15. Freddie

FREDDIE

THEN – SOPHOMORE YEAR – APRIL

T he moment I walk through the door, I’m hit by a smell so divine it should be illegal. Garlic and fresh herbs mingle in the air, the savory scent curling around me like a welcome hug, making my stomach growl as loudly as a bear waking from hibernation.

Then I hear it—Alex’s laugh, bright and carefree. It’s followed by Ethan’s groan, a sound that’s half exasperation, half defeat, like a balloon deflating slowly. I can’t help but grin. I’d completely forgotten she was coming over to study—something about Tara being busy with “Mr. Big Eyes”—whatever that means.

My dick gives this annoying twitch, like it’s got a mind of its own. It’s been doing that since last month, since the night we crossed a line we swore we wouldn’t.

That morning after? It had been... nice. Too nice. Waking up with her curled against me, her soft hair tickling my nose, her body pressed against mine. I remember thinking how easy it would be to get used to this. Which is exactly why we couldn't let it happen again.

I’m still not sure which one of us brought it up first. We were in that weird, soft, hazy afterglow space, and somehow we ended up having “The Talk.” How we had to stay friends. How we couldn’t risk ruining what we had. Alex had been the one to specify “no more sex, no fondling, no more kissing,” said with that precise tone of hers, and I found myself agreeing even as a part of me wanted to protest.

It was for the best. Even if the sex had been mind-blowing, as my dick likes to constantly remind me, and my brain tortures me with vivid flashes of all the ways I’d love to make her come. Even if waking up with her in my arms had felt more right than anything in a long time. Alex deserves someone who can give her the romance, the commitment, the whole fairy tale. And that’s not me. My family, my future—they come first. No room for love stories.

“Troy-boy!” I call out, shaking off the memory. “What culinary masterpiece are you creating? And please tell me there’s enough for this starving Adonis!”

I stroll into the kitchen, trying to act normal. Alex is there, wielding a wooden spoon like a tiny dictator, pointing it at Ethan with mock severity. She’s wearing one of those oversized sweaters she loves, her hair messy from running her hands through it while studying. She looks so damn cute it hurts.

“I swear on all that is good,” she warns Ethan, her voice teasing, “if you so much as think about adding more chili flakes to this sauce, I will compost you.”

I lean against the doorframe, watching them, trying not to think about how her lips had felt against mine or how she’d gasped my name when she came. We’re friends. Just friends. That’s what we agreed.

Ethan, ever the daredevil, whines like a puppy denied a treat. “Come on, little dude. Live a little. Spice up your life!”

“I’d rather not spice up my funeral, thanks,” she retorts, quick as a whip, not missing a beat.

It’s still surreal, seeing Alex so at home here. She fits into our chaotic mess of a family like she’s always been part of it.

“Looking good, strawberry shortcake,” Troy teases Ethan, his perfectly styled golden hair catching the light. Ethan flips him off, but Troy spots me. “Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence. I would’ve gone with you. You know how I love a Friday night pump,” he says, flexing like some ridiculous bodybuilder.

Alex snorts, a sound that’s both cute and kind of piglike, and I can’t help but chuckle.

“Yeah, it was a last-minute decision after class. Sorry, bro,” I say, the half-truth sliding off my tongue easier than I’d like. Sure, it was spontaneous, but I wouldn’t have invited Troy, anyway. Sometimes a guy needs to be alone with his thoughts on a treadmill.

I’m still trying to process the fact that Alex and I hooked up last month. And while we’re pretending nothing happened, I’m about as far from normal as you can get.

I can’t stop thinking about her. About it. About how much I fucking enjoyed it. How much I want to do it again. It was her first time, and I tried to be gentle, but Christ, it had felt better than I could’ve imagined. I want to teach her everything—show her how I like it, discover what she likes. I can only imagine what round fifty would be like.

But I know we can’t.

She might not even want to.

I need to get this energy out of my system, but the thought of hooking up with someone else makes me feel like shit.

Alex turns and flashes me a smile that hits me right in the gut. She’s wearing a pair of jeans that hug her ass, an ass I now know the feel of between my hands.

“Hey, you,” she says softly, her voice low. “Dinner’s almost ready. Think you can handle setting the table?”

I swallow hard, trying to remember how to speak like a normal human being. I casually move my backpack to cover the situation in my pants.

