Only Thirty to Go
Griff
It was past midnight, and my mattress was staging a mutiny.
From the kitchenette, the fridge groaned like it was dying a slow, painful death. The sound wasn't new, but that didn't mean I liked it. I turned on my side and glared in its general direction. "Relax, will ya?"
Shit. If I was smart, I'd take my own advice. I'd ignore the sound, shut my eyes, and will myself to sleep. Right on cue, the fridge let out a clunk that rattled the floorboards and made me sit up to look. I called out, "Oh, fuck off."
The fridge paused, then groaned again, louder this time.
Asshole.
Relaxation wouldn't come easy in a place like this.
I flopped onto my back and stared up at the ceiling. In the darkness, there was nothing to see. Hell, there was nothing I wanted to see. I'd already gotten a good eyeful of those water stains and a light fixture so ugly, it had to be a joke.
The real punchline? There was no switch near the bed. No lamp either. Instead, I'd been using a surprisingly nice flashlight that Ryder had thrown into the duffel for reasons that I didn't want to contemplate.
He'd also packed a few toiletries and maybe a week's worth of clothes – nothing fancy, but enough to get me by until I gave up or found a laundromat.
I was still staring upward when my phone buzzed on the nightstand. Correction – the floor.
There was no nightstand.
I reached down and fumbled for the phone. I pulled it close and punched in the code. When I saw the text, I let out a fridge-like groan and a few curses, too.
The text was from Ryder.
Of course.
As I read the words, I could practically hear his voice, smug and satisfied, like he was already gloating with popcorn in hand. "Having fun yet?"
Yeah, fun like a root canal. I punched out a reply. "Loads."
His reply came a few seconds later. "That's the spirit. Only 30 days to go!" Even in text, I could see the smirk.
The fucker.
He thought I'd be giving up.
That wasn't gonna happen. I texted back, "Not quitting. Try again."
This time, his reply was instant. "Challenge accepted."
I frowned in the darkness. What the fuck did that mean?
Knowing Ryder, it meant nothing. It was just more trash talk to throw me off my game. The problem was, I had no game. But I knew one thing for damn sure. I wasn't gonna spend the whole month in this shithole.
Sure, maybe I'd have to sleep here, but during the day? Well, that was another story, wasn't it? Muttering a few choice words, I tossed aside the phone. It hit the floor with a thud that set off another groan from the fridge.
When I shifted on the bed, the springs jabbed me in the back like I owed them money. I shifted to the left, then to the right, then to the left again. Still, I found no sweet spot.
Back in Chicago, my bed was three times the size and a hundred times more comfortable. My sheets were soft, my mattress was firm, and my fridge was quiet – not that it mattered. It's not like I slept with the damned thing.
At home, the fridge was located on the other side of the penthouse and stocked with everything a guy could want. For some reason, my thoughts drifted to the girl on the dock. She'd been sweet and pretty – a rare combination, some might say.
I scoffed in the darkness. More likely, the combo came with a hidden catch, like a pet ferret or a boyfriend in jail.
Ferret or no ferret, I'd been an asshole.
No denying that .
But in my own defense, I'd been hung over and cranky as shit. Still, that didn't make it right.
I closed my eyes and tried to think of anything but her. Big mistake. The more I tried not to think of her, the more she haunted my thoughts with her expressive eyes and smart mouth.
Nice body, too. Not that I'd meant to notice – much.
I rolled onto my side and prayed like hell that the island had a decent laundromat. Forget the clothes. If I didn't wash these sheets, I might as well go outside and sleep on the grass.
Hell, I'd done it before.
Sure, it wasn't recent, but I hadn't gotten that soft – at least not yet.
With a grunt, I shifted to my other side, but it was no use. There was no sweet spot. And even if there was, I wouldn't be finding it any time soon.
Again, my thoughts drifted to the brunette. Probably she was already asleep, resting in clean sheets and dreaming of bunnies or kittens – or hell, even world peace.
She seemed the type.
Probably she smiled in her sleep.
For some reason, that made me smile, too – until another spring popped in the bed, giving me a good jab to the kidney as the fridge let out another groan.
Fuck.
Ryder's text echoed in my thoughts. Only thirty days to go.
Yeah, that was me – livin' the dream.