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naturally!
    There was no reason to get into a quake over the idea of it. She ought to be giving him alluring glances and inviting smiles. She was a little cold in the March air. She’d wait until she’d showered, washed her hair and was dressed. Then she would begin.
    What if he turned her down flat? There wasn’t the time to wait for clues of reciprocating attraction. It was very like men traveling. No time for the preliminaries, just, “How about it?”
    She found she had some qualms over the abruptness of her past refusals. She could have been kinder. She’d always been so insulted, she’d been rude. What if Chas said to her, “Get lost, dummy!” as she’d said that first time. Or her exasperated, “Good God!” not even a week ago.
    Men couldn’t score every time. They were bound to meet some Amy Abbott Allens here and there. It must be dreadful for men to be turned down. With all this sweat of preparation, if it was her lot to be the man, and Chas as a woman did agree, she’d probably shrivel up with nerves and wouldn’t be able to do anything! Why did men keep trying?
    Chas said, “I don’t want you to chill. You get in the shower first. Do you need your back scrubbed?” His inquiry was polite.
    She blurted an, “Oh, no!” and closed the bath door. She scrubbed her hair. She’d never shared a hotel room with anyone. She never had to sort out shampoo or razors or anything like that. How strangely intimate to see Chas’s things mingled with hers.
    She blow-dried her hair before she realized she hadn’t brought in her clothes. There was a knock on the door and she jerked on the wet swim robe, clutching it to her before she asked, “Yes?”
    “I have a choice of things for you to wear.”
    She opened the door and laughed. He leaned forward and smiled as he said, “You look charming.”
    In something of a fluster, she chose a long, silky, T-shirt type pullover that came to her calves. It was a splashy blue and lovely. She again closed the bath door, replaced the robe with the gown and put on enough makeup to simply look healthy. She tidied the bath and walked out, saying, “It’s all yours.”
    He was still smiling as he looked down her body. “Very nice.”
    “Am I supposed to help you find something to wear?” How bold she sounded!
    He wondered, did she know what sort of reply he could give to that? “I have slacks and a shirt. Do they meet with your approval?”
    “Well, I’m not sure. What else do you have?” She smiled, but she bit her lower lip. She needed some practice. She felt so blatant!
    He led her into the bedroom, her bedroom, and opened her closet to reveal his clothes hanging intimately next to hers. “The tux is for the wedding, but there’s plenty of time to have it freshened and pressed.”
    “A bit formal,” she decided.
    “Blue suit? Shirt and tie?”
    “Well, I’m not quite that formal.”
    “Slacks and shirt?” He grinned.
    “Perfect.”
    He laughed and rumpled her hair, and she laughed an excessively delighted little female laugh that startled her. She’d never in all her life laughed in that asinine way!
    He said, “There’s a bunch going across the street to the Oyster Bar for supper. Or we can go for shrimp and oysters and then come back here and order a pizza. It’s a neat bar. Shall we go for a while? There’s a dance floor. Wear stout shoes.” And he went to the shower.
    She took advantage of his greater height and wore heels.
    * * *
    The Oyster Bar was a two-story building and the bar was upstairs. The entrance was two story and painted a very dark blue with antique farm tools set high on shelves. The wooden stair was sturdy and there was a strong handrail.
    Around the bar were tractor seats, and the room was large and painted the same dark blue. There were tables for four, with single, low lights above each of the booths around the wall, and there was a bandstand.
    There was a large video screen with rock and roll, country-western and sixties