“Is this actually happening right now?” Jaxon’s voice slices through the air between us. “I’m talking to you and you’re talking to him?”
“I don’t have a choice—” I start to say.
“Don’t,” he says, gaze like black ice. “Don’t lie to me and say you aren’t doing it willingly. You turned to face him. I’m sorry he’s so much more interesting than I am—”
“He’s not, Jaxon. Of course he’s not.”
“Now, now, Grace, my brother asked you not to lie,” Hudson admonishes me. “But cut him some slack, will you? It’s not his fault he’s so damn boring.”
I glare at Hudson. “Stop it! He is not boring!”
“Could have fooled me.” Yet another yawn. “And here I thought you were supposed to be practicing the whole gargoyle thing this morning? Though, I have to admit, I like what you’ve done with the horns.”
“The horns?” Instinctively, I lift a hand to my left horn and feel it. “Oh my God, it’s bigger. How can it be bigger?”
“Now there’s a question I’m sure Jaxon’s never heard,” Hudson says dryly.
“I’m still here, you know,” Jaxon grinds out. “I’m right fucking here.”
“I know. I’m sorry, Jaxon. I’m so sorry. But he’s the most annoying person on the planet, and he refuses to shut up.”
“Careful, Grace. Keep that up and you’re going to hurt my feelings,” Hudson mocks.
“I couldn’t get that lucky!” I snap before turning back to Jaxon, who’s got a half-angry, half-amazed look on his face.
“Is this what he does all day?” he finally asks. “Just badgers you until you look like you’re about to explode?”
“He does it until I do explode, but yes. This is what he does. Over and over and over again.”
“Wow, snookums. You make me sound so powerful.” Hudson bats his eyes at me, but there’s a gleam of remorse in them, like maybe he thinks he’s gone too far. I don’t trust it, but then, I don’t trust anything about him. He’s probably just sad Jaxon and I are no longer at each other’s throats.
“Again, ouch.”
“Again, bite me.”
He’s not smiling, but I can see two fangs gleaming. “You keep offering that, and someone’s going to take you up on it.”
“Yeah, well, someone already has,” I retort.
“Don’t remind me.”
The usual amusement is gone from his tone. Everything is gone, and all that’s left is blankness—blank voice, blank face. I’d say blank body language except he lies back down on the field, kicks one ankle over the other knee, and holds No Exit up in front of his face as he starts to read.
It’s blatant—the “I don’t have a care in the world” and “fuck you very much” body language rolled into one—and I don’t have a clue what to say about it. Or how to feel about it.
Before I can figure it out, Jaxon says, “I’m sorry,” and he walks over and wraps his arms around my waist from behind.
I stiffen instinctively, then force myself to relax, even as I shift back to my human form. Because there’s no use being angry with him for being angry about this situation. Does it suck for me? Yes. Would I be pissed as hell if he had some girl in his head taking all his attention away from me, who knew everything about him before I did and worked really hard to make me feel completely out of the loop? Hell yes, I would.
So I bury my annoyance deep and wrap my arms around his body as I lean in to him. “No, I’m sorry. I know this can’t be easy for you.”
“None of this is easy for either of us,” he answers as he bends down and drops a soft kiss on the side of my neck. “I think I need to remember that more.”
“We both do,” I answer. “I’m sorry I get caught up in fighting with Hudson and I forget sometimes.”
“Don’t be sorry. Being annoying is my brother’s singular talent.”
“Whatever,” Hudson growls, and he sounds even more pissed than he did this morning. “It barely cracks the top ten of my talents.”
It takes every ounce of willpower I have, but this time I ignore him, keeping my attention completely focused on Jaxon—or at least as focused as I can considering Hudson is yammering away at me in the background.
“Thank you for understanding how hard this is for me. I know it’s hard for you, too, and I appreciate how much you’re trying to make this as easy for me as possible.”