Killer Queen

by Serene Franklin

  I stepped off the elevator and heard a faint pulse that intensified the closer I got to my flat. I sighed and reached into my pocket for my keys. I guess he’s home. I cracked my neck from side to side, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.

  I had to hand it to whoever designed this building: the soundproofing was pretty damn great. With the door open, my ears were assaulted with Outkast’s “So Fresh So Clean.” I quickly found Mac, typing away on his MacBook Pro at the table by the kitchen. The bastard still barely had any clothes on. He looked up from his screen when I slammed the door behind me, his smile shining brighter than any light in the place—and he had nearly all of them on.

  He turned the music down enough that I could hear myself think again and pushed back from the table to stand. On his way over to me he ran a quick hand through his messy blond hair, not really taming it at all. I hated that my eyes tracked the way the muscles in his chest and arm shifted with the movement. I also hated the sexy-as-sin smile he was pinning me with as he approached. Why hadn’t I noticed the dimple in his chin before? The bastard.

  Mac walked right up to me and stepped into what I considered to be my personal space. I reflexively took a step back and bumped into the door. He extended his left arm and placed his palm flat against the door next to my head—his smile now one that gave him an air of deviousness. My heart pounded in my chest as I tried to reconcile what was happening. I could smell vanilla mixed with his raw, masculine scent, creating a combination that made me wonder how he tasted. I felt trapped, yet I was free to shimmy away to the right had I really wanted to. Clearly, I didn’t.

  “Fancy seeing you here,” Mac said to me in an almost singsong voice.

  “I’ve been busy.”

  “Clearly.”

  “Last I checked, I didn’t report to you.” Okay, maybe I was getting defensive.

  “Meow,” he drew out. He withdrew his hand from the door and held up both in a show of surrender. “Look, I’m not trying to argue or pick at you, Dubhlainn. I want us to talk. I feel like we got off on the wrong foot.”

  The sincerity in his voice lowered my guard enough for me to nod my head. “Fine.”

  “Good. Sit down and eat with me. Bryan brought over food and it’s shit you like, so don’t even try to say no.” With that, Mac turned on his heels and gave me an eyeful of his broad shoulders and back dimples that led to his sculpted arse. Jaysus, since when do I even give a fuck about arse?

  I shook my head, kicked off my Chucks, and followed after him, keeping my eyes to the floor in front of me. Mac pulled out a chair adjacent to the one his computer sat in front of and told me to sit. I slid my bag off of my shoulder as my arse hit the wooden chair. When Mac didn’t take a seat with me, I spun around to seek him out. I found him standing at the kitchen counter, facing the living room, scooping and flinging pasta into two shallow bowls. Why he couldn’t dish up dinner like a normal, well-adjusted adult was beyond me.

  “How do you know I like pasta?” I asked him, thinking about his earlier claim.

  “I called Eve and asked what you liked a few days ago.”

  “How did you know I was coming back early today?”

  He looked up at me and grinned. “That… that there was purely coincidental. I was going to bombard you with an early breakfast one morning before you were able to sneak out.”

  I scoffed at that. “I do not sneak.”

  “You so fucking sneak. You practically tiptoe out of here at sunrise.”

  “Clearly not if you can hear me,” I mumbled.

  “I’m not deaf, in case you were wondering.”

  “Jeez, coulda fooled me. What other reason do you possibly have to play your outdated music so loud?”

  Mac gasped in an over-the-top show of mock-offense as he picked up the bowls and walked over to the table. He set one down in front of me and said, “Don’t knock the classics, kid,” before continuing on to his spot in front of his computer.

  “Okay, Iron Fist.”

  “Hey, don’t knock Iron Fist, either. He’s awesome.”

  I picked up my fork and twirled it through what looked like linguini with tomato sauce and veggies. It smelled deadly and looked just as good. “So awesome that he got his arse canceled?” I was taking the piss out of him when he said he wanted to talk, but he called me “kid” again and I was feeling more than a little petty about it. The tanginess of the sauce was a pleasant surprise; almost enough to drown out Mac’s whines and protests about how great of a character Danny Rand was.

