Reese

First things first. I'm not drunk. I mean, I wouldn't drive home or anything, because tipsy driving is still drunk driving. But really, I still have most of my wits about me. Really, my head's only swimming when I sit down. And I'm not sitting down anymore. Because they are playing my shit right now. The rhythm and my heartbeat are thumping in symbiotic harmony. I have no idea what song's playing but it's my new favorite and it's flowing through my bloodstream. I throw my head back as I raise my arms overhead. My hips move independently of the rest of my body, completely enslaved to the beat.

I feel the brush of fingers against my back, and then breath on my ear. I turn around with a smile and place a hand on his chest. "No, thanks," I say, hoping he can hear me over the music.

"Come on, Baby, just one dance?" He's lacing his fingers through mine, but I'm pulling away with a shake of my head.

"I just want to dance, OK? Alone." I take a few steps away from him and turn back around, and though I can feel his presence still behind me for a moment, he eventually walks away.

I've been doing this all night. I don't know what's so hard to understand about it. I just want to drown in the music (and liquor) and dance, without some random dude's hands all over me. Is that too much to ask?

Bridgette's been encouraging me to do something reckless tonight. Not the kind of reckless that'll end up with me behind bars or in a morgue or anything. "The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else," she says. She's been suggesting anonymous sex with an anonymous hot guy. Unfortunately for me--or maybe her, I don't know--I'm not seeing an abundance of hot guys around this club so far.

Besides, right now I'm pretty sure I hate men. All of them. Maybe I'll be a late in life lesbian. I don't know if 34 is considered late in life. And I also don't know if I've ever been sexually attracted to a woman. There was that one time in college, but it wasn't anywhere near sex, and it involved a shit ton of vodka and a game of Truth or Dare that quickly went left. Horny drunk college boys and shameless drunk college girls should probably never play Truth or Dare together.

Maybe sleeping with women can be an acquired taste. I'm all about acquiring new tastes these days. I'm still considering lesbianism when Sasha and Bridgette come up next to me.

"Drink up, girl! You're at least three shots behind us!"

Bridgette's shoving two shot glasses at me and Sasha's grinning wildly. They left me on the dancefloor to get more drinks--free, so they hoped.

I toss one shot back and my face involuntarily scrunches up. "Whoo! What is that?"

Sasha's giggling. "Don't know. We told the bartender to make us something that would fuck us up and that's what he came up with. And some randoms paid for it so even better."

I'm slamming back the second shot and feeling the burn and then I'm just feeling good. I don't know what was in that shot glass, but whatever it was, as far as the directive to fuck us up, the bartender took that shit seriously.

So, yeah. Maybe I'm drunk now. And also I have to pee.

I assure my girls that they don't actually have to follow me, set my empty shots on the bar as I pass by, and I'm making my way to the bathroom, teetering in heels that I let Sasha talk me into. I'm much more at home in flip flops when I'm sober, so this whole walking drunk while balancing on four inch stilettos is kind of for the birds. I want to take the damned things off, but I'm also not a fan of athlete's foot--or whatever other fungus I could pick up from the floor of this place.

Apparently the bathroom gods hear my silent prayer, as the ladies room has no line. I stumble into the bathroom and into a stall. Once my bladder is blissfully emptied, I'm washing my hands in the sink and taking in my reflection.

Bridgette is obviously a magician with makeup and I'm thinking I'll buy her an expensive bottle of wine to thank her later. No one would ever know, just looking at me, that I spent the last almost forty-eight hours sobbing.  My eyes aren't puffy or particularly red. In fact, everything about my makeup is flawless. My hair is kind of a wild halo around my head and shoulders, but humidity plus tight curls always equals that. My underwear is brought to you by La Perla. And while I'm wearing the most expensive flimsy pieces of lace I've ever in my life owned, I'm looking at the abundance of cleavage I don't normally have and feeling like it's worth it. In the simple tank top with the plunging neckline and skinny jeans, I look pretty fucking good. And considering that I've been feeling like fucking shit, that's a wonderful thing.

He keeps coming to my mind in flashes. David. And the glint of diamonds on perfectly manicured fingers. Rebecca.

Fuck. Them. Both.

I plan on drinking until I can't remember either of their names. I've never been blackout drunk but tonight is a good time to aim for it.

I take a deep breath and, very carefully, step my way out of the bathroom. Not carefully enough, I suppose, because just a few feet away from the restroom I step wrong on one heel and suddenly I'm falling.

Fuck. These. Shoes.

"Whoa!" Strong arms are around me, steadying me and I'm looking up into a pair of really pretty blue eyes.

Full disclosure: blue eyes don't really do it for me. Give me a pair of deep, cognac-brown eyes over just about anything else any day. I swoon. But this guy's blues are amazingly lovely. Bright. Little flecks of maybe green? I don't know. He's talking to me, asking me something, and I realize I'm grinning stupidly. Also, it's loud and I can hardly hear him.

"Hey, you OK, honey?" he asks a bit louder. He's staring down at me, a small smile on his lips.

So that part where I said there were no hot guys around? I was wrong.

After willing my brain to function, I open my mouth, praying my words don't slur. "I...uh...yeah. Thanks. I've had far too much liquor to be wearing these shoes."

He glances down at my feet and then he's laughing. And I'm giggling. I only giggle when I'm drunk.

He's good looking, this guy. I'm guessing he's around my age, maybe a little older. His hair--it's dark, a little wavy and looks super thick--is graying just a little at the temples. He's completely not my type in any way, shape or form. For one, he's white. And I like my men a little more...not white. Don't get me wrong; there are lots of cute white guys--and I've dated a few. But I'm a brown girl and I like brown men. It's just my thing. But I cannot deny that he is...really good looking. Really.  

He's wearing this graphic tee and I can't really make out the white design but it's this kind of cool gray-green color with and a kind of abstract pattern in navy blue running through it. And it's not tight, and it's really simple, but motherfuck does it fit him well. He looks like he works out. And he definitely feels like he works out.

He's laughing, and the sound of his voice is melodic and it's rumbling through me and hitting me in unexpected places. And his eyes are crinkled up and sparkling and it's really charming. And his arms are still around me, even though I'm mostly steady on my feet now, but it means he's pretty close to me which means I can smell him and he smells ah-mazing. I don't know what it is, but it's clean and fresh and very, very masculine. And speaking of, he's slightly built through the hips and legs, but his shoulders are rather broad and his arms--the ones still around me--I can feel the muscles in them.

Yeah. He's cute. And also, I haven't had sex in a couple of months.

"So, um, if I let you go you're not gonna topple over, are you?"

He's still grinning at me and it's making my insides feel all warm and tingly and I'm thinking that a taste for sex with women is maybe not something I'll ever acquire. And maybe tonight just got a little bit more interesting.

I tilt my head to the side and flash him what I hope is my best and brightest smile. "Maybe not," I say, "but I wouldn't mind a little help over to a seat. Since you've already proven to be such a gentleman, and all."

His smile brightens even more and he keeps one arm around me. "I think I can do that."

I lean into him as we're walking away. I think...I think maybe Bridgette has the right idea after all.

JC

In my defense, I didn't even want to be here. I don't mean here, specifically. But Chicago, in general. Not that I have anything against Chicago; it's a great city. But it's late October and it's already pretty cold. They don't call it the Windy City for nothing, and I hate cold. That's why I've called Southern California home for over a decade.

But I'm here, in windy Chicago, and Tia...well, she's not. Which is funny considering I'm only here because she insisted I be here. Tia's insisting on a lot lately and mostly, going along with it is easier--more peaceful--than not. And I like peace. But more and more I'm feeling like...well I'm not feeling very peaceful. But I don't want to think about that, which is why I'm here. Specifically.

When I told Eli I'd be alone in the city for the next twenty four hours he insisted on assembling a small group and bringing me out. He knows me, knows I would've been sitting in my hotel room actively avoiding thinking about everything that's currently disturbing my peace. Have I mentioned that I like peace?

So I'm here, and he's sprung for bottle service, and I'm drinking. And that means I'm not thinking too much. And that's good. And his friends, most of whom I've met before, are all pretty cool. A couple of people have recognized me, but that's been cool too.

The thing I like about Chicago is that it's got this big city-meets-small town thing going on. Maybe it's something about the Midwest, but for the most part, even when people notice me, they mostly leave me alone. I've taken a few selfies with a few people, but they're largely unobtrusive. That's peaceful too.

I'm leaving the head when this girl is falling directly into my arms. "Whoa!" I say as I try to steady her on her feet.

She's kind of teetering for a moment and she's clutching my arms, kind of panting and out of breath. I think her almost-fall kind of took her by surprise.

I can't help it, because of the way she's kind of leaning on me, that I'm perfectly positioned to stare down the front of her shirt. I hate myself a little for doing it but...hey, I'm male. And thanks to the tiny top she's wearing, it's all beautifully on display.

She's kinda smiling at me, and although it's clear she's probably three sheets to the wind, she's also got a great smile. Honestly, she's got a pretty great everything, from what I can see. Big brown eyes, full lips colored in red, straight white teeth. Upturned little nose on a round face. And of course, what's down her shirt. She's...yeah. She's cute.

"Hey, you OK, honey?" I'm staring down at her and she's still smiling at me with eyes that I'm enjoying look back into. I need to remind myself that cute drunk girls are potentially dangerous territory.

She seems to take a deep breath. "I...uh...yeah. Thanks. I've had far too much liquor to be wearing these shoes."

I'm expecting her to sound like...well, like she looked when she was falling over a moment ago. But she sounds surprisingly sober. I mean she's speaking a little slow, but she's completely coherent and not slurring at all. I glance down at these shoes she's talking about and I burst out laughing because the heel is so high and I think it's ridiculous how girls wear shoes like that just to go out and drink.

I'm laughing and then she's laughing with me and, oh man, even her laugh is cute. And she's staring at me in this way that I can't quite describe. At first I think maybe she recognizes me, but it doesn't seem like that's it exactly. But I do think she's maybe checking me out a little and she's still holding on to me. And the way she's still kind of leaning on me, well I keep inhaling her and she smells sexy. There's something vaguely familiar about whatever it is she's wearing, but I don't know what.  

I'm feeling...something. I'm not sure what. Well, that's not completely true. I know one thing I'm feeling, but lust isn't the only thing. Maybe a little anticipation, maybe a little anxiety. I've spent approximately 60 seconds with this girl and I'm already thinking she may be the reason that I get into trouble tonight.   

"So, um, if I let you go you're not gonna topple over, are you?" I ask her that, and her smile changes, just a little bit. It's still wide, and bright, and really beautiful. But there's something maybe a little challenging there.

"Maybe not," she says, "but I wouldn't mind a little help over to a seat. Since you've already proven to be such a gentleman, and all."

I keep one arm around her, and grin back down at her. "I think I can do that."

Reese

This time yesterday I was curled in the fetal position in the middle of my couch, sobbing. This time yesterday I was thinking that I'd swear off all men, for all the rest of time. But this man, this really good looking man, still has his arm around me and is letting me lean on him while we make our way through this club and he has me thinking that maybe yesterday I was being a little melodramatic. Maybe all guys aren't horrible. Because this one in particular seems kind of nice.

He's saying stuff that I can't really understand because of the music, but I can hear his voice and I think, in a quieter environment it's probably pretty sexy.

I think I would really, really like to get him into a quieter environment.

We're weaving our way through writhing bodies and he leads us up a couple of stairs and to a table where a couple of other people are seated. He stops, leans down so his lips are right up against my ear and asks, "What's your name, Honey?"

The way  he says ‘honey,' as if it's the most natural thing in the world to call a stranger--a stranger who just fell practically on top of you because she can't balance in her ridiculous shoes? For whatever reason, it doesn't sound skeevy or creepy. And what I said before? About his voice and how it's probably pretty sexy? I was right. Because hearing him, loud and clear over the din of the club, sends a delicious shiver straight down to...well, I'm reminded again that I haven't sex in awhile. Damn.

He moves his head so his ear is right in line with my mouth and for a moment I'm all consumed with how good he smells and sounds and how close he is to me. And how his arm is still around me and his hand is warm on the small of my back and moving down slightly and I have to inhale a shaky breath and remember my name.

"Reese, " I manage. "What's yours?"

He straightens up and looks at me, kind of like he's searching for something but I have no idea what. And then he smiles again, that easy grin I'm beginning to like a whole lot. And with his free hand, the one that's not already against me, he shakes my hand.

"Nice to meet you, Reese. I'm JC."

He kind of licks his lips after he answers and of course, that's where my eyes are drawn. He's got nice lips, JC. Especially the bottom one. I bet he's a good kisser, I'm thinking. And I bet his mouth is good at all kinds of stuff, I'm thinking. And I'm kind of letting thoughts of his lips on me, in so many different ways, ripen in my mind.

In the seventeen years I've been having sex, I've never had a one-night stand. And I've definitely never had sex with a complete stranger. But maybe tonight is supposed to be a night for new experiences. And this guy, JC, is something I think I'd like to experience. And my place is only like fifteen minutes away.

Ok, wow. I don't even know where this is coming from honestly. I'd like to say it's the alcohol but I've been way drunker than this before. And although I'm still a little unsteady on my feet, my mind is completely clear. And what is clearly on my mind is the fact that I would like to take him home. And, yeah, that's probably stupid. I watch enough Investigation Discovery to know that sometimes the cute and charming guy with the pretty eyes ends up being a psycho/crazy sociopath who wants to do bad things to you.

But instinct is telling me that's not the case with JC. Although I really would like him to do some very, very bad things to me.

He's introducing me to his friends--Micah and Stella and Eli. We're shaking hands and they seem really nice. Apparently some other people in their group are already dancing, but Eli's ordered some more of...whatever it is they're drinking. The server is back with more bottles and glasses are being filled and handed them out.  Now I've got another drink in my hand, and I'm sipping something bubbly and lightly sweet and delicious.

Eli invites me to have a seat and then he pulls JC to side for a moment. I make myself at home on one of the plush sofas. I guess when you're paying for bottle service, they want to make sure you're comfortable. And I am.

They're talking and I'm watching and it's the perfect vantage point for me to be able to get a good look at all of JC. I'm reminded, again, that, physically, he's really not my type. In my heels I'm about 5'5" or 5'6" and he's still several inches taller than me, so I assume he's around 5'10" or so. I've generally dated tall guys, like in the 6'2" and over range. So he's a little shorter than I'm used to. But his shoulders are nice and so are his arms and he looks...fantastic in his dark wash jeans.

This guy absolutely exudes sex.

Eli looks up at me and raises his glass, a friendly smile on his face. I don't know what they're talking about, but it must be OK because JC's grinning too. Eli leans in close to him, looks like he whispers something, and then JC is making his way back over to me.

I like the way he walks. And I really like the way he's looking at me, while he's walking over to me.

I'm feeling reckless. I really hope he's down for being reckless with me tonight.

JC

Everything about this night is more interesting right now. And that makes me feel kind of guilty, but only kind of. It's not my fault that Tia's not here. And it's not totally my fault that things have been so weird between us lately. And it's most definitely not my fault that this girl literally fell into my arms.

I believe in fate and destiny and things like that. And the way I was feeling, and the way she was suddenly in arms...I don't know. Maybe it's kismet.

My arm is around her and she's leaning on me and I'm thinking how good she feels against me like this. She's this little thing with a little waist. Not skinny really, but just...little. Compact. Even in her ridiculously high heels she's not that tall, so I'm guessing she's a shorty when she's barefoot. And I really wish I hadn't just thought of her barefoot because now I'm kind of picturing the rest of her bare and that is just...well, that's probably all my fault.

I have a girlfriend. I'm just going to keep saying that over and over in my head because otherwise, I'm almost positive I'm going to misstep tonight. And I'm no saint, but I don't generally cheat. If I'm not into a relationship anymore, I leave it. And the truth is, well...I'm not too sure how into my relationship I am anymore. But I'm here. In Chicago. Because Tia wanted me to be. Insisted. And that has to mean something, right?

But I've also got my arm around a girl that I don't know, but who I think is really sexy, and I fully intend on sitting really close to her, and maybe talking to her more, and maybe drinking with her some more. And then...I'm not sure. And that probably has to mean something, too.

We're right by the table and I see Eli and Micah and Stella sitting around drinking and talking, but everyone else must be up dancing. I stop for a moment and get close to her ear and as I breathe her in, I'm thinking such dirty thoughts about her. But I only ask her name. No sooner do the words leave my mouth then I swear I feel her tremble beneath my fingertips. Damn.

"Reese," she's saying, when I move my head down so I can hear her. And her breath comes out on my ear all warm and I can't help it but my dick jumps and my balls tighten.

Reese. She looks like a Reese. You know how that is, when someone tells you their name and you're thinking they don't look anything like what their name is? Not with her. Reese fits her. Also, I think it's kinda sexy when girls have unisex names. Especially cute girls. And she is a very, very cute girl.

"What's yours?" she asks and I straighten up so I can look at her.

I've kind of wondered if maybe she's just playing it cool with me. I don't mean to make it sound like I'm a big deal, because that time in my life is long gone, but usually women in a certain age range recognize me. Usually. So I'm looking at her, trying to see if maybe she's just yanking my chain, but she's just looking back at me pleasantly, and with absolutely no recognition on her face.

