Author's Note: I know there are in progress things awaiting updates, and I have been shuffling around on like 5 things this week (it was a good creative spurt, got full drafts done in many fics) but I was most in the mood for writing banter. And there's nothing like Girl H/P from their summer friendship days, for good bantering opportunities :)
So now I give you the promised follow-up to the bikini shopping story, the pool party at Dave's. But like all 'Hotch & Em go to a party' fics, somehow we ended up with a full 'pre-party' chapter. It happens every time.
Regardless, it's a fun little diversionary bit. Hope you enjoy :)
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Prompt Set #32 (July 2011)
Show: Corner Gas
Title Challenge: Shirt Disturber
Pretty Girls, Pool Parties & Pot Bellied Pigs
Hotch paused for a moment outside of Emily's door to push his sunglasses up and back onto his head. Then he raised his fist.
After two quick raps, he stood there for five seconds.
Three more raps . . . ten more seconds . . . still, nothing.
Sensing this day was perhaps starting off on the wrong foot, he took a breath to holster the faint bubbling of crankiness that was threatening his good mood . . . as hard as he tried crankiness was often still his default reactionary mode . . . and then slowly exhaled.
Okay . . . he decided with a degree more of internally noticeably patience . . . he'd try one more time with the knocking approach, and if she still didn't answer, he'd break out his cell phone.
With this perfectly reasonable . . . calm . . . approach decided on, Hotch lifted his fist for four more hard . . . rapid succession . . . knocks. And though he kind of felt like the Big Bad Wolf doing it . . . that . . . finally worked.
Because not five seconds later he heard a harried and distant, "I'M COMING! I'M COMING!" floating through door. His remaining flicker of irritation melted as his lips began to twitch.
"COME FASTER!" He yelled back.
Just then the door whipped open and an extremely rumpled and sleep eyed Emily stood in front of him. She was grinning from ear to ear.
"That was VERY dirty, sir!" She said with a smirk.
Sometimes he was just as bad as Dave . . . she loved it.
Hotch looked down at Emily with a completely blank expression.
"I have no idea what you're talking about Prentiss."
Of course that was a bold faced lie. He'd said what he'd said solely for her amusement. And seeing her chuckle as she stepped back, he knew that his mission had been fully accomplished.
Good thing . . . he thought as he stepped over the threshold . . . because making Emily laugh was now a task on his daily to do list. It was right up there with his call to Jack.
A vital activity to maintain his peace of mind.
"So," he continued drolly while slipping his arm around Emily's waist and leaning down to kiss her cheek, "I see that you're ready to go at ten sharp, just like you promised."
Judging by her messy hair and state of complete undress . . . she was wearing a long yellow cupcake t-shirt covered in a short pink robe that she'd obviously only yanked on to answer the door . . . she'd just woken up.
"I know, I'm sorry," Emily clucked apologetically as Hotch pushed the door shut behind them and flipped the lock, "I forgot to set my alarm. But I washed my hair last night, so all I have to do is just jump back in the shower really quick."
Though the sequence of her dressing plans made total sense to her, Emily could see from the furrowed brow she was getting from Hotch, that they made no sense to him.
"But," Hotch tipped his head, "if you already washed your hair last night, presumably in the shower, then why do you have to get back in the shower? What could you have been doing just in bed that you could have gotten that dirty?"
As soon as the words were out of his mouth . . . and he saw the flush of bright scarlet hit Emily's face . . . Hotch immediately wrinkled his nose.
"Sorry, forget I asked that. Though," then a thought popped into his head and he looked around worriedly, "you are alone, right?"
Though he would have otherwise had no earthly reason to expect that Emily wasn't alone . . . after all she KNEW that he was coming over to pick her up so she should have cleared any 'gentlemen' friends out of the house an hour ago . . . now that the thought had popped into his head, he couldn't pop it back out.
And he REALLY wished it would go.
Because he just absolutely did NOT want to have the image of Emily having sex with anyone, stuck in his head. It was disturbing on many levels.
Not the least of which he felt like he was invading her privacy or something.
"Of COURSE I'm alone," Emily huffed in a combination of irritation and embarrassment, "what kind of a SKANK do you think I am?"
GOD! How could he even ASK her that?
"Skank?" Hotch sputtered in astonishment as Emily pulled herself out of his grasp with an annoyed grunt, "what in God's name would make you think that I was calling you a SKANK?"
