by Sam Cullan
Chapter Ten
Back at his shoe box, Will had reversed the Rover into its usual position.
“Making me do all the work tonight, huh?” Alice sat in the car while Will pushed open his door, to within four feet of the house.
“You're younger and fitter.”
“I've got the food to carry, and my bag.” Alice stepped out and held two brown paper bags in outstretched arms across the roof of the car. She showed no inclination to move further.
Will rolled his eyes and sighed, before dutifully trotting around the front of the car to collect the meal. He decided he was rarely going to win any of the games he and Alice would inevitably play - unless she wanted him to. Tonight, he would be on his best behaviour. He took the brown paper bags and made towards the door. Alice hadn't finished play.
“Hang on, just take this for me.” She held out her bag.
Will's eyes did a complete 360 and he growled as he headed back towards der kommandant.
“No, it's OK, I can manage.”
Will was beaten. He fumbled with the door lock and dropped his keys, groaning as he bent to pick them up. He hesitated briefly, mid-stoop, turning to scowl at Alice – who was hovering inches behind him with a huge grin on her face. He groaned again as he straightened his aching back.
“Getting old, pops. You should get an early night.”
“Not too old to smack your ass.”
“Promises, promises.”
Will remembered he was on best behaviour and opened the door, beckoning Alice forwards.
“Age before beauty.” Alice was smirking.
Will couldn't dispute that. He felt older than his years, with stiff bones and aching muscles. She was incredibly beautiful, and had the kind of face that could not easily be enhanced - make-up just made her look like every other pretty actor. In unadulterated form, the purity of creation shown in her skin, lips and eyes simply eclipsed any natural wonder he'd ever seen. He was worried. Damn witch. He headed for the kitchen, where he carefully unwrapped an assortment of colourful and aromatic dishes. He sourced two plates and two forks. Alice was in the bathroom pretending to sing badly, but in truth she had a wonderful voice. She returned and peeked over Will's shoulder.
“I'm just your, just your …. ooo, water chestnuts.”
Will was spooning an assortment onto each plate. “How much pork?”
“Mmmmm, more, gimmee more pork.”
“I haven't given you any, yet.”
“Well give it me, give it me now.”
Will remembered he was on best behaviour, and stuck to serving the food. Alice retired to the lounge and sunk into the sofa. Will brought her plate and proceeded to arrange the surplus goodies on the coffee table in front of her.
“Drink?”
“Wine please.”
Will always kept a selection of wines and beers, for when guests dropped by unexpectedly. He hadn't had an unexpected guest in six years, and was forced to drink the alcohol himself every few months. He'd recently stocked up again. “White? Dry?”
“Wet please.”
“Chilled?”
“I'm warm enough.” Alice grinned and two bean sprouts slid out of her mouth. “Sthrrry.”
“You don't have to eat it all in one go.”
“I'm hungry.” Alice was on a diet, as always, but tonight she wasn't an actress but a 22-year-old girl who could eat, drink and be slobbish; she liked this.
Will turned to his wine cellar, a mini-refrigerator in black with a shiny glass door. He pulled out a bottle of cheap, fruity, off-dry white and ran his fingers over it, feeling the glass carefully.
“It's not very cold.”
“No problem.”
Will opened his glass cupboard. There were glasses of all sizes and shapes, but due to his habit of dropping them or bashing them against the hot water tap, there were no sets comprising more than two or three identical vessels. There were beer and lager glasses - half-pint and pint - tumblers, schooners, hi-ball, snifters, wine glasses, and flutes. He fished around in the back of the cupboard and pulled out two heavy, cut lead-crystal wine glasses. They weren't quite a matching pair, but he didn't want to serve a special guest cheap wine out of cheap glasses. He three-quarters filled each one, pushed the rubber stopper back in the bottle, and put it the fridge to cool further. After brief consideration, he pulled a second bottle of white from the cellar and put that in the fridge.
Alice's hand was already poised and Will passed her the glass, before joining her on the sofa.
“Nice wine.”
Will detected no hint of irony, so proffered no retort. Perhaps she was used to drinking out of very expensive crystal, but a relative novice when it came to wine.
“Sorry there's no dining table.”
“This is fun.”
Alice did indeed appear to be enjoying the experience, which Will supposed must have been novel for her. He settled back and grabbed the remote, turning on the TV just as Ellie Broadbottom was announcing the traffic news. Alice's ears perked up.
