Chapter 8 #2
She was still marveling that she wasn’t dead tired and making immediate excuses to go home where she could crash on her couch. “I could, umm, meet you there,” she offered, although how she would manage that, was something she’d have to figure out.
“Or, I could give you a ride, then bring you back to get your car, after,” he proposed.
Lace ducked her head. Time to confess. “I, uh, actually don’t have my car here. I’ve been taking the bus, since sometimes I’m a little too out-of-it to drive after my treatments.”
Although today, she felt so damned good, maybe she’d reconsider her ride-options in the future.
Perhaps she was getting used to the poisons being pumped into her body?
Fat chance. It had to be today’s distractions taking her mind away from her own woes. It didn’t matter though. Either way, she’d embrace it.
“That settles it,” Vincent said with a grin. “I’ll drive us for ice cream, then I’ll take you home. Is that okay?”
“It sure is.” Lace couldn’t hold back her smile.
“Then, if you decide I’m not a serial killer…” he added.
Lace always pictured someone stabbing Captain Crunch when “serial killer” got mentioned.
“…I can drive you home every week until you’re finished,” Vince concluded.
“Uh, let’s not get ahead of ourselves here,” Lace warned, but part of her was thrilled. Vince wasn’t backing away, he was forging ahead, which gave her hope.
“Okay. I won’t. But I can drive today, right?” he questioned, backing off a little on his enthusiasm.
Lace didn’t want to snuff out the light that she’d seen in his eyes.
“Of course,” she assured him with a succinct nod and a wiggle of her brows. And yes, oddly, she did still have her eyebrows, which were often the first thing to go. “After all, you did say ice cream, right?” she teased.
“Yup. Double chocolate with chocolate chunks and chocolate jimmies.”
The enticing picture was enough to make her salivate.
“Now you’re talking my language,” Lace hummed. “Lead on.” She grabbed her coat, which she seemed to need most days in spite of the scorching heat outside. Besides, it held all her stuff, so she couldn’t do without it. She was not a purse kind of girl.
They got a lot of speculative looks as they left the hospital; Lace all wan looking, and Vince in his colorful clown get-up. But she didn’t let it bother her. Let the gawkers speculate, and maybe even imagine some wild-ass clown sex.
Her mind might have slipped there a time or two over the past week since meeting the enigmatic Vincent.
He led her to a lovely, bright red truck, and why wasn’t Lace surprised?
There was nothing understated about Vincent, and his choice of ride went right along with his personality.
She wondered what his apartment or house looked like, and immediately pictured the striped interior of a circus tent, complete with a trapeze set-up over what would surely be his king-sized bed.
Wheee.
Right. If that were the case, Lace would probably have to wait awhile before she could take advantage of the apparatus, working to increase her stamina for those kinds of strenuous activities, and…
“Where did you go?” Vincent asked, bringing her back to present.
Oops.
Clearly, he’d opened the truck door for her, and she was standing there, all spaced out on him.
Okay. Why not?
“Umm, full disclosure?”
“Of course,” he nodded.
Lace decided she’d go for it. Since Vince had taken the cancer thing with such aplomb, what was a little crazy on top of that?
“I, uh, sometimes have these…flights of fancy, where when somebody says something, I…picture stuff in my head.”
Vince didn’t seem turned off. As a matter of fact, he looked intrigued, and a visible dimple popped out under his make-up, making her think he was perhaps…charmed by her disclosure?
“So, where were you just then?” he asked with a huge grin as she climbed up into the seat and fumbled with the seatbelt, only to have him help her click it into place.
Lace could feel color moving up into her cheeks, which, all things considered, had to be better than the pale visage she’d been sporting.
“I was, um, actually imagining your house as the inside of a circus tent,” she allowed sheepishly. There was no way she was going to mention the trapeze.
Vincent threw back his head and laughed.
“Hold that thought,” he ordered. Closing her door and moving around to the other side of the truck, he let himself in and easily gained his seat.
“This might sound lame, but I need to tell you, I still live with my parents,” he disclosed.
Seriously?
She hadn’t asked, but she’d put him at somewhere around his upper thirties. Wasn’t that a bit old to be…?
“Huh. I see. A basement dweller,” she quipped, attempting to nod her head, seriously.
“No,” he countered with the same amount of fake-gravity. “I’m not below-ground.
There’s still my childhood bedroom, complete with original posters of Shakira and J-Lo on the walls, but these days I’m ensconced in the more grown-up guest suite.”
“Good to know,” Lace snorted, unable to hold back her mirth. “Not Britney?” she asked. “That was my girl back in the day.”
“Nope. Although since we’re sharing, I’ll admit to also secretly liking Josie and the Pussycats. But if you dare tell anyone, I’ll—"
“…have to kill me,” Lace finished for him with an amused snort. “Isn’t that what you military types always say?”
Vincent actually roared, and it was a hot moment before he could find his voice again.
He gave a loud, wheeze-sigh, then tsked. “I was actually going to say that I’d take your ice cream cone away from you and eat it all up. But potato/ potahto,” he quipped back.
Lace laughed. Really laughed.
This was the most fun she’d had in…
Damn. She couldn’t even say how long.
Probably since before her grandparents died.
Sure, she had a few casual friends. And then, of course, there was Bobbie.
Bobbie kept her balanced. But on the gleeful front, girlfriends who knew you well didn’t always approach life on happy little tippy-toes to try and make problems go away.
More often—as was the case with Bobbie and Lace since her diagnosis—they helped you dig deeply into your problems to save you from going insane.
“So,” Lace finally managed, after climbing back out of that rabbit hole, “you live with your parents,” she reiterated, as she wiped a few tears of hilarity from the corners of her eyes.
“Temporarily,” he amended with a wag of his finger. “I just got out of the service a little over a month ago.”
“Oh! I didn’t know that. Then, my bad,” she admitted before changing tacks. “And how old are you?”
“Forty,” he grumbled.
“Hey. That’s not a bad thing. I’m thirty-seven,” she let him know, before going back to their original subject. “So, that means you’re possibly looking for a place, but taking your time while settling back into civilian life,” she ascertained.
Vincent’s face grew introspective.
“Well, up until last week, I wasn’t exactly anxious to find a house of my own, but now things have changed,” he told her.
Yikes. That sounded serious.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Lace questioned gently.
“Yeah. I do. But over ice cream,” he confirmed.
While his fingers curled and uncurled reflexively around his steering wheel, Lace wondered what was up.
It didn’t seem like whatever was on his mind was exactly bad…
She’d have to wait.
Vince drove them out of the hospital lot, adding, “I sure hope that what I say won’t scare you away.”