I have to admit it; that kind of intrigues me.

With my free hand, I shake hers. "Nice to meet you, Reese. I'm JC."

She's looking up at me smiling, and then her smile kind of fades and her eyes shift down. And then I'm pretty sure she's staring at my mouth.

I'm trying to ignore the way that makes me feel and I start introducing her to the folks around the table. Right now it's just Eli, Stella, and Micah. I guess everyone else is dancing. Eli's keeping the alcohol flowing and the server is back with more bottles and more glasses. Stella's handing Reese and me glasses and then Eli's in front of us.

"Sweetheart, make yourself comfortable. Can I borrow JC for a moment?"

I raise an eyebrow at Eli and tell Reese I'll be right back. I follow him a couple of steps away, a little anxious about what he may want to say to me. I know how it looks, me bringing this girl over here when I have a girlfriend. But I also know Eli. He's not, and never has been, Tia's biggest fan. And lately, well, lately he's been telling me exactly what he thinks about everything that's happening with her.  

"What's up?' I say. He looks so smug and I can't help but laugh. "What, man? Just say it."

He nods. "Reese, huh? Reese looks...fun."

I roll my eyes with a smile, not even bothering to respond.

"So what's the plan, dude?" He looks over at Reese and raises his glass, which makes me laugh.

"There's no plan, Eli. I'm just, uh, playing it by ear."

That's not a total lie. What happens next, if anything, will be one hundred percent dependent on what Reese wants. And right now, for all I know, she just may want to get off her feet for a few minutes, and have some free drinks.

Although there's no way anyone can hear us, Eli's whispering in my ear. "The fact that you're even thinking about it, man...that should tell you something." He claps me on the shoulder and as he walks away says, "Have fun tonight, JC."

I look over to see Reese already looking at me, and, well, Eli's right. I'm making my way over to her, smiling. I am very much hoping to have some fun tonight.     

Reese 

Micah's telling a story about something that I can't even begin to concentrate on because JC's leaning really close to me, and has his arm casually draped on the back of the seat behind me so his hand is hanging down and his fingertips are just brushing my shoulder. All I can really focus on is how he's so close I can feel his breath on my neck when he laughs. And my glass is magically filled again and I'm draining it.

We're all talking and laughing and I like listening to him. When he talks. Sometimes, I notice, he kind of sits back and lets everyone else talk. Like maybe he's kind of quiet. But then someone will ask him something and he goes on and on, almost rambling. And he's so animated and talks with his hands and he nods a lot and his sentences are punctuated with lots of ‘uhs' and ‘you knows.' But it's not bad. It's very, very cute.

He's telling a story right now about something that happened years ago with him and Eli. And his arm has dropped some because his hand is on my shoulder and he's kind of drumming his fingers against me. Almost like he doesn't even realize it. And he's moved closer to me, so our legs are touching and he's almost leaning against me. And every time he laughs I can feel it as this amazingly sexy vibration that rumbles through me.

And while I'm thinking that I need to figure out how to get him to leave with me, I remember Sasha and Bridgette and how I told them I was going to the bathroom and I've been gone for...awhile now.

"Shit," I mutter under my breath. But he's close enough that he hears me.

JC turns concerned eyes on me and moves even closer. "What's wrong?"

I shake my head with an embarrassed smile, my eyes flickering to his friends. They haven't even noticed. Micah's doing something on his phone and it looks like Stella and Eli are getting up to dance.

"I forgot about my friends," I say, shifting in my seat so I can pull my phone out of my back pocket. "They're dancing. I'm just gonna tell ‘em where I am." Knowing she keeps her phone tucked in her bra, I'm already texting Bridgette.

um...kinda met a guy coming out of the bathroom. he's cute. sitting/drinking with him and his friends now.

"They can come sit with us, if they want," he says, sounding genuinely  concerned.  

I take a sip of my drink while I wait for a reply. "Maybe..." I say kind of vaguely.

Truthfully, I don't want my friends to come sit with us. Because if they come over here, when they're ready to go, I'll have to leave with them. And truthfully, I'm trying to figure out how I can make it clear that I think I want him to go home with me.

I'm feeling like my education and degrees are currently useless. I need life experience type help right now. Before Bridgette can reply I'm typing again.

kinda want to take this guy home. help?

I'm really hoping JC isn't reading over my shoulder.

I angle my phone away from him slightly and a message from Bridgette pops up.

damn girl that was quick! you don't need my help to take a guy home. you close million dollar deals daily. certainly you can seal this one.

Not helpful, Bridgette. I roll my eyes. Real estate, even the semi-high dollar kind I'm involved in, isn't quite the same as taking someone home for the evening. Especially when I've had no experience with the latter. Another message pops up.

tell him your friends ditched you and ask him to get you home safely. he'll get the hint.

I snicker, text her a quick thanks, and lock my phone. I slide it onto the table in front of me and turn my full attention on JC.

"Everything OK now?" He's looking down at me with a smile that's kinda slow, and relaxed. And his face is a little flushed, and his pretty blue eyes are sparkling.

So in my line of work, people usually come to me already having an idea of what they want in their head. It's my job to try and find something in reality that fits the fantasy. Maybe Bridgette's right. Maybe this isn't so different from real estate after all.

I shrug one shoulder casually and reach for my drink. "My friends are ready to go." I toss it back. "I'm not." I set the glass down and look him right in the eyes. I'm hoping he gets the hint because I'm not sure I can be much bolder than that.

He's staring back at me now, that smile and the gleam in his eye becoming a little bit more pronounced. And for what seems like hours but is probably just a few seconds, he's just holding my gaze.

I almost can't keep eye contact with him because his eyes are just...intense. But at the same time, it's that intensity that's keeping me locked in him. I don't think I could look away if I tried.

Now he's looking at my lips. Like it's really, really obvious that his eyes shift down and he's watching my mouth. His eyes move down a few more inches and he's rather obviously looking at my cleavage. I'm so glad Bridgette convinced me to buy this expensive ass bra. If tonight goes the way I hope it will, I owe her more than wine.

I'm biting my bottom lip and when he meets my eyes again, the intensity in his has just increased by like, a billion percent.

He leans into me again and I get another whiff of his cologne and it's invading every one of my senses and I'm picturing putting my nose right against his neck and just...inhaling.

He opens his mouth and speaks. "Well when you're ready to go, just let me know and we can get out of here." And he's just staring at me, with this insane fierceness and I think I maybe forgot how to breathe.

My heart is thudding in my chest because he's still holding my gaze, even as he finishes the last of what's in his glass, and I'm pretty sure I know exactly what he's saying. Truthfully, I want to take his hand and run out of the club and into the nearest waiting cab. Before I completely lose my nerve. But I play it cool.

I put my hand on his thigh and move in so my mouth is right up against his ear. "Dance with me?"

Ok I guess I can be a little bit bolder. And I'm so gonna seal this deal tonight.

JC

So when she says she forgot about her friends, I'm feeling a little pang of something. Mostly I'm wondering if that means she's going to get up and join them. I mean, I'm feeling like she's into me, but maybe I'm wrong. Or maybe she's one of those girls who gets really friendly and really flirty when she's had a lot to drink. She's still doesn't seem drunk, but she's also sitting down.

She's texting her friends and I'm kind of curious about what she's saying but I'm trying to invade her privacy. I tell her they can come sit with us, if they want. I really, really don't want her to go yet. At least, I don't want her to go with her friends.

"Maybe," she says, when I say that to her. And it seems to me like maybe she doesn't want them to. And that makes me smile.

She reads something that makes her laugh a little and again, I wonder what she's saying. But in the next moment she's typed something and now she's putting her phone down and looking at me. I ask her if everything is OK and she smiles this smile that makes me nervous and excited all at the same time.

"My friends are ready to go. I'm not." She throws back the rest of her drink and sets the empty glass on the table next to her phone. And then she's just looking at me, like she's waiting for me to say--or do--something.

Oh, Reese.

Everything about her is intense. I don't even know how to describe it really, but her energy is just...wild. In the best way. I can almost literally feel sparks flying between us. And I'm not strictly talking about sexual chemistry. I mean, yeah. I'm looking at her and I'm thinking about sex; I won't lie and say otherwise. But it's not just that. I meet beautiful women all of the time. I mean, I walk out of my front door and I'm practically tripping over them. But I don't think about taking most of them to bed. And right now, I can't think of anything else. Which I know makes it sound like this is just about sex. But it's not. And I can't describe it. But it's something different. She's something different. And I know how that sounds, but it's the truth.

She's staring into my eyes and if I'm reading her right, and I think I'm reading her right, she's letting me know that she's game if I am. She wants to stay...with me. And then she wants to leave. With me. That's what her eyes are saying even if she doesn't exactly speak those words.

This girl.

I'm weighing this in my mind, turning it over and my head is telling me to walk away right now. Not because of her, but because of Tia. Because I have a girlfriend and although I've messed up in the past, I'm older and, I'd like to think, wiser. And I've never cheated on Tia. Yeah, I'm having some pretty major, uh, issues with us and our relationship. But I know the way to fix that isn't by going home with Reese. It's not fair to her or Tia.

But then Reese does this thing and I don't think she even realizes it. The tip of her tongue is suddenly wetting those luscious lips of hers, and then she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. And my thoughts explode with images of her mouth smearing that red, red lipstick all over me.

I've made my decision and the words are coming out of my mouth before I can even really consider them.

"Well when you're ready to go, just let me know and we can get out of here."

The way she's looking at me now. Mmmm. She gives me a grin that I can only describe as absolutely wicked. Now her hand is on my thigh and I almost jump because it practically lights a fire in my groin. And now her lips are against my ear and I can't even help it when my eyes close. I can feel the warmth of her breath and very, very lightly, her skin on mine.

I hope she's about to tell me she's ready to go after all.

"Dance with me?"

Reese

He stands, reaches his hand out to help me up and I take it. He asks me if I want to go back down to the main dancefloor but I tell him no. Right where we are is just fine. There are a few other people, including Stella and Eli, dancing in this section. Honestly though, it wouldn't matter to me if we were the only two here. I just want his hands on me.

I'm praying he has at least a little bit of rhythm.

I think it's a myth that the way a man dances is automatically indicative of how he moves in bed (or, you know, against a wall...whatever). But still, it is infinitely sexy when a man can hold his own on the dancefloor. And I'll admit that I'm little skeptical because, although JC is really sexy, he's still...well, white. And my experience with white men in dance clubs, particularly after they've had a little to drink, is that most of them can't dance.

I suppose it ultimately doesn't matter to me, though. I've already made up my mind that I'm taking him home. But if he can dance, we can just chalk this whole thing up to foreplay. And that's kind of the point anyway, right? One song fades into a new one and I'm still praying--not to God, because there's absolutely nothing pure or holy about the thoughts and images running through my mind--that he can move at least moderately well.

He still has one of my hands in one of his, and now he's spinning me around so that my back is to him. He releases the hand he's holding, only to grab my hip and pull me closer. Ok. So that's how we're doing this. I'm down.

He's behind me, one hand on my hip, the fingers of his other hand trailing down my arm. It tickles and tingles and feels so good. And now, we're moving, together, and it's good. He. Is. Good.

He's guiding me, leading me, and my prayers were clearly answered because he is perfectly in synch with the beat. My jeans are sitting low and my tank has raised a little and his fingertips are deliciously hot against my skin. I relax against him and he feels so solid, and I can't tell if I'm feeling his heartbeat or if it's mine, or if it's both of us together in time with the pulsating rhythm of the music.

I'm not normally a fan of EDM, but this song, right now, is perfect. I don't know if it's the music, if it's the alcohol, if it's just him, or if it's a combination of everything, but I feel...like I'm flying.

Is your head spinning?

Is your heart racing?

Is that fire in your veins?

Are your bones burning?

Is your skin yearning?

Cause you're driving me insane.

I don't believe in fate or destiny or anything like that. I think life is full of strange coincidences, not everything means something, and sometimes things...just happen. And yet. There's something about him, and me, in this place, together, that just feels...it feels right.

Fuck. That sounds so ridiculous. I know it sounds ridiculous. I'm not a naive teenager. I'm a fully experienced, grown ass woman. And I don't believe that any two people are particularly meant to be. Especially not when one of those people stumbles into the other, coming out of a bathroom drunk and unable to stand upright on a pair of way-too-high stilettos.

So maybe it's the liquor. And maybe it's that I've been in a bad place emotionally. And maybe it's that it's been a couple of months since someone I wanted to pay attention to me, has paid attention to me. Someone that I'm extremely physically attracted to.

But the thing is, in all honesty, I don't think that's it. I'm not especially sentimental. And as emotional as I can be, and have been lately, I don't generally make decisions out of that.

There's something about him in this time, and in this space, and it feels like something that's just supposed to happen.

Fuck. Maybe I'm just drunk.  

He's turning me around to face him now, and he's looking at me in this way and I just...I can't. I cannot even. He's holding my hands now, fingers interlaced, and he's not smiling but he's still dancing and the way he's looking at me? I can feel it. Physically.

His eyes are...amazing. And it's not the color. I mean, they're pretty in color, but it's not just that. There's just...so much in his eyes. I've never met anyone with this kind of intensity before. Looking at him looking back at me makes me feel...dizzy. But in the best, sexiest kind of way.

I am so beyond ready to leave.

"Um," I begin, feeling nervous and anxious and a hundred other things all at once. "Are you ready to get out of here? Because I am."

JC

She's in front of me and I've got one hand on her hip and the other one running down her arm. And her skin is so soft and she feels so good against me. Her shirt's risen up just a little bit so now it's my skin on her skin and touching her is like holding a live wire. I feel electricity coursing through me and completely out of control. Only that's not quite accurate.

I know exactly what I'm doing.

I am dancing with a beautiful, sexy woman and when she's ready to go, I'm leaving with her.

I know how that sounds. How it makes me sound. Because I have a girlfriend. But the thing is, I just think that some things are kismet, you know? You're in a situation, you meet a certain person and it's just meant to be.

The fact that I didn't want to come to Chicago, but I did. The fact that Tia was already supposed to be here, but she's not. The fact that on this night, in this club, Reese literally just fell into me... That can't all be coincidence, right?

I'm not the kind of person who goes around looking for signs that aren't there. But the way she smiles and the way she laughs, and the way I feel her presence--her...essence--like a physical force that I just want to lose myself in...that has to mean something, right?

I sound like a lovesick kid. And let me just make it clear that I don't think this is love or anything. But it's a kind of connection that I haven't felt with anyone for a very long time. And it's physical, but it's not just physical. And maybe that sounds like an excuse to do something I know I really shouldn't do but it's not.

She's got her body pressed right up against mine and we're moving perfectly with the music. I like EDM in general, and something about this song, specifically, is perfect right now. Another one of those things that just seems like fate.

Do you feel the lightning inside of you?

Will you follow through if I fall for you?

Don't look down.

Up this high, we'll never hit the ground.

I spin her around to face me and I'm holding her hands and I'm looking in her eyes and I'm really wanting to pull her right up against me and let my hands and my mouth wander all over her.

But I don't.

Because even though the alcohol in my blood has me feeling a little cloudy, I'm not so liquored up that I don't know how bad an idea that would be. There aren't a lot of people around us just now, but we're in public. And with the immediacy of social media these days...well, I'm still a pretty private person. So everything I want to do with her, I'll do in private.

I like the way she moves. She's letting me lead but I can tell she knows her way around a beat. She moves like a dancer. There's a fluidity and natural grace in her body that not everyone has. I'm about to tell her so when she's suddenly saying something that I can't quite hear over the music.

I move my ear to her lips and get another whiff of that almost-but-not-quite familiar smell that's mixed with something else.

"Um," she's saying and she's kind of laughing nervously. "Are you ready to get out of here? Because I am."

A shiver runs down my spine. Hell yeah, I want to say. I'm past ready.

"Yeah," I say with a relaxed smile. "Definitely."

Reese

I’ve given the cabdriver my address and he’s weaving us around the late night traffic. It’s just after 1 a.m. and the city is still very much alive.

I'm giggling foolishly and JC's patiently indulging me with the sexiest grin. It turns out, so we found out at coat check, that we have nearly identical black leather jackets. For some reason that tickles me and I keep laughing.

I'm giddy, I think. It's the drinking, and the dancing, and the fact that I'm doing something I've never done before. Something a little naughty.

Our fingers are intertwined and I like the way my hand feels in his. We're hugged up on each other in this backseat. He lets go of my hand and snakes his arm around me, pulling me closer.

"You smell amazing," he says, lips against my ear. "I can't wait to taste you."

Mother. Fuck. It takes every ounce of my considerable willpower to not moan out loud when he says that. As if proving to me that he means it, I feel his teeth and tongue on my earlobe. My eyes close and this time I can't help the moan that escapes.

He's whispering things to me and honestly I have no idea what he's saying. He's far too close and he smells far too good and it's all I can do to not climb into his lap right now and get down to business.

