AN: Sorry for the delay in the new chapter! I decided to re-write parts of the story I wasn't quite happy with, and it's turned into a whole ordeal. I'm still not 100% happy with this chapter, and I'll probably tweak it later, but for now, it'll do. Enjoy!
His eyes were lined with sandpaper, he was sure of it. Sticky sandpaper. Which was kind of gross if he put much thought into it. So he decided not to. There was a weight on his chest, and although he remembered going to bed with a woman, he was pretty sure that what was lying on top of him was Bob. And maybe he wasn't on his bed, but the sofa. The vigorous face licking confirmed his suspicions. Molly probably didn't wake people up like that, and she had a lot less hair.
"Get off you idiot," he grumbled, shoving Bob off of him. Joe walked to the back door and opened it, letting the dog out, and tried to piece together what happened after the cab ride. He figured the sex didn't happen because he didn't usually put his boxers back on afterward. He looked at his watch, which he was still wearing; it was a little after one.
He shuffled to the kitchen to make coffee and saw that the pot was already ready to go. He usually put things together before he went to bed, but he didn't remember doing it the night before. Shaking his head, he hit go, and saw his pants by the door and went to pick them up. His mother usually swung by with food on Sundays; it was probably best if she didn't see that he'd mostly stripped by the front door.
The bra dangling from the back pocket made him grin. It was a sexy thing. Sheer black lace with silver trim. It had cupped Molly perfectly, and he flashbacked to the cab when he shoved the low neckline of her dress aside, and he kissed her breasts through that lace. He'd unfastened the front clasp then and peeled it off, just as they pulled up in front of the house.
Then he remembered her damned shoes and being worried she'd take out one of his eyes with the heel, so he had insisted on taking them off. He managed one and heard her start to snore softly on the sofa and been relieved because he didn't have the concentration to operate the other shoe.
"You're getting old Morelli," he said to himself. "Once upon a time, the shoes wouldn't have been a problem, and she wouldn't have fallen asleep."
He threw the shirt and pants into the laundry and went back to the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee. That done he let the dog in, and sat on the sofa, having used up the entirety of his pre-coffee energy reserve. Molly's shoe was on the coffee table with a business card in the toe of it. He furrowed his brow and smiled as he picked up the card and turned it over.
"Had to go. Borrowed a flip-flop. Call me to arrange a hostage exchange," he read aloud.
He flipped the card over again and looked at it.
Molly Von G.
"What does the G stand for?" He asked Bob, who licked the card in Joe's hand. Joe put it down, scratched Bob's head and picked up his coffee taking a restoring sip. It was his regular coffee, but there was something richer about the flavor. It was the perfect strength, strong but not sludge, and fucking delicious, "I didn't make this."
He found his phone, miraculously charging, something he didn't remember doing either, and he called the number on the card. "Hello?" She sounded half asleep, but alive…Which was good.
"Did you make me coffee and charge my phone?"
"Well I wanted you to call me," she said, still sounding sleepy, "And not to toot my own horn, but I make excellent coffee. I figured it would do the trick."
"What did you do to it?"
"My secret," she said.
"Sweetheart, you've earned yourself a real date for that alone."
She laughed softly, "How much pain are you in right now?"
"It only hurts when I blink," he said, "You?"
"It helps when your brother's best friend is a medic with access to IV fluids and shit designed to kill a hangover. Now I'm mostly just tired, and my foot hurts."
"Your foot hurts?"
"I forgot to take my shoe off when I got home," she said, "And then it hurt too much, so Lester had to do it."
"Speaking of shoes, I have a question," Joe said.
"Yeah?"
"How old are you?"
"29, why?" She asked.
"My nine-year-old niece has bigger feet than you do. I just wanted to make sure you were over 18."
"My feet are a normal size," she said, "Your niece must have big feet, poor thing."
"Yours is a size five and a half," Joe said.
"Perfectly normal for a woman of diminutive stature," Molly said. "Besides, I have little hands, remember? It would make sense that like you, my feet were proportional."
"I'm just wondering what you looked like wearing my flip-flop, with that other shoe."
"You know in the little mermaid, the weird creatures the Sea Witch has? Her poor unfortunate souls?"
