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“It’s too bad we can’t all play on the same team,” Miles says after we place our drinks order. “That would solve everything.”
Knox nods. “It would.”
“You guys could always get traded. Aim for the Titans.” I flash them a smile. “Or not. I mean, we’re going to kick the Guardians’ asses in a few hours…”
“I’ve already bet on you,” Steele says with a smile. He elbows Knox. “You don’t mind throwing the game so I can win a few grand, do you?”
Melody’s eyes boggle.
Knox socks him back just as fast. “Get fucked, buddy.”
“Now, now,” Miles calls. “There’s no need for that.”
Knox flips him off.
Their banter continues, and I lean in toward Melody. We were late because we had to shower, and being naked together in a confined space led to more fucking. Which led to more washing and drying. She wanted to put makeup on and pick an outfit that wouldn’t relayold. Whatever the fuck that means.
“You okay?” I kiss her cheek.
I aim for it anyway, but she turns her head and catches my lips with hers at the last second. It’s short and sweet—emphasis onsweet—and it knocks me off guard for a moment. I stare into her hazel eyes, noting that they’re more brown than green today.
“I’m good,” she finally answers, smiling a little.
“Okay.”
“So, Melody,” Violet calls across the table. She and Greyson got her to New York without a hitch. “Were you able to check out the college you went to?”
Melody shakes her head. “Not yet.”
“We could head there after this,” she offers. “Grey knows someone who works there.”
Beside me, Melody stiffens. “Oh, um…”
I squeeze her hand. “It could be useful.”
And doing that will keep her from visiting her father in prison.
She eyes me like she can read my mind, and I force a smile.
“Okay. Yeah,” she agrees. “Thanks.”
Greyson gives me a look. I’m ninety percent sure it conveys that they’re not going to let her out of their sight. Which is good, because I’m pretty sure I’d go on a murdering spree if they do and something happens to her.
Or even if nothing happens to her.
The waitress comes back by for food orders, and Melody orders waffles with fruit and syrup and whipped cream. It kind of reminds me of last night, although I’m pretty sure she doesn’t like soggy waffles.
I order something I think she’d like along with my own meal, brushing it off like I’m extra hungry. And when the food comes, she takes a few bites of her waffles and starts picking at the edges.
“Here.” I nudge that plate toward the center and replacing it with an omelet and bacon.
“What? That’s yours.”
I gesture to the biscuits and gravy and my own side of bacon. “This is mine.”
She narrows her eyes. “Did you know I wasn’t going to like the waffles?”
The table is watching us, but I ignore them. “Yeah, you don’t like soggy sweet stuff.”
