Breaking the Rules (Pushing the Limits #1.5)(66)

Just f*ck me.

The dim light from the clock radio shines against Isaiah’s double row of earrings, and he jacks his thumb in the direction of the bathroom. We’ve been living together in cramped quarters for over a year and have memorized each other’s rhythms. “You want the shower?”

“It’s yours,” I mumble. “I’m going to grab Echo some coffee. You want anything?”

Beth launches a pillow at me, and I catch it in midair before it can hit Echo. “For you two to shut up and go back to bed.”

“We’re good,” Isaiah answers, ignoring Beth. Like a predator in the jungle, he moves across the hotel room, not making a sound. My best friend can be easygoing on the outside, but he’s damn lethal if pushed.

Light seeps from under the closed door of the bathroom, and Isaiah starts the shower.

I throw the pillow back at Beth and smile when it smacks her head. “One day, Noah, I’m going to kick your ass.”

“Bring it, Beth,” I mutter, knowing she can hear the tease in my voice.

I glance down, startled to find Echo staring up at me. Her hands are tucked under her cheek and from the soft glow of light, I detect an unfamiliar glaze in her eyes.

“Go back to sleep.” I caress her cheek, hoping she’ll shut her eyes with the downward motion. “You don’t have anywhere to be.”

Echo’s eyes drift closed but then snap back open. This is why she doesn’t like the pills. She said it’s hard for her to wake up and stay awake. “Don’t leave me here alone.”

I chuckle then lean down to brush my lips to hers. Echo responds, but not with the fierceness I’m used to. Her kiss is soft and groggy, and she’s damn sexy as she wraps her body once again around mine to settle into another round of sleep.

A part of me goes hard as steel while other parts soften. It’s been over twenty-four hours since I loved Echo properly, and my body is begging to do it again. Under the covers, I stroke my hand along her spine and continue until my palm curves around her ass. The waiting to be physical again is creating a friction between us that’s close to becoming electric.

“You are so bad,” she whispers, more asleep than awake.

“I’m just getting started, baby.”

“I’m gagging over here,” says Beth.

“I hear showers help,” Echo says to me, with a soft laugh that plays over my skin. “Cold ones.”

Damn, I’m being ganged up on. “Beth and Isaiah are only with us for a few more days, Echo, and then you’re mine.”

That siren smile I love so much briefly graces her lips, but then her eyes twitch beneath her closed lids, her breathing becomes rhythmic and her forehead relaxes. She’s fallen into a dream. Not a nightmare. A normal, every night dream.

Grateful, I say a prayer to the God that had forsaken me years ago and kiss the top of Echo’s head. Normal isn’t something Echo and I take for granted.

When I’m sure she’s out again, I untangle myself, throw on a shirt and shoes and grab her car keys. Isaiah opens the door to the bathroom, and steam pours out. He sports a pair of jeans and no shirt.

“Wear some clothes around my girl.”

Isaiah digs through his duffel bag. “Why? She already knows I’m the better-looking one. Echo chose you because you’ve got that smooth mouth.”

Jackass. “I’m heading. Watch over her, all right?”

“S’all good.”

I open the door and look over Echo’s sleeping form. Is having bad family better than having no family? Guess it’s time to figure it out.

Echo

I woke to an empty bed and to Beth and Isaiah playing travel chess.

Chess.

At first I thought I was dreaming, and that the Mad Hatter was going to magically appear and whisk me away to Wonderland while we chased large white bunnies, but then Beth called Isaiah an * for the move he made, and I knew I was awake.

I dressed leisurely, hoping Noah would return. I called him once. Sent a text. It was weird enough that Noah left without saying something to me and weirder to have to wait for a response with an audience. When there was no reply, I headed to the art gallery.

There’s a low hum in the attic studio, and it reminds me of art class in high school, including the girls whispering as they peer at me.

With my cell resting on the easel in case Noah checks in, I sit on a stool and study the blank canvas. Painting or drawing something has never been an issue before, but the oomph needed to paint the Aires constellation escapes me. Not one inkling of where to start or what shades I’d like to use. Not. One. Thought.

Oh, dear God in heaven, I’m experiencing writer’s block.

As if they can hear my internal screaming, the two girls who can’t be much older than me once again whisper to one another then gawk.

My fingers form into a fist. Really? Just really? “Is there a problem?”

Some of the “low hum” in the room dies off as I channel my inner Beth. Guess I am affected by who I hang with. Who would have thought those guidance counselors had it right?

They both stare at anyone other than me, and one starts to pick at the strands of her paintbrush. Strand girl, the one with hair so black it looks blue, plucks at the brush as if she’s sifting out the split ends. “We...uh...we’re wondering...um...”