Chapter 6: Flour Power
The gym air still clung to him, a mix of chlorine from the pool and the sharp, clean scent of exertion. Mark’s muscles hummed with a pleasant fatigue as he pushed open the apartment door, the familiar chaos of the living room a welcome sight. Sunlight slanted across the worn rug, highlighting dust motes dancing above the mismatched sofa. The room was silent, a rare and suspicious state.
He dropped his gym bag by the door with a thud, his throat dry and craving the post-workout shake that was as much ritual as nutrition. He headed straight for the kitchen, but his large plastic tub of vanilla whey protein sat conspicuously on the coffee table, beside a dirty paintbrush resting on a folded newspaper.
“Thoughtful,” he muttered to the empty room. Or not so empty.
He picked up the container. It was lighter than it should be. He shook it gently; the contents shifted with a soft, too-fine whisper, not the granular shush of powder. He unscrewed the white lid, peered inside, and dipped two fingers in. He rubbed them together. Pure, cakey white flour dusted his skin.
A snort, hastily stifled, came from behind the large sofa.
Then another, a high-pitched giggle bitten back.
Mark slowly placed the container back on the table. He didn’t look toward the couch. He simply stood there, examining the flour on his fingertips, his broad shoulders rising and falling with a deep, controlled breath. The silence in the room became pressurized, taut as a drumhead.
He walked around the edge of the coffee table, his movements deliberate and quiet.
A muffled squeak.
In one fluid motion, he planted his hands on the back of the sofa and vaulted over it, landing squarely in the narrow space between the upholstery and the wall.
Twin shrieks exploded as he found them. Lily and Chloe were crammed into the gap, sitting on the floor, hands clamped over their mouths, their eyes streaming with tears of suppressed laughter. Lily was in a thin, sunflower-yellow sundress, and Chloe wore a loose, vintage-style graphic tee for a band he didn’t recognize and a pair of denim cutoffs.
Their mirth evaporated into genuine, breathless alarm as his shadow fell over them.
“It was an accident!” Lily blurted, scrambling to get her feet under her. “The bags look the same!”
“A baking mishap,” Chloe gasped, trying to slide sideways along the wall. “Cross-contamination!”
Mark didn’t buy a word of it. He saw the gleeful conspiracy in their widened eyes. With a grunt that was more theatrical than effort, he dropped down, his body blocking their escape. He hooked an arm around Lily’s waist first, lifting her effortlessly out of the crevice and dumping her onto the deep cushions of the sofa. She landed with a soft oof, her blonde hair fanning out.
Chloe was faster, almost making it to the end of the sofa back, but he caught her ankle and pulled. She tumbled backward onto the cushions beside Lily, who was already trying to sit up.
“No, no, no, no—” Lily chanted, giggling helplessly as he climbed over them, knees on either side of Lily’s hips, pinning her dress. He reached for Chloe, who was squirming like an eel, and easily rolled her onto her stomach, a pillow half under her.
“You think replacing a man’s post-workout fuel is funny?” he asked, his voice a low, playful growl. He trapped both of Chloe’s wrists in one of his large hands, holding them at the small of her back. With his other hand, he grabbed the hem of her band tee.
“Mark!” she protested, laughing into the cushion. “This is limited edition!”
“It’ll be a limited edition crop top in a second,” he said, and pulled. The soft cotton stretched, then the side seam gave way with a short, sharp rip. He yanked it up over her head, trapping her arms temporarily, and tossed the ruined shirt across the room. It fluttered onto the bookshelf.
Chloe lay there, bare-backed and snickering, her raven hair spilled across her shoulders. She made a token effort to roll over, but he shifted his weight, keeping her in place.
Lily chose that moment to try and crawl away over the arm of the sofa. He caught her by the ankle again, dragging her back. The sundress was simple, just two thin straps over her shoulders. He snapped the left strap with a quick tug. Then the right. Lily yelped, more in surprise than protest, as the front of the dress fell away. She clutched it to her chest, giggling uncontrollably.
“You’re a menace!” she howled.
“You’re a flour thief,” he corrected. He released Chloe’s wrists and in one swift, continuous motion, flipped Lily onto her stomach. The sundress, now just a bundle of yellow fabric at her waist, was simple to deal with. He untied the bow at the back and stripped it down her legs, leaving her in just a pair of simple cotton underwear. He did the same with Chloe’s cutoffs, unbuttoning and yanking them off her kicking legs.
In less than a minute, they lay side-by-side on their stomachs on the big sofa, naked save for their underwear, their bodies shaking with helpless laughter. Mark sat back on the coffee table, facing them, breathing a little heavily from the skirmish. Flour dusted his knuckles.
“The protein powder,” he said, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.
“Hall closet,” Chloe mumbled into the cushion, her voice thick with mirth. “Top shelf. Behind the board games.”
“I’ll get it in a minute.” He surveyed his handiwork. Lily’s shoulders were trembling, her face hidden. Chloe had turned her head to the side, her dark eyes watching him with sparkling, amused resignation. “You two just… stay right there and think about your life choices. And my gains.”
He stood up, walked to the kitchen, and calmly poured a glass of water. He drank it slowly, listening to the muffled giggles and soft thumps as they adjusted themselves on the cushions, making no real attempt to get up or cover themselves. The late afternoon sun warmed the living room, catching the fine hairs on their backs and the dust of flour still floating in the air.
He set the glass down with a click. He didn’t retrieve his protein powder immediately. Instead, he walked back to the sofa and looked down at them. They fell silent, looking up at him, their expressions a mix of cheeky defiance and complete, unbothered surrender.
“You’re both ridiculous,” he said, but the fondness in his voice was unmistakable.
“You’re both predictable,” Chloe shot back, a smile playing on her lips.
“And you,” he said, pointing a flour-dusted finger at Lily, who was trying and failing to look contrite, “owe me a new tub of protein. And a new shirt for Chloe.”
“Worth it,” Lily singsonged, burying her face back in the cushion to hide her grin.
Mark shook his head, the exasperation a thin veneer over his own satisfaction. The game, as always, was its own reward. He left them there, a tangle of bare limbs and quiet laughter on the sun-drenched couch, and went to finally reclaim what was his.