Fuck it, it’s close enough to five, which is close enough to six, which is a reasonable time to get up. Swinging my legs off thesofa, I stand and look towards the bedroom. I wait, listening to see if she’s up yet so I can talk to her.
Yes, because that worked so well last night…
Fucking.
Fabia.
And she’s still in there with my queen. When I am not.
“You’re just a guy she knew for three weeks.”
Fuck.
Fuelled with an urge to break something, I stride into the kitchenette and grab some eggs out of the mini-fridge. I’ll make breakfast for her myself rather than order something from the kitchens. Fabia can’t turn me away if I bring her fucking food.
I bet she fucking tries it anyway.
I slam the eggs down on the counter. Cursing, I open the carton. At the sight of yellow ooze seeping from two of the six, I curse again and hurriedly grab a bowl to pour them into.
Fuck. There are eggshells in it.
My lips tight, I jab my fingers inside the bowl to fish them out. The slippery things keep moving. My irritation increasing, I dip the whole bowl into the sink and grab a fresh egg. I rap it against the edge of the counter like I’ve seen Jace do a million times, only to curse as yolk sprays everywhere.
Dear fucking gods, how is cooking this hard? My brother makes it look easy enough.
So does Jace, but he makes everything look easy, so he isn’t a great marker. But Nicholas on the other hand…
It can’t possibly be this hard.
Something is clearly wrong with the eggs.
Chucking the whole carton into the bin, I grab the pad off the counter and write down:
Fresh eggs
Remembering Evangeline’s notes, I add:
For two people
Recalling I’m still pissed –
Get them in five minutes or I’ll kill you
Four minutes and fifty-nine seconds later, the light turns green. I open the cabinet and find two plates of steaming scrambled eggs.
Seething, I write back:
Regular eggs. You have thirty seconds.
Slamming the door shut, I nod at it. They can’t possibly cook anything in thirty seconds.
Twenty-nine seconds later, I open the cabinet again. My eyes narrow into slits as they land on four freshly peeled hardboiled eggs. They must have started them on the first round.
Gritting my teeth, I jab the pen to the paper again.
Regularuncookedeggs. With their shells. Two seconds.
The light turns green, and I exhale slowly when I finally get two regular-ass eggs. Picking one up, I whack it on the counter, a bit more gently this time. Satisfied at the small crack in it, I finish opening it over the bowl.
