I raise a brow but say nothing at the cheesy lines.
“Ugh, I see you smirking over there. It’s terrible, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s not your performance. The monologue is a little much for me. Who wrote this thing?” I scrape the pan, the eggs sticking to the sides.
“Vivian La-da-something. Nicole said she’s a bestseller for her genre.”
I turn, eyes wide. “Do you mean Vivian Laundale? She had that blockbuster movie last summer, right? I haven’t read the book, but everyone was talking about it. I think I saw the trailer a million times. Tris, this is a big deal.”
“I guess. I’m trying to get into the character’s mind, but it’s hard.”
“Want me to help?” I lift my hand holding the spatula over my brow dramatically. “Oh, Tris. I need you more than coffee—how will I ever survive?”
His eyes twinkle as he holds in his laugh. “I think you need to worry about the eggs you’re burning first.”
Crud.
Among other terrible traits, I inherited my mother’s dismal cooking skills as well. Frowning, I scrape the spatula across the burnt crust forming in the pan.
You ruined it, just like you ruin everything. You can’t do anything right.
My jaw clenches as I feel his eyes boring into my neck. Always watching me screw up.
“Why are you staring?” I snap, turning the burner off.
“I’m taking a mental image.”
I toss the spatula on the counter, sending bits of burnt egg flying. “Real nice, Tristen. Make fun of me because I don’t know how to cook. You can’t help but memorize all my flaws.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” He tosses his phone onto the bunk and rushes over to me, wrapping his arms around my rigid form. “That’s not what I meant at all. Have you eaten anything today?”
I wiggle from his hold and point a finger at him. “If you tell me one more time to eat when I’m upset...”
“Here.” He grabs an apple from the fridge and tosses it at me. “Trust me.”
For a millisecond, I consider beaming it at his head, but my stomach rumbles. I take a large bite, the tart juices flowing onto my tongue. So delicious that I’m chomping at it like a starved animal.
“I’m eating it because I want to,” I say between bites.
“Better?” he asks when I finish, smiling softly.
“A little,” I force out.
Maybe Tristen is right. Hunger is another trigger I didn’t realize I had. How could he know more about me than I do?
“Good. And to clarify, I wasn’t tallying all your flaws before. You were just so cute, wearing my shirt and cooking a meal for me. I could get used to it.”
“Used to me burning breakfast?”
“Reese... you know that’s not what I meant.”
I shake my head, hoping to dislodge the negative thoughts. “I know. I get so frustrated when everything I touch goes up in flames. Then you are conveniently around when it happens.”
His arms are back around me, and this time I sink in, hating how grouchy I was before.
“To be honest, I’m glad I’m nearby when you need me. Otherwise, I think you’d forget I existed.”
“I always noticed you. Even when I didn’t want to.”
