“I’m not.”
“You are. It’s your dry delivery.” He lets out a short breath. “While I’m over here, thinking it’s sorta funny fighting the urge to say stuff I shouldn’t.”
“You’re allowed to joke, Stan.”
“About what? The coma?”
“Anything, really.”
He goes silent for some seconds, just staring at me, and then he speaks up. “If I don’t laugh about it, I’ll implode. Or start quoting depressing poetry. And I refuse to sink to Sterling’s level.”
Another small laugh slips out of me.
He grins my way. “So…” he says. “What’s the verdict on the flirting thing?”
“You can hit on me, Stan.”
“Wait.” His eyes widen. “For real?”
“If you keep it light and funny.”
His grin turns wicked. I open the mess hall door. He follows me in.
The mess hall’s spotless and empty of people. The food’s laid out. Fruit, vegetables, meat, eggs, a pot of coffee, and some tea.
Stan points at the spread. “Early risers get the boring buffet first.”
We walk over to the buffet table. I eye the toast, poking it too. “Think it’s edible?”
“No clue. But we’re brave, right?”
After that, we fill our plates. Stan mutters commentary the entiretime, insulting everything on the table.
We end up sitting at the far end of a long bench.
Stan eats loudly but doesn’t talk much when he’s got a pile of food in front of him.
“This is nice,” I mutter without much thought.
He smirks, mouth full. “I’m sorry, what? Say that again, so I can get it on the record.”
Brow raised, I frown at him a bit. “I said this is nice, Stan.”
“I knew you liked me.”
“Never said I didn’t.”
The way his teeth bite into his smirking lip makes me want to crawl back into bed, just so I can hide the heat that’s spreading on my face.
Lucky for me, he keeps his mouth shut about it.
We finish breakfast in silence. When we’re done, we get up and plan to head out.
Stan stretches and asks, “Wanna see the gym? Or the lab? I’m an excellent tour guide.”
“The gym,” I say after some thought. “You might need to spot me.”
His grin’s back. “Careful. That’s dangerously close to flirting.”
