"Evangeliiiiiiiiine!

I close my eyes in an attempt to wish him away, to believe he isn't here. But he is. All nearly six feet of him, swathed in dark blue Varvatos slacks and jacket, crisp white dress shirt, stylish tie and black wing tipped shoes that announce his arrival with audible clicks on the tile floors of Prime, our favorite gathering place. He must have come straight from work; he's always in a great mood after a day of destroying people's lives.

He is JC. A childhood... friend, I guess you could call him, who refuses to go away and stay away and has fixated on me for years.

Evangeliiiine is a weenie in a polka dot bikiiiiiini!"

I cringe, pulling away from the woody scent of cologne wafting over my shoulder and the light touch of minty breath on my cheek. His voice sing songs the age old taunt into my ear-he's been singing that song since we were six years old.

"I haven't gone by that name in like thirty years, JC. One day you're going to pick up on that."

"Not likely," he shoots back, then much to my chagrin, pulls out the chair next to me and plops himself into it. I give my most pained look across the table at Morgan, the best friend I have in the world and the only reason I would put up with having to hang out with JC, but I'm sure she doesn't see it. Or she sees it, but as usual she ignores it.   Next to her is Nick, the love of her life and the two of them are so gaga over each other tonight, it's sickening.

Yeah I'm jealous. So what? 

Just one short hour ago, my evening was perfect. Dinner with Morgan, our usual Monday night date at our usual table in our usual place. When she called me earlier in the day to ask if Nick could drop by for a few minutes, I thought nothing of it. I like Nick and I've known him forever, so I'm always happy to see him. Plus, he always buys a round of drinks.

But an hour into Monday Date Night, Nick is still ‘dropping by', and I'm irritated. Then JC shows up-Nick probably invited him-and now I'm seething with anger. They both know I can't stand him. Besides, Nick and JC are best friends, like me and Morgan. They see each other all the time!

"What's up brother?" JC asks, his oversized hands enveloping Nick's grasp.

"Nothing much," Nick replies. "Whatcha drinkin'?"

Before JC can answer the waitress drops by to take orders. Well, more like flirt. JC gives off this vibe that's like a bat signal for young girls looking for a good time and nothing more. They respond to it like crazy and it drives me nuts how much attention he gets when we're all out together. She's cute, perky and rail thin with a big chest and long hair-just how he likes them. I can't stop my eyes from rolling at her fake laughter at his lame jokes.

"I'll take another one of these," I say, pointing toward my half-empty martini glass, not even sorry at interrupting the love fests. It's enough to make a girl gag.

"What are you having, something girly?" JC says. "You won't get shitfaced on that."

I glare at JC. My hackles are up and he knows it. That's his favorite time to pick on me. I make myself breathe... in, out. In, out. "Mmaybe if I drink enough, I'll be able to tune out the sound of your voice."

JC laughs like he always does, like it's the funniest joke he's ever heard. He orders a lite beer from cute perky waitress and she bounces away, looking over her shoulder to make sure JC is watching her ass. "Gag me," I mutter, then turn my attention to the beaming couple. "The fuck is this, you guys? You totally hijacked date night."

"Well...we kind of have an announcement." Morgan hesitates, glances at Nick for a moment, then returns her eyes to the two of us, JC and I, waiting for her to tell us what we already know is coming. She grins, her sparkling white teeth glittering in the low light of the restaurant. She practically explodes when she lays the news on us: "Nicholas and I have decided to get married!"

Morgan has always been the type for dramatic flair. She took drama for four years in high school, majored in Theater Arts at University of Central Florida, has starred in just about every Civic Community Center Production and works in casting at Universal Studios. Being a drama queen is in her blood... but it's not like this news is a surprise. Nick and Morgan have been attached at the hip since the third grade. I should know; I've been around the entire time.

There are eight of us in our regular group of friends. Men and women, all about our age who we've picked up along the road of life. Some of us met in college, some of us work together, but Nick, Morgan, me and JC are the core group. We've known each most of our lives. We grew up on the same street in a quiet Orlando suburb. Our parents are all still friends. We all went to the same preschool, elementary, junior high and high school.

Morg and I went to UCF where I majored in Criminal Justice and went on to Barry School of Law. JC floundered at Rollins College for a year and then decided to join us at UCF where, for no apparent reason--because he was never interested in law before, he earned a degree in Legal Studies.

He was in nearly every one of my classes at Barry and made sure to sit behind or beside me every day. Probably to copy off of my exams. He chose to work for a firm that directly competes with mine just to spite me. His office is across town but we're often arguing opposite sides of the same cases at court. He has delighted in kicking my ass on every single case. His brother Tyler, who is like my own little brother, is a new associate at our firm and finds our rivalry funny after all these years. I don't see the humor.

Did I mention I can't stand JC?

Everyone else tries to put us together. People really want to see us together and if we could get along, I agree that we make a really cute couple. Unfortunately we make a really cute couple of people that fight all the time. We tried but... been there, done that, it didn't work out and it never will. 

I sip my martini and wait for the happy couple to stop making eyes at each other. JC takes a long drag off of his beer, nodding and grinning and glancing around the semi dark bar. Probably picking out victims.

"So what does this news have to do with me and JC? I get one night a week I get to spend with Morgan without having to hang out with you two."

Morgan sits up, her perfectly trimmed blonde hair falling forward. Her face is aglow and she claps her hands together in what I can only guess is excited glee. Inside, I groan. Remember I said that Morgan was kind of dramatic? There's no telling what she's about to say.

"So we were thinking...and let us know what you think... but we were thinking..." She pauses and turns to Nick for support. Nick chuckles at his fiancée and lays an arm across the back of her chair. Leaning forward, he rests his other arm on the table and says, "We were thinking of going away for the wedding."

"Like eloping?" I squeak, choking on my drink. "Like I don't get to see you get married?"

"Oh no, no, no sweetheart," Morgan says. "I mean all of us. Our friends, our family. We all go away for a few days. It'll be like a combination vacation- engagement- bachelor-bachelorette-wedding-reception trip. I think it sounds fun! What do you think?" She stares at me with this look in her eye that's hopeful and beautiful and wants me to not only love her idea but fall in love with it. She's always been the dreamer, the one that wishes up things that are impossible. I've always been the bubble buster, the realist, the one who brings her down to earth.

I can't find a thing to complain about though. It's not like I couldn't use a vacation. The firm is working me into the ground and with all the work related organizations I'm involved in, even thinking about time away makes my mouth water. Besides, Nick is a partner in a private clinic. He and Morg live in Viscaya, an upscale gated community full of NBA players and famous musicians. He's loaded. If he's paying, I'm in.

Just... I have a really bad feeling about why JC and I-and none of the others- are here tonight.

"Sounds good to me, I guess," I finally say with a shrug. "Any ideas where? And when?"

Nick smiles, giving JC a look that turns my blood cold. "We thought we'd leave that bit of research and planning up to our Best Man..." He winks at JC. "And Maid of Honor," he finishes, grinning at me. "Look, there's a million ways and places we could do this and Morgan could be all Bridezilla and I could be the hands-off groom, but we were talking the other night and thought, well wouldn't it be fun if our best friends planned our wedding getaway? You guys know us better than anyone and who knows what you'll come up with that we wouldn't have even though of? So we planned to present the idea tonight and see if you're up to it."

"I think it's cool," JC says. "I'm in. We could go to Hawaii for cheap, man! Do like a luau, pig roast kinda thing-"

"Not on your fucking life!" I say-well more like shriek, and much louder than I intended. JC stops talking mid-sentence and half of Prime's finely dressed patrons turn to stare at the screaming girl. I'm beet red and I feel like I'm overheating. Beads of sweat are popping up along my hairline. I dab at my forehead with a damp napkin that I yanked from under my glass. Now my face smells like a martini.

I take a deep breath and start again. "My best friend is not getting married in some cheap Hawaiian ceremony in a fucking grass skirt while a roast pig with a fucking apple stuck in its mouth is the centerpiece. You're a lunatic if you think that's happening!"

"It's just an idea, Evangel-"

"And stop calling me that! My name is Angie. You're the only person that calls me Evangeline and I'm sick of it!"

Morgan reaches across the table and lays a hand on mine. I'm shaking and panting like I've just run a marathon. I grab my drink and guzzle the rest of it. It just barely splashes down my throat before I slam the glass back onto the table and shoot my arm into the air, waving at the waitress from across the room.

"There's obviously a lot to decide and talk about. Morg and I will talk to you both separately and let you know what we're looking for. I won't say money's no object, but-" Nick looks at JC while he says this last part. "We're not looking to go cheap. Not Hawaii. It's played. We want everyone to have a great time and celebrate with us. That's rule number one."

"You two are our very best friends and I know this is a lot to put on you, but..." Morgan sighs. "Just... if you guys could help us pull this off, then after the wedding we'll never ask you to hang out with each other ever again."

"Promise?"  JC and I ask at the same time. I cut my eyes at him; he glares at me.

The waitress drops by with another drink for me and Morgan and a fresh beer for JC. Nick doesn't drink when he's on call at the clinic so she refills his water glass.

I slurp a mouthful of vodka and swallow. I'm starting to feel a little woozy and think maybe this third martini was not such a good idea. 

But then JC starts to flirt with the waitress again, telling a stupid joke that isn't even funny. She laughs loud, long and obnoxiously. Odds on him getting her number so he can only call her when he's horny and then avoid her after that? One hundred to one.

Pig.

Why do I let JC get under my skin so badly?

"So JC pipes up with that bullshit Hawaiian wedding idea and it was so corny, it pissed me off and I told him so. And then Nick told JC that Hawaii was out. Thank God."

My mom giggles on the other end of the phone line. We live fifteen minutes away from each other but I talk to her every day on my way to work. I'm dragging a little ass today. I ended up having a few more martinis and after midnight when Nick was officially off duty, he bought a round of shots to celebrate the engagement.

Unfortunately I have to be in the office today. Today is Tuesday, the day that the Partners assign associates to new cases. We can sit first chair-argue the case-or second chair, which is basically a courtroom assistant. We're there if needed but mostly a researcher. I'm praying for some second chair cases. I'm overloaded right now.

I make the firm sound like this large important prestigious place, and while I'm happy to have a job that makes ends meet, it's not all that. We're basically a step above Legal Aid. We do a lot of work with the community, helping residents fight evictions, utility shut offs, discrimination cases, landlord disputes. Every once in awhile we land a car accident or a lawsuit (one that will actually incur a settlement for damages), but those usually go to the partners. First and second year associates like Tyler get to do the grunt research work I give them. It's really the only perk of having been at the firm for over four years.

JC graduated in the same class as I did, but in law school it's all about the percentages. I was in the top five percent of our class, something to be proud of. JC graduated in the top fifty percent. Still a feat, but not if he got there by copying off of me on exams and stealing my study guides, where I'd written all of the answers. He was on Law Review-as was I, but unlike me, he basically flirted, fucked and bullshitted his way through. He worked his family contacts (his uncle is some big shot New York lawyer) and clerked with a huge firm every summer. I didn't have any contacts, so I clerked with Peterson, Flanning and Roarke- the firm I work for now. After he passed the Bar Exam-which I don't know how he managed;  he must have some brains somewhere in that big head of his--  he went to work for the Perry Law Group, a medium sized fancy firm that directly competes with us. I heard they offered him a nice salary plus bonuses and a secretary.

A secretary! I have Tyler, but only when they're not making him snake the drain in the kitchen or lug boxes up from storage.

The icing on the cake is that when a landlord wants to evict a tenant, the case goes through Perry, because they work that end of the law. The tenant usually comes to us and if we can't mediate, we go to court. And the top pick to go against cases assigned to me? Yep. Their star, JC Chasez. I haven't won a case against him yet. He loves to remind me of this.

Have I mentioned that I cannot stand him?

I'm still ranting to my mother as I pull into the gravel parking lot behind the storefront building that houses the firm. I thought about buying a new car, but as long as I have to park in this pit of loose, dusty rock every day, I'll keep driving the Corolla. 

JC just bought a brand new convertible Mercedes E Class. He loves to gun the engine while he's rolling down Orange Avenue. He's such a fucking show off.

Speaking of JC, a maroon Honda Civic pulls in next to me and Tyler bounces out of his car and waves a greeting to me. I sign off with my mom and toss the phone into my bag, grab my shoes from the backseat and walk toward the building with him.

"Heard you saw my bro last night."

"Did he tell you? About the wedding we're supposed to plan together? Is that the craziest thing you ever heard?"

Tyler nods, laughing. As we reach the rear door, he pulls a tattered badge from his pocket, swipes it across the reader and pulls the door open after it beeps. I walk in and he follows me through the door and down the hall into the kitchen.

"Did he tell you his dumbass Hawaii idea?"

I sit in one of the chairs around a table covered in sweet treats-cinnamon rolls, cookies and the like. The receptionist is an older woman in her fifties that loves to bake and it shows. I kick off the sneakers I wear when I drive to and from work and slip on my shiny black heels.

"He mentioned that you weren't into it. But he also said Nick was the one that nixed the idea."

"Yeah thank God Nick has class."

I joined him at the coffee pot with a paper cup. He fills my cup with enough room for cream and sugar, which I add generously. If I'm not going to eat that crap on the table, I'm going to drink some sugary sweet coffee.

"I'm not looking forward to this, Tyler. He's going to fight every idea I have, even though I know Morgan the best, just because it's my idea. He's going to plan the stupidest most..."  I shudder. "Most gauche and déclassé Bachelor party for Nick, and-"

"Bachelor parties are, for all intents and purposes, pretty déclassé. Only women do that fancy, law abiding, upstanding shit."

"Whatever, we hire strippers, too!"

I laugh, thinking of the last bachelorette party I planned and that delicious, hunky cowboy we hired to entertain us... I snap back to reality to find Tyler staring with a weird expression on his face.  "Anyway I know he'll get a kick out of pissing me off and he will not pass up an opportunity to do so."

"See, that's the thing. You gotta stop letting him know you're pissed off. It just makes him work harder to get under your skin."

"I can't help it. I don't know why he's so invested in driving me crazy."

Tyler laughs, stirring sugar into his black coffee. He turns, grabbing his black attaché case that is already scuffed on the bottom. "You know why. You know exactly why."

I sigh and roll my eyes, grabbing my own scuffed case and stomp toward my tiny, cramped office, where I don't have a secretary or a view of downtown Orlando like JC. I have a view of my old shitty car parked in a gravel parking lot.

"You guys are nut jobs," I toss over my shoulder, watching Tyler dip into his miniscule cubicle. "JC is not in love with me."

***

At the case assignment meeting, which is nothing more than sitting at a table with the two managing partners, Doug Flanning and Gregory Roarke, I find out that I'm first chair in a nasty discrimination dispute between a tenant and a slumlord. There's good documentation of discrimination--this case could actually bring a hefty settlement for our client. Greg hands me the file but doesn't let go when I grab it.

My eyes meet his and he says, quietly, "The landlord is with Perry. The case is assigned to Chasez. I'd give it to someone else but you're pretty much our senior associate and you know these cases like the back of your hand. We need a win here, Angie. Can you do this?"

I swallow hard and nod with confidence but my heart is at my knees. Somehow, in some way, JC got good at his job. Really good. Probably because he's evil. I honestly don't think I can beat him. But I just promised to try.

I'm flattered by the comments my boss made about knowing these discrimination cases better than anyone. He's right-they're my bread and butter. I win them day in and day out-more than any other attorney at this firm; I excel at turning up shreds of evidence and getting a settlement for my clients. The thing is that most other attorneys play fair. They follow the letter and the spirit of the law. We both present good cases and either let the mediator or the judge decide the fate.

JC only cares about money. He doesn't have a soft, compassionate bone in his body, and that's what makes him good (as in wins cases) at what he does. He'll go for the jugular if he has to. And he has had to. And maybe that's what scares me so badly about getting into in a court room with him.  I'm so afraid he's going to bring up that time I peed my pants in the third grade that I just freeze up.  I wouldn't put it past him.

I get back to my desk, hauling documents and paperwork, already mentally shuffling around my workload. This is going to take some serious time to put together. On top of this case, I also have to plan this wedding with him. I groan as I drop an armful of work onto my already cluttered desk.

My life just became All JC All the Time. Seriously, Fuck My Life. 

 "I've got you as my Maid of Honor. For bridesmaids I have Heather, Julie, Katie, Bridget... Jacks?"

Morgan scrunches her lips together and pulls at wayward hairs in her otherwise delicately shaped left eyebrow. On the sheet of paper in front of her are the names of our closest girlfriends. The process of wedding planning begins, apparently, with choosing bridesmaids. Or, more to the point, deciding which of your girlfriends would look best in tulle and taffeta in an ugly shade of sea foam green.

"Jackie might be an if," I say, reaching for the glass of water I've been sipping since I arrived at Morgan's. I still have a kicking headache from the previous night's celebration and a long day at work. I never want to see another shot again so long as I live. Or another week, at the very least. "She's gotten a little uhm... how do I say this gently?"

"Fat," quips Morgan.

I laugh, trying not to choke. "I was going to say she's obviously happy in her relationship. Obviously."

Jackie is still a newlywed, having only been married a few months. She met her souse chef husband on a dating website. She loves food so it was a match made in heaven. Soon after they met, it was "Matt this" and "Matt that" and "Matt asked me to marry him over the flame of bananas foster and I said yes and we're going to Vegas tomorrow." I'm sure she's packed on at least twenty pounds since meeting Matthew, which is odd because he's practically a stick. You know that saying, never trust a skinny chef? He's still on the Watch List, as far as I'm concerned.

"Yeah..." Morgan sighs, pushing the sheet of paper away. "I hate to be that bride, but do I want her in my wedding pictures?"

"Don't be that bride then. Do you want her in your wedding? That's the most important question. It's one day out of a lifetime."

Morgan shrugs. "I guess." And with that she picks up the pen and adds Jacqueline Ross-Cooper' to the list. Yes, hyphenated. Jackie is funny about her new name, a name she's only had for ten weeks, even though we all know her as Jackie Ross.

"Man, I hope you had stronger conviction when it came to picking your Maid of Honor." I swivel off of the stool I'm sitting on and hop down to the expensive ceramic tile floor that Morgan and Nick had installed a few years back. I aim for the refrigerator and pull open one side of the enormous stainless steel contraption to reveal a drink selection fit for a queen. "Let's see," I muse. "We've got some red stuff, some purple stuff... ooh! Sunny D, alright!"

Morgan giggles as I reach for the pitcher of lemonade and replenish my glass with it. I offer to fill hers and she slides her glass across the counter top to me. I grab it, refill it and replace the lemonade pitcher in the refrigerator.

Now perched atop my stool again, I broach the subject that is driving me out of my mind... has been since the night before. "What exactly are you and Nick hoping to accomplish by throwing JC and I together in this wedding thing?"

Morgan stares blankly at me and shrugs. "What do you mean? I thought we talked about this last night and you were on board. We want you guys to plan-"

"Yes, yes I know. Plan your destination wedding and add fun stuff that you and Nick are too uptight to think of. But... me and JC?" I shake my head. "You guys know this is a bad, bad thing, right? He and I-"

"Will do fine." Morgan smiles and pats my shoulder reassuringly. "I have faith that you two will be able to set aside this petty squabble you've been in-"

"Petty? I wouldn't call it-"

"-and work together to put on a really great experience for us and our friends-"

"-petty, I'd say justified, if we're talking about my point of view-"

"-and that's all we want... a memorable experience with no bickering and fighting and no being selfish and thinking of yourselves." Morgan interrupts, her usually sweet mousy voice loud and stern. "For once, it would be nice if the two of you would consider everyone else and how everyone else feels being in the middle of this shit.  Do us a favor and get along for a few minutes. You're our best friends. We want you to be a part of this and you owe us."

I bristle. We owe them? I owe them? For what? Putting up with JC for the last fifteen years? 

I sigh, realizing that she's right. I mean she's wrong, but she's right.  "Fine," I grudgingly agree, my arms crossed. "I just hope Nick is having this same ‘cant we all just get along' conversation with JC. I know you don't expect me to ignore him picking a fight over everything all the time."

"Of course Nick will talk to JC. Just... do your best." She perks up, claps her hands together and grins. "Now...let's talk dream wedding, shall we?"

**** 

For the second night in a row, I stumble through the front door of my apartment. This time I'm hauling an enormous bag of wedding swag that Morgan dumped on me before I left her house. Brochures, magazines, lists, books-my job was to sort through them all and figure out which resources would be the most help. I chuckle to myself, knowing full well I would dump this garbage heap in the corner of my office and log on to www.theknot.com. Morgan is a sweet, hopeful being but isn't the least bit tech savvy. She can just barely operate a mobile phone. It's a good thing she has Nick. And that he finds her adorable; always has.

I hear a faint chime coming from the bottom of my bag and groan as I dig for my phone.  Who would be calling at-I squint around the corner at the green numbers on the microwave installed above the stove-11:34PM?  I groan again, staring at the caller ID display. I don't even get one day of rest?

"What?" I say, picking up the line.

"What? That's how you greet the best wedding planner on the planet?"

"What do you want, JC? I'm about to head to bed."

"Liar. You just got home."

"Are - are you watching me?" My head whips around to check all of the windows in my eye line. The shades are drawn, as usual. I keep them closed to keep the sun from baking my apartment all day. "You fucking creep! Are you watching me?"

"No, psycho. I don't watch you. I don't care that much about you to watch you. I just left Nick and Morgan's and they said you left a few minutes before. Thought I would call you up and see if you got the lecture."

"What lecture?"

"Don't be dim. You know what I'm talking about."

"Yeah. I got it, so what? I take it you did, too."

"Yup." I hear the creak of a chair, as if he's leaned back and comfortable. "So, my friend... what are we going to do about it, is the question?"

"I don't suppose you're up to agreeing with whatever I propose and not arguing with everything I say?"

He laughs a hearty guffaw that hurts my ears as it comes through the receiver. "Not even close. I have good ideas. I know you know Morgan really well, but this wedding isn't going to be all sunshine and purple unicorns. The men get to have their part too-"

"And you're representing the men?" I snort. "Nick aims low. Okay, well great. You have opinions. So? They suck. Hawaii? Really, JC?"

"You know what, it was just an idea. At least I threw something out there instead of thinking about myself and whining about how you won't be able to go to the wedding and hit on every guy until one of them feels sorry enough to dance with you. Or fuck you."

I want to throw the phone against the wall at that last jab, but I won't give him the satisfaction of knowing he's pissed me off. Instead, I calmly say, "I'm not falling into this trap tonight."

"Aw I was just getting started." He pauses, chuckles in that... way... that I hate. All confident and knowing. He knows nothing. "We're just having some fun."

"You're having fun."

"That's right. And if you would unclench a little, you'd have fun too."

"We have different definitions of fun. For example, I like to sleep for fun. I have an early meeting with my client and-"

"Oh yeah, I forgot. We meet again, Miss Blake. Or is it Miz? What do you angry unmarried feminists call yourselves when you want men to respect you, but still want them to know you're available?"

"Counselor will do just fine, thanks."

"Counselor?! Hahaha!" His cackle makes the line sing, it's so loud. "That's a good one. You can call yourself Counselor when you finally beat me in a case. Until then, you're a lawyer. A low-rent, cheap ass lawyer working for a shitty firm. Honey, I am going to wipe the floor with you and your client on this one."

Before I can hang up on him, I hear a click and the line is dead.

And I am steaming. Infuriated!

My phone beeps a notification and a text message rolls down from the top of the screen. I'm almost afraid to look at it. 

Got so carried away I forgot to arrange a planning meeting. Me, you, Prime. Tomorrow, 8PM. Be there or I get to make all the decisions. 

I chuck the phone across the room with every bit of strength I have. It's a good thing it lands on the couch.

***

I have to chant calming phrases to myself as I park in my usual spot at Prime and gather myself to go inside. Calm, happy, I refuse to fight with him tonight phrases. I decide to give him an hour-we'll chat about initial ideas, make a to-do list and I can be home by ten o'clock. I have files to review and a brief to prepare before morning. He's already slapped us with a stack of motions an inch thick. For this reason alone, I don't want to look at him or be near him.

But I have to. For Morgan.

I heave a deep, loud breath and reach for the door handle. As soon as I turn my head, though, I scream.

JC's face is plastered up against my car window. 

"Oh my GOD!" I shove the door open, pushing him back against the car parked next to me and jump out of the driver's seat. "What are you, five years old?"

"Twelve," he answers, giggling. "Did I scare ya?"

"You scared the shit out of me, asshole!"

"Sorry," he says, still gigging and grinning, his smile wide, his teeth white, his eyes blue. I can't stand the guy but I have to admit he always did have a great smile.

"You're not sorry." I pout and slide the strap of my bag over my shoulder. "Are we ready? I don't have all night; I have work to do, as you well know."

"Yep."

JC falls into step beside me and follows me to the table we usually occupy when we come here.  It's our favorite, conveniently located far enough away from the bar and the kitchen that we don't get the noise or the hustle of traffic going through the restaurant, but close enough to the action so we're still a part of the scene. We've been coming to Prime since it opened ten years ago-the owner is one of our closest friends and of course we have to show loyalty.

I slide into a chair on one side of the table; JC sits in a chair opposite me after he removes his suit jacket and loosens what I can only assume is a silk tie. It's brightly colored and goes well with his attire.  His usually clean shaven face is darkened by a slight five o'clock shadow. His hair is perfect-not a strand out of place, gently cascading in waves and gentle curls from front to back. He clasps his hands and I notice that his nails are nicely clipped. Square. Shiny. He's the type to go to a spa for a manicure.

I'm not fooled by his suave demeanor, his sharp sense of style, his winning smile. I know what all those girls that just smiled at him as we walked through the bar don't know-this man is an enormous asshole.

"Let's get this over with," I say, pulling a clean notepad and a ball point pen out of my bag before setting it on the chair next to me. In neat penmanship, I write Nick & Morgan Del Ray Wedding across the top.

"What about dates? I talked with Morgan and she didn't have any preferences. How about Nick?"

I glance up at JC to find him not even listening-he's making eyes and faces at the same waitress from last night. Lucky girl, she might get that whole ‘have sex with him and then get treated like he doesn't know you' out of the way early. 

I clear my throat and tap my pen against the table. "JC?"

"Hunh," he grunts, but his eyes on the waitress across the room.

I snap my fingers in his face, grab his chin and turn his head toward me. "Hey. Horndog. Pay attention, here. Let's get this started so I can leave and you can pounce, okay?"

JC leans back in his seat, lounging, laying his arm across the top of the chair next to him. "Why the hurry? It's still early. Got a hot date?"

"Yeah, with some briefs that some asshole lawyer dumped on me today. Dates?"

"Can we get a drink first? Thirsty." He raises a hand and the waitress starts to make her way over to our table. I groan inwardly at the wide smile on her face.  "Yeah lemme get a vodka tonic and uh.... what do you want, Ev-" He pauses at my glare and rephrases.  "Angie. What would you like? My treat."

His treat? How generous. "I'll stick with water, thanks."

"Aw, come on. You can't sit in a bar and have water." He grins at the waitress. "Bring her a martini, something fruity or peachy or whatever. She needs to loosen up a little."

"I don't want a martini," I argue but my protests are futile. He shoos the waitress away and watches her ass as she walks back to the bar. "You're a pig. Can we do this please?"

"Sure, we can do this. We can do this all night." He winks at me and I want to hurl.

"Dates. Did Nick give you any ideas of when they'd like to do this getaway?"

"Nope. Said they didn't care. They trusted us to come up with dates that work."

"Then I think we're talking summer, maybe late summer? Bridget and Keith have kids in school."

They were our first set of friends to hook up and get married-everyone thought JC and I would be next. Oh, so wrong. They had two children one right after the other, and we hadn't actually seen them in awhile-after school sports and piano lessons and riding lessons and visits to Grandma and Grandpa in Jacksonville has taken up all their time. They seem happy, I guess. I mean, they look happy on Facebook.

"They'd never leave them for an extended weekend, which is what it sounds like Nick and Morgan want." From my bag I pull my phone and open the calendar app, forwarding the dates to the following year. "That gives us a good amount of time to plan, too."

"I don't need a lot of time. I don't need a lot of time to do anything."

I don't even look up at him when I say, "Yeah, I know all about that, I and I wouldn't brag about it if I were you."

I must have hit a nerve because JC sat up in his seat. "Oh, haha. I was fifteen."

"Yep. And you fucked like a fifteen year old. Hope your stamina has improved. Back to dates."

I flip through the months, back and forth from June to September.  "You know, the dates are all going to depend on where we choose to have this thing. If we pick summer it'll be hot as hell, or prime booking season and that's going to drive the cost up. Not that I'm worried about Dr. Nick's pockets but the less we spend on stupid stuff-"

"The more booze we can buy." JC finishes. Good point, though that wasn't exactly where I was going.

"I was going to say, the more we could spend on the more important elements. The Bach parties, the reception."

Our drinks appear before us and the place must be picking up because the waitress doesn't linger.

"So I have an idea," JC says, "About where. One of the partners at Perry hipped me to it." I grimace at the mention of Perry. "Just hear me out. Ever heard of St. Lucia? In the Caribbean?"

"Vaguely. Why?"

"It's just a nice place, I hear. One of the partners just got married at an all-inclusive resort out there. Booked a block of rooms, nice views of the beach. Lots of activities people can do like uh... snorkeling, rock climbing, water sports, bird watching. Plus they work with you to put together the ceremony and the after party."

"After party? Like it's a rock show?"

"Reception, whatever." JC rolls his eyes. "I can tell you want to argue with me, so go ahead." He lifts his glass to his lips and takes a few sips. I reach for the martini I didn't want but am so thankful for at the moment and do the same.

"It's not that I want to argue. I just think we should research a few places, get some information and prices and present them to Nick and Morgan and let them pick."

"I thought they put us in charge?"

"They did-"

"So then we get to pick where it's at. That's what that means." He sits his glass down and fixes his eyes on mine. For a long, long moment we just stare at each other. Until I become uncomfortable and drop my eyes to the table. JC chuckles and I curse myself. Does everything have to be a battle of wills with him?

"I'm not rejecting it right out. I think it's a good idea, but you know everything about it and I know nothing. Do you mind if I look it up myself?"

"Sure," he says, digging into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulling out a brochure and sliding it across the table. "It's this place. Research your heart out."

I pick up the slick trifold and flip it open to what I have to admit is a beautiful panoramic photo of white sands, green mountains, blue water and an elegant resort hotel. My eyebrows seem to rise on their own as I run my eye down the package prices.

"A week's stay for three grand a couple?"

"Well, we'd have to book pretty quickly to get that price. That's their summer deal. Also the Del Rays would have to get married this year, since you have to use the deal before the new prices kick in next year. Maybe like... October."

I almost choke on my own breath. October? I was thinking we had a year to plan... not months. "JC it's June. And what if they don't want to get married that soon? And what if people can't get away in October? People have lives, you know."

"Then they won't go."

"Okay... okay. Back up. The point of us planning this is so we can coordinate with everyone so everyone can go and celebrate and have a good time. Right?"

"No. The point of us planning is so they don't have to. The main event is the wedding. The two people that matter are Nick and Morgan." He poked up two fingers and stuck them in my face. "That's it. They're going to get married whether or not everyone can make it. So we plan what's best for them and people can come... or not."

"That just seems so... harsh"

"That's why we're doing it and not them. Because they don't want to hurt feelings, they just want to get married. We plan it, tell them where to be and when to be there and they get to enjoy their destination wedding with no guilt."

JC is right. I'm great at planning-I've planned all of Morgan's birthday parties and cast parties and anniversary parties-so I'm a given. JC is the one person in our group that wouldn't give a shit about hurting someone's feelings. 

I glance through the brochure again, liking the destination more and more but not yet willing to admit it. "I think October is soon... but maybe we can make it work. I'll check it out and some other places and we can talk again. Okay?"

I add #1 to my list and write, Research St Lucia resort- dates, pricing.

"Whatever," JC says. "One other thing I wanted to bring up. I think the group should get them something. Like, all pitch in."

"Morgan said they're not registering. They have everything they need."

"Right, so we won't get any hints as to what we should get them. I just wanted to bring it up so you could maybe work Morgan and I'll work Nick and see what we come up with. Let everybody know so we can all be thinking about it. Write that down."

I start to do as he suggested, but stop myself, flip the page, rip a piece of paper off of the tablet and slide the pen across the table. "I'm not your secretary. Make yourself a list."

To my surprise, he picks up the pen and begins writing at the top of the page. #1: Call Angie - tell her to go fuck herself.  Pleased, he sits back and lets a laugh escape his lips.

"Cute," I say, slipping my note pad into my bag. "I trust you'll remember your task, then. I'm not going to be doing all the legwork here. We're both working on this, so you get a to-do list, too."

"Oh, I have a list."

I flick my wrist toward me and note, joyfully, by my watch that the hour I allotted to spend with JC is up. I push my chair back and stand, sliding the straps of the bag over my shoulder. "I have to go. I have a lot of work to do and you people have kept me out late all this week. I shouldn't be so happy to get home before ten o'clock."

"Cool," JC answers, stirring his watered down drink. "Hey, I think we should talk regularly though."

I shrug. "Well, you have my number. And I have yours. So we'll talk."

"Sure. Yeah." His eyes are already wandering the bar, no doubt looking for the waitress he was eyeing earlier. I roll my eyes and head toward the exit, out of the doors and in the direction of my car.

"Angie!" I hear. I stop and slowly turn toward JC's voice. He's wearing his jacket and jogging across the parking lot. "It's dark out here. I'll walk you to your car."

"I can see my car from here, JC. I'll be fine." I turn to keep walking, leaving JC standing in the middle of the sidewalk.

"That's probably why you'll never got married," I hear from a few steps behind me. "I was just trying to be nice. You wouldn't know a good man if he was standing right in front of you."

I want to ask him if he knows a good man but I decide not to take the bait.  I don't turn around; I keep walking toward my car. 

I expect him to keep shouting his arguments and summations at me but he doesn't. I don't hear the clicks of his shoes on pavement, so he's not behind me and he hasn't gone back inside. I get into my car, put the key in the ignition and turn it. My car sputters to life and as I drive away, I pass him standing on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, watching me leave.

We weren't always like this;  at each other's throats, tossing barbs back and forth across a table in a public space, being nasty to each other on the phone. Once upon a time, JC and I got along really well.

Really really well.

I've known him pretty much my whole life, longer than any other childhood friend. He grew up two houses down from us. Our parents became fast friends, two young couples finally making a middle class income that could afford them a comfortable home in an Orlando, Florida suburb.

I'm an only child, which is cool with me. I never needed siblings because so many kids were on our block. JC and his sister are about my age. Tyler was JC's shadow. A few houses down the block lived Morgan's family-she has two brothers, older. She's the only girl, the youngest, the princess.  The Del Ray's have two rambunctious boys and sweet, gentle Nicholas. He was always rescuing a bird that had fallen from its nest or inspecting someone's scraped knee. His dad, the Senior Doctor Del Ray, was our pediatrician for years.

Other kids came and went, separating into cliques, depending on what grade they were in. We-the four of us-happened to be the same age, in the same grade, some of us in the same classes. We were naturally drawn together and became the best of friends, especially Morgan and Nick. Those two were thick as thieves and you hardly ever saw one without the other.

That meant JC and I were together a lot. I was a tomboy so I liked to ride bikes and dig in the dirt and play touch football in the summer and basketball in the winter.  I was always up for a game of HORSE in the driveway or softball at the park or taking our bikes on the various trails around our neighborhood, through forests and around lakes. I was ‘one of the guys' to JC.

Until puberty hit.

The summer we turned thirteen was crazy. The difference from the last day of school in the sixth grade to the first day of school in the seventh grade was like night and day. My body, newly coursing with hormones, completely transformed. Overnight I woke up with small but perky breasts instead of the flat chest I was used to. I had to start wearing a bra instead of just throwing on a t-shirt. My mom said it was ‘improper' for a girl with my build to be out without a bra on. I remember thinking...whatever, mom. 

Gangly, awkward arms and legs developed some bulk and shape and my hips began to curve and all of a sudden I had an ass. It wasn't huge, but it was there.  In honor of my new girlish figure, I started using the flatiron on my hair so I had wavy hair instead of a ratty, messy pony tail.  I was wearing form fitting jeans and dresses that just barely kissed my knees and my legs, long and golden, were showing!

The first day of school, we all planned to walk together. It was either that or have our moms drive us and by seventh grade we weren't having that embarrassing show. JC would come to get me and the two of us would walk down to Morgan's, then Nick's and the four of us would walk the six blocks to school.   

I hopped down the stairs with my backpack, wearing new jeans that hugged my hips instead of sagging around my waist, sandals with a heel and open toe that showed off pink sparkly toes, and a white blouse that wasn't too tight but was tight enough.

I was running late like normal and in a hurry to get out the door.  My mother had a funny look on her face when I reached the landing and leaned over to whisper in my ear, "You shouldn't run down the stairs like that, honey. You're really... bouncy."  She pointed toward my chest and angled her head at JC, who was waiting by the door.  His mouth was open and his face was red and he was staring. Hard.  

So was I.

It's funny how you can see someone every day and not notice how much they've changed until it's forced on you. JC wasn't the scrawny kid with big puffy curls atop his head and an enormous gap between his two front teeth.  I noticed, all of a sudden, that he'd grown an inch. Maybe two! His hair got long enough to lie down a little and instead of dry curls it was soft, dark waves. His spoon chest developed some and he suddenly had pecs. And arms. And his voice, when he said ‘Hey, you ready?' was growing rich and deep. 

"You two be careful walking, and have a good day!" My mom was saying, pushing us out the door.

We stumbled down the porch steps, eyeing each other without trying to look like we're eyeing each other. JC's jeans were new, the denim still a dark indigo blue. He wore a belt and a baby blue knit short sleeved shirt and spotless brown shoes. He smelled good, like his dad had given him a spritz of cologne before he left the house.

"You look good," I said to him while we picked our way down the sidewalk.

JC, still a little red in the face, mumbled, "Thanks. You uh... you too. I mean... I mean cool shirt."

"You mean cool boobs, don't you?"

He laughed. I wasn't used to that laugh yet. I definitely wasn't used to how the sound of it made me shiver but at the same time warmed my insides.

"Kinda," he answered.

"Well, I didn't ask for them. They just showed up." I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and turned to JC. "Do I look stupid? Honestly. Are boys gonna laugh at me?"

JC looked me over, head to toe, and blushed again. "You don't look stupid. You look...you look kinda hot."

I laughed. He laughed. The gap between his teeth made me feel like he was the same old JC. "Shut up," I said, slinging my bag over my shoulder and walking again.

"You asked."

"I know."

"I mean it though."

A quiet moment passed. That feeling... what was that? The flutter in my stomach and the shy smile that crawled across my face...that never happened before.  "Thanks," was all I could manage, because I could barely breathe.

"Welcome."

That day marked a subtle change between me and JC. Things seemed okay mostly, except we'd be studying at his house or mine and I would look up to find him staring at me. He'd look away really fast or glance above my head and pretend he wasn't, but he was. And I knew it because I was staring at him. 

JC... my friend... the little kid from next door... was cute. Really cute.

I wasn't the only one that noticed, and maybe that's where his current pussyhound-ness comes from. A few inches and a nice head of hair to pair with his eyes and smile and he'd been declared the most eligible bachelor at West Orange Junior High. Lots-and I mean lots of girls were after him, but deep down JC was a shy kid. He didn't know what to do with his newfound popularity. They (a gaggle of girls) would come to his locker and drag him off to sit with them at lunch, where he'd eat and nod and laugh, but all the while kept looking over his shoulder at us at our table.  I almost felt sorry for him. I could tell he'd rather be with us.

I didn't mind most of the girls, because we'd all gone to school together so they were my friends too. There was just this one bitch I couldn't stand.

Stacey Rodriguez was one of those girls that decided she wanted something or someone and was annoying as fuck until she got it. She was plenty pretty, which helps when you're a demanding bitch. She usually got what she wanted because everyone was afraid of her. She decided, that year, that what... or who she wanted was JC. She claimed him and it was hell on Earth for anyone who tried to compete with her.