Over these past few months of learning 'Emily Vocabulary,' Hotch knew that 'skank' was pretty much the worst thing that you could all a woman . . . next to of course the C-word, or 'Paris Hilton,' though Emily seemed to consider all terms interchangeable . . . so he wasn't sure how the hell she had inferred that he would EVER, under ANY circumstances, choose to use such an offensive word when describing her or her dating activities!
"Well," Emily shot Hotch a nasty scowl as her arms automatically crossed in a protective stance across her chest, "you know that I'm not dating anyone right now. So what would you call a girl that would pick up some random dude and do . . . do," she flapped her hand in disgust, "random dirty dude sex, KNOWING full well that she had another guy," she shot him another scowl "her BOSS no less, coming over to her house a few hours LATER? That's pretty much the book definition of SKANK!"
That was Paris HILTON skank! If Paris Hilton had a job of course!
Which she didn't.
'Freeloading skank,' she thought with disgust.
Though Hotch knew that he was pretty far inside the doghouse . . . Emily was both offended and angry, a dangerous combo when dealing with any woman, let alone one trained in krav maga . . . he couldn't stop the twitching of his lips at her choice of 'dude' phrasing.
"Doing random dirty dude sex," he repeated seriously with a clearing of his throat, "that does sound like some pretty dirty sex. Like there are drifters involved maybe."
Though Emily tried to hold her scowl a bit longer . . . Hotch's remark had been VERY unchivalrous(!) . . . as soon as she saw the faint outline of Hotch's dimple, her own mouth began to quiver. And that in combination with both the phrase . . . and the full mental image . . . of the 'random dirty drifter dude sex' in her head, and she gave up being angry completely.
It just wasn't worth it.
"Shut up!" She snorted with a laughing smack to Hotch's chest, "I got flustered!"
"Yes, apparently," Hotch responded with an amused shake of his head, "though for future reference," he shot her an eyebrow, "you don't need to describe any manner of 'dude.' You can simply respond, 'we're alone,' and that will be sufficient to close the topic."
Again, NO images, NO specifics!
"Well why did you ask me if I had sex last night?" Emily huffed, "that's just not right. That's something DEREK would do, Hotch."
Him having a bit of the Bawdy Dave in him was one thing, but if Hotch was going to pick up the dirtier aspects of Derek's personality too, well, she was going to have to put her foot down there.
She got enough of that crap at her desk.
"But I DIDN'T ask you if you had SEX last night!" Hotch yelled back in his own fluster, "I would NEVER ask you that, Prentiss!"
As soon as he said it, Hotch flashed back on his prior phrasing and he scowled.
"Okay," he grunted as his hand curled into an irritated fist, "maybe I did ask you that."
But seeing Emily's triumphant look at his admission, Hotch immediately shook his head, "but I didn't mean to. Obviously. It was just poor phrasing." And then he shook his head, "but this just all circles back around to my original question. Why are you taking another shower when you just took one last night?"
Christ! He'd conducted interrogations that were less painful than this conversation.
After taking a second to process that Hotch's inquiry about her sex life truly had been a simple misunderstanding . . . which was an ENORMOUS relief to her . . . Emily refocused on his earlier question.
The second shower.
"Did you forget how flipping tiny that bathing suit is?" She asked with a quirk of her brow, "I need to make sure that everything," she waved her hand haphazardly around her leg/mid-drift area, "is all smooth and presentable."
Yes, she was bikini waxed fresh from Wednesday, but she still needed to ensure that there was no embarrassing stubble popping up anywhere. On average, she wore a bathing suit in public like three times a year, it would be nice if she actually looked 'hot' when she did it.
And it was ESPECIALLY important now that she was creeping up on forty.
She might only have a few more years to flash this bod around!
As he considered Emily's reasoning about the need for a second shower, Hotch's brow rose up appraisingly.
"Well," his gaze dropped as he eyed her figure appreciatively, "based on what I can see, everything's looking pretty presentable."
And given that he had dropped Emily off for her bikini wax on Wednesday . . . he could see everything up to the upper thigh area right now . . . he was QUITE sure that everything under the few inches of cupcake fabric, was MORE than presentable for public view. And by public view, he knew that Emily was specifically worried about any comments that Derek might make.
He was . . . like all of them . . . very much looking forward to the pool party, and had been pestering all of the women to find out what exactly they were going to be wearing.