"Yeah?"
"That…with a limp, and really scary makeup."
"The Walking Dead, huh?"
"No, Walkers are prettier," she said.
"Can I bring you supper and arrange this hostage exchange?"
"No," she said, "I want a real date, and I want to be alive for it."
"This isn't a date; it's a hostage exchange. The date will require you to wear another little dress and less complicated shoes."
Bob barked in the background as a squirrel taunted him from the back step.
"What's the Sasquatch's name?" She asked.
"I think we decided he was a Wookie mix," Joe said, "His name is Bob."
"He's a sweetheart," she said.
"That's the general consensus," Joe said, "That and he has an eating disorder. Why did you leave?"
"Because Ric was out front with a heads up that Lester was coming over to my place to check on me. I thought Les would kill you before I had a chance to see the Scooby Doo boxers."
"The cartoon selection isn't limited to that. I have Ninja Turtles, Super Man and Duck Tales."
"No fucking way! Duck Tales? That's just amazing. Where the hell did you get those?"
"I dunno; I just buy what's on sale and in the right size. I draw the line at Sponge Bob and Batman."
"Well yeah, because Sponge Bob is annoying and Ric likes to channel Batman. Hell, it's possible he is Batman."
"I'm showering, and if I'm not mistaken, mom is going to drop off a lasagna because a grown man living alone obviously can't cook for himself. You interested?"
"Hell yes I am," she said. "Just… remember I'm not allowed out of bed today, so don't expect perfection."
"There's another game on. I figure we should watch it, without the Tequila, and eat my mother's pasta."
"There is a problem with that," she said, "I don't get cable. I stream everything, and I can't watch a game on my TV."
"Then you're coming back here; be ready in three hours," he said.
She laughed, "But I have to stay in bed remember?"
"I have a TV in the bedroom."
"I have to be home by 4:30 tomorrow morning."
"I can work with that," he chuckled and disconnected, remembering saying the same thing about that damned Christmas song. He finished the coffee, had another one, bypassed the shower, grabbed some running shorts and a shirt, laced on his sneakers and then snapped Bob's leash on him. The best cure for a hangover was a coffee followed by a big glass of orange juice and then running until you felt like you were going to puke, and then running some more.
An hour and a half later, Bob collapsed in front of his water bowl. Too tired to stand up, he lay there, chin resting on the lip of his water dish, lapping up the water. Joe went upstairs to shower off.
"Sorry pal," Joe said when came down to see Bob sleeping with his chin still on the dish. Bob thumped his tail. No hard feelings. He left Bob with his water and drove out to the address on the business card.
Molly's store stood out in the shitty industrial park. The store was clean, elegant and straightforward. The sign hanging from her door was a funky cubist set of tree roots, done in iron and enamel. He knocked, and when her face appeared at the door, he held up her shoe. She grinned and held up the flip-flop before she let him in.
She was sitting on a stool with wheels on it, her hair was no longer in waves, she'd taken a flat iron to it, and the red really stood out as it peaked out from underneath the dark. She was wearing the gold teddy bear and ring on the chain and a simple single bracelet with a not so simple watch. The watch was Cartier, the face done in diamonds and pearls, with enamel orchids, and visible gears. Instead of a strap, it was mounted on a thick linked white gold chain.
Instead of a slinky little dress, she was wearing an oversized, v-necked, heather grey Mets T-shirt tucked into a pair of really short, blue cotton shorts. She had a single rose gold leather loafer on her uninjured foot. She was wearing light makeup, and even though the outfit was girl next door, Molly had too much of an edge to her appearance to look like the girl next door.
She took the shoe from him and put it on the counter in her shop. "I have just a little work to do, and then I can go," she said and using her uninjured foot, wheeled herself around to the other side of the counter.
He watched as she tied a ribbon on a paper covered flower arrangement. The wrapping was an Escher print of a garden. The flowers on the paper were in pots that twisted and curved, and it was difficult to decide which way was up and which was down. It didn't help that the couples in the garden were walking in all directions.
"Interesting paper," he said.
"I like perceptual puzzles," she said and handed him the package.
"This is me, thanking your mother for making dinner for us."
