“—zombie match, nobody fights like Gaston. He has neutrals in all of his—”
“It wouldn’t take any effort or cause me any regret, really. Just one lunge, et—”
“—dec-o-rating—”
“—voilà! No more throat.”
“My, how he lies, that Gaston!”
After the echoes of her final, triumphal notes faded, he stared stonily at her. “If I told you never to sing that song again, you would no doubt misconstrue the order as defensive and the result ofhurt feelings.”
“No doubt.” She raised her brows. “So I can sing it whenever I want?”
“Try it and see what happens, human.” He glanced at the shadowed hallway leading to his media room and other mysterious spaces. “I have no bed for you, incidentally.”
“Because you sleep in a coffin?” she asked sweetly.
His entire body stiffened in affront. “I sleep on premium memory foam so supportive and comfortable it would make astronauts weep in tormented longing.”
“I see.” She bit back a smile.
“I have no bed to offer you because I have one mattress, and it’smine,” he emphasized.
Swallowing the last of her burrito, she winked at him. “Ah, that famous saying when it comes to guests: ‘Mi casa es mi casa.’ In that case, why don’t you show me where you want me to sleep and where I can wash up before you have to leave?”
A line bisected his brow. “Leave?”
“You know.” She waved an airy hand. “To round up villagers and pitchforks so you can attack the Beast’s castle?”
He did his best to scowl at her, but before he turned his face away, she could have sworn she saw his lips twitch.
5
To be fair, Max’sJetsonscouches were actually quite comfortable, and one of them was even deep enough that Edie’s arm didn’t hang over the edge. And his bathroom—his bathroom!
It was a wonderland. Given a sufficient number of pillows, she could easily sleep in that huge honkin’ bathtub. His multi-head shower felt like a really high-end massage, the type where you paid extra for hot stones and lavender and a scalp rub or whatever, and apparently he made up for the spartan contents of his refrigerator by hoarding every expensive beauty product imaginable.
Shampoos. Conditioners. Hair masks. Face masks. Serums and powders and gels and lotions and exfoliators and primers and moisturizers and…essences, oh my?
He had luxury-brand makeup too. Lots of it. More than she’d ever owned. Which was interesting, since she’d never actually seen Chad/Max with anything but a bare face.
It was for the best, really. The sight of her dim-but-hot-and-far-too-young neighbor in guyliner or with a smoky eye wouldhave caused her a great deal of turmoil as her hormones waged battle against her common sense and urged her to Mrs. Robinson that shit, pronto.
After she toweled off and stole some of his heavenly-smelling lotion for her dry hands, she reluctantly put back on her not-especially-fresh-and-turned-inside-out panties and her tank top—sans bra, since she was going to bed soon—and wandered out into the hallway.
He was sitting at his computer again, inside his media room, scanning the output from his various security cameras. She lingered in the doorway, unsure whether she wanted an update or not. There wasn’t much she could do until the morning anyway, right?
The softbox in the room’s corner kept niggling at her, reminding her of…something. “Hey, Max, why do you have a—”
“There are blankets and a pillow on the sofa. I’ve set a charger there for your use, and I’ve transferred the classified footage and information we discussed onto your phone,” he said flatly, without turning around. “Once I’ve gone to bed, don’t disturb my rest, human.”
Her eventual Yelp review of his B and BBB—bed and blood-based breakfast—was going to contain a decidedly mixed evaluation of his hospitality. “What, no bedtime story?”
At that, he turned to glare at her, and she raised her hands, palms out.
“Sorry. Sorry.” She leaned against the doorframe. “Thank you for letting me use your toiletries and your spare toothbrush.”
When he merely grunted and returned his attention to his monitor, she gave up and headed for her makeshift bed. Afterarranging a blanket beneath her and plugging in the charger, she sat cross-legged on the sofa and checked her phone.
