[Hemsworth Brothers 01.0] The Slam Read online

  I frowned. “A bush TV?”

  “A campfire,” she answered. “Send my love to Edricson. You brothers be good to each other. And be nice to Adelaide.” Click. The line went dead.

  Chapter Two

  ENDER

  WHEN I GOT BACK FROM the store the next morning, I walked into the kitchen to find Natasha and Edric in the middle of a heated argument.

  “How come she gets to stay here, huh?” Natasha was glaring at him like she wanted to gut him like a fish. “Why her and not me?”

  “I’m not dating her, okay.” Edric blew out a frustrated sigh. “She’s a long time friend of the family.”

  Crossing her arms, Natasha gave him the side-eye. “How do I know you’re not full of shit?”

  Edric mimicked her actions, folding his arms across his chest. “You’re the one who turns every discussion into a giant shit fest. If you don’t believe me, ask Ender.”

  Natasha whirled around to face me.

  Now she was giving me the side-eye.

  Natasha was the queen of side-eye.

  Setting the bagels on the kitchen counter, I said flatly, “She’s a long time friend of the family.”

  “Thank you!” Edric said forcefully. “Now can we move on? Please.”

  “Nope,” Natasha snapped. “I’m not done yet!”

  “Good God, woman.” Edric drew a long breath. “Let the butt hurt flow through you! And you know what? I don’t even know what you’re so butt hurt about!”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Natasha demanded.

  Edric gave a weary sigh. “Tell you what?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me she was gonna be staying here?”

  “How else can I explain this to you?” Edric cut his gaze to the ceiling. “I didn’t know. For the hundredth time—I only found out last night!”

  Adelaide chose that moment to breeze into the carnage. “Hellooooo!” she chirped. “Good morning, everyone!”

  Natasha gave her an epic side-eye.

  Adelaide attempted to return the side-eye, but she ended up looking like Quasimodo.

  The best part of it all was Adelaide’s zero fucks bemusement at the dramatics. She simply pulled out a chair, sat down, and helped herself to a bagel.

  “Who got the bagels?” she asked.

  “I did.”

  “Thanks, Ender,” she said brightly. “Is there coffee too?”

  “There’s a fresh pot on the counter. Help yourself.”

  “Okay,” she said, looking around. “Isn’t anyone else going to eat?” She leveled a cool gaze at Natasha. “Hi, there.” She smiled sweetly. “Would you like a bagel?”

  Edric made the swift introductions. “Natasha, this is Adelaide. And Adelaide, meet my girlfriend, Natasha.”

  “Hi,” Natasha said acidly.

  “Bagel for you?” Adelaide repeated.

  Natasha dismissed her words with a flick of her ring-laden fingers. “No bagel for me. Thanks for the offer, but I’m on the Paleo diet.”

  “You are?” Adelaide’s entire face lit up. “Oh, how fascinating! Paleontology—that’s what I plan to major in!” Propping her elbows on the counter, she studied Natasha with curious eyes. “So tell me, do you eat insect larvae, lizards, beetles, frogs, ferns, and cattails?”

  Natasha’s jaw slackened. “Of course not! I only eat food that could have been hunted and gathered by cavemen. Which means I eat meat, fish, and vegetables. Lots of vegetables and...” She turned her nose up at the bagels. “I avoid gluten at all costs!”

  “But,” Adelaide countered. “Most vegetables today didn’t exist in the Paleolithic era. As with our modern eating habits, diets in the Paleolithic era would have varied widely according to location. Groups who settled in desert locales would have had no access to fish and probably had little meat to eat. They mainly ate small game like mice and rats, even frogs and insects.” She took a bite of her bagel and added, “As for gluten, there is archeological evidence that prehistoric man ate proto-wheat and barley, quantities of cereal grains, and high numbers of grass seeds as well.”

  “And?” Natasha rolled her eyes. “Your point?”

  “Eat what works for you, that’s fine,” Adelaide said not unkindly. Getting to her feet, she poured herself a cup of coffee. “But I wouldn’t go around saying it’s because of what our Paleo ancestors ate, unless you know what they actually ate.”

