“You hungry?” she shouts down the hall.
I shove the sheets into the washer and reach for the detergent.
“I’m making fried bologna sandwiches!”
My stomach growls.
“Yes,” I yell back. “Very.”
The washer starts with a loud slosh of water as I close the lid.
I jog upstairs and duck into my bedroom.
I strip out of my walk-of-shame clothes and toss them into the hamper before pulling on black leggings and an oversize University of Wyoming sweatshirt.
Much better.
I drag a brush through my hair, twist it into a messy bun, and head back downstairs.
The smell of fried bologna and toasted bread makes my mouth water.
Charli is carrying two plates, and I follow her to the dining room, where Shelby is seated biting into a sandwich.
I take the seat beside her, a pot of coffee already waiting. I pour myself a cup and take a long sip.
And both of them smile.
Not normal smiles.
Predatory ones.
Charli sits across from me and slides one of the plates in front of me.
“Thanks,” I say immediately.
She smiles. “Judging by your housekeeping this morning …” she begins. “You must’ve had a real good night.”
“It was fine,” I say.
Shelby snorts. “Fine?”
I rub my face with both hands. “We had a good time.”
Both of them lean closer, like bloodhounds catching a scent.
“We’re gonna need details,” Charli says.
I shake my head. “Nuh-uh.”
They both groan loudly.
“Oh, come on,” Shelby says.
“Spare us the modesty act,” Charli says. “We tell you everything. So, talk.”
I sigh and pick up my sandwich. “We stayed in one of the new cabins,” I say, then cut my eyes to Charli. “Thank you for that suggestion, by the way.”
“You’re welcome,” she chirps.
