by Jade Alters
“So how about that tour?” Brett says. He looks up at me, and I get distracted by his glimmering eyes in the low light of the dining room. Brett is the accountant, and I would think that would make him really straight-laced and maybe boring, but he seems like the soulful one. He has sad eyes and a little stubble along his sharp jaw. His hair is messy like he absent-mindedly plays with it while he’s stressing over the books. I wonder what makes Brett tick?
“Sure,” I say, smiling gratefully. “That would be nice.”
The guys are all throwing each other knowing looks, and I can’t quite read them. Are they looking at each other like I’m being silly, or do they know something about Brett that I don’t? Does one of them like me? Is it because of this weird connection thing? I’m too shy to ask. I don’t want to make things weird and be a bad house guest.
Brett takes my hand and leads me out of the dining room. The house is so strangely designed. It’s massive and has a lot of narrow hallways and rooms and nooks that seem to come out of nowhere. Brett shows me his office, which seems comically tiny but he calls it “cozy.” He says there’s another bigger room that would make more sense as an office, but he likes the room. He likes being a little confined, he tells me, working with numbers in his old chair, and then tromping down the narrow flight of stairs to hang out in the shop from time to time.
Brett shows me the living room where they hang out when they’re kicking back and their impressive collection of Blu-Rays. There’s a big leather club chair by a window that Brett says is Nathan’s chair by default. I flash on an image of sitting in Nathan’s lap in that chair, lazily making out on a rainy day, and it seems so desirable and familiar that I almost feel faint.
“This is my room,” Brett says, softly. He opens a door and seems about to close it just as quickly, but I step inside before he can, feeling unaccountably curious.
Brett’s room is not at all what I’d imagine for an accountant. He has all kinds of watercolors and art prints framed on his wall. The house, being so small, has pretty cramped bedrooms. But it’s like he said, it’s pretty cozy. His bed is nice and high off the floor and covered with a thick comforter. I plop down and look around and pop up again to get a look at his overflowing bookshelf. Brett seems to have a taste for the classics. He’s got a lot of books that I either read in high school or college or always intended to read. He also seems to like Fitzgerald a lot, and he’s got tons of poetry.
“Keats,” I say, nodding in appreciation at the several books about the poet John Keats that he’s got lining the shelves. “You’re a romantic, I see.” I take a book out and sit on the foot of the bed again, and Brett sits beside me.
“I am definitely a romantic,” Brett says. “For art or for love. Either really.”
“You have sad eyes,” I tell him. I feel myself blush. It’s probably a weird thing to say to someone when you’re just getting to know them.
But, to my relief, Brett laughs. “That’s what Grant says. But it’s really just the way my eyes are. I don’t know, maybe...I’m not sad. I think...Well, sometimes I’m like the outsider of the group? But I think that’s in my head. I’m really very close to the guys.”
“So why are you the outsider?” I ask him, finding myself very curious. It’s sprinkling outside again. The rain is tapping on the windows, and it’s softening the light. Brett looks at me with those eyes of his, and he’s so beautiful for a moment, I feel dizzy. He has quite refined features. He looks like a romantic. He pushes his hair back, and I watch the moment. He has long fingers and elegant hands...but he’s also a bear. He’s probably really powerful. I’m sure they all are.
“Just because I came in last,” he says, licking his lips. “Nathan is the alpha, and he found Jesse and Grant, who were already friends. They haven’t done anything to make me feel unwelcome, and I love them more than anything. Just my own hang-up, I guess.”
“You feel alone sometimes,” I say, feeling the solid satisfaction of an epiphany. “Even when you’re not alone.”
“Yeah…” Brett nods at that. “Yeah, I guess sometimes, yeah. Maybe that’s just being human.”
“I feel alone all the time,” I murmur. I choke up a little thinking about it. It’s not something I like to admit. I want to be autonomous and independent. But the truth is, I’ve wanted somebody for so long. Not just anyone, but I’d been getting dangerously close to settling for the wrong thing. I know that’s what Ted was about. I was about to settle for not just second best but about one hundredth best. I would have settled for someone I really didn’t care about just because I didn’t want to be alone anymore. It’s a dark place to go to. And worse, my mom exploits my insecurity for stupid reasons.
