The kitchen is dark except for the dim glow of the display panel on the fridge, casting everything in a ghostly blue light. It's three in the morning, and the mansion has that eerie stillness that only exists in the dead of night when everyone's asleep. Everyone except me.
I pull open the refrigerator door, squinting against the sudden brightness. My body still hums with the pleasant afterglow of sex, but my mind refuses to shut down. Jubilee left about an hour ago, sneaking back to her room with a sleepy smile and a quick kiss. Now I'm left alone with my thoughts and a raging thirst.
I grab the Brita pitcher from the top shelf, filling a glass to the brim. As I'm sliding the pitcher back onto the shelf, a voice cuts through the silence.
"Jack?"
I turn around and see Emma Frost standing in the doorway, a vision in white silk pajamas that somehow manage to look both comfortable and obscenely expensive at the same time.
"Thirsty?"
"Yeah." I take a sip of water, suddenly very aware that I'm wearing nothing but sweatpants and an old t-shirt. "You?"
Emma moves closer, her hair almost glowing in the dim light. "I'm just restless," she says with a small shrug. "Sleep has never come easily to me."
"Ahh," I respond eloquently, not sure what else to say. The last time we spoke was in her office when I turned down her advances.
She leans against the counter. "Jack," she says, her voice softer than usual, "I wanted to apologize for ending our session so abruptly."
"It's no problem."
"I'm also sorry," she continues, her ice-blue eyes fixed on mine, "for trying so hard to push you into something you weren't ready for." She tucks a strand of platinum hair behind her ear. "Going forward, I'll do better at respecting your boundaries."
"Really?" The surprise must be written all over my face.
Emma throws her head back and laughs, the sound echoing in the empty kitchen. "No," she admits, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "But I'll try to be a little nicer about it."
I shake my head, unable to suppress a grin. "And here I thought you'd finally stop flirting with the barely legal new mutant who just arrived."
Her expression instantly transforms into one of disgust, her perfectly sculpted eyebrows drawing together. "I'm twenty-eight, Jack. It's barely that weird," she protests, crossing her arms over her chest. "Leonora DiCaprio was pulling this shit for years and no one cared!"
"Relax," I say, raising my hands in surrender. "I'm just joking around."
Emma smirks at me, and I can't help but notice how different she looks in pajamas, still intimidating but somehow more human. I'm about to say something else when movement in the hallway catches my eye.
Gene and Morgan. Gene's swaying slightly, his body leaning in extremely close to Morgan's personal space. His long auburn hair is mussed, and even from here I can see the flush on his cheeks. Definitely drunk.
"C'mon, Morgan," I hear him slur, his voice carrying that wheedling tone of someone who's had way too many. "Just one drink in my room?"
Morgan's expression is pure stone. She's shorter than Gene by a good foot, but the way she stands makes her seem twice as solid, immovable. Her wild dark hair frames a face that looks like it was carved from granite by someone who only had a hammer and chisel and a lot of anger issues.
"Not interested, bub," she growls, grabbing Gene by the upper arm with what looks like enough force to bruise. "Let's get you back to Scotty."
Gene stumbles forward, catching himself on the wall. "Don't be like that," he whines. "I just want someone to talk to."
"Talk to your girlfriend," Morgan grumbles, steering him away from the kitchen with surprising gentleness despite her gruff demeanor.
Emma and I remain frozen in place, listening to their retreating footsteps and Gene's slurred protests growing fainter down the hallway. When they're finally gone, I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.
"What the hell was that about?" I ask, setting my water glass down on the counter.
Emma sighs, shaking her head. "I have absolutely no idea, and frankly, I don't want to know." She flicks her wrist dismissively. "Whatever Gene is up to is none of my business. I want nothing to do with that mess."
"Oh," I say with a smirk, "so he's not your type then?"
Her blue eyes lock onto mine, that predatory smile spreading across her face like a slow-motion disaster I can't look away from. "I have my eyes on a different morsel, Jack."
Emma pushes herself gracefully away from the counter, her silk pajamas catching the blue light from the refrigerator display. "Goodnight, Jack," she purrs, turning toward the doorway. "Sweet dreams."