Summary: Small-town football coach. Past his prime, divorced, malnourished, ill-clothed. With Bella getting a doctorate and leaving the country, Charlie decides he needs a woman. O/S, AH.
Rating: M-rated for language, sexual situations.
Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or any of its characters. No copyright infringement intended. Entertainment purposes only.
Author's Note: WINNER: EMERGING SWAN. Award banner set to public on my Facebook profile.
The Courtship of Charlie Swan
In a small town in the middle of Arizona, in a dusty place unknown to the rest of America, Charlie Swan was a coach for an eight-man football team. A team that only had two wins that season for its five losses. A team that sometimes only had one extra man on the bench, if even that. A team where the cheerleaders doubled as the marching band, along with the quarterback.
All the best teams that year for the 1A Division came from Mormon towns—Joseph City, St. David, Heber. His team sometimes had to submit to the mercy rule and give up the game rather than be beaten by a dozen or more touchdowns. Nights like that made it hard to be a coach.
But there was one thing that Charlie Swan's school could brag about. Their concession stand made the best burritos this side of the border. And it was all because of Sue Clearwater.
True to form for most K-12 schools in the area, Coach Swan was also Mr. Swan, the local history teacher. He had contemplated math for a while, and then gone with history, because it required the use of fewer numbers. Or least no one cared if you wrote the numbers down on a cheat sheet while giving a lecture. People didn't expect you to keep them blasted digits inside your head all the time with history, like they did with math.
Because the only numbers that Charlie Swan routinely carried around in his head all the time had exclusively to do with football. Yards passed, yards rushed, number of conversions, jersey designations and so on and so on. For each one of his players, dating all the way back to 1984.
Ah, yes, 1984. Not only a great album by Van Halen (he didn't care what the naysayers said about the excessive use of keyboards, "Jump" was practically his personal anthem) , but it was also the year he had snagged his first, and only, job of teaching and coaching.
That was nearly a lifetime ago, however. The fall season of 2010 now fully underway, Charlie Swan at this point was nearly 51 years old, divorced, frequently malnourished and ill-clothed, with a daughter studying at ASU, and finally, as of this year, writing her doctoral thesis on bats.
"Chiropterology," Bella had told him numerous of times. "Pronounce it 'kai-rop-ter-ol-ogy'. It's a simple enough term. If you know Latin. And bats are not all blood-suckers either. Most of them are actually frugivores."
Charlie thought about the strange words that Bella flaunted about and came up with an image of the local chiropractor and part-time candlemaker eating an apple. An organic apple, of course.
"Fruit! They eat fruit, Dad. And bugs. And none of them turn into vampires. Ever."
"Right, right. And what are you going to do, once you get done with this big paper of yours?"
"Not interested in teaching, myself. So… I figured I'd get a grant to study some endangered species of bat. Then travel the world looking for caves. Some great caves in Brazil. Maybe find myself a Mexican hottie named Eduardo and do the cha-cha del diablo muy caliente with him."
Charlie groaned at the slight reference to the possibility that his daughter had an active sex life, but she was 26 and counting. And she had never given him much reason to worry before about coming home pregnant from college. Plus, he was entirely relieved to know that Bella preferred boys to girls. Didn't care if he was Hispanic, or even Black, as long as he was a boy.
But what really hurt Charlie the most was that, come summer, Bella would be leaving Arizona, this time for good. That realization sunk in during most of August and into September until he was grumpy at school, grumpy on the field, grumpy in the locker room, grumpy in church.
"Someone needs to get the coach laid. And soon!" he heard Mike Newton grumble to another player one afternoon, both boys assuming they were hidden behind a metal locker door and therefore safe from the coach's eavesdropping. "Because, yes, I know I didn't catch that last pass at practice, but he went off on me for a full two minutes. God, that was embarrassing! I'm tellin' ya… just a little wah-wah and then some bom-chicka-bom-bom. If his Johnson still works, that is. How old is the damn fart now, anyway? Do you think he's gonna need some Vitamin-V to get it up? Maybe we can score him some Dr. Blue so he can finally score a touchdown or two himself, and stop laying into us guys on the team so much. Jesus Christ!"
"Ix-nay on the Iagra-Vay," Eric Yorkie hissed. "Because the man is standing right behind you."
