Life has a Plan of its Own

The restroom was crowded, and I was just taking up space, so I headed back.

"Hey, glad you're back. We don't know much about each other and hardly ever talk at work."

He brought it up. "I guess we mostly grumble and argue."

"Yeah, I guess so. Sales and engineering, natural enemies, like the Cobra and the Mongoose. I hope you know it's not personal," he said, putting his hand on my arm.

He'd softened his voice and sounded almost...almost sincere.

It was time to board, and it's a slow process when you're in row thirty-six.

"You want the window?" he asked. "I may take a nap. Up late last night," he added, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

I slid into the window seat, stuffing my backpack under the row thirty-five seat. I rescued my tablet from its confinement and settled in.

"I know you work late a lot, but what do you do in your spare time?"

When I looked, the expression on his face told me he was really interested.

"I go to the gym, and I run whenever I can."

"Fitness or athlete?"

I'd never thought of it that way. "I guess a little of both."

"Do you play softball or basketball?"

"I play tennis every week, well, almost every week." When I didn't work late, I played.

"No kidding? I enjoy playing tennis. If we have time, let's have a grudge match." He laughed and put his hand on my arm again. He furrowed his brow. "I hope you know I'm teasing."

"I was hoping," I replied, sighing in relief.

"Have you ever played pickleball?"

"I never have, but friends have encouraged me to try it."

"I've played a couple of times. Sounds like another match is in order."

We were barely off the ground, and Bo was planning our time together. I wanted that to be as close to zero as possible, but if I didn't want to be rude, that wasn't going to happen.

"If we have time." That was the unknown now.

"We can sneak them in on Saturday or Sunday."

Holy shit. Now he was trying to steal my special days. Or at least part of them. I made a show of turning on my tablet, then realized that my cautiousness was causing me to be impolite.

"Bo, what do you do in your spare time?" I was trying to recover.

He chuckled, and I thought his cheeks had acquired a pink hue.

"If I tell you, you won't believe me."

What the heck was going on? I adjusted my seat belt and twisted around so I was facing him. "Try me," I challenged, surprising myself.

He chuckled. "I like to read." He eyed me. "Short stories and a few novels." He cleared his throat. "Don't tell anyone, okay?"

"What, that you read?"

"Promise?"

Already I was supposed to make promises to Bo? And about personal things. This wasn't going anything like I'd imagined. Somehow we'd seemed to have reversed roles.

"I don't tattle, Bo. What do you read?"

He eyed me, I think, struggling to trust me.

"Romance."

It was all I could do to keep from bursting out laughing, but I managed to maintain a sympathetic expression on my face.

Bo Swanson and romance? It was like oil and water. I couldn't imagine them mixing.

"I've read a little romance," I replied feebly.

Almost instantly, the old Bo returned looking like he'd been caught with his pants down.

"I'm not one to let up because you're a girl, you know. You'd better have your A-game for both tennis and pickleball."

Bo had quickly exited the last subject and returned to where he was more comfortable. I did need to set something straight, though, since I was a little competitive too.

"I'll have my A-game for tennis but not for pickleball."

"Oh yeah. I forgot. Doesn't matter, though," he added with a snicker.

We had yet to see if it mattered. Believe me, if I beat Bo in a game of tennis, everyone in the company would hear about it. I'd make sure that happened.

My body language made it clear that I was ready to get to work on my tablet. I really did want to review some information I knew I'd need to answer questions during the following week.

When we landed in Atlanta, we barely had time to get to make connections. The flight to Savannah was uneventful. Bo slept the entire time.

We retrieved our luggage, and I watched as Bo rented the car. Soon, we were on the way to Hilton Head. We crossed the bridge and were on the island, our GPS guiding us toward our destination. Struggling through extremely heavy traffic, we arrived at the hotel and parked in one of the temporary spots.

I followed Bo, content to let him check in first.

"We have two reservations," he said to the clerk, a very attractive blond.

She smiled at him and glanced my way.

"Let's do you first," she said, the innuendo clear with her suggestive smile. "Your name?"

"Bo Swenson," he said, emphasizing each syllable.

I thought I might puke if the two of them kept it up.

"Yes, here it is."

Bo finished checking in with a minimum amount of additional flirting, and it was my turn.

"Your name?"

"Lisbet Waterfield," I said as clearly as I could.

