I am standing on the pavement outside my flat with my bags at my feet when Cameron finally pulls up.
I don't recognize him at first; driving a sleek-looking, modded convertible. But when he repeatedly beeps the horn, I know that his patience with me is already wearing thin.
I drag myself over the boot, throwing in my suitcase first, along with all of my bags. He doesn't get out of the car to help me, he just starts reversing out of my street as soon as I've closed the car door. Huffing and puffing like he doesn't have the time of day for me. I guess some things never change.
"Thanks for coming to get me," I murmur, hoping he'll ease up on the awkwardness, and casual dismissal I'm on the receiving end of.
I take a long look at the glossy, polished interior of the car that neither I or Cam could ever afford. The symbol glistens at the heart of the steering wheel. BMW. surrounded with a circle of red trim sewn into the leather.
The red trim goes further. Along the CD slot and pressed into the seams of the seats.
"It's my housemates," Cam grunts, without me having to ask. "Mum said the ceiling looks pretty nasty."
I relax a little, and release the breath I had been holding in, at his attempt at conversation.
"Yeah," I half-laugh. "There's a hole in my roof. The estate agents are pretty annoying."
"You're annoying," he responds immediately, forcing a smile over my face.
I knew that he was going to do nothing but wind me up for the next few weeks, and already I can't wait to not be living with my big brother again. I still found comfort in his voice.
The first time I ever had my heart broken. Cam was there, cursing shame on the guy's family and wishing him an eternity of stubbing his toe. He had been angry and pissy enough to make me laugh more than I ever had before.
I was thirteen at the time and Cam had got into trouble at school for pushing the boy over the day after. When I saw him after school, at home, he glared at me, '/he was a shithead anyway Kenz.' That was all I needed to hear to feel that familiar comfort.
However, I don't miss his annoyingly cold attitude.
"How comfy is your couch?"
He laughs and indicates left. "It'll do the trick, don't worry. You work most days now anyways, right?"
"Oh, yeah. I'm nine to five, like every other lost soul on the planet."
We continue to talk about work for a little while. Cam's been doing an internship at a bank after finishing his math degree. Jack stretched his retirement funds to cover Cam's first year of expenses for the house, so he can work and save.
I've been working at a sports sales firm after graduating, working in their marketing department.
"So," he says once he's had enough of all of the work talk. "How long will I be welcoming you into my living quarters?"
"I wish I could say," I shrug. "A few weeks maybe? Maybe more? As long as it takes for my estate agents to stop being pri-"
"Alright Kenzie, I get it."
I roll my eyes at him. Nothing ever changes. He is still the same annoying big brother that I've always had.
He pulls into the driveway in front of a house. I only recognise it as his house from a picture he sent to the family group chat when he signed for the place with the housemate.
The best friend. Noah.
My mother is sure he doesn't exist,since no one has ever even met him.
The small patch of grass under the window is overgrown, and there are weeds winding through the cobblestone steps leading up to the front door.
"It's nice," I say. "Very homely."
Cam snickers and gets out of the car, walking straight to the front door and going inside. Once again, leaving me to carry all of my bags on my own.
Tugging my belongings along the steps, half-collapsing in on myself as I cross the threshold. I run back to close the boot, seeing Cam's arm shoot around the door to lock the car before disappearing inside again.
"Gee, thanks for all your help Cam!"
I climb over my bags scattered in the entryway, stumbling into the living room. Immediately greeted with a strong boyish smell, a mixture of deodorant and B.O.
The TV has been left on, playing some sports channel. Cups and plates scattered around that they clearly haven't gotten around to cleaning up yet.
"This place screams boy. It could do with a woman's touch." I tell him, watching him open cupboards in the open plan kitchen.
"Little sexist for you isn't it sis?"
A smile breaks out across my face. Picking up the plates and cups, balancing them all the way over to the sink. Cam is busy making himself a cheese and tomato sandwich.
"I'll just make myself at home then, yeah?" Smiling ear-to-ear, I start to fill the sink up and look for a sponge, rolling up my sleeves.
"Oh please, Kenz." He scoffs. Mouth full "You and I both know that's what you're going to do, I'm just speeding the process along."
"So where's Noah?" I ask, looking around the place for any signs that he's real and lives here. "Or has he conveniently disappeared recently?"
