Beeboobeep.

Gabby lifted her head from within the stacks of texts piled across her desk. Inside a makeshift paper fort, she eyed the button-heavy, beeping blinking phone on the corner of the desk as it rang.

It could be anyone calling. Like her Senior Editor, wondering how her latest batch of edits was coming, since they were late. Or the cute-but-too-aggressive textbook company rep that'd somehow located her office number and was now calling daily to "chat".  The prospect of another awkward conversation with him made her sick to her stomach. Uninterested? Understatement.

Beeboobeep.

She peeked at the display...hmmm, not a New York area code. It could be her mother, who also called daily to "chat" but usually digressed into an inquisition. "Are you being social, Gabrielle? Have you met any men? Are you carrying your mace every day?" The phone number, however, was not a familiar one. Her mother's numbers were programmed into every phone within her reach- she needed to be prepared when her mother was calling.

Beeboobeep.

Gabby marked her place with the index finger of one hand and skillfully reached around the stacks with the other, plucking the receiver off of the base. "ThisisGabrielle," she muttered, tucking the phone between her ear and shoulder and opening the text again.  

"Hello? Gabrielle?"

"Uh huh," she grunted, rolling her eyes. "Thus why I said 'this is Gabrielle'. Can I help you?"

"Wow. You got meaner and yell-ier since we last talked."

She blinked, pulled the receiver back and stared at it, and then tucked it back between her ear and shoulder. "Excuse me?"

"You're even getting kind of a New York accent goin' on. I guess that makes sense. You've been there long enough to pick up an accent."

"Uhm... I'm sorry. Do we know each other?"

The voice - a pleasant baritone that didn't give itself away whatsoever - laughed. "Yeah, we know each other. Intimately. Isn't this Gabrielle Moreno?"

"Yeah. And you are?"

"I guess I should ask if this is Gab-Gabrielle."

Light bulb. Gabrielle's eyes popped open. Wide open.

One year before, on her way home from her combination Going Away/Birthday Party, she'd stumbled upon a celebrity weaving down Sunset Boulevard. Rather, he'd stumbled upon her. She did her Good Samaritan deed of the year and offered to drive him home. He accepted, insisted she come inside and then charmed her into staying. All night. A smile crept across her face as she remembered that night. Vividly.

"Oh. My. God. Is this who I think it is?!"

The voice that she prayed was JC laughed, and that's when it was confirmed for her. His laugh- it was more than a sound, but a feeling, a shock of lightning searing through her. She remembered feeling that while lying up against him watching the movie; and later while they made out like teenagers. And much later when he took her upstairs and they fucked like sailors on shore leave while the sunrise spread a pink glow across the room.

"Well, now. It depends on who you think this is."

She lowered her voice, almost whispering into the phone. She didn't have an office, just a cubicle and Rolanda, a fellow Junior Editor who shared the faded fabric wall was the nosiest person she'd ever met.

"JC? Is that you?"

"It's me," he said, shouting a little. "Found ya!"

She laughed, gleeful at the thought of him hunting her down. "You did. Oh my God, you did. How are you?"

"I'm well. I'm doing really well, lately. How are you doing? How's New York and the new job and not working for a smut rag, Smut Rag Girl?"

She laughed again but chided herself about it. Stop doing that, it wasn't that funny.

"New York is... well, it's New York. I'm still adjusting." She shifted, dumping the thick packet of papers on top of a nearby stack and leaning onto the desk, offering the conversation her full attention. "The job is good. Uhm, different. I'm learning a lot of things."

"Different sounds like spin for 'fucking sucks'."

If only he knew how close he was to the truth. "Whatever, Drunk Guy. What are you doing calling me? You need me to break another hot 'split my pants at salsa class' story? I'll do it, for old time's sake."

His deep, gut level laughter filling her ears had an unexpected effect. For no reason at all, her chest tightened and tears sprang into her eyes and her throat closed up. That voice, that laugh, that sound, that easy-going, lounging at the pool while sipping a margarita attitude was so far removed from the steel and brick and brusque that was New York.

She was accustomed to rolling into LA Magazine around 10am, grabbing a latte or a green tea smoothie and settling into her comfy leather office chair while glancing over her shoulder at the sand and surf in the distance. Throughout the day, friends filtered into and out of her office with funny stories, breaking news and food. Around 6 or 7pm, she'd gather her belongings and wander out with everyone else, hit a happy hour or a yoga class and then meander home to watch some TV and crawl under the covers, resting up to repeat the entire process the next day. Except you never knew what the next day would bring - a press junket or a red carpet event or high class party... or ending up sitting tables away from Leo DeCaprio and a gaggle of girls. He rolled ten chicks deep at all times.

Life in New York could not be more opposite. Gabrielle had acquaintances; people she met here and there, but not people she would wander away with to enjoy a happy hour martini. Work began promptly at 8:30am, a hard and fast rule. She was still getting used to taking the train into Manhattan and the go, go, go pace of everything, everyone, everywhere. There was no meandering or drifting in and out. Every task was pointed, every step purposed, every person direct with clipped tones and voices in decidedly northeastern accents. Throughout her day, only Rolanda filtered past her cubicle, usually to pry into some aspect of her life or to ask who called her and what did they want and were her friends in LA nice, because they seemed nice and lots of fun. And why didn't Gabby ever go back to LA to visit? Rolanda was too damn nosy.

She had one window, and her view from that window was buildings. And beyond that?  More buildings. If she took the elevator to the top floor and leaned way far over to the right, she could spot Central Park. That always made her smile, so once a day she took that trip. Otherwise, her head was buried in paper. Lots and lots of paper. Though she liked it much better than inventing a story out of Drew Barrymore in a baseball cap pulled low and sneaking out of a Starbucks in Malibu, editing textbooks for the education division of a worldwide publisher was... well, boring.

He predicted that she would be bored. She confidently, pompously disagreed. No way would she concede that he was right.

"I don't have any scoop like that for you. Not that I'd tell you anyway. But uh, I might be coming out that way and uhm.... well, I definitely wanted to see you, if I could."

KaTHUMPKaTHUMPKaTHUMPKaTHUMP pounded in her ears, loud and crazy-fast and out of control. "You're...you're coming out here?"

"I said I would come see you, didn't I? If I remember right, your birthday is coming around..."

Her pelvis clenched at the memory of her last birthday. It was a perfect night, one so unimaginably perfect that it had been impossible to top.  While she'd met a lot of nice men in New York, none of them held a candle to his quiet confidence and sweet demeanor. She hadn't had a night like that since that night.

Crossing her fingers, she smiled into the phone and used her most sultry tone. "You've got three days to get here if you want a repeat of last year."

"Three days, huh? Well..." He cleared his throat. Challenge accepted, it sounded like. "I should be in town Friday. Where are you living these days?"

She almost heaved a sigh of relief right in his ear, but caught it and held it in her throat. "Right on time. And I live in Queens. Astoria to be exact."

"Queens!" he squealed. "Don't you work in midtown? Why the hell do you live all the way in Queens?"

"Because I like to spend my money on more things than rent. Like food. And gas. My mother got me into a secure building. Buzzers and all that. She thinks New York is exactly like you see it in movies."

"Like Brooklyn at night. All the time."

