Page 58 of Perfectly Grumpy

“Maybe you can build a nicer cabin than this sorry excuse for one.”

“Actually, this one is structurally pretty sound. It just hasn’t been updated in a century.”

A gray blur of movement catches my eye in the corner. When I look down, a mouse shoots across the floor at the same moment Lauren cracks the bathroom door.

“Hey, Tate, I dropped my shorts on the floor. Could you throw them…” Her words cut off abruptly, and I turn just in time to hear her gasp. “TATE! Is that a—?” The rest dissolves into a high-pitched yelp that could shatter glass as she spots the tiny gray blur darting across the floorboards.

I look at her, only realizing too late that Lauren is standing in the bathroom door in her t-shirt andonlya t-shirt, which is barely long enough to cover her underwear. And mentally I’m torn between forcing her to put on shorts or finding the mouse so she’ll stop freaking out.

The mouse decides for me by heading Lauren’s way.

In her panic, she leaps onto the squeaky bed, spinning around, searching for the mouse, which has disappeared underneath it.

“Where is it?” she says, whirling around. “You have to crawl under this bed. Get him out of here.Now.”

It takes a second for my brain to catch up—Lauren, on the sofa bed, half-dressed, her cheeks flushed with panic, and me in this very awkward, very inappropriate position we’re now in.

“But you don’t even have pants on!” I say, motioning to her legs.

She glares at me. “You’re worried about pants when there’s a rodent in the house?” she asks, hardly caring that she’s wearing a Crushers t-shirt and very little else.

“I feel like you should be more concerned about the fact that I can almost see what color underwear you’re wearing. This is really not a good way to kick off our first night together.”

“Tate, forget your modesty!” she yells. “Just kill the mouse.”

“What am I supposed to kill it with?” I ask, dropping to my knees to search under the bed for the mouse.

She leaps off the mattress in a single bound, darting to the kitchen area. “Hold on, I’ve got this!” I hear cabinet doors banging open and closed as I lower myself further, peering into the darkness beneath the bed. No sign of the mouse.

Just as I start to push myself up, something metallic whizzes past my ear, missing my head by inches, before hitting the wall with a dull thud.

A small skillet clatters to the floor. I turn to find Lauren standing there, her arm still extended from the throw, eyes wide with horror.

“What are you trying to do, kill me?” I demand, my heart hammering from the near miss.

“I was aiming for the mouse!” she says, looking genuinely mortified. “You weren’t supposed to move!”

I pluck the nonstick skillet from the floor and hold it in the air. “So, you want me to smash the mouse with the same pan we could use to make breakfast?”

“I’ll take my chances,” she shoots back.

I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Lauren,” I warn. “It probably ran away. It’s more scared of you—and your screaming—than you are of it.”

“That’s debatable,” she snaps nervously. “And I don’t do rodents.”

“You know, I’m the one sleeping on the floor, and I’m not scared,” I say.

“You’re not the one sleeping on the sofa bed where we last saw it run for cover,” she says.

I sigh and turn away from her. I gather up her blanket that got knocked on the floor and hold it out for her. “Here, take this first. Wrap it around yourself.”

She glances down at her bare legs and frowns. “It’s not like you’re thinking about me that way when there’s a mouse in here.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised what a man can think about in a crisis.”

She rolls her eyes, then wraps the blanket around herself before I get on my knees and check under the bed with a flashlight one more time. “No mouse here. I think he’s gone.” I rise from the floor and turn off my flashlight.

“Youthink?” she shrieks. “Is that supposed to help me sleep tonight? Because I might never sleep again. You know, I wouldn’t have to worry about this if you’d just rented a decent cabin like a normal individual.”

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