Aside from Emily's blue string bikini . . . which was going to be a general surprise for the team at large . . . Hotch was aware of both Garcia and JJ's responses to Derek's question. Which were respectively a, "Sprite colored, sparkly one piece with matching sarong," and "a tarp."
Hotch was really curious about the tarp.
"Thanks," Emily said with a little smile as she moved forward, leaning up on her tiptoes to kiss Hotch's cheek, "but I still need to make sure that it's all bikini presentable."
For that totally Hotch . . . completely totally sweet . . . visual assessment and follow up compliment, he'd now been completely forgiven for the inadvertent skank innuendo.
"So," she slipped her arm through his to begin tugging him into the kitchen, "you know coffee's in the canister on the counter, help yourself to whatever you find in the cabinets and fridge, and I'll be back down in like ten minutes."
Ten minutes . . . she added to herself . . . give or take twenty.
Hotch looked over the kitchen . . . focusing in on the coffee canister for a moment . . . and then back down to Emily again.
"We're really looking at more like thirty minutes, right?" He asked with a faint smirk. To which Emily nodded.
"Yes," she smiled, "maybe even forty."
The man was on the verge of knowing her better than she knew herself.
"Okay," Hotch pursed his lips, "just checking to see whether or not it was worth it to make the coffee." He patted her back, "all right, get moving. We're due at Dave's by noon'ish and I'm assuming that you still want to stop at Target on the way there."
That was why he was at her apartment at ten am even though the party wasn't for another two, plus hours. She wanted to go shopping for sunblock.
And HE had apparently lost his balls sometime over the 4th of July.
"Right," Emily nodded as she started walking backwards out of the kitchen, "but I promise I won't be long in Target." And knowing he wasn't all that keen about the shopping trip . . . even it was a brief one . . . she added with a saucy wink, "I'll make it up to you later."
She was thinking a shoulder rub . . . the man walked with enough tension in his body to choke a cat. And though she had no idea if 'choke a cat' was really a phrase, it kind of sounded like one.
But she could see from the twinkle in Hotch's eye that he was about to propose something else besides a backrub.
So she wagged her finger at him.
"Uh, uh," she emphasized with an amused head shake, "not that kind of makeup. I'm offering an above the waist only activity."
Seeing Emily immediately start to get pink as she realized what she'd just offered up as payment . . . her breasts, Hotch couldn't stop the grin spreading across his face.
"Wow!" He waggled his eyebrows, "can't wait to get to 'later'!"
"Ha!" Emily barked a laugh as she continued backing away from his waggling eyebrows, "you'd have to do a HELL of a lot more than help me buy sunscreen to cop a free feel mister!"
And with that she turned on her heel and ran up the staircase.
Hotch watched Emily scamper off with a twitching of his lips. Then he leaned forward slightly to project his voice.
"MAKE A LIST!" He yelled up the stairs as she disappeared over the landing, "I'M FREE WEDNESDAY!"
Hearing the laughter floating down over the bannister, Hotch smiled. And then with a faint huff he went in search of a coffee mug.
Forty minutes later Hotch finally heard the telltale flopping of Emily's flips flops in the upstairs hallway.
"I THOUGHT YOU DROWNED UP THERE!" He yelled over his shoulder while restacking the half dozen case folders Emily had previously piled neatly on the corner of her coffee table.
He had been keeping himself busy by signing off on her completed evaluations.
"Well," Emily responded drily as she started down the stairs lugging her beach bag complete with towel and outfit to change into later, "if you thought that I had drowned up there, then I'm a little hurt that you didn't at least come drag me out of the tub."
"I would have eventually," Hotch muttered as he clicked the pen shut, "but I was busy. So," he dropped the writing instrument back on the table as he turned to face her, "are you . . ."
Seeing Hotch's eyes widen as his sentence trailed off, Emily paused at the foot of the stairs.
"What's wrong?" She asked worriedly as the beach bag fell to the floor and her hand immediately came up to touch her mouth, "do I have a toothpaste mustache?"
She'd been in such a hurry that she hadn't checked the mirror again before she ran out of the bathroom.
"What?" Hotch asked with a blink while simultaneously shooting his gaze up to Emily's face, "uh, no," he shook his head slowly as he stood up from the couch, "no mustache. I was just," his eyes crinkled as he walked closer, "admiring the view."
