Cold Showers and Bruised Egos

"Jeff Pierson, you have been in bed for the past four days, nonstop. You smell disgusting, your mail is flowing OUT of your mailbox, the newspapers have formed a pyramid amongst themselves, the neighbors are starting to talk, AND I'm getting pissed. Now get out of bed."

"Go away, Lacey," I groaned, wondering now why I ever thought giving her a key to my place was a good idea.

"Dammit, Jeff, I mean it. It's nearly one in the afternoon. Get. Up." I didn't budge. I didn't need to pull the covers off to know that my best friend, Lacey Savich, was standing on the opposite side of my king sized bed, hands on her hips, her curly, fiery red hair untamed. A look that fit her quite suitably. "You have one minute."

Beneath my comforter, I crossed my arm over my eyes. This was a nightmare. It had to be. Who gave their best friend a key to their place? That was reserved for a special kind of relationship. One with sex, at least. One with–

"Last chance."

"Goddammit Lacey!" I roared as I felt the comforter being ripped away. "It's a damn good thing I'm wearing boxers!"

"You have nothing I haven't seen before. Besides, I didn't come over here to watch you become a bed bug, so get your ass out of bed. Now." Her voice was stern; I remained motionless.

She gave a frustrated sigh. That could not be good.

"I warned you," she said in the same stern voice. I heard her walk into my adjoining bathroom. Before I could process that the shower was running, she had me hoisted over her shoulder in a fireman's grip, literally ripped my boxers down my legs like I was a little kid, and also quite literally, dumped me into the bathtub where I was greeted with an ice cold stream of water.

"I'm giving you five minutes. Wash up. We have a busy day," she commanded, her voice smooth and sweet as butter cream frosting. She shut the curtain and I heard her retreat to the bedroom.

Nursing a slightly sore elbow and a largely bruised ego, I stood, cranked the faucet as quickly as I could to the hottest setting, and found, to my dismay, that an erection was visible. Damn, I hope she didn't see that.

With two minutes to spare, I stepped out of the shower and saw that sometime in the past three minutes Lacey had picked out clothes for me to wear. I walked over to the commode where the clothes lay neatly folded, and dressed. She'd chosen my favorite sweater, with the top third in a dark blue, followed by a white stripe nestled in two gray ones, then the bottom two thirds in a lighter shade of blue; a pair of faded jeans and my belt; and a black pair of boxers with a blue, fiery Superman "S".

"You have got to be kidding," I muttered. I finished dressing then ran a brush through my medium-long hair. I left it to air dry, figuring that was what Lacey had intended, and cursed her in case it decided to curl. I quickly brushed my teeth, applied deodorant, sprayed on cologne, and gave myself a final once-over. I ran my hand over my three day growth, but knew it would have to do. I walked back into my bedroom with thirty seconds to spare. I was greeted with a pair of socks flying at my head.

When she picked up my shoes, I nearly ran to where she sat on my bed, pinning her hands down.

"I get it, you're in a hurry. Please spare me the headache of flying boots hitting my head." She grinned up at me, rather innocently I thought, then looked down at my shoes. I dropped beside her and began putting the socks on.

"They're not boots," she informed me. "They're Sketchers."

"Well, excuuuuuse me. Give me that." I took one from her and put it on, quickly tied it, then followed suit with the other. I stood.

"So Miss Impatience, where are we going? What's so important that we have to hurry, which, by the way, you're still sitting there."

She looked up at me again, an odd smile on her face. I resisted the urge to run a hand down my face to check for toothpaste.

Slowly she stood, and I was frozen in place. I hadn't realized how beautiful she'd been while I was being dumped in my––very cold––shower.

Her hair, as curly and untamed as normal, framed an angelic face full of blue-green eyes, with a small nose and naturally sexy (and, was that lipstick?), pouted mouth. As my eyes roamed down her body, I noticed she had on a very blue sweater that hugged her petite frame perfectly. Continuing down, her legs were clad in a pair of black slacks that did more to her ass than I cared to admit to, and finally, her feet sported some pair of clod-hopping boots. I think they were her favorite: jazzed up army boots with a heel and three inch platform thing.

I was vaguely aware of a stirring in my jeans as I stared at Lacey. I'd hoped to God my mouth wasn't hanging open, and quickly tried to cover my arousal by turning towards the door.

"Are you coming?" I asked impatiently. At least, I hope I sounded impatient.

