Chapter 9 #2
Now it’s my turn to give her a look. This one says: Please. I own a fucking bar. I work bartending hours. She catches it. Has the grace to look briefly caught out.
She tries a different tack. "Okay, then, it might affect your...household rhythm."
"That's not a thing, Lexi,” Marcus says.
Her hands go to her hips. “Hey, part of my future job will be to start inventing terms."
"Fine. You're allowed to invent terms in your field. Not to get yourself out of a losing argument because you're panicking," Marcus says impatiently.
She glares at him but doesn’t have a comeback ready.
Finally, Rhys lines up the last piece of pita and looks up. "Look, it’s this simple: the reason you should stay is because," he says, "we want you to."
That's all he says. But it's enough to make her stop and think.
"What about rent?" she finally asks, as if that's the last thing she can think of.
“No rent,” I say. "Leon's still paying his part of the mortgage. Why would we charge you rent?"
"That doesn't feel right."
Marcus shrugs. “But it's fine with us. If you want, sort something out with Leon, pay him to help with his mortgage. But you know your brother as well as we do — he'll be insulted if you offer."
She pulls a face, knowing he's right. “Fine. I’ll think of something. Contribute somehow."
"Up to you," Marcus says, picking up one of the arancini from the appetisers platter and shoves the whole thing in his mouth. "Not necessary though."
She turns to Rhys one more time. He finally meets her eyes.
“And you? Are you — really okay with this?" she asks, her voice so low, it's almost inaudible.
"He's fine," Marcus answers for him through a mouthful of fried crumbs.
Rhys doesn't even look at him. "She was asking me."
"And I was answering for you."
Rhys exhales through his nose. He looks back at her. "It's fine with me," he says. "If it is with you."
She looks away first. Picks up her beer, takes a long drink — and, sighs, then nods.
Marcus whoops. "We need more food," he announces, already standing. "To celebrate. This is a celebration now."
I point to the table. "There's a full plate of appetisers right—"
He's gone. The back door swings shut behind him.
"Regret it yet?" I ask her.
She smiles at me. Then her face changes. Something dark and painful passes over her eyes, and she turns to Rhys.
"Are you going to make me?" she asks him.
Rhys looks at her for a beat too long. "I should help Marcus," he says after clearing his throat. "Otherwise he'll come back wearing half of it."
He goes and doesn't look back.
"What was that about?" I ask, almost afraid of the answer.
She shakes her head. "Nothing."
"Oh, it was most definitely something."
"Zachary."
"I'm just saying. As the person who now lives with you, apparently, I feel like I should" — I imbue as much seriousness into my voice as possible — "understand the household rhythm and all."
She grabs the pita pile and throws it at me. "You're all insufferable," she says with a laugh.
"And yet you just agreed to live with three of us for three months."
"I'm aware."
"So what does that make you?"
“Ask me again in three months."
We sit in the silence until the guys come back with more food than we can possible eat.
As Marcus shoves a handful of loaded fries into his mouth, I notice her sitting back, staring at Rhys. He's ignoring her, but there's no way he doesn't notice.
"What?" I say to her, curiosity getting the better of me.
"I was just wondering," she says, "What Rhys said to you at the last place, that made you all get up and leave."
Marcus stops chewing and flicks his eyes to me. I don't say anything.
Rhys looks up at her and then surprises us all when he actually replies.
"I told them, that it was too far away.”
Her brows furrow in confusion before she asks. “Too far for what?”
He stands, pushing the sleeves of shirt up as he looks down at her. “To get to you in time if you needed us.”
Marcus
There are three bathrooms in this house and this morning, somehow, none of them are mine.
Rhys has his own ensuite, which he insisted he would have when we built the place.
That leaves the main bathroom, which I usually use in the mornings, and the second one down the hall, which Leon usually uses.
Zachary, who doesn’t usually get up until after everyone else has left for work, uses whichever one he wants.
Today, however, he’s decided that he absolutely needed to have a shower at the exact same time everyone else is getting ready for work, and in Leon’s bathroom.
Which means Alexia is now in my shower. Alexia is holding my razor, my shaving cream, my body wash and my good moisturiser, everything I need to look and feel like a functioning human, hostage in there.
I check my phone. Twenty-two minutes. Surely she's got to come out eventually? I lean against the wall and wait.
Ten minutes later, I knock once, lightly, just to register a presence. "Alexia?"
