by Ivy Fox
“You look like shit, Princess,” he deadpans, and all I can do is a shrug. I feel like it, so might as well look the part.
“Have you at least eaten anything? Chaz made Mexican tonight. If memory recalls you’re a sucker for tacos,” he says, a small smile crawling onto his lips. The mention of food makes my stomach growl in turn. Stupid stomach hadn’t once complained, but the offer of tacos is its kryptonite. Still, I don’t say anything, since I’m sure the sound my stomach is making is enough of an answer to Carter’s question.
“Want to come downstairs and eat with us?” I look up into his seawater blues and know his invitation is heartfelt, but his brothers won’t take too kindly to me showing up for dinner. So I shake my head and offer a weak smile, instead of accepting the only kindness I’ve received in days.
“Okay,” he answers sullenly but doesn’t take one step to move away. Instead, he takes a moment to stare at me. My eyes are still fixed on his when I see them zero in on my naked legs. I hold them tighter to me, hopefully shielding the heat that has risen from my chest to my cheeks.
He’s probably just making sure I’m alright, but my imagination runs rampant as I confuse his concern with attraction. Carter Perry would never see me in that light. Maybe to him, I’m not an annoyance like I am to the other Perry boys, but I am far from being one of the girls he would ever fawn over.
Back in school, I witnessed how the twins attracted all sorts of attention from the female population. But they both had a type. If I was a better person then I would call the girls they hung out with as sexually experimentative. Girls that oozed confidence and candor, both in and out of the bedroom. Qualities I lacked. Case in point, my only sexual experience began and ended with one innocent kiss when I was a freshman.
Sure, my imagination had a bucket full of scenarios I dreamed up, challenging even the most adventurous of girls. My eager fingers would bring an earth-shattering release, every time the images played in a loop inside my head. But that’s where it ended. Fantasies all played out in my head. Carter and his brothers starring in all of them.
I witness his Adam’s apple bob a few times before he backs away to the door, and leaves me once again alone with my wary thoughts. Not five minutes pass, when he returns, finding me in the exact same position. But this time, he enters my room with two plates stacked up on top of one another covered in foil, and a plastic bag hanging from his other wrist. I don’t say a word as he takes a tablecloth from inside the bag and gently places it in front of me. He puts the two plates side by side and adds two coke cans to the improvised picnic. Napkins and tableware also make an appearance. I’m still shocked and speechless when Carter decides to upgrade my flustered state by sitting next to me in a lotus position, while leaning on the bed.
“I hate eating alone,” he says as an explanation to this sweet gesture. I can still hear voices coming from downstairs, so I know for a fact, he had plenty of company for dinner this evening. This was his way of making me feel better for being here. As hard as I try to keep them at bay, a rebellious tear falls from the corner of my eye. It seems this house is set on making me cry the whole month, be it sad tears, or the happy one I’m shedding now. Carter leans in and wipes the errant tear away with his thumb, and the touch alone is enough to send the butterflies in my tummy into flight.
“You crying because I forgot dessert, Princess?” he teases, and it’s the first time I hear myself giggle in what seems to be a lifetime ago. His statement is so absurd I can’t help but beam a megawatt smile at him. The gleam in his eye shows me he would rather see me like this, than how he found me a few minutes ago.
He takes off the foil from both plates and presents me with a bountiful of delicious tacos on each one. The smell is so enticing that my mouth waters. I guess I was hungrier than I thought.
“Dig in, Princess. And if you still have room, I’ll go downstairs and grab you some ice cream to top it off,” Carter remarks, his tone is as light as a summer’s day. I’m so elated with his peace offering that, before I know it, I’m hugging him with all my might. He’s rigid stiff at first, but then his strong arms hold me to him as well.
“Thank you,” I whisper into his chest. The happy tears are now flowing unceremoniously, wetting his t-shirt in the process. I feel one hand on my neck and another soothingly stroking my back, bringing me the comfort I so needed. He assumed my body needed food to thrive, but it’s my soul that was lacking nourishment. His olive branch was just the thing I needed to break free from my bleak view of the next few weeks. If Carter is inclined to show me any kindness, at least with him I won’t feel so lonely here. He pulls away and grabs my face with his hands, cleaning away the tears, yet again, with both thumbs. His carefree spirit is long gone, and in its stead, the look of guilt shines through.
