Page 141 of Best Served Cold

He chuckled. “Not the good kind of ass.”

“We mix our own,” I said.

“Really?” He took a bigger gulp.

He looked good in River’s clothes. The hoodie and sweats were huge on my brother, and they were just big enough to be loose on Noah. For some reason, him in a hoodie and sweats was just as hot as when he was in his stupidly tight pants and those shirts that showed off his big chest.

“Well, River does. He and Gray spent weeks creating the perfect mix.” I opened a cupboard and showed him the three containers of shake powder and the fourth container with River’s mix in it.

“It’s really good.” He drank some more but I could tell by the way his eyes tightened as he swallowed that he was forcing himself to.

“Did you sleep last night?”

Noah shrugged.

“Have you been sleeping?”

“Depends on your definition of sleeping.”

“So that’s a no.”

“That’s a no.” He drank down some more, his throat working as he swallowed.

“Come on.” I grabbed River’s water bottle, which he’d left in the fridge this morning, and motioned for Noah to follow me. At least River had mine to use today.

Noah fell in step behind me. “Where are we going?”

“To lay down.”

“I’m not a baby. I don’t need a nap,” he said petulantly.

I paused between mine and River’s bedroom doors. “Where will you be most comfortable? My room is small and I have a single bed. Riv’s room is bigger and he has a double, but it’s…”

“Like the living room?”

“Way worse.”

“Which one is yours?” He scrubbed his foot against the floor and averted his eyes.

I pushed the door open.

“Why am I not surprised that instead of posters or photos, you have weapons on your wall?”

I shrugged, not bothering to look at the neat rows of blades displayed. “What can I say, weapons and making sure people know how to use them are my love languages.”

He made a weird face, but it was gone a second later.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing.” His gaze darted to the bed.

“Do you want to lay down?” My voice cracked embarrassingly on the last word.

He shrugged and took another healthy swallow of his shake.

“I can stay,” I croaked.

Jesus. Could I be any more awkward?

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