Page 113 of Top Shelf

That makes me laugh. “Chaos?”

“Half the time we see you, you’re wearing bright red glasses frames,” he points out. “And there’s always a streak of something—purple in your scarf, orange on your socks, that rainbow-colored phone case you carry everywhere.”

“Why shouldn’t functional things also be pretty?” I defend.

He lifts a brow, like he’s making a point. “Even when you’re trying to be professional, you’ve still got something a little messy going on. It’s good; I like it. It feels genuine. Authentic.”

There’s that word again.

I tilt my head. “You’ve been paying that much attention to what I wear?”

He just shrugs, unapologetic. “I pay attention toeverythingyou do.”

There’s no sting in it, just a simple, quiet truth.

Silas, seated on the floor with his notebook in his lap, lifts a pen and scribbles something before raising it for me to read.

You should repaint.

My throat tightens. “Back at BSU, my apartment was a mess of colors. I painted every wall a different shade. Nothing matched. The couch was this hideous velvet thing I got at a yard sale for twenty bucks. But it was mine.” My lips twitch in nostalgia.Damn, I miss that apartment.

Coming over, Ronan wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me into him, like he can hear everything I’m not saying.

“You should do that again,” he says. “Make this place feel like yours.”

Silas nods in agreement.

“We’ll help,” Lucian offers easily, like they don’t already have enough on their plates between hockey and classes.

The simplicity of it, the ease with which help is offered, almost undoes me.

Before I can come to any sort of decision, Lucian’s stomach growls loud enough to have all of us looking his way.

Amused, I tease, “Was that a cry for help?”

Ronan turns toward the kitchen, entirely at home as he opens the fridge.

“Jesus,” he curses, recoiling. “What the hell is this crap? This isn’t food.”

What is it?Silas quickly scrawls before showing it to me, since Ronan is still staring into the fridge’s interior in horror.

“More green juice than any sane human needs, kale, spinach, possibly a Greek yogurt. My mom stocked it,” I explain when both Silas’s and Lucian’s faces scrunch in disgust. “She’s convinced all I need is rabbit food.”

Ronan pulls out a bag of kale with a level of caution like it might bite him. “Is she trying to kill you?”

“More like she’s terrified I’ll gain weight,” I mutter bitterly. “Carbs are a sin and sugar is the Devil, and both make me bloat, apparently.” I roll my eyes.

That earns a collective groan.

“Your mom’s insane,” Ronan declares.

Has your mom even seen you?

Silas writes with an incredulous look.

“You’re any man’s fantasy,” Ronan continues, heated gaze roaming up my body and making me blush. “And anyone feeding you kale is committing a crime worthy of prison time.”

“You’re perfect exactly as you are,” Lucian growls, a thread of warning beneath his words.