"Maybe it ain't hot."
"Then what?"
"Then I'll flip you for it," Hay-zus said. "I always wanted a shotgun like that."
FIFTEEN
Amanda Spencer was a little drunk. Matt Payne's usual reaction to drunken-even half-drunk-women was that they had all the appeal of a run-over dog, but again, Amanda was proving herself to be the exception to the rule. He thought she was sort of cute. Her eyes were bright, and she was very intent.
And, Jesus Christ, she was beautiful!
She was still wearing the off-the-shoulder blue gown she and Daffy's other bridesmaids had worn at Saint Mark's. He found the curvature of the exposed portion of her upper bosom absolutely fascinating. During the ceremony his mind had wandered from what the bishop of Philadelphia was saying about the institution of marriage to recalling in some detail the other absolutely fascinating aspects of Amanda's anatomy, in particular the delightful formation of her tail.
The ceremony had gone off without a hitch. Although Chad Nesbitt had been as tight as a tick, his condition hadn't been all that apparent, and except for one burp and one incident of flatulence that had caused some smiles and a titter or two, the exchange of vows had been appropriately solemn and even rather touching: Matt had happe
ned to glance at Daffy while the bishop was asking her if she was willing to forsake all others until death did them part, and she actually had tears in her eyes as she looked at Chad.
Outside Saint Mark's afterward, however, his plans to kiss Amanda tenderly and as quickly as possible were sent awry by Lieutenant Foster H. Lewis, Sr., of the 9^th District, who had been outside the church, seen Matt, and beckoned him over.
"Excuse me, please, Amanda," he said, and touched her arm, and she had smiled at him, and he'd walked over to Lieutenant Lewis.
"Yes, sir?"
"Are you on duty, Payne?"
"No, sir."
Lieutenant Lewis had examined him for a moment, nodded his head, and walked away.
By then Amanda had been shepherded into one of the limousines and driven off to the Browne estate in Merion. He had known that it was highly unlikely that Amanda would have gone back to his apartment with him before they went to the house for the reception, but it had not been entirely beyond the realm of possibility.
Matt had to drive out to the Brownes' place by himself.
But once there he had found her right away, by one of the bars, with a champagne glass in her hand that she, with what he thought was entirely delightful intimacy, had held up to his lips.
Chad had searched him out, by then more visibly pissed, and extracted a solemn vow that if something happened to him in the service, Matt would look after Daffy.
There had been an enormous wedding cake. Chad had used his Marine officer's sword to cut it. From the way he withdrew it from the scabbard and nearly stabbed his new bride in the belly with it, Matt suspected that it was no more than the third time the sword had been out of its scabbard.
An hour after that the bride and groom, through a hail of rice and bird seed, had gotten in a limousine and driven off.
And now, an hour after that, he and Amanda were dancing.
The vertical manifestation of a horizontal desire,he thought, delightfully aware of the pressure of Amanda's bosom against his abdomen, the brushing of his thighs against hers.
"I watched you during the wedding," Amanda said against his chest.
He pulled back and looked down at her and smiled.
"I saw your gun," she said.
"How could you do that?" he asked, surprised. "It's in an ankle holster."
"Figuratively speaking," she said, pronouncing the words very carefully.
"Oh," he said with a chuckle.
"Shipboard romance," she said.