Mike Newton spun around and dropped his container of deodorant on his foot, staring where it had landed and not daring to speak in his own defense. His dad worshipped the coach, gave him a huge discount at the Newton family sporting store. One phone call home to Mr. Newton from Coach Swan and… well, suffice it to say, Mr. Newton didn't believe any of his boys were above a belt to their hindquarters every now and again. Corporal punishment builds character, in the Newton household. End of story.
"You two boys suit up again and run me a dozen sprints. Full field sprints, in pads. And then you keep your damn fool mouths shut, or I'll be callin' your parents. Do you hear me, ya idjits?"
Eric shot his friend a deadly look, but they both did as they were told. In some parts of America—like rural Arizona—God, family and football are almost completely one and the same.
The words the boys had said sunk into Charlie's mind, though. He did need a woman. But where and how? He was related to half the town, and he didn't have any inclination towards adultery. So he did the only thing he could think to do—talk to his best friend, Sue Clearwater. Maybe she had some cousin from Ajo or Bisbee or Clifton she could set him up with. Just for a night or two.
He walked out to the parking lot, not even checking to see if the two chastised boys were going to run their sprints. He knew they would, simply because he'd told them to, firmly. They didn't keep him around as coach, winning season or losing season, for nothing. They kept him around because he genuinely inspired something worthwhile in the young men whom he worked with.
Because, right or wrong, civilized brutality like the eternal and bloody dance of high school sports is the given lot in life for almost every teenaged boy stuck out in the hinderparts of the U.S.A. Smithburg, Williamston, Martinville. Any place where the highway ends and the dirt roads start. Any place where your neighbors don't change for generations. Any place where time slows down or completely stops. In other words, the American heartland, beyond the incessant glare of city lights. And a country boy's education in manhood always started young, practically in the womb. Which meant Charlie Swan was just another link in that chain. A strong one at that, forged tough by a real nasty S.O.B. of a father with a fist of iron and a heart of steel.
Of course, he hadn't been an angel growing up. But, as a parent, Charlie Swan had never raised his hand to his only child, Bella. She had a loving and stable and reliable dad. While the man himself still had grooves left in his skin and scars left on his mind. Ones which would never fade.
A man like that, with kind of history, could be a brute and who would blame him? But never, not in any kind of rational universe anyway, would Charlie Swan ever ever ever be a bully.
So he did what he had to do with the boys and moved on. Talking to Sue. This was all he had in his mind as he exited the locker room, a duffle bag held in one hand, over his right shoulder.
He was thinking about calling Sue when he got home, in his single-wide trailer with its old-style rotary phone and avocado green stove that he didn't use much except to occasionally make Jiffy-Pop on the front burner. But Sue was sitting just outside the door in her car, a maroon 1986 Chrysler LeBaron convertible with a cream-colored top that wouldn't "convert" anymore. She had her eyes closed, head tilted back, and was smoking a cigarette. There was something that stirred inside him there for a moment, but he wasn't quite sure what it was, as he approached her.
"Howdy, Sue. You waiting for somethin'?"
"The Second Coming of Jesus. But other than that, my cousin Leah. Damn car won't start."
"No use in waiting, Sue. We can wait around for Jesus until the cows come home. But Leah will always be late. So pop your hood and let me have a look."
"Un-uh," Sue shook her head. "Because the last time a man said that to me, I made him buy me a beer first. A girl has to have the proper standards and values, after all."
Charlie laughed as he rounded the door and reached into the car himself, pushing aside one of Sue's knees to get to the release mechanism.
"And what exactly would it take, Charlie?" she breathed, as she knocked at his hand with the inside of her other thigh. "To get you to buy me a beer?"
"There's always beer at home in the fridge," responded Charlie as he returned to the front of the vehicle. "And you know that you're always welcome to come over for a drink, Sue. And now… what is the problem here… ahhhh, it's just a loose cable… there you go… nice and tight… now turn over the crank and let's see if this old lady works."
Sue grimaced as she turned the keys. She knew the car would probably work after a quick repair, since she had been the one to loosen the cable in the first place.
Old lady, she grumbled to herself. I guess that is all I am to him after all, an old lady.
Charlie meanwhile returned to the side of the car and checked to make sure there weren't any toes or fingers in the way and then slammed the door shut before slapping a palm on the rubber trim of the window pane.
