The scream that ripples through the house from the upstairs bathroom would be worthy of any respectable horror movie.
“Here we go,” I mutter, folding the newspaper I’ve been reading.
I stand up from the couch and brace myself for the incoming storm. Promptly, the bathroom door bangs open, and angry steps stomp down the stairs.
I move behind the couch to put a barrier of sorts between me and the approaching fury.
Wendy storms into the living room, still wearing only a bathrobe and pointing a finger at me.
Don’t be distracted, Riven, not even by the tantalizing amount of legs-skin exposed.
“You did this!” she yells. “The nice bath, the speech, it was all a ploy.”
No point in denying it, summoning my most smartass expression I shrug. “It worked.”
“What do you mean it worked?”
“You’
