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F I F T Y F O U R
- Quinn -
Even though James went two months without jacking me in the face, I suspected our new living arrangement couldn’t last forever.
James and Maddy hadn't cohabitated since they were in their early teens, and it showed. Watching them learn about each other’s quirks was amusing at the best of times, and at the worst, I couldn't believe how they snapped at one another.
Half the time, it made me glad I didn't have siblings myself because it seemed such an exhausting prospect. There were other times, though, that I admit I felt a tinge of jealousy when I caught them reading each other’s minds or laughing at inside jokes. I didn't resent the bond they had or anything. I just recognized that it was something worthwhile, something that made them both stronger.
Despite how well we got along as a group, it wasn't all milk and cookies. Out of respect for each other, we were all living a slightly censored version of our lives that often felt stifling and tense.
Maddy and I were sneaking sex like teenagers while James wasn't sneaking any, and I could tell it was getting to him. Even now, I could see the monitor on his rowing machine as I matched him stroke for stroke, and he wasn't pulling like a man who needed a good workout. He was pulling like a man who needed a good lay.
"You want to talk about it?" I panted, pushing through my heels and leaning back while my arms finished the stroke.
"About what?" He kept his eyes forward as sweat pooled on the floor beneath him.
"About what's got you pulling 1:38 for the last twenty minutes."
"No."
I could barely keep up with his punishing pace. "This is ridiculous, James. You're going to kill us."
"Stop anytime you want."
I slowed right down, taking long, slow strokes until I regained my breath. Then I jerked my feet from the straps, reached over, and flipped his monitor back so he wouldn't be able to see how hard he was pulling.
"What the fuck, Quinn?! Flip that back."
"That's enough, man. The goal isn't to walk out of here with bloody hands and wake up crippled tomorrow."
As I suspected, he couldn't maintain his pace without the thrill of the monitor egging him on, and after another power ten, he began to slow down the same way I had, letting the lactic acid drain from his muscles through active recovery.
Meanwhile, I sat on my machine's sliding seat pad, bending and straightening my knees while I chugged three quarters of my water bottle.
"I can't do this anymore," he admitted finally.
"Do what?" I asked, though I suspected I knew what was coming.
"Live with you guys."
I opened my mouth to object, but he kept talking.
"I know you've gone out of your way to welcome me home." He grabbed his white hand towel off the floor and mopped the perimeter of his flushed face. "And out of your way to not rub your new relationship in my face."
I was glad he recognized that because it hadn't been easy. Keep your hands to yourself wasn’t exactly my favorite game to play with Maddy.
"But I know it's cramping your style."
"It's not cramping—"
"Don't bullshit me," he said. "I know it is. It's cramping mine, too."
I knew better than to argue with that. Like myself, James was a red-blooded male, and I suspected two months of forced chastity were affecting him negatively in more ways than one.
"Anyway, I’m moving out."
"James."
