Cam shrugs at me.
"She sent 'you up', so I think I'm just gonna have to go over there."
I roll my eyes at his obvious playboy ways.
"If you don't want to date Mia, you shouldn't reply to her 'fuck me' messages either," I emphasise as if talking to a child, getting only an eyeroll in return.
Isobel went home an hour ago, after drinking hot chocolate and extracting everything in my head about what's been happening with Noah lately.
I managed to dance around the idea of last night, but she definitely knows that I've been holding back on the details.
Fortunately, Noah wasn't in the vicinity of the house to hear that particularly girly conversation since he was called into work shortly after we unpacked all of our shopping.
My body is hyper-aware that he's home now, especially since when he returned he had stripped off his t-shirt and strewn it over the sofa next to my head before disappearing upstairs.
"You up obviously shows that it isn't even serious," Cam defends. "You're over-thinking it."
"You're under-thinking it."
"Potato, po-tat-o."
I roll my eyes, "Ugh, boys."
He sticks out his tongue and sprays more aftershave onto his t-shirt.
I feel a little sorry for Mia. With her obvious crush on my slutty brother. She must've gotten drunk tonight and thought it a good idea to message him - I can't think of another scenario that allows for the infamous 'u up' text.
I hope she knows that he's still sleeping with other girls. Even though they aren't exclusive, and it's obvious to everyone that he isn't going to ask her to be his girlfriend anytime soon.
Scrap that: I feel very sorry for her.
Next time I see her, I'll try harder to sway her away from him.
"I don't think you should go," I tell him.
Also, please stop leaving me here alone with Noah. Apparently I've taken all the self-control that he used to lack, and he refuses to touch me even if I touch myself in front of him. I don't particularly want a repeat of my desperation last night.
I would rather he just fuck me.
Maybe it would get him out of my system.
"Okay mum, I'll be home in a few hours."
"You aren't even going to stay the night?" I query, voice high and squeaky. "That's cold."
"Treat 'em mean, keep 'em keen."
Asshole. Truly an asshole.
How I'm related to someone so shallow is beyond me. Our mum's a bit of a lousy cook and incredibly nosy but she doesn't have a bad bone in her body. Cam surely got all of this prick-ish-ness, for lack of a better term, from our father.
He decides he's going to Mia's no matter what I say. There's nothing I can do about it other than think about what I'm going to say to her on Tuesday to try and put her off him.
He leaves while Noah is still upstairs. I try to convince him to be a good person but he's thinking with nothing but his genitals.
Poor Mia.
I spend a while routing through TV channels and sending some videos to Isobel that she'll hopefully laugh at. I save a makeup tutorial that looks interesting enough to recreate at a later date.
"I'm so boring," I whisper.
These are my Saturday nights? Seriously?
I used to spend every Saturday night watching TV and reading magazines before I moved in with Cam and Noah, and I'm only just realising how dull my life was. Now I want to go out drinking. I want to laugh at horror movies with my friends.
I want Noah to bend me over the sofa like he said he would.
I throw my phone next to me when Isobel doesn't immediately respond, and start heading upstairs to look for Noah.
As soon as I reach the landing - hand still on the handrail - he steps out of the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his hips.
Water droplets drip between the lines of his abs. They glisten under the hallway light and disappear into the seam of the towel. Wet clumps of dark hair fall over his eyes, but when he reaches up to push them out of his face, I can't help but watch his bicep flex with the movement.
The trail of wet hair laying flat between his belly button and the towel calls to me.
"Stop staring," he says. His voice is gruff - I've taken him off guard.
"Stop. . . being wet."
I swallow.
I haven't even looked at his face yet. I'm scared he'll put a shirt on and I may never see this again.
"Mackenzie."
"What?"
A pause.
"Fucking hell, stop looking at me like that," he breathes. I take one long last look at his torso before meeting his pained eyes. The sparkle of the water against his chest stays burned begins my iris'. "Where's Cam?"
"Leading Mia on, where else?"