"Thanks, Charlie," Sue curved him a wistful smile. "If there is anything I can do to thank you. Anything at all. You just have to ask. Maybe with beer. But I would still say yes, one way or the other. Beer or no beer."
At this, Charlie's brain lit up for a second. This was the best way to start a difficult conversation, with one side feeling indebted to the other. Except—and he looked around to see who might be spying on them—it shouldn't be there. Not in the school parking lot.
"Actually… there kinda is something, Sue. If you have the time."
"Wednesday is Bingo Night at the VFW, and you know, my nana can't even remember her own name most of the time, but she never forgets Bingo Night."
"Hmmm. I understand. Tomorrow then? Or Friday?"
"I guess. But, then again, maybe I could get Leah to take nana to bingo. The girl owes me, for babysitting all her brats without paying me for it. And here she is… so, just give me a sec."
Charlie leaned against the hood of Sue's car as he watched his friend hoof it over to the 4x4 that Leah Black drove around town. Always half a dozen kids rattling around in the backseat, most of them not buckled in. But what the hell. It wasn't like he was the sheriff or anything.
The two women had a conversation with voices that got kind of pitched there for a bit, but then Sue returned back to Charlie and her car, head bent down and hands stuck into her pockets.
"Well," she sighed. "I guess that's settled."
"What's settled? Tonight?"
"Yeah, and all I had to do was promise to buy fourteen cartons of Thin Mints when their troop starts selling Girls Scout cookies in the spring."
"Damn, that's a lot," Charlie muttered. "But tell ya what, Sue… I love Thin Mint cookies. And I'll buy half of them off of ya, since it's kind of my fault you have to do it in the first place."
"Yeah, Charlie. I know that's your favorite cookie," Sue glanced back over her shoulder at the dust that the truck left in its wake. "I know a lot about you. How long we've been friends now?"
"Since before Harry died and Renee left me for that baseball player. Shit, I don't know. Kids were wearing a lot of flannel back then. Flannel. Flannel! And this is Arizona, for pete's sake."
"Yep. We've known each other a long time, Charlie. So what is it that you wanted to ask me?"
Charlie turned to look at his friend and couldn't quite figure out why she looked so sad. Usually, she was noticeably happy to see him. Always set aside a couple mixed beef and bean burritos with extra jalapenos for him, just in case he didn't make it to the concession stand during halftime. Wrote "Property of Charlie Swan!" and "Back off!" on the aluminum foil with a Sharpie, just to be sure no one stole his grub.
Charlie liked the thought of Sue defending his dinner with a big wooden spoon. It made him laugh until his sides hurt. And she always waited around until he was there to pick up the food before finally shutting down for the evening. Always kissed him goodbye on the cheek too.
"Well, Sue, we can start with me buying you somethin' to eat at the café. Since the shoe is usually on the other foot… and, well… I'm famished. And then, you can follow me back to my place and we can talk. But only for a bit. Being a weeknight and all. School in the morning."
"Hmmm. And will you buy me a beer with dinner, Charlie?" Sue mused as she watched peach blend into raspberry on the serrated edge of the nearby mountain range.
"If that is what you want. And we can discuss defense and whether or not you think we should be snapping the ball to that Crowley kid anymore, after last Friday's game."
"Your quarterback ain't got much of an arm this season, and so I don't know if you can do much more than run it in, Charlie. But, maybe, you could give my nephew Seth a try? If you want."
"Maybe, maybe," the coach nodded. "Lots to discuss. So meet ya there, Sue. Big-ass Bud Light in a frosty mug with a bowl of limes on the side. Plus chips and guac and keep it comin', right?"
"You know it. And tell them I want that chunky salsa. 'Cuz that other stuff is just blerrrrgh."
#######
The two of them were kicking leather boots under the formica tabletop, with glass cups and ceramic plates littering the surface between them when a song came on the jukebox in the bar next door to the café. The music echoed through the small hallway connecting the two rooms, and Charlie stood up and stuck out his hand towards his friend. He wobbled just a bit as he did so.
"Dance? With you? Really? Dance? Since when do you dance, Charlie Swan?" Sue gurgled as she finished the last few gulps of her beer.
"I play air guitar with all my LPs back home, late at night. Can't be much different," he replied.
"Uh-huh," smiled Sue. "You know, most of the world has moved on to cassette tapes, Charlie, or even CDs. And now it's all digital downloads and satellite wi-fi signals. I can guarantee you that jukebox has seen a real LP in at least 15 years."
