War dumps a cutting board worth of veggies into a sizzling wok. “New York. Russia. Boston.” His tone is slightly terse. Maybe he does have an issue with me for some reason.
We fall silent for a few moments as I watch him make a stir fry sauce with honey, soy sauce, and fresh ginger, among other things. He mixes the ingredients so fast it’s as though he’s whisking egg whites.
“Where did you learn to cook?”
“Where didn’t I?” He glances at me. “When you eat nine thousand calories a day, flavor’s a priority. I was sick of fuckin’ omelets by the time I was ten, so I learned.”
“This would up your rank in Ash’s eyes. She’s always saying she needs a boyfriend who cooks.”
He doesn’t look at me, but his attention sharpens, as evidenced by the sudden tension in his broad shoulders and the way he cocks his head. It’s very similar to the subtle things Ash does when his name is mentioned.
War’s lip curls with distaste. “She’s so skinny and hyper, I figured her diet was all coffee and cocaine.”
Jamie and I chuckle, but I shake my head.
“She does love coffee, but she loves food, too. Crosby Bergmann claims he’s going to take a cooking class. I hope he’s lying.”
War and Jamie look at me, not trying to hide that I’ve got their full attention.
“You hope he’s lying? Why’s that, Sauce?” Jamie asks.
“I don’t trust him.”
Jamie leans closer, retrieving a leftover slice of carrot from the counter. “Did you tell her that?”
I nod. “I don’t even think she’s that attracted to him. He’s just… unbelievably persistent.”
The hardness around War’s eyes intensifies before he turns his attention back to the wok.
“I should text her to see if she’s had dinner,” I say. “She’s going to Boston today, but her last text said she got sidelined before leaving town. That girl is always traveling at Mach speed.”
War flattens his hand on the stone counter next to the burner but otherwise doesn’t move or speak.
“Nah,” Jamie says, glancing at his friend and then back at me. “Dinner’s almost ready. We’ll invite her another time.”
“Right, okay,” I say, mimicking Jamie’s accent as best I can.
He smirks. “Not too bad, that.”
War exhales a derisive sound, making me lean back and flush with embarrassment.
“Don’t pay attention to him.” Jamie shakes his head. “I’m not having you on. It wasn’t bad.”
I shrug, locking eyes with Jamie. “It’s my favorite thing… the way it sounds when you say it.”
“When I say, ‘right, okay’?”
Nodding, I smile.
“Because he’s agreeing with you,” War says, setting stoneware dishes on the counter.
“It doesn’t hurt the cause.” I raise a hand in a questioning gesture. “Who doesn’t love being agreed with? But calling it the main thing? I suspect that says more about you, War, than about me.” My tone is teasing, but he doesn’t acknowledge it.
Instead, he pauses in spooning food onto his plate so his dark eyes can scowl at me.
“She has you there, mate.” Jamie flashes a small smile. “You do like when members of the opposite sex behave the way you want them to.”
“Not the same thing. Also…” War raises his middle finger and directs it at both of us before turning off the burners, grabbing his maximally full plate, and heading upstairs.
