The Corner House: A Reverse Harem

by Daisy Jane

  He smiles so softly and it amazes me how such a soft, end-of-night casual smile in the hallway can have such a heavy effect. This fantasy of mine, it may actually happen.

  “Yes,” he says. I want to ask him to clarify—at once, one on one, what? But I only get one question tonight and it is late and my head… it’s starting to tingle in a funny way. Bastian tugs at another loose strand of my long blonde hair.

  “Don’t be ashamed of what you want, Sloane. You’ve been underserved and underappreciated your whole life,” he says, like he knows it’s a fact. And it is a fact.

  “I’m not a slut.” The words come from somewhere, though I never considered myself a slut for wanting this, and they bubble up and over before I can stop them. I hate that I’ve said it because I hate looking or being perceived as insecure.

  Bastian laughs and then, so unexpectedly, swoops down and seals his mouth over mine, kissing me hard and fast. “I know you’re not; I felt your hairy legs remember?” he whispers against my lips when he breaks the kiss, the recollection making me cringe a little. He steps to his door and pushes it open, turning back to me where I feel frozen to that spot in the hall.

  “I think you’re starving. You need to eat.” He disappears into his room, the door clicking quietly closed.

  I love the way he’s turned my fantasy into something more beautiful, more complex. When I return to my room, I take a Benadryl from the nightstand and pop it in my mouth, not comfortable with how fast the tingle is spiderwebbing through my entire head.

  Then I reflect back on my night with Bodhi, his fucking beautiful pierced cock, his entire body was foreplay just looking at it. And then Bastian telling me I could have them. They’d shared women comfortably in the past. A new feeling spread through my brain, like someone shook out a blanket full of hot sand, flecks of heat sparking in random places in my mind. I felt high, almost. My whole face was numb. I brushed my fingertips against my lips, opening my eyes.

  Getting t-boned by the drunk farmer could’ve been the best thing that ever happened to me.

  Chapter 14

  “Grandma shit on the kitchen floor last night,” Eli’s irritated tone traveled up the hall where I was padding my way to breakfast. When I reached the kitchen, all three men were there, each doing something domestic.

  Bodhi was making coffee. I walked up behind him, letting my hand wander over his back, nails gently grating their way down. How would I ever be with a man not covered in a coat of muscle? I was getting used to the way it felt.

  “I thought you were sleeping in?” I ask, smiling up at him. His man bun was still in from last night but he’d changed the ring from his nose into a little diamond stud. On my toes, I reached up and touched it, smiling at him. “I like it.”

  “You like jewelry,” he responds quietly, lifting his brows up, nudging me. “And I wanted to sleep in but,” he throws a thumb over his shoulder in Eli’s direction. “Eli took Grandma for a run and he crapped everywhere, then came home and crapped on the floor.”

  I wince. Bodhi leans in with a whisper and a wink, “he was upset we ventured from Grandma’s diet.”

  When we turn around, Eli’s hands are on his hips and he is staring at Grandma, who is one second away from snail-trailing his ass across the floor.

  “Grandma was accident free for a while.” He scratches at the back of his head before letting the dog into the back yard. “Did he eat something funny?”

  Bodhi snorts while he dishes out three plates of eggs. Next to it is a plant-based yogurt parfait, with fresh berries and grain-free granola. “Did you make that?” I crinkle my nose, “it’s so fancy. I’m impressed.”

  Eli stands a little taller from his side of the kitchen. “I made that for you, bro,” he says, walking to us to take the parfait. Handing it to Bodhi, he then takes the carafe of coffee from the counter.

  “Just clean up Grandma’s poop and stop being dramatic,” Bastian retorts.

  I bend down, meeting Eli on our knees over the stain. Tugging at the roll of paper towel hanging from underneath the cabinet, Bastian leans over us handing us extra.

  We begin wiping and spraying, rinse and repeat.

  “Thanks for keeping it down last night,” he says, not meeting my eyes when I look up to him. He smells good. Like soap and a hint of cologne and mint. Fresh teeth. “I only have a few times a year where I have these big upgrades.”

