I wonder how she reacted when they texted her. There’s no way that Goldie hasn’t shot off a text to her sister by now.
Shit, maybe I should sleep with one eye open.
I grin to myself as I pass through the doorway before I’m immediately assaulted by the loudest fucking shriek I’ve ever heard. It’s like there’s a pack of fucking coyotes in the room.
My hands fly up, towel sailing through the air before I’m gut-checked. My stomach caves in as I fold over with a grunt.
“What the fuck!”
I let out a winded exhale as I hear, “Chase?”
Evie.
My eyes spring open as I shoot to standing and see her holding a fancy iron lamp. It’s still aimed at me like she’s going to try and impale me again.
“Oh my god,” she screams again. “Put it away.” She dramatically covers her eyes, dropping the lamp and muttering, “My eyes. My eyes.”
I cup both my hands over myself, even though she isn’t looking, as I frantically look for the towel, internally cursing Noah even further for not having actual towels. Although it’s not like she hasn’t seen me in flagrante delicto before.
My head’s swinging around before I spot my tiny towel and swipe it off the floor, holding it in front of me like a ridiculous salmon-colored loincloth.
“Are you decent yet?” she presses, peeking through her fingers. Before I can say anything, she answers for me. “Stupid question. You’ve never been decent.”
I narrow my eyes. “Calm down, Virgin ... ia Woolf. It’s not like you haven’t seen the goods.”
She crosses her arms, her eyes locked to mine. “Beer goggles are a cruel bitch. I’ve had enough disappointment this year.”
Oh, she thinks she’s funny... I chuckle, but more like I might wring her neck as I raise my brows.
“Yeah,” I toss back, “you sure you don’t want to do a little comparison?”
I pretend I’m going to move the towel, so she shoots her hand out.
“Okay, okay. I take it back. That was too low. Keep it covered.”
I suck my top teeth before I give her a small nod as an acceptance of her insinuated apology.
Evie blows out a breath, swinging her braids over her shoulder. “Why are you in my shower? Because what the hell, Chase? Did you actually think because my sister offered you her house that it included me?”
I frown. “What?”
She ignores my question. “This is so like you. God. We had one moment that lasted seventeen minutes and thirty-four seconds. Why would I ever want to repeat that?”
I scoff. Not once, not twice, but four times, then stab my finger toward the bed.
“Number one, I know you knew I was coming, so this is premeditated assault. Number two, I thought this was the guest room. Come on, what kind of psycho makes the bed like that?”
Her lips part to talk trash, then press together as her eyes shift to the bed.Uh-oh, Evie’s at a loss for words.The only thing I can think about is that Oprah interview with Harry and Meghan where she said,Were you silent or silenced?
Ooo, silenced Evie.
It’s like she can hear me celebrate in my head because her eyes meet mine before they roll again.
“You’re such a cretin. Crazy people don’t make beds; polite ones do. But by all means, keep living like the Peter Pan frat boy you are. I bet you wipe your ass with your hand.”
“Wanna check?” She scowls as I add, “Then go on, Miss Manners. Turn around, unless you want a full shot of my ass—”
Dammit. Why is she so good at this? Sarcasm is like her superpower. Still, I keep trying to hang and do a little spin motion with my finger for her to turn around.
