Page 58 of The One Night Dash

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Please eat the cakes and pastries. I got my fill of

sweet treats last night.

My face goesup in flames. “Oh my God.”

And then it hits me …

I have to write, like right now.

I sneak out of the room, clutching the hem of his shirt like it may fly up, and step across the hall. Literally right across the hall. My room is right there. What a coincidence.

When I slip inside, I expect a mess, but everything is pristine. No lingering stench, no evidence of last night’s disaster. Just clean sheets, a fresh stack of towels, and me with a head full of heat.

First shower, then coffee and my laptop.

I head straight to the shower, letting the water run hot as the memories hit harder—the slide of his fingers down my spine, his laugh when I groaned into the sink, the way he carried me like I wasn’t a burden at all.

By the time I’m dressed, towel still wrapped around my damp hair, my phone buzzes.

Dash

Joel will be back to get you. He’ll take you to New York.

And just like that, my stomach flips again—giddy, terrified, and already too deep.

Me

Not necessary. I’m staying in Connecticut a couple more days.

His reply is immediate.

Dash

Why?

I snort. Straight to interrogation. Classic Dash.

Me

Wow. Straight to clingy.

Or is this love bombing?

Seconds later, my phone lights up again—this time with a screenshot. His entire Bears schedule. Practices, travel, media, games. Color-coded. Highlighted. Annotated like it’s gospel.

Dash

We have busy lives. It’s not clingy; it’s logistical alignment.

My mouth falls open. Logistical alignment? Who even says that?

Me

Did you just turn stalking into a corporate memo?

Dash

Efficient planning.

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