(Nobody ever reads the disclaimers anyway....cut to the chase.)
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For once, he was in his own bed and not on the couch, Rainey thought, blinking. He was naked, lying on top of the rumpled covers. The lights were on, the clock on the nightstand read four past midnight, but he wasn't quite sure of what day it was. The last thing he remembered was.... (Chapter Three. How much do we need to explain here about Bobbie and the milkman? Guess Nadine's gone home for the night, I'll ask her about that in the morning.)
God, he needed a cold drink, his throat was so dry his tongue was sticking to the roof of his mouth. Mort rolled over and sat on the edge of the bed. (Whoa. Light-headed. Feels like...damn, I think he's been here again. God, I hate it when he does this. It's so icky.) He hauled himself upright. Yesterday's clothes were in a pile by the half-closed door. Nudging them aside with his foot, Mort grabbed his old bathrobe from the hook on the back of the door and shrugged into it.
The loft space and the rooms below were in darkness save for the lamp beside the couch. Halfway down the stairs, heading for the kitchen, Rainey caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye and looked more closely. Nadine was stretched out on the sofa, motionless.
Alarm screamed in his head. He bolted down the last few steps and scurried over to the couch. Nadine was lying there, one upflung arm half obscuring her face, the other resting on the back of the couch, afghan pulled up to her chest. (Oh shit, oh shit, she's dead! What am I gonna do? Don't panic, check for a pulse!)
He grabbed her wrist and she started. Mort yelped and let go. He jumped back as she popped into a sitting position, staring at him. "Sorry, I, ahh -- are you okay?"
"I'm just fine. Why wouldn't I be?"
"Uhh...." (Sorry about that, I just wanted to make sure I didn't kill you in my sleep.)
Then Nadine gave a little chuckle and smiled wickedly at him. "So, Mort, tell me -- do you always go commando?" At that point, he realized the bathrobe was hanging open and she was getting an eyeful. Rainey's face got hot.
Securing the robe quickly, he turned away. "I was just coming downstairs for a drink. You looked uncomfortable, I thought you might not be feeling well."
She followed him to the kitchen. "I feel just fine." She leaned against the wall, inspecting him in the glow from the open refrigerator. He swiftly retrieved a chilled can; she shook her head as he held it out to her. "How 'bout you, Rainey? How you feelin'?" There was a note of flirtation in Nadine's voice that scared him. She was a nice person. He liked her. He didn't dare take it farther than that for fear that Shooter would find a reason to hurt her.
"Tired," he said tersely. "Remind me I want to ask you about Chapter Three in the morning."
Mort hurried back upstairs, closing the bedroom door behind him. Oh God, how badly had he messed up tonight? What must she think, with him grabbing her like that, not to mention flashing -- he'd never be able to look her in the eye again!
Rainey shook his head. Nadine was not an option. Even if she was interested in him -- and she might've been looking just because it was flapping in the breeze, for crying out loud! -- there was the not-so-little matter of the insanely jealous homicidal manic who shared his head. He probably shouldn't even be writing with her. (But it's so good. I'd forgotten how much fun writing can be. I can't give that up again.)
For a long time, he remained propped up against the headboard, staring at the green leaves on the wall, trying to reconcile his wants and needs with the realities of his broken life.
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Poor Mort. Doesn't that just tug at your heartstrings? Everybody together now.....Awww! Poor baby!
.
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For once, he was in his own bed and not on the couch, Rainey thought, blinking. He was naked, lying on top of the rumpled covers. The lights were on, the clock on the nightstand read four past midnight, but he wasn't quite sure of what day it was. The last thing he remembered was.... (Chapter Three. How much do we need to explain here about Bobbie and the milkman? Guess Nadine's gone home for the night, I'll ask her about that in the morning.)
God, he needed a cold drink, his throat was so dry his tongue was sticking to the roof of his mouth. Mort rolled over and sat on the edge of the bed. (Whoa. Light-headed. Feels like...damn, I think he's been here again. God, I hate it when he does this. It's so icky.) He hauled himself upright. Yesterday's clothes were in a pile by the half-closed door. Nudging them aside with his foot, Mort grabbed his old bathrobe from the hook on the back of the door and shrugged into it.
The loft space and the rooms below were in darkness save for the lamp beside the couch. Halfway down the stairs, heading for the kitchen, Rainey caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye and looked more closely. Nadine was stretched out on the sofa, motionless.
Alarm screamed in his head. He bolted down the last few steps and scurried over to the couch. Nadine was lying there, one upflung arm half obscuring her face, the other resting on the back of the couch, afghan pulled up to her chest. (Oh shit, oh shit, she's dead! What am I gonna do? Don't panic, check for a pulse!)
He grabbed her wrist and she started. Mort yelped and let go. He jumped back as she popped into a sitting position, staring at him. "Sorry, I, ahh -- are you okay?"
"I'm just fine. Why wouldn't I be?"
"Uhh...." (Sorry about that, I just wanted to make sure I didn't kill you in my sleep.)
Then Nadine gave a little chuckle and smiled wickedly at him. "So, Mort, tell me -- do you always go commando?" At that point, he realized the bathrobe was hanging open and she was getting an eyeful. Rainey's face got hot.
Securing the robe quickly, he turned away. "I was just coming downstairs for a drink. You looked uncomfortable, I thought you might not be feeling well."
She followed him to the kitchen. "I feel just fine." She leaned against the wall, inspecting him in the glow from the open refrigerator. He swiftly retrieved a chilled can; she shook her head as he held it out to her. "How 'bout you, Rainey? How you feelin'?" There was a note of flirtation in Nadine's voice that scared him. She was a nice person. He liked her. He didn't dare take it farther than that for fear that Shooter would find a reason to hurt her.
"Tired," he said tersely. "Remind me I want to ask you about Chapter Three in the morning."
Mort hurried back upstairs, closing the bedroom door behind him. Oh God, how badly had he messed up tonight? What must she think, with him grabbing her like that, not to mention flashing -- he'd never be able to look her in the eye again!
Rainey shook his head. Nadine was not an option. Even if she was interested in him -- and she might've been looking just because it was flapping in the breeze, for crying out loud! -- there was the not-so-little matter of the insanely jealous homicidal manic who shared his head. He probably shouldn't even be writing with her. (But it's so good. I'd forgotten how much fun writing can be. I can't give that up again.)
For a long time, he remained propped up against the headboard, staring at the green leaves on the wall, trying to reconcile his wants and needs with the realities of his broken life.
=======================
Poor Mort. Doesn't that just tug at your heartstrings? Everybody together now.....Awww! Poor baby!
.