  “It’s healthier!” Natasha said self-importantly. “And it helps me maintain my figure.”

  “Well,” Adelaide said thoughtfully. “It’s difficult to prove that prehistoric man was somehow healthier than his modern counterparts. After all, most children died before the age of fifteen, and only rarely did adults reach past forty. And a recent study revealed alarmingly high rates of atherosclerosis, or hardened arteries in ancient mummies, casting doubt on the theory that our forbearers had much healthier lives than we do now.”

  Natasha stood there, speechless, staring at Adelaide as though she’d just sprouted a third head.

  “Oh! How rude of me!” Adelaide held up the coffee pot and said, “Would anyone like some coffee?”

  “I’d like some,” I said.

  “Me, too!” Edric chimed in.

  “I only drink water,” Natasha informed her. “The caveman diet did not consist of coffee.”

  “You’re right. Of course it didn’t.” Adelaide poured two cups of coffee. “Our Paleo ancestors drank river water and lake water.” A pause. “Hmm. I see what you mean now...”

  “What?” Natasha hissed, agitation creeping into her voice. “What I mean about what?”

  Calmly, I reached for my cup of coffee and took a sip, curious what Adelaide was about to say next.

  “About maintaining your figure,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Giardia is great for weight loss! The microscopic parasites work almost as well as tapeworms. Not to mention, dehydration from diarrhea is totally natural!”

  I choked, coughed, and coffee sputtered out of my mouth.

  A look of horror came across Natasha’s face. Staring open-mouthed, she sent me a look that said, Why is she still talking?!? Why?

  Blissfully unaware of Natasha’s wrath, Adelaide happily chatted away. “I think the biggest mistake the Paleo diet has ever made is calling itself Paleo.”

  “Yesssssss!” Edric pumped his fist in the air. “I agree! I pick out food based on a simple philosophy—if it doesn’t have any nutritional value, I don’t eat it. And guess what, people? It results in a diet that’s similar to the Paleo diet... meat, fruits, veggies, and minimal carbs. Five years ago, that was just called eating healthy. Now I get lumped in with all these assholes.” He chuckled.

  His laughter began to peter out when he realized his girlfriend was sending him daggers. “Asshole?” Natasha muttered mutinously. “Did you just call me an asshole just because I’m on the Paleo diet?”

  I drained my cup of coffee and swiped my car keys off the counter. “Adelaide,” I said shortly. “Time to go.”

  Crossing the room, she grabbed her backpack and looked over her shoulder, entirely oblivious to the tension she’d just ignited. “Bye, Edric! Bye, Natasha!” she trilled cheerfully. “It was so nice to meet you!”

  THE ALARM CHIRPED AS I pushed the button on the key fob, indicating that the doors had unlocked. I walked around the car and got behind the wheel. “Sorry,” I said unapologetically. “I know you like to be the one behind the wheel, but I’m driving.”

  Adelaide’s smile faltered. “So last night... you were just being nice?”

  “Last night was just a one-off.”

  “Oh.” She looked so disappointed that I almost felt a little bad. Almost, but not enough to surrender my keys. “So,” she said as she slid into the passenger seat. “What can you tell me about freshman orientation?”

  “It’s a waste of time.”

  “How so?”

  “Your orientation leader will subject you to activities otherwise meant for four-year olds. You end up sitting around in
a circle singing Kumbaya with a group of people you’d never hang out with. Basically, it’s a whole day of doing shit you’ll never do again.” I slid the key into the ignition and shot her a quick sideways glance. “You still wanna go?”

  “Yes.” She clicked her seat belt into place. “I have to get all the logistics stuff taken care of—getting my student ID card, creating a school email and username, registering for classes.”

  Revving up the engine, I looked over my right shoulder and backed up. “You can do all that and still skip your orientation.”

  “I’d still like to go.” She adjusted her seat belt, making sure that the shoulder belt fell between her breasts. “It’ll be a good opportunity for me to meet new people.”

  I noticed her nice rack. “Suit yourself. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “Roger that.”

