He felt fine. Totally, totally fine. If he could just get one foot in front of the other, and going in the same direction, in a straight line, he would feel even more fine. His feet, though, had other plans.

He stumbled, bumping into the doorway on his way out of the Viper Room. Small, dark, and ultrahip, the usually celebrity and groupie-laden venue offered a night of live music and free flowing drinks. Even on a Monday night, one could not escape the fun at this legendary Sunset hotspot. He stopped in to catch a show and stayed for the after party. A little too much after party.

"Hey. Hey, dude. You're not driving, are you?"

JC turned in the direction of the voice, the tenor tone of the bartender behind the counter folding pristine white towels and piling them in a stack. He shook his head, stumbling through the doorway and out onto the sidewalk, teeming with people ducking and dodging out of his way.

"I walked. I jus' live up the hill."

That's what he thought he said. Looking back at the bartender, he wasn't sure that's what came out of his mouth. Oh, well. The night air would do him some good. Sober him up a little, maybe. Not that he was drunk. He felt fine. Totally fine.

A few minutes into the walk, he realized that maybe he lived further than he thought he did. He did always forget how steep that hill was. Maybe he wouldn't quite make it, since he was losing steam. And he couldn't seem to walk in a straight line. He wanted to... it just wasn't happening.

A flash burst on the edge of his vision, sparking mild irritation. He couldn't even be drunk in peace.  Couldn't they go find some child star on a crack binge? Some young starlet about to drive into a tree? What was so fucking interesting about him? And he was drunk in public...he'd never hear the end of it from his mom.

Across the street from the hardware store, a cabbie leaned against a white sedan. The light on top of the car, the light that signaled he was taking fares was dark, but maybe he could bum a ride. 

Hey!" He shouted, stepping into the street. Cars careened around him, horns whined and heads leaned out of windows to shout at him. "Sorry," he called after them. When it was safe, he stepped into the street again and crossed it, stumbling toward the cabbie. "Hey, buddy. Can I get a ride?"

The cabbie glanced back at his darkened taxi sign, then back to the weaving stranger and stared at him. "Where to?"

"Just up the hill," he said, pointing. In the wrong direction, though. And then turning around and pointing again. "Just up that hill."

The cabbie shook his head and took a long drag on his cigarette. The tip glowed red and then turned to ash, dropping to the sidewalk as he flicked it with his pinkie finger. Smoke spilled from his lips as he said, "Not worth it. I'm off duty, man. I'll spend more in gas than your fare would be."

"I'll take care o' you. Really. I jus' need to go up the hill."

"Sorry, out of service. It's not that far. You could walk it." He took another drag of his cigarette and averted his gaze from the drunken man pacing the sidewalk.

JC gave up, turned around and stumbled in the direction of the hill, again. Why did he live on a hill? Why did he walk down the hill in the first place? Why was he too drunk to walk home, now?

More flashes of light in the distance. His steps were more deliberate, slower as he tried not to stumble so much, and maybe no one would notice or recognize him. No such luck. A dirty little man sprinted across the street with a flip video camera raised and in his face. Everyone was paparazzi these days.

"JC Chasez!" They always called him by his full name. So unnecessary... how many other people in the world went by JC? Well, except for Jesus. But he didn't go by JC, ever. At least, he didn't think. "Where ya headed? Where ya been? You alright, man?"

"Fine. 'm totally fine," he said, now aware of how bad he slurred. He told himself to say nothing more. Keep walking. Try to walk straight, and not catch that crack in the sidewalk...fuck. All caught on tape. Fuck.

The little man scurried away, likely to upload his video report on something exciting and salacious, an eventful Tuesday morning in Hollywood...JC Chasez drunk on Sunset. Slow news day.

"Fuck. Me. I just want to go home." 

Sounds of laughter and music poured out of the open door of The Standard Hotel, just ahead of four giggly, talky, slightly drunk women. At the rooftop bar, the small group enjoyed an evening of cocktails, appetizers, great music and good company but like all good things, the evening had come to an end.

