The Corner House: A Reverse Harem

by Daisy Jane

  Then, Bodhi dumps the pot of homemade pasta into the strainer, over the sink. Steam rises up and he turns his head. Bastian takes a drink of his sparkling water, looking at the pasta, probably trying not to pressure me.

  Looking to Eli where he stands leaning back against the counter, I see his arms are folded over his chest as his massive hand holds his glass of water. His eyes are piercing mine; his jaw moves slightly as he tilts his head, studying me in a way that makes me feel giddy on my feet.

  Then he smiles.

  It’s small. The tiniest. If I hadn’t been so focused on him then I definitely would have missed it. It was one you’d miss even from a peripheral glance.

  But it was a smile.

  “Okay,” I say, strong and unwavering just like Eli.

  “New roommate celebration feast,” Bodhi announces, a few hairs around his face growing curly against the steam. But the braids still look good.

  “Do I get included in the daily group hug?” I ask, partially teasing, holding up two interlocked fingers, pretending to be wishing for it. The reality is, your girl is getting in on that hug. I know it. Eli takes a drink, his eyes roaming over my yellow dress and white sandals, then back up to my face, regard much darker now.

  “Of course,” he says, and while I feel his response vibrate through my thighs and tingle in my pussy, the others don’t pick up on it.

  I swallow hard and break the gaze between Eli and myself, feeling the need to take a drink of water. To add moisture to my dry as hell mouth. Why is my mouth so dry? Then I take all three of them in, burly and manly, yet playful and sweet.

  I’m going to live with these guys on the corner house. There couldn’t be a better and hotter solution to my migraine-induced housing problem.

  “Move in next weekend,” Bastian says, popping open a container from the fridge labeled “don’t eat, I’m serious, it’s for dinner tonight, don’t fucking eat this” and puts it in the microwave.

  “Perfect.”

  I’ve never been more excited to pack and move.

  Chapter 10

  “Stop.”

  “I’m Serious.”

  “Shut up.”

  I shake my head. “I will not.”

  Another moment of silence. “Serious?”

  “Like a heart attack.” I lean forward, shaking my head once for effect. “Like a migraine.”

  There is a small, collective gasp as they finally accept—I’m serious.

  Brynn finishes her wine and her arm reflexively juts for a refill. Abbie does the same, followed by Kayla. Laughing, I push off the couch, making my way to the kitchen. One of the last times I’ll be serving the girls from my kitchen. I’m sad to lose this beautiful little house but I’d be the biggest liar if I said I didn’t want to serve them from the corner house and make them jealous and drool-y with my three new extremely hot roommates.

  “We need another bottle but if we drink one more, we definitely aren’t packing anything.”

  Brynn lifts her glass in the air from her partially-reclined spot across my couch. “Fill ‘er up, damn it,” she calls, and Abbie and Kayla laugh, raising their glasses too.

  “Gah, how boring am I if news of me moving in with three guys makes you all need to drink?” I bellow, pouring a tiny bit of wine in my own glass. It’s been nearly a week since the last migraine, I’m completely and utterly hydrated, the lights are low, I haven’t been in the sun and I don’t plan on needing to go anywhere. After all, it’s closing in on eight o’clock. One small glass of wine should be safe. And truthfully, telling the girls I’m moving into the corner house this weekend, well, it was nerve wracking.

  In my mind, I tried to prepare for things they’d say.

  Are you sure you want to live with three guys?

  Doesn’t it seem fast to live with people you’ve only known a few weeks?

  The only question, though, that I didn’t have a good answer for was one that only Brynn could ask, because she was the only who knew my deepest, dirtiest desires.

  As I expect from best friends, Abbie starts with her first concern as I poured wine into her glass.

  “Three guys, I mean, no drama like you’d get with females but guys are gross,” she said, scooping up homemade guacamole with a tortilla chip.

