3. Chapter 3
three
I set the mixing bowl aside, casting another satisfied glance at my latest Franken-cupcake. It may be too chocolatey for Colt, but Lex would probably love it. And, considering I’d lost her real cupcakes to the cold clutches of some lawyers, it was the least I could do.
Okay, maybe not the least since the least I could do was nothing and offer a lame apology.
But, I’d spent a stupid amount of time since getting home unpacking and organizing, and I needed a stress release.
I wasn’t even halfway through since my closet freaked me out.
The corners were too dark and mysterious and probably hid secrets and/or dead bodies in them. Or snakes.
Ugh, I hated snakes.
And that’s why my bedroom and living room looked like my suitcases and boxes had been the victims of a chainsaw massacre.
I’d love to say there was a method to the madness, but that only applied if the method was “hide as much of the sketchy carpet as possible.” Which, considering the suspicious splotches of unidentified stains, wasn’t a horrible idea.
Ignorance was bliss, right? If ignorance kept me safe from the scheming depths of my closet from Hell, it could handle a few stains, too.
I popped the muffin tin into the oven, set the timer on my phone, and stared at the tornado of stuff awaiting me in the living room.
Draw whatever conclusions you want from the fact the first and only organized and unpacked room in the whole apartment was the kitchen.
I had my priorities straight, okay? Food first, everything else later.
I’d made dessert before heating up the frozen pizza calling my name, which only proved my point.
Waiting until after dinner to eat dessert was for chumps.
Everyone knows the best appetizer is a mouthful of sugar and fat.
And I’d fight anyone who said otherwise.
I’m not saying I’d win unless that “anyone” was ancient or maybe an exceptionally weak toddler, but still. It was the thought that counted.
With so much strewn about the room, I didn’t know where to start.
The coats and winter gear taking up residence on the arm of the couch?
The stacks of books piled like little skyscrapers by the entrance to the hall?
The pile of picture frames that had slid down the couch cushions like an ice cream cone on a hot day? So many options, so little motivation.
Eventually, I settled on unpacking more bathroom stuff so I could shower more luxuriously tonight. Or as luxurious as this place could get. Instead of a quick scrub-and-run, I could actually let my conditioner sit long enough to make a difference for my curls.
Whoo. Living large tonight.
After I took the Franken-cakes out of the oven, I made the mistake of walking into my bedroom.
It wouldn’t have been so bad—demonic closet excluded—except I couldn’t seem to finish one cleaning task at a time. I’d start one, notice something else that needed to be cleaned, do that instead, and repeat the process until I was exhausted, and nothing looked clean.
And that’s how I found myself listening to Queen while holding one of the few dresses I owned in front of me on its hanger and spinning.
I was still technically cleaning since the dress needed to be hung up in the closet of doom anyway. I’d even managed to hang up two sweaters. And then I chickened out, which was why I was procrastinating with the whole dancing around to Bohemian Rhapsody thing.
But I digress.
I sucked in a deep breath, belting all the parts I could to the complicated song, and forced myself to hang up my current costume. Since Lex hadn’t come by yet, I could safely assume that court hadn’t let out, and Max’s apartment was empty. I could sing horribly to my heart’s content.
The song reached all the “Galileo’s” before I gathered enough courage to repeat the process and picked up the next dress from its resting place on the ground. The fabric of the sundress slid across the floor as it rose to freedom, revealing a brown, coiled, scaly form beneath it.
I screamed. A blood-curdling, from-the-belly, terror-filled scream that would’ve made a Banshee blush. I leaped away from the snake like an inebriated ballerina and ran for the living room.
A snake. In my apartment .
I couldn’t believe I guessed Max’s revenge plan right.
I shuddered, frantically moving picture frames off the couch for me to climb onto it without breaking the glass. The snake was probably hunting me right now. Snakes could smell fear, right? If so, I was a mountain of fresh bacon to its snaky little nose.
A weapon. I needed a weapon to defend myself. But what did you use against a snake? It wasn’t like I just had a pet mongoose lying around.
Note to self: invest in a pet mongoose.
So, what then? A shovel? Didn’t have one of those, either. I had plenty of kitchen knives, but there was no way in clam shells I was going to get close enough to the snake to use those. Where was a good, old-fashioned spear when you needed one?
A pounding on my door made my skeleton jump out of its fleshy prison.
