by A. Marie
A zero on one assignment won’t sink my grade. I’ll still graduate with honors, easy. I repeat that mantra as I reach for the door handle.
“Found it.” Coty brandishes an extension cord proudly. My eyes widen before lifting to the ceiling. An extension cord. So I don’t have to sit at his desk while his laptop charges. I close my eyes briefly, filling my lungs on an inhale. As I open them again, ready to apologize, Coty says, “You know what? You can use the couch.” He gestures to the brown leather couch. Somewhat softer, he adds, “Make yourself at home and I’ll go grab it.”
He’s gone the next instant, leaving me to shuffle awkwardly on my feet. With his captivating presence absent, I look around properly. The oversized couch is accented with soft tan pillows at both ends with a matching chair sitting caddy corner. A large cherry coffee table decorated only with a fancy glass bowl on top takes up the middle of the welcoming space. Walking closer, I smirk noticing it’s full of beer caps. A little classy, a little trashy. In the corner is the badass sound system that’s kept me up with its thumping bass. I glare at it on principle as I plop down on the opposite end of the couch. An end table off to the side is piled high with electronic devices reminding me of Coty’s admission about their gadgets.
Coty returns with his laptop and extension cord, and after setting everything up, he stands, wiping his hands down his thighs. “I’ll leave you to it then. Beckett and I share a bathroom and we rotate who cleans it. Today’s my lucky day.” The extreme dip of his lips says otherwise.
“Thank you.” I finally manage to get some words out since entering his apartment. The next ones are as foreign on my tongue as escargot. “I appreciate your help.”
He smiles down at me kindly. “My pleasure.” He winks as a departing gift that might be more for my pleasure than his.
Trouble.
That wink is trouble.
My fingers, flying across the keys, halt every time I hear Coty dramatically gag from somewhere down the hall. Pressing my lips together, I type furiously until I finish with the last sentence. I send it off in the email he’d already opened for me, then sit here unsure. The shower started several minutes ago but Coty didn’t mention how much longer he’d be. Do I stay here until he’s done? Do I knock on the door to tell him I’m leaving? The thought of being just outside the door while Coty’s naked body lathers up inside has the temperature of the chilled room ratcheting up a few degrees.
I listen as the water runs, pulling my shirt away from my skin, wondering if the heat really did just kick on.
My imagination refuses to stay where I want it, traveling down the hall, past the bathroom door, right into the shower with Coty. Images filter in before I can stop them until suddenly, I’m burning up, with no release in sight. Not with Coty and me in opposite rooms anyway. Shit. That train of thought will only lead me, and Coty, to a dead end, so deciding to leave a note while he’s clearly indisposed, I stand from the couch, holding his laptop.
Somewhat reluctantly, I venture further into the hub of his home looking for the room Coty gestured to earlier. However, halfway down the hall a door opens, making me freeze in place. I was so caught up trying to ignore the shower being only a few steps away, I missed hearing the water turn off entirely. I’m about to apologize when Coty steps out wearing only a towel wrapped around his trim waist causing all coherent thoughts to flee on their own volition. My eyes, greedier than they’ve ever been, take in every small, and not so small, detail while Coty’s distracted. Momentarily busy brushing water from his beautifully jumbled hair, I take the scenic route by starting at his unguarded face and making my way down lower. Much lower.
Drops of water lazily roll down Coty’s perfectly sculpted abs and I don’t blame them one bit for their leisurely pace. I’d spend days lost in those valleys before even considering sending for a search party. I do feel sorry for the poor towel straining to cover the impressive package barely hidden just beneath though. And by feel sorry, I mean I vehemently wish the worthless barrier would fall to the floor. It’s called compassion. Or personal gain. Either way, it should be relieved of its duties immediately.
Coty finally notices me in all my awkward glory but doesn’t make a move other than planting his feet just outside the bathroom and pinning me with murky eyes. In this light they look darker. Less like mouthwatering sweet treats and more like bottomless pits I’m on the precipice of falling into—hard.
