stared balefully at the cat.
He looked disgusted, making her burst out laughing at herself. “Didn’t Aunt Hilda warn me?” Hiccup . “She must have told me a thousand times how I had two left feet.”
Relaxation had finally come, and now her muscles seemed reluctant to work. But she could hardly stretch out wet and naked on the bathroom floor for the night. Besides, the floor felt cold, damp, and the cold seeped quickly into her exposed skin. She shivered.
“I’m really pathetic,” she said to the cat as she hiccuped again. Sighing, she pulled herself upright, stumbled into her bedroom, and grabbed the first shirt she came across. Dragging it over her wet head, she fell damp and exhausted onto her bed.
She was asleep before her head hit the pillow.
In the bathroom, smoke was rising from the extinguished candles. Attached to the hallway ceiling, the sensitive fire alarm automatically responded to the harmless, drifting tendrils of smoke ... and started to wail.
All the while, Trisha slept on.
Eight
Though it was only midnight, Hunter was deeply asleep, dreaming.
In space with his crew, he peeked out the window, down at Earth. Far below, scrawled in red lipstick over the planet were the words:
SO SORRY ABOUT THE LANDING GEAR, HUNTER! I’LL BE HAPPY TO PAY FOR ANY DAMAGES. FONDLY, TRISHA .
Hunter groaned and turned over. The woman could wreak havoc on his world even while he slept.
He dreamed on.
He was back in his duplex in South Pasadena, music blaring, windows rattling. Trisha stood there smiling wickedly, holding up the black leather bikini. He tried to tell her he preferred the soft, ivory chemise, but she couldn’t hear him over the annoying sound of the music.
But then he realized the noise wasn’t music at all, and he stirred.
At the continued screech of the fire alarm, Hunter jerked in his bed, unwilling to let go of the dream.
He thought of Trisha’s fuchsia fingernails, and wondered if she’d painted her toenails to match.
But the obnoxious shrill of the alarm kept bothering him until the dream faded completely. He sat upright in his bed. When he realized what the sound meant, he came instantly awake. Swearing, he threw back the covers, yanked on a pair of sweatpants, grabbed the portable phone by his bed, and strode to the door. Carefully, he laid a hand against it. Cool.
With his heartbeat echoing in his ears, he cautiously opened the door. No smoke, no flames, just the earsplitting sound of the smoke alarm.
Then he realized something terrifying— his alarm hadn’t emitted the noise. It was coming from the floor above.
Gripping the portable phone, he sprinted through the house, tore out the front door. On the grass, he whirled back, craning his neck to stare through the black night at the upper level.
No light, nothing. But also no smoke or fire. Still, he had to be sure. Taking the steps three at a time, he knocked on the door.
But the knock faded away in the blare of the alarm.
“Dammit,” he muttered, and tried pounding on the door, though he knew it would do no good. He peered over the railing—Trisha’s car was parked in the driveway, perilously close to his own.
Where the hell was she and why hadn’t she shut the thing off?
Her front doorknob turned easily under his hand, which only served to rile his temper further. She hadn’t bothered to lock the door.
“Trisha?” he yelled. Nothing. Except, of course, the god-awful shriek of the smoke detector. That he still didn’t see any sign of smoke or flames went a long way toward relieving him, but why hadn’t she responded?
Calling her name, he moved through the kitchen, flipping on lights, then ran down the hall and tore into her bedroom. The light from the hall spilled into the room. The lump in the middle of the bed stirred at his voice. “Trisha.”
Her wild hair emerged from the blanket first, then her confused, sleepy face. “God, what’s that noise?” She covered her ears and stared
He looked disgusted, making her burst out laughing at herself. “Didn’t Aunt Hilda warn me?” Hiccup . “She must have told me a thousand times how I had two left feet.”
Relaxation had finally come, and now her muscles seemed reluctant to work. But she could hardly stretch out wet and naked on the bathroom floor for the night. Besides, the floor felt cold, damp, and the cold seeped quickly into her exposed skin. She shivered.
“I’m really pathetic,” she said to the cat as she hiccuped again. Sighing, she pulled herself upright, stumbled into her bedroom, and grabbed the first shirt she came across. Dragging it over her wet head, she fell damp and exhausted onto her bed.
She was asleep before her head hit the pillow.
In the bathroom, smoke was rising from the extinguished candles. Attached to the hallway ceiling, the sensitive fire alarm automatically responded to the harmless, drifting tendrils of smoke ... and started to wail.
All the while, Trisha slept on.
Eight
Though it was only midnight, Hunter was deeply asleep, dreaming.
In space with his crew, he peeked out the window, down at Earth. Far below, scrawled in red lipstick over the planet were the words:
SO SORRY ABOUT THE LANDING GEAR, HUNTER! I’LL BE HAPPY TO PAY FOR ANY DAMAGES. FONDLY, TRISHA .
Hunter groaned and turned over. The woman could wreak havoc on his world even while he slept.
He dreamed on.
He was back in his duplex in South Pasadena, music blaring, windows rattling. Trisha stood there smiling wickedly, holding up the black leather bikini. He tried to tell her he preferred the soft, ivory chemise, but she couldn’t hear him over the annoying sound of the music.
But then he realized the noise wasn’t music at all, and he stirred.
At the continued screech of the fire alarm, Hunter jerked in his bed, unwilling to let go of the dream.
He thought of Trisha’s fuchsia fingernails, and wondered if she’d painted her toenails to match.
But the obnoxious shrill of the alarm kept bothering him until the dream faded completely. He sat upright in his bed. When he realized what the sound meant, he came instantly awake. Swearing, he threw back the covers, yanked on a pair of sweatpants, grabbed the portable phone by his bed, and strode to the door. Carefully, he laid a hand against it. Cool.
With his heartbeat echoing in his ears, he cautiously opened the door. No smoke, no flames, just the earsplitting sound of the smoke alarm.
Then he realized something terrifying— his alarm hadn’t emitted the noise. It was coming from the floor above.
Gripping the portable phone, he sprinted through the house, tore out the front door. On the grass, he whirled back, craning his neck to stare through the black night at the upper level.
No light, nothing. But also no smoke or fire. Still, he had to be sure. Taking the steps three at a time, he knocked on the door.
But the knock faded away in the blare of the alarm.
“Dammit,” he muttered, and tried pounding on the door, though he knew it would do no good. He peered over the railing—Trisha’s car was parked in the driveway, perilously close to his own.
Where the hell was she and why hadn’t she shut the thing off?
Her front doorknob turned easily under his hand, which only served to rile his temper further. She hadn’t bothered to lock the door.
“Trisha?” he yelled. Nothing. Except, of course, the god-awful shriek of the smoke detector. That he still didn’t see any sign of smoke or flames went a long way toward relieving him, but why hadn’t she responded?
Calling her name, he moved through the kitchen, flipping on lights, then ran down the hall and tore into her bedroom. The light from the hall spilled into the room. The lump in the middle of the bed stirred at his voice. “Trisha.”
Her wild hair emerged from the blanket first, then her confused, sleepy face. “God, what’s that noise?” She covered her ears and stared
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