“And everyone wants more money,” Huck said.
“Weed ain’t cheap these days,” Dixon said with a shrug.
“If the guys haven’t sold the guns,” Noa said, “I can convince them to give them back. But we need to track them down. And we need to question them. Nicely. They’re… a little delicate.”
“Well, you can handle the soft shit,” Huck said. “We’ll be there to keep an eye while you talk. And handle shit if it needs to happen.”
“I can work with that.”
“Do you like the syrup shit in your coffee?” York asked as the scent of bacon and sausage started to fill the kitchen as Eddie got to work. “We got… the entire grocery store aisle of them.”
“Caram… oh, you really mean that,” she said as she walked closer. “Caramel, chocolate, and hazelnut.”
“Like a Snickers?” I asked.
“I have a sweet tooth,” she shot back. “You want to try one?”
Nope.
“Sure.”
“I mean… if you’re making them…” Dixon said, shooting Noa one of those boyish smiles of his that made a lot of the club girls swoon.
The look she shot back at him was that of a big sister, though.
I didn’t realize something in me had tensed until that look made me relax.
Huck’s phone rang, and he took the call in the other room, allowing me the chance to move in at Noa’s side as she worked on making five different Snickers coffees.
“That go how you thought it would?” I asked.
“Your president is more chill than I thought.”
“Yeah, Huck has seen and done it all. He’s hard to get a rise out of. He just wants the guns back to make shit right with Zayn, who can make shit right with whoever the weapons were promised to.”
“Yeah, trust me, I get that. Here. Try,” she said as she handed me a coffee. She turned to pass out the others. Only when she turned back did I try it. “Thoughts?” she asked.
“You might not be able to cook, but you can make a pretty good dessert coffee.”
“Dessert,” she scoffed. “I drink at least four of these a day.”
“How the hell does that not take up all your calories for the day?”
“Well, sometimes I use the sugar-free ones,” she admitted. “But that’s why I do Pilates, yoga, and cycling every week—to allow for my liquid calories.”
“No,” Eddie barked. The scold was followed by a smacking sound and then Dixon cursing.
“What was that for?” Dixon asked, rubbing his knuckles where it seemed as though Eddie had whacked him with his spatula.
“Ladies eat first, you monster,” Eddie said, turning to pass a plate to Noa.
“Oh, thanks,” Noa said, her smile warm.
“In my defense, we never really ate around any women when we were coming up,” Dixon said, looking chastened.
More often than not, Dixon was the only one eating. There wasn’t always enough food for the both of us. And in those situations, he ate. I’d been mostly grown at that point. And thanks to our parents, I was accustomed to that clawing feeling in my stomach.
I snatched a plate as soon as Eddie filled it.
