Lawrence spun around quickly, and I jerked the shirt down. "It's okay now. You won't go blind."

He was blushing when he turned back. "I know that. I was just..."

"I know. Humor, Lawrence, humor--life sucks without it." I sat on my cot.

"Yeah, but you shouldn't make such mean fun of yourself." I was a little surprised when he sat down beside me. "So, are you really all right?"

"Yeah. He didn't hurt me. He just startled me--bad. Charlie's never acted like that before. Of course, I don't think I've ever seen him that drunk before, either."

"At least not that drunk in the presence of a virgin."

I groaned. "I should have lied about that. I could have made something up."

"Then it wouldn't have been a truth."

I stared at him. "And you assume everyone is going to tell the absolute truth during that sort of game? Gah, you little innocent." I decided to change the subject, and looked out at the ocean. "It's pretty out tonight, isn't it?"

"Sure is."

"It won't be so bad, sleeping out here."

"Nope. Scribe, can I kiss you?"

I looked at him. *Hello? Can we say 'abrupt shift of subject'?* "What?"

"Can I kiss you?"

"Why?"

He sighed. "To put an end to world hunger." Then he leaned over quickly and pressed his lips to mine.

After a second, I pulled back. "Okay, you kissed me. Satisfied?"

"Not by a long shot." He took my face in his hands firmly, and did it again. This time his lips moved on mine, nibbling a little. I felt kind of a little physical sparkle, like a light static electricity charge was passing over me. I felt his tongue dab at my lips. It felt very hot, soft, and moist. I wondered what he'd taste like, but I kept my lips pressed closed. At last he pulled back, and said wryly, "Do you not know how to kiss, or do you just not like me?"

"It isn't that I don't like you, Lawrence. You..."

"Ah, then it is inexperience. Just relax, and open your mouth a little."

"Lawrence, I..."

My mouth was open when his covered it, and his tongue slid deftly in. My eyes opened wide. I noticed that he had his open, too, and we stared at each other as his tongue stroked across mine. Oh, wow. This was different. I made a mumbled sound, something like, "Mmph." He pushed his tongue in deeper, licking at my teeth and palate.

I swallowed, and ended up sucking on his tongue. He made a whining sound, and I felt his hand on my breast. I jerked my head back, gasping, "That wasn't on purpose!"

"Then do it on purpose!" He kissed me again, and the hand moved to slip under my shirt.

I pulled back and caught his wrist before he could reach anywhere that might embarrass either one of us. "Hold up, Speedy. What brought this on all of a sudden?"

He frowned at me. "I have to define a specific trigger point?"

"It's the virgin thing, isn't it?"

He didn't look the least bit sheepish. "I won't deny that's part of it." I rolled my eyes. "But why do you think I wanted to sleep out here in the first place?"

"Charlie Chainsaw?"

"Oh, hell, Scribe! Like I couldn't go down the road to the store and get a set of earplugs for a couple of bucks."

"You mean that you asked to sleep out here with an eye toward putting the moves on me?"

"I'd say 'seducing', but that's basically the idea, yeah."

The blatant admission just left me blinking. "Lawrence, how old are you?"

"I'm legal, if that's what you're worried about."

"That is a valid issue, but that isn't what I was getting at."

"What are you getting at?"

"I could be your mother."

"No you couldn't--you never met my father."

"Smart ass. You know what I mean."

"Yes, I do. Are you worried that you're too old for me, or that I'm too young for you?"

"Same difference."

"Not really. If you're thinking that I'm too young for you, I could very happily show you that I'm a man. If you think you're too old for me..." He blew a raspberry.

"How rude," I said mildly.

"I mean it. Anyway, older women/younger men are the hot new trend these days. Remember? We did a feature article about it two months ago."

"When was the last time you noticed me trying to be trendy?"

"Excuses, excuses. You like me."

"You aren't half full of yourself. Yeah, I like you--but I don't automatically sleep with people I like."

He held up a finger, as if making a point. "Ah, but do you eliminate people from your list of possible partners because you like them? That's the question."

