8. February 10th

FEbrUARY 10TH

Waters

She and herBackpack of Death were down and out the door in seven. He watched her bound down the steps, the outer door of the enclosed porch banging shut behind her. Today she was in a bright blue Dodgers jersey over white leggings, the jersey so large it dropped almost to her knees.

Still no view of the potentially wicked ass. Damn.

Dodgers cap back in place, and her blonde ponytail pulled through the hole in the back of the cap. No boots today. Mentally, he groaned. This was kind of worse.

When the fuck did heeled Chucks become sexy?

He snagged her backpack. "Jesus Christ, what do you have in here?"

"Oh, quit your whining. You could probably lift that with your little finger."

He closed her inside the truck, then came around the front. Stowing her bag in the cab behind his seat, he hopped up into the truck. "The fact that I can is beside the point." He watched her struggle with a twisting seat belt for a few moments before he leaned across her and untangled it. With a quick, assertive flick of the strap, he pulled it across and buckled her in.

"Nice, Captain Caveman." She began to bat her eyes at him and simpered. "Thank you, Waters. That seat belt was so confusing."

Do not laugh. Do not encourage her.

He shrugged as he started the truck, focusing out his windshield. "It rarely gets used, so it can be unruly when someone tries to pull it."

"No one rides in your truck?" she asked incredulously.

"Not usually."

"Typical military alpha."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"You're clearly a ‘rules' guy. My truck–no one drives it but me, no one rides in it because they'll mess it up, and if someone does get to ride in it, no touching the tunes. And I bet it especially applies to the opposite sex. Obviously, you have a no-chicks-in-the-truck rule.

"So, let me guess what other rules there are. Never take a girl back to your own bed, definitely never spend the full night, and hell-to-the-no on kissing or cuddling. I'm guessing you only pick up women in bars or maybe at some function, and you likely prefer hotels. Five-star ones. That way, when she wakes up alone, room service is waiting for her with a ‘Thanks for the fun' note."

He huffed. "No note." Snapping her head in his direction, her eyes were wide when they met his. "Letting her know it was fun only engenders hope the event might recur."

She sat up ramrod straight and turned full forward, refusing to look him in the eyes. "So, um… to what do I owe the invitation to ride in your truck and go to breakfast?"

Hmm. Little uncomfortable, are we?

He shrugged. "It's morning. We both need to eat. We're both going to be at the studio working together. Figured we could eat together. Now, I'm very curious about this dream I woke you from. Define ‘good.'"

"I know a great diner just outside the studio gates where you came in yesterday. Alice's. Best chocolate chip pancakes in L.A. Coupled with hot chocolate and peppermint extract, it's heaven."

He lay one wrist on the top of the steering wheel, his fingers hanging loosely. The other hand rested on the gear shift. "Don't care. Dream. ‘Good.' Spill it." Schooling his expression into its usual blankness, hiding his eyes behind his aviators, he stared at her, waiting her out.

Finally, she sighed. "Great gravy! You woke me out of a dead sleep, Waters. I don't even remember what I said to you. It was probably garbage."

"Um, no. You said, and I quote, ‘That was a really good dream you woke me up from,' and you were not happy about being woken up."

"Not a morning person," she grumbled.

"I'm like a virgin sailor on his first shore leave looking to get laid, so you might as well give it up." Pulling out from the curb, he watched her out of the corner of his eye as he drove. He knew he was baiting her, but a twisted part of him found it fun to rile her up. And she was fidgeting. A lot.

Interesting. Must have been really good.

"It was nothing," she lied.

"Uh-uh. Try again."

"I was dreaming about the movie."

"Doubtful."

"Oh, fuck me, Henry! Fine! I was having a really sexy dream about… about my leading actor. There! Happy?"

His smile was huge as he chuckled. "Liar," he murmured. He glanced at her for a moment as he got ready to switch lanes. Noticing the weird look on her face, he questioned it. "What?"

"You laughed."

"And?"

"You're smiling."

"So?"

"It's the first time I've heard or seen a genuine version of either of those from you."