“I’m sorry you’ve had some pretty shitty days since you got here,” he chokes out.
“That’s okay,” I reply half-heartedly.
“No, it’s not, Freya. We’re acting like immature assholes and you’re suffering the brunt of it.” He sighs.
The selfish part of me wants to ask him why, but I don’t want to spoil this moment. Not when Carter doesn’t seem to share his brothers’ sentiment towards me anymore. Instead of wanting to throw never-ending questions Carter’s way, I pick up one of the tacos and bite into spicy goodness while smiling with my mouth full. He lets out a belly laugh of his own and digs in. We eat the rest in glorious silence, but our eyes shine brighter than either one of us expected, from such a simple thing as a taco dinner.
Once we finish and clean everything up, I half expected him to return downstairs to his brothers, but Carter surprises me yet again. He grabs my laptop, which I had left on the bedside table, and pops it open to a YouTube channel, with nothing but people falling on their asses from doing the stupidest stunts.
We’re still sitting on the floor, and I’m thankful for it. If we had moved to the bed, I don’t think I could have kept my feelings from showing on my face. On the floor, with a couple of inches between us, feels safe somehow, especially watching the hilarious footage playing on my screen. Nothing that would incite my wanting hormones, that’s for sure.
This feels more like what we used to do when growing up together. I had memorized every laugh from each one of the Perry boys, but listening to Carter’s, scrunched down and holding his stomach from the absurdity of three guys attempting to ride a bicycle together, it’s as if my memory is no match for the real thing. So like the greedy girl I’ve become, I take it all in. Every belt and howler, every whimsical sound he makes in utter elation. I eat it all up, and it goes down better than any dinner he could bring up to me.
This is my dessert. This moment, right here, filled with a taste of the past. I delude myself in thinking that not even time or distance stood against our friendship. It’s a lie I tell myself, but a lie I want to believe in with everything in me. This should have always been my reality. I should have been stronger and pushed my feelings down to preserve our friendship. But as each minute passes by through the night, and we continue to watch video after video, not wanting this night to end, I’m more certain than ever, my sacrifice was not made in haste.
Since he walked into my room, I wanted to reach out and grab his hand. Every time he laughed, a bit of his hair would fall on his brow, and my fingers tingled to move it away. I had to physically sit on my hands to prevent them from touching any part of his body. This is what I had resorted to. Binding my own limbs so they wouldn’t give me away. How could I have kept that up for years on end? And not just with him, but to the other four pieces of my heart? No way I could have survived otherwise.
Even though this night has been one of the best I’ve had in such a long time, a small tinge of fear creeps up on me. Will I be able to hide my true feelings for the next three weeks from him? Since the rest of the Perry boys want nothing to do with me, hiding my twisted love from them won’t be hard to do. But if Carter continues to surprise me like he’s done tonight, showing m
e his sweet side, then how will I be able to not offer mine? Opening that side of myself will no doubt show him more than what I’m comfortable with.
It’s only three more weeks, Freya. You’ve hidden your love for years. You’ll survive three weeks.
I sure hope so.
When I wake up Sunday night, a little bit of my melancholy seems to have withered away. I know it’s due to Carter, but I tell myself last night was probably a one-off event. But by five o’clock, my bedroom door opens to show a beaming Carter, bringing me, yet again, another exquisite aroma. Just like yesterday, he repeats our picnic on the floor. Only tonight’s dinner is lasagna. Another concoction done by Chaz.
I recall the young boy who would always hang on his mother’s apron strings, trying to see over the counter at what she had in store for their meals. It seems his appreciation for cooking has grown further, and with each bite, I establish that Chaz is gifted. Every ingredient meshes incredibly well together, and each fork full that enters my mouth brings a moan of delight with it.
