Page 356 of Ruthless Court

“You’re building a barricade?”

“Possibly.”

I turn toward the hallway.

Then glance back over my shoulder.

“Actually, I’m more likely to spoon him.”

Dead silence.

I wink.

And walk away.

The explosion behind me follows me halfway down the hall.

“HAVERHILL.”

“BRO.”

“SHE SAID SPOON.”

“Shut up,” Kane says.

I bite my lip to keep from laughing.

For some reason, I feel sexy.

Which is absurd.

I am wearing a faded Stranger Things T-shirt beneath an enormous Stanford hoodie, red-and-black flannel pajama pants, fuzzy socks, and tortoiseshell glasses thick enough to redirect sunlight.

My hair is loose because I took it down after the movie.

No makeup.

No contacts.

Nothing engineered to impress Kane Haverhill.

And I feel sexy.

Maybe because he looked at me tonight like none of those things needed fixing.

I reach his bedroom.

The door is open.

My bags sit neatly beside the dresser.

Not dumped.

Not tossed onto a chair.

Stacked.

Overnight bag.