Oh Zeus! #2
I glance at her then write ‘Unsure.’ Jenny looks more shocked than I am for not knowing the astrology star sign of the guy who I kissed three days ago.
‘He’s a Capricorn. Telling u.’ Then she crosses out the word Capricorn on the page and writes again. ‘Clearly a sign from GOD!!!!’ then giggles to no one but herself, return to the some psychology words on the projector.
I check my phone again beneath the desk.
Nothing.
Penelope spent twenty years waiting for Odysseus to come home while he travelled around, being seduced by sea witches and creating administrative complications.
Presumably she did not have read receipts.
If she had seen Last seen twenty years ago, perhaps she would have blocked him and married somebody with reliable communication.
I refuse to become Penelope from the Odyssey.
Then I look at the text again. Read an hour ago.
————
Good morning you little fuck nugget. I’m sorry. I mean Will. I may not put the fucking sparkle in his eyes, but I will definitely put the are-you-fucking-kidding thoughts in his head. ALONG with the what-in-the-actual-fuck wrinkles in his forehead.
Maybe occasionally be the reason he looks down at his phone and smiles, and then walks into a fucking pole.
Okay fine, I haven’t texted him another Good morning text yet. Thank God. One day is enough.
And also because I might call him a unicorn to his face this time. A unicorn is not real, that is the only reason why he would agree to forget the kiss so easily and treat it like a weed-high, nothing-meaningful kiss.
He may have also kissed my sister. Or worse. No. Nothing can be worse than a guy who wants your sister first. Maybe they took walks, and candlelit dinners, and a lot more walks, maybe movies, potentially a proposal with his grandmother’s ring.
But then he also replied the sweetest thing ever. I was in film. It made my day. After my sweet little donut motivational speech.
So sweet.
I marched my ass to the second floor bathroom, still in my sleep shorts. Short and thin. But still shorts.
I push the bathroom door wide open, steam momentarily covers my vision. Mhm. Free facial. Why does it smell different to Lizzie’s shower gel today? Sandalwood. Lizzie’s is sweet and something French.
“Bathroom’s occupied.” Will pauses mid shaving, meeting my eyes on the vanity mirror.
I look around, then to the towel loosely wrapped around his lower waist. The door was half opened.
Will usually uses the bathroom downstairs. The one upstairs is reserved for the girls, aka Lizzie and me. We might be living together but we’re also civilised, extremely polite humans.
“I can see that.” It takes a great inner discipline to move my eyes away from his chest. “Why are you taking a shower here?”
My feet turn around so quickly I’m mildly impressed with my own muscles. I bolt, out of the steam, and out of the bathroom door. Nobody should be greeted with a damn chest before they brush their teeth in the morning.
And then I do not leave the hallway. I stand in it. For a full minute. Like a woman waiting for a bus she has personally decided to be hit by.
Will comes out with a towel low on his hips, his sweatpants folded over one forearm, hair still dripping onto his shoulders. His shower gel follows him out the door to where I am standing. Sandalwood. I knew it. Classic. Cliché. But with a touch of citrus. Delicious.
“All yours,” he tells me with the smallest, most unbearable smirk. “Sorry.”
He’s definitely not sorry.
“I needed a shower urgently this morning and DJ’s occupying downstairs.” Will finally answers a question I had already abandoned sixty seconds ago.
When you live with athletes, you expect abs. Abs are fine. So many abs around. Nobody warns you about the shoulders, and the way water travels down the chest like the whole thing was carefully crafted by a creative director for a Troy sequel.
Then there is the height, which I resent. Six-foot-four is an act of aggression. It means I have to look up, and looking up is a posture I associate with churches and disappointment.
I am also not going to explain the forearm.
“So you have pants.” I snap myself out of it and force myself to meet his gaze.
Will gives me a calm, knowing smile. “Yeah. Didn’t feel like it.”
He’s thirst-trapping the birds outside the bathroom windows. This is a move, and we both know it is a move.
Say something. Anything. Ideally not the truth.
“You look like a Greek statue.”
Okay. Not that.
“A statue.” He tilts his head.
There’s nothing innocent about this man.
Recover. Convert. Make it an insult.
“Zeus, specifically.” Not the best insult I could come up with. But it’s a hostile situation.
Hold up. Did I just upgrade the guy from a mythological horse to a fucking God?
His eyebrows go up. “Why Zeus?”
“Because Zeus is the one having a permanent crisis about being in charge of everything.” I gesture at the entirety of him, in a manner I hope reads as clinical.
And also because whoever carved him went completely unreasonable on the shoulders and clearly did not care who it affected.
But he doesn't get that part. That part is mine.
He looks at me a beat too long. Then he moves the sweatpants to his other arm, which is unnecessary, and which makes something happen in his forearm.
"Noted." A little shrug that moves his chest.
The guy knows exactly what he's doing and I refuse to confirm it.
I give him an annoyed face then retreat into the bathroom without another word. The whole place smells like him, wrapping around me in warmth and citrus.
In all honesty, I don’t ever particularly pride myself on being the better person. If Will determined to start my day with another sight of his broad, toned, tanned chest, I am not afraid to retaliate.
Why would I? He’s been walking around without a shirt almost every night since the kiss and frankly, I’m just returning the favour.
I know I initiated the forgetfulness but I would at least appreciate some resistance. Or just straight up tell me whatever the hell he wants.
“You cannot wear that to campus.” Lizzie scans my outfit at the door.
I give a shrug then a sweet innocent wink. “Why not?”
DJ and Will are standing closely behind her near the kitchen area. Both have pants on. They must be heading out for classes soon while Lizzie agreed to drive me to campus early. The boys have afternoon training today I’m pretty sure.
“Because it’s a boner outfit.” Lizzie scans me once more, then stops when her eyes meet my red bralette under the oversized, semi-transparent white tee.
Well, Lizzie was raised by an English mother to be a little Disney princess. Me, on the other hand, was raised by Madonna. So yes. Mother is back!
I lift one of my shoulders again. “Not my problem. The campus can deal with it.”
“Your ass is showing.” Lizzie points out the fact.
That is technically correct. But I do own several of these shorts. They’re tight but comfortable, short but cut just at the right length to make my legs look longer. They’re not underwear. My loose t-shirt would have covered them if I hadn’t tucked it in.
But I will untuck later, because right now, I don’t want to.
I choose extra spicy this morning. Spiciness is good for everyone’s health.
Get the blood pumping, ready for the day.
“Who’s Zack?” DJ sips his orange juice from the kitchen, pointing at the “I ?? Zack” words on my tee.
I shrug again. My ability to communicate in this house has apparently vanished with the sight of a loose towel. I have done nothing but say things with my shoulder. And Will has said zero words but says everything with his eyes burning into me.
Well, I hope he enjoys seeing the curve of my waist through that thin fabric and wishes he had another chance to knead his fingers into it.
“Will, you’ve been holding that clean mug for a minute.” DJ lowers his glass. "It's upside down."
Like I said. Mother is back!