Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 111610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
I’m beginning to consider an electrical surge or some sort of wiring issue with the alarm when a sudden crash makes that idea poof into the ether.
“What was that?” Samantha whispers as she grabs my shirt, twisting it in her hand and holding the stun gun out at an invisible enemy.
I look at her wryly, one brow raised. “How should I know? I’m right here with you,” I answer pointedly.
Not liking that, she lets me go, straightens her back, and starts toward where the sound came from. I stick my arm out, stopping her. “Hell no. Get behind me.”
It’s not some chauvinistic initiative or doubt in her skills with the weapon she’s holding in front of her at the ready. It’s that this building and what it stands for are my responsibility. If there’s a threat, it’s to me and mine.
Following where the sound came from, I can hear the quietest crinkle of plastic packaging. “The vending machine area,” I whisper.
We tip-toe to the doorway of the dead-end area where we have a bank of snack machines. I hold my hand up, stopping Samantha. “On three,” I mouth, and she nods. “One, two, three!”
I leap into the doorway, fists up to fight. “Freeze!”
Samantha jumps out with me, by my side even in a bad situation. “Hiii-yah!”
But there’s not an intruder looking to rob the club. Or at least not in the way I worried.
It’s a raccoon who lazily turns his eye masked face toward us, looking annoyed at our interruption.
“Aaaaaah!” Samantha screeches, virtually teleporting into one of the dining chairs at the couple of tables we have set up for people to eat their snacks. Crouching there, she points at the raccoon to make sure I’m seeing him. As if I could miss him.
He’s roly-poly fat, obviously well-fed, and laid back against one of the vending machines with a bag’s worth of M&Ms scattered around him. The lure of the candy is probably why he doesn’t so much as flinch at our loud appearance. She’s acting like he’s going to rabidly attack her, while he’s looking at us like ‘’Sup?’ and ready to offer me a blue M&M.
I can’t help but laugh at her overreaction to the cute critter.
“It’s okay,” I reassure Samantha, holding calming hands out to her rather than the animal. “He’s more scared of us than we are of him.”
“Agree to disagree!” she shouts.
As if teasing her, the raccoon plucks a green M&M from the floor, looks at it, and then nibbles it from his black, too-human hand. He’s not scared at all. He’s chilling as if this is his place and we stocked his pantry, then interrupted his solo snack party.
Deciding the raccoon is the least of my worries right now, I reach a hand to Samantha. “Come on down.” Awkwardly, she takes my hand and steps uncertainly to the floor, but her eyes are locked on the critter as if he’s going to fly up from his M&M stash to attack her with grabby paws and snapping teeth. “You’re fine.”
Once her feet hit the floor, she ducks behind me, her face pressed to my shoulder. I can’t help but grin at her dramatics. This woman is badassness personified, but she’s terrified of a raccoon who can’t be bothered to run when approached by humans?
“Hey there, Rico,” I purr soothingly, giving the raccoon an impromptu name. “How’d you get in here?” Construction and remodeling have been done for months now. Has Rico been trapped in here this whole time, or is he coming and going in some way we haven’t discovered? If he has a secret door, it’d have to be a pretty big one to fit his belly.
“More importantly, how do you get him out?” Samantha asks.
I pull out my phone to look up pest control companies that do all-nighter calls and dial the first one I find. After waking up a grumpy, grumbling man, I explain the situation and he tells me he’ll be here asap. I have no doubt that his trip will involve a pit stop for coffee and it’ll be a while before we see him.
We settle in to wait, sitting in chairs, though Samantha chooses one furthest away from Rico and pulls her legs up into the chair. Trying to seem cooler with the whole situation than she obviously is, she teases, “Even your intruders are male. Guess I should be flattered that I’m the only woman allowed entry.” She points over to Rico, who’s got his back legs spread to the sky, making his furry belly and balls glaringly obvious.
“There’s a joke in there about manspreading, but you’re right. You’re the proof that I don’t always follow the rules,” I offer. “Not sure I’m going to shout that from the rooftops, though. There’s something to be said for thoughtfully breaking a rule when you keep most of them at all times. A calculated risk.” After a moment, I add, “The guys here? Some of them break rules regularly, like it’s the only way they know to live. The mere existence of a rule chafes them. They’re the ones I try to reach, to show how rules can be good for them.”