Rowdy || 18+ || RH

Chapter 23

Emersyn

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and scrambled eggs fills the air as Fowler flips the last pancake onto a plate. It's a rare day off for both of us, and the relaxed atmosphere is a pleasant change.

"So, any plans for today?" he asks, sliding a cup of coffee across the counter to me.

I take a sip, savoring the warmth. "Not much, just thought about doing some chores. You?"

"Same," he chuckles. "Life doesn't pause, even on days off."

We eat breakfast, trading small talk about upcoming movies. As I clear the dishes, Fowler checks the chore chart.

"Looks like I have dusting, and you have vacuuming," he says. "Why not do them together? Make it a cleaning party?" He suggests, already scrolling through his phone for a playlist.

A few seconds later, music blares from the speakers, filling the house with upbeat tunes. Armed with a feather duster and a smile, I start on the living room shelves while Fowler revs up the vacuum.

The music's tempo adds a playful vibe to our chores. Before long, we're both dancing more than cleaning. Fowler twirls me around, and I can't help but laugh. It feels good, this simple joy of shared tasks and uninhibited fun.

Just as Fowler dips me in an exaggerated dance move, my eyes drift upwards. Marx is standing at the railing of the loft, watching us. My heart skips a beat. Caught in the act of unguarded happiness, I feel a slight flush of embarrassment. But why? I have every right to enjoy my day, to dance in my own living room.

Yet, as my eyes lock with Marx's, I see something flicker in his gaze. Is it jealousy? Longing? Or am I just reading too much into a passing glance?

As quickly as he appeared, Marx retreats, heading back into his room. The music still plays, but the mood has shifted, like a record scratching in an old movie.

"Everything okay?" Fowler asks, noticing my distraction.

"Yeah," I reply, forcing a smile. "Just lost in thought."

We get back to cleaning, but my mind is elsewhere, tangled in the web of emotions that seems to get more complicated with each passing day. Was that look from Marx my imagination?

As the final song on the playlist fades out, Fowler turns off the vacuum. "Well, I'd say we've earned a break."

"Yeah," I agree, but my voice is distant.

As I put away the cleaning supplies, I can't shake the image of Marx looking down at us.

"Hey, Fowler," I start, waiting for him to look at me. When he does, I continue. "I was actually meaning to talk to you about something."

I take a deep breath, gathering my thoughts. The atmosphere is suddenly heavy with unspoken words. Fowler leans against the counter, giving me his full attention.

"Go on," he says gently, his eyes searching mine.

"It's about my brother's wedding. It's coming up, and, well... Marx offered to be my date," I hesitate, not sure how he'll react. "I didn't know if you'd be okay with it, given, you know, everything that's happened between us."

Fowler smiles, his eyes softening. "Emersyn, whatever is going on between us shouldn't stop you from having fun or living your life. If you want to take Marx to your brother's wedding, you should."

I feel relieved, but he isn't done.

"In fact," he adds, a sly grin creeping onto his face, "if you wanted to be with Marx—or any of the guys we live with—in a way that's more than platonic, I wouldn't mind that either."