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"No matter what."
"No matter where you choose to take me."
"A broom closet, if I've a mind to. It's completely up to me." He was playing with fire and actually anticipating the moment it would flame out of control.
"If I'm at work?" she inquired with remarkable calm.
"There's a fifty-fifty chance that's exactly where you'll be."
"In a meeting?"
"You lift that curvy little butt of yours right out of the chair and follow me."
"In a meeting with the commissioner?"
"You say, 'I'm sorry, Mr. Commissioner, but I believe I have a case of the stomach flu coming on, so will you excuse me. And Coach Calebow, could you come with me just in case I happen to faint in the hall and need somebody to pick me up?' "
"I see." She looked thoughtful. "What if I'm doing an interview with—oh, let's say, Frank Gifford?"
"Frank's a good guy. I'm sure he'll understand."
The explosion was going to come any second now. He knew it.
She crinkled her forehead. "I just want to make absolutely certain I've got this right. You say now, and I'm supposed to turn into your—How was it you put it? Your personal playpen?"
"That's what I said." He braced himself.
"Playpen."
"Yep."
She took a deep breath and smiled. "Cool."
Stunned, he watched her slip through the door. When it shut, he threw back his head and laughed. She'd done it. She'd gotten him again.
Chapter 18
« ^ »
Molly had just walked in the door from school the next afternoon when the phone rang. She heard Peg moving about in the laundry room as she set her book bag on the kitchen counter and picked up the receiver. "Hello."
"Hi there, Miz Molly. It's Dan Calebow."
She smiled. "Hello, Coach Calebow."
"Say, I've got a little problem here, and I thought you might like to help me out."
"If I can."
"Now that's exactly what I like about you, Miz Molly. You have a cooperative nature, in contrast with another woman I could name, whose entire mission in life seems to be making things tough for a guy."
Molly decided he was talking about Phoebe.
"I was thinking about dropping by your house for an hour or so tonight with a couple of gen-u-ine Chicago pizzas. But you know how Phoebe is. She'd probably refuse to let me in the door if I asked her straight out, and even if she said it was okay, you've seen how she likes to pick fights with me. So I figure things would go a lot better if you'd invite me over. That way Phoebe'd have to be polite."
"Well, I don't know. Phoebe and I…"
"Is she still smackin' you? 'Cause if she is, I'm gonna have some words with her."
