The layers of Kaid Isherwood (The 1st book in the 'Layers' series)

Chapter 3

POV: Kaid

Making the omelettes wasn't that hard. Honestly, it felt almost insulting that he looked so impressed. I asked if he was okay with tomatoes, and when he shrugged, I just made two identical ones. Nothing fancy—eggs, cheese, a sprinkle of black pepper, and, yes, tomatoes. When he took his first bite, his eyes widened like I'd served him a Michelin-starred soufflé.

"How did you make it taste so good?" he asked, voice laced with genuine awe.

I shrugged, trying to play it cool. "I'm good at cooking. Been doing it for years. You figure out what works and what... doesn't." Like spaghetti with ketchup—a mistake I vowed never to repeat.

He nodded, chewing thoughtfully. I could tell he wanted to ask more questions, but thankfully, he refrained. We quickly snuck back through the closet passage and into our room. It was a little game of espionage I wasn't thrilled to share with him, but necessity had dictated otherwise.

And let me tell you, if he breathes a word about that passage to anyone, I will not hesitate to smother him in his sleep. It wouldn't even be hard. The bonus? I'd have the room to myself again, free to spread my belongings wherever I pleased. Win-win. The only downside? People might find out about the passage. That would be catastrophic.

Once we were safely back, I closed the closet door firmly. He didn't need to see what I had stashed in there—old sketches, notebooks full of plans, and, yes, the occasional contraband snack. That was my business. Not his. Not anyone's.

I ducked under my bed to retrieve a soda from the mini-fridge I'd strategically installed there. Gotta stay hydrated when plotting your solitude. Drink in hand, I headed for the closet—my new sanctuary. His phone rang just as I stepped in.

"Hey, Jonah," he said casually. Meanwhile, I was dragging a box of study materials toward the secret door in the back. Pulling the string to illuminate the dim bulb overhead, I sat on the creaky stairs and opened the box. Sorting through notes and flashcards, I decided the stairs and closet would become my haven. No distractions. No meddling roommates. Just blissful, productive isolation.

Back in the room, his voice carried. "Yeah, I'm rooming with Isherwood." He sounded less than thrilled. Rude.

He continued, "I know, but get this. There's this pa..."

The hairs on my neck stood up. Oh no, he didn't.

I bolted out of the passage and slammed the closet door open with enough force to make him jump. "Don't you dare," I growled, my voice low and menacing.

His eyes widened as he scrambled for an excuse. "Never mind. It's nothing. I've gotta go." He hung up quickly, looking sheepish.

"That's right. It's nothing. If you so much as hint at it, you'll regret it." My glare could've melted steel.

Back in the closet, I took a deep breath. It was too late to kick him out. I was stuck with him. But he'd learn. Oh, he'd learn.

The next morning, he did the unthinkable. He woke me up. With a pillow.

"Come on, Kaid. It's almost time for class," he said, throwing the pillow with maddening accuracy.

"No. I don't attend class," I mumbled, rolling over and pulling the blanket over my head. Sleep reclaimed me quickly, so deeply that I didn't notice when he carried me to the dining room table like some sort of barbarian.

I became aware only when he hit me on the back of the head. "Wake up. Eat food. Get dressed. Then come on," he commanded, his tone infuriatingly smug.

Groggily, I lifted my head to find myself surrounded by wide-eyed spectators. Everyone at the table was staring, some in shock, others in barely contained amusement.

"If you're trying to annoy me, I recommend stopping. I know how to handle brats who think they're in charge," I growled, my voice still hoarse from sleep. I was painfully aware that I was shirtless and rumpled.

He smirked, undeterred. "And I know how to handle brats who think they're above basic human functions. Now eat, or I'll shove it down your throat."

My eyes darted to the sad slice of toast in front of me. "Then I guess you'll have to shove it down my throat," I challenged, crossing my arms.

He didn't hesitate. Storming closer, he grabbed the toast and, to my utter disbelief, stuffed it into my mouth. Then he moved my jaw like a puppet, mashing the bread into unrecognizable mush. To top it off, he pinched my nose shut.

"Now swallow if you want to breathe," he said with infuriating calmness.

Glaring daggers at him, I swallowed. The toast was bland, but spitting it out wasn't an option. I had standards.

"Never do that again," I growled, pushing his hand away.

He grinned, clearly enjoying himself. "Go get dressed. Or do you need help with that too?"

Oh, it was on. I grabbed him by the collar, pulling him close. "I'll kill you in your sleep and hide your body in the passageway," I hissed, my voice low enough that only he could hear.

Letting him go, I turned to the room. "You guys should congratulate him. He dragged me out of bed without my consent. Bravo. Now enjoy class. I'll be upstairs napping."

And with that, I strode up the stairs, leaving him to deal with the fallout. There was no way I was attending class today. Not after this circus. Logic dictated that the best course of action was to stay in bed and avoid further idiocy. Logic always wins.