“Ooo, let's see how many accidents you caused today.”
“Three.”
“I'll go four.”
“Police are warning motorists in Broadford to be on the look-out for an escaped zebra.” Ellie's voice wavered and she stifled a titter, before continuing in a more serious tone, “The zebra was taking part in a schools' road safety campaign to promote the use of zebra crossings, but was spooked by a red car travelling at speed. Witnesses described how a young blond girl in an old Rover sped out of the Guildhall multi-storey car-park, narrowly missing Zelda the Zebra. Zelda's owner describes her as a sociable animal with a penchant for humbugs. She is believed to have been spotted in the graveyard of St Bartholomew's, although grieving witnesses could not positively identify her.”
Will roared. “Alice, look what you've done.”
“That's not funny. Poor Zelda. And why do I get the blame?!”
“Clearly you look suspicious, or dangerous - a zebra worrier. Don't fret, it'll turn up soon. It's not as if zebras can just melt into the background.”
“That's precisely what zebras do!”
“Not in Broadford.”
“What if it stops on a zebra crossing?”
Will drew a picture in his brain and shrugged. “I'm not sure their traffic awareness is that advanced.”
“But drivers won't see it.”
Will pictured a zebra on a zebra crossing, then imagined a pedestrian on a zebra on a zebra crossing. Then he imagined an escaped convict on a zebra, on a zebra crossing. The convict had a bag of humbugs. He would take his camera to Broadford tomorrow.
Alice finished her meal and slumped. “Stuffed.”
“Me too.” Will flicked through the on-screen guide. “Well look at that, you're on.”
Alice stared at the screen. “Oh no, please.”
Will selected the channel. Alice held out an empty glass.
“If I really must watch that, I gotta have more wine.”
Will grabbed the open bottle from the fridge, and after little consideration grabbed the second, full bottle. He slumped next to Alice and filled her glass. Alice downed half of it.
“Steady, you're only little.”
“How tall are you?”
Will told her he was five feet ten inches. This bothered him, as everybody these days seemed to be over six feet.
“Well I'm only six inches shorter.”
“Six inches is a lot.”
“Not enough for me.” Alice wrinked.
Will cringed. “You're greedy.”
“I have standards.”
“I'm sorry I don't meet them.”
“I guess I can make allowances for age … and experience.”
Will remembered he was on best behaviour. “Anyway you weigh about half a me, so you shouldn't drink as much.”
“Spoilsport.”
Will topped-up her glass anyway, figuring it might be better if she passed out.
“Oh. My. God. L
ook at my hair.” Alice was peeking at the television from behind her glass.
“I rather like it.”
“I look like a mad old witch.”
With pursed lips and a furrowed brow, Will examined her face. “Hmm.”
Alice punched him. “Can I borrow your computer?”
Will passed a tiny netbook, and Alice opened the screen and switched it on. Will settled back and sipped his wine, eyes glued to the TV screen; he'd seen it three times previously, but he still enjoyed this film. She was the youngest member of the cast, but shared star billing. The other actors seemed to look up to her, even if they had to look down on her to do it. Her on-screen beau gazed down into her eyes and seemed to hold it longer than Will thought necessary to the plot. Bastard. He was jealous. Thomas was younger, slimmer, taller, and very handsome, he supposed, not knowing what constituted handsome in a male. Now Alice was looking longingly into his eyes. Shit. Was it great acting or was their obvious rapport down to a secret off-screen affair? Will turned the TV off.
“Bored of me already?”
“Well you're not watching it.”
“Kidding.”
“Music?”
“OK.”
“Any preference?”
“Nah.”
Will got up and fiddled with his equipment. He changed the amp and speaker settings, then slipped a disc into the CD player. He sat down and flicked the remote, skipping the first track.
“In my place, in my place, were lines I couldn't have changed ...”
“What's this?”
“Coldplay.”
“You like Coldplay?”
“No, I always play music I don't like. I love being grumpy and unhappy.”
“What if it makes me grumpy and unhappy?”
“I asked you if you had a preference!” Will almost shrieked.
Alice grinned. “You're sooo easy.”
The third track got underway. Alice started humming and then chirped, “God put a smile upon my face. Lalala. This is a bit better.”
“They get better as they go. It's a proper album.” He mused briefly, and proudly added, “Chris Martin and I were born in the same place, y’know.”
“Aww, sweet, did you play with him when you were kids?”
“He's a few years younger. Let's just listen to the music.”
