With Good Behavior [Conduct Series #1]

by Jennifer Lane

  “Grant?”

  “Yeah?” He took the risk of opening his eyes and looked in her direction, only to find her staring back at him.

  “Good morning.” She grinned. “How do you feel, tequila boy?”

  “Stop smiling. It’s not funny.”

  She kept grinning. “Yeah, it kind of is, actually.”

  He narrowed his eyes in feigned anger before his expression turned more serious. “How is Rog?”

  “You don’t remember my midnight report?” she teased. “He seems to be fine, but I was thinking we could go to the hospital this morning to check on him.”

  “Good plan.”

  She studied his wrinkled shirt, which had partially unbuttoned in his sleep, rewarding her with a view of his strong, defined chest. Trailing her eyes upward to find his gaze boring into her, she nervously cleared her throat. “Would you like to shower first?”

  A bemused expression danced in his eyes. “But I don’t have any clean clothes.”

  Who cares about clothes? she almost said out loud. “Oh,” she murmured instead. “I could try to find some baggy sweats that might fit.” It might take me awhile. And while I’m looking, it would be quite all right for you to stand there dripping in a towel.

  While he considered her offer she added, “And I could make us some breakfast.”

  Grant shook his head. “No food.”

  “What happened to your stomach of steel?”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “You told me last night. There are lots you don’t seem to remember.”

  “Drunken boasting, I guess. Apparently tequila can burn a hole through steel, judging by how my stomach feels right now.” He paused a moment and then confided, “I do have a strong stomach though. I had to have one in my former career.”

  “Yeah, wouldn’t be too cool to get seasick on an aircraft carrier.”

  Once again he looked at her with disbelief. “How did you know I was in the Navy?”

  “Tommy told me. I found out all kinds of fun facts about you last night, Lieutenant Madsen.”

  A tendril of fear crept up his spine. He wondered what else she now knew about him. He needed to be more careful. Grant swung his legs around the sofa and willed himself not to groan as he sat up. “Actually I better go get cleaned up at Roger’s.”

  Sophie hid her disappointment and nodded. Kirsten would be bummed not to see the conscious McSailor before he left.

  Once Grant determined Kirsten’s apartment was not all that far from Roger’s place, he went home to shower, but promised to return immediately so they could walk to the hospital together.

  * * *

  An hour later, Grant and Sophie walked to the hospital: him freshly shaved with a splash of tantalizing aftershave, her smelling of soap and lavender.

  “So, about last night,” Grant began. “I don’t remember everything, but …” His eyes widened with horror. “Oh my God, was I singing?”

  She giggled. “Yes, you were!” She wondered if he remembered the best part of the evening—the cab ride home.

  “Oh.” He groaned in embarrassment.

  “How did you know the lyrics to all those Frank Sinatra songs?”

  “My mother was a huge fan of Frank.”

  “She was a fan? What—she doesn’t like Ol’ Blue Eyes anymore?”

  Grant looked down awkwardly. “Actually, my mother is deceased.”

  Sophie wondered if her entire foot would fit in her huge mouth. “Oh, Grant, I’m sorry.” They walked in silence until she quietly asked, “How old were you when she died?”

  “Twelve.”

  Sophie suddenly understood his kind response to learning of her own mother’s death. They had yet another thing in common. Affectionately she stroked his hand, and her touch made Grant feel instantly better.

  “That must have been really hard, to lose her when you were so young,” she ventured, drawing herself closer to him.

  “It was horrible.”

  “You said your dad was a jerk. Did you have to live with him then?”

  “No, my mom left him before she died. My uncle adopted me instead. Wait a minute.” He paused midstride. “I thought we agreed not to discuss our pasts?”

  “Whoops, there I go into psychologist mode again. I obnoxiously start interrogating everyone. No wonder my dates think I’m analyzing them.”

  “Your dates?” Grant cracked a smile. “Do you wish to elaborate on that?”

  Sophie returned his smile. “No talking about the past, remember?”

  “Oh, so that rule only applies when it’s convenient?”

  They continued walking until Sophie could no longer contain her curiosity. “So, anything else you remember about last night?”

