Page 51 of False Start

I couldn’t let that stand. I unlaced the sweats and sprinted out of the egg. Clocking the movement just a second before I engulfed her, Kit’s eyes grew big, and she turned, dashing across the green.

Kit wasn’t speed, but she was surprisingly agile. Her legs pumped as she darted side to side, making it a solid ten yards before I caught her. My arms encircled her waist, scooping her up before slipping the phone out of her hand.

“Trent Vogt, you asshole.” She lunged for the phone, but I tossed it into the grass. Her face corkscrewed into a frown, eyes narrowing on mine.

“I thought you were speed,” I laughed.

“Iamspeed, compared to the average person. You’re freakish.” She swatted her palm against my chest. “Besides, after that Bat Man picture, you owe me one.”

“That Bat Man picture is a great picture.” And I wasn’t lying. Sure, Kit looked a little pissed, but I knew that look. That exasperated look teetering on the edge of a laugh. It was one of my favorite pictures from the trip. Well, second favorite after the one I took tonight. “I love that picture.”

A flicker of confusion crossed Kit’s face. The balmy evening air turned sticky as I inhaled the familiar scent of cherries, dipping my head closer. Her forehead brushed mine, our breath co-mingling as my heart beat faster.

“You should put me down,” she whispered, eyes darting around as if someone else would stumble on us, this late, in an abandoned town.

I set her down before scanning the ground for my phone.

“Where are your pants?” Kit’s voice turned accusatory.

“Well, my partner wouldn’t help me out of that egg, so I had to ditch them.”

Bright red stained her cheeks as her eyes dipped to my boxer briefs and back up again. “Jesus, Texas, could you just be normal? Get your pants back on.”

I grinned. “Whatever you say, Kitten.”

I took my time on the stroll back to the egg, freeing my pant leg from the edge of the egg. Kit huffed behind me as I pulled on one leg, then the other, wondering whether she enjoyed the show.

A rustle of movement behind me and I paused my reverse strip show, thumbs hooked around my waistband, waiting.

For what? As the seconds ticked by, self-doubt creeped in. What exactly did I think would happen? That Kit would wrap her arms around me? Run her fingers down my back? Slip into my arms for a kiss?

This wasn't a date. Hell, this wasn't even technically a friendship.

I shook my head, feeling ridiculous as I pulled my pants up just as Kit slipped past me, stumbling back into the egg.

"What are you doing?" I asked, tying up the sweats.

She shimmied her shoulders inside the shell and then her head.

I patted my pockets. Empty. Turned in the direction I'd thrown my phone. The dewy grass was bare. "What are you doing, Kit?"

"Nothing." Her muffled voice innocently called through the fiberglass egg, a faint glow around her.

"You don't even know my password."

Her shoulders rocked with a huff. “After two days in the car, you think I don't know your 'password' is a square? It's not exactly high-level security.”

"You're not posting that picture," I warned.

Her head popped out of the egg, her lips pursed together. "Did you see the Bat Man picture? Did you read the comments?"

I winced. I had and hoped she hadn't.

"Trent Vogt is coming out of his shell today, and you can't stop me." She ducked back inside.

She'd sealed her back against half the crack and angled the phone toward the heavily shielded, pointy end of the shell. I fished a hand inside, my fingertips hitting only flesh and fabric.

"Hey, hands to yourself, buddy." She squirmed inside the shell until I pulled my hands back.

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