Chapter 7 #2
"And just what do you think is so funny?"
I swallow the laugh and try to straighten my face. "Oh, um, funny? Nothing. I just...I mean that magenta really brings out the colour of your...tan line." Another laugh slips out.
"Well, I never!" he shrieks in a high-pitched voice and throws an oven mitt at me in mock offence. I squeal and dodge to the side just as Rhys walks into the kitchen and is gifted a flying oven mitt straight to his face.
I shoot a look at Marcus, who in turn is looking at me, both of us wearing what can only be described as an "oh shit" expression, quickly morphing into a combination of "we're royally fucked" and "this is the funniest thing that's happened in ages and I don't think I can hold it in".
Rhys, on the other hand, looks anything but impressed.
He looks down at the oven mitt, then back up at both of us in turn.
"It's his fault!" I yell at exactly the same time as Marcus points at me and out-right lies, yelling, "She told me to!"
Rhys just bends over, picks up the oven mitt and lays it on the kitchen island, then runs a hand over his hair, smoothing it back into place. Then he sits down without a word, pulling the newspaper from its plastic wrapping and ignoring the both of us.
I flick a glance at Marcus and he just shrugs and goes back to making breakfast.
"How do you like your coffee, Lexi?" Marcus asks. And I can't help but note that I almost don't react. I'm becoming used to hearing my old nicknames.
That...is not good. Between Zachary last night over tea, and Rhys in the hallway, the way he'd practically whispered it into my ear, they're dismantling every brick I laid to put between me and them.
"Um, no, no coffee for me, thanks," I say.
"Okay. Juice? Eggs?"
"Er, no, I'm good. I might grab something at the staff room."
Marcus spins around, all the humour of a minute ago gone. "You have to have something. I'm not kidding. I let you run out yesterday after just a bite of toast because it was your first day and I didn't want you to be late. But you need breakfast."
"But I'm not hungry," I protest.
His eyes lock on mine and then he leans in and whispers in my ear, "Oh, I'm sorry, does it look like I give a fuck? You need sustenance, and I'm going to make sure you have it."
And then he pulls away.
It all happens so fast, I barely have time to register, except that there's a faint aroma of his aftershave tickling my sense, and every inch of my skin is tingling.
And I can barely breathe.
But when I look over at him, he's back to humming under his breath, making me a plate as he says, "You haven't trained your digestive system to expect food in the morning.
How else will your brain have enough fuel to do all that thinking you want it to do?
" He actually frowns. I'm trying to remember the last time I saw Marcus frown.
"Is this how you are when you're in Sydney? "
"No," I say, scowling. "I eat fine. Does it look like I'm not feeding myself?
" I gesture to my body, over the soft curves of my belly pressing against my black cotton pants, and I turn, giving my arse a little wiggle.
I turn back to see both Marcus and Rhys staring at me.
Guess they agree. "See? No need to worry about me going hungry.
In fact, I could probably skip a meal or two. "
I walk over to the drinks station with my thermos to make myself some green tea, muttering under my breath about overbearing men.
When I turn back to the island, there's a plate with a perfectly poached egg on a piece of homemade buttered sourdough toast. Marcus hands me a knife and fork without a word, and when I don't take them, sighs and places the cutlery in my hand himself.
"Eat it before it goes cold." He takes the tea towel and drapes it over his head, pulling the corners down under his chin, and adopts a sad look as he points to his apron. "I slaved over a hot stove for four minutes to make that for you. I give and I give but do I get any appreciation?"
The whole scenario is so pathetically silly that warmth blooms in my chest, and before I can stop myself, I say, "Okay, okay. I'll eat the damn egg. Wouldn't want it to not get to fulfil its destiny!" and then lean over and press a kiss to his cheek.
It's not until his scent envelops me, and I feel his freshly shaved cheek against mine as I pull back, that I realise what I've done.
Have I lost my ever-loving mind?
I take a step back, staring at him, the shock clearly still on my face.
At first, he seems rooted to the ground, but then his entire face lights up as he throws the tea towel in the air and says, "Exactly! I knew you'd understand. See? Some people get it, Rhys-es Pieces."
His reaction breaks the ice, and I take the chance to brush past it. I laugh, cut myself a piece of yolky toast, and roll my eyes when Marcus forces me to admit exactly how much I love it. Not hard, it really is delicious.
Rhys stays quiet throughout, sipping his coffee, focused on his paper.
