Striding along the landing to the staircase, I snag one of my spare hockey sticks and a pair of random shorts sticking out from my duffel.
Once dressed, I tread down the stairs, ignoring her: “Do burglars usually make coffee?”
Now that she mentions it, itdoessound like someone’s trying to slot the portafilter into the machine and is failing.
It’s when the ‘burglar’ screeches, “For God’s sake, just fit already,” that I straighten.
Turning to D, I order, “Stay here.”
“Yeah. Right,” she grumbles as I jump the last few steps.
She can’t move as fast as me, seeing as my legs are a foot longer than her short ones, so when I get confirmation of who broke into our apartment, I snarl, “What the fuck are you doing?”
Addison yelps and drops the portafilter onto the small shelf where the coffee machine stands in our kitchen.
Because it’s heavy, and because the shelf is glass, when it drops, I reach out, but it’s too late.
An uber loud crack echoes around the walls, followed by the shattering of the shelf.
The coffee machine falls alongside a shower of shards, tumbling in a cascade of glass, expensive metal, and coffee grounds.
Addison covers her face with her hands. “Oh, my god. Zach, I’m so sorry. You made me jump!”
“Addison?!” D thunders. “Why are you here?”
Addison acts like Denny didn’t even speak. Her gaze locks on me, bottom lip popping out in a little girl pout.
As I glower at her, I wonder what the fuck I was thinking ever dipping my dick inthat.
“Did you steal my key?”
It’s all my brain can fixate on.
Not the chaos or the mess, just her goddamn presence.
“No, don’t you remember? You gave it to me.”
“Bullshit,” D inserts. “Zach never gives out his key. He’s anal about it.”
As always, Denver is right.
“You steal my key, you break into my apartment, and you trash my kitchen,” I rumble, feeling like Scooby Doo to D’s Scrappy. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”
“I wanted to surprise you,” Addison whispers, her eyes big as she reads my anger. More of that little girl shit creases her expression but it’s lost on me. “I haven’t seen you all week and I?—”
“—thought a B&E charge would be romantic?”
Ordinarily, I’d have snorted at Denver’s sarcasm, but Addison spits, “Shut up, bitch. Who do you think you’re talking to?”
“Excuse me? You’re in my apartment. I pay a third of the goddamn rent! And that was my mom’s birthday gift to me you just wrecked!”
I snag a hold of Denver’s arm when she makes to leap into the fray.
Tucking her behind me, I vow, “You have sixty seconds to get out or I call the cops.”
“Should call the cops anyway,” Denver mutters.
Addison proves she can’t read the room by sauntering over to me. When she tries to press her hand to my chest, I back off a pace, but she keeps on coming. I dart aside when she ignores me, attempting to touch me again.