"It still sounds better on vinyl, though. Just wait, vinyl is going to make a comeback, I just know it. Scratchy and nubby and honest vinyl. All the rage. Now shut up and enjoy the song, will ya?"
Pressed her up against his chest, and spun the words so pure and true in her ear, that for a moment, Sue thought that Charlie was actually asking her a question, and not just singing along to the lyrics.
"Tell me, tell me that your sweet love hasn't died. Give me, give me one more chance to keep you satisfied. Keep you satisfied."
"You always did love Willie, didn't cha?" Susie drifted in thought as she let the coach swirl her around the middle of the café. With just a little bit of help from his partner, Charlie Swan wasn't really that bad of a dancer after all. "This song always makes me think of you, by the way."
"Ah, well… yeah… so, Sue… I have a question for ya," Charlie started in. "See, I've been gettin' kinda lonely these days, what with Bella leavin' for good. And I was hopin' that you…"
"Yes. Yes. Of course! I'd always hoped you would ask me someday!" beamed Sue.
"Huh?" the man queried.
"Whu?" the woman responded.
"But you don't even know… the question… I was going to ask, Sue…" Charlie hemmed.
"That you… and I… that me… and you…" Sue started to blush, and cry, and blush some more.
Realization hit Coach Charlie Swan like a running wave of overfed linebackers in that moment. How could he have been so dense? Sue was offering herself. She, herself. Her. Which was so much better than one of her various cousins, since she had gotten most of the brains and all the looks out of the bunch. She was his friend, she was his cook, she was his dance partner. She even did his laundry and his cleaning-up from time to time. Plus, she had long legs that practically ran straight up to her belly button and dark and shiny hair that swung on down past her waist like sheets of black velvet. Lips like a cherry Jolly Rancher. Eyes bent into ovals, almost like almonds with flecks of the same color floating in a darker sea of russet. Raven eyelashes feathering up against her cocoa skin and beneath her pitched ebony eyebrows.
Why the holy fucking hell am I not already in love with this woman? he wondered to himself. No, scratch that, I am already in love with Sue Clearwater, he soon realized. The thought was so impossible and so simple, both at the same time. Why hadn't he seen it before?
But it was too late for Charlie and his clogged-up thought pattern to make up for the damage he had just caused. Sue was fuming mad and already extricating herself from his grasp as he stood there flat-footed in shock, processing the truth.
"You know what? Just forget it. I'm too drunk to drive. So I will just start walking and Leah will come pick me up. Some of us, after all, have actually kept up with technology and have a cell phone. See ya around… Coach."
"Wait! I have a…" Charlie tugged at Sue's elbow but she wrestled away from him and smacked the door with left palm, hard enough to rattle the glass. "Wait! I have a… damn it, the check… where the fuck is my…"
Charlie looked back to the seat of the booth in which they had been drinking and eating and then drinking some more. There his wallet was, but where was his phone? Probably still in his truck.
To hell with his phone, he decided, he had to catch up with Sue.
"Here… Lauren… keep the change. Sorry about the mess," he blurted out as he tossed a $50 bill at the clerk before running towards the doorway. "And tell your daddy… ah, hell, I don't care what you tell him… tell him that I'm finally in love once again. Whatever you want. Okay? Just stay in school. And say no to drugs!"
A moment later, Charlie Swan hit the same door Sue Clearwater had left through, with almost as much force. He could see the street out in front of the parking lot, but no one was walking there.
Not a lot of obstacles to block his view of the thoroughfare, just the bowling alley, and a single stop sign, so Charlie surmised that Sue had cut through the back lot of the café and crossed through the nearby arroyo on her way over to her cousin's house. It was the shortest way there on foot, so that must have been the way she had chosen, and he lit out in the same direction.
No moon. Damn it, I could sure use a flashlight, he swore at himself as he scrabbled down the side of the dry riverbed. But then he saw a dim bluish hue coming from a nearby clump of trees and headed towards it.
Cell phones gave off at least some wattage on their screens, Charlie knew that much about technology. Which meant the source of the light was probably Sue, finally stopping to make a phone call for a ride home. For some reason, right there in the middle of the wash. Women didn't make much sense, but oh well.
