Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
Alexia
I'm a bloody idiot.
That's what I'm thinking as I get out of the shower for the second time today.
I try to tell myself I showered again because I'm covered in flour, sugar and spices, basically a walking loaf of banana bread.
But that doesn't explain why I shaved my legs and exfoliated, or why my room is strewn with every article of clothing I brought in my frantic packing from Sydney.
In the end I choose black leggings and a white crop tee that says Cite or Die.
Now I'm here at two a.m., a tray set with freshly sliced chai banana bread and a pot of licorice root tea, waiting for the kettle to boil.
It's fine. It's not weird. We've been having these late-night snack meetings for over two weeks now.
Granted, most of the time it's felt spontaneous, two tired ships meeting in the night for a cuppa and a sweet treat.
So what if last night he brought me home some cake, and today I spent three hours in the kitchen baking something special for him, when I never bake.
I mean, it's just housemates doing housematey things. Friends, if you will.
Friends who grab each other's hands.
Friends who grip each other's hips and pull them in close.
Friends who kiss like the world is on fire and they're the only two people left on the earth.
You know, perfectly normal friendly housemate things.
I'm such a bloody idiot.
The idiot label especially hits hard when I find myself rummaging in the living room drawers for a candle and find a collection, and spend five minutes sniffing them to decide which one is more "hey, i just found this random candle lying around and I thought, isn't it a bit dark in here?
" and less "Candlelight. You. Me. Cake. Kiss me. "
I put the candle back. I tell myself it's just because the rose scent would clash with the banana bread.
At two thirty a.m., the house is almost unearthly quiet.
Rhys was already home when I got in around eight, already in his room with the door closed, the groceries packed away except for the baking ingredients.
Seeing them all laid out on the counter had me plunging into a pit of guilt.
I have no idea if Marcus's...visitor...is still here.
Nor do I want to find out. Like I said, whatever was happening there is over.
Zachary's been coming home around this time every night since I've been staying here, but Tuesdays are famously quieter, so somewhere inside I’m hoping he’ll be home a little earlier than usual.
I'm looking forward to seeing him. Looking forward to hearing about his day. Looking forward to telling him about mine.
Looking forward to seeing if our kiss last night had the same effect on him as it did on me, if he'd blurted out nonsensical words mid-workday because he couldn't get the feel of our bodies pressed together out of his head.
And here I am, sitting in the dark, freshly showered, shaved and hopeful. For someone I have no business waiting for.
The sound of a car pulling into the driveway at about two forty-five has me leaping to my feet to turn on the kettle. But it quickly fades away, probably just a car using our driveway to turn around.
At three thirty a.m., I wonder if Tuesdays being a quiet night is an urban myth.
At four a.m., it becomes apparent how much of an idiot I really am.
At four fifty-seven, I put the licorice tea leaves back in the can. And get rid of any evidence of the banana bread.
And as I'm walking back to my room in silence, I'm taken back to why tonight should never have been any surprise.
Six Years Ago
I check my watch. 11:24 p.m. Thirty-six minutes to go.
I'd promised Leon I'd stay at his stupid party until at least midnight so I could give him his happy birthday hug the second it ticked over to his birthday.
For someone so intelligent, he's really ridiculous sometimes.
But what do I expect from someone who keeps a notebook rating all the public toilets he's used?
I carry my tea to the bench in the alcove at the back of our yard, glad his friends have all congregated inside.
One of them had me cornered by the esky for a good fifteen minutes, banging on about the structural importance of a good beer bottle shape.
I held on as long as I could before making my excuses about testing his theories myself, and how I was going to go outside to try balancing things on a tri-bottle foundation.
He seemed genuinely excited to hear my findings.
So far, those findings are: I am not a party person. Everyone told me that once I turned eighteen, my love of partying would flare to life like some age-activated gene sequence. If I was anything like my brother, Leon, that is.
That should've told them everything. I am nothing like Leon. And that's okay with me. One of him is more than enough.
I'm swinging my legs, listening to him hold court from my little hideaway, when a silhouette makes its way from the back porch towards me.
If I didn't recognise the figure, I'd be on my feet with an excuse ready. However, knowing who it is only makes me want to stay exactly where I am.
Zachary steps into the soft light Dad had installed in the tree above the little alcove, knowing how I liked to read out here late into the night. "How much longer, Lex Luthor?" he asks, when he's within earshot, with a little grin on his face.
"Thirty-five minutes," I answer, knowing exactly what he's asking. Leon's best friends were there for the negotiation a few days ago, the way they are for most Riley sibling conversations, giving commentary from their permanent positions on our living room couch.
"Enough time for you to conduct a few more experiments with some beer bottles?" Zachary teases.
