I’m not sure why he’s annoyed about what I’m wearing. I’m the one wearing it. Sure, it’s not the height of athleisurewear, but so what? “Do I need to look good to try to not die?”
“Last night, you were all about blending in. I promise this won’t blend in.” He crosses his arms. “It’s also a deliberate affront to me. Making my champion look less than.”
“‘Less than’?” I snort. “Again…I’ll be in a contest that might require running and hopefully not screaming.” Seriously, who gives a shit? “These are fine. Actually, I appreciate that the style didn’t run along the lines of the insulting, absurd image I find most people love to indulge about women in sports or fighting.”
“I’m going to regret asking.” He settles a hip against the countertop. “What insulting, absurd image?”
Oh. I scoff. “I don’t know if gods watch movies… I mean, you have a TV and watch the news, so it stands to reason—”
“The point?”
“Right. Well, any ‘top’ that is just a flimsy bra I could spill out of is beyond impractical, unless I’m using my breasts as a distraction.” There might be a choking sound beside me as I expertly flip the eggs. “And good gods, corsets seem great for the figure and posture but shit to move around in, let alone fight in. Talk about restrictive.” I roll my eyes and turn off the burner with a flick of my fingers. Most fantasies about women, in my opinion, are dumb as fuck. “Forget leather, which holds in all the sweat. And knee-high boots are hot and all, but try jumping off a rooftop in three-inch heels and see what happens.”
“I think I’ll pass,” Hades says. There’s a long pause, then he adds, “I wouldn’t mind seeing you in the boots, though.”
I sigh. How disappointing that he’s like all the rest of them. “Don’t you dare.”
“I’ll make sure to keep your requirements in mind.” He snaps his fingers, and like yesterday, I’m instantly wearing new clothes.
I glance down, then move my pan off the burner so I can take a closer look.
The outfit is still sporty but of superfine quality. Black now—the color of the public-facing god of death, apparently—and the material seems patterned in black-on-black to look like…flames, maybe? The pattern covers all of the shirt beneath a vest but only a simple stripe up the fronts of the legs.
“Are my clothes now fancier than the other champions’?”
“I hope so.”
I almost smile. He definitely likes sticking it to the other gods, and despite probably earning more black marks next to my name, that’s something I fully support. “Playing to the crowds again?”
“Exactly.”
I pause, twisting my neck to peer closer at the vest. It’s the tactical vest Boone brought me last night, which Hades kept as part of the outfit—I’m sure of that—except now there’s a butterfly embroidered on the chest in a rose-gold thread.
But there’s more.
My hands are covered in fingerless gloves with smaller rose-gold butterflies on the back. The gloves tuck into gauntlets covering my forearms that are a supple, movable leather and yet protective. My feet are encased in boots that protect my shins, but I can tell I’ll be able to run and even climb in them easily.
Wow. He actually listened.
“Why butterflies?”
I don’t look directly at him, but I still catch the way he shrugs. “I like them.”
Me too. I don’t say that out loud, though. No need to bond over bugs.
Deliberately, I pull my shoulders back. I’m also not going to thank him. The reason I’m wearing this is because I’m his champion. I won’t thank him for any of it.
I scrape half the eggs onto a plate and take them and a cup of tea to the kitchen island to grab a stool there.
“I left some for you,” I tell him, then frown. “Do immortals even need to eat?”
“Yes, but only for…”
He pauses long enough that I glance up, meeting his glittering gaze directly for the first time this morning. Something I’ve been avoiding until now. “For?”
“Pleasure.”
Good grief, the slide of that word on his tongue. The wicked, teasing light in his eyes is too much to handle this early in the day. Not to mention I’ve been doing everything I can to not think about his gift since it happened.
Only now, all I can think about is that kiss. About the way his tongue felt brushing against mine. And if the swirling in his eyes is any indication, he’s thinking about the exact same thing.
23
Breakfast Of Champions
“Must be nice,” I offer, then go back to keeping my head down and eating my breakfast.
A minute later, he sits next to me at the island, his own plate piled high. “How do you know how to cook?” he asks.
“In the den, we take turns manning the kitchen and eat buffet style. First come, first served.” During very specific hours, and then all the food is locked away. You snooze, you starve.
“Even the bosses cook?”
“You’re quite chatty this morning,” I grouse.
“It’s worth getting to know my champion’s skills, strengths, and weaknesses, don’t you think?”