"Exactly. So..." Gabrielle sat back in her chair, twisting the phone cord around her finger. "Why do you want to know where I live? Are you coming to see me?"

"Thinking so. Maybe hang out with you for a few days. Do you live close to LaGuardia?"

She laughed, tipping her head back. "Oh, I see. You need someone to pick you up at the airport."

"Now you're catching on. Do you know how much cabs run up there?"

Her mind drifted to the state of her apartment. There was a tinge of nervous excitement to be in close, private quarters with him. Overnight. For him though, her tiny corner of the world would be a downgrade from the larger, more sprawling West Hollywood home.

"I guess that would be okay."

"Are you sure? I don't want to make you uncomfortable. Say the word and I'll schlep my ass to midtown where I belong."

"No, no. It's fine. I was just thinking that my place is so small, compared to yours. It's just one bedroom."

The line crackled with his low, sexy chuckle. "You don't have to try to impress me, Gabby. I've already slept with you."

She laughed too loudly, glancing around to make sure no one was coming to see who was having fun and put a stop to it. "Well, don't you sound awfully cocky?"

"If I say so myself, I am awfully cocky."

"Oh, I walked right into that."

"You sure did," he said. "So. Friday. LaGuardia, 8:30. Pick me up. I'll hang out with you. That work?"

Shuffling sounds took over as she dug for her cell phone and tapped the calendar app to open it. "Sure. Okay. And by hang out with me you mean...."

"What I said. Hang out with you. Be with you for an extended amount of time, doing fun things."

"I don't remember you being such a smartass. Friday, 8:30," she repeated, tapping the date and time into her phone, as if she would forget. As if she wouldn't be thinking about seeing him in just a few days from the moment she hung up until she saw his face.

"I'll be there. We'll... hang out."

"You still drive that shitty blue Toyota?"

"It wasn't shitty when it was taking you home, asshole."

He laughed. "I don't remember that at all."

"I wouldn't imagine you would. You were falling down drunk."

"I just remember this hot, hot piece of ass in my house. And I didn't want her to get away."

"She didn't," Gabby said, beaming. "Besides, she wasn't going to let you let her get away."

"I remember that, too." He paused, took a breath and then said, "So. I was thinkin'... I mean..."

Gabby delighted at the sheer power in her hands at the moment. One word could bring him joy or send him to the depths of disappointment. At least she liked to think his disappointment would reach depths. It would at least dip. Slightly.

"Listen, JC. I know exactly why you're calling. And I know exactly what you mean by ‘hang out'. And honestly?  I'm really excited about it. But uhm...." She glanced around, making sure no one was lurking, waiting for her to get off of her flirty, personal phone call during business hours. "I really need to get back to work though, or I'll be in trouble. I'll see you soon, okay?"

She took down his number, they exchanged a few barbs for good measure and she hung up. And smiled to herself.  

"That was a fun conversation," said a voice through the wall. "You finally gonna get some?"

"Maybe," Gabby answered while she picked up the same stack of pages she'd put down minutes before.

He should have known the flight from LAX to LaGuardia would be delayed, and that once they landed in New York that the plane would be held on the tarmac, patiently waiting in line behind other planes. Because he had plans—important plans with a girl, a hot girl he hadn’t seen in almost a year and was anxious to see again—Murphy’s Law would kick in and those plans would fold in on themselves and tumble like a house of cards in the wind.

It was nearly an hour past the time he was supposed to be in a car next to said hot girl. Gabby was probably fuming, circling the airport, low on gas, cursing his name. He dug into his pocket once again for his cell phone and tried to dial her. Voicemail. Where was she???

The screen lit up and the phone rang in his hand. The Caller ID popped up and he was relieved to see that it was Gabby.

“Hey,” he said as he picked up. “Are you pissed yet?”

“Nah. I checked your flight and saw it was delayed, so I stayed late at work. I don’t get good service on the train and I just got your voicemails. So you’re here?”

“Yeah, we’re here. But on the tarmac. Just breathing in this nice reconstituted air they pump through here. If I get sick, I know how it happened.”

“You won’t get sick,” she said, laughing.

“I’m really sorry to keep you waiting. I’m kind of embarrassed about it.”

“You can’t control this. Try to relax and call me when you’re getting off the plane. I’m not far from the airport. I’ll circle around and pick you up. Tie you to the roof of my shitty blue Toyota.”

He laughed, louder and harder than he intended. God, he couldn’t wait to see her. 

“I’d like to see you try to get my ass on top of that car. I’ll call you when I’m making my way out. See you soon.”

He hung up and slid the phone back into his pocket. His frustration had subsided a little. He was ready to see her though. Had been ready for awhile—he just finally got up the nerve to call and tell her that he was going to be in town.

What possessed him to tell a random woman—a journalist, no doubt—that he’d come see her he would never know, but the words were falling out of his mouth before he realized it. Those words put a smile on her face and made that solemn, gloomy ‘shit, I met someone new and I can never see her again’ feeling go away.

And then reality hit. He got busy and kind of forgot about her, except every time he passed the Viper Room or that pharmacy on Sunset where she picked him up, he’d remember her. It took months to decide that he would keep his word and go out to New York to see her.

But… finding her was the thing. In all the excitement and romantic promises, he forgot to get her number. He had to call in a few favors to get her last name. He remembered everything they’d talked about, including the company she said she was going to work for. Once he had her last name, it was easy to dig through Pearson’s website and find her. Actually dialing the number was a different story.

And if he was being honest with himself, he hoped to get voicemail so she’d have to call him back. When she picked up, his chest tightened and his body perked up at the sound of her voice. That was how he knew it—that he was crazy about a woman he’d only met once and only spent six hours with, and had now boarded a plane and flew across the country to see. This would either be really, really good… or really, really bad.

“Hot date?” The kid next to him leaned in. He was easily college age, sporting a goatee and the kind of hairdo that looked messy but actually took an hour to get that way. “You must have a ton of girls. Like one in every city, huh?”

JC had a healthy chuckle at that. Not that it was a ridiculous notion, but at the assumption that he still lived a life that would get him a ‘girl in every city’. “Nope,” he said, shaking his head. “Just seeing an old friend I haven’t seen in awhile. But,” he added, “She does happen to be hot.”

“Lucky,” said the kid. “All’s I got is a dog waiting for me. Hope we get out of here soon.”

The plane lurched and began a slow crawl forward. JC began mentally estimating how long it would be until he saw her. Ten minutes? He could last that long. Probably. He sent her a text that he was on the move. She texted back that she was on her way.

Twenty minutes later, he walked through the sliding glass doors at baggage claim and saw the two-door indigo blue Toyota swerve into the nearest lane. Before he got to the car, the driver side door opened and Gabby hopped out.

“Finally!” She squeaked, walking around to the back of the car and inserting her key to pop the trunk. “I’ve been circling forever.”  She reached for the handle of his carry-on suitcase and hefted it into the trunk with no problem. Once it was secure, she slammed the hood down again and grinned at him.

She was adorable, just as he remembered her when she walked out of his house that morning. Maybe more, because he hadn’t seen her in so long. Her long, dark hair was still shiny, falling in waves over one shoulder. Her jeans were skin-tight; her top was sleeveless, showing off shapely arms and a neckline that dipped just enough to give him a hint. In three inch heels, she could rest her chin on his shoulder as she leaned forward to give him a brief hug. Much, much too brief.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

As he folded himself into the compact car, he wondered how she’d managed to get him in the car the first time. Maybe being drunk made him limber and bendy.

