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“Can we stop using food adjectives?”

“It’s only weird if you make it weird.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “This conversation has reminded me I need to take my blood.”

“And…you just made it weird.”

“Sorry.”

“Enjoy your smoothie.”

“Enjoy your brownies.”

“I’ll drop them off tomorrow. Tell me when Cassian’s there, okay?”

We end the call, and I go upstairs and pause awkwardly outside Noah’s door with two boxes of light bulbs in my hands.

He turns when he notices me hovering. His face is solemn, but there’s mischief in his eyes. “Cassian is yummy, huh?”

“What?” I ask sharply.

He nods toward the heater grate. “You were in the mudroom, right?”

The mudroom that’s directly below Noah’s room.

Crap.

That means he heard a lot more than just that.

“I was talking to Olivia,” I admit.

He takes the lightbulbs from me. “You should warn her Cassian doesn’t really do relationships.”

“You should warn him she doesn’t either.”

“Then they’re an even match.”

“As long as he doesn’t bite her.”

“He’s careful with humans.”

I stop and think about that. A question burns on the tip of my tongue, but nope.

Nope, nope, nope.

“What?” Noah asks, sensing my curiosity.

“What about vampires?” I study the cheerful yellow bedspread. “Like, final stage? Does he…bite…them?”

My cheeks go hot.

A smile toys at Noah’s mouth, but like a gentleman, he schools it. Then he steps on the bed to screw in the new light bulb. “That’s between him and his dates.”

“Right.” I try to laugh. “Sorry, just… Well, the subject was sort of brought up in the support group today, and…”

“What did you talk about?”

Don’t look at his stomach. His toned, ribbed, washboard stomach.