Tan.
Hair that probably costs more to maintain than my shampoo budget for the year. Flashy, in a laid-back way—if that makes any kind of sense. Pretty in thatdevil-on-your-shouldersort of way.
That roommate is trouble.
He’s exactly the kind of guy I used to fall for in college—right before they’d text me something like“u up?”at 2 a.m. after ghosting me for four straight days.
So yeah. Been there. Done that. Have the emotional damage.
No, thank you.
I sneak another peek at my phone: 2:23
Shit.
I do the sleep math, mentally calculating the hours I can rest if I fall asleep now. Four hours and some change. Four and a halfif I can shut off my brain. Just enough to wake up feeling like I was gently hit by a truck…
Ha!
I sigh, flipping to my stomach and yanking the pillow over my head, only to hear?—
Thud.
I freeze.
“What was that?” I whisper to no one.
I lift the pillow just enough to hear better.
Scrape.Tap.
The house is supposed to be silent.
And yet…
I sit up now, straining to listen. Another sound. Like a sigh—or maybe a quiet laugh? Could be Nugget. Could be one of the guys getting up to pee. Could be a ghost, but let’s not go there because I really don’t have the emotional bandwidth to be haunted on top of everything else.
My pulse kicks up, which certainly won’t help me sleep.
I strain to listen, sheets pooling around my waist. Waiting for the next sound.
Tiptoeing…
A predator? Home-invader?
That was a murder-y sound…
“This is it. This is how I die.” Hair in braids. No bra. Wearing the ugliest pair of underwear I own.
I scramble out of bed like a gremlin, nearly trip over my own feet, and fumble with the door handle. My heart is tap dancing in my throat as I bolt into the hallway.
Do I grab a weapon? Chair? Hairbrush?
Hockey stick!
Yes!
That’s what I need and there’s only one place I can think to grab one.