His hand is moving up my thigh, slowly, and I'm wishing I had worn a skirt instead of the heavy denim of my jeans. Still, I feel the warmth of his fingers and they're sending mini-explosions right between my legs. Just when I feel like I can't possibly take anymore, we pull up outside my building. I get ready to pull my cash out of my pocket when he stops me.

"I got it," he says, head still close to mine.

I can't form words right now so I just nod and exit the vehicle, getting my keys from the inside zipper pocket of my jacket. The chilly October wind whips around me but I don't even feel it. I don't feel anything but heat and desire.

In the next instant he's taking my hand again, looking down at me with that smile. I unlock the doors and pull him through the lobby.

I nod at Frank, the overnight doorman, and he smiles in response.

"Nice." JC mumbles this, kind of dragging his feet now while he's looking around.

I stop and stare at him. "Do you want a tour of my lobby or do you want a tour of my bedroom?" I'm feeling impatient now.

He looks down at me in shock and then a smirk breaks through on his face. "Lead the way, Honey."

I wiggle my eyebrows at him and continue to lead him to the elevator. Once inside I depress the button for the tenth floor, thinking that I really like the way he keeps calling me honey. I assume it’s just a thing he says, the way I call everyone dude, but I’m enjoying it being directed at me. I’m wondering what kinds of things he says in bed when he squeezes my hand.

“What are you smiling about?” he asks, looking down at me with a grin of his own.

I feel heat flood my face and before I can answer, we’re on my floor. Without another word, I’m leading him down the the hallway to my condo. Our footsteps fall in staccato rhythm to the thudding of my heartbeat in my chest. This is going to happen; that much is certain. But the closer we get to my place, the more nervous I am.

We reach my door and I slip the key into the lock, turning it until it clicks open. I slide a somewhat unsteady hand onto the doorknob and turn it, pushing the door open. Since I’m still holding his hand, I kind of tug on him a little bit until he follows me and crosses the threshold.

There’s a lamp on the small table in my entryway and I keep it on when I’m going to be coming in late, so there’s a little bit of illumination on us as we stand there. Letting go of his hand, I walk around him to close and the lock the door. When I turn around, he’s right in front of me.

“Hi,” he says, all serious and intense and sexy.

And he’s looking down at me, and he’s not smiling anymore, and then his hands are at my waist and he’s pulling me closerclosercloser until my body is right up against his.

“Hi,” I whisper back.  

And then his fingers are moving up my sides, under my jacket, and my arms are going around his neck, and finallyfinallyfinally he’s bringing his mouth to mine.

His lips feel so good against mine, firm and soft. And now his tongue is sliding against my upper lip and I open my mouth up more, allowing him inside. “Mmmm.” The sound comes out of my mouth, against his, before I can stop it. He tastes so sweet and he’s increasing the pressure and his tongue is gliding around mine and every nerve ending I have is firing and I’m vibrating.

I've been fantasizing about kissing him all night and I am amazed at how much better it is than I imagined. It's been a long while since someone kissed me well enough to leave me breathless, but he does.

I pull away suddenly and I’m all but panting, which is totally not sexy, but whatever. I slide my hands from around his neck, down the front of his jacket and he’s looking at me quizzically.

“I just, um...I have to get out of these shoes, “ I say.

“Ok,” he says, looking flushed.

Slipping out of my shoes feels like ecstasy and I let out another groan of pleasure.

He chuckles. “That good, huh?”

“Mmm, you have no idea.”

We take off our jackets and he takes off his shoes too, which I put away in the closet, and I bring him further into my condo. He’s looking around, eyes wide and an appreciative smile on his face.

One of the benefits of working in real estate is having access to some of the best real estate. I got my place for an amount way below market value and I absolutely love it. He’s noticed the floor to ceiling windows that wrap around the entire space. I’ve got a spectacular near panoramic view of the city, including the lake on one side. He’s impressed.

He approaches one of the windows in the living room and whistles low. “This is...this is amazing.”

I like that he likes my place. “Yeah, the view is what sold me,” I say. I head into the kitchen and wash my hands at the sink. “Do you want anything? I’ve got wine, water, and everything in between.”

I watch him for a moment. It’s still mostly dark, but the lights from the city are making him glow from the window. He looks...so good.

He turns slowly and looks at me, a small smile on his face. “Yeah.”

I’m waiting for him to tell me what, and he’s moving closer, joining me in the kitchen. He stands right in front of me and I’m still wondering what he wants, looking so solemn.

“You mentioned something about a tour of your bedroom?”

His delivery is so serious but I can’t help but burst out in laughter. A smile breaks out on his face and he’s laughing with me.

“That was supposed to be sexy,” he says, still chuckling.

I get up on my tip toes and kiss his cheek. “You are...really, really cute.”

He grabs my hand as I get ready to pull back and brings me closer again, one eyebrow lifted. “Just cute?”

Before I can answer his hands are on my face and he’s kissing me again, forcing me up against the counter behind me. He kisses like...I don't even know how to describe it. But my lips are tingling and my mind is cloudy and all there is is his mouth and tongue and my heart is racing and it feels so good. I’m pretty sure I’m moaning. If he doesn't stop, whatever happens next is going to happen on my kitchen floor. I don't want that.

I put my hands on his chest and push him away gently. “Just, um...I’m just going to close the blinds, OK?”

“I'll come, too,” he says.

And although I know what he means--and what he doesn’t mean--I smirk at him.

I take his hand and lead him around my condo, closing all of the blinds and turning off the light in the entryway. And then, with my pulse racing, I lead him down the dark hall to my bedroom.

JC

It's all I can do to keep my hands off of Reese in the cab ride. She's still giggling about our almost-matching jackets and it's cute that she finds it so funny. I'm holding her hand, but I want her closer so I let go and put my arm around her, bringing her nearer to me.

I inhale her and she smells amazing and I tell her so. And since I'm whispering in her ear and I know the driver can't hear us, I also tell her that I can't wait to taste her. And the way her breathing hitches when the words leave my mouth make me want to tell her all sorts of things I can't wait to do to her.

I've got my hand on her thigh and I close my mouth over her earlobe and she moans out loud. It isn't very loud, but I hear it, and it's enough that I'm getting hard. My hands are moving up her leg and I'm just thinking that I can't wait to get her out of the clothes and then we're in front of her building.

It's cute, the way she gets ready to pay the driver, but I take care of it. She's already waiting with her key out when I exit the cab. I take her hand again and after she unlocks the door, I follow her inside.

Wow. The lobby of her building is pretty ritzy looking and I'm wondering what she does for a living. The floors are marble and there's a security guard and everything. I’m looking around, taking it all in when she stops suddenly and looks at me like she's annoyed.

"Do you want a tour of my lobby or do you want a tour of my bedroom?" she says.

Reese is feisty. That makes me smile. I get distracted sometimes, what can I say? “Lead the way, Honey,” I say and she’s pulling me over to the elevator.

We’re inside and she presses the button for ten, and I’m just watching her. She seems to be thinking about something and she’s got this dreamy little smile on her face and I wonder what she’s thinking about so I ask her. She looks up at me surprised and maybe a little bit guilty, and I’m wondering if she’s thinking naughty thoughts about the two of us. Because I am. She doesn’t answer and the bell dings and the doors open and we’re walking down the hall.

We’re at what I assume is her door, and she seems a little bit more subdued now, maybe a little nervous. I'm obviously not going to force anything but I'm hopinghopinghoping she hasn't changed her mind. That would...absolutely suck.

She's letting me in and the first thing I notice is that her place smells like her. I'm eventually going to ask her what she's wearing because it's driving me crazy that I can almost recognize it, but not quite. It's lightly permeating the air and it just makes me want to just press my nose into her skin and breathe her in.

When she turns from locking the door I’m waiting for her. I grab her hips and pull her close to me because all I want, all I’ve wanted since before we left the club, is to feel her tongue sliding against mine. Ok, that’s not all I want--from her or her tongue--but it’s what I want most right now. I bring my mouth to hers, loving that she’s slipping her arms around my neck and relaxing into me. I’m trying to be gentle and slow but I’m anxious and what I really want is to find the nearest semi-soft surface and get to work getting her naked and underneath me.

I’m kissing her harder, thirstier, like she’s water and I’m trying to drink in every last drop. And then she’s pushing me away, breathing heavy, and it’s sexy as hell. And she’s telling me she wants to take her shoes off. And I’m saying OK and trying to calm down.

We take our shoes and coats off and while she’s putting everything away, I’m looking around what I can see of her condo. It’s still pretty dark, but there’s enough light coming in from the windows that I can see it well enough. And the windows...damn. There are floor to ceiling windows around the entire place and an incredible view of the city laid out beyond it. I walk over to look around and from one side, you can even see the lake. She’s in the kitchen asking me if I want anything and I realize I’ve gotten distracted again.

“Yeah.” I stride over to her with what I hope is an appropriately seductive expression on my face. “You mentioned something about a tour of your bedroom?”

She bursts out laughing and I guess I’ve missed my mark. I’m smiling at her and she kisses my cheek, tells me I’m cute. Cute is not what I’m going for. As she pulls away I grab her hand and pull her back to me. I’ve got my hands on her face and my mouth on hers.  To hell with being gentle. I’m backing her up against the counter and she’s moaning and I’m thinking the kitchen counter is as good a place as any when she puts her hands on my chest and pushes me back.

She’s breathing heavy and I can’t wait to hear her completely out of breath. “Just, um...I’m just going to close the blinds.”

Reese

My eyelids feel glued shut, but the sun is shining. I stretch, and my foot brushes warm skin. With an effort I force my eyes open, and I see that JC’s still here. I guess I kind of figured maybe he wouldn’t be when I woke up. Don’t people usually sneak out in movies?

But he’s still here. On his stomach, breathing deeply. His face is turned toward me and he’s looking just as good as he did last night.

Last night. I’m thinking of it and feeling hot and a little faint. Last night was…So. Good. But still, I’ve never done the morning after with a stranger thing, before. Is it supposed to be awkward or…? He stirs, and I get really still, but he doesn’t wake. He sighs deeply, turns his head in the other direction.

I slide from between the sheets and into my bathroom. After closing the door behind me, I start the shower and look at my reflection in the mirror before it fogs over. I owe Bridgette...something expensive. My makeup is still almost flawless. Thanks to JC and last night, I’ve got virtually no lipstick left on my lips, but the rest of me is in pretty good shape. My eyeliner is hardly even smudged. It must be sorcery.

I swing open my medicine cabinet and take out my birth control. We used condoms, but I want to ensure that everything stays...on schedule. I fill a cup near the sink with cold tap water and swallow a pill down. I take a second pill from another bottle, swallow it, and then I brush my teeth. After I take my hair out of the band I pulled it up into last night, I step into the shower.

The water is hot, but I’m covered in goosebumps thinking about JC. I’m trailing my fingers across my skin, thinking of every spot that he touched and kissed last night. I’m pretty sure there’s not a single inch of me that he didn’t explore. It’s not only been awhile since I had sex, but it’s been a long while since I was with someone new. Couple that with the fact that this someone new is someone that I never laid eyes on before last night….well, I wasn’t sure what to expect really.

But last night was...phenomenal. Amazing. Fantastic. All sorts of adjectives are coming to mind and I have to laugh at myself a little. Sometime between the first and second time last night I finally picked up my phone to let Bridgette and Sasha know I was OK. My text consisted mostly of emojis and lots of exclamation points. Bridge already told me she wants details.

I think of those details and a shudder goes through me. My eyes close and I’m breathing deeply, trying to steady my rapidly beating heart. If I thought the dancing was good and the kisses were sexy, it was nothing compared to how everything was...after that.

How everything was...twice.

After the first time, I told him I was hungry. Unless I’m ready to pass out, I always want to eat after sex. So after he laughed at me, he joined me in the kitchen while I made french fries. Which we proceeded to eat in bed.

When I told him I was surprised that he could dance, that I expected him to be awful just because he’s white, he told me, while laughing hysterically, that I clearly had some racial biases that I needed to rethink. Then he kissed me dizzy and that was the end of that conversation.  

After the second time, I remember us talking, laughing, sharing lazy kisses. And then nothing. I don’t know who fell asleep first but we were both exhausted. Completely and totally blissfully spent.

And this morning, he’s still in my bed. I don’t know what, if anything, that means. But I’m kind of hoping it means that I get to have him one more time before he decides it’s time to go. Before we never see each other again.

I commence with showering and I’m feeling something I don’t fully want to admit to. I had a lot of fun with JC last night. Not just in the carnal sense. And I kind of don’t want him to just disappear into the atmosphere. But even though I’ve never done this before, I know how these things work. He’ll leave, and become a pleasant but distant memory.  

I choose to ignore the way that knowledge makes me feel and turn off the water. I briefly consider the fact that he could’ve left while I was in the shower, but I really, really hope not. Once I’m dried off and lotioned up, I wrap a towel around me and take a deep breath to go back into my room.

JC

I sense sunlight on my face and groan against it. I stretch out and my eyes open slowly to unfamiliar surroundings. It takes me a moment to get my bearings. I’m not in the hotel.

Oh. Yeah. Reese.

I think her name and I’m smiling. Last night was...last night was the first night I’ve had like that in a very, very long time. And it was very, very good.

Reese is...Reese is something else. At least she was last night. Amazing. Fun. Responsive. Very, very responsive. My smile is huge. It’s been a long time since I had a first time with someone and this first time was fan-fucking-tastic. Well, the first and second time.

I turn onto my back and put my hands behind my head. Laying like this I’m remembering the way she looked on top of me last night. Moving on top of me. Using me to make herself feel good. Making me feel insanely good in the process. My hands sliding over every bit of her smooth, soft skin. Hearing her whimpers, her sighs, the sexy little things she was saying, the way my name sounded in her mouth.

Her body is...a work of art. She’s soft in all of the right places, not soft in all of the right places. I’ve seen her from several different angles now, and every angle is her best one.

And her lips? Those full, sexy lips? I like her lips against mine. And I really like her lips against my...well, let’s just say that when we were done last night, that red, red lipstick was long gone. She did an awful lot with her mouth last night.

And she’s vocal. I love when a woman tells me exactly, in no uncertain terms, what she likes about what I’m doing to her. And last night? She told me. A lot.

I’m hard. I mean, I was already hard because...well, morning. But thinking about her, thinking about last night, makes me harder.

And it’s the sex, but it’s not just the sex.

It’s the fact that, after the first time, after she could catch her breath, she told me she gets hungry after sex. And she proceeded to jump out of bed to make french fries, in nothing but a t-shirt. And she brought them back to the bed where we ate them together.

It’s the fact that she told me, with a completely straight face, that she was pleasantly surprised on the dance floor when she realized I can dance. Because, she said casually, white guys, particularly drunk ones, usually have no rhythm.

I also can’t lie that some of it’s the fact that she genuinely seems to have no idea who I am.

OK, for the record, I’ve slept with fans. It sounds arrogant, but it’s par for the course. A lot of women know who I am. And not to say that I’ve necessarily sought that out, but...it’s happened. Sometimes women don’t recognize me right away, but it’s a rare thing for a woman to have no clue who I am. And if Reese does, then she’s the best damn actress ever.

It’s felt good, spending time with someone new who isn’t interested in me for any reason other than the fact that she’s interested in me. It’s fun. Reese is fun. And I’m laying here thinking that I have to leave soon, and I don’t like the way that makes me feel. Because I know what this is, and I know she knows what this is. But what I want, aside from her help in, ah, relieving me of my current discomfort, is to spend more time with her.  

I don’t realize that the shower’s been going until I hear it stop. And since I’m in bed alone, I’m assuming she’s behind that closed door. Thinking about her naked and wet on the other side...well, I hope she comes from behind that door really, really soon.

I hear some shuffling in the bathroom and a few minutes later, it’s swinging open.

She’s standing there, curly hair dripping down around her shoulders, wrapped in a fluffy, yellow bath towel. I smile at her, hoping it’s at least kind of seductive.

“Morning,” I say.

She blushes and smiles back. “Morning. I didn’t wake you up, did it?”

She’s cute, standing there with wet hair, and naked save for that towel. I’m trying to decide the best way to get her to drop the towel and come back to bed. I would like her to be naked and very, very wet, underneath me. Or on top of me. Or even in front of me. There is a particular part of my anatomy that is dying to spend some more time with her and it’s not picky about how that happens.

“Nah,” I say, stretching out. “But now that I’m awake, what are the chances I can get you to come back to bed?” Ok, I’m not smooth or cool. But sometimes I’m really direct and that catches women off guard.

Reese

This man is going to kill me. Literally. My heart is going to stop or I'm not going to be able to catch my breath again and I'm going to die due to lack of oxygen to my brain.

JC's on top of me, his full weight on me, and it's delicious. I can feel his heart beating, and I can hear and feel his heavy exhalations and greedy inhalations against my neck. I'm running my fingers through his hair and down his back and his lips are against my neck. He's mumbling something that I can't understand, but it tickles my skin and I'm laughing.

He gets up on his forearms and looks at me. "So is this the part where you jump up and make french fries again?" He's smirking, still slightly out of breath, and incredibly sexy.

I'm still playing in his hair. It's thick and soft and I'm kind of loving the way it feels between my fingers. "Not french fries, no. But if you'd get off me..." I'm grinning, and I know he knows I'm joking, "I'd definitely like to eat now."

