Enjoy Your Stay (3 page)

Chelc and I didn’t last long after that, and no, I know what you’re thinking, it wasn’t because I couldn’t get Holly out of my head. I mean, I hadn’t seen the girl in years. Not since mum and I had visited Uncle Bob, and Holly—then eighteen—had stolen me away from the party, and allowed me to bend her over the back of Bob’s Harley.

Chelcie and I just hadn’t been right for one another. She wanted a family, and that was something I wasn’t ready for. I loved her, but at some point I realised I didn’t love her enough to hold on to what we had, only enough to let her go.

Walking inside, I hear that it hasn’t taken my little cousin and her boyfriend long to fall back into their usual routine. In other words, fucking each other’s brains out all over the house. Those two have to be high on Viagra or some shit, because that much sex is just not natural. And I’m a man who likes a lot of sex.

Are they making up for lost time?

Fuck, no! They’ve made up for lost time, and then some.

I pick up a pair of lacy knickers that I hope to Christ belong to Holly and not my baby cousin, and toss them towards the bin. Someone else can pick up that shit, because family or not, that’s just nasty. Then I grab the carton of juice from the fridge, and walk into the lounge room.

Holly’s passed out on the couch. She looks so peaceful when she’s sleeping, nothing like the mouthy little shit who loves to torment my every waking minute. I carefully lift her outstretched legs and slide myself onto the seat, placing her tan calves gently down on my lap.
Fuck I love these short shorts she wears.
I hope the dude that invented these died happy, surrounded by beautiful women with half their arses hanging out.

Holly moans and whispers my name, and for a half a second there I think she’s actually talking to me, but then she slips her hand between her legs. Her lips part, and she lets out a keening little cry.
And my dick’s harder than it’s been in months
. I squeeze my crotch in an effort to relieve the raging hard-on I’m sporting, because I’m about thirty seconds away from throwing her over the sofa and banging her so hard and fast she’ll be walking funny for a week. I shift my arse on the couch in an attempt to stop my balls being sucked up into my chest cavity. Holly startles, and shoots me a dirty look for my troubles.

“There are two other chairs here, arse-face,” she mumbles, and closes her eyes. She’s right. There’s Elijah’s chair, which I’ll never sit in again after the Fingergate incident on movie night, and the new recliner, which I never sit in because I’m pretty sure they’ve both come all over that, too.

“Yeah, but I just like being close to you.” I wink, and then, because I’m a complete and utter fucking tool who can’t help himself, I say, “Did you just have a sex dream about me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Jackarse, these pregnancy hormones are making my head all screwy, and giving me nightmares.”

I roll my eyes, and drain the rest of the juice from the carton. “Call it what you want, sweetheart, but you most definitely said my name. And then you moaned, and your hands slipped inside your pants. I think you were definitely having a sex dream about me.”

“If you don’t shut the fuck up right now, all you’ll ever have again are dreams, because that beloved appendage of yours might mysteriously wind up in some other part of your anatomy.”

“Yeah, they don’t really bend that way. It’s the same thing as trying to suck yourself off. It’s a physical impossibility; trust me, I’ve tried.”

“Of course you have.” She sighs, and flicks at my hair. “Nice haircut, by the way.”

“Yeah, Chantal really knows what she’s doing.”

“The fake-titted floosy strikes again, huh? Did she do you in her chair?”

“You really want me to answer that?”

“No, I don’t.”

A loud moan comes from the bedroom, and Holly covers her ears.

I groan, and say, “I thought the point of a dirty weekend away was to fuck yourselves stupid, and then you’d be too tired to fuck anymore when you came home?”

I’m beginning to think life for these two is just one big porno.

“Ha! This from the man who had sex with a different woman every night his first three months in Sugartown.”

“Shut it, darlin’, or I’ll make you my next conquest.”

“Been there,” she makes a lazy hand gesture that encompasses all of me, “done all of that.”

“Not all of it, sweetheart.” I smack her foot and laugh.

“Jackson Rowe, you held out on me?”

“Oh, I got moves that’d rock your world, baby.”

“Well, right now could you move your arse off, and let me go back to sleep, please?”

“You eaten anything today?”

“Nope. I was going to make myself a sandwich, but then the smells from the fridge made me hurl chunks. So food kinda fell by the wayside.”

“Hols, you gotta eat.”

“Yeah, tell that to this kid banging around in my vagina. He apparently likes to live off the blood of the damned.”

“Come on. I’ll make you some eggs.”

“Really?” She smiles, and damn, if it doesn’t make me feel like Boy Virgin in a brothel. “With toast?”

“With toast.”

“And tea?”

“And tea.”

“And a foot rub?” She shoves her foot at my face, and pokes my cheek with her toe.

I gently knock it away with my hand. “Hell no. I don’t do feet.”

“Since when? I recall you loved my teeny, tiny feet, once upon a time.”

Fuck. I shoulda known she’d bring up that time when I propped her up on the bench in her parent’s kitchen and licked her toes clean because she spilled a carton of milk all over the floor.
Shit. My jeans just got a little bit tighter.

I lead her into the kitchen, and she takes a chair at the table, resting her head on her hand as she watches me cook dinner. “How’d you get so domesticated, anyway?”

“What, the eggs?” I ask as I crack a couple into a pan along with some milk and butter and start scrambling. Then I shove the bread down in the toaster, and pour Hols a peppermint tea. “I had to cook a lot when my mum was sick. That’s about all I can make, though, so don’t get too excited.”

