Page 34 of Too Safe

That’s something else I’ll have to figure out. But that’s a problem for tomorrow, after I’ve gotten some sleep.

I shower on autopilot, which is a shame, because the water pressure is fabulous, and the temperature stays scalding hot the entire time. I get a smug bit of satisfaction about using up all the hot water before I remember who I’m living with and just how rich he must be to afford a fancy-ass bathroom like this.Attached to the guestroom. There are probably a half a dozen more like it here, too. I doubt this is the type of place that runs out of hot water.

Begrudgingly, I dry off and admit to myself that, under different circumstances, that might have been the best shower I’ve ever taken.

Just like the bed might be the comfiest I’ve ever had the privilege of lying on.

There’s a Lake Chapel U crewneck in the closet, along with several pairs of sweatpants and T-shirts. Pulling on clean sweats feels wonderful but does nothing to ease the lethargy threatening to pull me under.

I lock the bedroom door—another small mercy; the lock actually works—then close the blinds, shrouding the room in darkness. Then I crawl into the annoyingly comfortable bed, resolved to let myself rest. A quick nap will help me get my head on straight so I can figure out my next move.

I wake with a start, groaning as I blindly pat the bed in search of my phone. Blinking the sleep out of my eyes, I practically leap off the mattress when the screen lights up with the time.

It’s just after seven, meaning I’ve slept the entire day away.

I’ve got multiple missed calls from Hunter, which is almost enough to send me into a panic spiral. What the hell am I supposed to tell her?

After several minutes of contemplating my phone, I decide a text is the safest bet.

Joey: Hey girl. Sorry I’ve been MIA all day. I got caught up with something and totally lost track of time.

That’s all true. I have no idea where the day went—I never sleep that soundly, especially in a new place. Stupid comfy bed and fancy blackout curtains.

Hunter: Phew! I’m happy to hear from you. I was starting to worry! No big deal. We still on for the party at Crusade’s tomorrow?

If she only fucking knew…

Joey: Yes, for sure. Let’s meet at the party. I have a few things to take care of first.

Like figuring out how to explain my new living arrangements, for starters.

Hunter: Perf! My stepdad’s making me go watch my stepbrother play tomorrow so I won’t be at the LCU game. But I’ll see you after!

Fuck. I had almost forgotten about the football game. The game I’m required to attend, according to Decker, the bossy fucker.

If the guys have a game tomorrow, then, with any luck, maybe they’ll be at practice tonight.

I creep toward the door and unlock it silently, then open it just an inch. I hear nothing. Though I wish that meant that I’m alone, I don’t trust it. The trouble with mansions? They’re so damn big it’s impossible to get a sense of who may be where in the house.

I can’t ignore the rumbling in my stomach much longer. I spent a good chunk of my childhood in a constant state of hunger, especially on weekends or when my mom would lock me out. I haven’t gone without a meal since I was old enough to get a job and take care of myself, but that doesn’t stop the hunger pangs from hitting hard, especially when I’m feeling so emotionally strung out.

I decide it’s worth the risk of running into the guys to scrounge up food. My optimism grows as I tiptoe down the winding staircase and enter the huge kitchen. It’s empty, and the house is quiet.

Grinning to myself, I practically skip to the fridge but freeze when the clinking of silverware and soft murmurs waft in from the deck.

“Josephine.”

I grip the handle of the refrigerator tight as my teeth snap together. And to think I was obtuse enough to assume I was alone for one brief moment…

“Come out here and join us.”

I cautiously pad my way over to the sliding glass door and peer out. There is an absolutely massive spread of food covering the table, and the guys are all here.

Decker, Kylian, Locke, and Kendrick. Sitting around the table and enjoying a meal, as if they didn’t kidnap a woman and upend her whole life this morning.

“Sit,” Decker says. It’s a one-word command. The kind one would give a dog.

I scan each seat—there are four empty chairs at the table, each next to one of the four men.

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