“Just an hour or two. It’s a small piece, and the stencil is already done. You just need to place it and ink,” the guy pleads, actually sounding desperate, and I smile at Rayne before disappearing out of the room and to the bathroom, freshening up as he takes his call.
When I step out of my bathroom next, feeling much better and fresher than I did walking in, I find Rayne stirring a spoon in one of two mugs, phone tucked between his cheek and shoulder as he speaks into it.
“Don’t stress. Get there when you can,” he assures, clinking the spoon against the rim of the mug before walking it to the sink and washing it quickly.
It’s such a domestic little scene that my heart flutters and a warmth blooms in every inch of my body, most noticeably the neglected part of my anatomy that suddenly perks up like a touch-starved heifer. It only worsens when I replay Rayne’s words from last night, his claim that all four of them like me running through my mind with all the force of a raging bull, and I’m pretty sure I’m blushing when Rayne turns and finds me leaning against the kitchen counter simply watching him move about like he lives here.
After the amount of time he’s spent here with the others, it’s practically an addition to their home, and there’s something bone-deep in me that is relieved to have him back in my space.
Rayne’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t give me the smile I know he’s capable of. Instead, he continues to talk on the phone, carrying one mug over to me. I take it carefully, clutching it between my fingers, and smile softly at him in appreciation.
Surprising me once more, he leans in and drops the briefest kiss to my lips before whispering, “See you later?”
Blinking rapidly, my brain short-circuiting for a long moment before I can finally nod, I choke out, “Yeah, later. See you. Then. Yep.”
It’s only then I get that smile I was yearning for, the world stopping for a long moment before it starts spinning again, my brain full-on malfunctioning as I watch him carry his own mug of coffee right out of the apartment while he continues with his conversation.
I’m left alone the next moment, trying to reboot my struggling brain, and I wonder if I’ve stepped into an alternate reality or something. That thought only doubles when I finallysnap back to myself, retrieving my cell and checking my messages ten minutes later.
I almost choke on my coffee when I read the group chat I’ve avoided all week.
CAIDEN:He got a sleepover before me? What the unholy fresh fuck? The injustice. The audacity. The absolute bullshittery. I feel betrayed. I’m wounded. WOUNDED, I SAY.
BAXTER:We’re not going to hear the end of this all day. Fml.
RYAN:The whole weekend isn’t looking good either. He’s pacing. Actually pacing. I think he’s broken.
I snort, watching the bubbles appear in the chat, and I wait for the next message with bated breath. It comes quickly, a one-worded response that makes me laugh.
RAYNE:Get the fuck out of my room already. I need to get changed.
Knowing his room has been invaded and they’re all texting like they’re not together sends me into orbit, and I absolutely lose it. I laugh so hard that I have to clutch my stomach, my knees growing weak enough that I have to lean against the kitchen counter to keep myself upright.
CAIDEN:I heard that. This is not a laughing matter, Blue.
I’m still laughing as I type out a reply.
MADDIE:I guess you should have saved me from the killer stairs instead. You snooze, you lose, buddy.
I hear a round of loud laughter from the apartment below, and it feels so good to go back to normal. It’s been horrible avoiding them, like a chunk of my life has been missing and has finally come back. Everything in the world feels right again, only it’s somehow brighter now. Better. And I can only thank that to the wild confession Rayne gave me last night.
Nervous butterflies suddenly form in my stomach when it actually dawns on me, the words Rayne uttered before he kissed me sinking in deep enough that my stomach swoops again.
We fucking like you, too, Maddie.
Blowing out a warbled breath, I try to wrap my head around that statement, doing my best to absorb the knowledge that not only do I have one man who likes me, but I have four. Four insanely gorgeous, charming, funny, and sweet men who somehow like me back.
In no way does that feel real, and I have to pinch myself hard to make sure I’m not living in a simulation. When I wince from the self-inflicted pain, I blow out yet another steadying breath, my lips blowing raspberries before I take a slow sip of my hot coffee as a whole new wave of thoughts reaches my overworked brain.
How is this going to work? Do the others know what Rayne said? Is this going to be awkward? How does one navigate such scenarios? What the actual hell am I even doing?
Those are the thoughts that fill my mind as I get ready for the day, dressing in low-slung black cargo pants, a white cropped tank, and my trusty Vans that haven’t let me down yet. I style my hair into loose waves that I pin into an updo that keeps it out of my face, opt for minimal makeup, and call it a day when I check my appearance and what looks back at me isn’t a reflection of someone who drank her mind fuzzy last night.
Small mercies, am I right?
An hour passes as soon as I’m done readying myself for the day, and boredom sinks in hard and fast, along with a jittery set of nerves that have me fidgeting restlessly. I heard the door below open and close twice, so I know for certain Bax and Caiden have already gone to work. Ryan might still be home, or he might have left with one of the other two, so I can’t even harass him. Plus, that still might be a little awkward after I went MIA for a week.
But since I have nothing to do other than overthink and conjure more questions I don’t know the answers to, and I’ve found myself growing more and more stressed the longer I sit in silence, I realize I can’t simply sit and wait at home while my brain runs at the same speed as a freight train.