“I like eggs. It’s one of the only things I can keep down these days.”

“You see a doctor about that?”

“Yeah. If it gets much worse they’ll hospitalise me, but for now I’m just living the dream.”

“You heard from the father?”

She closes her eyes, and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Not this again?”

“Just hear me out.” I hold the spatula up in a placating gesture. She frowns, and lays her head down on her outstretched arm. She looks so tiny, so fragile like that, I almost feel bad for playing Devil’s advocate here. “What if it were you?”

“What if what were me?”

“What if you were in his position, and your ex-girlfriend was carrying around a bouncing baby boy?”

“Okay, first of all, um … no. And secondly, I think I prefer to be Coop in this case, and be completely oblivious for the rest of my life.”

“Come on, Hols, you can’t mean that?” I plate up the food, and pull the teabag from the cup.

“Not having this conversation again, Jack.”

“Fine, then you can shut the hell up and eat your eggs,” I say, and slide the plate in front of her.

“I’m suddenly not all that hungry.”

“Eat the fucking eggs, Holly.”

“You are one bossy son-of-a-bitch, you know that?”

“Ha. My mother would have loved you.”

“Your mother did love me, Jackarse. Remember? She wanted to take me home with her?”

“Yeah, her and me both,” I mutter, and meet her gaze across the table.
Fuck, why the hell did I just say that? What the fuck is wrong with me?

Holly gives me an odd look, and then tucks into her food.
Aw, shit. Now it’s all fucking weird
.

I hear a door open, and a moment later the lovebirds come shuffling down the hall, Ana leading the way, and Elijah wrapped around her. They’re like some fucked-up, double-bodied cocoon.

“Hols?”

“Yes, Jack?”

“I’m a need you to punch me, because I’m pretty sure I just saw Ana and Cade in our kitchen, fully clothed.”

“You hear that?” Hols leers at Ana, who’s looking a little sheepish. “Jack’s so shocked you two aren’t bumping uglies that he just gave me permission to kick his arse. You’re going down, Rowe.”

“Not yet, darlin’, but you come see me later, and we’ll catch up on old times.” I wink. Holly narrows her eyes and flips me off.

“So, clearly nothing’s changed since we’ve been gone.” Ana sits down next to Holly and rubs her shoulder. “You look better. How you been these past few days?”

“Pregnant. You?”

Ana and Elijah exchange a secret smile, and then both reply, “Good.”

“I take it the smutty weekend away was awesome? Go team.” Holly waves her hands in the air like pompoms, and I can’t help but smile.
Fuck me, she’s sexy.

“It was alright,” Cade mutters and opens the fridge door staring in at the half-empty shelves.

“Alright?” Ana protests. “What do you mean,
it was alright?
”

“Babe, I was trying to spare them the details.” He chuckles and abandons his search, leaning back against the closed fridge door.

“Oh. Then, yeah. It was alright.” Ana gives him a wry smile.
Goddamn it. These two even manage to turn smiling into an X-rated Olympic event.
She makes her way across the room and drapes herself around him. Elijah slides his hand up her thigh, beneath her skirt. It’s as though neither of them care that I have to witness this.
It’s sickening. I feel dirty. Violated, even.
“Anyway, I gotta head into the shop and make some pies. This town isn’t going to make them itself.”

“I’ll come. I’m starving.” Elijah leans down to kiss Ana’s mouth. Holly and I both look away. Right into one another’s eyes. For the life of me, I can’t work out why things are so awkward between us now. I mean shit, yes, there’s always been heat between us, but now there’s this pull that I can’t ignore. Ever since she sucked me off in the car the night of the Fingergate incident after I took her out for ice cream—yes, that happened, and no, I wasn’t thinking past
Holy-fucking-shit that feels amazing
—all I can think about is bending her over the kitchen table, and fucking her brains out. Which would be the stupidest move I could ever make, but that doesn’t make me want to do it any less. Glancing at her as the other two leave, I can’t help but think it’s exactly what she wants, too. Which just makes it that much harder to do the right thing by everybody.

I
LEAN
in against the sink and splash my face with cold water. Jackson’s in his room, whistling along to some annoying Miley Cyrus song that the radio stations are giving way too much airplay. Whistling drives me fucking nuts. That’s why he does it. He said something once about how his grandfather used to just whistle nonstop. As in, all the time. Elderly or not, I would have junk-punched that dude so hard he’d be able to reach a few new octaves.

I stumble blindly across the bathroom until I find the towel rack, then I pat my face dry, and breathe in the sweet floral smell of fabric softener. Ana’s so fucking domestic she’s like the Aussie version of Martha Stewart, without the jail time, of course. I mean, what other nineteen year-old do you know that bakes pies, almost singlehandedly runs a diner, and uses fabric softener? The chick’s nuts. Half of the time I’m flat out trying to find where I tossed my shit to begin with, which begs the question: should I hold my best friend at gunpoint, and force her to adopt this kid? I mean, what kind of mum am I going to make when the thing is screaming for a bottle, or a dummy, or some other kind of baby crap, and I’m running around trying to find where the hell those things are buried underneath the pile of shit in my room?

And now I’m completely and utterly depressed.

Again.

Fuck my life.

I hang my towel back on the rack. I try folding it the way Ana does, but I manage to make even that look as if I took a chainsaw to it, so I just shove it back on the holder and ignore it when it falls to the floor. I turn to walk out when a loud bang sounds off in the distance. It actually shakes the ground beneath us a little.