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“Coffee, though, is good anytime,” she said as she walked into the kitchenette. The coffee maker was like something from a professional coffee shop or stand. She worked it like a pro. There was something soothing about the grinding noise, even if it was loud. Even more was the hum and slurp of the milk. “Jonas?”
The abrupt end of the foaming and her question dragged me back to the present. “Oh. Yeah,” I said. “Coffee.” Right, she might need more words. “Coffee would be good.”
“Coming right up.” She didn’t ask me what I wanted specifically, but I didn’t drink a lot of fancy coffee. So maybe it was easy to figure out what I drank. Or maybe we just drank the same thing. Curiosity niggled at me while she fixed it.
When she crossed to where I was sitting and handed me the tumbler. I stared at the side. It had the Torched logo on it. I hadn’t realized that they had that before. Then, the one she’d made me the other time had been in a disposable cup.
“We can use these in the suite because we’re not going anywhere,” she explained, wrapping her hands around the tumbler like she was cold. Was she cold? Her toenails were a pale shade of blue, paler than her hair or her eyes. Did she pick it out on purpose like that? “The disposable cups are easier.”
For her nails? Wait, no for the coffee. “Makes sense.” I took a cautious sniff of the coffee before a drink. It smelled almost sweeter than last time. It tasted sweeter. Another sip and I frowned.
The corners of her mouth curved again. “It’s the raw sugar, I added it to the top. Just…needed a pick me up.”
“Oh.” I took another swallow. Definitely sweeter, but it also seemed to make the coffee richer.
“Right, I’m gonna let you work, and I’m going to my room—”
“You can work out here,” I offered. “It won’t bother me.”
“I was gonna listen to some videos while I did research…” But she hesitated. “Mind if I do headphones?”
“No.”
Ten minutes later, she was curled up in a corner of the sofa with her laptop, a stack of books on the table, her headphones on and her foot was the only thing about her that moved, keeping time with some beat she could hear.
It was…nice.
We spent most of the weekend the same way. Sharing the sitting room and working, but not really talking. Studio time waited, but I was comfortable here. I grabbed food for her one day. She made coffee a couple of times. We ordered a pizza on Sunday. She paid, and I went down to get it.
Since it had to be dropped off at Ramsey’s suite, I just waited outside the front door to grab it. No sense in giving either of them ideas.
I couldn’t really figure out what to say beyond did she need another drink? That didn’t really seem like talking. By the time she disappeared into her room for the night, I was still looking for the words.
Why did they have to be so hard?
That night, after I got ready for bed, I heard her guitar. It was soft, but she was playing. I strained to listen if she was singing, but we both kept the doors to the bathroom closed. If I went in, I locked her door. If she was in there, she locked mine.
We communicated without words most of the time. Monday morning, Ramsey summoned me to his suite before breakfast. I walked down with KC, who was in her running gear. I waited for her to take off before I knocked on Ramsey’s door.
Unsurprisingly, Lachlan was also at the table in Ramsey’s little dining area. He kept his suite way more like an overly tidy little apartment. Yeah, I didn’t need to talk to Lachlan. I stared at our oldest brother. “I have things to do.”
“Yes,” Ramsey said, pointing to the table. “One of those things is talking to us. We’re settling this.”
“No,” I said, folding my arms. I didn’t venture deeper into the suite, nor did I sit down. “I have things to do.” Yes, I was repeating myself. “If you want to tell me something, just say it.”
“Told you this wouldn’t work.” Smug. Lachlan always sounded smug, even if his black eye was still swollen nearly shut and his busted lip actually looked worse. Maybe I should make his bruised face a permanent feature.
I grinned at the idea.
It made my day better.
Ramsey sighed. “Guys, you two cannot keep up this war.”
“Yes, we can,” I said in the same breath that Lachlan did. Then glared at him. I didn’t want to be on the same page with him. His arrogant smirk was beginning to grate on my last nerve.
Eyes rolling, Ramsey shook his head. “So you agree that you can keep up the war. Well, I guess that gets us started somewhere.”
“We don’t need to start anything,” Lachlan stated. “Jonas’ punk ass is gonna be a little bitch until he gets over being butt hurt where Ace is concerned.”
