“Ha, ha.” Shaking her head, she steps around me as I shut her door, pressing the key fob to lock the doors to my truck, before following her up the steps to her door.
Without turning around when she slides her key in the door’s lock, she tosses over her shoulder, “Since it’s well past one in the morning, are you just seeing me safely to my door or are you assuming you’re invited in to stay the night?”
I falter because … hell. I’ve never actually been in this position before. Never. I’ve always been the one calling the shots. I’ve never been—
She spins around to face me, looking amused. “Relax, Kavanaugh.”
Crowding her against the front door, I dip my head, bringing our lips close but not touching. “That’s not funny.”
Her lips curve into a smug grin. “I think it is. Seemed like you were getting your panties in a bit of a twist.”
“But I’m not the one wearing panties. You are.”
Her eyebrows arch with an innocent look. “Oh? Am I?”
Wait just a minute. My eyes drift down, trying to recall if I saw panty lines earlier, but then I remember she wears thongs that normally don’t show. Shit. Did she really go without underwear in that damn dress the entire night?
“Well, it’s been fun, Kavanaugh.” She lets out a loud, exaggerated yawn. “Night, night.” Giving me a quick peck on the cheek, she turns, steps inside, and quietly shuts the door.
In my face.
I’m standing here like a fucking idiot on her doorstep. Shit. Roughly running a hand over my face, I hear the slight rasp of my palm against the start of my scruff along my jawline.
“Time to take your sorry ass home, Kavanaugh,” I mutter to myself. God, I’m pathetic. Just as I turn to descend the stairs, I hear the door open behind me.
“You wouldn’t happen to know anyone who’d like to snuggle with me naked tonight, would you?”
My shoulders sag in relief, turning toward her as I try to appear thoughtful. “I might know someone…”
“Oh?” Noelle appears like she’s trying to stifle her smile, standing with one hand on her hip. “Well, he has to be a fan of funnel cake.”
I take a step closer. “What if he only likes funnel cake when you feed it to him?”
“We might be able to work something out.” Her voice comes out husky as I step closer. Reaching out, I slide a hand behind her head and cup the nape of her neck to brush a light kiss against her lips. She links her fingers with mine, turning and stepping inside, closing the door behind us and locking it.
And it’s only then that I realize I can breathe easier.
Removing our shoes at the door, we stand, watching each other; her back is against the wall and mine is against the front door. I realize I have my holstered weapon at my side, loaded and ready, having determined it was wiser—especially with everything currently going on—to keep it on me if I’m at her place. Of course, I left it unloaded and locked in the console of my truck while we enjoyed the festivities earlier, the clip of ammunition remaining safely in my pocket. Reaching for my holster to remove it and set it aside, something catches my eye, drawing my actions to a halt.
The alarm system lights aren’t lit which means that someone’s tampered with it. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, my ears catching the faintest shuffling sound in her small home.
Pressing my hand over Noelle’s lips, silently commanding her to stay out of sight, I mouth, “Call nine-one-one, now.”
Cautiously, moving down the hallway, I find the asshole I recognize from a photo Noelle had shown me early on—Brad—with a gun he doesn’t look comfortable holding. That alone makes me uneasy because if he’s not familiar with handling a gun it increases the chances of him misusing or carelessly firing it.
“You planning on turning around and walking out of here, man?” My weapon—still holstered—is beneath my hand as I watch him carefully, eyeing that damn finger he already has on the trigger. “Or are you planning on this going a different way?”
Brad sneers. “Look at you, thinking you’re going to shoot me before I get a shot off—”
“There’s no thinking about it. I know I’ll shoot you first. Big difference.”
“You’re fucking crazy.”
“Maybe.” My tone is deadly calm. “But the fact remains, you don’t put down your weapon, there’s a chance you’ll leave here either in an ambulance or in a body bag. Dropping the gun is your only safe option.”
“Not gonna hap—” he doesn’t finish, his finger moving on the trigger, firing into the wall to the side of me, shards of dry wall spraying from the bullet’s force. But not before I quickly draw my weapon, hitting him where I intended—in the arm, causing him to drop his own gun. A red bloom begins to spread, dampening the sleeve of his shirt, his hand instantly going to his wound. Rushing him, I nudge his gun aside with my foot, out of his reach.
“You done being stupid?” My gun is still trained on him.
“You fucking shot me!”