Is this any way to treat a princess?

The big hat went on over my tiara completing my look with the loose coverup. “Now only people who know you will recognize you as a princess,” Mom joked.

That set me off into a fit of giggles. The idea of being a princess already had me so giggly that anything seemed funny, but going on a laughing jag while wearing a tight corset makes you dizzy. Which also seemed funny.

Rory didn’t help things by making faces at me when I would almost recover. “Stop that!” I protested.

He grinned at me. “No one will need to spend money on liquor for you, Kissy, just a few good knock-knock jokes and you’re done.”

Mom put in sternly, “No one better be planning on buying any liquor for her, she’s underage.”

“No problem, Ms Parker, so am I. I won’t be twenty-one until October.”

Neither of us mentioned the tiny bit of wine we had had at Rory’s cousin’s restaurant, but imagining Mom’s reaction to that set me off into more giggles. It wouldn’t be funny if it happened but thinking about it was so hilarious, I really thought I might pass out.

Mom swatted me on my padded butt to get my attention then put a paper bag over my head, after removing my hat. I kept going “Hee, hee, hee?” but it did seem to help after a bit.

“Do I need to take a supply of paper bags?” Rory suggested with a grin.

I made a choking sound but Mom said, “Go wait outside, you’re not helping, Mr Beeson.” And that almost set me off again.

“We need to fix your makeup,” Mom told me after Rory closed the door and she removed the bag.

“Hoo, boy,” I said. I felt happy and a bit silly but I could tell from inside that my face was a mess. Laughing like that is always going to squeeze out a few tears.

“It’s mostly the mascara, we need to see if we can get waterproof in that shade.”

“Uh, huh,” I said. “I really like the emerald green.”

Mom looked at me critically. “Let’s get you back to your dresser.” She took my hand like I was a little kid and led me back to my own room. This struck me as funny, too, and I had to suppress more giggles.

In front of the mirror with the big lights, Mom used makeup pads to remove some of the makeup and then carefully reapplied lower eyeliner and mascara. I watched what she did and wondered how soon I would get to be that quick and sure with the tools. I knew I couldn’t have done it just then.

She gave me a kiss on the cheek when she finished and said, “Now, behave cause if this happens again, you’ll likely have to take everything off and start over.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said then took her hand in both of mine and gave it a squeeze. “Thank you.”

She led the way back to the front door, towing me like a barge. She put the hat back on my head, gave me another kiss on the cheek and opened the front door. “Mr Beeson?” she called while handing me my purse. “You’d better get going if you’re going to be in Newport by one. And take Gigglebox with you.”

Rory hopped down from the cab of his truck where he may have been listening to music and grinned at us.

Mom pushed me forward, whispering, “Watch yourself but have fun.”

“Kissy, you look great,” Rory commented. “Without the paperbag, I mean.”

“You’re still a doof, Mr Beeson,” I replied, pretending to scowl at him.

“Have her back by ten p.m.,” Mom ordered him.

“Yes, ma’am,” he agreed leading me around to the passenger side. I could feel the heat of the sun on my face and hands and another kind of a heat from Rory. He opened the truck door and easily lifted me up to the elevated seat with his hands around my waist. I slid into the cushioned leather and tugged on my skirt to make sure it was all inside with me as he closed the door.

I felt light and happy, watching Rory race around to his side of the truck. Mom said something to him as he passed her and I saw him laugh. I waved at Mom as Rory climbed in then put my face up to be kissed once we were moving and around the corner.

“You haven’t fastened your seatbelt,” Rory chided when we stopped at the next intersection.

“Those things are vicious,” I complained, meaning the seatbelt fasteners. “I don’t want to break another nail.

He reached across to snap my belt closed. “Yes, princess,” he teased. “I’ll protect you from all sorts of vicious machinery, just make sure I don’t get a click-it-ticket.”

“Okay,” I agreed. “I’ll remind you. But Mom says if I keep my nails nice, I can skip some of the housework I usually do.”

He blinked then shook his head. “You really are a princess. I can’t imagine my mother making such a deal with me or my sisters.”

“Well,” I said, “if their nails are as bad as yours, I can see why.”

He laughed. “Are you hungry?”

I shook my head. “Not really, but stop and get something if you like.”

He made the turn to go through the line at the Fatburger where we had met on Thursday. He ordered himself a large burger combo and a strawberry shake besides, then gave me the shake when it came.

“This thing is huge,” I said. “I’ll never finish it.”

