“What the fuck is this?” Ranger's demanding, pointing at a pound cake that's sitting in a plastic container on the counter. He looks furious. “Who brought this here?” The twins exchange a look, and then shrug.
“Dude, it's just a pound cake,” Spencer says, but Ranger's already grabbing it and tossing the whole thing into the trash.
“Store bought garbage,” he murmurs, opening one of the drawers and withdrawing a whole host of utensils. “We'll make the pound cake from scratch.”
Church exchanges a look with the twins as Spencer raises his eyebrow. After about a minute of slamming things around and cursing, Ranger plants his palms on the countertop and closes his eyes tight.
“Are you okay?” Church asks softly, in just such a way that I can hear his true affection for his friend in his voice.
“I want to make this dessert the right way,” Ranger says, his voice low and grumbling, but thick with emotion. The sound of it makes my chest feel tight, and I squeeze my hand into a fist on the edge of my blazer. “This was Eugene's favorite food, and I'm not going to fuck it up.”
“A Baked Alaska was his favorite food?” Spencer asks, and Ranger's blue eyes snap open, glaring in his direction. I swear he growls a little.
“Show some respect. We thought that was you in that tree; we were devastated. Imagine how his friends and family feel.” Ranger stands up straight and then runs the fingers of both hands through his razored hair. “There's some part of me that feels responsible for his death. I just want to do this one thing right.”
There's a long stretch of silence before Church whips off his blazer and tosses it onto the chair in the corner, pushing up his shirtsleeves and removing his tie.
“Alright, let's do this then, Culinary Club style.”
The door opens and Ross slips in, face flushed, straightening his own tie out.
“Sorry, I'm late,” he says, and Church smiles.
“Let's make some coffee, and bake a pound cake, shall we?”
“Thank you,” Ranger says, and I don't think any of us misses the way his shoulders relax.
I hate that he feels responsible for Eugene's death. None of us should. But somehow we're involved in a mess we didn't start, and now have to clean up. Ranger's right though: Eugene might've been a douche to us, but I'm sure he wasn't to everyone. He has people that care, too.
“Well, damn, let's make a Baked Alaska then,” Spencer murmurs, and then Ranger whips out the frilly aprons. This shit is on.“You seriously fucked that Baked Alaska up, Chuck.” Spencer rolls onto his side to look at me. I’m sitting on the edge of his bed, breathing hard, and desperately wishing I’d caked on the deodorant this morning; I’m sweating like crazy. “I’ve never seen anyone fail to follow directions quite the way you do.”
“I was nervous!” I snap, spinning to look at him. He’s lounging on the bed like a boneless prince. Shit, he’s hot. I bite my lower lip and instantly forgive him for being a total jerk. I’m terrible like that. Never believed in true love, no, but had a crush on every boy? Yep, that’s pretty much me. “Ranger’s terrifying when he cooks.”
“I cook with pure love,” he growls, drawing my attention back to that side of the room. Ranger’s dressed in black sweats, a tight white shirt that shows off the hardened points of his nipples, and … socks with pink cats on them. I decide not to comment. “Pure fucking love.”
“You put a scoop of ice cream down the back of my shirt,” I grumble, and Ranger’s mouth twitches with a smile that he forces back down again.
“That was the twins, not me,” he admits, looking up at Spencer and me. His eyes narrow slightly, and he sighs. “I'm totally cramping your style, aren't I?”
“Pretty much. The boner wizard can't operate when the cock blocker's in the room. That's a well-known fucking fact,” Spencer says, smirking, and my cheeks heat. The sudden rush of embarrassment makes me want to stay obstinate.
“I'm personally glad that Ranger's in here,” I retort, pushing my glasses up my nose and crossing my arms over the chest of the t-shirt I borrowed from Spencer (my white academy-issued button-down is now dyed pink with strawberry ice cream). “It's safer with three of us, and all that.”
“Uh-huh, sure,” Spencer purrs, tickling his fingers up my spine and sending little shivers through me. I whip an angry look over my shoulder, and he smirks. “What? Don't tell me you don't feel it.”
“Feel what?” I retort, even though I'm basically taking the reins of embarrassment and leading it straight toward me.
“The sexual tension between us,” Spencer blurts, and I grab the book from his nightstand and smack him with it. He steals it from my hand, grabs me by the wrists and drags me toward him, pinning me underneath him. His silver hair hangs down around the sides of his face, and his grin is truly feral. “Come on, don't lie to me. You guys already spent that token at the arcade of bullshit.”
