Damaged Like Us (Like Us #1)(64)

He gives Jane a genuine, warm smile. “Bonsoir, ma moitié.” He’s about to kiss her cheeks, but he freezes midway. Catching himself.

He grimaces.

Because he blew me. Very, very recently.

Jane cringes, putting the pieces together. “You should go…freshen up. I’ll sort through this spread before Sulli and Akara arrive.” She motions to the entire countertop.

“Thanks.” Maximoff cracks two of his knuckles, and before he leaves upstairs, he asks me, “You alright?”

I frown and chew my gum slower. “Why wouldn’t I be?” I read his gaze: did I go too fast for you? Did I hurt you? It’s cute, but I’m the last person that needs a consoling hand. “I would’ve told you in the moment if I wasn’t.”

His shoulders noticeably unbind. And he disappears through the archway. I hear him greet Quinn, but the exchange is normal. I focus on the girl in the kitchen.

“What do you need?” I ask Jane and swivel the knob on my radio. Soft chatter returning.

She searches through a drawer, dressed in what Maximoff lovingly calls “granny jammies” for the party: flannel cat-printed pants and long-sleeve collared top. Jane checks over her shoulder and then whispers to me, “You two were almost dangerously loud. I had to send Quinn back to my car to find chocolate bonbons that I didn’t even buy.”

I’m more than appreciative of the cover. “Thanks, I owe you.”

“Don’t break Moffy’s heart. That’s payment enough.” She shuts the drawer and opens another. “Or as my mom would say, you break his heart; I’ll break your dick.”

I whistle and remove liquor bottles from paper bags. That was a mild Rose Calloway hyperbolic threat. “No chopping off my dick and flinging it at the sun?”

Jane crouches to a low cupboard. “Moffy is the one who likes grandiose, embellished warnings.” She shuts the cupboard empty-handed and stands. “You can go. I know you’re only lingering out of obligation to Moffy.”

I’m not about to lie and say, oh no, Jane, I’m really here for you. I’m not. I stay in the kitchen because Maximoff would want me to. The only thing Jane Cobalt and I have in common is Maximoff Hale. Take him out of the equation, and we’re a number and a letter that can’t be added together.

“He wants us to get along,” I tell her the truth.

She opens a nearby drawer and narrows her eyes. “Did he tell you that?”

“Not in words,” I say. “But you know, Maximoff, he’s so over-prepared. I’m waiting for a contract. Sign on the dotted line I’ll be friends with Jane Cobalt type of thing.”

She removes a cheese grater from the drawer, and her lips draw into a thin line as she looks at me. I said something wrong. I feel it before she even opens her mouth.

“So the only way you’d be friends with me is if Moffy made you sign a contract?”

“No,” I say quickly. Fuck. “I’m just saying Maximoff is so practical and meticulous with everything. It was a joke.” I run a hand through my hair. “Did he mention anything to you about us?” I motion from her to me.

“No, but I’ve noticed the same thing as you.” She sidesteps to the fridge. “He’s nervous we’re not going to get along.”

“And we both agree that we want to make him less nervous?” I ask.

“Of course,” she says and snatches a hunk of cheddar cheese from the shelf. She kicks the fridge closed with her slipper. “There’s nothing I want more than for him to be happy.”

“Me too,” I say holding up a hand. “See, we’re already making progress here. Okay, what else do we have in common?”

Silence suddenly thickens in the room. She slices a piece of cheese slowly.

“Are you thinking?” I ask her.

“Yes, it’s difficult.”

“It can’t be that difficult.”

“Then do you have anything?” she shoots back.

“You love animals,” I tell her. “And I don’t hate them.”

She slices a piece of cheese and lands her eyes on me. “I’ve heard you call Walrus a little bastard about thirty times.”

“With affection,” I say.

She pops the slice of cheese in her mouth. “So we have two things in common. With my calculations, we should have enough commonalities to be friends in about five-hundred and sixty-four years.” She reaches for her beer, and I don’t know what to say without putting my foot in my mouth.

I don’t want to give up on this, but I feel the air tensing around us. Awkward silence piling on. I tap my thumb ring on the kitchen counter to fill the quiet. She watches me for a second before popping the cap of her beer on the side of the counter.

“You’re supposed to disagree with that,” she says casually, placing the beer to her lips.

I stop tapping my ring. “With the five-hundred and sixty-four thing?”

“Yeah,” she nods and motions the bottle to me. “You’re supposed to say no, Jane, we’ll be friends in a couple years.”

“I don’t have a fucking crystal ball,” I say.

“Okay, then just tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re wrong,” I say. “Because skeletons aren’t making friends in their graves.”