  It was Mexican-themed girls’ night which meant takeout from the best Mexican food truck in Oakcreek—Juan-derful Tacos. We’d been going there for years and recently, Juan himself painted a mural on the fence behind the truck. A huge mural of himself wearing a traditional sombrero, mustache curled up on the ends in perfection (exactly how he looks in real life) with large geometric shapes flying out from behind him, in bold neon colors. It was like a Mexican themed eighties vibe and it was awesome. It had become the place in Oakcreek to take pictures of and post to Instagram, making the surrounding communities jealous of not just the best Mexican food truck in Central California but for the dopest painted fence mural, too. I myself even had a photo in front of it, hand holding up the painted chin of Juan.

  The theme for this week’s girl’s night was one in our normal rotation—any excuse to eat Mexican food and we’d take it. But we’d run out of influential Mexican films to watch. The first time we’d chosen Like Water for Chocolate because it takes place during the Mexican Revolutionary War. But also, because, well, it’s a romance involving chocolate. No brainer. The second time we had Mexican night, we watched Desperado, which we both concluded was not nearly as good as The Eagles song by the same name. In fact, I believe we paused the movie several times to drunk-sing Desperado, at which time we discovered that none of us actually knew the lyrics. A lot of humming and mumbling but after two bottles of Prosecco, no one seemed to mind.

  Tonight, I told them I had some big news so Kayla said she felt “rushed” and grabbed the first Red Box that she could. Her selection? The Three Amigos with Steve Martin, Chevy Chase and Martin Short. Cultural appropriation at it’s not finest.

  If you haven’t figured it out, we’re not movie snobs and as much as I could say this really isn’t a legit Mexican-themed movie, it’s hilarious and hilarious is what I need.

  Especially after fielding some heavy internal questions.

  “These guys aren’t like that, they have a system for everything,” I respond to Abbie.

  When I went over there last Thursday, dressed and prepped to ask for all three of them—I was surprised when they’d asked me to be their roommate. As much as I needed a place to stay or roommates, I wouldn’t have just moved in with them because they’re hot.

  I’m horny but I also watch True Crime. I’m not crazy-horny.

  While eating Bodhi’s vegan pasta and enjoying roasted veggies on the side, the guys and I had an hour-and-a-half get to know each other round table session.

  I wasn’t wrong about Eli—he was dressed in office wear. He’s a database administrator for a large company in the city. There’s an office in Oakcreek—a satellite facility—where Eli and a handful of other highly technical employees work. Oakcreek is a small town so Eli is the only one who actually lives here. The rest commute from a city down South, Oakcreek being closer than the other big city north of us. He’d been working there since he was in college, starting out in their “service center” where he did a lot of “have you tried turning it off and on again” type of work. His parents and sister live in the Central Valley of California, too, in a town just thirty minutes north of us. He’s single and his hobbies are some romantic mixes of Christian Grey and My Fantasies. He is part of an invite-only whiskey tasting club, he enjoys reading (“books I can actually hold”), his favorite form of exercise is “organic” but he cycles, runs, and lifts, too.

  I wanted to hear all about Eli from Eli, but most of what I learned about him came from Bodhi and Bastian, throwing elbows and random pokes, reminding him to give me more information but offering up some of their own. Eli seemed shy.

  That or he didn’t like me. I don’t know why he wouldn’t like me, in fact, between all of us, Eli
and I seemed to have the most in common.

  Our families were near and we were both close with them, respectively. I liked my exercise to happen organically, too, like a random kitchen dance party or a last-minute unplanned run with Brynn or Abbie. He had a traditional job in the sense that he didn’t put his life at risk like Bastian and he was secure unlike the tumultuous climate of tattooing, which ebbed and flowed with the movements of the economy. From what I’d seen, he was inked but nothing to the extent of Bodhi, who’s knuckles and face weren’t even free from ink.

  He was actually the type of guy I’d want to ask me out, if this weren’t the world's weirdest situation. And if I wasn’t so set on making something really awesome (but really out of character) happen, maybe I’d put feelers out to Bodhi about Eli. I feel like Bodhi sensed my attraction to Eli before I even did. That has to get tabled, though.

  Because I want this group thing.

