Page 36 of Make Me Dream of You

Smoke starts to fill the room.

The sprinkler heads in the ceiling rattle and then water pours down on us with a hiss.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” Noah says. He gestures for me to follow him to the door, but I turn back to get my robe and phone from the other side of the bed.

Just as I snatch them up, Noah’s tattooed arm snakes around my waist and he hoists me up over his shoulder. I shriek, clutching the robe against my body as my phone slips under my arm.

I lunge for it, narrowly catching it before it falls, but as I do my whole side smacks into the door frame as Noah carries me out of the room. There’s a sickening thwap and crunching sound as I yelp.

My scream is drowned out by the blaring smoke alarm.

Macy runs out of her room, hair a mess of ringlets around her face as Noah rushes me out of the apartment.

“What is going on?” she yells when we get out into hall.

Noah sets me down as I frantically try to put my robe back on.

Macy averts her eyes.

“It’s not what it looks like,” I say, tying the robe tight, my face hot.

Noah runs off to the end of the hall, then darts back into the apartment wielding a fire extinguisher while Macy stares at me with crossed arms.

“There was an incident with the solvent for my oil paints and a candle,” I say.

The alarm shuts off and Noah comes out, breathing heavily, soaking wet.

“It’s out,” he says. “The sprinklers had it mostly out and kept it from spreading.”

Neighbors are filtering into the hallway, grouping up and starting to talk and point.

I shiver. The thin material of the robe clings to my wet skin, between my thighs to the valley of my breasts and my protruding nipples. I cover my chest with my arms.

“Fuck,” Noah mutters under his breath as he undoes the buttons of his flannel shirt. He wraps it over my shoulders and closes it over me, brows furrowed, scowling.

I look up at him, not sure if I should say thank you or sorry.

And now he’s standing here, shirtless, all long, lean muscle covered in black ink.

“I’m glad no one’s hurt,” Macy says, her voice shaking. She looks at me. “But you’re not even supposed to be living with us. There are going to be questions. I’ll get it sorted out but might be better if you’re not around.”

“We’ll go to my place,” Noah says.

“I’ll text Bex,” I add.

Macy nods. “I’ll stay with Spencer tonight. You better get going before management shows up.”

I don’t know what I expected Noah and Wood’s apartment to look like, but it’s not this. Not an industrial loft that looks like it came out of Architectural Digest.

The walls are weathered red brick that contrast against the sleek, concrete floors. The kitchen is a wall of flat, modern black cabinets with professional grade appliances and a huge stainless steel work island in front of them.

The living room furniture is all arranged perfectly in front of the giant black arched iron windows that stretch from floor to ceiling—which is at least twenty feet tall. A black metal staircase is silhouetted against the back wall, leading to a loft area above the kitchen.

It’s dark except for the nightglow coming in from the three large arched windows. They overlook downtown Seattle to the left and Puget Sound to the right. The city lights barely compete with the reflection of the moon off the water.

Wood comes out of the hallway as we walk in.

“Hey.” He stops abruptly, looking us up and down. “Wow, you two look…rough. What happened?”

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