He plants a kiss on my lips and rolls off of me, onto his back. I sit up next to him, just looking at him for a moment. His body is...well, currently my most favorite thing. He's thin, but not skinny. Broad shoulders, but strong and muscular. His well-defined arms, hard abs, strong thighs tells me he clearly knows his way around a gym. He has a fantastic body. And I've been enjoying feeling it moving right up against mine. I wouldn't mind sitting here and staring at it for awhile longer, but I'm starving and if I don't get up now I have a feeling I won't be leaving the bed anytime soon. I stand up and stretch, noticing the appreciative way his eyes are wandering my body.

"See something you like?" I wink and grab my t-shirt from the floor next to the bed. I go to my closet to grab shorts. "You can shower if you want," I call through the door. "I'm pretty sure I have a new toothbrush under the sink. Towels are in the linen closet. If there's anything else you need, you can look through my cabinets."

"I can look through your cabinets, huh?" He's sitting up in the bed, hair mussed, looking absolutely delectable.

"I have no secrets." With another wink, I'm on my way to the kitchen.

I feel like breaking into song and dance. That's how good the sex is. It's the kind of good where I want to call my mother and thank her for giving birth to me. The kind of good where I want to update Facebook and Twitter just to tell everyone how good it was. Bridgette always wants explicit details and I'll have plenty for her.

With a smile on my face, I proceed to fix a simple breakfast and what seems like a short time later, JC's joining me in the kitchen.

"Bergamot," he says from behind me.

I'm standing in front of the fridge when suddenly his arms are around my waist and his lips are on the back of my neck. My eyes close and goosebumps rise on my skin. His fingertips skim the waistband of my shorts and I tremble at his touch. Something about the way he touches me makes me forget how to do automatic things. Like inhale. Form sentences. Exhale. I let out a shaky breath.

"Wh-what about it?" His fingers slide down slowly to my hip bone and I feel his tongue and teeth on my neck and I may be whimpering.

"Last night. You smelled familiar but I couldn't place it. It's your soap. Bergamot smells a little like oranges.”

I mumble something that's supposed to be a positive acknowledgement and, with huge effort, turn around. "Breakfast is ready."

I turn and smile. He's in his jeans from last night, and nothing else. I'm completely OK with that.

He helps me assemble everything on the coffee table in front of my couch. My Sunday morning usually involves breakfast in front of the TV, and although I don't turn on the set, I let the overall routine stand.

Breakfast is coffee and OJ, strawberries, scrambled eggs, turkey bacon, and croissants with lemon-blueberry jam. While we eat and drink, we talk about music, travel, food, and I enjoy how easy breezy being with him is. 

For the second time today, I find myself wishing this could maybe be more than just a one night stand. Wondering if maybe running into him last night wasn’t just a coincidence. 

"So what do you do for a living?" 

JC's question catches me off guard. It's like a splash of ice cold water straight to the face, jarring me out of my previous train of thought. 

He puts his coffee mug down and sits back, looking at me with an expectant smile on his face.

"You mean what kind of job do I have.” As soon as the words come out, I regret speaking them. He asked a totally normal, expected question. It's what you ask when you’re getting to know someone. And I can't possibly explain why I'm being so weird about it.

His forehead wrinkles. “Isn't it the same thing?” he asks.

"Maybe for some people,” I mumble. I set my plate on the table next to his mug. “I help rich people buy and sell expensive homes.”

My mother would appreciate the irony of this situation. I'm using the same language she used to describe my job a couple of weeks ago. Language that made me indescribably angry. 

JC still looks confused so it surprises me when he pulls me closer to him. I hope that means we can shelve this particular topic. There are about three other things I'd much rather be doing with him right now. When I rest my hand on his thigh he plays with my fingers, and I hope he's picking up on the signals I'm trying to send him.

"So tell me, what's the difference between what you do for a living and what you do for a job?” he asks.

I groan, realizing I'm not going to seduce my way out of this conversation. 

He doesn't say anything, but his blue eyes are quizzical and intent on my brown ones. 

We stare at each other for a couple of seconds and then he leans in and kisses me. I take just enough time to run my tongue along his bottom lip and then I pull away. I'm a little out of breath because everything about him so close to me makes it hard to breathe. But I want to answer his question so we can move on and never return to it again.

"I go to work to pay my bills.” Once again my mother's words return to me and I have to laugh a little. “I'm good at it, and I make good money doing it, but it's still just a job. If I weren't doing it, someone else would be. 

"I think that's the difference between working a job and making a living. I'm not saving lives, or creating something new. Nothing I'm doing is adding value to the world or...anyone, really.”

I stop speaking and the near-silence--our breath, my heartbeat, the faint hum of some appliance in my kitchen--roars in my ears. I was worried about things being awkward this morning and now I'm the one causing it. I blink until the stinging sensation in my eyes passes, and then I force a smile.

"What about you, JC? Do you make a living or do you work a job?”

My fingers are no longer moving on his thigh and I realize he's placed his hand over mine, gently holding it in place. His cheeks color a bit and he gazes at me with an expression holding some emotion I can't read. Probably, I think, pity.

It takes him a moment to answer and when he does, he stumbles over his words a little. “I, uh...well, I guess I make a living," he says softly. "I've been fortunate to do what I love to do and get paid for it, so..." He shrugs. 

He says that almost like he's apologizing, and I hate that I made him feel that way. I have to salvage this so I do the only thing I can think to do. I lean forward to kiss his chin. 

"So what is it you do?” I ask, my lips against his skin. 

He tilts his head back while simultaneously pulling me onto his lap. "Um, I'm a musician. I write, produce, and even sing a little sometimes." 

I'm impressed now, and I want to hear more, but he smells divine and it's very distracting. 

"Are your songs like, on the radio? Or in movies or..." My lips trace his neck and jaw and I close my eyes and inhale him. The smell of my soap lingers faintly on his skin, but underneath it is something else. Something warm and rich and sexy as fuck. 

I think it's just him. 

"Sometimes," he says, before tugging at me just enough so I lift my head. 

His fingers slide down my cheeks, past my shoulders, and dance on my arms. I almost don't remember what we're talking about anymore because he's kind of tickling me, which is kind of making me horny. His fingers are magical and he should be paid outrageous amounts of money for how amazing they are.

JC brings his mouth to mine and pushes me onto my back. Our hands wander and explore each other, and in what seems like seconds our clothes are discarded on the floor. I briefly think about asking him more questions about his songs, but then we're moving together and I don't. Although we're both making plenty of noise and saying lots of things, some time goes by before we're really able to have a conversation.

JC

My heart is pounding in my ears so loud it's about the only thing I can hear. And my eyes are closed but I'm pretty sure I couldn't see even if I opened them.

This woman is going to kill me in the best possible way.

Right now Reese has her hands in my hair and on my back and my face is buried in her neck and I could stay here. For a very, very long time. If it weren't for the fact that I know I'll get heavy soon enough, I'd pass out just like this. Her underneath me, so she can't go anywhere.

It's dangerous how bad I don't want to leave.

She excites me and I haven't been excited about a woman in...well, a really, really long time. That probably sounds cheap and stupid and why am I with my girlfriend, then? But I don't want to think about that right now.

After asking her if she plans on making more french fries, and being reward by her amazingly infectious laughter, she tells me she wants to eat so I roll off of her.

She gets up to get dressed and I'm laying back watching her. Her body is exquisite and I wouldn't mind if she walked around naked for the rest of the day. She catches me staring and smirks.

"See something you like?" She winks at me.

And before I can tell her that yes, I absolutely see something I like, she's already in her closet telling me I can take a shower, if I want. She even tells me I can look through her cabinets. I probably would've done it anyway, but it's nice that she gives me permission.

After she leaves the room in the--fuck me--tiniest pair of shorts, I head to her bathroom. I start the shower and then grab a towel and toss it over the shower door. I look under the sink and, just like she said, there are a few unopened toothbrushes. There are also several tubes of toothpaste, a couple of bottles of mouthwash, and assorted other toiletry items. I grab a toothbrush and then look in her medicine cabinet.

I'm pleased to see her birth control pills. She was quick to reach for condoms last night and this morning so I never bothered to ask her, but it's nice to know she's taking care of things on both ends. I stare at the name on the prescription label. Reese Adams. Now I know her last name. The rest of what's in the cabinet is pretty standard, and I close the door.

I step into the almost hot spray of the shower and my eyes settle on a large, blue labeled bottle of liquid soap. I open it up and inhale. The familiar scent that I smelled on her last night and this morning, but couldn't place. The thought of her scent on me for the rest of the day makes me smile. 

I finish up in the bathroom as quickly as possible and pull my pants on and head into the kitchen. She's standing at the refrigerator, her ass looking amazing in those tiny little shorts, and I slide up behind her and wrap my arms around her.

"Bergamot," I say, my lips against her neck. I'm playing with the waistband of her shorts and I feel her body shiver against me.

"Wh-what about it?"

I nip at her skin and she whimpers a little, which is like a siren call straight to my dick. "Last night. You smelled familiar but I couldn't place it. It's your soap. Bergamot smells a little like oranges.”

She says something I don't really understand and then turns around to tell me breakfast is ready.

We eat on the couch in the living room and I briefly wonder if this girl every uses a table. Breakfast is simple and good, and more than that, being with her good and easy. She tells me what type of music she listens to, and when she names a bunch of rappers from the nineties and funk bands from the seventies, it absolutely makes sense to me that she has no idea who I am. She says the only radio she listens to is NPR, and I believe her.

Our conversation is random, rambling, and in a weird way, it feels intimate. Like I'm talking to someone I've known for years instead of someone I've known for approximately 12 hours. I think I may be enjoying it all too much. There's a lull in the conversation and I start to think about how I'm going to leave here today and never see her again. I don't want to think about how unhappy that makes me feel so I start talking, saying the first thing that comes to mind.

"So what do you do for a living?" I ask. 

All things considered, it's probably better that I know very little about Reese. But I can't help my curiosity. I drain the last bit of my coffee and set the mug down.

Her jaw clenches and her eyes drop to her hands, which she's squeezing together in her lap. "You mean what kind of job do I have." Her voice is oddly flat, and it's obvious I asked the wrong thing.

I should probably let it go, but now I'm even more curious. "Isn't it the same thing?" 

She says something under her breath, and scowls as she puts her plate down. “I help rich people buy and sell expensive homes.”

Up until this point Reese's manner has been relaxed, laid-back. Now I can almost feel the tension rising off of her and I wonder just how badly I screwed up. I reach out and slide my arm around her waist and pull her closer, which she doesn't resist at all. And when her hand lands high on my thigh, I'm pretty sure I can salvage things.

She shifts to face me, propping one elbow on the cushion behind her and tucking her legs underneath her, but I can't tell what she's thinking. She's not frowning anymore, and her hand is still on my thigh, and maybe everything is going to be all right after all.  

I play with her fingers, watching her even as she watches me. "So tell me, what's the difference between what you do for a living and what you do for a job?” 

She rolls her eyes and groans.

I'm really intrigued by her mood shift over such a trivial question, but I don't say anything and for several seconds we just stare at one another. 

Her quiet intensity is hypnotic, and although I really do want to know more about her job, her hand is hot on my thigh and I wish she'd move it a few inches north. I move my head really close to hers and she smirks at me, and then my lips are on hers. Her mouth opens and I wonder what time it is and if we have time for round two and then she pulls away. 

A shadow crosses her face and her eyes drop again. 

"I go to work to pay my bills.” Her voice is muted, and when she laughs it's with no humor. "I'm good at it, and I make good money doing it, but it's still just a job. If I weren't doing it, someone else would be. I think that's the difference between working a job and making a living. I'm not saving lives, or creating something new. Nothing I'm doing is adding value to the world or...anyone, really."

For a moment it's as if all of her considerable vibrancy just sparks out, and she sounds inexplicably sad. If I could think of something to say that I thought might make her feel better, I would. But I've got nothing. And she seems like she's miles away anyway. A minute or two passes in silence, while I hold her hand where it still rests on my thigh. 

She finally smiles up at me, but her eyes are shiny. Like she might cry. "What about you, JC? Do you make a living or do you work a job?"

I stare at her stupidly because I don't know what to say. If her condo is any indication, Reese is doing pretty well for herself. I don't get why she wouldn't be extremely proud of that, why admitting that she's well-compensated for a job she does well has her on the verge of tears. But she is, and I don't know how to answer her without sounding like an asshole. 

On top of that is the fact that she still doesn't know who I am. Maybe it's not right, but I like that. My hand is still over hers and I try to answer her question without lying, but without giving too many details. 

"I guess I make a living. I've been fortunate to do what I love to do and get paid for it, so..." 

I feel silly and sorry and I don't fully understand why. But then her expression changes, genuinely brightens again, and she kisses me right under my bottom lip. 

"So what is it you do?" she asks. 

Her mouth is still very close to mine, and again it crosses my mind that I really wish I could get to know her more. I pull her into my lap and give her my very bare-bones job description. 

Her lips trail a path down my neck and back up to my jaw and I can't concentrate on the questions she's asking. My reply is vague when she asks if my songs are on the radio and then my hands are in her hair, lifting her face to mine and bringing my mouth to hers. 

She tastes so sweet, like the strawberries we ate. My hands move across her body reflexively. And then I'm helping her out of her clothes and she's helping me out of mine and for some time, we're not really talking anymore.  

Reese

It's late, almost two. I'm back in the bathroom freshening up after everything that happened on the couch. I'm looking at my reflection in the mirror, the goofiest grin on my face.

I'm sex drunk. After a two month dry spell I've had sex four times in approximately twelve hours. Four good, great, fucking amazing times. Tomorrow I'm going to be so sore and even the thought of that makes me smile.

I'm also standing here thinking that I don't want him to go--at least without the possibility of seeing him again. And although I get the feeling he's feeling the same way, I could be wrong. And although I was bold in bringing him back here last night, I've got no liquor coursing my system today. And if he wants to see me again, he's going to have to be the one to say so.

I come out of the bathroom and he's sitting on my bed, still in jeans and nothing else. He's looking at his phone and I head straight for the closet.

"So, are you staying for lunch?" I call from inside, pulling clothes on. And I'm hoping that I sound light and nonchalant even though I'm also really hoping he says yes.

I hear the bed shift a bit and he groans. "As much as I would love to, honey, I can't."

My stomach flips a little at that and the way it just rolls off his tongue as smooth and sweet as, well, honey. And again I assume it's just a thing he says, but I really like when he says it to me.

I come out of the closet and he's standing there, gathering his stuff. "OK," I say, trying to keep the disappointment I feel out of my voice and off of my face.

And then he's telling me that he has to get back to his hotel so he can get ready to pick up a friend at the airport and I kind of want to know if this friend is male or female but that is so not my business on any level so I keep my smile plastered on my face.

I stand there a moment more, watching while he's pulling on his shirt and fixing his watch, and tucking things back in his pockets.

"Um...I'll get your jacket and stuff," I say before hurrying out of the room as quickly as possible.

Somehow all of the morning after awkwardness I thought we'd avoided is falling down on me right now and I have no idea why. I knew he'd leave eventually; it was inevitable. As I pull his jacket and boots out of my hall closet I will myself to get it together.

JC emerges from my room and comes over to the foyer, taking his shoes and jacket from me to put on. He's making small talk but mostly I'm just watching him, thinking that he's really remarkably handsome.

In another moment he's standing in front of me, pulling me into his arms, telling me he had a good time with me. And then his lips are against mine.

And I lean into him and the kiss, wrapping my arms back around him. "So did I, JC," I manage as he pulls away. "Thank you."

He smiles at me, those pretty blue eyes bright but also kind of...sad. Or maybe I'm just seeing what I want to see.

"Believe me," he's saying, "the pleasure was all mine."

No, I want to say. I'm absolutely sure it wasn't. But I don't say anything, just smile and unlock the door and pull it open.

And as JC crosses the threshold, he stops and turns and he's looking at me like he's weighing something. And I'm thinking, and I'm hoping, that maybe, just maybe, there's a possibility that last night could be more than just last night.

"Take care of yourself, Reese," he says finally.

"You too, JC," I hear myself reply.

And he smiles and he raises his hand in a kind of salute. And then he turns again, and he's gone.

I stand there for a moment before securing the door after him. And I tell myself that I'm fine with it, because it's how these things go.

But the truth is, there's a reason I've never had a one night stand. And everything I'm feeling right now--regret and longing and even some hurt--is why.

JC

Reese is in the bathroom so I take the opportunity to check my phone, which is still on the nightstand by her bed. Also on the nightstand are a couple of tangible reminders of the past few hours in the form of opened condom wrappers.

I sit down on the bed and smile as I look at my phone. Eli's texted a few times, mostly telling me that he approves of what he assumes I've been doing for the last twelve hours. Right and wrong, for Eli, comes in varying shades of grey.

I've got a couple of voicemails, some texts from other people that can wait. And then there's Tia.

I don't listen to her voicemails because, frankly, how shitty would it be for me to be listening to my girlfriend's voice while I'm mostly naked, in another woman's home? But I read her texts and the most recent one tells me her plane touches down at O'Hare at six-fifteen. It's almost two now, which means I really need to get going.

