Page 101 of The One Night Dash
“Joel,” I say, leaning forward, “drop me here. I’ll hoof it to her place and beat the truck. You take these guys, grab the ring.”
Joel glances back. “You sure?”
“Positive. Bed gets delivered, ring gets picked up, game gets won, and we all make it to Icehouse.”
Moretti locks eyes with me like we’re on the ice. “Appreciate it, Sterling.”
“Don’t thank me.” I grin as I slide out. “That’s how we do shit in Bear country.”
Killer chuckles. “Look at you—running furniture deliveries while we plan proposals. You’re domesticated, man.”
I slam the door behind me, cutting into the foot traffic with a grin still tugging at my mouth. Beds, rings, a proposal, and game day. Everything’s lining up.
I slipinto the store just ahead of the delivery crew, who stopped outside to see if it’s better to hoist it up through a window or carry it through the bookstore. Angie and Hildy?—yeah, I thinkthat’s their names—are perched behind the desk, giggling like they’ve been waiting for this moment.
I look at them curiously, then lock my eyes on Noelle.
She lets out this over-the-top sigh. “Ignore them.”
From the back, a woman in her fifties’ voice rings out, “Right, just normalize finding condoms in the women’s lit section!”
That does it. Angie and Hildy dissolve into full-blown laughter. Noelle’s cheeks flush, but she still manages mock authority.
“Hush, or I’ll stop stocking your Golden Monkey black.”
The gasp that follows is dramatic enough to echo. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh, I would,” she calls back, amusement in her voice.
“Gonna take a look at the stairway.” One of the delivery guys says, and we show them the way.
“Broken bed, condoms in my safe place,” another woman huffs.
“Don’t act like you’re not jealous. Do you see the onion on that one?” comes from behind us.
“It’s called a hockey ass,” Noelle corrects her, trying not to laugh.
“You sure about that? Made my eyes water,” I hear as I start up the stairs.
“Pembrooke, I’m not sure how to feel about all that,” I joke.
“Says the guy whose warm-ups can’t be shown on TV,” she smarts back.
The delivery guys roll past to check out the place, and Noelle turns to me, arms folded tight, chin tipped up. “The condom I threw?”
I lose it—bent at the waist, laughter shaking through me. “You mean, when I asked if we could ever do it without one, and you fast-balled it across the room?”
Her eyes widen. “I panicked!”
“You didn’t panic,” I say, still grinning. “Youpitched. Perfect form, too. Overhand, right into the romance section. Poor Nora Roberts didn’t deserve that.”
She groans, burying her face in her hands. “It was instinct.”
“Instinct?” I mimic her throw again, laughing. “That was muscle memory. Sweets, if hockey doesn’t work out for me, I’m signing you up for the bullpen.”
She peeks at me between her fingers, laughter bubbling despite herself. “You’re the worst.”
I close the space between us, dropping my voice. “And yet, you’re still letting me in. Which makes me the luckiest bastard alive.”