He kept his focus out the front window. "I am human. Humans do those things. G.I. Joe's not allowed to do that?"

"No, it's just… unexpected, I guess. You should do both more often. Suits you."

He cleared his throat. "Thank you."

Abruptly, she turned and stared out the front window. "Yeah. So. Yeah."

Yeah. That about sums it up.

"So,"Kubrick began, "has there ever been an almost Mrs. Waters? Or even someone who went beyond one night?"

He glanced up to see her shovel a huge bite of chocolate chip pancakes with extra chips and extra chocolate sauce into her mouth, very pointedly not looking at him. "A few girlfriends in high school. No near misses at the altar." He set his coffee cup down and watched her continue to eat.

This woman is serious about her pancakes. Or is it just the chocolate? Either way, it's sexy as shit.

"I'd ask if there's ever been an almost Mr. Kubrick, but I don't think there's room for one in your life based on your unhealthy obsession for chocolate."

She rolled her eyes and ticked off her reasons on her fingers. "A) No time for a ‘Mr. Kubrick.' B) There is no point in not enjoying the fifth food group when it's better than an orgasm."

He blinked.

Okay. Wow, she just throws everything right out there, doesn't she?

He shifted in the booth and attempted to adjust himself without drawing any attention to the fact that she'd just made sitting very uncomfortable. He wiped his mouth with his napkin, hopefully catching any overflowing saliva that seemed to have gathered in his mouth. "You are not dating the right men."

"Volunteering?" she teased, her eyes crinkling with laugh lines as she sucked the chocolate sauce from her fork.

He dropped a hand into his lap to try and calm his dick down again. Watching her eat was deadly. "I don't date. Remember?"

"Ah, but you are having breakfast with me," she joked, waving her fork in the air.

"Yes, but I didn't spend all night fucking you so hard you couldn't walk prior to this breakfast, so it doesn't count."

She dropped her fork with a clatter on the table.

Wow. Okay. Her unfiltered mouth is contagious.

Eyes wide again for just a moment, she quickly refocused her attention on picking up her fork, putting it to her plate, and scraping the last of the chocolate sauce from its surface, licking the tines, then closing her lips around them and pulling it through her lips. Her uncomfortable moment was quickly forgotten as her eyes closed with a hum, and he made a note that she likely had a serious chocolate fetish.

Not that I need that information… but I like trivia as much as the next man.

"Pity. Bet that G.I. Joe app would make a lot of money with you as the beta test." She opened one eye and looked at his blank expression. "Why?"

"Why what?"

Both eyes were now open. "Why don't you date? I would think there's a line around the block for you."

"Volunteering?" he shot back her word with a cocky grin.

She shook her head and started drawing abstract designs in the dregs of the chocolate sauce on her plate. "Relationships are too much work to maintain. It's exhausting trying to make connections, then finding time to fit people into the schedule of life, not to mention all the drama of the physical aspects. For whatever reason, relationships have never been on my list of things to do. Other things always seemed more important. There have been a few plus-one types over the years, but nothing that amounted to anything. As for you"—she sighed—"you're yummy to look at, but let's be honest. We're a bit mismatched."

Yummy? Oh my.

He refocused and looked at her, puzzled. "What do you mean ‘mismatched'?" When she shrugged and kept drawing, he reached across the table to stop her hand. "No avoidance. Why would you think we're mismatched?"

You just couldn't let it go, could you? Idiot!

She sighed. "We are not exactly in the same league. Even if I wanted to get involved with someone, I'm not the type of girl a man spends fucking to the point she can't walk the next morning." She pulled her hand back from his and put her fork down carefully on the table. "This is a pointless conversation." She put her hands in her lap as the waitress arrived to clear the table.

Once the woman left, the charge in the air had changed. He watched her try to reset into work mode.

"Where do you want to start today?" she asked, trying to get them back into a work-mode relationship.

I want to start by finding the nearest five-star hotel and proving to you just how wrong you are.

He cleared his throat. "With some rules." The waitress brought the check, which Kubrick tried to grab, but he grabbed it and pointed a finger at her. "I asked you to breakfast, so I'm paying. You want to pay, you can ask me to breakfast." She gave a huff of exasperation. He raised his eyebrow at her in challenge. "So. Rules."

