CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Lise-Marie sat frozen in terror, her hand caught in the proverbial cookie jar, with Ian's private papers all around her. He looked at her, stunned and displeased, and she dreaded the moments to come.

"Care to explain?" he asked calmly, his hand still on the light switch.

"It is not how it looks," she said, sitting up.

"How does it look?" he asked, lowering his arm to his side.

She stared at him for several moments, unable to answer. It occurred to her that no matter what she said, she would never be able to explain herself. She placed the papers and the portfolio on the table. "I'll just leave," she said, dropping her gaze as her hair fell over her face. She rose, making her way towards the living room; he blocked her path.

"You're not going anywhere until you tell me why you're here," he said, sternly.

"I told you," she said, almost pleading. "I'm on vacation. I needed some time aw—"

"BULLSHIT!" he yelled back. "You're hiding something and I want to know what it is."

She stared back at him blankly, both of her lips pulled into her mouth and her face the picture of panic and guilt.

Ian just shook his head. "You think I didn't notice? How you don't want to leave the house? When you do, you're always wearing those ridiculous sunglasses everywhere. Your phone hasn't rung once since you've been here, Lise-Marie. Not once."

"I told you I do not have many friends here in America," she protested.

"Right. So I guess that also explains your harried escape from the restaurant earlier?"

She said nothing.

"Answer me," he demanded.

It was the moment she'd been waiting for, the moment she'd rehearsed on the train all the way up the Coast, practiced in the taxi in the city, and mumbled to herself on the walk up to his house. Once she'd arrived, however, he'd been so much more gracious than she'd ever expected. More welcoming. Less suspicious. Now, the words that used to flow so easily felt bitter in her mouth. Bitter and wrong. Even so, the truth felt even less like an option. The truth felt more like a luxury she couldn't afford.

That he couldn't afford either.

"You're right," she said, forcing the words from her mouth. "I am hiding."

The first bit of confession seemed to calm him some. "From what?"

"I'm hiding from… a man," she began, and could feel something sticky and hot and burning come over her. "I ran away from my boyfriend."

"Your boyfriend?" he repeated.

She nodded. She took a step back from where they had been standing, his posture intimidatingly close. She looked down, fidgeting with her hands. "He was beastly to me. Cruel and savage in every way. Finally, I'd had enough. I left suddenly, without telling anyone. I thought of you and came here."

She saw something in his face shift, and his countenance softened some. However, he still had questions. "What does that have to do with you snooping through my private things?" he asked.

"I saw a paper, a piece of mail that fell to the floor from the table by the door." That much was true. "It was from a parole officer, and I panicked. I thought I had run from one bad situation into a worse one."

"You saw that?" he asked, his face sinking.

She nodded her head. "It doesn't matter," she said. "You are not like him. You have shown that to me. I should not have doubted you."

Dropping his foreboding stance, he backed away and then moved over to the couch, taking a seat. After a moment of consideration, she followed him, taking a seat next to him.

"What I did was wrong," she said. "I never meant to violate your privacy. I am very sorry."

He turned to her. "I'm sorry, too. I guess I haven't been totally honest with you either." He took a deep breath and looked down, rubbing his hands together. "I didn't leave all those years ago because I had gotten a job in America. I left because I was extradited on charges of insider trading and fraud. Upon returning home, I was tried and sentenced to ten years in prison. I only served three, and I've been on probation ever since." He turned away, shame on his face. "That's the paper you saw."

The news, however, left Lise-Marie in a stupor. It gave her entirely new insight on their fateful last night, as well as the many tear-stained nights that followed. She wished she'd known then what she was only learning now.

Not that she even deserved the truth.

"I'd always thought that you just…" Her voice trailed off.

"I know," he said, guiltily. He placed a hand on her back. "I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry this… guy hurt you. You deserve better."

She didn't say anything, and after several moments passed, she looked over at her things. Reaching down and past Ian, she pulled her larger tote bag towards herself, dragging it across the floor. She bent low, unzipping it. Ian grabbed her hand, stopping her.

"Don't," he said.

She looked up at him, just over her shoulder. She sat back up, her back settling into the cushions, and their elbows and shoulders brushed against each other; their eyes met in something mutually perceptive. He wasn't angry anymore; he wasn't even hurt. Maybe she had won back his trust, and if the warmth in his eyes—that were just inches from her own—meant anything, she might have even won back a bit of his affection. It was a thought that filled her with profound gratitude… and remorse. She wanted so badly for her lies to be true; she almost wished that she could will them to be so.

