Or if she wants me to do nothing at all.
I tell Sabrina goodnight and let myself back into the bungalow. Both bedroom doors are still closed. The balcony doors off the living room are open though, letting in the sound of the surf and the scent of the ocean through the screens.
Not a bad way to sleep.
And I’m honestly ready for sleep.
Run hard during the day.
Crash hard at night.
It’s crash time.
I head to the couch and toss the cushions aside to pull out the hide-a-bed.
Or try to.
I get the thing halfway out, and it sticks.
Totally, completely frozen.
I tug.
It doesn’t move.
Tug again.
Still doesn’t move.
It’s just hanging out, sticking out of the couch at a forty-five-degree angle.
So I push it back in, except that doesn’t work either.
Try unfolding the lower half of the bed.
No dice.
No matter how I push, pull, tug, lift, or do anything else, the damn thingwill not move.
“Are you kidding me?” I mutter to it.
I don’t go looking for trouble.
I don’t.
Not anymore.
But it’s apparently finding me this week in all kinds of inconvenient places.
Mama cat meows loudly inside the primary bedroom.
“You’re right, Miss Doodles,” I answer, knowing it’s not an invitation from the cats to join them. They’d scratch me all to hell, Emma would notice, Laney would notice, Laney would turn me in for the cats, and then everything will go to hell. Better to let them decide they like me before risking them eating my face off in the middle of the night. “Iampaying for this place.”
Mind made up.
I have three beds in this suite, and I’m sleeping inoneof them.
No matter how much it’s going to suck.
