Stefan looks at Preston. “What happened?” His weary tone of voice suggests he doesn’t care.
“Hendrix was teasing Quinn. I intervened.”
Stefan folds his arms and glares at Hendrix. “Why would I be mad at Preston for that?”
“You wouldn’t be. I just wanted to see how you’d react.”
Stefan rolls his eyes. “You’re incorrigible.”
“I know.” Hendrix lies down and goes back to channel-hopping.
My legs wake up, and I jolt upright as though someone has startled me awake. If anyone notices, they don’t make a fuss. I stretch my legs and wriggle my toes, watching as Stefan glares at Hendrix pointedly. Even though Hendrix is short and skinny, he’s somehow taking up the entire sofa. My guess is Stefan wants to sit down.
Hendrix doesn’t even attempt to make space. “There’s plenty of room on the floor. You could sit by Quinn.”
My cheeks flush as the thought of Stefan sitting next to me triggers my cataplexy again. My head becomes so heavy I can’t hold it up. My chin hits my chest. “There’s… only… one… beanbag.” It’s an effort to get the words out. They’re slow and slurred.
I’m not sure anyone has understood me until Hendrix howls with laughter half a second after I’ve finished forcing the words out.
“I doubt Stefan would mind sharing a beanbag with you.” He snorts as he clutches his stomach. “Forget the one-bed-for-the-night trope. The one-beanbag trope is far better.”
“Just move,” Stefan says through gritted teeth.
Hendrix cackles as he shakes his head.
“He’s not going to,” Preston says.
My head jerks up as the cataplexy attack ends.
Hendrix points at Stefan. “I might if you make me. Crack the whip, Sir!”
“I think you’re going too far,” Theo says quietly.
I’m inclined to agree. The vein in Stefan’s neck is throbbing. He shakes his head and walks out. Even though I shouldn’t leave a galley copy of a book lying around, I abandon my things and follow Stefan on shaky legs. Hendrix makes a comment as I go, but I’m not listening.
I find Stefan in the kitchen, looking through his collection of coffee beans. He has more types of coffee than I ever imagined existed.
“Are you okay?”
He turns, leans against the counter, and takes a deep breath. “Yes. Hendrix winds me up.”
“Hendrix winds everyone up. I think he treats it like an Olympic sport.”
Stefan chuckles. “Probably.”
“You could always threaten to take him to your dungeon.”
“I think he’d enjoy that.”
“Maybe. You could threaten to humiliate him in front of everyone at The Library.”
Stefan cracks a smile. “He’d enjoy that too.” He stares at me for a long second before turning to look in his coffee cupboard again. “I need an excellent coffee after that interaction with Hendrix.”
“What makes one coffee better than another?”
He laughs. “Lots of things. From where it’s grown, how high it’s grown, and how it’s processed.” He selects a bag and pours some of the beans into his grinder. The beans are pale yellow brown rather than dark brown. “This is Ethiopian Yirgacheffe. It’s a washed coffee, grown at a high elevation.”
“You wash coffee?”