The laptop in my grasp becomes deadweight as I jiggle the device futilely. Coty watches me squirm, not offering to help me out of the precarious position I’ve put us in. Tense silence creeps across the confined space, reaching its unwanted hands up my jittery legs before settling on my overheated stomach.
I thrust it toward him, hoping he’ll take the hint but still, he doesn’t oblige, leaving my boneless arms to struggle with uncertainty. Coty’s gaze too intense, I drop mine to the floor, wondering if I could abandon the heavy machine there, but with a voice too hoarse for just coming from a steamy shower, he rasps, “Finished?”
My eyes collide with his. Finished? Whatever game we’ve got going on—the one filled with flirty looks and coy conversations—is more obvious the longer I stay suspended in this hall, unable to walk away as easily as I should, which is why I’m guessing we’ve only just begun. And watching Coty’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows thickly, I can tell he’s thinking the same thing.
I need to leave. Now.
“I’m going.” I cringe, ready to slap my own forehead when Coty springs into action to finally take the laptop from my grasp, scowling like I’ve offended him.
“Did something happen? I didn’t think I took that long.” Now he swings his accusatory stare back toward the bathroom.
He wants answers that I can’t give him. I don’t even know what the hell I’m doing, let alone how to explain it. One minute I want to hide inside my apartment with the door locked to everyone, the next I’m staring Coty down like he’s my next great adventure. It’s fucked. I’m fucked. The only thing I do know is I can’t stay here with his towel looking more and more like my own personal invitation to explore.
Focusing my eyes on his tattoos, I open my mouth to speak but am cut off by the front door opening. Beckett and Marc file through, no doubt catching the tension lining their home.
“Oh, shit!” Beckett exclaims, not bothering with formalities. “What’s up, neighbor girl? I didn’t think you’d still be here.” Behind him, Marc holds up a thin stack of papers before placing them on the counter. “Did we interrupt something?” Beckett’s beaming smile doesn’t hold an ounce of remorse. Marc, however, pins Coty with an unreadable look.
Glancing over my shoulder, I realize Coty is closer than a moment ago, but he’s oblivious to his roommates. His eyes are glued to mine, frown still firmly in place.
“I, uh, need dinner. So, I’m going to leave. And go home. To eat.” Shit. I pick up my report on my way past, then throw out a vague thanks to the trio. Coty, for letting me crash his day off, Marc, for printing out my assignment, and Beckett, for unknowingly creating the diversion I desperately needed for an escape.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Where are you going? We just got here.”
Ignoring the big guy, I skirt around him in his dirty mechanic type outfit, heading straight for the door when Coty asks, “What are your plans for dinner?”
I spin, placing my back to the front door and narrow my eyes. My stuttering slew of verbal nonsense must’ve tipped him. His knowing grin confirms it.
“You got a hot date?” Beckett guffaws as Coty reels back like he’s been hit. “Coty, man, you did a shit job if she’s running off to someone else.”
Recovering quickly, Coty takes a menacing step toward a still chuckling Beckett, gritting out, “Fuck you.”
I take in the whole scene, my gaze landing on each of the roommates. Beckett inferring Coty couldn’t keep my attention, Coty threatening his absurdly tall best friend in nothing but a towel, Marc watching it play out like this is a normal occu
rrence. The strained moment is broken by my unexpected laughter. All eyes swing to me, surprised, which only makes me laugh harder. Everyone seems to realize what I’m seeing because they visibly relax, joining in my amusement.
Beckett gets ahold of himself first, asking, “Seriously, what are you doing tonight? We’re making fajitas using fresh tortillas Marc’s mom makes us. You gotta try ‘em.”
The others have sobered as well and are watching for my reaction.
Somewhat regretfully, I shake my head, trying one last time. “I have home-”
Coty interjects, “You just did homework. Say you’ll stay. We’ll behave, I promise.”
“I don’t,” Beckett disagrees playfully, making a smile tug at my lips.
