Page 72 of Five
Eighteen
Remi
Istareatthemess on the table for a moment, thinking how nice it would be if there was someone else here to clean it up.
The six of us have had an awesome first… hell, I’m not even sure what to call it. An encounter? I suppose that fits.
However anyone wants to label it, everyone seems happy and content… with the possible exception of Jesse, but I think that’s just sour grapes on his part. He didn’t expect Neve to handle things as well as she did.
The others all look comfortable and satisfied. Sated on good food as well as our little game.
Neve has gone to shower.
Thinking about why she needs to has my chest pumping. There’s no doubt what we did was hot, but I’m not quite sure how I feel about it.
I’m expecting the rest of the guys to follow suit. We’re all a little messy right now, and they all look ready to call it a night.
Me? I’m still feeling a little wired, but I guess that’s just as well since I still have the clean-up to do.
I scoop some of the detritus onto a large tray and start stacking plates. This is one of the things I hate the most. I’d be tempted to hire some help with the menial stuff, but we don’t really have that kind of setup, and I can’t, in all good faith, spend any more of Cope’s money. The guy already covers most of the running costs of our little haven since I decided to close the resort after my parents died and left everything to me.
The guys stand, and my goodnights are on the tip of my tongue, but instead of leaving, they all pick up an armful of whatever needs to be taken back to the kitchen.
“What are you doing?” I address this to Oz since he’s already walking ahead of me with a stack of plates, while I follow with the food waste.
He throws me a surprised look over his shoulder. “You didn’t think we’d leave you to clear all this up on your own, did you?” He almost seems offended.
I shrug and opt for honesty. “I figured you were all comfortably satisfied and in need of a shower…and to, you know, maybe spank the monkey.”
Oz laughs. “Well, that might be next on the list, but right now we help you. We’re a team, bud. Neve being here doesn’t change that.”
“Besides, we know how much you hate feeling like unpaid labor. You didn’t close this place down to the public just so you could wait on us, instead.” This from Ollie, who’s walked up behind me with a tray of condiments while Jesse stacks what’s left on the table.
Fuck! These guys.
Times like these reinforce that I made the right decision inviting them to live here with me. Why the hell did I imagine they’d take me for granted, even for a moment? These four men know me almost as well as I know myself.
They know I started bussing tables almost as soon as I could walk, and how I spent so much of my life feeling like I was living my life for the benefit of others instead of myself. They appreciate how I love to cook, but hate cooking the same thing over and over again, especially for a public who always seem determined to be miserable. They understand that I lost my childhood to this place—a homeschooled oopsie-baby to parents in their late forties, who were obsessed with building an alternative to the large corporate resorts in the Keys.
And they understand how I don’t want to sacrifice my adulthood to the same thing as my parents did. This was their dream, not mine.
Not that I had any choice for a long time.
Hell, I even surprised myself when I invited Oz, Ollie, Jesse, and Cope to live here.
Don’t get me wrong, I want Neve here, too, but I guess I’d expected her presence to change our dynamic; that maybe the guys would have a different focus.
Be distracted.
When we get to the kitchen, Cope’s already there. “Okay, I’ve handled everything in here,” he says cheerfully, looking around to check that he hasn’t missed anything. He has one of the industrial sinks filled with soapy water, and the pots and pans I used to prepare our spread are already in one of the two massive dishwashers.
You’d never guess he was a rich kid, brought up with staff that did everything for him. Right now, he’s heading back out with antibacterial spray and a damp cloth to wipe down the table.
“Thanks, guys,” I say, feeling kinda choked up. I guess it’s true what they say. We make our own families, and this group is mine.
Oz slaps me on the shoulder as I start stacking the second dishwasher with the plates Oliver has rinsed. “No thanks needed. One of the best days of my life was when you started asking questions about hurricane shelters.”
I bite out a dry laugh. “You thought I wanted it for nefarious purposes,” I counter, thinking back to the grilling he gave me about the island, trying to work out if it was a cover for the Lost Boys.