“Dekker?” Max’s voice came from the other side, slightly muffled and definitely alarmed. “Are you okay?”
My soul nearly followed my skeleton, making a bid for freedom.
Speak of the revenge-getting devil. If this wasn’t what I deserved, I’d be much more upset with him.
If he got the snake in here, he could get it back out.
I didn’t care what I’d have to do to convince him I’d suffered enough so he would.
Maybe I’d have to sell him my soul. Whatever it was, I’d do it. Who needs souls these days anyway?
I leaped off the couch, basically doing high-knees in an attempt to keep one foot from touching the ground too long. If the snake wanted to bite my legs, I wasn’t going to make it easier for it. I may smell like cooked bacon, but it would find that this little piggy was still kicking and squealing.
I wrenched the door open, yanking him inside by his arm. “Get in! Get in, quick!”
He lurched from the sudden movement, stumbling as I dragged him across the threshold. “What’s going on?”
Now that he was safely inside, my courage abandoned me faster than I ghosted fitness pyramid schemers on Facebook.
I squealed—suspiciously like the scared little piggy I was—and scrambled back onto the couch.
I scanned the floor, tugging nervously on my oversized pajama shirt.
Snakes couldn’t climb onto couches, right?
Please don’t let snakes be able to climb on couches.
Max watched me curiously, evidently unafraid of his scaly accomplice. “Are you…okay?”
“Noooo,” I moaned, switching from my shirt to my hair for my next victim. “Get it out. Please, get it out. Whatever it takes, I am begging you. I know I had it coming, but I’m a different person than I was a year ago. I—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down.” He held up a hand like I was a spooked horse. And no, I won’t comment on the accuracy of that. “What are you talking about? Get what out?”
As if he didn’t know. Well played, buddy. Leave it to the Fed to know better than to incriminate himself.
I pulled my curls straight in agitation, tugging on my scalp.
“The snake! I saw it in my room with its beady, evil little eyes and it wants my blood. I’m not that young anymore, but I’m still too young to die!
I still have to be Lex’s maid of honor and plan her bachelorette party, and I want to see a movie at the Redford and try whatever a pasty is that all the Michiganders talk about and see Mackinac Island and—”
“Hold up.” He flashed a smile, eyes twinkling. Of course he was enjoying this. My comeuppance finally delivered. “You found a snake in your room?”
“Yes!” Was he not listening? I mean, sure, I was rambling. But still. He already knew there was a snake in here. “It was big and brown and was hiding under my dress to eat me and—why are you laughing ? I could’ve died!”
“You’re right, of course.” He struggled to control his smile, pressing his lips tightly into a line. He wanted revenge, but surely he didn’t want me to die , right? “Sorry. Uh, can you show me where the snake was?”
“Not on your life, buddy.” I folded my arms, my legs quaking beneath my pajama shorts. “I’m not going anywhere near it for all the money in the world.”
In fact, I’d just move again. To the North Pole or Antarctica or somewhere that didn’t have any snakes. Surely those places had a demand for bakers.
“Hmm, I see.” He scratched his chin, crossing the other arm over his chest as he nonchalantly paced. “So, you’re asking me to go into your room, alone, and try to find the snake which very well may have moved?”
I hesitated. When he put it like that, it was a bit of a tall order. Plus, what if the snake moved somewhere incriminating?
The reminder of my drawer of ratty underthings I’d dumped out of the clear tub came to mind.
Had I closed that drawer, or was it still open from the clothes sorting I’d been doing?
What if it was closed, but the snake climbed into the drawer somehow?
If so, was I more scared of the snake, or Max seeing my granny panties and leopard-print bra again?
Or—worse—my high school yearbook, which I was pretty sure was in that room somewhere.
It was a close call. Ultimately, I decided he didn’t want my death on his conscience and would thus keep me safe from any venomous bites his little pet wanted to take.
“Okay, fine. I’ll show you.” I glared in his direction as I skittered off the couch. “But you better have antivenom or my ghost will come back to haunt you.”
He chuckled, unfazed by my threat. “There’s only one venomous snake in Michigan, and it’s incredibly rare and lives in swamps.”
I skirted around a particularly menacing stack of books. “Okay, well, nonvenomous snakes can do a lot of damage, too. Pythons, anacondas, boa constrictors, you name it.”
“You seem to know your snakes.”