An obnoxious snore rips through the serene silence, not faint at all. The sound is a mix between a log being sawed and a pig with a cold snorting in a barnyard. I prop myself up on my elbow and stare at Julien. He’s lying on his back, his hands on his chest, and his mouth parted. One, how in the world did he fall asleep so quickly? Two, there’s no way that horrible sound came from him. I mean, clearly there is, since he’s the only other person in this room, but isn’t there a law that hot guys don’t snore?
His chest rises as he breathes in, and the same sawing pig starts up again. It’s quiet for a moment, and I think maybe that’s it. Maybe he just snores before he falls into a deep sleep. But then he gasps as if he’s choking on air, snorts, then saws on his next log.
I flop onto my back and stare up at the ceiling.
Julien snores.
I roll onto my side and press two pillows to my ears.
Julien snores.
The time ticks on, and Julien snores.
I’d say that I’m a nice person. I help people when I can. Volunteer my time at the library past my paid hours. Go outof my way to make others feel safe and included and appreciated. I’ve had zero homicidal thoughts in my life.
Until now.
I sit up straight in bed and smash the pillow between my hands, glaring in Julien’s direction. Smothering him with this pillow sounds like a brilliant idea right this second.
He grunts, snuffles loudly, then settles back into the porcine lumberjack he’s been mimicking all night.
I squeeze the downy filler. So brilliant.
Instead of manslaughter, I reach out one leg from beneath my covers and straddle the space between our beds. Once my toes touch his mattress, I give it a violent shove, then curl up in the fetal position as fast as I can, feigning sleep. You know, in case he wakes up and looks over, I’ll look totally innocent. I don’t actually want to wake him up. I just want him to stop making that awful racket so I can fall asleep.
I hold my breath as the seconds tick by. Blessed peace. I can’t believe that worked. Taking a deep breath, I relax my muscles so I can drift off into dreamland.
The loudest snore of the night rips through the air as well as through the last of my sanity. I grab my pillow and stand in the space between our beds, glaring down at Julien. His eyes are closed, his face slack. This is not the time I observe him in slumber and my heart goes all mushy at witnessing him in a state of vulnerability, like a romance book would have you believe. No. He has a little drool coming out the side of his mouth, and I still have way too much murder-mindedness in my heart.
Leaving him there to wake the rest of the dead—of which I feel a member—I slide open the door to the balcony and step outside. The temperature has dropped since the sauna-levels of earlier, and a nice breeze is coming off the water. The sounds of the waves are louder out here and, once I close the door behind me, do a good job of drowning Julien out.
Javier said sleeping on the pool chaises wasn’t allowed, but he can’t stop me from curling up on the cushioned wicker chair here on the balcony. Tucking my feet under me, I drape the blanket over my body and the pillow under my cheek.
Finally, I can get some sleep.
16
The smell of coffee wakes me in the morning, along with a fierce pain in my neck. My eyes still closed against the light seeping in through my lids, I test my neck muscles by shifting my head to the side.
Ah! Bad idea!A shooting pain speeds its way down my arm and into my fingers, causing the digits to tingle. Guess sleeping in a chair all night at my age was also a bad idea. I’d say being able to move your neck without pain is overrated, but I’d be lying. I’ll be paying for my sleep-deprived decision the rest of the day.
“Martha.” Julien whispers my name, and I can hear the hesitancy and guilt in his voice.
I crack an eye open, and yep, he’s standing over me with a look of concern and regret on his face. There are still residual feelings of wanting to unalive him, coupled with not enough sleep and now pain on top of that. The fact that he appears refreshed and back to his perfectly coiffed self in his blue suit and sculpted hair while I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck and probably look like it as well does not do him any favors.
Okay, maybe a minor favor because it’s hard to stay irrevocably annoyed when he appears so cute and contrite.
“I brought you coffee.”
I peel back the other lid and squint against the sun that’s cresting the horizon. Julien doesn’t have a coffee mug in his grasp. No, the man has a four-cup carrying container in each hand and another two perched on the little table beside my chair. I sit up straighter and blink the grogginess out of my eyes as I count all the to-go cups surrounding me. Way more than one person can drink.
“I, uh, wasn’t sure what you normally order,” Julien says by way of explanation of the bouquets of hot beverages.
“So you got me one of everything on the menu?” I joke.
His gaze skates away, and a small flush rises in his cheeks.
“Wait.” I blink and look around again. This time I notice even more drink cups littered on the side tables and dresser inside the room. Anywhere there’s a flat surface, a to-go cup sits. “Did you really buy out an entire coffeehouse?”