"Thanks for the party, you guys! I had fun!" Gabby Bolton slung the strap of her purse over her shoulder and beamed a bright smile at her group of friends.

"You're such a pooper," one of them whined, pouting. "C'mon with us! We're gonna go downtown."

Gabby smiled, shook her head no, and began to back out of the small crowd. "Nah, thanks. I'm tired and I still have a little packing to do. Love you guys, though.  I'll call before I leave town."

Breaking away from the pack, she took off in the opposite direction. It was late, early morning actually but the air had cooled and the city seemed quiet. It was a perfect night for a stroll. Not that she had any choice, because her car was parked four blocks away. It was the closest spot she could find at the last minute, since she'd been late to her own party.

Gabby smiled, wistfully walking Sunset Boulevard. Soon enough, she'd be homesick and wishing for a nice walk down the Strip-- the stretch of road between Beverly Hills and Hollywood. It was gaudy and overly done, flashy and normally a perpetual traffic jam of celebrities trying to be seen and people out trying to see them. To Gabby though, it was home. Had been home for eight long years, but now it was time to fly.

She hardly noticed him until he almost fell over in front of her. A man was slowly making his way down the sidewalk, quite obviously drunk and unsteady on his feet. He weaved from one side of the sidewalk to the other, mumbling something about ‘up the hill'.

Gabby glanced at him, thought he looked familiar, and then did a double take. It washim!

"JC?" She reached out to him, grabbed him by the elbow and tried to help him steady himself. His head bobbed as he turned around to face her. He had to tilt his head back to see her, his eyelids were so heavy, but when he could finally see her, he smiled.

"Hi, honey. Do I know you?"

"Kind of. You don't remember me, I'm sure. I did one of my first stories on *NSYNC. It was...well, it was a long time ago. Hey, Are you okay?"

"'m fine," he slurred, swaying. Gabby wasn't all that convinced.

"You almost bit the sidewalk. Where are you going?"

"Home. I jus' live up the hill. Right there." He pointed in a random direction that wasn't toward a hill.

"You're not driving, are you?"

"I walked. I jus' live-"

"Up the hill," she finished, nodding.

Gabby couldn't give a shit about most celebrities. In return, most probably felt the same toward her. To some, she was the enemy. The Press. Not the tabloids, mind you, but she had made more than one enemy with her own brand of ‘spin'. When the editor called you into his office and laid on the guilt about selling copies, sometimes you wrote what you could just barely get away with. Even if you felt like shit doing it, especially to the nice ones.

JC was one of the nice ones. And... well... she couldn't just walk away, leaving him to weave and bob up and down Sunset. The last thing she wanted to read in her daily blog surfing was a story dripping with sarcasm about yet another pop star with a promising future making a fool of him or herself, live via the internet.

Gabby looked around for a taxi, finding none but an out of service cabbie who didn't seem interested in picking up any fares. He leaned against his car, smoking a cigarette, oblivious to them both. She considered the unthinkable. Would he let her do it?

"Uh...so, maybe I could take you home. If you want? I'm safe, I promise."

He didn't take long to think about it. With a flop of his arms and a shrug of his shoulders he said, "Okay."

"Really?" She paused, one eyebrow raised in surprise. He agreed entirely too easily, without the argument or at least polite refusal she was expecting.  "Okay, hang on. I'm gonna get my car. Just... stay right here."

Gabby pushed him back until he was leaning against the brick wall of a pharmacy and ran, in heels, to her car parked half a block up the street. The two-door, dark blue Toyota had been a gift eight years ago. She could afford a new car, or at least a newer model, but she was a sucker for nostalgia and couldn't bear to part with such a symbolically large part of her life. The car had been her constant running partner and faithful companion, a two ton security blanket of sorts that had taken her across the country and then across LA. She still ran like a dream most times, though on occasion like a nightmare. An expensive one.