  I raised an eyebrow at his mini rant but didn’t otherwise reply, focusing on the meal in front of me. After a few minutes of an enjoyable silence between us set to “Shoop,” Mac looked up and took a drink of what I hoped was water. “So, what are you kids into nowadays?”

  “Fisting.”

  He snorted a laugh and went back to alternating between eating and typing. Once again, I let the silence hang.

  Too bad it didn’t last long.

  “You’re awfully quiet,” Mac said without taking his eyes from his screen.

  “You’re awfully dependent on your computer.”

  “It’s for work.” Mac’s fingers ceased their frantic movements across the keypad and spun the screen around to face me. He’s… coding? A series of words, numbers, slashes and other symbols were displayed before my eyes in what may as well have been gibberish. He winked and turned his computer back toward him. “I’m more than just a pretty face.”

  “You do techie shit?”

  “Yeah, I do techie shit. What’s with the tone, kid?”

  “I’m not a kid,” I all but hissed. Realizing that I needed to lighten up, I took a few deep breaths then continued. “The tone is because…” I couldn’t exactly tell him I thought he was a good-for-nothing bum and was surprised he had gainful employment—not if I was trying to be nice.

  “Because I look like a lazy frat boy?”

  I scoffed. “Spare me. You’re ten years past your prime for that.” So much for being nice.

  To my surprise, and relief, he laughed. “You’re sharp. I like you.” He sat back in his chair and resumed typing while I subtly eyed him eagerly. “Was there something you wanted to ask me?”

  So much for subtlety. “Do you know HTML?”

  The clicking of the keys ceased and Mac glanced up with a raised eyebrow. “Of course. I’m a programmer; I can do a hell of a lot more than HTML. Why?”

  How do I ask him for help without sounding desperate? Fuck, I am desperate. Maybe I could—

  “What exactly are you trying to get at?”

  I grunted and smirked at his question. Despite his surface foolishness, questionable taste in music, and allergy to clothing, Mac wasn’t at all the gobshite I initially took him to be. He was attentive and perceptive—I could respect that.

  “Can you teach me how to use HTML? I have a due date coming up for a big assignment and I’m fuckin’ lost with it all.”

  “When is it due?”

  “A week,” I replied.

  Mac sighed. He typed for a few seconds longer before stopping and turning in his chair toward me, giving me an eyeful of the abs he had visible even while he sat. Jaysus. “I’ll teach you on one condition.”

  “Name it.”

  “Stop avoiding me.”

  “I wasn’t—”

  “Nuh-uh. Yes, you were. I said something that offended you, and I apologize. If it happens again, let me know.”

  Damn him. “Okay, fine.”

  “Also, you have to have supper with me at least twice a week. Nonnegotiable.”

  “That’s two conditions.”

  He shrugged. “I lie sometimes.”

  I scoffed, but we both knew I wouldn’t say no. “I accept your terms.”

  “Beautiful. I have a lot to finish tonight, but I can start with you tomorrow if you’ll be around.”

  I nodded. “I work until six and am free after that.”

  Mac clapped his hands together once and drummed on the table.
“Perfect, dude. Now skedaddle so I can finish this at a decent hour.” He winked at me again then went back to his task. I left him to it and took our dishes to the sink to wash.

  Perhaps living with Mac won’t be so awful, I thought just before he cranked up “Ice Ice Baby.” Fuckin’ hell. Then again, maybe not.

  Three

  Mac

  Thank God Dubhlainn needed my help. I hadn’t quite planned out what to say to him once I finally saw him and demanded we talk. Eve had told me to sit him down and hash out whatever was bugging him, which was all fine and dandy in theory. Once I had him sitting across from me things were tense as hell and I chickened out, opting to make idle small talk instead. I wasn’t particularly proud of that, though things seemed to have worked out all right.

  Once I finally rolled out of my room the next morning, I found him on the couch watching bad reality TV. Curled up and dressed in a threadbare T-shirt and sweats with his hair tied up in a loose knot, he looked even younger than he had the other two times I’d seen him. He had a sense of innocence about him when he wasn’t being a sour little shit.

