Atticus pokes his head back into the room. "What about a new plan? And I thought we agreed she'd stay until Saturday?"
"Thought you were making gratin?" Elijah asks.
I wince when I remember our time is actually shorter than they think. "I sort of forgot to mention that I need to be back on campus Friday."
Seven cocks his head at me. "What for? There are no classes."
"No, but you guys told me to make friends, remember? And friends like to invite you to things. I could only say no so many times."
"Wait, Friday?" Elijah asks. "Like, Halloween?"
"Did you get invited to a Halloween party, Ro?"
I groan as I drop my head into my hands.
The armchair shifts as Seven perches himself on its arm, and I peek up at him. The bastard is grinning down at me with keen—if a little murderous—interest in his cutting blue eyes. "Who invited you?"
He's going to love this. "Bailey."
His smile turns tight. "Is that so?"
"But it was Maisie who twisted my arm into going."
"You can't cancel?" Elijah asks, and I almost laugh at the pained expression on his face.
"No," Atticus answers before I can. "She needs to be doing normal college shit. Parties are part of that. She should go."
There's a short growl from the arm of my chair as Seven glares at Atticus, but then he's all smiles for me again. "If you're going, you'll need a costume. Any ideas?"
I shrug. "Didn't think that far."
"I'm sure we can come up with something."
Elijah sucks his teeth, and I want to laugh and hug him at the same time for the concern in his expression. He doesnotneed to be worried about Bailey or any other guy on campus. None of them need to be.
But it's cute that they are.
"I should get dinner finished," Atticus says, eyes sliding to me. "You eating with us?"
There's a challenge in his words, and no one in the room misses it.
I haven't eaten anything since this afternoon, and I'm not hungry, but whatever the fuck he cooked in there smells like it was made just for me and I know I have to eatsomething.
Or maybe it's the guilt talking, because I wasn't the snake he thought I was when he threatened me all those weeks ago…
But maybe I am now.
I could demand they all sit back down. Tell them there's one more thing I need to say.
Instead, my traitorous lips form entirely different words. "What did you make?"
"Pork belly and jalapeno mac and cheese."
Sweet Jesus.
He watches my throat bob and his lips twitch. I can always tell them after dinner.
Or in the morning, after I've slept more than the four hours a night I've been getting lately.
