I will try to answer fb tomorrowEpilogue
January 28, 2001 – Super Bowl Sunday
“It’s been a month,” Kyle said seriously. “A month and four days. And I would think by now that you would have learned that you don’t get to control the remote.”
Isabel’s response was equally serious. “And I would have thought by now that you would understand if you don’t let me control the remote, I’m more than capable of freezing your balls.”
A stand-off ensued, dark eyes locked on blue ones, neither blinking. Isabel held the remote behind her back, just out of his reach, taunting him. Kyle tried to remain stern, but a little quiver started in the corner of his mouth. Before he could let her get the upper hand entirely, he pounced, flattening her on the couch. She let out a noise that was half laugh/half cry of protest as she held the remote far out to the side, away from his grabbing hands.
“I’m going to tickle you,” he warned, pinning her to the sofa. “I’m going to tickle you until you pee!”
“Stop!” she cried. “You know you can’t make me pee!” He’d been trying for weeks to tickle her until she lost control of her bladder.
“Sounds like a challenge to me,” he said menacingly, reaching down to wiggle his fingers against her ribs.
“Stop it!” she laughed. “I mean it, Kyle!”
“Or what?” he said, peering down at her. “Or you’re going to do what?”
“Don’t make me!”
“Oh, I’m terrified!”
On the heels of that taunt, she flicked his chest with a finger, sending a shock of static electricity skittering across his skin. Kyle yelped and jumped back, his hands going to the Houston Astros jersey Tess had bought him for Christmas as if he’d been shot. Isabel, tired from struggling, fell limply into the couch and giggled.
“Jesus, woman!” Kyle screeched. “You just about toasted my nipples!”
“And you still haven’t made me pee.”
“Sure, rub it in,” he said, sitting back in his spot and trying to soothe the tingle in his skin. “Damn.”
Isabel’s brow furrowed and she pushed herself up. Had she hurt him? She hadn’t meant to. They always wrestled and she always cheated with her powers. But with the look on his face, maybe she’d been a little too rough this time.
“Did I hurt you?” she asked sympathetically.
Kyle, never one to pass up the opportunity to shell out some guilt, hung his head and rubbed his chest. It worked. Isabel inched closer, laid her warm hand against his chest.
“I did, didn’t I?” she said guiltily. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hurt you. Let me see.”
He waited until her attention was fully fixed on his “wound”, then he pounced again, the remote control squirting from Isabel’s hand and skidding into the hallway.
“You cheater!” she screamed in indignation. “Get off me or I’ll really hurt you this time!”
Kyle laughed, his fingers dancing along her sides until she was laughing so hard she couldn’t even fight back. When he had her breathless and effectively surrendered, he stopped long enough to look into her eyes, then gave her a playful kiss.
“You still want to hurt me?” he whispered.
“Yes,” she pouted, ignoring his advances.
He gave her another kiss, a little longer this time. “Are you sure about that?”
“Oh, look,” Tess said from the doorway, totally breaking the mood for them. “It’s my turn to control the remote.”
Kyle looked over his shoulder to see the small alien holding the device, pointing it toward the TV. “Don’t!” he warned.
Tess crinkled her nose. “The game doesn’t come on for another two hours, Kyle.”
“But we have to watch the pregame,” he said, sliding off his girlfriend and helping her to sit up.
“We’ve been watching the pregame for two hours already,” Tess pointed out. “Haven’t we seen enough?”
“No, we have to watch the whole thing. It’s tradition.”
Her lips pursed into a pout, then her eyes drifted to his Astros jersey. “Speaking of which, where’s the flannel? I see Iz remembered hers.”
Kyle looked down at his shirt. “I like this shirt.”
“I’m glad, but you know the flannel is tradition,” she tossed back, then retreated to the kitchen to finish making some appetizers.
“She’s right,” Isabel said, tossing fuel on the fire. “And you can’t break tradition. Not on Super Sunday.”
Kyle frowned. He’d pretty much lived in Tess’s gift since he’d opened it, but tradition was tradition and who was he to not honor it?
As he was contemplating that, Isabel leaned over and whispered in his ear, “I’ll come and watch you undress if you’d like.”
Kyle’s eyes grew wide and he quickly jumped from the couch, grabbing Isabel by the hand and hurrying for his room. “You’re absolutely right, Tess,” he called. “Flannel shirts are tradition. I’ll go take care of that now.”
As Isabel stood in his doorway and watched him pull the jersey over his head, a small smile played across her lips. A year ago, she and Kyle wouldn’t have been found in the same room together. A year ago, he didn’t know about aliens, he didn’t know her secret. A year ago, he was just a dumb jock to her, not even worthy of a second glance.
But now, with so much water under the bridge, he knew her secret and liked her anyway. He wasn’t just a dumb jock – he was actually very insightful and unbelievably funny. Odd, when he was captain of the football team and she was the Ice Queen of West Roswell High, they never stood a chance to be happy together. Now, with all of that stripped away, she found that she could be happy with him.
And she’d never thought that “happy” would include all of the NFL playoffs, the college Bowl games, the BSC championship game and now the Super Bowl. On top of it, just last week he’d joyfully announced that pitchers and catchers were soon to report to spring training, which meant a whole new sport for them to turn into tradition.
“Look,” Kyle said, breaking her from her thoughts. “My nipples are singed.”
Isabel laughed as she watched him rub them.
“Harpy,” he muttered, pulling on a flannel shirt. “You’ll get yours later.”
And later she did. Parked in the lot of the mini-mart, on the half-time race for wings, the windows of the little red Mustang fogged into perfect privacy glass.
“You’re going to be late,” Isabel said breathlessly, between kisses.
“Super Bowl halftime is longer than normal,” he replied, trailing his lips along her throat.
“Not this long,” she sighed. “You’re going to have to do the dishes for a week.”
“I don’t care,” he replied before taking her lips in his. “I’d do the dishes for a year for you.”
Inside, Isabel felt warm and happy. It was the most perfect thing anyone had ever said to her.
THE END