I set my empty glass down and lean in, elbows braced against the table. “That’s the plan, Ava baby. As far as the Dollhouse is concerned, your cherry’s been popped and your value has dropped through the floor.”
“Gee, thanks,” she snorts.
I wave a hand dismissively. “Your value at auction, not as a fucking person, babe. And hey, now that I can actually fuck you, your value’s skyrocketed in my book.”
She cuts me another glare, unamused.
“Anyway,” I continue, “we’ll clear your debt with the weapons money by tomorrow, and then you’re off the hook. At least for now.”
She lets out a relieved exhale, but doesn’t say anything. Wes immediately slides a hand onto her thigh, really playing up the concerned lover angle.
Pathetic.
Raf finishes cooking, dumps the stack of French toast onto a platter, and sets it in the middle of the table with a grunt. “Eat up, fuckers,” he says, then grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and starts toward the hall.
Ava looks after him, brow furrowed. “Aren’t you gonna eat?”
“Not hungry,” he mutters, not breaking stride.
The three of us watch as he disappears down the hallway, then a second later, the distant sound of his door slamming shut reverberates through the apartment.
Ava turns to me and Wes, eyes rounded in concern. “Is he okay?”
I shrug, grabbing a piece of French toast off the pile and tearing into it with my teeth like an animal. “Just that classic Raf charm,” I mumble around the bite.
“But why’d he cook if he’s not even hungry?” Ava asks, oblivious to her stepbrother’s motivations.
“Sometimes he cooks as a way to decompress,” Wes says, pulling a slice of French toast onto the empty plate in front of him.
Ava flinches as the muffled sound of drums starts up down the hall.
Wes chuckles to himself, gesturing vaguely toward Raf’s room. “Another thing he does to relax.”
I shake my head, chewing another bite of French toast. “Sex and violence are the only things that truly take the edge off. He’s booked for another fight soon, so that’ll help.”
Ava blinks. “Well what about last night?”
I snicker. “Honestly, this is the most relaxed I’ve seen him in a while. Maybe you should go in there and fuck him again, see if it calms him down for good.”
She narrows her eyes at me, flipping me off.
I grin, delighted, nudging her leg with mine under the table. “Or you could just fuck me instead. Less drama, way more fun.”
She gives me a look of pure exhaustion, then leans back in her chair and sips her coffee. “I need a day to recuperate, Ford. Maybe even a week.”
Wes and I both respond at the exact same time, him saying, “that’s fair” while I say, “no you don’t.” We lock eyes across thetable, and the moment stretches, awkward and territorial, before Ava rolls her eyes and stands up.
She reaches for the platter in the center of the table, plucking a piece of French toast off the top. “I’m taking this to go,” she mumbles, already backing out of the room. “I have a bajillion hours of reading to catch up on, so if anyone needs me, I’ll be locked in my room.”
I watch her go, admiring the way her shorts ride up as she walks, the bottom of her ass cheeks peeking out. “Want company?” I call after her.
“Nope,” she clucks, not even slowing down.
The door to her room clicks shut, and I sit back, feeling the weird tension in the room dissipate.
I turn to Wes. “Gym?”
He glances at the clock, then nods. “Yeah, let’s do it.”
