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“Shut up, Grace.”
That only made her laugh harder. “Relax, I’m going to fix this for you. I hope.”
“How?”
“You’ll see. Don’t be so crabby—I’m going to get you dry.”
Troy aimed all the vents at himself and turned up the fan. “Lucky I didn’t get washed off the edge,” he muttered, rubbing his hands together.
“I admit, that wouldn’t have been as funny,” she said.
“You have a very big laugh for a little girl.”
“I know.”
A few minutes later, she parked in front of the souvenir shop. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“You’ll see.” She grabbed her purse and jumped out, leaving the car running for him. She jogged inside and less than five minutes later came running back to the car with a roll of paper towels in one hand and a shopping bag in the other. “These were donated by the cashier,” she said, handing him the paper towels. “And these are for you!” Grinning widely, she pulled a sweatshirt out of the bag—it read My Heart Is in Coos Bay. “I got the largest one. And here are some shorts.” She pulled out a pair of women’s shorts with eyelet lace sewn around the legs. “They’re actually from a pajama set, but they’re XL. They didn’t have any men’s pants, just tops. This was all they had, but they’re dry.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“It’s okay, you have nice narrow hips. If this place hadn’t had clothes, I was going to take you to that fire station, but this is better. And you don’t ever have to wear them again, just till we get you home.” She craned her neck, looking around. They were alone in the parking lot. “Take off your shirt and dry your head and body...”
“In the car?”
“You’re a guy! Guys strip on the street if they have to! Guys pee off boats!”
He ripped off his shirt and used paper towels to dry his hair, neck and his damp chest. He put on the sweatshirt. “Good. That’s good.”
“Pants. Come on.”
“They’re not that wet...”
“You’re soaked. I won’t look,” she said, turning away.
“I’m okay, but thanks for the thought.”
“Your pants are wet and it’s cold. You already made the seat wet—get your pants off and sit on a bunch of paper towels. Even if we get it warm in here, you can’t be sitting in cold, wet pants.”
“It’s New Year’s Day and nothing is open. How’d you know about this place?”
“We passed it on the way up. I asked myself what would be open on a holiday—the souvenir shop was all I could think of.” She smiled. “I almost grabbed you a couple of refrigerator magnets while I was in there.” She touched his shoulder. “Put on the nice, dry shorts, Troy. I’ll close my eyes. Besides, cold and wet as you are, there probably isn’t that much to see.”
He lifted one eyebrow. “Did it ever occur to you that’s why I’m not undressing in front of you?”
“Fine,” she said. “I’ll go back inside the store. There’s no one in the parking lot. Get it done.”
And with that, she was out of the car. She chatted it up with the cashier for a minute, explaining Troy’s shyness. She glanced at her watch, supposing enough time had passed. When she walked back outside, what she saw caused her to stop dead in her tracks.
A police car was parked next to the Jeep and an officer had Troy out of the car, standing in his wet stocking feet wearing his ladies’ shorts, talking and shivering. Oh, no! she thought. He must have been changing when the officer pulled up. Of course he had to take off his shoes to get out of his pants. She could imagine what the officer thought! She took two steps toward them to help, to be a witness to Troy’s explanation.
But she started to laugh again and was absolutely no help at all.
* * *
Troy insisted on taking over the driving. He was no longer chattering and shaking. He was, however, a little out of sorts. And he cast glances at Grace, who was looking out the window attempting not to laugh, the attempt causing her to snort now and then.
She turned toward him, her hand suspiciously covering her mouth. “So, how did the police become involved?”
“He snuck up on me as I was changing pants. I was at a disadvantage. My wet jeans were tossed over the seat and these pretty little shorts you so kindly bought me were around my ankles and I was drying off when I looked up and he was staring in the window. He told me to get out of the car. I had barely stopped explaining the situation when you came out of the store and laughed until you almost peed yourself. I’m writing a letter to the city council. I think it’s unprofessional for a police officer to laugh until he farts.”
Grace quickly looked out the window. She snorted again. She got the hiccups.
“Glad I could be so entertaining,” he grumbled.
“Are you going to drop me off at the flower shop?” she asked.
