Chapter Twenty-One
There Was Just No Shaking This Guy
“Wake up, Sunshine.”
I opened my eyes as the light switched on and I blinked, temporarily blinded.
Then, I saw Hank’s thighs, upright, at the side of the bed.
They were encased in black track pants with three thin stripes running up the sides, the outer two white, the inner one dark gray.
I decided no one should be upright, especial y Hank.
He’d had, like, two hours of sleep.
I closed my eyes again.
“No waking up,” I mumbled, rubbed my face into the pil ow and turned away from the light.
The bed moved when Hank sat on it. Then the covers slid down to my waist and Hank’s hand rested there.
“Get up, Sweetheart, Shamus needs his walk.” I felt his lips touch my shoulder, then the bed moved again and he got up.
I was lying mostly on my side but partial y on my bel y. I felt Shamus in front of me and I squinted my eyes at him.
He saw me squint, his tail wagged, he edged up to me and rested his chin on my waist. He blinked twice and then closed his eyes again.
Since Shamus closed his eyes, I did too.
Clearly Shamus was in no mood to walk. Shamus shared my mood, which was to sleep more and forget my life was a disaster. Though, Shamus’s life wasn’t a disaster and he probably didn’t comprehend that mine was, but if doggie brains could comprehend such complex situations, I felt pretty certain he would commiserate and let me sleep.
I’d fal en asleep again when I was suddenly pul ed across the bed, flipped, then lifted, an arm behind my knees, one at my waist.
“What the hel !” I screeched, grabbing on to Hank’s shoulders as he walked the few steps to the bathroom, carrying me, then he dropped my legs and set me on my feet in the bathroom door.
I tipped my head back and frowned at him. He kept his arm around my waist and was grinning at me.
His hair was damp from a shower and he looked awake, alert and refreshed.
I found this supremely annoying.
“How can you be bright-eyed at this hour? You’ve barely slept,” I asked. I didn’t know what hour it was; al I knew was that it wasn’t a good hour.
He kept grinning.
“Conditioning,” he answered. “Get dressed. I have to get to work but before that we have to walk Shamus, have breakfast and then you have to spend an hour doing whatever-it-is-you-do that, in the end, makes you look no more cute and sexy than you do right now.” I stared at him.
Was he serious?
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“Get dressed, Roxie.”
“I’l have you know that I’ve spent years honing my getting-ready routine to a fine and practiced art and, when I’m done with it, I look far better than I do right now.”
“No you don’t.”
My mouth dropped open.