Genevieve
I FEEL OUT OF PLACE.
Staying overnight at a house with six guys is, quite frankly, intimidating. I've stayed over before but that was back when we were hiding our relationship while it was in the early stages and now it's out in the open and even my best friends are aware, Harris has asked me to stay the night. I couldn't say no to him, even if I do foster some reservations considering my presence will now be known.
Harris is utterly charming, especially at the best of times. And he's distinctly aware of my weaknesses. Maybe it's the fact that I was drowning in delirium when he asked me because his lips were tickling my neck, his breath hot and tantalising with each word uttered. He promised more if I agreed, and my body surrendered to his.
Now it's the next morning following our date at Moonshine where we spotted Ford Brody and his date—I only know her as Gabriella; I'm unaware of her surname. Harris claims early this morning he has some business to attend to... whatever that translates to. He always alleges that his business is private, and I never desire to pry, but the secrecy is starting to bug me. I won't outright announce my concerns to him, but I hope that one day soon he can confide in me.
Sitting on the edge of Harris' queen-size bed, I glance down at my hands situated idly in my lap. My fingers on my left hand are speckled with small and faint tattoos. They're only partially intricate, and the designs consist of a compass, a small rose, a crescent moon, an arrow, and a lightning bolt, to name a few, with additional dots surrounding some of them and shading. It was my eighteenth birthday present from my parents. I was clueless as to what else I wanted, so my parents handed me the money and I went and got the tattoos done the next day. Even two years later I'm still in love with them.
My stomach rumbles—a reminder that I'm supposed to be hiding out in Harris' room until he returns, but I'm so fucking hungry that I'm willing to risk running into one of his friends I barely know just to grab a snack downstairs. We'd skipped out on breakfast and now I'm paying the price.
The house is enormous with seven bedrooms, though one is seldom used considering there are only six guys residing in the excessive mansion. I've been sneaking in and out of it for over a month now which is how long we've been dating. We'd had some close shaves—and laughed about them afterwards, caught up in the adrenaline-fuelled thrill of being caught—but ultimately, we'd never been found out.
After an internal quarrel, I sigh and push myself up from the bed. Poking my head through a crack in the door, I confirm there's no one nearby before traversing the corridor and beginning to descend the stairs. It's only when I reach the ground floor when voices begin to filter from what I can only suspect is the dining room. The lounge is empty as I pass through it and the voices stretch further from the kitchen. I only know the dining room to be in that area, though how often six twenty-one-year-olds sit down at a dinner table, I don't fucking know.
My footsteps become featherlight until I stumble, unsure of whether to continue into the kitchen and be in their line of sight from the dining room. In the end, I halt there, unintentionally licensing myself to eavesdrop into what I can only suspect is supposed to be a private discussion.
"William, this isn't just nothing. This is an absolute clusterfuck," Ford says, rage lacing his words.
"They won't do anything," someone responds, and I assumed that it's William.
"They could have been the ones who got to Iesha."
The name Iesha rings a bell, but I frown as I fail to pinpoint why it seems so familiar to me. While my memories fog, something is being stirred up in my mind, though it's vague and still doesn't answer my query of the identity of Iesha.
