RED FLAGS & TUESDAYS (WEEKDAY WEIRDOS #1) BY NORDIKA NIGHT – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Nordika Night
- Language: English
- Genre: contemporary romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2.9 MB
- Price: Free
REID
Someone shrieks. Then I hear a palm slap over what I assume is that
shrieking mouth. Flailing ensues, followed by a foot in my thigh and a
maybe-on-purpose smack to my cheek. The blankets hit me in the face
next, and the most colourful string of hissed curses I’ve ever heard comes
from… the floor? A crash. A bang. More swears.
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I blink my eyes open, in no rush, but not wanting to miss this epic start
to a walk of shame. My room is still dark, and the alarm clock on the
nightstand tells me it’s only four in the morning, but those glowing numbers
give the shrieker a nice spotlight. What a nice sight.
“What in the actual fuck?!” The question barrels out unabashed, and his
hand clamps over his mouth again. “What in the actual fuck?” he repeats in
a whisper-shout through splayed fingers, as if that will tamp down the
former full shout.
I don’t know what kind of answer he’s looking for, so I put my arms
behind my head and watch him scramble around my room for his clothes.
He mutters the whole time, sometimes casting death glares my way, and
sometimes reaming himself out for drinking on a Tuesday, because
apparently, he knew better.
“No good fucking Tuesdays,” he seethes at his hoodie, throwing it over
his head and pulling it down to cover his stomach while he tries to glare at
me again. The hoodie is on backwards, and the hood is up, so all I see is
grey fabric and the outline of his nose and mouth. “Fucking hoodies!”
Shit, he’s cute when he’s flustered.
He gets the hoodie spun around and goes for his jeans. Sitting his ass on
the floor and pulling them up his legs, he tries to regain a little composure. I
can tell he’s plotting his escape. Trying to find the fastest way out of here is
probably only slightly less important to not letting anyone see him leave. I
know he’s about to be pissed when he tries to do the fly up, so I scooch up a
bit, my head on the headboard, to get a better view.
“Oh, you piece of shit!” He aims that one right at me. Yeah, I might
have gotten a bit impatient last night. His buttons are gone, and the teeth to
the zipper are ripped apart. No chance of saving them, which sort of sucks
because it was his ass in those jeans that prompted this whole situation. The
way I couldn’t resist him.
He kicks them off his legs, and I barely have time to get an arm up over
my face before they come flying at me. I like him all worked up like this.
He starts rummaging around in my drawers, helping himself to my stuff like
he owns it. I can respect the confidence. Or is it entitlement? When he
doesn’t find what he’s looking for, he throws his arms wide with one
demand.
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