Something was up. Matisse knew it as soon as he closed the door behind him. For one thing, the lights were on in the kitchen. He’d given his roommates and Nora ample time to believe he wouldn’t be returning until late. Used to being up all night, he wasn’t ready for sleep, even though he’d only slept a few hours during the day. A nearly-midnight entrance should have guaranteed him solitude. Instead he’d been out maneuvered.

Expecting a full-on intervention, he was surprised when only Apollo was in the kitchen. “Hey,” the larger man greeted when Matisse came through the door.

“Hi,” he replied warily. Any second, he expected to hear his friends’ feet pounding down the stairs so they could surround him and demand answers.

“Don’t look so nervous. No one else is here. Nora’s sleeping, but she wants me to wake her up when you get in. Seok’s reading, and Ryan, overachiever, is doing homework. It’s just you and me.”

“Emissary?” Matisse asked and flung his body into a chair, affecting nonchalance.

“Sort of,” Apollo answered. “I wanted to talk to you because we’re in the same boat.”

“How is that?” Impossible. Apollo—perfect, generous, kind Apollo—and him? The king of the illegal? The go-to guy for all things sneaky?

“Because there are things we do on the shady side of legal, and Nora needs to learn about them. Will, or has, in your case. Why didn’t you tell me, man?” Matisse studied Apollo’s features. His mouth turned down, and his eyebrows drew together—he’d hurt Apollo’s feelings.

“What would you have said?”

“Don’t do it,” Apollo answered quickly. “Be smart. And I’d have had no right to say it, either, considering I’m training to pound some guy into the ground of a warehouse on the outskirts of town.”

“You still would have said it.”

Apollo chuckled at Matisse’s words. “Yeah. I would have. It’s my job as your friend.”

Resting his elbows on the table, he linked his fingers around the back of his head and shook it from side to side. What a mess he’d gotten himself into. And for nothing. Literally nothing. Unless. “We’re talking about the bike races, right?”

Apollo leaned forward, his arms flexing as he folded his hands. “Should we be talking about something else?”

Matisse sprawled back in the chair and shook his head. “No.”

“Everyone wants to talk to you.”

“I’m sure they do, but it’s really none of their business.”

Apollo unfurled, standing and stretching. It wasn’t an attempt to intimidate him, but a sign of his agitation. “You’re our business, Matisse. You guys are the only family I fucking have. Don’t brush it off like it’s nothing.”

“I know.” Deflating under Apollo’s effective guilt trip, he grabbed handfuls of his hair and tugged. “I’ll wake Nora. You want to get the guys? We can play whack-a-Matisse-mole.”

Without waiting to hear his friend’s response, he trudged through the dining room back to the stairs. The closer he got to Nora’s door, the more nervous he became. He felt like a little boy about to be disciplined, and it wasn’t an emotion he enjoyed. All of today, his anxiety had been out of control. For a moment, he considered the near-empty prescription he hadn’t needed since meeting Nora.

Carefully, he opened the door to her bedroom. The light in her closet was on, muted but illuminating her sleeping form. She curled beneath the covers, arms wrapped around her pillow. Mouth open, she coughed suddenly, and sniffled.

Gently, he smoothed his hand down her back. “Cher.” She stirred, breath hitching before her armed waved him away. Despite his worry about how she’d respond to his story, he chuckled. “Nora.”

One eye opened. Then another. “Hey,” she whispered and pushed herself up. Coughing again, she lifted her elbow to her mouth to catch it. “Sorry. What time is it?”

“No idea,” he answered. “You’re sick?”

Her eyes widened, and he could see her doing a frantic inventory of her body. She sniffed and sniffed again. “Crap. Seok jinxed me.”

“Do you want to come downstairs? Apollo told me you all wanted to talk to me.”

She scrubbed her hands across her face and took the ever-present elastic from around her wrist to tie her hair on top of her head. “Yes.” The covers flew back, and she reached for a sweatshirt at the end of her bed. “Ready.”

