Page 18 of Oh No, My Kidnapper Is Hot!

After pizza and several more hours ofMiraculous–and Heidi’s commentary – Baz decides he’s ready to leave. I know because he stands, throws Heidi over his shoulder, and walks out of the house. Heidi waves and calls a good-natured “goodnight!” as they go. Rosie stands as well and helps us clear the coffee table of any leftover food debris, then she gives us each a motherly squeeze before heading out. Stryker closes the door behind her, and we’re alone.

Very alone.

Which is totally cool. I can handle being alone with Stryker. I was alone with him yesterday, and look how well I handled that! I am alive, mostly clean, and have experienced the best bed on earth. I will just ignore how Stryker is the largest, hottest man I have ever seen. I will ignore the way that I can’t even look at him without fainting like a Victorian nun. I will even ignore the fact that he is a delusional whack job with a penchant for invading my personal space. I will put my full focus on getting that pretty little key off his neck, and everything will be totally cool.

Totally. Cool.

Chapter Six

While I’m busy giving myself a pep talk, Stryker is on the move.

He picks up the duffel bags by the door, then goes down the hallway to the bedroom. I follow him, more because of the chain than any actual desire to. When we reach the bedroom he drops both duffels against the wall by the bathroom door.

“What are those?” I ask him.

“My stuff,” he answers. I see he’s being Mr. Verbose again. He walks to the dresser, then grabs the chain between us and uses it to drag me closer.

“What are you doing?!” I screech. He keeps pulling me in, only stopping when I’m basically on top of him.

“Your clothes are in here. Underwear and socks in the top drawer. Tops in the second. Bottoms in the third. Pajamas in the bottom. Should’ve told you this mornin’. I apologize for that. Pick out some new stuff so you can take a shower and we can get to sleep.”

Uh… what? I blink at him. At the dresser. At him again.

“Now, Millie,” he bosses.

“I’m not taking a shower,” I inform him. First things first. No way am I getting naked anywhere near this man. Absolutely not. Do I look stupid?

Stryker’s eyebrows fly together. He looks me up and down, then wrinkles his nose. “You’re takin’ a shower,” he bosses me.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I am not!”

“You are!”

We glare at each other. He’s beyond delusional at this point. He’s lost what shreds of his mind he still had left.

Eventually, he shrugs, turns to the dresser, and starts opening drawers. He goes for the bottom first, pulling out a pajama set almost identical to the loungewear I’m wearing, but in a fuzzy, pale pink material. Then he opens the top drawer and grabs a pair of underwear at random.

I watch him, unimpressed. He can get whatever he wants. I’m not taking a shower here. I’ll take one tomorrow. At the beach.

He turns to me with his handful of clothes. I raise my eyebrows. What now, big man?

I shriek when he bends, throws me over his shoulder, and starts moving.

“Stop doing this!” I pound on his back. What a giant. Hit. Freaking. Hit. Jerk! Hit.

“Stop making me,” he says. Making him? Making him! Nobody’s making him do anything!

“You’re crazy! Certifiably crazy! Nobody’s making you do anything!” Yeah, you tell him, Millie! I hit him again.

He doesn’t respond.

We dip momentarily, then I’m dumped on my feet in the bathroom. We’re uncomfortably close in the small space. I give his nose averydirty look.

“That was completely unnecessary,” I tell him.

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