Page 96 of Stick With Me
You are really falling apart without me.
Miles King:
Pretty sure you guys started sucking when you lost me.
Ilya Volkov:
You should both drink some milk for your weak bones.
Dominic Fox:
Not sure that helps with concussions. But I do love a glass with ice cubes.
Miles King:
What kind of monster puts ice in milk?!
Dominic Fox:
You’re the one breaking bones. Don’t knock it until you try it.
Miles King:
Me:
Can we decline the comments from the peanut gallery? Volk and me are the only ones keeping this team going.
Dominic Fox:
You sure that’s not Knolls now? Just saying…
Ugh. I shove my phone into my pocket, though the incessant buzzing continues.
T-minus six days until I’m back home.
THIRTY-SEVEN
I’m cleaningup the kitchen after making dinner when I hear the front door open and close. Freddie barks excitedly and rushes off to investigate.
Who the heck would be coming into the house? Ryan’s still out of town, and Ada doesn’t have a key. I locked the front door, right? I’m pretty sure I locked it.
Before I think it through, I grab a knife from the counter and press my back against the wall that separates the dining room from the kitchen.
My heart rate skyrockets, anxiety paralyzes me, then spurs me to action. Whoever the intruder is, they’ll have to come through this way to get to me.I should probably cut down on the true crime documentaries.
I try to slow my breathing and formulate a plan that doesn’t involve manslaughter. Even if it’s self-defense, I really do not want to kill anyone. Footsteps approach, and before I can think better of it, I call out, “I’m armed and dangerous!” Spinning away from the wall, knife raised and ready.
“AHHHHH—Hannah, it’s me! Dominic!”
I press a hand to my chest. “Holy crap, why don’t you ring the doorbell like a normal person?! And sneaking up when you know I’m here alone, is that really the best idea?”
“I’m not sure I’d call this sneaking, but fair point. Sorry,” Dom says, but I catch the snicker as I put the knife back on the counter. He bends down to give Freddie, who’s panting happily and proving what a poor guard dog he is, some love.
“What?” I scowl in his direction.
“I’m armed and dangerous,” he mocks, in a high pitch to mimic me. Then he breaks into a fit of laughter, clutching his stomach as he doubles over. “I think you need to work on your intimidation tactics. Maybe Volk can give you a lesson.”
I roll my eyes, feigning annoyance, but can’t help the laugh that escapes. He’s right, it was pitiful. “What’re you doing here?”