“Yes, ma’am.” I salute, and she rolls her eyes at me before tossing a dish towel in my face. Worth it.

“I’ve just gotta take a quick shower after the gym, I fuckin’ reek.” At least it’s a solid cover. Nobody bats an eyelid as I run upstairs, turn the shower on hot, and have a very quiet, very fast release while thinking about my best friend’s perfect tits and perky ass.

I’m back downstairs in no time, feeling slightly less like I’m about to explode.

As I arrange plates like I’m preparing for a royal banquet, I notice something that makes me do a double-take. Alfie—yes, Alfie—is actually helping Alex. He’s handing her ingredients without being asked, like some kind of kitchen psychic. When she thanks him, he even cracks a smile.

Alert the media—Alfie has emotions.

Ethan, mouth full of garlic bread, announces through his carb-filled haze, “You know, you and Tara are like the little sisters I never had.”

Alex’s face scrunches up like she’s just tasted something rancid. “Eww, Ethan. We are not your sisters. I refuse to be related to someone who thinks ghost pepper is a food group.”

“Aww, don’t be like that, sis,” Troy chimes in, ruffling her hair as he passes. He’s living dangerously tonight.

Alex ducks away, swatting at his hand like it’s a particularly annoying mosquito. “Touch my hair again,” she threatens, eyes narrowing, “and I’ll burn your Xbox. Burn. It. And then plant a tree over its ashes.”

Troy, the madman, blows her a kiss and adds a wink for good measure. Alex’s scowl deepens, but I catch the way her lips twitch, fighting a smile. The contrast is almost too much to bear—she looks like she's on the verge of either murder or laughter.

Dinner unfolds in its usual chaos, a symphony of clattering plates, overlapping conversations, and the occasional projectile of food narrowly avoiding someone's eye. It’s messy. It’s perfect.

“So,” Alfie pipes up, his voice casual, though there's a spark in his eyes that makes me suspicious. “Where’s Tara tonight?”

Troy’s head swivels so fast I’m worried he’ll give himself whiplash. His gaze turns sharp, sizing up Alfie like he's trying to read him.

Alex shrugs, a mischievous glint dancing in her eyes. “Tara’s on a date with Mr. Big Eyes.”

Troy grimaces as if he's just bitten into a lemon. “What does Mr. Big— You know what? I don’t actually want to know. Some things are better left to the imagination. Or therapy.”

Lexie giggles, sipping her water like it’s the most fascinating beverage on the planet. I make a mental note: interrogate her about this mysterious Mr. Big Eyes later. Preferably when Troy’s out of the room.

After we demolish dinner and start clearing up, Alex turns to me with a look that can only mean one thing: impending academic doom.

“Ready to hit the books?” she asks, far too cheerfully for someone suggesting voluntary torture.

I groan dramatically. “Do we have to? Can’t we just Netflix and chill instead?”

The moment the words leave my mouth, I regret them. I want to swallow them back, along with my foot and maybe the entire goddamn table. Before we hooked up, it would’ve been just a stupid joke. But now? Alex’s cheeks flush a deep pink, and I hear Ethan snickering in the background like the unhelpful little shit he is.

“I... I didn’t mean…” I stammer, wondering if it’s possible to spontaneously combust from embarrassment. That’d be nice right about now.

“I know what you meant,” Alex says quickly. “Come on, that Environmental Law test isn’t going to study itself. Though that would be a neat trick.”

We head up to my room, pointedly ignoring Ethan’s eyebrow-waggling. The fucker hasn’t said a word, but I’m pretty sure he heard us that night. It’s only a matter of time before he starts his interrogation. I’ll enjoy the peace until then, even if it feels like walking on eggshells covered in landmines.

Alex flops onto my bed, and my chest tightens. Christ. I want to keep her there until I make her come again and again. Maybe three times, or four. I want to show her how fucking good I can make her feel. Make her forget her own goddamn name.

“God, your friends are exhausting,” she says, eyes closing in exhaustion.

I’m glad her eyes are shut because I can feel the blood rushing south. Fuck me.

“Pretty sure they’re your friends too at this point,” I point out, trying to sound normal and not like I’m imagining her naked and writhing beneath me.

I focus intently on the calendar on my wall like it’s the most fascinating thing in the universe. Oh, wow, it’s spring already? Spring break isn’t far away now. La-la-la, anything but thinking about my best friend naked and moaning my name.