“Don’t worry, drink what you want and I’ll finish it off.” He headed toward the Santa Ana Freeway but stopped in another parking lot to eat, practically inhaling his food. And he happily took the rest of the shake when I gave up on it, less than one third of the way down.

Moving again, he took Hollywood over to the I5 and we headed toward Orange County. Saturday traffic was light and we were making good time. Once we got into the flow, I relaxed a bit. I don’t drive and driving on freeways scares me, so I don’t talk to the driver until it I think it’s safe. I don’t feel the same about surface streets, so go figure.

Anyway, once we’re up to speed on the freeway, I asked Rory, “What did Mom say to you just before you got in the truck that made you laugh?”

He laughed again. “You sure you want to know?”

“Now, I have to know,” I insisted.

“She told me to spank you if you got another giggle fit,” he said, glancing at me with a big grin.

I’m sure my mouth hung open for a moment because he laughed some more. “She did not!” I protested.

“She did,” he said. “I quote, ‘Give her a few swats on the butt if she can’t stop the giggles again—or if she gets out of line.’”

I know I turned as red as my hair. Mom had given my date permission to spank me if I got out of line? I didn’t say anything and Rory glanced at me again, looking amused.

I tried to process Mom saying such a thing. She had taken a swat at my padded butt earlier—and, that was it. She knew I was wearing padding and that probably Rory did not know. A spanking was not going to hurt—and—and what?

Well, it might be embarrassing but it—it sounded exciting in a distinctly odd way. I couldn’t possibly get any redder so Rory wouldn’t know, but I was embarrassing myself with my own thoughts. Did I want to get spanked? If it wouldn’t hurt, so it was kind of just play-acting? I resisted the urge to squirm.

I giggled. Rory quirked an eyebrow.

“What could I do that would be getting out of line?” I asked, trying to look innocent. That never worked on Mom but it seemed to have some effect on Rory.

“Oh, ho,” he said. “Um—let me think? Uh—doing something dangerous? Or trying to get me into trouble?”

“Poo,” I said. “I would never do something like that.”

He tried to grin sideways without taking his eyes off the road.

“Are you pitching today?” I asked, changing the subject.

“Uh, no, I pitched yesterday. Six innings and gave up only one run.” He looked pleased.

“So, where are you going to be playing, and uh, where do I sit?”

“Right field for me, unless they need me at third base. And you get to sit in the family and friends seats behind the visitors’ bench.”

I actually knew more about baseball than almost any other sport, so I knew that would be on the right hand side, behind first base. “We should be able to see each other pretty well, then.”

“Uh, huh,” he agreed. “And you’ll be easy to spot in that big hat with the white dress.”

I giggled. “Do any of the other players have their girlfriends at the game?”

“Yeah, some, some even have wives. This is a pretty young team, though, no one over twenty-two. Or they would already be in the minors.”

“Huh? This isn’t minor league ball?”

“No. This is a development league. The whole league is sponsored by colleges and the Major League organization…. It’s complicated. They’d have to pay us if we were in the minors.”

“You’re not getting paid?”

He shook his head. “Just a stipend for travel and food. I’m on scholarship and this is college work so it counts, and I get a bit of money for that, too. But NCAA rules say they can’t pay us to play.”

“That sucks,” I commented.

“Yeah, more for some of the guys than for me. I mean, my folks live right here, so I can go home or get money from them if I need it. They pay the insurance on my ride, too,” he tapped the steering wheel, “and that ain’t cheap.”

I nodded. “I bet.” I knew next to nothing about car expenses but Mom had commented more than once about how much she saved on insurance by not needing to have me listed as a driver of her car.

I changed direction again. “So, when you’re out in the field, there are still guys on your team on the visitor’s bench?”

“Yeah, we have like twenty-five players on the team, and only nine on the field. But it’s not like in the pros—in a development league, almost everyone gets to play every game, except guys who are just pitchers, maybe.”

“But you play in the field on days you don’t pitch?”

“Most of the time, sometimes not for the whole game. Like if someone else needs time in the field.” He thought about that for a moment. “It’s complicated,” he said again. “See, I might not make it in the pros as a pitcher so it’s good to have experience at other positions.”

“Oh.” Rory seemed so competent and confident that I was taken a bit back by the thought that he knew he might not make it to the next level of play. Him showing me a bit of vulnerability like that was sweet.

But I still wanted to deliver my zinger. “So,” I said, “any of the guys sitting on your bench as cute as you?”

He laughed. “Nope,” he said. “I’m easily the cutest.” Same old Rory, after all.

“Then,” I suppressed a giggle to keep on talking, “if I were to flirt with any of them while you were in the field, would that be getting out of line?”