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19
Carson
Both Fitzy and I stay silent until we hear the shower turn on.
“What the hell are you playing at?” Fitzy hisses.
“What do you mean?” I ask, playing stupid, like I have no idea what he’s talking about.
“That,” he hisses, pointing in the direction of the bedroom, “is Tally’s sister. Her evil,” he emphasizes the word, “twin sister.”
“I know who she is,” I reply, reaching into the refrigerator and pulling two cold beers out, handing one to a consternated looking Fitzy.
“Does Tally know? Does Arlo know?”
“No. But it’s not what you think. Carrigan is the reason the will is broken.”
“It’s not what I think?” he whisper-shrieks. “I think you’re sleeping with the enemy.”
“She’s not the enemy, at least not anymore. She fixed everything, Tally’s free, the Archibald’s are gone.”
“And Carrigan did that?” he asks slowly.
“Yes, she did it to save them both. Now their parents have fucked off overseas and they’ve banned Carrigan from the house, she literally has nothing. No clothes, none of her things, nothing. Tally and Arlo asked her to move in with them, but she’s prickly. More than prickly, honestly she’s a bitch, but…” I trail off, unsure how to explain her, and this thing between us.
“Hmm,” Fitzy says, his eyes narrowing as he assesses me.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he says with an unnerving smile. “Did you mention you were cooking? I’m starved. And for goodness sake Carson go and put some clothes on.”
Laughing I excuse myself for a second, and walk into the bedroom, glancing at the closed bathroom door as I pull on some sweatpants and lay out one of my button downs out on the bed for Priss. I’m a little too eager to see her in my clothes again, or maybe it’s knowing she’ll only be wearing my shirt that’s got me riled up.
Retreating back to the kitchen I find Fitzy hauling a rail of clothes across the deck. “How the hell did you get that up the gangplank?” I yell, pulling more things from the refrigerator and adding them to the pile I started earlier, before I had Priss shaped desert. I start to chop the veggies, pulling a wok out and quickly throwing together a stir-fry.
“I’m a stylist, that doesn’t make me incapable,” he says, rolling his eyes dramatically.
Stirring the veggies, I add some chicken to the pan and then a satay sauce, inhaling deeply when the rich peanut scent fills the air. I freeze when the shower turns off, glancing toward the bedroom, then back to a smirking Fitzy who has taken a seat at the island across from me.
“Oh this is fun,” he says, winking playfully.
“Shut up,” I scold, refocusing my attention on the food cooking in the pan. If Fitzy wasn’t here I’d be in there with her, licking the droplets of water from her naked body before I got her all dirty again.
When the food is ready, I split it between three plates, grabbing silverware for all of us and a bottle of water for Priss. I wait a minute longer, expecting her to appear, but the door remains shut and for a moment I panic that she’s run again. “I’ll go fetch her,” I say, scowling at a still smirking Fitzy.
Crossing the galley to my bedroom, I consider knocking, but if she’s naked I don’t want to give her chance to cover up her beautiful body. Pushing the door open I step into the room and find her sitting on the end of the bed wearing my shirt. She’s twisted her hair into a simple braid that’s fallen over her shoulder and made the cotton of my shirt almost transparent beneath it. She looks young and scared.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods, but it’s not exactly convincing.
“What’s up?”
“I’m trying to convince myself to run,” she says, shocking the hell out of me with her honesty.
“I figured as much,” I say, sitting down next to her.
“What are we doing?” she asks, her eyes begging me to explain, but the problem is I’m as clueless as she is.
