Page 14 of Colin

And then the twins had appeared at the door, and suddenly his reckless impulsiveness was…more. Much more. Like some sort of crazy magnetic charge pulling him to the two burly gingers. He’d wanted to be in that house. Wanted to be in their presence. Wanted to feel the sharp slice of their fangs through his flesh.

Colin shivered with the memory of Dane pressing into him, sniffing at his neck. The intensity of his coffee bean scent andthe heat from his body had been like an attack on Colin’s senses. Which made no fucking sense. Colin had been working with coffee for years now—the scent of it on someone else’s skin had no right to be so goddamn…seductive.

But beyond that weird, instinctive pull? Colin had no fucking clue. He’d been superficially attracted to men before, sure, but it had never ended well. (You’re not normal, Colin. There’s something wrong with you. Frigid, isn’t that the word?)

He didn’t know how to label himself, had never really wanted to, but when it came down to it, it was always the same issue: he always wanted sex in a theoretical way, but it was never quite what it was supposed to be, was it? It wasn’t the overwhelming, mindless crush of want he heard other people talk about. It was always like part of his brain was separate, overanalyzing, and it kept him from finding the same release in sex others claimed to find.

Even when Jay had fed on him, when he’d experienced that strange pleasure of a vampire’s bite that was beyond his control, there’d been a part of Colin’s mind thinking all the while,How interesting. So this his how my body can feel? I wonder if— I imagine that—

He hadn’t gotten lost in it. Hadn’t drowned in it. And if he wasn’t drowning in it, what was the point? His own hand could make him feel just as good. But maybe that kind of sexual experience just didn’t exist for him. Maybe he had to accept that and move on.

Maybe he had to knock on this fucking front door.

But before he could, it opened on its own.

“Well, well, what do we have—”

“The rest of the boxes are in the car,” Colin interrupted whatever nonsense was about to come out of the vampire’s mouth. He didn’t have time for flirting, which Fox seemed to do an autopilot. “Give me a hand, will you? It’s hot as hell out here.”

Fox looked miffed by the command, but he complied easily enough, brushing past Colin (God, why did he have to smell sogood?) and slinking down to the car at the curb. Colin hadn’t brought much: clothing, the majority of his books, some cleaning supplies, and fresh sheets. He’d left a few boxes in his dad’s garage (his father, who had been so annoyingly pleased Colin had already found a place).

Once he’d made sure Fox was lifting boxes out of the car, he made his way inside, where twin number two was waiting for him, leaning against the wall in the hallway, looking larger than life and way too enticing.

Jesus, what was it about these two? Maybe the heat had gone to Colin’s brain.

Colin strode past him before Dane had a chance to speak—he didn’t have time at the moment to get all flustered by their overpowering presences. He needed to get settled in before any of them thought better of it.

He busied himself dusting and sweeping the bedroom while the twins brought the rest of the boxes in, then stacked what books he could—he’d need to grab another bookshelf at the thrift store, since the one in the room wasn’t big enough. All the while, he was painfully aware of the two of them standing in the doorway, watching his every move.

Didn’t they have anything better to do? Apparently he wasn’t the only one bored in Tucson.

Eventually he began stripping the sheets off the bed, gesturing to the twin on the left with his chin. “Dane, was it?” he asked (as if he’d be likely to forget). “Take these sheets and toss them in the washer, will you?”

“Try again. I’m Fox.”

Colin paused, taking a moment to study them—they were dressed in more skimpy athleisure wear, their shorts showcasing thick, muscled thighs Colin had to concentrate to keep himselffrom staring at—then shook his head, hauling off the rest of the linens and tossing them aside. “No, you’re Dane.” He pointed to the floor. “Sheets, please.”

The twin on the right—who was definitely Fox, no matter what they said— let out a one-note laugh. “How the hell did you know?”

Colin thought it over while he put the fresh sheets on the bed. Yesterday Fox had had his hair slicked back, so that had been easy enough to keep track of, but they hadn’t given him helpful hints like that today, the both of them wearing their hair loose and messy. Had they done that on purpose to fuck with him? “Just…your faces,” he eventually answered, unsure how to articulate it.

“Our faces are identical,” Dane pointed out quietly.

Colin shook his head as he fluffed up his pillows. “In structure, yes. But they’re still…different. You use them differently. Different expressions.” Fox had a mischievous smirk thing going on, for one. He seemed to be more expressive in general, whether lecherous or taunting or scowling. Dane had a more placid surface energy, closer to Colin’s own. Did they think he was an idiot, that he couldn’t figure it out after a few conversations? “Plus, you smell different.”

“Wesmelldifferent?”

“Sure.” Colin turned from the bed again and pointed at Dane. “Coffee beans.” Then at Fox. “Dark chocolate.”

Since no one was moving, the both of them staring at him like he was an alien, he gathered up the dirty sheets he’d thrown on the floor and shoved them into Dane’s arms. “Washer, please.”

He turned to deal with the boxes of his clothes, dismissing them wordlessly.

That continued to be the pattern for the rest of the day. Colin did a cursory cleaning to start them off—enough to make the place livable, at least—occasionally giving his two shadowssimple tasks, since they insisted on following him around the house anyway, watching him like twin hawks. He used the strange, tingling awareness of their presence to energize himself, refusing to let them see how much it affected him. Luckily he had his resting bitch face down to a fault.

The house was strangely bare of personality. There wasn’t any art on the walls or knickknacks on the shelves, and all the furniture seemed to be assembled at random. It felt more like a way station than a home, somehow.

But it smelled like them, so it had that going for it.

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