Tall, Tatted and Tempting

  ***

  My bedroom door flies open, and I feel its thwump as it hits the wall. Paul is a bear in the morning, and he doesn’t wake anyone up easily. He goes around, throwing open doors and turning on lights until the twins are up and ready for school. They’re both seniors in high school and have to be there early. I look up at him as he stops in my doorway.

  I knew you wouldn’t stay on the couch the whole night, he signs to me. He doesn’t say it out loud. Probably so he won’t wake her up. Kit’s asleep on her stomach, her hand tucked beneath the pillow and one leg pushed out to the side. I sit up and look down at her. My AC/DC shirt has risen up around her waist, and one side of her pink panties has migrated to tuck in the crack of her ass. Her left ass cheek is on display, the firm, round globe taut but relaxed. I toss the blanket over her bottom as I get up.

  Shut up, I sign to Paul.

  I reach over and grab my jeans, shoving my legs into them quickly. I put on my boxers before I went to sleep last night.

  Paul is wearing a pair of lounge pants and no shirt. When I get to the kitchen, the twins are eating bowls of cereal, both in their boxers.

  Put some clothes on, I sign to them. Kit’s still here.

  “That’s her name? Kit?” Sam asks.

  I shake my head. I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure that’s not her name. It’s what some guy on the street called her.

  “Where’s she from?” Pete asks.

  I don’t know. She won’t tell me.

  Paul motions to the couch. “How’d you sleep?” He grins.

  My neck still hurts from being on the couch. Fine, I say.

  “She slept in your bed. With you.” Paul’s grin has turned into a glare.

  I nod. Not the whole night. Just part of it. I fumble for a cup of coffee, but the coffeepot’s not where we left it. What the fuck happened to the kitchen?

  Paul has his hip hitched against the countertop, and he’s staring at me. “We woke up to it looking like this.” He motions toward the expanse that is our now-clean countertop. I can’t remember the last time I saw the Formica.

  Where is all the stuff?

  He opens the pantry door and points inside. She put it all away? The sink is empty of dishes—until Sam puts his bowl in it.

  Put it in the dishwasher, I tell him. If she worked this hard to clean the kitchen, we can try to keep it looking like this, can’t we?

  “Aww, man,” Sam complains. But he opens the dishwasher and puts his bowl in there.

  “You two get to school,” Paul says. He shoos them toward their room so they can get dressed. “Next time, put some clothes on before you come out of your rooms,” he warns. He looks at me. “How long will Kit be here?”

  Paul looks over my shoulder and smiles at something. I turn around and see that it’s Kit. She’s all rumpled, and she has a dent in her cheek from the crease of the pillowcase. “I’ll leave today,” she says.  She walks toward the coffeepot, which is now on a different counter. Granted, it’s more convenient where she put it, but it’s still not where it goes. She takes out a coffee cup and pours herself a full mug, and then she turns and says, “Thank you for letting me stay last night. I appreciate it.”

  I want to ask her about cleaning the kitchen and tell her thank you, but I can’t use my voice in front of my brothers.

  “She cleaned the bathroom, too,” Sam says as he comes around the corner. His hair is wet, and he leans toward me. “Do I smell too much like a girl?” he asks. He looks slightly abashedly at Kit. “I used your shampoo. And your soap.”

  Paul shoves him in the shoulder. “He would have used your tampons if you’d left any in there.”

  Her face colors prettily.

  “Stay out of her stuff, dickwad,” Paul warns.

  Sam adjusts his jeans. “She folded my jeans. It doesn’t feel quite right wearing something that wasn’t rolled up in a ball in the basket in the corner of the room.”

  I glare at her. She did all this while we were sleeping? I want to tell her she doesn’t have to work to stay here.

  “What?” she asks. “I couldn’t sleep.”

  She was sleeping pretty well in my arms. I don’t want to think about that because I can’t get over the fact that I liked it as much as I did.

  Sam leans over and kisses her on the cheek, just as Pete kisses her other cheek. She scrunches up her face, but she doesn’t slap either of them.

  “I vote that we let her stay another day,” Pete says. He looks down at her naked legs. Honestly, I’ve seen women at night clubs show a lot more skin than she’s showing. “She’s cute,” he says. Then he grabs a banana off the counter and runs for the door. Sam is right behind him. He moves to close the door and then sticks his head back in. “I second that vote,” Sam says. The door slams, and they’re gone.

  Kit smiles and looks over my shoulder. Matt is up, and he looks like death warmed over. “I third,” he says as he sits down in a chair and puts his face in his hands.

  Paul shrugs. “It’s fine with me,” Paul says. “But it’s Logan’s call. It’s his bed.”

  Paul leaves to get ready for work. I have to do the same, but I don’t have to go in until eleven. Paul goes early every day because he has to do paperwork.

