“Phoebe brought a mouse into the guesthouse. I was going to sleep on the couch.” Obviously, that isn’t going to happen now.
He raises an eyebrow, still smiling. “You’re afraid of mice?”
“I’m not, I just don’t want one crawling on my face while I sleep.”
He makes a face at me like I’m both ridiculous and adorable. “I don’t think they do that.”
Well, I wouldn’t be able to sleep, picturing it. Its little feet on my face. Once in a while, a mouse would get into the summer house my mom and I would go to when I was growing up. A shudder rolls through me.
Maybe I’m a little afraid of mice.
“Phoebe hates me.” We’re still whispering, standing in the foyer. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she brought it to my bed because she knew I’d hate it.”
He starts pulling his boots on. “Maybe it was an offering.”
“To Satan, maybe. You didn’t see the way she was looking at me. And maybe it has friends. A whole family, living in there. Where are you going?”
“To catch the mouse. Go wait in my room.”
“Now?” And, shirtless? It’s freezing out. I wonder again if he runs hot. I bet if I were to press my hand against the tattoos on his chest, his skin would feel warm. “What are you going to do with it?”
“Try to get it outside.”
Of course. He’s way toogoodto kill a mouse, but for once, I’m relieved by his morals.
“Go upstairs,” he says, and then he’s gone.
I reluctantly tip-toe past the living room with the sleeping kids, up the stairs, and step inside his room. It smells like him in here. The sheets are rumpled, like he’s been tossing and turning, and sitting on the bed seems way, way too intimate, so I head to the windows.
The lights in my guest house are on. I catch glimpses of him moving around the guest house, looking under the bed, behind the bookcase.
Ten minutes later, he returns with Satan’s hench-cat tucked into his arms. “There’s no mouse.”
“Tate.” I glare at the cat. “I’m telling you, there was a mouse.”
He smiles. “I’ll put some humane traps out tomorrow. Do you want me to walk you back?”
Oh my god. He actually expects me to sleep in there?
“No thanks.” I give him a tight smile. “I can walk back myself.”
“Okay. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.” I stand at his bedroom windows, not moving, and his lips press together while his eyes turn bright again. “Jordan.”
“I’m just going to sleep in the guest room.”
“The guesthouseisthe guest room,” he says with patience.
Oh. Right. “I’ll sleep on the floor of your office.”
He sighs.
“I’ll be gone before you get up.”
“That’s not the issue, and I wake up at five.”
I make a disgusted face. “I’ll be gone before you leave for thearena.”