Stacey would cut her eyes at anyone who dared flirt with him. Lunch invitations were hers and only hers to give. She brought him treats (he loved peanut butter anything) and hogged his free time. JC found her amusing-she was the kind of girl he seemed to like. You know the type-- fiery, Latin, thought a lot of herself so he didn't have to compliment her that much.

She bugged the shit out of me and I made a point of flaunting my lifelong friendship with JC just to piss her off. He was different around her; he made sex jokes all the time and let her hang all over him. They kissed nonstop, everywhere. Morgan, Nick and I once filled his locker with Chapstick. As much as he and Stacey sucked face, he sure needed it.

JC's relationship with Stacey was tumultuous, very off and on. Off a lot. She was possessive and JC liked being seen with her but didn't want to be chained to her. She wanted to control who he hung out with, including his friends. He preferred, truthfully, to spend time with me. She couldn't trump us practically being in diapers together so this made me and Stacey mortal enemies, forever in battle for JC's attention. I wasn't worried about it. I saw the way he looked at me.

We danced around each other for a year or two, pre-teen hormones slowly giving way to full blown desire. Everyone saw it-Morgan, Nick, our parents, the mailman-except us. Until it was right on top of us. Or we were on top of each other.

By the ninth grade, we'd both grown into our budding, almost grown up bodies. JC was used to being noticed and so was I and it didn't seem to be something that made either of us uncomfortable. We'd hang out, watching TV or listening to music, doing homework, or riding our bikes to the arcade and wasting our parent's loose change.

One night, when our parents were out to dinner and a show, JC decided to come over and wait the night out at my house. He envied that I didn't have siblings that were loud or messed with any of my stuff or that I had to watch and take care of. That was mostly the reason he spent so much time over at our place-my mom treated him like the son she never had instead of the babysitter.

We'd decided to watch a zombie movie and it was probably something I'd think was stupid now, but it was scary for an innocent 15 year old. We sat on the couch next to each other, watching our movie in the dark, the flicker from the TV playing with the shadows in the room and driving my anxiety through the roof.

"I can't, I can't, I can't watch it!" My hands were over my eyes and I was near tears hearing the moaning of the zombies and the dragging of their feet and the blood curdling screams of the victims. I begged JC to turn the movie off. He laughed, but soon I heard the ‘zap' sound of the TV turning off. The room was quiet and I felt it was safe to remove my hands and look around.

I could just barely make out JC's figure on the couch next to me but I could hear the smile in his voice. "You okay? Are you gonna die?"

I gulped back the tears that had been threatening and nodded. "Yeah. I'm okay.  I'm sorry, that scared the shit outta me!"

"You're okay," he said, and gave my thigh a pat. But then left his hand there and began to rub my skin, ever so slowly, ever so softly. The feeling gave me goosebumps but I didn't want him to stop, so I didn't say anything.

He grew bolder, stroking my bare thigh from my knee to the bottom of the shorts I wore. Every touch of his hand was like an electrical current shooting up and down my back. It was a new feeling to me. I'd gone out with boys but none of them ever made me feel like that. My heart didn't race and my chest didn't get tight and I never wanted them to kiss me like I wanted JC to lean over and kiss me.

And then, right when I thought I would explode if he didn't... he did.

At first it was like kissing my brother. Dry, awkward pecking on my lips. I started to giggle and he pulled away. Before I could stop myself I grabbed his face and brought his lips to mine and planted my mouth on him. He sucked in a deep breath through his nose and a felt him groan as he moved even closer, tipped his head and opened his mouth. My tongue twisted and swirled with his and it felt less like kissing my brother and more like scratching an itch I never knew I needed to scratch, but now that I had, I couldn't stop.

Kissing JC was like kissing no other boy I'd ever kissed before. Not that I was all that experienced, it was just different. His lips were soft and he moved slowly and gently, more stroking than stabbing. With other boys it felt like they thought just sticking their tongue in my mouth was kissing. JC showed me that it was way more than that.

We kissed like kissing was going out of style. It felt... amazing to be exploring something new with someone I knew so well. After a few minutes JC leaned into me and I felt a natural urge to lie down and let him climb on top of me. I studied the pockmarks in the popcorn ceiling while his lips moved across my cheek and down one side of my neck and up the other side. My mind was racing, screaming with hope that he might try to touch me.

As if he was reading my mind, I felt one hand creeping beneath my t-shirt. Light fingertips fluttered over my stomach and settled over one breast encased in a thin bra. He kneaded softly, carefully squeezing and when his thumb happened to brush over my nipple, the sensation made my entire body jerk.

"Oh. Do you want me to stop?"

"No," I answered, shaking my head violently. 

He flicked my nipple again and I could feel his smile when I moaned and writhed beneath him. "Does that feel good?"

"Mmmhmm."

"You know what feels good to me?"

"What?"

He shifted so he laid directly on top of me, between my legs, pressing into me. It felt like he had a tree trunk down the front of his pants.

"Oh my God! Does... does that hurt?"

"No. I mean, later it might. But right now it feels really good. Especially with you."

That made me want to kiss him some more, so I did. We lay on the couch, trying not to hump each other, kissing and touching and giggling for a long, long while. I glanced at the clock on the VCR, the LED numbers glowing in the dark room. Our parents would be back soon, and they'd never trust us to be alone ever again if they caught us making out.

"You gotta get up," I said, pushing JC up.

He sat up, then leaned over to the edge of the couch and turned the lamp on. For the first time, I was seeing him in all of his horny glory. His hair was no longer full of cool waves but had shrunken back into tight curls. His face was flushed pink and the crotch of his jeans bore an unmistakable sign of teenage arousal. I didn't imagine I looked any better. Still, we grinned at each other, almost embarrassed at what we'd spent a good hour and a half doing.

"I better get going. I need to shower or something before my folks get home." JC got up and headed toward the door.

"So... see you... tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?" He had reached for the doorknob and turned it, but stopped and turned around. "What's tomorrow?"

I followed him to the door, suddenly shy and not knowing what to say. I wanted him to come back and I wanted to be alone with him. "Uh, well my parents are going to their monthly committee meeting and then they always go to dinner. They leave around 7 o'clock usually."

"Okay."

"If you wanted to come over. And study. Or whatever." I smiled. "You could, if you wanted to."

"Oh." Light bulb. "Oh! Okay. Study, yeah. I'll come study."

"Right. So see you tomorrow."

"Yeah. Seven?"

"Seven."

The door closed behind him. I leaned up against it and exhaled like I'd been holding that breath all night.

I slept fitfully that night. I tossed and turned, snoozing for about an hour and then my eyes would pop open and my mind would be full of JC. I thought we'd made it past that day when we were thirteen and couldn't stop staring at each other, but it seemed like it had just festered and grown into something new and different and something I only wanted to experience with him. Thinking about him kissing me, touching me... doing much, much more to me made my whole body pulse. I tossed my blanket and sheet aside and lay there, letting the night air sooth my raging hormones.

What was I going to say to him the next day at school?

And tomorrow night? Would we...did he even want to?

Did I want to?

I sat up and tucked my legs up under me, sitting cross-legged in the middle of my bed. I stared out the window at the blanket of darkness outside, seeing through the barrier of trees and the house next door, into the Chasez house, then downstairs and to the left to JC's bedroom.

What was he doing? He could sleep like the dead, anytime and anywhere. Was he knocked out? Or was he awake like me? Wondering.... dreaming... thinking... hoping.

I got out of bed and tip toed over to my desk and sat in the desk chair my dad handed down to me when he redecorated his office downstairs. I reached behind the computer and flipped it on, wincing when I noticed how loud it was when it was booting up. Once it was on, I clicked on the AOL button in the bottom left hand corner of the window and waited for the modem to dial and squeal and beep. Thankfully, my parents also slept like the dead and their bedroom was downstairs at the other end of the house.

Being an only child does have its privileges, like your parents totally trusting you to not be online at 3am with the boy down the street.

Once AOL connected, the familiar voice boomed over the speakers: You've got mail. I smiled, recognizing JC's email address. He'd sent it about an hour ago.

                To: angiebee@aol.com

                From: jshazz@aol.com

                Re:

                I thought you might be up. Guess not. But if you wake up, message me.

                J.

My heart was beating right out of my chest and my hands were shaking so hard, I couldn't seem to click the button to reply. When I finally got a new email open, it was only to write simply, "I'm up."  I signed it AB, pressed send and waited for a reply.

And waited.

And waited.

And right as I was getting sleepy again and was about to sign off, I heard the sound of a door opening-AOL's indicator that a contact was now online.

                jshazz:  you couldn't sleep either?

                angiebee: slept a little. kept waking up.

                jshazz: sucks. that's worse than not sleeping. what's waking you up?

angiebee: just thinking about stuff.

jshazz: like... earlier tonight stuff?

angiebee: yeah. you?

jshazz: yeah. don't be mad at me.

angiebee: i'm not.

jshazz: ok. cool. :)

jshazz: i had fun with you.

angiebee: me too.

angiebee: you thought i was mad at you?

jshazz: i didn't know. but i didn't want you to be. you're like my best friend and stuff.

angiebee: aw. :) i'm not mad.

jshazz:  i thought about that for a long time.

jshazz: i mean i wanted to do that for a long time. since the seventh grade.

angiebee: yeah?

jshazz: yeah. did you?

angiebee: i never thought about it till you did it. but. i liked it.

jshazz: me too. a lot. i guess i should go. i want to get off before my mom hears me typing.

angiebee: okay. see you tomorrow.

jshazz: see you today. ;)

angiebee: oh yeah. today. ;)  and tonight.

jshazz: 7.

angiebee: 7. bye.

I signed off, absolutely positively, stupidly giddy. I had no clue how I was going to make it to 7 o'clock. This was going to be the longest day ever.

At 7pm sharp that night, JC was at my house. At my kitchen table, with two books spread open before him, a notepad flipped to a blank page and a pencil stuck between his teeth. I sat across from him with just about the same setup. We sat there listening to my parents rush around the house because they were late for their meeting.

Under the table, JC kicked at my feet. I looked up and met his eyes. He winked. Then whispered, "When are they leaving?"

I giggled and opened my mouth to answer but my parents came bustling around the corner.

"Okay, kids. We're off. We'll be back kind of late, so get to bed on time," my mom chirped. "You'll need a good night's sleep for your test. What is it that you're studying anyway?"

"French," I said.

"Geometry," JC said.

My mom looked confused for a moment but let it pass. "Oh well. Whatever. You're good kids to help each other out." She followed my dad out of the kitchen door to the garage. We stayed put until we heard the car start, the garage door open and then close and the car's light rumble make its way down the street.

Only then did I breathe a sigh of relief. "I thought they would never fucking leave!"

"I know!" JC threw his pencil down on the table and slammed both books shut. "I didn't even have any homework, man."

"Me either. By the way, Geometry?"

He laughed. "It was the first thing that came to mind! French? Showoff."

"Shut up." I got up from the table and walked around it to the refrigerator. "You want anything? Soda, water, milk-"

JC was next to me suddenly, an arm slung over my shoulder. He smelled so good-like cologne and sweat and.... guy. He just smelled like a guy.

"I don't want anything in this refrigerator."

"Oh."

"Oh."

I stepped back and closed the refrigerator door and turned to face him. I was nervous but unsure why. This was JC, the kid that lived two houses down. The same guy I've known for years that I used to play in the dirt with and ride bikes with and catch frogs with. Same guy. Right?

No. This JC was different. I didn't know what to expect from this tall, gangly almost man with the peaches and cream skin and the luscious hair and the voice that made me go all stupid. The fact that I couldn't predict him was exciting.

"So what do you want to do?" He asked.

I smiled and bit my bottom lip, then lunged toward him, throwing my arms around his neck and pressing myself against him. He seemed taken aback at first but once he regained his footing, he wrapped me up tight in his arms and tipped his head toward me. Our lips met in a crush of pants and moans and shuffling of feet as we moved-as one-to the living room and then landed in a heap on the couch.

JC wiggled his way around so he was on top of me, between my legs like the night before, except this time he wasn't being so polite. His tongue was swirling around mine and his hips were gyrating, rubbing his hardening dick into me. It felt so good to buck my hips and meet his thrusts and stare up at his face while he moved. He was concentrating, deeply. His eyes were closed, his cheeks flush, his breath coming in fast, hard puffs.

"Wait, wait, wait. Stop." I started to sit up, so JC stopped and moved to the side, wiping sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt.

"Sorry," he said, his voice gruff. "I'm sorry, I'll stop. You just...you feel good."

"I don't want us to stop, stop."

JC's head snapped up. "What?"

"I just want to move... uhm... upstairs."

"Oh." Relief washed over his face and he stood up, ready to go. "Okay."

We climbed the stairs, JC following me closely down the hall to my room.  He stepped in, looked around and smiled.  "I haven't been in your room in forever. Where's all the pink stuff you used to have?"

When I was younger, my mother seemed to mourn the fact that I was a tomboy. She decorated my room in pink and white and it was so sickeningly sweet, I eventually refused to sleep in there. I'd had the white eyelet comforter and curtain set for a few years and while it was pretty plain, it was better than pink.

"I threw it away when I grew up. I'm not a little girl anymore."

"Good. That pink shit was hideous."

We laughed, relaxing a little. I sat on my bed and kicked off my shoes, then gave a soft pat-pat to the bed next to me. JC sat next to me, tucked his hands underneath him and stared at his feet for a few seconds.

"We don't have to do anything if you don't want to," I said. "We can just talk." I mentally crossed my fingers that he would want to do more than talk.

"I want to," he said. Thank God. "I don't know how to start." He paused for a moment and then looked at me. "Do you want to?"

"If you want to." I shrugged. "Did you bring.... uhm... like... a condom?"

He reached into his back pocket, pulled out a tri fold wallet, ripped the Velcro flap open and fished out a small disc wrapped in plastic. I took it and inspected it. It didn't look like any condom I'd ever seen. Not that I'd seen a whole lot of them.

"How old is this?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. I found it."

"You found a condom so you just picked it up and put it in your wallet? And you brought this out to use with me? What if it has a hole in it or something?"

He grabbed it from me and held it up to the light. "It doesn't have a hole in it. See? You'd be able to see through it. Anyway, I couldn't get one from my dad. He had a vasectomy; they don't use them."

"It could still have a hole in it." I sighed and rolled off the bed, stomped down the hall, down the stairs to my parents' bathroom, reached deep into the closet for the basket of things my mother didn't know that I knew about. I fished out a couple of condoms and went back upstairs. JC was still sitting in the same place. I handed one to him and threw the other one into the drawer in the night stand.

JC looked from me to the small square package and back to me. "You want me wear your dad's condoms."

"You were gonna take one from yours, if he used them. It's brand new."

"Okay. So. Should I... I should take my clothes off?"

"If you want."

Off came his shirt, which he laid out carefully along the edge of the bed. Baby fine hairs curled against the pale skin of his chest. His arms were the same shade of bland until about mid-forearm when his tan and the hair kicked in. He stood to unbuckle his belt and unzip his jeans and kick off his shoes. I watched with amusement and amazement at him, his body and what we were seriously about to do.

"Are you going to take your clothes off?"

"Oh. Yeah." I was so distracted by watching him undress I forgot I had to as well. I pulled my t-shirt over my head and unzipped my jeans, letting them fall to the floor and stepping out of them. We were in our underwear, in the middle of my bedroom, staring at each other.

"So...we should..." I gestured toward the bed and we climbed on top of the comforter and sat there. "Maybe we should pull the comforter back. In case... I mean, I'm a virgin and I heard--"

"Okay." We got up again, pulled the cover back and stared at the crisp white sheets. "You should get-"

"-a towel," I finished, then rushed to the linen closet next to my bedroom and dug out a dark towel.  I spread it over the middle of the bed. "Okay. We just have to stay on that."

We climbed back up onto the bed and sat on the towel.

"Let's just lay down, "I suggested. "And if we feel like doing something, we will."

"Right," he agreed, lying down next to me, flat on his back and then immediately rolling to his side and propping himself up on an elbow. Despite the fact that we had yet to do anything, he seemed pretty proud of himself. "You're a virgin?"

I nodded. "Are you?"

His eyes dropped and he shrugged a shoulder. "I wanted you to be the first."

"You did?"

He nodded, his cheeks flushing pink again. That made me want to kiss him. I wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled him on top of me. I felt him through his boxers and my panties. He felt bigger...harder. Way different than through two pairs of jeans.

We kissed and humped and moaned for a few minutes before JC sat up, rolled the boxers down his hips and reached for the condom that he had set aside. His erection seemed like it was raging, the tip of it red and the shaft sticking straight out from his body. I'd only seen one penis before and it was okay. JC's was fun to look at.

Ripping the packaging open, he pulled out the latex ring and looked at it for a moment before rolling it on.

With an almost clear latex sheath on it, it was a little scary but I decided I was just going to go with it. I wanted to have sex. I wanted to have sex with JC. I laid back and lifted my hips so I could roll my panties down. My bra disappeared over the side of the bed. I was bare-naked in front of him and he seemed to be enjoying the view.

I pulled at his arms and encouraged him to lie back down, which put him exactly where he needed to be.

"Will this hurt you?"

Morgan and I had already had multiple conversations about sex. I knew more about Nick than I'd ever wanted to know about another boy. I also knew what their first time was like. It sounded like fun... eventually... and I had been looking forward to doing it myself. At the time, I didn't have a boy in mind but ever since JC kissed me the night before, he was the only one I wanted to touch me.

"I heard it hurts, but only for a second."

"Okay. I'm sorry if it hurts." Before I could answer, I felt him at the entrance to my body and lifted my hips to accept him. He moved slightly, thrusting gently, going deeper with each stroke, watching my face. He looked so scared, it made me almost laugh, but I didn't want to hurt his feelings.

"I feel okay," I said, encouraging him. "It doesn't hurt much. You can go in more." He took instruction well, pushing further than before, then pulling back and pushing in and pulling back, until he was buried inside me and moving without obstruction, just delicious friction.

He smiled down at me. "We're having sex."

"Uh huh."

I couldn't say much more because I was in awe of him inside me, filling me up. I felt like I could feel every pulsing vein and throbbing muscle, not to mention my own body reacting to him, seemingly out of my control.

My body arched up to him, in rhythm with his thrusts. I heard moaning then realized it was coming from him. The sound of him enjoying himself, with me, inside me-I felt powerful.  That we'd done this with each other, for each other, meant the most to me.

"Fuck, Angie!" He yelped and then went wild, bucking and gyrating which made me buck my hips into him harder. Seconds later I felt what I can only describe as an explosion-like someone left a livewire inside me. I might have screamed, I don't remember... I did wrap my arms around JC's shoulders and hang on for dear life while he pounded into me until he gave out a loud moan and collapsed on top of me, dripping wet with sweat, hot to the touch and panting so hard I thought he was about to pass out.

Afterward we lay next to each other, both staring wide eyed at the ceiling. I couldn't help but smile, even through the aching at my core and the soreness in my thighs.

I had sex! I had sex with JC. Wow.

Eat your heart out, Stacey Rodriguez.

"Hey," I whispered to him. He grunted in reply but turned his head toward me.  "That was way better than I thought it would be. I'm so happy you were my first."

JC blinked a few times and then smiled. "Yeah," he answered, his voice gritty and weak. "Uhm... I'm glad you were my first too."

That, I think, was the first lie he ever told me. 

The more I think about this case, the more I seethe with anger and compassion and just plain... this isn't right... not just because my client is so obviously wronged, but because his landlord is so obviously a slimy piece of shit.  And so is his attorney. I am embarrassed that I even know the card carrying, dues paying member of the Florida Bar Association that agreed to represent that man.

Carlos Sanchez is a hard working father of three. In his late thirties, he and his wife have lived in the US their whole lives. Not that it matters, because they speak Spanish in their household, so the accents are thick and the adherence on tradition is tight-families take care of each other, no matter what.

In my first Discovery meeting with my new client, he recounts his story of multiple run-ins with the manager of Bay Ridge View, the midrise apartment building where he and his family have lived for the last three years. Since the beginning Phillip Bailey has given Carlos trouble-raising the rent mid-year, refusing to fix broken appliances, leaks and machinery in the building and filing multiple noise ordinance violations with the police department, citing ‘neighbor complaints'. But when Carlos inquired with his neighbors about such complaints, none of them knew what he was talking about-they'd never complained about noise from the Sanchez home.

"I'm not saying I'm any kind of angel," Carlos says, his brown eyes wide and pleading. He glances at his wife, who clings to an arm and nods in agreement. "You know, we have three young children, we have a lot of family and sometimes life is louder than we would like, but on nights that we were just home with the kids, watching TV and reading stories before bed, the police would show up and want to look around and investigate. It was happening all the time."

I furiously take notes even though I am recording the session so I can listen to it again and again and again. I finish scribbling a sentence, then look up at the Sanchezes and nod, prodding them to continue.  "So what happened that made you file the housing discrimination complaint?"

"Well-" Carlos shifts in his seat. "It's like this, you know? My sister, she married a man that beats her. It's bad. And we tried to help her but she would never leave because she has two children with him. But one night it got very, very bad and..." Carlos raises his shoulders and spreads his hands in a what could I do? gesture. "She ended up at our place. She was crying and scared. The kids were crying. I told her she could stay for a few days..."

Gloria Sanchez picks up where Carlos leaves off. "That pig Emilio comes over to our house to get his wife. He bangs on our door, he's yelling and screaming, drunk off his ass, pounding on the door. Finally Carlos opens the door to get him to stop, but he forces his way inside and he goes right for Christina and he tries to choke her ... the babies are seeing this... it's just so terrible...."

Carlos picks up again. "We called the police on Emilio and he was arrested. My sister and her kids stayed two nights at our place. Our lease says we can have overnight guests for a period of two nights. We were well within the terms-but we got a notice from Mr. Bailey that we had thirty days to vacate due to lease violations.

"When I called him to have a discussion about it, he said he was not going to have a bunch of... spics sharing one apartment and everyone living cheap on his dime."

My eyebrows lift at the way Carlos spits out the racially charged word and I can only imagine how it feels to hear it.

"So I told Bailey, it's just my family living in the apartment. My sister came to visit, but we moved her and her children to my mother's house outside Orlando and she'll be staying there. There would be no more issues with guests. No one was living in our home that was not on the lease. But..." he shrugs. "He don't want to hear it. He says too many police complaints on file and when Emilio came he did damage to the door-he almost broke it down-and we are responsible for the damage, too. He says we have thirty days to get our dirty asses out of his building or he will have us evicted."

"It's not like we have no place to go," says Gloria. "We have family and friends that would take us in, like we took in Christina. But it's the principle. We did nothing wrong and what he's doing, I am sure, is illegal. And if he can do it to us, he will do it to the next family."

"You are most certainly right, Mrs. Sanchez. This is illegal. It is discrimination by definition, on its very face. Not only is he breaking housing laws but he's denying you a basic civil right. We are going to fight him and we are going to right this wrong."

"Do you know how long it usually takes to fight a case like this? We... don't have much money and I'm worried that we will have to move if there isn't a decision before-"

I hold up my hands and give the Sanchez couple a small smile. "Let me give you a bit of good news. We get a grant from the Florida Housing Authority so that we can handle these cases. Our fee will be subsidized in part by that grant. We would be happy to work with you on the balance-our accounting department can work out a payment plan that won't hurt too much.

"As for how long it takes?" I shrug, tossing up my hands. "It varies. I've had some cases settle very quickly. I've had some drag for months. I had a case that went on for a year. The good news is that this discrimination complaint halts any eviction proceedings. That's a legal process he has to file. He's barred from doing that until this complaint has been settled because it will look like retaliation if he does."

I see relief cross both of their faces, and they sink back into their chairs. "So, let's talk about our game plan."

A few hours later, I'm in my office transcribing notes for my time sheet.  Work in law is billable in increments of .10 - one tenth. I am required to bill at minimum 1,800 hours annually. Firms like Perry consider associates who bill under 2,000 hours a year to be slackers, so they bill for bullshit like ‘File Review', which is nothing more than having a file open to review it. I don't personally bill for thinking about a case unless it's within the confines of a strategy session like earlier this morning with the Sanchez's.

I feel sorry for them, sure. But I also feel angry for them. They're in the prime of their lives, living the American dream, providing a good life for their children. I've passed the building they live in-it's in a nice area, surrounded by suburbs and small businesses. There's a nice neighborhood feel, with a park a few blocks away. I always see people playing Frisbee and walking dogs and riding bikes. I'd want to raise my children in such pleasant surroundings. Too bad the building owner is a scum bucket.

"What a douche," I mutter to myself, listening back on the recorded session and adding to my notes.

"Who's a douche?" I hear behind me. I turn to see Tyler standing in the doorway of my office. It's either that the room is really small or Tyler is really big but he seems to take up so much space.

"Hey, kiddo," I say, an old nickname for him slipping out of my mouth. I instantly grin, because I'd forgotten we agreed that I wouldn't call him that inside the building. "I mean... Ty. What's up?"

"Nothing," he says, stepping into my office and around my desk, which takes up most of the space. He settles into the only other chair in the room. "Who's a douche?"

"Oh. The landlord in this case I'm working on."

"The one I can't know anything about because my brother is opposing counsel?"

"The one and the same," I say, nodding. "I just can't risk him hearing about our strategy. I like the element of surprise to be kept intact."

"I would never say anything," Tyler says, but he doesn't seem hurt at the insinuation that such a thing could happen. "I get it though. Better to be safe."

"Exactly. So what are you working on right now?"

"Besides carting shit to the basement? My first case."

"Really?" I squeak.

He blushes, his cheeks glowing red. "Yeah. It's a little thing. I only have to go to court once with the client. Easy."

"Easy isn't bad money at all, Counselor." I raise my hand and he slaps my palm in a high-five.

"Yeah, I'm feeling good. So..."  He grins. "How's that wedding planning going?"

I groan. "I really, really hate your brother. I hope you don't mind me saying so." He chuckles, as he often does. "He did come up with a good location idea but I'm not admitting to him yet that I like it. His head will blow up so big he'll never get out of his house."

"You guys have such a funny relationship."

"We do not have a relationship. We haven't had a relationship in eighteen years."

"I get that, but...you're still around each other all the time."

I start packing up my notes and files and laptop to take them home for the weekend. Friday night, I am living the wild and swinging single life-taking work home. "Not by any of my doing, I promise you. If I had my preference, I'd never see him again in life."

"I don't believe that."

"Oh, kiddo. Believe it. He follows me around, not the other way."

"But you've never like... moved away to get away from him."

"Why should I? I stay in Orlando because of my parents." 

Even after high school, I couldn't imagine leaving. I was all my parents had and I wasn't quite ready to leave home. I was comfortable and they could send me to UCF for cheap. By the time I knew I was going to study law, my dad's Parkinson's started to show and that put an end to any idea of my leaving Orlando. I draw the line at living with them, but I can't see moving far away. Every morning I call to talk to my mother and get a report on my dad. I can do that from anywhere, sure. But when she needs me, it's so important to me to be minutes away.

I continue, "It's not my fault he won't move away, either. And don't you start with that he loves you bullshit. You should hear the shit he says to me. There's no love anywhere near his cold, dead heart for me."

"Alright, I won't start with it again. I'm right, though. I know I am."

"You might want to inform him that he's in love with me. Maybe he'll be nice to me."

"I told him, once. That I thought he was in love with you."

I stop dead in my tracks, my veins going cold for some reason. "And?"

"He almost decked me. He was so pissed off, he got all red. My mom got mad, told me to stop egging him on." Tyler giggles. "I thought it was funny."

"Yeah, well. When you're in the middle of it, it isn't." I pick up my bags packed full of material to review over the weekend and inch toward the door. "Time to go, or I'm locking you in."

I spend most of Friday night and early Saturday morning reviewing the recorded session, transcribing the conversation, taking notes and doing research into Phillip Bailey. I find quite a bit of information on him, namely that this isn't his first discrimination case. This should be a slam dunk case.

Should be. And if I wasn't up against JC, I'd be way more confident in that assertion, but since I am up against him, I still don't know how this is going to turn out.

My apartment is a simple one bedroom with an extra alcove-fancy word for empty space-that I've turned into a small office. I've shoved a desk into the corner, a few plastic crates for filing, a lamp and everything I need to have a home office-a landline and printer/scanner/fax/copy machine. If I need to, I can work from home, which I do on occasion.

Though I have the office set up, I often do a lot of work sitting on the floor in front of the television, my work spread across the coffee table. My laptop is plugged in and sitting to my left, all my notepads to my right, my files directly in front of me. This position means I cramp up a lot so I have to get up and walk around, grab some water, make some coffee. I decide, around 9am Saturday, to get out of the apartment and clear my mind with a run before it gets hot.

I don't want to make it sound like I'm really athletic, because I'm not. Stress is my cardio and the last few years, going up against and losing to JC every case has been stressful. I'm sure I'm about to lose about five pounds planning this wedding with him. Anyway, running forces me to concentrate on not dying, therefore I am not thinking about work.

I change into a tank top and yoga pants, socks and sneakers, grab my phone, ear buds, ID, debit card and keys and shove them into a small sack that attaches to an armband with Velcro. I hop in the car and drive five minutes to a local city park.

I hit the trail and have long, calming run. The air is clear and clean, the flowering trees and shrubs give me some pretty scenery to focus on while I heave and pant for a few miles.  Since I'm out, I decide to run some errands, then head back home to work more. We have a conference with JC and Phillip Bailey next week. I want to be ready.

I dip into Publix, a local grocery store, grab a basket and head to the snack aisle first. I pick up a bag of tortilla chips and a jar of medium salsa. I'm eyeing nacho cheese dip, but I'm not sure I should get both. I reach for it, pick it up, then shake my head and consider putting it back. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and I sniff a familiar scent in the air-wood and musk. Before I can turn around, I hear him.

"Evangeline."

I sigh and my shoulders drop. Fuck. Must I see this man every goddamn day of my life? Until I die? Jesus.

"Joshua," I say, without turning around. I put the nacho cheese back.

"Good morning," he says, sounding chipper and cheerful. I glance at him and he looks presentable for 10am- jeans, a black button down shirt, far enough open at the collar that I can see tufts of chest hair. If I was looking that hard. Which I'm not. He smells good, like... like he hasn't been home yet from his date the night before. I am instantly disgusted. For what reason, I'm not sure. 

"Grabbing a few snacks for the day, are we?"

"Can't get anything past you, Counselor."

"You don't eat this crap all the time do you? I mean, you can't. You look too good to eat this crap all the time."

I turn to find him eyeing me, head to toe. It reminds me of that day in seventh grade, when he'd made the discovery that I was a girl and he couldn't stop staring. And then he told me I was hot. Except back then, I liked it.

"What do you want? I'm busy." I want to turn around and walk away but that would leave him staring at my ass and as much as I don't give a shit about him, I don't want commentary about my ass in the snack aisle at Publix. So I stand there with an irritated facial expression and a slight tilt to my head hoping that incites him to leave.

It doesn't. He smiles, almost laughing. "See, here's me being nice to you. Here's you treating me like shit. I'm just saying, Evangeline, you reap what you sow."

"You called me a feminist bitch last week. I don't think you're a nice person."

"I was emotional. You insulted my manhood. I can be nice."

"I beg to differ."

"I bet you beg to do a lot of things."

"Not what you're thinking of. I've never had to beg for it. How about you, Chasez? Ever had to beg?"

"You and I both know I've never had to beg." He stares at me and I stare at him and unlike a few nights ago, I refuse to look away. JC finally breaks his gaze, laughing.

"Tell you what. Put this shit back and I'll take you to breakfast. You've gotta eat better than this."

"No thank you."

"Come on, what else you have to do? Go home and do more research? Bill more hours?"

"I am in the middle of a case right now. One I am going to win because I will be prepared. Unlike opposing counsel who's trolling the grocery store right now."

"I wouldn't worry about the case, really. No way are you going to win. So relax. Let's go eat."

He reaches into my basket and starts restocking my groceries-the chips and salsa are back on the shelf and I am staring, incredulously at him.

"I don't want to eat with you, JC. And I'll thank you not to pass judgment on my snacks." I reach for the bag of chips but he grabs for my hand and doesn't let go. He gently begins to pull me down the aisle.

"I said-"

"I know what you said, but come on anyway. I'm hungry; you're clearly hungry. You were considering nacho cheese. We'll go to Grand Luxe. You love that place."

I feel shitty about it but I stop protesting. I do love Grand Luxe Café-it's sort of like Cheesecake Factory but a step above. Our families used to go there all the time, at least once a month. I would be the first person in the car if my dad mentioned it. JC's mom Karen loved that place as well so my mom would always call down the street to see if her best friend wanted to come along. And maybe bring JC to keep Angie company?

We'd get our own booth usually since our parents would fill a booth by themselves. We could talk and laugh and eat together. After we started dating, we'd go there on our own all the time, or with Nick and Morgan. It's still one of my favorite places to eat.

But did I really want to put up with JC just for chocolate chip pancakes?

Apparently so, because a half hour later, I am sitting on one side of a booth and he is on the other side, unwrapping a straw and dunking it into a glass of ice water, absentmindedly reviewing the menu. "It's almost lunch time," he mumbles. "Maybe I'll get their new ranch chicken sandwich. What are you having?"

I don't even look at the menu. I can smell the pancakes a mile away and those are what I want. "My usual," I say, sipping the coffee that the waitress has set in front of me and I've doctored with cream and sugar.

"Chocolate chip pancakes?" He raises an eyebrow. "See, doesn't that sound better than chips and salsa?"

"Now, yes. At 3am, I am going to want chips and salsa."

"At 3am you should be thinking about other things besides food."

"Try not to be a pig right now, okay?"

"What you call being a pig is just me being myself. Anyway, I was going to call you. Did you look up the resort in St. Lucia?"

I nod. I had looked up the resort and called their coordinator several times. I hadn't even bothered to look at any other destinations-I was mesmerized by everything in the brochure, on the website, in the reviews on the The Knot's Destination Wedding forum.

"And?" He prods.

"Sounds good to me. The only thing I'm worried about is the timing. October is too soon."

"I don't think so. If we announce it now and schedule it for late October, there's four months for people to get ready. Nick's paying for everything at the resort, so they just have to get there. Surely people can save a few hundred for a flight to the Caribbean."

I hate it when he's right, but he's right. "Plus, they do a lot of arranging and planning. We just have to tell them what we want."

"Right. So, we're decided on a destination and a month?" Grudgingly, I nod. JC pumps a fist in the air. "We made a decision without killing each other! Aren't you proud of us?"

"One down, like a thousand to go." I sip my coffee, feeling decidedly less celebratory.

"You're so negative, Evangeline. When did you get so anti-everything?"

"First of all, please stop calling me Evangeline. I am asking nicely and saying please-"

"You used to love for me to call you that," he says quietly, watching the ice in his glass bob around his straw.

My mind shoots back to high school. The bell rings and the hallways are ordered chaos, with kids going in every direction, locker doors opening and slamming closed, books  and papers flying everywhere. In the din and craziness of moving from class to class, JC would always step behind me at my locker, slip an arm around my waist and whisper, "Hey, Evangeline," in my ear. Then he would drop a kiss on my cheek and make his way down the hall to his own locker.

I loved that. Every time. Every single time. After we broke up, it was the thing about him I missed the most-the way he said my name. Truthfully, every time he calls me Evangeline, it makes me miss when we were young and in love.

"I no longer love for you to call me that. Please stop. Secondly, I'm not anti-everything. I don't like you very much and I don't trust you."

JC is quiet for a few seconds, then opens his mouth and I am sure something surly and hateful is about to come out of it. He surprises me though by saying, "I'll work on calling you Angie, alright? Forgive me if I slip."

I gulp, shocked at his acquiescence. He is full of unexpected twists and turns.

We chat a little more about the wedding, deciding to get on a conference call with the resort early the next week. First, we had to break the news to Nick and Morgan about when and where they were getting married, so they could have invitations printed and mailed.

"Have you thought about Nick's Bachelor party?"

"A little. You? About Morgan's?"

I shake my head. "Not even for a second. I mean, you know Morgan. She's so sunshine and Pollyanna and... purple unicorns. "I stop and we laugh together. "I don't even know what to do for her. She'd be happy with a Bachelorette Tea."

"That sounds boring."

"I know."

"We could combine them. Like a co-ed party. We plan one party, we kill two birds."

I shake my head. "I know you and I know what kind of parties you throw." I recall a story I heard about Keith's Bachelor party involving a naked guy, a mechanical bull and a TASER. I shudder. "And I don't want to look at half naked women stripping for Nick."

"So we have some half naked men too. For the ladies."

I laugh. "JC..."

"What? It's a good idea!"

"Maybe for our other friends," I say, still giggling. "I don't know about Nick and Morgan. Let's... let's keep thinking on it. We have some time."

"Fine," he says, picking up his sandwich and taking an enormous bite. We have a joke in our house that JC could eat a sandwich in three bites. Food disappears around him quickly.

I eat my pancakes, savoring every delicious bite. I don't even think there's syrup left on the plate when I push it away. "Thank you for breakfast," I say, when I've wiped crumbs from my mouth and finished my coffee. "I haven't been here in awhile."

"Really?" He picks at crumbs of a sesame seed bun on his plate and pushes it away. "I come here all the time. Lots of memories in this place."

"Yeah." My conversation with Tyler comes to mind and before I can stop myself I ask, "So...why didn't you ever move away? You could have gone anywhere. I would have left, if I were you."

"Would you?" I watch his Adam's apple bob as he reaches for his water and sucks down a mouthful. "I have everything I need right here," he finally says. "Friends, family, good job. Why should I move somewhere where I have nothing, just because you hate me?"

His expression morphs from playful and easy to dark and terse. He crumples his napkin and drops it onto his empty plate before grabbing the leather folder containing the check for our order. He leans to one side, opens his wallet, pulls out a platinum card and slides it into the pocket, dropping the folder on the edge of the table.

He stares out the window, not saying a word while he waits for the waitress to run his card and bring it back. When she does, he signs the receipt, slides the card back into his wallet and, for the first time in about five minutes, looks at me. "Ready to go?"

I nod, feeling... strange... like I hurt his feelings by asking why he'd never moved away. What do I care about his feelings? Why does it matter to me that I've upset him?

We took his car to the restaurant, so we climb back into his shiny E Class and head back to the grocery store. He pulls in next to my shabby little Corolla. I expect a jab or two at the old jalopy but he doesn't say a word.

I get out of his car and step to mine. I barely have my driver's side door open before he guns the engine and takes off, his tires squealing on the pavement.  

Ah, there's the Asshole I know and hate. 

By the time I get home, it's nearly 3 o' clock. After JC pealed out of the parking lot, I went back inside the store and got the snacks I intended to buy before I was derailed. As I pull into the parking deck attached to my apartment complex, I hear my phone chiming inside the pouch I'd tossed onto the passenger seat.

I grab the pouch, dig out my phone and frown at the caller ID display. What would Morgan be calling me for in the middle of the afternoon on a Saturday? She's normally over at Universal, nitpicking some stage show. Summer is the busiest time of year for her department. Lots of tourists means multiple shows a day and the show she casts for, Beetlejuice Review, seems to have constant turnover. I usually hear about this on our Monday dates, but lately all we've talked about is the wedding.

"Hey, Morgan. What's up?" I tuck the phone between my ear and shoulder, grab my bags and head upstairs to my apartment.

I hear a sniffle and I freeze. Morgan crying is almost the worst sound on the planet. She is a happy-go -lucky, sunshine and rainbows kind of person. It takes a lot to make her cry and I'm such a Mama Bear with her. I want to claw someone's eyes out the second I hear the tears in her voice.

"What's wrong? Why are you crying? What's wrong?"

I unlock my door and dump the bags on the kitchen counter, head to the living room and drop to the couch.

 Sniffle. "My wedding. is going. to be ruined!"

"What? Who's going to ruin your wedding?"

"You guys!" She practically screams. "We asked you and JC to do this one, simple thing-"

"I... well..." Confused, I sputter, trying to come up with a rebuttal. "Okay it's a little more than one, simple thing-"

"And you two can't even do that!"

"You're not making any sense, Morgan. What in hell are you talking about? Why are you crying?"

I hear the muffled sounds of her blowing her nose and then she comes back on the line. "JC called Nick like an hour ago to tell him that he was out. He didn't want to help plan the wedding and to let you help me make all the decisions like a normal engaged couple. Just tell him where to send a check for the gift."

