Noah slung his messenger bag over one shoulder and smoothed down the front of his tie. “I’d rather be proactive about it. You never know what’ll happen later.”
“You sure it’s not because you want to see me again?” I smiled cheekily. He didn’t say anything, but his flat stare was answer enough. I held my hands up to show I was kidding. “Fair enough. All right, another hour on Friday.”
“See you then.”
He walked out the door, disappearing almost as quickly as he’d come.
CHAPTER10
A Thief
Thursday was even lessfun than Monday.
Why I agreed to cater an event that required me to show up before eight in the morning on a Thursday, I’d never be sure. It was some sort of breakfast hoopla for a corporate conference. I regretted everything.
Teresa wasn’t scheduled for this one since she had a working brain and was smart enough to say no. But she was also kind enough to drop me off so I wouldn’t have to take the bus and be late. One of the many reasons I’d nominated her for the Super Cool Roommate award.
It felt pointless since I could only be there for an hour before I had to rush back to campus for Philosophy class, but apparently Mr. Everton was desperate after some volunteers cancelled, and yours truly made the cut as a van unloader.
Unfortunately, there hadn’t been enough time for coffee before our little road trip began, and I passed out with my face smooshed against the passenger window before Teresa could pull away from the curb.
Twenty minutes later, I wasn’t faring much better as I tugged boxes of croissants out of the catering van’s side door.
If I had ever thought van unloading sounded like a fun job, that was quickly corrected within the first five minutes of unloading.
Croissants weren’t very heavy;logicallymy brain understood that. They weren’t, really. So why did it feel like I was carrying a box full of miniature bowling balls as my noodle arms continued to drag closer and closer to the dew-covered grass I trudged across?
This totally wasn’t worth the money it was adding to The Noah Fund.
“You okay?” one of the other highly valued van unloaders asked as he sidled up beside me. I tried not to gape at the two crates of fruit in his bulging arms.
Show-off.
“Yeah.” I shuffled toward the side of the building as he strolled leisurely beside me.
“You look tired,” Mr. Muscles said, even going so far as to point a finger at my face while balancing the crates with one hand.
Brawny bastard.
“I’m fine,” I said through a tight smile before setting my box down beside the building’s side door.
Okay, so it was actually three feet away from the door, but it was close enough. My arms tingled as I shook them out.
I was still floating in a hazy sleep fog as Mr. Muscles and I trudged back toward the van—which felt football fields further away than it had when we’d first gotten here.
I wondered how much jail time one would get for killing a roommate who signed them up for a catering job.
“Why don’t you pull some more items to the back of the van?” my partner suggested as we reached the back doors. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the building. “I’ll take another load in and grab us some coffee.”
Maybe guardian angels really did exist.
My shoulders sagged in relief, and I sent the super van unloader the warmest smile I could manage—which I usually reserved for saints like Scott and the barista at Starbucks who put enough extra shots into my Americanos to fuel a small army. “Thank you, thank you,thank you.”
He laughed—maybe a little uneasily—before scratching the back of his head and picking up more crates of fruit. I debated collapsing onto the grass but convinced myself to hop in the stuffy van and pretend I was doing something productive until he went inside. I fiddled around with nothing and stealthily watched his progress toward the building over my shoulder.
The very second his shoulders disappeared behind the side door, I stumbled out of the van and leaned against its warm side as my burning eyelids fluttered closed. Resting my eyes for just a quick minute sounded like a swell idea. Then I’d be refueled enough to get back to the grind.
Mornings sucked.
