Chapter 28
OPERATION RASH BOY
Thane
My double-gloved hands select the perfect vine of poison ivy, and Bash cuts it with a plastic knife. I glance around the forest, making sure no one saw us, then wrap the vine in a circle around my hand.
“We have to remember to get rid of everything this touches, because the oils stick around forever,” he says, opening a zip-top bag for me to place it in.
“Even the pillowcase?” I ask, raising a brow. “Our moms might notice.”
“Nah. You just have to wash it in a super-hot water load two or three times. It should come out,” Bash says casually.
“How do you know this?”
“Dude. Google is a thing. Use it once in a while.”
I resist the urge to smack his face with my contaminated gloves, and we sneak into the house and up to the bunk room.
“Check Sera’s location on your phone to make sure we won’t get busted,” I say to Bash as we flick on the light upstairs.
Bash checks his phone. “They’re pulling through the security entrance now. We’ve got less than five minutes.”
I frantically pull the poison ivy from the bag, rub it on Brad’s pillow, and shove it back into the bag.
“Operation Rash Boy is complete,” I whisper. “Let’s destroy some evidence.”
Brad is at the bottom of the stairs when we reach the loft, and I freeze.
Bash and I share a nervous glance, and he does some weird Secret Service hand gesture that goes completely over my head, so I just go for it.
I jog as nonchalantly as I can down the stairs, and Bradley mutters a “What’s up?
” to us. For a moment I think we’ve been made.
But he’s so busy staring at his phone we slide right past him and mutter a reply.
First level, passed. Now we just have to get by our moms—the final bosses—before we can get outside.
The aroma of taco night fills my nose as we skirt past our suspicious mothers with our contraband. We share a glance as both moms look up from their tasks, and Bash carefully slides open the glass door.
“Just where do you think you’re going, boys?” Mrs. Spencer asks, eyeing us.
I freeze, crumpling the bag of poison ivy up in my hands and stashing it behind my back. “Bash and I were just running outside for a sec,” I say through a forced smile.
My mother chimes in. “You’re supposed to be helping with dinner. Get back here and grab a cutting board.”
“I need to do something really quick,” I say, shooting Bash a panicked glance outside on the patio.
“Nothing takes priority right now. Dinner is in an hour and we’ve got so much to do.” Then her eyes dart to my hands behind me. “What are you hiding, Nathaniel James?”
That’s the second time I’ve been middle-named today.
I think fast on my feet. “We didn’t want to worry you, but we found a mouse upstairs.”
At that news, both women gasp.
“We killed it, but we wanted to get rid of his squished little corpse before you found out.” I act like I’m going to hold up the bag. “You can see for yourself if you want.”
“NO!” they both shout in unison and clutch their invisible pearls at the very idea. “Just hurry and get rid of it. Then come back to help.”
“Will do. We’ll be right back.”
I exhale slowly as I barely escape with my life, and I race to meet Bash by the garbage cans.
He tosses the knife, and I dump the poison ivy out into the bushes and shove the bag and gloves underneath a black trash bag bursting at the seams. When Bash closes the lid, I let out a slow, steady breath.
“I think we did it, Brother,” I say with relief.
We head back toward the house, and Bash says, “Now we wait for rash-time,” and we laugh.
Sera’s coming in from the garage just as we step into the kitchen, and my happy mood fades. A scowl is painted across her pretty face, and I’m not sure whether I should tease her or steer clear. I go for the default setting.
I lean close to her as I round the island and whisper, “You’re so cute when you’re mad.”
“Better watch it, Donnelly, that kitchen knife is within my reach,” she says in a barely threatening voice.
I grin and wash my hands, being sure to scrub and rinse twice—just in case.
“Bring it on, Spencer,” I say, wiggling my brows at her.
She lets out an exasperated growl and throws on an apron. She points a tomato knife in my direction and mumbles so only I can hear, “I’m not sure what you two are up to, but I don’t like it one bit.”
Bash and I grin like cats who’ve gotten a canary, and I feign innocence. Bash, on the other hand, goes all-in and replies, “You have no evidence that we have done anything wrong. And you never will.”
She shakes her head and sits on a barstool to dice tomatoes.
The corners of her mouth tug one at a time, then finally together as a rogue smile cuts through her grumpy mood.
When I laugh, she throws me a fiery look that gives me a jolt of adrenaline.
I want nothing more than to spar with her every day until I’m ninety-nine. No other woman will do.
Sera
After dinner, I take my contacts out at the sink in the bathroom, and toss their case into my toiletries bag. It’s that exact moment that Thane comes in through the door.
“Already getting ready for bed? It’s only seven o’clock.”
I squint at him, not only to seem intimidating, but also so I can see his face better.
“No, just taking my eyeballs out. My contacts have felt like sandpaper all day.”
“Oh, so now I get to look at ‘sexy librarian Sera’ for the rest of the night?”
I open my glasses case and pause. “What are you talking about?”
“You know, the second you take out your contacts, those gorgeous glasses come out. Which are nice all on their own,” he says as I start pulling my hair up. “But then you go and pull your hair up in that messy, sexy librarian bun. It makes the whole thing—“
I immediately drop my hair and let it fall back down my back.
“I don’t do that.”
Thane leans on the counter. “Yes you do. Without fail. Every time. The glasses go on, your hair goes up.”
He’s right. I do do that. I mentally facepalm and put my hair tie back on my wrist. I plant myself firmly in place. “No, I don’t.”
“Don’t resist it. It’s your thing. And honestly, it’s hot as hell.” He leans in close to me and the smell of coconut sunscreen lingers.
“Makes me want to whisper around you,” he says, lowering his voice.
I glare at him, then shove my black-rimmed glasses on my face with gusto to prove some kind of point, though I can’t for the life of me think of what that is. The muscle-memory urge to then pull up my hair is so automatic I have to fight with every fiber of my being not to do it. My hands twitch.
“Go on. You know you want to. I can see your jaw clenching.”
“No, it’s not,” I say through gritted teeth.
He laughs and preps his toothbrush.
“Whatever you say,” he says, his cocky, foamy smile flashing at me.
I fume as I prep my own toothbrush and brush angrily in silence. He holds my gaze and grins until it’s time to rinse, making the whole situation worse.
As he turns to leave, he whispers in my ear, “Madam Librarian.”
It sends goosebumps all down my side, and it’s all I can do not to deck him and kiss him at the same time.
I rinse my mouth, surrender to habit, and pull my hair up. I leave the bathroom in a huff.
I hate when Thane is right.