"Jeff Pierson, you have been in bed for the past four days, nonstop. You smell disgusting, your mail is flowing OUT of your mailbox, the newspapers have formed a pyramid amongst themselves, the neighbors are starting to talk, AND I'm getting pissed. Now get out of bed."
"Go away, Lacey," I groaned, wondering now why I ever thought giving her a key to my place was a good idea.
"Dammit, Jeff, I mean it. It's nearly one in the afternoon. Get. Up." I didn't budge. I didn't need to pull the covers off to know that my best friend, Lacey Savich, was standing on the opposite side of my king sized bed, hands on her hips, her curly, fiery red hair untamed. A look that fit her quite suitably. "You have one minute."
Beneath my comforter, I crossed my arm over my eyes. This was a nightmare. It had to be. Who gave their best friend a key to their place? That was reserved for a special kind of relationship. One with sex, at least. One with–
"Last chance."
"Goddammit Lacey!" I roared as I felt the comforter being ripped away. "It's a damn good thing I'm wearing boxers!"
"You have nothing I haven't seen before. Besides, I didn't come over here to watch you become a bed bug, so get your ass out of bed. Now." Her voice was stern; I remained motionless.
She gave a frustrated sigh. That could not be good.
"I warned you," she said in the same stern voice. I heard her walk into my adjoining bathroom. Before I could process that the shower was running, she had me hoisted over her shoulder in a fireman's grip, literally ripped my boxers down my legs like I was a little kid, and also quite literally, dumped me into the bathtub where I was greeted with an ice cold stream of water.
"I'm giving you five minutes. Wash up. We have a busy day," she commanded, her voice smooth and sweet as butter cream frosting. She shut the curtain and I heard her retreat to the bedroom.
Nursing a slightly sore elbow and a largely bruised ego, I stood, cranked the faucet as quickly as I could to the hottest setting, and found, to my dismay, that an erection was visible. Damn, I hope she didn't see that.
With two minutes to spare, I stepped out of the shower and saw that sometime in the past three minutes Lacey had picked out clothes for me to wear. I walked over to the commode where the clothes lay neatly folded, and dressed. She'd chosen my favorite sweater, with the top third in a dark blue, followed by a white stripe nestled in two gray ones, then the bottom two thirds in a lighter shade of blue; a pair of faded jeans and my belt; and a black pair of boxers with a blue, fiery Superman "S".
"You have got to be kidding," I muttered. I finished dressing then ran a brush through my medium-long hair. I left it to air dry, figuring that was what Lacey had intended, and cursed her in case it decided to curl. I quickly brushed my teeth, applied deodorant, sprayed on cologne, and gave myself a final once-over. I ran my hand over my three day growth, but knew it would have to do. I walked back into my bedroom with thirty seconds to spare. I was greeted with a pair of socks flying at my head.
When she picked up my shoes, I nearly ran to where she sat on my bed, pinning her hands down.
"I get it, you're in a hurry. Please spare me the headache of flying boots hitting my head." She grinned up at me, rather innocently I thought, then looked down at my shoes. I dropped beside her and began putting the socks on.
"They're not boots," she informed me. "They're Sketchers."
"Well, excuuuuuse me. Give me that." I took one from her and put it on, quickly tied it, then followed suit with the other. I stood.
"So Miss Impatience, where are we going? What's so important that we have to hurry, which, by the way, you're still sitting there."
She looked up at me again, an odd smile on her face. I resisted the urge to run a hand down my face to check for toothpaste.
Slowly she stood, and I was frozen in place. I hadn't realized how beautiful she'd been while I was being dumped in my––very cold––shower.
Her hair, as curly and untamed as normal, framed an angelic face full of blue-green eyes, with a small nose and naturally sexy (and, was that lipstick?), pouted mouth. As my eyes roamed down her body, I noticed she had on a very blue sweater that hugged her petite frame perfectly. Continuing down, her legs were clad in a pair of black slacks that did more to her ass than I cared to admit to, and finally, her feet sported some pair of clod-hopping boots. I think they were her favorite: jazzed up army boots with a heel and three inch platform thing.
I was vaguely aware of a stirring in my jeans as I stared at Lacey. I'd hoped to God my mouth wasn't hanging open, and quickly tried to cover my arousal by turning towards the door.
"Are you coming?" I asked impatiently. At least, I hope I sounded impatient.
My mind raced as I descended the stairs. Why was Lacey dressed so beautifully? She usually only wore a T-shirt and jeans, sneakers or those boots. Even when she dressed down, I had a hard time keeping my jeans loose fitting. Now? I hoped wherever the hell we were going, I'd be able to sit down behind something.
Having reached the kitchen, I grabbed my keys and headed for the back door, then locked up behind us as we left.
I opened the passenger door of my truck for her, let her in, then shut it, taking the time to discreetly readjust myself before climbing in the driver's side. I started the engine then looked at her. She looked at me and I was spell-bound. Her eyes had shifted colors slightly and were now a dazzling shade of blue.
"Where to," I asked. I think. My brain was jumbled. And in the close confines of the truck, I could smell something sweet and flowery. Perfume? I never noticed that before. Did Lacey ever wear it? I couldn't be sure. Nothing seemed to be functioning properly.
"The Strip."
Lacey beamed.
I hated going to the strip. Aptly named, it was a menagerie of retail stores, outlet malls, and restaurants in two identical rows, facing each other. Almost like a small town's "downtown". It was always crowded, there was always SOME type of charity-type-do-gooder begging for money, and the sole perfume store gave me a headache from three stores away.
But with a genuine smile on my face, I headed there.
~*~*~*~
Ninety minutes, seventeen stores, and a dozen shopping bags later (which I had the privilege of carrying), Lacey hooked her arm to mine. I looked down at her, but either she ignored it or was busy looking for more stores to hit, because she didn't look up. I felt my blood boiling. God, I needed to release this tension.
"Last store, I promise," Lacey said as she ducked into a toy store. She grabbed two identical Barbies and two identical outfits for each. "It's Miranda and Amanda's birthdays," she explained. They were her cousins. Twin cousins.
Lacey paid for her order, then we headed back to the truck. I opened her door, deposited the bags in the bed, and climbed in the driver's side.
"Where to?"
"I'm famished," she said softly. I heard a hint of something and looked over at her, but she was busy staring at a couple of toddlers walking with their parents. "How about steak?"
"You don't like steak." At that, she turned and looked at me, looking guilty.
"You do though, so get going." When I sat still, Lacey turned more of her body to me. I looked her square in the eye and waited. Against her norm, she spoke first. "Look. I couldn't stand to see you holed up in your room any longer. I don't like seeing you hurt, seeing you depressed. I wasn't going to stand around watching you deteriorate. You've lost probably ten pounds already and I had to do something. I had to get you out. Now, let's go get steak."