"I don't have a 'people I'd like to do' list!" I paused. "Well, I do. I suppose everyone does, but I'm hardly likely to run into Jean Claude Van Damme or Prince William of England any time soon."

"Hah! William isn't any older than I am, and I've had Brit friends tell me I look just as cute. Now you don't have an excuse."

"Lawrence? Am I going to have to go down and sleep in the car?"

"You don't have to worry about waking up with me on top of you, if that's what's worrying you."

"It had begun to creep around the back of my mind."

Lawrence shook his head. "If the girl isn't interested, I'm not interested. But you're interested--you just haven't made up your mind yet."

"I'd have to kick you in the nuts to convince you otherwise, wouldn't I?"

"Pretty much."

I laughed. "I ought to be really pissed with you, but for some reason I'm not. Get in your sleeping bag so I can get some rest."

"I warn you--I sleep in my boxers."

"Here's a shocking revelation--I've seen men in their underwear. I regularly read the International Male catalogue."

He leaned toward me till our shoulders brushed. "Yeah, but there's a difference between flesh n' blood and paper." He stood up and started to undress.

Ooo... You know, he was right. Three-dimensional has it all the way over two-dimensional. I surprised myself (but not him, I think) by not looking away. He got down to his boxers and just stood there for a minute, watching me. "I'm not changing my mind, Lawrence. Go to bed."

He shrugged good-naturedly and slipped into his sleeping bag. "Just remember, if you get cold, or lonesome, that cot may be narrow, but this sleeping bag can hold two."

I laid down and pulled the covers up to my chin. "You know, if you're just this persistent in your career, you should end up with a greater media empire than Rupert Murdock."

Perhaps it won't come as a total shock that I was the first one up the next morning. I'd surprised myself by sleeping well--the sound of the waves was a real sedative. Lawrence was sprawled in his bag, taking up most of the floor space on the sleeping porch. I got a change of clothes and started to pick my way over him so that I could get to the bathroom. His eyes closed, he said, "You don't have to leave on my account."

"Isaac and Melinda are the exhibitionists."

I changed quickly, then went back into the kitchen, and started breakfast. I guess I was a little mean, frying bacon, when I considered the sort of head most of them were likely to wake up with. Shall I just say that I was feeling a tad unsympathetic? Once I had the bacon going, I put on another skillet and tossed some butter in it, then got the eggs out of the refrigerator. I was cracking a couple of eggs when the rest of the group (minus Conner--because the boss slept late--and Charlie--probably because of his hangover) trickled in.

Boz said, "I'll have mine over easy."

"Unless you intend to take over after I finish fixing my own, you'll take scrambled," I gave the assemblage an arched eyebrow, "like everyone else."

There were mutters of agreement. Boz shuffled over to the coffee maker, picked up the empty carafe and stared into it, then gave me a hurt look. "How the hell can you operate without caffeine?" I pointed to the Diet Coke I'd opened first thing. "Coke? At this time of day? It's too early."

"I forgot, Boz--what part of the North are you from?"

"Minnesota." He frowned. "I didn't think I'd told anyone that. Not that I'm trying to hide it--it's just that coming from Minnesota doesn't work its way into many conversations."

"I knew you were a Yankee A, from your accent, and B, you find drinking a soda before eight am to be odd. It's a perfectly legitimate source of caffeine."

He scratched his head, then began to root in a cabinet. "Yeah, I think I read an article about how that was the new thing--Coke for caffeine in the morning."

"New? How long has Coke been around--since the 1890s? Make that about... five, six generations." Boz had managed to fit a filter into the coffee machine basket, and was trying to open a can off coffee. "For God's sake, someone take than can opener away from him before he removes a finger. And make the coffee--I don't drink it, so I'm awful on proportions. And why is it that the people who most need coffee in the morning are the ones least capable of making coffee without having some coffee first?"

Boz sat down, holding his head while Janice started the coffee. "Please don't discuss the mysteries of the universe with me. My head hurts."