No pictures on the walls, not even a magnet on the fridge.
"Just because mum hasn't met my mate, doesn't mean that I've made him up." He takes another bite of his sandwich, dropping a piece of tomato on the floor. He smiles wide, exposing the mushy food in his mouth before leaning down, picking up the slice of tomato and shoving it into his already full mouth.
"You're grim," I tell him pointedly.
More obnoxious chewing, filling the silence.
"Noah's working late," he grumbles. "You'll meet him later tonight."
"Cool. What does he do for work?" I ask, scrubbing god-knows-what off of a plate.
"What's with all of the questions?" He frowns, walking back through to the living room. "I'm taking a girl out tonight and I've got to get Noah's car back. So, you can entertain yourself for a few hours right?"
"Really Cam, you're just going to leave me here on my own? I mean, you haven't even given me the tour." I shout through to him, but he's already walking up the stairs. I continue to wash the plates and stare out of the little circular window overlooking the miniscule concrete garden.
I moved in a mere twelve minutes ago and Cam is already leaving me to fend for myself. How do I work the TV?
By the time I finish washing up, I hear the shower running upstairs, and one of my and Cam's favourite House anthems that we would listen to in high school.
If this doesn't bring back memories of living at home together with our parents, then nothing will.
I use the time to start moving all of my bags into the living room, shoving them into the corner in a mound. Hopefully this way, no one will trip over them.
Finally dropping onto the couch to flick through netflix and find a movie to watch.
By the time I figured out Cam's netflix password; his birthday, very original, he has already made his way back downstairs. Damp hair slightly tousled and smelling like Lynx, so strong that it tickles the back of my throat, making me cough. As if the room didn't smell enough like boy already.
"Dude, are you planning to eDate this girl or did you just want to make her cry?" I grimace at the taste.
"What?" he asks wide eyed, looking down at his outfit.
"You smell like you're going to a high school prom bro," I tell him. He stares at me bewildered. "Tone down the aftershave, lover boy."
"Ooh!" He realises, wincing slightly. "This is my last clean… Everything. Sure she won't mind." He walks over to the door and grabs his keys off the hook, hovering. In between staying and going. "Shit! I feel bad for leaving when you just got here." I scoff at his words. "Kenz, I'm serious!" He laughs, pushing a hand to his chest. Now I know the fucker is lying. "Do you want me to stay and show you around or something?"
"Go away," I wave him out, through a laugh. "I'm going to watch Grey's Anatomy and chill."
"You could always put my washing on for me -" he ducks around the door to miss the pillow that I launch his way.
"Cheeky fucker, get out already!" I shout through my laughs. I hear Cam laughing too as he steps out the door, closing it behind him.
Once I hear Cam pull out of the driveway, I unpack my blanket and everything I need for my shower.
Feeling better after a proper shower, I put my pajamas on and sit watching the tv whilst I plait my hair.
My eyes start to droop when a text from my mum wakes me. I begin to write out a reply about the worst weekend ever.
===============================================================
The slam of the front door jolts me awake. The tv is still playing but the room is colder than before, a draft coming from the entryway.
"What the fuck?" A voice stutters quietly. It's deep, velvety and has a rasp to it that sends a shiver through me. I stay under the blankets, frozen. Staring at the ceiling as I hear him moving around near the front door.
So, Noah does exist then.
He shuffles towards me, his shadow looming over the room.
"Cam's sister, I presume?"
God, his voice. It's melting over me, like butter. I push myself up with my arms, craning my neck over the back of the sofa to see him standing in the opening between the living room and the kitchen.
If he hears my intake of breath, he doesn't say anything.
From the reflection of the tv screen, his olive skin is glistening. The contours of his face are deep rivets that I want to reach out and run my fingers down. He's staring at me with emerald eyes that models would die for. Long stray pieces of his chocolate brown hair lay over his forehead, the rest covered by an oversized hoodie.
He walks towards the couch and my eyes widen involuntarily. He's tall. I thought I was tall but this man could tower me. He reaches a hand towards me, there's an intricate clock tattooed on the back of his hand, his fingers tattooed with bones. There's a skull on his neck. With Wings.
Fucking Hell.
My hand reaches out by itself.
