Baz nearly drops his groceries. “You and Ani? You guys are a thing now? When the hell did that happen?”
“You need help with those?” I ask brightly, ignoring the question and reaching for one of the bags.
Baz offers no resistance, surprising the hell out of me.
Fuck. Now Ihaveto help him. Now I have to take this into his room—at least as far as his door.
So much for nonchalance.
I turn around and head down the third floor hallway, knowing Baz is totally checking out my ass. I put a little swish in my step.
I’ve never been to his room, so I finally step aside to let him catch up. We walk all the way to the end, a corner room on the opposite side of where my room is, and he scans us in.
I try to pass him the groceries, but he doesn’t take them.
“Come on in,” he says, flicking on the lights.
Against my better judgement, I follow him inside.
His suite is not what I expected at all.
It’s slightly smaller than mine—seems like just one bedroom—but it’s laid out similarly, with a cozy living room and open kitchen. But that’s not what surprises me.
Framed black-and-white photos line nearly every wall and shelf, each one more heartbreaking and breathtaking than the last. There are shots of the guys, of hikes and camping trips they must’ve taken together. Shots of wildlife—birds of prey, lizards, even a rattlesnake, coiled on a sun-warmed rock. There are the Towers of Breath and Blade, the pool beneath the Cauldron of Flame and Fury, closeups of the petrified forest. A dog. An elderly man. There’s even one of Headmistress Trello, caught in what I imagine was a rare moment of candid laughter, her eyes closed, her smile wide.
There are a couple portraits of Baz, too, looking out the window in different positions, the light illuminating one side of his face, the other falling into darkness.
There’s so much humanity and raw emotion in the photos they damn near bring tears to my eyes.
“Are all of these yours?” I ask, finally finding my voice.
Baz, who was busy emptying out the groceries on the kitchen counter, shrugs.
“My dad gave me a camera for Christmas one year—a real one. I guess I was about fifteen, sixteen? Never quite stopped after that.”
Seeing the photos humanizes him in a way I can’t explain, and suddenly it’s like his hard, tough-as-nails, quick-with-a-joke shell falls away.
“Baz, they’re beautiful. Seriously.”
He stares at me for so long, I almost think I’ve said something to upset him. But then he smiles again, cocky and confident as always. “Yeah, I know. But thanks.”
My phone buzzes against my body, jolting me. I retrieve it from between my boobs.
His jaw drops. “Um, want me to get that next time?”
I shoot him a warning glare, then check my message. “No thanks.”
Baz grabs a beer bottle from the fridge. After a beat, he goes, “Everything okay? You look like someone knocked you down and stole your candy.”
“It’s Ansel.” I sigh. “He’s not feeling well tonight. Guess I’m on my own for Hot Shots.”
Baz shrugs and pops off the beer cap, passes me the bottle across the counter. “Blow it off.”
I look at his hand, considering the offer. As much as I was looking forward to the arcana thing, I really don’t want to go to Hot Shots alone.
“Your middle name is Temptation,” I say, taking the offered beverage. “Either that or Bad Influence.”
“My parents had a sick sense of humor, what can I say?” He opens a beer for himself, then we head into the living room. “You want the tour?”
