“Dammit, not that. Why are you here, making me breakfast and all this shit?”
“Because I want to make sure you’re okay?” She shrugs, then grins. “And because I’m going to prove to you that I’m a roommate worth having. Where can you find better than me, huh?”
She winks and saunters to the kitchen.
I shake my head a little, wondering if I’m hallucinating or dreaming. But her sweet scent lingers, and my head hurts too fucking bad for it not to be real. Even weirder, a smile is tugging at my lips. Here I am, feeling as if I’m sinking in quicksand, as if I’m dying, and my face hurts from smiling like an idiot.
“Coffee?” she calls from the kitchen.
“Yeah.” I sit up straighter. “Coffee sounds good.”
That’s when I catch sight of the drawing sitting on top of the pile Dakota has gathered from the couch. My smile slips. I lift the drawing, gripping it so hard the edge of the thick paper is dented.
I’ve never done anything like this before. This is worse than skulls and death. There’s none of the harsh lines and rough cross-hatching I usually use for shadowing.
Soft curves, bare lines.
Shit. I let the paper drop back on the table and groan out loud.
It’s a portrait of Dakota.
***
“Breakfast’s ready!”
I start. Emma, I think blearily. I’m at her house now. I’ll be late for school.
Then my surroundings sink in—the living room, the drawings on the table, the pictures on the walls. My apartment.
Fuck, I dozed off on my sofa. It still takes me a moment to remember whose voice that is and why she’s making me breakfast.
Large blue eyes, a teasing grin. ‘Where can you find better than me, huh?’
Hell. I snort. It shouldn’t amuse me so much, but I guess I’m relieved she jokes about it. Probably means she’s not serious about moving in with me, like she’s not serious about the dragon tattoo. She’s a happy person with no need of saving.
No need of me to save her.
And that’s good, that’s fucking awesome, and it lifts a weight off my chest. So it’s odd that, as I stand up with a groan and stagger around the sofa, aiming for the kitchen, I feel a pang in my chest.
She has no fucking need of me at all.
Suck it up, Zane. That’s good. Good for her.
; Then I enter the kitchen and lose my train of thought. I just stare. The table is laid with fried eggs, bacon, toast, orange juice and coffee.
“Shit. You brought all this with you?” I glance back at her handbag lying on the armchair. “In that?”
She giggles and covers her mouth with her hand. “They were in your fridge. Don’t you even know what food you have in your house?”
Obviously not. “Erin must have left it.” The smell of the food brings bile to my throat. The kitchen spins slowly, and I grab the back of a chair not to fall.
“But surely you’ve opened the fridge since then… Didn’t you?” She frowns. “Damn, Zane, when was the last time you ate?”
Good question. “You brought me a chicken salad sandwich the other day.”
“That was days ago. Zane…”