Marc speaks up for what feels like the first time ever. “Coty, throw some clothes on already. You’re not fooling anyone with your good guy act with a fucking cloth covering your shit.” Without meaning to, my eyes drop to said cloth. Coty catches the movement and smiles proudly. Busted, I throw my hands over my face, rubbing them down the heated surface. “I’ll watch neighbor girl for you. She can cut tomatoes. I hate that part.”
Not waiting for my response, he turns for the fridge, grabbing out a plethora of ingredients. Beckett disappears into another door I’m assuming is his bedroom while Coty pins me with a vulnerable stare. One that says so much more than he ever could in front of his boys. One that begs me to stay. One that I can’t answer without lying through my teeth so I look away, snatching up a tomato before Marc bats it away claiming it’s an apple. How was I supposed to know?
* * *
Dinner next door ends up being one of the top meals I’ve ever had in my life. The homemade tortillas made the fajitas far superior and I’m glad they insisted I stay.
After getting changed, both Beckett and Coty joined Marc in the kitchen. One look at my “cooking” skills, and Marc banished me to a stool for the bullshit role of supervising. It turned out to be quite the show though, so I didn’t complain. Watching all three friends work together to cook one delicious meal was something I didn’t know I needed in my life. I found myself laughing along with inside jokes that had nothing to do with me but were funny just the same. They moved around each other with such ease and respect, it was a sight to behold, one I’ll never forget.
Full—fuller than I’ve been in a long time—I’m sitting at their round patio table looking out over the pool, chatting with Coty as he tells me more about himself. So far I’ve learned he’s an only child. He met Beckett, who they call Beck for short, and Marc, short for Marcos, from riding dirt bikes as kids. They work together at an auto body shop. Beckett’s a mechanic, able to work on anything with an engine, while Marc and Coty share managerial duties. You can tell Marc prefers to work under the hood but I get the feeling his leadership skills call him into action more often than he’d like. There’s more to that story, his tight jaw while on the subject told me that, but none of the guys divulged anything more than surface level details. Marc, at twenty-one, is older than the other two by one year even though they all finished high school at the same time. After graduating, with honors like me, Coty bought himself a street bike while Marc and Beckett followed soon after with purchasing theirs. They’ve been living together ever since. Oh, and he hates spinach. Got it.
Bringing my gaze back to him, I watch his eyes light up talking about his friends. The other two went back inside as soon as we finished eating on the boys’ back balcony. Now, he’s telling me about a time the three friends threw an epic party out in the boonies with dirt bikes and bonfires before the cops showed up to bust them. Luckily, everyone got away but not without incident. Apparently, Beckett had to run carrying his dirt bike instead of it carrying him away from the melee.
They’re extremely close and it shows. Not just by the entertaining cooking show they put on for me either, but by the way they have each other’s backs. No matter what. Story after story, it’s clear how much they love one another. The three of them have been inseparable for years. Like brothers but stronger because they don’t have to be, they choose to be. They truly want to be there for each other, it wasn’t ingrained in them from birth. Which might be one of those beautiful, yet heartbreaking, exceptions in life. What does someone have to go through to choose a person that isn’t related to them over anyone in their actual biological family? Drew pops into my head and I tuck my hands under my thighs.
Coty notices my change in demeanor and drops the subject. He’s been doing that since I showed up. It reminds me of a mood ring one of my mom’s many boyfriends gave me, blending to adjust based on my moods. He doesn’t force me to stay where I’m uncomfortable, he just rolls with the changes once he senses the shift. It’s unnerving and charming, just like him.
“I never got to show you around earlier. Want a tour?”
My feet peddle back and forth, waking them from their sleepy state. “I should probably head out. Surely, you must be sick of me by now.”
“First of all, that’ll never happen.” I look over at him, eyebrow raised. “Second, don’t call me Shirley. I had a great aunt named Shirley. She liked plain oatmeal and let her poodles eat straight from her bowl.” He fakes a shudder. “It’s a touchy subject.” I roll my eyes before he finally cracks. “Okay, fine, her name wasn’t Shirley but she did do that and it always freaked me out.”