“Oh-ho, no way, Gracie. I might’ve screwed up my first attempt at showing you how to have fun but I’m not giving up. And I’m not letting you do accounting on a holiday! I’ll just clean up and we’ll go at it again.”
“Really, Troy, I think your work here is done. I don’t think I’ve ever had more fun in my life.” She snickered a little and bit her lip. “Besides, I think you might be mad at me for laughing. And that doesn’t sound like fun.”
“I’m not mad,” he snapped. “I’m wet!” He took a breath and said, “I’ll be more fun when I’m dry and not wearing girl pants.”
“I think you’re fun right now,” she said. Then she grinned at him.
He parked behind his apartment complex and led her up to the second floor, leaving all his wet clothing outside the door. He unlocked his dead bolt. Once inside, she looked around. “Wow. Nice.”
He smiled to himself. It was a crappy old complex on the outside, but Troy had done a little work on the inside. He’d painted, for one thing, and bought a nice, deep and fluffy area rug to put over the old and worn carpeting in the living room. He had some nice shelving and a fifty-seven-inch flat screen. He’d made repairs and improvements here and there, like taking down the shower curtain and installing a glass shower door, sanding and refinishing the bathroom cabinets, scrubbing the place like he owned it. His parents’ old leather sectional fit right in. The only things he had that were new were the butcher-block table and high chairs. His bedroom furniture was only a few years old and he had been collecting a few framed LeRoy Neiman prints for the walls. The frames were more valuable than the prints, but he liked Neiman’s sports art.
“Make yourself at home. Help yourself to anything—eat, drink, whatever. There’s the remote. I have to get a shower. I’ll be quick.”
He left her standing in the small living room. Once he was under the hot water, sudsing the smell of salt and seaweed from his hair and body, he smiled to himself. Grace was a free spirit. A little wild and uncontrolled with a deep-down joy and playfulness that turned him on. He might’ve acted a little insulted at her lusty humor directed at him but, to be honest, he wouldn’t have it any other way. That was no prissy little laugh the girl had: she laughed down to her toes. There was passion in her.
He revisited his checklist in his mind and moved She must be a happy person to number one in his requirements. If that meant laughing at his foibles, he could live with that. Grace didn’t come across as whiny, self-pitying, cloying or desperate. If he demanded a woman be a good sport, then he had to be, too. And who forced him to jump that wall? He’d been showing off. He loved showing off.
She might just prove to be a good little playmate.
When he got back to the living room to Grace, she was curled up in the corner of the sectional, holding a cup of something hot with both hands. Her boots were sitting at attention beside the couch and she was wearing bright pink socks. One of the many New Year’s Day bowl games was on television. He stood looking down at her, smiling, with his hands on his hips.
“Do you feel better?” she asked a little sheepishly.
“I’m tempted to hold you down and give you something to really laugh about. You ticklish, Gracie?”
She pulled back a little. “Don’t even think about it,” she said, holding up the cup. “I’m armed.”
“What is that?”
“Hot chocolate. You had some envelopes of mix in the drawer by the refrigerator.”
He wrinkled his brow. “That could be very old.”
“I don’t think dry powders spoil. Want to taste it?”
“Thanks,” he said, reaching for the cup. She handed it to him and he put it behind him on the coffee table. Then he tackled her on the couch. While she shrieked and begged and laughed, he pinned her with his body and attempted to tickle her.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she squealed.
“What are you sorry for, Grace?” he asked, a devilish gleam in his eyes, pinning her to the sofa.
“I’m sorry I laughed and bruised your delicate little male ego,” she said, smiling.
“Ooh,” he growled, giving her a good rib-tickle.
“Ack! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Stop it, stop it!”
“What are you sorry for?”
“Okay, I lost it, I was out of control, I laughed at you when you were vulnerable and I’m sorry. No tickling!”
“A cop was threatening to arrest me for indecent exposure!” Troy said. “He thought I was a parking lot predator!”
A smile beamed across her face. “That was the best,” she said. “I’m sorry, but that was the best part. Although, that wave...I will never see anything like that again in my lifetime! You are an excellent fun coach.”