Gabby hopped into the driver's seat and shoved the key into the ignition. The engine sputtered before turning over and then purred like a kitten. "Good girl," she muttered, directing the car in a sharp U-turn across traffic and pulling over in front of the pharmacy where she'd left JC. He was still leaning against the wall in the same spot, completely motionless. People couldn't sleep standing up, could they?

The car rumbled in place as Gabby got out, jogged around to the passenger side and opened the door. "JC? You ready?"

His eyes popped open and his head jerked forward. "Yep," he said, pushing himself off the wall, crossing the sidewalk and folding himself into the car. Gabby reached across him with the seatbelt, snapping him into place. He chuckled, watching her. "Don't wanna fall out of the car."

"Nope, you sure don't." She shut the door and rushed around to the driver's side and snapped herself inside as well. "So you live up the hill?"

He nodded, his head bobbing back and forth. He pointed and motioned for her to move forward. "I'll show you," he said. "Go that way."

JC might have been near falling-down drunk, but he gave simple, easy to follow directions up the hill, about a mile from where Gabby picked him up. It would have been quite a walk while sober. There was no way he'd have made it home drunk. At least someone in this town thought enough to help him out. Her mind reeled with imaginary headlines-JC CHASEZ FOUND DRUNK IN ALLEY ON SUNSET. FILM AT 11.

In a few minutes, Gabby was turning into the driveway of a house that seemed to be carved into the side of a hill. It was a street like any other, like the ones where she grew up-the houses just cost more. Much more. She was self conscious about her car in his driveway, in front of his house, in this neighborhood. He was most definitely out of her league, and she was completely out of her element.

"So...thanks for the ride. I owe ya one."

Gabby smiled over at him. "Sure. No problem."

"Was really nice of you. You didn't have to."

She shrugged, blushing now. "I know you'd do the same, so... just glad you got home safe."

"Yeah. So..." He hesitated, for some reason not getting out of the car. "Do you... didja wanna... come in?"

"Uh..." What an unexpected question. Was it a trick? A trap? Was this the groupie test?

Unsure of how to answer, she asked another question. "Do you need me to come in? Do you need help?"

"I want you to come in." He wanted her to come inside. Inside his house. And she hadn't even told him her name. More shocking than getting into a car with a complete stranger was asking that stranger to come inside your house. 

She shook her head at him, silently judging--but why couldn't she think of anything to say? Every argument against putting him out and shifting the car in reverse and backing out of his driveway fizzled into nothing. She stared across the car, his face barely visible in the moonlight. He didn't seem creepy. She knew he wasn't going to hurt her. And, plus-- he could barely stand. The least she could do was see him inside.

"I don't wanna be alone," he blurted. "You don't have to come in, and if you do, you don't have to stay long. But if you want to, you're welcome to. Thanks for the ride, anyway."

A heavy, thick hand patted her thigh a few times before unbuckling his seat belt. The interior light came on, casting a dull yellow pallor across his face. His eyelids drooped and his beard was growing in and despite the fact that he lived in this neighborhood and regularly rubbed elbows with people she shouldn't even dream about meeting, looked so...  normal.

Gabby had a ton of things left to do at home, a to-do list as long as her arm and she was exhausted, but hell if she could say no to him. This was probably how he got girls to go home with him. By being nice. It worked.

"I guess I better make sure you get inside."

JC stood at his front door, digging deep into the pocket of his jeans for his key ring. It only had two keys on it-house key and car key. He didn't need much when he went out, just his phone, his wallet, and his keys. He worked the house key into the deadbolt and pushed the door open, deftly punching in the security code.

She-what was her name???-followed closely behind, looking around while he flipped light switches and turned on lamps.  JC shuffled down a hallway, pointing. "Kitchen. Living room. Patio through there." He turned when he reached the stairs, one foot on the bottom step. "Make yourself comfortable. Be right back."