I groan. "You heard that?"
He grabs onto the thick tree branch above and leans a little closer to me with a smirk. "We all heard it. Some are taking bets to see if you'll come back."
"Hope you bet that I wouldn't."
His smirk turns into an all-out grin. "Wouldn't that be unfair? It would feel a little too much like insider trading. I'm privy to privileged information."
"Oh yeah? And what's that?"
He lets go of the branch and wanders over to plop himself down on the bench next to me. He smells like lemon zest and vanilla and the stuff of my dreams. "That would be telling," he whispers, bumping his shoulder against mine.
I whisper back. "Or, you could tell me what the over/under is, and we could split the winnings. It could be the beginning of our crime spree."
He laughs, head back, and I feel a little flare of pride that I'm the one to cause it.
"As diabolical as the villain I named you after. I've missed that sass," he says. "How's uni treating you?"
"Fine. Good, actually." I turn swish tea in my cup. "I'm thinking of switching into political science next year, from my general arts degree."
He cocks an eyebrow. "Yeah? What's that involve?"
"Well, a move interstate, for one. I've looked into what's being offered here as opposed to in Sydney and Melbourne, and their undergrad programs are a lot more comprehensive."
His face freezes for a second. Then he lets out a low, "Shit. Really, Lex?"
"Right? Can you imagine me living away from home?" I take a sip of my tea. "What am I thinking? I can't do that."
He shakes his head. "No, that-that's not what I meant by that. I was just...thinking what a change it would be. Leon would have a freaking heart attack!"
I look over him with smirk. "So, you're saying, there's a silver lining."
He laughs again. "See? What would we do without that mouth?" The laugh fades and his eyes drop to my lips. "What would I do?"
Suddenly, it's like the earth stops spinning and it's just the two of us, the scent of him wafting around us, his eyes locked on mine.
"Did I ever tell you that you're beautiful?" he whispers, so low I can barely hear him. And maybe he didn't, maybe this is all just in my head. In my dreams.
I shake my head, my cheeks burning. "I'm not. You're drunk, Zachary."
"I'm not. I'm DD tonight. And you are, you're so beautiful, Lex.
" His hand comes up to brush a curl off my face, and I forget how to breathe.
"Especially right now. I mean, you've always been pretty but...
" He curses under his breath. "Shit. I want to kiss you so bad." The words come out so quietly that I think I must’ve imagined them. Or it’s one of my dreams again.
But then his chest starts to heave, even as mine stills.
"Do you ever think about me kissing you? "
All I do is stare back at him, but something tells me that my eyes tell him everything he needs to know.
He inches closer, his thumb tracing the curve of my jaw. "Skin like silk. Sweet pink lips. I bet they taste like cherries," he whispers, his eyes flicking from my eyes, to my lips, and back again.
"Zachary..."
"I said 'shit' about you moving to interstate because I'd miss you so much. I just wanted you to know that."
I don't know what to make of that, whether it's because I never expect words like that from one of my brother's best friends, or because the way he's cupping my face has short-circuited my normally working brain.
"Would you miss me like I’d miss you, Lex? Would you miss seeing me almost everyday?” he whispers.
How do I tell him I already miss him, that whenever he’s not here, I'm still thinking about him?
I can't. So I just lean in a little closer. My body saying all the words my mouth can't.
He meets me halfway, his breath sweet and warm as he leans in, his eyes still not leaving mine.
And then he's so close, I feel like we're already touching...but we're not...
Just...a...little...closer...
"Xi-Xi! Are you out there?" Leon's voice cuts through the night loud and alarming, like a car horn.
We spring apart so fast, it's like a bandaid being ripped.
And it hurts just as much.
The look on Zachary's face is one of pure horror.
"Fuck!" he says, not even trying to lower his voice. "What am I doing?" He shakes his head.
"Alexia! It's almost midnight! Get those arms ready, little sis!" Leon's voice grows louder as he comes closer.
"Zachar—" I start, though I'm not sure what there is to say.
He holds his hands up, stopping me. “This...this never happened. He will fucking gut me. Please, Alexia. You can't—"
I'm back to not being able to breathe. "It's fine...forget about it. Go!"
His face fills with relief. He turns to slip away, a shadow against the fence, glancing back at me for just a split second, but his back is to the light, and I can't make out his expression.
Probably for the best, I don't think I could handle another memory of the horror on his face at the thought of kissing me.
"There you are," my brother says, grabbing my hand and pulling me to my feet.
"Hey," I say, forcing my face into a smile. "Having a good party?"
"Yup! With my sis and my guys." He slurs a little as he slings his arm around my shoulder. "You and me for life, right?"
All I can do is give him a tight smile, and let him pull me into his birthday hug.