He took the mug, holding it away from himself a little like he was assessing a suspicious object someone had mailed him.“That doesn’t look like coffee to me,” he said.“Looks more like chocolate milk.”
I rolled my eyes and motioned for him to take a sip.“Just try it before you criticize it.”
He took a cautious sip.And then made a face.
I stared at him.“Well?”
He looked down into the mug.“It’s like sweet milk…” He glanced at me.“Foam.”
I yanked the cup out of his hand.I had not just burned through half my morning energy budget for this man to disrespect my latte craft.“I use the wee bit of energy I have to make him a coffee,” I muttered, “and he tells me it tastes like milk.”
“Sweet milk,” he corrected, taking the mug back.“And I didn’t say I didn’t like it.I was just telling you what I tasted.”
I grabbed a spoon from the drawer and shoved it toward him.“Stir it, and then tell me what you think.”
He looked like this whole situation was deeply unnecessary, but he took the spoon and stirred the latte anyway.Then he lifted it and took another sip.
I waited.
And waited.
“Well?”I drawled.
He shrugged.“It’s fine.”
My jaw dropped.“Fine?”I repeated.“I have been working on perfecting my lattes for a year, and you just think it’s fine?”
He took another sip, totally unbothered.“Yeah, it’s fine, sugar.I’m just a simple guy who likes black coffee.”
I snatched the mug out of his hand again.“Then this is mine, and I will make you a black coffee.”
Before I could turn back to the machine, a knock sounded on the door.
Three sharp raps.
Swift pushed off the counter immediately, the whole lazy-sleepy thing gone in a second.“Make me that coffee, sugar,” he said, already moving.“And I’ll get the door.”
I watched him walk to the apartment door, every line of his body alert now.He leaned slightly and looked through the peephole.Then he turned his head to look back at me.“Forgot to mention,” he said, “that your brother came over last night when you were sleeping on the couch.”
I blinked.“Okay,” I said with a laugh.
That wasn’t out of the ordinary for Tyson.The man had protective older brother syndrome so bad I was pretty sure it was genetic.“Did you tell him I was sleeping?”
Swift nodded.“I did.But he wasn’t exactly happy that I was here and he couldn’t come in.”
I folded my arms over my chest.“Are you telling me this because my brother is on the other side of the door and you want to cover your ass?”
He nodded once.“That would be pretty accurate.”
I laughed and shook my head.“Let him in, Swift.I’m surprised he didn’t just use his key.”
“Probably because he knows if this door were just to open up,” Swift muttered, “I would shoot before asking questions.”There was no joke in his voice.
Just simple fact.
He unlocked the door and opened it.
Tyson stood there in jeans, work boots, and a dark T-shirt that looked like he’d been wearing it all night.Which he probably had.He worked weird hours and looked like he’d just come off shift.
