Although I felt refreshed from the much-needed sleep, the thought of Remington laying in a hospital bed seeped into my mind. I needed to get back to Axel's as soon as possible to check on him.
After using the bathroom, brushing my teeth, and trying to tame my wild hair, I made my way to the kitchen where West was making breakfast.
My mouth went dry at the sight. Wearing only gray sweatpants, West towered over the stove. I wanted to lick his toned stomach and chest. I wanted his thick forearms wrapped around me. Trying to snap out of the trance, I shook my head and focused on the hot skillet.
"How do you like your eggs?"
"Uh, over easy," I said before taking a seat on one of the barstools.
West cracked an egg over the skillet and the yolk burst. "Scrambled it is.”
"Look at you, a regular Gordon Ramsay.”
"Hey, I never hear any complaints from Bronx."
"He's probably busy choking on eggshells."
West gave a mock-offended look and went back to scrambling myover easyeggs. "Did you sleep okay last night? You kept tossing and turning."
"I slept great. I didn't realize I'd been doing that. Sorry," I grimaced and then smiled at the thought of accidentally whacking West in the face in my sleep. Or kneeing him in the crotch.
West put four pieces of bread in the double toaster and scraped the eggs out of the skillet onto two plates. He added a few strips of bacon to each plate and filled two glasses with orange juice as he waited for the toaster to pop.
"You didn't have to make all this.” I eyed the delicious-looking breakfast placed before me. I took a sip of the orange juice and let out a slight moan.
"I was making some for myself anyway. It'd be rude not to make enough for two with you in the other room," West said as he shoveled a heap of eggs into his mouth.
The sound of a key sliding into the lock of the door permeated the room. The door swung open, revealing an exhausted-looking Oliver Moretti. He wore a suit and carried a leather briefcase, along with a matching suitcase.
Oliver looked at us and was shocked, obviously. I hadn't been seen with West in almost two years and it'd been close to that long since I talked to Oliver.
"Ashtyn, what are you doing here?"
"Oh, I uh–"
"She stayed over," said West, going back to his breakfast. He didn't seem fazed by his dad showing up, whereas I was more than a little uncomfortable since I was only wearing a t-shirt and panties.
"I see." Oliver smiled slightly but it didn't reach his eyes. His tired face looked irritated.
I found myself without an appetite. I tossed the remaining food into the trash and placed my plate in the sink. "I'm gonna go...get dressed." I excused myself while West continued to eat and his dad glared at the back of his head.
I hurried back to West's room and threw on a pair of jean shorts and a faded black My Chemical Romance t-shirt. I packed up my things and scurried back to the kitchen. As I approached, Oliver spoke in hushed tones. I inched down the hallway to listen.
"What is she doing here, West? You can’t be associated with that family. After what happened to Bronx? And her father…I thought I told you that before–"
"You don't tell me shit. I canassociatewith whoever I want to," West cut him off.
"You're that easily led by your dick you need to have that trash over here while I'm away. How long's it been going on?"
“Don’t talk about her that way. And nothing I do is your business. You gave up the right to give a fuck a long time ago.”
“This is my house and I won’t have you sneaking her in here.”
“There wasn’t anything sneaky about it. I wanted her here so she’s here.”
I stepped around the corner of the hallway. "Don't worry, Oliver. I would hate to corrupt your son with my trashy tendencies. I'm out of here.”
Fuck that and fuck him. He thought he was better than my family because he had money. Or because his house was nicer than mine? Get bent.