Thrills

Three ~ Devil in Prada

Mavie

I woke up a bit past nine in my bed surrounded by soft pillows and my white comforter. My bed has always been a safe haven for me, and I would lie in it for hours if I had the option to.

Laughter, loud clinging, and the smell of bacon and eggs came from my kitchen and I let out a loud groan. The three goons were here, and they were probably destroying my freshly cleaned kitchen and eating all of my food in my just-stocked pantry.

I should have expected it. Wherever one goes the other two typically follow. And, being as Rowan stayed with me last night and I got arrested last night, I should have knew they were going to come over at some point today.

I wonder if Rowan told them beforehand that he was here, or if they came up the lift, saw him there, and bombarded him with questions. The latter is more likely, knowing them.

Reluctantly, I forced myself out of bed, leaving the luxury of my blankets and fluffed pillows. I checked myself briefly in the mirror, adjusting my sweatpants and tank top I threw on after a quick shower last night and throwing my knotted brown hair into an incredibly messy ponytail.

Looking as perfect as ever, I finally opened the door to my bedroom and walked down the hallway that led into my living, dining, and kitchen area where three grown men were prancing about in a sad attempt at making chocolate chip pancakes. There was batter everywhere, too many bowls and too many spoons for the activity they were doing, and smoke leaving the stove where a frying pan was sizzling.

But, somehow, one of them had managed to gather enough brains and courage to face the burning stove and, in the spot designated for me at the island whenever the four of us - plus sometimes Lena when she wasn't busy perfecting her business and had time to spend with us - would lounge around my apartment sat a steaming plate of perfectly stacked pancakes. There was a small dab of butter on top, and I could assume between each pancake as it was obvious to everyone who dined with me once that I hated when they put the smaller amount of butter on only the top pancake, and the perfect amount of syrup drizzle.

Cohen was the first to notice me and, as graceful as ever, threw his hands up in the air with a cheer. Unfortunately for my poor walls, though, the mixing spoon in his hands also experienced the force of his sudden movements and the large amount of batter resting in the swoop splattered all over my walls.

He looked over his shoulders and back at me cheekily. "Whoops? Good morning sunshine."

I groaned. "Good morning, Cohen. I missed you very much."

Despite the obvious sarcasm, he nodded and replied, "I knew you would. Who wouldn't?"

"I'm sure Mavie's walls didn't." Banks interjected, referencing the spaghetti sauce stain that was still above the cabinets from when Cohen attempted to make all of us, Lena included (personally, I think the was trying to impress her), his, as he said, "world famous spaghetti and meatballs".

"What?" Cohen faked a pout, looking from Banks, to me, and then to my grey walls. "Sure they did."

I sat on my barstools, choosing not to react, and looked at the plate in front of me. "So, which one of you guys were actually able to make these right?"

Cohen and Banks looked at each other, deciding which one of them wanted to take the credit. I knew immediately, after that reaction, the correct answer to my question. And, unsurprisingly, it was the answer I least expected. Though, I knew he wasn't going to take the credit and for a moment allow me to think he cared enough to remember the littlest thing like how I enjoyed my pancakes.

"I did, of course!" Cohen cheered, walking around the counter and placing a wet kiss on my cheek. He looked at my expression and frowned. "Well, now, don't look too surprised. I can do anything when it comes to my one and only love: Mavie Van Lauden!"