With Good Behavior (14 page)

“Grant?” Sophie called to him, knowing he might be disoriented in the strange apartment.

Silence. Then his confused voice, “Sophie?”

“Yes, it’s me. We’re at my friend Kirsten’s apartment.”

His tongue felt like the Sahara desert, but he managed to get out, “Why do I feel like a CO just clubbed me on the head with a billy stick?”

“Because you had way too much tequila, Grant. Come on, let’s get you some water.”

She rose from the futon and groped through the dark, finding his hand and clasping it securely in her own. “The bathroom is this way.”

He followed her obediently, and once they reached the small bathroom he haltingly requested, “Uh, Sophie, could you …?”

“Sure.” She retrieved a tall glass of water from the kitchen and waited in the hallway, hoping their late-night hijinks would not awaken her roommate. Sophie heard the toilet flush, then Grant sheepishly opened the door.

“Here you go.” She offered him the glass. “I suggest a couple of aspirin, in the medicine cabinet, for your headache.”

He immediately downed the cool liquid and refilled the glass at the tap before opening the cabinet and shaking out a couple of aspirin. After two full glasses of water, he looked at her expectantly.

“I’m surprised you didn’t throw up from all that tequila,” she whispered.

“I have a stomach of steel,” he whispered back. “But how much did I have anyway?”

“You told me you had ten shots.”

“Wow,” he responded, clearly impressed with himself.

“Let’s see how proud of yourself you are tomorrow.” She grinned.

“What does that mean?” His whisper was demanding.

Sophie guessed he was probably still drunk. “Nothing. Let’s talk about it tomorrow, okay? It’s the middle of the night.”

His eyelids already drooping, he followed her back to the living room where they each collapsed on their respective makeshift beds. He was still dressed in his cruise uniform, a light-blue collared shirt and navy pants, although she and Kirsten had removed his shoes.

For a moment, Sophie and Grant each considered how much they would enjoy cuddling up to the other, but both dismissed that idea quickly—for so many reasons.

“By the way, I called the hospital, and it sounds like Roger is doing okay,” Sophie reported as she settled into the futon.

“Good,” Grant whispered into the darkness. He was quiet for a few seconds. “Thank you for taking care of me, Sophie.”

“Of course I’ll take care of you, Grant. I was the one who stupidly gave you alcohol in the first place.” After a moment she added, “Drunk Grant is a handful, though,” which caused him to chuckle.

They were quiet once again, and Sophie thought about his gratitude. It felt good to care for him. Caring for others was in her blood, as natural to her as breathing. Grant seemed to possess a similar intrinsic consideration for others.

Sophie wondered if she would hear Grant talking in his sleep again. There was so much she didn’t know about him, about what made him the man he was. Reliving his kisses from the cab ride—and hoping that there were more to come—Sophie floated off into sleep with a soft smile.

H
e awoke to a splitting headache and the return of cotton mouth.

“Evil,” he whispered. “Tequila is pure evil.”

With a groan, he lifted his sore neck from the sofa armrest and caught a glimpse of tousled strawberry hair splayed across the pillow on the futon. Slats of morning sunlight filtered through the blinds, surrounding Sophie with a warm yellow glow. She was lying on her side with her back to him, and she had kicked off the sheet and blanket, which afforded him a nice view of her curvy behind and revealed the thin T-shirt and shorts clothing her body. Her shirt had ridden up in her sleep, leaving the small of her back exposed. Her smooth, milky skin enticed him.

Though his temples throbbed to the beat of his pounding pulse, he felt no pain as his cool blue eyes traveled up and down her body, taking in every curve, every angle, every freckle. Those long legs, responsible for her five-foot-nine height, caught his attention most of all. His college girlfriend, Pamela, had been barely over five feet, forcing Grant to lean down awkwardly to kiss her. They’d always seemed like a mismatch. He felt certain kissing Sophie would be a much smoother and well-matched endeavor.

Drinking in Sophie’s smooth, sexy legs, Grant imagined those endless limbs wrapped around him, entangling him, trapping him like their prey. He could almost feel the warmth of her skin, and he craved such intimacy with her.

She shifted in her sleep and slowly rolled over, causing Grant to tear his eyes away. Laying his head back on the armrest, he pretended to sleep.

“Grant?”

“Yeah?” He took the risk of opening his eyes and looked in her direction, only to find her staring back at him.

“Good morning.” She grinned. “How do you feel, tequila boy?”

“Stop smiling. It’s not funny.”

She kept grinning. “Yeah, it kind of is, actually.”

He narrowed his eyes in feigned anger before his expression turned more serious. “How is Rog?”

“You don’t remember my midnight report?” she teased. “He seems to be fine, but I was thinking we could go to the hospital this morning to check on him.”

