by Brill Harper
“No.” Fletch moves me out of the way so he can grab a bowl from the cabinet behind me. “Because you are a scientist.”
I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose. “You lost me, Fletcher.”
“Cooking is science. Don’t you ever watch the Food Network?”
“No. Do you?” Jeez. It’s pretty much ESPN at all times from what I’ve seen.
He begins pulling things out of the cupboards. I can’t believe the kitchen of these college dudes contains cookie-making ingredients.
“Can you get two eggs and a stick of butter out?”
There is no book visible, nor is he consulting his phone. “You know the recipe by heart?”
“I bake cookies all the time. It’s very relaxing.”
I set down the ingredients he asked for. “I don’t suppose you crochet too?”
He picks me up like I weigh less than the canister of flour and sets me on the counter next his workspace. “Pay attention. I’m going to wow you now.”
I pretend to be skeptical, but my pulse tells another story. I’m in a constant state of wow, actually. I can’t stop feeling his hands on me. His tongue in my mouth.
He puts the wet ingredients together and begins mixing them when he asks me the scientific formula for the baking soda.
“NaHCO3.” Duh. That’s like junior high chemistry.
He adds the other ingredients. Asking me “chemistry speak” for each one. Like, the sugar is sucrose, the flour is gluten, and the butter is fat. When he gets to the chocolate chips, he doesn’t give me a chance to answer—he just puts two in my mouth.
As the chocolate melts in my mouth, I can’t help but think about those kisses. The ones we are not talking about. But we talk about other things. Jenna comes up, and her name douses my libido for a bit. I can’t imagine she would be on board with me kissing her older brother and his best friend. Especially not together. At the same time.
Fletch jokes around some more as he places dollops of the dough onto the sheet and then pops it in the oven while I set the timer on my phone. He comes back and stands directly in front of me.
“Now, tell me what’s going on in there,” he says.
“In where?”
“The oven.”
Are all boys this weird? “Well, if all goes according to plan, it’s getting hot in there.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Chemistry speak it to me, sweetheart.”
I roll my eyes and start thinking about the dough ingredients. “When the dough heats up, the sodium bicarbonate will react, and things will change.”
“I bet you know a chemical equation for that.”
“A chemical reaction about the sodium bicarbonate and the cookies?” Seriously? All right. If he wants super nerd, he can have super nerd. “2NaHCO3 -> Na2CO3 + H2O + CO2.”
He smudges flour on my nose. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”
His easy smile charms me. His hands rest on the counter on either side of my hips, and he leans against my knees.
Since I’m feeling so full of confidence, I figure I should stretch my wings a bit. “I can tell you about the eggs if you like,” I venture.
“Okay.” His voice lowers to a baritone that reminds me of the scent of scotch and tobacco. “Tell me about the eggs.”
If I were a different kind of girl, I would hook my legs behind him and bring him closer to me so I could rub against him where I’m feeling empty. Instead, my flirting consists of tilting my head and looking up at him through my lashes while telling him that the eggs are a fat and protein that hold the structure of the batter, but also the egg whites are water soluble and support the carbon dioxide bubbles caused by the reaction of the sodium bicarbonate.
“That’s fascinating,” he says.
“No, it’s not.”
I try to look down, embarrassed, but Fletch raises my chin with his finger until I meet his eyes again.
“You’re fascinating,” he tells me.
Caught in the undertow of his gaze, the quiet moment stretches into what feels like infinity. Everything inside me just...untangles...
He brushes a wisp of my hair away from my eyes but doesn’t take his hand away. I lean my cheek into his palm. I want to memorize the moment, but I’ll never be able to recapture the sweetness that fills me from the inside out.
Fletch swallows hard and uses his other hand to wipe off the flour he’d put on my nose moments before. I wish I could read his mind.
He whispers my name. The sound settles over me like a spring breeze, and then the phone timer beeps loudly, breaking the spell and he pulls away.
After that, we stick to a no-touching policy. Shane comes home and follows his nose to the kitchen. “Cookies!” He hooks his arms around both our necks. “You guys are the best roommates ever. Group hug.”
The mood is light and jokey again. Shane asks me to proofread his assignment, so we sit around the table and work while we eat cookies.
“Oh, little bit, I almost forgot.” Shane pulls a lockbox out of his backpack and sets it in front of me on the table. Then he hands me two keys.
“What is this for?” I ask.
“I notice that you don’t let that notebook out of your sight, bringing it with you even to the bathroom, and I feel bad. You can lock it up in your room if you want, and you won’t have to worry that I’m messing with it.”
I run my hand over the box. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“I want to read that damn notebook more than almost anything...but I’d rather have you feel safe here at home. So, this way, we’re both safe.”
For all his trying to convince me otherwise, Shane is a really nice person. I’m touched that he thinks about my feelings so much. “Thank you. But you know what? I’m just going to trust you.”
“Bad idea,” Fletch says.
“Super bad,” Shane agrees. “I’m not the guy you should trust with your feelings. I’m shit at that kind of stuff. I’d never mean to hurt you, but I would.”