But they weren't true, and the best she could aspire for was to be gone from here before the other shoe dropped. She hadn't even noticed that they were inching towards each other; they were practically nose-to-nose. She felt her lips fall apart ever so slightly.

"Stay as long as you want," he said, faintly.

"Thank you," she whispered back.

He nodded back. "You're welcome," he said. Then, after a big gulp, he rose and walked off, and went back upstairs.

Thom and Marc sat in their chairs, back to back, while just a couple seats further down Patch sat back to back against his fake wife, Kristen. Amy stood nearby on the "Female plus Thom" side, while Sheldon stood hovering on the "Male" side. The other two couples watched tensely from the couch. Kayla stood, leaning in the corner, clearly frustrated, her eyes closed and her hand gripping her forehead.

"Couples," Amy announced, her voice low and dripping with anticipation, "we have reached the sudden death round of our competition."

"I'm going to say this one more time," Kayla said. "This is not a competition."

"Shhh," someone said from the peanut gallery. "I have money on Marc."

"For the sake of clarification," Sheldon said, "and in the off chance you are not a fan of daytime television game shows or a participant of organized sporting contests—a 'sudden death round' refers to a form of competition whereby play ends as soon as one competitor is ahead of the others, with that competitor triumphing, usually in the case of a tie."

"We know what sudden death is," Thom said.

Sheldon turned to him. "So then you are a fan of daytime game shows?"

"Not particularly."

"Well, surely you engage in organized sports?"

"Uh, double no."

"Then how are you so familiar with a 'sudden death round?'"

"Maybe because I don't live under a rock."

"Well, that's a curious thing to say," Sheldon said. "Of course you don't live under a rock. A rock is a completely unsuitable place of dwelling. Besides its insufficient size—"

Amy cut in. "I hate to interrupt, Sheldon," she said, "but we must move forward."

He nodded in concession.

Her voice resumed its dramatic tone. "Marc and Thom, Patch and Kristen—only one question separates you from victory."

"Can we get on with it already?" Kristen said.

"Fine," Amy said. She cleared her throat. "What is your mate's mother's middle name?"

All eyes were fixed on the two dueling couples as they wracked their brains. Amy nodded at Sheldon and he began to sing the countdown music, a ditty that sounded like the theme song of Final Jeopardy. When he was somewhere near the last of the "doo doo doos," the four remaining players scribbled away on their white boards.

"Markers down!" Amy announced. The contestants complied. "Thom, you may go first."

"Bertha," he said while lifting his white board.

All eyes went to Marc.

He lifted his white board as well. It said… "Bertha".

"Correct," Amy said. Marc and Thom leaned into each other, sharing a quick kiss.

"And now Patch, what is your mate's mother's middle name?"

Patch cleared his throat. "You know, my penmanship hasn't been that great every since that minor stroke I had a couple years back."

"What is on your white board?" Amy asked pointedly.

He lifted it. It was empty.

Immediately, Thom and Marc jumped up, rejoicing, and threw their arms around each other. Applause and loud celebration broke out in the room, dotted by the occasional "boo." Patch leaned in close to Kristen.

"Hey, I did better than most guys," he whispered in her ear. "Not bad for two weeks." She crossed her arms and rolled her eyes.

"Now hold on just one minute," Sheldon said, looking at Amy. "We never saw what was on your aunt's board."

"She's not my—" Amy began, but stopped when she caught Patch's eye. "Sheldon, it doesn't matter. If she put down anything at all, which she surely did, they lost."

"Perhaps she didn't. Perhaps her mother doesn't have a middle name, in which case, she would be in good company. An estimated 20 percent of people don't, at least in the English-speaking world."

"Please," Amy said, motioning to Kristen. "Lift your white board."

Kristen did so. It read "Clarisse."

Instantly the party erupted again, with whoops and hollers and elated embracing between Marc and Thom.

"I didn't think we'd actually win," Thom said breathlessly.

"Me neither," Marc said, with a wistful sigh. "I mean, I thought we might, but there is a huge difference between thinking you might do it and actually doing it."

"This is not a competition," Kayla muttered under her breath.