You don’t want to be alone forever. Do you, dear?
“I don’t want you to feel alone,” Brett says. His voice is quiet but fierce. I look up at him and realize how close we are, how full his mouth is. I feel as if he understands me in a way people rarely do because I don’t often let them. I tend to hold myself back, even from friends. I’d hate to say it’s because my mother has been insisting I’m a “freak” since I was a little girl, but that’s exactly why.
We’re just staring at each other now, and yet, it’s not awkward. It feels nice to just look at somebody who you think is beautiful and not feel strange doing it. The rain is pattering on the window, and I feel that buzz of connection. I want him to kiss me so badly, it’s a physical ache. Brett reaches over to tuck a few strands of hair behind my ear, and I breathe in just as he leans and—
There’s a loud creaking noise, and a door shuts somewhere. Startled, we break apart, and I’m so frustrated, so suddenly, that it takes my breath away.
“Am I a freak?” I say softly. I really don’t mean to say it aloud. I’ve had my mother’s voice in my head for so long, it’s become second nature. But being around four people who have something so different about them that they have to hide from the rest of the world makes that voice stand out rather than stay at the back of my head. I don’t have to hide around them, which is nice. But it also suddenly makes me so much more aware of how my mom has made me feel like there’s something so terribly wrong with me.
“Of course not!” Brett looks almost panicked that I’d even say such a thing.
“Sorry,” I mutter. I sit back on the bed and crouch a little, embarrassed. Suddenly, I feel like a teenager. I think a part of me has always been an angsty teen who feels like the freak her mother insists she is. “Just something my mom calls me. She tells me I have to work really hard to find a man and stop practicing magic because why would anyone want a witch?” I smile weakly. It hurts to lay myself open like this, but I think it’s something I’ve been sitting on for a long time.
“You’re not a freak,” Brett says, looking pained by the thought of it. He strokes my cheek and I sigh, leaning into it. “You’re lovable and sweet and… You are—” He stops himself, and I watch his mouth twitch as he tries to figure out how much he wants to say. “If you’re a freak, then so are we. But I like what I am. I want you to like what you are too. You should embrace it, you should—You should follow your heart. Don’t listen to what your mother says.”
“Follow my heart?” I murmur. He’s sitting so close, and he smells so good, like some really good cologne that’s just barely there. I bet his neck feels so good when you kiss it... “My heart wants to kiss you,” I whisper.
“Then...follow your heart,” Brett says. He’s speaking so softly, I barely hear him. I start to move forward, but he kisses me first. At the feel of his lips on mine, I freeze, not because I don’t want it but because I feel like the ground is moving under us. I feel as if something is coming together in a way I was not expecting as Brett’s mouth slides alongside mine. He kisses slow, careful, and sweet. He tastes a little like wine. My eyes are closed, and it’s as if everything is turning slowly, not a heady spin, but something pleasant and all-encompassing. His palms come up to my cheeks, and I lean in, resting my hands at his hips as we kiss, lazi
ly and contentedly. We both seem to open our mouths a little at the same time and our tongues meet. I sigh and grip his hips a little tighter, and he deepens the kiss, stroking my cheek and making me feel like I’m floating somewhere above the floor.
When he finally pulls away, we just look at each other, perhaps both wondering what this should mean. I don’t quite know what I want it to mean. It might have been just a kiss (although it felt like so much more). If it was just a fleeting thing, an impulsive meeting of two souls, I don’t want to push for more and create unnecessary drama. Not with me staying here. But if Brett is interested, I certainly wouldn’t refuse him. He seems to read the conflict on my face and smiles, kissing my cheek.
“Let me show you your guest room,” he says. He takes my hand and leads me to a room at the end of the hall decorated in pretty creams and blues. The guest rooms all have the vibe of a really well-decorated bed-and-breakfast. A nice one, and not one of those creepy ones where everything is too heavily scented in florals and overly gaudy. This room is pleasant. There are seashells on the mantel and watercolors of New England beach scenes on the cream-colored walls.