My mind raced as I descended the stairs. Why was Lacey dressed so beautifully? She usually only wore a T-shirt and jeans, sneakers or those boots. Even when she dressed down, I had a hard time keeping my jeans loose fitting. Now? I hoped wherever the hell we were going, I'd be able to sit down behind something.

Having reached the kitchen, I grabbed my keys and headed for the back door, then locked up behind us as we left.

I opened the passenger door of my truck for her, let her in, then shut it, taking the time to discreetly readjust myself before climbing in the driver's side. I started the engine then looked at her. She looked at me and I was spell-bound. Her eyes had shifted colors slightly and were now a dazzling shade of blue.

"Where to," I asked. I think. My brain was jumbled. And in the close confines of the truck, I could smell something sweet and flowery. Perfume? I never noticed that before. Did Lacey ever wear it? I couldn't be sure. Nothing seemed to be functioning properly.

"The Strip."

Lacey beamed.

I hated going to the strip. Aptly named, it was a menagerie of retail stores, outlet malls, and restaurants in two identical rows, facing each other. Almost like a small town's "downtown". It was always crowded, there was always SOME type of charity-type-do-gooder begging for money, and the sole perfume store gave me a headache from three stores away.

But with a genuine smile on my face, I headed there.

~*~*~*~

Ninety minutes, seventeen stores, and a dozen shopping bags later (which I had the privilege of carrying), Lacey hooked her arm to mine. I looked down at her, but either she ignored it or was busy looking for more stores to hit, because she didn't look up. I felt my blood boiling. God, I needed to release this tension.

"Last store, I promise," Lacey said as she ducked into a toy store. She grabbed two identical Barbies and two identical outfits for each. "It's Miranda and Amanda's birthdays," she explained. They were her cousins. Twin cousins.

Lacey paid for her order, then we headed back to the truck. I opened her door, deposited the bags in the bed, and climbed in the driver's side.

"Where to?"

"I'm famished," she said softly. I heard a hint of something and looked over at her, but she was busy staring at a couple of toddlers walking with their parents. "How about steak?"

"You don't like steak." At that, she turned and looked at me, looking guilty.

"You do though, so get going." When I sat still, Lacey turned more of her body to me. I looked her square in the eye and waited. Against her norm, she spoke first. "Look. I couldn't stand to see you holed up in your room any longer. I don't like seeing you hurt, seeing you depressed. I wasn't going to stand around watching you deteriorate. You've lost probably ten pounds already and I had to do something. I had to get you out. Now, let's go get steak."

By the time she was finished, her hand had found it's way to my knee, and her eyes were such a passionate, dark blue, I had trouble focusing on anything else.

"I'm hungry," she said, almost impatiently.

I am too, I thought, my eyes now struggling to leave hers.

"Where to?" I asked. I watched her mouth frown in thought, and wondered what it tasted like. Apparently, so lost in thought was I, that Lacey repeated her answer three times.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she demanded.

"Maybe because I think you look beautiful," I answered softly. She cocked her head, sending her hair tumbling before bouncing back into place.

"Don't mess with me. Now go."

Thankful for a cop out, I headed off to the steakhouse she mentioned.

Though she didn't like steak, Lacey found a suitable meal for her, while I ordered a hearty cut sirloin. I could feel my mouth watering, but I wasn't entirely sure it was just for the steak. While Lacey had been in front of me walking the strip mall, I couldn't keep my eyes above her waist. Her ass was so cute in the slacks she wore, so apple shaped. And that sweater... Her breasts were slightly smaller than average, but they were full and pert. My hands itched to feel them.

What was I thinking?

Lacey would take out her Glock and shoot me dead if she knew I was––and had been for years past––entertaining these thoughts.

When our orders arrived, I dug in. Lacey poked at her food, totally uncharacteristic.

"What's wrong with your meal?"

"Nothing," she answered slowly, then, almost painfully, took a bite. I watched her chew three more bites before she laid her fork and knife down. "I'll be back," she said, then slipped from the booth before I could even stand.

When she came back nearly ten minutes later, her face was flushed, but she looked like she had freshened up. Was that the dim lighting making it appear that way?

I stood as she neared the table, and sat when she slid in the booth across from me. With an eyebrow raised, I looked at her. She waved her hand dismissively. I decided not to pursue the subject.

After the meal we ordered––and shared––a slice of cheesecake. When the check came, I paid, tipped, and we left. Lacey was on my arm again.

"Let's go to the waterfall!"

"Lacey, it's like, fifty degrees out. Barely warm enough to go without a jacket. Near the water it'll be colder."