"You can't do that yet," he said and put the arrangement down.
"Why?" She asked. "Too much pressure? These are just really pretty, and I wanted someone to have them before they wilted."
"I have to do something first," he said as he walked around the counter.
"Does she have allergies?" Molly asked.
"No," he said, "I have to do this."
He put his fingers in her hair and caressed the back of her neck before he kissed her. It started soft, an experiment to see if their chemistry was alcohol dependent. Her arms wound around his neck as she kissed him back and he deepened the kiss, he picked her up and put her ass on the counter, she was taller than he was now, and she tangled her fingers in his hair, tugging just slightly, and he grinned against her mouth as he broke the kiss. They were both breathing hard, and she rested her forehead against his.
"So it wasn't the booze that made it good between us," she panted. "I was worried about that."
"I had a hunch you might be. Figured I'd save us a little awkwardness," he said and tilted her chin so he could kiss her again. "I think we should slow down."
"Oh God, why?"
"Because you have an injured foot, and I don't want to be worrying about it when I make you see fireworks."
"I haven't seen fireworks outside of the handheld sparkler variety, in a very long time. I don't know if I have the patience to wait too long."
"Can you hang in there a week?" He asked.
"It'll be a long week," she said and kissed him.
Why the hell was he putting on the brakes? She obviously wasn't in a lot of pain, she wanted him, her bed was probably not far away. His mouth found her throat, and he flicked his tongue out to lightly lick her pulse point. She moaned and then swore when her phone rang.
"Ignore it," Joe said, "You're closed."
"It's Lester; I have to get this, or he'll come over," she said.
"I'll take this out to the car, and then I'm coming back for you," he said, taking the flower arrangement.
When he came back, she hung up her phone, and he picked her up and carried her out to his Jeep since she had to be off of her foot. He'd even held her while she locked the door to the shop, and once she was securely in his car, with her seatbelt on, he got into the driver's seat and pulled out of the lot.
He noticed the tension in her shoulders at the second intersection, and her eyes were glued to the passenger side door mirror.
"I'm not expecting anything," he said. "If you'd be more comfortable, we can go someplace public instead."
She started and smiled at him, "What? Why would I…"
"You seem tense, " he said.
She laughed, "Oh, no. I did some work for my cousin this morning, and he has a habit of putting a guard on me without telling me."
"You work for him?"
"Translations mostly," she said, "And occasional property inspections. Nothing dangerous."
"So why the detail then?"
"You're joking, right? This morning because I had a hangover my brother didn't just get me coffee and aspirin, he brought a medic. Ric and Lester are the very definitions of overprotective."
"You make a good point, " he said.
"Don't get me wrong; I'm grateful and know how lucky I am. It just also means that dating is a little difficult."
"Afraid I'm going to get scared off?"
"A little," she said.
"Good thing I'm used to it already," he said.
"That's a definite bonus," she said.
When they got to his house, he put her behind him, and she clung to him while standing on one foot, as he took the full force of Bob, barreling into him for his usual, exuberant greeting.
"Be nice!" Joe said, "She's injured."
Bob wiggled his way around to her, and she reached down, albeit not very far, to scratch his head, and say good afternoon. She let him sniff her hand, and she grinned, "Yep, I'm the same person, only I look a little less like a reject from Kiss now," she said.
"You know, I find morning-after makeup, very sexy," Joe said. She gave him an incredulous look. "Think about it, if your lipstick is smeared and you were too out of it to deal with the rest of it, odds are it was a job well done on my part."
"Or I was hammered out of my skull," she said.
"Yeah, but I did end up with your bra as a souvenir, so I'm taking credit.; Now off your feet."
"Can I ride Bob like a horse?"
"He'd probably lie down because it's too much like work," he said and carried her to his sofa.
"Be careful," Molly said, "This couch and I have a history."
He put her down gently, in direct contrast to the way he'd tossed her the night before. They were both fully clothed, but that didn't mean he wasn't inspired to resume their makeout session. He knelt over her, gently pinning her hands above her head. Her eyes instantly darkened, "Your mom is coming over," she said, "And the baseball game is on soon."
"Are you saying no?"
"No," she said, "I'm just drawing your attention to the other factors at play here."