My shoulders sag.  "You're kidding, right? Is this a joke?"

"Not even. We saw him last night at Prime. He said he planned to call you today about some details and he sounded excited. Today, he's out. What did you say to him?"

"Me? Why would you think I said something to him?"

"Because you two bicker like an old married couple."

"We do not. I didn't say anything to him. He followed me to Publix and dragged me out to breakfast at Grand Luxe -"

"Grand Luxe? Really? Didn't you guys used to go there a lot?"

I pause. And sigh. "We all used to go there a lot. Operative term used to. We talked about the wedding and locations and dates. We had plans to get on a call this week to hammer out some more details and book it. We got along fine. I don't know what climbed up his ass all of a sudden..."  

Our conversation, the one where he ended up acting butthurt and dumped me at Publix comes to memory. "Aw, shit."

"What? What shit? What?"

"I asked him something and it seemed to bug him that I asked. But I don't know why."

"What did you ask?"

"Well, I was talking to Ty about this and I was curious so I asked him why he never moved away. Why he stayed here all this time. He could have gone anywhere... New York, LA, even Miami. He certainly loves the women there."

Morgan laughs but it isn't a cheerful laugh. More of a ‘you motherfucker' laugh. "You did not ask him that, Angie."

"Yeah, I did. What? Is that a no-no question all of a sudden?"

She groans. "Evangeline Nicole Blake!"

I laugh at the use of my full name. I normally only hear that from my mother.  "Morgana Sue soon-to-be Del Ray! What?"

"You already know why he's still here, and why he never left."

"I do?"

She heaves a frustrated breath. "Yes. You do."  

"Oh, good Lord.  When did you join the church of Tyler Chasez? He's been preaching that ‘JC is in love with you' sermon for years now."

"Nick and I founded that church 20 years ago. JC has loved you since ya'll were in junior high."

"And then when we were in high school, we broke up. Took him all of a month to get over me and into some other girl. That was the end of the love part for me."

"Not for him, and you know it. I hate that you refuse to see it. Or you pretend to refuse to see it."

I roll my eyes so hard, I swear I see yesterday. This is my life, an endless cycle of denial where JC is concerned.

"You guys can wish that to be true until the cows come home. Doesn't  mean it is.  You don't see how he treats me? You don't hear the stupid shit he says to me?"

"In response to how you treat him and the stupid shit you say to him. If you were nicer to him-"

"See, there's the rub. I don't want to be nice to him. I have no reason to be nice to him. I don't like him. I don't trust him. And it's fine if he doesn't want to plan this wedding with me. You and I can do it, he's just getting in the way anyway."

Morgan is quiet on the other end of the line, so quiet I wonder if she's hung up on me. Then I hear a small sigh and she says, "I just don't think that's gonna work for us, Angie."

"What do you mean, not gonna work for you?"

"Nick and I don't need a wedding. We'll just go to the JP and get it over with-"

"You will not! Not after we've talked about your dream wedding and I joined a wedding planning forum and I've had to spend time with JC for your benefit. Fuck that. You can't just dump it."

"Uhm, watch me. Even if I do end up having a wedding, I don't want to deal with this Angie-JC bullshit. I'm tired of it; it's too much stress, after all this time, being in between you two.  You can't even do this one thing together and I.... I don't think I even want you involved in the wedding at all. I'll just pick a new Maid of Honor, Nick will probably have one of his brothers be a Best Man since JC is out now-"

I almost drop the phone at this sudden declaration. I'm so shocked I stand up. "Wait... what? If we don't plan this wedding, we can't be involved at all?"

"I don't want you cutting eyes at JC in my wedding photos and I don't want bitching and fighting at my rehearsal dinner and I don't want to have to explain to people that the Best Man and the Maid of Honor have been in a stupid eighteen year fight and that's why they can't sit next to each other at the reception."

I am speechless. Frustrated. Annoyed. I'm not the one that can't seem to control themselves in these situations.

"What do you want me to do, Morgan? I'm here. I'm planning. I'm not the one throwing a pissy fit."

"Fix it! I want you to fix it. Go to him and figure out what's up his ass and... I don't know, apologize or something. Please, Angie? This means a lot to me and Nick."

"Apologize? For what? Pointing out that he's stuck around here like a loyal puppy dog? What am I supposed to say to him?"

"Something.  I don't care what you say, just say something to fix it."

I haven't even been home for five minutes and I am in the car again, headed to a subdivision about ten minutes away from my apartment complex.  I brace myself as I drive past the sign for Lake Conway Estates, a community of townhomes. Every home backs up to a small beach and the calm waters of Lake Conway, a place that holds some bittersweet memories for me. It's just barely upscale, certainly not the million dollar neighborhood where Morgan and Nick live.

JC rents a two bedroom, two and a half bath from his uncle, who owns the place but lives in New York. He wouldn't be able to afford it otherwise, but he doesn't tell people that. He likes to wow the easily impressionable, especially young ladies, with his finely appointed home full of high end finishes, fixtures and furniture.

I pull into the driveway and park next to a red CRV. Of course he isn't home alone. I head to the front door and press the button for the doorbell. I hear the chimes, but don't hear footsteps shuffling down the tile in the front hall. I try to spy through the peephole and the windows on either side of the door but the house is shut up tight-blinds drawn to keep out the sun.

"Back here!"

I walk to the edge of the porch and poke my head around the corner. JC is standing at the rear gate, his hand on the lock. His face registers surprise to see me, but it is quickly replaced by nonchalance.  "Come join the party," he says, flipping the latch and swinging the door open.

I'm not in the mood for a party or for JC's guests, but I need to talk to him so I hop down from the porch and stomp through the ankle high brush along the side of the house.

"You know, you're supposed to cut the grass on the side of the house, too."

"I'll fire the gardener," JC says, smirking as I walk through the gate entrance and past him.

The back patio is enormous, with a gorgeous view of the lake and the forest on the other side. There are lounge chairs lined up along one end and a few glass topped tables with brightly colored sun blocking umbrellas along the other end.  One corner of the patio is reserved for the fire pit and close, comfortable seating around it. There is an industrial sized stainless steel gas barbeque grill and, inside a cabinet, a modest stereo system that pipes music to in-ground speakers placed strategically around the patio. He hires a service to deliver and care for the large tropical potted plants that are spread around the area. It's a nice space, if I had to admit it.

I hear a door slide open and turn to see the perky, big-b­oobed waitress that JC flirted with at Prime. She steps out of the house holding a bottled beer, dressed in a bikini top and very tight, very short jean cutoffs.

"Oh hey!" She says with a wary smile. "I remember you! You're JC's friend from the bar. Nice to see you again!"

I am reminded, suddenly, that I am still dressed in a tank top and loose, shapeless yoga pants. I didn't care what I was wearing when I was at lunch with JC, nor when I came here and thought he was alone, but suddenly I feel frumpy. And that pisses me off.

"Meet my good friend Evangeline," JC says, pointing to me with a grin. "Actually, I'm supposed to call her Angie, but Evangeline just rolls off the tongue so nicely. This is uh..."  His brow furrows for a second, while he tries to remember his guest's name.

"Sorry to interrupt. I need to talk to you. It won't take long." JC takes a seat at one of the patio tables. The girl sits in the seat next to him and crosses her legs but angles herself toward him. I recognize this nonverbal cue-it's possessive. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

"Alone," I add, and head toward the sliding glass door that leads into the house.

I hear a sigh and, "I'll be right back, sweetie. Make yourself at home."

I haven't been to JC's house in awhile, but it always looks the same. He finds one thing that works for him and holds on to it, never veers from it.  I step into the house, which looks identical to the last time I was there- formal living room with cream colored microfiber couch and chairs, mahogany end tables and China cabinet; a den with brown leather couches and La Z Boy chairs, a 60 inch flat screen TV mounted above a glass stereo cabinet that holds all manner of electronics-cable box, DVR, receiver,  6-disc CD Player, Blu-Ray and DVD Player as well as a number of game consoles; and the kitchen, which is nearly spotless except for a blender a, bottle of tequila and margarita mix sitting out on the slate grey marble counter.

I do love his kitchen, outfitted with black and stainless steel appliances, a high counter with stools underneath and the matching bar height table and chairs in the adjoining dining room. JC has a housekeeper so the place always looks and smells clean, like lemons.

I inhale the light citrus scent as I stop in the kitchen and turn to JC.  He leans over the counter, taking a swallow of the beer he has brought with him from the patio.

"What's up? I'm busy, obviously."

"I saw. You move fast; you don't even know her name."

He thinks for a moment, then perks up. "Jade. Her name is Jade."

I smile. "Of course it is. Is she a stripper? Pardon... exotic dancer is what they're called now."

"She's a grad student. And a damn good waitress. Not that it's any of your business."

"It sure isn't, thank God. She looks awfully young."

JC snickers. "Jealous?"

"More like disgusted. She looks like she sees your fancy clothes and fancy house and wants some of your fancy money."

"Again, I ask... jealous?"

"Just watch yourself, alright? You run through women like underwear. You're not very discriminating."

"Obviously," he throws back. And I deserve that, walked right into it. "And you wouldn't know anything about how much I date if you weren't watching me so closely."

He takes another swig of beer and rambles on.  "Listen, I'm a young, virile, attractive adult male. I don't ever have to be alone if I don't want to be, whether I'm rich or not. The money's just gravy, baby. Besides, I didn't take a vow of celibacy, like some people I know."

I recognize his attempts to get me riled up. I'm trying, with all my strength, not to lash out. "I have not taken a vow of celibacy. Not that it's any of your business."

"It's not, thank God. But Tyler says you work day and night. When's the last time you went on a date?"

"What? Tyler doesn't-I date, okay? Maybe I just don't tell your brother everything that goes on in my life."

"Uh huh," he says, nodding but chuckling. "If you say so, but chips and salsa alone on a Saturday night, followed by a session with your battery operated friend isn't a date."

My eyes roll without my permission. I'm fine with it. "Shut the fuck up, JC."

"Truth hurts, does it?  I hit a nerve?"

"I date, okay?"

I did. Sometimes. Not lately, but I wasn't not dating. I just didn't have time, what with trying to do my job and volunteering at law related organizations and helping my mom with my dad and planning this fucking wedding.

"Look, I didn't come here to talk about my sex life-"

"Or lack thereof."

"You called Nick to tell him that you don't want to plan the wedding with me."

He nods. "Yeah."

"Why?"

"I need a reason to not want to be around you?"

"No, you've never needed one before. But I thought we agreed that we would do this, JC. We had a good conversation today and we already decided where and when. And then you just drop out? What the fuck?"

"What difference does it make if I help or not? Why can't you and Morgan do this together? What makes them think I give a shit about their wedding?"

"They know you don't give a shit about their wedding. They're hoping you give a shit about them."

JC stands and begins to pace the kitchen with his beer, back and forth, passing in front of me as I lean against the opposite counter.

"Morgan called me. Crying. Says we're ruining her wedding."

"And?"

"And...if we can't pull off this wedding then they don't want us involved at all. Like we might not even get an invite. And we're kicked out of the wedding party."

JC stops pacing and turns, then shrugs his shoulders. "And? Why is this thing such a huge deal? They've been together since they were five years old.  We're supposed to move heaven and earth so they can get married, finally? They should just go to the JP and get it done."

"She talked about doing that."

"Okay. Why can't we let them do that?"

"Because we know that isn't what Morgan wants.  Because we know that if they plan their own wedding, it will be the most boring nuptials ever. Because they are plain white bread people and they are counting on us to make this memorable and special for them, for us, for everybody. I want her to have what she wants. Don't you want Nick to have what he wants?"

"Honestly? I don't give a shit," JC mumbles.

He opens the refrigerator, pulls out a beer and points it at me, offering it to me. I shake my head. He shrugs and keeps it for himself, popping the top off with his bare hands. He gulps down a few swallows, belches, and leans against the counter again.

"But what I don't want is Morgan calling me crying. I can't handle those puppy dog eyes every time I see her, knowing I ruined her big day."

"Right. And I don't want to hear, for the rest of my life, how we could have been involved, but we couldn't get along. It's both of us, or neither of us."

I hear the strains of the girl, Jade, outside talking while JC appears to ponder my words. No doubt calling a friend to tell them where she's hanging out for the afternoon.

"You know what they're doing, right?" He asks.

I nod. "Yep. I've known since the first night they brought it up."

JC shakes his head and smiles.  "They're not very sneaky people."

"Not to us who have known them their whole lives. But if they think that us planning this wedding is going to get us back together, they are so shit out of luck."

JC takes a few more swallows from the bottle and sets it down on the counter then stands to full height. "So what do you want to do?"

I close my eyes and prepare to grovel. For Morgan.

"I want to see my best friends get married. I want Morgan to have her special day. I want to be in the pictures, even if I have to stand next to you and paint on the happiest, fakest smile. I want to see the sunset from a beach on St. Lucia. And I want to get this done in the most efficient way possible so neither of us has to go the rest of our lives with the guilt trip.

"So... let's call a truce and try to be civil." I tip my head up to look into his face. "On the condition that when this is over, you and I part ways and have nothing else to do with each other. Ever."

His eyes pop open wide and his eyebrows lift. "Seriously?"

"You have to ask? Do you realize that we broke up 18 years ago and I haven't had a moment's peace since? I don't know about you, but I can't go a day without someone asking me when we're getting back together. Nick and Morgan are trying to force us back together by having us plan this wedding for them. I feel so tied to our past. Maybe if we get some space, we can get along without having to agree to get along."

I offer my hand, ready to shake on it. "I'm told I treat you like shit... so... until this wedding is over, I promise to be nice. Do we have a deal?"

JC doesn't move for awhile. He stands in his kitchen, hands on his hips, his eyes on me. Not glaring, not sneering, just... looking at me. I start to feel stupid with my hand in the air between us, but I don't give in.

"So, we plan this wedding, then it's over and we don't know each other anymore? That's what you want?"

"That's what I want," I say and extend my hand further.  JC finally reaches for my hand and it disappears inside his. We agree with a shake and a squeeze and nod and he lets go.

"We're still on to talk to the resort on Wednesday?"

"Yes we are. I'll just show up a bit early for the conference with your client. Okay?"

"Sure," he says, slowly nodding. Very subdued.

"So, I'll let you get back to your uh.... date. Or whatever she is."

He glares. "We just agreed to a truce. That didn't last long."

I laugh, heading toward the front door. "I didn't even say anything! I'll let myself out. Have fun. Wear a condom!"

"See? That's the shit I'm talking about."

I climb back into my car, start it, and roll out of the driveway, heading toward home again. I've surprised myself by verbalizing my desire to want to be away from JC after this is all over. I don't think I've ever said it out loud before, but I feel so smothered by him.

There are good and bad sides to dating someone you've known your whole life. You know each other really well-that's a good side. There's virtually no fear. I had that with JC and I loved spending my formative years exploring with him. There was no safer place.

But then comes the break-up and all those memories and firsts don't go away. Everything reminds me of him. I compare my feelings for every new man to what I used to feel for JC, and if it's nowhere near as fiery and strong and comfortable as I felt before, I consider it a waste of my time. On the rare occasions that I actually like someone enough to have sex, even the tamest, most vanilla of acts, it's tainted with the memory of doing it for the first time with JC.

He'll always be in my life, wrapped around it, intertwining with the people I love. He is a huge part of my past and I know I can't ever completely eliminate him, but I can do a hell of a lot to get away from him. I just need to move on.

I need to make some major changes, the first of which is not being reminded, every day of my life, of the biggest mistake I've ever made.

 As much as a teenage girl could love a teenage boy-which, by the way, is a lot, I loved JC.

With all my heart, as young and undamaged and untested as it was, I loved him. He made it easy by not changing very much after we were ‘official'. We still hung out with our friends, we still studied together a few nights a week and we still went to school functions like games and dances and other events together. Nothing really changed, because we'd been doing all of that stuff already. We just added sneaking around to have sex to the equation.

For the most part, we were able to be alone a lot. Our parents worked, Tyler had his own friends and Heather had her after school projects and got a part time job. We could go anywhere really, but we mostly hung out at the Del Ray's. Nick's parents worked long hours at the clinic, often leaving him alone in a rambling house with a built in home theater and way too many guest rooms. JC and I never got the nerve to have sex there, but when Nick and Morgan would disappear into the bowels of the house, we took full advantage of the freedom to be alone as a couple.

Things got a little easier after JC got a car when he turned 16. A Jeep, actually, very used but in good condition. Roy, thought it would come in handy for carting us kids back and forth to games and dances and weekend and summer activities. He had to work for gas money though, so he got a job where Roy worked, fixing computers. He found he had a knack for it and passed Computer Science with flying colors. JC worked a few hours on Saturday and the occasional weeknight. Back then gas was cheap and that was all we really needed to get around. All I could think about was if the backseat folded down and how much room was back there.

JC having a car gave us freedom and privacy. Nick had a car, but it was a fancy Doctor's son's car and besides, we always felt like we were intruding on him and Morgan. Now we could go to a drive-in movie or head to the lake or the beach. It was nice that it was just the two of us and the flicker from a fire JC made, just for the romantic light. He always kept a blanket under the back seat and yes, the back seat did fold down.  

My favorite night with him was the fall of our junior year. It was starting to get dark early and there was a hint of a chill in the air. We drove out to Lake Conway, one of our favorite spots. There were some townhomes that were built along the lake on one side; the other side was all forest, uninhabited. JC found a dirt road that would take us north, far away from any of the homes, further away than anyone would likely be coming to fish. We'd swim and eat whatever we packed to bring, listen to music, talk... and when the sun dipped below the horizon, we crawled into the backseat.

Those were the best times, the night air smelling so clean, the sound of the lake mere feet from us lapping at the rocks on the shore, no noises or disturbances except the bleating of frogs and coyotes in the distance mixing with the crackle of the easy listening station on the radio. JC insisted it help set the mood. I thought most of the songs were cheesy, but if it made him want me, I was game.

That night we laid there next to each other, talking and touching, taking our time. JC sat up and turned on the overhead interior light and then just... stared.

"What? What's wrong?" I grabbed a corner of the blanket and folded it over most of my body since I was naked. "Do we need to leave?"

"No. Nothing's wrong." He grabbed the blanket and gently pulled at it, revealing my body again. He smiled, then reached out to touch me. The tip of his finger dragged across my skin, leaving fire in its wake. My nipples stood on end and goosebumps rose and my breath quickened. "I like looking at you," he said, his finger traveling south. "I like touching you."

"I... I like it too," I managed to stutter, though made quite speechless by the sensation of his finger stroking, circling, applying pressure. I opened my legs wider to give him more room, more access. He bent to kiss me, then moved down my body and his mouth took over and....... oh my God.

"Holy fuck, please don't stop." He moaned. I could feel him smiling. It didn't take long before the steady flickflickflickflick of his tongue was making my hips roll so violently he had to wrap his hands around my thighs. I tried really hard to be quiet, but then I realized we were in the middle of a forest so I could be loud if I wanted to. And I wanted to. I came so hard I cried.  

I had worked myself to the very edge of the seat, trying for some reason to get away from JC, when what I really wanted was more-I just couldn't take how good it felt. JC laughed and laid next to me, pulling me back toward him and wrapped me in his arms until I stopped shaking and my breathing returned to normal and I could stop saying, "oh my God," over and over.

"Did you like that? Was it... was I okay?"

I didn't mean to laugh in his face, but it seemed like a crazy question to me. "Are you kidding? Did you not hear me screaming?"

"Yeah, I heard you," He said, a cheesy grin on his lips. "I just wanted to hear you say it was good."

I was lightheaded, so I'm sure I sounded all dreamy when I assured him. "It was good, baby. So good."

"That makes me happy," he said softly, stroking my cheek. "I have something to tell you."

"What? Something bad?"

"No. Just that... we've been together a while now... but we've been hanging out longer, so I've known this for a long time, but... I love you. A lot. And I want you to love me. And whatever I have to do to make that happen, just tell me and I'll-"

I stopped his ridiculous ramble with a kiss. When our lips parted, I said, "If you don't know by now that I love you, then you are a really dense boy."

He laughed a deep hearty laugh that warmed my heart every time I heard it.  "I mean I had an idea..."

"But you just wanted to hear me say it?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I love you. Very much, more than anything." I pulled him toward me and he wrapped his arms around me again.  "I think I never want to love anyone else.  And I never want to be with anyone else. And I want to be the only person you've ever been with. That's a crazy thing to say, huh? Am I scaring you?"

JC hesitated to answer, but then shrugged a shoulder and said, "I'm not scared."

We had managed to keep our relationship under wraps for a while. For a long time only Nick and Morgan knew we were dating. Our parents definitely couldn't know, otherwise they'd never let us hang out alone together.  After JC got the Jeep, everything changed. We sat them all down one night and told them that we were dating-had been dating for some time.

The reaction was mixed. I don't think they were very surprised. JC and I had been attached at the hip for so long, I suppose it was inevitable. I think a small part of them hoped we would just stay friends and they wouldn't have to deal with the problems of a teenage relationship. You can only bury your head in the sand for so long, but once something is in the open, it has to be dealt with.

For example, that moment when you confirm, with proof, that your sixteen year olds are having sex.

One night I had been at Morgan's to help her write an English paper on Shakespeare. I came home to find both my parents sitting at our kitchen table. My dad pointed to a chair and said, simply, "Sit."

I dropped my book bag and sat, with some idea of what this talk was going to be about. My mom had been hinting that maybe JC and were getting too close, spending too much time together, were too attached. I thought I had done a good job of talking her down, but now my dad was involved.

"What's up?" I asked, looking from my mom to my dad and back.

"This," my dad said, dumping a gallon sized Ziploc bag onto the table. My eyes slammed shut and then automatically reopened. It was a bag of condoms. "You're doing the city or you're supplying the city. Either way, we need to talk."

After we started having sex, we had to find ways to get condoms without having to buy them. I learned from Morgan that we could pick them up from a number of clinics, no questions asked. Every time I went downtown for some reason, I went to one of three clinics and picked up a handful. I had the nurses convinced I was handing them out at school.

The condoms were way more important to me than to JC so I always made sure to get them. Otherwise, like our first time, he would use the first thing he got his hands on. Maybe I got a little carried away with collecting them, but we were always protected. Many times over.

"Honey, are you and JC having sex?" My mom asked, her voice shaking.   

"We're obviously being careful," I answered without really answering, nodding toward the bag. "How did you find that? It was pretty well hidden in my room."

"Actually, it was in the back of JC's Jeep," my dad said. "Roy took it in for maintenance, opened rear door and it was like a sex den back there. "

I laughed without meaning to. It was never like a sex den in the back of the Jeep. We were always careful to put the seat back up, fold the blanket, put it under the seat and pick up any wrappers. No matter where we were, I made JC pick up every scrap and take the used condom with him. We couldn't risk our parents finding out that we were doing it at home.

"Eric." My mother rolled her eyes at my dad. "Roy said he found a condom wrapper stuck to the blanket under the seat. He kept looking and then he found the bag. He let us know because... well you're our daughter and you two are very young to be participating in such adult activities. They're probably talking to JC right now."

"We're very careful. Always."

"Listen, I don't want you seeing that kid-"

"Dad," I interrupted. I'd never interrupted my dad before but I couldn't even let him suggest that I'd be willing to break up over this. "JC and I are dating. We love each other and we aren't going to stop seeing each other. Yes, we have sex. We are careful. Obviously." My hand flopped onto the table near the bag of condoms.

"We aren't going to stop having sex just because you're mad about it. And I hope the Chasez's know that too. Please don't make us sneak around to see each other."

My dad fumed. He was angry, but cornered. I could tell he didn't know what to say. He wanted to lay down the law, but I made a good point. If we had to sneak around, we would.

"I love you guys. And I love that you're worried and concerned about me. About us. But we're doing everything right."

The chair scraped across the floor as my dad pushed back from the table. He stood, stomped away, then came back, pointing a finger at my mom.

"I want her on the pill!" He demanded, before stomping back out again, leaving my mom and I to stare at each other in the kitchen, with the bag of condoms as a centerpiece.

The next day, the ride to school was tense.  Well, JC was tense. I thought it was kind of funny.

"My mom is pissed," JC said.

"Why?"

His eyes left the road briefly so he could glare at me. "Why do you think?"

I grinned. "Cause we're fucking in the backseat of the car they bought you?"

"It's not funny, Angie."

"Okay, sorry."

Silence for a few moments, and then, "So are you grounded?"

"Nope. You?"

"No. But my dad lectured my ear off about birth control and STD's and AIDS and shit. Like I don't know about that stuff from health class. And like you're the kind of girl to have STD's."

"Right. It's not like I'm Stacey Rodriguez or anything. I can't even imagine what she has. She'll fuck anybody."  JC didn't answer. He stared at the road ahead and chewed on the inside of his lip. "I have to get on the pill," I confessed.

"Really?" He glanced at me and I nodded. "Do you want to go on the pill?"

I shrugged. "Doesn't matter to me. I was going to ask about it anyway. Now I don't have to.

"Does that mean we can stop using condoms?"

"Uhm. I don't know. Maybe? But we should make double sure, in case the pill doesn't work."

"Yeah."JC nodded but sounded slightly disappointed.

"So... I guess we kinda got off easy."

"Yeah." JC inhaled a deep breath and sighed, then glanced at me with his usual gap toothed smile. "Guess we did."

That year and the following summer was busy, full of school activities, games, plays, and beach parties. We both spent extra time with our families and let things settle. We had the rest of our lives to be together, we told each other. If we needed to sacrifice a little time to reassure everyone that we had our heads on straight, that's what we would do. It wasn't long before we were back in their good graces and we could resume our evenings at Lake Conway.

I didn't think it was possible to be more in love with JC, but every day, every time I saw him or talked to him, I realized how deeply I felt for him, how close I felt to him, how all I wanted was to be with him. I learned so much with him, explored so many things with him, felt so safe and taken care of with him. In my mind, nothing could destroy that.

The beginning of our senior year was full of excitement and promise. Fall meant Homecoming and spring meant prom and graduation. JC and I were already talking about our plans after graduation-I was going to stay in Orlando and he decided to stay too, maybe go for a Computer Science degree and work with his dad. We would still be doors away from each other and we could ride to classes together. Eventually, maybe the summer after our freshman year, we would get jobs and a small apartment near campus. We talked about the future nonstop. The only thing standing in our way was this last year.

Homecoming was a huge event at Clark High School. Our football team was undefeated the prior season and hadn't lost a homecoming game in ten years. Spirits were high for the game and the dance, held at the Orange County Country Club, a swanky, high class establishment. Nick's dad had a membership, so sometimes we could go over in the summer and swim and play tennis. I liked pretending there was a distinct possibility that I could ever belong there.

Morgan and I had gone shopping and picked out awesome dresses. Mine was black, sleek, strapless with a slit up the side that stopped mid thigh. I bought a pair of shimmery heels that made my legs look like they belonged on Cindy Crawford. My mom helped me flatiron my hair and do my makeup. I was flawless, and proud to say so.  This was going to be our last Homecoming Dance at this school and we planned to make it count.

JC arrived right on time in a black suit, baby blue dress shirt, skinny tie with blue pin stripes and black shoes buffed to a high shine.  His hair was shiny and bouncy, combed back into stylish waves.

"Hey. You look great," he said, his eye roving from my hair to my feet and back up. "Really great."

"Thanks," I said, blushing. Crazy how he still did that to me. "You're so handsome! You look really good."

"Thanks. My dad had to help me tie my tie."

"It looks good," I said, giving him a peck on the lips, which my mom and Karen insisted on getting a snapshot of.

Our moms must have taken an entire roll of film before we made our escape, climbed into the Jeep and headed toward the Club. The parking lot was already crawling with cars, girls tip toeing across the pavement in long flowing dresses and guys strutting proudly, yelling jokes and names at each other. I heard the thump of bass coming from the inside of the club. The beat matched the thump of my heart as we made our way inside.

The decorations were festive and bright. A disco ball spun in the center of the room, shooting out sparks of light. Couples were already mid floor, dancing, laughing and talking. A few people were gathered around the punch bowl, waiting for a cup. There were rumors that someone planned to spike the punch, so the bowl was being guarded by the Guidance Counselor.

We met up with Morgan and Nick and danced our hearts out. JC sweated all the way through his shirt, having shed his jacket early on. Morgan and I headed toward the ladies room to freshen up. After using the facilities, we met up at the sink to wash our hands and fix our makeup.

"Did you guys get a room for tonight?" Morgan asked. 

"No," I said, frowning into the mirror. "JC has to work tomorrow. He thought it would be better to work this weekend because he's taking prom weekend off." I dabbed a little powder on my face and pulled out a tube of lipstick. "But he doesn't work till like 10 tomorrow, so I think we're going to sneak up to the lake for a little bit."

"Oooh.... bow chicka bow bow," Morgan teased, snagging my lipstick before I could apply it to my lips. "I like this color. You think it would look good on-"

A door slammed open behind us and we both turned to see who was making such a commotion. Ugh. Stacey Rodriguez, my junior high nemesis stepped out of the stall.

She stepped around us to pump soap into her hands, lather and scrub them under the spray of cold water. Morgan and I ignored her, chatting away and fixing our makeup. I grabbed the lipstick back from her and applied a thick coat, then blotted with a paper towel.

I snapped my clutch closed. "I'm ready. Are you?"

"So ready," Morgan said, tossing her paper towel in the garbage, narrowly passing Stacey on the way out.

"Hey, Angie," I heard behind me. Against my better judgment, I stopped and turned around.

"Yes, Stacey?"

She wore a lace dress that was nearly see-thru and barely covered her ass. She had gained some weight and was trying to carry off fat as ‘shapely and sexy'. It wasn't really working.

"How do you like my handiwork?" She asked, ripping a towel from the machine and rubbing her hands dry.

I stared at her, confused. "I don't follow. What are you talking about?"

"Uh, your boyfriend?"

"JC is my boyfriend. Has been for a long time and I know you know that. So?"

She sighed, tossed the paper towel into the garbage and teetered her way over to me in four inch stiletto heels. "I heard you bragging about going up to the lake tonight. Probably to fuck. I mean, that's why he and I used to go there."

"Excuse me?" I was starting to see red, but trying not to show it. Morgan grabbed my arm, I imagine just in case I felt like slapping her.

"Oh, he didn't tell you how he heard about that place? Didn't tell you who took him there first? Who taught him all the fun, sexy, dirty shit he knows how to do? He didn't, did he?"

"Uh...." I shook my head. "You're a fucking liar. He's only ever been with me, Stacey. Ask him yourself."

She chuckled then her lip curled in an angry sneer. "I don't have to lie, sweetheart. I fucked JC in the 8th grade and believe me, he was a virgin. I had to cut him loose, though; he was getting too attached. So then he came after you. You ask him yourself.  And if you like what you're getting, you owe me a nice big thank you for his skills."

I wanted to vomit at the idea of JC's mouth being anywhere near Stacey's snatch. And then my mouth.  

I started to back away, make my way out of the bathroom before I really did slap her. People were filtering in and out; albeit slowly so they could eavesdrop. Stacey has a huge mouth so she may as well have been telling the entire school that she fucked my boyfriend.

Before me.

I left her behind and walked right into JC, who standing outside the restroom. "Hey, someone said there was something going on over here. You okay?"

Stacey came barreling after me, yelling something that I didn't catch.  I wound my fingers between JC's and turned around to face her. "Ask him. He'll tell you. He's only ever been with me."

"Stacey, please don't," said JC.

A slow smile crossed her face. I can only liken it to the grin on that evil little monster, The Grinch That Stole Christmas. "You think your sweet JC is so perfect and would never lie to you, but... surprise! If he told you that you were his first and only, he lied. He was with me first."

I rolled my eyes at her and glanced at JC but instead of seeing indignant anger in his face, I saw something else. Something I didn't like. Something that looked like guilt and shame.

"JC... is this true? Were you really with her first?"

He licked his lips and tightened his fingers around mine. "I need to talk you..."

"About what? How you've been saying all this time that I was the only one you'd been with and you were with her like a year before me?"

JC looked pained, so helpless at that moment. I didn't blame him for being as scared as he looked.   "The thing is, Angie...I never actually said that-"

I sucked in a lungful of air in complete shock and pulled from his grasp. I had distinct memories of the exact opposite. "The fuck you didn't! The first night-"

"Angie! Shhhhh!" He grabbed my arm and tried pulling me away from the growing number of people standing around. "Let's go talk. I'll explain."

I yanked my arm out of his grip and stared at him. Hard. I wanted him to feel every ounce of anger that was coursing through my veins. He looked so uncomfortable. I didn't care.

"Are you saying to me that I wasn't your first? For anything? Everything we did together, you did with her first?"

I will never forget the look on his face. Helpless. Near tears. Desperate. He shook his head slowly, reaching for me. "Angie... baby, please. "

"Oh. My God, JC." I couldn't get away from him fast enough. I backed up until I hit the wall and couldn't go any further. And then I began to sink to the floor.  JC kneeled to try to help me up, but I didn't even want him touching me. I smacked his hands away.

Smirking, and apparently satisfied, Stacey swished by, hips swaying and heels clicking.  "I win," she said, as she pranced past us-me on the floor, JC on his knees. "Enjoy my sloppy seconds, Angie."

There was no enjoying the rest of the night. I was disgusted. I felt like throwing up. It shouldn't have been such a huge deal, except it was. It meant everything to me to be JC's first. I thought I was.

It was killing me to know that first of all, I was wrong. About so many things I was wrong. Namely, about this man... this boy I was in love with. Thought I was in love with. On top of everything, I was second to Stacey. A battle I thought I won long, long ago had been quietly raging. She was right. She won the war.

My stomach flipped and churned at the thought.

I made JC take me home. The ride was twenty minutes of JC talking and me not saying a word. He wanted to say something, but didn't think it was that big of a deal. He knew it meant a lot to me and didn't want to take that away from me. Please don't be mad at him, he didn't think about it.

He considered me his first.

"No wonder you could lie to me so easily. You lied to yourself!"

I got out of the Jeep, slammed the door shut, stomped up the front steps and through the front door. My parents were still awake, watching TV in the den. I heard my mom rush behind me as I ran up the steps to my room.

"Angie? Back so soon? Did you forget some--Angie! Evangeline Nicole, I'm talking to you! What happened?"

I wanted the tears to wait until I was well inside in my room, face down in a pillow so no one could hear me.  I made it as far as the top of the stairs, where I tripped over the hem of my dress, landed on my knee and collapsed in a sobbing mess.

Attempts to make me feel better were a complete waste of time.   Morgan would come over, sit with her arm around me and let me cry and scream and vent.

"I gave myself to him, you know? My whole self, my whole body. What a waste."

"Not a total waste. You guys had some really good times."

I glared at her. "Based on a lie! A total waste."

She shrugged me. "Maybe, maybe not."

"How is it not? He wasn't being brave and bold and exploring new things for the first time like I was. For all I know he was reliving his time with..." I retched, like I was going to throw up. "Her."

"You know that's not true. He was with you for three years. He chose you. Don't you think you're more important than... her?"

"I want to be, Morgan. I really want to be. But when I think about it, I'm not." I looked at her, the tears welling again, my nose growing bulbous and red again. "She got to be the first. She got to be the special one and she didn't even deserve it. She took away what should have been mine. Now I feel like just another girl. I don't feel special at all."

JC called, sent letters, left flowers and candy at our doorstep. Every day, something new showed up. I was throwing them away but my mom got mad, saying he was spending good money on me and the least I should do is talk to him. He was the last person I wanted to see, but getting my mom off my back was important to me, so I told her to tell Karen to tell JC to come over.

He looked... bad. Probably about as bad as I looked. His hair was disheveled and dry, his curls frizzy and flyaway. His clothes sagged on his body and he was pale. His eyes were red and swollen. I wanted to feel sorry for him, I really did.

I really wanted my heart to go out to him, and to see him and think that being mad at him was stupid. When I saw him, I wanted to throw things at him. I wanted to vomit. I wanted to die.

He came in and sat at our kitchen table. I sat across from him and stared at the wood grain and waited for him to say something. He was quiet for a minute. Then, in a grainy, gritty tear worn voice, said, "I'm really sorry, Angie."

I swallowed back tears, but said nothing. He kept talking. "I know you're mad at me and you have every right to be. But I was with you because I wanted to be with you. And I'm sorry I didn't tell you about that time with her... I didn't think you would go out with me if you knew about her."

My eyes flicked up to his. Gorgeous, deep cerulean blue orbs that I loved. Used to love. "You are right. I sure wouldn't have. I don't go out with boys that have fucked Stacey Rodriguez."

"I know," he said softly. "I really did want to be with you. I always wanted to be with you."

"Then why weren't you with me? Why were you with her? Why did you do that stuff with her first? Practice?"

"No... I don't know. I... she just...I don't know. I was still getting up the nerve to ask you out and I thought you didn't like me like that and she... she just... we were hanging out, and...." He shrugged. We all know what happened next. The same thing happened with me and JC.

"It's not even that. It's that you let me think I was special to you-"

"You are! You always have been. I love you so much... please..."

"And then you let me waste all my firsts on you."

I couldn't control the venom in my voice. I had nothing but hate for the boy that sat across from me. I didn't even know him anymore. "I can't... I can't do this. I don't want to be with you. Or see you. Or talk to you or hang out with you. I used to think you were the most awesome guy, but..." I shook my head as tears fell from my eyes. "You're just like all the other guys. And I hate that about you."

I got up from the table and tried, very hard, to forget the look in his eye as I said those words. Despite everything I've said to him since, I think those words hurt the most.

JC worked double time, over time to get me to forgive him. He showed up in places he knew I would be, still tried to hang out with Nick and Morgan and I but it wasn't the same. If I knew JC was going to be there, I wouldn't show up. I started spending a lot of time with Morgan. JC and Nick became closer, because I hogged Morgan like a selfish brat.  

And then one day a month or so later, he gave up. The calls and letters and emails stopped. He no longer dropped by to drive me to school-I rode with Morgan and Nick. He ignored me unless he was forced to speak to me. There was a giant invisible wall between us, one that neither of us was willing to climb.

JC's plans for after graduation changed. What was keeping his grades up was me, forcing him to study for tests, helping him with his homework. His new girlfriend didn't give a shit about his grades apparently; they dropped so low that the administration threatened to keep him from graduating. He just barely skated out of high school with a passable GPA.

He ended up going to Rollins because his admission to University of Central Florida was put on hold due to his senior year transcript. He spent a year there and was finally allowed to transfer.  

As near as I can figure it, JC has spent the last... lifetime, it seems... making sure I see him every day. Maybe it's his way of reminding me of what we used to be, what we used to have, what I was missing out on.  Maybe he thought he'd stick around just in case I changed my mind. 

Was it a mistake to break up with JC? Sometimes I think... yes.  I feel a little like I created this monster. And maybe I could make the monster go away by un-making that huge mistake. I was an emotional teenager; we are prone to fits of senselessness.  

But... then I think about Stacey Rodriguez. How he let her tell everyone I was enjoying her sloppy seconds. How he let me think I was something special to him, that we shared something special that no one else had with him...and I ended up just being another notch in his bedpost.

And I think about all of the women since then. Was he making up for lost time?

And the kind of work he does. The clients he represents. His penchant for earning a buck, no matter the personal cost.

And the man he is; a man that is so different from my sweet JC. 

A sick taste sits at the back of my mouth and... I just can't do it. 

 JC is the most relaxed I've seen him in a long time. He's decked out in his usual dark Varvatos ensemble, clean shaven, his hair a mess of carefully crafted curls that just kiss the collar of his crisp white shirt.  He's leaning back in his leather executive office chair, feet propped on a corner of the desk and crossed at the ankles. His socks are a bright raspberry and match his tie. His shoes are black wing tips.

His office is an eclectic mix of his personal style and the Perry Law Firm professional interior design. The building is a nine story structure that once was a factory, turned into a loft-style space of exposed brick, large arching windows and real oak wood floors buffed to a near mirror shine. His desk, an L-shaped behemoth, screams mid-level executive. On the desk are piles of folders and notepads and photos in mismatched frames: his family, a few pictures of Morgan, Nick, he and I over the years. I'm surprised and unprepared to see that he has added a new photo to the collection. Homecoming. Our senior year.

I pretend I don't notice it and he doesn't point it out.