  “Adelaide,” I said as we coasted down the freeway. “One more thing.”

  “Yeah?”

  “No one cares if you’re majoring in History and thinking of switching to Government.”

  “But I’m majoring in Paleontology and Theater.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Most people could give two fucks about what you’re majoring in.” Not exactly subtle, I thought, but distinct. Just to be sure she got the message, I said, “Got that?”

  She gave a crisp nod. “Loud and clear.”

  Chapter Three

  ADELAIDE

  QUIETLY, I OBSERVED the students around me, studying them so I could imitate what they were doing and saying. It was a habit of mine, something I did to help me fit in. I’ve always struggled with social cues, and I envied those folks who could be themselves around new people or when they were socially out of their element.

  I’ve never been able to be that way.

  I’ve always felt like I was playing checkers and everyone else was playing chess.

  Much of orientation consisted of downtime between meetings, events, and scavenger hunts, during which the standard protocol seemed to be striking up a conversation with the person next to you and asking them the same question you’ve been asking everyone else.

  Since Ender had informed me that no one cared about what I planned to major in, I eliminated it from my repertoire of questions. Thankfully, I had done some research on the questions most commonly asked during college orientation.

  That was another habit of mine. When I plan ahead, I don’t enter blind.

  So I always came prepared to deal with new environments and situations I’ve never been in.

  The petulant girl to my right who’d introduced herself as Danni, asked, “What’s your major?”

  “Oh.” I waved her words aside. “Both you and I know that you could give two fucks about my major. Why don’t you ask me something else?” I smiled but she didn’t return the gesture. Nor did she ask me any more questions.

  Hmm. I frowned to myself. Did I just commit conversational hara-kiri?

  Not to be discouraged, I turned to Piper, the affable girl sitting on my left. “Where are you from?” I asked her.

  “Kalamazoo, Michigan,” she said. “What about you?”

  “Kalgoorlie,” I answered. “It’s in western Australia.”

  A burly guy from the group, Jake I believe his name was, spoke up. “I knew that. I detected your Austrian accent.”

  “Australian,” I corrected succinctly. Not wanting to make him feel slighted, I added, “Although I understand it’s a minor misconception on your part that Australia is Austria.”

  Danni snorted in derision. “You mean Arnold Schwarzenegger didn’t grow up wrestling crocs in the Outback and yodeling in the Australian Alps?”

  The entire group broke out in laughter. I was able to pick up on this social cue and laughed along with them.

  “Oh God!” Piper had a serious case of the giggles. “I literally just pissed myself.”

  Leaning in close, I whispered, “Don’t worry. I don’t see a urine stain on your skirt.”

  Silence hung between us for a moment, then she smiled as if something I’d said was beyond amusing. “I get it. You’re from Australia and you’re probably not familiar with how we say things here, are you?”

  “Correct.” I nodded earnestly.

  “Over here,” Piper explained, “literally doesn’t mean literally.”

  “Hmm,” I mused aloud. “So the definition of literally is not the literal definition of literally.”

  “Right,” she said.

  “So what does it mean?”

  “Well...” Piper thought about this for a second. “I use literally when I want to express a strong feeling. To emphasize something.”

  “But that something is not literally true?”

  “Yes,” she cried. “Exactly!”

  “I see.” I rubbed my chin thoughtfully, filing away that information for another time.

  “So do Aussies drink Fosters?” Piper asked. “Isn’t that what you guys call beer?”

  “We don’t,” I said. “And we don’t call it Fosters.”

  “So what do you call beer?”

  All eyes shifted to me. I was keenly aware the entire group was awaiting my answer.

  “We call it beer,” I said simply.

  “Oh.” Piper shrugged. “I always thought Fosters was quintessentially Australian.”

  “No true blue dinky di Aussie will ever voluntarily drink Fosters,” I said lightly. “Besides, Fosters is actually owned by the British brewing group SAB Miller, and manufactured in Europe. And—”

  “Keep talking.” Danni let out a huge yawn. “I always yawn when I’m interested.”

