I gave in to my urges, turning my face to the side and deeply inhaling the scent of his pillow. A soft knock sounded on the door. Growing warm with embarrassment, I fanned myself for a second before I called out, “Come in.”
Michael cracked opened the door, grinning. “Hey.”
Waking up to his face felt extremely personal. Maybe it was because last night I opened up to someone besides a family member for the first time in four years. Or maybe it was just because it was him.
Or it could be the pillow thing.
“Shower’s through that door. Towels are under the sink. I’m going to check out the breakfast situation.” He dropped my bag inside the door and left before I could say anything.
I showered and dressed quickly, glad I always carried a travel toothbrush and makeup essentials in my purse. I returned to his room to find Michael sitting on the bed, holding two mugs of coffee. He scanned my all-black ensemble.
“Did you go emo and I missed it?” he asked, grin still in place.
I smoothed my hand over my shirt and said primly, “I didn’t know what the Hourglass was going to be like. I brought these clothes in case I needed to blend in with the dark.”
“You look like a miniature burglar.”
“Don’t forget I can kick your ass.”
“Sorry.” He wasn’t, really.
“I feel bad about running you out of your own bathroom,” I apologized as I took the empty chair by his desk.
“No problem. Plenty of extra showers around here.” I noticed his hair was damp as he held out one of the mugs. “Sorry, it isn’t a Cubano.”
“No problem. Caffeine is caffeine,” I said, taking it, pleased he remembered my preference in morning beverages, struck by morning-after awkwardness. I didn’t know what to say next.
He interrupted the silence. “There’s food in the kitchen whenever you’re ready to go down.”
“Sounds good. I should probably call Murphy’s Law, too. I can’t believe I’ve already missed work, and it’s only my first week on the job.” Lily was probably crazy with worry. Or convinced Michael had kidnapped me to force me to be his love slave. If only the answer was that simple.
“I already called. Told them we got stuck here. They gave you the day off, but that could have something to do with a girl yelling in the background that she would take your shift if you were still with ‘Delicious’?”
“Thanks.” I took a huge gulp of coffee and swallowed, even though it was scorching hot, focusing on the carpet.
“Are you ready to get back?” he asked. I didn’t raise my eyes, but I could hear the amusement in his voice. “Or do you have some time today?”
“I’m all yours.” It slipped out before I could stop it. “Er … I mean, I think I’m going to be in trouble either way, since I spent the night with you … here, I mean, spent the night here.” I stopped talking and sighed deeply. “I have time.”
Kill me now.
“Good.” Michael stood, his smile wide enough to split his face in half. “Because we need to fill Dr. Rooks in on who you really are.”
Chapter 26
A back staircase led into a sunny kitchen with oak floors and lemon-yellow walls. Michael joined two guys at a table, but I stopped when I saw Dr. Rooks standing at a kitchen island with a ceramic tile top, slicing fruit. I’d never seen anyone cut through the tough brown skin of a pineapple so expertly. Thick pieces piled up, making the kitchen smell like an oceanside bar, causing my mouth to water.
“Good morning.”
“To you as well,” she said in her melodic voice, taking a fat orange from a bowl beside her. “Michael said you and he had a late night talking.”
“Um … I’m sorry you got the bed ready for me and I didn’t come up.”
She put the knife down on the tile and peered at me from under her ridiculously long lashes. “I didn’t even take it out of the box.”
My mouth fell open, and she laughed.
“It’s not like him, and I must say I was rather surprised, considering. But think nothing of it.” I wondered what she meant by “considering.” She grinned and handed me a piece of fruit. “He’s a special young man.”
Heat crept across my cheekbones. I leaned forward to keep from dripping the sweet pineapple on my shirt, holding my hand underneath it. It tasted even better than it smelled. I chewed while I struggled with what to say next. “That’s not … I mean, we didn’t … It’s not like … that … between us.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.” She pierced the thin skin of the orange with the knife. “I thought what I sensed between you was rather strong. Perhaps I was mistaken.”
A paper-towel holder shaped like a bunny stood on the counter, ears sticking up from the cardboard tube, oversize feet keeping the roll in place. I ripped one off to wipe the juice from my hands. “I just wanted to apologize for any trouble, Dr. Rooks.”
“Cat.” Smiling, she went back to slicing the orange. “No trouble at all.”
She was so cool I almost considered becoming a physicist. Almost.
An argument erupted at the table.
“Batman wins. No supernatural powers—just straight will—the desire to right wrongs.” A guy with dreadlocks and soulful eyes speared a silver-dollar pancake. He had on a Hawaiian-print shirt. “All he needed was determination.”
“That’s such a lame argument, Dune. Superman, hands down. He’s Superman. Who’s better than Superman?” A boy with spiky black hair shot with neon green streaks shoveled in a forkful of the biggest plate of scrambled eggs I’d ever seen. He pushed his thick-framed black glasses up. “Unless we count the X-Men as one person instead of a team—”
“Hey, guys,” Michael interrupted when he saw me watching, “I hate to stop this scintillating breakfast discussion, but I want to introduce you two to Emerson. Meet Nate Lee and Dune Ta’ala.”
“Hi.” Good thing my cheeks were still red from my conversation with Cat. I felt like a beauty contestant, on display and awaiting judgment.
Nate’s mouth dropped open to give me a tantalizing view of half-chewed egg. Dune’s expression mimicked Nate’s—with the exclusion of the food. They weren’t looking at me, but just past me.
What was with these two?
I got my answer when I heard a female voice behind me. “Well, well. So very nice to meet you.”
I turned to see who could dish out such excessive sarcasm so early in the morning.
The girl from the picture.
I had a dilemma. I could find absolutely no good reason to slap the girl standing in the kitchen doorway.
And I really wanted one.
Her legs were ten miles long. Thin, but with curves. Lots of curves. Her face was plastic-surgery perfect, but I had a horrible feeling most of it was natural.
Or all of it.
She wore impossibly high heels and an impossibly short skirt, and her dark auburn hair was pushed back by a pair of designer sunglasses perched on top of her head.
Michael stood, stepping between us. “Emerson,” he said, his voice guarded, “this is Ava.”
I smiled, but I was pretty sure I just looked like I was baring my teeth. “So very nice to meet you, too.”