Chapter 1 #2
I move before I finish the thought, dropping behind the kitchen island in one fluid lunge, mug abandoned on the counter, towel clutched tight.
This is literally my worst fucking nightmare. Well — no. Worse would be my brother here to witness it as well. He does not let things like this go. He takes opportunities to torture me very seriously.
"Right," I say, once my heart's dislodged itself from my throat, voice impressively calm.
"Here's what's going to happen. I need you both to look away.
Then me and my traitor towel are going to make a run for the bedroom, and we're all going to pretend the last forty-five seconds didn't happen and—"
"Alexia—" Zachary says.
"Look. Away," I yell, as forceful as I can manage over the island.
A pause. A sigh.
"Fine. We're looking away," Zachary says.
I don't entirely believe him, but I'm out of options. I gather the towel tight, stand, and run.
"DON'T," I announce, rushing past, eyes anywhere but theirs. "Don't either of you say a word about this. Ever again!"
If they answer, I don't hear it.
I make it to Leon's room in record time, slam the door, lock it, and stand there in the dark, breathing.
They weren't supposed to be here. Not for another week, a whole week to get my life together and be gone before I ever had to see them again. The entire plan hinged solely on them being not here. And now not only have I seen them, they've seen me. Way too much of me.
I bang my head back against the door. Once. Twice. Consider a third, but fail to see how it's helping.
Think, Alexia. You remember how, don't you?
I give my brain another two or three seconds.
Nothing.
I cannot believe I got caught in my brother's kitchen in nothing but a towel and a ripe banana, by two of the last three men I ever wanted to see again.
I decide a third head-bang is warranted after all. I'm winding up when three sharp raps hit the door. My heart stops; I jump forward, and the towel hits the floor.
I'm staring down at it in horrified betrayal when the knock comes again.
Followed by, "Alexia?"
Zachary. Of course it's him and not... not the other one. Typical.
I look down at my naked body and wonder if, in six years, there's any way Zachary's developed X-ray vision.
Well, if he has, he'd have seen through the towel in the kitchen, my brain points out.
Not helping.
"Alexia?" Low. Rough. "You okay in there?"
Shit.
I bend, yank the towel up, back away from the door.
"Er, yeah, I'm fine! Just... getting..." Getting what? Un-nudified? Less tits-in-the-wind? "Er... dressed." That works. Then, for no explicable reason: "I'm still naked!"
A distant throat-clear.
"Okay. Sorry if we scared you." A pause. "We got a call at the airport, there’s a problem with our new bar. Had to come back, Leon went on without us. Guessing he didn't get the chance to tell you before he took off."
"Er, no," I say, as pleasantly as gritted teeth allow, glaring skyward towards my beloved brother's plane seat. "He did not."
Another, longer pause.
"We're only dropping by to grab something quickly before going to the bar. I'm throwing together some sandwiches, join us in the kitchen if you're hungry."
I've never been less hungry in my life. "Er, th-thanks. I'll be out in a minute."
As a researcher, I've learned to be careful with the concept of absolute certainty. So let me say, with the most absolutest of certainties: I will most definitely not be out in a minute.
I wait for his footsteps to retreat and let myself enjoy the relief.
Then I drop the towel, on purpose, this time, and dig through my suitcase for the first thing I can grab: pink jogging shorts and a black knit turtleneck. Whatever. It'll do.
Dragging on the shorts, I take a moment to observe my first foray into going commando, then wrestle the turtleneck over the towel still on my head.
Feet into the ballet flats I kicked off last night, towel ripped free, hair tumbling in a mass of tangles, I look frantically around for anything worth shoving into the suitcase.
Because I am not staying.
Cannot be here.
Not with him. Not with the other one. Not for another second.
Through the window, I can see the tops of a few bushes.
Thank god for Leon and his hatred of heights, he'd have insisted on a ground-floor bedroom no matter what.
I drag the suitcase to the window, shove Leon's desk aside, wrestle the window and screen open, and with strength I don't normally have, push the suitcase out. A leafy thud. I don't stop to look.
Swinging my legs over the ledge, I crawl out, my God-given, late night sweet treats-assisted backside teetering mid-air for a moment before it decides to follow the rest of me down.
"Ooof," I say, landing chest-first on the suitcase. "Nailed it," I gasp, half winded. "Glad I didn't go with the hardshell."
Only then do I clock where the suitcase landed.
On someone's once-beautiful, now thoroughly squished, hydrangea bush.
I curse, rolling off, dragging it with me, looking down at the ruined blooms scattered across the path.
"I'm so sorry," I whisper to the plant, righting the suitcase. "Nothing personal. You were beautiful."
One last guilty glance and I grab the handle, racing for my car.
And run straight into something solid.
Wide. Hard.
Not a wall. Walls don't grunt.
This one grunts.
For the second time in as many minutes, I'm hitting the ground, me and the hard something together.
The fall must send me into shock, because suddenly I'm cold. Just my chest, though. And I smell... fruity.
Mango. Definitely mango.
Strong, warm hands close round my waist, steadying me as I register I'm sprawled on top of someone.
"Well," the grunt says, slow. "Not how I usually get a woman on top of me. Not complaining, though."
Marcus. Best friend and Alexia Enemy No. 3.
Fuckity fuck shit fuck times infinity.
Alexia versus her traumatic, sordid past: nil for three.
I curse under my breath, struggle to my feet, but his hands only tighten around me.
He tips his head back to look at me properly, shock all over his face.
"Lexi?"
Hands braced either side of his head, avoiding his eyes, I shove myself to my feet. Fast.
I don't turn back. Don't help him up. Don't apologise for my part in the mango-smoothie explosion. Don't think about the feel of his hands on me. I grab the suitcase handle and flee down the path to my car.
I think I hear him call after me. Can't hear much over my own heartbeat.
I don't bother with the boot, just drag the suitcase into the passenger seat, climb in, start the engine and pull out of the driveway at a speed that would land me a role in the Fast and the Furious franchise.
Three blocks later, I finally breathe.
The banana still in my hand.