And QUITE the view it was! Though he didn't know where the hell she was going to be strapping her pistol.
He couldn't even see a place to hide a box of Tic Tacs.
Feeling a faint blush touch her cheeks, Emily smiled as her fingers brushed over the new white mini-skirt she had bought to wear over her string bikini bottoms. The skirt had both a flare and a little blue pinstripe along the bottom.
It was cute.
And short. Very short. Her legs were bare up to about mid-thigh, so she was carrying her gun in her bag. They were really just going to Dave's house . . . where there would be multiple armed agents . . . and home, so she wouldn't need it anyway. But Hotch's rules . . . due to the nature of the beasts they chased . . . were weapons carried at all times.
So, she was carrying.
And as to the shortness of the skirt, given that she was wearing the bathing suit underneath . . . and a bathing suit ALSO counted as leaving the house clothes . . . she didn't feel the length of the micro-mini was too "risqué."
Risqué being one of her mother's derogatory terms for inappropriate outfits that had been stuck in Emily's head since childhood.
Still though, risqué or not, she knew that she was exposing much more leg than usual. Which was why she thought that it was rather odd . . . her eyebrow started to creep up . . . that Hotch wasn't checking them out.
Granted he'd said he admired the view, but apparently not THAT much if he'd lost interest so quickly.
Not that she thought her body was so incredible that he wouldn't be able to tear his eyes off of it, but seriously, she did have VERY nice legs. And that was not bragging, that was just a fact. And the fact that Aaron Hotchner . . . as a red blooded hetero male who very much enjoyed flirting with her . . . wasn't even taking the opportunity to ogle those very nice legs for more than a second, well . . . she felt a little wave of personal indignation at his lack of interest . . . that was just INSULTING!
And she was just about to poke him . . . and most definitely embarrass herself while asking why he wasn't checking out her legs . . . when she suddenly realized WHY he wasn't checking out her legs.
He was checking out her boobs.
Like, eyes the size of saucers while he stared at them, intently. And given that she knew this wasn't the first time that Hotch had seen upper lady bits . . . for one thing he had a kid . . . she realized that maybe there was something PARTICULARLY fascinating about her personal upper lady bits at that particular moment in time. And as such, perhaps it would behoove her to check that out.
So her eyes dropped down.
Oh geez . . . she started to feel her face get warm again . . . that was a big oops. It seemed that in her 'hastiness' to get ready . . . she had felt really badly that Hotch was twiddling his thumbs because she'd overslept . . . she forgot to close her blouse up completely.
She definitely should have closed another two (okay, maybe four) buttons on the white shirt that she'd slipped on over the string bikini top.
Because at present . . . looking down from her angle . . . she had cleavage basically all the way down to her navel! And given the way the shirt was clinging to the outer curves of her breasts, the exposure seemed much more noticeable . . . and inadvertently sexual . . . than if she'd been going completely without an outer covering.
Okay . . . her fingers hurriedly moved to slip a few more buttons into their chaste little holes . . . there was no nipple, but still, she definitely looked like a jiggly party queen.
"And here I thought that we were starting early with the above the waist treat," Hotch lamented, "but now I see that you're covering it all up."
It was a nice show while it had lasted though.
Emily's head snapped up as she shot Hotch a sheepish grin, "yes, well, either way you got your 'special viewing.' And really," she rolled her eyes slightly at her own fashion misstep, "if your view got any more 'special,' you would have been able to claim a rounding of second base."
Thank God it was just Hotch who had seen that and not Dave's entire group of partygoers. Or worse . . . she held back a shudder . . . all of the little families doing school shopping at Target.
Now THAT would have been embarrassing!
Hotch chuckled as he reached out to brush Emily's fingers away from her shirt.
"Let me do it," he said with a snort as he began undoing the last two buttons that she'd slipped together, "you're putting them in all the wrong holes."
She was cute when she was flustered though.
"What?" Emily frowned as she looked down at Hotch's fingers now nimbly adjusting the extremely crooked line of her shirt, "oh. Thanks."
Yeah, definitely a good thing that Hotch had picked her up today.
And so she stood there patiently while he buttoned her up. Though her lips began to twitch slightly when she saw him lean back to eyeball her new line of cleavage.
Apparently it did not meet with his approval.
Because he reached out to button one more button before nodding to himself. And then he began straightening her collar.
"You know," she whispered affectionately, "it's not too late for you to try out for Project Runway."
