In Your Dreams (Falling #4)(9)

“You know we went to school with her, right?” he says, his tone rising at the end. He’s going to give me shit.

“Oh yeah, yeah. Murph. Totally—she looks…a little different…” I swallow, not knowing if she’s different at all. Houston breaks into laughter in an instant.

I guessed wrong.

“She looks exactly the same, except for her hair might be a little longer, and it’s purple. You have no idea who I’m talking about, do you?” he chuckles.

“Dude, I don’t know. I knew a lot of people back in high school. I can’t remember everybody,” I say, pulling up slowly to another pointless stoplight. I give both sides a quick glance and then move on to the freeway ramp.

“Whatever, man. Our school graduated like…a hundred people. You just didn’t pay attention to girls unless they were interested in you,” he says.

“Uhm, that’s not true. I paid attention to Beth, and Logan Sheffield,” I say, throwing out the only chicks from our high school that I honestly really remember. Beth was Houston’s girl, and Logan had enormous tits and put out like crazy, so yeah…I remember her.

“No wonder Murphy wrote a song about you being an *,” he says, punctuating his words with a laugh. It’s a joke, but it kinda hurts.

“Fuck off,” I say. “It’s not that kind of song. Or…whatever, even if. Point is, she’s good. Did you get her number?”

“Shit,” he says. “No, I was too caught up in the fact that I knew her. We only talked for a few minutes. I bet her parents still live in that house though…”

“And that house would be…” I fill in, waiting for more direction.

“Well if you remembered her, then I guess you’d know,” he teases.

“Houston, come on. Where does she live?” I ask.

“I’ll show you tomorrow,” he chuckles. “You crashing here so I can have my car in the morning?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there in half an hour. I’ll try not to wake you,” I say.

“Gee, thanks,” Houston says, laughing once more before hanging up.

Murphy Sullivan.

I hit PLAY on my phone in my lap and listen to her voice a few more times during my drive to Houston’s. It isn’t familiar. Nothing about her is familiar. But hell if she isn’t gifted. And f*ck if I’m not obsessed.





Chapter 3





Casey


Houston’s alarm sounds at five on the nose. It’s loud, and it plays country—old-fashioned, unhappy, dog-died country. He hates country, so I have no clue why he would torture himself at the crack of dawn with that noise, but what I really care about right now is why he would make that thing so loud that it wakes me up too.

“Mornin’,” he says with a smirk, coffee in one hand and newspaper spread open in the other. Who the f*ck still reads a newspaper?

I slide in my socks the rest of the way down the stairs and flip him off, which only makes him chuckle. I spent the night in his spare room on that bed made of rocks. Houston and his daughter live with his mom, so the house is quiet. It’s also kept at eighty degrees, and every time I spend the night here, I sweat my balls off. The last person who slept in this room was Houston’s new girlfriend, Paige. She went home to California for the summer, but I swear she left a gallon of her strong-ass perfume behind on this bed. Add being hot—and smelling like lilacs—to the fact that my friend woke my ass up before the sun, and I’m pretty much a ticking bomb right now.

“Why?” I ask, rubbing my face and climbing into the chair on the opposite side of the table from him. I pull the hoodie I’m wearing up over my head, trying to shade myself from the glaring lights of his kitchen.

“Why what, Case?” he answers, not really looking at me. Goddamn smile is hovering over his coffee cup, though.

“Since when are you a country fan?” I ask, letting my forehead fall to a complete rest on the table.

“Oh, I’m not,” he says. I roll my head to the side and quirk a brow as he bends the newspaper down to do the same and meet my gaze. “But I know you’re not, and that made a rough wake-up call worth it.”

He stares at me for a few seconds, and I let my eyes fall to slits.

“You’re a real dick,” I say, rolling my head back toward the table, hiding my eyes again.

“Sure I am, Casey. You keep telling yourself that,” he laughs.

“I need your car again,” I say.

“No,” he answers quickly.

“I’ll drop you off at work and have it back to you in time for you to be done with your shift. I’m buying one on Craigslist today,” I say, talking over him and ignoring his first response.

“I’m pretty sure I said no,” he says.

“Yeah, but you always do. Anyhow,” I say while he sighs at the other end of the table. “Where does this Murphy live? Show me on the way to the store.”

“Case, it’s…” he twists in his chair to look at the clock over his shoulder, “…not even five thirty in the morning. You can’t go to her parents’ house right now.”

“Uhm, believe me. I’m well aware of how butt-crack early it is right now. I’ll go later. Just show me where it is so I can,” I lie. I’m going to that house the second I drop his ass off at work. I won’t wake anyone up, but I’m sure as shit sitting in the driveway until I see some sign of life inside.