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I blink. “What?”

“The coffee,” Beck manages. “He burned the shit out of his mouth.”

I stare at Roman. He stares back.

“You burned your lips?”

His jaw flexes. “Once.”

I look at Beck. “And now he's Hot Lips?”

“For approximately six years.”

My mouth falls open. “SIX YEARS?”

“I'm going to kill him,” Roman says.

Beck is laughing again.

I grab his arm. “You can't. He's my favorite person now.”

Beck smirks.

“Just wait another six months,” Roman mutters. “You’ll be saying something differently.”

I shake my head. “No, I won’t. He enriches my life.”

Beck snorts. Roman growls.

I hold up a hand. “Okay, I need the rest.”

“There is no rest.”

“There is absolutely a rest. What happened?”

Beck wipes his eyes. “The woman behind the counter told him the coffee was hot.”

“It was coffee,” Roman says. “Coffee is supposed to be fucking hot.”

“She told you to wait.”

“We were in a hurry.”

“You were impatient.”

“We were working.”

“You said you were sort of working,” I point out.

“We were done working.”

Roman glares at him. “We were still working.”

“We were getting coffee.”

“During work.”

“Which feels like a break.”