Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Lace couldn’t wait to get home. A home she’d soon be sharing with Vincent.
Not that she’d see him very much, what with her busy schedule and his, but just knowing someone else would be in the house, living under the same roof, made her feel a modicum of comfort that she hadn’t had since her grandparents died.
The man was still somewhat of a puzzle. But one she was looking forward to solving.
Like today. What would Vincent pick up for lunch? With guys it was usually either pizza, subs, or Chinese.
Lace’s guess was pizza, and the thought of warm gooey cheese on a raw day had her happily contemplating this rare opportunity for a real lunch.
Once they docked at the pier, Lace grabbed the bag that held her computer and a few other personal items. Saying goodbye to Zach and Ryan she practically skipped down the companionway.
She received nothing more than a scowl from the captain as she disembarked, which was actually colder than his normal grunt.
Seriously? He was going to hold a change in days off against her?
Well, if that were the case, it was his problem. He’d either get over it eventually, or not speak to her for the rest of the summer.
Her choice? The latter. What a boon, not to have to make small talk with the taciturn prick for the next few months.
A few months…
Lace sighed. She seriously couldn’t wait for this job to wrap up in the fall, which was a new feeling for her.
Oh, she’d met crews in the past who weren’t exactly keen about having her on board, but she’d more often than not been able to win the majority of them over before too much time passed.
Not so on the Water Wrestler.
Maybe the problem was her? Maybe the breast cancer and the chemo had her off her game more than she realized—even though she’d done everything she could to hide it—and had her more unapproachable.
Not that Captain Up-his-ass would give a shit one way or another. If he found out she had cancer, he’d probably tell her to go die already. It wouldn’t surprise her.
Lace walked across the nearly empty parking lot to her car and opened her door. Getting inside, she dropped her small backpack onto the passenger seat.
Thirty seconds later, she was leaving the lot.
It was a twenty-minute trip home. She wondered who’d be there first? Her or Vince.
If it was Vince…
Lace’s mind’s eye suddenly dropped into another realm as she drove.
Vince. On her couch. Wearing nothing but sweats…
No. Scrub that.
Wearing no shirt. Just shorts…
Not quite right.
Wearing nothing but boxers.
Yup. That was it.
His feet were up on her coffee table, and he was eating pizza and scrolling on his phone, occasionally scratching his flat abdomen where a dark, love-trail disappeared into his waistband.
Mmm. Lace hummed to herself.
As she walked through the door in this fantasy, he looked up, pushed aside his phone and his food, then threaded one hand down, inside his boxers where he began stroking an enormous hard-on as his lids dropped to half-mast.
Oh, yes. Lace purred appreciably. She could so get behind that. Or in front of it. Or on top of it.
What should her reaction be?
She dropped her backpack to the floor, turned, and locked the door, licking her lips and letting her lusty gaze sweep over him. “You want some help with that?” she asked huskily.
Not that Lace had ever considered her voice husky, but this was her daydream, so she could be Scarlett Johansson if she wanted to.
Vincent’s eyes traveled her body. “Get rid of the clothes,” he ordered.
She reached for her top button—
A car beeped its horn, and Lace popped out of her head.
Goddammit. She was stopped at a light that had turned green.
She ducked her chin sheepishly and waving in her rearview, she stepped on the gas.
Maybe now wasn’t exactly the time to be wool-gathering.
Maybe when she got home there’d be a few minutes to let her imagination run rampant before Vince arrived.
Or if he was already there, perhaps…
Gah. She was spiraling into her own head again.
She had to stop that.
If Lace were honest, she’d say her flights of fancy had become more frequent since she’d started chemo; something to do with the chemicals, or it was her form of escapism.
Either way, she was going to have to watch it.
Tempting fate while driving, or, god forbid, being on the deck of a boat at sea, wasn’t exactly healthy behavior.
When Lace finally pulled into her driveway, Vincent had already arrived, and was getting out of his car.
So much for that “couch-show” she’d imagined.
He gave a wave, then opened his back door and leaned in…
Oh, yes. Now there was a sight she could get used to seeing. Jeans material pulled taut over some extremely fine buns. Not made-up buns like in her mind, but real, Sothard, grabbable cheeks.
Lace actually sighed as he stood back up in the rain with a bag in his hands, waiting for her to park and join him.
Fantasy time over.
She turned off her car and got out, giving Vince a huge smile as she dashed for the front porch to get out of the downpour.