Of course everything he created would have to come with a little suit jacket, but still . . . she felt a little stirring of warmth for him . . . he clearly had a bit of artistic flair in this area that nobody had realized before.
And now she was kind of wondering where it came from.
"I don't know what that is," Hotch murmured as he brushed Emily's hair back behind her shoulder, "and I don't want you to tell me. Okay," his eyes snapped up to meet hers, "all set. Now you won't cause any accidents out in the street."
Well, now it was less likely . . . his eyebrow inched up as he checked her less revealing outfit over again . . . those legs of hers could still be registered as lethal weapons.
"Thanks," Emily smiled as she stepped forward to give Hotch a thank you hug, "you're a pal."
It was nice having somebody around to help with stupid little stuff like this.
Not that she wasn't generally a grown person fully capable of dressing herself in 'leaving the house' clothes. But, well, obviously sometimes there was the slight wardrobe glitch.
Like when your tits are half hanging out of your blouse.
"You're welcome," Hotch murmured as he slipped his arms around Emily's waist, "But really," he continued as she sighed against his chest, "it was vitally important that we got you covered up. Otherwise there wouldn't have been any of this 'hugging business' today."
For a moment Emily had no idea what Hotch was talking about, but then suddenly she flashed on their bikini shopping trip and the 'aborted hug' outside the dressing rooms.
"Oh yeah," she huffed, "I'd forgotten about the dressing guidelines. Hmph," she grunted as he patted her back, "then that IS a good thing that we got me all fixed up then."
Because she wasn't going to have these hugs removed from the agenda . . . he was way too warm and cuddly.
And if anyone in the Unit ever heard her use the adjectives "warm and cuddly" to describe their boss, they'd probably think that she was on crack.
"Exactly," Hotch tipped his head back slightly to look down at Emily, "so are we ready to go now?" Then his brow narrowed suspiciously, "and what else are we picking up at Target besides sunscreen?"
Though she'd only specifically outlined sunscreen, they could technically get that at any of the thirty or drug stores that they were going to pass between their homes and Rossi's. So he figured that there was another purpose behind her specific request for a Target side trip.
And sure enough, when Emily tipped her head back to look at him, he could tell from the little smile that there was something else on the shopping agenda.
"Yes, I am ready, and yes, oh wise one, there was something else that I wanted to get besides sunscreen. They have these adorable pigs on sale and I'd . . .
"Sorry," Hotch interrupted with a worried brow, "they have these adorable WHAT on sale?"
It sounded like she'd said . . .
"PIGS!" Emily repeatedly excitedly, "ceramic obviously, not," she rolled her eyes slightly, "you know, livestock."
That would be very messy.
"Oh good," Hotch responded with a faint smirk, "because I'm pretty sure that your condo board would frown on you moving live pigs into the building."
He was actually genuinely relieved that the pig was ceramic. Though he knew that most people would have assumed that from the get go, Emily had been musing the other day about maybe getting a pet. At the time she'd thought perhaps a fish tank . . . little fuss or muss . . . but he'd been worried that maybe she'd subsequently seen some article about those Vietnamese potbellied pigs and decided that was the way to go.
Not that he necessarily thought Target stocked Vietnamese potbellied pigs, but really he had no fricking clue where you'd buy a thing like that.
Target was as good a place to start looking as anywhere else.
"Oh, I don't know about that," Emily responded with an annoyed huff as she walked over to pick up her keys from the sideboard, "have you met the guy in 3B? Roger something. That's a porcine specimen if I ever saw one. Last month," she continued while grabbing her bag from the floor, "he tried to pick me up in the laundry room. Had to wave him off with a bottle of bleach. "
"Bleach?" Hotch repeated in confusion as Emily slipped her bag onto her shoulder and started walking back towards him, "what were you going to do with a bottle of bleach? Throw it at his head?"
If so, seemed like a bottle of fabric softener would have made an easier weapon to aim.
"No," Emily simultaneously shook her head while slipping her hand into Hotch's, "he was folding a load of colors when I walked in there. Told him if he didn't back off to his corner of the laundry room, I was going to dump the whole bottle into his basket of clean laundry. That," she rolled her eyes as she and Hotch began walking down the hall, "sent him running for the exit."
Hotch grunted as he tightened his grip on her hand.
