Chapter 13

By the time I was toweling my freshly-shampooed hair, the handsome house cleaner had apparently hustled off to work. My bedroom was once again silent, although rather than the quiet cocoon from half an hour earlier, I seemed now to find myself in an echoing cave. Where before my sheets had felt invitingly cool, they now felt downright icy. The occasional clunk and bump would be a small price to pay to have access to a looker like that, it seemed. What was Marzipan thinking? I wondered to myself as I slipped again between my sheets. Knowing me like she does, what could she possibly think I would see in a big fat guy with a hunk like this abroad in the neighborhood? She must be planning on keeping him for herself, I reasoned, cuddling up with a pillow, for if she truly wanted me to be happy, she would leave the fatty to his own devices and not rest until I had a knockout of a neighbor in this icebox of a bed to keep me warm. 4