Twin Savage

by Sunniva Dee

  James pushes the pan of meatballs toward me, jutting his chin for me to serve up. “Stop worrying, beautiful. We’re not a bunch of animals. Personally, I like my girls open and receptive and… wanton.” He makes his brows dance.

  Lenny lets out a snort.

  “Jesus, the stuff coming out of your mouth,” I mutter, feeling a smile grow on my face.

  “You were alone,” Luka cuts in, ruining my budding mood lift. “You needed someone. That’s why we do what we do. But biologically, no woman actually needs more than one man, so that’s what you get, one guy comforting you at a time.”

  “‘We,’” I mock. “Like you’ve ever consoled me.”

  Silence. The others look away. Yellow ice sparkles into me, but I don’t avert my stare. Finally, he opens his mouth, tight lines settling as he says, “Right.”

  “I wish he didn’t do that,” I tell Lenny as I relax, cheek on his chest, drawing small circles around his nipple. “Luka thinks he’s the king of the Queen, in charge of everything that goes on here.”

  “He kind of is.” Lenny’s voice is lazy. By now, I know he slides into a euphoric coma after he ejaculates. It’s adorable and a tad hot.

  “No, he isn’t. Only about the rent and the utilities.”

  “And about you.”

  I lift my head and squint at him. “Luka is not in charge of me.”

  Lenny narrows his eyes too, an easy feat. I ignore how beautiful he is beneath me. “No, but he’s who came up with our solution.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  He studies me, eyes widening more than usual after against-the-wall sex. “Hmm, you look like you’re working yourself up.”

  “What does it matter? Just give me the lowdown.”

  “Well, if you’re gonna go witch-nutty on me, I don’t know if I should.”

  I lower my voice. “Witch-nutty? What does that even mean?”

  “You know. All...” He lifts his hands in the air and waves them lazily while half-rolling his eyes. Not impressive.

  “What solution, Lenny, or your sex life has to fend for itself from now on.”

  “As if it doesn’t six days out of the week.”

  “What did Luka come up with?”

  “We had a house meeting.”

  “Without me?”

  “It was about you, so yeah. We saw how you were struggling to keep it together, and Luka came up with what we’re doing now.”

  “As in invading my bedroom every night? Taking turns with me?”

  “I guess?” He looks at me as if he just realizes how bad it sounds.

  “That’s some crazy shit. Only a pervert like Luka could’ve come up with it.”

  Lenny’s brows tick in a furrow. “Well, I figured it was too obvious to work on you, but Luka insisted, we gave it a try, and hey, you went along with it. You seem better too.”

  My stomach churns. “Who does he think he is? He has no right to set up some get-’er-done plan for me. I’m in charge of my own life, my own future, and…” I sigh. “Luka’s a pig.”

  I mean it. Even though I’m disgruntled, I twist my arms around Lenny’s middle needing his nearness. I’m not exactly backing myself up, here, but Lenny doesn’t hold it against me. Instead he wraps me closer and nuzzles against my hair. Murmurs, “Shh, you’re okay, babe.”

  “What about the days? Did he assign them too?”

  Lenny nods, rocking us with his chin. “Yeah, which made sense.”

  “Why, because you didn’t want to deal with me more than once a week?”

  He chuckles. “It was more so that we’d all have our turns consoling you.”

  “Sleeping with me, you mean,” I say, feeling slutty and berating myself for it in the same thought.

  “I’m not gonna lie and say it’s not a pleasure to comfort you.”

  I arch an eyebrow. “So I shouldn’t feel bad for you guys?”

  “You should.”

  I let out a huh?

  “Did you see Marlon earlier?”

  I bite my lip. “Yes?”

  “That’s how most of us feel the rest of the week. Tuesdays are the shit.”

  “Even when I go all witch-nutty on you?”

  His grin gleams white. “Have you heard me complain? Sparks are the shit too.”