“You can scoot that seat back if you’re uncomfortable. It’s so good to see you. And smell you.”

JC reached under him for the lever that shot the seat back several inches. He adjusted for comfort, staring at her while she started the car again and pulled away from the curb. “Smell me?”

“Yeah. You smell like LA.”

He laughed and rolled his eyes. “I smell like LA? Interesting. Tell me what LA smells like.”

She sniffed the air inside the car, breathing deeply, staring ahead at traffic around them. “Besides whatever amazing cologne or soap you use? Salt water. Sand. Sunshine. And tacos. I miss Pinches on Sunset and Hugo’s on Santa Monica.”

She sighed, a wistful grin slightly visible in the flash of lights as they passed the airport.

“You should have told me. I would have brought you some.”

“Oh, no. They’re best when they’re fresh. Are you hungry?”

“Honey, I can always eat. What do you have in mind?”

They were squeezed into a cozy booth at TukTuk, a hole-in-the wall restaurant in Long Island City serving Asian cuisine lightning fast with a smile. Over wine and beer, sizzling fried rice and lemongrass chicken, they caught up on events in the past year.  She painted a pretty picture of what she did as a Junior Editor and he glossed over a rather uneventful year as a TV personality and music producer.

“Well, hopefully you haven’t had to get a ride to your house from some other very nice girl.”

JC could only shake his head, since his mouth was full. “I learned my lesson,” he said when he had swallowed. “Besides, it’s not like it would be the same. It wasn’t the situation. It was the girl.”

She glanced up at him, caught his eye and looked back down to her plate, where she was picking through her entrée with her fork.  “Uh. So, I haven’t… really… since then.”

JC blinked, incredulous. “You’re kidding. You haven’t… since… really?”

She shrugged, a rosy color washing over her. “Well, I mean… I went from your house to my apartment, packed up the last of my stuff, then went to the office and cleaned out my desk. I left the next day, started working as soon as I hit New York. I date a little. Here and there. I’ve met guys, just not anyone I’m interested in.”

“You mean you’re not interested in having sex with another drunk guy you don’t know?”

“Whatever, JC,” she said, full on blushing. “Like you said, it wasn’t the situation. It was the guy. It hasn’t been the same for you, then?”

He shook his head. “Not at all. I’ve had sex every day since that night. Sometimes twice.”

She giggled, almost snorting the last of her wine. “Right. Okay.”

“No, really. I have.”

“Okay. I believe you.”

“Fine, I haven’t. But I bet I’m not nearly as hard up as you.”

“I’m not hard up. I’m picky.”

“Right.”

“What? I am.”

“Right. Yeah, picky girls always pick a guy up on Sunset, go to his house with him and wiggle their way into his bed.” He laughed lightly, sipping his wine and said, “And they always say things like I never do this….”

“I have never said those words in my life,” she said, her brown eyes rolling. She tried hard not to laugh, but in the end a giggle escaped, giving way to full blown laughter.

“Oh, so you do stuff like that, then? Why didn’t we meet before? We could have been having fun all along.”

“I didn’t say that. I just said I’ve never done the I never do this bullshit. Everyone knows that’s a lie. And also, that is hardly what happened. I remember trying to leave a few times, but you wouldn’t let me. You wore me down until I was delirious. And then had your way with me.” She gave a single, final nod. Resolute. “That’s what I remember.”

“Hunh,” said JC. He propped an elbow up on the table and dropped his chin into his palm. He furrowed his brow, scratched the stubble on his chin, and studied the popcorn ceiling of the small restaurant, feigning deep thought and concentration. “I just… yeah, I don’t remember it that way.”

“Of course you don’t. You were drunk.”

They scraped the last of their meals from their plates. The sound of a vacuum startled JC and he looked up toward the sound. The restaurant was empty except for the staff gathered around the bar, chatting and nonchalantly glancing toward the single occupied table.

“I guess we’ve been here awhile,” said JC, checking his watch and noting that it was nearly midnight. He picked up the check, which had been sitting on the edge of the table, unnoticed. Smirking, he pulled out his wallet and laid a platinum card on top of the slip of paper. A waiter came to collect it, smiling warmly and rushing away.

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Gabby said. “They have no problem telling people to get out.”

“Seriously?”

“Mmmhmm.” She nodded, gathering her purse and pushing her plate aside. JC was happy to see it had been practically licked clean. That meant she wasn’t dainty or high maintenance. “Sometimes I bring work here. I always lose track of time and they have to kick me out at least once a month.”

The waiter brought the card back, JC signed the receipt and slid his card back into his wallet, then sighed, satisfied and comfortable. And relaxed. It was good to see Gabby. Really, really good to see Gabby. He was ready to see more of her.

“So, take me to this pleasure palace you call your apartment. You don’t have roaches, do you?”

“Not that I’ve seen.”

“Bedbugs?”

She laughed, leading him out of the restaurant and down the block to where she’d parked the car. “Shut up or I’ll make you sleep in the car. What kind of place do you think I live in?”

“Just asking.”

They rode to her apartment, talking and laughing along the way. Gabby expertly weaved through traffic as if she’d been a New York driver her whole life.

“So you take the train to work? But you must drive on the weekends and stuff.”

“Yeah,” she said, nodding and swerving. “I figure if I pay for a parking spot I may as well make having a car here worth it. Here in town, I drive. If I have to go to the city, I take the train. If I’m going to the city for the night, I take a cab but late at night a lot of cabbies won’t go to Queens. Better just to drive.”

JC nodded. He wasn’t even sure he’d ever been to Queens proper—he’d always flown in JFK and was whisked away to a plush, overpriced Manhattan hotel. There was a whole world outside of what he was used to. That was what he liked about Gabby, how she unknowingly showed him something wholly different without trying. Like late night Thai in a non-descript restaurant where no one knew his name.

He drank in the experience, so happy that he’d been able to make himself dial her number.

She pulled into an underground lot and zipped around the parking spaces until she found her spot. Once the car was securely in the space, she cut the engine, turned off the lights and hopped out. JC followed, meeting her at the trunk to lift his suitcase out.

“Okay, now,” she said, sighing as she led him toward the elevator. “I’m just warning you that my place isn’t spectacular. I mean it’s not a hole, but it’s not like I make a lot of money. My mom pays half my rent, or I wouldn’t even be able to live here.”

“I’m the one barging into your life and insisting you let me stay with you. I’m not judging you, Gabby. Relax.”

A melodious ding sounded and the elevator door slid open. The compartment was tiny, just big enough for two people and a carry-on suitcase. The floor was carpeted in a dark, musty forest green and the walls, painted metal grey, were pocked with dents and marred by graffiti: For a good time call Rhonda, 212-555-8673.

“Hey,” JC said, nodding his head to the scribble on the wall next to him. “We should call Rhonda.”

Gabby glanced at the marks on the wall and blanched. “Oh. You probably don’t want that kind of a good time.”

“Hmmm. I’ll take your word for it. I’m also not going to ask how you know what kind of good time they’re talking about.”

The elevator doors opened again and they stepped out into a dark, narrow hallway dotted by doors along each side. JC followed Gabby to 5-E and waited for her to twist the locks open, turn off the alarm and step aside.

