Page 140 of Bend

I laugh against his mouth.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Liar.”

Probably.

But when he takes my hand and pulls me across the hall, I let him.

Because I’ve spent long enough waiting for Thorne to stop fighting what’s been between us. Now that he finally has, I’m not wasting a second of it.

Chapter Eighteen

Echo

I wake up alone with my phone plugged in, a full glass of water on the nightstand, and my clothes no longer scattered across half the fucking room.

I stare at the neatly folded leggings over the chair.

Draygon.

Naturally.

Apparently the man can spend half the night ruining me and still remember I’m the idiot who lets her phone die at twelve percent.

My body gives me a very enthusiastic reminder of last night when I stretch, and I immediately regret it.

“Jesus Christ.”

The clock says a little after seven, which means I have just enough time to shower, make myself look vaguely employable, and pretend I got more than four hours of sleep before Andre starts yelling.

By the time I make it downstairs, most of the house is already awake, and the kitchen smells like coffee, bacon, toast, and something buttery enough that my stomach immediately reminds me I barely ate yesterday.

Bexley and Sayshen are arguing over whose plate has more food, Cece is standing at the counter trying to make coffee while Revel keeps leaning into her space just to annoy her, and Thorne is propped against the island with a mug of tea in his hand, looking like somebody personally offended him by allowing the sun to come up.

Draygon is at the stove.

I know he helped out at his parents’ restaurant sometimes when they need him, and I’ve seen enough of him in a kitchen back home to know cooking is one of those things he genuinely enjoys, and not something he does because he has to. He gets weirdly focused about it too, like feeding people is somehow easier than saying whatever softer shit is going through his head.

His eyes lift when I walk in and the second he sees me, one side of his mouth tips up. Not his usual grin, but a cocky fucking smirk.

I stop just inside the kitchen. “Don’t you dare.”

He turns back to the stove like he has absolutely no idea what I’m talking about. “Morning to you too.”

“I know that face.”

“What face?”

“That smug one you get when you’re thinking something you absolutely should keep to yourself.”

He glances over his shoulder at me. “I’ve got a lot of faces like that. You’re gonna have to narrow it down.”

“See? That. Exactly that.”

A quiet laugh leaves him while he finishes whatever he’s doing, and I start toward the coffee machine because caffeine feels significantly safer than standing here letting him look at me like he remembers every sound I made last night.

I make it about three steps before he says, “Where are you going?”