Page 37 of The One Night Dash
Paul grunts, but I see the twitch of a smile.
Brooklyn wins, four to two.
Lyingin bed instead of letting myself get sick over tomorrow, I think of tonight and how my real friends all told me not to go tothis wedding, but I assured them this is something I need to do by myself. And tonight, they made sure I was still with them.
My throat tightens in the best way. They bookmarked me, saved my place, and I love them so much for that.
The ringtone rattlesacross the nightstand, pulling me out of the kind of half-sleep where I’m standing surrounded by books, but not a library or the shop, but giant books the size of buildings. I blink at the screen. Briar.
I swiped to answer, my voice scratchy. “Everything okay? Are you?—”
“You should be proud of me,” Briar barrels right over me, her words bubbling with energy.
I rub my eyes. “Okay?”
She laughs. “For setting up a double date. I finally have a friend in my class who’s actually normal and nice, and we’re going out tonight. Her and me, plus the guys. It’s going to be so much fun.”
Her enthusiasm is so pure I can’t help smiling, even through the grogginess. “Look at you, social butterfly. Who’s the lucky guy?”
“Not telling yet,” she teases. “But he’s solid. You’ll meet him eventually.”
I’ll meet him eventually?
I let her chatter fill the room in a way I know is all Briar—spinning excitement like it’s contagious.
We talk for a bit—well, she speaks and I laugh—and when my alarm goes off, she says a quick, “Wish me luck?”
“You don’t need luck when you’ve made a solid plan.” I smile.
I push back the covers and stretch before standing and heading toward the shower, happy that I came with a plan A and a plan B.
I hoped that maybe when I saw Lauren for the first time, she would be the girl I adored back in freshman year. Plan A was to rekindle our friendship with boundaries, and no, that’s not what I knew would happen, yet it was still my secret hope.
Plan B was to come, to be here and celebrate a love that, in a way, I was a part of from its beginning, and wish them a happy ever after, because everyone deserves love.
By the time I finish my shower, blow-dry my hair, slip into the robe the girls insisted I pack, and am halfway through laying out jewelry options, the knock comes.
I open the door to find a girl barely older than twenty, arms full of bags and cases that look like they belong backstage at Fashion Week. She grins, breathless but confident, with the kind of energy only a college student can bring to a side hustle.
“KET?” she asks immediately, tapping the little charm on her bracelet as she nudges past me and into the room.
I can’t help but smile. “Noelle. Hayward KET.”
“Anna. Fairfield KET.” She smiles, already unloading curling irons, palettes, and brushes across the desk like a soldier setting up camp. “The girls said soft waves, clean skin, natural glow. Trust me; I’ve got you.”
It’s strange—comforting even—to have another KET in the room. Like, no matter how far I’ve wandered since college, that little thread still ties us together. Andi sent her reels, Sofie worked her mysterioussister discountmagic, but seeing Anna here, focused and so sure of her craft, makes it feel real.
I sit down, tug the robe tighter, and let her fuss with partings and sprays. For once, I don’t have to stress that I’ll mess it up and it’ll just end up in a clip on top of my head. All I have to do is sit still, breathe, and let someone else work her magic.
TEN
DASH
In a roundabout way,I lied to Koa when I left at two this morning, telling him I’m needed at home. I asked him to cover for me with Coach D and promised to be back for Saturday’s game in Detroit. Not like we’re doing anything but traveling from Utah east, anyway. Today’s a rest day. I rested on the flight, and at the airport in DC during the longest fucking layover known to man.
The sliding doors hiss open, and the air slaps me awake harder than any cup of coffee could. Joel’s waiting at the curb, leaning against the SUV like he hasn’t got a care in the world. He straightens when he sees me, pops the back door, and nods at the garment bag hanging inside.
“Change on the way,” he says, calm as ever. “We’ve got thirty minutes, if traffic’s kind.”