He didn’t know what she was nervous about. Her apartment was small, sure. So was every apartment in New York, but she’d done a lot with it to add her own touches. Along the wall were artistic prints—music and art and flowers. There were colorful throw pillows on the couch and a vase of fresh flowers on the counter and the sweet smell of vanilla hung in the air. The floors were wood, the walls were brick and the appliances were black, giving the place an urban contemporary feel. JC liked it. It felt like home. And smelled like Gabby.

“So, this my place. Well, most of it.”

“It’s nice. I like it.”

She stood in what he guessed was the living room but could also be the dining room, since there was no room for a table. Three bar stools were parked under the chest- high counter in the kitchen. Music played in the background, a light rock station. A single lamp was lit, lighting the room but not too brightly. Coupled with the music and the scent and the general feel of the place, the atmosphere was romantic.

Seductive, even.

He crossed the room, moving slowly toward her and stopping directly in front of her. He circled her waist and when her arms lifted and closed around his neck, he moved in even closer, dipping his head toward hers. Their lips met for the first time in a year, a soft kiss that lingered but was full of pent up emotion.

JC pulled back, looking for her deep brown eyes but they were closed. A smile sat on her lips, making them look sweet and inviting, so he kissed them again. Gabby laughed and moved in even closer, pressed herself up against him.

“What’s so funny, Gab-Gabrielle?”

“Nothing,” she said. “I’m not really laughing. It’s just… a nervous reaction.” She laughed again and buried her face in his neck. He dug his fingers into her hair and gripped the small of her back and they stood there, in the middle of the room, swaying in time to the music.

He bent a little, to whisper in her ear. “You don’t have to be nervous with me. You know that, right?”

She nodded, then said something he couldn’t hear, muffled in the hollow in his neck. “Hm? Can’t hear you.”

She lifted her head. “I asked if you were tired.”

He shrugged. “A little. Not sleepy, just worn out. And full. How about you?”

Slowly, her eyes rolled up to his and she smiled. Then shook her head. No.

Holy God. She’d forgotten how handsome he was in person. Up close. Way up close. Dark jeans, a short sleeved black t-shirt and boots, the slightest bit of scruff on his face and a wild, finger-combed, wavy hairdo awoke her body in a way it hadn’t been awakened in awhile… at least a year.  His scent—faintly masculine, spicy and clean was driving her wild. JC was worlds apart from anyone she’d ever met before or since. He had a visceral effect on her, one she just couldn’t shake. And she’d tried.

During the oddly pleasurable moments standing in the living room with him, his arms around her waist, hers resting on his shoulders, Gabby had to regain her control over herself. It was different when she was out with someone and didn’t know how things would end up. This evening had started with clear intentions. And it wasn’t like he was new. It had happened before.  

That didn’t help to make her any less nervous. Did lightning ever strike twice? Maybe it was so incredible the first time because of the circumstances and the situation. They were new to each other and there was such a feeling of selfishly drinking each other in because they might never see each other again.

She never expected him to keep his promise. But here they were a year later. Weird. And awkward. But the anticipation was delicious.

She took JC by one hand, grabbed the handle of his suitcase with the other and led him down a darkened hallway to the back of the apartment. She flipped on a light, revealing her small and cozy bedroom. Most of it was occupied by the bed and a dresser but she’d also made room for a writing desk and a chair. There was one window, over which hung a sheer curtain that matched the print in the quilt on the bed.

“So this is where the magic happens.” JC plopped onto the bed, leaning back and kicking off his shoes.

“In theory.”

“Well, we’re gonna be changing that to fact.”

Gabby’s head shot up just in time to catch a wink and a smirk from him. She laughed and shook her head, unsure of what to say in response, so she glossed over it. 

“The uh, bathroom is through there.” She pointed at a closed door. “Make yourself at home. Would you like something to drink?”

“Nope,” he said, patting the mattress next to him. “I would like you to relax and come over here.”

Gabby did as he requested, kicking off her heels and joining him on the bed. Since her bedroom was so small, she’d traded in her queen mattress set for a full. There was plenty of room for her, but adding another person made it impossible to lie on the bed without squeezing next to him. Not that this was a problem at all.

“You seem tense. Is everything okay?”

While he spoke, he brushed his fingers across her forehead, pushing wild, errant hairs back and off of her face. His touch was gentle, warm and soothing. And familiar. She began to relax.

"It's just weird having you here. I don't see you for a year and then two days ago you call me up, out of the blue and... boom. You're here. It's like I didn't really have time to get ready."

"Yeah. Sorry about that. I just decided to come. I expected you to be busy, actually. It's your birthday weekend-- why don't you have plans?"

Gabby shrugged and allowed her hand to reach across her body to his. Starting at his wrist, she stroked his bare arm up to his shoulder and back down. He didn't seem to notice or be bothered by it. He lay still on his side, propped up on one elbow, his face oh, so close to hers.

"You have no friends here? No one to throw you a party and hang out till all hours of the night? Not even anyone special to take you to dinner?"

"Thanks for making me sound like a loser,” she said, giggling. “I have friends. I just hadn’t made any plans. And,” she added quietly, “Maybe I subconsciously thought you’d come.”

"Maybe that’s why I couldn’t let go of the idea of coming out here. So what did you plan on doing?"

Again, Gabby shrugged. "Maybe going to the Beer Garden for awhile. Getting slightly drunk. Walking back to my apartment, ordering a pizza and watching a movie."

"That sounds cool. Want some company?"

Gabby smiled and, unable to resist a minute longer, lifted her lips to his. She kissed him briefly and softly, their lips just barely whispering past each other. When she relaxed again, he took his turn and lowered his head to hers. For a few moments, the only thing that mattered in the entire world was JC.

The kiss, which was slow and playful, light and lazy, took a hairpin turn and with a deep inhale, JC's body leaned until he was laying on her. Her palms ran the length of his arms, squeezing their way up to his neck and the nape of his hair. She turned her head to deepen the kiss and opened her legs wider to make room for him.

This... tonight... was a long time coming. It had taken a few months to stop thinking about him every night and day dreaming about him. Gabby tried to date, but it wasn't fair when she wanted every man to be JC, to flirt easily with her and follow her with his eyes like he thought she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. After a few okay dates and two very bad ones, she'd given up altogether. It wasn't fair that he lived in LA and she lived in New York. Why couldn't she have met him while she lived there? Maybe she wouldn't have left.

Maybe she shouldn't have left.

"What are you thinking about?" JC asked, breaking the kiss and leaning on one arm while stroking her face with the other.

"About how you laying on me is the best thing I've felt since the last time you laid on me." He dipped his head in mock shyness but brought it back up again. "I was thinking about how I'm a little nervous, but I'm really glad you're here."

"You know what? I'm kind of nervous, too."

The admission seemed like the most ridiculous thing she'd ever heard. "You are not," she said. "You're the most confident man I've ever met."

"Nah. I fake it well. You see how long it took me to call you."

She reached up and stroked his face, ran her fingers through his hair, cradled his chin in the palm of her hand. "I love that you did."

