Page 32 of Dear Future Husband (The Dearly Written #1)

“Uh, no. She just got here,” he said, my back against his front as his hands cradled my biceps.

Bear grunted what sounded like an agreement while Williams took a step toward me and Larson. “Yeah, what’s that about, Turner? You talk about this girl nonstop, then when she gets here, you monopolize all the time? We deserve some Maybelle time too.”

Trey stared at his friends, jaw slack with a hint of a smile. “It’s late. What do you plan on doing with her?”

Larson, the big friendly giant, leaned his head forward so when I tilted my head back and looked up, we were making eye contact. “Have you ever played Call of Duty?” he asked.

“Nope, but I’m a fast learner.”

His grip on my arms flexed. “Okay, Maybelle’s on my team.”

Bear took a place on the beanbag, remote in hand, while Larson and I sank into the small couch, fitting a lot better than two of the boys sitting on it.

Williams sprawled out on the floor on his stomach while Trey pulled up a stool from the kitchen counter.

Within minutes, we were all hollering. Larson was trying to instruct me on the functions of the remote while simultaneously yelling at Bear and Williams to do better.

A few times we had to pause the game so Williams and Larson could bicker a bit before resuming. Bear kept to himself, quietly massacring us all repeatedly.

I was terrible at it but enjoyed every second. The weekend was already off to a great start .

We got away with about two hours of video games before Trey pulled the remote from my hands. He tugged me off the couch, toward the bedroom at the end of the hallway, and told the rest of the guys to go to bed.

The final straw was probably Larson and I squabbling over who dropped the ball on who. All while Bear was snoring on the beanbag, and Williams chipped in to support me, if only to piss Larson off more.

“Okay, you take the bed. I’m all set up on the ground,” Trey said as he shut his bedroom door behind us.

His room was simple, sleek. His bed was all black covers, pillows with a folded gray blanket at the end of the mattress.

To the right side was a black dresser next to a door leading to a private bathroom.

To the left was a closet and a frame on the wall of what I guessed was his old jersey, probably from high school.

Next to his bed, a nightstand stood with a lamp and a small picture frame atop it.

I walked to it, picking up the picture to see it was the same one on my wall at home. The picture of me, Liam, and Trey on our graduation night.

“You’re welcome to change if you need. You can use the bathroom. I’m exhausted so I’m going to crash on my little spot, but if you need anything I’ll be right here,” he said as he made his way to the left side of the bed, where a pillow and blanket sat on the floor.

I met him there, grabbing his arm, and stopping him from laying out on the makeshift sleeping spot.

“Please, I won’t sleep tonight if you’re on the ground while I’m in your bed.” I pushed him toward the mattress, but he was immovable.

“What’s wrong? We do this at home.”

I tried to push harder, but he didn’t so much as sway.

Dropping my hands to my sides, I looked up at him. “Are you really arguing with me about sleeping in the same bed right now? ”

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 just turning 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?”

I lifted my uninjured elbow, checking out the skin in front of him before quirking a curious brow. “What about it?”

Standing from his seat at the counter, Williams finished his pop tart, nabbed a towel from the kitchen counter and wet it under the faucet.

“Come here,” he ordered, ringing out the cloth in the sink. I obeyed. When I approached him, he took hold of my arm and cleaned my aching joint.

“You going to tell me the truth now?” he asked; his eyes trained on my nasty scrape.

I sighed, hating having to admit defeat. “I was walking, and I tried to run. Made it two steps before I face-planted.”

He snorted, and I swatted his shoulder. “Can you please keep this between us? I don’t need Trey being more overprotective around me this weekend.”

His dark eyes met mine, holding for only a moment before he went back to work. “I’ll keep quiet about your fall if you keep quiet about seeing me eat his pop tarts.”

I grinned then hissed when he wiped at a particularly sensitive spot.

He left my side to reach up into a high cupboard where he pulled out a first aid kit. He recovered a bandage and placed it on my elbow. “Alright, good as new.”

“Thank you, Noah.”

I turned to retreat down the hall, back to Trey’s room but Williams cleared his throat.

“You know, I get it; Trey’s protectiveness can be a little smothering at times but cut him some slack. It’s how he cares for the people he loves and it’s nice knowing someone cares.”