the house via the oven was probably not the most efficient plan. Socks would maybe be a better idea. And a shirt; it was chilly down here.
He stumbled back upstairs and into his room, spotting his unmade bed with the pleasure of a treasure hunter finding the lost diamond. “Ahh, mine.” He stopped to pull on socks and a sweatshirt even older and more frayed than the pants and then tumbled back into bed, winding a sheet around his shoulders and pushing his head under a pillow.
Two seconds later, something sharp poked him in the shoulder. He might have said ouch as he rolled over. Then something patted him on the butt and the mattress dipped as a huge weight landed on it and a cold, wet nose shoved itself into his armpit.
He threw one arm around the furry monster and wrestled it under control. “Elwood! Get down! Oof!”
Spencer sucked in air after his hundred-and-twenty-pound pooch used his stomach as a launching pad to jump to the floor. He coughed twice.
“Up and at ’em, lawyer boy.” A viciously cheerful voice rang out from beside him. Memory started to filter in. Now he knew who’d lured the dog onto the bed. Pinching fingers grabbed one of his toes where they stuck out from under the covers, and yanked on them.
“Go ’way,” he mumbled, renewing his grasp on the pillow over his head. Unable to fall asleep last night, he’d sat up over papers until his eyes had burned. By his best guess, he’d been asleep for about an hour and a half when this waking nightmare began.
She ripped the covers off him. Why he’d ever thought he was attracted to this woman was a complete mystery. She was the root of all evil.
And he was waking up. Dammit.
He cracked open one eye and was treated to the sight of Addy’s butt sashaying out of his room. That was enough to bring him to full consciousness. If she wasn’t a bad dream, then maybe he’d actually made that coffee.
Back in her new bedroom—for the next six months, at least—Addy closed the door and collapsed against it, the knob digging into the small of her back. Even fully dressed, the sight of him in bed was enough to spark visions of her crawling under the covers. Talk about rash. This was going to be harder than she’d imagined.
Taking a deep breath, she faced the door and squared her shoulders. Faint hearts and all that. She stepped back out into the hall.
“Where’d you put my files, Reed?” she started to shout before spotting him shuffling out of his room. His socks rasped faintly against the short pile of the faded runner on the floor. He headed down the stairs without glancing at her.
“Kitchen.” He waved a hand toward the back of the house. “Box. Coffee.”
“Not a morning person, huh?” she said, thumping down the stairs behind him in her heavy boots. At the bottom, she headed out the door to grab another load from her truck. When she came back in, Spencer was standing at the bottom of the stairs, her box in his arms and a coffee mug the size of a soup pot clutched precariously in two fingers.
“Great. Bring that up, will you?” At the door to her room, she dropped her own load and relieved him of his. Coffee muglifted immediately and blue eyes blinked and peered at her over the rim as he gulped without stopping. She carried and kicked both boxes over to what she assumed was a closet door, and stacked them one on top of the other.
“Put your shoes on. There’s more in the truck.”
His eyes tracked her as she strode out of the room. Sleep-rough and slow, his voice called from behind her.
“Tell me Spike isn’t waiting in the truck with the boxes. Please.”
“Would I be asking for your help if he was?” Her words floated up to him from the foyer. “This was your idea, Reed. The least you can do is give me a hand.”
This was how she asked for help? No wonder he felt like a Volkswagen flattened by a steamroller.
Although she lost him once midtask, only to find him re-caffeinating in the kitchen, she hadn’t brought
He stumbled back upstairs and into his room, spotting his unmade bed with the pleasure of a treasure hunter finding the lost diamond. “Ahh, mine.” He stopped to pull on socks and a sweatshirt even older and more frayed than the pants and then tumbled back into bed, winding a sheet around his shoulders and pushing his head under a pillow.
Two seconds later, something sharp poked him in the shoulder. He might have said ouch as he rolled over. Then something patted him on the butt and the mattress dipped as a huge weight landed on it and a cold, wet nose shoved itself into his armpit.
He threw one arm around the furry monster and wrestled it under control. “Elwood! Get down! Oof!”
Spencer sucked in air after his hundred-and-twenty-pound pooch used his stomach as a launching pad to jump to the floor. He coughed twice.
“Up and at ’em, lawyer boy.” A viciously cheerful voice rang out from beside him. Memory started to filter in. Now he knew who’d lured the dog onto the bed. Pinching fingers grabbed one of his toes where they stuck out from under the covers, and yanked on them.
“Go ’way,” he mumbled, renewing his grasp on the pillow over his head. Unable to fall asleep last night, he’d sat up over papers until his eyes had burned. By his best guess, he’d been asleep for about an hour and a half when this waking nightmare began.
She ripped the covers off him. Why he’d ever thought he was attracted to this woman was a complete mystery. She was the root of all evil.
And he was waking up. Dammit.
He cracked open one eye and was treated to the sight of Addy’s butt sashaying out of his room. That was enough to bring him to full consciousness. If she wasn’t a bad dream, then maybe he’d actually made that coffee.
Back in her new bedroom—for the next six months, at least—Addy closed the door and collapsed against it, the knob digging into the small of her back. Even fully dressed, the sight of him in bed was enough to spark visions of her crawling under the covers. Talk about rash. This was going to be harder than she’d imagined.
Taking a deep breath, she faced the door and squared her shoulders. Faint hearts and all that. She stepped back out into the hall.
“Where’d you put my files, Reed?” she started to shout before spotting him shuffling out of his room. His socks rasped faintly against the short pile of the faded runner on the floor. He headed down the stairs without glancing at her.
“Kitchen.” He waved a hand toward the back of the house. “Box. Coffee.”
“Not a morning person, huh?” she said, thumping down the stairs behind him in her heavy boots. At the bottom, she headed out the door to grab another load from her truck. When she came back in, Spencer was standing at the bottom of the stairs, her box in his arms and a coffee mug the size of a soup pot clutched precariously in two fingers.
“Great. Bring that up, will you?” At the door to her room, she dropped her own load and relieved him of his. Coffee muglifted immediately and blue eyes blinked and peered at her over the rim as he gulped without stopping. She carried and kicked both boxes over to what she assumed was a closet door, and stacked them one on top of the other.
“Put your shoes on. There’s more in the truck.”
His eyes tracked her as she strode out of the room. Sleep-rough and slow, his voice called from behind her.
“Tell me Spike isn’t waiting in the truck with the boxes. Please.”
“Would I be asking for your help if he was?” Her words floated up to him from the foyer. “This was your idea, Reed. The least you can do is give me a hand.”
This was how she asked for help? No wonder he felt like a Volkswagen flattened by a steamroller.
Although she lost him once midtask, only to find him re-caffeinating in the kitchen, she hadn’t brought
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