Anna is standing in the kitchen now, one hand wrapped around a coffee mug.I guess she’s over needing to run out for her morning java.Her other hand is planted on her hip and her glare is scalding enough to burn through concrete.
“Why the hell are you in the living room?”She spits out, her brows tugged in tightly.
I barely keep my lips from twitching as I spin around to face her.“Closed-in rooms mess with my process.”
Anna blinks.Then she glares harder.“Yourprocess?”
I nod, looking solemn.“Yeah.Creativity needsspaceto breathe, Ace.The energy in my room felt… stifling.”
She tilts her head, studying me like she’s debating whether to murder me or just kick me out entirely.
I strum anotherdissonantchord.
Anna inhales sharply through her nose, like she’s practicing restraint—which, honestly, is impressive considering I justmassacreda chord progression right in front of her.
I strum again, letting the wrong notes linger, watching as her grip on her coffee mug tightens.
Then, with a slow, calculated exhale, she sets her mug down a little too hard.
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smirking.
“I need one morning,” she mutters, rubbing her temples.“One single, solitary, Joel-free morning where I can drink my coffee in peace without whatever the hell this is.”She gestures vaguely in my direction.
I give her my most innocent look.“Music?”
She scowls, jabbing her index finger at me.“That’snotmusic.That’s a war crime.”
I fight back a chuckle, tapping my fingers idly against the body of the guitar.“So, you agree it’s bad?”
Anna narrows her eyes.
Damn, she’s salty today.
Which… makes sense.After last night, she’s probably still reeling.Not just from hearing me in the shower.But from the fact that shelistenedand then got caught.
A flicker of heat slides down my spine, completely uninvited.I shut it down before it can go anywhere dangerous, but then?—
Another thought blindsides me—one I wasn’t expecting.
One I should not be fucking having.
Was she…?
My fingers falter on the strings.My stomach free-falls.My pulse rockets.
Oh.Fuck.
I was so caught up in whatsheheard—what she knew—that I didn’t even consider what she might have done about it.
What if she was just as turned on?What if she touched herself last night—because of me?
Why didn’t I listen for?—
Fuck.
The thought punches me in the gut so hard, I physically shake my head, like I can dislodge it before it goes any further.
Nope.Nope.Shut it down.Now.