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“You’re blushing,” I teased sweetly.
“Last chance, Sanchez. Take the truce.” Tension snapped through his jaw, and the heated glare he cut me then could have melted glass.
I licked my lips. “No.”
Our gazes locked, our chests rising and falling with effort. There was no oxygen left in the room. The air felt too charged, too thick to breathe in.
Adrien’s mouth twitched like he wanted to say something, but he seemed to think better of it.
“What’s wrong?” I teased bitterly. “My pretty, plush lips got your tongue? Or do you just wish they did?”
Just because he hadn’t meant the words didn’t mean I couldn’t shove them in his face.
Though that one may have pushed it a tiny bit too far, judging by the dangerous flash of… whatever evil had just crossed his eyes. Color crawled up his neck, spreading to his cheeks. And before I could see where else it would reach, he snapped off the bedside lamp with an angry jerk of his wrist.
An onslaught of rustles and thumps followed as Adrien kicked and punched his makeshift bed into place before his body practically slammed down on it.
I smiled into the darkness and closed my eyes to the sweet, soothing sounds of Satan restlessly tossing and turning in the grave he’d dug himself.
It wasn’t until I was on the cusp of sleep that the little voice appeared, claiming that Adrien had lost the bet on purpose. That he’d waited until the timer ran out to pull out the big guns. But I slipped into sleep before it could tell my why.
22
“Stop stealing my fruit,you little shit! You’ve already had your breakfast!”
“Alice, no swearing at the breakfast table, please.”
“We’re technically not at a table.”
“Want some?”
“No, thank you, Maxi. Very sweet of you to offer, darling.”
“It’s not your fruit to give out!”
I smiled into my mug as I watched the small circus that was the Cloutiers preparing breakfast.
We were gathered around the large kitchen island, Alice cutting and slicing fruit for her morning smoothie bowl, Maxwell continuously stealing the fruit that Alice was cutting and slicing for her morning smoothie bowl, and Julie trying her best to keep Alice from strangling Maxwell for stealing the fruit that she was cutting and slicing for her morning smoothie bowl.
“Alice. I’m trying to do my crossword. A little less screeching, please?” Anthony said to his daughter.
“Y’all let him get away with murder.Thisis where he gets all the audacity from. A bunch of enablers,” Alice countered, glaring at Maxwell as he began his stealthy sneak toward her cutting board.
“Newsflash, kid: you spoil him more than anyone else in this house,” Anthony said, a smile in his voice. “No one else has a timer on their phone to put fresh ice in his water every few hours.”
“Because the spoiled brat won’t drink room-temperature liquids,” she argued.
“Becauseyoukeep putting ice in his water,” Anthony said.
Alice grumbled under her breath as she returned to her aggressive chopping.
It was awesome. I hadn’t been expecting to warm up to his family this much or this quickly. I really hoped my real future in-laws were this homey and warm. And entertaining.
“Ria, honey, what do you like in your pancakes?” Julie asked as she began opening cupboards and gathering ingredients.
“I’m fine with anything.” Except raisins. But nobody in their right mind put raisins in pancakes (or in anything else for that matter).
“Blueberries okay?”
