“Like I said – I know we won't get this chance again.”
She didn't elaborate, and he didn't ask for more explanation. He understood, and apparently, so did she. Jameson must have told her about Sanders' feelings. Still. What was the difference, then? If she knew about the issue, why bring him out there alone, now?
I may have ruined everything. I can't let us end like this.
“I appreciate everything you've done for me,” he suddenly told her. Her smile got bigger and she turned to fully face him. She was deeper than him, the water coming to just below her knees.
“Really? All the teasing and needling and embarrassing?” she laughed.
“Every moment of it,” he assured her.
“And all the splashing?”
“Excuse me?”
She didn't respond, but instead kicked up a leg. He gasped – actually gasped – as a sizable splash of water soaked his right leg.
“Tatum,” he said in his stern voice. “This suit was specially designed by Tom Ford for -”
More water. This time she swung her cupped hand through the ocean, throwing it up at him. He managed to turn his face away in time, letting the brunt of it hit him in the chest and cheek.
“I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you. What was that?” she asked, wading towards him.
“I hope you realize this suit is completely ruined now,” he said, his voice full of frost. It had absolutely no effect on her.
“Oh please, there's dry cleaning even out here in the 'burbs,” she told him.
“It is not the same.”
“That's what's missing in your life, Sandy,” she said, leaning down to put her hand back in the water. “Messiness. You better get used to it, because life alone can get pretty messy.”
She was already swinging her arm towards him, ready to give his poor suit another wash down, but he couldn't handle it. Without thinking, he abruptly put his arms out and shoved her shoulders. She was already off balance, so it didn't take a hard push to send her onto her back. She shrieked and laughed as she went down on her butt in the water.
“See? That wasn't so hard,” she chuckled as she struggled to push herself upright. “That was lesson number two – standing up for yourself.”
She couldn't seem to find her footing in the shifting sand, so Sanders offered a hand to help her up. He should've known better. She gripped his arm in both of her own hands and yanked hard. He went down without a sound, belly flopping.
“And I guess that's lesson number three. Don't trust anyone,” she was laughing at him when he pulled himself upright.
“Forgive me, but you can get yourself out of the water,” he told her, pulling his tie free from his shirt and wringing it out before heading back up the beach.
Tate crawled out of the water behind him and raced back up to the motel, her toned legs carrying her there quickly. Sanders took his time, rolling down his sopping wet pant legs and putting on his shoes and jacket before striding through a small courtyard. They were almost at the door to the room when Tate let out a startling shriek and leapt backward.
“Do you see that!?” she shouted, grabbing his arm and jerking on it. He moved so he was standing in front of her, shielding her from whatever imaginary danger she was perceiving.
“See what?” he asked, peering into the shadows.
“That!” she yelled, and her arm came around him and pointed at a trash can.
He stared at where she gesturing to, but didn't see anything for a moment. Then the trash can shimmied, its lid falling to the ground with a loud crash. There was high pitched squeal and Tate moved completely behind him, gripping his jacket in both her hands. As he stared, a small raccoon scurried away from the garbage.
“That is what all the screaming was about?” he asked, watching the rotund creature disappear into some bushes.
“Are you kidding!?” she snapped, finally peeking around him. “It could have had rabies!”
“The chances of that are very small. I thought it was rather adorable.”
“It's a trash panda – what is adorable about that?” she asked, following him as he covered the distance to their door.
“It's furry.”
As he unlocked the door, he could tell she was trying hard not to laugh. When he stood to the side, she dashed through the entryway quickly, throwing her sandals on the floor.
“Brrrrr, it was freezing out there,” she said through chattering teeth as she hurried on tiptoes into the bathroom.
“Yes, that's what I said before we went down there,” he reminded her. “It is not beach weather tonight.”
“It was awesome,” she called back to him.
He didn't argue.
He'd removed his shoes and was sliding off his jacket when he realized she was running the tap in the bathtub. Was she taking a bath? The door was wide open. As free a spirit as Tate was, she didn't usually bathe in the open. He cleared his throat and took a couple steps forward.
“What are you doing?” he asked from the other side of the open door.
“Come in here.”
“No thank you.”
“Stop being a baby and come in here. I won't bite,” she laughed.
Bracing himself, Sanders stepped around the door and into the room. She was still fully clothed and standing in the tub. The water looked to be steaming hot and was swirling up and around her ankles. She was sighing and had her head tilted back.
“This feels so good,” she moaned. “Get in.”
“Excuse me?”
“Get in.”
“I am not taking a bath with you.”
“I wasn't asking you to strip down and scrub my back,” she laughed, turning towards him. “Just step inside the bathtub, Sandy.”
“I am not taking a bath in my clothing.”
When she grabbed him by his tie and started yanking roughly on it, he had no choice but to follow. If he stood his ground, she would either break his neck or rip the material, and he had hoped that some parts of his suit could yet be saved. So while she pulled, he stumbled into the tub and stood in front of her.
“Why do you have to be so difficult,” she grumbled, but she was smiling and she straightened out the knot in his tie.
“Pardon me for saying so, but that is very much the pot calling the kettle black.”
