Page 28 of 7 Days and 7 Nights

She handed him the phone and then stood beside him to eavesdrop.

“No, Charles. Don’t call anyone. I’m fine. Olivia just kicked the shit out of my face. It’s no big deal.” He started to grin up at her, but the grin turned into a grimace of pain. He moved the ice to another spot on his jaw. “Yes, if anyone’s going to hurt anyone again, we’ll be sure to call you first.” This time it was Matt who rolled his eyes, a move that didn’t require the use of his jaw. “Yes, I promise. Yes, I’ll get up off the floor now. Goodbye, Charles.”

Matt turned the phone off and rose slowly from the carpet. “He wasn’t happy about not being able to promo our altercation, and he doesn’t want me sitting on the floor. Evidently, my pain and suffering aren’t visible enough from down here.”

He walked around to the front of the couch and plopped himself down on it, offering a jaunty wave to the cameras as he went. “Charles is becoming quite the tyrant, isn’t he?”

Olivia sat down on the edge of the couch and pressed the ice back against Matt’s jaw. “And why not? He’s got us performing like a couple of trained apes, while he’s out there poking sticks through the bars of our cage.”

“Well, this monkey’s thirsty. How about a cold one from the fridge?”

“I guess I did more damage than I realized. Aren’t your arms and legs working?”

“My injuries are not all visible. You coldcocked me in front of a live audience. Just think of the dent you put in my masculine pride. We’re talking major emotional pain and suffering.” He kept his expression tragic, but there was an unholy twinkle in his eye. “I’d say you owe me some special treatment.”

Olivia went to the refrigerator and extracted the appropriately named Emergency Drinking Beer, which she presented to him with a flourish.

“For you, Your Injured Highness.”

Matt took a long pull on the beer. “Ahh, I think I feel my wounds beginning to mend already.” He took another sip and set the can on the table beside him as Olivia turned to go. “But I also hear my stomach rumbling. I was going to make linguini with clam sauce, but I’m not sure I have the strength.”

Olivia turned back to face Matt. “You’re asking me to make you dinner?”

“Well, I do need to rest up for my show, and I’m going to have to eat to produce energy for all those hours of talk.”

“You don’t seem to be having any trouble running your mouth right now.”

“I know there must be at least a flicker of guilt buried under your unconcerned facade.” He leaned forward so that she could plump the pillow behind his head and then settled back into the couch with a grateful sigh.

“Thanks. You don’t mind if I put on the Braves game while you whip up a little something, do you? They’re playing the Cardinals.”

Without waiting for an answer, Matt pointed the remote at the TV and tuned in the game. Then he reapplied the ice to his jaw and reached for the beer with his free hand. She saw him smile as he crossed his long legs at the ankle and settled in to watch.

Without a word, Olivia made her way to the kitchen. She did in fact feel guilty about knocking him out, but if he was thinking linguini with anything, he was in for a disappointment.

While Matt lolled on the couch, Olivia foraged in the kitchen. Ten minutes later she laid his dinner tray on the cocktail table.

Matt eyed his meal with interest. “Wow, I haven’t had grilled cheese and tomato soup since elementary school. Can we have cookies and milk for dessert?”

"If you behave yourself, I might part with a few of my Chips Ahoy. But only because you’re injured.”

“I guess I’ll have to mind my manners, then, won’t I?”

He lifted one golden brown triangle to his lips and took a healthy bite. Then he took a long pull on the beer.

“Fried is pitching. The count’s two balls, one strike.”

Olivia wouldn’t have minded watching the game, but she never actually got the chance to sit down. First, she cooked another grilled cheese—this time made with sourdough bread and a fat slice of tomato at Matt’s request. Then she fetched aspirin and water to combat the throbbing he said he felt in his jaw, though it didn’t seem to stop him from voicing an ever-increasing list of demands.

While she contemplated the possibility of taping his mouth shut in the guise of first aid, he wolfed down a whole sleeve of her chocolate chip cookies and started on a second can of beer.

She had just taken the first bite of her own long-cold sandwich when Matt held up the makeshift ice pack and waved it in her direction.

“If you’re not too busy?” He handed her the plastic bag that she’d tucked inside a dishtowel. “My ice seems to be melting.”

“Funny what a blast of hot air can do.” Olivia snatched the baggie out of Matt’s hand and went to the freezer to refill it.

“Oh, and while you’re up, I was thinking that—”

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