“Just because I’ve used it a few times doesn’t make it any less true,” he tells me with a definite tone to his voice.
“True, but it does make it lose its impact. At the moment, I’m pretty convinced you have the weakest stomach of anyone I’ve ever met, which is particularly interesting considering you don’t even have a stomach.”
“Sure I do,” he responds, and to prove it, he lifts up his T-shirt, revealing—not going to lie—one of the best sets of abs I’ve ever seen. Seriously. Which…I’m not quite sure how I feel about that. I mean, it shouldn’t matter. And it doesn’t. But…wow. Just wow. I’d have to be blind not to notice.
Hudson shoots me a smug look but doesn’t say anything as he lets his shirt drop back down. Then again, he doesn’t have to. The argument over whether or not he has a stomach has most definitely been settled…and I most definitely lost.
“You ready?” Jaxon asks as he comes up behind me with a giant armful of books.
“Yeah, of course. Can I help carry some of those?”
“I’ve got them,” he says with a grin, and he does—at least partly because his abs absolutely give Hudson’s a run for their money.
“I call bullshit,” Hudson grumbles as we leave the library. He’s walking a little bit ahead of us, but he’s turned around to face me as he walks backward. Not going to lie, there’s a part of me that would love nothing more than for him to trip and fall on his ass.
Petty? Yes. Mean? Absolutely. But I’d still pay good money to see it. Maybe landing on his ass will take him down a peg or ten, which is something he definitely needs. Arrogant prick.
“Don’t hold back,” Hudson says, and in the blink of an eye, he’s suddenly right behind me, his arrogant, smarmy voice right in my ear. “Tell me how you really feel.”
“I always do,” I shoot back as a shiver runs down my spine.
By the time we get to Jaxon’s tower, Macy is already there with a bag full of the least nutritious stuff Katmere has to offer. Chips, popcorn, and even a pack of ten-dollar Oreos.
“I stole them from my dad’s stash,” she says as she drops them on the table in the antechamber to Jaxon’s bedroom, where he does most of his studying.
The last time I saw the place, it was a total mess—Lia made sure of it before she dragged our drugged asses to the tunnels so she could torture the both of us. But sometime in the three and a half months I was gone, Jaxon not only put it back together, but he actually redecorated the place.
I stroll around the room, vaguely paying attention as Jaxon explains to Flint and Macy fully about what the Bloodletter said we need to do to get Hudson out of my head. Flint has some succinct words about the Unkillable Beast—and the Bloodletter, for that matter—but he’s obviously into it. He’s hanging on Jaxon’s every word and even offering a ton of suggestions.
For once, nobody’s paying any attention to me as I run a hand along Jaxon’s bookshelves and take in all the new decor. And can I just say I like it? The lack of attention and his decorating choices…
Now, instead of a couple of big, comfy chairs dominating the sitting area, there’s one big, comfy chair and a huge, overstuffed black couch that is definitely large enough for two people to stretch out on. There’s a new coffee table—which looks a lot sturdier than the one he turned to kindling during one of his telekinetic losses of control—and in the corner, under the window that nearly killed me when it shattered, is a big table with four black upholstered dining chairs positioned around it. Because of course everything in Jaxon’s tower is black. Of course it is…
Except for the books. They’re every color under the sun, and they are still everywhere—on the bookcases, stacked on the floor in the corners, stacked on the coffee table and underneath the big table, piled up in random places throughout the room—and I love it.
I love even more that there are books I’ve never heard of mixed with books that are old favorites of mine mixed with classics I’ve always wanted to read. Add in the artwork on the wall—the Klimt sketch that made me swoon the first time I came up here along with a few other haunting paintings—and this room is pretty much my favorite place on earth.
Then again, how could it not be? Jaxon is here.
I expect Hudson to make a ton of snide comments about the decorating, but he’s strangely quiet, staring intently at something on one of Jaxon’s shelves, a carving of a horse from the looks of it. It’s not a super-intricate carving, but clearly it’s something Jaxon loves, the edges smooth and shiny as though his fingers have spent hours rubbing each curve of the horse’s neck or body.