Tipsy(21)

Upstairs, I yanked off my boots and clothes, leaving them in a giant heap in the center of the floor. I padded into the bathroom to wash off my makeup and comb out my hair. I clipped my bangs away from my face with a little pink clip that was lying on the edge of the sink.

After pulling on a too-big T-shirt, I crawled into bed and sighed.

I closed my eyes.

I saw his face.

My eyes sprang back open.

I sat up, yanked the clip out of my hair, and tossed it across the room, where I heard it clatter in the darkness. A frustrated growl vibrated my throat as I kicked the blankets around frantically, freeing my feet and twisting the sheets into a pile in the center of the mattress.

My stomach seemed to revolt from all the movement and my head began to pound.

“Really?” I yelled in the darkness. “I’m going to get a nasty hangover from one and a half drinks?”

I leaned back against my padded headboard and tried to calm my rolling stomach. As I sat there, trying not to barf, a light sound caught my attention.

It was the closing of the front door.

I perked up, forgetting all about the fact I was suffering from an attack of an unsuspecting hangover.

Had I forgotten to lock the door? I never forgot to lock the door. But I was usually not running from my best friend.

Great.

The one time I don’t lock the damn door is the one time a burglar decides to come a’ calling.

Too bad for mister criminal I had a plan for something like this. I was the kind of girl that always had a plan.

I crept into the bathroom, being as quiet as I could, and reached into the cabinet. I pulled out my weapons (hey, all the crap women have to do to themselves to look good definitely qualify as weapons) and gripped them closely to my chest with both hands.

My heart was beating so hard against my ribs that it actually hurt and I had to work to not gasp for breath. Catching my intruder by surprise was key to my plan.

Moving quickly through the dark, I moved to the bedroom door, leaning against the wall and peering out into the darkened hallway. I could see the top of the stairs from where I stood, as well as the railing that ran alongside the hallway to keep someone from falling into the stairwell from upstairs.

Courtesy of the nightlight down in the entryway (it came in handy when I wanted a drink in the middle of the night); I saw a shadow move against the wall. The figure was large and distorted against the tall bare wall of the stairwell.

Up until that point, I hadn’t been certain someone was in the house.

But now I couldn’t deny it.

There was a robber in my house.

He for sure had nefarious plans.

Too bad for him I had a really shitty night and wasn’t in the mood.

As his foot stepped on the bottom stairs, I slinked out the door and along the wall, keeping my eyes trained on the top of the stairs. He began climbing (I was very unimpressed with his quietness, or rather lack thereof), and as he climbed, I slipped along the wall, moving through the darkness until I was standing in the corner directly across from the top of the stairs.

I saw his shoulders appear as he continued upward. He was wearing a dark coat and a dark hat… He was nothing but a large, ominous shape in the night.

I swallowed. The sound of my saliva scraping down my dry throat made me wince, and my palms were sweaty, causing me to tighten my grip on my weapons.

Oh yeah. I forgot.

I had weapons. I had a plan.

Just as his foot cleared the top step, I gave a battle cry and leapt forward, brandishing my weapon—a very large can of hairspray—which I pointed and pressed down on the top.

The can hissed as a cloud of very nice-smelling spray rushed out into the space between us. The man yelled, caught off guard, and slapped a hand over his eyes. I sprayed him some more as he stumbled forward.

I rushed past him, still holding on to the hairspray, going for the stairs. I was NOT the kind of idiot girl in the movies who ran farther into the house. I was headed for the freaking front door.

The man, now sputtering, turned and grabbed the hem of my shirt and pulled me backward. I stumbled forward and would have fallen right down the stairs, but he yanked me away.

My hands flew out to protect myself from falling and the can of hairspray rolled down the steps.

“Shit,” I grunted and I rolled onto my back, twisting away from his grasp. He released me but then reached down for me again.

I screamed and struck out with my last remaining weapon. A pink razor. Hey, if it could tame the hair on my legs, then it could take out an attacker.

I pushed the blade down on his hand and pulled back the handle.

“Fuck!” he yelled, jerking away.

I fell back on the carpet, breathing hard. He was hunched over his poor razored hand, and I drew my foot back to kick him.

“Shit, Julie. It’s me!”