He climbed the stairs, watching her over the banister. She wandered into the den, her heels clunking heavily on the wood floors. She took a seat in one of the chairs opposite the TV, perching on the edge of it, and then bent over, inspecting his collection of remotes lined up next to one another on the coffee table. She picked one and pointed it the TV.  Good guess-it popped on, music blaring from the built in speakers. Quickly, she turned the volume down, looking around as if she was in trouble. He laughed to himself, quietly climbing the rest of the stairs.

One of these days, his habit of picking up random women - and bringing them home - was going to bite him in the ass. It hadn't yet, though. At least, not in the bad way. Alcohol made him ravenous for sex. He was quite drunk, full of alcohol. He willed himself to sober up some, so he could at least talk to her. See what panned out. Maybe he'd get lucky.

He ducked into the bathroom, splashed cold water on his face, brushed his teeth, and checked his hair. Stepping through the closet, he peeled off his jeans, thin sweater, socks and shoes and put on a t-shirt and a pair of cotton lounge pants. He gave the bedroom a once-over glance on his way out, making sure nothing would embarrass him later. Just in case.

When he got back to the living room, the TV was on. A small leather purse sat on the coffee table. But the girl was nowhere to be found. He checked the kitchen-empty. The bathroom, too.  A light breeze stirred the sheer curtains over the sliding glass doors. One of them was open. She was out by the pool.

"Marco," he called out softly, stepping through the open door. Barefoot, he padded across the warm concrete toward the loungers arranged around the calm, cerulean blue water. The only sounds in the air were the crickets in the distance and the filter in the pool.

"Polo," she answered back.

She sat up a little, leaning around the side of the lounge chair, her feet stretched out in front of her. She had removed her heels and placed them, side by side, near her chair. Her toenails were a deep burgundy, her skin-what he could see of it, mainly her ankles, her neck, her face and her arms, were a golden tan. His eyes crawled up her body, from the fitted jeans to the eclectic print halter top to the elegant ponytail atop her head. He made no secret of the fact that he was checking her out. She didn't protest.

"So, do we know each other? I feel like we do, but I'm still drunk." JC was restless, tired but not sleepy, slowly pacing from one end of the pool to the other.

"You're famous. Everyone knows you. You and I, though? Not officially."

He stopped directly in front of her and dropped onto the lounger next to her, forcing her to scoot over and make room for him. "Can we change that? I'm JC." He stuck out a hand and offered a smile.

She slid her fingers across his palm. His hand-huge and warm-closed around hers. "I'm Gab--Gabriele. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, too, Gab--Gabriele.  Are you uh... well, what do you do, exactly?"

"Well, exactly, I'm an unemployed writer."

"Isn't everyone, in LA?"

"Technically, no. Everyone in LA is an unemployed actor."

"True," he said, laughing. Nodding. She was cute. Quick on her feet. Or off her feet. "I hope I didn't steal you away from something-or someone-important." Puzzled, her head tilted slightly. He pointed, looping a finger under the hem of her blouse. "You look nice. Like you had a date."

She laughed, but didn't swat him away, or anything. Clues. She was into him, maybe. "Oh, no. I uh... I had a party. Actually it was a birthday party. A surprise party."

"Yours?" She nodded, smiling shyly. "Well happy birthday, Gab-Gabriele."

"Thanks. And you can... just call me Gabby."

"Gabby." Suddenly, he realized why she seemed familiar. He'd only been staring at her byline every Monday for the past 5 years! He snapped his fingers and pointed at her, his finger in her face. "You're Ask Gabby at LA Magazine."

She nodded, her head dipping to her chest. "Yes."

JC laughed. "You wrote about that story I told, when my pants split open at my salsa class."

She blushed, hoping he wasn't about to throw her out over a silly story. "It was funny! I laughed my ass off. But don't worry--I'm only Ask Gabby for a few more days."

"Lucky me, since I'm drunk. Why only a few days?"