She scooted the mouse, squinted, then looked at me.

"Waterfield?"

"Yes, W-a-t-e-r-f-i-e-l-d," I answered, spelling my name very carefully.

More mouse scooting and puzzled looks.

"Could it be under another name?"

I didn't like the sound of her question--it made me nervous.

"Were there two under my name?" Bo asked.

She checked. "I'm sorry, no. Let me check one more time."

More mouse scooting. "I'm sorry, but it isn't there."

"No problem," I said. I'll just take whatever you have."

Blondie bit her lip. "We're full, with quite a waiting list."

"You mean I'll have to go to another hotel?"

"Ms., um, Waterfield, with the golf tournament, Van der Meer running two tennis schools, and the big engineering show, let alone the first weekend of school being out, there isn't a vacant room on the island."

"This is a big island," I countered. "No vacancies?"

"Some of the people on our waiting list said they were on five or six lists."

"Off the island, then?"

"If you go far enough off."

Blondie looked from Bo to me and nodded for us to come closer.

"I don't want to offend you, but I see your company has reserved a suite for you. It has two rooms and a big couch in the main room." She raised her eyebrows.

Wait. Without saying it, she was suggesting that Bo and I share the suite. I knew I was going to vomit. I glanced at him. The sardonic smile I received caused my stomach to roll one more time. I hated sitting next to him on the plane. Sharing a suite with him?

He leaned toward me and whispered, "I'm not blind, Lis. But it doesn't look like we have many options. Radley wouldn't be happy if we turned around and went home."

That was an understatement, for sure. How tough was I? And how would I react...and respond...when everyone at work found out I'd spent a week sharing a hotel room with Bo Swenson. Just the thought made me shiver. I could just resign and go home. I was going crazy.

"Okay." What else could I say?

"No extra charge for the additional person," Blondie said. "I'll just enter it as Mr. and Mrs. Swenson."

"Don't you dare," I fairly hissed at her.

Bo laughed.

"No problem," Ms. Waterfield. "I'll just use your name, then," answered a subdued Blondie.

"Thank you."

We followed the luggage cart to the fifth floor, to room 507. Lucky seven? I hoped Bo didn't think he was going to get lucky.

"Listen, Lis. I knew this was a suite, and I think I'm a cool guy, but I wasn't about to suggest that we share."

I stared at him, trying to interpret what he'd said. Where was he being serious, and where was he teasing? After what had already happened today, there was no way I was capable of figuring it out.

"I know you at least half-hate me, so you've got the bedroom. This couch is plenty big enough for me."

"Bo, you're way bigger than I am. I can sleep here."

"No way. My reputation would be ruined if people found that out. But, since I'll be entertaining customers here, my clothes will have to stay in the bedroom.

I sensed that all sorts of logistical problems were developing.

Our four suitcases went to the bedroom, and it was large enough that there was plenty of room. What now?

"You change your clothes, and I'll check to see where we can go to play some pickleball. I need to move the car from that temporary spot, too. We've got plenty of time. And then there's dinner."

Bo left the bedroom, and I closed the door. He was planning things and taking charge. In some respects, that was fine with me. I decided right then that I wouldn't hesitate to object if he got too overbearing. I opened my suitcase and had to decide. How "cute" did I want to be playing pickleball?

I chastised myself. Why was I worrying about that? I needed to ignore that it was Bo Swenson and just wear what I would normally wear--athletic shorts and a T-shirt.

I sat down on theh edge of the bed to put on my shoes, feeling very down and apprehensive. I just knew this would be a week from hell having to put up with Bo. He hadn't been too bad yet, but it had to come. We'd just never gotten along, with him constantly ragging me about engineering delays and my fussiness about details, something that he liked to ignore.

Something clicked.

Maybe this was MY chance.

At work, there was a set of rules, some written and some unwritten.

For our Hilton Head adventure, the rules were almost entirely unwritten. I was sure that Bo would be looking to take advantage of that, expecting only resistance and avoidance from me. And teasing certainly wasn't out of the question for him.

It wasn't my strong suit for sure, but I was twenty-eight years old and had been around guys all my life. I wasn't shy, had dated some, and understood a little about the testosterone crowd. Maybe I could transpose things and surprise Mr. Bo Swenson.

I checked myself in the mirror on the back of the bedroom door. I closed my eyes, shivered, and decided.

