I check my phone and open my friends’ group chat.
Ryan: Has the charity case arrived?
Harrison: What does he look like? I bet my mom’s prescription stash he’s weird.
Ryan: You should check his belongings for trophies from his victims. Small things, like earrings or a lock of hair.
Ryan: Harrison, I can’t believe you fucked Amber. I’ve tried to bag her for months. I’m crying into my Doritos tonight.
Harrison: You missed a good party. That rack, bro! I can die a happy man.
Ryan: Rub it in, why don’t you?
I type out a response.
Me: His name is Arkin. He’s mid-level weird. Keeps staring.
The dots appear as Harrison types out a reply.
Harrison: Aw, the charity case has a crush on our pretty boy. You better sleep with the light on from now on, Z. *evil laughter*
As I type out a reply, Arkin exits the bathroom in just a towel. Surprised, I almost drop the phone. Water droplets cling to his tanned back as he roots through his duffel bag for a change of clothes. Although I try my hardest not to look over my shoulder, it’s proving more difficult than it should. He’s a guy, for fuck’s sake. I’m not into men. The towel hangs so low on his hips I can see the dips above his ass. He’s clean of tattoos, unlike me, and there are scars on his back.
Before I fully process, he drops the towel, and my eyes bug out as I almost choke on air.
He pulls his gray joggers on, the elastic snapping into place, and then he slips on a clean hoodie, but I still have the visual of his toned ass imprinted on my mind.
Next, he puts on his white socks, and even that’s intriguing somehow.
Straightening, he flicks his dark hair out of his eyes. The strands have already started to curl, and he runs a veiny hand through them, shifting his hair away from his forehead. But it falls back into place, refusing to be tamed by this guy with the intense stare.
“Breakfast is ready,” I croak, and he looks at me, not moving an inch.
His hoodie has damp spots where he failed to dry himself properly with the towel, and my room smells of my shampoo and body wash. The peppermint smell he arrived with has disappeared, and now he smells of eucalyptus instead. Is there even a difference? They all smell the same—like minty toothpaste.
What the hell is my brain doing? I’m someone who thinks about sex, and sport, and the latest horror movie that’s come out. I don’t think about what fucking shampoo I have in the shower. Who cares?
I shake my head to clear my thoughts. The alcohol last night fried my brain. I always say never again the next morning, but do I listen? No.
“Come on. Let’s eat.”
When we enter the kitchen, Mum smiles big to hide her nerves. Dad and Neriah are already seated, but when Dad spots us, he stands. “Have a seat. Help yourself to food.”
Neriah has her head in a book while taking a large bite of her croissant. She looks up briefly, then turns the page, unfazed by the newcomer.
I sit across from Arkin, pretending I don’t feel his eyes on me as I pile my plate with eggs. He hesitates momentarily, glancing uncertainly around the table before helping himself to pancakes. Mom’s eyes light up, and she gives Dad a meaningful look that says, “Talk.”
Dad almost chokes on his coffee. Putting the cup down, he picks up a napkin and wipes his mouth. “I hope you’ll be comfortable staying here with us, Arkin. We understand it’s a big change. Zachary and Neriah attend college during the day. You’ll start in a week or so if everything goes well. We understand it’s not easy changing colleges this far into the year…” He drifts off, exchanging an uncertain glance with Mum, then sits straighter and smooths down his tie. “What I’m saying is not to worry,young man. The college is fully aware, and measurements will be in place to ensure a smooth transition.”
Arkin eats his food in silence, a slight, unmistakable tremble to his hands. He doesn’t look at anyone, but I know he’s aware of everything around him, including me. When he finishes his pancakes, he helps himself to more with a quick glance at my dad as though he worries he might get into trouble. Mum’s eyes sparkle. There’s no greater compliment than someone scoffing her food like it’s going out of fashion.
My fork clanks on the plate as I stab my egg. I’m still nauseous from last night, but I need to eat, or I won’t get through the day. As I drink my orange juice, I feel a pair of eyes on me and look up. Arkin intently studies me with his sky-blue gaze as I finish the drink.
After I put the empty glass down, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. He keeps watching me. Mum warns me with a single glare to behave. Even so, no one has stared at me so openly before, and it’s hard not to fidget.
The conversation continues. For the next ten minutes, Dad tells Arkin about my football practice and the trophies in my room. Neriah glances at Arkin as she turns another page, and I ask her if she’s ready to head off. She nods, then puts the book inside her Fjällräven bag by the chair.
Locking eyes with Arkin as I kiss Mum on the cheek, I see him studying the action as though it intrigues him.