“Good plan.”

She studied his wrinkled shirt, which had partially unbuttoned in his sleep, rewarding her with a view of his strong, defined chest. Trailing her eyes upward to find his gaze boring into her, she nervously cleared her throat. “Would you like to shower first?”

A bemused expression danced in his eyes. “But I don’t have any clean clothes.”

Who cares about clothes?
 she almost said out loud. “Oh,” she murmured instead. “I could try to find some baggy sweats that might fit.” 
It might take me awhile. And while I’m looking, it would be quite all right for you to stand there dripping in a towel.

While he considered her offer she added, “And I could make us some breakfast.”

Grant shook his head. “No food.”

“What happened to your stomach of steel?”

“How do you know about that?”

“You told me last night. There are 
lots
 you don’t seem to remember.”

“Drunken boasting, I guess. Apparently tequila can burn a hole through steel, judging by how my stomach feels right now.” He paused a moment and then confided, “I do have a strong stomach though. I had to have one in my former career.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t be too cool to get seasick on an aircraft carrier.”

Once again he looked at her with disbelief. “How did you know I was in the Navy?”

“Tommy told me. I found out all kinds of fun facts about you last night, Lieutenant Madsen.”

A tendril of fear crept up his spine. He wondered what else she now knew about him. He needed to be more careful. Grant swung his legs around the sofa and willed himself not to groan as he sat up. “Actually I better go get cleaned up at Roger’s.”

Sophie hid her disappointment and nodded. Kirsten would be bummed not to see the conscious McSailor before he left.

Once Grant determined Kirsten’s apartment was not all that far from Roger’s place, he went home to shower, but promised to return immediately so they could walk to the hospital together.

* * *

An hour later, Grant and Sophie walked to the hospital: him freshly shaved with a splash of tantalizing aftershave, her smelling of soap and lavender.

“So, about last night,” Grant began. “I don’t remember everything, but …” His eyes widened with horror. “Oh my God, was I singing?”

She giggled. “Yes, you were!” She wondered if he remembered the best part of the evening—the cab ride home.

“Oh.” He groaned in embarrassment.

“How did you know the lyrics to all those Frank Sinatra songs?”

“My mother was a huge fan of Frank.”

“She 
was
 a fan? What—she doesn’t like Ol’ Blue Eyes anymore?”

Grant looked down awkwardly. “Actually, my mother is deceased.”

Sophie wondered if her entire foot would fit in her huge mouth. “Oh, Grant, I’m sorry.” They walked in silence until she quietly asked, “How old were you when she died?”

“Twelve.”

Sophie suddenly understood his kind response to learning of her own mother’s death. They had yet another thing in common. Affectionately she stroked his hand, and her touch made Grant feel instantly better.

“That must have been really hard, to lose her when you were so young,” she ventured, drawing herself closer to him.

“It was horrible.”

“You said your dad was a jerk. Did you have to live with him then?”

“No, my mom left him before she died. My uncle adopted me instead. Wait a minute.” He paused midstride. “I thought we agreed not to discuss our pasts?”

“Whoops, there I go into psychologist mode again. I obnoxiously start interrogating everyone. No wonder my dates think I’m analyzing them.”

“Your 
dates?
” Grant cracked a smile. “Do you wish to elaborate on that?”

Sophie returned his smile. “No talking about the past, remember?”

“Oh, so that rule only applies when it’s convenient?”

They continued walking until Sophie could no longer contain her curiosity. “So, anything else you remember about last night?”

“Hmm, let me think. It seemed like the cruise went pretty well, but I don’t recall much after that. How did we get to Kirsten’s place?”

“We took a cab,” she reminded him.

“A cab? No, I don’t remember that. Though there 
is
 a memory nagging at me. Seems like there was something I wanted to do last night, but I didn’t get a chance. What was that?”

With his free hand he tapped his chin while Sophie studied him, almost bursting with anticipation.

“Ah, now I remember!” he cried victoriously. “I wanted to do 
this
.” He pulled her toward him and gathered her in his arms as his hand lovingly cradled the back of her neck. She stopped breathing as he leaned down—
ohmigod,
 the Adonis was about to kiss her—and planted the softest, most sensual kiss on her lips.

Time stood still on the busy Chicago street.

She drew her hand to his face and gently stroked his cheek as their lips melted together. Their first kiss lasted far longer than a chaste peck, but not so long that Sophie lost the ability to stand. But the intensity and spine-tingling power of his exquisite lips caressing hers lingered long after he reluctantly ended their liplock.

Sophie glanced around and was relieved that nobody seemed to be staring. “You, uh …” She cleared her throat. “You remembered what you started in the cab.”

