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I think, byeverything, he means all the shittiness that is my life. And his words? They ink my soul, even if not all of them are true.
“Even though not all of that is true, thank you for saying that.” I suck in a breath. “Thank you for being so nice to me.”
“You don’t need to thank me. I’m just speaking the truth.” With one final glance at my lips, he lowers his thumb. Then he stares at me.
I stare back, wondering what on earth is going on in his head.
And then the fire alarm starts squealing and startles the crap out of us.
“Shit. The eggs.” He rushes over to the oven, flips on the vent above it, and turns off the heat. When the alarms go quiet again, he crinkles his nose. “Dude, I’m going to have to make another batch.”
I look in the pan and, yep, the eggs are nearly black. “Ew.”
“Ew for sure.” He walks over to the opposing side of the kitchen and puts the pan in the sink. Then he bends over to grab a clean pan out of one of the lower cupboards.
While he does, Zay wanders into the kitchen. He’s wearing a hoodie with the hood pulled up over his head, fingerless gloves, a pair of sweatpants, and sneakers.
His gaze shifts from Hunter to me then sweeps up and down my body, reminding me that I’m just standing in Hunter’s shirt. Granted, it goes almost to the tops of my knees, but it might be a little weird that I’m just walking around in it.
Maybe I should go get dressed …
Before I can decide, Zay moves further into the kitchen, toward the fridge. “Why did the fire alarms just go off?”
Hunter startles then stands up straight, turning toward Zay with a pan in his hand “Because I messed up the first batch of eggs.”
“Really? You’re usually a better cook than that.” He opens the fridge, casting a glance at me before looking back at Hunter. “Let me guess; you were distracted.”
Hunter shrugs. “Kind of, but it’s not a big deal. They went off for about five seconds and, since you came down here a minute later, I’m guessing you were awake.”
Zay shakes his head then begins rummaging around in the fridge, bottles clinking together.
Hunter wanders back over the stove, giving me a small smile, but uneasiness is floating in the air between them. I have no idea why, unless Zay really is simply annoyed that Hunter set off the fire alarms. It feels like there’s more to it than that, though.
“I’m going to go do a few miles on the treadmill,” Zay announces as he grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and bumps the door shut. “And then I’ll come back and eat.” He looks at me then. “I was thinking that I could spend a little bit of time this morning teaching you some self-defense moves. I’m not sure how many you know yet, so we’ll just start by you showing me then go from there.”
“Okay,” I start to say, but then something dawns on me. “I don’t have anything to wear except for my jean shorts, T-shirt, and boots. Are we going to be moving around a lot?”
Zay lowers his hood from his head and then rubs his hand across his short, cropped brown hair. Then he twists the cap off the water bottle, with a contemplative expression. “You’re definitely not going to want to wear that. Maybe we should figure out a way to get some of your clothes.”
“That’s probably a good idea,” I say. “However, I still don’t have anything to wear still … Workout clothes aren’t my thing.”
He gives a short pause then flits a glance at Hunter, who’s cracking eggs again. “You think Low would have anything she could borrow?”
“She probably does. I’ll ask.” Hunter wipes his hands off on a towel then collects his phone from off the counter.
“Will she even be awake?” I wonder.
He nods, sweeping strands of his hair out of his face. “She’s an early riser, too.”
The way he says it makes me question if there’s a reason behind why she gets up so early.
He sends her a quick text then places the phone on the counter and picks up the fork to whisk the eggs. Zay downs a mouthful of water before wandering off toward the doorway again, making me wonder where the treadmill is.
The toast pops then, scaring the hell out of me. I move over to the toaster but don’t grab the toast.
“Where are your plates?” I ask Hunter.
He points to a cupboard beside my head then scoops up his phone as it pings with an incoming text. I grab a plate, pluck the toasts out of the toaster, and set them on it while Hunter reads the text.