My visit to JC's office isn't a social call. I've arrived for a conference between him and me, his client and mine. This will be the first time that all of us have been in the same room. My only prayer is that one of our clients doesn't leap across the table and try to choke the other. My other prayer is that neither of the attorneys will either.

Before that meeting, we have a call with the Events Manager at Rendezvous St. Lucia, an all inclusive, couples only resort. We were both wowed by the seaside suites, the excursions and other amenities, the food and drink, not to mention the fact that we won't be sharing our Caribbean vacation with the families that choose to bring their children to the Caribbean. Not that I don't like kids, I do. Just not when I've spent $1500 to relax.

"Just let me do all the talking," JC says, while we listen to the speakerphone warble. "I know how to handle these people."

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of opening my mouth, Mr. Chasez. I'm just a girl. I've never been anywhere. I don't even talk to people. Ever. About anything."

JC smirks. "Okay fine. If you have questions, pipe up."

I smile and whip out my notebook, opening to the first of several pages of notes. JC rolls his eyes.

"Where the hell is this guy?" he asks, just as the line picks up. "Rendezvous, this is Andrew. Can I help you?"

Andrew has a sexy British accent that is well paired with the deep tone of his voice. He must sound great with the ocean waves crashing onto the shore as a background.  I'm instantly interested in speaking with him.

‘Hi, Andrew. This is Joshua Chasez. My associate Randall Warner gave me your contact information. We spoke briefly on email about a wedding party in October-"

"Ah, yes. Yes sir. I remember. A large party, perhaps twenty or twenty five people?"

"Correct. And I've got my planning partner here, Angie Blake. Say hi to the man, honey." I grimace at the term of endearment. It's like he's marking his territory. JC winks and nods toward the phone.

"Hello, Andrew. It's a pleasure to meet you. We're excited to work with you."

"Hello, Miss Angie," he answers, and I swoon inside. "Yes, I think this will be an exciting event we're planning. Your friends are very lucky, I think. Will you... and Mr. Chasez... be joining the party?"

"I wouldn't dream of missing it. Why don't you tell us a bit about your resort? Like what can we expect from a destination wedding standpoint?"

Andrew spends the next twenty minutes giving us a virtual tour of the resort. I feel as I know every nook and cranny of the main building as well as the adjoining buildings where the suites are located. I almost feel the sand between my toes and the island breeze blowing through my hair and the (included) frosty drink in my hand.  He answers all of my questions with concise, yet thorough answers. Oddly, JC didn't have much to say once we actually got on the phone. Not that it mattered, since Andrew was entirely more interested in talking to me.

"So, I think October will work for a group of up to fifty, if we are thinking of late October, nearly November." I hear the soft sounds of a page turning. "We start to pick up a bit at the beginning of November and we're completely booked through the New Year until..."

More pages flipping. "Well a large part of the next year is booked in some way or another. We wouldn't be able to house a group that large until around May."

"So October is our best bet," muses JC.

"Correct," Andrew says. "And I don't want to rush you at all, it's just that our rooms fill so quickly, especially for winter months in the north, and-"

"Right, right. I get it," says JC. "Can you hold for a minute?"

"Certainly."

JC presses a button on his desk phone and the ‘mute' light begins to flash. "Nick gave me his credit card number to hold the deposit if we like it. But only if we both agree."

I nod. "It sounds fine. I mean, it's now or May."

"And we have Nick and Morgan primed for October."  We thought they were going to take the early date badly, but they seemed excited about getting the whole deal over with early. Frankly, so was I. If I had to bite back every word I wanted to say to JC from now until May, I wouldn't have a tongue left. "Let's do it."

"You sure?" I give a solitary nod and with that, JC turns off the mute. "Looks like you're a skilled salesman, Andrew.  My planning partner just told me that if we don't book this right here, right now, she's not coming."

I cringe inside. JC is totally flirting with Andrew for me. Egging me on, making fun of the fact that he knows Andrew is flirting back. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was jealous.

Once we've booked the resort and our dates-a glorious week at the end of October on the luxurious island of St. Lucia-I feel like I can breathe. We will be working with Andrew and his events staff on crafting a memorable vacation and an unforgettable wedding and reception. Through all of this turmoil with JC, I forgot to be excited about Nick and Morgan handing over the reins to their very special event and letting us plan it.

I didn't forget that I know exactly what they're doing. And when this wedding is over, our best friends are going to be shocked as hell to find that their little ploy didn't work.  Four months and counting until he's out of my hair.

JC's phone rings soon after we're off the line with Andrew. It's his secretary, Andrea.

I should note, the secretary that he shares with four other associates, who has never once, in the years that I have stopped by this office, ever brought him a cup of coffee or a file or even appeared to be concerned about doing any work for him.  I always have to hide a snicker when he suggests that someone check his calendar with his secretary.  She probably has no clue about his calendar. She seems disinterested in anything JC is working on.

He picks up the call via speakerphone. "Yeah."

"You have guests in the lobby," she mumbles in monotone.

"Show ‘em up."

"I don't have time," she says, and then the line goes dead.

"Andrea?" He punches a button that makes the crackle on the line disappear. "Bitch."

JC grabs a few files, a notebook and a pen from a multicolored cup on the desk. "We'll move to the conference room."

There are no doors at Perry, just arched openings in the long brick hallway, so I can peek into the offices of JC's coworkers. They're all dressed to the nines like JC-dark suits, white shirts, classy ties, shiny black shoes. Like a uniform.

Each office is a testament to the personality of its inhabitant. Some are neat and tidy, files stacked in one corner of the desk, laptop front and center, phone to the side. Some, like JC's office are a mishmash of everything in the center of the desk, the phone buried somewhere beneath that, laptop on a side table open to an internet browser with the Gmail tab open.

He escorts me to a small, windowless conference room and immediately leaves again. I pick one side of the long table and begin to unload my bag-my case files, my notes, a tape recorder. A few minutes later, JC walks in, followed by my client, Carlos Ramirez and his client, Phillip Bailey.

Bailey is taller than I imagined. He is smarmy and underhanded, so I pictured him more like Danny DeVito than Paul Bunyan. He towers over everyone in the room and his black suit makes him appear even larger and more menacing. We shake hands-his hands are enormous. Bigger than JC's, who has the biggest hands I've ever seen. 

Carlos scoots around to my side of the table and appears to avoid looking at Bailey. After introductions, we're all seated, Carlos and I on one side, JC at the head of the table and Phillip Bailey across from me. I slide my recorder to the center of the space between us all and press the small red button. A light illuminates, letting me know that we have begun recording. I speak for the record.

"Today is June 28th. We are at the offices of the Perry Law Firm. Present are attorneys Joshua Chasez for Perry Law Group and Evangeline Blake for Flanning & Rourke, LLC, Plaintiff Phillip Bailey and Defendant Carlos Ramirez. This conference is in reference to filing number FL-356-49234, Ramirez v. Bailey, filed May 17th for complaint of Housing Discrimination and Civil Rights Violation. This conference is being recorded in accordance with Florida Law."

I continue, "Phillip Bailey, owner of Bay Ridge View apartment homes, located at 8664 Bay Ridge Blvd, Orlando Florida, has begun eviction proceedings against my client, Carlos Ramirez, and has requested the tenant vacate the premises well before the expiration of the lease."

I open a folder and produce a copy of the discrimination filing and slide it toward JC. He picks it up, glances at it and slides it back. It is nothing more than two pages of typewritten legalese, indicating an order has been filed.  He's seen it before, but all parties have to see all of the documentation involved in the case.

"My client filed a discrimination complaint in response, alleging that Mr. Bailey is outside of his rights as property owner to ask the Ramirez family to vacate the apartment. Mr. Ramirez contends that he has not violated any term of the lease that is in effect and that Mr. Bailey has and is engaging in active discrimination and has violated his civil rights by attempting to deny him a place to live. The Florida Housing Authority referred Mr. Ramirez to Flanning & Rourke for representation, thereby halting eviction proceedings."

Bailey is quiet, stone faced, staring at the faux wood grain of the table. JC slides a few pages from a folder in his stack and slides it to the center of the table. It is the original Order for Eviction that Bailey filed in early May. I've seen it and decline to review it again. Carlos reaches for it and flips through it, then tosses it back to the center of the table.

"My client, Phillip Bailey, contends that Mr. Ramirez had multiple family members living in his two bedroom apartment for periods longer than 48 hours, which is the length of time permissible by the lease-"

"But that's not true!" Carlos exclaims. "Christina was never there more than two days. We made sure she was gone by the end of the third day! Always!"

Bailey finally looks like he's awake and alert lashes out and Ramirez. "I track everything. You should know that by now. Almost every time your sister ran to you because her shit stain of a husband was kicking her ass, she stayed over the 48 hour mark. I have notes."

JC placed a hand on Bailey's shoulder and squeezed. Instantly, he clammed up and sat back in his seat.

"As Mr. Bailey mentioned, he has detailed notes of arrival and departure of guests to the Ramirez home over the last few years. We can go over those times if you wish."

I shake my head. "Not if there's nothing to corroborate those notes. Video with time stamp? Anything? He could have made them up-it's his word against Ramirez."

"Fine."  He pulls more pages from his folder-8x10 glossy photos of a wall that looks like the Incredible Hulk went at it and an apartment door with a foot sized dent in it.  I hadn't seen these photos before, so I grabbed them up so I could view the damage up close. "Mr. Bailey has documented extensive damage to the hallway outside of the apartment, the door and the interior. I should also note that this damage remains and Mr. Ramirez has neither accepted responsibility nor agreed to pay for repairs."

"I'm not paying thousands of dollars to fix a wall and a door in a building where I can't live. Bailey has insurance, let him file a claim."

"Why should my vandalism premiums go up because my tenants have animals for relatives?"

"Phillip!" JC barks. "This conference is being taped. Shut your mouth and leave it that way." Once again, Bailey shrinks back. He folds his massive arms across his chest and scowls.

"Mr. Bailey just wants control of his building. He feels that there's nothing to stop Emilio Santos, the man that did this damage, from coming back to destroy more property-"

"Mr. Santos is in jail and his wife, Mr. Ramirez' sister doesn't live in this apartment. He has no reason to go back there."

"Be that as it may, should Mr. Santos be released from jail, there's nothing to stop him from coming back to Bay Ridge View and knocking in a door or a wall, trying to find her. Correct?"

"Correct, but-"

"Good, we agree on that. There are eight months remaining on the lease. Normally tenants would be responsible for the remaining months but Mr. Bailey would be willing to forego any penalty for early cancellation. The Ramirez family could walk away today and owe nothing. Step right into something else."

One look at Carlos and I know that isn't the answer he's looking for. I shake my head at JC.  "No way. My client has done nothing wrong; there is no violation of the lease here. Mr. Bailey is evicting them simply because he doesn't like them. He's made up reasons to kick them out and hopes they'll legally stick. They won't."

"Do you have a counter offer?"

I chuckle. "Uh, yeah. Your client withdraws his eviction filing and lets my clients live in peace. They'll pay for the insurance deductible so Mr. Bailey can get his property repaired. Past that, we don't have any other obligation or concession."

Bailey has been shaking his head, slowly back and forth, for a few minutes. "No way," he mumbles. "I want them out.  Not gonna have a bunch of Mexicans that don't even speak English all piled up in that apartment. They're sneaky. They think I don't notice them coming and going."

Carlos rolls his eyes. "There aren't a pile of Mexicans living in my apartment. I was born in Miami, you redneck inbred!"

"Carlos," I whisper, trying to shush him. "You are on tape."

He starts to rise out of his chair but sits back down when I hook my nails into his arm and catch his eye.  He stares me down for a few seconds, but then his calm returns. 

"My wife, my children, my family," he says quietly. "We speak English. Fluently. I want him to know that."

"Right," Bailey says, grumbling. "No dice. If you won't get out, I'll force you out."

"Sounds like we're going to court, then?" I glance at JC, who isn't sufficiently embarrassed by his client, in my opinion. How can he represent this scum?

JC pushes back from the table and stands. "That's what it sounds like. We'll file in the morning. Should have a court date by early next week." He nods at Bailey, who stands and lumbers out of the conference room, JC in tow.

I hear them going down the stairs and finally feel the freedom to exhale.  "I can't believe you want to stay there, Carlos. He's willing to let you out, free and clear."

"I know," he answers. "But like my wife says, if he does it to us, he'll do it to the next family. We'll move when our lease is up and not a minute sooner. We won't be forced to leave early by his bigoted views of me and my people."

I gather my piles together and load them back into my bag. "Okay. This could take awhile. Just letting you know. Housing complaints fall far behind rapes, murders and kidnappings. We might not get to pre-trial for a month or so. Until then, avoid Bailey. He can't kick you out but I don't put it past him to watch you and Gloria like a hawk. Follow the lease to the letter. Don't speak to him. Don't let him get under your skin. Basically, don't give him any ammunition that he can present in court that would sway the judge in his favor."

"Got it. I understand. And thank you."

"Thank me when I've won this case." Because I might not. "And give my best to Gloria."

We stand and I lead him out of the conference room. We meet JC at the steps. "So I'm going to head over to my office, if we're done here," I say to him.

"I'm just getting started with you," he says, a playful smile on his lips. "See you Sunday?"

I stop on the third step down and turn around. "Sunday. What's Sunday?"

"Check your email. Bridal Party brunch at the Del Ray Manor."

I groan. "Alright. See you Sunday then."

"Want me to pick you up? It's on my way."

I start to snap at him that I could drive myself, thank you very much. Then I remember our agreement and try to craft a nice way to decline. Before I can do so, he says, "I'll take that as a yes. I'll be at your place at 10:30. Be ready, I don't like waiting."

At what point, I wonder as I turn and stomp down the steps in mild irritation, does he have to bite his tongue?

###

Sunday morning is beautiful--warm and sunny but not yet hot, clear blue skies, a typical summer day in Florida. I would love to do nothing more than skip down to the pool in a skimpy bathing suit with a trashy novel and lay around working on my tan. I haven't done enough of that this summer.

Instead, I have to put on a dress and heels and flat iron my hair. I have to get in a car with JC and ride over to Nick and Morgan's fancy million-dollar home. I have to sit next to JC at a table overflowing with delicacies and pretend that we're getting along just great and yap about this wedding for a few hours. Mostly I have to make Morgan believe that we're making this happen for them.

I'm going to have to start keeping track of all these things I'm doing so Morgan can have a great wedding. She's going to owe me. Big time.

Promptly at 10:30, I see JC's Benz turn into my apartment complex, so I head down to meet him at the bottom of the steps. Instead of stopping and waiting, he parks and comes around to the passenger side and opens the door with a flourish, all with a shit-eating grin.

"Hi," I say simply, and get in the car. He closes my door and jogs back around to the driver's side. As he slides back into the smooth leather seat, I notice his attire-dark jeans, a button down plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and a gray tweed four- button vest.  A high end Gucci watch catches a glint of sunlight as he turns the wheel and guides the car to the street.

"You always dress this nice for brunch?"

His eyes leave the road for a brief moment. "Do you?" he asks, his gaze roving the chest and thighs that my dress unfortunately leaves bare.

I tug at the hem of my dress but it does no good. It used to be JC's favorite thing, while he drove, to reach over and tuck a hand between my thighs. He liked it when I wore dresses and sometimes I would have to hold his hand to keep it from wandering up my thigh. That memory makes me blush and I tug harder.

"Touché. I just thought you might have been on your way from somewhere else."

"Where would I be on my way from? What are you talking about?"

"Nothing, JC. Just drive."

"You seem overly concerned with my dating life. Who I'm sleeping with, whether I'm on my way home from a one night stand. Which I'm not, by the way. I slept alone, since you care."

"I don't." I make it a point to stare listlessly out of the window just to show him how much I don't care.

"Coulda fooled me."

"I don't. It's just that if you were going to swing by and pick me up and take me to brunch while you're on your way home from screwing what's-her-face with the stripper name, I think that's kind of shitty and disrespectful."

"Really?" JC chuckles. "I think it's kind of shitty and disrespectful that you assume I'd do that."

"Like you never have?"

JC inhales deeply, then exhales so it sounds like he's emptying his lungs. "This truce thing isn't going very well," he says eventually.

He's right. And I know it. I'm instigating. It's just that... I know he's only nice for brief moments and then, when my guard is down, he goes in for the kill. If I stay alert-and bitchy-he doesn't have any reason to think I'm weak and ripe for an attack. I realize, of course, how crazy this sounds. But I know him.

For a few minutes, I hear nothing but the sound of the tires gripping the road and the luxury machine working as it was designed. JC is dangerous when he's quiet, and he's very, very quiet. I wouldn't put it past him to quit this wedding again because I won't be nice to him.

"Okay. I apologize." And inside, I die a little. "It's hard to go from snapping at you to being nice to you."

"I know."

"But... we agreed. So. I'm trying."

"You are?" I see him take a peek at me out of the corner of my eye. "Since when?"

"Since now, jackass."

"Your idea of nice needs more work. Say something nice."

"You first."

"Fine. I like your dress. It's nice on you." He grins. "Happy?"

I'm trying not to blush. He sounds like he actually means what he says, and despite the fact that he bugs the shit out of me.... I'm flattered.

"Thank you, "I say quietly.  "And I only commented on your clothes because you look really nice."

"Thanks."

I heave a sigh like that was the most difficult thing I've ever had to do. JC busts out laughing and doesn't stop until we pull up to the gates at Viscaya.

Nick and Morgan's two story Spanish Mediterranean style 4500 sq foot home overlooks Sand Lake and sits on a pricy, exclusive piece of real estate in an Orlando suburb. There are five bedrooms, six bathrooms, formal and casual living and dining areas, a heated pool, a two car garage and ample space to be anywhere in the house and feel deserted. When Nick travels for conferences, Morgan hates to be in the huge house alone, so I take one for the team, pack up a few days' worth of clothing and move in.

Inside the gated community, there are hundreds of homes along the lake, most of them bigger, more opulent, more spacious and, I'm sure, incredibly more gaudy in interior design. Morgan likes simple, classic finishes so the house has gleaming wood floors on both levels. The breakfast bar and countertops are granite, the appliances are stainless steel.

There's nothing austere and untouchable about the décor. Colorful prints and art pieces dress the walls, the corners are made warm with lush greenery and, built into a wall in the den, a salt water tank bubbles and hums while fish of all kinds and hues dart from one end of the 10 foot tank to the other.

JC buzzes us in with his code and once we're inside the gates, it's a 30 second drive to Nick and Morgan's. He rounds the circular driveway and parks behind a black Lexus that I recognize as Keith and Bridget's.  As I step out of the car, I see someone else has parked behind us and Jackie, who I haven't seen in months, climbs out of the passenger seat.

I laugh. And shake my head. 

"Shut up," she mumbles as she waddles toward me, her belly creating the most adorable bump in her long, flowing sundress. She's fussing at me but she's glowing and grinning and I can see by the glint in her eye that she's overjoyed. I'm so happy for her I could bust. She got pregnant years ago but lost the baby and her doctors told her it would probably be hard for her to get pregnant again. The stress of trying and failing destroyed a long relationship. Frankly, I was happy to see Bryan gone, but sad to see Jackie want a baby and not be able to have one. When Matt came along, she fell for him so quickly. I was afraid for her, for her heart.

I love it when I'm wrong. About other people, that is.

Matt steps out of the driver's side of their sedan looking a bit more like a chef than before. He's gained some sympathy weight and it looks good on him.

We make our way up the winding walk to the front door, which opens before we can get to it. Morgan waves us in, babbling about the menu. She's the only person I know that invites her friends over for a catered brunch. Past throwing a pizza in the oven or a frozen dinner in the microwave, Morgan doesn't cook.

A few of our other friends are already inside, chatting over trays of finger foods and holding champagne glasses filled with pale orange liquid. After that ride, I'm thankful for a drink, so I grab a mimosa and make my way around the table, plating a few things here and there-a mini quiche, some fruit and a few slices of bacon.

I choose a seat at the table, where people are slowly filtering in. Jackie sits next to me and immediately digs into her eggs, bacon and toast.

"I guess I figured out why I was gaining so much weight," she said between bites. "I didn't think it would ever happen again."

"How long have you known?"

"A few months. We didn't want to say anything until I was further along because of... well, you know."

I nod. "Of course. You had to know before you got married."

She grins. "Why do you think we got married in Vegas? I didn't want to be rolled down the aisle in a yard of white lace."

I laugh so hard I choke on a bite of quiche and reach for my drink to wash it down.  A glass of water appears to my right and JC takes the seat next to me. I grab that instead and gulp it down, clearing my throat.  "Thanks," I say to him.

"Welcome," he says back, and attacks his overflowing plate with vigor and a concentration that is familiar. JC is always very serious about his food.

Jackie elbows me, and when I ignore her, she pokes at me again.

"Would you stop shoving your bony elbow into my arm?"

"Uh, sure," she says, leaning in close so she can lower her voice. "As soon as you spill. You rode here with JC-I saw you get out of his car. He's sitting next to you and you haven't clawed his eyes out yet. And he brought you water. Not because you were choking, but just because. Are you guys..."

"We are not back together. Don't even go there."

I can see the disappointment and disbelief in her eyes. I'd love to make it disappear but it's going to have to stay, unfortunately. "You'll find out what's up in a minute, but... we agreed to be nice to each other for a little while."

Jackie starts to ask another question but is interrupted by a loud tingtingting.  Nick is at the head of the table, tapping a knife against his glass. When the room is quiet, he sets the glass down and clasps his hands together. He can just barely contain his smile, which is normal for him-he and Morgan are perfect for each other: amused, entertained and pleased by things so greatly that they are almost bursting with joy.

"Morg and I want to thank you all for coming, especially on short notice. It's a beautiful day and we hope you'll hang out and enjoy it with us. First, we have a small announcement."

Morgan stands, her grin matching Nick's. They have always been too damn cute.

"As some of you know, Nick and I have decided to get married... finally!" She stops while everyone laughs, since that has been the most asked question since they were in high school. They never had a reason for not getting married-just that they were happy with things the way they were and didn't feel like they had to get married to make it more real.

"Well," she continues, "We wanted to share this event with our closest, dearest friends, those of you who have been around for a long time and have seen us through some good years and some bad years. We're announcing today that we'll be treating everyone at this table to seven days and six nights on the island of St. Lucia. You'll just be responsible for your airfare. The resort is all inclusive, so you won't have to worry about a thing from the moment you land until you get back on the plane. Nick and I will get married on the island, you'll all be in our wedding party... and the entire affair is being planned by Angie and JC!"

Morgan waves at us, encouraging us to stand. We awkwardly rise and smile through the smattering of applause and sarcastic commentary.

"So is the theme of the wedding gonna be like... throw down? Death match?"

"WWE, Wedding Wrestling Entertainment!"

"You picked the two people who don't get along to plan your wedding in a foreign country. One of them isn't coming back alive."

"Seriously? Oh, this is gonna be good!"

I suppose I should have been prepared for the reactions, but I'm not. I'm embarrassed that when people think of me and JC, they expect some kind of spectacle. They practically bet on who will win every round. I hate what we've become over the two decades that have passed and I know it's just as much my fault as it is JC's.

Right there at that table, I hold on to my resolve that this wedding will be fucking success if it kills me.

And it just might.

Hours later, as the sun is dipping past the horizon, throwing shadows through pink haze, JC is driving me back to my apartment. I haven't said much most of the day. After brunch, while everyone else dipped their feet into the pool and sat around the patio enjoying more drinks, I claimed my favorite lawn chair and watched the waves-small and weak as they might be-crash against the beaches of Sand Lake.

"You're too quiet."

Surprised, I glance over at him. He's wearing wrap around shades and squinting into the bright sunset. "Enjoy it," I say. "It doesn't happen often."

He smiles, silently laughing. "You uh... you okay? You've been quiet all day."

"I'm okay. Just thinking."

"About?"

"Stuff, okay? Just... thinking about things. I do that, you know. Think."

"I wasn't trying to insult you, Angie. I was just asking."

"And I was just answering."

"Okay."

Now JC's too quiet and I sigh. This shit is hard!

"Okay, I was thinking about how everyone at that table was surprised that we're planning this wedding. And they expect it to be a total clusterfuck. They're expecting us to practically kill each other by the time this is over. And how I really want to prove them all wrong. And I'm not sure I'm going to be able to do that but..." I shrug.

I see JC nod, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. "Yup. Was thinking the same thing."

I stare at him for a moment before I ask, "Really?"

"They're our friends, you know? But... today I feel like it's us against them." He glances at me and I barely catch his eyes through the dark lenses before he turns his attention back to the road. "I want it to be us. I mean, we're gonna get this done. No doubt. But... I really want to blow people away. You know?"

"Yeah. I do know."

I'm amazed that not only do we agree on something, but he understands how I feel and feels the same. In few days, we have come so far. We are nowhere near falling in love again, but not wanting to kill each other seems like a great compromise.

JC guides the car into the parking lot of my complex and smoothly pulls into a space next to the stars that lead to my apartment. I release the seatbelt and pop the door latch.

"Thanks for picking me up. I appreciate it."

"You bet," he says, as I climb out. Then he leans across the seat and says, "Hey... I still think we ought to combine the Bachelor and Bachelorette parties. It'd be the easiest way to do both, and the same people are going to be at both."

I giggle. "I had no plans of attending Nick's Bachelor party."

He rolls his eyes. "You know what I mean."

"I'll think about it. We'll talk about it when you call me."

"When should I call you?"

I smile. "You're an attractive, virile young man. If you don't know when's a good time to call a girl, you're not as popular as you think you are." 

I push the door closed before he can respond and bound up the stairs to my apartment. When I reach the door, I turn and notice the car is still there, idling. Through the windshield I see him smile and wave.

I dig out my key and unlock the door and slip inside, then peek through the curtains from the living room window that overlooks the complex entrance. I wait there until I see JC pull out of the parking lot and turn left, heading toward his house.

 I'm touched that he waited until I was inside to leave.

And I'm confused that it even matters to me. 

Morgan and I are so deep in the throes of wedding planning that we have resorted to visiting the Mecca of the Bride-To-Be: The Florida Wedding Expo.

Thousands of women on the verge of becoming Mrs. Somebody, plus the accompanying required entourage have converged upon the downtown Hyatt Regency, practically frothing at the mouth at the display of decadence and frill that could be applied to the wedding of their dreams. Dresses- bride, bridesmaid and mother of the bride, tuxes, flowers, invitations, and decorations from regal and understated to comically overblown are packed into 3,000 square feet of event space.

Morgan intends to walk every inch of it, clutching a binder that we lovingly refer to as The Wedding Bible. And boy is this book sacred. All of her notes, business cards, quotes, ideas, random thoughts like ‘I think my colors should be blush and bashful' all go into the Bible. When I have to arrange something or refer to something for her, everything is in one place.  

We start at one end of the room that looks like Barbie's wedding on speed and move slowly from table to table, collecting cards and samples, checking out wedding couture fashion shows, looking at invitation designers. I glance around, slightly dizzy from the view and realize I am clearly in the wrong business.

In law, people expect to get a lot for a little bit of money, not realizing everything I do, just about, is a billable action. Mention the word wedding and the price of anything from food to music to stupid table doilies goes up fifty percent. Imagine if a caterer, dress designer, invitation printer billed by tenths of an hour? If I could stand this industry, I'd consider a career change.

Halfway through the room, we are toting cute little bags full of swag and our feet are aching. We take a seat in the refreshment area and I buy us each a Coke.

"Are you getting good ideas?"

We're not purchasing any services at this Expo. We're here to get ideas to convey to the team at Rendezvous. I pop the top on my can of soda and slurp down a mouthful. It's ice cold and I want to moan at how refreshing it is after talking for an hour.

She nods, opening her can as well but daintily sipping.  "A few. I don't want it to be overdone, you know? Enough to be classy and fun but not too much."

"I would never let you have a wedding that was too much."

Morgan beams a smile at me as she sips her drink. "That's why I had to have you as my Maid of Honor."

"Oh really? Cause I'm so skilled at wedding planning? Not the fact that you're my oldest friend?"

"I'm not your oldest friend. JC is. But good luck dragging him to one of these things right?"

I roll my eyes at the mention of JC. We can't go a day without someone bringing him up. "He'd spend the whole time telling everyone we're the happy couple and trying to get free stuff."

We chuckle and sip and watch people-frantic brides barking orders and trailing assistants dragging bags and taking notes.

"So, I never told you that you did a good job smoothing things over with him."

I nod. "Yep. I can grovel with the best of them."

"I didn't mean for you to have to grovel. Obviously something pissed him off. Whatever you said worked like a charm."

"I said we needed to get this shit done or you were going to call him every day and cry."

She giggles. Then stops. "Wait. You didn't really say that, did you?"

I glare. "Like you wouldn't. You dramatic, cunty bitch, you."

Morgan shrugs a shoulder and sips her can of Coke, her eyebrows lifted in an innocent arch. "I would do what I had to do," she finally says. "Including calling him and crying. It worked on you."

"I'm on to you though. And so is JC. We know what you guys are doing."

Morgan suddenly finds the new additions to the Bible to be really interesting. She opens it, flipping through pages she already knows by heart and studying the brochures and cards we've picked up.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't play dumb, Blondie. It's not gonna work."

"Mmmmm...." She hums, flipping pages. "We'll see."

"That's what I'm saying, Morgan. We won't see. We both know you and Nick are trying to force us back together. Don't you think we'll try extra hard to not fall in love again?"

She snickers, and then says, "You looked nice getting out of his car when ya'll showed up at brunch."

I huff a sharp breath and down the rest of my Coke. In my vigor, I spill half of it down the front of my shirt. It's white. And was pristine until now. I'm pissed. She giggles.

"Shut up, Morgan," I hiss as I grab a napkin from the steel holder at the next table and dab at the caramel colored mess decorating my chest. "Would you look at this shit? I look like a fucking slob now."

"You could buy one of those t-shirts I see people wearing." She points at girls walking around with shirts that have quirky sayings like ‘Bride to Be' and ‘Because I'm the Bride, That's Why'.  I groan, imagining myself flitting about that room looking like a ridiculously giddy woman on the way down the aisle.

"Ugh," I say, staring down at the dark spot on my chest. "Let's go look at them. I can't take this."

"You're such a control freak." Morgan begins to gather the materials that she has spread around the table and stuff them back into the bags and the Bible. "Let's go get you a shirt!"

I spend the rest of the day in a t-shirt that says BrideZilla, BITCH!  I'm actually kind of amused by it.

Later that evening, Morgan and I meet Nick and JC at Prime. I'd forgotten about the shirt until I saw JC. He takes one look at me, points and laughs.

"Something we need to talk about? We could do a double wedding, you know. Nick's paying."

"Don't even think about it," I say to him, before waving the waitress down. She takes my order, Morgan's order and asks if anyone needs a refill. JC orders another pansy ass lite beer. I lean toward him and mutter under my breath. "Where's Stripper Name Girl tonight?"

"Jade. And uh...."

He straightens to full height and sweeps his eyes across the darkening bar. "I don't know. Not working tonight I guess." He rolls the nearly empty bottle of beer between two hands and then begins to peel the wrapper off of it. The paper gathers in a pile on the table.

My left eyebrow lifts curiously. "You guess?"

"Yeah, I guess. I don't keep tabs on her or anything."

"Oh. Okay."

"Well, where's your boyfriend tonight? Oh, wait...."

"Ah, hahaha. Very funny, Mr. Chasez."

The waitress comes by with a tray and drops JC's beer, Nick's Southern Comfort, Morgan's Cosmo and my favorite drink at Prime-a Redhead in Bed, made with strawberries and vodka.

"I fancy myself a funny man," he says, uncapping his beer and taking a few long gulps as I sip my drink and savor the sweet, fruity flavor.  Morgan and Nick are across the table watching us. From their expression, I can tell they don't know if we're fighting or playing around.   

"What? You didn't think we were going to be syrupy to each other, did you?"

Morgan doesn't say anything, just takes a dainty sip of her drink.  Nick seems amused but doesn't say a word either.

"We're getting along," JC says.  "Aren't we, honey?" He elbows me just as I bring the drink to my lips. I stop just in time to miss getting a very berry drink spilled all over myself.

"We were until you couldn't keep your elbows to yourself. I already ruined one change of clothing today."

"Sorry about that. I'd buy you another shirt if I messed that one up."

"Uh, no thanks. Anything you buy will be see-through and low cut."

He grins at Nick, who can't help but grin back. "What can I say? I'm a man."

"You're a pig."

"Guilty. Now let's stop flirting before these two freak out."

"You first," I say, taking another gulp of my drink and setting it down. "What did you guys do today? I bet it doesn't top wedding-palooza."

"Uh, we had a tee time at 9:30,"says Nick. "Played around, what? Eighteen holes, right?" He glances at JC, who nods. "Had some lunch at the Marina."

"They have a cute new waitress over there. Gonna have to stop by there more often."

"Guys have it so easy when it comes to weddings. Did you do anything resembling work?"

"Stopped by the tux shop," JC says. "Picked out some cool duds."

"Do I get to see what the duds look like?" Morgan, understandably concerned because Nick and JC's idea of nice and our idea of nice could be on separate continents, looks almost frantic.

Nick coos at her, gathering her to him and giving her a light, sweet kiss on her temple. "Don't worry about it, baby," he says. "They're nice. I promise. We worked with the manager. He assured us that we were the most handsome guys he's ever seen."

He pauses and looks at JC with his one eye narrowed. "Hey, he wouldn't lie to get our business, would he?"

"Nah," says JC, gulping more of his beer. He sets the bottle down and adds, "I mean, probably not. We wanted the purple crushed velvet, right?"

"The Elvis Collection, yeah. With the leopard print lapel. I thought that looked great on you, man."

"Hey, thanks. It's a bold choice, but I believe in making a statement in wedding fashion."

"You guys are hysterical," Morgan says.

"Aren't we?" JC pushes back from the table and stands. "Gotta go drain the snake. Wanna come help?"

I don't give him the benefit of even looking at him.  "You'd better be talking to Nick."

"Worth a shot." He ambles away from the table. I watch him work his way around the room and down the hall to the restrooms.

"So you guys are getting along pretty well," Nick remarks. "Kinda."

"We're doing the best we can."

"I noticed you rode with him to the brunch. That was a good sign."

"A good sign that he manhandled his way into giving me a ride. Look..."

Exasperated, I cross my arms and lean forward onto the table. "I so appreciate that you guys want love and happiness for me. And for JC. Just... please don't get your hopes up. We both know that you guys think this is going to be some kind of romantic catalyst and maybe if we didn't have a deep, dark past, that could be possible-"

"Maybe the deep dark past doesn't need to be so deep. Or dark," Morgan says. "Is it really that big of a deal? I think you two should just... lighten up."

"I think..." I dip my head, carefully considering my words. These are my oldest, best friends who have no idea what they're meddling in. I raise my head and strengthen my resolve. "I think you guys should let me and JC live like we need to live to get through life. I think you guys don't get why this.... thing started. I think you guys think it's silly and it's petty but it's not, not to me. And since the feelings are mine, I get to declare them valid. And I get to feel them until I don't anymore.

"And you guys should know that JC and I agreed that we're taking you up on your offer that we never have to see each other again after your wedding. So whatever you think is going to happen? It isn't. And if this is the only reason you're getting married, you might want to reconsider. It's a lot of money to spend, to gamble on something that's never going to happen."

Morgan's blue eyes are wide and wet with tears. Nick stares, slack jawed but hasn't said a word. JC takes that moment to come back to the table and drops into his seat. After a few moments of silence, he asks, "What? What's up?"

I reach for my purse, which I'd hung on the back of my chair when I came in. I sling it over my shoulder as I stand. "I've got to go. I have some work I've been avoiding. And I want to take off this t-shirt. People keep giving me weird looks and thumbs up."

I wind my way through the crowd and exit the bar into the parking lot. I'm almost at my car before I hear my name. I stop and turn around to face JC, who is jogging across the pavement toward me.

"So, here's the thing," he says, panting just from that short run.  "I know you're like... still hurt or whatever. And you think you're being the bigger person by being benevolent and being nice to me, and not that I don't appreciate it, but could you please remember that you're not doing it for me? You're doing it for them."

He points toward the building and the bright purple and indigo blue fluorescent sign. "We love them. We're happy for them. We're doing this for them. Morgan gets her dream wedding, right? That's the speech you gave me?"

I fold my arms across my chest and glare up at him. "Yeah. So?"

"So, how about you let go of your shitty attitude and try to keep the politics between us away from them. You didn't have to tell them about our agreement. We could have just kept that between us and then quietly let it go."

"JC, you saw them! They're practically giddy that you let me get in your car and drive me to the brunch a few weeks ago. They see everything as a sign that we're getting back together."

"So the fuck what, Angie! Why not let them have their fantasy? Won't they eventually pick up that it isn't going to happen?"

"Let's see... we broke up in high school. They haven't picked it up so far, have they? They're still holding a flame. Also? It's not just their fantasy, is it?"

He stands in front of me, his hands on his hips, fire in his eyes, his face flushed red. "What are you talking about?"

"They aren't the only ones that want us to get back together, is what I'm talking about. You would love that, wouldn't you?"

JC rolls his eyes and begins to laugh. A loud, long, hearty-but sarcastic laugh. "Oh you think so? Honey, if I wanted you back, I would have you back."

"Honey... same here."

We seem to have reached some sort of impasse, casing each other in the parking lot like an animal with its prey.  Finally, I break my gaze and step backward, toward my car.

"I'd love to stand here and stare at you all night, but I have shit to do. And I'd rather hang out with a battery operated apparatus than be with you right now."

"Angie...wait." I reach my car and shove the key into the lock. It pops open and I lift the door handle, swinging the driver side door open. JC reaches for the door and blocks the opening so I can't get in. "Evangeline. Stop."

"What?"

"All I wanted to say is... I want us to spare their feelings.  You're still hurt and still mad and I get that. But it was almost twenty years ago and if you can't let it go, pretend to let it go and if you can't do that, pretend to pretend. Fuck, whatever, but your best friend is in there crying her eyes out. You didn't have to do that to her, just so you can stay hurt and be right."

I glare at him, sending red hot lasers from my eyes to his. Eventually he gets the point, and with a frustrated puff of air from his lips, he backs off, unblocking entry to my car. I get in and shut the door, stab the ignition with the key and slam the car into drive. I speed out of the parking lot, nearly running over a few pedestrians and rear ending a BMW.

By the time I reach my apartment I am calm. And repentant. Because I know JC is right.

God, I hate it when he's right.

Before I get out of the car, I dig out my phone and open the text messaging app, typing out a short message to Morgan.

‘So I'm a kind of a dramatic cunt myself. Sorry. Hormones?'

A few minutes later a notification pops up on my screen.

‘Forgiven. I'm sorry too. I shouldn't push what I want on you guys. I just wish you could see how perfect you still are for each other. It makes me sad that you don't.'

I sigh. She's such a romantic. A diehard romantic, the worst kind. Remembering JC's words, I opt not to argue with her.

‘Thanks for wanting something good for me. I gotta get into these briefs. And not the fun kind. ;)'

She doesn't respond back, so I tuck my phone away and get out of the car and climb the steps to my apartment. I go through my usual coming home routine-check the mail, check the plants, check the answering machine that sits on my desk where I rarely do office work. It only gets used by my mother. The light is blinking, which means she called today, so I press the button and turn up the volume and head toward my bedroom.

"Hi honey, it's mom." Her voice rings out loud and clear like she's in the next room. "I'm giving you a call here because it's not an emergency and I don't want you to worry, but I'm at the hospital with dad, and-"

 I rush out of my bedroom and practically run toward the machine.  "He had an episode and we think one of his meds isn't quite working out. They want to keep him for observation, so..." I hear her sigh into the receiver. "We're at McCord General if you want to stop by. He's kind of bored, so bring him some books or a magazine or something. He's driving me crazy."

My heart is racing and I'm lightheaded and I don't know what to think. I pace my apartment, trying to decide what to do first. I look for my purse and grab my phone. My hands are shaking so badly I can just barely find my mom's cell phone number in the list of recent numbers I've dialed.

I run to my bedroom, phone tucked between my shoulder and ear, listening to the line ring. I start pulling off the t-shirt while opening a drawer and digging through it to find a clean shirt. The line rings and rings and rings. Why isn't she picking up?! Did something happen?

