Ыоуве Been Warned   ::   Patterson James

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And if you’re trying to be a littlesmart-ass with me, I’m telling you right now I don’t appreciate it.”

“Mrs. Rosencrantz, I’m not trying to -”

She cuts me off. “Don’t think I can’t get you evicted, because I can.”

I frown at the old bat, who happens to look even more unpleasant and haggard than usual, if that’s possible.You want smart-ass, lady? I’ll give you smart-ass!

“Mrs. Rosencrantz, I’m going back to bed now… and if you don’t mind my saying so, you could use a little more beauty sleep yourself.”

With that, I promptly close the door on her stunned, sourpuss face.

I’m about to turn and make a beeline for my bed, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror by the coat closet.Whoa! I’m sporting some serious raccoon eyes and a pretty spectacular case of bedhead.Omigod, I look almost as bad as Mrs. Rosencrantz!

Supposedly, I have this killer wink that everybody loves. I wink at myself in the mirror. It doesn’t help. I wink at myself again. Nope, nothing.

I laugh out loud, and for a moment, I forget about the horrible dream and my neighbor from hell.

But only for a moment.

Because I still can’t figure out the music and where it’s coming from.

Walking around my apartment like Elmer Fudd hunting rabbits, I press my ear against the walls. Feeling totally ridiculous, I drop to my knees and try listening through the floorboards.

Only after grabbing a chair to climb closer to the ceiling do I realize what’s going on. The music isn’tcoming from anywhere.

The music is inside my head.



Chapter 3

THIS IS NOT GOOD!

I stand perfectly still in my living room and try to listen…between my ears. The music is faint, but it’s definitely there. How bizarre is this? How scary? What a weird, weird morning this has been, and I’ve barely been out of bed five minutes.

I close my eyes. It’s a song, and it sounds familiar. I’ve definitely heard it before. For the life of me, though, I can’t put my finger on it.

Just keep quiet and keep listening, I tell myself.

But in the next second, I can do neither, as the silence in my apartment is upended by the phone ringing. It’s okay, though. It’s always okay when he calls.

“Hello?”

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Michael whispers, “this is your phone sex wake-up call.”

I’ve heard him say the line a hundred times and still I giggle. “Good morning,” I whisper back. And now I’m smiling.

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