"She usually knocks, and the game doesn't start for half an hour," he said, "I'm fully aware of everything at play, and I remember thinking that you had an excellent pair of breasts."
"I would have thought you were a leg man," she said. "Hence the really short shorts."
"Oh I am," he said. He couldn't kiss her too firmly because he didn't want her lips swollen when his mother got there, but Christ he had to be kissing her. Unlike the night before, it wasn't frantic, it was making out, just for the fun of it. His doorbell rang, and he gently nipped her bottom lip, and said, "Do not get off of this couch."
"I'll find the game," she said.
"Should already be tuned to it," he said. He gave her one more fast kiss and got off of the sofa. She watched him go, grinning.
"You have a really great ass!" she called.
"I know," he called back. When he was out of sight, Molly sat up and ran her fingers through her hair a couple of times, to smooth it down. She checked her herself out in the camera on her phone and realized she was still grinning. He was a mixture of intense libido and fun, and man, she liked it. She put her hurt foot up on the coffee table, and Bob immediately sat to her left on the sofa and put his head in her lap.
"Hey big guy," she said scratching his ears, causing his tail to thump against the back of the sofa. "I like your dad a lot, but I just met him, so don't go making me all attached to you."
He made a sound that wasn't so much a whine as it was an impatient demand to give him more love. He sounded like a Wookiee, and she laughed, "Oh relax Chewie," she said, and continued to scratch his head. His tail thumped again, and she closed her eyes and rested her head against the back of the sofa.
"Oh no you don't," Joe said with a laugh.
"Don't what?"
"Don't go to sleep on me again," he said, and she grinned.
"I told you we have a history, me and this sofa."
"Yeah, and Bob thinks you're a sucker because he knows he's not allowed on the furniture."
"Newsflash! Bob probably sleeps on this couch the entire time you're at work," Molly said, opening her eyes. She gave Bob's big head a squeeze before she nudged him off of the sofa and he not so gracefully stumbled to the floor. He curled up under her injured leg and put his head on the foot that was on the floor.
Joe's mother was standing beside him, and it was pretty clear where Joe got his looks from. His mom was probably a fox back in the day; she was still a good looking woman now. Angie Morelli was Molly's height, with warm, dark brown eyes, dark hair, and an engaging smile. She was wearing a pair of soft, midrise stovepipe jeans and a pale pink untucked blouse. She had pearls on her neck, and her dark curly hair was perfectly arranged to look like she stepped out of a fifties housewares add.
"Molly Von G, meet Angie Morelli," he said.
"I'd get up, but I'm not allowed," Molly said, extending her hand, "It's a pleasure to meet you."
"What happened to you?" Angie asked while shaking Molly's hand.
"An unwise shoe choice," Molly said. She figured she would leave out the bucket o' tequila.
"Molly and I met at the party and decided to ditch it to watch that horrible game last night."
"We're hoping the Mets redeem themselves today. And Joe promised me good food, that isn't from the diner next to my place."
"Are you friends with the Bride?" Angie asked, "Or the groom?"
"It's a bit complicated, but I'm related to the groom," Molly said.
"The short story is she's Lester Santos' stepsister," Joe said.
"Where are you from?" Angie asked, "Your accent is, unusual."
"I was born in Newark, lived there until I was a teenager and then moved to a bunch of places in Europe. My father insisted that I stay in non- English speaking schools so I would learn to speak the native languages without an accent, and somehow I forgot what English is supposed to sound like in the process."
"Where in Europe?" Angie asked.
"Berlin, Florence, Geneva, Paris, and then Munich."
"Well your accent is very charming," Angie said.
"Thank you," Molly said. "It has gotten me out of a few speeding tickets, so now my brother is convinced that I'm actively trying to keep it so I can drive too fast."
"And is he correct?" Angie asked.
"No," Molly said, "I actively try to keep it because I can pretend my English isn't great when I guy hits on me in a bar.
Angie laughed, "Well I'm not here to interrupt your afternoon, I'm just here to drop of Joseph's dinner."
"I'm sorry," Joe said, to Molly, "I lied. Mom didn't bring lasagna. She thought I'd need cheering up today so she made my favorite instead. Does Spaghetti Carbonara work for you?"
