Page 75 of The One Night Dash
I hold her hand over my mouth and kiss her palm. “Only sweet dreams for you from now on, Noelle Pembrooke.”
“Shit, shit, shit, shit,”I hear right before a door closes.
I crack open an eye, see the sun is coming up, and spring up. “Morning, sweets. I am so sorry. I’m good with a window exit.”
She holds up my shoes. “These were outside my door. Did you really take off your shoes before I snuck you in?”
“Habit. Shit.”
“Fifteen-minute warning,” someone sing-songs from outside the door.
Noelle shakes her head then starts shaking her hands.
Spirit fingers?
I get up and erase the space between us.
“Morning, Pembrooke.” I kiss her quickly. “All righty, got a few questions that need answers to determine how to come up with a play.”
She rolls her eyes.
“Whole family going to trot with turkeys?”
She narrows those brown eyes at me and nods.
“Easy then. I’ll just hang in here until you all leave. Shoot me a text when it’s all clear.”
She holds up my shoes.
I scrub a hand over my face, trying not to crack a smile I know would not be appreciated.
She arches a brow.
I pop a kiss on her forehead. “Tell them they’re your lucky running shoes?”
She shoves them against my chest and stomps—rather silently, might I add—toward what I assume is her bathroom, reminding me that I really have to piss.
I scope out her room in the daylight and wonder if she picked out any of this. It just doesn’t feel like Noelle at all. Not one worn book in the space. No pile of clothes in a basket. No cat. Nothing Noelle.
I freeze when I hear movement behind me, then a whispered, “What the hell, Ethan? I said to leave it alone.”
The door closes behind me, and I still don’t move.
I’m not delusional; I know there is no way they didn’t see me. I mean, not only am I in the middle of the room, but I’m six-foot-three and two hundred and thirty-seven pounds.
“What’s the big deal, anyway? You sneak girls in all the time, Caleb. I never tell.”
I hear a smack then a scuffle and turn around as I see them pushing each other.
“Yo,” I say in a low voice, hoping no one outside of this room—or in the bathroom—hears.
Both stop and look at me. The older one shakes his head, and the younger one elbows him.
“Told you, fuckstick.”
“Look, I fell asleep while we were talking.”
Caleb nods, Ethan eyes me. Or is it the other way around? Not that it matters. The older one’s not buying it; the younger one is.