  “Well, whatever the upgrades are, they sound important.” I smile, knowing my IT talk is cringeworthy. He smiles back and the air gets impossibly thick. Why can I taste his toothpaste just from breathing in his exhale? I can almost feel his lips on mine—

  “Did you have fun last night?” his question is so low I can feel it vibrate against my lips. Before I can answer, Bastian interrupts.

  “It’s good enough. I’ll use the machine later. Let’s eat.”

  Yes, Bastian owns his own floor cleaning machine. It does tile, carpet and hardwood. As it turns out, Grandma has one guaranteed accident every year: on the fourth of July. So Bastian, he said, invested in owning a machine. I asked when I saw it in the garage the day I moved in.

  Eli and I wash our hands and take a seat. Why did he ask that? Did he know about Bodhi and I or did he hear that conversation in the hall between myself and Bastian?

  I begin eating my eggs, not even hungry but not wanting to face Eli’s astute perception of our quick-changing dynamic. He knew something happened last night.

  Bastian tilts his head to the side. “Forgot to tell you Sloane. I worked with your favorite person’s man the other night.” He shovels a few eager forkfuls into his face. “Fuck, buddy, you are so good at eggs.”

  Bodhi gives a thumb to the side, happy that he was good at cooking them, displeased that we were consuming animal products and that he had to cook them. I press on.

  “My favorite person?” I ask, trying to think of who I knew on the police force.

  “Emerson’s bitch,” Bastian deadpans, dryly. I choked on my eggs and quickly sip my water, banging my chest on a laugh.

  “Oh my gosh, I forgot about Emerson.”

  Bastian rests his elbows on the table and left his fork hanging from his hand, a bite suspended mid-air. “Forgot about her? When I met you she was like, super important.”

  I take a minute to consider his words. I did think of her as important just a month ago. Because of money. She was a good client but she left me, without any thought for how loyal I had been to her. Money’s important because it keeps you not being homeless or starving. Important things, yes. But outside of that, the more time I spent around these big-hearted softies, I realized the most cliché thing in the universe: happiness is really all that matters.

  “My life has gotten so much better since I’ve met you guys,” I say, sipping my coffee to stave off any random hormonal emotion that may attack. “Everything is shifting. Importance is changing.”

  Silence falls between us and I don’t know if what I’ve said is too heavy or if they’re considering it but then—

  “It was tempeh-roni, okay?” Bodhi says, “we gave Grandma tempeh-roni.”

  Eli feigns hurt and drapes a hand across his chest. “You guys had pizza without me?”

  I raise my hand. “That was me, sorry. I didn’t know you guys had a pizza night. I made the dough for Bodhi and I.”

  Eli’s eyes narrow on mine and I allow myself a moment to take him in. It feels safe with everyone around, it’s a casual look I tell myself. I study his tousled blonde hair and watch him scratch the side of his jaw, thinking. The other guys are there but when we look at each other, it almost feels like it’s just he and I in the room.

  Bodhi rises from the table and announces he’s sore and needs a nap before his first appointment today, so again we agree to keep it down. As he’s walking out, Bastian also rises.

  He’s wearing an Oakcreek PD t-shirt, black sweat pants and his normally perfect hair is uncombed and messy. There are dark rings under his armpits and his jaw is in need of a clo
se shave. He’s just worked out and even in his sweaty disheveled state, he makes me draw my legs together under the table.

  “Group hug after Bod’s nap,” he says, finger gunning us as he paces backwards out of the room.

  “Are you two napping together?” I tease Bastian, feeling the intensity of Eli’s eyes on me, knowing that once Bastian is out of the room that it will just be us. I’m excited but nervous at the thought.

  He nods, turning on one foot, heading to the stairs. “Don’t give me any ideas,” he throws over his shoulder. “Bodhi is a cuddle bear.”

  Softly laughing, I turn back to Eli.

  “Everything is shifting. Importance is changing,” Eli says, repeating my words back to me. I thought they’d breezed over that comment because it was too heavy, and I was okay with that. After all, my relationship with them was supposed to be all things light and fun.

