Page 71 of The Meaning Of You

“Dammit.” Mads removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “I meant to send you to bed, but I guess I joined you in sleep. Some host I turned out to be.”

I chuckled. “The word host implies that I was here of my own free will and not because you stole my fucking car keys.”

His lips twitched in a wry smile. “Sorry, not sorry.” He tried to push himself up and winced. “Holy shit, that hurts.” He slumped back, massaging the tops of his thighs and hips. Then he tried again with better success. “I fucking hate getting old.”

I snorted. “In that case, I’ve got bad news.”

He held up a hand. “No bad news before coffee. My ego can’t take it.”

I grinned and pushed to my feet. “Stay where you are. This one’s on me. I might not be much of a cook, but I can manage coffee if you point me in the right direction.”

“Yes, please.” He sat and shoved a pillow behind his back. “Just don’t make a mess. There’s an espresso machine in the pantry, plain and flavoured coffee pods in a jar to the right, and a loaded milk frother in the fridge.” He hesitated then added, “And clean as you work.”

I laughed. “Damn, are you this grumpy every morning?”

He frowned. “What do you mean grumpy?”

Which only made me laugh louder. I walked by and clapped him on the shoulder. “Also, flavours are for pussies and the word frother is weirdly uncomfortable and makes me wanna shoot something. I take mine hot, black, and unadulterated. How about you?”

“A latte,” he said decisively. “With lots of froth and a sugar.”

I shot a despairing look over my shoulder. “I’m not sure we can be friends anymore.”

“Just shut up and do it,” he said, flicking his hand. “And make it hot. I can’t stand lukewarm coffee. If they wanna charge six bucks for a coffee, it needs to last more than three mouthfuls.”

I laughed. “Let me guess. Not a morning person?”

He shot me a baleful look. “What gave it away?”

I grinned and left him stretching his back while I found my way to the butler’s pantry and set the espresso machine to warm. “I see you went through the box,” I called back into the lounge.

Mads said nothing for a moment, then he answered, “Yes. I did. Is that a problem?”

“Not at all,” I said truthfully. “Did you find anything?”

Another two beats of silence, then, “Maybe.”

The coffee pod fell from my hand to the countertop and bounced onto the floor. “Shit,” I hissed and bent down to pick it up, gathering my thoughts in the process. “But I’ve already been through that stuff. What did you find?”

“Coffee first,” he said in a maddeningly serene voice.

“Anyone would think this was your house,” I grumbled, ramping up a gear.

“Fancy that.”

“Fucker,” I swore under my breath.

He laughed. “I can hear you. No walls, remember?”

I grunted and made it back to the lounge in double time. Mads was rooting through the box. He paused when I handed him his coffee and grinned at the mug I’d chosen, which read,Read books. Be kind. Stay weird.

I shrugged. “It had a certain appeal.”

Mads grinned. “It was a gift from Gazza.”

I glanced at the sofa, then decided to take the chair next to Mads. “I think I’m gonna like this guy.”

Mads’ eyes sparkled with humour. “Most people do, which is actually one of his issues. Gazza is gorgeous inside and out, as long as you like your handsome with a side order of snark and an extra helping of edgy fashionista. But he’s trying to be more selective in his choice of men. An admirable goal and unfortunately the catalyst for the whole muse thing.”

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