It tastes like a hot mess.
“This coffee sucks,” I announce.
“You made it,” Malik points out without looking up.
“Yeah, well, maybe the beans are bad.”
“They’re the same beans we used yesterday.”
“Then maybe I don’t like them anymore.”
I sound like a petulant child, and I know it, but I can’t seem to stop myself.
Dax pours himself a cup, takes one sip, and makes a face. “This is terrible.”
“Then make your own next time!”
“Maybe I will!”
“Great!”
“Fine!”
We’re yelling about coffee. Actual adults, yelling about coffee.
Jalen stands up again, more carefully this time, and heads for the bathroom. “I can’t deal with this right now,” he mutters.
Which leaves me, Dax, and Malik in tense silence, with the storm raging outside, and the faint scent of honeycomb and cherry syrup drifting through the house like some kind of sweet torture.
I take another sip of my terrible coffee and try to figure out why everything feels so wrong today.
My body is restless. My temper is short. Every little thing is annoying me in ways that normally wouldn’t even register.
And underneath it all, there’s this constant pull. This awareness of a certain omega just down the hall, in her nest, in heat, and every instinct I have is screaming at me to go to her, check on her, make sure she’s okay.
Which is insane. She’s fine. She was fine last night when Malik walked her back to her room. She’s probably sleeping peacefully in her nest right now, comfortable and safe.
She doesn’t need me barging in like some kind of?—
“You’re doing it too,” Malik says quietly.
I blink at him. “Doing what?”
“Staring down the hallway toward her room. Dax has done it three times in the last five minutes.”
“I have not,” Dax protests, but he’s literally facing that direction right now.
“I wasn’t staring,” I say. “I was just... thinking.”
“About?”
I don’t have a good answer for that.
I pour the rest of my terrible coffee down the sink and try to ignore the way my hands are still shaking, the way my skin feels too hot, the way every nerve ending seems dialed up to eleven.
“I’m gonna...” I gesture vaguely toward the living room. “Go sit down or something.”
“Good idea,” Malik says, his voice strained.