Alice listened, for ten seconds.
“Is this your favourite album Willy? Do you like to listen to it when you're grumpy?”
Willy didn't take the bait.
“Oh I love this,” Alice was la-la-ing again, “come up to meet you, tell you I'm sorry, you don't know how lovely you arerrreee.” Alice sang into Will's ear. “Bet you've never been serenaded before.”
“Not like this.”
“Serenade me Willy.”
“You really don't want that.”
“Can't you sing?”
“Like a fish.”
“Underwater?”
“No, a land fish.”
Alice emptied her glass and pointed to the computer screen. “What sign are you?”
“Gemini.”
“Right … Pisces and Gemini. Well, look at that.” She swung the screen round and Will read the words.
“Love match?!”
“Love, friends, whatever - that doesn't matter. Read the rest.”
Will read it. Gemini and Pisces are attracted to each other like moths to a flame, and there's a lot of initial excitement. He didn't believe in this rubbish, but continued to read. Anyway, there was sure to be a downside.
Alice was muttering. “Oh, look - Gemini is way too emotionally retarded for Pisces, who may feel drained after time. I'm drained by my retarded Willy.”
Will caught up with the text. “It doesn't say retarded.”
“That's what it means.”
“OK, we may as well quit now.”
“Guess so. I'll get my coat.” Alice poured herself another glass and tipped the dregs into Will's. “You don't believe in that rubbish do you?”
“Course not.” Will believed the first part totally. Moths to a flame. There was no denying it, the first time he'd seen Alice he was smitten. He would have to work extra hard to hide his feelings. She was too young, too beautiful, too wealthy, too popular, too talented, too successful … not so much in a different league as from a different planet. Why she even bothered talking to him was a mystery. Maybe she felt sorry for him, or maybe it was some sort of social experiment she'd concocted to research a film part. Surely it couldn't just be that she believed that rubbish about a vampire giving her strong teeth and a permanently youthful complexion? Will opened the second bottle, filled his glass to the brim, and downed it in one.
Alice was tapping away and talking to herself. “G... what is it again?”
“Shh, bugs.”
Alice turned and stared. “You were serious?”
“Can't be too careful.”
“How would he bug us?”
“Clothing.”
“You want me to take my clothes off?”
Will struggled with his answer. “Well, did he have access to your clothes?”
“What are you saying?”
Will didn't want to go there. “Well, he had access to mine.”
“So, get naked.”
“Can I go upstairs?”
“No, I want to see your little buggy thing.”
“OK, let me think. Jacket - I was wearing my Berghaus, it has lots of pockets. And jeans - these jeans.” He stood up, wobbled a bit, and proceeded to pat himself down, not that he knew what he was patting for.
“Want me to do it?”
Will wanted to let the wine do the talking, but declined. He felt in every pocket, and under his belt. He wobbled to the coat room and turned his jacket inside-out and upside-down. Nothing. Maybe he was being paranoid.
“Could be anywhere.” He was bored looking.
“I think you're being paranoid. If Marvin took my book, he would be looking for Guffwell. That was after he brought you home, and after the last time I saw him. He probably hasn't discovered it's a made-up name yet.”
Will couldn't really fault her theory. He didn't want to believe he was bugged, especially with Alice here because that would really put a dampener on the conversation.
“You're right. I'm being paranoid. Like Marvin.”
“Huh?”
“The paranoid android?”
“Huh?
“Don't tell me you've never read or seen The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy?”
“Ohh, yes.”
“He was paranoid and had a brain the size of a planet.”
“Like you, then. Fifty-percent.”
Will took umbrage. “I'm a very intelligent person.”
“Aww, of course you are.” Alice's patronizing tone cut deep.
“Don't patronize me.”
“Are we having our first fight?”
“Yes.”
“I'll win.”
Will thought for a second. “I quit.”
“That's the spirit. More wine please.” She waved an empty glass and the second bottle, which somehow she'd managed to empty without Will noticing.
“Christ, that's two bottles.”
“You had some.”
“I've only got red, or beer.”
“Beer please.”
“It's real ale, you probably won't like it,” Will said hopefully.
“I can try some, can't I?”
Will fetched a bottle from the cooler and poured her half a glass of Old Bob.”
Alice grabbed the bottle. “Who's Old Bob?”
“He makes beer. He's old. He's called Bob.”
Alice sipped the dark brown ale. “Mmmm, not bad.” She helped herself to more.
