Curious, I scamper over and climb up the bed and find that it is indeed a tower of tires. There’s even a tire rim that’s used as the table top, with a regular old lamp placed on it.
First, he has a lug nut necklace, and now, a nightstand made of tires? Weird dude.
I eye the rim longingly for a second because that thing is shiny. Like, see-my-reflection shiny. I wish I could carry it back to my nest. But even my rat realizes that’s not going to happen, so I climb back down the bed and start searching.
I scurry into the clothes hamper first, scouring through jean pockets. Most of his clothes have the sharp scent of oil clinging to them, but it’s an underlying theme to his own masculine scent of natural sweat and something woodsy, so I don’t even mind it. In fact, I find that I like it. But what really gets me going is when I find some coins and bolts in his pockets.
I drag those babies out and leave them in a tidy pile in the center of his room as I search the rest of the place. Beneath his bed, I find a paperclip and an old comb. Those go right into the pile too.
I scour the rest of the floor, but there’s nothing else to find, and I’ve already looked on top of the bed and nightstand, but then my gaze swings up to the dresser. The very tall, very slippery-surfaced dresser.
I groan. My rat titters.
Rat!—
Bitch clicks the “ignore” button on me so fast I get a case of STFU whiplash.
Not cool.
Scuttling over with a damn skip in her step, my rat forces me to climb up the dresser. Feet precariously balanced on the barred handles, I make my painstaking way up.
From drawer to drawer, I have to stretch my body as high as it will go in order to hook my feet onto the bars and hoist myself up, and...wow. I have gained some weight back because I am winded.
I’m also really friggen high up, and when I chance a peek down, the height makes me a little dizzy. I whip my head back up, now super invested in reaching the top.
When I get to the second to last drawer, I look up and see that the top drawer is open slightly. Dammit. As if this weren’t hard enough.
I try to reach the handle, but with the angle of the drawer, I can’t quite get to it. I try to talk my rat into climbing back down, but of course, she ignores me.
I walk the length of the handle, trying to figure this out, and then spot a crack in the wood at the side of the drawer. I can work with that.
Hooking my claw into it, I lift myself up, my back legs scrabbling and scratching against the wood as I four-feet it by hooking my back claws into the same crack, and then clamber up and over the side of the drawer. I fall inside, into a sea of cotton-soft mundies.
To my delight, the man undies are a jumbled mess.
They aren’t folded or rolled or placed in the drawer in any sort of organized way. Which means the entire drawer is basically just like a cozy, squishy, surprisingly nice-smelling bed.
I just want to curl up and take a nap in here. My rat dive-bombs into it like she’s swimming in a pool, tunnels through one, and pops back up with a pair wrapped around our body.
Pleased, my rat starts climbing out. Oh, okay. I guess we’re stealing a pair of boxers. Lovely.
She’s seemingly satisfied with this unexpected acquisition and has no desire to reach the top of the dresser anymore, which means now we have to climb back down. I toss down the pair of boxers to the floor, since I can’t really climb with them wrapped around me, and then I start the trek back down.
The climb is harrowing.
Not only is it difficult to climb down the rungs of the dresser’s handles because I basically have to base jump from one to another, but I’m also really out of shape from being stuck in a stupid crate for so long. I almost fall to my demise at least three times, but fortunately, I make it all the way back down to the floor without dying. Go me.
Trotting over to my pile of veritable treasure, I cock my head at the odds and ends as my rat works out how best to carry everything back to our nest.
There’s no way I can fit everything in my mouth. Even I’m not that good. Eyeing the pair of boxers, I decide to do a little engineering.
I grab it and slide it over and then start transferring all of my goodies on top. Then I fold the fabric over, bundle the edges, and stuff it in my mouth.
It’ll be like my very own knapsack. A ratsack? A knaprat? Whatever. The point is, I’m like Santa Claus—if Santa Claus was a rat and carried all his toys in a pair of boxers that he stole for himself.
I start dragging it away merrily, already dreaming of all the placement options I have for my new treasures. My nest is gonna look so good. It’ll smell good too, because these boxers are laundry fresh and carrying a hint of Lug Nut’s nice scent. Hmm, I might need to come back later and get another pair…
Just as I reach the door to his room, it opens wide, and Mr. Lug Nut himself walks in.
I freeze, and his steps falter as he takes me in, his wide eyes revealing his surprise. His eyes flick over me, and his expression changes from confusion to amusement.
He crouches down in front of me, his weight balanced on the balls of his feet as he rests his forearms on his knees. His jeans and t-shirt are greased up and worn, and there’s more black stains on his hands and beneath his fingernails. And you know what? This grungy, hard-working vibe he’s got going on is working for him. He looks downright sexy.
I didn’t get a very good look at him that first night when I stole his lug nut—which, by the way, I can see he’s still wearing the others on his chain necklace. But now that I have sunlight on my side, I see tanned skin, black hair long enough to run some fingers through, brown eyes, and a square jaw. His biceps are formed nicely, and he has those sexy hands—hands that you can picture gripping your hips.
A slow grin spreads across his face as he continues to look at me. “You seem to be making a habit of stealing from me, Mousey.”
I don’t move, and even though I’m freaking out that I just got caught again, my rat doesn’t give a shit. In fact, she starts walking over to him, quite pleased with herself, while dragging the ratsack behind.
He tsks. “I’ve been leaving you presents. Isn’t that enough to keep you satisfied without having to resort to thievery?” he asks, but I can hear the teasing lilt of his tone.
My rat sniffs at the bottom of his pant leg, very curious about what kind of shifter he is, but I can’t tell. Then again, I’m only familiar with the scent of rats and mongooses. I guess I can rule those out.
“You took my boxers?”
Yeah, I did, and I don’t appreciate his tone about it.
When he reaches down and tries to take it from me, I turn and run between his legs, dragging my sack behind me.
“Hey!”
I ignore him, opting to race out of his room instead. I nearly get stepped on by someone walking down the hallway, and I’m forced to stop, standing on my hindlegs with my hands up, boxers hanging out of my mouth like a common criminal.
The brown-haired female peers down at me and then looks up at Lug Nut. “Friend of yours?”
I’m scooped up by Lug Nut, and rather than let my ratsack fall, I just cling onto it harder, using my front claws to help. “Yep,” he answers.
The female leans in and sniffs me. “Hmm,” she says, straightening back up as she yawns. “Cool.”
Lug Nut smirks. “Nap time, Wynn?”
She nods and starts flouncing away past his door to reach another bedroom further down the hall. “Yeah. I’ve been up for three hours. I’m exhausted.”