Her voicemail message plays and I leave a message. "Mom, I just got your message! I hate that you didn't call me on my cell! Where are you? What happened? I'm coming! Call me!"

Just then my doorbell rings. And then I hear a heavy knock, a pounding on the door. I glance at the clock- 9:43PM. Who would be at my house at almost 10:00? Pounding, almost knocking the door down?

I rush back to the living room and fling the door open. JC is standing there, fist raised to bang on the door some more. He's quiet for longer than a few seconds and it's not until I feel the breeze that I realize I didn't put on another shirt.

My arms cross over my flimsy lace bra and give JC a nasty look. "What now?"

"You gotta get to the hospital," he says.

"I know. They admitted my dad. I just got the message my mom left. How-"

"My mom," he says, brushing past me and into the apartment. "She saw the ambulance earlier. She was wondering if everything was okay. She called me to see if I was with you and when I asked her why, and she told me, I knew you didn't know. You wouldn't be hanging out at a bar while your dad's in the hospital."

"Okay, so... you couldn't call me? You had to come beat my door down?"

"I..."His face clouds over, like he hadn't thought of that. "I don't know, I just thought maybe I would take you. I didn't want you to drive if you were upset."

I'm standing in my living room in jean shorts and a bra, staring at JC Chasez like he's an alien. Sometimes... sometimes I just don't get him.

"So, go put a shirt on. And I'll take you up there."

"JC, I can drive-"

"What's important is that you get there. Right?"

I inhale a deep breath and blow it out. "Fine. While I'm doing that, grab some magazines and some books and throw them in a bag. I keep some paper bags in the pantry in the kitchen. My mom said he's bored."

I go back to my bedroom without waiting for a response. When I get to my room, I pull off my shorts and pull on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. I hear JC rummaging around my living room while I pull my long hair into a ponytail and brush my teeth. I go back out to the living room and find JC standing at the front door, holding a paper bag with one hand, his other hand on the knob.

"Purse," he says, when I try to rush past him. I double back and grab it. "Phone," he says. I roll my eyes and grunt, frustrated with myself. Get it together, Evangeline!

 We finally make it out of the apartment, down the stairs to JC's car which is idling in the same spot where he dropped me off a few weeks ago.

"You just left your car running out here?"

"I was watchin' it."

He dumps the bag into the back seat, hops in the driver's seat and puts the car in park. In seconds, we are pulling out of the parking lot and headed- very quickly and smoothly-toward the hospital.

This isn't a new occurrence. My dad being in the hospital, that is. It's just been happening more often lately and every time it does, I get scared that he's never going to come out.

When I was a sophomore in college, my dad was diagnosed with Parkinson's. The tremors that were infrequent began happening all the time, as soon as he woke up, until he was asleep again. Sleep is the only time his brain rests... any other time, it's firing and misfiring and his muscles are working overtime.

His brain functions fine. His body just doesn't do what he wants it to do. What comes natural to me, my mom, anyone else, is a chore for him.

Dad is a self-made man, having run his own Ford dealership for as long as I can remember. JC's Jeep that Roy bought him when he turned 16 came from my dad's dealership. It was a trade in, in really great condition.

It's been hard for him to relinquish control of the day to day operations at the dealership as well as his own home. He hasn't driven himself anywhere in over ten years.  He can't pour his own coffee or make his own sandwich, let alone feed himself anything other than finger food. Mom quit her job to be home with him, watch him, and manage the house. Some days it seems like a waste for her to be home with him all day; his tics and tremors are hardly noticeable, well controlled by the medication. Some days his muscles have a mind of their own and he flails and rocks and kicks and shakes and drools until he's nearly out of his mind.

They go back to the doctor for evaluation. He gets on a new cocktail of meds. They have to wait for the meds to kick in, repeat every six to nine months. I'm scared that eventually they're going to run out of medication and this disease will be impossible to control. That the ambulance had to come get him tells me this was a bad episode. Something had to have happened.

I'm grateful JC came by to pick me up. Now I can worry and frantically, manically check my voicemail and call my mom over and over and over without running anyone over.

"Why the hell isn't she picking up?!" I'm so frustrated, I want to cry. If something's wrong with my dad, I want to know. Now.

"I think they block cell phone signals at the hospital. Relax, we're almost there."

JC drops me at the entrance to McCord General Hospital and I sprint from the car at breakneck pace, heading toward the elevators. I punch the ‘up' button over and over until the doors open and two people spill out of the elevator. I jump in and press ‘8' and the button to close the doors. The doors are almost closed before they pop open again and JC steps inside, toting the paper bag he brought from my apartment.

The doors close all the way this time and we stand awkwardly in the elevator, staring up at the numbers as they slowly go up... 4...5...6...7. At the eighth floor a bell rings and the doors slide open.

The Parkinson's Ward is relatively new, just a few years old. It looks more like a hotel lobby than a hospital ward. The floors gleam with a high shine, making it easier for patients to shuffle their feet down the hall. A long steel stability bar runs along both sides of the long hallway, something to hold onto if needed. The walls are a muted peach with bright art prints hung every few feet.

We pass the waiting room, full of orange, red and brown leather couches that sit empty in front of the nurses' station. I'm relieved to see a nurse that I know from my previous visits and walk toward her. Her head is down and she has an ear bud in one ear. Her head rhythmically bounces and she's mouthing words as her fingers fly across a keyboard.

I tap the counter to get her attention. Her head flies up and the look of irritation is quickly replaced by a smile. "Hey, baby!" she exclaims, pulling the bud from her ear and rushing around the counter to our side. She hugs me, wrapping me up in her ample arms and bosom, then pulls back but leaves one arm around me. She rubs and pats my back as we talk.

"I haven't seen you in awhile... which I guess is good."

I nod, grateful for that at least. "Yeah. He's been okay for a while but still... I don't like that he's here." I see movement out of the corner of my eye and remember that JC is standing there. I introduce him to my favorite of dad's nurses.

"JC, this is Nadine. She's just about the best nurse around here. Nadine, this is my... uhm... this is JC. His family is my parent's neighbor. They were wondering how things were going with him. I heard the ambulance picked him up."

Nadine nods, her head bobbing deeply. "I'll let your mama fill ya in. I think he's okay right now, but you know him. He's grumpy and giving us a hard time, like usual. He's in 834, just around that corner, over there." She points to the left and I head in that direction, JC in tow.

"I've never been up here," he says. "The art on the walls is cool. Does this do stuff to the brain or something?"

I glance over my shoulder at him and give him "the eye". "I think it's just art. Just nice things on the wall." I see a placard that reads 834 and a tag that says BLAKE, DAVID underneath it.

I knock quietly, then turn the knob and inch the door open. The lights are low in the room and the TV is on. The rooms are outfitted to be more like home-comfortable and cozy. Dad is in a hospital bed, but Mom is reclining in a black leather La-Z-Boy. An area rug covers most of the linoleum floor and a large, flat screen TV is mounted on the wall, angled so both of them can see it. Two nightstands flank the bed and the lamps look like designer pieces, not bland hospital issue. The wardrobe is closed, as is a door that I assume is the bathroom.

My dad is sleeping; I can tell because his limbs are at rest. Mom jerks awake when I touch her arm. I press my finger to my lips and whisper, "Shhhh. He's asleep. Let's talk outside."

We step outside the room and I gently close the door. She's shocked to see JC waiting in the hallway and gives him a hug. "It's so nice of you to come with Angie."

"Just wanted to make sure she got here. And we brought some stuff for Mr. Blake. Angie said he was bored."

She rolls her eyes while yawning. "Oh, he's so cranky," she says. "He's tired of TV already."

"Mom, why didn't you call me on my cell?"

"Well, I didn't want you to worry. It's not an emergency or anything. We're just here for observation."

"But I-"

"Would have dropped everything and come over here to sit and do nothing. There was no need. Your father wouldn't hear of it."

It's no wonder I'm a lawyer; I apparently love to argue. JC gives me a look and I back down. "Okay, fine. So what happened? Why did he come here in an ambulance?"

"He had a seizure... it just kept going and going and I... couldn't get him to the car. They had a hard time getting him onto the gurney."

She wraps her arms around herself and shakes her head slowly, back and forth. Her eyes are downcast, her long lashes almost sweeping her cheek. The stress of Dad's illness ages her.  Her once bright eyes seem dull and crow's feet have settled in the corners of her face. Laugh lines always outline her mouth, now. Her skin used to be smooth. Flawless.

"Anyway, I called his doctor. Dr. Laurence said to call 911, so I did. They came to get him and here we are."

"So... where are we? Did they change his meds?"

She nods and we talk medication for a few minutes, words that probably sound alien to JC but are second nature to us. What he's taking now, what he was taking, what it was supposed to do for him.

"He's sleeping now, which is a hell of a lot more than he's been doing lately. I practically can't even be in the same bed anymore. If he's the slightest bit awake, he's shaking. The other night..." She starts to laugh, despite herself. "The bed was... you know, tapping against the wall. He said... he said, ‘too bad Angie isn't here to think we're having sex and be embarrassed.'"

She giggles loudly, then covers her mouth. JC is trying not to laugh and not succeeding.

"You could have kept that to yourself, mom. Really."

"Oh, it was so funny..."

"Really. I... I can't hear anymore."

I hear a noise inside the room and we look at each other. "Sounds like he's awake," she says. "Go on in and say hello."

I push the door open again and my dad is sitting up in bed. His head and hands have already begun shaking-light tremors, but tremors nonetheless.

"Hey, look who's here," says dad. His voice slurs the smallest bit. His tongue often seems too thick for his mouth. "Good to see ya."

"Hi dad." I lean over and kiss his forehead and brush a lock of his hair back. "Nadine says you're being bad in here."

"I'm not being bad. I just wanted a burger. All they have is chicken. They can't go get me a nice burger?"

"Daddy, they're concerned about your health."

"Ehhh. I don't have heart disease." Movement behind me catches his eye and he dips his head around me to see JC standing just inside the door. "Oh, hey. Did you come with Angie?"

"He drove me. We brought you some things to read." JC steps forward with the bag and I begin to unload its contents onto the rolling tray parked next to the bed. "There are some news magazines... People... Shape?"

I give JC a questioning stare, at which he shrugs as if he is helpless. I turn back to my dad. "Well if you like looking at chicks working out, there's that."

He takes the magazine and opens it to an ad for sports bras. "Oh, I might like that."

"And there are some books here. Plenty to keep you occupied." I drop the bag next to the bed and have a seat in the empty spot next to him. "So how long are you here?"

"Couple days. I'll be out maybe Tuesday." Dad suddenly looks very tired. He blinks slowly, his eyes drifting toward the TV. Then suddenly he pops them wide open and he grins. "Hey, you think I should let them electrocute me?"

Mom clicks her tongue and hides her face behind a palm.

"What's he talking about? Like shock therapy?"

"It's that deep brain stimulation. It's not shock therapy, but it's kind of similar. It's supposed to help the severe cases of tremors."

"Oh." I turn back to Dad. "Do you want to do that? Will that help you?"

"They brought it up. But we won't go to that unless these new meds don't work."

"And how long are they evaluating them?"

"We'll give it a few months. Like always." He pats my hand, the one closest to me and says, with a twinkle in his eye, "Good to see JC. You two uh..."

I shake my head and try to smile. Keep the politics between us. "No, dad. JC is just being nice."

I turn to him then. "But you can probably go. I'll stay here with my parents."

"No, no, no," starts Dad.

"Oh honey, no," says Mom.

"I don't want to strand you here," says JC.

"You know what you can do, JC, is take my girls home." Both of us protest.  Dad raises both hands to demand quiet. "Look, I'm going to take some more meds and go back to sleep. You don't need to be here to listen to me snore. Come back tomorrow. Be ready to play some poker, some gin rummy. And bring me a burger."

Mom and I are quiet. JC is in the corner looking helpless. We're all just staring at each other.

"Get out!" He yells. I hop off of the bed and drop a kiss on his cheek. "You don't have to yell, old man."

"People don't listen when I don't yell. Get outta here. And don't forget my burger."

"I got it. Your burger."

"And some playing cards. You know the ones I mean."

"Yes dad." I know the ones he means. He keeps them in a special drawer in a cabinet in the dining room. When his salesmen and other friends used to come over for poker night, he'd throw a green felt cloth over the table and get out the cards and set out some drinks and appetizers. It's been a long time since Dad hosted poker night.

Mom gathers her things, yawning the entire time. I know there's no way she can sleep in that chair. She must be dead tired and so thankful to be going home. JC opens the door and we file out of the room.

"Goodnight, Mr. Blake," he says to my dad.

"Goodnight, son," My dad slurs, already back on his way to sleep.

We walk back to the elevator, just past the nurses' station. Nadine waves as we step into the elevator and the doors close. The ride down to the first floor is quiet. Mom is on one end, JC is on the other. She has the oddest smile on her face.

I nudge her with my elbow and shake my head. Because I know what she's thinking, and we are not back together. She does her best to contain a giggle.

I ride with JC to my parent's house and we drop off my mom. I get in the front seat as we watch her unlock the door and enter the house. She turns off the porch light, our sign that we can drive away. JC pulls away from the curb and takes the familiar turns that lead back to the highway, toward my apartment.

It's quiet inside the car-such a different experience than riding in my car. Not that it's a beater but it's nowhere near this quiet in my car. The Orlando landscape is dark, the skies are murky black. JC guides the car through traffic with skill and ease.  He hasn't said a word in a while.

"It was nice of you to come and get me. I appreciate it."

"Sure."

"And to drive my mom home. She'll sleep well tonight."

"Yep."

I'm uncomfortable with his silence, his short choppy sentences, his one word answers. I would almost rather he hurl hurtful words at me than not say anything at all.

"Everything okay?" I ask.

"Fine," he answers, and doesn't elaborate.

I give up and sit back. We're a few minutes from my apartment, so I decide to enjoy the peace and quiet.

"I hadn't seen your dad in a few years," he says. A quiet admission. "I heard the Parkinson's was getting worse. I didn't realize how much worse."

"Yep."

"Just makes you think. You know?"

"About?"

"Mortality." He glances over at me quickly before his eyes return to the road. "How short life is. You realize how much time we spend on really stupid shit. You know?"

I study the side of his face, illuminated only by moonlight. Something... something on the edge of his voice intrigues me.

"Is that supposed to mean something? Some kind of thinly veiled jab about why we fight all the time? Now it's really stupid shit because you decide it is?"

JC chuckles, shaking his head. He gives me a wry grin. "Everything's about you, right Angie?"

"Oh, no sir. Everything's about you."

"Let's... let's not."

I let my silence speak for me and stare out of the window at the pitch black night outside. In a few minutes, the car is slowing and JC pulls into the parking lot and the same spot he was in before.

I reach for the door latch. "Thank you again. I appreciate your help tonight."

"Sure."

He nods, sitting there. Maybe it was his hair or his eyes or the way he was selfless and thoughtful for once, but in the combo of the light from the moon and the street lamps along the sidewalk, I see a glimpse of the boy I used to love.

I shake the thought from my head and get out of the car. I'm halfway up the steps when I hear JC call my name. I turn, one hand on the rail, one foot on the step above.

"Yeah?"

"Do you mind if I stop in on your dad? Play some cards, shoot the shit."

I want to ask him why he would do that, but something tells me not to. Just let it go.

"He's not actually all that good at Poker," I say. "Either that or he lets me win."

He laughs. "I'm pretty good at poker, so we'll find out."

"Don't bleed him dry or anything."

"I'll try to cut him a break. And I'll bring him a burger."

I start laughing and turn to climb the stairs. Then I stop and turn again. "Thank you, JC. I mean it, for what it's worth.  I'm trying not to question your motives or be suspicious about it and I hope I don't regret that. But just in case your intentions are good... thanks."

"Sure."

He dips his head back into the window, which silently rises, encasing him inside the car. I know he'll sit there until I go inside, so I climb the rest of the steps and enter my apartment. And just like last time, I watch from the living room as the tail lights from his Benz pull out of the parking lot and turn left. He's on his way home.

I collapse onto the couch and lie there, staring at the ceiling. I'm not sleepy. I'm not emotional.  

My eyes float up toward the wall clock like I don't already know that it's late, much too late to still be at the office. My schedule, however, is full. I haven't done much but sleep, eat and work for the last few weeks. I've been in my office or in a meeting or in court or in bed. And not even having any fun there.

I sit back in my ergonomic chair and drop my pen into the crease of the law journal I'm scouring, looking for something, anything to help me settle this case I'm working-another slimy landlord and helpless tenant. We're seeing more of these everyday and honestly, it's getting tiresome. My neck is tight from stress and from sitting, bent over a page, for days on end. I tip my head back and forth, working out the kinks. I hear the joints creak and pop. Gosh, I'm getting old.

A not-so-ladylike yawn roars from my mouth. Seeing that it is 1am has made me even more tired. I decide that I can't do much more tonight and a fresh pair of eyes in the morning would be so much more helpful. I also decide not to take anything home tonight, for the first night in weeks.

I hear a light taptap at my office door. I'm surprised that anyone is still in the building. Cautious, I reach into my purse and wrap my fingers around my keychain Mace dispenser.  

"Hello? Who's there?"

"Just me," I hear through the door, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

"Come on in, Ty." The knob turns and Tyler's buzz cut blonde hairdo, forehead and warm brown eyes poke into the room. Like his brother, I can tell he's smiling by his eyes. 

"Hey. Are we going home any time soon?"

"I am going home right now. I don't know about you. Why are you here? Who else is here? I thought I was alone."

He steps into the room, wrestling with the door to get to the spare chair. My office is so small that having the door open cuts it in half. I can't walk past my desk without closing the door.  He settles into the straight back chair and heaves a sigh.

"You almost were. I was here late, working on my new case. That's four, now." He holds up four stubby fingers and beams with pride. "Anyway, I saw your car still out there when I was leaving. Came back in."

I frown, feeling terrible. "Why didn't you come tell me? We have security patrol."

He shrugs, his cheeks developing a rosy glow. "Couldn't. I know you're busy, got a lot of stuff going on. I didn't want to disturb you but I couldn't leave you here by yourself. I just went back to my desk and worked on a few more things. I heard your mega yawn and figured you were about done. If you weren't ready to go, I was going to carry you out of here."

I laugh. He'd do it, too. I once got terribly, embarrassingly drunk and started a screaming match with JC in the backyard at the Chasez's. The next thing I know, I am being lifted up over Tyler's shoulder and carted toward my parent's house. He gently deposited me on the front porch steps and sat with me while I cried my eyes out.

That was back when JC would make me so furious I would cry. It's been a long time since that happened. In fact, I was so embarrassed at that incident that it hasn't happened since. I get angry. I don't cry.

"But it's Friday night! You should have been out with the ladies, not babysitting me."

He shrugs again. "All I'm saying is that I was told if I ever left you here by yourself, I would lose an important appendage. Permanently." He nods, his eyebrows high on his forehead. Then starts to laugh.

"Who said that? Greg?" I'm guessing it's one of the Firm partners. "He's kind of dad-like."

"Nah. Your boyfriend."

"My boyf-- ah, shit. Yep, it's time to go."

I rise from my chair and grab my purse. "Let's go," I say. "I can't get out of here with you in that chair."

We file out of my office and I lock the door. Tyler leads us through the hallways and out the back door to the rear parking lot. Behind us, the building secures itself, evident by the glowing red light on the card access panel. We crunch through the gravel toward our cars, parked just a few spaces away from each other. Tyler walks with me to my car, waits until I get my door unlocked and open and my purse has been deposited in the passenger seat. I expect him to wave and walk toward his car but he stands there in the space between his car and mine. 

"If you're anything like your brother, I know you're not going to leave until I get in my car and drive off."

He nods once, his hands stuffed into his pockets. "Mom and Dad taught us that. Never leave a woman vulnerable."

"Even if you can't stand her?"

"Especially if you can't stand her," he answers with a wink. "She will be safe to fight with you again."

"Interesting."

"Yup."

"He really said he'd cut your dick off if you left me here alone?"

Tyler looks surprised that I even know that word. "He didn't say dick, you sick fuck. He said important appendage. Man, I see where your brain is."

"Oh shut up. I haven't had sex in-"

"Lalalalala," he mumbles, fingers in his ears. "Things I don't need to know. TMI, thanks."

I'm laughing hysterically and he can't help but laugh too. I feel like I haven't really laughed in months. When we finally die down, he steps forward to give me an unsolicited hug, then a gentle push into my car.

I start the car and roll my window down.  "Thanks."

"No problem. I told you, I'm on a mission."

"I meant about my dad, too. Thanks for dropping by to see him. I know it meant a lot."

He smiles, showing a mouthful of crooked teeth, made endearing by the dimples that puncture each cheek. "It was my pleasure. Your dad sucks at poker. I took so much of his money."

Dad's been out of the hospital for a few weeks. His medications seem to have him back on track and for now, we're holding off on deep tissue stimulation, or as he called it, ‘electrocution'.  I've been stopping by the house a few times a week to give Mom a break and to visit with him.

I walked into the house one evening to find a rousing game of poker in progress. The green felt cloth was on the table, the multi colored chips were stacked in neat piles. There were snacks on the buffet along the wall--- chips and dip, pizza rolls and chicken wings-and even though he wasn't supposed to drink on his medication, Dad looked pretty content sipping from a bottle of beer.

At home, he often sits in a wheelchair. Not out of need, but so he can get from room to room with some kind of speed and efficiency. His chair is parked under the table and he is guarding his hand with the kind of secrecy one would lend to military launch codes.

Joining him at the table were Roy, JC and Tyler. Tyler and JC were chewing on unlit stogies. JC, in a straw Fedora and knee length jean shorts, leaned back in his chair, one foot resting on his knee. His sneaker-clad foot tapped in time to the tune of Pink Floyd wafting from the living room stereo.

"Hey, look who's crashing Guy's Night." JC nodded his head at me as he tossed a card toward the center of the table.

"Guy's Night? No one told me it was Guy's Night." I walked behind my dad to drop a kiss on his cheek.

He clutched his cards to his chest and tried his best to hold them there with twitching arms. "Don't give away my hand. These three are sneaky."

"I don't even know what I'm looking at, Dad."

"Good. Keep the mystery going."

"Where's Mom?"

"Shopping with Karen or something," he answered, his head rocking forward and back, side to side. "I kicked her out. It's Guy's Night."

I glanced at Tyler, who I'd seen in the office all day but hadn't said a word to me about coming over. He still lived with Roy and Karen so it wasn't so farfetched to see him there.

JC was the surprise. Even though he said he'd stop in on Dad, I didn't really believe that he would. Sure enough, when I got to the hospital the next day, JC was just leaving. His only words to me were, "I brought him a burger. He loves me like a son, he said. Like a son." Then he stepped into the elevator, let the doors close on my unimpressed gaze, and he was gone.

Now he was at the house, having arranged a poker game that Dad seemed pretty excited about. It honestly warmed my heart to see him smiling, laughing, eating, and having a good time with the guys. I slipped out the back door and let him have his fun.

"Well," I say to Tyler, "He still talks about that night. He had fun. I hope you guys can arrange it again sometime. His employees don't come by very often. All the friends he's made in the industry... it's like they don't know him now."

Tyler nods. "Yeah he said that. They uh... they don't like to see him sick.  But you know..."

He pauses, kicks around some gravel for a few seconds, marring the shiny finish on his shoes. I noticed that he's dressing better now that he's almost guaranteed to be in court every day. Our little Ty is growing up. "Once you're with him for awhile, you notice he's the same guy. So he acts a little different. He has some challenges. His mind is still the same. Still the same sense of humor. Still the same guy in the house two doors down."

I nod deeply, grinning at his words. Exactly, I think. He's exactly the same, with a few challenges thrown in.  And all I can hope for is that he'll stay that way for a long time.

"Well, I'd better head out. I don't want to keep you any longer. Good night." I wave to him as my window rolls back up with a squeak. I shift the car to drive and pull out of the lot, headed home.

****

The following morning, I'm at the office by 8am. I have a few things I want to get off of my to-do list because I have plans that night. Plans I'm oddly looking forward to. The wedding party, minus the bride and groom, are gathering at JC's place tonight to talk about pre-wedding parties.

JC and I have been shooting emails back and forth for weeks about the Bachelor/Bachelorette parties. He thinks we should combine them. I'm not sold on it. It's something older engaged couples do, since the majority of the attendees will be married couples. What are we single people supposed to do? Then it dawns on me that I will be the only single woman.

I've come to realize that after Morgan and Nick get married, JC and I will be the last of the single people. I just know the pressure for us to couple up is going to be strong. That's why I'm thankful that I have eight weeks until this wedding is over.

Eight weeks until I am JC-free. He's been so nice lately that I'm starting to second guess myself. Do I really want to cut ties with him? Now that we're finally getting along? He's doing good deeds and not on my last nerve... but then I think about the JC of the past and I know, at some point, he won't be able to help himself and we'll be back to hurling insults and cutting each other down. Better to stick with the plan.

Tonight, the six of us-me and JC, Jackie and Matt, Keith and Bridget will have dinner out on the patio and drinks around the fire pit. JC does not cook-I mean it, not even breakfast-so he's having dinner catered and since he is at an all day conference, I am in charge of setting everything up. I have to be at his place at six thirty to meet the delivery.

I fly through my list and rush home to change. I slip into a sleeveless pink sundress that just kisses my knees, run a brush through my wavy brown hair and leave it down. I add an understated gold watch to my wrist, a pair of tiny gold hoops to my ears and a thin gold chain to my neck.

I grab my purse and phone and get back into the car to drive the fifteen minutes to his house on Lake Conway. I arrive and get out of the car, pick up the key from its hiding place and open the front door just in time to see the caterer's van pull up into the driveway behind my car.

I watch as two women and one thin young man unload the van with enough food to feed an army. Pan after pan of silver trays covered with foil land on JC's kitchen counter. Soon, the house is full of the smells of a hot meal-fire grilled chicken and beef, roasted vegetables, diced potatoes, fresh baked rolls and a crisp green salad. They've thought of everything, even serving dishes and utensils and a pitcher of iced tea in a dispenser with a spigot.

I sign the invoice and see them out, then get to work transferring food to the serving dishes provided and setting them out on the table on the patio, which JC already covered with a white linen cloth. I lay the meal out with serving utensils and go back into the house to grab dishes, silverware, drinking glasses and wine glasses.

As I'm setting the table, I hear the security system beep and the click of men's shoes on Spanish tile. I look up to see JC standing in the opening between the house and the patio, dressed like he's put in a long day at the office-suit, tie, dress shoes. His jacket is off, flung over his shoulder and hanging from the crook of a finger. His shirt, even at 6pm, is wrinkle free, like he just put it on. His slacks, pressed with a crease so sharp you could cut yourself, are the flat front style that he likes. He says they show off his package the best.

The first time I actually heard those words come out of his mouth, I rolled my eyes so hard I had a headache later.

They do look good on him, though. For a millisecond, my body goes back in time and drudges up a response to seeing him that I haven't felt in so long I almost don't recognize it. My face feels hot; I'm sure my cheeks are nice and red. My heartbeat quickens, my nipples stand at attention and my panties are wet.

Fuck, girl. You need to get laid. Get a hold of yourself. It's just JC.

"Hey," I mutter, trying to mask my dry throat and heaving chest. I seem to not be able to breathe, for some reason. "Almost done."

I set the last few spots with silverware and glasses and step back, surveying my work. I'm pleased. It's classy and alluring and it will be nice to eat outside with the lake as a backdrop and the setting sun creating beautiful ambiance.

"I could get used to this," JC says, stepping out of the house. "Coming home to a pretty lady setting out a nice meal, I mean."  He circles the table, inspecting. My jaw clenches and I think that if he adjusts anything, I will stab him with the knife I set out to slice the beef.

His life is spared, however. He doesn't touch a thing. Instead, he turns to me and says, "This will be fun. I need to run up and change. I put some wine in the chiller this morning.  Would you grab a red and a white? Doesn't matter what year. We should let it breathe."

He turns on his heel and walks back into the house. Only when I can't hear his feet on the steps anymore do I move to grab the wine.

It's great that we're getting along, but...nice JC is freaking me the fuck out.

Jackie and Matt are the first to arrive with a bouquet of fresh cut wildflowers. I stare at the blooms, not knowing what to do with them. I poke through JC's cabinets and finally find a vase, cut the stems and arrange the flowers in it. I set it out on the table and it makes a pretty centerpiece.

Jackie is already picking at the food in the containers in the kitchen and she hasn't been in the house for five minutes.  "It smells perfectly sinful in here," she says, her mouth full of roasted broccoli.

Matt nods his agreement but he's less rude, opting to keep his hands in his pockets. "The next time JC needs anything catered let me know. I'm thinking of doing a little side business. Got a baby to pay for."

"Oh are you? We might be thinking of something for the engagement party."  

Jackie whips around to face me, her eyes round and open wide. She starts squealing and bouncing like she's about to start jumping up and down. Goodness.

"I need you to calm your pregnancy brain down," I say, before she can even ask. "JC and I are planning the engagement party for Nick and Morgan."

"Oh," she says, chewing and swallowing, decidedly less animated. She chuckles, her cheeks a little pink. "I guess I get overly excited."

"It's okay. You'll be the first to know if-"

"What's Jackie getting excited about?" I didn't hear JC come down the stairs, so the sound of his voice startles me and I nearly jump out of my skin. He slides alongside me and lays an arm across my shoulders. "She can't get excited; that baby will pop right out­­."

"Nothing," I answer quickly. "Jackie's just hungry. Let's go outside."

I slide out from under his arm and guide Jackie toward the patio. As she and Matt are seated, the doorbell rings and Keith and Bridget have arrived, bearing a bottle of wine. JC opens it and sets it next to the red and white that I opened and set at the bar.

Over dinner, we hash out the pros and cons of a co-ed Bachelor/Bachelorette party. Keith is a salesman and JC is an attorney. The volley across the table back and forth with points for and against is like watching Venus and Serena play each other. Both equally as skilled, neither really wanting to obliterate the other, but not wanting to lose either. They'll be satisfied to lose or win by one point.

"What if us girls want to do our own thing with Morgan?" Bridget says.

"Where? Chippendales? Morgan's not going to be into that." JC says.

"You're going to Chippendales?" Keith's head pops up and he looks around, trying to catch Bridget's eye. Though he's against a co-ed party, he doesn't seem keen on this idea.

"Wherever we want," says Jackie. "We didn't think Morgan was ever going to get married. This is the party we never thought we'd get to throw her. We're not sharing it with the guys that don't want us out of their sight."

"Exactly, Jackie. That, exactly."JC rolls his eyes and begins to protest my point. I giggle and sip from my glass of wine. "Besides," I add, "Don't you guys want to kidnap Nick and drag him to a seedy underground lounge and embarrass him with lap dances from a naked woman he doesn't know? Maybe she could pop out of a cake, or pretend to be the maid or something."

JC pauses and stares at me. "Watch less porn, Angie. Like, a lot less porn. Also, fewer 80's movies. Guys haven't done that shit in like 20 years."

"Well, excuse the fuck out of me. I don't go to Bachelor parties."

The patio erupts in a dull roar of six different voices trying to be heard.

"Okay, okay, okay." I stand up, tapping my knife against the neck of a wine glass.  "We'll be here until midnight having this argument. How about a compromise?"

"Like what?" Keith asks.

"How about we do separate parties... but we all meet up someplace around midnight or so and party together? Like a hotel or something so we can just get a block of rooms and crash."

I survey the table in the waning sunlight. The serving dishes are nearly empty; every plate is practically licked clean. Glasses of tea and wine dot the table and everyone is comfortable, and now beginning to nod in tentative agreement.

"So we can have separate celebrations, but couples can... couple up. You know the Engagement Party will be stuffy and formal and full of doctors and grandparents. That won't be our chance to party."

"I like that idea." Bridget is nodding. So is Jackie. JC doesn't look happy but he's half drunk so he doesn't have the energy to protest anymore. He waves a hand at me and mumbles, ‘whatever'. Matt just looks happy to be there, grinning and downing the last of the wine in his glass.

"So the guys will get together and plan Nick's party; the girls will plan Morgan's. Who's planning the end of the night party?"

The entire table looks toward JC and I. We look at each other and shrug. Of course we're going to get stuck with it. Bridget and Jackie grudgingly volunteer their services, but I know there is a reason JC and I are ending up planning this wedding... we're single. They think we have more time, time that isn't eaten up by children and family responsibilities. I decide to be angry about it after the wedding is over. Right now, we just need to get it done.

The party moves to the fire pit, where there is ample space to sit back and relax. Deep, plush couches surround the square marble pit in a U-shape. It's in a perfect spot to give us a dusk view of sparkling Lake Conway and the sun setting behind the hills on the other side. High above us is a canopy that envelops the space and makes it cozy.

JC plays bartender and DJ, filling drinks and running a Spotify playlist through the underground speakers. I feel relaxed, letting myself have a few drinks and take a deep breath. It's been a rough few weeks, with work and worrying about Dad. It's nice to take a break.

Matt and Jackie are the first to leave. At this stage of her pregnancy, she has two modes: hungry and sleepy. She cycles between the two on a constant basis. Keith and Bridget duck out a half hour later. They only have their babysitter until 11 o'clock. That leaves me and JC sitting in the most romantic spot in the house, with a view of the most romantic spot we could find as teenagers. I shake my head and chuckle at the irony.

"Are you thinking the same thing I'm thinking?"

He sits next to me and puts his feet up on the edge of the pit. I'm attempting to come up with a smart ass answer but nothing comes to me.

"Probably," I answer.

He gives one of those one breath chuckles. More of a ‘ha' than an actual laugh. "Those were good times."

Again, I want to say something mean and cutting and biting, but the words don't come. I can only nod.

"I haven't been out there since... since we..."

Surely he's joking. "Get the fuck outta here, JC," I say, laughing.

"I haven't," he says, quietly. And I stop laughing. I'm watching him, watching his face. I know him so well, still. I know when he is lying. He isn't. "That place was... that place was ours. I didn't want to... what's the word I'm thinking of?" He waves a bottle of beer in the air like it will jog his memory.

"Sully? Mar? Stain? Ruin?" I suggest words that I thought of when I remembered that he'd been there first with Stacey. "You're wrong, though. That was place was yours. Not ours."

"No." He shook his head. "It was ours. That spot. That place. I never took Stacey where I took you."

"Same lake, JC. And almost twenty years ago, as you pointed out to me when you told me to adjust my attitude. Does it really matter?"

"Does to me. It matters to me that you know that I never brought Stacey there.  Her brother brought us out here. He liked to hang out at his buddy's house. The guy's parents were never home. They lived somewhere down the lake, down that way."

He points downstream with the neck of his bottle. "Stacey had to have a chaperone. She was loose and her parents knew it. But they didn't know that when her brother chaperoned, he picked up his girlfriend and drove all of us out to that house down there. He went one way with his girlfriend, Stacey and I went another.

"She took me to the basement. Gave me some beer. We smoked a little weed. I had my first ‘E'."

I rear back at that. JC tried Ecstasy? Why did I never know this?

He takes a swig of his beer, finishing it off. "I was kind of out of it. Like I knew what was happening, and I remember it but it was like watching someone else do it. She told me that all the guys in my grade laughed at me because they knew I was still a virgin. She said you probably thought I was lame for it, too. She said you would never have sex with me because I was a virgin and wouldn't know what I was doing."

This is a story I have never heard before and I am listening with rapt attention, watching his face by the light of the moon and the flickering flame. The truth I never had the courage or strength to hear was coming right at me like a freight train and I was powerless to stop it.

"More than anything, I wanted to be with you, but you know how I was. Weak. Impressionable. You could tell me anything and I'd believe it. I didn't want to be rejected by you, so I let her... you know." He shrugged his shoulders. "Take me."

"Take you?"

"She was aggressive, as you can imagine. She stayed on top, drove the whole show. When she came, that was it."

"What about-" I pause. I know he knows what I'm asking about, the most intimate thing I ever let anyone do to me and hasn't felt as good as it did when he did it.

He shakes his head, rolling his eyes up to meet mine. "Never. She wanted me to, but I couldn't do it. Not with her."

"But she said-" 

"She was bluffing. I promise you. That...that I did with you first time."

I am incredulous, as I should be. He is about twenty years late in making me hear him.

He holds a hand up like he's taking a Boy Scout's Oath. "I have no reason to lie to you right now, right? I could tell you we did all kinds of things, but we didn't. We drank, we smoked some pot, we did some ‘E', and we fucked once. I never came. She fell asleep and I went back upstairs to wait for her brother to be done fucking his girlfriend. Her brother drove us home. I wouldn't go out with her after that."

His hand scrapes his cheek and chin. The stubble sends an earthy, scratchy noise into the quiet. It reminds me of when he was just beginning to grow facial hair. The summer before our senior year, he wanted to see if he could grow a full beard. If the hair on his arms was any indication, he shouldn't have had to worry about it.

After a few days, the poky, sharp edges of his beard softened. He would rub his cheek against mine and it felt surprisingly gentle, like a baby blanket. After he shaved for the new school year, I missed his beard. Sometimes he would grow a little for me, but he'd always shave it off.

"She definitely didn't like it when I started dating you. She'd call me or email me, saying stupid shit. Jealous." He laughed, shaking his head. "Not saying I was the world's greatest fuck or anything. I think she thought she could manipulate me. I finally told her to back off."

I'm quiet as I gather my thoughts, to wrap my brain around these words, this new information.  I turn my body slightly sideways so I'm facing him. "JC, you never told me any of this."

"You didn't want to hear it." His words are terse, his voice clipped. "And after awhile I figured I deserved your anger. You were right. I let you believe you were the first. I let you ‘waste all of your firsts on me'."

He parrots my words back to me with a bitter twist of his tongue. "When you asked me if I was a virgin, I didn't answer you."

"Yeah, you did. You said you wanted me to be the first."

"And I did." He let that sit there for a full ten seconds before he went on.

"I did really want that. But you weren't. I didn't think it was that big of a deal but I started to realize how important it was to you to think that. So I wanted to let you have that. I never thought... I never thought Stacey would...."

I watch him inhale a deep breath. The muscle in his jaw pops out, throwing a thin a shadow on his face. He blinks a few times and exhales.

"After that, I figured, you know, it wasn't meant to be. I gave up. I made myself into this guy that doesn't care about anyone anymore. A person is in my life right now but five minutes later, they might not be. And that's gotta be okay with them, because it's okay with me."

At that moment I know he's lying. I don't call him on it.

We don't say anything to each other for a long while. The fire is dying and JC doesn't move to stoke it or put it out. The sun has long since dipped below the horizon. The lakefront neighborhood and the hills across the way are wrapped in darkness.

"I miss us," he says quietly.

I hear him but don't respond.

"I thought I had it all, in my naiveté.  I had my life all mapped out. My girlfriend was my best friend. My folks were cool. I had a nice job and a car that ran. I had plans to graduate, go to college, move in with Angie, marry her, and maybe have like two or three kids. Then the bottom dropped out."

These plans all sound familiar to me. They were mine, too. He wasn't the only one that had to re-do the map for his life.

I hear him swallow. I feel him move closer to me. My heartbeat ramps upward and goosebumps wave across my skin when his arm lifts and lands on the cushion behind me.

"I know you probably don't think about me like this. You don't miss me. You don't even like me and I don't blame you. But I miss us. I miss hanging out with you all the time, talking to you. Being with you. We went from best friends one day to nothing the next. Like that."

He snaps his fingers. The sound startles me.

"I need to do this..."

One moment I am gazing at him with a modicum of pity. In the next moment his lips are on mine-soft and wet and gently pressing. It's a familiar feeling... like coming home. He lightly kisses me, feather soft for a few strokes and then presses harder, more urgently. His tongue works its way into my mouth and the kiss deepens. My breaths come in stutters and I moan into his mouth.

I feel his groan deep in his chest as he presses himself into me. A hand wanders from my neck to the curve of my breast, around my back, my hip, my thigh. Then back up, this time creeping up under my skirt-not too far, but far enough. He turns his head and assaults my mouth in a way I have never experienced and holy fuck.... I can't focus on anything but how good this feels.

How good he feels. It's been so long...

My head slowly clears and the wheels finally turn. Rational thought is fighting its way to the surface. I realize I am kissing JC.