"So?" She looked up at me, and I swear my heart melted. What the hell was wrong with me?

With a resigned sigh, I agreed. The smile that lit her face was priceless. I longed to see it again.

As we drove to The Falls, Lacey chattered about everything. Being a part-time police officer, she was trained to observe, be calm and collected, etc. You couldn't tell that about her now. She was talking on and on like a normal, outgoing twenty five year old. For some reason, the sound of her voice today was like a perfectly practiced harmony. If her chatter slowed down or threatened to stop, I'd ask her a question that kept her going again. This was a definite change from the Lacey who dragged me out of bed just five hours ago. Had it been that long ago? The day was flying by.

I pulled up to the bluff overlooking The Falls. It was the closest place I found that was not only safe, but offered the best view. To my knowledge, not many others knew about this particular location.

As we neared the ledge, something inside me guided my hand to the small of Lacey's back. I felt her tense slightly, then relax almost immediately. A thought of those red locks free falling down onto the pointed rocks below made me slide my hand to her waist and pull her close to me. When did I become so possessive?

I tried to let the sight and sounds of the waterfall soothe me, as it oftentimes can, but today I was having the hardest time concentrating on anything but this lithe woman beside me. She stood at just three inches above the five foot mark (and an additional three with those boots of hers), but carried herself, especially when on duty, as if she were taller than my own six foot frame.

When Lacey took a step closer to the edge, I was immediately jarred back to reality. I tensed, watching her like a hawk, then relaxed––kinda––as she stepped sideways once, then leaned back against me. I leaned down to rest my chin on the top of her head, while my hands slid to her stomach.

What a mistake.

The scent of her hair drifted up and filled my head. All I could think about was laying her down on the grass and taking her here and now. Once, twice, all day if she'd let me. And my hands itched to splay across that flat stomach, and became numb with the need to move further south. I bet the hairs guarding the most essential part of her being were baby soft and curly. And red.

I was jarred back to the present again when I heard Lacey talking.

"...so glad I'm here. You know?"

"Mmm," I replied, hoping like hell that it was a suitable enough answer. It seemed to have worked. Lacey fell back into another moment of silence, and I was alone with my thoughts. Almost.

"Did you ever bring Brooke up here?"

Who?

"What?" I asked.

"Brooke. That bitch you were with. Did you ever bring her here?"

God, where did this come from?

I searched my memory. I didn't think I had. I didn't even remember what Brooke looked like, but I thought that maybe she was tall and blonde.

"No, Lacey. Only you," I answered softly.

"Good. She didn't deserve it. You know, it's a good thing you caught her cheating on you. I mean, if she were really stupid enough to–,"

"Lacey. Enough," I interrupted, unwinding my arms from around her, and stepping back. I scrubbed my hands over my face and turned my back towards her. "I don't need this."

"YOU don't need this? YOU?!?" She rounded me and stood face to face, hands on her hips, looking up at me challengingly.

"You can't honestly be heartbroken over that tramp?"

"Shut up Lacey."

"She was no good for you. Even if you hadn't caught her cheating."

"I mean it. Shut the hell up."

"She wasn't right for you. She isn't smart, she's ugly, and she's a little too obsessed with how many cocks she can get in her henhouse." I started for the truck.

"Jeff don't you dare walk away from me! You know I'm right. She was wrong for you, all wrong. You need someone who will challenge you, not a ditz who thinks that a pissant is an insect with a bowel infection. You need someone who knows you, who knows what you like, who listens, who cares." She let out what I imagine was a frustrated growl. I kept walking. Almost there. Finally!

She rounded on me again before I reached the handle of the door. Somehow she wriggled her way between me and my truck. Her eyes were cold and accusatory as they looked up at me.

"Jeffery Austin Pierson, why are you running from this conversation?"

"I'm running from you," I exclaimed before I could stop myself. The look of pain that shot across Lacey's face cut into my heart like a jagged knife. "God, Lacey, I'm sorry, I,"

"No, you know what, Jeff? This was a dumb idea. I'm sorry for dragging your lazy, bastard ass out of bed on a beautiful day to get some fresh air into that stubborn head of yours." Lacey pushed me away and stalked off toward the road.

"Lacey, come back here," I called after her. She didn't even acknowledge me. Way to go, asshole, I thought, then chased after her.

When I'd caught up to her, I pulled her arm and spun her around. Before she could wipe them away I saw the tears streaming down her face. The jagged knife twisted. I pulled her to my chest and wrapped my arms around her. "Lacey."

