Chapter 85 Morning After
Chapter 85 Morning After
Annabelle
The first thing I noticed when I opened my eyes was sunlight.
The second thing I noticed was James’s arm draped heavily across my waist.
The third thing I noticed was the time glowing on the motel alarm clock.
7:02 A.M.
For one blissful, half-asleep second, that meant nothing to me. Then the entire previous night came roaring back at once. The tire shop. The motel. The two rooms. The fact that Blake had been exiled because James and I were supposedly going to say goodnight for twenty minutes and then send him back.
I shot upright so fast James made a startled noise beside me.
“Shit.”
He cracked one eye open. “That doesn’t sound like a good morning.”
“James.”
“What?”
“We left Blake.”
His face scrunched in confusion for half a second before understanding hit. Then both his eyes opened.
“Oh fuck.”
“Yeah.”
He pushed himself onto one elbow and looked around the room like Blake might be hiding behind the dresser out of spite. “We told him twenty minutes.”
“And apparently we fell asleep.”
James rubbed both hands down his face, suddenly looking much more awake. “I feel like a terrible friend.”
“We are terrible friends.”
“I mean, he probably found somewhere to sleep.”
“Where, James? The vending machine?”
He winced. “Okay, fair.”
Guilt crawled up the back of my neck as I climbed out of bed and grabbed my jeans from the chair. Blake had been nothing but respectful last night. He’d given us privacy without complaint, probably because he understood how awkward the room situation was, and we had rewarded that generosity by accidentally abandoning him until morning.
Within minutes, James and I were dressed and stepping outside into the crisp morning air. The little motel parking lot looked painfully ordinary in daylight. A man in a baseball cap loaded a cooler into his truck. Someone’s kid complained loudly about not wanting a banana. Across the street, my car sat in the tire shop lot with one sad, ruined tire.
James squinted toward it. “You know what? I’m going to check the car.”
“The car?”
“Maybe he slept in it.”
That was not comforting, but it was at least a possibility. “Fine. You check the car. I’ll check Shannon’s room.”
“If he isn’t in either place, then we panic.”
“Deal.”
James jogged across the street while I headed toward Room Fourteen. I eased the door open just enough for me to peek inside.
“Shannon?”
Nothing.
For one heartbeat, my brain did not understand what it was seeing. The old motel television still glowed quietly across the room, casting a pale blue flicker over the bed. Shannon was curled against Blake’s chest beneath the tangled blanket, her bare back exposed where the comforter had slipped low. Blake’s arm rested around her waist like he had fallen asleep holding her and never let go.
I froze.
Then immediately stepped back and pulled the door shut as quietly as humanly possible.
“Oh my God,” I whispered.
James came jogging back across the street at the exact same moment, slightly out of breath.
“He’s not in the car.”
“I know.”
He slowed. “You know?”
I pointed at the door.
James looked at it. Then at me. Then back at it. His eyebrows climbed.
“No shit?”
“No shit.”
“With Shannon?”
“Unless there is another red head in that room sleeping naked with Blake, yes, James, with Shannon.”
For three full seconds, he said nothing. Then his face split into the biggest grin I had ever seen.
“My boy.”
I slapped his arm. “That is not the appropriate first response.”
“It is absolutely the appropriate first response. I have been campaigning for this man for months.”
“You have been obnoxious for months.”
“And now history will remember me as correct.”
I tried to glare at him, but it was useless. Because underneath the shock and the guilt and the mild horror of having nearly walked in on my best friend, relief was blooming hard and bright in my chest.
Finally.
Finally Shannon had stopped running. Finally Blake had stopped wondering whether he was allowed to care about her. Finally the two most stubborn people in the entire house had gotten out of their own way.
James pulled out his phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling him.”
“James.”
“What? We need breakfast.”
“We do not need to wake him.”
“We absolutely do. We need food, and I need to see his face.”
The phone rang twice before a very sleepy voice answered.
“Hello?”
James’s grin turned evil. “Morning, Romeo.”
There was a pause.
“James?”
“Get dressed. We’re getting breakfast.”
Another pause followed, longer this time, and I could almost picture Blake trying to figure out how much James knew while still half-asleep.
“Right now?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m hungry and you owe me details.”
“Absolutely not.”
James laughed. “Fine. You owe me nothing. But breakfast is happening.”
Blake sighed. “Give me five minutes.”
James ended the call, looking deeply pleased with himself.
A few minutes later, the door opened. Blake stepped outside wearing yesterday’s jeans and T-shirt, his hair still messy from sleep. The second he saw us standing there, he stopped.
His eyes narrowed. “Why are you both smiling like that?”
James folded his arms. “Like what?”
“Like you know something.”
I lifted my hands innocently. “We know many things.”
Blake looked from me to James, then back toward the closed door behind him. Color crept faintly into his face, which was hilarious because I wasn’t sure I had ever seen Blake Thornton look embarrassed in his life.
James clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on. Breakfast.”
“So,” I said sweetly, “did you have a good night?”
For half a second, he tried to keep a straight face. Then he failed completely. A slow grin spread across his mouth, soft at first, then impossible to hide.
“The best.”
James made a triumphant noise under his breath.
I laughed and let them keep leave while I stayed put. “Go get food. I’m checking on Shannon.”
He nodded, then followed James toward the restaurant.
When I slipped back into the room, Shannon was standing near the bed pulling on her shirt, her hair messy and her cheeks already pink like she knew exactly what I had seen.
The moment our eyes met, we both froze.
Then we rushed toward each other at the same time.
Our fingers locked together, and the next thing I knew we were bouncing in the middle of the tiny motel room like two teenagers who had just survived the biggest romantic crisis of their lives.
“Oh my God,” I squealed.
“I know.”
“Oh my God.”
“I know.”
“Shannon.”
“I know.”
We both burst into laughter, and I grabbed her shoulders because I needed to look at her properly. She looked happy. Not nervous, not uncertain, not like she was already building an escape route in her head. Happy.
“So what’s the deal?”
She smiled, and the softness in it told me everything before she even answered. “We’re officially dating.”
“Oh thank God.”
She laughed. “That was your response?”
“Yes, because I have been waiting forever.”
“I know.”
“And?”
Her blush deepened.
“And we’re very officially dating.”
I pressed both hands over my mouth. “Was it good?”
She looked at me like I had asked whether water was wet.
“Annabelle.”
“What?”
Her eyes widened, and she gave a tiny helpless laugh. “I now understand the reputation.”
I screamed into my hands.
Shannon laughed harder, shoving my shoulder. “Stop.”
“I will not stop. This is important friendship information.”
“It was the best night of my life,” she admitted, softer this time.
That sobered me a little. I pulled her into a hug, squeezing her tightly while the morning sun pushed around the edges of the curtains.
“I’m really happy for you.”
She hugged me back. “Me too.”
A knock sounded a few minutes later, and when I opened the door, the guys stood outside with paper bags, drinks, and far too many smug expressions.
Blake stepped past James without hesitation, set a bag in front of Shannon, and kissed the top of her head like it was already the most natural thing in the world.
“Orange juice,” he said.
Shannon looked up at him, her smile turning impossibly soft.
“You remembered.”
Blake smiled back.
“I always remembered.”