“I was an ass, and after all you have just been through, I’m sorry.”
There was nothing I could say, or wanted to say right now. I grabbed a slice of bread out of the pantry and threw it into the toaster.
“I cooked you a pancake.”
“I don’t want pancakes. I want toast.”
“You want toast,” he repeated, like he’d just spent ten hours cooking a fucking pancake. “Fine.” He slid the pan off the hotplate. “Eat toast, then.”
I stabbed the coffee button and watched as black liquid slid into my mug. I avoided eye contact, even as I felt his eyes on me as I took a sip while waiting for the toast. Why was it taking so damn long?
“I would prefer you yell at me or break things than give me the silent treatment.”
I spun back. “You tried to hurt me, Ethan, and it worked, congratufuckinglations.”
He sighed. “I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”
“Sure as hell looked like it.”
“We are vampires.” He waved out a hand. “That’s how we live. You need to see it sooner or later.”
“Bullshit. I know you have to feed, but it’s not some fucked-up dinner party where we all sit down at a table and suck blood out of necks for fun.”
“Well, actually we do?—”
“Shut up,” I snapped. “I don’t want to hear about it, and I sure as hell don’t want to see it.”
The toast popped up. I snatched it out, hissing as it burned my fingers. Ethan held out a plate, and I tossed the bread on it and snatched it from his hand. I grabbed peanut butter out of the pantry and shoved lashings of it on top.
“We are vampires. Do you want us to hide from you in our own home?”
I wanted to pick up the plate and throw it at him. “I want you to act like an adult, not a fucking child.”
“Fair enough. If you do throw that plate at me, I’d prefer it doesn’t have peanut butter?—”
Fucking smart-ass.
Tipping the toast onto the bench, I threw the plate at his head. He ducked to the side, and it smashed all over the wall.
He looked shocked. I was equally shocked I’d done it, but I kept my face blank, my mind even blanker, as I picked up my toast and took a bite.
Ethan laughed. He fucking laughed. “What did that plate do to you?”
“Nothing, I was hoping it would hit you flat on your stupid face.”
“You might want to work a bit more on your aim.”
“I have a shit teacher.”
He lifted a brow in wry amusement. “The teacher is only as good as his student.”
“You’re so annoying, I’m not sure how you’re still alive.” I tore off a large bite of my toast.
“I’m not entirely sure either, but I think it’s my charm.”
I felt the anger drain away. His cheeky grin made it hard to stay mad at him, but I snorted. “You’d struggle to charm a cobra with a flute.”
“It’s a pungi actually, and it doesn’t charm the snake, it’s a defensive position the snake makes following the movement of the man playing it.”
