“Did…” Mor doesn’t know how to word it, and her face warms a touch at the implication. “Did something happen between you three?”
Cassian takes a bite of his pasta and with a raise of a brow he asks, “like what?”
Nesta gives him a look for talking with his mouth full, but her gaze drifts to Mor, too. She frowns, her lower lip pouting slightly in baby pink. Mor wonders if she knows how alluring she comes off. Perfect pouting lips with two males who lounge around her likes she’s got them attached to chains.
Mor spares a glance to Azriel, but he only tilts his head. He’s studying her, she knows, and she wants to grumble at his look. When did she become merely some shadow he tracks?
“I just mean that you three seem… close.” The accusatory tone does nothing to ease their puzzled faces, but Cassian chokes a laugh.
“We live together,” he says, “of course, we’re all close.”
“You seem closer than people who live together,” Mor presses.
It’s Nesta who scoffs, throwing up that hand that’d previously held her chin. That’s another thing that annoys her, Mor supposes. The way Nesta always seems bored no matter who she’s talking to. “What are you trying to get at?”
“Have all of you…“ Mor sighs, looking to the ceiling as the thrum of irritation burrows in her chest. “Did you all sleep together?”