Chapter 21 #2
He knew exactly what she was getting at, and his voice dropped an octave. “It doesn’t matter if it’s an hour or four, I’m still game. It’ll be your call whether we, uh, do anything when we get back to your…our, house.”
“Well, the answer to that is an absolute yes,” she told him bluntly.
Red moved up into her cheeks, and she was suddenly glancing everywhere but at him.
Vince found her bold-girl/shy-girl thing a huge turn on, but she swiftly moved on.
“What do you think? Should I trade in my scarf for a matching hairpiece to yours?” Lace purposely picked up Vince’s discarded wig where it sat between them on the console, and twirled it in her fingers as a distraction.
Vince snickered. “If you want. But I think you’re already damned cute in those scarves, and…” Yup. He was going to go for it. “…even more stunning with your head completely naked.”
Lace snorted, her hands stilling for a moment. “Naked, huh? You know, most people would say bald.”
Vince scoffed. “Where’s the sexiness in that term? It certainly doesn’t do you justice. Naked, however…” he gave a shiver he didn’t try to hide.
Lace began picking at the red fibers again. “You…think my bare head is sexy?” she asked tentatively.
“As fuck,” he agreed without having to think about it for a second. “You never, ever, need to hide it from me, Lace.”
The image of him stroking her smooth pate while she was busy between his legs, popped into his head, and almost sent him into a full-on, technicolor fantasy.
He could see how Lace could get lost in her visions if they were anything like that.
Instantly he was hard.
He tried to adjust, surreptitiously.
Lace noticed, and giggled.
“Should I ask what’s got you…stirring?” she queried.
Vince groaned uncomfortably. “Honestly?”
“Yup,” she snickered.
“I was, um, picturing you, uh, kneeling in front of me—”
“—sucking your cock,” she finished breathlessly, her face growing even redder. “I’d be completely down for that, just so you know.”
She licked her lips.
Oh, hell yes.
“Well, then,” he choked out loud. “I guess we’re going to have to make sure this job gets wrapped up quickly.”
“Very quickly,” she breathed out, tentatively yet impishly reaching for his dick.
“Nope,” he squeaked, catching her fingers before they reached their target. “You do that, and we’ll never make it to the shop.”
Lace giggled, but gave in.
Ten minutes later, with lots of heated glances being exchanged between the two of them, they pulled up in front of Diver Downeast.
“Rotting lobster carapaces. Rotting lobster carapaces,” Vince began chanting, just loudly enough to amuse Lace.
“Don’t tell me,” she snickered. “You’re trying to distract your happy man-parts with something disgusting.”
“Yup. Give me a second. It’s working.” He squinched up his face.
Lace glanced as his lap again.
“Stop looking,” Vince griped. “Argh.”
It wasn’t working.
Lace cleared her throat and began to sing.
“Great big gobs of ooey gooey gopher guts…”
That did the trick.
Not because it was disgusting, but because Vince had always found that children’s song to be hilarious. It was just the distraction he needed.
His new problem?
He’d be singing that damned ditty in his head for the rest of the day.
Getting out of the truck, then going around to help Lace down, Vince couldn’t help but smile to himself over how relaxed she’d been all day.
He felt like he was getting a glimpse of who Lace was before, and who she’d be after her aggressive cancer treatments.
Not that he didn’t love all sides of Lace, but seeing her happy?
Yeah. He was going to make that his life’s mission.
They walked into the glass-fronted store, and Sheila, behind the front desk, stood up abruptly, slapping a snorkel and a mask onto the counter before Vince could even introduce her to Lace.
“What are those for?” Vince asked. He had his diving gear in his truck.
Sheila bent down, struggling to pick up a stack of large white buckets, which she also placed, front and center.
“Golf course,” Sheila intoned, as if that would explain everything.
“Excuse me?” Vince couldn’t, for the life of him, think of any job that would necessitate—
Oh, hell no.
“Fucking Spence,” Vince barked.
Sheila had the swear jar in front of Vince’s nose almost before the expletive had left his lips.
Seriously?
This was a set-up. His brothers had all been in on it. Every one of them. They’d bailed purposely and left this to him.
Vince dug in his pocket and stuffed a five in the jar that required a one for every swear. He’d definitely need some credit for all the things that were about to come out of his mouth.
“Spence isn’t sick, is he?” Vince sniped. “And Buck and Trask aren’t really busy. They just wanted to stick me with this job.”
Shiela shrugged, and her lips didn’t even twitch.
Crap. Vince had yet to be initiated into the water-hazard, ball retrieval side of the business, but he’d heard the horror stories.
It was a thankless task. Retrieving balls from the often-murky water holes at the big golf course just outside of town was also a horror show. The ponds were always muddy, and often filled with discarded bottles, trash, and even the occasional pair of underwear, that…
Ewww. He didn’t even want to think about that.
He’d clearly been thrown to the wolves.
“What am I missing?” Lace asked, obviously confused at the turn of events that had him grumbling. She nodded to Sheila. “I’m Lace, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you,” Sheila intoned sincerely, but she still wasn’t smiling.
Vince called attention back to himself as he explained the situation to Lace. “Every month or so, the local golf course hires Diver Downeast to retrieve balls from their water-hazards while the course is closed,” Vince huffed.
Which was this afternoon.
Vince groused on. “I’ve heard from my brothers how disgusting it can be, and those assholes obviously decided it was my turn to suffer.”
Sheila wiggled the jar in his direction again, but Vince growled.
“I already put in a five, which means I get three more curses.”
Judiciously, Sheila put the container back down.
Lace was clearly trying to hide her amusement. “I see. Hence the snorkel, rather than your dive gear.”
“That’s about it,” he grunted.
Lace shrugged impudently. “At least it should go fast.”
Vince moaned. “Are you kidding? We’ll be lucky if we get out of there before dark,” he whined.
This time of year, that would be around eight PM.
Which was Lace’s bedtime on a work night.
And didn’t that just suck.
“Shit,” he intoned, reluctantly filling Lace in on the extent of the job. “Five water traps. Nasty visibility. Hundreds of balls.”
Lace leaned in close, looking undeterred. She put her lips to his ear. “What if I promise to take care of your balls once the job is complete?”
Vince swallowed convulsively at the sexy promise in her voice.
He swiftly picked up the gear and the buckets.
“Then I’d say, let’s get moving.”
He turned back to Sheila who only now was wearing a grin.
“And you owe me two cusses.”