“That’s pretty big,” she yelled over the sound of torrents pounding on the overhanging roof, pointing at the bag in his hands as they both shook off like puppies. Lace almost choked on her words because they were sooo close to what she’d been thinking about his actual package, earlier.
“Can’t have you being hungry after your rough morning at sea,” he replied.
If he only knew how crappily she’d been treated today, he’d double down on those sentiments.
She must have scowled, because he responded testily. “Don’t tell me. Captain Dick-wad was at it again.” Vince looked ready to chew nails.
“Yeah,” she said, fumbling for her house key as he leaned comfortably on the clapboards beside the door. “He didn’t like that I’m changing my day off to Tuesdays. But fuck him. He’s not my boss, and he has no say over what I do.”
“Your real bosses don’t mind?” Vince responded, waiting as she fitted her key in the lock before they walked in.
“They didn’t even blink,” she told him, hanging her wet coat on the peg just inside the door. “They’re just happy I’m still working.”
“That’s good,” he responded with a nod, placing the bag at his feet to match her movements; shedding his jacket to suspend it next to hers.
As he picked the brown sack back up and they walked toward the kitchen, Lace caught a sniff of the food he was carrying.
“Damn. That smells good. What is it?”
It wasn’t shaped like pizza, it was too big for subs, and it didn’t have that distinctive Chinese aroma she would have expected.
“Well, I figured since it was such a crappy day, homemade chicken soup and fresh sourdough bread would be just the thing.”
And where…?
It only took a second for Lace to catch on.
“Don’t tell me,” she laughed. “You stopped by Bobbie’s catering shop and begged the food from her.”
“Got me,” Vincent replied, totally unrepentant as he unloaded two large cartons of soup, and a loaf of bread that Lace could easily devour all on her own. She was a real carb-a-holic, and today her appetite was spot on.
“Bobbie has a standing gig on Saturdays with a local assisted living facility,” he continued. “She makes comfort food for their early supper, and as soon as I got your text, I asked if she could fix us up with a little of what she was serving today. She was not only helpful, she was thrilled.”
Of course she was. Bobbie had been trying to fix Lace up with anything on two legs since they’d met, and she could just picture Bobbie’s squeal when Vince had called and told her of his plans.
Right. Now, between Bobbie and Ellen, they probably had a wedding feast already planned.
“We’ll have to thank her,” Lace said, instead of going down any rabbit-holes in her head that mapped out a future between her and Vince. “Do something nice in return. But in the meantime, this will really hit the spot.”
She quickly got out bowls and spoons, and they set up at the small table that stood in front of two large windows overlooking the soggy back yard.
It didn’t take long for both of them to dig in, making appreciative noises as they mowed their way through the food.
“Damn, Bobbie is good,” Lace said, finishing and sitting back with her stomach comfortably full. This was a damned-sight better than being on the Water Wrestler, eating protein bars and receiving evil looks from old Captain Malevolent with every bite.
Vince sat back too, after polishing off everything that was left.
“So,” he focused all his attention on Lace. “I guess it’s time to get down to business. Do you have your roommate-rules-list ready?” he asked.
Wow. He’d wasted no time.
Lace tapped her temple. “It’s all up here.”
“Not me,” he said, withdrawing a piece of paper from his pocket and snapping it open in front of him. It looked like it was written on from top to bottom, with scribbles even jammed into the margins.
Lace’s eyes went wide. “You’ve thought of that much stuff?” she asked incredulously.
Vince laughed. “Nope. I’m only teasing.” He poked the paper back into his pocket. “That’s the list of things I need to do to satisfy DHHS. But I got you, didn’t I?” he smirked.
Lace playfully slapped at his hand. “Yes. You did. And don’t expect that to go unanswered.”
Oh, yeah. She could dream up a few things that would keep Vincent off kilter in the future.
Not the couch. Not the couch. Not the couch.
“Why don’t you go first,” Vincent said, yanking her out of the mental quagmire that was about to suck her in.
“Well,” she swallowed, then answered thoughtfully. “I don’t have too many concerns with the house and such. I know you’ll treat it like it’s your own, and the fact that you’re helping pay for a bathroom renovation—”
“I had my friend Statler out here this morning.”
Clearly, Vince couldn’t help his interruption. He seemed really excited as he continued.
“He can start early next week, and its going to be awesome.”
Lace wished she could bottle the look of satisfaction on his face.