"Uh huh, Kenzie," I drawl, watching as his hand gently takes mine and squeezes.
He smiles, still looming over me. His hand drops from mine and returns back to his side.
My eyes sink to the joggers covering his legs and back up to his eyes, feeling my cheeks heat up.
This man is surely not human.
He's tall and angular and dripping with sex appeal. Christ, I'm dripping just looking at him.
He clears his throat and steps away.
"Well," he says. "What's mine is yours."
I sit up as he walks over to the kitchen, eyeing his frame as he walks away. My mouth might even be partially open. This guy is hot. Capital H. Capital O. Capital T. I don't think i;ve ever seen such an attractive human being.
I know for sure that my jaw has never physically dropped for a man, and yet here he is. With golden skin and green eyes and a voice that's liquid gold.
I can feel my entire body filling with heat, my breath visible in the cold room. I lick my dry lips and give him another once over, seeing how the cotton of his joggers shapes around the muscles of his thighs. I found myself being on my thumb to stop my thoughts from vocalizing.
He steps behind the counter again. Is he cooking? Like actually cooking?
He's cutting an onion and boiling water on the hob. I can't seem to look away, worried that I've hallucinated this man who's cooking in my brother's kitchen.
"You know, I'm pretty sure if you keep staring at me, you're going to burn holes in me," he chuckles without turning around.
My cheeks flame.
"Sorry." It comes out meek, like a whimper.
"I'm gonna make some pasta if you'd like some?"
"You cook, too?" The words fall out of my mouth before I can stop myself. He turns around then, smiling at me gently. Dimples popping.
"Too?" he smirks.
I am truly, sincerely, royally fucked.
===============================================================
He tells me his full name when I ask. Noah Romano. It rolls off of my tongue, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.
With his back still towards me, I continue watching him cook. Wishing he would take off his hoodie. Wishing he would take off everything.
Shit - there is no way that I'm already thinking about Cam's best friend naked. My brother would kill me.
However, my brother didn't tell me that his best friend was a walking, talking epitome of sexual allure. He very conveniently left that out every time he talked about Noah.
"So, what is it that you do?" I call over to him.
"I'm a mechanic," he answers, turning with a spoon in his mouth, tasting the tomato sauce he's creating. "I'ts not fancy or anything like accounting, I know."
He's a mechanic. Who works with his hands.
He spends all day getting dirty underneath cars.
He's a walking cliche of masculinity, and I didn't think this 'alpha-style' man would have made my breath hitch and my panties wet just by standing in the same house as me; because I can't deny that my panties definitely are not as dry as they were ten minutes ago.
He is certainly not the type of person I've embarrassed myself for in the past. Although, I don't think I've ever been this close to someone who could be a model for 'Vogue' or 'Sports Illustrated', so perhaps I've just never had the opportunity.
"I think that's pretty cool," I reassure.
The reply sounds stupid to my ears, but I can't think straight when watching his arms stretch the fabric of his hoodie as he reaches up into one of the cabinets.
I kick off the blanket, subtly fanning myself.
As if Cam had sent this man to test me, suddenly his hand is pulling the hood at his head. My eyes blew wide. It was as if it was all happening in slow motion.
He pulls on the hood, lifting it over himself; his white t-shirt rides up his frame. A sliver of tan skin is first revealed and then more of his toned back, also covered in tattoos, as he pulls it completely off in one swift maneuver.
There are dimples in the smooth olive skin of his lower back, symmetrical, begging me to kiss them. I would take so many shots off of you.
I need to cool off.
I throw the other blanket off of my legs, continuing my eye-assault on his boy as he throws the hoodie to one side and pulls his t-shirt back into place.
His arms are littered with tattoos. There isn't a patch of skin on them left to be covered. I find myself gulping as my eyes flit between the art on his arms, straining to see him around the counter.
His biceps are pressed against the fabric.
"And you?" He asks. "You work in marketing, right?"
I blink, nodding frantically even though he's not looking at me.
"Yeah - yes. In sports," I stutter out the words.
"Cool," he turns and smiles. "Do you play?"
"I used to play rugby at uni," I admit. "I could probably tackle you."
I choke at my own confession.
Why would I say that? What evil spirit has possessed my body and put this man in front of me tonight?