  As crazy as it sounds, I know it’s more likely to get one night with these guys than it is to score a guy like Eli as a boyfriend.

  If I were curvy and funky Brynn with my fire-engine hair and crop tops, maybe. But plain Sloane who’s living wild is splurging for butter on her popcorn at the movies? Sloane who hasn’t had sex in over a year, Sloane whose last boyfriend couldn’t even orgasm during sex? She couldn’t pull a guy like Eli. No way.

  I don’t know what kind of girl a man like Eli went after. Before I allow myself to romanticize the “what if” between Eli and I, I remind myself of the chances. I remind myself that one-time with them is probably as much of them as I will get, outside of our new roomies dynamic.

  And anyway, it seemed like he didn’t even like me.

  But he’s a man with a penis (gah, I bet it’s great). If I play my cards right and present them with this no-strings attached one-time opportunity, would he really say no? I didn’t think Bastian would and I could see Bodhi being up for it, too.

  At our getting-to-know-one-another dinner, Bastian and Bodhi drilled me. Not really in the, heh, way I wanted to be, but it was still nice drilling.

  Getting to know me drilling.

  They asked me a lot of questions about my headaches (Eli was silent but kept his eyes on me), then Bodhi asked how much stuff I would be moving in (their house was clean but otherwise a total guy house—one couch and one massive TV with not much else), and then they got to the hard-hitting questions.

  Prefaced with a compliment (“you’re pretty fucking hot”), they seemed to both want to know why I was single. Eli’s eyes were curious but he kept his mouth closed, fork pushing around some noodles on his plate.

  “If you don’t want to finish it, fine, but don’t push it around like a cold noodle. It’s offensive to the maker,” Bodhi said, draping his hand across his chest.

  “It is a cold noodle,” Eli retorted before Bastian swiped the plate, along with the rest of ours. He stood a few feet away at the sink washing dishes while staying engaged in the conversation. I know it’s ridiculous to find it attractive to watch a man do dishes—but I can’t help that it does something to my very sleepy lady parts.

  “Back to Sloane,” Bodhi says, flipping his face back to mine, chin held a bit higher to show Eli that his feelings are chapped. It makes me grin. Their lighthearted and playful way with one another, the group hug every day, the way they jointly take care of Bastian’s dog and keep the house clean together—it’s unlike anything I’ve experienced, their bond.

  Brett, my ex, had precisely two friends, one of which I’m still not sure what his real name was. They called him Slice because he was a college baseball player with a killer batting average but his name surely wasn’t Slice.

  Brett’s other friend was one of those people who never have a job but always have loads of cash on their person at all times. Very suspect. His name was Ray and he was actually, despite never being able to pin down exactly what he did, kind to me. But they all sat on a couch playing Call of Duty. And that’s all they did.

  They had this barbaric hand shake/slap to greet each other and as close as they were, when I’d asked Brett for more details about Slice and Ray, he said he didn’t know where they were from or any of their other interests. He actually snapped at me once when I asked what things they like to do.

  “Hang out, Jesus, I don’t know Sloane, what does it matter?” he’d said in an aggravated tone, needing me to know the action of him taking his gaming headset off to listen to his girlfriend was a big fucking deal. I was supposed to be indebted to him for things like that. Basic relationship skills like listening and talking—I owed him one for doing those things.

  It mattered to me, though. As much as I knew it then, I know it for sure now. I want to love my boyfriend’s friends because I want them to become my friends. The way I want my future boyfriend to love Brynn, Abbie and Kayla, I want to love them too.

  I could love guys in the corner house, as friends. And that’s why they’re so perfect for this fantasy. Because they themselves are a fantasy. Add in some group sex and I’ll have an experience that no one outside of my group of friends will believe.

  It all feels too good to be true. That is, if it happens.

  “I had a boyfriend for a year, but that was a year ago.” I could feel the admission bring some embarrassment to my cheeks. At my age, a year of being single felt like the same as admitting I was still a virgin or something.

