The Next Day (Foothills Book 2) by Carrie Thorne (christmas read aloud TXT) 📕

“So?” he grinned to himself.

“So?” Her whisper turned to a shrill mumbling, “I told them you agreed to come as a pity date. That you’re Asher’s friend and you had nothing else to do this weekend and I’m paying you back with a painting.”

He could picture the frantic look on her face, those fiery blues sparking at him without even looking. Sighing, poorly attempting to hide his smug grin, he said, “Didn’t want to admit you’re paying me back with a weekend of nonstop sex?”

Her quiet chuckle erased the last shred of doubt he’d had that this was a stupid idea. “Whatever happened to hiking and swimming?”

“That was before you agreed to sex. I see no reason to even leave our room now.”

“I believe I acknowledged that sex was going to happen. But you do have a point. Except we’ll have to leave for the wedding.”

“Yeah, that. Then right back upstairs.” He adjusted his pants and was glad he’d worn thick jeans. One weekend to make up for the last two, almost three years of celibacy. Not exactly by choice, more lack of interest. Too much shit on his mind. May as well make the most of it; his interest was definitely stirred.

“Could you at least pretend we’re pretending, for my parents? My mom will get all excited if she thinks we’re into each other, and my dad will hold a gun to my back and force us to the sacrificial altar.”

“And I thought Asher was a commitment-phobe.”

“Do your parents get you?”

Well that blew his good mood. He opened his eyes and sat up; his hamstrings spasmed from the lack of space. “No.”

Freya bit her lip and lowered her eyebrows in a sincere apology.

Exhaling, he sucked it up to get it over with. “They don’t even know I’m out.”

“I’m sorry,” she reached over and traced her thumb along the edge of his jaw.

“Not the first time they’ve let me down. And I have no doubt I’ve let them down many times too.”

“It must be tempting to give up on them.”

“Tempting?” he raised an eyebrow. “Done. I’m not wasting my time on them again.”

Her hand stilled, resting against his cheek. Trailing his fingers along the contours of her wrist, he kissed her palm, then laced his fingers with hers and lowered their joined hands to the armrest between them.

As much as his parents were worthless, hers seemed great so far. When they’d met up at the airport, Freya’s parents had immediately enveloped her and asked to meet her young man and fussed and fretted as parents are supposed to. Her father had given him the evil eye, until Freya had made it clear he was coming as her plus-one as a favor. Then he’d only given an occasional suspicious sideways glance. Her mother had hugged him as fiercely as she had her daughter, nearly busting his ribs with her enthusiasm. As much as they didn’t understand Freya, they loved her.

During takeoff, Freya inhaled slow and easy, watching out the window as the engines roared, the plane steadily gaining altitude. He watched as her eyes danced with merriment as the cars shrunk to ant-size, the highways no more than lines in the sea of green, and they rose above the clouds. Pulling her feet up, she slipped off her shoes and pulled a sketchbook and a tin of pencils from her purse.

He closed his eyes and took advantage of the numbing rumble of the engine, the quiet murmurings of the other passengers. Force of habit, he was out like a light the second they reached the clouds. Never knew when you could rest again; banking sleep was necessary.

Flashing under his lids, strobe-like blasts threatened to nail a hole in the cargo bay. Jerking up and down, the turbulence tugged at the wings. The snapping of tie-downs behind him. One of the crates whipped from its remaining safety strap.

Unbuckling his harness, he braced his gait and moved to lock it down. Busting completely free, the crate surged toward him, on the way to knock him flat and everyone sleeping behind him. Appearing at his side, Jack and Asher shoved forward. As a unit, they slammed the weight of their combined strength and halted the crate before it took anyone out.

Not fucking fast enough.

Dropping hundreds of feet before stabilizing again, the plane shuddered, the crate rose in the air. In slow motion, the massive thing slammed back down.

A dense metal hook smashed back and cracked into Jack’s skull, knocking him out cold.

Shouting over the thunder, the engines screaming to stay in the air, Asher snapped his attention back to the danger they could fix.

While Jack lie bleeding on the floor, Asher and Zane heaved and shifted the crate back against the wall, strapping it back down.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Freya rested her palm on his cheek, repeating her reassurances like a plea.

Sealing his eyes shut, he blocked the memory that wasn’t a memory. Where Jack had jumped back up, unphased and larger than life, Zane’s twisted subconscious seemed bent on killing his friend every time he closed his eyes.

Like a never-ending punishment for the time Jack hadn’t gotten back up again, but Zane had.

Everything blurring around him, nausea wrenching his gut, he found Freya’s intense blue eyes and locked on to the anchor, her familiar voice centering him. Blinking, he inhaled slow and steady.

“It’s okay,” she said again.

He clenched his teeth and gave her a subtle nod, letting her know he was back.

Above, the seatbelt sign flipped on. The pilot’s voice came through, letting them know it was ninety degrees without a trace of wind. Fucking Reno. What the hell was he thinking?

Sharing the rental car with her parents had been stupid. Zane