16. March 6th

MARCH 6TH

Kai

Kai steppedout of the shower, wrapped a towel around herself, and proceeded to finger-comb through her hair. The overall temperature might be in the seventies, but the storm and mud had left her with quite a chill, and the house always felt a little bit damp. With everyone showering right now, she was lucky the water was warm enough to take away the chill. Quickly, she applied lotion to her arms and legs, moisturizer to her face to help take out some of the sting from the wind burn, and then slid into her bra, panties, Dodgers hoodie, gray joggers, and a pair of matching Dodgers ankle socks.

Tossing her towels over the tub's edge, she exited the bathroom, passed through her bedroom, and moved into the War Room, stopping just short of gasping. Waters was already there. He, too, was fresh from his shower. He wore a dark-gray tee and black track pants. Around his neck, he had a white hand towel, and his feet were bare. He had a coffee cup in one hand that he sipped from as he flipped through the storyboard renderings on her easel table.

So not fair. No man should look so edible.

He looked up at her and handed her another coffee cup. "Hope it's right." His gaze went back to the boards.

Kai cradled the ceramic mug between her hands, soaking up its warmth and inhaling the rich chocolate scent wafting up from the content's surface. Cautiously, she sipped the heated liquid and couldn't contain the moan of enjoyment.

Holy shit, he made me a Crankiness Bomb?

Through half-raised lids, she saw him intently watching her, a soft smile on his lips. "I'm guessing it's right. Never seen a woman enjoy chocolate like that. I've heard for some of you it's a sexual experience, but damn."

Blushing, she moved to stand next to him at the table, dropping her eyes to what was on the papers. "We've already discussed my intense relationship with chocolate." She lightly hip-checked him. "And yes, it's perfect." She took another sip. "What are you looking for?"

"I had a thought when I was in the shower." He looked at her and saw the smirk. Now it was his turn to hip-check her, which he did a little harder than her effort had been. "Stop it. About the movie."

"Uh-huh." She sipped more of the minty sweetness from her cup. "Was it a ‘good' thought?"

He snorted at her throwing their first breakfast morning in his face. "Not that good, I'm afraid. Was only a five-minute shower."

"Wow. With your strong sense of control? Here I thought you would make it at least seven."

"Saucy. Don't tease. I'll put you over my knee."

"Pshh. Try it, and I'll break you. I know a big, bad, former Navy SEAL who's taught me some pretty freaky shit to put the hurt on men like you."

He chuckled. "That's my girl. Seriously, though. I was thinking about the wall. I think you should use that in the film. Use some of that with the cliff climb you had planned." He had put his coffee mug down to the side and was flipping through pages, looking for what he was picturing. He found it and pulled the rendering clear. "Here. What you all did today was seamless. Natural. Especially afterward when Vixen turned her ankle. It would show their teamwork much better."

Kai grabbed a clean sheet of sketching paper and a pencil. Noticing it was dulled down to a nub, she started looking around for a sharpener.

"Gimme." He took the pencil from her and sharpened it. After he handed her the fresh pencil, he worked on sharpening several more as she stood and sketched.

Frame after frame poured out of the pencil tips. He disappeared at one point with her cup, came back with a fresh mug, and helped switch out the pages as she needed new ones. She was so focused that an hour of silence passed other than the grinding of the sharpener, the flipping of pages of storyboards, and the scratching of the pencil on paper. When she was done, she set the pencil down, reaching high to stretch out her back from being hunched over the table. A cramp moved through her knuckles, and she shook out her hand.

"Come here." Waters grabbed her hand and pulled her over to the leather sofa in front of the fireplace. At some point, he must have gotten it going as she finally noticed that the room had lost some of its chill. He sat on the couch back, pulling her to sit on the cushion in front of him. Bundling her hair into a single ponytail, he moved it over her shoulder, then proceeded to work the knots out of her neck and shoulders from being hunched over the table.

"Oh, God. Don't ever stop," she begged.

Wow. That didn't sound desperate at all.

There was a slight stutter to the rotations of his thumbs. He didn't say anything, but he also didn't stop. She wondered if she should be embarrassed by her near sex-moan over the massaging fingers on her body. Luckily, her face was turned away from him. Hopefully, only her face was burning scarlet and not her neck and ears, which he could see from his perch behind her.

He slid down behind her, his thighs now hugging hers on the cushion. "Hand," he ordered. She tried to move from between his legs, but she was stalled by his knees squeezing her thighs and his repeated command of "hand." She lifted her right hand from her lap. Two veiny forearms came around her from the back, hugging her close as he began massaging the palm, back, joints, and fingers. It was impossible to stop the moan that issued forward.

"Saucy," he warned.

"Hey, it"s your fault, not mine. I can't help it that you have magic hands."