  “Hmm, let me think. It seemed like the cruise went pretty well, but I don’t recall much after that. How did we get to Kirsten’s place?”

  “We took a cab,” she reminded him.

  “A cab? No, I don’t remember that. Though there is a memory nagging at me. Seems like there was something I wanted to do last night, but I didn’t get a chance. What was that?”

  With his free hand he tapped his chin while Sophie studied him, almost bursting with anticipation.

  “Ah, now I remember!” he cried victoriously. “I wanted to do this.” He pulled her toward him and gathered her in his arms as his hand lovingly cradled the back of her neck. She stopped breathing as he leaned down—ohmigod, the Adonis was about to kiss her—and planted the softest, most sensual kiss on her lips.

  Time stood still on the busy Chicago street.

  She drew her hand to his face and gently stroked his cheek as their lips melted together. Their first kiss lasted far longer than a chaste peck, but not so long that Sophie lost the ability to stand. But the intensity and spine-tingling power of his exquisite lips caressing hers lingered long after he reluctantly ended their liplock.

  Sophie glanced around and was relieved that nobody seemed to be staring. “You, uh …” She cleared her throat. “You remembered what you started in the cab.”

  He smiled, noticing the flush of her cheeks and the fire in her eyes. “Kissing you on the cheek was only the beginning, Sophie.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “I may have been drunk, but I would never forget kissing your beautiful face.”

  * * *

  Arriving at Roger’s hospital room, Grant and Sophie heard an argument inside. Grant rapped lightly before sticking his head cautiously into the room. Roger glared at the nurse, who looked disapprovingly at her patient.

  “How’s it goin’, Rog?” Grant inquired uneasily.

  “Not good, Madsen. Not good at all. This nurse,” he gestured emphatically toward the older woman standing at his bedside, “wants to ‘accompany’ me to the bathroom. Ain’t no way a chick is gonna watch me take a piss.”

  “It’s standard protocol, Mr. Eaton,” she replied. “You’re at a higher risk for falls following surgery.”

  “You had surgery?” Sophie asked.

  Roger grunted. “It’s no big deal. They went in and messed with my ticker, and now I’m good as new.”

  “Mr. Eaton had a procedure called an angioplasty,” the nurse chimed in. “We inserted a stent into his artery to open up the blockage to his heart.”

  “That does sound like a big deal,” Grant said.

  Roger rolled his eyes.

  Grant glanced at the nurse. “How about I take Mr. Eaton to the head? Would that be okay, Rog?”

  Roger reluctantly nodded. This hospital thing sucked.

  The nurse briefed Grant on preventing falls as he assisted Roger into the bathroom. “Tell Mr. Eaton I’ll return to give him his sponge bath later,” she said.

  A few minutes later, Sophie was dismayed to see the color drained from Roger’s face as Grant helped him back into bed. Walking across the room was clearly exhausting.

  “Where did Nurse Ratched go?” Roger spat.

  Sophie giggled. “She’s coming back to give you your sponge bath later.”<
br />
  Grant arched his eyebrows. “I think she likes you, Rog. Maybe if you weren’t such a pain in the ass, you two might get along better.”

  “Save it, Madsen,” Roger growled. “Now, give me an update. Did you two sink my ship last night? Do I have a business to return to when I get the hell out of here?”

  Grant and Sophie exchanged nervous glances, and he tentatively spoke first. “Yes, we had a sold-out cruise last night, sir.”

  “No shit. I’m asking how it went. You were almost pooping a brick about being the docent for the cruise. What happened? Did you pull it off, or royally fuck it up?”

  “I think it went well,” Grant said.

  “You think it went well?” Roger studied Grant, wondering why he looked a bit ill. He turned to Sophie. “How did Madsen do?”

  “He did great, Roger. I was the one who struggled, trying to get the drink orders right.”

  Sensing evasiveness, Roger folded his meaty arms across his chest but stopped when it turned out to be painful. Angrily he demanded answers. “Tell me how you described the Trump Tower to the passengers, Madsen.”

