Midnight Muse

I huff, cheeks burning as I stab my fork into the pasta, spearing a chunk of chicken coated in sauce. I don’t even know why I asked because of course he was going to have a snarky answer in response. I should know this about him by now.

“You know, you don’t have to be so volatile all of the time—oh my God.” The moan that accompanies the flavor bursting on my tongue is completely unnecessary and unladylike, but the dish Knox made is just that damn good. And surprising. I stare at him in bewilderment. “What the fuck? This is fantastic!”

He startles in his seat, not expecting my compliment. I can’t blame him because I would react the same if he complimented me. There’s a faint dusting of color to his cheeks that makes me want to grin smugly but I’m much too busy twirling the pasta around my fork and shoveling another bite of delicious food into my mouth.

“What was that, Princess?” He taunts, and I duck my head. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of repeating myself.

“I’m not saying it again,” I grumble. The chicken is perfection, juicy and flavorful from how it soaked up the sauce he finished cooking it in. The pasta is delicious and the dish warms my entire body happily.

I’m taking this meal and the shower-head down to the courthouse.

I don’t notice the way Knox’s shoulders shake with silent laughter until I’m able to spare a second to look up from my bowl. There’s a self-satisfied aura to the air around him that I just want to burst.

I ignore him, because the food is much more important right now.

When my bowl is clean, I feel like I can fall asleep right at the counter, full and satiated. The entirety of my day, from my classes to the review I had with Beatrice about my project, to being drenched in rain mixed with my anxiousness of being in Knox’s apartment, are all catching up to me. Slate still hasn’t answered my texts so I’ll have to grill him about where he’s been when I see him next.

I might have to chew Rory out for not warning me that she had someone over.

Or the fact that she decided to have sex on the couch. With Ace.

Sure, it’s obvious that there was something going on between them, but I thought it was innocent flirting, not full-blown sex! Why wouldn’t she tell me?

Knox takes my dishes, holding the bowl out of my reach when I try and grab for it.

“I can clean up,” I protest. “You cooked!”

He shakes his head, dumping the dishes in the sink. “Don’t worry about it. I’m more than capable.”

I scoff. “Clearly. Doesn’t mean that I’m rude, though.”

He tosses me a look over his shoulder like he doesn’t believe me and I scowl in response. It bothers me, those little looks he gives me, like he’s trying to bait me into arguing. I don’t want to start something after the civil dinner we’ve just shared, but the way that he acts like everything leading up to this moment is my fault gets to me.

“No, but threatening to have my bike towed wasn’t the nicest thing to do.”

Oh, so he really wants to do this right now? Okay, then.

“Neither was parking in front of the truck I was just about to move!”

I swear I hear him mutter “whatever” under his breath and I grit my teeth. Standing from my chair, I swipe my phone from the counter.

“I think I should leave now.”

“I think that would be best,” Knox responds flippantly from his spot at the sink.

It makes my head spin, how we can go from having a semi-civil conversation to snapping at each other’s necks like rabid dogs.

As I move to gather my things from the dryer, a loud moan cuts through the wall, making the both of us freeze.

How the fuck are they not done yet?

I certainly have some dumb fucking luck.

Maybe I can still leave and call Slate out in the hall. Worst case scenario, I think Peep might let me stay over at her house if I need, but she’ll probably tell Sam all about it and I know I won’t hear the end of it from my brother until I explain why I had to stay over.

Stubbornly, I head for the dryer. Knox doesn’t say a word as I pull the door open and he doesn’t look up from the sink when I gather my warm clothes into my arms, holding them as close as I can to keep what remains of my temper. What is it about Knox’s attitude that always has me reacting like this?

“Wait,” Knox sighs, finally daring to speak when I’m about to snatch my wet shoes from the floor by the door. They’re still soaked and there’s no way I’m putting my bare feet into the cold fabric.