Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 134706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
“Well, where am I going to sleep?” I ask. “I can’t drive.”
“Call your limo driver.”
“He’s off tonight.”
“Why not call an Uber?”
“They ran out of cars.”
She narrows her eyes. “I know what you’re doing.”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, Tristan.” She brushes past me and rushes back down the stairs as I stay hot on her heels.
“So where will I sleep?” I ask.
With you?
“I suppose you can have Woofy’s bed, and he can sleep with me.”
My face falls in horror. “You would rather sleep with the dog than with me?”
“I would, actually.”
“What happened to the fun, hot Claire who fucks me senseless?”
Her eyes meet mine, and the look on her face is murderous. “She woke up to herself,” she whispers. “When she realized what a fucktard you are.”
My mouth drops open as I feign shock.
She walks forward toward me, and I walk backward. “You barge into my home, uninvited, and then drink my fucking wine. Not to mention—” She cuts herself off.
I shrug as I nearly trip over the couch behind me. “Well . . . apart from those things.”
“Go home, Tristan.”
“Is this about me going out with that other woman?”
“I don’t care who you date.”
“Is that a lie, Claire? Because you seem to care.”
“Go home,” she snaps.
“I can’t. I’m over the limit.”
“Fine, you’re on the couch.”
“Can we talk about this?” I reply.
“No.” She goes to a cupboard and retrieves a blanket and pillow and throws them at me with force.
I catch them midair. “You’re not very hospitable, Claire,” I huff. “You really should work on this.”
She rolls her eyes and goes to the stairs. “I hope Muff pees on your head.” She stomps up the stairs.
My face falls as I process her words. “What?” I look around and catch sight of the mangy cat sitting on the couch. We lock eyes. “Is that a possibility?” I call.
Silence.
“Claire?”
Silence.
“I’m allergic to cats, Claire. I need to sleep with you,” I call. “In your bed.”
Her bedroom door slams.
I scratch my head as I stare at the cat. He stares back. I point at him. “You come near me while I sleep, Muff Cat, I’m putting you outside,” I whisper. “You’ll be bear food.”
I spread my blankets out on the couch and put the pillow down. Damn this. I want to go home, but I want to speak to Claire in the morning more. I climb in and wriggle around as I try to get comfortable.
Fuck, this couch is made of concrete.
Two hours later
Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick.
“What the hell?” I whisper as I glare at the clock on the wall. What kind of sick fuck has a clock that ticks this loud? No wonder everyone’s crazy around here.
Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick.
I can’t take it anymore . . . I’m at a breaking point.
“That’s it.” I throw the blankets off and sit up in a rush. I stand on the couch and take the clock off the wall. “You’re going in the trash, motherfucker.” I storm out to the kitchen, clock under my arm, and look around in the dark. “I can’t see shit.” I flick on the light and walk over to the back door and open it in a rush.
It’s pitch black and eerily quiet. I peer out. “Where’s the trash can?”
Hmm.
I hear a noise and then a bang, and I frown as I look out into the backyard. “Who’s there?”
Silence.
Shit . . . this is fucking creepy. I close the door and go back into the house. I’m not risking my life for a ticking time bomb—no chance.
Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick.
Although . . .
“Shut up, shut up,” I whisper as I shake it. I stare down at the stupid clock as it taunts me. I imagine myself throwing it hard against the wall and it smashing into a thousand pieces.
Tick, tick, tick, tick.
That’s it. I can’t take it anymore. I look around the kitchen for somewhere quiet, somewhere that will shut this thing up, and I see the perfect plan.
Diabolical.
I open the freezer and stuff the clock in there and slam the door. I smile as I dust my hands together. “That’s taken care of you.”
I walk out into the living room and stand at the bottom of the stairs. I wonder what she would do if I just sneaked up there for a little bit of spooning. I smile as I imagine myself slipping into her bed.
I’m missing her.
I come back to earth with a thud, and I roll my eyes. I know that’s not going to happen.
I lie back down on the couch and nestle in as I try to get comfortable.
One hour later
“Meow.”
I scrunch my eyes shut . . . no, make it stop.
Purr . . . purr . . . purr. “Meow.” I try to block it out. “Meow.”
Oh hell, a night in this godforsaken place is worse than being on Survivor.