Tom Hanks pleading his case with Meg Ryan. Or, it could be the complete opposite of vulnerability."
"Like?"
"Like Dan Akroyd on Saturday Night Live knocking on Gilda Radner's door. Pizza delivery. But when she opens it, he’s dressed in a shark suit."
Ty looked confused, and she reminded herself that age differences were differences. "Humor me and pretend that you were capable of watching TV at least by the eighties."
"I’ve seen I Love Lucy."
"Wrong decade."
"What's a couple of years one way or the other?" He closed the gap between them and kissed her, and she felt the wall of the elevator at the back of her head and didn't even know why she'd stepped back.
When he touched his lips to hers, she really wondered why she'd stepped back. They were warm and moved slowly, like he kissed with an Australian accent. She’d missed that the quick first time. She felt his hands circle her waist, pull her closer but not too close. Nice. Very nice. Her back arched involuntarily, but she straightened to a more appropriate pelvic distance, and the elevator dinged just like it had the first time, another angel getting his wings. She pulled back and saw that the doors had opened.
Mranda may have registered surprise when she’d first spotted them in a clinch, but by the time Gwen saw her, the look was narrow-eyed hatred. Gwen had always assumed female jealousy rates were over-inflated, and cat fights were nothing but urban legends. But for a second, she felt a fight or flight response to Mranda’s murderous face.
It was the smile that really scared her. Mranda's lips, still tight, spread in the kind of grin generally reserved for deranged supervillians. Ty missed it, reaching to keep the elevator door open, and then Mranda turned towards Gwen’s room. The door was open, and she hoped the scary smiler hadn’t been giving Missy a hard time.
"No, leave the pen. That’s university property."
Gwen headed closer, vaguely aware of Ty behind her, and a pair of boxes slid over her door jamb and stopped at Mranda’s feet. Gwen saw her cookbooks and Psych. notes dumped on top.
Mranda kicked the boxes toward her. "Gwen Melissa, this room isn’t yours at all, is it? It’s Melissa Gwen’s." Mranda flipped her hand over, the French manicured nails giving way to palm. "The university doesn’t allow squatters."
Gwen took a deep breath. If Napoleon had been a cheerleader… "I’ve paid for this room." She reached the door as Steve emerged.
He faced her, the bland camel v-neck sweater and button down shirt at odds with the pissy face. "I paid for the room, technically. For Missy. From Missy’s college fund. I’m the fund’s guardian. Did you forget that, Gwen?"
Forget that? She opened her mouth to assure him she’d never known that, but Mranda, with great energy, stepped between her and Steve and encouraged a very quiet Ty to join them. "I don’t believe you’ve met Gwen’s husband, Steve."
Steve stuck out his hand and smiled, and Gwen knew that face. Even in a crisis, the man was a breath away from asking Ty about his insurance needs.
She put her hands out flat in front of her to both calm herself down and be in a better position to crank them around Mranda’s neck. "Let’s stop this right now. I signed divorce papers. I helped save money for the college account, and I can spend some of it. I’m enrolled here."
Steve made a small noise, but she stopped him with a glare. He shrugged as if in defeat, but the self-satisfied look on his face made her heart kick up its beat.
She didn't want to hear his answer, but she had to ask anyway. "What have you done, Steve?"
He gave her a half smile. "Nothing any good parent wouldn’t do. You're not thinking very clearly, Gwen, so I took care of things. I enrolled Missy in an independent study voice class and someone needed to straighten out this housing confusion."
"My housing and tuition are paid this semester. A semester Missy chose not to attend."
Steve shrugged. "She’s here now. We’ve decided it’s the right thing to do."
Mranda patted his arm. "It is." She turned to Gwen, "It’s against dorm policy to--"
"Don’t." Gwen jabbed a finger near Mranda’s sternum. Maybe she could break it or deflate her breasts or both.
Mranda’s mouth opened to protest, but Gwen just stepped closer. "I’ve got twenty years and twenty pounds on you, little girl, and I will use both."