I really don't want to get going.

As I text her back and tell her I'll be waiting for her, Reese comes out of the bathroom.

"So," she's saying, as she steps into the closet. "Are you staying for lunch?"

Her voice is muffled so I could be wrong, but I think I'm hearing a little hopefulness in it. And I wish like hell I could say yes.

But I can't. With a stretch and a groan, I stand up from the bed and tell her so.

I'm hearing her shuffle around and then she comes out of the closet in a pair of silky, patterned lounge pants and a tank top. I'm already imagining what the fabric will feel like between my fingers as I'm taking them off her.

I'm really, really wishing I could stay for lunch. Maybe, I'm thinking, if I shower here then I---

"OK." She nods, but I swear I see a little disappointment on her face.

Or maybe I just want to see it because I'm disappointed.

And then she grins.

Her smile. It's doing something to me and I just want to make her smile all day. OK, that's not the only thing I want to make her do, but it ranks high on the list.

I bend down to grab my shirt. "I actually need to get back to my hotel so I can change clothes and stuff. I have to pick up a..." I pause, hating myself, "a friend at the airport a little later."

She stands there for a moment before telling me she's going to get the rest of my stuff and then I'm in her room alone.

I'm not a bad guy, OK? I know that what I'm doing is really, really bad, but I didn't mean for it to happen. I didn't plan on going out last night and meeting a beautiful, funny, intelligent, sexy as hell woman who makes me feel...well, things I haven't felt in awhile. And what I want right now is to get to know her--and not just in the biblical sense.

I want to talk to her more about her job, and ask her what she really wants to do for a living. And I want to ask her more questions about the places she's been and the things she's done. I want to dance with her again and I, well...yeah. I really want to go to bed with her again.

But right now, I have a girlfriend. A girlfriend who's going to be waiting for me to pick her up at the airport in a few hours. And instead of making me feel guilty, or ashamed, it just makes me feel trapped.

I check my pockets again and leave Reese's room.

When I come to the foyer she's standing there holding my jacket, and my shoes are on the rug next to her. I take the leather from her hand and take her in at the same time. And she's all bare shoulders and bare neck, because she's pulled her hair up in a poofy bun. And I'm thinking of inhaling the scent of her silky skin. And I'm thinking of how she melts when my tongue and teeth touch that little tender spot between her jaw and her ear. And I'm thinking about how I accidently discovered how ticklish she is right under her chin.

And these thoughts are all pointless, so I start talking, while I'm lacing up my shoes. I don't know what all I'm saying. Stupid things about the weather, and how it's great I can wear these boots all year round. And how I hope traffic isn't bad. And I stand up and she's looking at me with this secretive little smile on her face. And I'm wishing I had met her at a different time, under different circumstances.

I pull her into my arms, wanting to feel her against me one more time. "I had a great time, Reese," I say, and it's the honest to goodness truth and an unbelievable understatement.  

And then I'm kissing her again, and the feel and taste of her full lips against mine are almost making me reconsider leaving. And she's wrapping her arms my neck and that's so dangerous. So I pull away gently.

"So did I, JC," she says.

"Believe me, the pleasure was all mine." And she has no idea how much I mean that.

And then she's opening the door and I'm walking through it, and just as I step into the hallway something makes me turn around.

I look at her, and all I want is to tell her I want to see her again.  I want to ask for her number. Tell her I have some things that I need to straighten out, but when I do that I want to call her.

I want to see her again.

I'm standing there and my brain is fighting with my tongue and just when I think I can say the words I really want to say, I don't.l

"Take care of yourself, Reese," I hear myself say instead.

"You too, JC," she says, and I hate myself. A lot.

I smile and wave before walking through the door. On the other side, with the door closed, I'm telling myself that I can see her again. When I figure things out with Tia.

And I'm going to do that. Eventually.

Reese

I’m shuffling through some papers on my desk, waiting for my next client. I’m trying to focus but my mind is wandering as it has been all day.

JC.

I’m wondering what he’s doing right now. Which is, frankly, a pointless thing to be wondering. I keep reminding myself of that, but it doesn't help that I woke up this morning after dreaming about him.

The dream was stimulating in the sense that I woke up and pulled out my vibrator. I almost never do that before work, but...well I had some frustration that needed to be worked out.

The thing about great sex is that it makes you want to have more great sex. The thing about being single is that you often don't know when that'll happen again.

"Get it together, Reese," I mutter aloud. Thankfully I'm in my office alone, and the door is shut, so no one hears me talking to myself.

I'm meeting with a brand new client today at two and I need to get my head in the right place so that I can make a good first impression. I've been working in real estate, with this agency, long enough to know that I know I'm good at what I do. So long as I'm not distracted. And since the little note attached to this client's profile tells me that she's somebody important, I can't afford to be distracted.

I take a sip of lukewarm coffee, my third cup of the day, and roll my shoulders around. I think I'll be dropping into Bikram tonight. I need to decompress and nothing decompresses me quite as fully as stretching and twisting my body for an hour and a half in one hundred and four degree heat.

Glancing at the clock on my laptop, I see that it's nearly noon which means it’s also nearly Sasha’s planning period. She teaches third grade and I think she’s a saint; I like kids, but not that much.

After JC left yesterday, I took care of some things around my condo and mostly ignored the myriad phone calls I received. Bridgette texted a few times, demanding all of the dirty details. My mom called once and left a voicemail that I didn’t listen to. And Sasha called and texted several times, demanding that I call her ASAP because she wanted to make sure I was OK.

I texted back, letting her know that I was in one piece, but now, with some time to kill before my client arrives, I figure I’ll call her and give her the information I know she wants.

I dial her number and she picks up on the first ring.

“Why didn’t you call me last night?” is the first thing that comes out of her mouth.

“Uh…” I draw the sound out, considering my words. “I was tired when JC left yesterday. And you’re the first person I’m calling now.”

I hear Sasha’s audible intake of breath.

"JC?”

“Oh, yeah.” I laugh a little. “His name. It’s JC.”

“He spent the night?” she asks, and I can hear the incredulity in her voice. Sasha knows that this unchartered territory for me.

"Um...yeah.”

“So.” She pauses a moment. “That means things went well then.”

I’m remembering just how well things went. Saturday night. Sunday morning. And afternoon. “You could say that.”

I'm quietly smiling, knowing she’s champing at the bit. Bridgette is shameless and unabashed in her nosiness; Sasha is just as nosy, but a lot more reserved. She totally wants details right now.

"OK, are you gonna make me beg or what? Tell me!" She’s practically squealing at me.

I giggle at her outburst. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything, Reese! I cannot believe that you, of all people, had a one night stand with a complete stranger! What's he look like? What was the sex like? Was it weird in the morning? Are you gonna see him again?"

It’s funny, I suppose. Amongst my group of friends, with the exception of Sasha, I’ve always been the most conservative in the way I handle my sex life. But not this past weekend. And now I'm sighing again, at her last question.

"What? What's that sigh?" she asks quickly.

I have to smile. The side effect of a friendship that's spanned three decades is that we always hear the unsaid things too.

"JC is really good looking. Funny. He’s easy to talk to and I had a great time with him. The sex was…” I shiver, memories of his beautiful mouth and hands all over me cascading through my mind. Goosebumps rise on my skin. “Very, very good.”

That is an understatement of almost epic proportions, and I’m biting my lip and willing my pulse to stop racing so I can concentrate on the conversation at hand.

"Everything, and I'm not strictly talking sex, was going really well. The morning after wasn't awkward at all, and he stayed for awhile, you know?"

“So then why’d you sigh?" Sasha asks.

"There was this moment right before he left where I thought it might be more. He stopped and looked at me like he..." I'm feeling a little silly but I know I can tell my best friend. “I don’t know, Sash. I felt like we connected and I guess I was just hoping, kinda.”

If this is unchartered territory for me, it's completely beyond the scope of all possibility for Sasha. She's been with exactly one man; her experience with casual sex is non-existent.

I hear her sympathetic exhale. "Oh, sweets. Are you OK?"

"Yeah," I breathe out slowly. But honestly, I am feeling a little let down. "I had a good time last night and now it's over. I’m fine." Or at least, I will be.

And as Sasha begins to ask me more questions about the previous night, which I answer in detail, I believe that.

JC

I’m laying in bed, flicking through the channels on the hotel room’s TV while Tia showers. I’m not really looking for anything to watch, but my only other option is staring off into space and at least my hands are occupied while I’m doing this.

She has an appointment this afternoon and, of course, I’m going to be there. Because she wants me to be.

Have I mentioned that I don't want to be here? In a hotel room on a Monday in downtown Chicago. I don't want to help Tia find a condo. I don't care what she buys or doesn't buy. Right now there's literally one thing in the entire city of Chicago I’m interested in and I left her yesterday.

Reese.

Spending the night with her was a bad idea. I mean, worse than I thought it would be. And not just for the obvious reasons.

I haven't been able to get her off my mind since.

I woke up horny this morning, which isn't abnormal or anything, but it was more than just normal morning wood. I had been dreaming about her. Tia noticed and took it as a personal invitation and I...well, I went along with it.

I feel guilty as hell, but well...she’s my girlfriend. And I'm a guy.

To make matters worse, I thought of Reese the whole time. Which is supremely fucked up, I know. But I couldn't help it. Reese and Tia are about the same size, and with my eyes closed, and my hands on my girlfriend, and me telling her I liked what she was doing...well, I was picturing Reese.

Like I said, spending the night with her was a bad, bad idea.

Tia comes out of the bathroom, talking while she gets dressed. I mute the TV and pretend to pay attention to what she’s telling me.

But mostly, I’m not listening.

I’m a little preoccupied right now. With brown skin. Full lips. Wild hair. And a lithe little body. And although that’s not Tia’s fault, even if Reese hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t be into this conversation.

It's all about this foundation her family is starting, the reason she's buying a condo here. She's going to be in charge of marketing and PR for the whole thing.

I'm nodding and 'uh huh'ing' in all of the appropriate places, but I’m not really engaged. And because Tia has this annoying tendency to talk at me, instead of to me, she doesn’t notice. Or maybe she doesn’t care, I don’t know. I’m happy she’s happy about the foundation and her role in it it, but she’s been talking about it nonstop for months and I'm tired of hearing about it.

I’m tired in general, really. I...well, I didn’t get much sleep last night. That’s part of it. But the other part is a lot more complicated.

It’s me. And it’s Tia. And it’s the fact that this relationship is not working. And hasn’t been for some time. And being with Reese just highlighted what I’ve known for awhile now.

"...this whole thing already," Tia's saying and I realize I've missed something. "What do you think?"

I look up at her and she's looking at me expectantly. "It, uh, sounds good, baby. Great."

She's quiet for awhile, and I can feel her eyes on me. I figure she must've realized I’m not really paying any attention. Then she sits next to me on the bed and slides her fingers down my chest.

"What’d you do ‘til I got here yesterday?" She sounds so casual, and the question comes out of nowhere, and for a split second, I think maybe she suspects something.

In the next second I want to tell her that I spent all of Saturday night--and half of Sunday--in bed with another woman. The words are literally on the tip of my tongue and that surprises me.

I swallow the urge. "Uh, I went out with Eli and some of his friends. Some club."

And then her phone chirps. "That’s good, baby," she says absently. And she's standing up and picking her phone up off the desk on the other side of the room. She spends seventy-five percent of her time on her phone these days. "I figured you were holed up in the hotel room, sleeping or something just as boring. How's Eli?"

Before I can answer she's saying, "Hold on a sec, babe. I need to answer this." And now she's taking a call.

I pick the remote back up, turn the volume up again, and go back to flipping through channels. I can't help but wonder what would’ve happened if I’d stayed at Reese’s. At least for lunch, maybe longer if she let me. I wonder what she’d do if I just showed up at her place tonight, unannounced.

How the hell am I supposed to get this girl off of my mind and out of my system? She’s not the first one night stand I’ve had, not by a long shot. But something about meeting her in that club at that exact moment feels like kismet. And I don’t know what to do about that.  

Tia laughs at something the person she’s talking to says and I glance over at her.

She’s beautiful. She's also one of the most intelligent people I know. She’s independent and not needy. She’s the kind of woman that guys fall over themselves to get close to. And instead of feeling good about the fact that she’s with me, I’m dreading everything about this week and being with her.

Reese

My phone beeps and the light indicating a call from reception flashes. 

"I have Tia White here for your two o'clock appointment," the receptionist says when I pick up.

"Thanks, Layla. You can send her back.” 

I hang up and stand, adjusting the hem of my black shift dress. After checking my hair and makeup in the mirror on one wall, I cross over to my office door, swinging it open in anticipation of my client. 

Sixty seconds later, a beautiful brunette breezes across my threshold, the scent of jasmine floating behind her. 

She's about my height, and super tiny. I'm not big by anyone's standards, but this chick is probably a size zero and no more than one hundred pounds soaking wet. She's ethnically ambiguous, but I assume, by her olive coloring and her facial features, that she's at least part Latina or Asian. I can't tell exactly how old she is, but I figure we're around the same age. 

"Ms. White,” I say extending my hand to hers. “I'm Reese Adams.”

She shakes my hand and smiles warmly, showing straight white teeth and perfect dimples in both cheeks. "Please, call me Tia.”

“Nice to meet you, Tia. Please have a seat.” I gesture to one of the two chairs in front of my desk and walk around to sit behind it after closing my office door. I offer her something from the assortment of beverages we have, and she declines politely. 

"Do you mind waiting for my boyfriend?” she asks. “He's just finishing up a phone call.”

"Sure, no problem. I'll have Layla send him straight back." I relay the message to reception before turning my attention back to my new client. 

I hand her a glossy black folder with Gibbons Realty embossed in silver. "I compiled a preliminary list of neighborhoods and properties I think you may be interested in, just based on what you filled out on our website. We'll wait for your boyfriend, but you can begin to look through that if you'd like.”

She takes the folder with thanks, and begins to flip through the paper inside. While her attention is focused elsewhere, I appraise her. With the average price point that my agency operates at, we get a fair amount of trophy wives and girlfriends here--women who are considerably younger than the wealthy men they're involved with. I wonder if Tia is one of these.

She's well dressed in a pair of pleated high-waisted trousers in navy, paired with a turquoise colored cashmere sweater with a deep V. Her makeup is light and her long, sleek dark hair frames a face that's so perfect it looks airbrushed. She certainly has the looks to be a wealthy man's younger woman, but she's not wearing any of the telltale expensive jewelry the usual suspects generally sport. She's donning a simple pair of silver hoops, a delicate silver pendant necklace, and no rings on her perfectly manicured fingers. 

Everything about the way she carries herself tells me she's probably been raised with breeding, class, and all of the money that usually accompanies them. There's nothing in her file, however, about her profession so unless she offers the information, I'll continue to speculate. 

She asks me about one of the properties I've listed and I slip back into professional mode. 

As we talk I learn that she's originally from the area, but that she moved to California for college and has been there ever since. She's going to be spending a lot more time back in Chicago to work on establishing her family's charitable foundation. 

I guess she's not a kept woman after all. I was already thinking that I like Tia, and that little factoid makes me sure of it. 

She's friendly, affable, and has an air of subtle self-confidence that stops short of arrogance. Her smile is warm and genuine, and she makes eye contact with me when we're speaking. Most of my clientele is tolerable, but occasionally I get a person with a certain net worth who treats me like the hired help; I appreciate the fact that she doesn't seem to operate that way at all. 

We're talking about the city--places we both know, things we've both done--when there's a knock at the door. I assume it's her boyfriend.

She turns in her seat as the door opens and I stand. 

He's saying something as he walks across the threshold but I can't make sense of what it is. 

My hands grip the edge of my desk and I try not to gape.

Now I understand why he didn't tell me that he wanted to see me again. And I get why he looked so apologetic when he left.  

He's staring at me, beautiful blue eyes almost comically wide. Almost. Because there's nothing fucking funny about him being in my office right now. 

He's as handsome as ever in slim fitting jeans and a simple grey V-neck sweater, under the same leather jacket from the other night. 

And he looks almost as sick as I feel. 

Tia introduces us as he shuffles closer, and though there's mere feet between us, his approach seems to take hours. 

“Um, hi. Nice to meet you,” he stutters out. 

JC is standing in my office and I can't breathe.

JC

I grip the steering wheel like my life depends on it. I had to take a call right as we pulled into the parking garage so Tia went in and I told her I'd be up as soon as I was done. That was fifteen minutes ago, but I'm still here. 

I need to clear my head. The idea of walking into that office, plastering a smile on my face and pretending to care about any of it, feels oppressive. I wish I could pull right out of this spot, go straight to the airport, and hop the first available flight home. 

Instead, I take a deep breath, turn off the engine, and exit the car. A couple of minutes later I'm inside the building and riding the elevator up to the fifth floor. 

The doors open and I round a corner to see a young woman sitting behind a desk. “Hi.” I can tell by the way her eyes widen and her cheeks flush that she recognizes me. “I'm looking for Tia White? She has a two o'clock appointment.”

She nods quickly and clears her throat. “Um, y-yes, of course. You can go straight down this hallway.” She points to her left. “It's the first office on the left.”

