Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 90682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90682 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Anyway, it’s only two weeks. I’ll be out of Posey’s hair before she knows it.
Humming to myself as I start the shower water and strip down to my birthday suit (which is one hell of a birthday suit, by the way), I step into the hot spray. Thankfully, the showerhead is high enough because most times, they aren’t.
The sound of the water is my only company, and that’s exactly how I want it.
4
posey
As soon as I enter the kitchen through the back door, I listen.
Since Duke was nowhere to be found outside, I can only assume he’s somewhere in the house doing God-knows-what because he does whatever the fuck he wants, when he wants.
My keys go on the countertop, then I set down my purse.
Schoolbag on the chair at the table, where I put it every time I walk in.
Kicking off my heels by the door, I don’t bother making myself anything to drink or grabbing an after-school snack as I usually do. Instead, I want to see where my giant, crude, monster of a roommate is.
I head toward the stairs.
Halfway up, I hear the sound of running water.
The shower is running in the hall bathroom, and the door was left half open.
Duke is humming, and I imagine he’s scrubbing shampoo into his hair—hair that needs a good cut if I had an opinion on it.
My mouth curls into a smirk as an idea forms in my head.
Payback is a bitch, and I’m not a catty or vindictive person, but the man needs to learn a lesson, and he’s a sitting duck in the shower, unaware that I’m home, singing merrily to himself without a care in the world.
The man deserves a taste of his own medicine.
Suddenly, I’m tiptoeing the rest of the way up the carpeted stairs, though he can’t possibly hear me, crouching at the top like a hidden tiger.
I quietly creep into the bathroom.
Then gently lower myself to the toilet, grateful the toilet seat is down.
Sit and wait.
And wait.
Listening to him hum and sing about friends in low places and “…all my exes live in Texas.”
I smirk.
He has a horrible voice even though it’s deep and low, the way a good country singer’s voice should be. Not smooth at all, a bit warbly, though he’s giving it his best effort.
I almost laugh out loud when he croons out, “Texas is the place, I really lovee too beee…”
Not being a country music fan myself, I have no idea who the artist whose songs he’s singing is. Oddly enough, it’s putting a smile on my face.
I had a rough day—the kids were antsy and ready for the weekend, my regular offenders in rare form. Timmy Lauer got put in time-out twice for squirting Hannah Parker with his water bottle, and Aaron Kirk interrupted class at least four times by speaking out of turn while my other students were talking.
One email from a parent, and the mom who was supposed to send treats along sent in peanut butter cupcakes when we have a student with severe allergies.
So yeah.
Long day.
I almost sigh out loud as I sit here, waiting.
Five more minutes go by, and I could have murdered Duke by now if I were a murderer. He has zero idea I’m in the house, let alone in the bathroom with him.
Then the water shuts off.
His feet squeak on the acrylic bathtub floor.
Squeak, squeak.
His arm darts out, feeling around for the towel.
When he can’t find it, his head shoots out, too.
“I thought you’d be in there forever,” I muse casually from my spot on the toilet seat, glancing up at him but then glancing away so I don’t see anything I don’t want to see.
Dick, mostly.
“JESUS H CHRIST,” he bellows, almost slipping, grabbing the shower curtain in the process for dear life and holding it in front of himself to cover his body. “JESUS. CHRIST.”
He repeats it again as if I hadn’t heard him the first time.
“Jesus.”
A dead man could have heard him the first time…
“GODDAMMIT,” he adds for good measure, more theatrical by far than I’d been when he’d scared the crap out of me.
I rise, inspecting my nails. “You really should lock the door downstairs when you’re up here—anyone could sneak in on you.”
He’s huffing and puffing real good, reaching for the white towel hanging on the nearby rack. It disappears behind the shower curtain with him.
“Why would you do that?” comes his sullen question. It sounds like he’s pouting.
“Payback is a bitch.”
“I thought you were nice,” he calls out after me. “Aren’t you a kindergarten teacher?”
Yeah. Which means I have to think on my feet at all times and always have my eyes on everything—duh.
Everyone assumes I’m sweet, but the truth is, there’s a lot going on in my head that says otherwise.
Ignoring the muttering and the door slamming closed behind me, I go to my office and plop down in my desk chair, powering up my laptop. It’s Friday, so I have nothing to prepare for tomorrow, but there was a pair of shoes in an online shopping cart I wanted to look at one more time before pulling the trigger on them.