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“I’m exhausted, but I can’t sleep,” I whined, throwing the covers back and picking up my book. “This bed is like something out of ‘The Princess and the Pea.’”
“Is that a veiled request for a bedtime story?”
I wondered briefly if that meant I could crawl into his lap. Because if so, I was onboard.
“What are you reading?”
“Catch-22,” I said, showing him the cover.
“That’s a rather bleak story.”
“It’s about someone in a no-win situation of his own creation. I can relate.”
“Do you often read such nihilistic works?”
“No, I read a little bit of everything. Mysteries, fantasy, horror, romances—except for bodice rippers.”
“Beg pardon?”
I propped myself on my elbows. “Historical romances. You know, the swashbuckling pirate hero wants his lady so badly that he just rips the bodice of her gown open to access her bosoms.”
He snickered derisively. “That’s bloody ridiculous.”
“Yeah, I can’t believe I said bosoms, either.”
“No, speaking as someone with experience, you can’t just rip bodices open,” he insisted rather indignantly. “It takes time and patience and, in some cases, a small, deftly maneuvered blade.”
“Really?” I asked, wiggling my eyebrows.
“I was known to mangle a few bodices in my day.”
“I bet you did, you libertine, you.” I chuckled.
“Do you read often?”
“Whenever I can. Most nights, I can’t go to sleep unless I do.”
“It seems out of character. You’re always running, running, running,” he said. “Frankly, I can’t believe you’ve been still this long. I feel I must sit here and witness such a miracle of behavioral suppression.”
“Your plan is to sit there and stare at me until sunup?” I asked. “Not creepy at all.”
“I have a book,” he said, waving the thick linen-bound volume at me.
“It’s not a book on taxidermy, is it? 101 Ways to Display the Corpses of Humans Who Annoy You?”
“Of course not.” He opened it, licking a finger before carefully selecting a page. He added softly, “I left that particular title at home.”
I barked out a laugh, flopping onto my other side to try to evade the weird dent in the middle of the mattress. It felt as if it might drop out from under me at any—
Ker-RAANK!
The metal leg supporting the foot of the bed bent and collapsed, and I slid to the end of the mattress with a thump. Groaning, I climbed up the mattress, only to slide right back down so my feet touched the floor. Accepting that I would have to sleep at a twenty-degree angle, I pulled the blanket over my arms and made the best of it.
“Don’t laugh,” I grunted into the pillow.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
MC HAMMER RUINS AN OTHERWISE PLEASANT EVENING