Gabby played with her hair, pulling it over her shoulder, wrapping the ends around her finger and twisting it. It was a cute nervous habit. "I quit. I'm moving to New York and I'm going to work for a publisher. Have you ever heard of Pearson Publishing?"

He shook his head. "Don't think so, off the top of my head."

"Well, they're huge. Every textbook in the US is published by them, plus financial magazines and books and...anyway, I got a job as a Junior Editor. It's a foot in the door of real writing and publishing.  I could get transferred to London or Paris or anywhere. And I'd be out of this smut rag shit I do out here."

"Smut rag? Like... celebrity stuff?"

She blushed, averting his gaze, eventually nodding. "I have a journalism degree from Cal State. I did my internship at LA Times, writing about city government and social issues-- you know, the homeless. Stuff like that." JC nodded, following along. "And then I went freelance. Sky's the limit, right?  But I fell into this trap where the only thing that paid worth a damn was bits about Drew Barrymore's pock marked ass at the beach or Cameron Diaz without any underwear on. It pays the bills but... gross."

"Yeah. Gross." He stood, walking over by the pool and began pacing again. "So you have to leave LA to do real work? There aren't editing jobs in LA?"

"Sure, if I want to edit memoirs by 23 year olds and shitty relationship manuals. I'll take 8th grade history texts over that, any day."

"Sounds boring, though. Gotta love what you do."

"I will. And I'll be able to sleep at night."

JC ventured closer to the water, walking along the edge-- so close he could feel the cool mist as it splashed against the sides of the pool.

"I want you to know," she said, "that I can't swim."

"Okay. Stay over there, then."

"And that these jeans were expensive, so I'm not ruining them with chlorine."

"Alright."

"And that when you fall in and drown, because you're still drunk? I'll break the story myself."

He laughed, glancing at her over his shoulder. "Wouldn't put it past ya, smut rag girl."

"Hey. Drunk Guy!"  JC turned around, shocked at her sharp tone. "Get away from the pool before you fall in. Please?"

JC smiled and took a giant step back, and then another and another until he was near her lounger again and resumed his seat next to her. "Just for you. I don't normally let girls boss me around."

"I don't usually boss boys around. I was scared you'd fall in."

"Didn't mean to scare you," he said quietly, giving her a comforting pat on the thigh. "Now, let me get this straight. This totally cool, hot lookin' girl picked me up-"

"Technically, I didn't pick you up-"

"-and brought me home-"

"-gave you a ride, yeah-"

"-and is at my house, lookin' all... hot..."

"-you asked me to come in-"

"And now you're telling me that you're leaving LA? For good?"

She nodded, solemn. "For the foreseeable future, yes."

"Well. Shit. This always happens."

"What does?"

"I meet great people who are on their way out of here. It's like a mass exodus, lately."

"That sucks," she said, sighing. "I just have to get the fuck out of LA. People out here are weird. They get into cars with total strangers and then let said strangers into their homes. Would never happen in New York."

"I'd never do that, in New York. Besides, I could tell you were cool."

"Falling down drunk, you could tell I was cool?"

"I'm an excellent judge of cool. I'm right, aren't I?"

She nodded, smiling. "I am pretty cool."

"I should have asked you if you were leaving town, though. That's not cool."

She shrugged, hiding her grin. "Details."

"See now." He lifted his hand, pointed a finger at her and tapped her on the nose. "That's where the devil is."

He was cute. Really cute. Still drunk, kind of a dork, but really cute.

But you‘re leaving, Gabby reminded herself. Had to keep reminding herself, playing the statement like a tape in continuous loop in her head. Leaving. Leaving the state, crossing the country, to live far, far away. Don‘t even think about liking him. She couldn't help it. She was into him, maybe.

After about an hour out on the patio, the cool air was more cold than comfortable and her eyes were crossing and itching to close. She yawned a few times during the course of a drawn out story about his first trip to New York with *NSYNC, when they toured the Empire State Building and the wind was so vicious that they were nearly swept off their feet. JC laughed, out loud, remembering how Chris was already terrified of heights and they had nearly given him a heart attack by threatening to send him off the edge.