  I stare at my would-be team. How is this possible? I definitely saw sturdier girls in the classrooms than these four miniscule, skinny blondes, all blue-eyed with alabaster-white skin. Of course, I get quadruplets of the kill-me-jungle type. They would break out with all sorts of insect bites before we even got off the ferry in the Amazon. Are they suicidal?

  “This is such an amazing project,” Blonde One gushes. “I’d be so honored to be a part of it. How is the humidity in the jungle?” She touches her hair with careful pats. “What’s their voltage? My straightening iron does most types, but it’s good to be sure. I’ll, ya know, get a universal adaptor.”

  “Just bring a lot of hairspray,” Blonde Two says. I turn to smile at her joke, but she’s serious. Blonde One lights up.

  “Good idea!”

  Blonde Three isn’t so sure. She wonders how far apart the creeks are, and if we can bathe daily, because that’s what she’s used to (no shit). She doesn’t recommend most hairsprays if we’re not to wash our hair daily, because it will make it lifeless and potentially lackluster.

  Blonde Four keeps a stone-face during their exchange, and I’m starting to believe that twenty-five percent of my group has brain cells aimed at explorations beyond their own hygiene.

  I’ll invite her to meet up later, I have time to think before she asks, “There are no snakes there, right? I don’t do snakes.”

  As I leave the library, I teeter between the urge to cry and laugh. If Julian were with me, his eyes would glitter, the center of his irises more yellow than usual. I’d complain. He’d wiggle my shoulder playfully. “Come on. You see it, right? This is hilarious.”

  Just, it’s different now. Julian isn’t here.

  Connor pushes himself up against the headboard and crosses hairy arms over his chest. “Obviously, you can’t go with a team like that. And the interpreter situation you’re talking about? That’s just—yeah.” He shakes his head. “Last thing we need is our babe in trouble.”

  I don’t know why I told him. Between Joy and Diego, I have enough shrinks to fend off. I’ve blurted stuff three nights in a row now, while really, the guys need to just be my lovers.

  “Stop it. I’m an adult, and I know what I’m doing.”

  “Being an adult doesn’t make you any safer in the jungle I’ve heard. Didn’t you just say those girls would get sick out there?”

  I kiss him, and he kisses me back. “Trust me, okay? It’s really sweet that you worry about me, but I’ll find a solution.”

  “In five weeks?”

  If I can pull off the Mikhailov Oracle funding, yes. My chest flutters thinking about the message from Dr. Bergstein last night. The Markata grant is awarded on the condition that I can introduce at least one companion. The department funds run out in mid-November, which means I have to leave as soon as the semester is over if I’m to be eligible.

  “Yeah, wanna go? Since I’m supposed to bring dudes with me, I’ve decided to bring the Fratters. You can study in the jungle, Poet Boy, while you defend my life.” I twist into an ironic smile.

  Joy and I are at Surfrider Beach. She decided I need icy cold waves, a tan, and sand between my toes. So here we are. The back of her hand covers her eyes as she squirms on her towel.

  “You’re so funny,” I say. “You never enjoy it down here. Whenever I want to come, you find excuses, and now all of a sudden, you drag me out of the house.”

  “Exactly. If it takes the beach to get you out of your room, so be it.”

  “I’m not just in my room. I’
m at school, and I have lunch with you...”

  “Yes, and that’s it. Library and your department, period. No actual out-time. No time away from the guys. I see what’s happening, you know.”

  I feel a worry-wrinkle forming. “What do you mean?”

  “Come on, Geneva. It’s clear as day. The guys are fawning over you. Whenever I’m over there, everyone’s hovering, bringing you stuff, and being so damn nice I wouldn’t blame you if you felt smothered.”

  “They’ll calm down.”

  “Are you sleeping with them?”

  Shocked, so-shocked silence.

  “With who?”

  She lets out a giggle. “I’d say Luka, going with the obvious, but you’ve been a bit up front about your so-called hate for him. So, hmm, how about—all of them? They all look at you in quite the special way.”

  Okay. Whoa.

  “No! I don’t sleep with all of them.”

  “But most of them, then?”

