2. Nate
TWO
NATE
My body still fucking hums from the encounter with Rosy earlier. I can’t stop playing it on repeat in my mind.
Electricity shot through me as our eyes met, and she smiled at me.
I’m not a sappy man, but I know she’s it. The one, or whatever bullshit people call it. Don’t know how or why.
But I know.
It’s there in my gut, writhing to claim her. As long as she claims me too.
Max and Bry are talking around me, but it’s muted because I can’t fucking focus on anything except her.
It’s not unusual for my thoughts to be consumed by her.
Fuck, I’ve been watching her since she first started at the gym a few months ago.
She’d crept in, looking lost and small, but she’d still held so much presence.
Enough that others noticed it too. Filthy fuckers.
It would’ve been bearable if they’d just watched; I’d hate it, but I could deal.
Then some had approached her, as if they had the right to her words and smiles.
She’d dismissed them, though, every single one.
So I’ve waited, absorbing every piece of her I can.
Some days she’s lighter, her body freer, her head moving along with whatever music plays in her headphones.
Other days, the tension in her has my skin prickling.
Those days I hate. I hate that I can’t take her stress away.
The way I’ve watched her could probably be considered obsessive. To me, it’s knowledge. I’m fucking learning what I can to know what she needs from me.
An image of her from behind, her thighs seductively wrapped in skin-tight leggings, slips into my mind as she confidently climbs onto the treadmill and starts her walk.
My imagination moves on to her post-workout, with a light sheen of sweat coating her skin. What I’d fucking give to be able to lick it off her, see how she tastes. Consume every fucking drop.
My mind is still reeling from today. We actually talked, and I watched her lips move around each word she gave me. Then I gave her my number.
Will she message me? Fuck, I should’ve asked for her number too.
Something small whizzes and smacks me on the cheekbone.
Scowling, I look up and see Max grinning too widely, his hand poised to throw another tiny missile at me.
“Fuck off. Stop throwing Maltesers at me, shithead.” My words punch out, more in frustration than anger, as I grab the offending chocolate-covered ball.
He’s like the annoying little brother I never had. Probably wouldn’t have wanted either; it would’ve meant yet another person my mother would've loved more than me.
The familiar jealousy simmers.
It feels different as an adult now, though.
Now he’s part of my family. People who have chosen me, even with my gruff, roughed-up personality, for whatever unknown reason.
It’s what I assume unconditional love is supposed to be.
We’ve all got our baggage and traumas, or however else you want to name it.
So we cling on to each other, have built our own family; whether it’s healthy or not, I don’t give enough of a shit to question it.
I have their backs, and they have mine. That’s all that matters to me.
“Then stop being stuck in your head. What’s even going on up there? You keep staring at your phone. What are you waiting for? Is it a sexy blonde?”
I roll my eyes, knowing he won't drop it.
“Oh, I know, a redhead?”
My hand launches the Malteser back at him. He rears up and catches it in his mouth, then pumps his arms triumphantly.
Fucking overeager baby seal.
“You’re annoying,” I huff, glancing down at my phone one last time before pocketing it in hopes that he’ll drop it. I’m not ready to voice my feelings for Rosy, even if a twinge of guilt niggles.
I might not be the most talkative of the four of us, but I don’t do secrets either. Don’t have things to hide.
Except this.
“Bro, that hit me right in the heart.” He clutches his chest; but with his trademark grin still plastered on his face, he’s not fooling anyone. At twenty-seven, he’s the youngest of the group. With his energy and enthusiasm, people usually guess our age as being further apart.
But that’s Max. He’s got the enthusiasm, energy, and appetite of a golden retriever.
“Bullshit,” I retort, keeping my tone even and holding in the small flicker of amusement.
Laughing loudly, he throws another chocolate into his mouth, crunching loudly. “You got me. I know being mean is just your love language. Maybe I should be worried by how much you love me.”
Noah walks in and drops into his favourite chair beside me, scrubbing a hand across his face tiredly.
“Long day?”
He turns to me. “Yeah, one of the other teachers called in sick last minute, so I had to cover for them at the open evening, talking to potential students and their parents.”
“There’s enough dinner left over if you want something to eat,” Bry calls from the kitchen behind us.
Max perks up. “Leftovers?”
“I’m okay, thank you. Managed to grab some food before it started,” Noah responds.
“I’ll have some if no one else does,” Max throws in. He never turns down food. Suppose all that energy needs some sustenance.
“How you don’t give yourself heartburn is beyond me,” Bry mutters, sitting down and perching his laptop across his knees.
“Simple. It broke a long time ago,” he muffles around a mouthful of potatoes. “No heart, no heartburn.” He smirks, cheeks stuffed as full as a hamster’s.
Bry’s brow furrows. “That’s not how it works.”
“Or does it…?” Max queries, his fork waving in a circle before he points it at Bry’s pinched face.
I’m a surly bastard who’s difficult to be around, but it’s moments like this when I remember that it’s not just me they are putting up with. We all just live with each other’s bullshit, quirks, and traumas.
Why the fuck would I want to live alone when we’re all there for each other in some fucked-up way?
Nah, they’re my brothers, in every sense but blood, and we do just fine together. Fuck societal norms if people find it weird.