"Good," he whispered, lowering his mouth to hers again, this time more forcefully, nibbling at her bottom lip and stroking her tongue with his. His pulse pounded through his chest to hers and lower on his body, a long, warm thickness pressed into her belly. Her body reacted to him, writhing and arching. She was barely breathing, her heart was racing, her hands were shaking... it was the best feeling in the world.

JC tore his lips from hers and sat up, kneeling in front of her and began clawing at his t-shirt. He pulled it up and over his head, revealing a muscular chest and chiseled abdominals. A light layer of hair covered him, the field narrowing the closer it came to the band of his jeans, which he was working diligently to remove. Gabby took the hint and pulled her shirt up and off. Next went the jeans and the moment they were off and over the side of the bed, he resumed his spot on top of her and picked up the kiss where he left off.

"This bed," he said, between breathless warring of lips and tongue, "is so small. I hope we don't roll off of it."

"Don't worry," Gabby answered, lifting her lips to his. "I'm an expert at sleeping on this bed."

"But," he argued, on another break for air, "we're not gonna be sleeping. At least not yet."

"Just don't get crazy and we'll be just fine," she said. Impatient, she gripped his shoulders and brought him to her again. "I'm ready, when you are."

"I've been ready for a long time. I’ve been ready since you walked out of my house a year ago."

Gabby’s eyes slid closed, a heavy, breathy sigh escaping her lips. “Honestly? Me too,” she admitted. "We have a lot of time to make up for, hmm?"

It was as if the admission that she’d missed him and had been thinking about him ignited a furnace. He moved lightning fast, quickly but gently ridding her of the wispy lace that made up her bra and panties and the thick cotton underwear that he wore. His skin was clammy—warm but bearing a light sheen of sweat as he settled between her open legs and claimed her mouth again.

There was a tentative, inquisitive push and then a more forceful one, guided by the movement of his hips. In moments, she was full of him, the feeling so familiar and yet just far away enough to be like new. Her body responded to his, from the sweat to the twitching of limbs and deep, satisfied groans that started off as under-the-breath mutterings but as momentum built, grew as loud and boisterous as the sound of the bed rattling against the wall.

“Remember? Remember this?”

“Unh……shit!”

“If I recall,” he said, grinning down at her while panting and gasping for air, “You like it hard.”

Gabby wanted to laugh, to tell him he was remembering everything perfectly, but could only ride along, clinging to his back and digging her nails into his skin. He was a piston, each movement equally smooth and forceful, galloping toward a certain, pleasurable goal. His eyes clamped shut and his mouth fell open and then his face, a deep pink, twisted into a grimace.

“Fuck, Gabby!”

She searched for her voice, wanting to answer back but all that came out was a whimper before her body tensed and pulsed and the air left her lungs. She all but screamed, instinctively wrapping her shaking, shuddering body around his convulsing torso.

All that was left was to collapse against each other and try to breathe through the thick, muggy air of the apartment. Gabby let her eyelids slide shut and a satisfied smile settle itself on her lips.

“Someone’s happy,” he teased. His voice was nothing but low sexy grit, the kind that rode up every nerve in her back and told her that he’d put his all into it.

“So happy,” she responded, her lips still turned up in a peaceful grin. After a few moments, an eerie feeling of being watched overcame her and she opened her eyes. Piercing blue eyes fixated on her, his face bearing the oddest expression.

“Is anything wrong?” He shook his head. “What are you looking at? Do I look weird? Am I drooling? Something on my face?”

He laughed and cupped her chin in his palm, then leaned down and kissed her. “Nope,” he said when he lifted his head again. “You, Gab-Gabrielle, are perfect.”

Gabby was up early, puttering around and making noise. He heard the apartment door open and then close, then open and close again. By the time JC finally gave up on sleeping in and stalked into the living room, barefoot and wearing only a pair of underwear, it was 10am.

She sat cross-legged, stuffed into a corner of the couch. The TV was on but the volume was low since she held a section of the New York Times in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. Spread along the counter in the kitchen was an empty McDonald’s bag, a large Styrofoam cup, enough cream and sugar for several cups of coffee, a wrapped sandwich and two envelopes of golden hash browns. The smell of hot, fresh food made his stomach rumble and ache with hunger.

“I don’t like hash browns. You can have mine if you want it.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled, dumping cups of cream and packets of sugar into his coffee, watching the color change from a strong, dark black to sweet and light brown. He grabbed the sandwich, both servings of potatoes and a napkin and took them both steps away to the living room. He plopped himself next to Gabby, unwrapped his sandwich and bit off half of it, savoring the buttery, crunchy English muffin, egg and sausage.

“Haven’t had one of these in a long time. I don’t get up this early.”

“I had to get up early and get over there. They stop serving breakfast at 10:30. Who wants a greasy hamburger at 11am?”

“Can’t say I’d rush to McDonald’s for breakfast. There’s tons of places right on Sunset where I can get a real breakfast at a reasonable hour.”

“Ten am isn’t a reasonable hour?”

“Not when you work ‘til eight am.”

She nodded, took a sip of coffee and went back to her paper.  

JC bit off another section of sandwich and then another and then it was gone. He crumpled the wrapper into a ball and tossed it onto the coffee table in front of him.

“You miss it, huh? LA, I mean.”

He watched her swallow and swallow again, then blink a few times. After a few moments, she nodded. “Have you been back, since you left?”

She shook her head. “Are you planning to go back, soon?”

Gabby tossed the paper down on the table and set her coffee next to it, unfolded her legs and stood up. “Beer Garden opens at noon. Have you ever been?”

“Here? Nope,” he said, letting her brush him off. If she didn’t want to talk about it, he wasn’t going to push. “Happy Birthday, by the way.”

“Thank you,” she said, bending over him so he could kiss her. As she stood again, she caught his eye and she winked. “My present came last night.”

He chuckled, watching her hips sway as she walked away. “Literally.”

“Walked into that one, too!”

***

Bohemian Hall and Beer Garden was a few blocks from Gabby’s apartment, a nice walk on a warm New York summer afternoon. The streets were teeming with people, everyone headed someplace and quickly, at that. The pace in LA was much slower, more casual. Even Gabby’s steps seemed hurried. She’d definitely been assimilated.

The Hall was a nondescript building on its face. What made it unique was the indoor and outdoor bar, a stage for performances, an industrial sized grill that was already sizzling with brats and hamburgers and an indoor flea market where local artists and crafters sold handmade items and baked goods. One corner of the place smelled like sausage. The other corner smelled like cake, all the while just a few steps away from an endless pitcher of beer.

The seating, inside or out, was sets of long wooden picnic tables and benches. There were no private tables, no romantic arrangements. Patrons picked seats where they could fit and sat there. JC and Gabby chose two seats at the end of a table and ordered the first pitcher of beer.

Two pitchers of beer and two smoked sausage sandwiches later…

“I noticed you didn’t answer my question this morning.” JC sat next to Gabby, methodically folding his napkin in halves, then quarters.

“About going back to LA?”

He nodded, raising his glass to his lips. They were trying a thick lager that was hard to get down at first but was growing on him. Either that or he was getting drunk. Gabby was having no trouble at all.

“I think I will, eventually.”

“Eventually?”

“Once I feel like I’ve got my bearings here, you know?”

“It’s been a year, Gabby. You should be feeling pretty solid by now.”

