Not That Kind of Pounding
Griff
I woke to the sounds of pounding – one hard knock, then another, and then three in a row, fast and sharp.
I froze. For a moment, I couldn't place where I was. This wasn't my bed, my room, or my city. My feet were tangled in a sleeping bag. The air smelled like chain grease with a hint of rain.
But all of this took a back seat to the real kicker. Someone was curled against my chest – someone warm, soft, and breathing steadily.
Maisie.
And just like that, it all came flooding back. The tent. The shop. Last night.
I heard another knock, this one louder.
Maisie stirred beside me with a groggy sound that hit straight in the chest. I tightened my arm around her naked body for half a beat before sliding free, my instincts already firing.
It was the middle of the night, and someone was pounding on the front door – assuming it was the middle of the night. In the windowless space, it was hard to tell.
Recalling the power outage, I squinted in the darkness until my eyes adjusted and shapes came into focus. There was at least some light, sparse as it was, filtering in through the fabric of the tent, which meant the power was back up and running.
As far as when the outage had ended, I had no idea.
Aside from the pounding, I heard nothing outside the tent – no rain on the rooftop, no thunder cracking above. No nothing. The storm, it seemed, had finally passed.
"Griff?" Maisie whispered, her voice scratchy with sleep.
"Yeah, it's me." I finally spotted the vague outline of my jeans, wadded in the corner. "Wait here, alright?"
She sat up. "But I think someone's at the door."
No kidding. "I know. Hang on, I'll check it out."
"What time is it? Do you know?"
"No, but I'll check that, too."
"Oh, my God," she groaned. "What if it's a customer?"
I did the math. "I doubt we slept that long."
"Oh, right." She paused. "I mean…that would have to be like twelve hours. No, fourteen." Again, she hesitated. "Right?"
She sounded so sleep-addled, that all I wanted was to pull her into my arms and kiss away her concerns. But that wouldn't stop the pounding – or head off any trouble if the knocker had ill-intentions.
I was already yanking on my jeans. "Whatever it is, I'll handle it. Don't worry."
"Hold up, I'll come with you."
The hell she would. "Nope."
"What do you mean, nope?"
"It's the middle of the night."
"You don't know that for sure."
"Either way, you're not opening that door."
She huffed in the shadows. "But you are?"
"It depends on who it is."
She gave a little groan. "Oh, crap, I bet it's Tessa."
In my book, that would be good news compared to who else it could be. I reached for the tent zipper and yanked it open. "I'll let you know."
"Griff – "
"I mean it."
"But what if it is Tessa?" she persisted. "It would be a million times better if I answered."
"And a million times worse if it's not."
"But who else could it be?"
"That's what I'm gonna find out."
Maisie threw off the sleeping bag and fumbled for her slacks. No panties. But hey, I was in the same boat. It's not like I'd stopped to find my briefs.
In the dim light, I could barely make out Maisie's form, topless and tempting as she shimmied on her pants. But this was no time for a distraction. And the way I saw it, the fact that she was shirtless actually worked in my favor.
There was no way she'd be answering the door like that.
It was time to get a move on. I bolted from the tent and made for the connecting door, not bothering to track down my shirt, which had been flung to who-knows-where.
I eased open the connecting door and took a good, long look at the front room, which still had all the lights blazing. No surprise there. In the commotion of last night, we hadn't stopped to turn them off.
Hell, we hadn't stopped for a lot of things.
Outside, it was dark except for the dim glow of street lights and not much else. So it was the middle of the night.
On the door, the visitor was still pounding like they had a warrant. I strode forward, heading not for the door itself, but for the front window, where I could get a decent look before deciding what to do.
I was halfway there when the knocking stopped, and a face appeared on the other side of the glass, peering close with her hands cupped around her eyes.
Yup, it was Maisie's roommate, alright – or as I knew her, Raisin Girl.
I stopped short as our gazes locked. Her eyes widened for half a beat before they narrowed with obvious suspicion. Through the glass, she hollered out, "What have you done to Maisie?"