"You about through in there. I need to change too."

"Be right out," I said, deciding I needed to change as well, and not my clothing, although I had one thing in mind. I pulled off my T-shirt, removed my bra, and stashed it in a suitcase. With the T-shirt back on, I checked the mirror again. That look should surprise Mr. Bo.

I opened the door and stepped out into the main room. Bo took one step and stopped abruptly. They weren't large...yet, but the nipple bumps were there. He didn't say a thing, just smiled and stepped around me into the bedroom, shutting the door.

I'd done it...the first step. I could feel my ego swelling up inside me. I knew that if we played pickleball, with the running around and the T-shirt rubbing, there'd be more to see, and others would be able to see it too. I didn't know anyone here, and if I was going to be the new me at least part-time for this week; I didn't care. I really did care as it was far afield from the normal me, but I was working to convince myself that I didn't.

"Did you find a place to play?" I called through the door.

"Yeah, and we can walk there."

The door opened. Bo didn't wear a suit at work, but neither did he wear gym shorts and a muscle shirt.

"Wow," he said, giving me the once over. "You need to get out in the sun. That skin of yours is pale," he said, emphasizing the pale.

"They say that's bad for you, though," I answered, looking at my arms and legs.

"I don't know about that, but the tan makes a girl look good. And you look like you would tan beautifully."

"A girl?" I questioned with a tiny giggle.

"I certainly misspoke on that one. You're undoubtedly a woman." He was gazing at my chest, where the signs of my being a woman had grown measurably. It was a little scary since that's how I'd be appearing as I walked and played and then walked again. Too late now.

"Let's go, then," he said, heading for the door.

I slid my arms into my backpack, discovering that it stretched the shirt a little tighter across my chest, emphasizing...yeah. We had the elevator to ourselves, and with the mirrored walls, Bo seemed to be surrounding me. Everyone at work knew he was fit, but I'm sure no one else had seen him in a muscle shirt that clearly displayed many of his muscles, yeah, lots of them. I mean, I don't chase men, rarely have a date, and tend toward shyness. But he did look delicious.

Even those thoughts had me blushing.

We walked to the pickleball courts, keeping two or three feet between us, but I caught him checking my profile more than once. We split the cost of renting the court and buying a ball, chose a couple of loaner racquets, and headed for our court.

Bo took a few minutes to explain a little about pickleball and its rules, and I deemed his tone to be a touch condescending. After all, I was a girl.

We just hit back and forth for a few minutes, and I adapted to the difference between it and tennis quickly. We decided to play a game with Bo winning the serve.

After the first point, I could feel my competitive fire rising. Already I was glad that pickleball didn't require the running that tennis did. It was a little warm, and if I began to perspire, I might have a problem.

With the score tied at three, the first problem occurred.

"That's my point," I called.

"How the hell is it your point? You missed my shot." He stood with hands on hips, almost glaring at me.

"You volleyed the ball with one foot in the kitchen."

"What the hell are you talking about?" He strode to the net to confront me.

This was my test. I faced him, my hands on my hips.

"The area adjacent to the net is called the kitchen, and if you volley the ball, both feet have to be outside that area and not touching the line either. If it bounces, you can have a foot inside."

He looked puzzled. "No shit?" At my nod, he added, "I thought you hadn't played. How do you know that?"

"I did a little reading. It's good to know the rules before you get in too deep." I'm sure the look on my face was more smirk than smile. And I was thinking about more than pickleball.

"You engineering people are big on rules, aren't you?"

It's good to know the rules. They can keep you from getting into trouble."

"Does everything have rules?

"Pretty much, I think." I was smiling broadly now.

"What are your rules?" he asked, tilting his head toward me.

This wasn't tennis or pickleball he was talking about, and I was afraid I might be out of my league, and I wasn't sure what the consequences of winning or losing might be. Unless I backed down, I was going to find out.

"You think I have rules?"

"All women have rules," he said, pointing his racquet at me. We'll be living together in the same hotel room and sleeping just a few feet apart. "We need to have rules, right?"

"You've jumped from 'my rules' to 'our rules.' What happens if your rules don't match mine?"

"Lis, I'm positive that your rules don't match mine. And, since you dislike me intensely, you've probably added a few just for this week."