Lawrence came in and took over the bacon. I was happy enough to give up the chore--I've lost enough skin off my hands during this lifetime. I started cracking eggs into a mixing bowl, and one of the other girls laid out bread under the broiler for toast. I had just dumped the eggs into the frying pan when Charlie staggered in, moving rather like one of the extras from George Romero's Dawn of the Dead.

He went straight to the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of orange juice and a bottle of vodka. Ah, so he was going for 'hair of the dog that bit you'. I decided a little revenge was in order. I leaned over and forked a piece of bacon up out of the pan, slapping it on a saucer. Lawrence protested, "Scribe, that isn't even half done yet."

"I know." Charlie had snagged a plastic cup off the top of the refrigerator and was trying to pour juice in it without spilling any. Have I mentioned that he has green eyes? Well, he was very Christmassy, what with the redness, too. I held the saucer up near his nose and chirped, "Good morning! How about some nice, juicy, salty bacon?" Charlie looked down. The strip wasn't even half cooked. The fat had just begun to turn translucent, the little bit of lean was deep pink--it looked shiny and gelid, and there was a nice little puddle of grease around it.

He turned green, gave me a stricken look, and muttered, "You are an evil woman," before he turned and headed rapidly for the bathroom.

"I try," I said with satisfaction. I returned the bacon to the pan. "Cook that puppy crisp."

"Remind me not to get on your bad side," said Lawrence wryly.

The food was piled on platters, and disappeared like a crowd of locust had descended. I managed to get a good helping myself, but only after slapping several hands away from the little remaining in the dishes. "I'm serving notice--don't expect this on a regular basis. Unless someone wants to trade off, or offer me big favors, I will fix my own food and eat in front of you all. This is supposed to be a vacation, and acting as default group chef does not come under that heading for me. I may be the oldest one here, but I am not wearing a Den Mother badge."

Charlie came back in, looking a little better. He'd apparently taken a shower, and perhaps found some Pepto Bismal or Alka-Seltzer in the bathroom. He nibbled toast and sipped the screwdriver he'd finished making, while eyeing me. I waited. I wasn't sure exactly how much he remembered of last night.

Finally he said, "Well, I thought I'd been drunk in my life, but last night takes the prize, I guess." He laughed. "I dreamed that Scribe told everyone she was a virgin."

I folded my arms. "Don't put that in past tense."

He blinked. "You're shitting me. That really happened?" There was a murmur of agreement. He looked interest. "So, did I actually... um..."

I waited. I wasn't going to make it easy on him. Bernice said, "You grabbed her, humped her ass, and tried to drag her upstairs to change her status."

"Oh." He didn't look the least embarrassed. "I guess I didn't succeed, huh? I think I would have remembered that."

I got up and put my dishes in the sink. "No, you didn't. I'm not cleaning up, either."

Conner sighed, pulling a notebook out of his shirt pocket. "I guess we'd better draw up a chore list." People suddenly realized they had things to do. "Sit! The boss has spoken. "Scribe, you and Lawrence have done first duty, so you can take off, if you like. I'll post this on the corkboard when it's worked out."

"Great!" said Lawrence. "Get in your suit, Scribe, and we'll have the beach to ourselves for a little while."

*What? Sun and sand this early?* "I was thinking about driving in and looking at some of the historical houses in Galveston."

"Fine," he said cheerfully. "We can have lunch in town." He picked a set of keys off a hook by the door.

"Hey," protested Melinda. "You mean you're going off with the car?"

"You'll still have one vehicle," he pointed out. He started to herd me toward the door. "Anyone else want to come along? Oh, that's right--you all have to stay here and have chores assigned, what a shame, bye."

He had us out the door and was urging me down the steps. "What--which--huh?"

"I love it when you're inarticulate."

"Lawrence, it probably wouldn't have taken them fifteen minutes. Why didn't you wait?"

"Have you ever attended one of Conner's planning meetings that didn't last at least two hours?"

"Well, no."

"Besides," we were in the car, and he was starting the engine. "I don't want them along on our date."

"Date?"

He reached over and buckled my seatbelt, flashing me a blinding grin. "Don't want a ticket." We pulled out.

Why the hell was I thinking about that article we'd run on bondage a few months back? And why was I smiling?