8
Chad had tried to doze on the lounger throughout the day.
When Carla had strolled out of his bedroom—offering one of her unreadable (but thankfully not overtly hostile) looks—she’d made a show of closing the bedroom door solidly behind her.
Tanya did not follow her out of the room.
The “Do Not Enter” was clear, but there was no indicator of what the hell had happened behind that closed door. Or where he was supposed to sleep. Clearly not on Tanya’s shoulder—he was still pissed that he’d simply passed out on that prime real estate yet didn’t remember any of it.
The problem was that the couches in this place were about a foot shorter than he was. Great for lovebirds like Richie and Melissa—who had eventually retreated into their room to sleep away the day just as the others had.
Suck