  Kit gets a ginger ale from the fridge and pours it into a glass. She hands it to Matt, and he smiles faintly and says, “Thank you.” She doesn’t say anything back, but she squeezes his shoulder. What’s going on with the two of them? He won’t let us do a damn thing for him, but he’s letting Kit get him something to drink?

  She smiles and walks back to the bedroom, taking her coffee with her.

  “She’s going to break your fucking heart, man,” Matt warns after she closes the door.

  I know. She’s going to break my fucking heart. Because I’ve never wanted anything with anyone the way I want something I can’t even define with her.

  Emily

   

  Waking up in his arms was one of the best moments of my life. I didn’t want to get out of bed. I wanted to stay like that forever. So when he asked me questions about how we came to be tucked into one another, I pretended I was asleep and rolled over, hoping he would wrap his arm around me. He did. He wrapped his whole body around me. I purposefully chose to turn away so I wouldn’t have to explain. I didn’t want to tell him about how I felt him when he got in bed with me. Or how I reached out to touch him in the night, and he let me put my head on his chest.

  I didn’t intend to wrap my body around him, but he didn’t seem displeased by it. If the tent in his boxers was any indication, he was very pleased by it.

  But even after, he was nothing but respectful about my body.

  I come out of his bedroom dressed in my school-girl outfit. It’s clean now, so I didn’t mind putting it back on. Aside from the fact that putting it on means I’m leaving his apartment. My bag is over my shoulder, and my guitar case is in my hand. No one is there aside from the two of us. Paul went to work an hour ago, and Matt is staying home today, I’m sure. He’s too sick to hold his head up, much less go work with the public. He must be in his room because Logan is sitting at the table reading the newspaper. He looks up when I walk out of the bedroom, and his face falls.

  He makes a gesture with his hands like he’s asking me what?

  “I have to go,” I explain. I hold up my guitar. “I have to go to work. And you have to go to work. And I’m sure you don’t want me hanging out while you’re not here. What if I steal something?” I try to laugh it off, but he’s not amused.

  “You don’t have to go,” he says. “Stay.” He gets up and comes to stand in front of me.

  I hold up the guitar again. “I can’t. I have to work.” I only have thirty-two dollars to my name. I can’t find a decent place to stay on that. Not even for a night.

  Like he can read my mind, he pulls out his wallet and flips it open. He takes money out of it and tries to press it in my hand. I can’t take his money. “Stay,” he says. He wants me to stay instead
of going to busk for change.

  I shake my head. It’s hard to explain it to him. I want so badly to stay. But I can’t. I can’t get comfortable anywhere. Because tomorrow, I might have to leave again. “Thank you for letting me sleep here,” I whisper. I know he can’t hear the quality of my voice, but he can still read my lips. He tips my chin up with his forefinger under my jaw so that I look at him. “Thank you,” I repeat.

  “Come back tonight?” he asks. He’s holding my hand, his thumb swiping back and forth across the surface of it. “I’ll sleep on the couch. I promise.”

  I look up at him, swallowing hard. “I liked it when you were in the bed with me,” I admit.

  His eyes narrow, and he looks closer at me than I think anyone ever has. But he doesn’t say anything else.

  “I think I’m in like,” I admit softly. That’s probably the wrong thing to say, but I need to tell him. I didn’t just use him for a place to sleep. I genuinely could care about him if my situation were different. But it’s not. And I can’t.

  He doesn’t understand the terminology, I think, because he looks confused. “What?” he asks.

  “I think I’m in like,” I repeat. But he still looks just as confused.

  He looks like he’s going to get Matthew to translate. I stop him by jerking on his arm. “I like you,” I say clearly. “That’s why I’m leaving. I wouldn’t be any good for you or for your brothers. I like you too much to stay.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” he says.

  Yeah, it’s ridiculous. But he doesn’t know where I come from. He doesn’t know how many people are looking for me and why. And when he does find out—I have no doubts that he will—he’ll hate me for not telling him everything up front.

  “Have dinner with me?” he says, his eyebrows shooting up. He looks hopeful, and that’s not what I want for him. He bends his knees so he can look into my face. “Dinner?” he repeats, like I might not have understood him. “A date,” he says. “Go on a date with me.”

  I shake my head. I shouldn’t like him so much after such a short time, but I see possibilities there where before I had none. He makes me believe I could have a real connection with someone. Well, maybe if I were someone else. But I’m not. So I can’t.

  “Thank you for letting me sleep here,” I say. “And do my laundry and take a shower. I really appreciate it. Will you tell your brothers thank you for me?”

  His hand falls away from me, and I feel like someone just untethered my anchor and I’m going to float away. He nods. He walks back over to the table, sits down, and begins turning the pages of the newspaper. He’s not looking at me anymore, and I feel the loss like someone chopped off my arm.

  I let myself out and lean heavily against the wall outside his door. I can’t bring him into my life. It’s not good for him. Not for any of them. This is the way it has to be.