Top Floor to Ourselves by SyleusSnow
Author’s note: This is a slow burn tale of romantic cousin-on-cousin fun. All characters are over 18.
Excitement and gloominess filled me when I pulled into the driveway of the big old house. The For Sale sign had a giddy “Sold!” slapped across it, as if disposing of Aunt Jenny’s place was worth celebrating.
Just as I hoisted my bag from the back of the car and was searching for my coat, cousin Rachel bounded down the steps.
“Looking good, Dylan,” she quipped, grinning. She rocked on her heels, hands behind her back, beautiful in her oversized college hoodie and black yoga pants. When I was little and followed her around like a puppy, I thought Rachel was the prettiest, most wonderful girl in the world.
She still was.
“Uh, you look good, too,” I stammered. Her impish face, piercing dark eyes, and thick chestnut hair left me a little stricken every time I saw her.
“Did—uh, how was your flight?” I said.
“Long. Boring. Mom grumbled about the rude passengers the entire way.”
I shrugged. “That’s what you get for living on the left coast.”
Her eyes glinted with mischief. “Well, at least we don’t have… SNOW.”
She took the handful of snow she had been hiding behind her back and jammed it down the neck of my shirt.
“Oh, you nasty bitch!” I yelled, scrabbling to get it out. She ran up the steps and squeezed past Uncle Fred as he emerged from the front door.
“Are you kids teasing each other already?” he boomed.
He thumped down the steps to extend his hand. We shook as he walloped me on the back with a bone-jarring slap.
“Were the roads okay? Glad you could come, Dylan. Too bad Matt couldn’t, but I know it was short notice. One last gathering at the old house, eh? Come on in, you’re the last to get here.”
My mom greeted me in the front hall, hugging and making her usual fuss. Uncle Fred lumbered into the living room and I peeked in to wave to Aunt Kristy, Rachel’s mom.
“Go up to your room and get settled,” said my mom, “then come right back down so I can gush and embarrass you.”
When I turned to climb the stairs, Rachel was right behind me, looking smug.
“I’ll get you for that snow,” I growled, but couldn’t help smiling. We kids playing pranks on each other was tradition, just as much as our family’s annual summer gathering at the house.
“You heard my sister’s not coming, right?” she said. “We have the third floor all to ourselves.”
“Good. I won’t have to listen to you two gossiping and squealing all the time.”
We approached the main stairs. I shoved Rachel out of the way.
“Race you!” I yelled, taking the steps two at a time.
“You prick!”
Rachel scurried to catch up as I rocketed to the second floor where the four main bedrooms were, then raced around to the stairs leading to the top floor.
I was bent over catching my breath when Rachel caught up.
“You always do that! Are you ever going to grow up?”
Uncle Fred bellowed from below. “Kids! No running on the stairs. We’ve told you a hundred times.”
More than a hundred times. The kids chasing each other up and down the stairs was another tradition.
The third floor of the house was reserved for the kids. Oppressively hot in the summer, it had two bedrooms: Rachel and her sister shared a bed in one room, my flatulent older brother and I shared a bed in the other.
The only other room was a big old bathroom still with wooden wainscoting and an ancient cast iron claw foot tub. The second floor had a modern bathroom and shower, strictly reserved for parents.
“Drop your bag and come talk,” Rachel said.
She pulled her hoodie over her head, revealing a tight stretch top that showcased her wonderful boobs and tight waist. The hard nubs of her nipples were prominent. Her black yoga pants hugged every curve.
I closed my mouth and stuffed my eyeballs back into my head, praying she hadn’t noticed, then fled to my room.
She was one year older. Every summer, our families met at Aunt Jenny’s house for a week and the adults always left Rachel to watch over me while our older siblings were off doing their own things.
Together, we played games, rode our bikes everywhere, chased each other or lay on the grass watching clouds in the summer heat. She lifted me to snag cookies hidden on the top shelf and we dreamed up pranks to play on our siblings. That was only fair since they played tricks on us too.
When I came of age, Rachel was my first fantasy. It was wrong, almost a betrayal of our relationship, but I couldn’t help dreaming up endless scenarios of touching her, kissing her, and in ethereal dream-like ways, making love to her. She was still the woman of my dreams.
We sat cross-legged on her bed, catching up on everything that had happened since we last gathered in August.
“So only one half a semester to go, Dylan?” she said. “Any nibbles on a job?”
“I’ve applied everywhere. A few places are interested, but nothing firm yet.”
“Yeah. It was like that for me. Well, if you don’t find anything, come out West and move in with me. You’re sure to find something. I need to get rid of my roommate, anyway. She turned out to be a total slut. I’m tired of hearing her headboard banging against the wall when she brings some shithead home.”
She eyed me, looking for a reaction.
I refused to take the bait. “Uh, thanks. I’d be totally lost in such a big city, though. And how do you know I’d be any better as a roommate?”
Rachel touched my leg. It felt electric.
“Oh, you’d be gentle with anyone you brought home. Anyway, it wouldn’t bother me if I heard you. Brrrr!”
Rachel crossed her arms, rubbing herself.
“It’s drafty up here! It’s so weird being here in February. Why does anyone live where it snows? Hey, we’d better go down and see what the olds are doing.”
She got up and headed to the stairs, pulling on her hoodie.
“You know exactly what they’re doing,” I said, trying not to gawk at her shapely ass. “They’re drinking, talking about Aunt Jenny and making passive-aggressive remarks about each other.”
Rachel paused with her hand on the worn newel post of the banister.
“I really miss Jenny,” she sighed. “I’ll really miss this house.”
~~~~
Uncle Fred was filling everyone’s glass with a frothy green mixture. Rachel’s mom Kristy waved us into the room as they raised their glasses and sipped, then smacked their lips and debated the merits of their latest mixture.
Rachel and I shared a look. It was like this with them every afternoon. I’d never known people so devoted to exploring mixed drinks and odd liquors. They’d already set up the antique sideboard with a cooler of ice, a blender, and countless bottles, large and small.
“You kids settled in up there?” asked my mother.
Rachel said, “Yes, Aunt Denise. It’s great having the room to myself for once.”
“Good,” rumbled Uncle Fred. “And Dylan, you respect your cousin’s privacy, you hear? No sneaking into her room for pranks.”
“Oh, come on,” I said, remembering the vile tricks me and my brother used to play on the girls. “I haven’t done that since I was twelve.”
Rachel’s mom spoke up. “Remember that big thunderstorm? All four of them were in the boy’s bed with the covers pulled over their heads.”