There's a pause, then she calls out. "I'm in the shower."
"I gathered. Are you going to be much longer?"
"I'm washing my hair, Marcus."
"Right. Great. Hair washing. Very important." No answer. The water keeps going. I start pacing. "Alexia. I need to be at Undertow in a clean shirt in ten minutes, and said clean shirt is in the bathroom, not to mention my razor, which will make my face presentable."
Nothing.
Fuck it.
I open the door.
"HEY!" she yells, voice muffled by the water.
"Relax. It's just me, I can't see anything, it's a wall of steam in here, I'm basically walking blind—" I pause. "Are those Little Mermaid underwear?"
"I'm going to freaking kill you!"
"You'll have to get out here first, and frankly, if you're so caught up about me not seeing anything, then you're safer in there. But sure, come out if you want."
I get to the sink, turn the tap, and start lathering up before she can produce a counterargument but then—
“AHHHH!!! Oh my god, it's freezing! MARCUS!!!”
“Yes, Lexi?” I say, muffled through my shaving cream beard.
"You've stolen all the hot water, turn it off—"
"I need it to shave, this isn't optional! Have you ever shaved with cold water? Might as well scrape my face off!"
"That's how it feels right now, except it's my whole body! The cold water is like pinpricks all over!" She must have adjusted her hot water because even less trickles into my sink.
"Turn the cold water off then! And it'll get warmer," I suggest calmly.
"What cold water? It's off! Why would I turn the cold water on? It's already basically Arctic levels of freezing in here—"
I sigh and turn off the hot water. There's a pause, then a small noise of relief from behind the curtain. "Better?"
She sniffs. "Marginally."
"You're welcome."
"You give back the water you stole in the first place and now want appreciation?"
I start running the razor along my face, ignoring the way the hair pulls. "I gave it back, didn’t I?”
"After taking it!"
"That's called kindness. You're welcome," I say, through a grin.
"That's called a war crime!"
I laugh. I can't help it. Being around her makes me giddy, the back and forth, her intelligence, her dry humour, the way she never lets go of a challenge. It helps that I can tell she's holding back her own laughter, that I'm not in this alone. Although...it might be safer if I were.
"You could've waited," she says, quieter now. "I was almost done."
Guilt tingles on my newly shaved skin and I feel myself softening as well. “I did wait, Lexi-Lou. I waited for over half an hour. I wouldn't have come in if I didn't absolutely need to."
"I'm sorry. I'll try to go faster next time." She sounds genuinely sorry, and it hits me hard. It wasn't really that big a deal, not worth making her feel bad over.
"It's nothing. I'm almost done — I could've just taken my razor and finished off in the kitchen sink."
There's a soft murmuring I can't quite make out.
The water shuts off.
"Could you hand me my towel, please?" she says, her hand poking out from the shower curtain.
For a moment I freeze, staring at the wet arm, unable not to imagine the naked body it's attached to — how much I want to pull the curtain aside, climb in, and lick every drop off her until she begs and screams my name.
"Marcus! I thought you wanted me to hurry."
I startle, the razor nicking my chin. I curse under my breath, more about my thoughts than the little cut, and reach for the towel and shove it into her hand, careful not to touch her.
There's the sound of her manoeuvring behind the curtain before she pulls it aside and steps out of the shower, the towel tucked firmly under her arms, her hair in a dark wavy curtain down her back.
If she sees me staring at her in the mirror, she makes a good show of ignoring me. I, on the other hand, could not pretend I'm not staring at her for a billion dollars.
She grabs the second towel off the rack and flips her head over to rub it through her hair, the pale skin of her back exposed.
Fuck.
Blood races to my groin, and I can barely breathe. She looks so fucking good. I wonder how she'd react to me pressing her back into that shower, peeling the towels away, turning the water back on and kneeling between her legs as I lick her as she moans—
"All yours."
I blink, and my eyes focus again. She's standing upright, hair bundled in the towel on her head, the other still around her body.
"Um, sorry, I was thinking about work." Yeah, working my cock into her... "Ahem. What did you say?"
She frowns. "I just said the bathroom's all yours. Sorry again I took so long. I feel terrible that I made you late for work.”
"Don't. It's all good. See? I'm almost done." I gesture to my face. "As handsome as always."
She smiles, then it fades into a look of horror. "Marcus! You're bleeding!"
I turn back to the mirror. The cut's deeper than usual, a thick line of red runs down my chin.