The Two Week Roommate by Roxie Noir EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Roxie Noir
- Language: English
- Genre: Military Romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 1 MB
- Price: Free
GIDEON
I STAND in the kitchen doorway, fold my arms over my chest, and narrow
my eyes. Everything’s perfectly in place, just like I left it: the avocadocolored fridge, the beat-up wooden table, the lemon-yellow formica
countertop.
No chipmunk in sight.
“I saw you come in here,” I tell the kitchen. “You’re not staying.”
It’s so cold I can see my breath, because I didn’t have the chance to relight the wood stove before this squeaky little varmint darted out from
behind it, into the kitchen, onto the countertop, and behind the stacks of
ungainly, mismatched dishes on open shelving that can’t be less than forty
years old.
Neither the chipmunk nor the kitchen responds. Why the kitchen? Now
I’m going to have to clean every dish in this place, because I have the
misfortune of knowing exactly what diseases rodents can carry.
Little bastard.
I put the lantern on the kitchen table, cross my arms, and wait. I scan the
open wooden shelves, the stained white stove, the rounded refrigerator
that’s probably older than me. It sounds like a freight train when it kicks on.
Sooner or later that furry fuckface is going to make a move.
I wait for it. I can be patient. I’d say I’m quite experienced in being
patient for critters.
Said patience is running low when there’s a flurry of scrabbling and a
glass falls from one of the haphazard shelves. I practically leap across the
kitchen, sock feet thumping heavily on a floor that’s seen better days, and
manage to catch it before the it hits the floor.
I feel victorious for half a second before I realize it’s plastic and I
could’ve let it fall.
“Shit,” I mutter at the cup in my hand, then scan the counter and shelves
again. “Where’d you—”
It’s watching me from the very end of a shelf, the patterned paper lining
curled up around its feet. Its nose twitches. Its beady little eyes blink, and
it’s exactly far enough away from me that I have a zero percent chance of
catching it.
“You’re supposed to be asleep,” I tell it. “Chipmunks hibernate. Look it
up.”
The chipmunk seems uninterested in scholarship, because it doesn’t
move at all. At least it doesn’t seem rabid. Just more social than a chipmunk
ought to be, which is its own kind of concerning. Not as concerning as
rabies, but I wouldn’t call it good.
It chatters at me, squeaky and angry. I know when I’m being told off by
wildlife. I put my hands up, palms out, like I’m showing the damn thing I’m
not armed. As if a chipmunk can tell.
“Okay,” I say, the plastic cup still in my hand. If I get this just right, I
can trap the sanctimonious dickhead underneath and carry it outside, like I
do with spiders that are too big to live indoors. “Just hold still, I’m not
gonna—”
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