Living With Boys

two // ominous stockholm syndrome

Isabelle: The first of many daily updates, my dear. I am very upset. He has, unfortunately, grown up hot.

Zara: This is unfortunate, how?

Isabelle: I'm not built to hate pretty things. It's not in my personal constitution.

***

Jameson, as it turned out, drove like we were in a Thelma and Louise reboot, and I spent most of the drastically shortened journey stressing about who was going to select the picture for my funeral, giving me no time to stress about what was waiting for me (other than a quick, fiery death) when the car finally stopped.

It couldn't have been more than twenty minutes before Jamie pulled up outside a gorgeous weather-board house, with an overgrown garden and old-timey window frames. The house had to be obscenely expensive; I knew the area, and a five-bedroom place would cost millions.

I had no idea how Will and the boys afforded to live it in, which was entirely my own fault. I refused to listen to anything about Will Kennedy. When Kai mentioned his name, I hummed noncommittally at the required gaps in his stories, and mentally recited the names of sexy celebrities. My one-sided feud with Will was, naturally, a thing of unparalleled maturity.

Jameson's parking was horrendous, but he didn't seem to mind as he slid from the front seat, opening his arms in a showy gesture. There was a slightly pleased smile on his face, as if he enjoyed being the one to welcome me to the house. "Welcome, Isabelle, to my humble abode."

"It's not humble, or yours."

He shrugged. "Semantics."

The house truly was beautiful. Not particularly extravagant, in the way that some of my high school friends' family houses had been. Jameson had grown up in a veritable mansion, and this place was small and homey in comparison. But it didn't matter; this place felt warm and inviting, and I was not well versed in houses of that description.

I felt the nervous flitter of butterflies deep in my gut. I was moving into Will Kennedy's fucking house. It had been so long, and I wasn't sure how to play it. Wasn't sure how he would play it. If, from his perspective, there was anything between us that would require a strategy to navigate. I could only force a polite smile of gratitude onto my face, and hope that the buffer of three other boys would divert any necessity to make up my mind just yet.

I stepped out of the car uncertainly, slinging my carry-on backpack over my shoulder.

This was going to be totally normal. I could be absolutely, totally, completely normal. We were getting the band back together, I was living with Will Kennedy, and I could definitely pretend to be unfazed and unhurt and normal about it.

Jameson frowned at me. "Why do you look constipated?"

My very polite smile dropped. "I'm not constipated."

"You can be, if you like," said Jameson, casually. "You have an ensuite, so your shitting habits will not be subjected to the court of public opinion."

I gaped at the house. "The bedrooms have ensuites?"

"Yours does," said Jameson. The expression on his face was vaguely amused. "You have the master."

I frowned. It was a five-bedroom house, and I couldn't imagine that it was the master bedroom that had been left vacant since Kai's departure. I mean, it was Will's house. "Why? I'm paying the least in rent."

"We don't want your feminine witchy voodoo in our manly bathroom," said Jameson, waving a hand at me. When I looked at him sceptically, he grinned. "The other guys were insecure about the prospect of you needing to use the bathroom after they took a shit, and this was the only option that didn't offend their delicate sensibilities. I think Will was about ready to start popping a squat on the back lawn."