I say thanks and follow her directions, sure I can feel her eyes on me. It's a short walk to the first door on the left so I knock twice when I get to it, and then swing it open. 

"Sorry that took…” The words dry up when my eyes lock on the woman now standing at the desk behind Tia. “A while,” I finish stupidly. 

Tia's saying something but I can't even hear her. I'm staring at Reese and she's staring at me and I feel sick to my stomach.

"JC, this is Reese Adams. Reese, JC Chasez."

My feet, seeming to move on their own, carry me forward to her desk. "Um, hi. Nice to meet you."

Her eyes are full; questions, confusion, so much is showing on her face. I want to say something, but I can't. What feels like several excruciatingly uncomfortable hours pass in the span of a split second. In that time she acknowledges the hand I'm holding out to her, and when she takes it there's a visible shift in her demeanor. 

Whatever she was thinking, whatever she was feeling when I walked through the door is completely hidden to me now. Her face, her body language, everything goes completely blank. She's the picture of civil yet detached professionalism. 

For the next forty minutes, Tia and Reese talk about square footage and neighborhoods and floor plans.

For the next forty minutes my mind is reeling and all I can do is nod and mumble 'yeah' occasionally. 

For the next forty minutes, despite the fact that my girlfriend is sitting six inches to my right, I can't stop staring at Reese. 

And for the next forty minutes, she never once looks me in the eye. 

Reese

JC and Tia are gone. She was all smiles as she was leaving, telling me she'd be in touch soon and that she'd definitely want to see some properties before they head back to California at the end of the week.

It's funny, right? The very first time I have a one night stand, he ends up walking into my office the next morning with his girlfriend.

His gorgeous, funny, super nice, perfect fucking girlfriend.

Before I can get too deep into my feelings, there's a rapid knockknock at my door and then it swings open. JC stands there for a moment, just looking at me.

My heart is beating so forcefully he can probably hear it. Plastering what I hope is a completely blank expression on my face I ask, "Can I help you? Did you forget something?"

He steps across the threshold, closing the door behind him, and approaches my desk timidly. "I'm sorry for barging in. I just--can we talk for a minute?"

He stares at me, looking all pitiful and contrite and for a moment I'm tempted to listen to what he has to say. But then I remember how I felt sitting with him on my couch, how easy it was to talk to him. And how disappointed I was when he left.

I don't want to talk. I want to punch him in his beautiful fucking face.

"What about?" I say finally.

He takes another step closer to my desk. "I need you to understand that--"

I hold up my hand to stop him. "Please don't." I'm surprised I sound so calm because I'm so furious my hands are shaking. I make a fist and bring it to my lap.

JC opens his mouth to say something so I continue quickly. "If you're worried about me saying something to your girlfriend, don't be. I have no intention of bringing drama to my workplace." I clear my throat. "As far as I'm concerned, the other night never happened so there's nothing to talk about."

There's something about the way he's looking at me now, something almost hurt in his expression.

I start organizing my desktop.

Fuck him and his hurt.

"Reese. I'm sorry."

And the thing is, he actually sounds sorry. Too bad you can't believe a liar.

"If there's nothing else, I have to get back to work. I'm sure you can show yourself out." I keep my eyes down, away from his.

Several seconds pass--at least ten by my count--before he responds.

"OK." His voice is soft, almost a whisper.

I shuffle through my papers intently until I hear the door open and shut behind him.

"Motherfucker," I mutter under my breath.

JC

Tia's talking nonstop and I want to tell her to shut up. She's talking about Reese. And properties. And other shit that I just can't deal with.

I can't think, much less concentrate on whatever it is she's going on and on about.

When Reese told me she helped rich people buy and sell expensive homes, the thought of her being Tia's real estate agent never even crossed my mind.

"JC?"

I realize Tia's calling me and I look over at her. "Huh?"

She's staring at me expectantly and I guess I must've missed something important. "Are we just going to sit here or…?" She gestures toward me.

"Oh, um…" I have the car key in one hand as I stare ahead through the windshield at nothing in particular. "Sorry." I stick the key in the ignition but before I turn it, I sit back. "I have to go to the bathroom."

Tia frowns. "Now? Can't you just--"

"Yeah, now. Sorry. All that coffee this morning, you know?" I shrug. "I'm just gonna run back inside real quick." I'm already opening the door even though she's saying something to me. "I'll be right back." I shut the door and jog back through the doors that will take me into the building.

My luck is shit sometimes. What are the chances I sleep with a woman I've never met, in a city of millions--the third largest city in the country--and end up in her office the next day? With my girlfriend. If I didn't already believe in kismet, I definitely would now. Because it's just too big of a coincidence.

I take the elevator back up and go straight to the reception desk. The same blonde is there and this time she manages a shy smile at me. She gets ready to say something but I speak first.

"I think I left my phone in Ms. Adams' office." The lie comes out smoothly. "Can I go back and check?"

She blushes again and nods. "Oh, yeah. Reese is still--"

"Thanks," I say, already on my way down the hall. I don't mean to be rude to her but I'm kind of in a hurry.

When I get to her door I knock quickly and immediately push it open. She's still at her desk, and I know by the way her eyes get wide, she wasn't expecting me to come back.

She glances down and when she looks back up at me, coolly asking if I've forgotten something, it's all business. Her tone is professional. Clipped and cold. The warm, funny, playful woman I spent the night with is not the one sitting in front of me.

There's so much I want to say to her that I don't even know where to start. I close the door behind me, and on legs that feel like lead, I slowly move closer to the desk. "I'm sorry for barging in. I just--can we talk for a minute?"

She blinks several times, licks her lips slowly, and she looks like she wants to hit me. Or throw something at me. Maybe both.

"What about?" she says finally.

"I need you to understand that--"

Reese cuts me off with a wave of her hand, assures me that she won't tell Tia. And I guess I should be thankful for that at least. But when she says that, as far as she's concerned, the other night never happened, it just feels like a punch to the gut.

She looks down at her desk again, shuffles some papers around. And then she basically tells me to get out, all without ever looking at me.

I want her to know that I had more fun with her the other night than I've had with anyone in a long time--and I'm not strictly talking about the sex. I want to tell her that I really liked her, and felt like we had some kind of connection. I want to tell her how much I wanted to stay.

I really want her to believe that I don't normally do things like casually cheat on my girlfriend.

On Saturday night, Reese had this insane energy that was like a physical force pulling me toward her. I can still feel her energy, except now, instead of being white hot and magnetic, it's an impenetrable wall of solid ice.

I watch her for another moment before saying, "OK." I leave her office, and as I walk back down the hall toward the reception area, past the blonde at the desk and to the elevators, I feel like a piece of shit.

Reese

I have the worst headache and I can't wait to get out of this office. After my afternoon surprise I had every intention of leaving work early, but another of my clients got into what turned out to be a bidding war that took the better part of two hours to resolve. 

Just as I send my final email of the evening Layla runs into my office, practically slams the door, and plops down in front of my desk. 

"Ohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh! I've been dying to talk to you all day. What's he like?" 

I blink slowly, frowning at her. "Who?"

Her eyes get so huge and under normal circumstances my curiosity would be piqued. Today, however, has been far from normal and I'm out of energy. 

"JC!" She says this as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. 

"JC?" I repeat. "You know JC?" My stomach drops and I wonder if she's going to tell me she's slept with him too.

Layla huffs and tosses her blonde ponytail behind her. "Come on, Reese, of course I don't know him! That's why I want to know what he's like. He's even hotter in person, isn't he?"

My confusion grows as she keeps talking. "So is he moving to Chicago? What's his girlfriend like? Ugh, I hate her! I mean she's gorgeous and he's gorgeous and they're absolutely perfect together and it's not fair, right?"

She's waving her hands around while she tosses out words and all I can do is stare at her with my mouth slightly open. 

"Talk to me!" she insists. "What's he like? I need to know everything!"

I gesture vaguely. "I don't know, Layla. He's like...a regular guy, I guess." And I mean that so much more than she could ever know. 

On any given day Layla is five feet six inches of twenty-five year old perky blonde perpetual excitement. She has one speed and it's extreme enthusiasm about literally everything. She's kind of like a new puppy. 

She's also really sweet and I genuinely like her. Right now, however, I can't handle her. Though I wouldn't have believed it possible, she's even more hyped up than normal. She's practically hyperventilating and asking me a million rapid fire questions and my headache is getting worse. 

"Layla. Please take a breath. How do you even know who he is?"

She stares at me with an expression that's part horror and part disbelief. "You're kidding, right?"

I close my eyes and rub my temples. "No, I'm not kidding." Then I remember that he told me he's a musician. Of course we were half naked at the time, and I was too distracted to ask more questions. I clear my throat.

"Reese." I open my eyes to see Layla's incredulous blue eyes staring back at me like maybe I'm an imbecile. 

I get the feeling that I'm missing something major.  

"You really don't know who JC Chasez is?"

I shrug. "Should I?"

Her jaw drops, and she definitely thinks I'm an imbecile. "In sync, Reese!" 

"In sync with what?" I say, which is clearly the wrong answer because she grabs the edge of my desk and starts shrieking. 

"Reese! JC Chasez! He and Justin Timberlake were in *NSYNC together!"

Justin Timberlake is everywhere--movies, music, so of course I know who he is. And I guess I knew he was part of a boyband a million years ago, but it wasn't the kind of music I was into at the time. 

Layla's rattling off information about JC and the group, and my mind wanders back to when he told me that his songs were sometimes on the radio. My brain is spinning, and Layla's still talking, and I just really need to get the hell out of here. 

"Layla," I interrupt, "I'm really sorry but I have to get going. If he comes back I'll make sure to introduce you, OK?" 

There's like zero percent chance of that happening, but she doesn't need to know that. 

She squeals again, clapping her hands together. "You're the best, Reese! I'll talk to you tomorrow!"

She leaves and I sit for a moment, inhaling and exhaling, elbows on the desk, forehead resting in my hands.  

I take a random guy home--the first time I've ever in my life done it--and he turns up in my office the next day. With his girlfriend. And he's some kind of celebrity. 

I start laughing because it's all I can do. And the longer I laugh, the harder I laugh, until I can't breathe, my stomach hurts, and tears are streaming down my cheeks.

Several minutes pass before I calm down and catch my breath, and I gather my stuff to leave. 

I have a date with Google tonight.

JC

"Did you see the way Reese looked at you when you came in?" Tia says, and I think my heart stops beating for at least ten seconds. 

And also I'm maybe gonna be sick.

"Wh-what do you mean?" 

"She totally recognized you."

She laughs and I glance at her from the corner of my eye. My heart begins to regulate to a normal rhythm as I realize what she's talking about. 

"Oh. Um...maybe," I say nonchalantly. 

"No maybe. She played it off well--better than most--but she totally recognized you."

She's right, for the wrong reason. 

Tia's going through the folder Reese gave her, making comments that I think I'm supposed to be responding to, but I can't even pretend to process what she's saying right now.  

I know there are people out there who think I'm some kind of a Casanova or something. That I like, just sleep around with a lot of women kind of indiscriminately. It's not true. It's actually never been true. I'm not, and never have been, that guy. I don't run through women. For one, I like women. I respect women. And I've had far fewer casual hook-ups and meaningless one night stands than people would probably believe.

I think the best sex is the kind that happens when I have a real connection with someone. Sure, physical attraction is one part of it, but it's not the only part. It's about a conversation with someone and realizing you're on the same wavelength. It's about sharing a joke that no one else thinks is funny. It's about some undefinable something that doesn't happen with just anyone. I like sex. I love sex. But for me, sex is best when it feels meaningful, and it doesn't often feel that way with a stranger. 

Maybe it's a spiritual thing. Or a vibrational thing. I don't know, but whatever it is it was there with Reese from the moment our eyes locked in that club. And the fact that, out of all the companies we could've walked into today, we walked into hers...well, that has to mean something. 

"So maybe Wednesday?" Tia says.

"Wednesday for what?" 

"To look at places with Reese," she mumbles. 

I can't see Reese again. Obviously. But I also can't say that. 

"Maybe you should request a different agent." The words are out of my mouth before I think them through, and I can feel Tia's eyes on me.

"Why?" she says. "Because she recognized you? People recognize you all the time, JC." 

I think I can hear exasperation in her voice, but when I glance at her she's smiling. And at least that means she isn't suspicious.

"Um, yeah, I guess. But maybe--"

Before I can finish whatever bullshit I was about to make up, Tia's phone rings and she takes the call.

We're headed to her folks' place, and as stressful as that is on a good day, I don't know how the hell I'm going to get through it today. While Tia is occupied with her phone call, I spend every bit of the rest of the drive wondering, in the not-so-way-back of my mind, how I can fix this.

Reese

I planned on coming home and getting straight on the computer to research JC, but I decided I needed some grounding first. 45 minutes of yin yoga later and my body feels calmer but I haven't reached the deep, meditative state I was aiming for.

But it's OK because my emotional support is already on the way. I called Sasha in the car on the way home, and although I didn't go into explicit detail, she's got enough information to already be headed to my place. I sit on my couch, pull my legs up underneath me, and call Bridgette next.

Whereas Sasha and I have been thick as thieves since we became neighbors as toddlers, B and I became friends my sophomore year of college. We met in a digital photography class I took for elective credit. I would've noticed her no matter what; she walked into the room that first day with half of her head of wavy black hair shaved and the other half bleached blonde and streaked with rainbow colors. We were also the only two brown people in the class so I was glad when she spotted me and immediately claimed the seat next to mine.

I was flailing emotionally when we met, an only child navigating a difficult transition with my only parent, while my best friend in the world was in school out of state. B is three years older than me, a middle daughter sandwiched between two sons. She kind of adopted me that semester and we've been friends ever since.

"Bitch," Bridgette says when she picks up, "I've called you fifty fucking times since yesterday and you're just now calling me back."

"I texted you." I snicker.

"Yeah, with no motherfucking details. I'm assuming you got dicked down good and you're still in recovery mode?"

One of Bridgette's many charms is that she has no filter. If she thinks it, it's most definitely going to fly out of her mouth.

As much as I want to laugh at that, all I can muster is a pitiful sigh. "Can you come over? I have pizza and alcohol, and Sash is bringing the chocolate. I'll give you all of the details your nosy ass so desires."

"I'm on my way."

Thirty minutes later I'm surrounded by my best friends, pizza, and several bottles of wine. I'm already halfway through my third large glass of bubbly, pink moscato because I started without them.

Bridgette and Sasha are seated on either end of my sectional, and I'm sprawled on the floor in front of them. There's a fire going in the fireplace, and I'm feeling warm, cozy, and a few sips away from drunk.

I've taken them through the story, beginning with JC catching me as I stumbled out of the club's bathroom. They've heard about the great time--multiple times--we had on Saturday and Sunday. Sasha was wide-eyed and Bridgette was howling when I got to the part about our impromptu reunion in my office this afternoon.

And I've just gotten to the JC-is-apparently-a-celebrity-thing.

"So Layla comes into the office and she's on ten, and she's asking me all these questions about JC and I'm super confused, right? And I ask how she knows him and she starts literally shrieking at me about how he's famous and used to be in this group with Justin Timberlake and--"

"Wait a minute," Sasha exclaims, and her incredulous expression is almost a perfect mirror of Layla's. She sits up so fast that she almost knocks her plate off her lap. "You had sex with JC Chasez? JC Chasez from *NSYNC?"

"Who?" Bridgette looks as confused as I felt earlier.

Sasha pushes her plate onto the cushion next to her and grabs her phone from the side table. She taps for a second before tossing it to Bridgette. "JC Chasez. *NSYNC." She's gaping at me.

I shrug. "Apparently."

Bridgette holds the phone out to me. The image on screen is of five guys so young they're practically pre-pubescent, and it takes me a moment to recognize Justin Timberlake.

"Which one is he?" she asks as she slides onto the floor next to me.

For a moment I'm too busy inspecting JT's formerly 3b curls; I wonder if he relaxes his hair these days. Then I hone in on JC. "When's this from?" I ask Sasha.

She joins us on the floor, sitting on the other side of me. "1998, I think."

"Hmm." I point him out to Bridgette and scroll to see more pictures.

I tap his name into the search bar and a series of recent pictures pop up. I stop on one of him smiling, dressed to the nines for some sort of obviously black tie event. He's in black on black, blue eyes sparkling magnificently, and his dark hair is styled perfectly. He's so beautiful it almost hurts.

"That's what he looks like now?" B grunts a little and scrunches her face up. "I guess you can't judge a book by its cover. He doesn't look like he can fu--"

She stops and shrugs when I cut my eyes at her.

"I can't believe that you took JC Chasez home and had sex with him," Sasha says. "I cannot fucking believe that you took JC Chasez home and you had sex with him and you didn't know he was JC Chasez." She stares at me with unadulterated disbelief.

I ignore her and keep scrolling through images. There are several recent ones of him and Tia. She's as beautiful in pictures as she is in person. And together...well, it's like Layla said: they make a perfect fucking couple.

The sensation in the pit of my stomach feels a little too much like jealousy, and I hand the phone back to Sasha.

