Page 66 of Marriage is a Shore Thing
I smile. “Sweet dreams.”
A soft snort fills the quiet bedroom. “You and sweet things.”
“You have no idea, darlin’,” I say, placing my palm over her hand. “You have no idea.”
twenty-eight
Van
“Well, well, well. What do we have here? It looks like a dead man.”
It’s barely light out when someone grabs the ankle I flopped on top of the covers and yanks. I have enough working brain cells to let go of Geneva before Noah pulls me halfway down the mattress.
“Noah! What are you doing?” Geneva bolts upright, pushing her hair out of her face.
Sometime in the middle of the night, she scooted closer to me, nuzzling her nose against the hollow of my throat. I wrapped my arms around her as her hair flopped over her eyes, tickling my chin.
“Just protecting your honor. No biggie. I’ll be done in a minute.”
I jerk my leg out of Noah’s strong hold and hop to my feet just in time to avoid getting clobbered by him. “Nothing happened.”
“Why are you even here this early?” Geneva asks, shoving blankets aside and wincing slightly as she puts weight on her ankle to stand.
“My new best friend and I were supposed to go for a morning run, but guess who wasn’t downstairs or in his room when I let myself in?”
Oh. I’d completely forgotten. Since my internal clock wakes me up early every day, I hadn’t thought to set an alarm on my phone. Slumbering in Geneva’s sandalwood-scented sheets was, apparently, as effective as taking three sleeping pills.
“That’s it.” She grabs her crutch, hopping a few steps and outstretching her hand. “Give me back my key.”
“No.” Noah jukes and tries to get a hold of me again. “I need it for circumstances like this.”
A quick spin to the left and I’m beyond his grip, putting myself between him and Geneva. I splay my palms in front of me. “I had a rough night and needed support. That’s all.”
“Support my—”
“Noah! You’re being ridiculous.”
This time, he does make contact, and I take his momentum toward the bathroom, keeping him as far from Geneva as possible. The last thing she needs is to get hurt again.
“If I wasn’t injured, I’d knock you out myself,” Geneva seethes as we scuffle. “I’m a grown woman. This is my house. And we’remarried.”
“That’s a technicality.”
Using the techniques I learned from Ron—the behemoth of a security guard who works in the ER—I pin Noah’s arms behind his back, pushing him against the bathroom door.
“I’m getting more action from you than I’ve had in months. Can we take it down a notch?”
Noah heaves out a sigh, his right cheek pressed flat. “Fine.”
I wait a few breaths before letting go and stepping back, making sure Geneva is behind me.
It’s not easy for Geneva to cross her arms while leaning on a crutch, but she manages it. I get secondhand shivers from the gelid gaze she sends her brother.
“We are going to have a conversation about this.” Each word is hissed through gritted teeth.
Noah sags against the bathroom door, muttering, “I was just trying to be the good guy. I never get to be the good guy.”
“You’re literally a firefighter who saves lives,” she practically shouts.