She pushed me away and swiped angrily at her face, then stalked back to the truck.

"Lacey, listen!"

She spun around to face me. "No, Jeff. YOU listen. I have watched you go from girl to girl. The slut, the tramp, the bimbo, the seemingly normal and perfect girl who turned out to be a psychotic crackhead."

"Lacey," I interrupted. Where the hell was this conversation going?

"Why did you get upset when I mentioned Brooke?" My face fell at her question. "Dammit, answer me, Jeff."

"I can't. Why did you bring her up, anyway?"

Lacey growled, then sighed. In all my years of knowing her, this was the calm before the storm. She started pacing. I stood stock-still and watched. It was kind of like knowing the lion had you trapped and was walking back and forth trying to decide how to toy with its meal before devouring. One wrong move, one wrong breath, and you were toast. I was almost sure she was going to run a rut into the ground, when finally she stopped and turned.

"Answer me one thing, Jeff. Just one thing." She paused for a full two minutes. "If Brooke came waltzing up this path, begging you to take her back, would you?"

"It doesn't matter, Lacey. It'll never happen."

She let out another sob.

"Why won't you answer me?"

"What's it matter to you?" I asked, anger boiling.

"Because I fucking love you, you asshole!" she screamed. A semi truck hit my gut just then, and I took a step backward from the impact. Lacey kept yelling at me, tears streaming from her face. She made no attempt to wipe them away, and I couldn't hear anything she was saying.

Somehow I closed the gap between us and my lips found hers. They fused hotly and my hands slid up into her curly hair. When they fisted, she gasped softly and her lips parted. I took the opportunity to push my tongue through, deepening the kiss. My other hand slid down to the small of her back, pulling her to me. As I tugged on her hair, her head tilted back and I reclaimed her mouth again.

She pushed me away.

"What.. the.. hell.. Jeff?" She was panting slightly, and her mouth––God, that sexy mouth––had just the beginnings of being stubble burned. I felt myself swell with pride.

My hands cupped her face and my thumbs wiped away her tears. Her hands came up to my wrists, seemingly to remove them from her face, but either she stopped, or I didn't feel her effort in trying to rid them.

"I love you too, Lacey," I said softly, evenly. "I've been fighting it for years, subconsciously. Which is why all of my... girlfriends... have been completely different than you, I think. Blondes, brunettes, ditzy, tall and large. If they were your opposite, I didn't have to think about you." I watched her lips part as if she wanted to say something, then they closed. "I know that doesn't make sense. Someone as intelligent as you, you need an explanation." I dropped my hands as I continued. "But I don't have one.

"For years I've thought about telling you. I wondered what it would be like to wake up to you every morning, your fiery hair splayed out on the pillow, your eyes closed as you dream. I wanted to tell you, but another thought would always infiltrate my brain: what if I scare her off. I couldn't live without you in my life, Lacey. So I never told you how I––,"

Somehow Lacey grew six inches because my sentence was lost in her lips. Her mouth claimed mine again and as her arms wound around my neck, mine found their way around her waist. With one arm securely behind her, the other slid back up into her hair. God, it was so soft. My fingers played in the curls, twisting, scrunching, fisting. Who knew hair could be so soft?

When she pulled away, we were both breathing a bit heavier. I looked down and saw the stubble burn on her lips again. I felt possessive and primal and knew, right then, that come hell or high water, she would have to shoot me before I'd let another man touch her.

Her eyes, as fiery blue as ever, looked up at me and I could see the glazed look. Was I seeing things? No. She wanted me as much as I wanted her. I was sure of it. Or was I? WHAT was happening?

"Lacey, I," Geez, my voice was husky. Not good. Clear your throat, Jeff. I did, then tried again. "Lacey, are you sure..?"

"Yes," she replied, her voice husky as well. That was all I needed. My hands ran down her back to her ass. I cupped each cheek in a hand and the sigh that emitted shook me to the core. I vowed to do everything in my power to make her repeat that heavenly sound.

Effortlessly I slid her up my body, my hands still beneath her ass. Her legs wrapped around my waist and I thought I would die. Then her hands wound in my hair. They pulled until my head tilted back slightly, then her mouth was on mine. Her tongue pressed against my lips until I opened them, then it pushed its way into my mouth, where my tongue happily swam with hers. The two muscles tangled, danced, and slid along the other's, learning its texture, its heat, its owner.