To prove my point, I try to pull the slider open, but discover it’s locked. I claw at the lock and yank at the door again, but it stays stubbornly shut.
James informs me in a matter-of-fact voice, “There’s a security lock on the rail on the bottom.”
I turn and glare at him. He shrugs. “Just saying.”
The. f*****g. Nerve.
I pick up the wooden side table the vase of flowers was on and brandish it at him. And what does he do? The son of a b***h rolls his eyes!
“For God’s sake, woman, you know I’m not going to hurt you.”
“The feeling is not mutual! And stop calling me woman!”
I’m looking wildly around for another heavy object to throw at him after I hit him with the table when something whizzes past my head at high velocity and pierces the patio door with a loud crack. The sound is follo