She huffed, rolling her eyes. “Because know so much about this? You never leave LA. You haven’t spent considerable time outside of LA in forever. You can’t tell me how I should be feeling right now. You can’t talk to me about this.”

“Maybe I haven’t moved across the country recently, but I did move from Florida to LA—“

“After being there all the time, anyway! It wasn’t a new job and a new life and new… everything. It was more like coming home than anything else.” Gabby tipped her glass back, draining it of dark, thick liquid, then reached for the pitcher and poured herself another glass. “But like I said, I’ll be back to visit eventually.”

“And I’m saying, when is eventually? Between now and five years from now?”

“Eventually as in soon.”

“Gabby, you obviously miss LA. Why are you torturing yourself? What’s stopping you?”

She was quiet for a long moment, alternately drinking and staring into her glass, or rolling it between her hands, watching the lager splash up the sides and back down.  Without warning, she sat up and turned toward JC.

“Have you ever thought, ‘I can’t go to that place because I’m afraid I’ll never leave’?”

“A time or two. But home is home, and I always want to go back home.”

“But JC… LA is home.”

Gabby had resolved within herself, before JC even arrived, that she was not going to complain about New York. She had a great job that paid okay money. She would never be rich, but no one went into the arts or writing or editing even, for the money. It was mostly about prestige, of being able to say you worked for a well known name and let that clout carry you. If she played her cards right, she could work up the chain at Pearson pretty quickly and that was worth more than a high salary. At least, it used to be.

Now that she was used to it, she did like the hustle and bustle of New York. Add to that the beautiful architecture, the city steeped with history, the exposure to so much art and culture that felt like it was straight from the source and not watered down and “treated” by the time it reached Hollywood. Her first few months had been spent tooling around with stars in her eyes, driving from borough to borough, Westchester County to New Jersey, all over Manhattan and back. The highlight of a bitter cold, snowy winter was being able to wear boots and sweaters and long coats. Spring was a beautiful, welcome arrival and though she sometimes felt she was cooking in a soup of humidity and taxi fumes, the heat of summer was never more eagerly anticipated.

So, New York wasn’t all bad. Except that she missed LA so much her teeth hurt. She couldn’t talk to her friends anymore—they were always on the way to something warm and fun at someplace familiar to her. The mere mention of the Standard Hotel would bring her to tears. Hearing that the girls were getting together at the same yogurt shop in Beverly Center where Gabby spent so much time was like ripping her heart out. She just couldn’t take it anymore. She stopped calling and, after so many calls went unanswered, they simply stopped coming.

Gabby’s mother was encouraging, in her own annoyingly prying motherly way, insisting that she get out and experience culture and meet new people. It just wasn’t as easy as all that. It took months of visiting bars and trying out gyms before she realized that she wasn’t looking with an open mind. She was trying to replicate LA. And it wasn’t working. Times Square would never be the Grove. Madison Avenue would never be Rodeo Drive. And there was nothing anywhere like Sunset Boulevard.

But the night before she was supposed to leave town, right after her going away party where she was so looking forward to the move to the big city, she’d bragged to JC about how life was going to be so much better. Her writing would be taken seriously and she would have a foot in the door of a respected organization with worldwide presence. And she would be a New Yorker. She felt like she’d be more of a woman in New York.

To be sitting across from him a year later, on the verge of admitting that maybe it was all a mistake felt like a fall from grace.

One pitcher of beer, two hamburgers and two gelatos later…

“I feel sick.”

“You should. You’re drunk and you’ve eaten like shit all day.”

“I felt fine till I had that gelato.” Gabby moaned and rubbed her belly. “Do you feel sick?”

“Nope. But see…” He leaned over, brushing his shoulder against hers. “I’m pacing myself. I figure someone has to walk you home and since I’m the only one who knows where you live…”

“I think I need to slow down.”

“Good thinking.”

Gabby took a deep breath. Here goes nothing. “So… about that question you asked me.” Her eyes lifted to his face. Hopefully she didn’t have to spell out what she was talking about. It was hard enough to bring it up.

“What about it?”

“Well…I mean…I don’t hate New York. I really don’t.”

“Okay. I feel a ‘but’ coming…”

Gabby squirmed. “It’s just… I hate living here. And working here.”

JC squinted, his eyebrows nearly knit together. “What do you mean, you hate it? Have you even lived here long enough to hate it?”

“A year is plenty of time to hate someplace, JC.”

“If you say so. Have you even given it much of a chance?”

She hung her head, picking at the flaking paint in the table, watching the chips fly in every direction. “It’s been a long year.”

“What are you going to do about it? Are you stuck here?” Gabby shrugged. “That’s not an answer, Miss Moreno.”

When still no answer came, JC leaned in close and tipped his head toward hers. “Gabby,” he said. “What do you want to do? Don’t think about it, just—off the top of your head, tell me.”

“Go back to LA,” she admitted, but so quietly that JC just barely heard her. He didn’t make her repeat it, thankfully.

“So… why can’t you just do that?”

“Because I couldn’t wait to leave LA. Because I was an asshole about LA when I lived there.”

“So? You were a happy asshole.”

She glared, giving him her most evil eye before continuing. “And I moved here for a reason! I thought I would be more worldly, a big east coast city girl, working for a serious publication.”

“And you’re not that?”

“I guess. I just… I’ve figured out, kind of really late, that I don’t necessarily want that. I just feel so… conflicted. I want to be taken seriously as a writer, but I’d rather roll my eyes every day than be so far away from people and places I love.”

“Well. It would be a big step, to move back. Even bigger than moving away.”

Gabby sighed, her head sinking until it hit the table. “I gave up my apartment. It was so cute and so cheap and so close to the beach. I quit my job, a good job that sometimes really sucked, but it was a good job.  I don’t even know if I can go back to LA Magazine.”

“I think the world is better off not reading an expose’ on Cameron Diaz’s ass dimples.”

She giggled. “We both know that story will be written. If not by me, then someone else. But I’m better off not having to pitch it. Or write it. Or edit and submit it and call it journalism.”

JC had such a way of diffusing a stressful situation. Once she figured out that he wasn’t going to lecture her for being so pompous about leaving LA, it was easier to talk about. Even easier to consider leaving New York.

“Well, if you want…” JC paused, gripped his empty glass and filled it from the pitcher, took a few gulps of beer and set it down again, but didn’t continue.

“If I want, what?”

He shrugged. She smacked his arm, her forehead wrinkled in confusion.

“Well. I was just thinking, if you need a place to stay, I have room. A lot of room. And I know people. I could help. You wouldn’t have to work for a smut rag. Not that I think LA Magazine is a smut rag, but…”

She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came. Yes? No? Yes, but I want to try harder to make New York work? No, I’m going to manage this myself?

“I don’t really…that’s…I mean…” She paused, reaching for a complete sentence. “I don’t know what to say, JC. But thank you. Your offer is really generous.”

“And genuine,” he said, elbowing her. “I feel like I owe you, a little.”

“Why, because I’m letting you stay with me for way cheap instead of making you get a hotel room?”

He laughed. “That, and… I don’t know. I want to do something for you, something to help. The offer is always open. Let me know, okay?”

Gabby picked up her glass, drained it of the last of the beer and plunked it back on the wooden surface. She plastered a grin on her face and perked herself up.

‘He didn’t come to New York for this melancholy bullshit,’ she lectured herself. ‘Figure out your life on your own time.’

