“What,” Javier says, rolling his eyes. “I didn’t say you were wrong, I just said you were fucking nosy.”
“You didn’t believe me.”
“You thought Gideon was dating his sister.”
“What?” That’s Gideon, suddenly paying attention again.
“No, I thought Gideon was dating someone he didn’t tell us about, I didn’t know she was his sister.”
“You’ve met my sisters.”
“There are like… six of them!”
There’s a brief, silent moment during which everyone counts Gideon’s sisters, including Gideon.
“Right,” Gideon finally says.
“How am I supposed to remember all of them if Gideon can’t even keep track?” Wyatt says, as though it’s the most ridiculous thing ever asked of a person.
“I was double-checking I didn’t include Reid,” Gideon says.
“You can’t remember six people?” I ask Wyatt.
“All of you fuck off,” Wyatt says. “Anyway, Silas, there’s condom wrappers in the trash can in your upstairs bathroom.”
“Why were you in my upstairs bathroom?”
“Because Gideon was using the one down here and it’s never been off-limits before?” he says. “Just get a trash can with a lid.”
“Yeah, Beast doesn’t knock it over?” Javier asks. “Zorro’s a trash can maniac. Laundry hampers, too.”
“She’d rather make sure nothing ever stays on a table,” I say, looking over at the enormous cat currently lounging on Gideon. Not for the first time, I wonder if he wears catnip cologne or something.
“Dolly just steals rubber bands and knocks them under the couch,” Gideon offers. “Anyway, good. I like Kat.”
“Me too,” I say.
* * *
Later,I find Javier in the kitchen, washing off the cheese board while Wyatt and Gideon are in the living room gossiping about whose cousin’s aunt twice removed says her friend from church saw the mailman kissing the next door neighbor. They’d both deny that they’re gossiping, but if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck…
“I’ll get those later,” I tell him.
“I don’t mind.”
I knew what the answer would be, so I lean against the counter next to him and cross my arms over my chest.
“Everything okay?” I ask, as nonchalantly as I can, but I can still see the moment of tension the question gets, like he’s bracing for a fight.
But then it’s gone, replaced by a quizzical little smile and a shrug.
“Sure. Why wouldn’t it be?”
I hold out my hand for the wet cheese board, grab a towel, and dry it without saying anything else. After a moment, Javi sighs.
“My dad’s been calling.”
I put the cheese board away, let the silence do some work.