  It felt like all signs pointed to me being damaged goods, or else why would I be moving in with people I just met? Why else would I be single? Why else would I have met Bastian in an accident?

  Because I am the hot mess express, that’s why.

  “How did it end?” Bastian asked, setting the last dish down into the drying rack as we’ve already gone through the reasons both Bastian and Bodhi are single.

  When they asked why I’m still single, I had tossed them back a universal “what about you guys?” paired with an awkward laugh because I am mature like that. Because them being single is far more shocking than me.

  Bastian had told me it’s hard to date in his line of work. Then he’d come clean that he had a fiancé but a year ago, they split. He didn’t get into many details but by the collective silence that settled on us when he spoke of her, I knew not to question it.

  Bodhi admitted he just hadn’t found the right one. He acknowledged being on and using dating apps just for the occasional physical connection, but that he always wanted to meet his girl the way Eli and I wanted to get our exercise—organically. It was romantic and I admired it, and his ability to admit it.

  “When my headaches got bad, he was just really honest with me,” I admitted, biting my bottom lip a moment to gain the confidence needed for the honesty I was about to display. “He said he didn’t love me enough to take care of me the way that he thought I would need.” I took a drink of my water to relieve some of the shame burning in my cheeks. “I’m glad he told me the truth.” I really was.

  There was a silence as Bastian returned to the table with the dish of bliss balls and a kettle from the stove, which he sets on a potholder. These guys are so domestic that it is shamelessly got to me. Blotting my forehead with the back of my hand, I released a soft laugh meant to diffuse the possible tension of my embarrassment. Some guys don’t know how to act around women when they’re embarrassed.

  But when I looked up, I was met with three sets of beautiful eyes, gazing at me with care, not staring like I’m broken.

  It’s refreshing to be seen as anything but broken when you spend a lot of your time existing in pieces.

  Bodhi blew out a sideward breath. Bastian shook his head quietly. Eli lifted his head from his empty mug that was already placed in front of each of us, and reached for the kettle. He poured the hot water into his mug, the steam fogging up the air between us.

  “That’s fucking weak,” he said, with no qualifiers attached. What’s weak? Brett telling the truth? My headaches? Brett not loving me enough? For the first time since being around these guys, I want to be old Slo
ane and pull apart his words, dive into them and search for all the meanings. Reframe them all in a way that I better understand. But I don’t. Because I know if I am going to get that deliciously sinister thing that my body wants, then I have to be cool.

  After we moved past exes, which Eli shared nothing about, we sailed through religious choices, political preferences and somehow ended up on vehicles. Eli and Bodhi both own Tesla’s while Bastian is “a truck man”, despite the fact he recognizes the Earth-friendly benefits of going electric.

  I couldn’t believe that we all felt mostly the same about the big things, with some minor differences on the smaller issues. I couldn’t believe how much ground we covered in the short dinner and when Eli and Bodhi had to leave, I was surprised that almost two hours had already passed.

  I guess if you let a man run a conversation, there’s less side-tracked topics and more focus. Because in that short amount of time, we all got to know one another. We’d discover each other’s nuances and quirks as we lived together but I knew that night that everything would be okay if I lived with them.

  “You guys talked about like, everything then, huh?” Kayla asked as she titled her head completely to the side, shoving her taco in at an incredible pace.

  “Jesus, Kay, slow down,” Abbie chided, sprinkling cabbage salsa onto her taco from a small, plastic container that came with our chips.

  “Nuhh-uhhh,” Kayla mouthed through the bite, “you go fast or the toppings spill out,” she said, using the taco her hands are wrapped around to motion to the plate in front of her. Indeed, it was a toppings graveyard. Lettuce, deliciously crisp bits of meat, cilantro and pan seared onions. All wasted on a wax-dipped plate. The only time girls’ night goes disposable is for Mexican night. The food is so good that we allow ourselves to create a bit more garbage that night.

  “Your shit spilled everywhere anyway,” Abbie says, now adding a dollop of Greek yogurt to her taco. “Tastes just like sour cream,” she professes as she does every time she adds yogurt instead of sour cream.