He nods slowly, leaning against the wall behind him. I rake him over once more.
I would completely devour you.
And then I'd let you devour me.
And then we would do it all over again and again.
He raises an eyebrow at me.
"I have a movie set up in my room. . ." He trails off, gesturing to the closed door. "You can. . . God Mackenzie, stop fucking staring at my chest," he laughs. "Would you fancy me this much if I put on a load of weight?"
"Yes."
My answer is instantaneous: it throws him off.
He looks as if he's seeing me for the first time again. Except this time he's in nothing but a towel and I'm harboring the biggest crush I've ever had on a human being. I don't care if he's got abs; I don't care if he shaves his head - I just want him to drop the towel and press me into the closest wall.
"Let's hang out tonight. Properly."
I raise one eyebrow and he shrugs.
"We can get dessert food. There's a drive-in cinema about twenty minutes away. We'll have to keep our hands to ourselves because we'll be in public." His suggestion makes me smile. "Sound good?"
"Do I get to watch you get dressed?" I gesture to his towel.
"Behave yourself," he laughs, and then he walks into his room and shuts the door.
I get ready in the bathroom, changing out of my pajamas. It's difficult not to dress up knowing I'll be in a combined space with him. I almost wear a short skirt because he'll definitely have the heat blasting in his car, but decide against it because there'll be 'no touching'.
Apparently.
Leggings are nice enough. And if he puts his hand on my thigh, I will still be able to feel the warmth from his fingertips underneath the fabric.
I have it bad.
I fiddle with some makeup bits and try to make my hair presentable while I wait for Noah. The sounds of him moving around his room keep me on edge, and every whistle of the wind past the bathroom window makes me fret that Cam will come home quicker than expected.
Hopefully he's not a complete dick, and he stays the night with Mia.
I have my doubts.
"Ready?" He spins his car key around his finger, leaning against the open bathroom door.
I drop my hair from my hands and give his casual comfy outfit a once over.
Not wearing the miniskirt was definitely a good idea - even if it would have done all of the seducing for me.
"Let's go," I say, brushing past him and leading the two of us down the stairs.
The air feels a little off. Maybe I'm making it awkward. . .
Or maybe i made it awkward by getting off half sat in his lap while he watched and continuously told me he couldn't touch me.
If he feels the awkwardness, he doesn't show it. His hand stays at the small of my back as he locks the front door and leads me to the passenger seat of his car. As if we are going on a date and not just going out to a movie as. . . Cam's housemates?
When he gets into the car he does blast the heat, as expected, so I take off my jacket and throw it over the backseat.
"Dessert food," he states. "I bet you like. . . brownies?"
I raise my eyebrows. "Is that just a general guess because girls like chocolate?"
He smiles, and I want to smile too but I'm blinded by his biceps as he stretches across the seats and turns to reverse out of the driveway.
"I prefer ice cream," I tell him. "Rum and raisin."
The car slows. He turns in his seat."
"You're gross."
"Hey!" I smack his arm. "Rum and raisin is a good flavour of ice cream."
"Sure," he mocks. "If you're seventy."
The tension dissipates as we drive and banter with each other. It's like we're old friends and not people who want to fuck each others brains out. He's right - it is a safe activity to do together. There's no snuggling on the sofa if we're not in the house. There's no bed just a short walk away.
Cam isn't the buffer anymore; the car is.
He lets me wait in the car while he picks up the food. I half-read the news on my phone and listen to the sound of the hazard lights blinking.
He still isn't back around five minutes later, so I open Instagram instead.
And there, to mock me, right at the top of my feed, is Cam's newest post. He and Noah at the gym, stood side by side with their arms folded like personal trainers.
It really does mock me. Noah's shirt is wet. His hair is wet. I'm thrown right back to not even an hour earlier, picturing that towel riding low on his hips. I don't even register Cam as being in the picture as I drool over my phone.
I groan and throw my head back.
The car door opens next to me suddenly. I jump in my seat and press the lock button on my phone, looking wide-eyed at Noah as he drops into the car with a paper bag clutched in his hand.
