Keep Her Safe(70)

Noah averts his gaze to the floor, and I feel a twinge of guilt. I need to remember the difficult position he’s in when I lash out at him.

“This is about my father, so we’re in this together, all the way.”

“It’s just . . . my mother said something that night, about it being safer not to ask questions. And I promised your mother I’d keep you safe.”

“Did you happen to notice where I’ve been living for the past fourteen years?” I can’t help the sharpness in my voice. “I don’t need you protecting me. I can take care of myself.”

The doorbell rings then, interrupting our argument, which is far from over.

I check the stove clock with a frown. “It’s seven thirty in the morning. Who would come to your door this early?”

It rings again, three times in quick succession, and Noah groans.





CHAPTER 30


Noah

“Three . . . two . . .” I count down quietly, my hand on the knob, “ . . . and let the ball-busting begin.”

“As if I’d let you bail on me.” Jenson’s dressed in his usual shorts and T-shirt. He’s even got his basketball tucked under his arm, ready to go.

“I can’t today. I’ve got a lot to do.”

“I’ll bet.” He gives me a knowing look.

“I told you, it’s not like that.”

He holds up his hands in surrender. “All right! Me and Candace are hooking up later. You should come out. Dana was asking about you.”

“Nah, I’m good.” It sounds bad, but I haven’t thought about Candace’s friend for weeks.

“Why not?” Jenson’s face is full of mock innocence. “It’s a guaranteed lay, and God knows you could use one.”

I grit my teeth and glance over my shoulder. Jenson has a booming voice, the kind that carries down a hallway and right to a girl’s ears.

My move gives him the perfect chance to shove his way past me, muttering, “Knew it,” as he stalks down the hall to the kitchen. He stops at the doorway and takes in Gracie.

Her back is to him as she butters fresh toast, her slender arm flexing. “Hello, Noah’s loud friend,” she says without turning.

“Hello, girl cooking in Noah’s kitchen,” Jenson responds with a wide smirk, his eyes trailing downward, stalling on her little cotton shorts. She may have one of the most perfect asses I’ve ever seen and my friend is admiring it.

Gracie uses a fork to pile strips of bacon onto her plate. “Do you always stare?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never met a girl that can keep Marshall from playing ball. I’m not sure you’re real.”

“I can come over and punch you, if that’ll make you a believer.”

Jenson laughs. He thinks this is a game. He thinks she’s joking. I think she still has that knife in her purse.

With a sigh of exasperation, she finally turns around to size Jenson up with her cool mint-green eyes, her wild, curly hair a sexy halo around her perfect face.

His grin only widens. “Hi, I’m Jenson.”

“Hi, Jenson. I’m sorry Noah won’t come out and play with you today.”

“Oh, he will. For at least five minutes, unless he wants me to start telling the hot girl in his kitchen all kinds of mortifying stories. Like this one time . . .”

With her plate in her hand, Gracie strolls over to the French door to allow Cyclops in.

Jenson’s face twists up, suitably distracted. “What the fuck is that?”

“Noah’s new dog. Isn’t he cute?”

“No, he’s not even ugly cute. He’s plain ugly.”

“I’m going to change. Don’t you dare leave without me, Noah.” With one last warning glare my way, she heads up the stairs, Jenson’s gaze on her the entire way.

He lets out a soft whistle. “Firecracker is right.”

I sigh. Why did I think she’d let me get away with ducking out on her?

“Sounds like you’ve got a few minutes to kill.” Jenson spins the ball on the tip of his finger.

I could use his ear. Grabbing the ball from his hands, I head toward the front door, happy to be out of that kitchen. “Five minutes. But don’t piss off my neighbors.”



* * *



“So she’s the reason I haven’t seen you since Thursday?”

Jenson bounces the ball at a steady, slow rhythm. The sound isn’t too bad, but the dirty look I got from Mr. Stiles, as he left his seat on his front porch to read his newspaper inside, tells me it’s a nuisance all the same.

Jenson’s been my best friend since the first grade. He’s also like a dog on a bone when he wants something. “Yeah, but it’s not what you think.”

“For the record, I call bullshit. But if you’re telling the truth, then you’re an idiot.” Jenson’s arms go up and the ball sails over my head and through the basketball net. It bounces back, and no sooner has he grabbed it than he throws it to me. I automatically reach for it, dribble and shoot, the action as unconscious for me as breathing is.

“She didn’t come here because of me.”

“What’s she doing here, then?”

“It’s a long story.” Where the hell do I even start?