"You guys were so mean to him," she said, aware that her voice was monotone and droll. She hadn't meant to sound bored... it was just 4am. She was tired. She had things to do. Why couldn't she leave this man's house?

"He was mean to us. He was kind of a dick, I mean-" He stopped, mid-sentence, and watched her yawn. Embarrassed, she tried to stop it, but it couldn't be held back.

"I'm sorry. You're not boring. It's late and I'm cold and-"

"Oh. Let's go inside. C'mon."

He stood, offering a hand to help her up. She took it, swooping down to pick up her shoes as well, letting him lead her back across the patio and into the house. He dropped her at the couch and waited until she sat down.

"I'm gonna grab something from the kitchen. You want anything to drink? Juice? Beer? Coke?"

"That something you're grabbing isn't alcohol, right?"

"I'm pretty near sober," he said, a sarcastic sneer masking his smile. "I will have some water, since you're so worried."

"I mean, I did almost have to fish you out of the pool."

"Now you sound like a hero. Didn't you say something about not getting your jeans wet?"

"We call that spin, in the magazine business."

He laughed and headed toward the kitchen. Cabinets opened and closed, drawers opened and closed. Cellophane wrapper and paper bags and the sound of the microwave, and then the scent of popcorn carried from the kitchen to the living room. She settled into the couch, surprisingly comfortable. He was doing everything possible to keep her there with him. And awake.

Wow. He must really not want to be alone.

Laden with two bottles of water and a bowl of popcorn, JC settled into the corner of the couch, pulling her over so she leaned up against his chest. He flipped around the movie channels until he found something they could both agree on-Pretty Woman.

"Welcome to Hollywood," JC quoted. "What's your dream?"

"See, I liked the Julia Roberts character," Gabby admitted, crunching on popcorn. "But I liked her friend more."

"Kit De Luca? Yeah she's a little spitfire. Every prostitute needs a great best friend."

"Well, and I've had a girl crush on Laura San Giacomo, ever since The Stand."

"Good flick," he said, tossing a handful of popcorn into his mouth. "Scary, though."

"The good outweighs the scary. I love the part where they're talking about the fairy tale, the Prince Charming, you know? And Vivian asks her who that ever worked out for, and Kit says, Cindafuckin'rella." She laughed, adding, "I always wanted to be called that."

"Not Gab-Gabriele?"

Gabby burst into delirious giggles, nearly choking on a kernel of popcorn. "Shut up! I didn't know if I wanted you to know me as Gabby the fun girl, or Gabrielle, the serious writer. I wanted to make a good impression."

"Honey, you wasted a good impression on a man who was falling down drunk."

"Shhhh,"she hissed, tapping him on the chest. "I like this part..."

We‘re going to be spending an obscene amout of money...

Exactly how obscene an amount of money were you talking about? Just... profane or really offensive?

"You like that part? Where the guy drags her to a shop and dresses her up so she fits into his LA wet dream and doesn‘t look like a...you know..." His voice trailed off, seemingly on purpose.

"Like a whore?" Gabby volunteered. "Okay, not the deeper meaning part, no. But I like the sarcasm and how it's so Beverly Hills. To a tee."

"Got that right."

"You know... this is kind of ironic."

"What is?"

"Us. Watching this movie. Okay, you said you didn't want to be alone, tonight. In the movie, Edward picks up Vivian because he doesn't want to be alone. And she thinks it's just gonna be this quickie... thing. And I thought I was just dropping you off, on my way home. And he convinces her to stay." She twisted around so she could see him, face to face. "And you won't let me leave your house."

He was almost smiling. Almost. He blinked, slowly, then asked, "If I agree to that irony, am I saying you‘re a prostitute?"

"No. You're just agreeing to the irony."

"Then... I should point out that it's not really irony. More coincidental. You're a writer. You should know that."

