He might have lost his job andeven killed. All because of her.She shook herself out of her pity party and went down the hall to Pat'sroom. The place...was still a shambles from the chaos of his assault. Forsome reason, she felt the need to strip the bed and remake it. A briefsearch turned up clean sheets. The blankets and spread had been throwninto a corner at some point and were still clean. She made short work ofturning the bed into a useable place again so that it would be ready forPat. His eyes looked upwards and counted the cracks on the ceiling. Forty-seven so far. It couldn’t have been wear and tear, it must’ve been a design choice–some kind of new-age painting style. Her head brushed past his waist, her flame-red hair catching his eye. ‘Sweetie—what are—?’ his voice breaking into a gasp. It felt wet. It tingled. He relaxed, leaning backwards and resting his head on a pillow. Looking up again, he resumed his count. At crack number fifty-nine, his foot jerked wildly.. More

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