Page 32 of The One Night Dash
Alex elbows me, grinning. “And one who’ll look likethatin silk? Man, she’s out of your league.”
The laughter that follows is all teeth, good-natured, but sharp enough to get under my skin.
I want to tell them to shut the hell up. I want to knock the smug grins off their faces. But the worst part? Every damn one of them is right.
Noelle Pembrooke in that dress would stop the room cold. And maybe I’m not ready for everyone else to notice how amazing she is, because I’m finally doing it, too …again.
Doesn’t matter, I want her to see herself with clarity.
For the next twenty minutes,we’re shoulder-to-shoulder, dissecting fabric and cuts like four women in a bridal salon. They toss out comments that dig under my skin—too matronly, too Vegas, too bridal—but every time I want to snap at them, I can’t, because they’re not wrong. They’re only saying what I’m already thinking.
Finally, one catches my eye. Sleek silk, bias-cut, with a plunging neckline that strikes just the right balance of restraint, and cap sleeves. Red like fire. Red like courage. The kind of red you don’t just wear, you become.Red, like my jersey.
“This one,” I murmur, pulse ticking faster.
“Finally,” Koa says, leaning back like he’s just coached me to victory.
Before I can hitsendon the link and pass my message to Elena, my phone buzzes.
I open it and swear under my breath.
It’s the same goddamn dress.
Koa leans over, grinning when he sees it. “Guess you’ve got taste after all.”
I ignore him, sending Elena a thumbs-up and the link anyway.
Me:
Just landed on that one myself at a different shop. I can have it delivered to you.
Me:
But Noelle can’t know it’s new ….
Elena:
We’ll come up with a story, and no, don’t have it delivered; it’ll take me less time to go pick it up.
A second later, another ping. This time, it’s the shoes. Scarlet leather, glossy as fresh paint, the iconic red sole flashing with every step.
I click, and it’s as if the dress has found its perfect match.
Killer whistles low, leaning over my shoulder. “Christ. Those are murder weapons. Straight-upfuck meheels.”
Faulker cracks up. “Not just fuck me, man—wreck me, leave me for dead, and I’ll still thank you. You’re not dressing her, Sterling; you’re unleashing her.”
I ignore them, and the desire to bitch-slap them both, heart thudding as I send Elena another thumbs-up.
Me:
Perfect. Both. I’ll place the order. Deliver them together.
Noelle won’t just get her dress—she’ll getthedress.
And when she steps into it, I won’t be the guy who almost saved a stained Halston. I’ll be the man who “unleased her,” and that settles in my stomach like a twenty-pound roast. Because she’ll be the woman who makes every head in the room turn and wonder why they didn’t notice her sooner.
I can’t focuson anything as I wait for Elena’s call. Not film review, not the guys chirping in the group chat, not even the protein bar in my hand. So, when Elena texts me an hour later—Walking in now—I hit FaceTime before I can second-guess it.