  He greeted me with a “good morning” I hadn’t been expecting. It was awkward as hell, though I didn’t give him any grief over it. I returned the greeting then sat down on the other end of the couch, sprawling out in the sun’s rays coming through the window.

  “Is there somewhere in here to do the wash?” he asked, startling me.

  “The washing what?”

  He sighed and rolled his eyes at me. “Washing clothes. Laundry.”

  “Ah. In the shared bathroom.”

  “Is there a particular reason why you don’t wear clothes, then?”

  “Comfort, mostly. I’m only wearing these”—I tugged on my black boxer briefs—“because you’re new here. You missed my pajama pants this week when I was trying to be nice. Never. Again. There was way too much material constricting me. I suffered for nearly a week, and you didn’t even show up.”

  “Are you expecting an apology?”

  I scratched my hip under the band of my boxers and shook my head. “Nah. I’m just letting you know how it’s going to be and what you can expect. The music isn’t going away, either. It helps me stay focused when I work. However, I can lower the volume when you’re home if you have something you need to concentrate on. That okay with you, dude?”

  Dubhlainn nodded then turned back to the TV. “That’s fair.”

  “Cool beans.” I pushed myself up from the couch, circled around it, and walked over to the fridge. I opened the door and pulled out the milk then grabbed a bowl from the cupboard. I hesitated in closing the door when a thought occurred to me. “Hey, you want a bowl of Froot Loops?”

  Dubhlainn turned on the couch, bracing his hand on the back of it. “That sugary stuff?”

  I held up the box and shook it. “The one and only.”

  “Fuck yes. We didn’t have that in Ireland when I was a growing up. Aoibheann wouldn’t let me have it when I moved to America.”

  I took another bowl down and filled both with the unnaturally vibrant cereal. “Shit, you’re in for a treat.” I poured the milk in our bowls, tossed in some spoons, and made my way—carefully—back to the couch. I handed Dubhlainn his bowl before I sat down and turned toward him. I watched him take his first bite and smiled at the look of pure ecstasy that overtook his features. We each had two bowls before I got dressed and drove to the gym.

  I didn’t normally drive to the gym—or anywhere—but it was Saturday morning and my sister, Miho, was back in town after studying abroad and traveling. I drove over to my parents’ house after my workout and was surprised to see the driveway was empty. I parked my ninety-five Civic in Dad’s spot, got out of the car, and slid my keys into the pocket of my shorts.

  The front door was unlocked and I walked in without knocking. The place was eerily quiet—unlike how it was when I lived at home years ago. It was unusual for my parents to be out on a Saturday morning, so I didn’t think to call ahead. I was disappointed that I missed them, but I could come back again during the week for supper no problem. I craned my neck and looked around the rustic kitchen and living room before calling out for my sister.

  “Out back!” Her voice was distant.

  I walked through the house and opened the double doors to the deck, immediately spotting Miho sunbathing and reading a book on one of the cushioned chairs. She jumped out of her chair, tossed her book aside, and flung herself into my arms, wrapping her arms around my neck. I returned the hug just as fiercely and wrinkled my nose when my arm slid on her oiled skin.

  “Jeez, you’re greasier than three a.m. pizza.” I made a show of sounding grossed out and received a punch to the arm.

  “I haven’t seen you in nearly a year and that’s what you say to me?”

  I brushed her long, black hair out of her face and kissed her forehead like I have since the day our parents brought her home. “I missed you like crazy, kiddo. You have to tell me all about Prague after you go put some clothes on.” I picked up her towel and held it up in front of her. The image of my eighteen-year-old sister oiled up in a skimpy two-piece was not one I wanted in my head.

  “Oh, that’s rich coming from you.”

  I shrugged and flashed her a half smile. “You’d understand if you had a younger sister.” She rolled her eyes, but took the towel and wrapped it around her waist. I followed her inside and into the kitchen where she poured both of us a glass of water.

  “Where are Mom and Dad?” I asked before taking a drink.

