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“Might be nice,” Zane says, then his head jerks up, and his wide eyes jump to Ros. “Not that I want to—”
“It’s fine,” Ros cuts in. “I know you meant nothing by it.”
Tris pushes up his sleeve. “If you’re hungry—”
“No.” Ros’s narrow eyes shift to him. “Put your sleeve back down.”
Tris tugs his cuff back into place. “So possessive of veins you’re not using.”
Ambros smirks. “It’s called anticipation.”
Tris grabs his glass of wine. “It’s called blue balls, you sadist.”
Barron chuckles. “Something wrong with your hand, Tris?”
“Everyone’s against me,” he mumbles into his wine glass.
“I still love you,” I tell him, shredding lettuce like no one’s business.
Tris instantly brightens. “And that’s all that matters, sparky.”
“So, you don’t want Ambros to bite you?” Barron asks.
Tris whips toward him. “Whose side are you on?”
He smiles. “Jesse’s and Rowe’s side.”
“Well, I can’t argue with that.” Tris stands and walks over to us, stopping behind me. “My, what a nicely pulverized mound of lettuce you have there.”
Haut looks up from dicing onions and garlic, takes in the squashed pile of greens in front of me, and sighs. “Go sit at the table before you ruin the rest of our salad.”
I shake a finger at him. “It’s not my fault you suck at instructions.”
“Keep waving that in my face, and I’ll bite it,” Haut growls.
“It just doesn’t have the same thrill when the offer comes from you.” Tris draws me away from the rumbling Haut.
We sit with the others at the table, and I sneak sips of wine while Haut and Ambros teach Zane and Drake how to make salad, garlic bread, and spaghetti.
Soon, the delicious smell of Italian herbs and buttery garlic fill the kitchen, and my stomach rumbles with anticipation.
Owen returns home for the second time and sets his shopping bag on the counter before greeting our guests and diving in to help with the meal. It makes for a cozy evening, and the sips of wine warm my stomach.
When the spaghetti meets Haut’s approval, he serves up generous portions for everyone.
While we eat, Zane and Drake share stories of what it was like growing up in the barracks underground and regale us with stories of mess hall mishaps. Ros commiserates with them over early morning training, and the evening passes with pleasant company.
Despite the impromptu plan, it turns into a fun evening, and more bottles of wine get pulled out, refilling glasses.
Over dessert, Drake and Barron talk about German translations, which draws Ros in, and the three men nerd out.
The wine makes me tired, and I find myself stifling yawns.
Haut’s hand covers my knee as he leans closer. “Why don’t you go to bed? You haven’t been sleeping well.”
I nod and stand. “Thank you for coming, guys. Sorry I’m heading to bed before you leave.”
Zane and Drake stand.