"Now hold on just one minute," Sheldon said, even louder than the first time. The room fell silent and all eyes turned to him. "This contest was for second place. Amy and I actually 'won.'"

"Yeah, whatever," Marc said and turned back to adoring Thom. "We won second place."

"You cannot win second place," Sheldon said. "You can earn second place. You can manage second place. You can come in second place. You cannot win second place."

"Oh, god, you sound like Amy," Patch said.

"Thank you," Sheldon said, sincerely.

"It's not meant as a compliment," Patch said.

"Then what is it meant as?" Amy said defensively.

"It means you always sound so hoity-toity about everything, but you ain't foolin' anybody. It's obvious you and Beanstalk cheated."

Sheldon recoiled, aghast at the accusation. "Are you seriously suggesting that we engaged in fraud?"

"Of course you did," Kristen piped up. "You think I seriously believe that you know off the top of your head her favorite book in elementary school?"

"Or the name of her first boyfriend?" Patch added.

"Or your anniversary." That contribution came from Charles, who was sitting on the couch. "I mean, who knows this stuff?" He snorted. "I mean, come on. Am I right?" He scanned the crowd. No one responded. His wife hit him in the head.

"The point is," Patch continued, "you two were up to some funny business."

"Oh yeah?!" Amy blurted. "Well you and Kristen aren't even married!"

"Well actually," Kayla said, "none of the participants are legally wed, but—"

"They met two weeks ago," Amy said.

Kayla gasped, her head turning to Patch. "Is this true?"

"Oh, don't even put this back on me," Patch said, rising and leading with his finger. "She's just trying to distract us from the fact she cheated."

"Amy and I have no need to cheat," Sheldon said.

"How would we even do so?" Amy asked.

"You could have texted each other," Marc said.

"No service," Amy responded.

"Or maybe they used Morse code," Midori suggested.

"I'm ex-military," Charles said. "I would have heard that."

"Well, you're a couple of brainiacs. I'm sure you could figure out a way to do it," Patch said.

"For the final time," Sheldon said, increasingly more upset. "We did not cheat."

"Then how else do you explain a perfect score, when the next two couples were tied with only six correct answers?" Thom asked.

"We engage in regular communication and spend sufficient time together that we know each other very well and are familiar with the major events of each other's lives."

"Yeah, like the color of her favorite bra? Who even has a favorite bra?" said Anna from the couch. It was then apparent that she wasn't wearing one at all.

"One day she was standing in front of the mirror and remarked that she was wearing her favorite bra. I happened to note the color," Sheldon said.

"Which was a question that shows orientation bias, by the way," Marc announced.

"Oh here we go again," Richard said. He was a middle-aged gentleman who only got one question right.

"You know what, I'm sick of your homophobic sneers, Dick," Thom replied.

"Stop calling me, Dick," he said. "My name is Richard."

"My name is Richard," Anna mimicked from the couch.

"Seriously, Anna?" Richard said. "You're mocking me now?"

"You got one question right, Richard. It's a wonder you even recognize me at all."

"Do you even recognize yourself? You know full well our favorite cereal is Raisin Bran."

"Raisin Bran? I hate that cereal. You like Raisin Bran. It's the cure for people who have a stick stuck up their asses."

"I like Raisin Bran," Midori, said, throwing her hat into the ring. "I like the high fiber content coupled with the hint of sweetness from the raisins."

"Agreed," Sheldon said.

"Oh, just shove it, both of you," Anna said.

"Don't talk to my wife like that," Dave said.

"And don't talk to my wife like that!" Richard yelled.

"Oh yeah? Or what?" Dave asked, rising.

"Or I might show you what 10 years of eating Raisin Bran for breakfast can do for you upper body strength."

"Who cares?" Dave said. "You're still a fat ass."

"THAT'S IT!" Richard yelled, and the two men started pushing each other, crashing into the sofa where Midori, Charles and Anna scrambled to get out of the way.

"Beat that dick! Beat that dick!" Thom and Marc start chanting through hearty laughter.

The room descended into chaos, with "husbands" and "wives" caught in verbal, physical and follicular sparring.

Sheldon inched over to Amy. "Let's get out of here," he whispered in her ear.

"Let's," Amy agreed, and they hurried off to their bedroom.

They could hear a loud crash and Kayla screaming over the mayhem as they shut the door.