When he got to the blinking pulse of brightness, he could see it was Sue alright. But she wasn't talking on the phone. Instead, she was sobbing and pulling down on the branches of a mesquite.
"Sue… what the hell? Did you get a hold of Leah? Is there something… what's wrong, Sue… tell me… why aren't you moving? What's wrong?"
"I'll tell you what the damn fucking hell is wrong! My damn fucking hair is damn fucking stuck in this damn fucking tree. Coach Swan," wailed Sue.
Charlie sighed and stepped forward to fix the situation.
"You can stop calling me Coach Swan and just start calling me Charlie once again, sweetheart. Especially since I am here to help… but Christ Almighty… Jesus God…. you really got yourself caught up in there, didn't cha?"
Sue just nodded at first, but then stopped crying as much, noticeably. Soon, she wiped her nose on the wrist of her shirt and looked up at Charlie as he picked at the knot of hair above her head.
"Hold your phone up and give me some light, will ya, Sue?" Charlie asked. "And we can get you out of here and back home to your family as soon as possible."
Sue clicked on the power button and held her finger there, so that the screen wouldn't time out. From this angle, and in this low light, she could really see just how old Charlie Swan really was.
"You called me sweetheart," she finally whispered.
"Yeah, well… what else would I call you exactly… wait, almost got it… just a few… nah, gonna need… and, besides, what else would you like me to call you, Sue?"
"I don't know. There is an ancient Apache name that fits here, after all, I think. She Who Stands With Her Hair Stuck in a Tree While Holding a Cellphone. But did you actually mean it, Charlie… sweetheart?"
"You know, I had an epiphany back there in the café, Sue," Charlie said as he paused for a moment and looked down at Sue's chocolate eyes. "It suddenly hit me like a thousand pounds of muscle that I'm terribly in love with you. That I've probably been in love with you for years. But I just don't think we are going to get you detached from this mesquite anytime soon. And I don't know about you, but I really need to take a piss right now. You only rent beer, after all."
"Cut it off, Charlie, my hair. All of it. You've got a pocket knife with you, after all, don't cha?"
"Sure, what kind of self-respectin' man in Arizona doesn't have at least one knife in his pocket at all times? But your hair… your lovely lovely hair. Isn't that bad luck for Apaches or sumptin'?"
"The only thing that would be bad luck right now, Charlie Swan, would be for you not to kiss me," Sue murmured as she pulled Charlie towards her, by the front of his shirt. "My hair will grow back. Or I could just leave it that way, shorter and easier to manage. Like a white girl."
"As you wish. Just don't complain to your sister Emily later on that I butchered your hair and made out with you in a ditch while you were literally stuck to the landscape. It would make it sound like we were all back in high school again."
#######
Over half a year later, the couple were sitting on a beach in Mexico, watching the water change from turquoise to emerald and back to turquoise once again, as they sucked on limes and drank Dos Equis by the crate and ate shrimp tacos along with fried bananas in between trips to and from the bridal suite where they did to each just exactly what one would expect a couple of newlyweds to do to each other, alone together on their honeymoon.
And, as it turns out, Charlie didn't need that Viagra at all.
Fuck you, Mike Newton, Charlie thought as he lay there on the bed as Sue took a shower for the third time that day. Fuck you and your tiny little weiner. Can't even throw a football straight.
Just then, his phone rattled and hummed on the table near the edge of his bed. Sue could tease him all she wanted about being "old school" but Charlie knew enough about technology to know that when a phone rang, you picked it up. All the rest was semantics.
"Daddy!" the voice on the other end was ecstatic, blissful, jubilant.
"Bells!" Charlie responded in kind as he scooted himself up on the bed just a bit, pulling up the blanket so he was modest, although he couldn't quite figure out why that mattered so much.
"And how is 'Mom' doing?" Bella snickered. "Since you are able to answer the phone, I presume that you aren't actually doing 'Mom' at the moment."
"Sue is taking a shower at the moment. And the rest is none of your god-damn business, little lady," shot back Charlie.
Bella laughed and Charlie finally gave in and chuckled himself, just a bit. There is always a point as a parent when you realize that everyone there is an adult and that all the old rules of "not in front of the kids" simply don't apply anymore.
Still. Talking sex with a daughter? Ugh. Just ugh.
"Actually… Daddy, I wanted to call you, I needed to call you, so you can meet somebody. Because he insists on talking to you first. Now, you will promise to be nice to him, right? Because he has a very important question to ask you. Promise to be nice? Promise? For me?"
