I was about to knock on Mike's door, hoping I would wake him up from his afternoonnap, but I heard a muffled moan. God, does this guy do anything but sleep? Then I heard it again.
'Dammit, he better not have Jane in there again!'
"Yo, Fran, you here?" called Greg into the front door.
"I'm in here." I was in the kitchen unpacking a variety of juices and salads-in-a-bag.
"How'd your interview go?" I had an initial interview with HRM designs, to do sketches for one of their designers.
I shrugged. "They didn't throw me out. I don't know." I tossed him a carrot.
"Howâs your hunky home-buddy?" he crunched.
"I don't know, he's in his room moaning and groaning. He's either got incredible stamina for masturbation or he's lost his mind."
Greg's face lit up! "Well, let's find out shall we?" And before I could stop him, Greg went to Mike's bedroom and opened the door. I poured myself a glass of orange juice.
"Jeezus!" I heard Greg say from down the hall.
"What the fuck, get out of here! Ow..." I heard Mike wail.
I guess it wasn't a massive wet dream after all. I walked to his bedroom and found him doubled up on the floor in obvious pain, with Greg trying to help him up on to his bed.
"Holey moley. What happened?" I asked, completely stunned. I could tell he'd been in a fight -- there were bruises on him and his hands were cut..
"I fell out of bed," Mike answered, wincing as Greg lowered him on to the bed.
"You don't do that much damage just falling out of bed," said Greg.
'What deductive reasoning, Sherlock,' I thought to myself. Out loud I said, "There's ice in the freezer if you want to get it for him." Mike lay back in the bed and closed his eyes. When he opened them, I asked.
"What the hell is going on??? And don't tell me you got a visit from the toothfairy..."