Mary awoke to the sound of giggling. Decades had passed since her children were young, but she still was a light sleeper. She threw the covers off of herself and walked out to the children's room. She'd felt a little thrill when she saw the twins finally opening up some at the park, but she wasn't satisfied. She'd felt it was a triumph when she convinced Bernadette to let the boys spend the night. However, she'd been very clear with the boys that they were to remain in the living room overnightl It seemed like they hadn't gotten the point. She opened the bedroom door and was stunned to see it empty. Yet, the sound of giggling continued. She made her way down the hallway and out into the living room, and that's where she found them. At least she thought she did.

The coffee table and the couch covered in a large sheet and a small glow of light was emanating from underneath.

"If they are under there playing doctor I am not accountable for my actions," she whispered to herself. Mary dropped to the floor, lifted a corner of the sheet and peered in. All four children were crouched around a flashlight and a large book.

"Grandma!" Aditi cried at the sight of Mary. "We're playing camping!"

"And whose idea was that?" she asked. They all turned to Robert. "So you are the mastermind behind this little expedition?"

Robert shrugged his shoulders. "We haven't gone anywhere."

"Well, you're not in the bed," she said.

"But it's still not an expedition," he said.

Mary was about to respond when she saw Joel taking a bite from what looked like a small sandwich. She took a sniff at the air. "What's that burning smell?"

"Robert found out how to make s'mores with a candle," Aditi said proudly. "And they are mmm, mmm good!"

Mary backed out of the blanket and looked towards the kitchen, and let out a loud shriek. The aforementioned "candle" turned out to be a Bunsen burner—and it was still lit. She hadn't seen one of those things since Sheldon was about Robert's age, and there was a burn mark on Meemaw's china serving tray to prove it. To avoid a repeat performance, she ran over and turned it off. Her alarm drew the kids from out of their "tent."

"Robert!" she said, her hand over her heart. "You could have burnt the house down!"

He shook his head.

"And why not?" she asked.

"Because this isn't a house. It's an apartment."

"You know what I meant," she said. She shook her head, muttering. "Sounds more like Sheldon Cooper every day."

"Come play with us!" Aditi said cheerily. She started jumping up and down, and the boys followed suit, hopping with glee. Finally ducking down, Aditi grabbed the sheet and pulled it back over their heads. Mary sighed deeply and then walked back over to the makeshift tent, joining them.

"What you got going on under here?" she asked, on all fours.

"Telling stories to the boys," Robert said, biting down on another s'more.

"Stories," the boys repeated excitedly, throwing their arms in the air.

"Well, they better not be ghost stories," Mary admonished. "Those are from the Devil."

"What's the Devil?" Aditi asked.

Robert scrunched up his face, drawing it into a snarly scowl, and bared his fingers into the shape of talons. "A mythical creature from Middle-Eastern origin that makes people do bad things," he growled. "I read about it in my Book of Legends."

His enthusiasm disturbed Mary. "He's a monster, alright," she said, "the biggest monster of all, except he's real."

Aditi leaned in towards Robert. "I told you monsters were real."

Mary lifted the book that was sitting on the floor. "What's this?"

"You and I Count to 20," Aditi answered. "Daddy made it."

Mary hadn't seen the book in years, but recognized it as the very one Sheldon had written years ago when the twins were just infants. Warm memories came flooding back to her. "Hop up here on your Grandma's lap and lemme hear you read to me," she said, patting her knee.

Aditi complied enthusiastically, and snuggled into her grandmother's waiting arms. The boys crowded in around her. Aditi pointed to the picture on the cover. "That's me and Robert!" she said, while looking back at her grandmother. Mary squinted at the illustration.

"Well, I imagine it is," she said. With a nod, Aditi opened the book across her lap.

"One. There is one electron, neu-neu-neu—"

"Neutron," Robert said.

"I know," Aditi said, and then resumed reading. "There is one electron and neutron and pro…ton in a hy…drogen atom. Two. There are two hydrogen atoms in a mo-mo-mo—"

"Molecule," Robert corrected once again.

"I KNOW THAT!" Aditi said.

"Let her figure it out on her own," Mary said calmly. "Keep reading, baby."

"There are two hydrogen atoms in a molecule of water."

Mary cleared her throat. "Good Lord, Shelly," she said. "Could you make it any harder for the kiddies?" Aditi looked at her grandmother with some confusion.

"I'm Aditi," she said.

