fingers with his and tug him out of here. I pull back.
“That’s sweet, but this is fine. I cooked this more for you.”
His expression is soft. “Thank you, Anna.”
The space between us grows close, quiet, as if Iris and George aren’t squabbling, as if we’re alone. His large thigh presses against my smaller one and heat blooms along the connection. When he speaks, it’s low and just for me. “So, ‘Banana’, huh?”
I give him a look. “If you call me that, you’ll lose a finger.”
A little dimple forms along his left cheek. “Why a finger?”
“Isn’t that where the bad guys always start? Lose a finger, then an eye, maybe an ear…” I shrug. “Seemed appropriately threatening.”
“Oh, very. Don’t worry, Jones. I’ve learned my lesson. No nicknames for you.” His index finger taps the tip of my nose. “Our relationship is special that way.”
There it is again. That “R” word. I take a bite of frittata. The eggs have gone cold.
“Well, I’m out of here,” announces George.
Iris’s face scrunches up. “You said you were going with Henry and me to the movies.”
“You don’t need me being a third wheel, 'Ris.” George wears the same expression I’m sure I do when talking about Henry: valiantly trying to hide disgust. “And I’m not in the mood to be one.”
Iris plunks her fist on her hip. “Hasn’t stopped you from going out with us before. Besides, it was your idea to go to the movies.”
George simply shrugs. “Changed my mind. It happens.” He turns to Drew. “Good to meet you, Baylor. I gotta say, you do some impressive work on the field, man.”
Et tu , George?
Drew takes the praise in stride and simply smiles, a polite smile, not like the ones he gives me when his eyes light up and a dimple graces his cheek. “Thanks. I try my best. Good to meet you too.”
George isn’t gone for more than a few minutes when the lock to the apartment door turns and Henry walks in, key in hand.
“You gave him a key,” I hiss at Iris. There is no way I’m letting Henry have open access to our house.
She has the grace to wince. “Not permanently. I’ll get it back.”
“Now,” I snap in a low voice. Beside me, Drew is frowning, having heard the exchange.
Henry saunters up to the breakfast bar. “Sweetness.” He gives Iris a messy kiss, but his eyes are on the rest of us. Mainly Drew. He does a double take as recognition sets in.
“Battle Baylor.” He sets a hand on Iris’s hip. “I thought I was seeing things.”
“Nope,” says Drew, his tone bland, his eyes watchful.
Henry laughs, as if they know each other. I’m not sure that they do. I’ve never seen them exchange any words. Henry ends my suspicion by saying, “Henry Ross. I play midfield on the lacrosse team.” His gaze shifts from Drew to me. “And here I was, beginning to think you didn’t like guys, Anna.”
“Henry,” Iris snaps.
“What?” Henry says, all innocence.
“No,” I say lightly, “you got that wrong. I don’t like assholes.”
Iris glares at me, as Henry leans his forearms on the bar and gives me a nasty smile. “I figured you were too uptight to put out.”
Before I can say a word, Drew’s warm hand lands on my nape. It engulfs me, a comforting weight and a support. “Careful.”
He’s not speaking to me. His eyes are on Henry. There’s nothing overtly threatening about his pose, with his other hand resting casually on the counter and his shoulders relaxed. And yet the message is clear. Should Henry make a wrong move, Drew would take him down in an instant. I don’t need to be protected. But if feels nice knowing that he’s willing.
Henry’s frown is as contrived as his tone. “Careful?”
“Do I need to spell it out for you?” Drew doesn’t need to raise his voice. The authority of his presence is enough for Henry to look away first.
“You all need to relax. I’m just messing around.”
Aware that Iris is cringing, I refrain from calling him on
“That’s sweet, but this is fine. I cooked this more for you.”
His expression is soft. “Thank you, Anna.”
The space between us grows close, quiet, as if Iris and George aren’t squabbling, as if we’re alone. His large thigh presses against my smaller one and heat blooms along the connection. When he speaks, it’s low and just for me. “So, ‘Banana’, huh?”
I give him a look. “If you call me that, you’ll lose a finger.”
A little dimple forms along his left cheek. “Why a finger?”
“Isn’t that where the bad guys always start? Lose a finger, then an eye, maybe an ear…” I shrug. “Seemed appropriately threatening.”
“Oh, very. Don’t worry, Jones. I’ve learned my lesson. No nicknames for you.” His index finger taps the tip of my nose. “Our relationship is special that way.”
There it is again. That “R” word. I take a bite of frittata. The eggs have gone cold.
“Well, I’m out of here,” announces George.
Iris’s face scrunches up. “You said you were going with Henry and me to the movies.”
“You don’t need me being a third wheel, 'Ris.” George wears the same expression I’m sure I do when talking about Henry: valiantly trying to hide disgust. “And I’m not in the mood to be one.”
Iris plunks her fist on her hip. “Hasn’t stopped you from going out with us before. Besides, it was your idea to go to the movies.”
George simply shrugs. “Changed my mind. It happens.” He turns to Drew. “Good to meet you, Baylor. I gotta say, you do some impressive work on the field, man.”
Et tu , George?
Drew takes the praise in stride and simply smiles, a polite smile, not like the ones he gives me when his eyes light up and a dimple graces his cheek. “Thanks. I try my best. Good to meet you too.”
George isn’t gone for more than a few minutes when the lock to the apartment door turns and Henry walks in, key in hand.
“You gave him a key,” I hiss at Iris. There is no way I’m letting Henry have open access to our house.
She has the grace to wince. “Not permanently. I’ll get it back.”
“Now,” I snap in a low voice. Beside me, Drew is frowning, having heard the exchange.
Henry saunters up to the breakfast bar. “Sweetness.” He gives Iris a messy kiss, but his eyes are on the rest of us. Mainly Drew. He does a double take as recognition sets in.
“Battle Baylor.” He sets a hand on Iris’s hip. “I thought I was seeing things.”
“Nope,” says Drew, his tone bland, his eyes watchful.
Henry laughs, as if they know each other. I’m not sure that they do. I’ve never seen them exchange any words. Henry ends my suspicion by saying, “Henry Ross. I play midfield on the lacrosse team.” His gaze shifts from Drew to me. “And here I was, beginning to think you didn’t like guys, Anna.”
“Henry,” Iris snaps.
“What?” Henry says, all innocence.
“No,” I say lightly, “you got that wrong. I don’t like assholes.”
Iris glares at me, as Henry leans his forearms on the bar and gives me a nasty smile. “I figured you were too uptight to put out.”
Before I can say a word, Drew’s warm hand lands on my nape. It engulfs me, a comforting weight and a support. “Careful.”
He’s not speaking to me. His eyes are on Henry. There’s nothing overtly threatening about his pose, with his other hand resting casually on the counter and his shoulders relaxed. And yet the message is clear. Should Henry make a wrong move, Drew would take him down in an instant. I don’t need to be protected. But if feels nice knowing that he’s willing.
Henry’s frown is as contrived as his tone. “Careful?”
“Do I need to spell it out for you?” Drew doesn’t need to raise his voice. The authority of his presence is enough for Henry to look away first.
“You all need to relax. I’m just messing around.”
Aware that Iris is cringing, I refrain from calling him on
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