  Piper didn’t bother hiding the glare she cut in her direction. “Rude!”

  “Who’s being rude?” Danni said in a tone of supreme boredom.

  I laughed nervously. This always happens when I ramble on. They don’t need to argue on my account. I had to quickly diffuse the situation. “Piper!” I said, forcing lightness into my voice. “Do you own a mini fridge?”

  “What?” She blinked at me.

  According to my extensive online research, that was the most popular question during college orientation. “Do you own a mini fridge,” I repeated.

  “I do,” she said. “But why do you want to know? You’re not my roommate. Are we in the same dorms? If we are, you’re welcome to use my fridge any time.”

  “No,” I said. “I don’t live in the dorms.”

  “So you live off-campus?”

  “Correct,” I replied. “With my friends Ender and Edric.”

  “Shut up!” Danni shrieked. “Shut the fuck up! You live with the Hemsworth brothers?”

  First she’d asked me to shut up, and then she’d asked me a question. I assumed the latter overrode the former. “Correct. I live with Ender and Edric Hemsworth.”

  “No fucking way!” Danni looked like she was about to hyperventilate. “I can’t even...”

  “You can’t even what?” I prompted.

  Instead of elaborating, Danni palmed her face and repeated herself. “I. Can’t. Even.”

  “Erhmahgerd!” Piper cried, tapping my shoulder impatiently. “I’ve always wanted to know, is there any relation to the Hollywood Hemsworth brothers?”

  “Negative,” I said. “As far as I know, there’s no relation to Chris and Liam Hemsworth.”

  “Who cares about Chris and Liam?” Danni looked affronted. “They’re not as hot as Ender and Edric.”

  “Erm...” Jake scratched his head. “Who are you guys even talking about?”

  “How can you people not know of Ender and Edric Hemsworth?!?” Danni’s expression was equal parts frustration and disbelief. “When Ender was eighteen, he was named the top-ranked junior tennis player in the world! His brother, Edric, was ranked number two. Everyone thought they’d turn pro but they ended up putting that on hold to go to Berkeley.” Her voice pitched higher. “They’re here! In this college! Can you believe it?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Yes, I can.”

  Danni
continued talking a mile a minute. “Ender’s topspin has been clocked at 5,000 revolutions per minute! The only other person who can do that is Nadal! Do you even know what that means?”

  Jake gave a careless shrug. “I know squat about tennis.”

  I cleared my throat. “Well, a Mazda RX-8 tachometer is around 10,000 revolutions per minute, so that should give you some perspective.” I smiled, and when they simply stared at me, I hastily added, “Sorry for comparing a forehand spin to a car engine.”

  “That helps.” Piper smiled back at me. “I know nothing about tennis. I just know Ender and Edric are fine.”

  “Extra foyyyyyyyne.” Danni began fanning herself. “Lawwwd, help my ovaries. Edric is hot but Ender’s my man,” she declared. “Legit. No lies.”

  “No one said you were lying,” I said. After a pause, I asked, “Do you know Ender?”

  “No.” Danni frowned like I was a nitwit. “But I’ve always known we were meant to be together.”

  Abruptly, Tara, our orientation leader, parked her backside on an empty chair. “Get in line, honey,” she said. “And join the fucking club. I’ve had a crush on Ender for years.” She let out a dreamy sigh. “We’d make such cute babies. For realsies.”

  What is happening here? I was so perplexed. I mean, was Tara saying that she wanted to be filled with Ender’s seed? And ‘making cute babies’ just vaguely reminded me of Nazi eugenicists. How unsettling.

  “So tell me,” Danni said, fixing her eagle-eyed glare on me. “Are you real close to Ender?”

  “Define close.”

  Piper leaned over and whispered, “She wants to know if you’ve seen his package.”

  I was familiar with this term. “Yes, I have seen his genitalia. The three of us—Ender and Edric and me—we used to go skinny-dipping in the lake by my grandfather’s cabin. Sometimes we even showered together.”

  Danni’s eyes widened like hard-boiled eggs. “I didn’t know you had that kind of a friendship.”