  “Shut up, no, I—”

  “Math, Geneva. You’re not the best in math. How many Fratters are there?”

  “Seven.”

  “And you’re not sleeping with Luka.”

  “Right.”

  “So six?”

  “Does it matter?” I sit upright and pierce her through my sunglasses. She doesn’t move. I barely see her eyes beneath the shade of her hand.

  “You tell me. The way you’re reacting makes me think you do have a harem of Fratters and you’re beating yourself up over it. Would you feel better if you slept with just one of them? And would you be able to choose?”

  No. And no!

  Air goes out of my lungs so fast I groan.

  “I shouldn’t be doing this, Joy. I’m having weekly flings with every single Fratter except Luka. I can’t sleep alone. It’s like— Ah. Because they’re not strangers to me and they’re all amazing in different ways, I need them... close. Really close. I crave them. It’s crazy.”

  She’s quiet for a moment. “How did it start?”

  “Luka started it.”

  She hoists up on her arms and looks at me. “I thought you said Luka wasn’t one of them.”

  “No, he isn’t. I’d never...” Scrunching my eyes shut, I pick sand off my forehead. “But he masterminded it. I’m pretty sure he decided to chip in too, but I’m not letting him. Every Sunday, he comes into my room and sits next to me until I fall asleep.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. And he tortures me by talking about Julian.”

  “Which might not be bad. Talking is good for you.”

  “Overrated when you want peace,” I say, and my friend is too wise to object.

  “Today is Sunday.”

  It’s a reminder I don’t want.

  She shields her eyes against the sun again. “So he’ll visit you tonight?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You can lock the door. You know that, right?”

  “Duh. I just...”

  I must look pitiful, because Joy reaches for me and rubs from my shoulder down my arm. “This is temporary, Geneva. You’ll feel better.”

  And later, as she drops me off at the Queen, I realize she never once reproached me.

  Luka meets me at the door. His arms are folded like Connor’s were in bed last night. There’s that light drizzle of blond on them that I don’t want to gawk at. I don’t want to gawk at anything Luka, so I don’t meet his eyes either. He’s too much Julian, too little Julian. He’s also way too much Luka.

  “Did you have a good time at the beach?” he asks, voice gravelly. We both know “a good time” is a relative term. My resentment wants to shoot out in the form of snide remarks, but it’s become increasingly painful to be a bitch.

  “It was okay. The water was cold,” I say, and I hear several Fratters breathe out before they go on with their business, some setting the table, others turning on the TV or chatting in the kitchen. I don’t smell food, though.

  “We’re having chicken salad today. You want to shower before we eat? I’ll pop the baguettes in the oven last minute so they’re hot. We didn’t think you’d be home this early.”

  I have seven house husbands. Jesus.

  “Sure, that sounds amazing. Tomorrow, maybe I’ll make dinner,” I suggest, but James says, “Nuh-uh. I’m making baby-back ribs the real way tomorrow. You can take Lenny’s day.”

  “What? No, I have plans. I already know what I’m making. You’re going to be blown away,” Lenny tells me, brows waggling. “Pick someone else’s day.”

  I bite my lip, smiling. “You guys are so nice.”

  “You’ve made dinners for us before,” Marlon says.

  “Actually, that was Julian. I was just his stirrer.” My smile grows at the thought, a memory that doesn’t make me sad.

  “She was good at it,” Luka jokes to Marlon, who grins.

  “Yep, tasted perfectly stirred every time. Not an unstirred ounce of food in the Queen whenever Julian and Geneva cooked dinner.”

  “True story.”

  I shower. I enjoy the chicken salad with a more relaxed group of Fratters than in a long time. It makes me feel good. I’m contributing to lightness at the Queen for once. My guard lowers, and I even share the couch with Luka.

  Marlon chooses the movie: we’re watching horror that’s so farfetched I can’t possibly get upset over it. Something about aliens who feed on everyone’s brain cells by sucking them out through their mouths. It’s crazy disgusting. Once, Luka bends over, acting like he’s about to puke into my lap, and my reaction is instinctive.