“You don’t like dogs?”
Eyes latched to mine, he says, “I love dogs, but plain oatmeal is fucking disgusting.”
After a beat of silence, we both break into a round of laughter.
Fair enough.
The tour starts out in the dining room which my studio doesn’t even have so I take my time letting my gaze soak up the large table filling the space. A delicate looking chandelier lights the room, giving it a soft glow that overhead lights usually wash out.
The kitchen is next which I already got my fill of while watching dinner prep. I run my fingers over the shiny granite countertop I sat at earlier as the two boys finish loading the dishwasher, another luxury my micro didn’t come with, before we move down the hall. Pointing out the first closed door as Marc’s, he explains how Marc got the master to begin with. Something about a race and a near death experience.
Further on, he shows me Beckett’s door which is wide open without a care in the world. The idea makes me smile thinking that’s exactly how Beckett comes off. That is until I step into his room finding it meticulously clean, something I would’ve never thought possible. His carefree vibe does not carry over into his possessions. Not by a long shot. Posters of hot cars and even hotter women line the walls but in perfect uniformity. Almost like the guy measured each one out before attaching them. The attention to detail is astounding.
Before I can ask any questions about the blaring contrast, Coty maneuvers me across the hall to his room. He walks into the cozy space while I hover in the doorway.
He sees my indecision. “You can come in. I don’t bite.”
I swear I hear a muttered “hard” as he leans against his desk off to the side waiting me out. The thought of Coty’s teeth sinking into my flesh, even softly, sends a shiver up my neck. He threw a baseball hat on his wild hair after his shower and with his white tank just barely revealing those mysterious tattoos and soft shorts sitting low on his waist, I find myself struggling with want and need yet again. The need for self-preservation that’s ingrained in my every fiber. The want to buck that instinct to see what destruction Coty may be capable of. The two impulses war with each other until I can’t tell which one is which anymore.
Coty’s scent is stronger the further in I venture. Almost like a spicy coconut—it sounds weird but totally works—the smell is borderline overwhelming when I reach the foot of his large upholstered bed. His gray comforter adorned with a few matching pillows and a white throw blanket draped across the bottom corner is both inviting and foreboding. Focusing on the cushiony headboard, I notice a huge mural just above acting as the focal point of the entire room. It’s
a mural of the desert with a quote scrawled across the sky that reads In The End, We Only Regret The Chances We Don’t Take. The landscape is striking all on its own. The heightened colors of the sunset give it a mesmerizing effect. But the significant saying is what makes it such a poignant piece though instead of just a pretty picture hung over someone’s bed. It means something.
I glance over to find Coty watching me closely. I drag my fingers across the blanket, leaving streaks against the grain of fabric that resemble claw marks. Just like I’d do to him.
Quickly turning away from his bed, I give his desk a once-over noting its contents without fully snooping. Car magazines and random papers. Nothing too exciting. The picture hanging on the wall above the desk however more than makes up for the boring workspace. It’s an abstract black and white painting with the words Strength, Love, and Honor scattered amongst the frenzied lines. I stare at the piece for longer than necessary as if the meaning behind the picture will reveal itself if I look hard enough.
Coty clears his throat at my side, reminding me how close we are. In his bedroom. Alone.
Dropping my gaze, I create some space between us, pacing to the other side of the room.
“It’s beautiful.” I gesture to the artwork but really, the whole room caught me by surprise. The entire apartment if I’m being honest. The immaculate state, despite his proclaimed day of cleaning, have me doubting he had as much to do as he let on. These guys aren’t what I expected. At all. They’re tidy, and intelligent, and caring, and responsible—I glance at the different mottos—and deep. They’re not the shallow party animals I first thought they were.
Coty interrupts my reverie. “They mean a lot. Those words.” He points at the messy painting, then to the mural. “They all do actually.”
I nod slowly. “This place is spotless. Are you sure you even had to clean anything? I feel like you guys aren’t the typical male slobs.”
