I loved him. He loved me. It doesn’t get much plainer than that.
What I didn’t love was that rousting him every morning typically took extreme measures. He could sleep through the apocalypse if I let him, snoring right through fire and brimstone.
I didn’t bother trying to poke him again. Instead, I climbed out of the bed, crouched down low, and grabbed hold of my side of the mattress. I dug my fingers between it and the frame, and heaved up as hard as I could, lifting the bed to an extreme angle, and sending Rick, still snoring, to the floor with a heavy, resounding thud.
The snoring stopped. I climbed back onto the bed, and crawled to the edge to peer over at him.
Rick lay motionless on the floor, his back resting against the hardwood, arms at his side at ease. His eyes were open, and they locked on my own.
“Ow,” he said.
“Morning,” I offered.
He glared at me. “The indignity, Nora. The indignity.”
“It’s time to get up.”
“It’s not even light out. Yet here I lay, prostrate before the whims of a tyrannical matriarchy, suffering the slings and arrows of outrageous—“
“Seriously? Shakespeare? When do you have time for Hamlet?”
“I read,” he said defensively. “Unlike some of you peasants.”
“Soliloquy later. We’ve got work.”
“Yeah?” he said, his eyes still glinting with humor. “Will this work involve unceremoniously dumping other helpless men onto the cold, hard ground?”
“Probably, actually,” I said. “Nick found the kids.”
Rick shot up into a sitting position, suddenly serious. “Well, shit, why are we sitting here talking?”
“Get dressed,” I told him, climbing back off the bed to do the same. “We’re meeting with the bosses.”
Shattered Focus (A Paranormal, Urban, Fantasy Novella) (Focus Series Book 3) Page 10