  “They’re having brunch with the Johnstons. Today’s their anniversary.”

  “Shit, that’s today?” I didn’t want to have to cancel my plans tutoring Dubhlainn. I was just starting to make some headway with him. That and he needed my help.

  Miho jumped up to sit on the marble countertop and twisted her long hair, tying it up in a messy knot with a hair tie from around her wrist. “Don’t panic—they decided to celebrate on their own. There isn’t a supper or anything tonight.”

  “Oh, thank God.”

  “Do you have a hot date or something?” She quirked a knowing eyebrow at me.

  I scoffed. “As if.”

  “Whatever you say, brother. You can tell me if you do. I’m not a child anymore and—”

  “Nope. I’m shutting this shit down right now. You’re most definitely still a child and always will be.”

  She snickered. “If we can’t talk about this, you’re really not going to want to hear about Prague.”

  “Ew. Go away. Get dressed and I’ll take you out for lunch if you promise to not gross me out.”

  “Anywhere?”

  “Yes,” I replied.

  “Great! I want teppanyaki—it was impossible to find good Japanese food in Europe.” She slid off the counter, breezed past me, and started up the stairs.

  Her instantaneous change in demeanor at the mention of lunch was suspicious. “Did you just play me to get a free lunch?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know. I’ll be ready in thirty.” She disappeared up the stairs and I heard the bathroom door close.

  That little con artist. Thirty minutes in Miho-speak meant more like an hour, so I decided I’d take a trip down memory lane and wait in my old bedroom.

  My room was exactly as I’d left it when I moved out. I’d left behind all of my baseball trophies and traces of my nerdy hobbies. My nearly life-sized poster of Jean Grey was still pinned to the back of my door, along with several smaller posters on the wall by my double bed. I wasn’t big into comics or superheroes until I saw Jean in an issue of X-Men when I was nine. She was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen and damn if she still wasn’t.

  She was likely the cause of my obsession with red-haired women, an interest that got me into an embarrassing situation with Eve the first time I met her. I snorted at the memory of me making an ass out of myself then sat down on my bed and reached under the bed. I pulled out a plastic bin and lifted the lid to see all of my favorite i
ssues of X-Men. My uncle gave me his collection for my tenth birthday—and bless him for it. The books were pretty beat up, but I never cared.

  I sifted through the pile until I found my favorite book: issue 101—the first appearance of Phoenix. I reread the issue for what must have been the two-hundredth time and got so roped into the story that I didn’t hear Miho walk down the hall until she cleared her throat in my doorway. She told me she was ready to go then headed downstairs, her maxi dress billowing behind her. I put the comics back under my bed and made a mental note to rewatch the X-Men movies soon.

  Dubhlainn got home around quarter to seven while I was watching reruns of The Office on Netflix. I greeted him and got a tired reply. The poor guy looked exhausted as he lumbered down the hall to his room. He said he’d be out to go over his assignment after a quick shower and not five minutes later I heard him coming back down the hall.

  I turned the TV off and headed into the kitchen to grab a couple of beers from the fridge before I went over to the table with Dubhlainn. He already had his computer out and open when I sat down and was digging through his bag for something else. His hair was damp and once again tied back, but in a super loose bun that was coming undone. The color appeared much darker when wet, though it was still a gorgeous shade of red. I hadn’t really noticed how pretty or long his hair was before, though I supposed that was normal. It would be strange to tell a guy I just met that he had “pretty” hair.

  “So, where do we start?” he asked, bringing me back to the task at hand.

  “Right. Um, what do you know so far?”

  “HTML is the foundation of designing a web page.”

  “Mm-hmm. And?”

  “That’s what I know about it,” he said quietly.

  “Oh. Well, okay.” I slid one of the bottles of beer over to Dubhlainn, opened my own, and took a couple of slow gulps. “I’ll start at the beginning. HTML is simply a language. It’s used to build the basic components of a web page. Think of an entire, fully functioning site as a house. HTML is the foundation and the blank walls. You have the structure and rooms, but it’s all plain. It’s a house, though it’s not anything fancy. Still with me?”