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"Why are you talking like you have any expertise? You put six whole eggs in the microwave last week and caused an explosion. Maverick had to throw the whole thing away." I clamp my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing.
"He's such a tattler," Nick mumbles. "I was hungry."
"Jesus Fuck, you guys are idiots," John says, a tinge of awe in his tone.
I wish I could see the look on the guys faces as they slowly, like creepy dolls from a horror movie, turn their heads to look at John. His lips twitch as he glares back at them. "Fuck off," he says, lifting one finger to point at them. "If you don't get back to work, you won't have a dessert. You can kiss the mousse goodbye."
Nick and Jonas spin so fast, a little whipped cream flies out of the bowl and lands on Nick's grey t-shirt. I'm woman enough to admit I stare way too long as Nick brings one finger to his chest, wiping it against the material to gather up the whipped cream. And maybe I drool the tiniest bit as he brings his finger to his mouth, licking off the fluffy white cream.
I must have made a noise. Not a gasp or moan. Nope, definitely didn't do that. But all three men's eyes are suddenly on me. John gives me a small, familiar nod. Jonas grins. But it's Nick's wide happy smile that makes my knees week. He looks so glad to see me.
Just friends, remember. Don't read anything more into it.
"Hey guys," I say, casually leaning on the wall. "What's up?"
It's Jonas that answers. "We're making baked spaghetti, and chocolate mousse. John is giving me cooking lessons and we've moved on to using the oven." The pride is evident in his tone, and the way his chest puffs up just a little bit.
"Wow. That's a big step."
"I know. I am an excellent student." He scowls in Nick's direction. "At least I am when I'm not being distracted."
Nick puts his hands up and steps out of the kitchen, coming to meet me in the entryway. "You staying for supper, Bree? Jonas is making lots."
Smile breaking over my face, I shake my head. He's so free and easy about everything. I'd like some of that to rub off on me. "You've just invited me to someone else's house for supper."
"Yep. Jonas explained to me that it's no big deal. The more the merrier."
Jonas stares at Nick. "That is not what I said."
Nick blows a raspberry. "It's close enough." Apparently done with the conversation, he curls his hand around my back and guides me to John's dining table. This apartment is bare bones. Nice bones, but still bare. There's no personal touches, no sense of the man who lives here. Though maybe, the starkness of it is a perfect representation of the man. Prison isn't a warm place. It's not like they could decorate their cells with much of anything.
As I settle into a chair facing the kitchen, I spot something totally out of place on a low shelf. A coloring book and pencil crayons.
Unable to resist, I rise and move to them. An adult dirty word coloring book. None of the pages are colored, and the box of colored pencils look unopened. I feel John's gaze. "I'm sorry. I know I'm being rude, but..." I trail off, bobbing the art supplies in my hands.
He grunts, staring at them. "Abigail gave them to me. She thinks I need to express myself."
Laughing, I page through the book. "So coloring 'you're a twat waffle' is supposed to be therapeutic or something?"
"Apparently," he says, cracking a small smile. It's both nice to look at, and also horrible. The healing scar on his cheek is still an angry red, pulling and twisting with the movement of his mouth. So much pain. So much trauma. Does he still feel it? Does he wake up in a sweat, screaming?
"Maybe I should give it a try," I murmur, more to myself. John waves me back to the table, so I sit and idly flip through the pages. Nick sits and slides his chair closer. What a colossal, warm, musky smelling distraction.
Leaning an elbow on the table, other arm around the back of my chair, he studies the pages, chuckling. "Abby gave him this? She's an odd chick."
"Is this news to you?" I mean I don't want to judge a book by its cover, but Abby's pink hair tells me her book is unique, even if I don't know everything that's between the pages.
"Nah, not news. When she first showed up, she was a little wild, but that's understandable after what her ex did to her. She's settled in now. Though I'm not sure I understand her and John's thing."
"I think maybe I get it," I say, studying John as he calmly directs Jonas in the kitchen. "He has a very calm way about him. He seems like nothing ever gets to him."
Nick leans back, brow furrowed. "Nothing ever gets to him," he murmurs, studying John as he guides Jonas to fold the chocolate pudding into the cream. "I guess that's true. Considering all the changes in his life in the last month, he's done damned well. From the stories Colton's told about their childhood, this is a new improved version of John."
New and improved. I've always hated that term. How can something be new and improved? It's illogical. "The same could be said for anyone though, couldn't it? None of us are who we used to be, for better or worse. I barely recognize my sixteen year old self."
Scratch that. She was grieving, and lost, her entire world turned upside. Maybe I have more in common with her now than I have in a long time. "You're not the same person you were twenty years ago, are you? What was sixteen-year-old Nick like?"
His shoulders climb up around his ears. He shrugs and scratches at something only he can see on the table with one fingernail. "Yeah. I see your point." The humor has fallen from his face, and I'm sorry to see it go. I'm even more sorry that I'm the one that chased it away. He mentioned his grandma when we were in Miami. Is she the reason he lost his smile? I want to ask, but I don't like people prying into my psyche, and I'm guessing he wouldn't either.