Kissing JC.

JC.

Once my brain catches up with what my tongue is doing, I tear my lips from his and launch myself off of the couch. "I have to go," I say, running toward the house.

"Angie, wait!" I hear him get up and trip over what I guess is the edge of the fire pit.  I almost caught it myself. "Shit! Fuck! Ouch, Goddamn it!"

In the house, I'm searching for my purse. I knew I set it down somewhere-I check the kitchen and there it is, on the counter next to the refrigerator.

JC has limped into the house and placed himself between me and the front door. In the light, I can see his bloodshot eyes, his drunk-red face.  My mouth tastes like remnants of Bud light.

"Angie, please stay. I didn't... I didn't mean..."

"I know. You're drunk. Let me-"

"I didn't pour my heart out to you because I was drunk. I wanted you to know. Finally."

"Did you kiss me because you were drunk?"

"Did you kiss me back because you were drunk?"

"I'm not drunk."

"Neither am I."

I sigh, closing my eyes, clutching my purse to my chest. "Are you going to let me by, or do I have to spray you with Mace?"

The gaze on his face is emotionless. He doesn't look angry or sad or irritated. It's blank, but he's watching me like I didn't say a word to him. Finally, he steps aside, reaches out and turns the knob to the front door. It stands wide open, ready for me to walk through it.

Away from JC.  Why don't I want to walk out of that door right now?

Why aren't I running away, horrified that this man I cannot stand just gave me the best kiss I've had in years?

I force my feet to move, one in front of the other, until I make it to the porch and then the steps and then across the driveway to my car. I know he's standing in the door of the house watching me. I tell my feet to keep moving, not to turn around and throw myself at him.  

"You kissed me back." I hear it right before I get in my car and I stop for half a second.  "Might want to think about what that means."

He's got one thing right: I need to think.

I need to think about what it means when a man you claim to hate kisses you and you kiss him back. And what it means when your body completely betrays you, reacts so passionately to said kiss that five miles down the road, you pull over, yank off your uncomfortably wet panties, ball them up and toss them into your purse.

I need to think. About why I can't stop thinking about kissing JC.

My feet hit the pavement in a steady, syncopated rhythm.  Right, left, right, left. Right, left, right, left.

In my ear, the sounds of Linkin Park's Bleed It Out blast through my ear buds, the beat driving me further despite the vice grip on my thigh muscles; faster despite what feels like icepicks stabbing my lungs.

Neither the trail nor the music is on my mind. I'm trying not to think about it, but it bobs to the surface at the most inopportune times, bringing with it the swell and arc of emotion- elation, attraction, fear, anger, confusion.

The Kiss. It's now a full blown incident that deserves Capital Letters. The Kiss.

I haven't let myself analyze it, make up reasons to myself as to why it happened. It can never happen again.

We are down to four weeks until the wedding. Rooms and airfare have been booked. Bridesmaid dresses, wedding dress and tuxes have all been fitted. Shoes have been purchased. Excursions have been planned. I've been halfway packed for two weeks. Seven days on an island in the Caribbean requires extra preparation. Swimsuit shopping alone took me a month.

The engagement party is next weekend. The Bachelorette/Bachelor Parties and the Shut-In to end the night are in two weeks. And then the wedding. I am so, so close to shoving JC out of my life forever.

And then I lost my mind and gave in to a kiss.  And not only did I give in, I kissed him back! What was I thinking? I don't know. I don't want to talk about it.  JC, on the other hand, would love to talk about it. He's brought up little else for the last month.

Earlier, while in the midst of prepping for two meetings, a GTalk message pops up on my screen. I recognize JC's handle and involuntarily roll my eyes.

LLCoolJC: So the Embassy is all booked. We can check into our rooms any time after 3. And the ballroom to decorate. 

EBlake: OK.

LLCoolJC: The DJ should be there around 11 to set-up. The Embassy guy will let him in. They'll set up our food around midnight, 12:30. I figure we should be heading that way around 1:30.

EBlake: Noted. Thanks for the update.

LLCoolJC:  Hey, no problem. Thanks for the charming conversation.

EBlake: JC... it's like 1 in the afternoon. Did it ever occur to you that I might be at work and busy?

LLCoolJC: Like I'm not busy? You gotta get into multi-tasking Angie.

EBlake: Okay thanks for the tip. I'll put it to use right away. For example, I am going to simultaneously be done with this conversation and go back to work.

LLCoolJC: Whatever. It's your world, Angie. I just live in it.

I close the window and go back to work. Ten minutes later, a new message arrives.

LLCoolJC: So we're just never going to talk about it?

EBlake: Pretty much.

LLCoolJC: What if I want to talk about it?

EBlake: Lots of therapists in Orlando. Pick one and chat it up.

LLCoolJC: I don't need therapy. I want to talk to you about it.  

EBlake:  You already talked to me.

LLCoolJC: Okay... so, what now?

EBlake:  What do you mean what now? Nothing now.

LLCoolJC: Nothing now? Really? You're sure about that?

EBlake: Positive. I have to go, I have a meeting.

I close the window and this time sign out of GTalk, pack up my laptop, files and notes and head to the conference room for an afternoon of meetings.

After work, I am restless. I don't want to sit at home and work some more. I could go visit with Dad, but every time I stop by the house lately, JC is there. He says he ‘just stopping by while visiting his parents'. Right. The Chasez's haven't seen this much of JC since he still lived at home.

I can't go to Morgan's, because her house is stuffed to the gills with wedding shit. If I think about the wedding, I will think about JC and JC is the last person I want to think about.  Besides, no one knows about The Kiss and I want to keep it that way, and Morgan will know something is up and I'll end up telling her and.... I just don't want to talk about it.

I throw on my running clothes so I can exert some energy and I'm hoping to tire myself out enough to not think about The Kiss. Or about how I remember how full and soft his lips are. Or how I used to love to feel him moan against me, the sound rumbling through his chest, my body absorbing his sheer pleasure.

Maybe I'll exhaust myself enough to go home and go straight to sleep instead of lying there, flipping from one side to the other. I won't have to avoid pulling out my vibrator because lately his face and the sexy sounds he makes and the feel of his body-his adult body seeps into my fantasies and it's disturbing how fast I climax when he's on my mind.

My music is loud and I'm totally in a zone, ignoring the pain, blocking out my thoughts. I don't hear the footsteps behind me.

I catch a glimpse of someone falling into step beside me, out of the corner of my eye. He's wearing a plain white t-shirt and black shorts, white athletic socks and running shoes.  I grunt, push the buds further into my ears and speed up, hoping to eclipse him. 

No such luck. He matches my pace, footfall for footfall. Right, left. Right, left.

I yank one bud from my ear as I slow down. No way could I keep up that pace for the rest of my run.

"Go away please."

"I'm just out for a run."

"Over here, by my apartment, 20 minutes from where you live. You just happen to be out for a run."

"Yep. Strange coincidence, huh?"

JC's breathing is all off. He's heaving deep breaths in a way that might make him hyperventilate. His forehead and neck glisten with sweat and his shirt is already sporting a nice ring around the collar. I almost laugh aloud.

JC is no athlete. His body is pure genetics and fake working out- defined as slowly pedaling on the exercise bicycle or lifting 5 pound dumbbells at the gym with your shirt off while pretending not to see the girls watching you.

"I'm just trying to get some time to myself, here. I'd appreciate it if you'd pace yourself a few steps behind me." I replace the bud in my ear and try to speed up again. JC pulls the bud from my ear.

"Not until you talk to me." At least I think that's what he says. He's panting so hard I can't understand him. His face is beet red and I'm seriously concerned for him, so I slow my pace and then stop. We're deep into the wooded area of the trail. There's nothing but tall trees, wild grasses and short brush around us.

"Let's just take a break so you don't die. I won't have Morgan blaming me for killing Nick's Best Man."

We pace, hands on our hips, until our heartbeats return to normal and we can talk without inhaling deep breaths.

"So, what do you want?" I finally ask, because it doesn't seem like he's going to get us started.

"To talk."

"So talk."

"No I want us to talk. To each other. About what happened."

"We kissed. So what?" I shrug a shoulder, nonchalant. "It was a mistake, right? We both had a little to drink. We were talking about old times. Someone got a little caught up in the moment-"

"I wasn't the only one kissing somebody."

"When someone kisses you, do you just stand there? Or is it second nature to kiss them back? It didn't mean anything, JC."

"Bullshit."

"What bullshit? You said yourself, you know I don't think about you like that and I don't even like you."

He shakes his head slowly, with that smile, the one I hate. The one that says he knows something. "I don't think that's the case right now. I think you're scared that you might feel something for me. You don't want to talk about it because you might realize that."

I'm trying not to giggle... the thought that I'd have any feelings for him is just so cute.  "Where'd you get your degree in psychology, JC? A cereal box?"

"You can't win this with insults, Angie. I saw something in your eyes that night. And you kissed me back. Pretty passionately. That wasn't a mercy kiss. That wasn't an automatic reaction. You wanted to kiss me."

"I didn't."

"You did. And now you don't want to face it because it means you might have to swallow that pride you're so fond of, and get rid of that hurt you've been wearing on your sleeve for 18 years."

"I don't want to talk about it because it meant nothing, JC. Absolutely nothing. Just like you. You mean nothing to me. It's just like you to think that you can solve the world's problems with a kiss. Your dick is the great equalizer, right?"

"Angie-"

"No, JC. No. Let me tell you what's really going on. I think you expected me to be swooning over your heartfelt confession, absolutely in love again because you decided to grace my mouth with your tongue after all this time. I'm supposed to pine for you and wish for you to stick your dick in me because you had some great realization about your feelings for me." I shake my head.  "It ain't happening. Sorry."

"That's not-"

"So have you slept with every woman in Orlando yet, JC? Like Stripper Name Girl? I'm supposed to feel lucky to come after her? I'm supposed to want you to fuck me, because all the other women do, right? Once again, I'm supposed to be happy as fuck to be with you, to come after this long line of women you've slept with. I should feel special for some reason, right?"

JC glares at me, arms crossed over his chest and feet apart in an ominous stance. If I didn't know him so well I'd be afraid he might hit me.

"Jade," he spits out. "Her name is Jade. And I never slept with her. Like it's your business, if I did."

 A cynical, haughty laugh falls out of my mouth. "Right."

"She came by the house, we hung out. You dropped by, laid that whole Morgan's Dream Wedding guilt trip on me and I wasn't in the mood. I sent her home an hour after you left. She got pissed off, I guess. I haven't seen her since. She doesn't work at Prime anymore. I heard she got a real job."

"Well lah-dee-fuckin' dah! Good for her."

JC laughs, unfolds his arms and begins to pace the area. The grass is beaten down from many, many feet doing the same. He stops and turns toward me. "What the fuck is your problem?"

"You are my problem!"

"Okay, we're getting somewhere. How am I your problem? What exactly did I do, that you can find so much to be angry about? This can't be just about one kiss."

"It's... it's the ‘what now' question. It's the incredulous reaction you have when I say there's nothing now. You expect us to just get back together, pick up where we left off? Just erase the past 18 years of hell I have been through with you-"

"I only give you hell because you give me hell. You've been an evil bitch to me since the day after we broke up."

"And you know why! So because you mumbled some nice words in the dark after a few bottles of beer, I should forgive you? You know why you kissed me? Because you were lonely, I was breathing, I have two legs and a pussy. You never, ever cared about me, did you? You took advantage of my feelings for you. You wanted someone to fuck and I was more than willing."

He is still, now. His eyes bore into mine with such intensity I want to step back, but I won't give him the satisfaction of knowing he's made me uncomfortable. I stand my ground and glare back.

"I never cared about you, even way back then? You're totally serious right now?"         

"As a heart attack."

"I..." He shakes his head. Closes his eyes, takes a few steps back like he doesn't trust himself.

"You know what Angie? You're certifiable. You're not happy unless you're angry. You've taken this whole....stupid thing, I might add, and twisted it around in your brain so you can feel justified enough to stay mad. Now I never cared about you? So you totally erased all that time we spent together before I even kissed you for the first time?  

"You don't remember going against each other on Donkey Kong at the arcade? You don't remember me giving you all my quarters so you could play longer and beat my score, or saving my allowance so we could go to that pizza place on Saturdays? You don't remember me making you Valentines every year? You put them up in your locker at school...all that's gone?"

"Yeah, I remember all of that. Kid stuff. So?"

"It wasn't all kid stuff, Angie.  You know it and I know it, so don't tell me I didn't care about you. Don't tell me I wasn't into you since I was like, five years old.  Don't tell me what I didn't feel. I know what I felt and I know I was in love with you, and whatever you tell yourself that lets you wake up every day and hate me more, that's cool, but don't wrap me and what you think you know about me up in it."

"Fine," I shout, throwing up my hands. "I make up reasons to hate you? Okay. I must have just dreamt how you've treated me for so long, so you are totally absolved from all the hateful , ugly things you've ever said to me, simply because you had a weepy, self absorbed moment. That doesn't change the fact that I have crusty shit on the bottom of my shoe that is better than your best client, JC. You think I want to be with you, knowing the lowlife assholes you happily represent? Just to get back at me, I might add."

"You hate the man that I man? You had everything to do with turning me into him, so if you hate me, thank yourself. I'm a motherfucker? Your fault.  Sonofabitch? Money hungry blood sucker? Great. I'll be that. Congratulations, you made me into that."

Now it's my fault he couldn't get over me and he's a bastard? As if!

"I cannot wait until this fucking wedding is over and I never have to talk to you again."

"Likewise," he hurls back. His lips are curled into a sneer and his eyes glow with anger. "Until then, I'm getting ready to scrub the toilets at the courthouse with your law degree. Again."

He turns on a heel and begins a run back up the hill. I lean against the trunk of a tree and listen to his footsteps grow faint in the distance.

I have a knot in my neck the size of JC's head. I rub at it, kneading through the skin but it's not going away. I am seething, shaking in anger, but more upset at the thought of being in court with him in two weeks. Ramirez v. Bailey, my discrimination case, finally gets in front of a judge, and while I know I should win, JC is too confident in his client and himself as an attorney. The onus is on our side to prove Phillip Bailey is a racist bastard and he's violating housing laws. It should be easy, a slam dunk.

They have something up their sleeves. I don't know what it could be.  I could just be paranoid. Or naïve... Either way, I'm nervous.

I push myself off of the tree and trot back up the trail. I am exhausted, not only from a hard run, but the fight with JC. I hope I will sleep well and not rehash the entire conversation all night, tossing and turning. I lobbed an ugly accusation that he didn't deserve. It hurt him, and I could see that. I am disappointed in myself - I've never stooped that low.

When the parking lot is in sight, I slow to a walk and, out of habit, look toward the spot where I usually park. My dusty Corolla sits exactly where I left it. Sitting next to my car is JC's Benz. Idling, lights on.

I head toward my car with no intention of speaking to him, unlock my door, climb inside, insert the key into ignition and start it up. I glance to the right, across the interior of my car to his. He's watching me.

I'm watching him watch me, somewhere between creeped out and pissed off. He pulls out his phone and I watch his fingers move across the keypad. My phone buzzes inside the pouch that is still wrapped around my arm. I pull it out and read the text message.

Waiting for you to leave. Go, so I can go home.

I toss the phone into the passenger seat, put the car in reverse and back out of the spot, roll to the entrance and pull out into traffic, headed the two miles back to my apartment. In my rearview mirror, I watch JC pull out of the lot and head in the opposite direction.

We had a horrible fight. He went back to his car... and then waited for me to be done with my run so he could make sure I left before he did?

Why the fuck does he care? I don't get him.

****

JC is conspicuously absent from my life most of the week. Where he would normally pepper my day with GTalk messages or random emails about arrangements, this week he has been silent. A few forwards have come, mostly confirmations, and I've been carbon copied along with Nick, Morgan, Jackie and Bridget.

He hasn't been to my parent's house all week, either. I only know that because Dad has been sulking. He apparently begged out of the last poker game that was arranged, but sent Keith in his place. Dad doesn't love Keith like a son.

I should be happy about his sudden disappearance. I'm puzzled that I'm not. Maybe I just miss being angry at him. I'm not out of the woods, though. I'll be seeing him tonight at the engagement party and he's sure to do something to piss me off. Then we have the pre-wedding festivities, and then I have to spend a week with him on an island in the Caribbean. Plenty of opportunity for him to get under my skin again.

Despite all of the drama lately, I'm overwhelmingly happy for Nick and Morgan. This is a big step for them, and while I've always admired their relationship, I never understood-and Morgan was always pretty cagey-about the real reasons they never got married. No matter, they're doing it now, and doing it in style.

The engagement party looks to be a high class affair, if the line of limousines, Lincoln Town cars and other shiny luxury model vehicles lined up at the entrance gates of Vizcaya mean anything. I drive past the line and around the back of the neighborhood to the Resident entrance and use my code to open the gates, and then drive along the lonely, winding road to the house.

From nearly a mile away I can see the spotlights sweeping the sky from right to left, the beams crossing each other at regular intervals. There are tiny beaded lights lining the wooden walkway from the house down to the small yacht-more a mid-size boat but to Nick and Morgan's ‘regular' friends, anything that holds fifty people is a yacht.

The house itself, a rambling piece of beautiful beachfront architecture, is lit up like Christmas-it looks like every light in the house is on and there are people everywhere. I pull into my usual spot and press the four numbers on the security keypad that open the door at the base of the house. When it opens, I walk through the finished basement, hike up the hem of my dress and climb the steps to the main level.

I come up into the kitchen, which looks like a colony of ants hit it-if the ants were fully grown people dressed in pristine white shirts, black ties, black slacks and dress shoes. Matt is front and center in a black suit, red tie and chef's hat, deftly calling out orders while plating the largest shrimp I have ever seen.

"Take that tray of champagne out, Mark. Dave, come get this shrimp and give it to Dana and then go out to the freezer and grab another bag and start plating that. Let's just keep it going. I don't want to see any empty trays out there."

He lifts his head and smiles in my direction. "Well hello," he says, giving me a quick head to toe once-over, then grinning. My dress is a lacy, backless emerald green number. It was a bit tight when I bought it, which is why I've been out running every day. Then JC kissed me and I couldn't eat or sleep and... well, now it fits perfectly, hugging all the right curves and falling in all the right places.

I flat-ironed the shit out of my hair and then gave myself some waves with the curling iron. I finished off the look with strappy sandals dyed to match and glittering gold and diamonds-in my ears, around my neck and around my wrist. I borrowed the gold sequined clutch from my mother. She can't even remember where she got it or why she still has it, so she'll probably never get it back. I love it.

"Sorry. You just... you look great." He's then distracted by another member of his staff walking past him. "Kevin, the stuffed mushrooms are done. Pull them out and get them on trays and out to Dana, please. And check on drinks at the bar." His employees nod and move quickly and quietly.

"I'll let you get to work. Have you seen Morgan?"

"Living room," he says, nodding to his left, already back at work arranging another tray of shrimp.

"Thanks. Make sure you celebrate with us a little, okay?" I feel bad that we've hired him for the night when he should be at Jackie's side, sucking down champagne and cramming shrimp into his mouth.

"Oh, I will. Just getting us started. Don't worry about me; I love this stuff." He laughs as his fingers seem to know exactly what to do to angle the bright pink tails. They're all lined up in a pretty row.

I move through the kitchen, through the dining room and into the spacious living room. Romantic easy listening music drifts from the surround-sound speakers. Tea light candles flicker through crystal holders, sending a fractured light show across the walls and the ceilings. Front and center is a larger-than-life replica of Nick and Morgan's engagement photo, a happy shot of them out on the yacht at sunset. Morgan's hair looks flawlessly tousled. Nick is beaming. They have their arms around each other and there's this... look. Confidence, love... satisfaction.

If someone took a photo of me today, I don't think there would be any hint of that in my life.

I'm trying not to feel jealous and empty. The more I shove the feelings down, the more they seem to seep around the edges of everything. I don't know how to achieve what Nick and Morgan have.  And frankly, though I went to college and law school and got a job and I do good things, I feel like my life is off the rails.  The only way I know to put it on some kind of track is... is to leave.

I have been thinking about it for awhile. A few months. My job is okay, but I can practice law anywhere in Florida. Dad is stable for now and when he isn't, there's always the open road or the airport. That fight I had with JC has niggled at me all week. The things he said to me keep echoing in my ear.

I wake up every day thinking of a reason to keep hating him.

I wear my feelings for him on my sleeve. Unfortunately they are not good feelings.

I'm not happy unless I'm angry-at him. This week has proven that. I've felt so empty without someone to roll my eyes at.

I've let him take up residence in my life while claiming I want him out. He's obviously not going anywhere, so I guess it's up to me. When the wedding is over and we're back from St. Lucia, I'll make my announcement to everyone. And then prepare to move on with my life.

"Hey! You look beautiful, Angie!"

I turn to greet Morgan's mother Katy. She looks the same as she always has-peaches and cream skin, blonde hair, blue eyes. She and her daughter are practically twins, happy-go-lucky rays of sunshine among hardy, rough-and-tumble men. Morgan's dad is a General Contractor, so he's a tall, burly manly man. His sons work for him as foremen, building commercial structures like parking decks and grocery stores and office buildings.

Katy and I share a hug and some small talk. I haven't seen her since this whole wedding process began, but she seems overjoyed that Morgan and Nick are finally taking the leap.  We chat for a few minutes, until she is called away. I grab a flute of champagne and take a sip, wandering the rest of the house.

JC is here, of course. So is Tyler. Both are wearing dark suits-JC's is black, Tyler's is grey. Otherwise they look exactly alike: white shirts open at the collar, dark shoes and one hand shoved in a pocket, the other holding a plastic cup brimming with amber liquid. JC though... I remember why I fell for him, way back then. The hair, the eyes, the sound of his voice. The casual, quiet confidence. My mouth is goes dry, watching them across the room.

JC is talking, obviously telling a joke or a funny story. Tyler is laughing, his cheeks bright red. The hero worship between the Chasez Brothers has always been apparent. Over the years, I don't remember Tyler ever saying anything bad about his brother. Not even when I asked him why JC didn't get him a big fancy job at Perry. He just shrugged and said, "He offered. Perry's not the firm for me." 

JC must have hit his punch line because I can hear both of them laughing over the din of people talking, music playing, dishes clacking together. Tyler's gaze moves across the room as he lifts his cup to take a drink. I fall right in the middle of his eye line and he freezes, his cup mid-way to his mouth, lips pursed to take a sip. Noticing his intense stare, he follows Tyler's gaze and I am now being ogled by both Chasez brothers.

The smile disappears from JC's face. Replacing his jovial expression is a hard stare, a crease across his forehead, a stiffening of his lips. He mutters something to Tyler and turns to walk away. Tyler watches him go, shaking his head. Obviously disappointed in his big brother.

I cross the room and clink my champagne glass with his plastic cup. "Swell party," he says, taking a few more sips.

"It turned out really nice." I have to agree, looking around. It looks very classy. "JC did most of the work setting this up."

Tyler chuckles. "You don't have to sell him to me, Angie."

"I'm not selling him. I'm just saying, you're complimenting me on this party and it wasn't my doing."

"Okay." He takes a few more sips of his drink and sighs. "You uh... you haven't talked to him lately, have you?"

I shake my head.  "Busy week." And he hasn't been talking to me, which is all I've ever asked for, and I finally have and don't really like.

Tyler nods and says, "Mmmhmm."

"Why?" I ask, because I am curious and because Tyler is being cagey. Is he trying to make me talk to JC, or is something up?

"No reason. He's just been a bear all week."

"Oh. Well we did talk last week-"

"I heard. Heard all about it."

Not from me. I haven't told anyone. I wonder how much Tyler knows. Does he know about The Kiss? Does he know about JC admitting to me that he missed ‘us'? Does he know the real Stacey story?  

"Anyway," he says with a sigh, pouring the last drop of alcohol into his mouth. "I'm going to refill. Need anything?" 

I lift my still full glass of champagne as an answer. He ambles off in the direction of the bar across the room.

Throughout the night, while drinking, eating, talking, looking at pictures, laughing with my friends, I am conscious of JC. He's never far from me-always in the room, or in a spot where he can see me. He's always watching me, pretending to not be watching me. On occasion, someone will slide next to him and engage him in conversation, at which time I take the opportunity to move around, get out of his sight. But he always shows back up.

I don't know what it means, and I don't know what to do about it, so I ignore him.

In each room is a round table laden with food, which Matt has kept hot, fresh and full. I grab a plate and pile on a few shrimp, stuffed mushrooms, and cheese and crackers. Jackie is next to me, filling up a plate as well.

"Wanna tell me why JC is lurking in the shadows of every room you're in? What's up with you two?"

I shrug and bite into a piece of shrimp covered in cocktail sauce and walk away. Sure enough, a few minutes later, JC happens to be in the room. I laugh. I don't know what game this is, but he's playing it by himself.

The volume of the music rises in the next room. I recognize the lilting, jazzy sounds of Sade, By Your Side and smile. I love that song. I stand in the doorway so I can watch people sway to the music, the lights low, the mood romantic and sultry.

I smell him before he says anything to me... that woodsy, musky scent he always wears is a dead giveaway.

"I need to talk to you."

I shake my head, vigorously, to the negative. "You've had all week... all night to talk to me. Instead you've been following me around this house like a puppy."

"And you've been leading me." He grabs the plate from my hands, sets it on a nearby table, hooks a hand in the crook of my arm and pulls me out of the doorway into the next room. "Come on. Dance with me. You like this song."

"I-no...I don't-"

He turns and gives me a look. "Don't make a scene. This is a happy occasion. Please don't ruin it."

I relent and let myself be guided to the dance floor. JC pulls me into his arms, wrapping me up in high end fabric and good smelling cologne. He places a warm hand on my back. The heat radiates through me and I feel my body flush.

By instinct, and not because I want to wrap my arms around him, I lay one arm across his shoulder and a hand against his chest. His heart beats a steady thump under my palm. We begin to move in time to the music, with the other couples. I remember the last time I danced a slow dance with JC, and then try to forget it, because the feelings I had for him then roll back to my memory, too. 

JC is the best slow dancer, ever. I'll give him that. It's more than shifting weight from foot to foot, stiff legged and immobile. He moves fluidly, rocking with the gentle lull of a wave tossing a boat from side to side, slowly turning us in a tight circle. It's easy to close your eyes and get lost in the feeling of dancing with him... it's hypnotic and so, so erotic.

"Couple things," he says in my ear. "In the spirit of us getting along, I apologize for last week. And for... you know."

I lift my head so I can see his eyes. I can tell if he's serious-or lying or just appeasing me-by his eyes. His gaze gives a note of sincerity. His whole face, his countenance seems... sullen. I'm not used to seeing that in JC.

"Thank you.  As for... you know... are you sorry you did it?"

"No. I'm not."

A petulant, frustrated huff escapes. "Then why-"

"I'm not sorry I did it. But it was the wrong thing to do at the time, I guess. I'm sorry if you feel like I forced myself on you."

"Oh." I hadn't thought of it as him forcing himself on me. It came out of nowhere and he expected something to magically grow from it. I can't think of anything else to say, so I dip my head back to his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, too," I finally say. Force myself to say. "I've been thinking about some stuff I said to you and... I didn't mean it. You know, about you not caring about me, back then..."

"Yeah."

"I know you loved me. I loved you too."

"I did love you. And you loved me, for sure. Do you still?"

I almost choke on the air at his question. Mostly because I don't know how to answer it. I quietly laugh instead.

"Okay. I'm a glutton for punishment, I guess." He's quiet for a few moments and then says, very softly near my ear, "I think I might, still."

I'm completely dumbfounded, not even all there at the moment. We're moving in time to the fading strains of one song into the swelling notes of another. I haven't made a move to be relieved of his arms or his scent or these words that I must have known were coming, at some point.  Tyler has been telling me this for years.

"You don't have anything to say to that? Not anything snide or sarcastic, like, ‘duh, JC. That's why you've been hanging around here instead of moving on with your life.' Nothing like that?"

"You seem to have my reaction covered. I apparently don't need to say anything."

He chuckles. "Ah, there she is. There's my spitfire, Evangeline."

That, again. I tense up; try to step backward, out of his embrace. He tightens his hold on me.

"I'm not trying to hold you hostage, Angie. Just finish out this dance with me. I'm not done saying what I need to say."

I relax, but promise myself that when this song is over I am going to put an entire room of people between myself and JC.

"I was thinking about some of the things you said, and you're right. I expected a lot from a kiss and some words. There's 18 years we have to work through."

My head is already shaking. "No, JC... you don't get it-"

"Shut up and listen, okay?" My lips slam shut at his tone. "I'm trying to say something important. About the case we're supposed to argue next week... you're going to win. You win."

I win?  "Wha-what are you talking about?"

"On Monday, you're going to get a notification of settlement and dismissal. I'm making my client settle the case. I know he's wrong, he knows he's wrong, he's an asshole and he doesn't like losing. He'll spend a hundred grand to not lose. I'm done with him."

He exhales, which makes his shoulders drop like a weight has been lifted from them. "And I'm done with Perry. I'm leaving the firm."

I almost trip over my own feet. He catches me and keeps moving.

"You're right, my job, about the clients. I hate the job, actually. It's not what I signed up for. I hate how they put me against you, because they know you're good. I hate how it makes you hate me, makes you disrespect me, makes you think I like representing lowlife assholes. I do it because it's my job, because everybody deserves their day in court. Even murderers have to have representation, you know?"

He shakes his head, chewing on his bottom lip with the most wistful expression on his face. He looks like he's dreaming. "Doesn't have to be me, though. And it won't be. Not anymore."

"JC, I-"

"I don't deserve anything from you. I know that. Not after the way I've treated you, the way I've talked to you. But I'm hoping that if that kiss awakened even the tiniest shred of any feeling for me at all, that you'll let yourself explore it. And maybe think about giving me another chance."

This is the first time in many, many years that JC has asked for another chance. I have dreamt about this moment for years, so I could throw his behavior back in his face and break his heart when I told him no. And get great joy from doing so.

Tonight, those words don't come. That need for vengeance, the desire to destroy him, it isn't there. I don't have it in me to look at this man and tear him down.  

"Don't say anything right now." As if I had anything to say. "Just think about it. And be honest with yourself. There's a lot riding on your answer."

As if I need anything else to confuse me, he dips his head and kisses me. It's nothing more than a soft, sweet press of his lips that lingers for a few seconds, but it has the same effect on me as the kiss from a month ago. Butterflies take flight throughout my body and goose bumps break out in waves, despite the pink flush that crawls along my skin. And Goddamn, my panties are soaking.

The song ends and he steps back, freeing me from his grasp. "By the way, you look beautiful tonight."

He gives me a solitary nod, then steps around me, leaving me on the dance floor by myself, looking-and feeling-confused.

I feel like I am dreaming. I know I am not.

The rest of the evening passes in a shimmery grey fugue. I remember chatting with Nick's dad, meeting Morgan's grandfather. I remember the champagne toast and the speech that JC gave, something about knowing both Nick and Morgan their whole lives, so he couldn't imagine anyone better for either of them.

I sneak out the way I came in, through the basement, to my car at the back of the house. I drive home in the same fog, slowly becoming aware that the words that fell from JC's mouth were real. And while I have hoped for this moment for so long, the emotions I expected to feel as a reaction are a no-show. I feel disarmed and unprepared without the self-righteous anger and hurt.

Maybe think about giving me another chance.

I pull into my parking spot and climb the steps to my apartment. As soon as I close the door, I hear a beep inside the sparkling clutch. I grope for the hallway light and flip the switch, then zip open the purse and dig out my phone.

JC Chasez would like to begin a Facetime session with you. Click yes to participate.

With my heart slamming around in my chest, I press ‘yes'. The screen is dark but I can make out JC's face and shoulders in the shadows. His jacket is off, his shirt unbuttoned low enough that I can see the hair on his chest. He looks tired, but not in a bad way. His eyelids are drooping, halfway closed over the cerulean blue of his eyes. His fingers have been in his hair, combing it back. That, along with biting his fingernails, is something he does when he's nervous.

"I see you made it home."

"Just now. Yes."

I walk to the living room and sit on the couch, holding the phone aloft so the screen stays on my face. I look harder at his image and realize he's not at home. He's in his car-that's why the screen is so dark. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"

His smile is faint, just a hint. "Maybe," he says.

"So you're just going to sit outside my apartment all the time, now?"

"I don't sit outside your apartment all the time. I wanted to make sure you got home."

"Well, here I am. I'm home."

"So you are." He stares at me via the screen. I stare back. "So, tonight..."

I inhale a deep breath. Here we go, the part where he takes back everything he said because it was a mistake. And we just move on with our lives because that's the way it should be.

"I guess I probably shocked you, with my... news. I'm not much for foreplay. Never was, right?"

I burst into laughter, repeating a phrase I would often say when we were dating. "I'm not a guy, JC! I need more than five minutes to be ready for sex!"

"Well, yeah. I picked it up after awhile, right?"

I nod, smiling, lost in the memory for a moment. "Yeah, you did okay."

"More than okay."

"Fine, more than okay. You're Facetiming me so we can talk about how good you were at foreplay, eventually?"

He laughs. "No. Just saying that uh... I just popped that on you without a lot of warning. So I'm sorry about that."

"Well, you must have been thinking about it for awhile."

"Here and there," he says. He sighs and his eyes leave the screen. The interior of the car is illuminated by the headlights of a passing car. He watches the car pass, then his gaze return to me.

"I uhm... I mean... I just don't want you to be freaked out. About what I said. The other thing."

"About how you think you still love me?"

He nods, briefly. A short bob of the head up and down.

"So what brought that feeling... or that thought on? The kiss?"

 "No. It was that night at my house. You were setting the table and everything was just... so perfect. You were beautiful and the table looked great and the whole scene... just for a split second I let myself think... what if..."

He licks his lips. I watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows a few times. "I realized that's all I've ever wanted. A home with you. A life with you. You're all I've ever wanted, Angie and I'm tired of pretending that's not true. I'm tired of thinking I can replace you with someone else. Anyone else. I'm tired of not being with you."

I feel a need to swallow a few times myself.

"You've had some anger issues with me, and I understand that I haven't helped the situation. I just egg you on, I think, because even if you hate me, at least it's something. It would be worse if you didn't care at all."

I nod, slowly. Like a key into a lock, things start clicking into place and I finally get it-what the last eighteen years have been about. Making sure I don't forget him.

"I don't know if it's too late to turn that around," he says. "I hope it's not."

"Yeah, well...." I clear my throat, which seems dry all of a sudden. "I have not been on my best behavior either. I've been pretty bad, especially recently."

"It's the wedding."

"You think so?"

"Our best friends are finally tying the knot, and everyone's looking at us like why can't you two do that?" His low laughter crackles over the phone line. "Weddings bring out the worst in people."

"Especially when your best friends are unintentionally flaunting what you should have had."

"But Angie....you know we were never going to be like Nick and Morgan, right? They have, like... they have an uncommon connection. We can't duplicate them. No one can. And I think, maybe I'm wrong, but I think your biggest problem was that I took away the possibility that we could be like them."

"Maybe," I admit quietly. My eyes drop to my lap.  I can't look him in the face and admit that all of the strife from the past few years has been because I was jealous of Nick and Morgan.

"So I had a long conversation with Nick the other night."

My eyes rise to the screen again. "Yeah?"

"Mmmhmm. All about why they're just now getting married.  I don't want to betray his confidence but I think you should ask Morgan about it."

"She never answers me when I ask. She dances around the question and then gives me some lame answer."

"Ask her again. I think you'll be surprised at the answer."

"What kind of answer am I looking for?"

"One that will help you realize that ‘they've only ever been with each other' myth is just that. A myth."

I rear back, eyebrows furrowed. "What are you talking about? They have only ever been with each other."

He shakes his head slowly. "Nope," he says. "Ask Morgan. You're clinging to something that doesn't even exist, Angie. And basing something you wanted for us on a myth. And you've been angry at me about it for the last two decades, almost."

Why is my world turning upside down right now?

"Just wanted to give you some things to think about. As for Perry, they won't miss me. I won't miss them."

"Yeah, what about that? What are you going to do? Go to another firm? Do you have an offer?"

"Sort of. I'm not ready to talk about it just yet. I'll fill you in. Soon."

I'm reeling from all this new information. My head is spinning, twirling in time to my world flying completely off its axis. I cannot take this night anymore.

As if he can sense my near panic attack, he says, "So you're home, which means I can go home. I'll let you get to bed. Please think about what I told you tonight. Seriously. Okay?"

I nod. He brushes two fingers across his pursed lips and touches them to the screen. And then he is gone.

JC Chasez has ended this FaceTime session. To reconnect, press OK.

It takes everything in me not to dial him back, for no reason at all but to talk to him. This is odd, because I haven't wanted to just talk to JC in almost twenty years.

I get up from the couch, removing my jewelry, peeling off my dress, kicking off my shoes. I crawl into bed in just my underwear, pull the covers up over me. And lay there.

On my mind? In every thought? Lurking around every corner, and in my eventual dreams? 

Those piercing blue eyes, that curly wavy hair, those soft, full lips. The sound of his voice. The warmth of his skin. The weight of him on me, around me. His hands, large and manly and possessive.  I suddenly want nothing more than all of him, all over me. The thought of being with him sends my brain in a tailspin.

My life is, yet again, all JC, all the time.  Right now though, I don't really mind.

Despite my best intentions, I'm sitting in my office, staring at a half written document, tapping my pen against the hard plastic frame of my laptop, and thinking.

Daydreaming, really. About the kiss at the engagement party. And the call that night, when he told me, face-to-face, though virtually, that he was still in love with me.  Remembering how he felt against me that night in front of the fire pit. His scent surrounding me. The scratch of stubble against my cheek when he got close enough to kiss me. And his lips. His mouth, actually. He always did kiss well. He knew exactly what buttons to push to turn me on.

Still. He still knows how to turn me on. He should. He knows me better than anyone.

This week is whizzing right past me.  I had planned to take some well-earned and much needed vacation time before flying off to St. Lucia and I only had three days in the office to wrap up finished cases as much as possible and get the open cases to a point where I could pick them up when I came back.

True to his word, a courier showed up Monday morning with Perry's petition to settle the case of Bailey v. Ramirez. Bailey would let Carlos and Gloria out of their lease without penalty. He would also revert the rent to the previous monthly allotment before he raised it mid-year and would refund the balance, less the insurance deductible for the damage that Emilio Santos caused when he was looking for his wife. In return my clients would drop their claim against Bailey-which they've already agreed to do.

I feel a bit guilty, being celebrated at the office with flowers and a cake from our sweets-obsessed Office Manager. I'd won plenty of these cases but it was my first against Perry, namely against the formidable JC Chasez. And I didn't really win. He gave up.

Flanning, one of the senior partners, tried to reassure me about the outcome. "I'm sure he realized he didn't have any dirty tricks to pull this time, and you'd win. So rather than be embarrassed in open court, he took the ‘L'."  He formed an L with his thumb and forefinger and lifted it to his forehead.  "We'll take the ‘W', no problem." His fingers formed a W and he laughed. I couldn't help but giggle at him and take another bite of cake.

Tyler found me in my office late Monday afternoon. He'd been in court all day, so he was dressed to impress in tan Calvin Klein dress slacks and jacket, a dark brown shirt and tie and chocolate brown dress shoes. I gave him an obvious once- over and smiled my approval. His brother must have taken him shopping-not only is he looking great lately, but I see the JC influence in the cut and the style.

"Hey," he said, stepping into my office after a light knock-knock. "I hear we're celebrating a win today."

I waved him off, but grinned. "Aw, it's nothing. Just my first win against Perry, against JC Chasez, a day for the record books, that's all."

He laughed while slipping off his jacket. It's early fall but still warm in Florida. There are sweat circles under his arms and droplets of moisture at his waistline. "Well, it sucks that you had to beat my brother to get such a great win, but congrats. Proud of you."

"Thanks." I glanced back at my desk, which is covered in folders, notepads, my laptop, my phone and pads of Post-It notes. "Now if everything else goes smoothly, I won't feel guilty about taking time off. You're coming to the wedding, right?"

He nodded vigorously. "Wouldn't miss it. Getting excited about it, actually. I can't wait to hit that beach. I might go nude out there. Gonna burn the shit outta myself though."