  “You know, I said the same stuff you say, but I added how Trump was planning a one-hundred-fifty story building before the World Trade Center thing, and I tied in the winner of The Apprentice—stuff like that.”

  Roger narrowed his eyes. “People don’t want to hear about goddamn TV shows on an architectural cruise.”

  “Yes, sir,” Grant replied dutifully.

  “And the Spire?” Roger asked. “That’s the end of the cruise. Were you still doing okay by then? What did you say about the Spire?”

  Sophie suppressed a smile, but Grant squirmed nervously.

  Grant’s blush deepened in color. “I don’t really remember, sir.”

  “What do you mean you don’t remember?”

  “I, um, had some tequila.”

  His eyes bugged out. “You were drinking? You were driving the ship drunk?”

  “Tommy was driving the ship, sir.”

  “Well, thank God for Tommy, then! But you still broke all kinds of watercraft regulations. If the Chicago PD had boarded the ship, we’d all be in a shitload of trouble!”

  “It was my fault, Rog,” Sophie interjected. “I gave him the tequila to calm his nerves.”

  “Did they teach you that maneuver in shrink school?”

  Sophie looked down. “No.”

  “It wasn’t her fault,” Grant said. “She gave me one shot of tequila because I was nervous about taking your place, but I was the one who kept drinking.”

  “How much did you have, you idiot?”

  Grant continued to fidget, feeling helplessly guilty for all the trouble he had caused. “Around ten shots.”

  “Ten? And you don’t drink! No wonder you look like shit,” Roger grumbled under his breath as Sophie and Grant exchanged desperate glances. “I shoulda known better than to hire two parolees, goddamn it. You two are no good for each other, you hear? Madsen was doing just fine until you showed up, Taylor. I should fire both your asses.”

  Grant inhaled sharply. “Please, Rog, don’t fire Sophie. I’m the one who screwed up.” He felt panic rising in his chest at the thought of returning to prison.

  Sophie watched Grant fall on the sword for her with a sense of wonder and gratitude.

  “You sure as hell did screw up!” Roger hollered. “Here I am stuck in this fucking hospital, hoping you two could keep my business afloat—that’s all I asked—and I come to find out you’re drinking on the job? You think this cruise is some sort of joke or something? I worked my ass off to buy that ship! You’re not going to tear it all down with one night of partying. Joe will not be pleased with you, Madsen, when he finds out you couldn’t hold down this one simple job.”

  Sophie suddenly flashed with anger and words tumbled out of her mouth. “You’re being so unfair, Rog! You left us both in the lurch when you had your heart attack. Granted, it’s not like you asked for it, but we did you a favor by taking over your business, and now you’re yelling at us? Now you’re threatening to fire us? I’ll have you know that Grant did an incredible job at the mic. The customers absolutely loved him, and his commentary … well, it was even better than yours!”

  Grant’s eyes widened, and he tried to gauge Rog’s reaction. Sophie calmed down to realize she had just insulted her boss, the one man who could keep her out of prison. She swallowed hard.

  But Roger began chuckling, slowly shaking his head. “You got balls, Taylor. Swear to God, you two make quite a pair. Who wears the pants in this relationship, Madsen? You got a live one here. She’s going to be tough to handle.”

  Glancing at Sophie, Grant felt strengthened by the intensity flaring in her shiny chestnut eyes. She would fight for him, he now knew. And he wanted to fight for her in turn.

  “I don’t need to handle her, Rog,” Grant informed him with a twinge of disgust. “She takes care of herself quite all right all on her own. But it looks like you’re going to be stuck here for a while, and you have nobody to run your cruises today except for us. Sophie and I make a good team, and I promise I’ll do a better job. I’m never going to drink again, I tell you. It’s vile.”

  Roger remained silent, so Grant added, “Give us another chance, sir. We won’t disappoint you.”

  Stroking his chin, Roger conceded, “If you run the ship today, you will return tonight to tell me how all four cruises went, in detail. None of this ‘I can’t remember’ bullshit.”

  “You got it, Rog. Your business is in good hands.”

  “Let’s not exaggerate, Madsen. You’re on toilet duty when I finally get out of this fucking hospital.”

