AllFreeNovel
Share Us
"But I believe, if you think on it, you'll realize you're spending less time in the bathroom," Jonas says pushing his glasses up his nose. "And your stomach probably feels better."
Colton's shoulders are shaking. Kade stops, finger raised and frowns. Finally, he drops his finger. "Maybe," he says grudgingly. Jonas nods like the answer was obvious to him. "But you still shouldn't mess with people's stuff just because you think it's healthier. How the fuck would you like it if I did that shit to you?"
Jonas raises his eyebrows. "If you made a change for my health? I would imagine I would thank you."
Kade nods. "Right. Then I'm putting everyone one on notice. Jonas isn't allowed any more fucking marshmallow treats. Cause I know for sure those are really fucking bad for you." Jonas face drops, and now my shoulders are shaking with laughter too.
"I really like those," he says sadly, shoulders rounding. I can see him calculating, trying to get out of the corner he's backed himself into.
"I really fucking like coffee."
"Even if it gives you the shits?" Colton asks innocently.
Kade rounds on him. "We going there, asshole? Should we talk bathrooms? How about we discuss the hot sauce situation last week? We had to evacuate the three rows of desks closest to that shitter."
Colton blanches and clutches his stomach in remembered pain. I was out of the office that day and I can't say I'm sorry about it.
"That was a very bad day," he says seriously.
"What the fuck did you expect, asshole? That bottle had a grim reaper on it."
"I dunno. I thought it was more like that other kind." His face falls, and he shifts uncomfortably on the couch. "I thought I was going to die."
"Are you sure he won't mind?" I ask again.
Jonas sighs and shakes his head. "He won't mind. He's used to cooking for lots of people. One more isn't an issue."
"Yeah, but that was in prison. You just invited me over to his house. He might not like that."
Jonas steps off the elevator, turning to me with a look that tells me he's over this entire conversation. "Then don't come. I do not care." Of course he doesn't. I have to laugh.
"But I want to eat too," I say, whining a bit, giving Jonas a toothy grin when he glares at me. I am hungry, and I haven't had a chance to eat John's food in a couple of weeks. He cooked for us at Christmas, but otherwise mostly keeps to himself. Except for Jonas and weirdly enough Abby, no one else has spent much time with him.
The guy seems solid, despite the fact that he's been in prison for twenty years for killing someone. Honestly, I sort of respect the way he's handled himself since he got out. A guy gets attacked in prison, reunites with his brother at the hospital, learns he has eighty million bucks in the bank, and still cooks up Christmas dinner for us a few days later. That's class right there. Now the man has millions at his disposal, but still seems content to spend his time giving Jonas cooking lessons. He must have the patience of a saint.
As Jonas pushes open John's apartment door, I can't help looking across the hall to Cara and Bree's apartment. Maybe she'd like to come over too? What's one more person, right? Jonas said so.
I'm across the foyer knocking on the door before my brain even engages. The level of disappointment I feel when no one answers is dumb. So what if Bree's not home? She's probably out living her best life. That's a good thing.
I turn and head into John's place, and I don't look back once.
Maybe just once.
11
BREE
I can hear the shouting through the elevator door. Okay, not shouting, but very loud arguing. Not an uncommon occurrence in this building, but it's not usually on my floor.
I step off carefully, not sure what I'm walking into. John's door is propped open, and the voices are coming from inside. I haven't interacted much with John. He's a scary-looking guy, but that's not why we've not talked. He's actually pretty reserved. We've shared a couple of nods when our paths crossed, but he mostly keeps to himself.
"Touch my whipped cream one more time. Go ahead. See what happens." The words are delivered in a low snarl, but the voice speaking them makes me smile.
I step into the apartment and peek around the corner. John's there, which makes sense since it's his kitchen. He's leaning against the sink, arms crossed, a look of baffled frustration on his face as he watches Jonas, clutching a bowl of whipped cream to his chest, stick his face right in Nick's.
Jonas's jaw is clenched, seconds away from punching Nick. Nick, on the other hand, a tiny grin dancing on his lips, looks like he's trying to think of ways to push Jonas over the edge, just to see what would happen. Pretty sure I saw that exact look on my face when Cara and I were kids.
"I was just checking to make sure it was ready," Nick says in a soothing tone. "You have to make sure it's whipped just right."
