When it’s over, I pause the program, fully intending to rewind and re-watch the segment, and turn to him. Popping a crunchy marshmallow into my mouth, I say, “See? Not so bad.”
“I can’t believe nobody said I was a stupid ass-face.”
I laugh. “Not yet. The ladies love you.”
He blushes. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Everything. Women rule the world. You should know that by now.”
We watch it four more times, until we both nearly have it memorized, inserting phrases like, “That’s what she said,” and analyzing what’s going on in the background (including a towel-clad Schoengert we didn’t see the first few times).
“Wait, wait, wait,” I say. “Rewind it. I want to see that part where you bob your head like a self-righteous diva. It’s priceless.”
Reclined against the pillows, right arm behind his head, he extends his left arm to hold the remote out of my reach. “No. I can’t handle seeing it anymore.”
“Then close your eyes and cover your ears.” I strain and snatch the remote from his hand, eliciting a sickening crunch from the box of cereal in his lap.
He groans but keeps his eyes and ears open.
“See? Right… there!”
I slow it down when his head moves subtly back and forth, then hit play so I can hear him say it in real time:
“This is a human rights issue, not just a women’s rights issue. When you have no respect for people, you treat them like dirt. And maybe that results in a sex-for-money game or maybe it makes you think it’s okay to beat someone up. Or rape them. Or kill them. It’s all connected.”
“Amen, bruh-thuh!” I say with his touchdown fist pump.
He snorts. “I was super into it, at that point. I guess.”
I hit “stop” for the last time and turn off the TV, tossing the remote away from me on the bed. Setting our cereal boxes on the floor, I cuddle up to his chest. “I think it’s adorable. You’re adorable.”
He rubs my back. “Team leadership doesn’t think so.”
“They’ll get over it. Especially after you kick some Chargers butt in a couple of weeks. All this will be forgotten.”
I push against him to sit up and stretch. He tugs me back toward him. I laugh. “I have to get going. It’s a forty-minute drive to my house from here.”
“What? You’re not staying here tonight?”
I yawn. “I hadn’t planned on it.”
“Aw, c’mon! What about the big, bad reporters?”
“They’ve already forgotten about me. They don’t care that I think you’re the sexiest feminist to ever walk the planet.”
He pulls me closer and slides his good hand up my shirt.
“You don’t have work tomorrow.”
“No, but—”
“I was counting on you to take Torzi back to the house in the morning.”
“Am I on your payroll now?”
He nuzzles my neck. “No. Let’s not get that rumor started. But…” He stops his advances, and I struggle to focus on his face. “I thought when you agreed to come out here, you were planning to stay all night, to keep me company.”
“Umm…” I consider adding sexual frustration to my exhaustion and balance it with my desire to stay right here with him, after such a long day.
“You don’t want to drive all that way tonight,” he continues his persuasion. “Plus, the Hummer doesn’t fit in your garage.”
“You’re reaching now.”
“Please, Maura?”
Gaaaaaah! Those damn eyes. That mouth. And that hand. And…
“I don’t want to go.”
“Then don’t!”
“But I don’t think I can stay, either.” This time, more resolutely, I pull away from him, going so far as to stand, and remind him, “Tomorrow’s going to be another long day. You need to get some rest.”
He ignores that argument. “What I need right now, more than anything, is for you to stay here with me. Tonight. All night. Please. I don’t like to be demanding, but I need you.”
I groan. “You’re killing me, man.”
Leaving the bed, he stands in front of me. Keeping his eyes on mine, he reaches down for the hem of my shirt and pulls it over my head. Automatically, I raise my arms so the garment sloughs off, and he tosses it aside, but I ask, “What are you doing?”
He answers me with a well-placed and well-timed, deep kiss, during which he shows off how much he can still do, one-handed, by unhooking my bra.
I break my lips from his with a wet, sucking sound. “Jet. What about…?”
He grins down into my face, breathing heavily. “Being on the DL comes with some advantages.”
Thirty-Two
Disappointment
We’re both up well before the sun the next morning, setting out on the drive to Jet’s to give us plenty of time to eat breakfast together, preferably something other than Lucky Charms. Beau has already been alerted via text message that we’re on the way and hungry. My mouth is watering for the Greek omelet he promised me.
Our mini motorcade makes the trip in record time thanks to the early hour. Neither of us talks until we’re several bites into our meals.
Finally, around a swallow of coffee, I say, “Oh, thank God. I feel human again. I was weak.”
Jet winks at me across the table. “Stale cereal wasn’t very good fuel for last night.”
“Yeah, you better eat up, big boy. You have a rabid media contingent to face today. In a couple of weeks, I can’t wait for you to show everyone your stuff. In sunny San Diego.” I close my eyes and inhale the steam rising from my cup. “It’s going to be amazing.”
He neither confirms nor denies my prediction, so I open my eyes, expecting to see him too busy eating to talk. But he wipes his mouth on his napkin, places it