When I'm halfway through my breakfast, I put the fork down and ask Marcus, who's putting together some sandwiches, "Hey, um, what do you think of Enfield?"
"Enfield?" He looks up from the lunch box he's packing. "Why?"
"Just asking."
"Okay, but why are you just asking?"
I dab my mouth with a napkin. "Things have changed a lot here since I lived in Adelaide. I was barely an adult when I left, I never really knew the different suburbs."
He eyes me. "Alexia."
"Marcus."
"Are you looking at apartments?"
I reach over and pop a blueberry from the fruit bowl into my mouth. I don't know why I feel like I need to hide that I'm rental hunting. This was always the plan. "Ye-es."
He presses down on the lid of the lunch box and it clicks into place. Loudly. And then slams the ball of his hand down on it. Guess it sticks sometimes. "When?" he says.
"No plan yet, just looking right now." I finish off my egg and toast and carry the plate to the sink. "So, Enfield? Or Mitcham?"
No answer.
"Ooo-kay. Well there's one in Prospect. That's a little closer to the city than Enfield."
He frowns. "No, not Prospect. Good if you inherited a place, you're going to make a killing in this market.
But as a short-term rental, unless you want to live above a sandwich shop and pay an extra two hundred a week for the pleasure of never being able to find a park.
Hard no. Absolute hard no. Don't look at Prospect or Enfield. "
"Yeah? Well what if I like being close to the sandwich shops? And anyway, you haven't even seen the listings, there are good options..."
"I don't need to see the listings. I work in construction, in real estate.
I know this city like the back of my hand.
" He points at me. "And don't even think of looking anywhere south of Edwardstown.
You don't strike me as an early riser, and you'll be getting up an hour early just to get to the uni in time. "
I grit my teeth at his turned back as he grabs some bags from the drawer. "Okay, well stop telling me where not to look, and maybe give me some places that get your stamp of approval!"
He grabs an apple and puts it in a bag along with the lunch box and pushes it over to me. "I'll think about it. I'll get back to you by the end of the week."
I stare down at the bag. Is that...for me? "Well, think faster, please. I want to have a place by next week."
Rhys gets up, cleans his cup and puts it back in the cupboard, ignoring me and Marcus as we have a stand-off. I hear the opening of a yoghurt tub but I'm too busy glaring at Marcus to pay him too much attention.
"There's no rush. It's better to do your due diligence than just run around all over Adelaide looking at dud places," Marcus huffs.
"I mean, don't mind me if I'm thinking of places that have convenient parking, easy access to the city, and are safe.
But sure, as long as there's a handy panini nearby! "
Ugh. What an arse.
"Forget it, I can find a place myself!" I storm out of the kitchen.
"Fine!" he shouts as he plops down on a stool.
Before I make it all the way to the entryway though, I hear someone shout. I turn around, just in time to see Marcus leaping up from the stool and spinning around like he's chasing his own tail. As he turns, I see his arse is completely covered in yoghurt.
"Did you put this yoghurt on my stool on purpose, you jerk?
" Marcus shouts at Rhys. I watch in wonder as Rhys just picks up the paper, tucks it under his arm, and as he walks past the kitchen island, grabs the oven mitt he'd put there earlier and throws it right at Marcus.
Then, without a word, walks right past me and out the door.
But I think I might've just caught the tiniest of tiny little twitches at the corner of his lips.
Rhys is behind me the entire way to the university again. He must've gotten caught up on something because even though he left the house a few minutes before I did, he doesn't pull out until I'm partway down the road.
Again, he's behind me the whole way.
Again, somehow, the parking demons curse us, and he turns into the empty spot right next to me.
I can't use the same excuse that I left something in the car. But it doesn't really matter. I get out and then just say, "I'm this way."
He nods, but doesn't move. I turn, walking in the direction of my office, feeling his eyes on me the entire way.
But I must have just imagined it. Because I make it almost all the way before I do the thing I told myself I wouldn't. I turn around. And when I do, he's nowhere to be seen. Story of my life with Rhys Pham.
Part of my RA role includes co-running two tutorials a week — a first-year intro to politics class, and one of my favourite topics, the Comparative Politics of Rising Powers.
The advanced classes offer far more room for debate and exchanging ideas, and I'm still surprised every day by the level of thinking the undergraduates bring.
It's what tells me that, in some capacity, I'll always be involved in academia.