Page 17 of Good Boys Don’t Bite

“I do now.”

“You ordered Thai food four times last week.”

“Growth.”

Ronan walked into the kitchen. The smell of garlic and rosemary lingered in the air. Something was roasting in the oven despite Elliot's insistence that he was merely preparing food for later. Ronan opened the refrigerator. Glass containers occupied an entire shelf. Chicken. Rice. Vegetables. Ronan stared.

“You've lost your fucking mind.”

“Close the refrigerator.”

“You cooked enough food for a family of six.”

“Ronan.”

He closed it. Elliot continued chopping. Ronan reached for one of the carrots. The knife stopped.

“Don't.”

Ronan picked one up anyway. Elliot stared at him. Ronan ate it.

“You're incredibly brave.”

“It's a carrot.”

“I spent time on those.”

“You cut them.”

“Exactly.”

Ronan reached for another. Elliot slapped his hand. Hard. Ronan laughed. Elliot didn't.

“You're in a mood.”

“I am perfectly fine.”

“Who pissed you off?”

“Nobody.” “Claire?” “No.” “Professor?” “No.” “Mom?” “No.” “Me?” The knife paused. There. Ronan smiled. Elliot noticed. “Don't look so pleased with yourself.” “Dylan?” Elliot resumed chopping. Ronan's smile widened. “Holy shit.” “I'm making carrots.” “You're jealous.” “I'm making fucking carrots.” “Very angrily.” Elliot put the knife down. “I'm not jealous of Dylan.” “Sure.” “I don't even know him.” “That has never stopped you.” Elliot wiped his hands on the dish towel. “You're incredibly annoying.” “And you're jealous.” “Why would I be jealous?” Ronan shrugged. “You tell me.” “I have nothing to tell.” “Then we're good.” “We were already good.” “Perfect.” “Perfect.” Ronan nodded. Elliot nodded. Neither moved. Ronan had learned long ago that silence worked better on Elliot than interrogation. Five seconds passed. Ten. Elliot's jaw tightened. There it was. “He touched you.” Ronan almost laughed. Instead he kept his face neutral. “Who?” Elliot stared at him. “Oh. Dylan.” “You know exactly who.”

“He touched my arm.”

“I saw.”

“I gathered.”

“He didn't need to.”

Ronan folded his arms.

“You gonna start policing who touches my elbow now?”

“No.”

“Forearm?”

“No.”