This man, may I add, that I probably could not tackle; considering he looks as if he's about eight inches taller than me and a regular at the gym. His bench press is probably double my fucking body weight.
My God, is my vagina fluttering?
His laughter rings in my ears.
"Oh yeah, Sweetheart?" His tone is warm and the grin is evident in his words. " I think I'll take your word for it."
I turn back to the TV with wide eyes and flaming cheeks, willing myself not to look back at him as he continues to cook.
Eventually he begins humming a tune so I start to pay attention to Grey's Anatomy playing on the TV.
Pick me, choose me. Love me. Meredith is saying.
"What position did you play?" He asks, breaking my concentration from McDreamies reply.
"What?" I say, flustered.
"In rugby?" Noah asks, still pottering around in the kitchen.
"Oh. Hooker." The word makes me blush, a spoon clattering in the sink. "Do you play anything?"
"No, nothing serious anyway." He replies. "I do a lot of weightlifting though, if that counts."
It certainly counts in my books, especially with biceps like that.
The click of the kitchen light going off startles me. Noah approaches holding out a bowl of the pasta dish he had made, fork tucked into the side. I pull the blankets towards myself to make room for him to sit on the sofa, accepting the bowl with open arms.
Trust Cam to only have the one sofa.
The stars truly have aligned to plan this meeting for me, though I'm not sure how I'm supposed to react to the Gods dangling an actual deity in front of my nose; one who I, no doubt, could not get in a million years.
At least it's a three seater sofa - there will always be an empty seat between myself and temptation.
"Smells great," I tell him quietly, picking up the fork. He sits down and stretches his legs out in front of him, sending me a killer smile. One that I'm sure that he doesn't even realise is killer. "So, you met Cam at uni?"
He swallows the food in his mouth and shrugs, as I bring my fork up to my mouth.
"Sort of," he murmurs. "He was studying but I wasn't. I just worked near the campus and used their bars to get cheaper booze. We met at a bar and -"
"Oh my God," I moan. " This… this is really good." He shifts in his seat and laughs lightly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to cut you off. This is good though. Really."
He bites down on his lip and I zero in on it, watching his neck move as he swallows. I look back to the TV quickly, shoving more pasta into my mouth. Down, Kenzie. Down.
He's Cam's friend. Cam's friend. Cam's friend.
Cam's best friend.
"Well," he smiles. "We met at a bar and that was that."
Cam didn't bring Noah until they moved in together over a year ago, and even that was a fleeting mention in the family group chat. Mum had pushed. Even Jack had questioned this apparent stranger that Cam was adopting.
All my elusive brother would say is that he had known Noah quite a while and that they were good friends. Mum would ask, regularly, about him. Cam never truly elaborated, hence the rumour that Noah didn't exist and was simply a figment of Cam's imagination.
Noah's fork clatters against his bowl, drawing my attention back towards him. The sharpness in his jaw is accentuated when he chews, and I think again that Cameron has sent this person to test me, because it's not humanly possible that one of his friends looks like this.
My brother never had hot friends.
Not fancying his mates had always been a strong suit of mine since he was obsessed with math growing up, and hung out with people who usually couldn't say two words to girls.
His friends were like jelly around me, and even if they did get the courage to say two words to me, Cam's presence usually dissolved the attempts.
So, if this is a test. I'm failing.
We sit and watch TV in relative silence for a little while. Once I've finished that pasta, I find my eyes drooping a little more.
I glance over at Noah, watching the muscles in his arms move as he leans to put his bowl on the table in front of us.
Staring is definitely going to become a problem in this household.
"Thanks again for dinner," I tell him, just to watch that killer smile appear across his lips again.
"It's not often that I get to cook for a pretty girl," he drawls. It's so obviously a line that it shouldn't affect me, but I feel my cheeks blaze once more.
Cam's friends in high school certainly didn't have lines like that.
Noah takes our dishes and takes them back to the kitchen, flicking the light on and begging to fill the sink up.
He washes up too. Of course he does.
"Did you manage to get through to your estate agents? Cam said they're pretty useless." He muses.
"I left them an out of hours message," I tell him mindlessly. "Honestly, they never fix anything in that flat.I don't know why I bother reporting issues with it."
