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He grabbed a pawful of popcorn and tossed a few kernels into his mouth. “Nothing.”
Paige set her jaw and wrinkled her nose as another loud noise sounded from above them.
She flailed her hands at the ceiling. “Come on!”
Dickens opened his eyes to slits and lifted his eyes up. His ears flattened against his head, and he hissed.
“Whoa!” Dewey shouted, buzzing away from the couch, a line of dropped popcorn following him.
Dickens flicked his gaze at the fleeing dragon before lowering it to the discarded kernel. He leapt onto the couch cushion, then down to the floor, grabbing a piece and munching on it.
“I think he’s mad at Devon, not you,” Paige said.
Dewey flitted back to the couch. “Looks like the popcorn made a nice peace offering.”
“He loves popcorn. But he knows better than to snag it from my bowl.”
Another scrape filled the air.
Dewey let his eyes rise upward again. “What’s with this dude? Does he always move furniture in the middle of the night?”
Paige puckered her lips as she shrugged. “He’s always doing something up there that’s noisy. Maybe he hasn’t settled in yet. It’s only been a week.”
“Indecisive about his furniture placement maybe,” Dewey said, grabbing another handful of popcorn and tossing it into his mouth.
“Also rude. Who moves furniture after 9:00 p.m.?”
Dewey crinkled his nose as he slurped another sip of his Energy Dragon. “What are you, eighty? I mean, it’s only 9:38. Relax, Paige.”
Paige shot him an unimpressed stare. “Whether I’m eighty or thirty-four, it doesn’t matter. It’s rude. People are trying to relax.”
“Maybe you should call up there. Give him a piece of your mind.”
Paige tugged one corner of her lips back, pawing through the popcorn bowl for another handful. “I tried that once. Didn’t work out.”
“Oh? Did he tell you off?”
“No, I just… lost my nerve, I guess.”
“Because he’s hot,” Dewey said as the loud scraping continued.
“No, not because he’s hot. Just… I’m not rude, that’s all.” Paige focused on the on-screen action.
“Mmm-hmm.” Dewey crunched another few kernels. “So, thirty-four, huh?”
“What?”
“You’re thirty-four.”
Paige shot him a glance, her pale skin flushing. “No, I just said thirty-four. I was just throwing out a random age.”
Dewey’s thick eyebrow rose in the air. “Kind of a specific age to randomly throw out.”
Paige shrugged it off. “Whatever.”
“I was just gonna say you look good for thirty-four. I wouldn’t have put you a day over twenty-six.”
Paige flashed him a glance as she sipped her root beer. “Mmm-hmm. So, how old are you?”