“Go easy there, Princess. I don’t want the guys to think I’m having my way with you,” Carter chides, but his Adam’s apple bobs just like last night when I caught him looking at my legs. I’m sure I’m sporting the world’s most embarrassed blush, but I quickly dismiss his remark to friendly teasing.
The rest of the night goes much the same as the previous one, but this time, he seems to be sitting a bit closer than yesterday. So close that I smell his summery scent, with promises of sunny days and spirited waves. I have to swallow hard to jumpstart my heart. For a brief second, I felt it stop beating just so it too could get a good whiff.
“I was thinking, perhaps tomorrow it’s time you left this room,” he states, totally unaware of where my mind was traveling to.
“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” I reply, certain that leaving this room will put a stop to my recent happiness.
“Freya, you can’t stay in this room forever.” He laughs out.
“Try me.” I rebut. With Carter, I’ve seemed to find the voice I once had, before all this nonsense of me staying at the Perry’s took it away from me.
“Tyler and Mason are leaving tonight. Drew and Chaz also have a thing in the city. So we’ll have most of the day to ourselves,” he whispers conspiringly, accompanied by his sneaky grin. My heart rate speeds up, not only for how sexy he looks like this but also with the promise of a tomorrow outside these damn walls.
“What will we do?” I ask, and immediately bite my tongue for the innocent question coming out sultrier than it should.
“I was thinking we could take advantage of the sun, pool out back and just soak that shit up,” he answers. The light in his eyes is glimmering brighter than any sun making its appearance tomorrow. The idea of lying by the pool with a half-dressed Carter is also the incentive I need, so I nod in acceptance of his plan.
“Atta girl,” he replies, putting an arm over my shoulder and settling back on the bed, bringing me along for the ride. My head rests on his shoulder as we watch another strand of funny videos. This week started off in the worst way possible, but yesterday and tonight have made up for it. These past two nights have made those awful moments disappear from my mind. I don’t remember a day in these last few years where I felt this elated, this happy. Ironic how the only time I feel this joyful, is in the exact same house I left my bliss in the first place.
Chapter 7
Chaz
This morning’s meeting with my college advisor should have left me fucking ecstatic, but instead, I feel a lump in my throat which refuses to go away. Paris. Fucking Paris. It’s a one-time offer, and I’ll need to give him my answer by the end of the month. I can’t turn it down. It would be insane to, but this vacancy comes as a total surprise to me.
Usually, the candidates who got in to study under Jean-Luc Dupont in Paris their freshman year, are handpicked their senior year in high school. I had sulked in the corner for a week when I got my declining letter. Then my advisor called Friday saying I need to meet him first thing Monday morning, only to reveal a dropout next semester, and that I was the lucky SOB who was runner-up to fill the spot. This is a wet dream to would-be chefs. To study a full year abroad in such a lavish culinary city is beyond words. But add that to being mentored by the genius that is Jean-Luc, and most would be busting a nut in their pants for the opportunity.
So why the fuck am I hesitating? I want to say it’s because I was already mentally prepared to attend the culinary school ten minutes away from my brother’s college. I want to pin it on the fact that I was pumped up to finally be moving away from home, but still live with my bros on our own and living the life we were destined for.
Shit, I want to say a lot of bullshit, but only one thing has me second-guessing my stay abroad. It all comes down to the girl stored away on the second floor of my family’s home. Freya had to reappear out of the blue, to torment each and every one of us, before we had the courage to cut all the strings attached to our past.
This year was supposed to be our new beginning. Drew, Carter, and I had graduated in June, and we were all set to just enjoy our one last summer at home and then be done with it. We would move in with Ty and Mason in the city and visit our little beach town only when unavoidable. Sure, Mom and Dad would be pissed at first, but they would bend to our will and visit us in the city instead. The drive to the beach would be killer, but on my bike, I could shorten the hour-long ride in half. My board would just have to go in Mase’s jeep.