A few hours later, my brain feels like it’s been put through a blender set to Academic Sludge. Environmental Law is about as exciting as watching grass grow in slow motion, but Alex somehow makes it bearable. She’s sprawled on my bed, nose buried in her textbook like it holds the secrets of the universe, while I’m at my desk, tossing a stress ball up and down with the focus of a cat watching a laser pointer.

“The Clean Air Act of 1963 was a landmark piece of legislation that…” Alex’s voice fades into the background noise as I watch the ball’s arc. Up, down. Up, down. It’s almost hypnotic. Maybe this is how Newton discovered gravity. Or how I’ll discover my face when I inevitably miss catching this thing.

“Freddie, are you even listening?” Alex’s exasperated voice cuts through my trance.

“Hm? Oh, yeah. Clean Air Act. Super clean. Much air. Wow.” I catch the ball and grin at her, channeling my inner meme lord.

She rolls her eyes so hard I’m worried they might get stuck, but I catch the corner of her mouth twitching. “You’re impossible.”

I’m about to deliver a witty comeback when disaster strikes. The stress ball, apparently tired of my shenanigans, decides to make a break for freedom. It bounces off my desk with incredible precision, scoring a direct hit on Alex’s water glass.

Time seems to slow down as the glass tips, unleashing a miniature tsunami all over Alex and my bed.

“Shit!” I yelp, leaping up like I’ve sat on a hedgehog. But it’s too late. Alex is soaked, her white t-shirt now totally see-through.

“Oh my God,” she squeaks, crossing her arms over her chest. I’m about to comment on the fact that I’ve already seen her magnificent chest when I decide against it. Her face turns a deep red.

“I’m so sorry!” I scramble for the nearest cloth, which, of course, happens to be the t-shirt I wore to the gym. Nothing says “I’m helping” like trying to mop up a spill with eau-de-sweaty-workout.

In my haste to fix this sitcom-worthy disaster, I manage to make things exponentially worse. Suddenly, my hand is… oh no.

Oh no.

I’m cupping Alex’s boob like it’s a fragile egg and I’m a very confused chicken.

We both freeze, wide-eyed and mortified. For a moment, we’re living statues in the world’s most awkward art installation.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll get you a dry shirt,” I stammer, bolting up. I grab the first thing I find—an old band tee that would fit a small elephant—and thrust it at her, my eyes firmly fixed on the floor. “Here. I’ll wait outside while you change.”

I flee the room, closing the door and leaning against it like I’m barricading myself from zombies.

I’ve touched boobs before. So why am I suddenly acting like a hormonal teenager who just discovered girls don’t have cooties?

An eternity (or maybe three minutes) later, the door opens. Alex steps out, and my brain short-circuits. She’s swimming in my t-shirt. The hem reaches her knees, and her damp hair curls at the ends.

“Thanks,” she says softly, tugging at the shirt hem. “I feel like I’m wearing a circus tent.”

I clear my throat, trying to remember how words work. “It, uh, it looks good on you.” Brilliant, Freddie. Shakespeare himself would weep at your eloquence.

Alex’s eyes widen slightly, then she smiles. “Thanks. Though I think your fashion sense is stuck somewhere between color-blind roadie and thrift-store dumpster dive,” she teases, gesturing to the faded band logo that looks like it went through a blender.

Just like that, the tension breaks. We’re back on familiar ground—friends, joking around, definitely not thinking about accidental boob grabs or how good she looks in my clothes.

“Hey, don’t knock the shirt,” I protest, grinning. “It’s vintage. Like fine wine, but for cotton.”

As we head back to our study session, I can’t help but sneak glances at Alex. The sight of her in my shirt is doing things to me that I’m pretty sure violate several laws of physics and possibly a few commandments.

She hums absentmindedly, already buried in her textbook. We fall into a comfortable silence, broken only by the scratch of pencils and the occasional groan of despair (mostly from me).

As Alex settles back on the bed, still drowning in fabric, I notice how the neckline slips off one shoulder and her collarbone is exposed. A collarbone I remember the taste of. She tucks a strand of damp hair behind her ear, and I find myself following the movement, mesmerized.

It’s official: I’m in trouble.

Big, Alex-shaped trouble.