“I’m not,” he muttered, unable to help himself.

“Tisse.” The light pressure of her hand on his arm stopped him. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I mean—the other option is telling the same story five times. In which case, I call dibs.”

He laughed, anxiety melting away in the face of her clear attempt at disarming him. It worked. Once she was in his arms, he hugged her tightly. He laid a gentle kiss next to her mouth. “You’re definitely getting sick. You have sick breath.”

“Matisse!” Horrified, she covered her mouth and pushed him out of the way to run down the hall and into the bathroom.

“Smooth.” Ryan appeared at the door. Leaning against the casing, he yawned into his shoulder. “Real smooth.”

“What? I wasn’t being mean. I was just letting her know.”

Shaking his head, Ryan pushed off the molding and went downstairs. Seok’s workshop door opened and shut, and then the kitchen was filled with voices. The door to the bathroom opened, and Nora came out, cheeks red.

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” he apologized. It was the truth. Sometimes he spouted his observations without thinking. He’d gotten much better, but every once in a while, something slipped out.

“I’m glad you told me,” she explained, linking her arm through his. “But I am embarrassed. Only because you had to smell it.”

They stood together, arm and arm. “I’ve smelled worse. When Seok was re-doing my bedroom, I shared a room with Apollo. Let me tell you, kale farts stick to clothes.”

“Matisse!” Apollo yelled. “What the fuck?!”

“Whoops.” Matisse winked at her. He may have spoken a little louder than necessary. “Apollo isn’t the only one who stinks. Once, Ry—”

“E-fucking-nough, Tisse.” Apollo stormed across the kitchen. “Hey, baby.” He kissed Nora’s cheek and turned his glare on Matisse. “Shut up, for the love of God.”

With one more wink at Nora, he settled at the table. Seok’s back was turned as he heated a kettle on the stove for tea. Ryan was digging in the refrigerator for something caffeinated.

“Nora’s getting sick,” he announced, seating himself in the same chair he’d vacated earlier. “She had”—he saw Nora widen her eyes and shake her head jerkily—“a cough.”

With Nora seated across from Matisse, Apollo jumped into action. Like expected, out came the blender, followed by a series of what Apollo called super foods from the fridge. Then came vitamins and, finally, the dreaded fish oil. None of them said a word until Apollo had finished and placed a glass in front of Nora.

“I’m not drinking that.” Her nose wrinkled. “I saw what you put in.”

“Yes, you are.” Apollo crossed his massive arms over his chest. “You want to get strep? You have work this weekend.”

She tightened her lips, but picked up the glass. Matisse watched the exchange with glee, laughter bubbling inside him. Usually it was him on the receiving end of Apollo’s health lectures.

“But—” she whined. “It’s not even mostly pink. Apollo, look at all the green bits.”

Apollo strode to her and spun her chair so she faced him. His hands grasped the sides as he leaned over her until they were nose-to-nose. “Have I ever given you something disgusting?”

“No,” she hedged.

“Do you think I will now?”

Her face said she wasn’t sure, but her words… “Not on purpose.”

“You don’t want to have to call in sick on your second day of work.” Apollo rubbed his nose along hers. Matisse observed, suddenly wishing he knew how to mix an immune system boosting shake.

“Low, Apollo.” Lifting it to her lips, she sniffed before she sipped. A drip stuck on the rim, and she licked it. Now she had Matisse’s complete attention. Her nose wrinkled again. “It’s not awful, but it’s not good.”

“Drink it up, baby. Let’s kick that cold’s ass before it can get you.”

With a deep breath, Nora drank. Matisse watched her throat lift and lower with each swallow. He wanted to trace the smooth column with his finger and capture the dollop of shake from her lips with his.

Finished, Nora placed the glass on the table with a firm thump. “There. Can we focus up now?”

Matisse didn’t care he was about to be raked over the coals. The past minute, watching Nora drink that shake, made the whole thing totally worth it.