AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Right dickheads, you need to move your lazy arses because we’ve got a routine to finish.”
“Ah, man, I was having fun watching you two. Best laugh I’ve had all week…” Dax’s voice trails off and we all know that his homelife has been rough lately. The darkening bruise on his chin tells us as much even though he hasn’t said a thing. His dad is as much of a bully as my mum.
Giving Xeno a gentle nudge, I duck out of his hold and move towards Dax. “Come on, Dax, let’s dance those arseholes out of our system,” I say.
We lock gazes, understanding passing between us. “Alright, kid, anything for you,” he says.
I roll my eyes at his nickname for me. Dax is exactly six months and two days older than me, but apparently that’s enough of an age gap for him to be able to call me a kid. Maybe I should start calling him Daddy… Okay, no, that would be weird.
Half an hour later after repeating the same set of steps over and over again toIt’s Like Thatby Run DMC we all flop onto the sofa’s panting and sweating.
“I think we got it down,” Zayn comments, a pleased look on his face. He should be pleased, it’s pretty much all his choreography. The guy’s a genius.
“I agree. Good job. We could probably win the battle at Rocks Friday night,” Dax says, casually.
“That’s a nightclub for the over eighteen,” I point out.
“Yep, anillegalnightclub run by my uncle that doesn’t give a shit about underage kids so long as they can fucking dance. We’re tight, we could win,” Zayn points out.
Xeno frowns, looking between us before his gaze lands on me. “No. Not yet.”
“But…” Zayn interrupts.
“I said not yet.”
And just like that the conversation ends.
York, sensing the tension, does his mother hen thing and grabs us all a drink from the mini fridge that Zayn took from a skip a week ago. One of the posh knobs down the street is getting their house refurbished and was throwing away all sorts of good shit. Jeb had taken most of it, but Zayn managed to nab the fridge before anyone else could.
“Here we go, ladies,” York grins, chucking us a can of Cola each and successfully curbing the argument between Xeno and Zayn.
Of the group, York is the most light-hearted, and thoughtful. The dude would make someone a great wife. Also, I’m fairly sure he’s Mother Theresa reincarnated. I chuckle to myself at the thought of him wearing a nun’s habit.
“What’s tickled your pickle, Titch?” he asks, flopping down on the sofa next to me. He throws his arm around the back of the seat and I get a whiff of his aftershave and the musky smell of sweat that should be gross but isn’t. I have to stop myself from wrapping my arm around his waist and breathing in deep. The guys are always flinging their arms around me in a friendly, best friend kind of way and whilst I’m cool with that, I’m not so great at returning the favour physically.
“You, York, you tickle my pickle. I like it,” I respond instead.
Zayn flashes me a look at the exact same time as Cola fires out of his nostrils. What the actual fuck? I start giggling uncontrollably as he wipes at his face. He’s such a plum. Dax slams him on the back and Xeno watches us all with amusement from the armchair opposite. But when I look at York, his face is a bright red, and he looks more like a tomato than Edward-sparkling-Cullen.
“What did I say?” I ask, genuinely miffed.
York is always coming up with random sayings. I was just doing what I always do and taking part in the fun. York shakes his head and grins, the colour fading from his cheeks.
“Nothing, it’s nothing. You’re just funny, that’s all.”
But I’m not to be put off. I want to know what all the looks are for. Even Dax seems to have sunk lower into the sofa and has pulled up his hoodie to hide the expression on his face. Even though he’s not making a sound, I know he’s laughing. His shoulders are moving up and down with mirth.
“What?!” I repeat.
Xeno opens his mouth then slams it shut again when York gives him the stink-eye. It’s Zayn that finally caves. He’s the one who always caves first. The guy can’t keep anything from me. I like his honesty and I like the fact he trusts me enough with it.
“Your clit, Titch. When York refers to ‘your pickle’, he’s talking about your clit.”
Beside me York groans. “It’s just a phrase, I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“My clit? What the fuck are you all going on about?” I ask, genuinely confused.What’s a damn clit?
“Oh, fuck no! I’m out of this one,” Xeno exclaims, getting up and striding over to the bathroom. He slams the door and I jump.