"Magic, huh?" His question was a bit muffled by the forced proximity to her hair over her shoulder. She swore she heard him whisper into her hair, "If you only knew."

He was hell on her equilibrium, and she would fall for him headfirst if he didn't stop being so damn good at everything. She shivered, but it wasn't because she was cold. At her movement, he slid out from behind her and grabbed the blanket that was at the end of the couch. "Under."

She scooted to the corner of the couch, leaning into the oversized pillow there, and he spread the blanket over her. "Do you talk to all women in single-word commands?"

He grunted. "No." She quirked an eyebrow at him and tilted her head to the side. He looked away from her teasing gaze and intently focused his eyes on where he was, ensuring she was tucked in under the blanket. Then he shrugged. "Just with you. Otherwise, I'm known for being much more… verbal."

"Ooh, do tell," she drawled.

"Only if I get to hear the truth about that good dream that you have deftly sidestepped telling me about for almost a month."

"Absolutely not."

He shook his head as he explained, "Well, then I guess you're going to be disappointed."

She sighed. "Damn. And here I was, hoping for a sexy bedtime story."

He grunted again and grabbed the remote. "Behave and watch your boys." He turned on the television and clicked some buttons to connect it by Wi-Fi to his tablet.

"You recorded the game for me?"

Shrugging like it was no big deal, he answered, "You missed last night's preseason game because you were arguing with Big Bird."

Before the second inning, sleepiness started to overtake her. She was curled up under the blanket pretending to watch the game, and he was sitting just out of reach of her feet, his legs stretched out with his heels crossed on the coffee table, checking emails on his laptop and scowling at whatever he was reading. He was terribly sexy when he was irritated.

And when he's smiling. And when he's working out. And when he's talking to the actors. And when he's watching TV. Don't think he's ever not terribly sexy.

For a tough guy, he definitely was thoughtful. He gave her his jacket to keep off the rain and chill. He made sure she had her Crankiness Bombs, and when she couldn't make it herself, he attempted to make one and worried if it was right. He saw to her aches from standing at the worktable. He tucked her in. He recorded her damn baseball game when he saw she had to deal with her batshit boss.

He truly is fucking perfect.

Recognizing the torture she was putting herself through, she turned her attention back to the game. Between the warmth from the fireplace, the constant pelting of the rain on the outside of the house, the comfort of the couch, the exhaustion from the morning's workout, and the ease of Waters' company, she nodded off into a peaceful nap.

A soft rumbleof thunder woke her. She felt firm, gentle circles being rubbed into the arch of her foot. Holding her breath and trying not to telegraph that she was awake, she looked through her half-closed eyes down the length of the couch. The soft amber light from the fireplace and the glow from the TV screen lit Waters' face as he watched the game. His laptop was on the coffee table, closed up, and her feet were in his lap where he was massaging one without watching what he was doing.

"Have a good nap?" he asked, still not looking at her.

Embarrassed at being caught awake, she tried to pull her foot back, but he gripped it tightly in his hands. She stopped struggling, unable to relax at him touching her now that he knew she was awake. He said nothing, just kept massaging her arch. Eventually, it was easier to let the tension go than to worry about what he was doing or why he was doing it.

She couldn't tear her eyes away from his profile. He truly was beautiful. So beautiful, it hurt to look at him. In a few short weeks, he'd be gone, and she wasn't sure how she would recover from him. How had that happened?

The volume of the game was so low she couldn't hear more than a muted undertone. Looking down at her foot, he swallowed, seeming to come to some sort of decision. Something that was weighing on him. Then he slid ninety degrees on the couch to recline against the opposite arm, one foot flat on the floor, the other folded underneath him. "Tell me something about you."

"What?" she asked, rolling completely onto her back, the pillow propping her up halfway.

He shrugged. "Anything. Something I don't know. Something that's not in your file. Something… insignificant."

Should I be offended that he"s dug into my background?

"I like massages."

"I said something I don't know. I already know you like those." At her blank look, he winked and gave her that sexy grin. "You moan on the up swipe."

She gasped. Her tone was petulant when she denied, "I do not moan."

"Oh, yeah," he taunted. "You moan. It's quiet, and it's breathy, but…You. Moan." Blushing, she tried again to pull her foot away, but he wasn't having it. "It's cute," he admitted. "C'mon. Give me a Kubrick factoid."

"Umm…" Her brain whirled and was coming up with nothing until she blurted out, "I can't wear mismatching socks."

He blinked. "You can't wear mismatching socks?"

"Yeah. When I was a teenager, it was a thing. You didn't wear matching socks. So, like one would be green, and one would be orange, or two different patterns like one would have dogs on it and another one bananas or something."

"Why in the world would people wear mismatching socks?"

She giggled at the horror on his face. "It was a stupid girly trend. Not everyone is OCD regarding matching like you military types. You probably iron yours, everything's always so neat."

