Page 89 of Of Grief And Gratitude

Chapter Twenty-Six

I was still angry with Romeo, perhaps irrationally so. When he just stood there yesterday as Sean helped himself to one of the most private moments of my life, I realized he might not have changed as much as I’d hoped. Maybe he’d never been the man I’d grown to think he was over the past couple of months.

While my entire career revolved around helping people change their image, I knew few people could change who they were when others weren’t around. Romeo confused me with the contrast between his playboy behavior and the sweeter, caring side he showed me sometimes. I so badly wanted to believe that he was more of the latter and not just another man who sometimes pretended to be a good guy to get what they wanted. In my case, a good fuck.

He came to bed late last night, waking me with his not-so-subtle sighs and heavy footsteps. When he finally slid under the covers, he asked if I was awake, but I couldn’t bring myself to answer. Instead, I kept my breaths even and long, pretending to be asleep. He released another exaggerated sigh and turned over, punching the pillow before settling in and snoring soon after.

I felt even worse because he didn’t want to hold me like he had before. If I thought about it, I might reason it was my fault because I’d told him I didn’t want him around, but that revelation wouldn’t come until the anger had passed.

It was no use lying in bed all day, even though avoiding the three men I now shared a house with would be nice. Three men who had seen me naked. Fuck my life.

I rolled out of bed and ran through my morning routine before pulling on a pair of black sweats and a baggy t-shirt, then adding a grey hoodie for good measure. I wanted to look as least enticing as possible. Too lazy to do anything with my hair, I twisted it into a bun and anchored it with a satin elastic.

Out of things to do, I made my way downstairs, where the guys stood in the kitchen, drinking coffee in tense silence. It was like they’d collaborated on their clothes, all in grey sweatpants and white t-shirts. Was it an unspoken rule that all men must look like snacks first thing in the morning? Fuck.

Sean noticed me first, shooting me a smile that had likely melted plenty of panties. It wouldn’t work on me. “Good morning, sunshine.”

“Shut up,” I snapped, setting the tone for the day.

Sam snickered, and Romeo’s brows lifted as he handed me a mug of coffee, prepared how I liked it. Damn him and his kindness. I needed him to be as irritated as I was to lash out. I’d look like the asshole if I were mean when he was nice to me. Judging by the shadow of a smile on his face, he knew it, too.

“Hungry?” Romeo asked, pulling a carton of eggs from the refrigerator.

“Only if you’re going to use the entire egg.”

“Who doesn’t use the entire egg?” Sean asked.

I snapped my fingers to my thumb in his direction, mimicking a mouth closing. “No questions from the peanut gallery.”

“I’ll use the whole egg,” Romeo promised, cracking eggs into a bowl and adding a little water, then beating them with a fork while he heated a pan. “Sam, make yourself useful and toast some bread.”

Sam quietly followed the order, toasting two pieces of bread for each of us while Romeo cooked the eggs to fluffy yellow perfection. I took a big gulp of coffee, hoping to prolong my bad mood by scalding my mouth. Even the coffee refused to cooperate by cooling to a drinkable temperature.

I spun away, stalking to the table and plopping down into a seat to drink my caffeine in miserable silence. Soon, the men brought plates of eggs and toast to the table. Romeo set a plate in front of me and held a fork out, my fingers brushing his as I took it from him. Damn that familiar tingle of electricity every time we touched.

“All the eggs,” he said as he sat beside me. “Whites and yolks. Plus, half a stick of butter on your toast.”

“Thanks.” I couldn’t stop the automatic polite response. He’d remembered how I liked my toast buttered, for fuck’s sake. I begrudgingly added that to the list of reasons Romeo wasn’t a complete asshole.

We ate in awkward silence, with me shooting Sean threatening looks whenever he tried to open his mouth and say something. Romeo balled his hand into a fist the last time, and Sean eyed it warily. I wondered if it had something to do with the purple bruising on his jaw, but I refused to break the quiet to ask.

Romeo took my empty plate while I finished my coffee, and Sam stared at me thoughtfully. I knew he was going to speak; he was just formulating the words. He’d always been the brother most likely to think before he acted.

I beat him to it. “You don’t have to stay.”

“We don’t have anywhere else to be,” he explained.

“Meaning you’re officially assigned to me,” I ventured, tipping my mug back and collecting the last dark drop on my tongue.

Sam nodded. “You got it. Da won’t let us come home until you come, too.”

“I can call him if you want,” I offered, my nails clinking against the mug as I tapped out a nervous rhythm.

“You’re welcome to try,” he said in a way that meant it would be futile. “What are your plans for the day?”

I let out a dry laugh. “Not much to plan around here.”

“We could play pool,” he suggested, tapping his fingers on the table. He was probably itching to get back to his computer, but the spotty internet would make whatever he did difficult.

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