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“It's a dark roast, no sugar, no cream. Because you're a masochist,” I droll. “You know it is insulting to assume I don't know what kind of coffee you drink. Like we haven't grown up together and worked alongside one another for a decade.”
He shifts his weight, shuffling back a step to lean against the counter on the other side of the sink. He looks down at the black lid on his cup and grumbles, “Well now I feel like an asshole.”
I smirk and nod. “You are an asshole.”
“Fuck you,” he snaps, but there's no heat to it.
I chuckle and take another sip, willing the caffeine to work its magic. My couch is comfortable as hell, but I still slept like shit. Knowing she was upstairs, tossing and turning in my sheets fucked me up a little.
He jerks his chin toward the other two drinks in the to-go tray between us. “What did you get for them?”
“Lattes.”
His gaze strays toward the staircase once more. “How'd you know we'd be here?”
I look at him over my shoulder and deadpan, “Evangeline's here.”
His shoulders stiffen, and he grunts.
“Just enjoy your coffee and chill out, man.”
I knew they'd be here for two reasons: we need to debrief on what happened last night and Evangeline.
There's no way they can resist her pull. She's like the fucking sun, we're all mere planets in her orbit.
Silas is fucking Planet Nine though, an elusive force that's so far on the outskirts, it refuses to be acknowledged. But that doesn't change the fact that he's still there.
But that's fine. He doesn't have to believe it yet. And it's not like I'm trying to pawn my girl off and split her time even further.
Who knows, maybe I'll be wrong and this won't turn into some fucked-up version ofThe Vampire Diaries.
“I can't chill out when my little brother is upstairs fucking my nanny in your guest bedroom.” He sounds petulant and obvious as fuck.
“Guest bedroom's occupied.” I don't know why I feel the need to point out something we both already know. Maybe I enjoy riling my cousin up a little too much sometimes.
But the man's soul is begging for a little shit-talking every once in a while, if only to force him to not take everything so fucking seriously. Ninety-five percent of his life can be controlled and cautious. But Nova and I make sure that other five percent is bullshit.
Consider this part of that five percent.
He glares at me over the black rimmed cup. “So, they're fucking on your bed. Does that really make it better for you?”
I cross one ankle over the other, folding my arms across my chest and facing him as he gives me his profile. He's too busy glaring at the staircase, eyes tense and shoulders stiff.
“You done?” I ask.
“How the fuck are you so calm?”
I shrug. “I'm not, but I'm not going to charge upstairs either. This is her choice, man, and I'm trying to respect it. Besides, I'm not trying to see Nova balls-deep inside my girl.”
He shakes his head with a scoff. “I don't fucking get you, Bane. You know some girl for a couple of weeks and bam, you're laying claim—afterNova laid claim? Have the two of you even talked about that yet? I don't know if you noticed, but Nova never shared when he was five, and he sure as fuck isn't gonna share starting now. Definitely not with his woman.”
“My woman,” I correct calmly.
His head flies toward me. “That's exactly what I'm talking about. She's gonna tear this family apart, and you assholes are gonna make me watch it happen.”
I take another drink. “My house, my woman.”
“What?” He pushes off the counter and tosses his free hand into the air, like he's so exasperated with me he can't find adequate words.