“You’re helping right now. I really appreciate you listening to me whine.” She gave his hand a few friendly pats and stood up, lifting her leg over the bench. “I’ve got to cleanse myself of that gelato. Let’s get a hot dog.”

Two bottles of water and two hotdogs later…

“You look better,” JC said, glancing at her over a table draped in a black velvet cloth. Laid across it were chains of various sizes with colorful stones strung on them. Gabby was debating between two of them, though she couldn’t afford either.

“Thanks,” she answered, smiling up at him. “I feel better. Which one of these do you like more?”

He looked at one, and then the other. “Well, they’re both a little long for me and neither of them are my color. I’m a winter, but you’re a summer, I think.”

He picked one bearing a pendant the shade of cool violet, unhooked it and fastened it around her neck. It fell perfectly, landing just above her cleavage. He gave her the sexiest half smile and then a shy shrug.

“That one,” he said. “It’s going in the right direction.”

Gabby blushed. And bought the pendant.

The sun was dropping quickly toward the horizon. Shadows grew longer, corners became darker. A band was setting up on stage, tuning instruments and sending test vocals out over the speakers hung in each corner of the room and over the grounds outside. As the rosy glow of evening spread across the pavilion, people were taking seats around the stage and waiting for the show to begin.

Gabby and JC joined them, choosing to sit on the floor in the pit area. JC was so close, she could feel his body heat radiating. Or at least she imagined she could. Maybe she was just drunk. Or horny. Or both. Either way, JC and his proximity was creating a warm, welcome feeling in the pit of her stomach. And it was spreading.

The music was a 90s grunge and indie rock cover band, playing everything from Weezer and Alice in Chains to Beastie Boys and Beck. The longer they played, the more competitive JC and Gabby were, trying to remember the lyrics to decades old music.

“You oughta smack yourself for not being able to remember Nirvana lyrics,” JC teased.

“Look, it’s been a long time since I was a repressed teenager,” she joked back. “And I’m sorry who could  ever understand Kurt Cobain? He was such a mumbler.”

“There used to be these things inside CD covers called lyrics.”

“Smartass. I don’t think Nirvana ever printed their lyrics.”

“They did. But just so you know, because it’s killing me that you don’t…It’s with the lights out, I’m less dangerous—“

“Here we are now, entertain us. I remember.” She nodded, humming along to the tune in her head. “I remember now.”

The band took a break for intermission, giving them an opportunity to stand and stretch their legs.

“That’s so not fair,” Gabby whined. “You’re a musician. You know all this stuff.”

“Not inherently. I wasn’t born knowing things like that; I just like music.  And I like learning. I teach myself things all the time. You know things I don’t because you have a passion for it.”

“I guess I never paid that much attention. You still know way more than I do.”

“I feel like I shouldn’t argue with you about that.”

The crowd grew louder and busier as people gathered around the entrance to the pavilion and started lining up for more pitchers of beer. Gabby watched them swarm, suddenly hot and claustrophobic. It had been a long day and all she really wanted, right there and then, was to be with one person.

JC must have been reading her mind. Either that or he felt the same way. “You wanna get out of here?” he asked.

She smiled, knowing her relief was written all over her face. “Yeah. I do.”

He dropped an arm around her shoulder, guiding her out of the building and onto the street. “Let’s walk back to your place, get that pizza, watch that movie. Just like you planned.”

“You can still eat pizza after all the crap we ate today?”

“I told you, I can always eat.”

They walked the streets slowly, savoring the early evening air.

“So,” JC said, “We’ve slept together. A few times now. I should know more about you. You know a lot about me.”

“Yeah, that’s what happens when you grow up on MTV and the cover of Teen Beat. What do you want to know?”

“What do you want to tell me?”

“I don’t have any secrets. Ask away.”

“Okay.” He paused for a beat and then said, “Well, you mention your mom a lot. How supportive—or pushy she is. No dad?”

“Yep,” she said, head bobbing as she nodded deeply. “He… uhm…he left when I was ten to marry the chick he was having an affair with. I think they were divorced within a few years. And now he’s married again. I think his new wife might be younger than me.”

JC laughed. “I wish I were kidding. He and… Jillian? Judy? Something with a J—they send me a Christmas card every year.”

“That sucks that he’s not involved. But your mom, she’s okay?”

“More than okay. It was just me and her for a long time, you know? She put herself through nursing school, put me through school. She made it work.”

“She must have given you your spunk.”

“If that’s what you want to call it, yeah. I’m proud of her. When I graduated, she went back for another degree. And then she married one of her doctors, so…” Gabby stopped to laugh.

A knowing smile broke across his face. He nodded. “So she’s doing just fine, huh?”

“Just fine,” she said, nodding back.

“So your... stepdad? Is he a good guy?”

“He’s the best thing to ever happen to her. He’s why she’s always after me to date and meet new guys. She wants me to be as happy as she is.”  Gabby snorted a laugh. Like she could ever subscribe to the fairytale her mother tried to plant in her head, that some poor sap out there was her perfect match or her soul mate.

“You sound like you don’t think that’s possible. People find love everywhere. Anywhere. You never know.”

Even on the Sunset Strip. Wait. What?

“I just know that it would make her really happy to be right about something in my life.”

“Of course,” he agreed with a laugh. “My mom loves it when she can say I told you, Joshua.”

“See?” Gabby spread her hands in front of her. “Replace Joshua with Gabrielle and you have my mother.”

“Well. I hope, if your mom gets to be right about one thing in your life, that she’s right about that. You’re too cool of a chick to not have someone to be happy with.”

Gabby dipped her head in a bout of sudden, blushing shyness. “Thanks, JC. That means a lot coming from you.”

“I mean that,” he said softly. “I’m glad I met you. By accident. When I stumbled into you.”

Gabby walked ahead, flashing her key fob in front of the sensor at the front door to her building. A buzz sounded and with a loud click, the front door opened. She stepped inside and JC followed closely behind her. His scent, baked in by the sun, wafted ahead and tickled her nose.

His last statement to her—that he was glad he’d met her—was echoing inside her brain. Bouncing around in there.

What did that mean?

Did it mean what she thought—or hoped— it meant?

JC followed Gabby’s lead back to her apartment. Up the front walk, through the security doors and up the elevator to the 5th floor he followed. The only sounds from her were her footsteps, low heels against the pavement and muffled thumps along the carpeted hallway. She was distant and quiet, like she had something on her mind.

She inserted her key and twisted it in one deadbolt lock and then the other. He followed her inside the stuffy apartment and waited for her to flip a switch to turn on a lamp.

But she didn’t.

Almost as soon as the door closed, he felt two hands land on his chest and push. Hard. Startled, he nearly lost his footing, but caught himself just before his back slammed against the door. Gabby—rather her shadow—moved toward him with quick steps and rapid shallow breaths. In the next moment her arms were wrapped around his neck and her tongue was in his mouth. Not that he was complaining.

He loved a woman that took control, wasn’t shy about her wants and needs and most of all showed pleasure to the extreme. Gabby was doing everything that turned him on and then some, from groans and moans and deep inhales to passionate, forceful kisses. Most of all, she had plastered herself up against him. He felt every ridge and curve of her body as if she were imprinting herself on him. In more ways than one, she was doing just that.

