Emersyn
I decide to stay in my room for the rest of the night, I'm still feeling the lingering embarrassment of Marx seeing me in only a towel. My face flushes again just thinking about it, and I know I'll be replaying that moment over and over in my head. Even though I'm sure I heard Marx leave not long ago, I don't want to chance leaving my room and having to face him. I can't shake the intense look he gave me, and it's left me feeling both vulnerable and yet weirdly fascinated. If his look alone can do that, I wonder what his touch could do?
Wait, shit. I need to stop. He's basically my landlord, I need to stop lusting after this guy.
I sit down at my desk and pull up the old laptop Valarie lent me. The screen flickers to life, and I start scrolling through job listings. I've applied for a few already, but none of them are really what I want. They're just jobs, mundane tasks that I'll have to endure to make ends meet. But I know that I can't afford to be picky right now. I need income, stability, something to ground me as I rebuild my life.
You would think having a college degree would have widen my job pool, but sometimes I feel as though it made it even smaller. I have an undergraduate in fine arts, and while some jobs think that I'm overqualified due to my schooling, others think the opposite. I can do so much with my degree, yet so little at the same time. Which is how I was stuck with an office job in sales.
My eyes flit across various postings for retail positions, customer service roles, administrative work. Nothing catches my eye, nothing speaks to my passions or my dreams. But then again, I'm not sure I even know what those are anymore. Everything's been turned upside down, and the future that once seemed so clear is now a murky haze.
With a sigh, I click on another listing, a part-time position at a local bookstore. It's not glamorous, and it won't pay much, but books have always been a solace for me. Maybe working around them could bring me some comfort, even if it's just for a little while.
I fill out the online application, trying to make my scant experience sound appealing. It's been a long time since I've had to search for a job, and I can feel my confidence waning. Still, I hit "submit" and hope for the best.
I spend the next hour or so browsing more listings, applying for a few that seem tolerable, and then finally shut the laptop with a feeling of frustration and exhaustion.
With a contented sigh, I climb into bed, pulling the soft, blue-gray comforter around me. As I drift off to sleep, my thoughts keep returning to Marx, his intense gaze, and the inexplicable pull I felt.
Loud music blasting from the living room jolts me awake. Blinking the sleep from my eyes, I climb out of bed, padding to the door to investigate. The music is like something you'd hear at a frat party, but as I walk into the living room, the scene is entirely different.
Two men, dancing together as though they're listening to a slow melody meant for only the two of them, fill the space with a strangely intimate energy. Their movements are graceful and synchronized, and I stand and watch them for a moment, mesmerized by the connection between them.
One has long, curly brown hair tied back in a ponytail, a prominent nose, and a mustache that lends him a distinguished appearance. His features are strong yet delicate, and his tall, slender, lanky build adds to an air of elegance. Despite his height, he doesn't quite reach the towering stature of Marx. There's something calming about him.
The other man's skin is a rich, deep brown, his face full of stubble and expressive eyes. He's just barely shorter than the other dancer, with a stocky build that speaks of strength. His voice, when he finally notices me and turns down the music, booms and fills the room. The energy he exudes is wild but distinctly different from Fowler's manic enthusiasm.
"Oh, you must be Emersyn! I forgot you were moving in this morning," the taller one with the curly hair says, his voice soothing and warm. "I'm Cruz, and this is Locke. Did we wake you? I'm so sorry."
I'm a little caught off guard. Cruz, the contractor, the one who is always working with his hands is the tall, lanky one. I honestly expected him to be the stockier built one.
Locke's eyes sparkle as he quickly extends a hand, his greeting rapid-fire and filled with genuine interest. "Hey there! Welcome to the madhouse. You're gonna love it here, promise!"
I shake his hand, still slightly dazed by their unexpected dance and the energy they radiate.
Cruz smiles, his eyes soft and welcoming. "Sorry about the loud music. We tend to lose ourselves in dance sometimes. It's a way to connect and unwind after a long week."
I find myself smiling back, their openness and lack of embarrassment putting me at ease. "It's fine, really. It was beautiful to watch." I'm embarrassed at my words, but they don't seem to mind.
Locke chuckles, his laughter deep and contagious. "Beautiful? That's a new one! But hey, we'll take it!"
The two of them are a fascinating contrast, Cruz with his calming presence and Locke with his frenetic energy. Yet they complement each other in a way that's hard to define, much like the dance I'd just witnessed.
"Cruz and I were just killing time until our food's done," Locke explains, his voice booming yet warm. "Care to join us, Emersyn?"
My initial reaction is to decline, not wanting to impose on their dinner. But then my stomach betrays me, growling audibly and reminding me that I haven't eaten anything substantial all day.
Cruz's eyes widen, and he lets out a gentle laugh. "I think your stomach has made the decision for you."
Locke joins in the laughter, and I feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment, but their smiles are so genuine and welcoming that I can't help but chuckle too.
"Yeah, I guess it has," I agree, feeling more at ease.
"You must be starving after all that moving," Cruz says, his voice soft and considerate. "Come on, we've got plenty."
I follow them into the kitchen, feeling strangely connected to these two men I've only just met. Cruz's calm presence and Locke's wild energy are like two ends of a spectrum, and yet they mesh together so naturally. I can't help but feel drawn to them.
As we gather around the island, Cruz serves up generous portions of a mouthwatering dish that fills the room with a delicious aroma. Locke keeps up a lively chatter, bouncing from topic to topic with infectious enthusiasm, while Cruz listens attentively, occasionally chiming in with thoughtful insights.