I laughed. "I've already broken some by agreeing to share the room...rooms."

"So, you're a little flexible with your rules, then?"

It hadn't taken long for me to talk myself into a hole. What now?

"One size fits all rules don't work well. Do you agree?"

"Absolutely. I modify my rules constantly."

I was sure he modified his rules to fit who he was with. This week he was with me. I was expecting a fencing match, and I wondered who'd have the final touché.

"Then I reserve the right to do that too." I nodded in his direction.

"I can live with that. Ready to finish the game?"

We'd agreed to play to twenty-one by two, and no one had led by more than two so far. At twenty-all, Bo crushed a shot that left a red mark on my shin. He was quickly at the net.

"Are you okay?"

"You just defaced my leg. I'm fine."

"I sure didn't mean to damage that very nice leg. You want to call it then?"

I snorted. "You wish. Let's finish the game."

I took the next point to tie the game. We traded serves with no points, and I decided it was time to change my rules. I returned his serve, then hit my next shot into the net. When I returned his next serve, I appeared to stumble, and he was able to pass me easily.

"YES," he shouted, swinging his fist. He ran to the net.

"You're lucky I stumbled."

"Ha!" he exclaimed. "You're lucky I let you hang around this long," he said, eying my now sweaty T-shirt. Thank goodness it wasn't transparent.

I think it was the first time in my life I'd ever "thrown" a match. I was competitive in athletics, my job, and my life. But, I was now in a contest of my own making, and I could change my rules if I was the one who benefited from the change.

"Saw an ice cream place on the way here. I'll treat and don't argue. It's a couple of bucks."

"It's not the amount that's important, Bo. It's the principle that's involved." I kept a very straight look on my face.

He eyed me, squinting with one eye. "Principles, rules? What the hell's going on with you, Waterfield?"

"I'm perfectly willing and capable of paying my dollar. This certainly isn't a date, and we're equals on this trip." I didn't mention the expense accounts.

I think my saying we were equals really tore at the basic fabric of what he was. I'm not sure he'd ever considered a woman his equal. I watched his eyes as he struggled with what to say next.

"Fair enough. You buy yours, and I'll buy mine." He strode away toward the ice cream shop just a couple more doors away along the walk. I followed, sure there was more to come.

The ice cream, particularly the sugar part of it, helped me recover, and I was feeling fresh and chipper by the time it was gone. Though I had accomplished what I was after with Bo, making him eye my chest repeatedly, I was a little uncomfortable walking along with the wet T-shirt highlighting my, well, very extended nipples.

Back in the room, I glanced at Bo.

"You have to be miserable in that wet shirt," he said, adding a meaningful chuckle, "so why don't you go ahead and take your shower first? I'll take mine, and then I'd like you to accompany me to dinner."

I laughed out loud. "Are you asking me for a date?"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? I mean, kind of a moral victory."

"Victory?"

"Don't be an bitch," he chuckled. "You know what I mean,"

I smiled when he said, "bitch." I think I had him confused.

I gathered my "going out to dinner" clothes and my "dirty clothes" bag and headed for the bathroom, considering whether or not to close and lock the bedroom door. I didn't think Bo would be brash enough to barge in on me taking my shower. If he did, I'd be perfectly within my rights to kick him in the balls. I left the bedroom door open.

I'd finished the shower, which was amazingly satisfying, and had begun dressing for dinner when there was a knock on the bathroom door.

"What is it?"

"Lis, I need to go." A moment's pause. "Bad!" he added.

I was pissed. All I wanted was to take a shower in peace. He was obnoxiously interrupting even that.

"Lis."

I smiled. Maybe I could torment him a little more, getting even a little.

I opened the door. "Come on in," I said, walking out past him in my pink bikini panties and matching pink bra. I honestly think he was considering not closing the door.

"Thanks," he said, unable to keep from taking a last look as he closed the door.

I was laughing to myself as I waited for Bo to emerge, where he would get another quick look.

The bathroom door opened, and he stepped aside, gallantly sweeping his arm, indicating I should enter.

What I was wearing wasn't anything less than I'd have on if I were wearing a bikini. But guys had told me it wasn't totally about how much skin could be seen but also about the fact that it was "underwear," something that wasn't usually visible.

"Very nice," he said as I passed him. "I didn't realize you were in your undies. And thanks for doing this, for more reasons than one."