Fingers. He felt hers, reaching under the hem of his t-shirt and unbuttoning the fly of his jeans. And then working the zipper down. With a tug, they fell to his knees. He felt her hands again, moving around the band of his briefs but not daring to pull them down quite yet.

“What are you waiting for?” He whispered, his cheek against hers, his lips near her ear.

“You to stop me,” she answered.

He chuckled, low and sultry, but didn’t move except to reach around her, grip her perfect, supple ass and pull her toward him, up against him. He pressed himself into her, letting her feel what she was doing to him. Hoping she’d finish what she started.

Seconds later, the briefs joined the gathers of denim that sank to his ankles and pooled at his feet.

Her hands were warm as she held and stroked him, every move ebbing him closer to the point where he might have to push her down to the floor and satisfy an urgent, desperate need. His breathing was labored, loud and heavy in his own ears. He didn’t dare imagine how he sounded to her.

She seemed to have no problem with his breathing or, despite feeling like he might explode at any moment, how hard he was. A deep and throaty moan fell from his lips. He was strokes from coming when she stopped. And stepped backward.

“Gabby. What the fu--”

“Shhhhh,” she soothed. “I just need to catch up.”

Sounds flew through the air—familiar sounds to him. A zipper, the rustle of denim, the clunk of what he guessed was a shoe. A button went flying, ricocheting off of the brick. And then she was back, her warmth up against him. 

“Oh… fuck.” His knees were weak and he was unsteady on his feet at the realization that she was bare. They were skin to skin and she was so, so warm. Out of pure instinct, he ran a hand down her thigh and grabbed at her, lifting her leg so it curled around his hip. Her lips claimed his again as he pushed into her and she pushed back.

It was hot and quick and dirty, loud grunts and moans while the door rattled in the frame. JC struggled to stay upright while Gabby practically hung off of him. She came in shudders and convulsions, milking him and coaxing his climax soon after hers.

Gabby was standing, but swaying side to side. She was breathless. And giggly. “Okay, I really have never done that before. But I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

JC chuckled, thinking she was pretty cute. And funny. And hot. Why didn’t he come see her sooner? “Let’s try it up against the bedroom door. Or what do you say we get rid of these clothes and try it in the bed?”

“Mmmhmm,” she hummed, stepping back and grabbing his hand, pulling him toward the hallway leading to the bedroom. He shuffled, grabbing at his pants before they tripped him, finally kicking them and his shoes off at her bedroom door.

Gabby was already stripping off her shirt and bra, leaving only the pendant he’d picked out hanging from her neck and falling in that perfect spot above her breasts. She climbed up onto the bed and leaned back, crossing her legs at the ankles. JC could only stare, his eyes crawling the length of her body, covering practically every visible inch of smooth, golden brown skin.

“JC?”

 “Huh?”

“Are you coming?”

He blinked. He’d been staring awhile, he guessed. He couldn’t get enough of her, was the thing. He cleared his throat, lifted his shirt over his head and tossed it away, then moved toward the bed.

“Again? Eventually.”

***

It was either move to the couch or rub themselves raw on that tiny bed. Besides, Gabby’s neighbors downstairs were banging on the ceiling of their apartment, causing at least five minutes of breathless, cackling laughter.

They snuggled together on the couch, an empty pizza box on the table in front of them, a bowl of popcorn and a near empty bottle of wine between them.

“Think Pretty Woman is on? I bet we could catch the end.” Gabby flipped through the list of movies that she could order On Demand, frowning as she scrolled through the P’s with no hint of the film in sight. “Aw, I should have rented it.”

“I’ve already seen the end,” JC said, mid-yawn and wide arm stretch. “I’ve already lived the end.”

Gabby grinned, dropping the remote in his lap and scooting closer, up under his arm and against his chest. “Oh, yeah. You did come back to rescue the Princess. You hardly climbed the trellis, though.”

“In the movie, Edward climbs her fire escape actually, and I don’t think you have one. A tiny elevator with graffiti advertising suspicious good times will have to do.”

“Fair enough. You came.”

She felt him grin. “Several times.”

“Walked right into that one.”

“You seem to keep doing that.”

“Hint, sweetie. I’m doing it on purpose.”

“Hint, honey. I know that.” He snickered, digging for more popcorn. “So, now it’s your turn again,” he said, crunching in her ear.

“It is?”

“Yeah. Remember? She rescues him right back.”

“I’ve been doing an awful lot of rescuing, though.”

“That’s how it works.”

She tipped her head up so she could see him. “Okay. So, how I can I rescue you this time?”

He tapped her shoulder reassuringly. Ate more popcorn, sipped more wine.

 “You’ll figure it out.”

Six months, a U-Haul and a whole lot of nerve later….

It was a chill Saturday night. Traffic seemed lighter than usual, but then she remembered that it was off season. Tourists only descended at certain times of year, when the ocean waters were warm and the breezes didn’t chill to the bone. Even the line at Pinches was short and the wait wasn’t the usual hour or more.

Gabby picked up the ‘To Go’ bag, eyeing the two covered dishes packed inside. She sniffed and then smiled at the scents emanating from the bag. Every day she saw some sort of sign that she had made the right decision.

JC left New York without explaining what he’d meant by you’ll figure it out, but he didn’t really need to.  He waited patiently for her to come to the realization, all on her own, that she needed to move back. Almost three months after his visit, she called to break the news that, pending transfer approval, she would be back in LA soon. He couldn’t convincingly pretend to not be elated.  

Months later, her transfer to the California office and the Entertainment division was complete. Gabby dove into reacquainting herself with her favorite people, her favorite places, and her favorite foods—namely the tacos at Pinches. The smells wafted around her, filling the car as she drove. It took everything in her not to break into one of the containers and take a bite.

She pulled up to a house that was home to her by now and parked next to the Mercedes in the driveway. He liked to pick on her shitty blue Toyota, but no one had ever tried to break into her car and steal her $300 sunglasses. She didn’t even own $300 sunglasses and with the salary cut she took in order to transfer offices, she wouldn’t be buying any for quite some time.

But at least she would be in LA.

She grinned, giddy for no reason—at the same time for lots of reasons—and grabbed the bag from the backseat before bounding up the front steps. She turned the knob and of course the door was open and the alarm system off. Even after two break-ins, it was like he didn’t realize where he lived. Life in New York had definitely awakened the vigilant crime fighter in her.

“Honey, I’m hoooome,” she called out, stepping into the hallway and locking the door behind her.

“Do you have food?”   

“Yes, because you can always eat.”

She brought the bag into the living room and began to unpack. JC opened every container and peeked inside, alternately mmm-ing and commenting on the Spanish rice and refried beans and handcrafted, authentic tacos.

“Smells good. Still hot, too.”

“I told you, they’re better when they’re fresh.”

“Hey, look what I found,” JC said, pointing toward the TV. The familiar long legged gait of Julia Roberts in thigh high patent leather boots flashed across the screen.

Gabby squealed. “Our movie! You found it!”

“Yep,” he said, sitting back with a container of food and settling into the couch. “Welcome to Hollywood,” he quoted. “What’s your dream? Everybody has a dream.”

Gabby grabbed the other container and joined him in relaxing, snuggled up against him.    

“Mine is coming true, right this minute.”