Will cried inside. There were just two bottles of his favourite tipple remaining. Oh well, get her drunk quick and put her to bed. He got a second beer from the cooler.
“So .. G...?”
“G i d w e l l.”
Alice
tapped about 20 keys and entered the name “Oh, lots here.” She sat back and scanned a few before declaring “I think I'm drink. I mean thunk. I mean drunk.”
Will grinned; not long now. “Have another,” he said, and filled her glass, which she emptied before grabbing the bottle from him.
“Are you trying to get me drunk, Will? You're a naughty boy.”
Alice was waving a glass of precious ale around, so Will acted swiftly and steadied her hand. He closed the netbook and pushed it away.
“We'll look at that tomorrow.”
“Ho-K.” Alice downed the remaining ale. “Mmmm this slips down nicely.” She fell backwards and giggled. Will wished he was drunk too, but she'd made sure he couldn't be.
“More beer?” Hold it, I need to pee.” Alice staggered to her knees and fell face-first onto the deep-pile wool rug. “Mmmm ... soft.”
Will gripped her under the arms and lifted. She was no weight at all and he stood her up as straight as he could, pushing her towards a wall so she could lean.
“You're so strong.” Alice's grin was a little lop-sided, like her hair. “Pee-pee.”
“Can you manage?”
“Hmmm … no.”
Will held her upright and she shuffled to the bathroom, three steps forwards, two steps backwards and six steps sideways. Will pulled the light switch and waited.
“What you waiting for?”
“I don't want you falling and cracking your head on the basin.” Will really wasn't interested in watching her pee-pee, but he was interested in not allowing a Hollywood star half his age to die under suspicious circumstances, especially not in his bathroom. Alice, despite her advanced state of inebriation, must have gathered this much from Will's tone and stern expression.
“Ho-K. Hold me up.” She undid her jeans. “Don't look.”
Will wasn't looking. “I'm not looking - look.”
Alice decided she'd take his word for it, and with one hand propping her up against Will's bulky frame, she wiggled and pushed and pulled until her jeans were around her knees. She fell onto the lavatory seat with a crash and Will, presuming she could fall no further, turned and left.
“Don't forget your undies.”
“Ho-k, daddy.”
Will shut the door and listened for more crashing, but all seemed calm so he returned to the lounge and fetched himself another ale. He'd missed most of A Rush of Blood to the Head so flicked the remote and skipped back to track eight, figuring he could listen to the last four songs by the time Alice had managed to pee, get up, get dressed, wash her hands, and find her way back. He shouted to her, “Let me know if you need a hand, OK?”
“OK!”
She sounded slightly more coherent – clearly the standing had been too much. Will supposed the colder air in the bathroom and brighter lights probably helped. Alice had her eyes shut, due to the bright lights. Will said a little prayer and turned the volume up, but not so loud as to mask the sound of crashing.
“A warning sign, I missed the good part, then I realized ..” Will had had just about enough to drink for him to sing along. The last four tracks were among his favourite songs, and even at twenty minutes, he was sure he'd get most of them in before Alice was well enough to crash back.
“Yeah, the truth is, that I miss you sooo ...” The sentiment was not unfamiliar to Will. He missed a lot of people, though they didn't know it; nobody knew it – he maintained a stoical appearance at all times, having learned the hard way that emotions always led to depression eventually. He didn't hear Alice singing along too. He skipped Whisper and went straight to a gruff rendition of “I'm gonna buy this place and burn it down ...” as he wanted to make sure he could fit in Amsterdam.
Meanwhile, Alice had just about emptied her bladder for a third time and was trying to twist through ninety degrees to reach the loo paper. She was muttering obscenities under her breath and cursing Will for arranging his bathroom fittings so inconsiderately. She swung angrily at the roll of three-ply and it flew from the holder, unravelling like an exploding white swan across the floor. She cursed again and started to gather the tissue on her lap, and after three minutes and a pile that resembled a crudely re-assembled white swan, realized she needed to take control of the cardboard end.
“Bastard,” she glared at the roll - out of reach of a sober person, let alone an Alice. She decided it would be easier to unroll it and then roll it up again, but sadly underestimated the length.
Will was shrieking, “Time, it's on your side, it's on your siiide …” but Alice feared it might not be.
“I am screaming underneeeaath.”