  “No! Yuck, you jerk!” And then I giggle and squirm to get his head out of my lap, pulling at his hair—and it’s so long and soft between my fingers I don’t let go as quickly as I should.

  His smile crooks upward on the side as he sits up again, gaze less steely than it has been lately. I feel my own features smoothen in response.

  Luka is quiet when we walk upstairs together. His hand rests at the small of my back in a way I haven’t allowed from him before. He sees me into my room. Trots to his own. When he returns, he’s showered, hair in wet waves down to his collarbone. A clean white V-neck stretches over his chest and meets his black pajamas pants.

  “You don’t have to do this, Luka. I’ll be fine. I’ll read until I fall asleep.”

  “Naw, I don’t mind being here.”

  I feel my smile return. “Bring something in here, then. A blanket or whatever.”

  “You okay with that?”

  “Sure. You always look so uncomfortable,” I say, surprising myself. His face lightens, but he doesn’t answer. Instead, he stands in one motion, returns to his room, and comes back with his comforter and a pillow.

  He half-asses some sort of lair between the plants in the glass nook. I get up and push him out of the way so I have room to work. “Grab a blanket too, why don’t you? That way you can use the comforter as a mattress and get some rest with the blanket over you.”

  He stands again, and there’s something endearing about him obeying me. Julian and I had lots of pillows. I bring a few out of our closet, now, and rest them against the wall at the head of Luka’s makeshift bed.

  I hear him shuffle back in, but then he stops in the doorway. I twist to look at him, and I give him my smile again.

  “Wow,” he says. “It’s... That’s nice of you. Thank you.”

  “Don’t get any ideas.” I still detest him.

  He watches me from his post while I get comfortable in bed. Then he takes the steps back to his lair. I turn to switch the light off, but before I can, he clears his throat. “Can we talk?”

  “About what?” Talking with Luka is never good.

  “About your trip. Connor told me.”

  “Jesus, why does everything have to go via you here? I’m fully aware, you kn
ow, that you were the one setting up the revolving-door schedule for my bedroom.”

  Features still, he waits for me to get back to his question.

  I shrug. “Okay, so Connor told you. Cool. Done deal.”

  “Do you think Julian would have been okay with you going on your own?”

  “He’s not here to have an opinion!” Luka’s Adam’s apple bobs in a thick swallow, and I scrunch my eyes shut. “I’m not going on my own. I’ll find someone. Plus, there’s an interpreter.”

  “So I’ve heard, and I’m with Connor on this one. No one has met this interpreter, and we have no idea if he’ll protect you. He could, consciously or unconsciously, put you in harm’s way. I don’t want you to go on your own.”

  I don’t have it in me right now to work myself up over him butting in again.

  “I’ll get a team. I’m working on it.”

  “Do you have your funding together?”

  “A part of it came through yesterday.” My stomach flops at the thought.

  “What about the Mikhailov Oracle funds?” he asks, merciless. “Have you spoken with the commission yet? It’s a Russian heritage fund. Do they know about Julian?”

  I’ve been postponing that phone call. For one, I don’t want to talk about it, and second, a hunch tells me they won’t take pity on me and transfer the funds when I don’t have an ounce of Russian in me.

  I burst out my “no.” Then, “Julian told you?”

  “Yeah. He was pretty full of himself over scoring it.” Luka’s humor is fleeting. “Wasn’t there some formal hand-over meet-and-greet for it?”

  I swallow. “Yeah. It’s coming up, in a law office over by the Russian Embassy.”

  “Are you going?”

  “I guess.”

  He shakes his head slowly. “Have you thought this through?”

  That’s when it floods me, the impossibility of completing this mission. There’s no way in hell I’m getting on a plane to Brazil with enough money to sustain a ten-week field trip. Julian left me in the dust!

  I let out a strangled grunt and turn my face into the pillow. Liquid, the panic seeps out, warm against the cotton. “What am I gonna do? I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”