He smiled, noticing the flush of her cheeks and the fire in her eyes. “Kissing you on the cheek was only the beginning, Sophie.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “I may have been drunk, but I would 
never
 forget kissing your beautiful face.”

* * *

Arriving at Roger’s hospital room, Grant and Sophie heard an argument inside. Grant rapped lightly before sticking his head cautiously into the room. Roger glared at the nurse, who looked disapprovingly at her patient.

“How’s it goin’, Rog?” Grant inquired uneasily.

“Not good, Madsen. Not good at all. This 
nurse
,” he gestured emphatically toward the older woman standing at his bedside, “wants to ‘accompany’ me to the bathroom. Ain’t no way a chick is gonna watch me take a piss.”

“It’s standard protocol, Mr. Eaton,” she replied. “You’re at a higher risk for falls following surgery.”

“You had surgery?” Sophie asked.

Roger grunted. “It’s no big deal. They went in and messed with my ticker, and now I’m good as new.”

“Mr. Eaton had a procedure called an angioplasty,” the nurse chimed in. “We inserted a stent into his artery to open up the blockage to his heart.”

“That 
does
 sound like a big deal,” Grant said.

Roger rolled his eyes.

Grant glanced at the nurse. “How about I take Mr. Eaton to the head? Would that be okay, Rog?”

Roger reluctantly nodded. This hospital thing 
sucked.

The nurse briefed Grant on preventing falls as he assisted Roger into the bathroom. “Tell Mr. Eaton I’ll return to give him his sponge bath later,” she said.

A few minutes later, Sophie was dismayed to see the color drained from Roger’s face as Grant helped him back into bed. Walking across the room was clearly exhausting.

“Where did Nurse Ratched go?” Roger spat.

Sophie giggled. “She’s coming back to give you your sponge bath later.”

Grant arched his eyebrows. “I think she likes you, Rog. Maybe if you weren’t such a pain in the ass, you two might get along better.”

“Save it, Madsen,” Roger growled. “Now, give me an update. Did you two sink my ship last night? Do I have a business to return to when I get the hell out of here?”

Grant and Sophie exchanged nervous glances, and he tentatively spoke first. “Yes, we had a sold-out cruise last night, sir.”

“No shit. I’m asking how it went. You were almost pooping a brick about being the docent for the cruise. What happened? Did you pull it off, or royally fuck it up?”

“I think it went well,” Grant said.

“You 
think
 it went well?” Roger studied Grant, wondering why he looked a bit ill. He turned to Sophie. “How did Madsen do?”

“He did great, Roger. 
I
 was the one who struggled, trying to get the drink orders right.”

Sensing evasiveness, Roger folded his meaty arms across his chest but stopped when it turned out to be painful. Angrily he demanded answers. “Tell me how you described the Trump Tower to the passengers, Madsen.”

“You know, I said the same stuff you say, but I added how Trump was planning a one-hundred-fifty story building before the World Trade Center thing, and I tied in the winner of 
The Apprentice—
stuff like that.”

Roger narrowed his eyes. “People don’t want to hear about goddamn TV shows on an architectural cruise.”

“Yes, sir,” Grant replied dutifully.

“And the Spire?” Roger asked. “That’s the end of the cruise. Were you still doing okay by then? What did you say about the Spire?”

Sophie suppressed a smile, but Grant squirmed nervously.

Grant’s blush deepened in color. “I don’t really remember, sir.”

“What do you mean you don’t remember?”

“I, um, had some tequila.”

His eyes bugged out. “You were 
drinking?
 You were driving the ship 
drunk
?”

“Tommy was driving the ship, sir.”

“Well, thank God for Tommy, then! But you still broke all kinds of watercraft regulations. If the Chicago PD had boarded the ship, we’d all be in a shitload of trouble!”

“It was my fault, Rog,” Sophie interjected. “I gave him the tequila to calm his nerves.”

“Did they teach you that maneuver in shrink school?”

Sophie looked down. “No.”

“It wasn’t her fault,” Grant said. “She gave me one shot of tequila because I was nervous about taking your place, but I was the one who kept drinking.”

“How much did you have, you idiot?”

Grant continued to fidget, feeling helplessly guilty for all the trouble he had caused. “Around ten shots.”

“
Ten?
 And you don’t drink! No wonder you look like shit,” Roger grumbled under his breath as Sophie and Grant exchanged desperate glances. “I shoulda known better than to hire two parolees, goddamn it. You two are no good for each other, you hear? Madsen was doing just fine until you showed up, Taylor. I should fire both your asses.”

Grant inhaled sharply. “Please, Rog, don’t fire Sophie. I’m the one who screwed up.” He felt panic rising in his chest at the thought of returning to prison.

Sophie watched Grant fall on the sword for her with a sense of wonder and gratitude.