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“No, sure,” I said absently, readjusting my junk in my sweats.
He returned with the container of leftovers and the tub of ice cream, which he set on the coffee table with two spoons before flopping down beside me.
“Did you cook this?” he asked as he popped the lid on the container.
“Uh-huh.”
“Do you like to cook?”
“Yeah.” I shrugged sheepishly. “I mean, I’m not adventurous or anything, but I like making what I know I enjoy. Comfort food, I guess.”
“Like what?” Holt was already gnawing on a chicken leg, but he was watching me intently like I was saying something genuinely interesting.
“Um.” I picked at my sweats. “Pot roast. This, um, sage and butternut squash gnocchi thing—”
“Ooh, that sounds good.”
“—and my grandma taught me how to make moussaka when I was younger.”
Holt’s eyes brightened. “I love moussaka.”
I grinned at him shyly. “I’ll make it for you sometime.”
“Oh my god, yes, please. And I’ll eat it off your stomach.”
I froze in stunned silence, then burst out laughing. “That might be messy.”
“Yeah, so messy.” He gave me a wicked grin. “I’ll smear meat sauce all over you then lick it up.”
Holt was so weird.
I loved it.
—
Once Holt had eaten most of the chicken and we’d shared the entire tub of ice cream, he got us back into our original position so he could lounge between my legs with his head on my chest while we watched TV.
Was he seriously not bored? He didn’t appear to be. He seemed content and relaxed, his hands stroking lazily over my thighs as he rubbed his socked foot against my bare one.
I almost dozed off myself, but jumped when an obnoxiously loud heavy metal song blared from the direction of Holt’s coat draped over the back of the couch.
He groaned, using his foot to inch his coat closer so he could get his phone from the pocket without getting up. “That’s Larkin. Every time I change the ringtone for him, he just fucking changes it back while I’m not looking.”
On the screen was an extremely close-up, blurry shot of Larkin’s face, his flaring nostrils dead centre so we were looking into two black voids.
“He did that too,” Holt grumbled, then swiped to answer. I realised it was a video call when Larkin’s normal fae-like face appeared on the screen.
“What up, boss.” He was walking down a bare corridor. “I thought you were getting here at two.”
“Yeah, well, I had a change of plans.”
“Okaaay, but—Wait.” Larkin stopped and peered closer at the screen, his big blue eyes narrowing. “That’s a man chest. You’re lying on a man chest. You’re ditching work for some afternoon delight? Whose chest is that? Dish, bro.”
Holt huffed, but tilted the phone until my face was in shot above him.
“Oh shit, of course.” Larkin cackled. “Taylor, bro, why didn’t you come last night? You missed Dullahan Dan launching his head across the ring at The Night Light to take them down. It was sick.”
“Oh. Um…” I darted a look at Holt. “Sorry I missed it?”
