“Brown sludge?”
“Overnight oats. I added a scoop of protein powder and that’s almost forty grams of protein right there.”
“It looks like brown sludge.”
“You can try some. I have a spare jar in the fridge.”
I stared. He looked back, gaze steady.
“You are aware murder is illegal?” I said.
“No. It is? My goodness, who could’ve guessed?” He dropped the tone. “What the fuck does that have to do with anything?”
“If you’re trying to poison me —”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. You know what? Forget I asked.” He actually threw his actual hands in the air, and I bit back a laugh because despite playing it cool most of the time, he was kind of a drama queen.
I thought that the overnight oats was a one-off blip, but that was only the first strange thing of the day. I went out to study at the library and catch up with Matty — Taylor watched me very carefully as I left, so carefully that I made sure I had locked my bedroom door — and when I returned in the evening, Taylor was standing at the stove, cooking.
“Sit,” he said, pointing at the coffee table.
I toed my shoes off. “Excuse me?”
“Sit. I made us dinner.”
“I’m not hungry.” That was a lie. I was starving, and I wasn’t looking forward to the single packet of ramen I’d left in the pantry.
“I cooked for you. You’re eating it.”
“What are you, my housewife?”
“Sit your ass down, already.”
I sighed, but after dumping my things in my room and washing my hands, I did sit at the coffee table, legs crossed like a primary schooler. Taylor brought over two plates, which featured slabs of chicken breast, brown rice, and asparagus.
“Wow. Looks gourmet.”
“It might be basic, but this hits all the food groups.” He went back to the kitchenette for cutlery, and came back, shoving a fork and knife in my hand.
“Thanks.” I cut into the chicken and took a bite. It was salty, peppery and lemony, and most of all, it tasted healthy. Actually healthy, unlike the greasy burritos I’d had for lunch with Matty.
Taylor watched me with a strange expression as I chewed.
“It’s good,” I said, thinking that was what he was waiting for. “Taking applications to be a personal chef?”
“Piss off,” he said without venom, cutting into his own meal.
“Seriously, though. Why are you doing this for me?”
“Because you’re so tiny, I could snap you like a twig.”
That was so absurdly untrue, the jab didn’t even hurt a little bit. “Yeah, because you’re so big and strong.”
“You’re being sarcastic, but if we fought, I’d have you pinned in fifteen seconds.”
“You would’t.” I scooped up some brown rice.
“I would.”
