Marine Corps boot camp workout, I don’t care how cool the infomercial looked!”
“I… I’m trying… to better myself,” he panted, standing up and grabbing his sides with both hands. “Today’s plan was… a five-mile run.”
“What? You’re not a runner! You’ve never run a day in your life! You can’t just go out and do five miles without building up to it! No wonder you sound like you’re dying!”
“I… I didn’t do… five miles. I did one… half.” Nathan stumbled into the room and collapsed on the chaise by the window while Stacy looked at him skeptically. This could be another one of his jokes, she thought, but then again, he did look really, really bad. Either he’d tried running like he claimed, or he’d come down with a raging case of food poisoning and was playing it off.
“You ran half a mile, and you’re dying? No wonder you don’t play on our softball team.” She brought him a bottle of water from the mini fridge inside a nearby armoire, along with one of the moist cloths that she kept in a silver ice bucket in the cabinet for brides who became too overwhelmed.
“I don’t play on the softball team… because the uniforms… are hideous,” he replied, starting to catch his breath now that he was half-lying on the chair. He pressed the cloth to his forehead and gulped the water greedily until Stacy reminded him to take it slow to avoid throwing up.
“And if you puke on this antique rug, you’ll be doing a lot more running… while I chase you with a heavy object!” She returned to her desk and tried to ignore the wheezing sounds coming from the corner. Nathan peeked out from under the cloth to see if he was going to get any more sympathy, but decided to try to recover on his own when it was clear that he wasn’t.
“So, employee of the month, what’s on the agenda for my company?”
Stacy shot him a murderous look, but ignored the remark because his color still didn’t look right. He rose up from the chaise, wincing as he grabbed the tops of both thighs for a moment, then came over to the desk, sidling around behind it to put his hands on her shoulders. She almost shrugged him off, but when he began to move his fingertips in firm circles across her back and neck, she nearly melted under the touch.
“Well, how about a wedding that’s destined to end over eighty years of in-fighting between two families? If we actually get them married, that is.”
“Come again?” he asked sweetly. “It sounded like you said wedding… and fighting… and married… and is.”
“I’m not kidding, Nathan. This is serious stuff.” She gave him a brief rundown of the fighting between the two families, pointing out that it went back generations.
“So you’ve decided to play matchmaker to the Montagues and Capulets? Or did you decide to test your skills with the Hatfields and McCoys first?”
“First of all, I’m impressed that you know who the Montagues and Capulets are. But no, this is serious. These two families, the Hatfields and McCoys—I mean, the Hardys and the Lancasters—have hated each other for generations, until two of their kids went off to the same large state university and happened to meet each other at a meeting of the kayaking club. By the time they figured out they were the same Hardy and Lancaster families who despised each other, it was too late. They were smitten, family feud be damned.”
“Hardys and Lancasters? Shouldn’t it be Yorks and Lancasters?” he teased.
“If you’re trying to turn me on with your impressive knowledge of obscure facts from history class, it’s totally working. Keep massaging my shoulders and tell me what you know about the Battle of Hastings, and there’s a very real chance you could get lucky tonight.”
“I’ll ignore the fact that you made it sound like there’s a chance I wouldn’t be getting lucky tonight,” he said with a sly look on his face before turning the conversation back to the feud wedding. “So
“I… I’m trying… to better myself,” he panted, standing up and grabbing his sides with both hands. “Today’s plan was… a five-mile run.”
“What? You’re not a runner! You’ve never run a day in your life! You can’t just go out and do five miles without building up to it! No wonder you sound like you’re dying!”
“I… I didn’t do… five miles. I did one… half.” Nathan stumbled into the room and collapsed on the chaise by the window while Stacy looked at him skeptically. This could be another one of his jokes, she thought, but then again, he did look really, really bad. Either he’d tried running like he claimed, or he’d come down with a raging case of food poisoning and was playing it off.
“You ran half a mile, and you’re dying? No wonder you don’t play on our softball team.” She brought him a bottle of water from the mini fridge inside a nearby armoire, along with one of the moist cloths that she kept in a silver ice bucket in the cabinet for brides who became too overwhelmed.
“I don’t play on the softball team… because the uniforms… are hideous,” he replied, starting to catch his breath now that he was half-lying on the chair. He pressed the cloth to his forehead and gulped the water greedily until Stacy reminded him to take it slow to avoid throwing up.
“And if you puke on this antique rug, you’ll be doing a lot more running… while I chase you with a heavy object!” She returned to her desk and tried to ignore the wheezing sounds coming from the corner. Nathan peeked out from under the cloth to see if he was going to get any more sympathy, but decided to try to recover on his own when it was clear that he wasn’t.
“So, employee of the month, what’s on the agenda for my company?”
Stacy shot him a murderous look, but ignored the remark because his color still didn’t look right. He rose up from the chaise, wincing as he grabbed the tops of both thighs for a moment, then came over to the desk, sidling around behind it to put his hands on her shoulders. She almost shrugged him off, but when he began to move his fingertips in firm circles across her back and neck, she nearly melted under the touch.
“Well, how about a wedding that’s destined to end over eighty years of in-fighting between two families? If we actually get them married, that is.”
“Come again?” he asked sweetly. “It sounded like you said wedding… and fighting… and married… and is.”
“I’m not kidding, Nathan. This is serious stuff.” She gave him a brief rundown of the fighting between the two families, pointing out that it went back generations.
“So you’ve decided to play matchmaker to the Montagues and Capulets? Or did you decide to test your skills with the Hatfields and McCoys first?”
“First of all, I’m impressed that you know who the Montagues and Capulets are. But no, this is serious. These two families, the Hatfields and McCoys—I mean, the Hardys and the Lancasters—have hated each other for generations, until two of their kids went off to the same large state university and happened to meet each other at a meeting of the kayaking club. By the time they figured out they were the same Hardy and Lancaster families who despised each other, it was too late. They were smitten, family feud be damned.”
“Hardys and Lancasters? Shouldn’t it be Yorks and Lancasters?” he teased.
“If you’re trying to turn me on with your impressive knowledge of obscure facts from history class, it’s totally working. Keep massaging my shoulders and tell me what you know about the Battle of Hastings, and there’s a very real chance you could get lucky tonight.”
“I’ll ignore the fact that you made it sound like there’s a chance I wouldn’t be getting lucky tonight,” he said with a sly look on his face before turning the conversation back to the feud wedding. “So
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