Alice was indeed screaming underneath a pile of soft, white, velvety three-ply. She conceded defeat, ripped a bucketful of tissue from the mountain, and reached between her legs. It was at this point she started sobbing. Underwear? Off? Noooooo!
“Willllll .. help.”
Will sprang to his feet, always ready and prepared to rescue any damsel if she sounded vaguely distressed, or even if she didn’t. He got in a few more lines first, “Stuck on the end, of this ball and chain …. stood on a bridge, tied to a noose … I'm sick of the seeeecrets, stood on the edge, tied to a noose, she came along and she cut me loose.” Will eventually cut Alice loose of the mutating, marauding white monster. His singing turned to laughing, and Alice sighed the sigh of a woman whose last remaining shred of dignity was about to be flushed down the pan, along with half a swan.
“I peed myself.” She laughed, deciding it was the best form of defence.
“Shit.”
“No, just pee.”
Will tried hard not to ridicule her. He turned away, highly amused but a little flustered. “What do you want me to do?”
“Help me up.”
Will helped her up, and turned his head. “I've got my eyes shut, do what you have to do.”
Alice pushed and pulled and somehow wriggled out of her jeans and wet pants. She grabbed an armful of tissue and dried herself. “Can you flush it.”
“OK.”
“Can you keep your eyes shut, and help me to the sofa?”
Will didn't need to open his eyes - he vividly pictured the scene: a staggering, half-naked celebrity entwined in toilet paper, leading a chubby, middle-aged blind man. Must make a note of this for my next book. Fortunately the sofa was only five feet from the bathroom door, and Alice had simply to use Will to slingshot herself through 180 degrees. Somehow tripping over the tissue vine that had crept around her feet, she fell sideways and landed face-first in the blue velour.
“Mmmm soft …. Keep your eyes shut, Will.”
“OK.”
Alice had had the foresight to pack spare undies in her bag, and was now trying to feed her legs into them. “Thank God you don't have a camera.”
“Oh, but I do.” Will suddenly pictured pound and dollar signs.
“Well then, it's a good job you're a gentleman.”
Will cursed himself for being a gentleman.
“OK, done.”
Will turned and opened his eyes. A bare-legged Alice was sprawled across the sofa, her tiny white panties decorated with wispy shreds of tissue.
“You wanna stay there?”
“For a minute. Or ten.”
“We need to discuss sleeping arrangements.”
It was too late. Alice's eyes were firmly closed and her lips slightly parted. She breathed quietly, serenely, and her modest bosom rose and fell with steady rhythm. Will sighed and looked at the stairs, then again at the limp body. The stairs were steep and narrow, and he had a bad back. This'll be fun. Carefully sliding his arms under her knees and the small of her delicate back, trying not to wake her and face some awkward questioning, he crouched and steadied himself. With a deep breath he straightened his legs and she floated upwards. Light as a feather....ish.
Turning sideways, he lifted a foot onto the bottom stair. Now came the hard part – a ninety degree turn to the right. He shifted his grip, and her legs bent sufficiently to enable him to negotia
te the narrow flight. Using her head to bump open the bedroom door, he strode purposefully across the mismatched bedroom rugs and laid his princess on the bed. Alice groaned. Please stay unconscious another minute. He was almost there, he just had to manoeuvre her under the duvet. Shit. She had a woolly top on, and would be too hot. He pulled it up over her head, then stopped and adjusted her rising shirt, but not before admiring her smooth, soft belly. He thought she might be uncomfortable in her bra, but a much closer inspection revealed it to be absent. All good. Piece of cake.
Having safely rolled her under the duvet and tucked her in, Will was making his escape when Alice groaned again. Shhh. He willed her not to wake. He was almost at the door now.
“Where you going?”
Alice, who ten seconds ago looked sixty-percent dead, was almost sitting up. She'd managed to turn over and was leaning on her elbow, her mangled hair hiding most of her face.
“Huh?”
“Where're you going to sleep?”
Will didn't have an answer.
“Well?”
“Umm, dunno … sofa?” He'd somehow allowed himself to turn it into a question, and felt guilty. But also hopeful – his bed was big and comfy, and the sofa was not.
“Stay.”
“Here?” Will looked around at the door and the floor.
“Here.”
“There?”
“If you want.”
Will wanted, but this was the alcohol demons calling him to bed, not Alice. The scenarios flashed through his mind. He had to think quick. What if he slept with her and she woke up and screamed? What if she screamed rape? He wanted to share a bed with Alice, but not with a drunk. Shit.
