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I glance towards the closed door with suspicious eyes. Is he planning something?
But after my little strip tease two days ago, and his revenge with the snake, I haven’t pulled anymore pranks or done anything to mess with him, so there should be no reason for him to plan something in return. Maybe he just decided to eat a little later than normal today?
As I return my gaze to the mirror and the red strands I’m untangling, my mind drifts back to that evening two days ago when I walked out of the shower to find a damn snake on my bed. I didn’t see that coming. At all.
A shudder rolls down my spine at the memory of that terrifying beast slithering around on my bed. Ugh. I fucking hate snakes.
And even though I wanted to kill Jace for putting me through that absolute horror, I can’t help but be a little impressed. I’ve done a lot of shit to my bodyguards, so I have quite the repertoire to compare it to, and I have to say that the stunt with the snake was a nice move. Not only did he tie it back to my comment about the snake in his pants that morning, he also accurately deducted that I’m terribly afraid of those slithering animals. And not only that. He also managed to actually procure a snake.
I made that snake comment in the morning, and come nightfall, he had managed to put one on my bed without leaving my side for even one second. As a master of pulling shit on people, I have to say that that move was impressive as hell. Not that I would ever admit that to him, though.
Setting down my brush, I pull my hair up in a ponytail and then smooth down my shirt. After one last glance in the mirror, I walk across the room towards my door to find out what it is that Jace is cooking up in the kitchen. Literally or figuratively. Since I have been civil to him for the past two days, there should be no nasty surprise waiting for me when I open the door. But the keyword in that sentence is should. Because with Jace Hunter, you never know.
The scent of food meets me when I stroll into the kitchen. I frown towards where Jace is standing, his back to me, in front of the stove. Something sizzles in the frying pan, and there is a distinct scent of herbs filling the air.
“What are you doing?” I ask as I walk over to where I put my bag yesterday.
It’s already packed, but I still flip through the books to make sure I didn’t forget any of them.
“Making an omelet,” Jace replies without even turning to look at me.
I just shake my head at him and finish checking my bag. Glancing at the clock, I note that I need to leave in about ten minutes. So if Jace plans to eat an omelet, he’s going to have to do it quickly.
While setting my bag down again, I glance towards Jace. He holds the frying pan by the handle and shakes it back and forth a little. Then he uses the pan to flip the omelet like an absolute professional. I blink at him in surprise.
He sets the pan down again and then finally turns towards me. I quickly clear the impressed expression from my features and instead just raise my eyebrows nonchalantly. For a second, I swear I can see amusement tugging at his lips. But then he just raises a hand and points it towards the kitchen table.
“Sit,” he orders.
I start slightly at the effortless command in his voice. Then irritation ripples through me instead, and I narrow my eyes at him. “You don’t give me orders. I give you orders.”
A sly smile plays over his lips as he rakes a highly deliberate glance up and down my body before meeting my gaze again. “We both know that I could make you sit in that chair if I wanted to.”
Heat pulses through my core.
“But I’m not,” he continues. “I’m asking politely.”
“No, you’re not. You said, sit. That’s a command. Not a request.”
Amusement sparkles in his eyes. Then he sweeps a hand towards the table again. “Please have a seat.”
Surprise clangs through me, and I’m pretty sure I jerk back a little as I blink at him. I hadn’t expected him to actually… ask politely.
Still a bit stunned, I find myself walking over to the table and pulling out the chair. Jace turns back towards the stove again, but I swear that I can see the edge of a smirk before his back is to me again. It makes me hesitate halfway down to the chair. But in the end, I just blow out a sigh and sit down completely. I have eight minutes before I need to leave, and nothing else to do, so I might as well see where this is going.
Once I’m seated, Jace slides the omelet onto a plate and then grabs some utensils. I watch him through suspicious eyes. He starts walking to the table. But instead of skirting around it to sit down with his plate opposite me, he sets the plate down in front of me. Then he walks around the table and sits down opposite me without his plate. The wooden chair creaks a little underneath his muscular body as he shifts his weight until he’s comfortable.
Completely befuddled, I look between the omelet and his face. He just looks back at me as if this should somehow make sense.
When no other explanation is forthcoming, I at last nod down at the plate and ask, “What’s this?”
“It’s called breakfast.” Leaning back in his seat, he flashes me a brilliant grin that somehow makes my heart flutter. “It’s a meal that people eat after they wake up. You see, the word breakfast comes from break fast. Since you’ve been fasting while you’ve been sleeping and now you’re breaking that fast with a meal.”
“Yes, I know what breakfast is. But what is it doing in front of me?”
“You only drink coffee before you go to class in the morning.”
“So?”