"I promise. I do not iron my socks." He considered. "So, why no mismatching socks?"

She contemplated her response. Finally, she replied, "I think it's a control thing. I did try. I closed my eyes and tried to pull two different colors out of the drawer and put them on, but I couldn't even stand up and walk across the room in them. Made me feel like the world was tilting on its axis. I'm that way about everything. Everything always matches. I'm even more fanatical about my bras and underwear."

His hands froze, placing pressure in the arch.

What the hell, woman? For once, can you please filter your thoughts from your tongue?

All she could hear again were the muted announcers, the fire popping, and a distant rumble of thunder.

Then she heard, "So, what color are they?

"What?" she squeaked.

"I can see you're wearing matching Dodger-blue socks. So, what color are your bra and underwear?"

"Umm… pink?"

"You're not sure?"

"Why are we talking about this?" She squirmed.

"You brought it up."

"Yeah, but it was an oops. And I didn't think you'd latch onto that and wanna discuss it. A gentleman would ignore it."

"I'm not a gentleman, Kubrick," he warned. "You can't put that out there and leave a warm-blooded man wondering about that information. Besides, ‘oops' comments of yours are my favorite. Keeps me on my toes. Soooo???" He circled one hand in the air, suggesting she get on with it. "And please tell me they're sexier than your socks."

"What is wrong with you?"

He chuckled. "Depends on whom you ask." His hands stopped moving on her foot. "They're not Dodger themed, are they? For the love of all things good in this world, tell me no."

"They only make boxer shorts," she grumbled.

"Good grief. You've actually researched that, haven't you?"

"What if I have?" she defended herself. "A girl's gotta support her boys."

"I'm thinking a bra is supposed to support her girls, but that's a whole other conversation. So. Pink." His fingers had crept up her legs and were working out the knots in the base of her calves. "Just pink?"

She rolled her eyes. "Seriously, why can't you let this go?"

He stopped his massage but kept pressing into the muscles.

"Ow! Fine! Be a dick. They're pink with black polka dots."

He began massaging her calves again. "I like pink."

She huffed. "I bet you do." She picked up a throw pillow from underneath her and tossed it at his head. "Just for that, I'm not telling you if they're sexy or not. You'll just have to let your imagination run wild."

"Mmm." He closed his eyes and engaged in a pleasure-filled smile.

"Oh my God! Get your dirty mind off my underwear!"

He started laughing and tossed the pillow back at her. "You're so easy."

"You wish. Okay. Turnabout's fair play. Tell me something I wouldn't find in the file of Super-Secret Badass Waters."

"Badass, huh? I'll take that. Hmm…" She could see the gears turning as he thought about what to share. "When I'm at home, I sleep with a night light."

She stared. "I don't even know how to begin to process that."

He chuckled. "No, I'm not afraid of the dark. And I don't do it anywhere else. Just at home."

"Dare I ask why?"

"Because when I was in the military, the light could be dangerous, so we kept everything pitch black. Besides, if I ever decide to have company at home, I'm guessing I'd like to see what's in front of me." He winked again.

Holy hell, horseshoes, and hand grenades!

He changed the subject. "Why the Dodgers? You're not originally from L.A."

"For as far back as I can remember, I always wanted to live in L.A., so anything that centered around the city was what I loved. But you want to know a secret?"

"Always wanna know your secrets, Kubrick."

Bet you don't want to know the Big Secret. The one where I can't stop thinking about kissing you.

Hugging the throw pillow to her stomach, she shoved that secret to the side. "My favorite player isn't a Dodger. I mean, Kershaw is a god greater than Thor, but my secret crush is actually Yasmani Grandal."

"That's serious treason," he teased.

"Shh. You have to protect me from the Dodger spy network." She giggled. "My turn. I know you can't tell me your real name, but why do they call you Waters? Is that your Navy nickname or Tribe?"

"Navy and Tribe."

"Is it because you were a SEAL?"

"No. It's because I never used to talk."

"When I met you, I wouldn't exactly have called you a chatterbox, so I'm guessing not much changed. But what does that have to do with your name?"

"My team said that they never knew what I was thinking, and then when I did talk, it was always ‘sensitive' or some shit, so they took it from the phrase ‘still waters run deep.'"

"Ah. Makes sense. Do you ever wish it was something different? Like Zeus? Or Maverick?"

He laughed. "No. I've never really thought about my name. You get called a lot of different things until a nickname somehow sticks. It's not like anyone gets to pick their own. And you get used to responding to it. Better than Petty Officer Miller, or whatever."

"It suits you. The nickname."

"G.I. Joe isn't better?"

"Too much of a mouthful to yell in a firefight, and just Joe is too generic."

His eyes drifted from her face to his hands on her calves. "Do you want to know it?"

Her forehead crinkled in confusion. "Know what?"

"My real name."