Page 94 of My Brother’s Best Friends Entanglement

He holds out one of the cups. "And to think, I came bearing gifts. And all I get is colleague betrayal. Our very own reality show." He considers it. "Love Island, but instead of a villa it's a shared office, and instead of a coupling ceremony it's a co-authorship. We could call it Fellowship Office.”

"Contestants get dumped the second their grant submissions don’t meet the requirements.”

He nods, excited. "Exactly. Very dramatic. Someone's crying in the archives every episode."

"Sounds more like Survivor. Outlast, Outpublish, Outfund. Last one with tenure wins."

"Brilliant. We'll make tens of dollars in advertising." I chuckle, and he falls into step with me toward the staff meeting. "You doing alright, by the way? After yesterday."

I pretend like I don't know what he's talking about. He adds, "With Rhys."

"Oh, yeah. It was nothing. Housemate stuff." I keep my voice light. "Dirty dishes, no one took the trash out, someone missing their turn to make dinner, you know how it is."

"Ha. Yeah. I had a roommate once who kept a box of toenails in his nightstand. He said he never knew when he might need them." He shudders. "Whatever situation might require his discarded toenails is one I hope never came to pass. But, speaking of dinner, would you want to grab some tomorrow? It'll be Friday. Not a school night."

I nearly miss a step. "Dinner?" How did we go from a coffee between colleagues on a weekday, to a drink on a Friday, to dinner?

He takes advantage of my hesitation to keep making his case. “Yeah, dinner. Food, a table, possibly a bottle of some sort of beverage to wash the dried chicken breast down." He shrugs, nonchalant. "Think of it however you like. As a friend thing. Or a not-friend thing. I'm genuinely fine either way, I just think you're good company and I'd like more of it outside a tutorial room."

I actually think about it, about how I'd promised myself opportunities to meet people, to discover who I am without the baggage. Craig could be a person to try it with, right? Smart, funny, entirely uncomplicated, exactly what I need right now. “Er...” I stall. Then take a deep breath. "Okay. Yes. But no pressure, okay? I'm just looking to get out and have a relaxing night discussing the political economy of multilateral sanctions regimes."

He holds the door to the staff room. "Yes? Great!" He grins, pleased. "I'll find us somewhere that isn't a pub schnitzel night. I'll pick you up at 6:30. Text me your address."

And as we walk in, we see Rhys, already sitting in the front row, back straight, arms crossed, eyes locked ahead.

Between Zachary texting the group chat at 2 a.m. that he wasn’t coming home until noon, with some excuse about finishing paperwork (not going to think about that too much), Marcus not even coming home last night after his demo house showing (definitely not thinking about why at all) and now Rhys playing the Ice-Man, I could definitely use a night out.

TWENTY-FOUR

Alexia

When I left Sydney, I did not think I'd have a lot of need for clothes for going out. I brought enough clothes to show up to work without being cited for hygiene problems by HR, and one nice emerald green dress that's currently balled up in the corner of my room. So now I'm standing in front of the mirror in a mishmash of clothes, a long black skirt with a thigh-high split, and a soft pink off-the-shoulder tee that says “Sources Or It Didn’t Happen”. I'm hoping it gives off "casual dinner with a colleague" vibes and less "please marry/bed me immediately," or even worse, "can you tell that I'm in love with my brother's three best friends?"

Okay, scratch that last one. That's not a thing.

Absolutely no one's in love with anyone around here.

I finish pulling my hair into a high ponytail, tie it with a little pink bow, and add a thin layer of light pink gloss to my lips. Besides a bit of blush and mascara, it's the only makeup I'm wearing. But the effect is fresh, and makes me look less like the swamp troll I've been successfully emanating the last few days.

Unbidden, a memory surfaces from six years deeper down. Standing in front of my mirror at nineteen, fixing my hair, getting ready to meet Rhys for a drink, my hands just as unsteady then as they are now.

I shake myself hard enough that my reflection blurs.

No more memory lane-ing. Not tonight. Tonight is about an easy, uncomplicated night with a work friend. No pressure, no expectations.

My purse swings against the door as I sling it over my shoulder and head out.

And stop dead in the foyer.

All three of them are in the living room. Marcus is sprawled in the armchair, gazing at the TV. Rhys sits upright on the couch, arms crossed, staring at the laptop on the coffee table. Zachary is leaning against the archway, hands in his pockets, his eyes fixed on the front door.

"What's going on?" I ask, looking between them.

"What do you mean?" Marcus doesn't glance away from the TV.

"I mean, what are you all doing here? You're hardly ever in the living room."

"Well, it's a nice room. I thought I should spend more time in it, considering how much time I spent building it. Also, just doing some research." He gestures vaguely at the muted television, playing a reality show about renovating houses. "Latest craze in home renos." He finally looks up. "Nice skirt. Bit dressy for the uni library, though."