Our freedom was laughing at us at how close we came in touching it, but Mom had to go and pull the rug from under our feet one last time. Freya living in our house for a full month was nothing we were prepared to handle or equipped to deal with. Old wounds were slashed open. Like an itchy scab, you can’t stop scratching until your nails find flesh and bone. That’s how Freya makes us feel. Raw, unprotected, and bleeding.
Mason ran out of the house Saturday evening, the minute he heard her laughter trickle downstairs. Tyler and Drew also bolted last night when the cheerful sound made a repeat appearance. Me, though? I just sat on the couch and breathed that shit in. I fucking missed it too much to ignore it. Carter was a real asshole for going AWOL on Tyler’s plan, which pretty much consisted of making her stay in solitude and linger for the whole month. I want to be pissed at my twin for betraying us like that, but in reality, I fucking love him for it.
Hearing her sweet laughter these past two nights has been cathartic. I had watched a small socially awkward girl in high school for way too long to know each laugh was genuine. My brothers want to focus on the fact she turned her back on us. Without just cause, it would seem. Not one of us said a mean word to her. We would rather die than hurt her. We only showed her what was in our hearts every day and that was fucking love.
So when she dismissed us with no real regard for our feelings, well, that was like spitting in the face of all the love we had given freely. Fucking stung like a mother. I couldn’t understand it. There had to be a reason for her sudden indifference. So I watched. I let her go and watched. Watched who she was hanging out with; her hobbies and where she spent her time; if she tried to make girl friends — since this was the reason my mother took little notice of Freya’s distancing. Yeah, I fucking watched. And what did I see? Nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing. Freya didn’t just push us away, she pushed everyone away. With no real friends to speak of, our princess was more of a ghost that walked the tile floors of Hills High, than an actual student.
My brothers rather ignore that little bit of information. To them, if Freya had decided to erase our past from her memory, that was all on her. I thought differently. Sure, I’m still pissed as hell she ditched us, but seeing as she isolated herself from everyone, there must be a reason behind her detachment that we are overlooking. I guess if there was ever a time to get to the bottom of what that could be, it’s her having nowhere to hide while living with us. She can lock herself away as she has been, but something tells me Carter is doi
ng his magic and enchanting the ice princess out of her throne room.
When I step foot in the house and hear laughter coming from the backyard, I know I’m right. Without giving myself away, I stand behind the screen door of our living room, allowing me to have a full view of our pool area. There I find Carter and Freya, sitting side by side on the lawn chairs under a massive umbrella, taking a little break from the relentless blazing sun overhead. I see her flipping pages of one of Carter’s scrapbooks. The sly fucker is showing off with his portfolio of photos. Can’t blame him really. I did the same thing last night with my lasagna recipe.
Since I suspected Carter would do a repeat of taking dinner up to her room, I worked like a dog to make her the best Italian goodness I could. It’s a good thing the rest of the guys kept their distance from the kitchen when I was there. If the opposite was true, then they would see the amount of effort I had put into last night’s dinner, completely ratting me out in the process. Yeah, I wanted to impress the shit out of her too. Carter doing his own thing now doesn’t shock me in the least. Given half the chance, I bet my life the rest of my brothers would have done the same.
Not one of us ever admitted it to the others, but we all knew we were in love with her. Maybe she did us a favor in the end. We needed her like a flower craves the spring sunshine on its petals. We yearned for her attention. Lived for her shy smiles. How could one girl captivate five distinctly different men? Easy. Freya was everything we dreamed of in one little package. Creamy perfect skin and dark ebony hair that fell all the way back to her robust ass. Her figure was all hourglass perfection. And fuck, those tits of hers! No fucking woman should have those huge babies taunting us under conservative sweaters.
Even now, she’s wearing a big ass t-shirt over, what I pray is, a string bikini, teasing us with the mouthwatering figure underneath. The only skin she’s showing are those long tanned legs of hers that were made to be wrapped around a waist. Preferably mine, but right now I wouldn’t mind seeing them locked around my twin either. Little Chaz is enjoying the movie playing in my head, and I stroke the sucker over my jeans just to get a small sense of relief.