She laughed, and then blushed. "Touché. I would have caught it, if I wasn't tired. But what a coincidence, huh?"

Gabby wasn't sure what she was doing. Or if he would even respond, but fuck it... she was leaving town anyway--may as well go out with a bang. All it took was a few seconds of concentrated staring, her eyes moving from his eyes to his lips and back to his eyes. He picked up on the hint and moved in, brushing his lips across hers and then opened his mouth.

Soft. Slow. Heady. Damn. He was a good kisser.

JC moved the bowl of popcorn out of the way and sat up slightly, turning his body toward her. Quiet, moaning sounds were coming from him, deep in his throat. He tasted like butter and salt and smelled like man and felt amazing. He leaned in, pressing against her. Her hands slid up his arms, gripping their strength all the way up until her arms locked around his neck.

He tilted, moving them to the side so they laid out on the couch, then rolled so he was on top of her, his hands constantly moving, roaming her thighs, her legs, her arms, rubbing the skin beneath her thin blouse. His lips left her and reappeared in the dip of her neck. They were soft, so soft and smooth and yet firm, making their way down her chest. He licked the swell of one breast and then another, and then reached under her blouse and pushed up, exposing a taut flat belly.

He groaned, continuing his light assault on her from the underside of each breast, down to her belly button and beyond, to the band of her jeans and back up. No matter how hard she willed him to do it, he wouldn't unsnap them. She would have to ask.

"Gabby." JC hovered above her, staring down at her, his arousal making an imprint in her thigh. "Do you want to?"

"Yeah." Did she just say that? Without thinking? And she was critical of him for getting in a car with a stranger? "I mean... I mean, yeah. If you want to."

He smiled, nodding. "Not here. Not enough room. C'mon."

JC sat up, pulling her up with him and led her by the hand to the staircase and up the stairs. His bedroom was cool and dark, and from what she could see from the pre-dawn glow, very comfortable and welcoming. She didn‘t feel like she was sneaking around with some celebrity. Just, you know, sleeping with a guy she just met. Ugh.

JC crawled onto the bed on his hands and knees, glancing back at her like ‘follow me'. So she did, laying next him in the King sized bed. He stretched out on his back, yawning toward the ceiling.

"See. It‘s late, I told you."

"Yeah.  But I'm up. Don't worry."

She giggled, glancing down at him, visible through the thin cotton pants he wore. "You are... quite up."

He gave her a devilish half grin and rolled to his side. "So there's a part in that movie, which we‘re probably missing right now, where Edward climbs the trellis outside Vivian's place, like the Prince in her story. And when he gets to the Princess, he asks her, what happens after he climbs the tower and rescues her?"

"She rescues him right back."

He smiled, stroking her cheek with the tips of his fingers. "I didn't want to be here by myself, so I went out last night. I was in a room full of people but I was alone, and I was coming back to a house where I'd be alone.  I probably wouldn't have made it home, but then you came and rescued me. And I know you're leaving town and all, but-- "

Barely audible, Gabby said, "You could rescue me right back."

JC laughed aloud, scooting closer to her. "That's exactly what I was thinking I would do."

Somehow, somewhere, within some span of time that evening, he'd gone from trying to distract himself from all the work he needed to do with a free show at The Viper Room to lying in his bed with a beautiful girl that he just happened to meet by nearly knocking her over on Sunset Boulevard. The turn of events wasn't bad. Or disappointing. Or, surprising, really.

Not that he was being cocky or that he had never been turned down (because it had happened), but because he just had a feeling that things would work out this way. There was something about her that told him, even through his drunken stupor, that she was alright. That he could trust her to rescue him. Trusting people in LA could be scary.

Gabby was quite pleasant, though. And not scary at all.

She did him the favor of removing her clothes. He would have liked to do it, but there's something sexy about a woman who just can't wait. Strewn about the bedroom-on the floor, the foot of the bed, hanging from a lamp shade, was evidence that Gabby was a fun girl. Underneath him, in the bed,  her legs wrapped around him, her arms circling his neck, her lips on his, her skin burning red hot and her hips moving in steady rhythm with his, Gabriele-the refined adult that appreciated the finer points of making love-was showing him a thing or two.