“Freddie?” Her voice snaps me back to reality. She’s looking at me with a mixture of confusion and… something.

I clear my throat, trying to remember how words work. “Yeah?”

“You’re staring,” she says softly, her voice somewhere between amused and nervous.

“Oh. Sorry, I just…” I trail off, unsure how to finish that sentence. Do I admit that I was imagining kissing her senseless? Yeah, that’d definitely kill the mood.

Alex shifts closer, and suddenly the air feels thick with something electric. Her gaze flicks down to my lips, then back up to my eyes. Is she? Are we? My brain short-circuits.

I lean in, feeling the tension coil in my chest, but my body makes the decision before I do. This is a bad idea. A terrible, no-good, very bad idea. But I can’t seem to stop myself. Alex’s eyes flutter closed, and I can feel her warm breath just a fraction from my lips.

Ping!

The sharp sound of her phone buzzes through the air, like ice water splashing across my face. She jerks back, her body springing to full alert. I exhale, the moment broken.

“Oh my God,” Alex gasps, her eyes wide with excitement as she reads the notification. “Freddie, look at this!”

Before I can even process what’s happening, she’s shoving her phone in my face with the enthusiasm of an overeager puppy. I blink, trying to focus on the screen and not how close she still is. It’s a call for a protest against a new building project nearby for a processing plant. Because, of course, it is.

“I’ve been working on posters for this,” Alex continues, her earlier embarrassment forgotten as she swipes through images on her phone. “A bunch of us are protesting next month.”

The designs flash on the screen—bold, chaotic, and drenched in urgency, like they were made by a furious, very talented graffiti artist.

But as I look closer, a familiar name catches my eye. Dr. Reeves. Oh boy.

“Wait,” I frown, squinting at the screen. “Isn’t this the project Dr. Reeves is heading?”

Alex nods vigorously. “Exactly! That’s why we need to stop it. If Dr. Reeves is involved, you can bet it’s going to turn into an environmental disaster.”

A heaviness settles in my stomach as I hear her words, like I’m suddenly standing at the edge of a cliff.

I can’t help but respect Dr. Reeves. His lectures are always engaging, his approach pragmatic and logical. He's a respected researcher with solid industry ties in mining and energy, and he’s dedicated to helping students break into the industry. Having him in your corner after graduation would be invaluable.

“Alex, come on. The EIA reports show minimal impact on the wetland area. They’ve got mitigation strategies in place.”

She whirls on me, eyes blazing with a fire that sends a jolt through me. “Minimal impact? Have you even read the full assessment, or just the cherry-picked summary Dr. Reeves keeps waving around?”

I bite back a sigh. “He’s one of the most respected?—”

“He’s a sellout,” she cuts me off, her voice sharp and biting. “Three years ago, he said that same site was ‘ecologically crucial.’ But now that there’s corporate money involved, suddenly it’s expendable?”

I rake a hand through my hair, frustrated. “Things change. Science evolves. You can’t just?—”

“Science evolves?” She laughs, but it’s bitter, the sound almost hollow. “The only thing that’s evolved is the size of the check they’re writing him. Come on, Freddie, you’ve got to see where I’m coming from. I even thought you might want to help with the protest.”

The accusation stings, but what’s worse is how fucking gorgeous she looks when she’s fired up like this. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes alight with passion. I have to physically stop myself from remembering how she looked underneath me last month, all soft and vulnerable. But I can’t help it. Everything about her is magnetic.

But I also know we’re different we are. How differently we see the world. And how much I want to kiss her anyway.

“Not everything is a conspiracy, Alex,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm, controlled. “Sometimes progress means compromise. Finding solutions that work for everyone. Look, I’ll look into it more. If you’re right, I’ll help out. I need to see the full picture.”

She swallows, her throat working as she nods. “Right. I’ll take another look at everything too, just to double-check.”

Before I can say anything else, Troy’s voice shouts up the stairs, breaking the tension.

“Hey, Freds, where are you? Emergency house meeting! Ethan tried to microwave a fork again!”

I groan, half-relieved for the interruption. “Duty calls. Gotta prevent my housemate from burning down the kitchen. Again.”

Alex purses her lips, then stands up, offering me a hand. “Never a dull moment with you guys, huh?”

“What can I say?” I take her hand, pulling myself up. “We live life on the edge. The edge of complete idiocy, but still.”