"Hey, remember we had that talk about things we don't need to know about each other? That's probably one of them."

Tyler bunched his jacket together in one fist and moved toward the door. "Well I'm in the office all week and my case load is around a level two, so throw anything at me that you want me to watch or handle for you when you're out." 

I gave him an appreciative nod as he stepped out. At some firms the Partners or Case Assignment Clerk will ask for a Busy Level to decide who gets cases and who gets research and who goes to court.  At one or two, you're handling your cases but could do more and should be asking for more work. At three, you're doing everything a two is doing but could do more if it was a low level case or a one-off court appearance. A four generally means your hair is on fire, you can't find your desk under all of your case files and you might throw something -namely yourself -- out of a window if you're asked to take on any more clients. I've been at a four once. It wasn't pretty.  I try hard to keep myself at three.  I function best with a lot to do and a wide variety of cases to work on.

It also keeps my mind busy, full of law and task lists and things that have to do be done. I don't have time for my brain to drift to thoughts of JC, of the things he said to me while we danced. Of the confessions he made to me in the shadows. I don't have time to remember the grit in his voice, the pull of emotion at the edge of his words.

‘You're all I've ever wanted, Angie. I'm tired of pretending that's not true.'

There are two sides of me in bitter battle. One side is staunchly against believing anything JC has to say. That side of me remembers every hurtful word he's ever said to me; the anger and disgust at having to watch him parade new girls-and later women-in my face; the callous and careless way he's treated me for the last eighteen years.

The other part of me has come to the glowing conclusion that I am not seventeen years old anymore.  That maybe people change and evolve and maybe peace can be found in letting go of stupid shit from high school. It isn't like I didn't know it was dumb to hang onto all that hurt and pain... it was that JC was always there to remind me of it. And instead of forgiving him and moving on with my life, I used it, as he put it, to stay angry. As long as I was angry, I couldn't forgive him.

Because if I forgave him and forgot about all that immature self righteous anger, then I might remember the feelings I had for him. I might conjure up some memories of the great times we had together. I might think about what he said out by the fire pit that night-how we had been best friends one day and nothing the next. Attached at the hip for most of our lives and then it was like a body part had been removed. I might remember that I miss him, too. More than I care to admit.

At 7PM I give up and start to shut things down. My cases are either closed or not. At this point, it doesn't matter; it's just paperwork. I pack up my laptop and grab my bag, slipping the handles over my shoulder. I push in my chair, and take one last look at my desk for the next two and a half weeks.  I close and lock my office door and by the time I reach my car, there's a bounce to my step and work is the furthest thing from my mind.

That night, I join the girls for drinks at Prime. Well, most of us have drinks. Poor pregnant Jackie has to make do with a virgin spritzer- ginger ale and juice.  She asks the waitress to serve it in a martini glass so she can feel like she's drinking.

We're a rowdy bunch, loud and cackling with laughter at everything. The group pulses with the mounting, palpable excitement of the pending Bachelorette party and the Shut In and the week on an island, far away from civilization. This feels, for some reason, like a last hurrah. We're partying like we're never going to party again.

"I'd like to thank the geniuses that planned this wedding in October, and not next year when I can drink." Jackie turns to give me a playful glare before she takes another sip of her passion fruit spritzer.

I shrug and smile. "It actually wasn't up to me. I was gunning for next summer. JC was the one who insisted we do it this year."

"It's okay," Morgan slurs, on her fourth or fifth drink-I've lost count. Her thin arms flail, giving away her excitement and alcohol fueled emotion.  "I'm ready to do this, man. Let's just... let's just go for it. Finally. You know?"

"Hey, Morg... let's go outside for a little bit okay? Get some fresh air."

I grab her arm and help her off of the bar stool, then slide my arm over her shoulder and guide her toward the door. It's too early for Morgan to be swaying in her seat, her eyes rolling back in her head.

We make it to the door and walk a few steps down the sidewalk. Morgan takes long, deep breaths, like she's trying to cleanse herself, like this will help her sober up. In between breaths, she's rambling about the wedding. She's always rambling about the wedding these days.

"So, I need to ask you about something," I say, interrupting her stream of consciousness. "I've asked you about it before but a little birdie told me to ask you again."

Morgan walks to the curb and plops herself down on the sidewalk, stretching out her legs in front of her. Her skinny jeans are painted on, her stiletto heels shiny and covered in gold sparkles. They match her blouse, which is red with gold glitter.

"Shoot," she says, patting the concrete next to her.  I sit, trying to think about how I'm going to bring this up.

"You wanna know about why Nick and I are finally getting married, right? After all this time, for kind of no reason. Right?"

I wince, but nod. "Yeah. I had a conversation with JC last weekend and he mentioned that he had a big talk with Nick and-"

"And Nick spilled our secret." She nods, her eyes focused on the pavement of the street in front of us. Her bottom lip creeps between her teeth and she chews on it for a few seconds. "So, it's story time, then. Brace yourself."

"Okay. Braced."  

"Well. You remember that Nick went to medical school and he did his residency in Atlanta, right?" I nodded, remembering. That was a long span of time, the longest Nick and Morgan had ever been apart. It was hard on Morgan and she spent a lot of time in Atlanta.  

"We purposely picked Atlanta, because Nick felt like he needed to get out of Orlando. Out from under his dad's thumb. Out from this place he knows so well, the medical community that has known him since he was a kid."

"Yeah. Has to be hard, when people's expectations are already set."

"Right. So Atlanta. It was hard, you know that. And for Nick and I, it was really hard because while he was up there, he decided he wanted to... uh, explore."

My left eyebrow twitches and rises without my consent. Morgan glances at me and laughs. "Yeah that's the exact look I had on my face, after I drove eight hours to see my man and he sits at dinner and tells me about how he feels guilty that he's the only man I've ever been with, and doesn't want me to have any regrets, so we should break up for a little while and play the field."

Morgan snorts. "Right. So what happened was that he met this girl. This doctor in his residency. I guess she was super hot or whatever. And he was horny and maybe curious about other women, but he felt guilty because he was with me and had been with me for..."  Her eyes glaze over as if she is mentally counting the years. "For forever. We'd been together forever. And I thought we'd be together forever. I never had any plans to be with anyone else. Nick is all I have ever wanted or needed." 

She sighs, scooting herself back from the curb, bringing her legs in and loosely crossing them.  "So. We... broke up."

"Shut up," I said, barely breathing. How could I not know? How could she not tell me? "For how long? What happened? You could have told me, Morgan."

She shakes her head. "No. I couldn't. I couldn't tell anyone, because the only thing that everyone knows for sure about me is that I'm with Nick. I've only ever been with Nick. I'm only ever going to be with Nick. So if I have to look at all my friends and family and tell them...." Her voice fades and she looks away, down the street at the other businesses in the strip mall. A few cars pass before she picks up again. "I just couldn't admit that. I couldn't confess that I didn't have a fairy tale relationship. That we weren't perfect. That I wasn't everything Nick needed."

My heart is breaking for her, my little ball of sunshine. I never knew she was struggling with so much. Alone.

"So, while we were broken up, Nick was still calling me, emailing me. Like we were friends. I was dumb and asked about the chick. It took him a minute but he confessed to fucking her. I kind of lost it after that. I hung up on him. I left my place-remember I had that shitty little apartment in Dr. Phillips?" I nod. It was close to Universal and a lot of cast members lived there.

"There's this seedy little bar, just down the street from that apartment complex.  I went there. Got totally shitfaced. Of course, I got hit on all night, which made me think I'd have no problem finding another man. Picked a guy that didn't seem riddled with disease. Brought him home. Fucked him."

I'm pretty sure I'm sucking in all of the air outside when I gasp. My hands fly to cover my mouth. I feel like my eyes are the size of saucers.

"He wasn't bad," she said, nonchalant. "He was different, but not bad. It just wasn't what I thought it would be. I thought I was getting back at Nick. I thought I was doing something for myself. I thought I was just... moving on."

She shakes her head, side to side, slowly and then more rapidly until she looks like she's having a manic seizure. I grab her by the shoulders to get her attention. When she stops she looks up at me. Her face is streaked, her makeup smudged. I've never seen her so sad, and I'm suddenly sorry I had to ask about this story.

"How long were you guys not together?"

"About a month. We wouldn't be together today if Nick hadn't worked so hard to get me back."

 "So he was the one who came back?"

Morgan nods. "Yes. He came back to me almost right away, actually. It took me some time to work things out inside my head and my heart. That guy meant nothing to me. That girl meant nothing to him. We meant everything to each other."

Surprised, my eyebrows lift and I sit straight up. I've never seen Morgan alone. She has always had a boyfriend. I would have pegged her as the one to put them back together.

I'm nodding, liking the direction of the rest of this story. Obviously they made up, but I wanted to hear that they went through a process to get back together. I'm about to go through the same process.

"He asked me to marry him, when we got back together. A long, long time ago. But...I couldn't say yes. I felt like we needed some more time to be real with each other. I needed more time to figure out if he was really everything I needed. Really everything I wanted. What would happen the next time he got bored and needed to explore? What if I got pissed again and decided to go find some other guy? That can't be my base response. So we put off marriage and worked on ‘us'."

"Right... so now?"

She glances at me, the happiness returning to her eyes. "Nick has worked so hard, over the past ten years. He's been nothing but good to me. Faithful and supportive and loving and always there. He believes in everything I want to do with my life. He's just.... he's everything. I finally felt like we were solid. So he asked me, kind of joking."

She giggles and blushes, then gives me a huge grin. "I told him I'd marry him if he was serious. He didn't believe me for the longest time. I had to convince him that I was serious. He proposed for real over Memorial Day."

"Wow. Ten years later." I elbowed her and laughed. "And you give me shit about JC."

"Oh," she said, wagging a long finger, tipped with a perfectly manicured nail. "I didn't wait ten years to realize I loved him and I wanted to be with him. You... you and JC are just stupid. Stupid for each other, stupid about each other."

My body hurts with the effort to not say something to her, to spill and dish about my recent conversations with her favorite subject lately. I'm aching to tell her about The Kiss. But I don't. I can't, not just yet. Besides, I know exactly what she will say, and I don't want to hear it right now.

"So that's the story of how Nick and Morgan aren't that fairy tale couple everyone thinks we are. In some ways, though, I think that experience saved us. Before that, I felt like we were just going with the flow. We said we'd talk marriage after Nick finished his residency and came back to Florida to open his practice, but we weren't really planning for it, you know? We became more serious about each other after that. I think we just knew that we'd have to hang onto each other. It wasn't going to be easy. We weren't going to be able to coast through this relationship, like when we were in high school. This is the hard part."

I understand. So much now, I understand.

Morgan rolls herself to the side so she can stand up. She offers me a hand and pulls me up, then brushes her hands together to remove dirt and pieces of pavement from her palms.

"Well. That was sobering. We're in the middle of a big ass party, aren't we? Let's go drink! Jackie will drive us home."

Laughing, I link arms with her and walk her back inside. I have a different impression of my best friend now. Strong, capable, and completely sure of where her life is going. I admire her. Still. I admire her relationship, still.

And I still want a relationship like hers.

***

I hear hammering in my head. An insistent hammering that will not stop. Except, I realize as my eyes creep open, I it's not in my head. It's somewhere in my apartment.

The door. Someone is knocking on the door.  I remember that I stumbled up the steps around 3 AM and collapsed on the couch.  It is there that I have awakened to the sound of someone at my door.

I sit up and immediately regret doing so, at least so quickly. I grab for my phone inside the purse I tossed haphazardly onto the coffee table.  I press the Home button to bring it to life and squint to read the screen. 10:44AM.

Who the hell is at my apartment at 10:44 AM?

The knocking continues, louder and more rapid. Now I'm pissed. I hurl myself and stalk to the door. I fling it open without checking the peephole, ready to stab the salesman or Mary Kay lady or Boy or Girl Scout on the other side.

"What?" I practically scream, before I even see who's standing there. I'm face to... well, chest with JC, who fills my doorway with his arm raised, mid-knock. I lift my head so I can see his face, then cringe at the deeply amused expression there.

I turn around and walk back into my apartment, leaving the door open under the assumption that JC will follow me inside. He does, closing the door behind him.

"What are you doing here?" My voice sounds funny, like there's a frog stuck in my throat. "I'm on vacation. I can't even sleep in?"

I flop onto the couch and tuck one leg under me. JC takes a seat at the other end. "It's almost 11 o'clock. You gonna sleep all day?"

"Maybe. Did I mention I was on vacation? You didn't answer me. What are you doing here?"

"I had coffee with Keith this morning. He spent the entire time laughing because Bridget called in sick today. He took the kids to school so she could sleep. Totally hung over." He laughs and crosses one leg over the other. He's wearing jeans and a t-shirt and sneakers. On a Thursday.

"Anyway, from what Keith said, it was quite the party. I came by to see how you were doing."

"I'm alive," I manage to squeak out, rubbing my hands over my face and combing my fingers through my hair. Since I'm starting to wake up, I'm aware that JC is in my apartment right now.  "Why are you not at work?"

JC stares at me for a few seconds, as if the answer will come to me by osmosis. I stare back, I'm sure looking as blank as ever.

"I told you I was leaving Perry."

"Oh." Blink blink. "So you already left? Just... settled the case and left?"

"Yep. Done. I'm surprised Tyler didn't tell you. My parents are all abuzz about it."

"I haven't seen much of him this week. I've been trying to get my caseload in order, since I'm going to be gone. And he's been in court." I look over at JC and smile. "By the way, I can totally tell that you took Tyler shopping. He's wearing your style of suit, but he looks great."

JC shakes his head. "I didn't take him. Of course he looks good, if he's jocking my style... but that wasn't me."

"Oh. Well."

"You think I have a style?"

"Of course you do. I'd know you from a mile away."

"Really." He strokes his chin, brushing the hairs in his light beard down. "I didn't think you paid that much attention."

Well, fuck Angie. Admit to thinking about him nonstop, while you're at it.  

"I hardly think you having a style has anything to do with me paying attention. Everyone knows your style."

"Yeah, but..." He wags a finger at me. "You noticed. That's what's important."

"Whatever. So what are you doing with yourself, since you're unemployed? Besides sitting in the parking lot outside my apartment?"

JC seems to relax, sinking into the fabric of the couch and laying his arm across the tops of the cushions. The fingers of one hand tap a beat on his knee. "I've been keeping busy around the house. Getting some things done that I usually don't have time to do. Working on a couple of things for my Uncle." He aims his baby blues right at me. "I've been occupying myself pretty well, I'd say. Not bored yet."

"Good," I say, nodding.  "That's good."

"Yeah," he says, seeming to agree. This is the most civil conversation we've had in... forever. I'm amazed at how I've shifted from hating the very sight of him to being nervous that he's here, at my apartment. And that I look a mess.

Suddenly embarrassed, I leap up from the couch. "Uh... so I got home really late last night and crashed on the couch and I'm sure I look really bad-"

"You don't, by the way," he says. "You look like you had a good time but you're always beautiful to me."

I feel the flush of pink rising from my chest and overtaking my face. I don't want to smile and blush and be flattered, but I do and I am.  Instinctively, my hand goes toward my hair, which by my estimation resembles a rat's nest. I slept in my clothes, so my blouse is wrinkled. I never took off my makeup and I always get raccoon eyes when I sleep in eye shadow and mascara. Beautiful, I am not, but I take his flattery as intended-compliments from a man who says he's still in love with me.  I blush again at the thought.

"Anyway, I need to grab a quick shower, so..."

"I'll wait. I thought we'd go to breakfast. You look like you need some grease to soak up that hangover."

"Oh."

"So go." He shoos me away with the flick of his wrist, then leans forward to grab the remote. "Lunch rush at Grand Luxe sucks. Let's try to get there before noon."

I'd started to walk away but stopped at the mention of my favorite place. What used to be our favorite place. "Grand Luxe?"

"Of course, Grand Luxe. You like the chocolate chip pancakes." He snaps his fingers at me and tries to glare. "C'mon lady. Time's wasting. I'm hungry."

Less than an hour later I am freshly showered and comfortable in a thin, flowy maxi dress, tucked into a booth at Grand Luxe Café with a hot cup of coffee, across from JC. The menus stay on the edge of the table, since neither of us needs one.  While waiting for the waitress we chat about the wedding, the parties coming up over the weekend, the weather. Everything but the giant elephant in the room.

The waitress arrives to take our order, all smiles and southern charm. She's chewing gum and cracking jokes as she refills coffee and water, then pulls a pen from its resting place behind her ear. I have my usual chocolate chip pancakes with a side of eggs and bacon. JC has ordered the peanut butter and banana pancakes as long as I've known him. True to form, he places an order for his usual. The waitress collects the menus we never used and then we are alone again, as alone as we can be in a restaurant slowly filling with the lunch rush.

"So," JC says, folding his arms and then leaning onto the table. It brings his face closer to mine. "Have you had a chance to think about what we talked about?"

I reach for the tiny cups of cream, rip the cover off of three of them and pour them into my coffee. I do the same with packets of sweetener, then pick up my spoon and stir. "What we talked about? What did we talk about?"

His eyes narrow, though I can see a playful spark in them. He's almost smiling. "You're stalling. Don't think I don't know that."

"I know you know. I'm hoping you'll pick up that stalling means I don't know if I'm ready to talk about it yet. I haven't decided how I feel."

"What's to decide? You feel it or you don't. And don't tell me you don't. Especially lately-I know you're just as shaken up about it as I am."

"You don't seem shaken up," I say, bringing the mug to my lips. I take a sip of coffee and set the mug back into its groove in the saucer. "You seem pretty confident in your feelings. In my feelings, too. You're pretty much telling me how I feel right now."

"I'm not telling you how you feel. I'm acknowledging it. Just like I'm acknowledging how I feel. You don't think it's weird for me to suddenly realize I still have a thing for you? Do you know how long I've been thinking of dirty comebacks and nasty things to say to you?"

"A couple of decades? That's how long I've been mad at you."

"And are you still mad?"

"I'm not," I insist, shaking my head. "I promise I'm not. Just... right now I'm thinking about things."

"Like?"

"Like the timing. You said it yourself-weddings bring out the worst in people. It makes people reassess their personal lives when two of their friends commit themselves to each other forever. Maybe... I don't know, maybe-"

"You think I'm just lonely and reaching out for the first warm body because my best friend is getting married?"

I sink back into the warm fabric that covers the booth. "No, not like that. But maybe we're getting caught up in the romanticism of the event. Maybe it would be better if we waited until the wedding was over before we made a huge decision like getting back together."

"Okay, I'd picture you falling for that. But do you think I'm that kind of guy? Do you think I'm the type to base my life around a ceremonial event for two people who've pretty much been married since they were five?" He clicks his tongue, reaching for the glass of water in front of him. He sips, then comments, "That's a weak argument, Counselor."

I sigh and roll my eyes, but can't stop myself from laughing.  "Sidebar, your honor?"

He nods. "Granted."

I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table. "Okay, for real...I have thought about it. I've thought about it nonstop. I can't think of anything else."

"And?"

"And..." I give him a bewildered look. "I'm scared. Honestly, I'm scared out of my mind that I'll give in to this and be disappointed or it won't work or it'll be like all those times when you would be nice for a few weeks and then out of nowhere, you'd do or say something ugly. I can't hear all those pretty things you said to me and then fall into some elaborate trap, JC. I can't take that."

"First of all, there's no trap, Angie. I promise there is no trap, okay? And second? I get it, I understand that we have a lot of history and most of it, on average, is bad. I don't have any excuse for my behavior except that I wanted you. I wanted to be with you and I didn't know it. You're Morgan's friend, so I still had to see you all the time and that was hard for me.  I still felt things for you but didn't know why and the only way I knew to combat that was to lash out.

"And also I got jealous a lot. I'd see you at Prime with some guy-like who's that guy you dated for about a year?" He snapped his fingers together, his eyes blinking quickly, furiously trying to remember a name. "Doug or... Mike or..."

"Steven," I answered. Steven was a fellow attorney. We had a great connection, lively conversation and debate and he was incredible in bed. But I wasn't in love with him and couldn't make myself fall in love with him. After a year, I knew it wasn't going to happen for me, despite his confession of love and desire to get married. I had to let him go. Six months later, I got a Facebook wedding announcement. He'd met someone right after we broke up. They hit it off, had a hot and heavy courtship and got engaged. I've never been so happy for an ex-boyfriend.

"Yeah. Him. I'd see you with him and just go crazy and not know why. My brother would tell me all the time, ‘hey you know you're still in love with Angie right?' I almost punched him one day-he just wouldn't let it go."

"He told me about that."

As if I caught him off guard, he's frozen in place for a few seconds. Then, timidly, he asks, "He told you that?"

"Mmmhmm. He's been telling me for years that you're still in love with me. And I told him he was crazy."

"So then... how can you think that I'm just getting caught up in wedding fever? You know it's not just the wedding. It's not just our two best friends showing us what we should be doing, what we should have done a long time ago."

"Because it isn't just that."

"Okay, what else?"

"It's that... I mean, it's been a long time since we were together. I meant what I said on the trail that day. You really expect us to pick up where we left off. Just get back together and everything's the same? It won't be."

He is already shaking his head in disagreement. He reaches across the table and grabs my hand, pulling it across the table.

"I never said that, Angie. Don't put words in my mouth; I never said I expected us to just get back together and everything would be the same. I'm not that kid anymore, obviously. And you're not the same girl. And while I still have feelings for you, the feelings I have now are completely different than what I felt for you then. As they should be. Aren't yours different?"

I nod, knowing that I am admitting to even having feelings, let alone that the thoughts that fuel my current fantasies are nothing like they were when we were teenagers. I remember thinking that I couldn't possibly love him more.

"All I'm saying is let's take this chance and see if we really are meant for each other. Let's just see if we're supposed to be together, like everyone keeps saying. Like I keep feeling. And like you must feel too."

I breathe a sigh of relief as the waitress shows up with our breakfast. Thankful for the break in conversation, I busy myself with adding syrup to my plate and slicing my pancakes into bite sized pieces. JC is doing the same, making quick work of his task, then spearing a stack of pancakes and shoving the entire mound into his mouth.

He closes his eyes and a sultry moan rolls from his chest. "These are so fucking good," he says, around a mouthful of food. He picks up another forkful and offers it to me. "Want some?"

I almost refuse, but decide not to. "Sure," I say, and reach for the fork.

"No, no, no. Let me..." He guides the fork to my lips. I open my mouth and close them around the stack of pancakes. My taste buds rejoice in the peanut butter and banana flavor as I chew.

I nod and smile, since he's watching me eat. "It's good. Sweet."

"Mmmhmm," he agrees, filling his mouth again. He seriously looks so happy to be eating.

"Thank you for this. Even though you woke me up out of a dead sleep and dragged me to breakfast..."

"I'm just trying to show you that I can be nice."

"Oh, that's what this is?"

"Sure. I told you I was nice."

"You have been very nice, lately. Especially to my dad. I really appreciate it."

I'd called my parents last night on my way out to meet everyone at Prime and JC was there for his weekly poker game with Dad. I hadn't expected him to keep showing up. I thought it would be something he'd do a few times and then start to miss games and eventually stop coming around.  Months later, though, he was still showing up. My dad was still loving it and very much looked forward to it. In addition, it gave my mom a break. She could leave the house, get her hair done, go shopping or out to dinner with her friends. It made a world of difference in her demeanor.

"I don't even think you realize how much it means to them and how much it's helped."

JC shrugs, scraping the last of the syrup off of his already empty plate. I hadn't taken two bites of my pancakes yet. "It's no big deal. Once a week I get to kick my feet up, have some fun and talk some shit. Did he tell you he won last night?"

I grin. "No. Did you let him win?"

"Nah. He won, fair and square. Took all my money."  I glance up at him, look him in the eye. He's smiling as he sips his coffee. Then, fleeting and ever so briefly, he winks.

I knew it. My dad sucks at poker. But JC let him win last night and now we'll never hear the end of it.

When our plates are empty and our cups drained, JC asks for the check. Before I can even offer to split it with him, he slides his card into the envelope and hands it back to waitress. She runs it and brings it back; he signs the slip, puts the card back into his wallet and angles his head in the direction of the car parked right outside the window.

"Let's roll," he says.

It's midday in Florida, a beautiful October day. The skies are cloudless and a light breeze occasionally cuts through the heat. I'm feeling free for the first time in a long time. I'm full of my favorite breakfast from my favorite restaurant, and riding in the car next to someone who is close to becoming my favorite person again.

JC heads back to my apartment and pulls into his usual spot. The luxury machine doesn't make a sound as it idles.

"So what are you doing today?"

He shrugs a shoulder, his gaze intently on me. "I just did the only thing I wanted to accomplish today."

"Oh." I can't help but smile. "And did you enjoy it?"

"Very much. I'd say it was perfect if I could get an answer to my question, though."

I feel like I have very limited time to say the words on the tip of my tongue, before I lose my nerve or change my mind. So I open my mouth and let the words fall out.  "You should come up."

"Is my answer up there?"

I give him a small, mysterious smile. "It will be." 

I pull the door handle and get out of the car. Behind me, I hear him turn off the engine and get out of the car. I hear his feet behind me on the steps. My heart is beating out of my chest-I don't know how he can't hear it.

I dig my key out of my purse and unlock the door, letting us into my dark, cool apartment. The door closes behind us-something that strikes me as symbolic. It's the first time I've ever invited JC up to my apartment.  He's barged in uninvited plenty of times but this is the first time I've ever asked him to come in. Things between us are changing, and quickly.

JC has made himself comfortable on the couch. I start to sit next to him, then stand up again. "Did you want anything? Water or anything?"

He laughs and pats the cushion next to him, where I almost sat. "No, I'm cool. Sit down. Talk to me."

I sit. Then scoot a little closer. He offers his hand and I happily slide my palm across his and wind my fingers around his. The feeling is so... familiar. Like time has never passed. Like it hasn't been eighteen years since I held hands with him. I hear-and feel-JC chuckle.

"Know what this reminds me of?"

"Hmm?"

"The rules our parents had for us hanging out together."

I laugh, remembering the ridiculously stringent guidelines our parents came up with so that they didn't have to watch us like hawks. "Like how we could only be in the kitchen or the living room. And if we were in the living room we could hold hands but we had to be sitting next to each other."

"Hands must be visible at all times," JC says, reciting from memory, likely. "No laying down. No touchy-feely. Remember how I had to negotiate being able to have an arm around you?"

"And how your dad would still freak out if he came into the house and I was there. Even if we were following the rules."

"That's because Heather was giving him grey hair, sneaking around with her boyfriend. Compared to what other kids were doing, we were good."

"Yeah, we were."

"Until I started driving...." JC grins, rolling his head toward mine.

I giggle. "And your dad found those condoms..."

"Oh man!" JC throws his head back and laughs. "I remember that. Yeah, why were they in the Jeep, Angie? You brought the whole bag?"

"I can't remember. Maybe it was-yeah we got a new cleaning lady and I was afraid she'd find them. So I put the bag in the Jeep, but then I forgot about it."

"My dad about had a heart attack. My mom had to calm him down."

"Mine too. Remember, I had to get on birth control after that?"

"Yup. I remember that. I thought they were going to kill me." He chuckles, then sighs at the memories. "They calmed down though. After a while."

"Well we had to work, to get them to calm down. I told my dad I wasn't breaking up with you because he couldn't deal with us having sex."

"Yeah. Me either."

Our conversation lapses into a comfortable silence. It feels less and less odd, as the minutes tick by, to be sitting in my apartment next to a man I have claimed to hate for so long, with my hand tucked into his, reminiscing about the good old days. And maybe allowing myself to hope for some good new days.

"So, you really think there's something there? Between us?"

"You know I do. The question is, do you?"

Right, I think. That's the million dollar question. Can I really forgive so much, in so little time? Can I forget  and set aside what feels like a lifetime of hurt and pain in what has felt like no time at all, but I know has been months... years in the making?

I think and I think and I ask myself these questions, but the answers don't come. You know how sometimes there's an old woman around to give random, general advice like 'well when you know, you just know'? Where is she, right now? I need an old lady to sit here between me and JC and tell me what the answer is. 

Because I don't know. I just know that I can't do... this... anymore. I can't hate him anymore. I can't be angry anymore. I can't hold on to something that's been completely meaningless for so long, just because the object of said anger has always been around. I haven't been angry because he slept with Stacey first. I've been angry because I felt special and then I found out that I wasn't... but wasn't I?

Our hands are still clasped, the fingers of one wrapped around the other. JC brings the tangle to his lips and softly kisses the back of my hand. My heart skips a beat and I'm pulled back in time. Way, way, way back to the last time we were together before we broke up. Back when we were happy and fearless and we had our whole lives ahead of us.  

Did I really throw all of that away over some chick that needed to beat me at something? What did she win, anyway? JC's reluctant virginity... but not his heart.  After everything she tried to give him, he came to me. He shared his heart and soul with me. He fell in love with me.

And he is still in love with me. And here. Right now. After all this time and everything we've gone through.

I'm overwhelmed, thinking about the enormity of all. I can't wrap my brain around it... but I don't even want to try right now.

I tilt my head up, so I can see him. The expression on his face is... peaceful. Not expectant or sarcastic or even smarmy, which I've seen on more than one occasion. He's just looking at me. Waiting for me to say something, I suppose.

There aren't words in the English language to express what I'm feeling. So I show him, by tipping forward just enough that our lips meet. He pulls back for a few seconds, the shock registering on his face, before leaning into me and kissing me back. Gentle presses, almost imperceptible swipes of his lips against mine. Feather soft.  My body is responding, like clockwork. Like it was just yesterday that he last kissed me.

He untangles his hands from mine and shifts so he's almost facing me. This frees his hands to cradle my chin and pull me forward, his fingers curled up in my hair, his mouth desperately, fiercely assaulting mine. I maintain balance by holding onto his forearms, delighting in feeling the muscles underneath the skin ripple as he moves himself back against the couch cushions and pulls me with him. I hike up the hem of my dress and straddle him, one knee on either side of his hips. His mouth, his lips, his tongue refuse to let me rest. He sucks and bites and strokes while his hands wander-around my waist, over my hips and ass, down my thighs and upwards again.

His hands, large and heavy, feel warm through the thin fabric of my dress. He caresses the swell of each breast and then gently cups one and then the other, feeling for my nipples. His thumbs find them rock hard, standing at attention. He rubs them gently, bringing a sensation so pleasurable, it makes my entire body jerk.  Subconsciously I scoot up, closer to him so we are pressed chest to chest, with only his hands between us. My hips buck and roll, rocking my clit up against the tip of his erection, making itself known through his jeans.

"Mmmmmmfuck," I moan, willing him to never stop.  I hear him groan in appreciation and dip his head to suck and bite the skin on my neck and across my shoulders. One hand leaves a breast to push the strap of my dress down. He lays light kisses over the entire area, as if he means to cover every square inch of me. I don't have any objection to that right now.

I grab the folds of my dress and begin to pull it up. "Let's just get rid of this," I suggest. He must agree, because he helps me pull it over my head. It lands in the chair next to the couch.

I'm suddenly very aware of sitting in my living room on JC's lap straddling him-practically sitting on his dick, in fact, nude except for a pair of underwear that seem barely there in the first place. My hands move to cover myself, but he grabs my wrists and holds my arms out.  

"You shouldn't cover yourself up. Don't be ashamed of your body. It's beautiful." He takes his time, drinking me in. His eyes move slowly, as if he's trying to memorize me.

He releases my wrists and his hands crawl my skin again. One finds its way around my back and cups my ass. The other drifts down my midsection, past my navel, under the band of my panties. My eyelids flutter and my body convulses as his fingers find their mark. He presses, then rubs my clit in a strong, steady rhythm. His head tips forward and he captures a nipple in his mouth, moaning along with my rising cries of pleasure.

I am writhing and thrusting against his fingers and despite living in a small apartment with thin walls, I practically scream with wild abandon. "Please... oh my God, I'm so close..."

"So close to what?" He asks, my nipple still in his mouth.

"So close to coming. I want to come."

"You do, hmm?"

"Yes. Please!"

"Well, you said please, so..."  A finger, warm and thick slips inside me. It isn't long before another joins it and they begin to thrust in and out, driving me even higher. "You're so fucking wet, Angie. For me. Do you have any idea what this is doing to me?"

"I...hunh.... fuck!" 

Words, complete sentences just aren't happening. I'm on the verge of exploding or imploding or whatever it's called when you fall to absolute pieces in bliss, and it's all I can do to not pass out or hyperventilate.  My nails sink into the skin of his shoulders and I rock my hips and ride his fingers until I feel my core pulsing, tightening and convulsing around him.

JC's lips claim mine again. I wrap my arms around his neck and hold on for dear life, wildly, passionately kissing him. I feel us moving, but my eyes are closed and I am lost in the throes of my climax and the feeling of kissing him again after so, so long. Fabric and cushion press against my back and I realize that he has moved me off of his lap and laid me down on the couch.

When I open my eyes, he is hovering over me and smiling. Grinning, actually. I smiled back, stroking his cheek, pressing down errant hairs in his beard.

"What?" I finally ask. He shakes his head, then bends to kiss me.  I feel fingers near my hips, around my thighs, pulling at the elastic of my panties. I lift my body so he could pull them off. When they clear my feet he breaks the kiss and sits up. With a snap of a button and whir of a zipper, his jeans are being pushed down his hips. With them go his underwear, a pair of black boxer briefs. His dick is stiff, jutting out, pointing nearly north. 

My mouth is dry, watching him.

He looks the same... but different. Familiar, but now thicker and longer, red at the tip and glistening with evidence of his arousal. He removes his t-shirt, letting it drop to the floor. I'm now free to run my hands over every inch of his body, a task that I intend to perform and complete, relishing every moment.

I reach for him. I need to feel his skin against mine, his chest press against my breasts, and his hardness against my belly. My thighs open to make room for him and for a few minutes, we just lie there, enjoying the feeling of being together.

"Any second thoughts, so far?"

"Not one," I say, shaking my head. "How about you?"

"Nope," he answers quickly. "Though... I regret not coming to this conclusion sooner. We could have had this much fun all along."

I laugh. "You think I would have been ready for that? Not even six months ago I cursed your name and made you promise to get out of my life after this wedding."

He tips his head side to side while staring at something off in the distance. "Yeah," he finally says, coming back to me.  "I agreed to that. So maybe neither of us was ready."

"And now we suddenly are? I mean.... what are we doing, JC?"

He dips his head to kiss me again. When he pulls back, he says, "We're letting things happen and hoping for the best. How's that?"

A slow smile crosses my lips. I nod and tighten my arms around him. "Sounds good to me."

We kiss again, this time less passionate and manic. More slow and sensuous and romantic. I'm fully aware of him rubbing and teasing, sliding up and down and around me but not entering. I lift my hips and put myself directly in his path. I catch his gaze and send him a pleading look.

He answers my plea with a full, forceful thrust. My eyes slam shut and an "Oh God, yes!" falls from my mouth as he fills me.  

"Fuck, Angie. I don't know how long I can last. I've wanted this..."

My mouth hangs open in sheer pleasure. I am full, more full than I can ever remember feeling with him. I hold onto his forearms and open my legs as wide as possible, welcoming every thrust with a loud, throaty moan. He matches my sounds with a grunt and answers the bucking of my hips with more thrusts. Our noises, our breathing, even the sound of skin slapping against skin is so sexy to me. I'm on the verge of another orgasm, but I'm willing myself to wait for him.

It doesn't take long for him to reach the recognizable point of no return. He stops breathing, develops a deep crimson blush and his steady rhythm turns into a wild flurry of pumping, pushing himself deeper into me as his climax overtakes him. He breaks a sweat, drops of which land on me but I don't mind. I savor those droplets of effort and pleasure.

"Come with me," he growls into my ear, while madly hunching his hips into mine. "Please, please come with me."

A hand snakes between us and with a few flicks of his fingertip on my clit, my back arches and I scream his name as orgasm thunders through my body from the top of my head to the curl of my toes. I feel him, hear him groaning deeply as his thrusts slow and then stop. His hips jerk through the aftershocks. He pants, trying to catch his breath.

I grab him by the cheeks and pull his face down to mine and kiss him, working my tongue around his mouth. I taste the saltiness of sweat. And peanut butter and coffee. 

My legs lock around him. I feel him begin to relax, his body sinking onto mine.

After a few minutes, I can form words again. "Wow," is the first one that falls out.

"You said it," says JC, his head nestled on my shoulder. 

"That was way more amazing than I remember."

"I think that's a good thing. Right?" I feel him smile against my skin. I run my fingers through his hair.

"JC?"

He lifts his head, catches my eyes and smiles. "Yes."

"After all this time, we can finally fuck in a bed, and we're on the couch?"

I start laughing and he joins in later. I feel his belly bouncing against mine, the harder he laughs. He moves to sit up and happens to glance down at the couch underneath us.

"Oh, shit... Angie..."

I sit up, trying to see what he's looking at. I must be still be drunk from orgasm, because I shrug off the enormous spot we've made on the couch.

"If I was worried about the couch, we would have never had sex here." I pat him on the arm, then rub reassuringly. "It's treated for stains. It's fine. I'll take care of it later."

"Do you want me to pay to-"

"No." I stop him with a finger to his lips. He puckers them and kisses my finger. "Actually what I want is for you to take me to bed."

He pauses, then grins, and before I know it, I am yanked up from the couch and pulled in the direction of my bedroom. In seconds, we are under the thin blanket and crisp sheets, wrapped around one another and kissing like... well like we haven't kissed in almost twenty years. JC's fingers crawl down my body again. I am ready and willing to take what he's about to dish out.

Two orgasms later, we are taking up every inch of my King size bed, both of us laying spread eagle in the waning sunlight streaming through the blinds in my bedroom. We hold hands, completely sated for the moment. There's something about having sex that makes a person want to have more sex. Finally having sex with JC again made me want to never stop having sex with him.

I hear him swallow, then inhale a deep breath and give a long, luxurious sigh. I roll my head toward him and try to guess what that sigh is about. I can't tell by the side of his face, but I hope it means he is happy. Because I am.

Suddenly he rolls to his side and props his head up on a hand. "So, can I assume that your answer is yes?"

"My answer?" I giggle. "My answer to what?"

His eyes roll almost to the back of his head. He reaches over and taps my thigh with a playful slap. "Evangeliiiiiinnneeee."

"Oh Jesus, don't start with that."

"Well. Answer me."

"What is the question, Counselor? State it plainly for the court so it can be recorded."

"Can I have another chance with you?  Do you think we can be happy together?" His eyes lower to the colorful floral design of my sheets as he quietly submits the last question.

"Do you still love me?"

It's my turn to inhale and then sigh. "I can't say I still love you. I wish I could, but I can't."

I watch him, expecting his shoulders to sag and disappointment to cloud his face. It doesn't, so he must have been expecting that answer.

"I can say that I think I could love you again. And that I'm willing to give this a try to see if we can make that happen. And if we find some happiness along the way, then..."

"Gravy, baby," he finishes, and we both laugh. He used to always say that.

"Are you disappointed?"

He leans over to drop a kiss on my lips. They're soft and full. I remember that about them. "You said about what I expected you to say, but I had to ask. If you thought you felt that in any way, you'd still be fighting me or you'd admit it. I figure right now, I gotta take what I can get until I can get more. But I'm not going anywhere. And I'm not going to stop trying. I will get what I want. What I want is you."

"Oh, JC..."

I sit up, then move to straddle him, my hands resting on his chest. His grin is a mile wide and I just know he's so proud of himself. As he should be-he's managed to accomplish an impossible win.

"The only way I ever won a case against you is when you gave up. You play to win. I wouldn't expect anything less."

"What are you thinking about?"

I hadn't realized that he was awake. And not only awake but conscious that I was awake. And thinking. I inhale through my nose and stretch the arm I'm not laying on toward the ceiling. I arch my back and giggle while I listen to my bones creak and pop. It's honestly been so long since I had sex-vigorous sex at that-that in spite of all my running, I feel old and out of shape. This used to be so much easier.

It feels like late afternoon to me. Looks it, too. Sunlight streams in between the slats in the blinds, sending a striped pattern across the carpet and the foot of the bed. Across the floor, piles of bedding lie where they landed hours before. Except for the sounds of my intermittent yawning and JC's breathing and hearty chuckle at my struggle to wake up, the room is silent.