"Well, if it happens again," he said as they approached the door, "I think you should just clock him with the fabric softener. You can't be too careful if you're off by yourself like that in an isolated space," his expression softened as he looked down at her, "you know what can happen."
Too many bad things, that's what. And now he was going to be thinking of them every time she said she had laundry to do.
Seeing how worried Hotch was Emily immediately moved to allay his concerns.
"Hotch, I promise," Emily patted her bag, "I know your rules and I do always have my gun with me. Even in the laundry room," she tipped her head, "especially in the laundry room, really. It's down in the basement. So," she gave him a soft smile while leaning up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, "thanks for your concern, but you don't have to worry about me washing my delicates. I'll be fine. And that guy wasn't acting predatory," she added as Hotch flipped the dead bolt while still staring down at her, "he was just a dumbass with a bad lineup of corny come ons, and a little too persistent of an attitude."
Then Emily's fingers closed around the door knob as she added.
"Honestly, he was nothing. Threatening his clothes was more than enough incentive for him to run away. I didn't have to break out the laundry list, pun incidental, of damage that I could do to him personally."
And that was all damage she could have done quite easily without firing a shot.
"Good," Hotch nodded as he stepped back slightly so Emily could pull the door open, "I'm very glad to hear that you are always armed down there. That said," he continued as she stepped in front of him to go through the door, "if you do run into that guy again, or any guy really down there that isn't taking an immediate no for an answer, just shoot me a text and I'll come over and scare the shit out of him, okay?"
Even if he couldn't be there to look after her 24/7, he could at least take some active steps to make sure that she wasn't getting harassed in her own building. And given that he lived less than five minutes away now, he could pretty much be available for playing 'scary boyfriend' down in the laundry room, pretty much any time she needed him.
That's what friends were for.
"Thanks," Emily smiled as she stepped into the hall, "I'll remember that the next time 1D asks me to help him fluff his towels, or 2E asks me to help him figure out the rinse cycle," she furrowed her brow as Hotch pulled the door shut behind them, "I'm not sure really if that's supposed to be some weird sexual come on, or if he's just REALLY stupid, but either way, he does ask me every time I run into him."
It was possible he really was JUST that stupid, but she could have sworn that one day she heard him . . . from a distance . . . telling the doorman that he worked in an emergency room. In which case, Dr. Rinse Cycle was probably just a sleazebag.
Hotch's brow was twitching as he stopped to look down at Emily for a moment. Then he slipped his arm around her waist and tugged her to his side.
"Call me the next time you have laundry to do," his brow darkened as they started down the hall, "I'm coming over to have a talk with these idiots."
Again, he wasn't going to have her harassed in her own building. And any guy that wasn't taking an initial, "no, I'm not going to 'fluff' your towels' for an answer," clearly wasn't getting the hint fast enough.
He could just help move things along.
"K," Emily sighed happily as she leaned her head on Hotch's chest, "sounds like a plan."
Even if the laundry room guys were just pests and not predators, it would be nice if they would just go away. If ever you should be allowed to just mind your business and read your book without being hit on, it's while washing your underwear.
That wasn't so much to ask.
And now this lovely man . . . she patted the arm of the lovely man in question . . . was going to make sure that she could now wash her underwear in peace.
Super Hotch strikes again.
Which meant that now . . . they stopped at the elevator and Hotch he the button . . . it was time to move on to other, more pleasant, things.
"Soooo," she started slowly as the doors slid open, "when we get back later, do you want order a pizza? Or do you think we should get Chinese? Or maybe both? You know sometimes I like a little buffet thing."
With Hotch not picking Jack up until morning, he had promised to come back after the party and watch a movie with her.
She was thinking romantic comedy . . . though she had not yet told him that. Either way, she was sure that she could get him to stay late enough to sleep over.
"Prentiss," Hotch looked down in astonishment as they stopped onto the elevator, "that's like TEN hours from now. And you do realize that you're probably going to be stuffing your face full of burgers and dogs for at least eight of those ten hours. So how can you even THINK about ordering not one, but TWO additional meals when we get home?"
Of course he knew the woman had a legendary appetite, but come on, she was going to bust the strings on her bikini!
Emily tipped her head back to smile sweetly at Hotch.
"I like to plan ahead."
A/N 2: Again, I really do love to write them at this stage. If I could go back, and just write a continuous stream following them day by day in this period, it would be the best thing ever :)
I've got a couple more things about done, and I think I can get one more up for Sunday.