"I know, sweetie. Just keep reading," Mary said. She picked up a s'more from the plate on the floor and took a bite.

"This is good," she said.

"I told you," Aditi said. She went back to the book and turned the page.

"Well that was a very disturbing turn of events," Sheldon said. He stood by the door, as Amy took a seat on the edge of the bed. "A bunch of complete strangers working themselves into hysteria, humiliated by their own deficiencies, and accusing us of dishonesty. It's appalling."

Amy nodded. "It is. However, the pandemonium that ensued attests to their lack of judgment."

"Indeed," Sheldon said. He paused, staring into the mirror and rubbing his fingers through the hair on his temples. "Recently I have found a small number of gray hairs in my sideburns, Amy. Would you be so kind as to lend me your tweezers?"

She rose from the bed, unzipped her toiletry bag, and pulled out a pair of tweezers, handing then to him. Then she returned to where she had been sitting, watching Sheldon preen himself in the mirror.

"I didn't even realize you had any gray hairs," she said.

"That's because I pick them out. Only two or three, here and there."

"I guess even the most communicative couples have their secrets," she said.

"Speaking of which," Sheldon said, still gazing in the mirror, "the night of the party. Where did you get that dress from? I don't recall ever seeing it before."

Amy thought about the story she and Penny had rehearsed; the one about the soap opera.

"Penny bought it for me," she answered, "as a gift."

"Penny?" Sheldon said, surprised.

Amy nodded. "She used Leonard's credit card."

Sheldon spun around, truly alarmed. "Leonard's credit card! How much did it cost?"

"I don't know exactly," she said. "It retailed for about $150, but it was on sale. Penny has a rapport with the shop girl and so got an additional discount."

"Well, then we'll just have to pay them a gift in kind." He thought a minute, and then smiled broadly. "Ooh! I know. How about one of those nursing bras that help with chafed nipples? You liked that while you were breastfeeding the twins."

"We don't have to pay them back, Sheldon."

"Yes we do. As you well know, I am a strong follower of gift reciprocity. Keeps things simple that way."

"Historically, it hasn't, actually."

"I still think it's the preferable course of action."

"Sheldon," she continued, "sometimes people who love you sense a need and fill it because they want to, without expecting anything in return."

"Well, how in the world can you 'sense' a need in someone else without the person communicating to you exactly what it is they require?"

"It's not difficult, Sheldon," she said. She looked away, pensive. "To sense the needs of another, one just needs to be empathetic, observant, discerning… perceptive."

"Hm," he said with a shrug. "I imagine so, but it all sounds like a bunch of voodoo to me."

"It's not voodoo. Sometimes a person wants to be pleasantly surprised, or… I don't know. There is a joy that comes from knowing that someone is invested in you enough to know how you feel or what you think without having to spell it out explicitly."

"Well," Sheldon said in response, "in contrast to you, I make no claims to be a mind reader."

"What does that mean?" she asked.

Sheldon looked at her in the mirror. "Well, I often carry the suspicion that you feel a certain way, but are acting in a completely opposite fashion. If I am being completely honest, I find such vagueness rather baffling." He gave himself one more gander, then walked over to Amy, handing her the tweezers.

"I imagine I can be guilty of that on occasion," she said, reflectively.

"I think you may be guilty of such right now."

"Fine then," Amy said. "Since we're here, I think we should take advantage of this opportunity to talk about some things."

"Oh," Sheldon said, regretfully. "I didn't mean we had to remedy the situation this moment."

"Why not?" she asked.

"Amy, you know how much I loathe psychobabble."

"What I know is that you like the unedited ramblings of Beverly Hofstadter. I don't know anyone who is more consumed with near perpetual, uninvited psychoanalysis."

"Yes," he agreed, "but it usually isn't about me."

"Sheldon," Amy said, nearly pleading.

He took a seat next to her on the bed. "Then what is it that you want to talk about?" He braced himself for any number of likely topics: the house, her job prospects, the children's educational concerns… Lise Marie.

It took Amy a while to say anything, her line of sight vacillating between Sheldon's waiting face and the rug on the floor. She finally spoke softly. "Do you desire me?"

The question seemed deceptively easy to answer. "Of course, Amy," Sheldon answered without pausing. "I think it is abundantly evident that I want to be with you."

"I know you want me," she clarified, "but do you desire me?"

