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“Get upstairs,” he says. “Go to sleep.”
“I’m bored.”
His jaw flexes, and I wish everyone would go away. I want him to myself.
“Then hide,” Farrow suggests.
He looks at me, amused, and then stands up, announcing, “All the girls hide.”
A round of silence, followed by gasps of excitement follow.
“Just the girls?” some guy asks.
A glint of mischief touches Farrow’s eyes because how old-fashioned to assume men don’t enjoy being prey once in a while too.
“Fuck it,” Farrow says. “Whoever wants to be found by me.”
Squeals and shuffling go off as everyone scrambles, and I lean down, waiting until Hunter looks me in the eyes,distracted, before I slip his keys off the table and hide them in my fist.
“Bet you won’t be the first to find me,” I say softly.
Backing away, I avoid the stairs, taking the hallway leading to the kitchen. He doesn’t want to play, but there are lots of guys here who will.
He won’t like that.
“One, two…” Farrow starts counting. “Three…”
Twisting around, I dash into the kitchen, out of view, and step through the thin stairwell door. Codi sits at the kitchen table, sketching. She looks up at me and then back down.
I close myself into the spiral staircase and press the wall to my left, watching the panel slide right.
The stairs are wooden, unlike the stone ones in my house. I jog down, closing the panel again, and descend into the basement. I noticed yesterday morning when I rushed through here to sneak into his bedroom, taking the spiral staircase all the way up to the second floor, that this area of the house was renovated while the one in mine wasn’t. It makes sense if this was a house Ciaran used, while the one next door was left to rot.
Walking briskly, I push through the basement door and into the backyard that’s encased by a wall, whereas mine is surrounded by a rusty chain-link fence. Rain pours down on me, immediately plastering my flyaways to my face.
Holding the keys in my hand, I leave through the wooden door to my left, sneaking under the windows of his house, and beneath the tree next to mine.
His car is parked where he left it when he dragged me out, threw me over his shoulder, and carried me up to his room.
He should’ve just taken me for a ride, like I wanted. Now, I have to leave his Camaro downtown because I’m going to get my bike.
Fitting the key into the lock, I twist it and pull open the door, but a hand shoots out and slams it shut again.
My heart skips a beat as I look down at slender fingers, tanned with the veins coursing just underneath the skin. Water pours over his hand, and I can see our reflection in the window with light coming from the porch.
He covers my back, his chin resting at the side of my head.
“I’m going to get my bike,” I say calmly. “You’ll have to stop me.”
“You think I can’t?”
“I think you can’t.”
And I watch him watch me in the window as I pull down the zipper of the tight little jacket Quinn gave me, revealing I have nothing on underneath. No shirt. No bra. I don’t smile, and I don’t smirk.
My heart is trying to beat out of my chest.
The curves of my breasts peek out, and he exhales hard, pressing me into the wet glass. “Dylan,” he pants. “We’re on the street. Stop.”
