Chapter Two
It's That Little Nagging Voice in the Back of Your Head
Saturday came one more time and seeing her was becoming a pattern. Oh, she'd call everyday…check on him…see if he needed anything…but she never came over unless it was her days to take care of him.
She must be spending the rest of her time with Troy, he thought, nearly grinding the name out through his teeth. Troy, Troy, Troy.
So when she sailed through his apartment door early that Saturday morning, Woody found himself in a bad mood as he took in her appearance. Same shorts. Same t-shirt. Must be her cleaning attire. He grimaced. It was going to be a long day.
"Morning Woody. How are you feeling?" she said with a smile.
"Fine."
His tone didn't match his description.
"Are you sure? You don't sound fine."
"I said I'm fine, Jordan."
"Okay, whatever you say…" her voice trailed off as she went into the kitchen to make some coffee. He heard her murmur under her breath about what a bear he was in the mornings and hopefully some coffee would make him feel better.
He didn't know how to tell her that some of her would make him feel better…much better.
But hell, for five more weeks he couldn't even take out the trash, much less do anything else.
Meanwhile, she was seeing Troy. Troy, Troy, Troy.
"So what do you need me to do today?" she asked as she slid a mug of hot coffee in his hand.
"You really don't need to be using up your days off taking care of me."
"Look, Woods, it's a non-issue. We're friends and that's what friends do … take care of each other. Especially friends like us who don't have family. I guess we're kind of our own family …. You know?"
Woody wanted to tell her that his thoughts for her were far from brotherly. He shifted uncomfortably.
"Need your pain meds?" she asked.
He shook his head. "No… not right now. Maybe later." He wondered if his expression of desire bore a resemblance of pain. If it did, he needed to work on that.
"Okay….I'll fix breakfast and start laundry. Meanwhile, you decide what needs to be done….and I'll take care of it."
She had no idea what a loaded statement she just made.
He watched her as she cleaned his apartment once again…catching up the laundry…putting something on for dinner. It smelled like pot roast. Pot roast. He had no idea the woman was that good of a cook. He hadn't had pot roast since he moved from Wisconsin. If she fixed it with vegetables and gravy, he'd nominate her for sainthood.
You know you could really have it made said the little voice inside his head. You've got a gorgeous, half-dressed woman cleaning your apartment…cooking you pot roast of all things….a woman that at one time would have willing come into your arms with just a little more persuasion…and you played the friends card. You idiot.
She was saying something else to him. "What?" he asked. "I'm sorry I didn't hear you…"
"I said," she began, coming out of his bathroom, "that if you ever let your bathroom get that dirty again, I'm calling the board of health and have it shut down. That's gross in there."
Woody sighed. "Well….it's just me living here, Jordan. It's my grossness."
"Yeah…but I'm going to have to borrow your bathroom tonight."
Not to get ready to go on a date with Troy, you're not. Swallowing hard, he asked against his better judgment, "Hot date again?" Why did he even want to know?
"No…I'm working tonight."
Thank God for small miracles and Garret Macy's work schedule.
"Troy and I went out last night."
Damn.
He made it through the afternoon, watching her clean and finish dinner. When she called him to the table, he knew he'd have to talk to the dioceses about her sainthood status. There was pot roast, vegetables, gravy, and rolls. This time she ate with him. If you wanted to call it eating. It was more of him wolfing down dinner and her pushing food around on her plate.
"Eat," he told her. "You've got to work tonight and it's the weekend…you're going to be busy."
"I am eating."
He scoffed at her response. "That's not eating. That's….rearranging the food on your plate."
She laughed. "I just don't have much of an appetite tonight."
He sighed. "Is it the company?"
She looked at him quickly. "No…of course not. You're my friend, Woody."
He swore if he heard that come out of her mouth one more time he wouldn't be responsible for his actions. Just let these next five weeks be over quickly and he'd show her just how friendly he could be.
But it's your own fault… that nagging little voice in his head kept telling him. You said that you two could be friends but your ego couldn't take her any longer. You were ready to move on…and she has.
He told the little voice to shut up. It was a good decision, he rationalized. The best one for both of them, right?
Well, if was so right, why do you want to run your hand up her thigh and…he cut the voice off in mid-thought.
"Are you through?" she asked, reaching for his plate.
"Huh? What? Oh, yeah, sure…" he said, thinking of exactly where his hand would be…and cursing the fact that he couldn't even suit up for practice for five more weeks.
Five more long weeks. And where exactly would Troy have gotten with her by then?
He didn't want that little voice in his head to answer that question.
"Okay…think you can handle stacking the dishwasher while I grab a quick shower?"
He nodded and watched her take off towards his bedroom, pushing the door half-way closed. She should have shut it…like she did the bathroom door.
He stacked the dishwasher.
The least you could do is go to the door and see if she needs anything, said the voice. It would be the gentlemanly thing to do…
He rinsed out the dishtowel.
She may need something…shampoo…
He hung up the towel and headed for the bedroom.
He shouldn't have gone in….her things were on the bed…That scrap of lace was her underwear? He swallowed hard and felt sweat pop out on his forehead. And I bet she's worn undies like that beneath those tight jeans the entire time you've worked with her and you never knew….And the other lacey scrap was obviously her bra—what there was of it…Oh damn…you are an idiot….And why didn't he made the effort to discover this before?
Because he decided he just wanted to be friends with her.
"Oh," she said, coming out of the bathroom, dressed in his robe. "I hope you don't mind, I borrowed your robe….I forgot mine."
"No…not at all…" And I'll smell your perfume on it for weeks…and it looks much better on you than it does me…and …and…what are the chances I might get you out of it?
"Thanks," she said flashing him a smile. "Ummm, but I need to get dressed now, Woody?"
He took his cue and exited his bedroom, leaving her, those scraps of lace, and his fantasies behind.
But the nagging, little voice followed him…You idiot.
