***Ella***
"What the—" he starts, his voice barely above a breath. Before he can finish, another voice cuts through the room.
"Oh! Something smells great!" Dana calls out. We spin around just as she strides into the kitchen. Austin subtly stands a little in front of me, as if that will somehow make this look less suspicious. But Dana’s sharp gaze flicks between us, noting everything.
Her eyes land on Austin’s discarded hoodie—flung haphazardly over their fancy barista-style coffee machine. Then, she looks at me.
I can feel her gaze sweeping over my disheveled hair, my flushed face—then dropping to my neck. I know what she sees.
I quickly drop my gaze, my hand flying up to rub at the sensitive spot on my neck as if that will somehow erase the evidence. Dana presses her lips together.
