We All Sleep Alone (Finley Creek #11) - Calle J. Brookes Page 0,79
your jacket over the plaster cast a bit better. Don’t meet anyone’s eyes.”
“It’s not like anyone’s going to be around. It’s two in the afternoon on a weekday in October.”
He waved one hand around. Almost all of the three dozen sites were filled. “Keep your mouth shut, or you’ll get grounded for sure, young man.”
Anyone looking closely would see a very feminine young woman, with delicate features and a fit body.
Most people didn’t look that closely at others. Not in his experience.
They were going to use that to their advantage.
“I have to take the little plastic tags off all the clothes first. I put the laundry soap in that cabinet under the bed. We’ll need something to cover the laundry basket once the clothes are dry. The rain is really brutal today.”
Within three hours, all of the laundry she’d purchased had been run through the wash—twice, at her insistence—and then dried. Also twice.
He stopped her from setting the dryer a third time—to kill any bugs, she said—by reminding her that people were starting to mill around. That just increased their chances of being discovered.
She nodded reluctantly.
“All right. Back to the tin can, then.” She was hesitant to be alone with him in such a tiny space. It was going to get dark sooner than she was probably ready for.
That meant climbing into bed with him again.
She was a hell of a lot more aware today. Yesterday, she had barely noticed him in the bed at all.
He suspected tonight would be a bit different.
Allen’s gut tightened at the thought.
He grabbed the basket full of unfolded laundry. She’d wanted it nice and neat—but as he’d reminded her, that wasn’t exactly something a teenage boy would care about. Especially one in a cast.
She could fold all she wanted once she returned to the van. Or he would let her order him around with it for a while. Give her a chance to be the boss in even this one thing.
He understood how the loss of control could impact someone. It had him so many times before.
All these people—mostly couples from what he could see—were making him antsy. There wasn’t a real teenager anywhere to be seen.
That would make her stand out more than he’d intended.
Still. They were leaving first thing in the morning.
He’d keep her under wraps until then.
66
Izzie couldn’t take it any longer. They’d been stuck in the van for hours. The rain wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. She half expected it would turn into a damned boat—because Allen would make it happen—and they’d float away. She’d never realized how utterly competent the man was. Everything he touched worked so perfectly.
She touched something in the van and almost needed an engineer to figure it out—he accomplished whatever he wanted, practically without blinking.
It was completely irritating.
He refused to let her outside the van again. Had told her it was too populated out there, and she had to be careful not to get the cast wet. She wanted to get out and do something. Sitting still had never been easy for her. Usually, she redirected herself by writing something. With her dominant in the air splint at his unrelenting insistence, that wasn’t quite feasible. Not by a long shot.
She wished they could get out, play tourist or something.
Logically, she understood. She was supposed to stay invisible.
She was stuck in a van with a man she had no idea what to do with. She shot him a look when he wasn’t looking. He wore thin, gold-framed glasses for reading. They looked good on him. Everything looked good on him.
That was part of the problem. He sat in the front captain’s chair, with it swiveled around to face the interior. He had one long leg crossed over the other. A maroon leather-bound book rested in his lap, and the notebook she’d given him was in front of him on the table. One arm was bent—showing off the well-defined muscle beautifully.
He was as strong as he looked.
He’d carried her a few times now. With little effort.
Damn him. Everything was so easy for him.
She wanted to get out of the van and do things. Probably because she knew she couldn’t. She was a bit contrary that way. Jake and Annie had pointed that out to her several times.
She turned, shifted. He’d insisted she take the small jackknife couch. It wasn’t helping. She was hurting. She would be for a while. It was no wonder she felt a little bit irritable.