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“Black.” I eye him. “I like it black.”
“See?” He spreads his hands expansively. “I like mine with cream and a shit ton of sugar.”
“Liar.” I grab his cup without looking at its contents and take a swallow before grimacing. “Oh, God. That’s disgusting. It’s like someone poured a little coffee over a bag of sugar and added cream.”
The smallest smile hits his mouth. “Warned you.”
“Whatever.” I pour a cup and take an appreciative swallow. It’s too early to eat. I need a couple of hours to wake up, so I shake my head at his offerings of bread, cereal, and, finally, a tub of yogurt.
“Okay, no fuel. Sit.”
“I have to get to school.”
The smile turns into a grin. “It’s Saturday, you don’t have classes today.”
“Yes, I do. Art class.”
“Not on your schedule.”
“Maybe I don’t put everything on that,” I snap snarkily.
Tizio stalks closer. He’s lithe, silent, and big. “Don’t make me force you into a chair. You won’t like it.”
I swallow down my immediate answer ofmaybe I willand sit. He doesn’t move away, and I cup my hands around my mug. “Sitting.”
“You do know I have all your classes, right?”
“Would you like an award?”
“You behaving would be nice.” He steps back and leans against the sink. I sit on the other side of the island on a stool.
What I was hoping to do was get to the college to do some work, but his face didn’t seem amenable to that. And my attitude? Yeah . . . that’s not a help, either. “I’m behaving,” I pause, “now.”
He stares into the disgusting drink he calls coffee and takes a sip. “This couple you said who were asking questions?”
“Some rando man and woman.”
He nods. “Describe them.”
“A man and a woman, she was blonde, he had a cap. Well dressed, I guess, but they didn’t stand out like your guards do.”
“Those bodyguards aren’t meant to blend. They’re there to stand as a warning to anyone who recognizes what they are.” He takes another swallow of the coffee. “Dressed how?”
I shrug. “Is it important?”
“Might be.”
“Normal.”
He lets out a heavy sigh. “Normal.”
“Jeans and sweaters.”
“How old?”
“I don’t know, I didn’t do a survey.” Frustration builds and I take a swig of the hot coffee, glad it’s not too hot.
“You do coding, you do art, you do things that take concentration, attention to detail, and yet . . . nothing?” Tizio sets down his mug.
