“Not to mention, an officer in the Army. Do you really think he couldn’t be assertive if he felt like it?”
Riley’s eyes widen, gaze swinging back to me. I could probably choose to take offence at that surprise, but he’s not the first person to be shocked by my rank—or assumption of rank, I suppose, since Grady didn’t exactly specify that part—or my choice of occupation. When I say Army, they always assume enlisted. Nah, those guys are way too smart for me.
“And if he wanted to get rid of you,” Grady continues, “he could have just dropped you back off at the station. Or called me or Quinn. He wouldn’t have brought you home and made you help him cook dinner. And ifIwanted to throw you out, I’d already have you in the car on the way home. Yes, unlike Lake, I happen to know where you live. I called your foster parents—yes, I have that, too—and they don’t seem to care where you are or who you’re with. You want to tell me about that?”
Riley’s face hardens and he refuses to answer, dropping his head and staring intently at the counter.
“No? Then stop giving me that look like you’re waiting for me to kick you, and let’s finish dinner before Lake decides to kill us both for meat.”
I snicker at the imagery. “Then I’d have to cook you, and I don’t know how to do that by myself.”
Riley’s issues are stemmed for the moment, and we actually manage to finish off the risotto without burning anything—I’m totally taking some of the credit for it because I started it and kept it going while we waited for Grady. Group effort, and that means I get the final mark too.
Riley hesitates with his bowl in hand, looking from the counter to the kitchen table that I just finished setting. Looks pretty good if I do say so myself. Especially with the place mats and matching coasters that we picked up at Kmart the other week. I’d never given much thought to interior decorating before Grady. Well, not to the extent he does, anyway. This is a long way from the cozy gorgeousness of his old rental, but we’re getting there. Once the bathroom’s finished, it’s gonna be great, I’m sure of it.
“What is it?” Grady asks gruffly.
I bite my lip and study my work. “Are you left-handed?” Shit, which way does that go? I can’t remember. Knife on the left or right?
“No—I mean, yes, but that’s not—I usually go to my room to eat.”
Ah. And he doesn’t have a room here to go to. Even if he did, that’s not happening. I pull out a chair and slap the seat to let him know it’s his spot. “Well, my parents always had a rule for dinner: we eat together, no distractions—mostly that was because Avery kept trying to paint while he was eating, and let me tell you, it’s not a great combination—we had to answer questions about our day.”
Riley grimaces. “Like a daily interrogation?”
“Exactly,” I say, beaming. I’ll forever be thankful for my parents and how much time they put into Avery and me. I’m positive it’s what made us better people. Having loving parents who were so involved in our lives, without being overbearing, made a world of difference. Avery’s grumpy and ready to throw down at a moment’s notice, but he’s still agoodperson. Zach and Felix wouldn’t have fallen in love with him otherwise. They’re good judges of character. And Avery hasn’t killed anyone yet, which is about as much as we can hope for.
“I really have to talk about my day?” Riley asks, reluctantly sliding into his allocated seat.
“It’s the price you pay for having dinner with us.” The toll’s steep, but he’s stuck now.
I don’t wait for Grady to finish pouring juice and placing glasses in front of us. I tuck in straightaway, shoving a piping-hot spoonful into my mouth.Oh, man.My eyes slide closed of their own volition, and I groan. “This is so good; I want to make love to it.”
“Eww.”
“This is why I don’t take you out to eat very often.”
“That is a lie, you take me out at least once a month.”
“That’s my limit.”
I wink at Grady and then eat about a quarter of my bowl before I say, “Alright, first question. How was school?” It was always the first one Mum asked, especially while we were in school. The easiest question to start with, lulling us into a sense of false security.
“How wasschool?” Riley asks incredulously. “Are you kidding me? That’s your question?”
Hades nudges my thigh, and I give in and “accidentally” drop some of the risotto on the floor for him. “Usually when I was asked, I talked about lunchtime and my two best friends. Avery had to give them his updated detention timetable.”
“Who’s Avery? Wait, a detentiontimetable?”
“He’s my little brother. He spent most of high school—and primary school, let’s be honest here—with two timetables: classes and detention. An almost even spread of both, which is pretty impressive. Mostly for harmless pranking, but the teachers really had it out for him.”
“That’s not even possible, time wise,” Grady says absently, more focused on his food than the conversation. We don’t normally do these kinds of questions during dinner since Grady can’t, and prefers not to, talk about his work. “He would have had to serve some of that during his classes, and then he would never have graduated.”
“How do you know he did?”
“Touché.”
“He did, though. Don’t ask me how it worked, I didn’t have even one detention all through school.” I’m not going to mention that it’s only because of my best friends, Zach and Felix, who covered for me and served any detentions I may have potentially,maybedeserved. Or I sweet-talked my way out of them. Depended on the teacher who caught us. Some of them liked me, others associated me with Avery and just assumed wewere the same. Which seems rude since he’s younger than me. Shouldn’t it be the other way around?
