As I arrange plates like I’m preparing for a royal banquet, I notice something that makes me do a double-take. Alfie—yes, Alfie—is actually helping Alex. He’s handing her ingredients without being asked, like some kind of kitchen psychic. When she thanks him, he even cracks a smile.
Alert the media—Alfie has emotions.
Ethan, mouth full of garlic bread, announces through his carb-filled haze, “You know, you and Tara are like the little sisters I never had.”
Alex’s face scrunches up like she’s just tasted something rancid. “Eww, Ethan. We are not your sisters. I refuse to be related to someone who thinks ghost pepper is a food group.”
“Aww, don’t be like that, sis,” Troy chimes in, ruffling her hair as he passes. He’s living dangerously tonight.
Alex ducks away, swatting at his hand like it’s a particularly annoying mosquito. “Touch my hair again,” she threatens, eyesnarrowing, “and I’ll burn your Xbox. Burn. It. And then plant a tree over its ashes.”
Troy, the madman, blows her a kiss and adds a wink for good measure. Alex’s scowl deepens, but I catch the way her lips twitch, fighting a smile. The contrast is almost too much to bear—she looks like she's on the verge of either murder or laughter.
Dinner unfolds in its usual chaos, a symphony of clattering plates, overlapping conversations, and the occasional projectile of food narrowly avoiding someone's eye. It’s messy. It’s perfect.
“So,” Alfie pipes up, his voice casual, though there's a spark in his eyes that makes me suspicious. “Where’s Tara tonight?”
Troy’s head swivels so fast I’m worried he’ll give himself whiplash. His gaze turns sharp, sizing up Alfie like he's trying to read him.
Alex shrugs, a mischievous glint dancing in her eyes. “Tara’s on a date with Mr. Big Eyes.”
Troy grimaces as if he's just bitten into a lemon. “What does Mr. Big— You know what? I don’t actually want to know. Some things are better left to the imagination. Or therapy.”
Lexie giggles, sipping her water like it’s the most fascinating beverage on the planet. I make a mental note: interrogate her about this mysterious Mr. Big Eyes later. Preferably when Troy’s out of the room.
After we demolish dinner and start clearing up, Alex turns to me with a look that can only mean one thing: impending academic doom.
“Ready to hit the books?” she asks, far too cheerfully for someone suggesting voluntary torture.
I groan dramatically. “Do we have to? Can’t we just Netflix and chill instead?”
The moment the words leave my mouth, I regret them. I want to swallow them back, along with my foot and maybe the entire goddamn table. Before we hooked up, it would’ve beenjust a stupid joke. But now? Alex’s cheeks flush a deep pink, and I hear Ethan snickering in the background like the unhelpful little shit he is.
“I... I didn’t mean…” I stammer, wondering if it’s possible to spontaneously combust from embarrassment. That’d be nice right about now.
“I know what you meant,” Alex says quickly. “Come on, that Environmental Law test isn’t going to study itself. Though that would be a neat trick.”
We head up to my room, pointedly ignoring Ethan’s eyebrow-waggling. The fucker hasn’t said a word, but I’m pretty sure he heard us that night. It’s only a matter of time before he starts his interrogation. I’ll enjoy the peace until then, even if it feels like walking on eggshells covered in landmines.
Alex flops onto my bed, and my chest tightens. Christ. I want to keep her there until I make her come again and again. Maybe three times, or four. I want to show her how fucking good I can make her feel. Make her forget her own goddamn name.
“God, your friends are exhausting,” she says, eyes closing in exhaustion.
I’m glad her eyes are shut because I can feel the blood rushing south. Fuck me.
“Pretty sure they’re your friends too at this point,” I point out, trying to sound normal and not like I’m imagining her naked and writhing beneath me.
I focus intently on the calendar on my wall like it’s the most fascinating thing in the universe. Oh, wow, it’s spring already? Spring break isn’t far away now. La-la-la, anything but thinking about my best friend naked and moaning my name.
A few hours later,my brain feels like it’s been put through a blender set to Academic Sludge. Environmental Law is about as exciting as watching grass grow in slow motion, but Alex somehow makes it bearable. She’s sprawled on my bed, nose buried in her textbook like it holds the secrets of the universe, while I’m at my desk, tossing a stress ball up and down with the focus of a cat watching a laser pointer.
“The Clean Air Act of 1963 was a landmark piece of legislation that…” Alex’s voice fades into the background noise as I watch the ball’s arc.Up, down. Up, down.It’s almost hypnotic. Maybe this is how Newton discovered gravity. Or how I’ll discover my face when I inevitably miss catching this thing.
“Freddie, are you even listening?” Alex’s exasperated voice cuts through my trance.
“Hm? Oh, yeah. Clean Air Act. Super clean. Much air. Wow.” I catch the ball and grin at her, channeling my inner meme lord.
She rolls her eyes so hard I’m worried they might get stuck, but I catch the corner of her mouth twitching. “You’re impossible.”
