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Matty’s voice rang out the instant I knocked. “It’s open!”
I was scowling as I entered. “What if it hadn’t been me?”
Matty’s tongue was sticking out the side of his mouth as he plated up an enormous slab of cake. “But it was you.”
I rubbed my temples. The wards would protect Matty from supes, but other humans were often just as bad, if not far worse. “You should check, Matty. Every time.”
“Don’t be such a worrywart,” Matty said, sliding two plates of cake onto the table. I eyed them warily as I sat at the table. “How do you take your tea?”
“I don’t drink tea.”
Matty stared at me. “But…you’re British…yes?”
Technically, I was French. The whole LeClerc family was.
Toby had adopted a British accent when he’d moved here in the 1700s in an effort to fit in. I’d done the same, but mine was born out of a sense of self-preservation.
Every time the crisp accent of my youth passed my lips, I was reminded of my family. Of Amelie.
Of Laurent.
“I can be British and not like tea.”
“You can,” Matty said slowly, “but it’s weird. What do you want to drink with your cake?”
Your blood.
“Water is fine.”
Matty filled a glass and placed it in front of me before taking his seat opposite. “You don’t have to wait on me.”
“I know.” He used the side of his fork to cut off a chunk of cake. “I like it though.”
I’d thought there was nothing better than Matty’s smile, but his reaction to the cake was pretty close. His lips closed around the fork, a deliciously sinful moan escaping him as his eyes drifted closed.
There was a strange creaking noise. I glanced down at my hands, my eyes widening in alarm. Shit, my fingers had created divots in the tabletop. I hurriedly pulled my plate over them, hoping Matty wouldn’t notice.
Brilliant. Excellent restraint there, Sebastian.
At least I hadn’t tackled Matty to the floor to see what else I could do to get that reaction from him.
Friends.
I turned my attention to the cake. I had to admit, it did smell delicious. Human food wasn’t something vampires required—we got all the necessary sustenance and nutrition from blood—but contrary to how we were portrayed in the media, we could eat and drink it.
I never normally bothered, but Matty was waiting for me to try it.
I lifted the first mouthful to my lips, noting the hungry way Matty tracked the motion. Flavour exploded on my tongue. It was nothing compared to how Matty would taste, but it was good.
“It’s lovely.”
Matty’s smile was sweeter than the cake. “Good.”
A smarter version of myself would’ve made my excuses once our plates were cleared and left. But, realistically, when was I going to get the opportunity to have Matty all to myself again?
I’d never pretended not to be selfish. If I was going to put distance between us, I needed to stock up on as much Matty as possible while I could.
That was my logic and I was sticking to it.