"Dessert food," he sings.
I take the bag from him and silently thank my brother for meeting this amazing person who buys me food and drives me around. Although, I wish they were not best friends. Maybe just mild acquaintances. Or distant friends-of-friends.
It would make my seduction of him a lot easier.
I unpack the food as he drives us towards the outdoor cinema, chatting casually about the film they're showing that I've never heard of. Already a christmas film, and it's not even December yet.
Rum and raisin ice cream.
There in my lap in a small tub, with sprinkles on top.
I want to melt into the seat, never to return.
"You got me rum and raisin ice cream?"
"You said it was your favourite," he huffs, as if I'd suddenly changed my mind about my favourite flavour whilst he paid for the food. "There are cookies and stuff too." he glances over at me and winks. "For variety."
"You're insane," I tell him. He shakes his head with another smile, focusing on the road. "You buy a lot of girls ice cream and cookies. . . for variety?"
His smile is almost unnerving, considering I'm basically asking him if he's dating other people. I don't know where I get the nerve for these comments, honestly. They come from deep within me somewhere, and only hot men seem to bring them out of me.
He shifts into a lower gear.
"You're the only girl I'm buying ice cream for, Mackenzie."
Huh.
I've thought about it before. Noah perhaps being a player like my brother but being better at hiding it - but I believe him. I've never even seen him message someone on his phone, now that I'm thinking about it.
I've overheard quick phone calls with clipped tones and an occasional bill argument with Cam, but never another girl.
Part of me expects the competition.
It hurts my heart that Danny's words ping into my head.
'He's got a record longer than my arm. Be careful.'
"I can say I'm buying things for other girls if that's what has your face all scrunchy right now," he says with a grin.
"Shut up," I breathe, immediately feeling at ease again.
I know Noah in real life. Danny has no idea who he is - and even though I've worked with Danny for over a year, I've lived with Noah for weeks now and there hasn't been a single red flag. Whatever record he's got doesn't matter anymore, because that isn't who he is.
Unless I should've been listening to those hushed phone calls a little closer?
"Hey," he strokes my knee. The food bag on my lap crinkles. "We're here."
I'd been so lost in thought that I hadn't even been paying attention to my surroundings. But we are here, parked in a neat row behind a few other cars.
The large screen in front of us has nothing projected onto it yet, but workers are mulling around and covering headlights with blackout fabric.
I hand him a cookie and open up my pot of melting ice cream.
We eat and dance around casual conversation while we wait for the movie to start. He contemplates opening the roof up but decides it's too cold, and so we push our seat all the way back and he only rolls his eyes slightly when I put my sock covered feet on the dash.
As soon as the Christmas movie begins, he twists in his seat and my breath hitches.
"You're unusually quiet tonight," he notes. "Everything alright?"
"Of course," I smile, even though I have no idea where we stand. I want to talk it all out, lay everything on the table, but it doesn't feel quite right.
And him looking so good distracts every other thought inside my head.
I don't think I'll ever get used to looking at those curls falling in front of his eyes. Or the butterflies that appear in my stomach at the sight.
"This is weird though, right?" I admit.
A christmassy song begins playing through the speaker but he turns it down immediately.
"What do we tell Cam?"
He takes a deep breath. "That we hung out, because we're friends."
My face must reveal how amusing that statement is, because he gives me a similar look and drops his head back against the seat.
"I don't know what I'm doing here, Kenzie. I can't go to Cam and tell him that I'm coming onto his sister, because he'd fucking hate me."
"I know," I sigh. "But it's nice to hear you say it anyway."
"Has it not been obvious?" he snorts.
There's a pause, before I roll my eyes and declare, "your self-restraint has been a little bipolar."
That gets a laugh out of him.
It feels easier after those half confessions. We make fun of the romance in the movie, laugh at the funny bits and even share the last cookie without the windows getting too steamy.
Almost an hour later, after only talking about the screen in front of us, he brings up something unexpected.