  “Mr. Eaton?” a voice called from the doorway, breaking the tension.

  A young blond woman entered the room. She was thin and petite, with big blue eyes and rosy cheeks. “I’m Jodi Roman, your dietitian.” She smiled as she wheeled her cart toward the bed.

  Roger raised his eyebrows, gaping at the human Barbie now standing by his bedside. “Dietitian?”

  “That’s right. We’re going to get you started on a healthy diet to prevent another myocardial infarction. Would you like to introduce me to your friends here? Are these your children?”

  Roger’s body shook with laughter for quite a while before he could respond. “Hardly! These are my employees.” He shot a stern glance toward them both. “Well, they’re my employees for now, anyway.”

  “Great!” Her reply was bubbly. “They can help you make smart food choices at work.” She turned to the plastic cart and extracted a piece of plastic broccoli. “These are my food models.”

  “What the hell does that plastic crap have to do with my heart?” Roger growled.

  “Let me explain,” she said, pulling up a chair. “You had a blockage in your artery that caused a heart attack. Do you know what caused the blockage?”

  “I’m the captain of a ship, not some fucking heart doctor,” he rumbled.

  “I see. You’re a sailor, then,” said Jodi, not missing a beat. “Let me ask you this, do you have any hoses on board your ship?”

  “Yeah, we got a hose that pumps water out from the galley if necessary,” he replied, trying to keep it simple for Barbie.

  “And does that hose ever get clogged?”

  “Sure,” he replied. “Brine, barnacles, all kinds of shit can get in there and clog it up.” Roger turned to Grant. “By the way, check on the filter system today, Madsen.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Well,” Jodi resumed her analogy. “Your heart artery got clogged just like that hose. And what clogged it was fatty cells called plaque. A clogged artery is not good, Mr. Eaton. If you have another heart attack, you could die.”

  Roger sat quietly with a frown on his face. Grant was pleased to see him shut up and listen for once.

  “Hardening of the arteries is partly due to genetics. Do you have any family history of heart disease?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “The build
up of plaque is also related to your diet. Do you know which foods should be eaten only sparingly because they are not heart healthy?”

  Roger had a good idea but he was too pissed off to answer.

  “Deep dish pizza?” Grant offered, and Roger shot him the stare of death.

  “Yes!” Jodi replied. “Cheese, red meat, fried foods, cream sauces …”

  “All my favorites,” Roger cried mournfully.

  “I’m not saying you can never eat those foods again, Mr. Eaton. You just need to add in more heart-healthy foods, like this vegetable here.” She held up the stalk of broccoli, and Roger eyed it with disdain. “I’d like you to meet my friend here, Ms. Broccoli.” She placed the green blob on the top of the cart and began lining other plastic vegetables next to it.

  “Rog and vegetables don’t get along too well,” Grant explained. “They have a hate-hate relationship.”

  “Aw,” Jodi replied, petting the broccoli. “That hurts broccoli’s feelings when you say mean things about her like that.”

  Roger gawked at the dietitian and began to suspect the three people around him were having fun at his expense.

  “Yeah, she’s really good for your body, Rog.” Sophie jumped into the fray. “Ms. Broccoli lurves you.”

  “Aren’t those vegetables sexy?” Grant cooed, trying to hold in laughter. “Sexy, sexy veggies. You two need to go on lots of dates together.”

  “That’s it, you two. Get out!” Roger ordered.

  “You want us to leave, sir?” Grant asked innocently.

  “He and Ms. Broccoli need some time alone.” Sophie winked, taking hold of Grant’s arm.

  As they headed out the door, Roger called, “Taylor! Get some cash from the ticket vendor by the docks, and stock up the bar before the one o’clock cruise!”

  “Will do, Rog,” Sophie nodded.

  “I want receipts. And that tequila is coming out of both of your paychecks!”

  “Understood, sir,” Grant acknowledged.

  The pair left the hospital and walked toward the ship, choosing to forego the city streets and head south along shimmering Lake Michigan instead. Both were quiet, lost in thought. Grant finally spoke. “One thing I like about you is that you don’t talk all the time.”