Molly groaned, and put her head back against the sofa, "I love spaghetti carbonara, but I never make it, because I can't cook bacon in any form. It's my cooking kryptonite."
"Do you like to cook?" Angie asked. Molly nodded vigorously.
"I love it," Molly said, "There's just something about bacon that I can't quite get. It drives me bananas too because I love bacon."
"Have you tried cooking it in the oven?"
"I have," Molly said. "And it was unsuccessful."
"Have you considered the fact that it's usually four in the morning when you get up, so your mind is probably thinking only about coffee?" Joe asked.
"No," Molly said with a laugh, "Because it's four in the morning and I'm only thinking about coffee."
"And that reminds me," Joe said. He went out to the car to get the flowers, and when the came back in, Molly and Angie were laughing.
"So there I was, surrounded by a whole calendar's worth of firemen, holding the bowl of filling, wondering what the hell happened. Meanwhile, Maggie's boyfriend, who was in Stuttgart at the time, was trying to make hotel arrangements for us because both of our purses were by the stove when it went up and our credit cards were melted."
"Why did you take the bowl though?" Angie asked while wiping tears from her eyes.
"I have no idea, but I was determined to save it," Molly said.
"And you haven't tried making it since?" Angie asked.
"No," Molly said, "Because her father made us swear we wouldn't, upon pain of disinheritance."
"Would you like a proper lesson?" Angie asked.
"I would," Molly said. "Because it can't possibly be as difficult as Maggie made it out to be."
"It's not," Angie said. "Next time I'm making cannoli, I'll tell Joseph, and he can bring you around."
"I'd like that," Molly said, "But I've only just met Joe. He's going to think I'm crazy if I start making plans with his mother already."
"No," Joe said, startling them both, "Even if I hadn't just overheard that, I'd know it was my mother because she can't help herself."
"Oh hush," Angie said. "I thought we'd have dinner together, but seeing as you already have company, that won't be necessary. Walk me to my car."
He walked around the sofa and handed the flowers to his mother. "What's this?"
Molly jumped in before Joe could reply.
"Just something Joe saw when he was picking me up today, that he thought you'd like. I'm glad too because they turned out really well. Unfortunately, they are a bit out there for my usual clientele, and I was sad that they probably weren't going to find a home before they wilted."
"Joseph picked this?" Angie asked, bemused. Molly nodded, and then caught Joe's eye and winked.
Angie's hands flew to her mouth when she saw the flowers. There were two dozen, hand dyed, rainbow petalled roses, in an unusual vase that looked as though it was knotted in the middle, the stems of the roses wound around the knot. The effect was beautifully surreal, and Joe wondered how Molly had managed to accomplish it.
"Oh Joey," she whispered. "Oh thank you. You…Oh I don't know what to say."
She lovingly touched one of the flowers. Molly was absolutely correct, it was the sort of thing Angie loved. She loved bright colors, and before she'd married, and before her husband started drinking heavily and demanding that she become more conservative, she'd often worn bright colors. One of his earliest memories was taking some money he'd saved up from his allowance to buy her a bright floral blouse that buttoned in the back. He had could vividly remember standing on his mother's bed, helping her button the last buttons. He had a picture on a shelf by the front door, of her wearing that blouse, and the flowers were strongly reminiscent of it. Molly had dyed the flowers specifically for his mother, he was sure of it.
Angie carefully put the vase back in its little box and Molly re-wrapped them for her, so they'd be protected for the drive home. "I am assuming you're the one who dyed the flowers?" Angie asked, collecting herself.
"I did," Molly said.
"The arrangement is simply stunning," she said. "Stunning. It was an absolute pleasure to meet you."
"You too," Molly said.
"Do not move from that couch," Joe said. Molly saluted him and grinned.
Joe saw his mother to the car, and got an extra kiss on his cheek before she beamed at him again. "I really like her. Do not mess this up."
"I just met her mom," he said. "Don't go planning the wedding yet."
"Do not do what you normally do," she said waving her finger at him. "She's not the sort of girl who is going to chase you, to assuage your ego. She'll let you run, and it'll have nothing to do with whether or not she likes you and everything to do with self-preservation."