"You know what I can't stop thinking about?"
"What?"
"That it's been," he begins to imitate Isobel, badly. "Ages since you had a boyfriend." My eyes widen. "Ages," his eyes glisten. "That's a long time, I think."
I will end Isobel.
"And yet no tinder for you, huh?"
"Oh my God," the words fall from my lips. I try to hide my embarrassment in my hands but still feel his stare on my reddening face.
"Ages," he mocks.
"Shut up," I whine.
Even the tips of my fingers burn with his teasing, but I try to act confident and sit back up, firmly keeping my eyes on the screen in front of me.
"It's been. . . some time."
"How much time?"
I tap my hand on my leg and turn to him.
"How much time has it been for you?"
He looks surprised at my counter-question, but obviously tries to take it in his stride. We continue to face each other. The couple on the screen are arguing quietly about something Christmas related that seems stupid compared to my current situation.
"Okay. . . It's been like three years." The surprise must be evident on my face. "I dated her since high school - we were going out for like six years, and I ended it."
"Why?"
He shifts. "Because she wasn't as good for me as I thought she was."
Before I can ask more questions about whatever that means, he flips it back onto me. "Your turn."
"That's it? You have one ex-girlfriend?"
A nod.
Fuck.
I hope he can't see the dread on my face at having to admit that I've had just. . . a tad more relationship experience than he had. "I have had - more than one."
"Girlfriend?" He smirks.
I smack his arm and shake my head.
"Don't be shy," he encourages. "We love to share embarrassing things with each other, right?"
Oh my god.
The heat in my face is burning my skin, but I can't wipe the smile off of my mouth even though I feel humiliated at our difference in experience.
"I. . . had some non-serious relationships in high school." He raises an eyebrow. "Like. . . four, maybe." A wince from me. "I started dating when I was fourteen-ish but never really found anyone I liked." I ponder over the memory. "I also got broken up with a lot."
"Boys broke up with you?"
"Regularly."
Shit. That came out wrong.
"Not regularly. I mean-" his smirk grows. "And then I went to college! I only dated one person in college. Jay; he was alright." he's nodding but my self-consciousness only continues to grow as the number of ex-boyfriends does. "And in uni there was James."
"There's always a James," he soothes.
My head tilts in a nod.
"Yeah, he was not-so-alright. James cheated, and then broke up with me as well. Then, uh, there were a few. . . failed situationships."
"Wow."
"What does 'wow' mean in this context?"
"It means you're terrible at dating, I think." He muses. "Did you ever get to do the breaking up?"
I grimace.
"Sort of. I broke up with Jay a few times. . . but then I also got back together with him a few times. And then he broke up with me for some other girl that he met at a party. So. . ." I shrug.
It never sounds so pathetic usually. Although I've never listed them all in a row like that, because of course it'll sound weird when they're all in one long sentence.
Maybe I should've revealed them in stages.
"You've really only dated one person?" I ask.
"Yeah," he responds, going a little red in the face too, which is incredibly comforting.
"I think it's sweet," I reassure. "You're incredibly sweet. Too sweet for all those tattoos."
He hiccups a small laugh, "as you've said before."
But I reckon you can be hot, too.
When it counts, at least.
He smiles gently when I don't reply, leaning over and stroking my arm. I lean into the touch and let his fingers stroke down my arm and then onto my hand as we both tune back into the movie.
Only one girlfriend? And a girlfriend of six years nonetheless. That's a long time - that's more than half a decade, with the same person. I've not had a relationship last longer than a year in my entire life. I don't think I've ever liked someone enough to consider pushing past that one year mark, and yet here's Noah, who apparently has already had a relationship longer than most university courses.
It makes me feel a bit nauseous, like I'm some silly little girl who's just had flings and Noah's an adult who can hold an adult relationship.
While I'm still comparing our experiences and panicking about what 'she wasn't as good for me as I thought she was' could mean, Noah reaches over and, without looking at me, gently takes my hand in his own.
He interlocks our fingers and squeezes.
It's all I need.