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I often wonder who invented the alarm clock and why the psychopath decided that the blaring of an obnoxious noise was the best way to wake someone up. While my alarm clock does precisely that, I think about coming face-to-face with this person and punching them square between the eyes.
Reaching over, I shut off the stupid alarm and look at the time, noting the pain in my neck has dulled to more of a discomfort. I debate going back to sleep over staying fit. Since my job requires me to be naked…
“Burpees wait for no one,” I groan, throwing my legs off the side of the bed. Still in my nightshirt, I sneak down the hall to the bathroom, listening for any movement or noise while doing my business. When I finish, I tiptoe into the living room, expecting Tate to still be sleeping. To my surprise, all I find is the blanket folded in a perfect square with the pillow resting on top. I look around my tiny apartment. Since it’s a shoe box and there are only so many places he can go, I assume he finally got the hint and left.
“Thank you!” I praise the heavens as I make my way to the kitchen, in desperate need of coffee. As I prep my loyal machine, a jiggling sound comes from the front door. I freeze. It stops, then happens again. Probably someone with the wrong apartment number. I nod to myself, deciding that’s what I’m going with. Until Tate’s stupid comment filters through my mind.
Someone who wants something bad enough…
Reaching down, I snatch a pan from my bottom cabinet. Maybe firing Tate wasn’t the best idea. Fuck. My heart thrashes as I tighten my grip and tiptoe to the front door, readying myself to bash whoever it is over the head before they can kill me and cut me into bite-sized pieces. Then I’m going to run like hell, find Tate, and bashhimover the head becausewhy would he leave me? I’m totally putting in a complaint with his company.
The doorknob turns, and I hold my breath. As the door opens, I close my eyes, step forward, and swing.
“Fucking Christ!”
Adrenaline taking over, I swing again, but the pan is ripped from my hands and thrown across the room. I open my mouth to scream bloody murder, hoping a neighbor hears me, when Tate steps into my apartment, holding his nose.
“What the fuck?”
“What? What the fuckyou, Tate! I thought you were a murderer coming to kill me.”
“I was checking your fucking locks. Which are shit, by the way.”
“How the hell was I supposed to know?”
“Maybe ask,” he hisses, rubbing his hand over his face.
“You should’ve left a note or something! I had no idea it was you.” He looks down at me like he’s using all his control not to flip me onto my stomach and spank the ever-loving shit out of me. “Should’ve left a note.” I shrug and turn around before he sees the guilt on my face at the blood dripping from his nose.
My coffee pot dings, and I grab two mugs, pouring a cup for each of us. “Here,” I say, handing him one. “I’m sure you can use this. Maybe it’ll help with your crabbiness.” I bite back a snicker as he reads his coffee mug. It has a cute dachshund on it and says,“I love wieners.”
“I have to get ready for Pilates. I assume you’re coming with me?”
“Yep.”
“Fantastic.”
While I get ready, I send the text to Fay.
Me: Have I told you lately how bad you suck? You better tell your boy toy to get his hound dog off my ass or we’re going to have problems!!!!!!!!
Fay Fay: You still haven’t warmed up to him? Theo showed me his file. It’s impressive. Did you know he did two tours in Iraq?
Me: No, I did not know. I’m not talking to him. I’m yelling at him because he’s in my way!!
Me: Iraq, huh?
I assumed he had a military background of some sort. He’s missing that softness around his eyes, which tells me he’s seen things.
Fay Fay: You should give him a chance.
Me: I did. All he does is get in my way.
Fay Fay: Please, just do it for me. It will only be a couple more days. A week max. Theo is pulling out all the stops to find this douchebag.
Me: Okay, but I’m keepingthe entire check. A nice pair of Jimmy Choos sounds like the perfect reward for all my pain and suffering.
