Page 35 of Ice Ice Maybe
“What are you doing?” I whispered. “You’ve turned our fake lovemaking into a pirate adventure.”
“This is a lot of pressure!” he said.
I quickly came up with something else to cover Nolan’s blunder. “You’ve got magic fingers!”
“I’m warning you two!” Mitch growled.
Nolan attempted to up the ante when he called out, “Right there!”
Too bad he sounded more like he was directing furniture movers than engaging in passionate lovemaking.
Suddenly, a thunderous pounding on our door made us both jump.
“Open up! Now!” Mitch bellowed from the hallway.
Nolan’s eyes widened with amusement. Before I could react, he yanked off his shirt, revealing a torso that made me momentarily forget how to breathe.
“What are you doing?” I said, my eyes refusing to look away.
“Making this look realistic,” he whispered back, kicking off his shoes and shimmying out of his pants to reveal his black boxer briefs.
“Wowzers,” I muttered, my face burning as I tried and failed to look away. “I really don’t understand what is going on right now.”
With another bang on the door, Nolan called out, “Be right there!” Then he turned to me. “Quick, hide behind the wall.”
Confused, I did as he said and scurried to my hiding spot.
Nolan tousled his hair before sauntering to the door to open it.
“Can I help you?” he asked innocently.
“You think this is funny?” Mitch asked. “This is my quiet time before the game and all of Las Vegas can hear you.”
“Hey! Stop that!” Nolan said.
Suddenly, the door slammed shut.
An eerie silence fell over the room.
My heart, which had been racing with excitement from the fun moments ago, now pounded with anxiety. What the heck was going on? I peeked around the corner and to my shock and dismay, Nolan was gone!
This can’t be happening.
Our brilliant plan was about to implode spectacularly. If I went out there fully dressed, Mitch would know we had been lying all along. I knew I had only one option to keep our planandNolan alive, but the thought was as thrilling as having a root canal performed by a blindfolded dentist.
Without a second to lose, I stripped off my clothes faster than a pit crew changing tires at the Indy 500. I lunged toward the bed, pulling the comforter off, then reaching for the sheet to wrap it around my body.
Unfortunately, it didn’t go so smoothly.
The sheet was tucked in tighter than a mummy’s bandages. I wrestled with it, feeling like I was trying to pry open a stubborn clam with my bare hands. I yanked, I tugged, I jerked. I mayhave even uttered a few colorful words that I typically reserved for my annual mammogram screening.
Had housekeeping sewn the sheet to the bed?
After what seemed like an eternity of undignified struggling and almost falling over, I managed to free the sheet to wrap it around myself. I stood there, panting and disheveled, draped in what looked like a discount toga.
“Here goes nothing,” I mumbled, taking a deep breath.
It did absolutely nothing to calm my nerves.