A soft muted voice drifted into his ears from under a warm duvet. “I promise I won't molest you.”
Alice's concern was touching, and he made up his mind. What the hell. You only live once. Will figured he had the willpower, and Alice was hardly going to be tempted to start anything. It was a big bed, they were both adults, and he really didn’t want to wake up with an aching neck, back or anything else.
“OK, thanks, I appreciate it. Didn't fancy the sofa – bad back and all.”
He waited for affirmation, but none came.
“Just going to the bathroom, five minutes.”
“OK. Can you bring me some water?”
“OK.”
Will skipped down the stairs and brushed his teeth very thoroughly. He grabbed a handful of moistened wipes and tried to deodorize his smellier bits, then filled a glass with water. He skipped back up the stairs and jumped out of his clothes, leaving just his underpants. Shit. He ripped off his underpants and replaced them with a clean pair, before approaching the crumpled duvet with an enticing woman-shaped bump in it.
Hoping she'd fallen asleep again, he slowly lifted the covers and took in the sweet scent of warm Alice. Gorgeous. Easing his bulk as carefully as a bulk can be eased, Will slid onto the mattress with his back toward the girl. He edged as close as he dare, not wanting to contaminate her with his sad excuse for a body, and pulled the duvet back over his shoulder. He curled up on his side and shut his eyes. So far, so good.
“What ya doing?”
“Err, me?”
“Is there anybody else here?”
Will strained his eyes, taking in the familiar shapes, illuminated by the constant blue glow from his radio.
“Don't think so.” Shit. She probably thought he was playing with himself. “Not doing anything, nothing at all.”
“Cuddle.”
Alice was clearly under the misapprehension she'd pulled a different bloke, and Will could hardly impersonate the sort of bloke Alice might find herself in bed with.
“It's Will here.” Clearly, this misunderstanding needed to be resolved quickly.
“Sorry, thought it was someone else. Dork. Cuddle.”
Will was floundering like a flounder in a place where founders oughtn't be. In fact, there were signs reading ‘No Flounders’ and pictures of flounders with red lines across them. There was a dead flounder hanging from a gallows, a final warning just in case any day-dreaming flounders had absent-mindedly wandered too far. Alice hadn't actually asked a question though, and he hoped maybe she was talking in her sleep.
An arm flung backwards across his leg. “Cuddle – now.”
Will remembered he was the world's worst reader of women, looked again at the hanging flounder which he noticed was devoid of testicles, and knew there was only one sure way to resolve this. “You want me to cuddle you?”
“Do ya want it in writing?”
Will thought this was an excellent idea, but doubted Alice's ability to write whilst semi-comatose. And he didn't have a pen handy. Flounders rarely wore sports jackets or blazers.
“Have you got a pen?”
Alice's brain was slowly assembling the pieces. “Is something wrong?”
“No.”
Alice thought something was fishy. “Have you got a hard-on?”
“NO.”
“Are you afraid I'll rape you?”
“I'm afraid you might regret this tomorrow.”
“Don't be a wet Willy.”
There was the tiniest hint of grinning sobriety in her voice, and Will was being worn down. He turned over and swung an arm around her tiny waist. Alice gripped his hand.
“Mmmm, cuddle. Nice.”
Will agreed that it was nice and prayed he could control his libido. He thought he could act fatherly around her, but wasn't sure this was entirely the way to go about it. He settled on gay friend - he wasn't, but maybe she was. Satisfied with her lesbian status, he cuddled her tight and whispered in her ear, “Night.”
Will kissed the back of her neck as softly as he could, lingering to take in the aroma which he considered just about the most intoxicating he'd ever inhaled. Alice squeezed his hand and held it against her hot belly. He closed his eyes and smiled. Tonight, he wouldn't need to dream.
“Night, pops.”
So much for the gay-friend idea. Will couldn't see the broad grin on Alice's face.
“Night kid, sweet dreams.” Under his breath, as quietly as a church mouse wearing slippers tiptoeing across a foam-padded floor, he added, “Love you.” He'd never say it again in her presence, and she would never know. It was a secret between him and the nape of her sensual neck.
“Love you too. Now go to sleep.” Alice's grin became a smile. She thought of how much she now cared for her new, slightly odd, funny and very thoughtful friend.
Will decided he knew his place, and it was second. He went to sleep, warmed, comforted, and very, very happy, hoping that Alice would take care of him.