He glances up, catches me staring at his six-pack, and grins. “Morning, sunshine.”
I grunt. “Do you have coffee?”
“Help yourself.” He nods toward a bag on the counter. “I’d love a cup too.”
Another test, I realize, when his smile stays fixed in place. I’m guessing he doesn’t have an espresso machine that makes a cappuccino with the press of a button.
I step into the kitchen, rolling the sleeves of my Chanel blouse up. I pick up the bag he nodded toward, scanning the text on the back and hoping they’re instructions.
“You’re a coffee-making virgin too?” His voice is thick with feigned surprise.
I flip him off with my free hand, a low chuckle confirming he caught it.
The front door opens, then slams closed, followed by a voice I’m surprised sounds familiar. “Cap!”
Sawyer sighs, glancing at me. “Watch the eggs?”
I focus on the pan. “Uh … like, actually just look at them, or do I?—”
“Why aren’t you replying to my texts—oh. Shit. Hi.” A guy with shaggy blond hair has appeared in the doorway, head rotating rapidly between me and Sawyer.
Gus. I come up with his name, pretty proud of myself for recalling. “Hi, Gus.”
“Hey, Wren. Hey.” His gaze is still bouncing between me and Sawyer. He doesn’t seem to know what to make of my presence.
I have no idea what Sawyer has shared about us with his friends. Not much, it seems. Not that there is—or was—an us.
“Nice knocking,” Sawyer comments, measuring groundcoffee.
Gus rubs the back of his neck. “Well, you’re never …” His voice trails, leaving me even more confused. Neverwhat? “Okay, I should, um, just call me when?—”
“What’s taking forever?” A woman’s voice echoes down the hallway.
Both Sawyer and Gus stiffen.
“Seriously?” Sawyer snaps.
Gus gestures helplessly. “I had no idea, Cap.”
I’m focused on the doorway, waiting for the woman to appear. Is this Skylar? If so, how awkward will this get? Nothing happened last night, which I’ll happily testify to, but I’d be pissed about him spending the night in bed with anyone else if we were together.
It’s not Skylar.
I know because I recognize Cammie right away. She’s cut her hair into a long bob that barely brushes her shoulders, and she’s wearing some makeup, but the frown when she spots me? Identical to the annoyed expression I’ve seen several times before.
I smile at her, then sniff, glancing at the pan of eggs. “Sawyer, what am I?—”
“Stir,” he says, ambling over. He sticks a spatula in my hand. “Just move them around so they don’t burn.”
“Cute,” Cammie comments as he returns to the coffee. “I didn’t know you were offering cooking lessons now, Cap.”
“I didn’t know you were finished with finals,” he replies.
“Last one was yesterday afternoon. Texted you to meet us at Lucky’s, but you never answered. You were busy, apparently.”
Is Lucky another nickname? I don’t ask the question aloud. I’m the outlier here. Gus likes me—I think—but Cammie definitely doesn’t. My best strategy seems to be to keep my mouth shut and let Sawyer handle his friends.
Except he says nothing, too, so the awkward silence in the kitchen just expands.