“Brett,” I begin to say, turning to him as he hovers by the door. Except I can’t think of what I want to say exactly.
Brett purses his lips and smiles softly. “Don’t worry about anything, Dora. Whatever’s supposed to happen, it’ll happen. We’ll be okay.”
Somehow, his words calm me, and I just nod and plop down on the bed. After Brett leaves, I lie on my back, kicking my shoes off onto the floor. I take off my scarf and wrap it around the bedpost. I reach back and hold the bars of the white iron frame in my hands. The cool metal makes me feel a little more grounded. Before we came back to the house, we stopped by my apartment so I could grab a few things, and my bag is already sitting on a side table by the window.
I like this room. I feel oddly at home here.
Normally, I’d be going to bed soon, except that I have no job to go to in the morning. It’s the strangest feeling, suddenly having nothing to do the next day. It makes me feel a little useless and without direction. Although money-wise, I should be okay for a while with my emergency fund and my severance.
The real bitch is going to be breaking the news to my mom. But I don’t feel any pressing need to talk to her soon if I don’t have to. Blech.
I pad out of the room, curious what the other guys are getting up to, and then I hear a bell ringing from downstairs. I trot over to a window in the laundry room and look out to the veranda that’s out back. There’s a customer at the back door for the magic shop, and I hear footsteps on the back staircase as somebody runs down to greet them.
It’s a quirky kind of life, and I like the idea of it. Four friends, all living in a house, running the same business, and a secret magical business on the side.
In the living room, I find Grant and Jesse playing chess at a table, and they grin when they see me come in and clear off a stack of books from a chair nearby.
“Brett give you the tour?” Jesse says, frowning at the board.
“Yeah...” I nod thoughtfully. “He’s interesting.”
Grant and Jesse give each other one of those knowing looks again, and I roll my eyes but I can’t help but be curious about the dynamic these guys have. It’s like they’re almost encouraging each other to hook up with me, but there’s no jealousy. Well, if it’s a just sex thing, I should probably be offended or something. But to be honest, I’m more than into it.
“How do you like the house?” Jesse says. “We did a lot of work on it. Should have seen it when we moved in. It was a mess. I mean, it wasn’t too bad. It was already a landmark. We inherited it from this family who’d had it for a century. But it hadn’t been lived in for a long time. They were running a different shop out of the first floor, and nobody lived upstairs.”
“I love the house,” I say, shaking my head. “The views are beautiful, especially when it’s raining. And it feels so cozy. Makes you feel like home as soon as you walk in.”
They both smile at each other at that. “Yeah, that’s what it feels like for us,” Grant says. He moves his bishop then and smirks at Jesse. “Checkmate.”
“Goddammit.” Jesse shakes his head and sits back in his chair. He leans on his hand, sleepily regarding me. He’s the one with the bright blue eyes. He also has eyelashes so thick they almost look little paintbrushes, and his eyelids are heavy. He could probably be a model with his perfect face and close-cropped blonde hair. A lock of it falls over his eyes now as he regards me. “Do you play chess, Dora?”
“No, no,” I say, laughing. “I mean I know how, but I suck at it. I’m better with card games. Or Scrabble. I’m good at Scrabble.”
“I love Scrabble,” Grant says, his eyes lighting up. Then, he whispers conspiratorially, “Brett thinks he’s the better player, but he’s not. I kick his ass at Scrabble, and he pretends he’s still a better player because he thinks of weird words. But he has no strategy. We gotta play sometime.”
“I’m down,” I say, shrugging. “I’ll kick both of your asses.”
“Oooh!” Jesse hoots, laughing and clutching his chest. “Sounds like a challenge.”
Jesse ends up finding a deck of cards and we play Hearts and Old Maid until the boys are yawning. I know I’m pushing them past their usual bedtime, and they’re just being sweet, staying up with me. I have to be the first one to say goodnight, so I finally tell them I’m going to bed, and they put up a big fuss about how it’s too early.
