Mia Sheridan - Stinger

"Okay, man. Yeah, we're fine. Thanks for the update." I hung up and turned to Grace.

"Seems you're stuck with me for at least another hour."

"At least?"

"Yeah, at least. Longer if you agree to spend the weekend together." I hoped she couldn't tell that this meant something to me. If she turned me down, it was going to sting.

Her eyes widened slightly and her mouth opened as if to answer, but then she closed it again, looking confused. That's when my stomach growled. Loudly.

Grace grinned and tilted her head. "Hungry?" Before I could answer, she reached for her bag and dug around in it for a couple seconds and pulled out a granola bar. "Dinner, sir? Hold on. I think I have something here to wash it down with too." She dug around for another second and then pulled out a bottle of water."

I sat down on the floor next to her. "You're a goddess. Hand that over." I had just realized that I hadn't eaten lunch and it was just about dinnertime. I was starving. She handed me the granola bar, and I tore it open with my teeth and then broke the bar in half and handed her one piece. But she shook her head.

"You have it. I'm not really hungry. Plus, you're a growing boy." She winked at me.

"Only when I look at you, baby." I winked back and she laughed, smacking me lightly on the shoulder. I tossed the granola bar back and when she handed me the water after taking a large drink herself, I took a long sip.

"We better finish the water in this bottle. If nature calls, this bottle is what we're going to have to use."

She laughed. "I think I'll be okay for an hour. I stopped in the ladies room right after I left the bar."

I nodded. "I think I'll last too."

After a minute, I said, "Okay, another game–this one's called Quick Draw Favorites. I ask a question and you answer it with the first thing that comes to mind. Then you can do the same to me."

She looked at me suspiciously. "Is this another trick game that's going to have us kissing in the middle of the elevator again?"

"God, I hope so." I laughed. "But, no, just for fun to pass the time. You in?"

She nodded. "Okay."

"Okay. Favorite movie."

" Titanic ."

"No. Pick again."

She choked on a laugh. "No? Um, I thought these were my answers."

"They are, but I can't let you pick a movie as craptastic as Titanic without intervening."

She turned fully toward me. "How is Titanic craptastic? It's an epic love story! It's beautiful! What problem do you have with Titanic ?"

I sighed. "Grace, there was plenty of room on that floating door at the end of the movie. Are you going to tell me you weren't pissed off after they went through everything they did to survive and then they couldn't try harder to get them both up on that piece of wood, a piece of wood that was plenty big for both of them if they had just tried a little harder?"

She burst out laughing. "Wait, this is brilliant. You actually don't like Titanic because it isn't romantic enough for you. That's sweet." She batted her eyelashes at me.

My brows snapped down. "No, I don't believe that's what I said. What I said was that I like some realism in my movies. That was a cop-out because the writer thought Jack Dawson should sink to the bottom of the ocean."

She burst out laughing again.

"Are you done?"

She made a poor attempt to wipe the smirk off her face. "Yes. Next question."

"Favorite color."

"Robin's egg blue."

I screwed up my face and glanced to the side, and then back at her. "I'm going to let that one slide. Favorite season."

"Fall."

"Favorite dessert."

"Crème brûlée."

"Favorite sex position."

She paused and a pink color crept up her cheeks. "Um, missionary?"

I stared at her for a minute. "So, not only did that college boyfriend not make you come, but he didn't try any other positions with you, did he? What kind of jackass did you hook up with anyway?"

"Stop! He was a nice guy. Very, um, sweet and uh, considerate."

I snorted. "I bet. Okay, you're depressing me. Your turn."

"You're such an asshole." But she said it with a small smile on her face. "Favorite movie."

" Fight Club ."

"Never saw it."

"You never saw Fight Club ? That's a crime."

She laughed softly. "Favorite color."

"Blue."

"What shade of blue?"

"Just fucking blue."

"That's not a shade."

"Yeah it is."

She laughed. "Okay. Favorite season."

"Fall."

"We do have something in common! It's a miracle!"

I laughed. "Who would have guessed?"

"Not me. Favorite dessert."

"Bananas Foster–my granny used to make it for me."

She smiled and then looked straight ahead. "Well, that was fun."

"Wait, you didn't ask me the last one."

"No, I didn't. I don't want to know. Really. I'm sure it's something I've never even heard of before. You can keep that one to yourself."

I laughed. "Chicken."

She grinned over at me and I was momentarily taken off balance by the beauty of her smile. I loved her teeth. I loved everything about her mouth. I wanted to taste it again. I stretched my legs out. My pants suddenly felt a little too tight.

We were both quiet for a minute. I was thinking about how things had seemed to shift between Grace and me. There was almost a… comfort level between us as we sat there listening to the quiet elevator music and sipping on her bottle of water. I was also thinking about how I had told her things about my history that I had never told anyone else before. There were people that knew because they were there. But I had never willingly shared my upbringing with anyone who didn't already know for one reason or another. But the fact of it was, no other woman had ever asked me to talk. And maybe it was as simple as that. I couldn't recall another woman who had wanted to hang out with me for my scintillating conversational skills. Maybe it was because I didn't have any. Or maybe it was because no one had ever been interested in finding out whether I did or whether I didn't.

We were both sitting there together, comfortable and at ease, but it definitely hadn't started that way.

"Tell me why you had a panic attack when you first realized we were trapped, Grace," I said softly, glancing over at her.

Her eyes flew to mine. She took another drink of water, clearly stalling and deciding whether she was going to answer me. After a minute she said softly, "My brother got diagnosed when he was eight. I was a year older than him. He fought for two years but when the doctors finally told my parents he was terminal, my mom kind of lost it, and my dad took on the burden of planning his funeral without her. She was literally emotionally incapable." She paused for a long time and I wondered if she'd continue, but finally she did, "My dad had to bring us girls to the funeral home with him a couple times because my mom couldn't even watch us. One time me and my sisters wandered off while my dad was talking to the funeral home director, and I don't even know why, but I climbed into one of the caskets while my sisters were looking at something else. I shut the lid and it latched into place and I couldn't open it. I panicked and started hyperventilating. I kept thinking something was touching my leg–a ghoul or the undead." She laughed a small laugh, shaking her head. But her face went serious very quickly. "But the place was so damn quiet, I was afraid to scream and make the noise it would have taken to get someone to open it for me. I didn't want to embarrass my dad. He was already barely holding on… And so I stayed in there until someone finally opened it on their own, looking for me."

"God, Grace. That must have been terrifying," I said quietly.

She looked up at me. "Honestly, I hadn't thought about it in years. But, I don't know, the thought of being stuck in a small space… I guess it just triggered that same feeling."