaking while Lizzie glared and Maddy watched me with undisguised satisfaction.
She flipped her blonde hair dramatically, turning her attention back to me. “Don’t shower yet.”
I raised an eyebrow.
She circled one finger in my direction, narrowing her eyes like she was evaluating the next Calvin Klein campaign. “This. Right here? The sweat, the shirt, the whole post-workout situation. Extremely thirsty material.”
“Thirst-trap,” Lizzie corrected automatically.
I laughed again hard enough that my grip tightened around the doorframe and my knuckles turned white.
Lizzie has called her cute.
Cute is a puppy. Cute is a sundress. Cute does not look at a guy as though she might lick him simply to see whether he panics.
Maddy Fairfax is not cute.
Maddy Fairfax is a lit match in tiny shorts someone has tossed directly into the middle of our house.
Well, fuck.