“I guess you need your rest though,” Jesse says even as he’s covering his mouth to yawn.
“Yeah, sure, I need my rest,” I say dryly. I get up from my chair and stretch. It’s already one in the morning. I didn’t realize how late I’d stayed up with them. We just played and chatted and had a lovely time. Nathan and Brett had wandered in and out, joining the conversation and watching us play before going to do some chores.
I change into my pajamas and brush my teeth in the adjoining guest bathroom. Somebody took the time to put in little soaps that look like seashells, and it makes me chuckle. I wonder which of them would do that? My money is on Grant.
I crawl into the bed under the fresh smelling sheets and the fluffy, goose down comforter. The room is quiet but still not too quiet. Coleridge is hardly Manhattan, but there’s still just enough noise from the main drag outside so that the quiet isn’t eerie. The house doesn’t feel eerie anyway. It feels familiar. I remember having that impression the first time I walked into the shop when I was looking for the magic store. The place felt familiar, and so did the guys. It’s as if I knew them in some other life.
Under the covers, I smile to myself thinking of the kiss I shared with Brett. That guy really knows what to do with his tongue. Yet, his kisses were so unique to him. His personality really informs the way he kisses. He kisses soulfully, tentatively. It makes me wonder how the others would kiss. Nathan would be dominant. I’ll bet once Nathan knows you’re down for it, he manhandles you. The thought is getting me riled up again, and I find my hand sneaking down into the little shorts I’m sleeping in.
I close my eyes and bite my lip, imagining all four of them taking me to bed. Nathan would sweep me up into his arms and toss me onto his bed before climbing on top of me. He’d be careful, but his passion would threaten to overtake him. It would take all his will power to hold himself back as he tore my clothes off, kissing his way down my body. The others would crowd the bed to put their hands on me and kiss me. The images swim in my mind in no particular order. They’re all the things I’ve been imagining that make me hot while I’m trying to have a regular conversation and not give myself away. I imagine riding Nathan. His cock would be so big and thick, I’d have to sit on him slowly, bracing my hands on his broad, muscular chest, raking my hands through his chest hair. Grant would sit behind me, kissing my shoulders, and massaging my breasts. Brett would sit to my right and kiss me while I stroked his cock, and Jesse would be on the other side. I’d switch back and fo
rth. They’d be aching with desire for me.
“Aah!” I cry out, now furiously fingering myself as I imagine Nathan pushing himself into me. All of us are naked and sweaty and giving each other pleasure. I clamp my mouth shut then, my cheeks heating up. Somebody must have heard that. I’m pretty sure somebody’s room is on one side of me. I just can’t remember whose.
Oh God. What if they all heard me getting myself off? They would definitely assume I was thinking about them. Maybe they would think it was hot. But the thought is still mortifying.
I can only laugh at myself as I force myself to get out of bed and go to the bathroom to wash my hands. Somehow though, this hasn’t sated me at all. I’m still all riled up, and I’m already feeling the pulse of desire down in my core. I lean back against the wall in the bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror. My burgundy hair is a mess, falling in restless waves around my bare shoulders and covering the thin straps of my camisole. I imagine Jesse coming to find me. Maybe he’d hear a noise and think something was wrong. Maybe he’d be wearing a black tank top (like the one I saw hanging over a hamper in the laundry room). It would be showing off his impressive biceps, and it would be tight across his pecs. We’d feel that intimacy you feel with someone in the middle of the night, both of us whispering so as not to wake the others. He’d be trying not to stare at my nipples poking through my dinky little camisole, hardened in the cool night air. He’d ask me if I was okay and play with my hair. Then both of us would move simultaneously, kissing passionately right there in the bathroom. He’d lift me up, bracing me against the wall. I’d wrap my legs around him and throw my arms around his neck, and we’d kiss like the world was ending, our breath hot, our bodies pressed together…
“God! Ah!”
Yep, I did that again. My hand is shoved down in my panties as I finger my clit, my other hand massaging my breast.
This is a really bad habit to have in somebody’s else’s house.
“You animal,” I mutter to myself.