“I don’t think you will.” I don’t know why I feel so strongly about it. “I trust you, Shane. I don’t think you will invade my privacy now that you know how much it means to me. I trust that you care more about me than that.”
It may be that nobody has ever said something like that to him before. He doesn’t invite this kind of conversation for sure.
It feels like a big moment, but also one that we don’t want to draw to much attention to. So, Fletch makes a joke, they both belch, and I roll my eyes. Things feel solid.
I almost feel like a real girl.
Chapter Five
On Saturday, Shane knocks on my door.
I open it to find him fresh out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist. There are still flecks of water dripping from his hair, and I want to follow the wet trails with my tongue. So many nights I've fantasized about the way those muscles would feel, their heat, power, and hardness under my hands. A little jolt shoots through my chest when our eyes meet, and I realize he's watching me check him out. He holds my gaze for a moment and then winks. I can hide nothing from him. It’s like the guy is psychically tuned to my most embarrassing frequency.
“How goes your quest, little bit?”
“Huh?” Is he asking about my fantasies?
“Have you gotten any further than first base? Met any dudes? Added anything to your notebook?”
“Um.”
“Have you actually talked to a guy yet? One not living in this house?”
“Well, no.”
He gives an exaggerated sigh. “I didn’t think so. You need to come out with us tonight. We’re going to a party, and you can scope out your first victim.”
I leave the door open and cross back to my bed to sit down. I’ve been around long enough to know that Shane is just getting started. “No way. I am horrible at parties.”
He comes in and leans on my dresser. God, if the towel accidentally caught on the dresser knob, it would pull right off him, and then
I’d get a look at his...knob.
“Little bit, are you having impure thoughts about me?” He laughs. God, he’s got a great laugh. “You totally are. That’s awesome. And yes, you are coming to the party tonight.”
Every party I’ve ever been to has been monumentally awkward. Starting with Mindy Hansen’s first grade birthday at McDonald’s. “You don’t want me there. I will ruin the vibe. Trust me.”
“You are coming. Guys are basically stupid. They need to see you getting flirted with to open their eyes. Then they will make their own play. Trust, little sister. We got you covered.”
“This sounds suspiciously like going to prom with a cousin from two towns over. Or a cheesy teen movie plot. Let me guess. You and Fletch are going to pretend that I’m totally hot, and then all your little friends will fall all over themselves trying to get into my pants, and all the girls will be jealous and start talking to me to get my secrets.”
“Basically.”
“Not going to happen.” I scooch up the bed and sit with my legs crisscrossed. “Besides, in all the movies, the girls actually pull some kind of mean stunt, and I’d be embarrassed by them in public somehow.”
“In all the movies, you still get the guy in the end.” He crosses over to my closet and flings the door open.
“What are you doing?”
“Picking out your clothes for tonight.”
“Uh. No.”
“Uh. Yeah.”
“I have nothing in there that will work at a party.”
“I can see that. We can fix this, though. You have any scissors?”
I’m sure my eyes are huge. “You can’t be seriously considering cutting my clothes.”
“We have some in the kitchen junk drawer.” He pulls out a shirt with our school letters on it. “Do you know about makeup? I don’t know anything about makeup. Maybe Fletch does. He had a serious girlfriend for about a year. He probably watched her get ready for shit.”
I jump up and yank the shirt out of his hands. “I can’t just change who I am, Shane.”
He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. Which isn’t fair because that is the way I’m looking at him. He’s the crazy one. Not me. “Wearing makeup changes who you are?”
“Well...” I remember all the times I watched Jenna getting ready for things. Sometimes she took an hour on her eyes alone. But she’s still a great person. “No, not really.”
I repeat: Not fair.
“It will be just like hanging out with us at home only more beer and stupid people to watch.”
“You make it sound so enticing.”
“Look, Velma. Nobody is asking you to change. I don’t want you to be different. I want you to be more comfortable being you.”
I take the shirt and hanger out of his hand and put it back into my closet. “Well, that’s a super nice sentiment, but going to a party does not make me comfortable. It makes me the opposite of comfortable. And sometimes I have a way of making everyone else around me uncomfortable also. It’s not a good time.”
“I think the scientist in you realizes that the best way to observe the natural behavior of your subjects is to be where they are acting natural. So, look at this like an experiment. You go, dress in the proper camouflage, watch the subjects, and then see what happens when you introduce a new element of two horndogs trying to get into your pants.”
“I’m not going to the party.”
“You’re totally going to the party. Do you have any red underwear?”
Oh, my God. I am not going to this party.
Chapter Six
Walking to the party, I can already hear the music and laughter from the end of the street. I have no idea what to expect, and I’m terrified. Fletch puts his arm around me and pulls me to his side. “It’s not a big deal, I promise.”
Sure. Right. Not a big deal. Just my first college party. My first party ever without Jenna. We climb the steps of the house. I don’t even know whose house it is. I won’t know anyone there except my roommates, and I’m guessing they’re going to know everyone. And probably will disappear with whatever girls they pick for the night, leaving me alone with all these people who probably won’t like me.
The second we walk in the door, I’m blown away by the loud music and house full of people. There must be fifty college kids in the living room alone, all talking, dancing, and drinking. There are several beer kegs set up, and I’m handed a huge plastic cup of beer. Fletch immediately takes it away from me.