"So I guess I'm the only person on earth who had no idea who he was? Is." I stare into my half-full glass of wine before gulping it down.

Bridgette laughs, pats my shoulder, and gets back up on the couch. "Oh, girl, I wouldn't have known either."

"You really don't remember anything about *NSYNC?" Sasha asks. "Nelly even did a song with them."

I roll my eyes. "No. I don't remember."

"Do you remember Katie Jefferson? She was in our English class senior year?"

I think back and I have a vague impression of someone. "Really tall? Red hair and glasses?"

"That's her." Sasha nods. "We were in a creative writing class together sophomore year of undergrad and she was a huge *NSYNC fan. I went to a concert with her one weekend. Maybe I should Facebook her. JC was her favorite and I'm pretty sure she used to write stories about him."

I scowl, thinking back to the way he looked at me when I asked if he made a living or worked a job. I didn't understand it then, but it makes perfect sense now: he was surprised as hell I didn't recognize him. It was the same look he gave me when I asked his name.

I crawl over to the bottles of wine and pour another glass. "You know what? I'm done with men. All of them. I mean it this time." I raise my glass to commemorate the moment.

"I really don't see what the big deal is," Bridgette says.

Before I can reply, Sasha turns disapproving eyes toward her. "What do you mean?" she asks.

Bridgette rolls her eyes. "So he's got a girlfriend; it's not like he's married."

"B!" Sasha drops the wine key she's been playing with.

"What?" Bridgette leans over to grab the key from the floor and begins to fiddle with it. "He went home with you after knowing you for an hour. Clearly his relationship has issues that have nothing to do with you."

Sasha's gaping at her and I gaze at her blankly.

"If the sex with him was as great as you say it was, then let his fucked up relationship be his problem and see if he wants to smash again. You were going through kind of a drought."

Like I said, she has no filter.

"Bridgette!" Sasha squeals again, which is what she does when she's really shocked and exasperated. "I can't believe you'd say that after what Dav--" She stops and looks at me guiltily.

I lift my glass again, toasting the air. "You can say his name, Sash. It's fine." Him, being David. My boyfriend of three years. Ex-boyfriend. Ex-cheating-boyfriend. Whatever.

"But that's exactly my point, Reese." B has her wine glass in one hand and she's pointing at me with the other. "David was an asshole even before he was a cheater. Or rather, before you knew he was a cheater."

I flip her off and she continues unperturbed.

"The cheating was just a symptom of a relationship that didn't function. I hate that he did it to you, Reese, but at the same time I'm glad he's gone. Good riddance."

I don't think any of my close friends particularly cared for David, but she's the only one who never pretended otherwise.

"So how does that translate into me continuing to have sex with JC?" I ask, genuinely interested and also genuinely drunk.

"You said it yourself when you ran into douchebag and what's-her-face," Bridgette says, referring to David and his fiancé. "She's not at fault. She didn't have any obligation to you."

Sasha's giving me this look like on one hand she's not quite sure if I'm OK, but on the other she doesn't disagree with Bridgette.

"It's the same thing with JC and his girlfriend," Bridgette continues. "If their relationship was so great he wouldn't have spent the night with you. That's not your fault, and you don't owe her anything. Make sure he's STD-free, and enjoy the D while you can."

"That's horrible, B," Sasha says, a large amount of disgust in her voice. "And if he's cheating on his girlfriend, he's just like David. Why would Reese put herself in that position?"

Bridgette groans as if Sasha is the simplest of the simple-minded. "I'm not saying date him. But good dick is hard to come by these days. If he's willing to give it to you, and you can keep your feelings out of it, why not? The fact that he's famous...well, it makes it much more interesting. Maybe you'll get flewed out."

Sasha mumbles her disapproval but I just shake my head. Bridgette, meanwhile, is completely unconcerned with either of us or our feelings about what she's just said. Because that's just who she is as a person.

"I have no desire to be a side piece, thanks. I don't care how good the sex was." And although I grimace at B, I'm also pouting because fuck me if it wasn't spectacular. "Anyway, he's only here for the week. He's going back to L.A. on Sunday." And the fact that I'm feeling some kind of way about that is a tidbit I keep to myself.

"And even if he lived here, I wouldn't and couldn't. His girlfriend is really nice." I pour more wine and realize I've lost track of how much I've had. "This is just my punishment. This is what I get for bringing a stranger home."

"Oh, sweets." Sasha scoots closer to me and rubs my arm affectionately. "This isn't your fault and you aren't being punished. Men are just assholes."

I smile at her attempt to make me feel better, but the irony isn't lost on me. Sasha's been blissfully married--to the only man she's ever had sex with, no less--for over a decade. And her husband really is, pardon the cliché, one of the good ones.

"I guess it could be worse." I sniff a little bit, mostly for effect. "At least I had the good sense to use condoms."

"Not when you had his dick in your mouth," Bridgette mutters under her breath.

"Bridgette, shut up!" Sasha yells.

Great, I think with a sinking feeling in my stomach. Now, on top of feeling like shit in general, I have to worry about having gonorrhea. In my mouth.

I guess the next thing on my agenda is a full STD panel as soon as I can get in with my doctor.

I down my glass and pour more wine.

JC

I don't spend a lot of time with Tia's family, especially not at their home in Chicago. But whenever I do, I'm amazed.

It may as well be an estate. Or a museum. Because on the inside, that's what it reminds me of. It's all marble and granite and stone. And it isn't just the size of it. I've been in plenty of huge homes, being in the entertainment industry. But I guess I'm just in awe of the fact that this is just the way Tia grew up--well outside of entertainment.

Thanks to my career I've made a lot of money. And thanks to great financial advisors, I continue to make a lot of money. I don't ever really think about how much money I have, which I guess is common when you have a lot of it. If I want to buy something, I buy it. If I want to go somewhere, I go there. I don't really consider how much things cost because, for the most part, I know I can afford it, whatever it is.

But at the same time, I don't think I live a really flashy life. I mean, yeah, I live in a big, expensive house. But it's not the biggest, or the most expensive, in my neighborhood. Nowhere close.

And I have a few luxury cars, but they aren't much compared to some of the super flashy, super expensive cars some of my neighbors drive.

I don't exactly shop at Target, but at the same time I'm also not constantly walking around in eight hundred dollar pants, or three thousand dollar suits. And although some of my clothes might be kind of expensive for what they are--mostly jeans and t-shirts--I keep my clothes for a long time. They get a lot of use.

I definitely didn't grow up in the lap of luxury. My parents took great care of me and my siblings, but they went to work everyday. They had regular bills like everyone else. Sometimes we used coupons and bought things on sale and...well, it was very middle class and very normal. And I've held on to a lot of that.

I have a lady who comes in a couple of times a week to clean my house. But on a daily basis I load and unload my own dishwasher. And I do my own laundry.

Tia's grown up way different than me. I overheard her mother call me new money once. They still don't know I heard it, but I guess it's true. And if I'm new money, Tia and her family are ancient money.

Her father, William Stanford 'Bill' White, is an Illinois appellate judge. Without getting into specifics, it means he's a pretty big deal in the legal system in the state of Illinois. He's one in a long line of politically connected Whites. Her mother, Amalia, is the daughter of a Mexican diplomat. And other than the fact that her family is a big deal back in Mexico, I don't really know what that means.

Well, I know that it definitely means her parents don't like me.

They've never said that, of course. And they've always been polite, but they don't approve of me. Or of my lack of education. Or the fact that I'm a pop musician. I think they'd be a little more impressed if I were a classical cellist, or world-renowned opera singer. Maybe even if I had a bunch of Grammys and A-list name recognition. But I'm just an over-the-hill, former teen heartthrob who now flies mostly under the radar and stays behind the scenes.

And they just don't have much use for me.

I'm nursing a vanilla old-fashioned while we--Tia, her parents, and me--sit around the table in the informal dining room right off the kitchen. Which is not to be confused with the formal dining room in a different wing of the house. Conversation is kind of swirling around me, but I'm finding it difficult to stay engaged. I nod when I'm supposed to, say 'yes' and 'mmhmm' when I think it's necessary. Mostly though, their voices are washing right over me.

Despite my best efforts, I've spent the bulk of the evening distracted. I guess I'm mentally decompressing. Trying to. I've got a helluva lot to decompress from.

There are more than 12,000 realtors in Chicago. That's what Google says. So how the hell did Tia end up in the office of the one I went to bed with two nights ago?

I felt sick when I walked into that room and saw Reese staring back at me. Sick and guilty. And not even guilty for the right reason. I feel guiltier about not telling her about Tia than I feel about Tia not knowing anything at all.

That's fucked up, right?

After that office visit I texted Eli three letters: FML. He replied with a question mark. Which is actually perfectly symbolic of everything right now.

I keep replaying that moment I walked into her office--the way she looked at me first, then the way she wouldn't look at me after--on an endless loop. The recognition when she first saw me, the realization that came next. There was a split second of disgust, a brief moment of benign disinterest, and then...nothing.

I'm staring into my glass like it holds answers to unknowable secrets, wishing I could knock it back, let it burn my throat and cloud my head, and get another. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. But I know Mrs. White will look at me in that vaguely disapproving way she always looks at me, without saying anything. And I'm not in the mood for that so I sip slowly, telling myself that I'm not supposed to knock back expensive bourbon anyway. And I pretend to be comfortable in this uncomfortable ass chair.

"I think we might be boring JC with all of this talk about business."

I look up to see Bill looking at me. He sounds amused, like the whole thing is funny, but his expression says he's not really joking and he wants me to know it.

I laugh it off. "No, it's not that. I'm just really tired. I haven't fully adjusted to the time change yet." I am tired. So that’s only half a lie.

"JC," Tia says suddenly, grabbing my arm, "tell Mom and Dad about your movie!"

Her parents are looking at me expectantly now so I force a smile and clear my throat. "Uh, it's um...well, it's not a done deal yet or anything, but I was offered a role in a small film and--"

"And he's going to do it and it's going to be amazing," she gushes.

"What's the movie about?" Bill asks.  

"It's about a musical, Daddy. Which is perfect, right? I keep telling him he needs to get back out there and this gives him the chance to showcase his acting and remind people of what an amazing voice he has. And maybe it'll lead to something bigger down the road."

She's holding onto my arm, looking at me like she's so proud and excited and I just...want nothing more than to get out of here.

The movie in question is an indie thing and I honestly don't know if I'm going to do it or not. There are still a few logistical things my manager is trying to work out. In fact, I'm waiting on a call from him any day now. I kind of didn't want to talk about it with anyone--especially not the Whites--until I knew for sure. So much for that.

"Is anyone associated with it we would know?" Amalia asks.

It's the undercurrent of disdain and judgment from both of Tia's parents that makes me stand up suddenly and pull my phone out of my pocket. I have to get the hell out of this room.

"Excuse me, but I have to take this call. Tia can fill you in on the details." I smile again, pretend to answer a call, and put the phone to my ear as I walk out of the room. "Hey, Eric, what's up?"

Without bothering to look behind me, I walk down the hall carrying on an imaginary conversation with my manager. When I get to the study, I close the door behind me and collapse into an armchair. I scroll through my phone's recent call log and choose the name of the only person I can be completely honest with right now.

"I was wondering when I was gonna hear from you," Eli says when he answers.

"Dude," I groan, holding the phone in one hand and my head in the other. "I'm fucked."

"Let me guess," he says, and the TV I could hear playing when he first picked up goes quiet. "This has something to do with your new friend from the other night? What's her name? Reese?"

I groan again and even though I'm pretty sure Tia and her parents will stay where they are until I come back, I lower my voice. "I am so completely fucked."

He chuckles. "Where are you? You're really quiet."

"I'm at Tia's folks' place and I can't handle it right now, man. Today has been…" I sigh. "I didn't think I'd ever see her again."

There's a pause before Eli says, "Maybe you should start at the beginning."

"Hold on." I take a moment to make sure I'm still alone, and when I step out into the hallway I can just make out the sounds of the Whites in the dining room. I know they're going to leave me alone if they think I'm on a business call, but I'm paranoid. With good reason. I come back to the study, closing the door again, and get straight to it.

"What'd you say about Reese on Saturday? That she looked fun?" I exhale slowly. "You have no idea."

I spend the next ten minutes giving Eli the Reader's Digest version of my Saturday and Sunday with Reese. OK...maybe the story is a little bit more Vanity Fair, but I swear I'm not disrespectful.

I tell him about how I'm pretty sure that she doesn't know who I am, and how much I appreciate that. I'm filling him in on how I left her place, and how I absolutely did not want to leave her place, when he interrupts me.

"Why the hell didn't you at least get her number?"

"Because I--" I stop, grunt. It's only a valid question without all of today's details. "It doesn't matter; let me finish."

I take a deep breath, like the rest of the story requires an excessive amount of energy. And in a way, I guess it does. I tell him about Tia's appointment with the realtor. About how she went in before me because I was on the phone.

"So I knock on the door, open it, and Tia's sitting there talking to her new real estate agent...who's none other than Reese."

There's a moment of silence, and then Eli busts out laughing. "No shit! You're serious?"

"Yes!" I hiss. "And it's not fucking funny."

Eli is one of my oldest friends and I love him like a brother, but right now, with the way that he's laughing like I just told him the funniest joke he's ever heard, I kinda want to punch him.

"I don't know, man, I think it's kind of funny.” He's still cracking up. "Damn, brother, you weren't joking about being fucked."

"Thanks, asshole," I mutter.

"But wait." He turns serious. "Since you're currently dining with the Whites, that means Reese didn't mention your little, ah, indiscretion."

I make a face at him, which is pointless since he can't see me. "No, Reese didn't say anything; she just ignored me the entire time we were in her office. So after, I go back to the car with Tia and I lie and say I have to use the bathroom, right?

"So I go back to her office to try to explain and she's done with me. She says she won't say anything to Tia because she wants the commission check. And she's completely calm when she calls me a cheating bastard--"

"Which you are," he interjects.

"Fuck you, man. Anyway, she won't listen to me. At all. She basically kicked me out of her office."

"You're lucky she didn't hit you; I would have." Eli's still quietly snickering on the other end of the line and now I definitely want to punch him, no kind of about it.

"What'd you expect?" he asks with way too much obvious amusement in his voice for my liking. "You went home with her, fucked her, spent the night and hung around the next morning so you could fuck her again. All signs are pointing to you being really into her, and then you show up in her office on Monday with your preternaturally peppy girlfriend. Which, by the way, is a really crazy fucking coincidence."

Don't I know it. I sigh and my head drops back to my hand. "I was really into her. I still am. That's the problem. She's a cool chick. Funny, smart, interesting." Also the sex was insane.

"And I'm sure the great sex doesn't hurt either," Eli says wryly.

Like I said, we've been friends for a long time.

"But even before that we clicked, you know? It's been awhile since I had that. And now she knows about Tia, and I just…" I stop and consider how much like shit I feel.

"And you just fucked all the way up," Eli offers genially.

I'm pissed and I have to fight to keep my voice down. "Listen, if you're gonna--"

"Hear me out, JC."

I take a deep breath and remember that I called him for a reason. On top of the fact that he was at the club with me so he's the only one who I can tell what's going on, one of the things I appreciate most about him is that he's a straight shooter. Even when I don't want him to be.

"I know you don't want to hear it but as far as Reese goes, dude, the proverbial ship has sailed. It's not ever gonna happen again. And I get it; new pussy is always exciting--"

"Eli--"

"--but you may as well start thinking of her as nothing more than Tia's realtor because I can guarantee you that from now on, that's all she's going to be to you. And speaking of Tia, you've been ambivalent about your relationship for months now, and for months now I've been telling you that you need to man up and handle it. Maybe if you do that, eventually you'll meet another cool, funny, smart chick and, uh, click with her--without all the drama."

I'm quiet because really, I don't have anything to say to that. He's right.

And I hate it.

Reese

I'm way too old to be this hungover. And I am really fucking hungover. My alarm went off several hours ago, but I turned it off and turned back over. Now I'm awake feeling fuzzy-brained and cotton-mouthed. 

I drank so, so much last night. I was drinking when Sasha left. And still drinking when B left an hour later. I'm not normally a 'drown my troubles in a bottle of alcohol' kind of person, but it's been my go-to way of dealing with certain things for the past couple of months. 

The past couple of months have been particularly shitty. 

When my friends were gone, I opened my laptop because I needed to know more about him. 

JC fucking celebrity Chasez.

A Google search led me to his Wikipedia where I learned what his initials stand for. Then I read about the one and only solo album he put out. I had no intention of listening to it, but the title was a little interesting, and after reading the track listing curiosity got the better of me. I opened my music app, found the album and hit shuffle and...well, that was a colossal mistake. 

The first song started, a few bars of piano and then his voice.

His voice. 

His voice is nothing short of amazing. I sat there listening to "Lose Myself," goosebumps on my skin, absolutely mesmerized. There was so much passion, and longing, and emotion and just...fuck me. I sat there with my wine and the song on repeat for I don't know how long. I know that at one point my cheeks were wet and I realized I was crying, at which point I turned it off. 

And then I went to bed, where I bawled until I finally passed out. Which is really fucking pathetic.

Because it's him, but it's not just him.