She didn't elaborate, and he didn't ask for more explanation. He understood, and apparently, so did she. Jameson must have told her about Sanders' feelings. Still. What was the difference, then? If she knew about the issue, why bring him out there alone, now?
I may have ruined everything. I can't let us end like this.
“I appreciate everything you've done for me,” he suddenly told her. Her smile got bigger and she turned to fully face him. She was deeper than him, the water coming to just below her knees.
“Really? All the teasing and needling and embarrassing?” she laughed.
“Every moment of it,” he assured her.
“And all the splashing?”
“Excuse me?”
She didn't respond, but instead kicked up a leg. He gasped – actually gasped – as a sizable splash of water soaked his right leg.
“Tatum,” he said in his stern voice. “This suit was specially designed by Tom Ford for -”
More water. This time she swung her cupped hand through the ocean, throwing it up at him. He managed to turn his face away in time, letting the brunt of it hit him in the chest and cheek.
“I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you. What was that?” she asked, wading towards him.
“I hope you realize this suit is completely ruined now,” he said, his voice full of frost. It had absolutely no effect on her.
“Oh please, there's dry cleaning even out here in the 'burbs,” she told him.
“It is not the same.”
“That's what's missing in your life, Sandy,” she said, leaning down to put her hand back in the water. “Messiness. You better get used to it, because life alone can get pretty messy.”
She was already swinging her arm towards him, ready to give his poor suit another wash down, but he couldn't handle it. Without thinking, he abruptly put his arms out and shoved her shoulders. She was already off balance, so it didn't take a hard push to send her onto her back. She shrieked and laughed as she went down on her butt in the water.
“See? That wasn't so hard,” she chuckled as she struggled to push herself upright. “That was lesson number two – standing up for yourself.”
She couldn't seem to find her footing in the shifting sand, so Sanders offered a hand to help her up. He should've known better. She gripped his arm in both of her own hands and yanked hard. He went down without a sound, belly flopping.
“And I guess that's lesson number three. Don't trust anyone,” she was laughing at him when he pulled himself upright.
“Forgive me, but you can get yourself out of the water,” he told her, pulling his tie free from his shirt and wringing it out before heading back up the beach.
Tate crawled out of the water behind him and raced back up to the motel, her toned legs carrying her there quickly. Sanders took his time, rolling down his sopping wet pant legs and putting on his shoes and jacket before striding through a small courtyard. They were almost at the door to the room when Tate let out a startling shriek and leapt backward.
“Do you see that!?” she shouted, grabbing his arm and jerking on it. He moved so he was standing in front of her, shielding her from whatever imaginary danger she was perceiving.
“See what?” he asked, peering into the shadows.
“That!” she yelled, and her arm came around him and pointed at a trash can.
He stared at where she gesturing to, but didn't see anything for a moment. Then the trash can shimmied, its lid falling to the ground with a loud crash. There was high pitched squeal and Tate moved completely behind him, gripping his jacket in both her hands. As he stared, a small raccoon scurried away from the garbage.
“That is what all the screaming was about?” he asked, watching the rotund creature disappear into some bushes.
“Are you kidding!?” she snapped, finally peeking around him. “It could have had rabies!”
“The chances of that are very small. I thought it was rather adorable.”
“It's a trash panda – what is adorable about that?” she asked, following him as he covered the distance to their door.
“It's furry.”
As he unlocked the door, he could tell she was trying hard not to laugh. When he stood to the side, she dashed through the entryway quickly, throwing her sandals on the floor.
“Brrrrr, it was freezing out there,” she said through chattering teeth as she hurried on tiptoes into the bathroom.
“Yes, that's what I said before we went down there,” he reminded her. “It is not beach weather tonight.”
“It was awesome,” she called back to him.
He didn't argue.
He'd removed his shoes and was sliding off his jacket when he realized she was running the tap in the bathtub. Was she taking a bath? The door was wide open. As free a spirit as Tate was, she didn't usually bathe in the open. He cleared his throat and took a couple steps forward.
“What are you doing?” he asked from the other side of the open door.
“Come in here.”
“No thank you.”
“Stop being a baby and come in here. I won't bite,” she laughed.
Bracing himself, Sanders stepped around the door and into the room. She was still fully clothed and standing in the tub. The water looked to be steaming hot and was swirling up and around her ankles. She was sighing and had her head tilted back.
“This feels so good,” she moaned. “Get in.”
“Excuse me?”
“Get in.”
“I am not taking a bath with you.”
“I wasn't asking you to strip down and scrub my back,” she laughed, turning towards him. “Just step inside the bathtub, Sandy.”
“I am not taking a bath in my clothing.”
When she grabbed him by his tie and started yanking roughly on it, he had no choice but to follow. If he stood his ground, she would either break his neck or rip the material, and he had hoped that some parts of his suit could yet be saved. So while she pulled, he stumbled into the tub and stood in front of her.
“Why do you have to be so difficult,” she grumbled, but she was smiling and she straightened out the knot in his tie.
“Pardon me for saying so, but that is very much the pot calling the kettle black.”
