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'I love this.' Doug grinned at Buddy. 'They're fighting over me.' |
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'Wouldn't be any match,' Buddy said. 'Maureen would clean her clock.' |
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'Up yours,' Cyndi blurted. |
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Buddy's face lost its smile. 'Why don't we find out?' |
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'Why don't we eat?' Sheila suggested. Turning around quickly, she pulled open the oven door. |
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Denise's thigh muscles shuddered from the effort of bracing the door with her back. She had taken over the job of holding the lock button down, though Tom hadn't attempted, so far, to pop it open from the other side. He seemed content with crashing against the door. |
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Each time he struck it, the door jolted Denise. |
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She knew that only her body prevented it from ripping out the latch and flying open. |
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Sweat streamed down her face, stinging her eyes, dripping off her nose and chin. It rolled down her chest and sides, tickling her, making her itch. It made the wood slick against her back. The knife was so slippery in her right hand that she feared she might drop it. The sweat seemed even more irritating that |
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