Page 70 of Dear Future Husband

His eyes went wide for a second before a smile overtook him and he lowered himself onto the cloud-like mattress.

“No, ma’am,” he conceded, his hands lacing up my hips, pulling me forward until I nestled perfectly between his legs.

“Good,” I tried to sass, but it came out all breathy.

Trey’s hands splayed out against my sides, flexing before he latched on, pulling me up and over himself with minimal effort. He laid me out beside him on the bed.

We were on our sides, facing one another in the dark. Close enough to feel the other’s breaths.

“I really like your friends,” I whispered.

His hand lifted, fingertips tickling across my cheek before falling and finding a home intertwined in my fingers.

“Good, they really like you, too.”

My eyes were heavy, and the feel of Trey’s hand in mine, plus the closeness of his body easily lulled me to sleep. As I drifted, I could’ve sworn he spoke to me and I might’ve answered, but I was too far gone to recall those exchanged words.

Instead, I was dreaming.

Dreaming of running, sprinting in the sand. The sea air was combing through my curls. The waves were crashing with the beat of my heart, and I was running down a path.

A path that felt like running home.

***

I woke up early that morning.

Since I didn’t get to walk last night, I decided I would have to wake up at the crack of dawn to get in the exercise and go unnoticed by Trey.

I was out the door, shoes on with the sun only justturning the sky a pale blue. The air had a chill, and the hustle and bustle of the world was quiet, barely waking for the new day. I walked nearby streets, across a couple local parks and through the apartment complex.

It was the longest I’d gone yet, and I was hardly winded.

This weekend just seemed to get better and better.

Then a risky idea lit a light bulb above my head.

Annalise’s southern accent drifted in, to warn me against it, but I was already pushing the common sense away. I stood on a sidewalk, a parking lot away from Trey’s apartment. The walkway was flat enough.

So, I tried to run. I tried to sprint—two steps in and I was eating concrete.

I fell so hard—I lay there in the middle of the sidewalk for a few minutes, despite the passersby that paused their morning stroll to ask if I was alright.

Fortunately, nothing broke, but my already scuffed up knees were looking a little gnarly. I didn’t dare peek at my elbow when I saw blood smeared the sidewalk. Instead, I trembled to my feet and limped myself back to Trey’s apartment.

I ever so quietly slid the door open, snuck in and closed it. I readied myself to turn and tiptoe back to Trey’s room, but a muffled laugh stopped me dead in my tracks.

“Morning, little Mason.”

I turned slowly to see Noah sitting at the kitchen counter, eating a pop tart.

“Hi,” I huffed.

He took another careless bite of his pop tart. “Where have you been sneaking off to?”

I stood straight, tying my arms behind my back to hide my elbow. “I was just getting some fresh air.”

He made a show of inspecting his pop tart before slanting me a skeptical look. “And your elbow?”