Midnight Muse

“Sleep well?”

Not at fucking all. “Yeah,” I lie, inching closer. Maybe, if I’m quiet enough, he won’t even notice my disappearance. I can return the clothes he’s let me borrow to Slate later.

If Knox feels me spiraling, he doesn’t show it. He’s busying himself with whisking a bowl full of eggs, adding a touch of water to make them fluffy.

Perhaps he’s ignoring me. Maybe I’ve misread the situation entirely, thinking that he’s making me breakfast. He could just be making it all for himself. He’s built, so it wouldn’t be a surprise, and I make it all the way to the door, about to reach for the lock when it turns from the other side. I startle backwards as the door swings open.

Ace and Rory freeze from behind the threshold and I’m staring at them all wide-eyed like I’ve just been caught robbing the place.

“Well, good morning to you, too,” Ace greets, ushering both Rory and myself back inside. I go reluctantly, shooting her a pleading look before slumping down at the counter and resting my chin on my pile of clothes. All of a sudden, I’m exhausted, and I contemplate how much of a fool I’d look like if I do decide to run out of the apartment right now.

Ace moves straight over to Knox, their conversation quiet as he begins assisting his friend.

Rory looks like she’s hesitant to take the seat next to me and she should be because I can hardly even look at her without replaying what I saw last night. Her legs pitched up above Ace’s shoulders as he—she’s my best friend for goodness’ sake but there are even some things I didn’t need to see.

I knew she was flirting with Ace, but I didn’t know how far it had gotten, fucking on the couch like bunnies.

I have so many questions for her but the betrayal in my gut and the tiredness stroking my back keep me from speaking. I wouldn’t interrogate her in front of the boys anyway, that would be cruel and mortifying for the both of us.

How long have they been fooling around? Why hasn’t she talked to me about anything more than saying he was attractive? Was it because of my own attitude towards Knox? Was I so volatile that she couldn’t even confide in me about her relationship with our neighbor?

“Hey,” she greets awkwardly, and her cheeks are rosy. I wonder if she thinks the unpleasant tension is because I’m upset about them having sex on the couch.

It’s so much more than that.

“Hi,” I answer with a weak smile. Rory looks like she wants to say more but the door is bursting open with an unruly Slate stumbling into the apartment. Half of his brunet hair has fallen from the bun he has it shoved into and his chocolate eyes are tired with sleep, but he perks right the hell up when he sees all of us in the kitchen.

His grin turns wolfish.

“So, everyone got laid last night? Fuck yeah! Where’s the whiskey, we all deserve a shot!”

Everyone seems to groan in unison and I’m the one that answers.

“Slate, it’s too early for all that.”

He scoffs in response, ripping open the cabinet as he searches for liquor. “Right, and? There are breakfast shots, Quinnie, very good ones too. Plus, it’s almost the weekend, so why the hell shouldn’t we have a little celly? I swear, you’ve got to start acting like the college student that you are.”

“Celly?” Knox grimaces. “Where the fuck did you learn that word?”

Slate shrugs, “Overheard some guys saying it at one of our parties. I kind of like it.” He finds the bottle and slams it down on the counter with a little too much force. It makes a dull throbbing between my eyes form and I watch wearily as he spins on his heel and dives into the refrigerator next. “If I give you some orange juice and a piece of bacon, will that be considered an appropriate morning time shot for you, Quinn?”

I huff. How everything always gets pinned on me is unreal. I should’ve just kept my damn mouth shut.

Rory snickers next to me and I cut her a look, trying my best to smother my amusement. She must see it sparkling in my eyes because her grin widens. “Yes, sir.”

“Ooh, I like it when you call me that,” Slate winks. “How’s the bacon coming along, Knox? We’re in dire need of alcohol over here!”

“I think that’s only you, Slate,” Rory laughs.

We watch as Slate places five mismatched shot glasses on the counter. That doesn’t seem to be enough because a clamber of five additional glasses joins the fray and he begins filling them with various liquids, cussing when he shakes the orange juice canister and the cap flies off, spraying all over his arm and shirt. Rory and I burst into laughter while Knox and Ace roll their eyes, shaking their heads at their roommate.

“Who didn’t put the lid back on the orange juice?” Slate whines, whisking off his shirt.

Hello, chest.

Knox tosses over his shoulder, “You, idiot.”

“Thanks, fuckhead,” Slate retorts, balling up his shirt and tossing it towards the washing machine. It hits the wall with a soft thump, falling lamely to the ground. He turns that bright gaze back on me as I ogle his tattoos and his smirk grows. “Like what you see?”