"It's what they do," he said cheerfully. "Right now, other than the gibberish on the screen, it's totally frozen. Mouse won't work, keyboard won't work, nothing will work. Don't worry, though; I'll unfreeze it again-this is the third time it's frozen-and we'll dig those files out."
"What about the new computer tonight?"
"Wouldn't hurt," he said.
After we hung up, I explained the situation to Wyatt. Then I called one of the big office supply superstores, told them what I wanted, gave them my credit card number, and told them to get it ready because a policeman was coming by to pick it up. Wyatt was on his phone already getting that arranged. Then I called Lynn back and told her a new computer was on the way. There was nothing we could do after that except wait for the cop computer-guru to work his magic.
"That was a couple of thousand dollars I hadn't planned on spending," I grumbled. "At least it's tax deductible."
I looked up to find Wyatt grinning. "What's so funny?"
"You. You're such a piece of fluff; it's funny hearing anything businesslike coming out of your mouth."
I was so appalled and taken aback that I'm sure my mouth fell open. "Piece of fluff?"
"Fluff," he said firmly. "You have a pink hammer. If that isn't fluffy, I don't know what is."
"I am not a piece of fluff! I own a business, and I'm good at what I do! Fluffs don't do that; fluffs let other people take care of them." I could feel a really serious snit coming on, because I hate being put down, and being called a piece of fluff definitely felt like a put-down to me.
He framed my waist with both hands, still grinning. "Everything about you is fluffy, from that Pebbles hairdo to your fancy little flip-flops with the shells on them. You wear an anklet all the time, your toenails are hot pink, and your bras match your panties. You look like an ice cream cone, and I could just lick you all over."
Hey, I'm human; I'll admit to being a bit distracted by that part about licking. By the time I dragged my mind back to the argument-at least I was arguing, he was evidently having fun-he was kissing me again, and before I knew it he was licking and biting my neck and my willpower crumbled. Again. Right there in the kitchen, I lost my pants and my control. I hate it when that happens. Even worse, he had to help me back into my pants afterward.
"I'm starting another list," I said furiously to his back as he made his smug way up the stairs afterward, carrying my bag. "And I'm showing this one to your mother!"
He stopped and looked at me over his shoulder, a wary look entering his eyes. "Are you talking to my mother about our sex life?"
"I'm talking to her about you being an absolute manipulative snot!"
He grinned and shook his head, then said, "Fluff," and continued upstairs.
"Not only that," I yelled after him, "you don't have a single plant in this house and it depresses me to be here!"
"I'll buy you a bush tomorrow," he called back over his shoulder.
"If you're any kind of cop at all, I won't need to be here tomorrow!" There. Let him top that, if he could.
When he came back downstairs, he had changed out of his suit and was wearing jeans and a white T-shirt. By that time I'd found a pad of paper and had settled in the big leather recliner in the great room, and I had the television remote tucked into my sling. The television was on the Lifetime channel.
He looked at the television and winced. Then he looked at me. "You're in my chair."
"The lamp is here. I need light."
"We've been through this before. That's my chair." He purposefully advanced on me.
"If you hurt my arm, I'll-" I broke off and shrieked as he lifted me high in his arms, then sat down in his chair with me on his lap.
"There," he said, nuzzling the back of my neck. "Now we both have the chair. Where's the remote?"
Still in my sling, by the grace of God, and that was where it was staying. I was clinging to the pad and pen with my right hand while I tried to ignore what he was doing to my neck. At least I was fairly safe right now, because I doubted he could get it up again so soon after the kitchen episode. "It was right here," I said truthfully, looking around. "Did it fall behind the cushion?"
He had to check, of course, so I got removed from his lap and he stood to check behind the cushion. He looked all around the recliner; then he turned it upside down to see if the remote had worked its way into the recliner's innards. He turned a gimlet eye on me. "Blair. Where's my remote?"
"It was right there!" I said indignantly. "Honest!" Again, I wasn't lying. It had been right there until he moved me.
Unfortunately, he was a cop, and he knew all about hiding places. His gaze fell on my sling. "Hand it over, you little sneak."
"Sneak?" I began to back away. "I thought I was just a harmless little piece of fluff."
"I never said you were harmless." He took a step toward me, and I broke and ran.
I'm a good runner, but his legs are longer and my sandals didn't get good traction, so that didn't last long. I was giggling as he caught me in one arm and rooted the remote out of its hiding place.
He wanted to watch a baseball game, of course. I'm not into baseball. So far as I know, baseball doesn't have cheerleaders, so I never learned anything about the game. I know football and basketball, but baseball is probably a snooty sport, so I don't want anything to do with it. But we both sat in the big recliner with me draped across his lap working on my list while he watched the game, and except for occasionally grunting when he saw an item that he considered questionable on my list, he did his thing and I did mine.