Page 11 of Uxpectedly Ever After

I did mention that. Once. In passing. Like, three days ago. I hate that he remembers little details like that.

"Thanks," I say, sliding into the chair across from him. "But you really don't have to cook for me."

"I know I don'thaveto." He pushes the plate closer with a smirk on his face, almost like he knows he’s getting to me. "I want to. Consider it part of the rent."

"You're already paying actual rent." Like, real, honest-to-goodness money that he insisted on giving me, even though Kasen told him it wasn't necessary.

"Yeah, well." He shrugs, and the movement does these utterly unfair things to his shoulders under that shirt that, yep, I’m totally stealing later. "I eat a lot. Might as well cook for you, too, while I’m at it."

We fall into this almost… comfortable silence as we eat. It's unnerving how quickly we've fallen into these little routines. Him making coffee in the mornings after his early shifts. Me baking at night after my late ones. Him getting way too investedin the trashy reality shows I watch to de-stress. Me pretending not to notice when he leaves his books on firefighting history scattered on my coffee table, always bookmarked with random scraps of paper covered in his surprisingly neat handwriting. It’s all… weirdly domestic. And I don't like it one bit.

I don’t like how much I like it.

"I might be working late tonight," I say, breaking the silence between us that’s more comfortable than I thought it’d be. "It's inventory day at Ember."

He nods, reaching for his coffee mug. "I'll be at the station until six, then I'm meeting Kasen for a beer. I can swing by Ember after if you want to walk home."

"I don't need a chaperone, Banks."

"Did I say you did?" His eyes flick up to meet mine, and they're suddenly intense and impossible to decipher. "Maybe I just want to see if Navy's invented any new cocktails I should try."

I know he's lying. He’s a beer man like my brother and Navy’s drinks are usually over the top with dirty names likethe squirterandrim job.He's worried about me walking home alone in the dark, the same way he's been "coincidentally" showing up right around closing time all week. But arguing with him is exhausting, and I'm already running late for my class.

Plus, I got about three hours of sleep so I don’t have it in me to fight.

"Whatever," I mutter, pushing back my chair and grabbing my bag. "Just don't flirt with Navy. She'll eat you alive, and I'll have to listen to her brag about it for weeks."

I'm going to pretend that's the only reason I don't want him flirting with Navy and it has absolutely nothing to do with the weird, uncomfortable little twist I feel in my gut at the thought of Banks and Navy… you know. Touching. Or kissing. Or fucking.

That little twist has now morphed into full-blown murder fantasies about both of them.

Something isseriouslywrong with me.

His low chuckle follows me as I head for the door, almost like the arrogant jerk can read my mind. "Wouldn't dream of it, Freckles. See you later."

"You're acting all twitchy tonight," Navy observes as she lines up shot glasses. Her eyes, though, are locked on me. "And you've checked your phone like a million times in the last hour."

"I'm not twitchy," I protest, shoving my phone back into the pocket of my apron. I've just been checking the time… a lot.

"Uh-huh. And I don't reread my favorite graphic novels until the pages fall out," she deadpans, tipping the bottle of tequila upside down across the shot glasses. "Spill."

"There's nothing to spill. I’m just counting down the minutes until we close, okay? Inventory days are always brutal and I’m about to crash."

Navy's eyes narrow into these suspicious little slits. "Nah, it's something else. You’re always tired. It’s your natural state.” She spins to set up a tab for a young guy who checks out her ass and I roll my eyes. “You've been acting weird and distracted all week." She suddenly gasps, pointing a dramatic finger in my direction. "You're getting some, aren't you? That's totally what this is!"

"What? No, I am absolutely not!" The bottle of Aperol I'm holding nearly takes a nosedive onto the sticky bar top. "Why in the hell would you even think that?"

"Because you've got that 'I'm getting the good dick and can’t wait to have it again’ look. Who is he? I’m dying to know who got you to break your personal best dry spell record.”

"I amnothooking up with anyone," I hiss, glancing around nervously to make sure none of the other bartenders or theowner, Theo, are within earshot. "And it hasn’t been that long, so shut up."

"Thirteen months and counting." She waves her phone at me before sticking it in her back pocket. “I put an entry in my calendar.”

“You did what?”

Navy winks, grabbing a bottle of gin. “I knew you’d argue with me at some point. Now I’ve got the receipts.”

I let out a dramatic sigh, knowing there's no way Navy's going to let this go. She's like a bloodhound with a scent when it comes to gossip. It’s even worse when it involves me and my non-existent love life. "Fine. If I tell you, you have to swear you won't make a huge deal out of it."

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