“I thought hygiene was something omegas were pretty keen on. Guess not.”
Grayson isn’t pulling his punches again today, I see. Humiliation brands my cheeks a rosy red as Jax takes pity on me and opens the chair next to him. “Sit down and have some breakfast.”
I smooth down my dress self-consciously as I move around the table, angling myself so I don’t touch Grayson as I pass. Settling down, I glance at the paltry offer and my fingers twitch again.
Clearing my throat, I draw Jax’s attention. His violet eyes slide to mine with a question.
“I could cook?” My words are almost soundless. I don’t want to insult him, but I have no idea how they maintain themselves if this is what they eat on the regular.
Besides – this is what I’m here to do. To take care of them. And they’re supposed to take care of me, too.
“You cook?” Logan asks, a touch of hope in his tone. He scans the table mournfully. “We’re not the best at it.”
His words draw a smile. Because this? This, I can do. And it’s better than hanging around on the outskirts, pathetically pining for a crumb of attention.
“Do you mind?” I ask, already eyeing the layout of the kitchen. Logan actually laughs.
“Go ahead.”
“Don’t poison us,” Grayson grunts, and then grunts again.
“Ignore Gray,” Jax murmurs. “He hasn’t had his fix yet.”
Gray strides across to the metal monster, pressing some buttons and then frowning. “Is the coffee machine broken?”
I try not to choke as he turns to me, looking accusingly at the cup in my hands.
“I, um. I tried to make coffee and it didn’t work,” I offer. “Maybe it was already broken?”
Gray curses. “Fucking perfect.”
Skirting past him, I lose myself in getting to grips with their kitchen. The refrigerator is a monster just like their coffee machine, and whilst it’s not exactly what I would call full (not unless you count dozens of cans of beer) it’s still got enough for me to make something.
Logan appears beside me as I push the door shut, my arms full. “Need help?”
I shake my head. “I’ve got it,” I offer. “Why don’t you sit down?”
“Telling us what to do in our own kitchen,” Gray’s words deflate the tiny bit of confidence I have, and my hands shake as I put everything down on the counter.
“Sorry,” I whisper. Logan inhales, a hint of his sweet lemon scent reaching my nose and making my knees shake.
“Don’t be. Gray’s an asshole.”
The atmosphere changes, Gray’s anger a sudden weight in my chest. I rub the pain away, fighting the urge to flinch.
“Jesus, Gray, tone it down,” Tristan orders. The door slamming is the only response, and Logan sighs, moving away from me again.
Ignoring the weirdness of this situation, I break eggs and chop peppers and onion, whisking and seasoning until I’m carefully cutting the steaming tortilla into sections and setting it out on the table.
Logan and Jax immediately grab for the food, but Tristan casts his eye over the table and stands. “I’ll eat at work,” he says dismissively as he turns away. He grabs a set of keys from the side and disappears, the door slamming a moment later.
Eyes smarting, I quietly gather the dishes and pile them in the sink, starting the water running. A hand appears over mine, making me jump as it gently turns off the faucet.
“You need to eat too,” a voice grumbles. Jax.
Vision blurry, I blink as a tear drips down my face.
Why is all of this so fucking hard?
