I sprint for Turner’s room like a woman possessed, thanking god along the way that I barely have ten feet to go.
I don’t knock. I don’t hesitate.
I launch myself through his door like it’s the finish line of a horror movie chase scene—dramatic, breathless, absolutely convinced that death is on my heels. The door bangs against the wall as I scramble in, eyes wide, heart pounding, limbs flailing like I’m made of pool noodles.
It’s dark inside. Peaceful. Serene.
Turner is asleep, because of course he is.
He’s a man.
This is what men do.
Snoring softly, arm flung over his face, the sheets twisted low on his hips, chest rising and falling like this is a freaking sleep number commercial.
He doesn’t even stir as I barrel toward him.
I trip over one of his shoes, stub my toe on what might be a dumbbell, and curse so loudly I shock myself—but I don’t stop. I leap, Olympic long-jump style, and belly flop into the mattress beside him with a dramatic oof, limbs akimbo, braids airborne.
The bed rocks like a boat in a hurricane.
“Jesus Christ!” he shouts. “What the fuck!”
Oh good! He’s awake!
I roll toward him, eyes wide, heart thumping. “There’s someone in the house,” I whisper.
He blinks at me like I’m speaking underwater. “Huh?”
“There’s a noise. Scraping.” I breathe on him, face so close to his I can feel his breath on me. “Tapping. Um. Someone is creeping slowly through the kitchen.”
“What time is it?” He tries to reach for his phone, but I won’t let him.
“Where is your sense of urgency?!” Even to my own ears, I sound panicked.
“Poppy.” His voice is a sleepy rumble. “If someone was creeping through the kitchen, Nugget would’ve gone full Cujo by now.”
That is such a lie.
“He probably made friends with the intruder,” I whisper. “He’s not an attack dog.”
At all.
Not even a little.
Turner rubs a hand over his face. “Okay. Fine. Stay here. I’ll go check?—”
I make a strangled noise and launch myself into his side. “Hell no! Don’t leave me alone!”
His chuckle is a low rumble deep in his chest. “I can’t go out there and stay in here at the same time, silly goose.”
Silly goose.
Now why in the world would that phrase make my stomach flutter at a time like this?
Before I can unpack that emotional crisis, a loudthudechoes down the hallway—followed by a clumsy, off-key whistle.
We both freeze. My eyes go wide.