“It wasn’t my intention that you have fun at my expense,” he said. But he was smiling when he said it. “I was going to show you how to have a good time.”
“And so you did,” she said, smiling into his eyes. “Think of how successful that might’ve been if you could read. I mean, there was a sign. Can I make you some stale hot chocolate?”
“I don’t think so. I think my mother sent me that in one of her many boring care packages. What should we do today? Want to go out? Any ideas?”
She shook her head.
“Let’s stay in,” he said. “Let’s make some game food. I have stuff in the freezer. I have tri-tip and buns for tri-tip sliders. Or we can go with wings or pizza. I have beer but no wine.”
“I have wine in the flower cooler,” she said. “I just feel like such a slouch, eating so much trash and bar food.”
“I’ll slice some onion and pickles for your sliders. I have some deli potato salad but I don’t know...”
“Dangerous?” she asked.
“By this date, very likely. I don’t expect you to be that much of a good sport.”
“Oh, so that’s your game? You want a good sport?”
He gave her a quick kiss. “I want to enjoy myself with someone who’s enjoying herself. I have a feeling, a dark feeling, you don’t need my help with that.”
“Okay. I’ll do one more day of carbs and fats. But the next time we eat together there will be green things.”
“I love green things,” he lied.
He told her to take the Jeep to her place to retrieve her wine and she brought back a Scrabble game. She also threw in a DVD of one of her favorite non-chick flicks, Red. He looked at it and said, “I love Red!”
“Just in case your brain goes numb from football,” she said. “But I can do football as long as you can.”
They had a rousing game of Scrabble, which Troy won by a stretch. They curled up on the couch together to watch Red. Every once in a while Troy invaded her space for a make-out session. In midafternoon they worked together in the kitchen to build some sliders, which they ate on big plates in front of the TV. Troy quizzed her about football teams and stats. “You’re a big football fan,” he said.
“I’m a small football fan,” she corrected. “Or maybe medium. I enjoy the game but I don’t live for it like some people do. And I have a good memory for football facts.”
“And your favorite sport?” he asked.
“That’s a tough question. I think I like watching everything competitive.”
“I think I’ll invite you to my Super Bowl party,” he said while they rinsed the dishes.
“You’re having a Super Bowl party?”
“Uh-huh,” he said, directing her back to the couch, pulling her down and getting her back in his arms. He loved that there was no hesitation from her. His arms went around her waist, hers went around his neck, lips on lips and bodies pressed together. It being the height of winter, the sun was lowering and the only light was that from the kitchen and the TV.
“Who’s coming to your party?” she asked, lips pressed against his neck.
“I’m thinking of a very small party. It could be a private party.” He caressed her back, her sides, ran a hand over her butt and down her thigh. “Maybe just us.”
“I’m not sleeping with you,” she said.
He backed off a little. “Ever?”
“I’m not ready,” she told him. “I want to know you better.”
“That’s very reasonable,” he said, kissing her again. “But really, Gracie, you taste so good...”
“That’s sweet. I’m still not ready.”
“Are you going to be unready for a real long time? Because, honey, you are a turn-on. And I risked my life for you on the cliffs of Coos Bay today. Just to make you happy.”
She chuckled against his lips. “You are such a giving man. I’ll be sure to let you know when I’m ready.”
“Just out of curiosity, Grace, are you waiting for a sign?”
She nodded. “I am. Plus, I’d like to be sure you’re all done pining over Iris. That just feels weird.”
Troy immediately put a little space between them. He grew serious. “Iris is married, Grace.”
“I know this. I was there.”
“Listen, here’s how it is. I’m crazy about Iris. She’s an awesome person and great counselor for the kids. I consider her a good friend. It’s true, for a long time I thought if she gave it a chance we might be more than friends, but we weren’t on the same page. All right? We were never on the same page and even though she told me over and over, I thought she might reconsider. She didn’t.”
“I know all that, but you have to remember—Iris is my good friend, too. I don’t want the situation to be awkward.”
“I hope we’re all good friends for a long, long time,” he said. “When I kiss you, I’m not thinking about Iris. I’m not thinking about anyone but you.”