"I promise," growled Charlie. "But this doesn't sound good, Bella."
"Relax! You'll love him, just as much as I love him. And here he is… BE NICE!"
There was a slight pause on the other side of the phone and a hushed conversation, as Charlie gritted his teeth to be patient.
"Bueno, Señor Swan. I am… how you say, the lover of your daughter, Bella. But I no make the loving to her. Not yet. Instead, I ask for the permission of her marriage. That is to say… mano… cómo se dice… hand? Si, I ask you, the papa, for her hand in marriage. I love her. I treasure her. I will be to her a slave and have many niños with her. This I promise. If you will but say yes."
Charlie actually teared up at the last bit. History always seemed to think that men were mightier than women, but it truly was the other way around. A man in love was a slave indeed. A slave to his heart, a slave to his stomach, a slave to his penis, but mostly a slave to his soul because women seemed to hold all of the best parts of heaven in the middle part of their bodies, where men must constantly seek it out, to find peace, to find forgiveness, to find God.
Or at least he had heard something like in some girly movie he had seen on TV late at night.
"Boy, I have nothing against you personally, but please put my daughter back on the phone."
Another fumbling bit of quiet talk and Bella responded and Charlie waited for a moment.
"What is he like when you are together, Bells?"
"He holds open doors for me, Daddy."
"And what is he like when you are apart?"
"He likes to make furniture as a hobby. He is very sad. I love him. He says he loves me."
"I bet. Still... does he have any money?"
"It shouldn't matter, Dad. You taught me that. But yes… he has oodles of it. He was the only son and his parents are dead. He has been a very very lonely boy since then."
"Yeah, once again, I bet. And what is his name? Can I know at least that much before I say okay to all this?"
"His name is so beautiful. Eduardo Antonio Santa Maria de Elizanda y Monterrey."
Charlie held up his fingers as he tried to remember the various names. Was that six names or eight? And who the devil actually needed eight names, for Christsake.
"Well, I'm sure as hell not calling him all that. How about Ed for short?"
"As long as you give us permission, Dad, I'm sure he would be happy if you called him anything. As long as it isn't 'Get out of my house, you god-damn hippy dopehead!'"
"I never said that to any of your dates, Bells."
"Well… yes, you did, Dad… actually... once. But it's okay. He was a god-damn hippy dopehead, turns out. And he liked to nail rich little speed freaks behind my back. But Eduardo… I mean, Ed… he's so different. So tell me, do we have a deal? We've asked. Do you say yes?"
"Hhhmmmmemmmm," groaned Charlie.
"Yes or no, Dad. Answer me! And not in guttural paralanguage masking real communication."
"Para-what? Nah, forget it, Bells. It's my own damn fault for paying for your education, I guess. At least I got something for the money. You and your brains, and now a husband. I guess my job here is through."
"Actually, he's still only my fiancé, until you look out the window and wave at me, you old stubborn fool. Get up and say hello to us, or I going to throw a rock up at you, I swear!"
At this, Charlie stood up and pulled the comforter tightly around his waist, and rubbed the bottom of the phone on his chin. Window? Wave? What? Bella was there? Then? Window?
"Yes, window. Because we are both standing right outside your balcony, Dad. Eduardo and I figured we would make it easy for everyone and come and find you. Notwithstanding it's your honeymoon. But at least you are in Mexico. And I'm pretty sure that you are in a better mood these days than you were the last time I saw you. Felt like a good time to ask."
Charlie Swan stepped to the window and peeked out of the curtains and saw his daughter holding hands with a handsome dark-haired stranger. Standing there on the white cobblestone of the hotel's plaza, the younger man looked up with eyes of vibrant green, eyes so sincere that Charlie knew he would give in. Just a few more moment of his stubborn pride before he relented.
One-Two-Three… okay, there, he was through with being a hold-out.
"Alright, come on up, you two. Room 630. Give us ten minutes though. And then we will just take it from there."
"Thanks, Dad! You won't regret this. I promise you that you won't!"
Sue walked in right then from the steam of the tiled bathroom, her dark hair wrapped up in a towel, but the rest of her brown body as naked as the day she was born.
"I already do, Bells," he muttered. "I already do. But you better make that twenty minutes. Because I have a few things to do before then."