"Who says I'm going to run?" Joe said.
"Because you were just in a relationship where a woman loved you but would drop you like a hot potato for another man if he asked. Of course, you want to be chased. You're human, but you can't play that game with that girl in there. If you run, she'll run the other way twice as fast."
"She's injured," Joe said, "She's not running anywhere for a while."
"You know what I mean, Joseph," she said.
Joe kissed her cheek and closed her car door. "I'm serious Joey," she said. "She moved around a lot in high school, and her father deserves to be shot if he thinks he did her any favors by dumping her in schools where she didn't know the language. She's remarkably well adjusted, but that's because she'll have learned how to protect herself. She won't play games."
He was walking into the house when he heard Molly let out a startled shriek.
"Oh get off you oaf," She laughed. Joe jogged to the living room and found Molly on the sofa, with Bob lying across her legs. Joe shoved him off, and she scratched Bob's head before he went under the coffee table.
"What happened?" Joe asked.
"I stood up," Molly said, "I have to pee, but I guess Bob objected."
"I did tell you that you weren't allowed off of the sofa; he might be smarter than we give him credit for."
Molly looked down at the floor where Bob was now lying on his back, his tongue dangling out the side of his mouth, as he writhed to catch his tail.
"Or not," Molly said.
"The powder room door doesn't latch because the idiot dog broke it; you'll have to go upstairs."
"Okay," she said. She started to hop/limp towards the stairs when he took her hand to stop her, and he kissed her palm, and then picked her up, cradling her. She liked that he did that; he was strong enough that when he carried her, it looked like it took no effort. She wound her arms around his neck and smiled at him as he brought her up the stairs, and she glanced at the open bedroom door.
"You're looking like you're thinking about skipping dinner," Joe said.
"I'm a lady," Molly said, primly. "Of course I expect dinner before any funny business. I am however not completely averse to the idea of eating dinner in bed, to expedite the process."
After a quick trip to the bathroom, he brought her to the bed, and then he handed her the remote. "Is this set up to find the game if I turn it on, or am I likely to find something shocking?"
"You never know," he said. Molly turned the television on and got Sports Centre.
"That is so disappointing," she said and started clicking through the channels to find the game.
"Why did you say the flowers were from me?" He asked.
"Because your mother is sweet, and I remembered what you said last night about how you were a horse's ass to her when she was already going through a lot. It can't have been easy to love you back then, and she's more than earned a thank you," Molly said.
"And how do you know I haven't thanked her already?" Joe asked.
"You can't thank her enough," Molly said. "Believe me."
She fingered the ring around her neck, almost unconsciously, and continued channel surfing. His phone rang, and she visibly started. He looked at the caller ID and decided to ignore the call. His cell rang a second later, and he excused himself to go into the hall to answer it. It was his brother asking him if he was going to a poker game that night. When he went back into the bedroom, Molly was staring at the television, and the tension was back in her posture.
"What's wrong?" He asked.
She turned and smiled at him, "Nothing," she said.
"Are you sure?"
"I'm still a little hung over," she said. "Bobby's stuff worked wonders, but I'm still…"
She waved her hand by her face to indicate that things were a little off.
"Let me feed you," he said. "My mother's pasta actually has magical properties."
When he came back upstairs with bowls of pasta, she had her head resting against her knees, and she was whispering something to herself. He only made out the last few words, "Please, I need this."
He made some noise in the hallway, so she knew he was there, and when he walked into the room, she was quickly wiping a tear from her cheek. "What's wrong?"
"Didn't I tell you I was a wimp?" She said, with a wry laugh. "I have a hangover, and my foot hurts."
He walked to the bed and handed her a pasta bowl with the carbonara in it, and then put his dish down on the side table and sat at the foot of the bed. He carefully took her foot and unwrapped the bandage, revealing some serious looking bruises, and some swelling. He kissed the top of her foot and then went to the guest room to get a bunch of pillows. He set them up so she'd be comfortable, and sat on the bed next to her.
"Eat," he said. "You'll feel better."
Given the state of her foot, there was no doubt that she was probably uncomfortable, but she was lying about why she was upset. What wasn't she telling him?