"I don't like rules." Her arms crossed over her chest, and her lips pursed.

"You're cute when you pout." She stuck her tongue out at him and blew a raspberry. "Nice. Okay. For the second time. Rules." She sighed and looked out the window.

"One. I need a copy of your schedule a week at a time so I can plan accordingly. Your assistant, or whoever, can get that to me by email.

"I don't have an assistant."

He looked at her in question. "What director doesn't have an assistant?"

"Me. Like I told Stapleton, assistants assist you with things you need assistance with. I can keep and manage my own schedule and other clerical tasks. I don't need an assistant to do that. Besides that, they're annoying." He stared at her, trying to process that she did all this work on her own with no help. And he'd witnessed firsthand that it was a lot more work than he'd ever imagined.

Partly explains the paper explosion of hers.

"I tried it," she attempted to defend herself. "But it was too invasive. It was like having a babysitter, and I don't like people touching my stuff. It may look like chaos, but I honestly know where everything is in the chaos." She started tapping on her phone. "I'll mail it to you on Sunday nights."

"Two. At the top of every day, I need an updated daily schedule. There will be no deviations from said schedule."

Glaring at him, she explained as she made another note, "Filming doesn't work that way, Waters. Sometimes there's weather. Sometimes there are delays, or things go faster than expected. It's an unpredictable business, and time is money. Literally. I always have to have contingency plans and adjust on the fly."

"Then, as soon as you know there may be a problem, you tell me. I need to have my own contingencies in place.

"Three. Whenever we're doing something that's a SEAL-type maneuver, my word goes. If I say something is too dangerous for the actors, or it's wrong, whatever, it's my call.

"Four. And this is nonnegotiable. There will be no meetings with Big Bird without me present. None, Kubrick."

"It's a miracle I could function before you came along. However did I survive?" She batted her eyes melodramatically, snark oozing with every word.

"Sauce gets you nowhere, babe. Those are the rules. Take it or leave it."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," she muttered under her breath. "I've managed all this time without anyone helping me out. Now, suddenly, because you're here, I need protection. Give me a fucking break."

"I'm not joking, Kubrick, the guy is bad news. Never when I'm not around. I don't care if there are twenty other people in the room with you, if I'm not there and he is, you're not there."

"I hired you as a consultant. If I don't need an assistant, I sure as shit don't need a babysitter."

"No, you don't. But it would be remiss of me if I, as your consultant, didn't look out for you. My job is to make sure you can do yours accurately and properly. He is working in the exact opposite direction, trying to make it as difficult for you as possible. And his behavior is anything but appropriate."

Fine," she pouted. "But I can take care of myself. Let me handle him."

"As long as he makes no threat toward you, I'll stay out of it. Last but not least, rule five. You go nowhere without me. I pick you up in the morning, I escort you wherever you need to go, and I drop you off at night. Also nonnegotiable. I trust that fucker only as far as I can see him."

"Jesus Christ on a crutch. Anything else, Dad," she barked.

That should not make me harder. I better get hazard pay for this job because my dick is going to be damn near broken.

Leaning across the table and dropping his voice so only she could hear, he warned, "Extra sauce will get you a spanking, sweetheart, and I'll bill you extra for special services. Not really into age or role play, but if it keeps you out of trouble with him, call me whatever turns you on."

He watched the color drain from her face, but she rallied quickly. "You're tying my hands, Waters."

"I swear on my trident pin, I'll tie more than your hands, woman. I'm not fucking kidding around with you."

She stuck out her tongue at him again.

"I lied. One more rule. Rule six," he grumbled under his breath. "Keep that tongue in your mouth unless you plan to use it on me."

Her eyes widened, and her mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Oops. Said that out loud.

"Close your mouth, Kubrick. I don't want to be tempted to shove something in it." And with that final oops statement, he slid out of the booth, extending his hand to help her out of her side, then led her up to the register to pay the bill.

It was a very quiet ride to the studio.