  I nod.

  “What was important to you before you moved in here a few weeks ago?” Eli asks, cradling his face in his palm, elbow to the table.

  It’s funny, isn’t it? Such an easy question like ‘what was important to you’ and yet, I struggle with the answer. I clear my throat and drape a hand over my collarbone, feeling like I need to do something with my energy. Something so I don’t reach out and grab his face and pull him into me. This buzzing in my head is telling me to taste him but he’s dressed, fitted black dress shirt, fitted charcoal slacks. His blonde hair is combed into a perfect coif, face clean shaven. He’s going to work and fuck, I have work this afternoon too.

  Living here puts me in a perpetual state of need. Twenty-four-seven max horniness.

  “Well, work.” I find myself thinking aloud, the only way to distract myself from Eli and how much my body thrums for him. “Because I’ve been doing what I do since I was in high school. I’ve become a fairly popular colorist here in Oakcreek, sorry for the humblebrag but it’s true.”

  Eli listens with his body. Leaning forward, face still in palm, his shoulders tighten beneath his shirt as the table gives under his frame. His body is so close to mine. I’m still in my pajamas, with no bra on. He nods me to continue, and I think he’s actually interested in this.

  “But women take their hair very seriously. So even though I built up this clientele for years and did whatever crazy shit they wanted to do—go blonde after being brunette only to yo-yo back and decide they look better as a blonde, get a home-dye job fixed at the last minute, a root touch-up before a speed dating singles mixer—”

  “Those are real?” his eyebrows raise up into his hairline. I can’t help but laugh.

  “Speed dating mixers are very real.”

  “Have you?” he motions to me.

  I shake my head. “No, but a few clients do them regularly.”

  He laughs, taking his face from his palm for the first time in a few very intense minutes. He drapes a hand over his belly and my eyes go there, then without my permission they dip down over the crotch of his slacks and back up and Jesus Christ when I look at him again, he’s red.

  He doesn’t call me out. He doesn’t grin and make me melt into a pile of humiliation. Rather, he flushes and keeps on with the banter. I make a note to myself to revisit his reaction later.

  “Must not be very effective if they do them regularly,” he says, weaving his fingers together over his belly, leaning back in his chair.

  “I don’t know if it’s the speed dating mixers or the mindset,” I say, taking another sip of my coffee. My head awakens a bit as the caffeine courses through me, fighting the sedative effects of the antihistamine I took when I woke up.

  “Mindset?” I love how interested he is. Or at the very least, making me feel interesting. And truthfully, at this moment, it doesn’t matter which it is. I’m just enjoying our time together.

  “Well, you know, they expect to fall in love. And while I’m not a love guru, clearly, even I know that love doesn’t happen that way. You don’t fall in love in a two-minute date and expecting that? Well, you’re always going to be disappointed.”

  He makes a noise in his throat that doesn’t make it past his lips.

  “Anyway, work was important because it was everything. My reputation, my income, my life really.”

  “Work shouldn’t be life,” he says flatly.

  I nod because I know this. “I know, I know. I see that was wrong. Because all those women I fit in and accommodated—as soon as my headaches caused a few cancellations, they bailed. And I get it, you need your hair done. I get it but there wasn’t the loyalty and friendship that I thought was there.” I feel like I’m talking too long but I finish my thought. “When I lost my house and came here, I found happiness in a time where I felt like it didn’t exist. And now my priorities are chasing that happiness… without getting lost.”

  “Lost?” he raises one eyebrow.

  “It would be easy to exist here with you guys, take the minimum clients to pay my share of rent and groceries. It’s so easy here. You guys are,” I trail off, swallowing down the unexpected lump of emotion in my throat. It’s not from Brett. It’s not from being alone. It’s from feeling so good even though my headaches haven’t changed. “I never though I’d be happy while I still had the migraines. But I am.”

