Drako doesn’t last two seconds before bursting into loud laughter, and my jaw drops when I realize he was mocking me. What an asshole.
I shoot him a narrow look, promising revenge, but he doesn’t care in the slightest.
“What’s the joke?” Apollo asks, returning from wherever he was.
“Nothing. Drako’s just being the idiot he always is,” Nero answers for me.
“He said it wasn’t safe for me to sit on any of your furniture,” I add.
“Snitch!” Drako accuses, clutching his chest in mock outrage.
I shrug.
When Apollo throws him a reprimanding look, I smile, satisfied, and finally sit down in the first armchair I’d chosen.
“I might’ve said it—but she believed me. What does that say about what she thinks of you, huh?” Drako tries to turn the tables.
For a second, I think he might have a point—but I think fast.
“It says I thought you were trustworthy. Clearly, I was wrong. And when I go to your place, I’ll remember to bring my own chair—just to be safe.”
The entire room goes silent for ten seconds before we all burst out laughing at the stupid argument.
It’s official—I’ve been completely infected by the Fantastic Four middle-school spirit.
“That was a very good comeback,” Drako admits, and I give him a sloppy bow.
“At your service,” I say, winking at him.
Atlas appears at the end of the hallway and sits on the sofa across from me. His brother takes the seat beside him, Nero sits on the arm of my chair, and Drako drops into the armchair to my left.
“What are we eating?” Atlas asks.
“I could go for Mexican today,” Drako answers quickly—and in the same middle-school spirit as before, every eye in the room turns to him.
He rolls his eyes and points at me.
“You’re a pervert!” he accuses only me, even though everyone thought the same thing.
“You can blame yourself for that. Exposure really is the worst teacher,” I shoot back.
He laughs.
“Mexican works for me,” I say, and everyone agrees.
Atlas pulls his phone from his pocket and starts tapping on the screen, placing the order, I assume.
“So, Nina—have you met your witch yet?” He says the last word too quickly, then fakes a coughing fit before continuing. “Mother-in-law. I meant mother-in-law.”
I open my mouth to answer, but again, Nero is faster than me.
“No. And she won’t be meeting her anytime soon.”
His tone is so final that no one questions it. I look at him, searching for an explanation, but his face isn’t offering one.
“Shrimp tacos. Who wants some?” Apollo asks, and I blink, still confused by Nero’s reaction—but not willing to think about it right now.
“I want two,” I answer.
