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?”
* * *
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?”