It's David and Rebecca. And the damn ring on her finger. And the fact that I had no clue, even though no one else around me seemed to be surprised. 

It's that I didn't even know who JC was. And maybe that seems like a completely different issue, but it's not. 

It's the fact that I am, apparently, the most oblivious person on earth. 

I want to call my mom so she can tell me what to do, and the fact that I can't makes me feel sick and pissed off too. 

To my irritation, my work phone starts ringing and I pick it up to see it's 12:15. I know I don't have any appointments scheduled this afternoon and I don't recognize the number so I shake myself a little to get into professional mode. After a quick swig of water from my bedside table, I answer. 

"Gibbons Realty. Reese Adams speaking." I hope the hangover isn't obvious in my voice.

"Reese! Hi," a vaguely familiar feminine voice says. "It's Tia White, from yesterday."

My stomach drops. She sounds way too chipper so I know she can't be calling about anything related to JC, but just hearing her voice fills me with dread. 

"Oh, Tia, hi." I force myself to sound just as cheerful as she does. "How are you?"

"Honestly, I'm stressed," she replies. "My schedule for the rest of the week just became crazy busy. I know I said I wanted to check out some of the properties before I head back to L.A., but that's going to be almost impossible."

She must be calling me to tell me she won't be able to meet this week after all. Maybe I can pass her off to another agent whenever she's back in town. Or maybe we can continue to work together virtually. Either way, hopefully I'll never have to see her or her boyfriend ever again.

I'm home free, I think. 

"Unless there's some chance you have some free time today?" she says hopefully.

Dammit.

"Well, um..." I'm trying to stall, to come up with a valid excuse as to why I can't meet with her today. One that doesn't include telling her how much I had to drink last night. I cough a little. "My early evening is pretty full, so--"

"How about now?" she interrupts enthusiastically. "Or as close to now as you can manage?"

"Oh." Dammit. "Uh, what properties did you want to look at? I'll have to make sure whatever you want to see is available for viewing now."

She gives me addresses for four properties, and I know for a fact that three of them are vacant and likely to be available for immediate viewing. They're also very near my neighborhood. As is her hotel--which I found out when she was in my office yesterday.

I have no excuses. Motherfucker.

I tell her I'll call her right back. With a huge sigh I get out of bed and head across the hall to my home office. It would be so unprofessional to tell her that I can't meet today, but I'm so tempted. And if it weren't for the fact that I'm really not a good liar, I would. Instead, I get onto the company website and, a few keystrokes later, we're scheduled.

Back in my room I dial her number. "Hi, Tia," I say after she greets me again. "We're all set. I can pick you up in," I glance at the clock, "an hour and a half?"

"That's perfect!" she practically squeals. "We'll see you then. Thanks so much, Reese."

"It's my pleasure," I find myself saying. Which is so. Much. Bullshit. "I'll see you soon."

I end the call and blow out a breath. She said "we."

Mother. Fucker. 

JC

"Dammit!" Tia tosses her phone onto the bed in front of her. 

"What's wrong?" I ask. 

"That was Helen. There's so much happening this week and I'm not going to have any time to meet with Reese again before we fly back home."

Helen is her father's personal assistant. Lately, when it comes to her work, Helen is the one calling and texting a full ninety percent of the time. 

Tia looks and sounds so agitated, but all I feel is relief. I've been trying to figure out how I can get out of seeing Reese again. Because as much as I want to see her again, I absolutely do not want to see her again under present circumstances. 

And now, maybe, I don't have to. 

"Oh, um...well, you can come back another time." 

She's picking her phone back up and texting now, and for a few seconds she doesn't answer me. 

"Babe, did you see where I put that folder Reese gave me yesterday?"

She's still looking down at her phone so she doesn't see the way my eyes roll. "You left it in the living room."

Saying nothing, Tia practically sprints into the other room and comes back with the glossy black folder in hand. She sits back down on the bed and opens it, pulling out Reese's business card. 

"What are you doing?" I ask, feeling nervous. 

She stops and smiles at me. 

Her smile is the first thing I noticed about her. Those dimples. She has a beautiful smile. 

Unfortunately, when she smiles like that, her intention is to get whatever she wants. Knowing that has taken some of the luster out of it for me. 

"Maybe she can meet with us today." Tia's entering numbers into her phone. 

The nervousness in my stomach is now a fifty pound steel ball. "Wh--today? Tia, she's...she's probably busy. With other clients."

And I'm not prepared to see her again. For the third day in a row. 

But Tia's already dialing. "If she's busy, she's busy. But it doesn't hurt to ask."

I don't want to hear her end of the conversation so I stand up and go to the bathroom. I've already showered today, so I turn on the overhead fan and sit on the closed toilet with my head in my hands. 

This is another one of those things about Tia that's just not working for me. It's not that she isn't a nice person, because she is. But when something is really important to her, it kind of takes precedence over everything else. And she's never rude about it, whatever it is, but she also has this tendency to just generally not take no for an answer. 

When she wants something, she's like a tiny, beautiful force of nature. Or maybe a bulldozer. Or a wrecking ball. 

I shouldn't be thinking this way about my girlfriend. 

I kinda want to pray that Reese is busy today, but I'm not sure if God's on speaking terms with me right now. Instead I cross my fingers, literally, and make a passionate wish and hope that some sympathetic angel hears and takes pity on me. 

The idea of spending even one more minute with Tia and Reese at the same time makes me queasy. 

I count to one hundred, slowly, before leaving the room. But when I step out of the bathroom Tia's still on the phone. Big surprise. 

"That's perfect!" she's saying. As excited as she sounds, I assume she's gotten her way. Which is par for the course. "We'll see you then. Thanks so much, Reese."

And just like that, my day is fucked. 

Reese 

Dressing for this meeting has been difficult. I don't want to look like I tried too hard, but I don't want to look like I didn't try at all.

Although I absolutely shouldn't care what JC thinks when he sees me, I absolutely do. Which makes me a terribly shitty human being, right?

I opt for simple: dark denim jeans, a white button-down with a multicolored scarf around my neck. Brown suede ankle boots with a bit of a heel and a lined, brown leather jacket (not the same one from the other night) complete the look. 

Today's lipstick isn't red, but kind of an eggplant-y purple. My hair is out, though. Like it was the night I spent with him. And maybe there's a part of me that hopes he makes that connection. 

I am absolutely a really horribly shitty person.

Because why else would I care what JC will think when he sees me? And why else would I actually want him to think about the night that he spent with me? The night he spent cheating on his seemingly very nice girlfriend. 

And that's another thing; now that I've met her and spent some time talking to her, I can't create a scenario in my head where she's frigid or a bitch or any of the other narratives douche-y, cheating men offer as to why they're douche-y and cheating. 

But I've also been thinking about the fact that when he came back to my office, he never tried to offer any excuses. He said he was sorry, and then he left. And deep down, or maybe not so deep down, I want that to count for something. 

So on top of being a spectacularly shitty person, I'm pathetic. 

At sixty-two degrees, the weather is mild for October in Chicago and it's evident in the amount of people out and about, crowding the city streets. It's fairly busy for a Tuesday, but traffic flows smoothly enough that I pull up to their hotel after a mere fifteen minute drive. I said that I would pass it on the way to the properties, but the truth is, I would practically pass it almost no matter where I was going because it's only a few blocks away from my condo. 

Incidentally, each of the places Tia wants to see today are within three square blocks of my building. But I don't plan on mentioning that. 

They're staying at The Peninsula and this place is unreal. I went to a wedding here last year; it's luxurious and opulent and a bunch of other words that translate into expensive. It takes major coins to stay here. I've been fortunate to make a good living in real estate, and with our clientele and the price point we generally operate at, the housing crunch that happened a few years ago never really affected us. But a week in a hotel where rooms start at $400 a night, and suites start at nearly twice that, is way outside the scope of all practicality for me. 

I find myself wondering who's footing the bill--Tia or JC. Now that I know he's famous and rich, it's anybody's guess. But before I can get too deep into my internal debate I see them as I pull up to the curb. 

They're standing outside and I almost want to laugh; Tia and I are dressed almost identically. Her jeans are lighter in color, but similar in style to mine. Instead of ankle boots hers are knee-high. Her button-down is navy. And her jacket, almost exactly the same style as mine, is black instead of brown. 

Her lovely hair is wound into a knot on the top of her head, and she's wearing delicate gold hoops in her ears with minimal makeup. 

I'm just going to admit it now: Tia White is gorgeous. Drop dead, traffic-stoppingly gorgeous. She's the kind of woman that make men stumble into walls because they're staring at her and not paying attention to where they're walking. She's about my height, but other than that she could be a supermodel. I want to hate her, but on top of being beautiful she's really likable. 

Which makes me want to hate her more, frankly.

It also makes me wonder, again, what the hell is wrong with JC that he would cheat on her. Which makes me hate him more, too. 

I'm bitter. 

As I wait at the curb, two car lengths away from where they both stand, I focus my attention on her so that I can avoid looking at him. But he's the one who spots me first. 

Tia's head is bent, phone in hand. I see JC's head moving back and forth slightly, like he's scanning the horizon, and then he stops in my direction. I wave, reluctantly, and he touches Tia's arm to get her attention. 

They come toward my SUV together and, like an attentive boyfriend, he opens the passenger door for her. It makes me want to vomit, frankly. My stomach is in knots and I'm regretting the fact that all I've put on it today is coffee and acetaminophen. This is going to be an unutterably long afternoon. 

I can't help but notice how motherfucking good he looks. 

He's in the same jacket as the other night, this time with faded black jeans that fit him splendidly. They're tight, but not uncomfortably so. The way the denim wraps around his thighs has me licking my lips and thinking things I certainly don't need to be thinking. Like the fact that I know what his thighs look like, and feel like, beneath those pants. He's wearing a charcoal colored baseball cap on his head with a logo I don't recognize, and as much as I hate that I notice it, he's looking particularly sexy with a little bit of scruff around his mouth, jaw, and chin. 

I have to almost physically shake myself to redirect my eyes--and thoughts--elsewhere.

I think he says, "Hi," but he's so quiet and Tia jumps in the seat and immediately begins talking so I'm not totally sure. And I don't care anyway.

"Hi!" She surprises me by leaning across the armrest and giving me an enthusiastic hug. "Thank you so much for fitting us in."

I hug her back, trying not to come across as awkward as I feel. "Oh, it's really no problem."

"The whole point of me being here this week was for the sole purpose of finding a place to live but I just got a bunch of last-minute has-to-be-done-now work and I was terrified I wouldn't be able to fit in a single property visit before we go back to L.A."

Such a shame, I think caustically. What I say is, "Well, I'm glad it all worked out then." Lies. "And who knows; maybe you'll find the perfect place today!"

I sure the hell hope so because the sooner I get her to closing, the sooner I can put JC and this whole stupid situation behind me. 

On the way to the first address traffic picks up and we do a lot of sitting still, but so far it's not as bad as I thought it would be, being in the car with both of them. Tia's doing most of the talking, actually. Asking me if I've been here, or done that, or know this. Every now and again she points a place out to JC, asking if he remembers something about it. 

For his part, JC is almost completely silent. His responses to her questions are practically grunted. I've been sneaking glances at him every now and then, and it's kind of unnerving because it seems like every time I look back at him, he's looking back at me. 

OK, I can't actually see his eyes because of his sunglasses, but I swear I can feel the weight of his gaze. And I know how ridiculous that sounds, but it's true. 

He looks annoyed. Or maybe not quite annoyed, but there's something on his mind. Even with his eyes covered, there's something about the set of his jaw...

This is so crazy. One night and half a day spent with the guy doesn't mean I know anything about him. 

When we're a half block away I talk up the location. How far it is from the lake. What restaurants and bars and shops are in the area. How it's close to this line of the 'L' and near these bus stops. Not that Tia strikes me as a woman who's ever ridden a city bus. 

I recently sold a condo in this same building so much of the information--number of units, parking details, HOA fees, and the like--is still fresh in my head. I rattle it all off as we park, exit the car, and then enter the building. 

JC's hanging out in the background, a couple of steps behind Tia and me. He's also still not talking. Unfortunately for me he's taken off his sunglasses now and I can't help the way my eyes keep flitting toward his. Because he's looking down he doesn't notice. And for that, at least, I'm thankful. 

I switch into full on professional mode once we get into the unit, and for a little while I'm able to put all thoughts of JC out of my head. 

OK, that's not quite true. But I'm at least able to do my job despite all of the other things I'm thinking. And for now, that's good enough. I can do this, I think. Get through these viewings and get away from them. 

I've got this.

JC

We're in the last condo of the four Tia wanted to see. She and Reese are walking around while Reese is giving her the particulars: square footage, amenities, and all of that. I'm sort of following behind them, much more slowly. 

The place is nice, three bedrooms and new construction. Everything is upscale from the chrome fixtures, to the marble countertops, to the stone and bamboo floors. I hear Tia ooh'ing and ah'ing from another room while I stop in the kitchen. 

She invited me into the conversation about the previous places. Wanted to know what I thought about a fireplace, or an overhead fan. Is the bathroom big enough, and what do I think of the backsplash. I've told her before that I don't have much of an opinion because not only am I not buying the place with her, but I don't plan on spending that much time in whatever place it happens to be. 

We fought about that one a little, me admitting that I wasn't planning on making the trip to Chicago that frequently. But my work--my life--is in L.A. and she knows that. I told her I didn't understand why she assumed I'd follow her to Chicago whenever she wanted me to, but that was a lie. I understand completely. 

In our relationship, I've kind of always done what Tia wanted. In the beginning, it was easy because what she wanted was small. Moroccan for dinner instead of Japanese. The latest action movie instead of the newest thriller. To sleep on the right side of the bed instead of the left. 

Her requests became a little more invasive over time. A vacation to the Maldives instead of skiing in Aspen. Labor Day weekend with her family instead of with my friends. And by the way, when we go here could I please not wear that?

Thinking about it creates a dull ache in the back of my head, so I push the thoughts away.

She seems to like this place a lot and I'm glad. I'll be even more glad if she doesn't ask my opinion about it. 

Reese has ignored me, and I keep thinking about what Eli said to me last night. Tia's the client and I'm just...the client's forgettable tagalong boyfriend. Persona non grata. That's who I am and who I will be to her, forever. 

That fact, because I'm pretty sure it's an undeniable one, makes my stomach hurt. And again I want to redirect my thoughts elsewhere. But it's hard as hell. Especially while I'm also actively trying to avoid noticing Reese. And that's stupid because I can't help but notice her. 

She keeps breezing past me, unintentionally a little too close a few times. I've gotten several whiffs of her soap and it makes me feel equal parts guilty and horny. Guilty because it makes me horny. But I smell her, and then all of the things we did Saturday and Sunday are playing in my mind on repeat and I have to force myself to focus on where I am and who I'm with.

She looks great. She's not in anything fancy--jeans and boots, a leather jacket similar to the one from the other night. But it's the way the jeans fit her that has me trying not to think all of the really dirty things I'm thinking. Her ass is great in those jeans. And the way they wrap around her sexy little legs so perfectly only makes me think of what it felt like when her sexy little legs were wrapped around my waist a couple of nights ago. And how much I enjoyed being between them. 

Her lipstick is dark and purple and, well, now that I know exactly what those lips are capable of, it's hard for me not to think about getting her lipstick all messed up. 

Fuck. I have to stop this. 

She said she wouldn't mention anything to Tia and she's been true to her word. She's being a super knowledgeable realtor right now, and there's nothing about the way she's acting that would raise any suspicion and I appreciate that. But I'm worried that maybe I won't be able to play it off so casually. Mostly because I keep catching myself watching her.

I like the way she moves. I noticed it first when I was dancing with her Saturday; there's this elegance to everything she does. I noticed it again when she was moving on top of me, later. And it's not just sexual; she's graceful, even as she leans against a countertop, pointing something out to Tia.

I unlock the French doors to the balcony that overlooks the busy city street below. It's a little chilly, but I don't even really feel it right now. I'm too preoccupied with wondering how to handle this situation because I've never had to do anything like this before. 

Awkward doesn't even begin to describe what this is. 

I rode in the backseat on the way here, not really saying anything. Hating and loving how even the inside of her car smells like her. I watched her from the rear view mirror which isn't quite as creepy as it sounds because I was wearing sunglasses the whole time and she couldn't see my eyes. 

But I just kept wondering what she was thinking. Wondering what I would think of me if I were in her position. Which takes me back to what Eli says. And I'm back to the beginning of this whole stupid cycle. I hear Tia and Reese re-enter the room and I leave the balcony, closing the door behind me.

"Well," Reese is saying while she also scrolls through something on her phone, "unless you have any other questions about the properties we've looked at today, I can get you guys back to your hotel."

Tia stands next to me and loops her arm through mine before addressing Reese. "Do you have another appointment soon?" And although she asks this casually, warning bells are going off in my head and I can already tell that I'm not going to enjoy what comes next. 

Reese drops her phone into the bag that's slung over her shoulder, and then looks up at Tia. "No," she says absently. "I've got a couple of hours before my next client."

My stomach drops as Tia catches my eye, smiles, and then looks back at Reese. "Great. Because I'm starving." 

Fuck.