Page 50 of Freshmeet
Snore.
“Jamie?”
Snore.
“Jackass?”
Jamie let loose a larger-than-life, sawing-logs, suck of air, and Sarah lost the battle against laughter. “I guess pancakes are out.”
My stomach sank. I didn’t want the night to end. “Why?”
She gestured toward my passed-out, drunk brother. “Mr. Pancakes is out for the count, and we’re . . . whatever we are.”
“I’m game if you are.”
Sarah put her hands on her hips and stared me down. Her pink lips pouted as she narrowed her eyes. “What about Meg?”
“What about her?”
Does she think I’m with Meg?
“Are you talking? Dating? Shacking?”
I frowned. “Shacking?”
Her lips twitched. “Are you hooking up?”
“Not that I’m aware of. What about you?”
“What about me?” Sarah lifted her eyebrows.
“Are you and Jamie talking? Dating? Shacking?”
Her face relaxed, and she dropped her fists from her hips. “No. We never have, never will. He knows that. He’s just being goofy.”
“Then I see no reason why two single people can’t go get pancakes at two thirty in the morning.”
Rubbing her stomach, she nodded. “Okay. I’m in. For the pancakes.”
“For the pancakes.”
I covered Jamie up with a blanket, stretched his legs out the length of the couch, and set a trash can by his head. Going to the door, I couldn’t stop smiling. The night went from shit to pretty damn good. “Shall we?”
“Let’s shall.” She floated past me with one hand in the air like a princess.
When we got to the car, I hurried to the passenger side and opened the door for her.
Sarah put her hand on her chest. “Such a gentleman.”
“I try.”
I closed her door and jogged around the front of the car, smiling like a fool. I got in, and as we drove out of the square, I turned on the radio.
“I like this song.” Sarah faced the window, tapping her fingers on her knee.
“What is it?”
She swung toward me, eyes wide and mouth agape. “You’ve got to be kidding!” She cranked the volume up as if that would jog my memory.