I find myself drawn into their conversation, enjoying the natural flow and the way they play off each other. My thoughts keep circling back to the way they danced together, the connection they shared, and the way they've openly accepted me into their space.
"So, Emersyn," Cruz says, pulling me out of my reverie, "what brings you to our little corner of the world?"
I hesitate for a moment, unsure of how much to share. But there's something about Cruz's gentle inquiry and Locke's encouraging smile that makes me feel comfortable opening up.
"I needed a fresh start," I confess, my voice softer than I intended. "A place to figure things out and maybe find a new direction. I- I just broke up with my boyfriend and he's kept the apartment."
Cruz nods understandingly, and Locke reaches across the table to pat my hand. "Well, you've come to the right place. We're all about new beginnings here." He doesn't ask any questions about my breakup and I don't offer any. But I know if I wanted to talk about it, that they would both listen.
I smile, feeling a warmth in my chest that has nothing to do with the delicious food.
I'm in the middle of a bite when the front door swings open with a loud creak, and a whirlwind of energy bursts into the room. Fowler, his face flushed and eyes sparkling, enters the kitchen. He's wearing pale blue scrubs that look worn from a long day's work, and his hair is a wild mess.
"Evening, everyone!" he chirps, his voice filled with that manic enthusiasm I've come to associate with him. "Smells divine in here."
Cruz smiles warmly. "Grab a plate. We've got plenty left."
"Save any lives today?" Locke booms, his eyes twinkling.
Fowler's laughter fills the room as he serves himself a generous portion. "Something like that," he replies, his eyes dancing with mischief.
I find myself curiously studying his scrubs, and a realization dawns on me. "I don't think you ever told me what you do for work," I say, trying to sound casual. "Are you a doctor?"
Fowler's eyes widen, and he almost chokes on his food. "A doctor? Me? Oh no, I'm just a nurse," he says, his voice filled with humility.
"Just a nurse?" I echo, surprised by his modesty. "That's a huge deal! My best friend Valarie is a nurse."
His face lights up, and he leans closer. "Really? Where does she work?"
"She's at Willow Grove Medical Center," I reply.
Fowler's eyes sparkle with recognition. "Ah, I've heard of that place. I'm at Sunshine Pediatric Hospital. Love working with the little ones."
A warmth spreads through me as I realize how much passion Fowler must have for his work. His lively energy, the way he talks about the children—it all paints a picture of someone who genuinely loves what he does.
"That sounds wonderful," I say, my voice filled with genuine admiration. "I bet the kids adore you."
Fowler blushes, a rare display of shyness. "Well, I try to make it fun for them. It's the least I can do."
Locke chimes in, his eyes filled with pride. "Don't let him fool you, Emersyn. He's the best nurse around. The kids absolutely love him."
Cruz nods, adding his voice to the praise. "It's true. Fowler has a gift."
The conversation flows naturally from there, moving from work to hobbies, interests, and shared experiences. I find myself opening up more, drawn into their world, feeling like I truly belong.
As the night wears on, I realize how comfortable I feel with these three men, how they've effortlessly welcomed me into their lives.
After we finish dinner and clear the plates, Cruz suggests moving to the living room to watch a movie.
My body protests the idea, fatigue settling in my bones after a long and emotional day. I start to decline, wanting to escape to my room and fall into the inviting embrace of sleep. But as I look at their eager faces, something stops me. A part of me doesn't want this night to end, doesn't want to break the spell of connection we've created.
"Sure," I hear myself saying, a small smile playing on my lips. "A movie sounds nice."
The guys cheer, and we all head into the living room. Fowler takes charge of finding something to watch, scrolling through options with a thoughtful expression. I sink into the couch, feeling the weight of the day finally catching up with me. I try to pay attention to the movie selection, but my eyelids grow heavy, and my thoughts begin to drift.
The movie starts, but I'm only vaguely aware of it, my mind caught in a drowsy haze. I find myself leaning against Fowler, his warm side a comfortable resting place. As my head settles against him, I notice a subtle, intoxicating scent that lingers on his skin.
It's a mixture of sandalwood and citrus, a masculine, earthy fragrance that's both soothing and invigorating. The scent is intertwined with a faint hint of antiseptic, a reminder of his day at the hospital. It's a comforting blend that speaks to his nurturing nature, his dedication, his energy.
My eyes drift closed, the world slipping away as the fragrance lulls me into a dreamy stupor. I hear the faint murmur of the movie, the occasional laughter from the others, but it all feels distant, unimportant.
A gentle nudge rouses me from my doze, and I blink up at Fowler, his eyes soft and concerned.
"Hey, sleepyhead," he whispers, a tender smile on his lips. "You were dozing off."
I feel a rush of embarrassment and pull away slightly, my face flushing. "I'm so sorry," I mumble, "I didn't mean to fall asleep on you."
Fowler's hand reaches out to touch my arm, his touch reassuring. "Don't worry about it," he says, his voice gentle and soothing. "I didn't mind. Really. Plus, you looked like you needed the rest."
For a fleeting moment, I catch a spark in his eyes, a hint of something more. It's gone in an instant, but it leaves me with a fluttering sensation in my stomach. Was he flirting with me? The thought dances through my mind, but I push it away. I'm sure he wasn't.
The movie ends, the credits rolling on the screen, and I realize I've missed the entire thing. The guys stretch and yawn, and we all make our way to our respective bedrooms, saying our goodnights.
As I stumble to my room, still half-asleep, I can't shake the feeling of warmth, the sense of belonging that has settled in my heart. I crawl into bed, the lingering scent of Fowler still in my nostrils, the sound of his voice still echoing in my ears.