He looked at her incredulously. "Amy, the two terms are synonyms."

"They aren't," she replied. "For example, if I accompany Penny to the bakery to satisfy one of her cravings for a cupcake and she turns to me and says, 'Want one?' I may very well accept simply because it is being offered. However, if I am sitting at home, in the throes of cooking, cleaning, attending to sick children and bills and job hunting, I may suddenly imagine before me a Bavarian cream cupcake with butter cream frosting, moist and succulent, tantalizing my taste buds. The image may be so vivid that I can all but see the treat there before me. Even if I never have the opportunity to get one, in that moment, a cupcake in all that I desire."

"Does this somehow relate to me?" he asked.

"I ask you again," she said. "Do you desire me?"

Sheldon sat a moment, contemplating Amy's wistful face. "Do I fail to please you sexually?"

"Well, I must confess that within you is a very passionate, caring and selfless lover."

"I suspected as much, although confirmation of the fact comes as a relief."

"But," Amy continued.

"The inevitable 'but,'" he murmured.

"But, you have come to only associate sexual activity with moments of intensity in our relationship, confining it to occasions when we are emotionally charged, perhaps after spending time apart, having an deep connection, or a enjoying a dedicated romantic evening."

"Okay," he said flatly, clearly seeing nothing wrong with that.

"You don't, however, seem to understand that sex can be an expression of connection at other times too," she placed her hand on his knee. "It can be spontaneous and capricious—borne of nothing more than unjustified desire. To compare it to physical hunger, we don't only eat when we are ravenous; we also eat for comfort, to celebrate, to try a new recipe or just to pass the time."

"Which is no doubt a major contributing factor to the obesity epidemic in this country."

"Regardless, considering you cognitive abilities, I'm sure you are having no problem correlating that metaphor to the topic at hand."

Sheldon looked skeptical, and a bit defensive. "So, I guess you are suggesting we should just engage in spontaneous acts of random coitus like two bunnies in heat."

"I wouldn't dare even hope for that," Amy said.

Sheldon wasn't amused.

"For example," Amy said casually, "let's have sex right now."

Sheldon looked stunned. "Right now?"

Amy nodded. "Yep. Now. Let's go."

He looked away pensively, seriously contemplating it, but coming up short. "Are you teasing me?"

"Not at all. Here." She took his hands, pulling him forward, and started to kiss him.

He wasn't really… responding.

"Kiss me back, Sheldon," she said against his mouth.

So he did. He puckered his lips and, after a few mechanical moments, his kiss began to feel familiar to something more earnest. He pulled away, shifting his position to something more comfortable and then began again. His effort was heartening.

Amy put her hands around his neck, massaging it as they went at it. She pulled up, rubbing her body against his. Then she pulled away from his mouth, kissing around his chin, neck, ear, anywhere her lips would lead her.

He was rallying some, but she didn't have him, not completely. She lowered her hand to somewhere much lower than his belt, hoping to stir something in him that would get his motor running. After several minutes of kissing and touching and panting and valiant effort, she pulled away, just a little, and found…

She found herself staring at someone with a red face and not much more. She couldn't hide her disappointment and dug her elbow into her knee, burrowing her face in the palm of her hand. Sheldon seemed to deflate at her downheartedness.

He looked down, truly saddened. His voice was small. "I may not be the man you need me to be, Amy."

The statement brought her to the verge of tears. She felt almost as bad for him as she did for herself. He was likely doing his best… but it just wasn't good enough. She turned away, staring at the wall.

He reached for a towel that was on the bed. "I am going to bathe for the evening," he announced.

Amy didn't say anything.

After another moment, he alighted from the bed. Amy watched as he grabbed a robe and disappeared behind the door. It reminded her of the days before they were together, when she was still with Virgil. He would work hours in the restaurant that were so long and demanding that he would stumble home and collapse into bed, all but dead. Back then, she had gotten accustomed to taking care of herself. But this relationship she had with Sheldon felt so much more fulfilling, more enduring, more… everything than that one. She wanted intimacy. She wanted intimacy with Sheldon. And she was going to get it.

She walked over and grabbed a robe, put it on, and followed him to the restroom. She knocked once on the door as a warning, and then walked right in, locking the door behind her.

ENDNOTE: Thanks for your great comments last chapter. All the beta awards go to Lio! Huh? Those don't exist? We have to get on that.