  Eli’s gaze is trained on mine. We sit there in silence while he studies me for a moment and then, before rising from the table, he reaches out a tucks a wild strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers grazing the bottom of my lobe as he does. I have the strongest urge to turn my head and trap his hand against my shoulder, keep him there with me for a moment longer.

  But he pulls away and stands. “We’re glad you’re here,” he says, grabbing his backpack off the counter. Eli carries his work laptop and various accessories in a backpack with Bodhi’s tattoo shop logo stitched on it. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says, before he wishes me a good day and leaves out the back door.

  I look down at Grandma who seems to be edging his way closer to me. He rolls over at my feet, exposing a belly of white hair, long and soft. I run my feet over him gently and his tongue falls out lazily, telling me he likes the attention.

  His expression matches mine as I stare back at the curve of the hallway, where Eli just was.

  “I’m glad I’m here, too,” I say back down to Grandma.

  As I’m changing into jeans and yet another peasant blouse—my phone rings.

  “Hey Brynn,” I respond quietly, slipping my feet into white Birkenstocks.

  “Why are you quiet? Are you at the library?” There’s hope in her tone because going to the library used to be part of my regular pre-appointment routine. The library here in Oakcreek is small and many people are deterred to use it because of the camp of homeless people that reside behind it. But I bring peanut butter sandwiches and cartons of water every other week, leaving them behind the building for the few unfortunate souls that sleep on benches back there.

  The librarian once told me “You know what happens when you feed stray cats” and then she gave me a nasty glare. She didn’t have the power to tell me to stop and her analogy of people down on their luck being like stray animals really irritated me.

  The library was my place to read all the old Harlequin romance novels, and check out some of the new, more contemporary romances, too. Outside of hair, I loved books. Getting lost in those worlds had become powerful to me and I tried to never let myself believe the voice in my head telling me real life could never be like that.

  “No,” I laugh softly, pinching the phone to my ear while I slide a brown leather belt through the top of my jeans. “Bastian and Bodhi are napping.”

  “Napping?!” she snaps back with a mouthful of something.

  “Bodhi has a big back piece he’s doing most of the afternoon and Bastian’s just preparing to cycle back to nights in a few days,” I say, “his sleeping is always messed up.”

  “That must be tough,” Brynn says.

  “I can’t imagine. I can barely get back on track with things after a migrai
ne.”

  “Yeah,” she says, “that’s gotta be hard. So hard.”

  I pause after my belt is buckled, letting my phone fall back into my hand off my shoulder.

  “Hey speaking of hard,” she says so casually that I have to stifle a laugh in an effort to be quiet. “How’s it going over there? You haven’t mentioned anything in the last week.”

  “It’s going to take time,” I say, running my palm over my knee, which throbs under my jeans. I sit on the edge of my bed and pull my jeans up, exposing a dark circle on my kneecap. I think of Bodhi’s piercing and how he groaned when I sucked it. “But I have an update.”

  “If I find out that this update actually happened days ago and you’ve been holding out on me…” she trails off and then I hear her excuse herself. She’s at the salon already.

  “Just last night,” I clarify quickly.

  “Ohhhh,” she says. “Which one?”

  “Your favorite,” I say with a smile. “But he had a man bun, not the braids.”

  “Ohhh,” she says again and an image of Bryan floats through my mind. Bryan, her fiancé, whom Brynn has seemingly completely forgotten in this moment.

  “Let’s get lunch today, my first client is at 11. I’ll get her color done and we’ll order in,” I promise Brynn, my veins flooding with excitement.

  I have something to share.

  And it’s not migraine related.

  And it’s a good something.

  A very good something.

  “You like the really frosty toner or a more muted blonde?” I point the back of my brush to my binder, which is opened to my client’s page. Two photos are there, one of her hair with an “Elsa” toner, resulting in frosty white-blonde hair, and the other with her using a “Barbie” toner, leaving her locks more golden. I keep photos for my clients so they see what they liked and when, without having to remember or guess. Getting your color done is expensive and I want them to be happy when they leave my chair.

  “I want to go Elsa this time,” she says, popping her gum while flipping the pages of a tired Us Weekly.