“Hey!”
Shane grabs the hand I’m trying to reach with to get my beer back. “You don’t drink anything not given to you by me or Fletch tonight, Velma. Promise?”
“I’ll go get us beers,” Fletch says. “Watch her.”
“Like a hawk, dude.”
I swing around. “Are you chaperoning me?” This is ridiculous.
“Want you to have fun, little bit, but you’re not used to partying, and you might not be as careful as you should be. You can drink as much as you want, but we’ve got your back.”
I’m not sure if I should be flattered or miffed. I guess flattered. But really, why are they hanging out in places where it isn’t safe for girls to drink from cups?
“How long do I have to stay?”
Shane rolls his eyes. “Let’s dance.”
I dig my feet in. “No. I never said I would dance. I won’t dance. No. Never.”
He shrugs and then the world tilts and I’m hanging over his shoulder like he’s a fireman and I’m being rescued. The shirt he cut the bottom from is riding up my torso, and the shorts he made out of my jeans are feeling a little invasive too. I felt dumb wearing them, but he said all the girls are wearing Daisy Dukes and Ugg boots like mine, and he wasn’t wrong.
He pats my ass while I kick and tell him to put me down. Which he finally does. In the middle of people dancing. I guess that wasn’t the most interesting thing happening because no one is even looking at me.
“I can’t believe you did—”
He turns me in his arms and pulls my back to him roughly. “Dance, little sister.”
I grit my teeth. “I don’t know how.”
“Then just relax.”
“I don’t know how to do that either.”
He laughs low, his mouth so close to my ear. “Close your eyes. I got you.”
I don’t have much choice, his arm is banded around me too tightly for me to bolt. So I close my eyes. The music is loud, bass seeping through the walls and the floor, enveloping us in its fullness. He sways my body to the low thumping beat, snaking my hips the way he wants them to go and grinding on me from behind. I’m starting to see that no complicated footwork is involved, and I can pretty much just let him move me. I feel the throb of the music in the center of my body, and the vibrations are pushing out the thoughts that usually crowd my brain. I like this feeling. This lack of thought. Shane’s fingers grasp me harder, melding us together as we gyrate to the beat. I like this too. I lose myself to the rhythm.
“That’s it. Just like that,” he says, splaying his big hand on my hip so that his thumb is under the hem of my shirt. Just his thumb. It shouldn’t make me feel so wanton. But just that thumb pressing into my bare skin is like direct pressure on my clit. How does he do that?
His chin is resting on my shoulder, and we’re barely moving, but he’s growing hard behind me, and I’m getting wet. I open my eyes, half expecting to see everyone staring at us in horror. But nobody is even paying attention. That’s when I see Fletch weaving across the dance floor. He hands us each a bottle and leans down to talk in my ear so I can hear him above the music. Or below, as the case may be, because his voice is super low. Like subterranean low.
“Don’t worry. I opened it myself.”
I nod. It’s sweet how they are looking out for me. What’s not sweet is how I’m instantly thrown back into our kitchen make-out session. With Shane’s hands on me from behind and Fletch right in front of me, all my senses are remembering the way it felt to taste and be
tasted. To be the middle of a roommate sandwich. I’m parched and try to drain my beer to find some relief.
“Hey, hey.” Fletch tips my bottle back down. “Take it easy.”
While I don’t go to parties, I do have some experience with beer. But I let him think he’s keeping me from danger since it seems to make him feel good. I’m not drunk, but the effects of the alcohol shore up my resolve a little bit. I grind a little into Shane while Fletch watches, his eyes never leaving mine. Shane’s hand tightens on my body. I like the flare of heat in Fletch’s eyes. It’s not jealousy. It’s awareness.
Up to now, I’ve sort of just been whirled into whatever caper these boys have decided would be titillating. And it’s worked. Mostly. But every encounter seems to crack the door open a little more, and I’m ready to see what’s on the other side of it. But I will never find the answers I seek if I never take an active role.
“Hey guys...you should introduce me to some boys now. You know everyone here...which guy should I try to get to know better...first?” I watch carefully as a play of emotions crosses Fletch’s face. Interestingly, I see a bit of jealousy. A bit of possessiveness. And then resignation. He and Shane share another one of their wordless conversations that I’m sure are like the ones Jenna and I have. But I hate not knowing what they are thinking. It’s a secret boy world, and I’m tired of being locked out.
Fletch takes my hand and untangles me from Shane, and we head over to the beer pong table. They are both very...present in my atmosphere. One boy makes eye contact with me, but before I can so much as smile, I’m being crowded by my muscular escorts. They are rippling with some kind of alpha power tonight. I thought the objective for them bringing me here tonight was for me to be seen by other guys who might take my research to the next level, but instead, they seem to be sending other guys very distinct “back off” signals and I’m confused. Is it because I’m the little sister or is it ...no, it must be them thinking they need to take care of me. Be my chaperones.
A guy wearing a football jersey bumps Fletch on the shoulder. “Hey, man.”
Shane and Fletch both give him their version of ‘sup, and then he looks down at me.