"How do you like it?"

JC paused, surprised at her question. "Huh?"

"Sex. How do you like it? Loud? Quiet? Soft? Hard?" She giggled, wiggling herself beneath him, pushing on his hips to make him move, again. "Can I scream? Do you like dirty talk? How do you like it?"

JC laughed, trying his best to keep his rhythm steady. Couldn't lose momentum-there was nothing worse than a rhythm-less fuck. "All of the above. I like it however you wanna do it. Whatever gets you off. How about you? What can I do for you?"

Gabby grunted and moaned, her sounds getting louder, her grasp on him growing tighter, her nails digging into his skin. He loved it.

"I like it hard. You can fuck me. Fuck me like you'll never see me again."

That was all he needed to hear. The sun was creeping up over the horizon while the moon lowered below, and JC was having the best sex he'd had all year-- hands down. The bed rocked against the wall, banging in loud, steady bursts of energy that grew faster and harder, competing with the grunts and screams and cries that filled the room until each of them shook with the force of climax. Bodies stiffened, jaws clenched, toes pointed and hips convulsed, sucking out every last drop.

Sated and soaked with sweat, JC couldn't even manage to open his eyes. Limp, he rolled to his side and passed out where he landed. Gabby wasn't far behind him.

Hours later in the full, bright light of late morning, Gabby tiptoed around the bedroom, collecting her clothes from their various landing spots. She giggled, spotting her bra hanging from the bedside lampshade. She grabbed it, glanced at JC, and almost jumped a foot back when she saw his eyes were open.

"Sneakin' out?" A shiver ran up her spine. His voice was low, and raw and ragged. She'd worn him right out. Sexy.

"Not really sneaking," she whispered. "How are you?"

A smile crossed his lips. He started a slow, lazy stretch, kicking his feet under the sheet. "I'm really good. Really good. Same?"

Gabby smiled, coy. She assembled her bra and put it on, sliding her arms into the openings. He'd never understand those contraptions but damn if it didn't make her boobs look good. He was already regretting that she had to leave. She reached for her blouse and pulled it on as well, then pulled on her jeans.

"Enjoy the show?" She smirked, running her fingers through an impossibly high, wild pile on top of her head.

"Was better last night when you were taking it off." He pointed toward the bathroom. "Second drawer on the right, there's some travel stuff in there. Toothpaste, comb, mouthwash, deodorant. Help yourself."

She chuckled, stepping into the bathroom. "You sound like you've done this before."

"Hey, hey, hey. No editorializing. Use what you need."

She spent a few minutes in the bathroom and when she came out, looked good as new. Well, good as new could look after the night they had. He sat up, pulling on the cotton pants he'd just removed hours before and followed her out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

"I had... so much fun." Gabby grinned, reaching for her shoes and her purse, digging her keys out of the zippered pocket on the side.

"Me too. Getting drunk was never so rewarding before." JC followed her through the house while she collected things she'd left and then wandered, slowly and begrudgingly, to the front door.

"So..." She hesitated, her back against the door.

"So... uh... that whole thing about never seeing you again?"

Her face clouded over and her smile faded. She dipped her head to the side, slightly. "I leave tomorrow. I'm... I have to go..."

"Well, I just meant... I know where New York is. It's not an impossibility that I might see you again."

She brightened, her smile reappearing. "Really?"

"Sure," he said, pulling her to him. "Maybe I could come out there sometime. Soon.  Maybe you could let me rescue you. Again."

Gabby nodded, stretching up onto her toes to kiss him. She hugged him tight, the sadness at having to leave fading away, replaced by the excitement of something to look forward to- a new job, a new city, and a new friend who would be coming to see her, soon.

"I'd like that," she said.  "I would rescue you right back."