Page 217 of Ruthless Court

“Maybe the villain time-traveled.”

“That language didn’t exist.”

“He’s innovative.”

“No legitimate excavation operates like this.”

“It would be a short movie if everyone completed the permits.”

She laughs.

Her shoulders gradually loosen.

The blanket slips lower.

At some point, she reaches across me for the popcorn. Her hair brushes my jaw.

Thick.

Wavy.

Soft enough that I have to fight the urge to wind it around my fingers.

It smells like almonds and something warmer underneath.

She returns to her side with a handful of popcorn, unaware the whole room just shifted.

Or pretending to be.

Halfway through the movie, Hannah’s commentary slows.

Then stops.

Her head settles against my shoulder.

I go still.

Her breathing evens out, one hand resting loosely near my arm beneath the blanket.

Hannah Goodwin has fallen asleep on me.

The movie continues, light shifting across the room. I lower the volume and look down.

Without the sarcasm ready on her tongue, her face softens. A tiny freckle sits high on her cheek. Her long lashes rest against smooth skin behind the lenses of her glasses.

The gold star remains on her chin.

Her thick hair spills across my shoulder in dark waves, carrying that faint almond scent I recognized before I recognized her.

I want to push it away from her face.

I don’t.

Any movement might wake her, and I’m not ready for the walls to return.

My shoulder starts going numb.

I stay still.