We make small talk about houses and shitty estate agents, as i continue to watch the TV, until i hear a clatter and a muted "fuck", hiss from Noah's mouth.
It's obvious that he has hurt himself.
I jump up off of the sofa to run to his aid, like a real life Disney princess. I don't let a beat pass us, ignoring the cold biting at my legs as I jog over to him.
"Are you okay?" The words fall from my lips but I can already see the blood pooling along the palm of his hand. "Oh - ah, uh . . . " I fumble, glancing in every which direction to see what we could put on it.
Blood isn't my forte. Usually, I leave the fixing-up to everyone else and fade away from the scene. Although, apparently I will now use any excuse to get within two feet of Noah Romano, even if that means tending to a bloodied hand.
My gaze settles on a teatowel tucked into the door handle of the oven, grabbing his wrist to begin wrapping the fabric around the wound. He sucks in a breath and I feel a smile at my lips, ready to tease him.
"I think it's possibly life-threatening."
"Oh piss off," he laughs, watching me press the towel down.
I feel his eyes on me then and look into them briefly before bringing my eyes back down to his hand.
The cold air continues to brush against my bare legs. I suddenly become all-too-aware that I'm wearing my pajama shorts and a tank top that's probably a size too small for my body. Far too much skin for meeting one of my brothers friends, full stop.
Part of me wants him to look - the other part of me that's burning inside and begging him to perform some sort of routine MOT on my body.
Shaking my head does not dispel the thought.
Trying to ignore my own brain, I pull him over to the tap and take the teatowel off, guiding his hand under the steady stream of water once its heated up a little. The blood begins to wash away.
My eyes travel up to his wrist, where yet more tattoos litter his skin.
"So you're like, really into tattoos then?" I muse, eyes wondering all the way up his arm.
"Uh . . ." His eyes meet mine as he stutters. "Um, yeah. I - uh. I started getting them when I was sixteen and I just haven't stopped since."
"And you're twenty three now, like Cam?" I question, eyes glued to his hand.
"Twenty four," he corrects, eyes burning into me. I begin wrapping his hand up again, this time with kitchen roll.
"You aren't required to nurse me back to health, you know? As much as I'm enjoying it." He smirks, voice gruff.
I look up at his face through my lashes, threading the end of the kitchen roll through the two of his fingers.
They bend towards my hand.
"I don't think I need to kiss it better." I murmur.
I feel my own heart beat out of my chest as I realise the words that have left my mouth.
Oh shit! Oh shit!
My head jolts up to look for his reaction and in doing so, I pull on his arm and make him stumble.
So, inevitably, like a demon has arranged for my worst nightmares to align, I head butt his chin.
There is a moment of panic where my limbs don't quite know what to do with themselves. My thoughts pouring out onto the tiled floor beneath us.
I reach out to steady him after the accidental assault.
I then reach up towards his face.
My eyes follow my own hand as if something else is moving it. It doesn't feel like a movement that I'm doing. It certainly isn't something I should be doing.
However, there it goes, my own hand, cupping the left side of his jaw.
Noah's eyes widen. His bleeding hand is gripping the counter, still covered in the faux-bandage I'd made.
"I'm sorry," I spit in a panic, feeling how hard his jaw is beneath my touch. I feel part of his neck move as he swallows, Adams apple bobbing, and I press my legs together. His head drops down to watch me do it. Somehow, his eyes are darker when he looks back up. "I'm just going to stop touching you now."
"Okay," he breathes.
I put my hands awkwardly at my sides, firmly holding my pajama shorts, so that I don't touch him again.
Very firmly holding because I can't trust my own body not to do something stupid around this man that I met not even two hours ago.
"I'm gonna go back over there now." I say pointedly, cheeks blazing.
"Okay," he states in the same breathy tone.
I walk away from him in a daze and drop down into my previous seat, daring to look back over at him only to find him already staring at me. I quickly pull a blanket over myself and look back towards the TV.
This is going to be a very long few weeks.
I'm a puddle on the sofa, burning with the feel of his eyes on the side of my face.
Cam is going to hit the roof the second he sees the pile of mush I turn into around his mate.
Yet all I can think about as I force myself to keep my eyes on the screen is the feel of his jaw beneath my hand, and it takes everything in me not to look back at him.