I roll over, the crisp sheets making a ‘swish' sound as I readjust myself. I know he's there, but I'm still mildly shocked to see JC in my bed. Even more shocked that I have a smile for him and not a grimace or a witty, snappy comeback to something ugly that he just said to me.  He's covered from the waist down by the ecru white top sheet, but it's not covering much. I can see the outline of... everything... as it rests on his body.

He opens his arms, inviting me to lie close to him. I take him up on it, scooting the tiny inch that separates us and mold myself to his body. I lay my cheek on his chest and smile at the sensation of the baby soft hair that covers his chest and arms. And, if I remember correctly...

I lift the sheet to confirm. Yep. And he doesn't seem to be much at rest at the moment.

"Checkin' me out?" I laugh, though silently. "You're not talking to me right now? You're not mad, are you?"

"No," I manage to mumble, my tongue still thick with sleep. I'm exhausted. Satisfied, but exhausted. "I feel like if I start talking I'll say something stupid."

"You? You don't say stupid things."

I roll my head up just so he can see me narrow my eyes at him, brows knitted together in faux anger. "Really, JC? You're choosing now to suck up to me?"

JC laughs. It's a beautiful sound that lands on my ear and embeds itself in my brain. Wiggles its way toward my heart.

"Okay, fine. You've said a lot of stupid things. In fact, I don't think there's anything you could say right now that would top what you've already said. So you may as well say whatever's on your mind."

More than a minute goes by before I get the courage to whisper. "I'm embarrassed. And ashamed. And I feel stupid. So stupid."

I feel his arms around me, tight and growing tighter. His lips brush across my forehead and I already hear the protests rising up in his throat. "Don't," he says. "Don't feel that way. I mean, I don't want you to feel that way. Maybe we were both immature. Maybe we were both fighting feelings, but we couldn't have forced this to happen any sooner than it did."

I lift myself up and lean on an elbow so I can see his face while he's uttering these feel-good phrases. "You don't think I could have just not been a raging bitch that night? That maybe I could have been mad for like a week or a month and then let it go?"

He seems amused at my phrasing-like he doesn't want to admit that I was a raging bitch. But I was.

He shrugs both shoulders and pouts. "Maybe. Maybe if I hadn't given up on getting you back and then tried to screw everything on two legs and act like I was happy because I thought that would make you jealous and want to be back with me. Maybe if I had been honest about Stacey from the start. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Look..."

JC sits up, which forces me to sit up as well. I give up the effort in trying to cover myself. We had sex in umpteen different positions and he's seen every inch of my body today. No sense in trying to hide it now. The sheet falls around my waist and for a moment, he seems mesmerized by my bare breasts.

"Look, what?"

He blinks, staring hard, mouth open. "Huh?"

I snap my fingers and bring his view back to my face.  "You were saying? About how you were immaturely trying to make me jealous by doing the very thing that made me break up with you?"

"Oh. Yeah, that. I just, you know, we're on the same wavelength, here. If you think I'm not sitting here counting how long we would have been married by now, how many kids we would have had, how many happy years we would have had together, you're mistaken. Ever since that night, on my patio, it's all I can think about. How much time we've wasted."

"I haven't been able to stop thinking about that night," I admit. "That kiss. The setting, the timing, our conversation. When you told me the real Stacey story..."

"Is that when you started to feel different about me?"

"Maybe..."

"You kissed me back. That's when I knew you still cared about me."

The warmth from that night washes over me as I reminisce about the first moment our lips touched in so many years, the surprise that gave way to passion after building for so long. And in hindsight, yes, that was the moment I knew I was in trouble.  I also knew he was holding back and if I hadn't run away from him that night, we might have unleashed some lava-hot animal sex right there in front of the fire pit.

I feel the flush deepen the pink hue in my skin. My nipples stand at attention and, by force of habit, I grab the sheet and lift it up to my chest, tucking it underneath my arm pits.

JC frowns, grabs the lip of the sheet and yanks it down. "Stop that. Don't be ashamed of your body. Or what thinking about us is doing to it."

"I'm not," I protest, grabbing the sheet again. "I'm cold."

His grin is evil, maniacal as he leans forward and presses his lips against mine, then pushes gently so I have to lean back. He tosses the sheet away so there is nothing between his body and mine and lies on top of me. I wrap my legs around his torso and my arms around his neck while his tongue invades my mouth and dances with mine. The moans that crawl from deep in his chest rumble through my body. I sigh into his mouth as we part.

"You're not cold, you liar. You're hot. I can feel you. I feel everything."

An eyebrow lifts. "Everything?"

"Mmmhmmm."

"Like?"

"Like... the heat you're giving off from here." He dips to kiss my neck, tiny drops of rain along my skin. "And here," he continues, as he slides down my body, taking first one nipple and then the other into his mouth. My body convulses with the rhythm of his tongue rasping over the angry-pink tips.

"And finally..." He works his way down my belly and over my mound to my core, the most intimate, sensitive part of me. His tongue snakes out, testing and teasing, flicking and poking until I'm writhing and practically screaming. I grab his head and arch my hips and sink into orgasmic bliss for the I've-lost-count-of-how-many-time.

It's not until my throat is dry and my voice is scratchy and my hips have returned to the mattress- and my brain has returned to regular function that JC speaks again.

"Told you, you weren't cold."

I'm laid out across the bed without the energy to move again. "You realize that if that's my punishment for lying, I'll lie all the time now."

"That wasn't your punishment. That was me needing to be right."            

"Right you were."

In a few minutes, I manage to turn myself so I'm lying next to him. One arm is wrapped around me, his hand resting on the rise of my hip. I've never been more comfortable in my life and part of me wishes we didn't ever have to move.

"So..." I start, but then stop. I have so many questions. I don't want to ruin the mood, but I'm lucid enough now that my common sense starts to tiptoe in and drop pertinent questions into my mind. Namely, what the hell is going on?

"So?" He teases, rubbing whatever skin he can manage to cover by roving my hip and ass. "What's up? You never bit your tongue before. You never held back with me when you had nasty things to say. Don't start now that the conversation is sweet. I'm a big boy. I can take whatever you have to say."

I know he's right. Deep down, I do. It's just that I was the reason we broke up the first time. Now that he's here, now that we seem to have reconciled, I don't want to be the reason that something else happens.

"Well, first, is there anything I need to be concerned about? We didn't use condoms. I don't even own condoms."

"What? You don't have a gigantic bag of condoms stashed under your bed?"

I laugh, even though he's picking on me. "Shut up. No, I don't."

"Whatever happened to those? Did you use them all, or...."

"Do you really want to know? Are you really asking if I have used hundreds of condoms on men that aren't you? Are you that big of a boy? Can you take that?"

"Right. Good point. Never mind. Uhm..." I hear the rasp of his palm on beard stubble as he runs a hand down the side of his face. "You don't have anything to be worried about with me. I'm not riddled with disease."

"I mean, I just, I know-"

"Angie." His tone stops me from taking that sentence any further. "I would never, ever try to be with you if I knew I had something. And I wouldn't be here if I hadn't have been recently tested and verified that I'm clean. If you want to see my test results, I'll show you."

"Okay. You don't have to do that. I believe you."

"I know it's hard, but you're going to have to trust that I only have your best interests in mind, at heart right now. We have fought every day for the last... however many years but I wouldn't do that to you."

"I know. We had a crazy, vicious fight and then you waited for me to be done with my run before you left."

"I'm an asshole. But I'm also a gentleman."

This makes me laugh. Because it's true.

"What about you? You're not trying to trap me into becoming a dad, are you? Are we going to be the next Keith and Bridget, who can't talk about anything but their kids' soccer and golf leagues and PTA and how much sleep we don't get?"

By the time he finishes his question, I'm laughing so hard that tears sprout from my eyes. Keith and Bridget are a special couple but we'd never be friends with them if we hadn't known them before they hooked up and then made their relationship official, and then got married and had children. Their lives are about the carpool and afterschool activities and what the kids ate today. On occasion, we can get them to shut up about their Stepford Lives. They're so suburban Orlando and we so... aren't.

At least I didn't think we were. But that thought is annoyingly not far from top of mind. I push it further back. I'm not ready.

"I'm on the pill. Have been since high school. I'm not worried about getting pregnant but if you are-"

"I'm not worried about a thing right now. I'm right where I want to be. If something happens, it happens. I can handle it. Can you?"

I lift my head so I can see his face. It's still kind of unbelievable that he's here. "Yeah," I say, and smile. "I can."

A few hours later I reluctantly follow him to the front door. It's been a blissful afternoon spent with him-my whole life has changed in the last eight hours. We lay in bed until we couldn't stand the hunger anymore, so I got up and made us sandwiches and we watched a movie and made out like teenagers on the couch.  Around 7pm, he sighed and said he ought to be heading home. He had a few things to take care of before Nick's Bachelor party and the Shut-In.

"I hate to leave, but I haven't started packing for the trip, either."

He turns when he reaches the door and opens his arms. I step into them and let him pull me close, then wrap my arms around him and squeeze. I don't want him to go. I'm not used to this feeling but it does spark a memory. I always hated when he had to go home.

"I hate for you to leave, but I know you have stuff to do."

"Yeah." His hands rub my back, up and down. Wide, large, strong hands. I love the feeling. "So I'm... I'm just thinking... "

I pull back so I can see him and grab his hands and hold onto them. "What?"

"I'm thinking that two sets of hands pack faster than one."

Confused, my head naturally tilts to the left. "Huh?"

"Come with me. Grab your stuff, pack a few more things and come home with me. We have to be at the hotel tomorrow anyway to start decorating."

"I-"

"You're already packed, aren't you? I know you. You've probably been packed for a month already."

He right, of course. And I'd packed for the shut in over the weekend. If I needed to walk out the door and fly to St Lucia right now, I could. But...

"Whatever protests you're coming up with right now, put them away. I didn't come over here to get you back today, but I'm not leaving here without you. Come with me or I'll stay here with you, but I've spent my last night without you. Which is it?"

I step back, instantly overwhelmed. "It's just that this is all happening so fast. My head is spinning... I think maybe I just need some time alone."

"Angie, you've had eighteen years. And you haven't dated in forever-not once this year. That's more than enough time alone."

I'm honestly shocked at how quickly he went right back there. I open my mouth to argue, but he's already wincing at his own words and squeezes my hands, lost in his.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry. I'm sorry, that was stupid. Okay, I'll give you time. Have you seen the bathroom in my house? The tub is like half the size of a swimming pool.  I'll run you a big ass rose smelling bubble bath and you can sit in the tub and have some time all to yourself."

It's crazy, but I'm tempted. Steal away to JC's house and try to let the past eight hours sink in? What could be so bad about that? It's not something I'd normally do, which makes me want to do it. 

I decide, when I feel like I can't fight those pleading baby blues, to go for it.

"Okay, I'll go. But I need to check my bags and change. And I need to drive my car, so you may as well go ahead of me."

He shakes his head. "Nice try. We can take separate cars but if your car isn't leaving this lot right behind mine, I'm not leaving." He turns me around and pushes me toward my bedroom. "Go check your bags. Do what you have to do. Take your time, don't forget anything. Let me know when you're ready."

While I'm in the bedroom, he settles into the couch again, grabs the remote and starts flipping channels.  I open my bags and check that I have everything I need, since I won't be back home until after the trip. While I'm repacking, I steal glances at him in the living room, his legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles.  I expected that a change in our relationship would make him less aggressive, but he isn't.

He's just aggressive in a different way.

Which, by the way, I like.

Once I've checked and double checked my bags and changed my clothes, I wheel my suitcases out to the living room and grab my purse from the coffee table. JC turns the TV off with a flick of his wrist on the remote and sets it back on the table and stands.

"Got everything? Passport? ID. Phone charger? That last one's important because I'll forget mine."

I dig through my purse to check yet again. In my wallet, my ID is securely tucked away, along with my bank card and credit cards. My passport is there as well. I mentally run down my checklist again, making sure I have all of the clothes, shoes and accessories I need. Satisfied, I nod at JC.

"Let's go, then," he says, grabbing the handle of each suitcase and rolling them toward the door. I wait for him to step out and follow, locking the door behind me. JC lifts each bag as if it weighs nothing at all and carts them down the steps. Once he reaches the landing, he stops next to his car, pulls out his key and presses a button.

The trunk pops open and he drops my suitcases into the yawning dark space.

"Why are you putting those in your car? I'm driving my car, too."

He reaches for me, pulling me close until I am near enough for him to kiss me, except he doesn't. "I'm holding them hostage," he says, then laughs and heads around to the driver's seat. "I've got to stay one step ahead of you. If you don't end up at my house, you don't get your stuff back."

He pops the latch on the door of his Benz and ducks inside. The next moment, the engine roars to life and the headlights come on. The passenger side window slides down and JC leans over the console.  

"Look, I know you want to maintain some kind of control here, but you don't have to take your car. We're going to all the same places this weekend. You could just be crazy, throw caution to the wind and, I don't know, trust me. I'll take care of you."

After a brief moment of hesitation, I open the passenger side door and slide in, sinking back against the genuine leather seats. Seeming pleased with himself, JC raises the window on my side and puts the car in drive, pushing it forward out of the spot he backed into earlier.

"It's not about trust. Just so you know. It's not about control either."

"It's not?" I see him glance at me briefly before his eyes return to the road. "Then what's it about?"

"It's about everything appearing to be normal."

"What do you mean normal?"

"I mean I don't want anyone to know we're back together. Not yet. And if we start showing up to things together, in the same car, looking like we're fucking..."

"People are smart. They will figure it out."

"I know they will, eventually. I just don't want to help them along right now. I want everything, from the outside, to look like it normally looks for us."

"I gotta admit... honey, I don't get it. Our friends will be so happy for us."

"Yeah, that's the problem." I mutter. "They'll gloat. And there will be so many I-told-you-so's. Do you know how many times I told Morgan that this wedding planning thing wouldn't work?"

"About as often as I told Nick. Well, it worked. So?"

"So, I don't...." I sigh. I don't think I can explain it to him so he'll understand.

"You don't want to give them the satisfaction of knowing they were right?"

"Yes. Exactly that."

"So you'd rather settle for looking like the last person to see what'ss completely obvious."

I turn my head to stare at the side of his face. "Like I was the only one ignoring things?"

He's quiet, contemplative. I got him there. I didn't act alone this whole time. We fed off of each other.

"Besides," I add, "Everyone will be so excited about us that it'll take away from the wedding. I want Morgan to have the wedding that she wants. We didn't spend all this time and money and hard work for no one to notice it. I don't want to upstage them.  You know what I mean?"

He nods, finally. Regretfully, I can tell. "I guess. But we have to find a way to be together. I meant what I said back at your place. I have no problem with laying low for a while, but I'm over being without you. I hope you feel the same."

I reach across the console and rub his thigh. His hand leaves the gearshift and covers mine, his fingers intertwining with and squeezing mine. "I do. And I understand. But know that I'm not going anywhere, JC. I'm right here."

"I just want to enjoy every second of having my girl back with me." He lifts the jumble of fingers to his lips and drops a light kiss to the back of my hand. "I sound possessive, I know.  I don't mean to. I just have so much time to make up for. I don't want to waste a single second."

 My heart warms at the sound of that, that he intends to make up for the time we've lost. I have some making up to do myself.

***

"When do I get my big ass rose scented bubble bath you promised?"

I'm sitting at the head of JC's king sized bed, which is a perfect spot to survey the entire room. I've never been in his bedroom before. He's lived in this house on Lake Conway for about five years. At first I refused to come, not wanting to stare at the spot where we'd shared so many intimate moments. I was dragged by Morgan one day and over time, I just got used to ignoring the other side of the lake.

The townhouse has two bedrooms but JC's room is obviously the master suite. A set of double doors open to reveal a fireplace on one wall and the biggest four poster walnut bed I've ever seen on another.  There is a set of glass sliding doors that lead to a balcony that overlooks the patio and fire pit downstairs. Covering the glass doors are black sheer curtains that match most of the décor in the room. Black and grey with splashes of red and blue here and there from the comforter to the art on the walls. It's classy without being overbearingly masculine. I find myself thinking that I could stand to live there with minimal changes.

"When we're done packing. Are you folding or yammering?"

He points toward the leaning tower of T-shirts stacked next to me. Spread open across the bed is an enormous suitcase that looks like it could hold his entire wardrobe. "How many shirts do you have there?"

I count them quickly and tell him, "Ten. But I don't think you need that many. It's only seven days."

"I like options. What if it rains? I might need something long sleeved."

"So switch out a couple long sleeved with a couple of t-shirts."

"Did you not hear me? I like options."

He places a few long-sleeved shirts into the suitcase and motions for me to put the stack of t-shirts in beside them. Next, he drops in five pairs of jeans that all look exactly the same and a pile of shoes, including a few pairs of stark white sneakers. I laugh at them.

"What? What's funny?"

"Those shoes remind me of seventh grade."

"Oh yeah?"

I nod. "You said I had nice boobs."

"No, you said you had nice boobs. I agreed with you."

"Then you said I looked hot. And when I laughed you said you meant it."

JC is turning red and it's the cutest thing ever. He doesn't like being reminded of how soft-hearted he is. He'd rather people think he's asshole, but I know the truth. Despite everything, I always have.

He shrugs, headed back to his closet. "I liked you, okay? We have already established that. Do you think I need anything formal except for my tux?"

"I brought a couple of nice dresses. Not formal but dressy. To wear to dinner and stuff."

"Okay." He digs through his closet and pulls out a few button down shirts, all fresh from the dry cleaners and color coordinated. "Ties?"

I shake my head. "No ties."

"Great." He folds the shirts and lays them into the suitcase, then begins to layer the rest of the things he's packed and staged across the bed-swim trunks, underwear, socks. "I just need to pack my bathroom stuff and a couple of things in a bag for tomorrow night. Let's run your bath now."

Ten minutes later I am nearly submerged in a steamy bubble bath. He wasn't kidding-his garden tub is huge. And deep. I feel like I have to sit up straight to keep from drowning.

"Hey, JC?" I call out to him. He's in the bedroom, dropping things into a duffel bag.  "So why do you have bubble bath? That smells like flowers? Are you big into smelling like a rose?"

He steps into the bathroom with a smirk. "Do you really want to know the answer to that? Or do you just want to enjoy the proceeds?"

I grin. "Never mind."

"You sure? I can tell you. See, there was this girl that---"

"Oh my Gahhh..." I relax a little and let my head sink below the water line. Seconds later I sit up straight again and laugh, pushing hair and bubbles out of my eyes. He's moved to one of the steps that lead up the side of the tub.  

And he's smiling. "So you don't want to know, then?"

"No. I'll just uh, enjoy the proceeds. This is going to take some getting used to."

"I know. For me too."

"This is an awfully big tub."

His eyes roll from one end of the tub to the other, landing on me, all wrapped up in foamy bubbles. "It is. I have stories about that, too. This one time...."

"Joshua Chasez!"

"What? I'm just telling this story about this one time, this girl I dated, she--" He doesn't finish his sentence because I've cupped my hands and sent  wave of water towards him. He sputters then keels backward and lands on his ass.

Then laughs.  "I see what has to happen, here."

He stands, then begins peeling off his soaking wet clothes and leaves them on the floor where he drops them. I'm giggling and just about to apologize for getting him wet, when he takes a flying leap into the tub, flooding the bathroom floor and disturbing my sense of balance. I go under again, but I'm pulled back up against JC's chest and perched on his lap.

I don't try very hard to resist being held there. "Hey! You promised me time."

"And then you got me wet, so I guess you get to share your bath. Serves you right."

"Again, if this is my punishment..."

"Not a punishment. Just natural consequences."

I wiggle against him, teasing. He growls in my ear and his hips arch upward, pressing himself into me. He's already pulsing and my gyrations aren't doing much to help. On the other hand, they're not hurting much either.

 "Speaking of natural consequences."

An appreciative groan rumbles through his chest. His hands climb my body and settle for cupping my breasts, his thumbs flicking my rock hard nipples, sending bolts of lightning through me so strong they curl my toes.  His lips sweep across my shoulder in broad strokes, nipping here and there with a gentle bite as he works his way up the side of my neck.

I'm lightheaded, from the heat or from him-either way, I'm in heaven and I never want to vacate.

My head lolls back against his shoulder, exposing more of my neck for him. "Mmmmmm..." I moan as his lips travel up my neck to my ear.  My sounds of pleasure bouncing off the tiles amuses me, so I make more noise.

"I missed you so much," he whispers. "I don't think I realized how much until you were with me again."

"I missed you too," I mumble, lost in the steam and the hypnotic way he caresses and massages me, gentle little circles everywhere, all over.

"Did you really? Or are you just saying that?"

My burst of laughter echoes up into the ten foot ceiling. "Okay, not the whole time. But that week when you weren't talking to me and it bugged me that you weren't talking to me.... Yeah."

"I had some thinking to do. I didn't want you interfere with my thoughts. Like, influence me. You know?"

"That's what I figured."

"And I had to plan out what I wanted to say. And when. And try to decide if you would be receptive or laugh at me or throw something at me."

"Throw something?" I repeat, while laughing.  "What was the spread on that?"

"Uhm, I had one hundred percent on you laughing at me. And you did."

"I didn't laugh at you.  I mean I wasn't laughing at you. I didn't know what to say. All of that after our fight in the park, and then you didn't talk to me for a week. I pretty much figured we wouldn't speak again."

"I had to catch you off guard. And I had to come to you in a way that I hadn't come to you before, so you'd know I was serious. And I had to stop being a jerk."

"For just a minute."

"For just a minute," he agrees. I feel him smiling as he rests his head against mine. "I wanted you back and it wasn't going to happen with me acting like that. I had to get my shit together."

"Mmmhmmm."

I sit up and then swivel around so I'm straddling him and scoot up, all the way up until I feel him trapped between our warm bodies. The bubbles have begun to melt away, leaving a slick feel to the water and giving me an unobstructed view of what he looks like with my belly pressed up against him. I begin to rub his chest, playing in the layer of hair there. 

"So, your shit is together, then?"

His eyes are half closed and his mouth is half open. Beads of moisture sprout across his forehead and seep into deep, soft waves of hair. I feel his arms move around me, and then each hand cup a cheek of my ass. His tongue snakes out of his mouth to lick his bottom lip.

"I don't know," he says, squeezing the generous portions in his hands. "You tell me."

He lifts me up a few inches and guides himself to me, then gently directs me to sit. My head rocks back and I groan loudly as he fills me.  I fight to keep my eyes open and locked on his as I slowly lift and lower, then speed up as my body adjusts to him. In a few strokes I am completely full, sinking deep onto him, rising until I am just short of pulling off, then grinding down on him again. I contract around him, milking him while I ride him. He holds onto me for dear life, pushing and pulling, controlling my rhythm.

"God... you feel so good." His eyelids have drooped until he can no longer keep them open. Sounds and phrases fall out of his mouth at whim. "Unh... fuck, Angie. Don't stop. Please don't stop, I'm gonna come." I whimper and wail into his shoulder as he grunts and moans.  

"Shit...." His breath comes in hisses as he is wracked with a series of convulsions but doesn't loosen his iron grasp on my hips. His eyes pop open and his gaze locks on mine. He is intense, almost fiercely staring at me. "Tell me," he says, his voice gruff with the strain of holding back. "Tell me how this feels to you."

I wrap my arms around him and lean closely so I can say the words into his ear. I don't want him to miss a single syllable.

"You feel so good inside me. You fit me like you always did. You make me crave your body, your mouth. You make me want more. Ever since that night you kissed me, I can't think of anything but you. I can't think of anyone else but you inside me. When I fucked my vibrator? I was really fucking you. So fuck me like you mean it and make me come."

"Unnnfff...fuck!" His breathing speed up until he's just huffing quick puffs of air. His skin is a deep crimson and his face holds the marks of deep concentration.

His hips lift and rock against mine, wet skin loudly slapping skin, causing waves of water to splash over the edge of the tub. The sound of which, when coupled with our cries at the top of our lungs, creates a moment of pure chaos in JC's bathroom.  A overbearing pressure builds in the pit of my belly-- an impending pleasure that is impossible to keep at bay.

When it finally washes over me, my entire body stiffens and tips backwards. If JC hadn't been paying attention and wrapped an arm around me to catch me, I'd have been a goner, because I could just barely breathe, let alone think about trying not to drown.

I'm still involuntarily convulsing when JC pulls out and moves me around so I am sitting sideways on his lap. He wraps both arms around me and cradles my head against his chest. I listen to his heaving breaths and galloping heartbeat until both slow to a regular pace.

For a long span of time, we sit and let everything settle.  I tip my head up so our lips meet.

"Kiss me."

I'm expecting a light, sweet kiss, but his lips linger and his mouth opens and the kiss deepens into something so slow and romantic, heady and erotic... I'm not sure I'll ever recover.

I feel-and acknowledge-the shift between us. A return to the past to bring everything forward. From here, we craft our future.

Our future? I'm surprised I can even think of those words in relation to him. I am falling in love with him. Again. Never in an infinite number of years did I picture myself here... but now that I am, I can't imagine myself anywhere else.

When our lips finally part, I pull back and give him a smile. "So, I think the verdict is in."

An eyebrow lifts. "Do I want to hear this?"

I nod. "Mmmhmm. Your shit. I think you've got it together."

"What are you thinking about?"

I hadn't realized that he was awake. And not only awake but conscious that I was awake. And thinking. I inhale through my nose and stretch the arm I'm not laying on toward the ceiling. I arch my back and giggle while I listen to my bones creak and pop. It's honestly been so long since I had sex-vigorous sex at that-that in spite of all my running, I feel old and out of shape. This used to be so much easier.

It feels like late afternoon to me. Looks it, too. Sunlight streams in between the slats in the blinds, sending a striped pattern across the carpet and the foot of the bed. Across the floor, piles of bedding lie where they landed hours before. Except for the sounds of my intermittent yawning and JC's breathing and hearty chuckle at my struggle to wake up, the room is silent.

I roll over, the crisp sheets making a ‘swish' sound as I readjust myself. I know he's there, but I'm still mildly shocked to see JC in my bed. Even more shocked that I have a smile for him and not a grimace or a witty, snappy comeback to something ugly that he just said to me.  He's covered from the waist down by the ecru white top sheet, but it's not covering much. I can see the outline of... everything... as it rests on his body.

He opens his arms, inviting me to lie close to him. I take him up on it, scooting the tiny inch that separates us and mold myself to his body. I lay my cheek on his chest and smile at the sensation of the baby soft hair that covers his chest and arms. And, if I remember correctly...

I lift the sheet to confirm. Yep. And he doesn't seem to be much at rest at the moment.

"Checkin' me out?" I laugh, though silently. "You're not talking to me right now? You're not mad, are you?"

"No," I manage to mumble, my tongue still thick with sleep. I'm exhausted. Satisfied, but exhausted. "I feel like if I start talking I'll say something stupid."

"You? You don't say stupid things."

I roll my head up just so he can see me narrow my eyes at him, brows knitted together in faux anger. "Really, JC? You're choosing now to suck up to me?"

JC laughs. It's a beautiful sound that lands on my ear and embeds itself in my brain. Wiggles its way toward my heart.

"Okay, fine. You've said a lot of stupid things. In fact, I don't think there's anything you could say right now that would top what you've already said. So you may as well say whatever's on your mind."

More than a minute goes by before I get the courage to whisper. "I'm embarrassed. And ashamed. And I feel stupid. So stupid."

I feel his arms around me, tight and growing tighter. His lips brush across my forehead and I already hear the protests rising up in his throat. "Don't," he says. "Don't feel that way. I mean, I don't want you to feel that way. Maybe we were both immature. Maybe we were both fighting feelings, but we couldn't have forced this to happen any sooner than it did."

I lift myself up and lean on an elbow so I can see his face while he's uttering these feel-good phrases. "You don't think I could have just not been a raging bitch that night? That maybe I could have been mad for like a week or a month and then let it go?"

He seems amused at my phrasing-like he doesn't want to admit that I was a raging bitch. But I was.

He shrugs both shoulders and pouts. "Maybe. Maybe if I hadn't given up on getting you back and then tried to screw everything on two legs and act like I was happy because I thought that would make you jealous and want to be back with me. Maybe if I had been honest about Stacey from the start. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Look..."

JC sits up, which forces me to sit up as well. I give up the effort in trying to cover myself. We had sex in umpteen different positions and he's seen every inch of my body today. No sense in trying to hide it now. The sheet falls around my waist and for a moment, he seems mesmerized by my bare breasts.

"Look, what?"

He blinks, staring hard, mouth open. "Huh?"

I snap my fingers and bring his view back to my face.  "You were saying? About how you were immaturely trying to make me jealous by doing the very thing that made me break up with you?"

"Oh. Yeah, that. I just, you know, we're on the same wavelength, here. If you think I'm not sitting here counting how long we would have been married by now, how many kids we would have had, how many happy years we would have had together, you're mistaken. Ever since that night, on my patio, it's all I can think about. How much time we've wasted."

"I haven't been able to stop thinking about that night," I admit. "That kiss. The setting, the timing, our conversation. When you told me the real Stacey story..."

"Is that when you started to feel different about me?"

"Maybe..."

"You kissed me back. That's when I knew you still cared about me."

The warmth from that night washes over me as I reminisce about the first moment our lips touched in so many years, the surprise that gave way to passion after building for so long. And in hindsight, yes, that was the moment I knew I was in trouble.  I also knew he was holding back and if I hadn't run away from him that night, we might have unleashed some lava-hot animal sex right there in front of the fire pit.

I feel the flush deepen the pink hue in my skin. My nipples stand at attention and, by force of habit, I grab the sheet and lift it up to my chest, tucking it underneath my arm pits.

JC frowns, grabs the lip of the sheet and yanks it down. "Stop that. Don't be ashamed of your body. Or what thinking about us is doing to it."

"I'm not," I protest, grabbing the sheet again. "I'm cold."

His grin is evil, maniacal as he leans forward and presses his lips against mine, then pushes gently so I have to lean back. He tosses the sheet away so there is nothing between his body and mine and lies on top of me. I wrap my legs around his torso and my arms around his neck while his tongue invades my mouth and dances with mine. The moans that crawl from deep in his chest rumble through my body. I sigh into his mouth as we part.

"You're not cold, you liar. You're hot. I can feel you. I feel everything."

An eyebrow lifts. "Everything?"

"Mmmhmmm."

"Like?"

"Like... the heat you're giving off from here." He dips to kiss my neck, tiny drops of rain along my skin. "And here," he continues, as he slides down my body, taking first one nipple and then the other into his mouth. My body convulses with the rhythm of his tongue rasping over the angry-pink tips.

"And finally..." He works his way down my belly and over my mound to my core, the most intimate, sensitive part of me. His tongue snakes out, testing and teasing, flicking and poking until I'm writhing and practically screaming. I grab his head and arch my hips and sink into orgasmic bliss for the I've-lost-count-of-how-many-time.

It's not until my throat is dry and my voice is scratchy and my hips have returned to the mattress- and my brain has returned to regular function that JC speaks again.

"Told you, you weren't cold."

I'm laid out across the bed without the energy to move again. "You realize that if that's my punishment for lying, I'll lie all the time now."

"That wasn't your punishment. That was me needing to be right."            

"Right you were."

In a few minutes, I manage to turn myself so I'm lying next to him. One arm is wrapped around me, his hand resting on the rise of my hip. I've never been more comfortable in my life and part of me wishes we didn't ever have to move.

"So..." I start, but then stop. I have so many questions. I don't want to ruin the mood, but I'm lucid enough now that my common sense starts to tiptoe in and drop pertinent questions into my mind. Namely, what the hell is going on?

"So?" He teases, rubbing whatever skin he can manage to cover by roving my hip and ass. "What's up? You never bit your tongue before. You never held back with me when you had nasty things to say. Don't start now that the conversation is sweet. I'm a big boy. I can take whatever you have to say."

I know he's right. Deep down, I do. It's just that I was the reason we broke up the first time. Now that he's here, now that we seem to have reconciled, I don't want to be the reason that something else happens.

"Well, first, is there anything I need to be concerned about? We didn't use condoms. I don't even own condoms."

"What? You don't have a gigantic bag of condoms stashed under your bed?"

I laugh, even though he's picking on me. "Shut up. No, I don't."

"Whatever happened to those? Did you use them all, or...."

"Do you really want to know? Are you really asking if I have used hundreds of condoms on men that aren't you? Are you that big of a boy? Can you take that?"

"Right. Good point. Never mind. Uhm..." I hear the rasp of his palm on beard stubble as he runs a hand down the side of his face. "You don't have anything to be worried about with me. I'm not riddled with disease."

"I mean, I just, I know-"

"Angie." His tone stops me from taking that sentence any further. "I would never, ever try to be with you if I knew I had something. And I wouldn't be here if I hadn't have been recently tested and verified that I'm clean. If you want to see my test results, I'll show you."

"Okay. You don't have to do that. I believe you."

"I know it's hard, but you're going to have to trust that I only have your best interests in mind, at heart right now. We have fought every day for the last... however many years but I wouldn't do that to you."

"I know. We had a crazy, vicious fight and then you waited for me to be done with my run before you left."

"I'm an asshole. But I'm also a gentleman."

This makes me laugh. Because it's true.

"What about you? You're not trying to trap me into becoming a dad, are you? Are we going to be the next Keith and Bridget, who can't talk about anything but their kids' soccer and golf leagues and PTA and how much sleep we don't get?"

By the time he finishes his question, I'm laughing so hard that tears sprout from my eyes. Keith and Bridget are a special couple but we'd never be friends with them if we hadn't known them before they hooked up and then made their relationship official, and then got married and had children. Their lives are about the carpool and afterschool activities and what the kids ate today. On occasion, we can get them to shut up about their Stepford Lives. They're so suburban Orlando and we so... aren't.

At least I didn't think we were. But that thought is annoyingly not far from top of mind. I push it further back. I'm not ready.

"I'm on the pill. Have been since high school. I'm not worried about getting pregnant but if you are-"

"I'm not worried about a thing right now. I'm right where I want to be. If something happens, it happens. I can handle it. Can you?"

I lift my head so I can see his face. It's still kind of unbelievable that he's here. "Yeah," I say, and smile. "I can."

A few hours later I reluctantly follow him to the front door. It's been a blissful afternoon spent with him-my whole life has changed in the last eight hours. We lay in bed until we couldn't stand the hunger anymore, so I got up and made us sandwiches and we watched a movie and made out like teenagers on the couch.  Around 7pm, he sighed and said he ought to be heading home. He had a few things to take care of before Nick's Bachelor party and the Shut-In.

"I hate to leave, but I haven't started packing for the trip, either."

He turns when he reaches the door and opens his arms. I step into them and let him pull me close, then wrap my arms around him and squeeze. I don't want him to go. I'm not used to this feeling but it does spark a memory. I always hated when he had to go home.

"I hate for you to leave, but I know you have stuff to do."

"Yeah." His hands rub my back, up and down. Wide, large, strong hands. I love the feeling. "So I'm... I'm just thinking... "

I pull back so I can see him and grab his hands and hold onto them. "What?"

"I'm thinking that two sets of hands pack faster than one."

Confused, my head naturally tilts to the left. "Huh?"

"Come with me. Grab your stuff, pack a few more things and come home with me. We have to be at the hotel tomorrow anyway to start decorating."

"I-"

"You're already packed, aren't you? I know you. You've probably been packed for a month already."

He right, of course. And I'd packed for the shut in over the weekend. If I needed to walk out the door and fly to St Lucia right now, I could. But...

"Whatever protests you're coming up with right now, put them away. I didn't come over here to get you back today, but I'm not leaving here without you. Come with me or I'll stay here with you, but I've spent my last night without you. Which is it?"

I step back, instantly overwhelmed. "It's just that this is all happening so fast. My head is spinning... I think maybe I just need some time alone."

"Angie, you've had eighteen years. And you haven't dated in forever-not once this year. That's more than enough time alone."

I'm honestly shocked at how quickly he went right back there. I open my mouth to argue, but he's already wincing at his own words and squeezes my hands, lost in his.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry. I'm sorry, that was stupid. Okay, I'll give you time. Have you seen the bathroom in my house? The tub is like half the size of a swimming pool.  I'll run you a big ass rose smelling bubble bath and you can sit in the tub and have some time all to yourself."

It's crazy, but I'm tempted. Steal away to JC's house and try to let the past eight hours sink in? What could be so bad about that? It's not something I'd normally do, which makes me want to do it. 

I decide, when I feel like I can't fight those pleading baby blues, to go for it.

"Okay, I'll go. But I need to check my bags and change. And I need to drive my car, so you may as well go ahead of me."

He shakes his head. "Nice try. We can take separate cars but if your car isn't leaving this lot right behind mine, I'm not leaving." He turns me around and pushes me toward my bedroom. "Go check your bags. Do what you have to do. Take your time, don't forget anything. Let me know when you're ready."

While I'm in the bedroom, he settles into the couch again, grabs the remote and starts flipping channels.  I open my bags and check that I have everything I need, since I won't be back home until after the trip. While I'm repacking, I steal glances at him in the living room, his legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles.  I expected that a change in our relationship would make him less aggressive, but he isn't.

He's just aggressive in a different way.

Which, by the way, I like.

Once I've checked and double checked my bags and changed my clothes, I wheel my suitcases out to the living room and grab my purse from the coffee table. JC turns the TV off with a flick of his wrist on the remote and sets it back on the table and stands.

"Got everything? Passport? ID. Phone charger? That last one's important because I'll forget mine."

I dig through my purse to check yet again. In my wallet, my ID is securely tucked away, along with my bank card and credit cards. My passport is there as well. I mentally run down my checklist again, making sure I have all of the clothes, shoes and accessories I need. Satisfied, I nod at JC.

"Let's go, then," he says, grabbing the handle of each suitcase and rolling them toward the door. I wait for him to step out and follow, locking the door behind me. JC lifts each bag as if it weighs nothing at all and carts them down the steps. Once he reaches the landing, he stops next to his car, pulls out his key and presses a button.

The trunk pops open and he drops my suitcases into the yawning dark space.

"Why are you putting those in your car? I'm driving my car, too."

He reaches for me, pulling me close until I am near enough for him to kiss me, except he doesn't. "I'm holding them hostage," he says, then laughs and heads around to the driver's seat. "I've got to stay one step ahead of you. If you don't end up at my house, you don't get your stuff back."

He pops the latch on the door of his Benz and ducks inside. The next moment, the engine roars to life and the headlights come on. The passenger side window slides down and JC leans over the console.  

"Look, I know you want to maintain some kind of control here, but you don't have to take your car. We're going to all the same places this weekend. You could just be crazy, throw caution to the wind and, I don't know, trust me. I'll take care of you."

After a brief moment of hesitation, I open the passenger side door and slide in, sinking back against the genuine leather seats. Seeming pleased with himself, JC raises the window on my side and puts the car in drive, pushing it forward out of the spot he backed into earlier.

"It's not about trust. Just so you know. It's not about control either."

"It's not?" I see him glance at me briefly before his eyes return to the road. "Then what's it about?"

"It's about everything appearing to be normal."

"What do you mean normal?"

"I mean I don't want anyone to know we're back together. Not yet. And if we start showing up to things together, in the same car, looking like we're fucking..."

"People are smart. They will figure it out."

"I know they will, eventually. I just don't want to help them along right now. I want everything, from the outside, to look like it normally looks for us."

"I gotta admit... honey, I don't get it. Our friends will be so happy for us."

"Yeah, that's the problem." I mutter. "They'll gloat. And there will be so many I-told-you-so's. Do you know how many times I told Morgan that this wedding planning thing wouldn't work?"

"About as often as I told Nick. Well, it worked. So?"

"So, I don't...." I sigh. I don't think I can explain it to him so he'll understand.

"You don't want to give them the satisfaction of knowing they were right?"

"Yes. Exactly that."

"So you'd rather settle for looking like the last person to see what'ss completely obvious."

I turn my head to stare at the side of his face. "Like I was the only one ignoring things?"

He's quiet, contemplative. I got him there. I didn't act alone this whole time. We fed off of each other.

"Besides," I add, "Everyone will be so excited about us that it'll take away from the wedding. I want Morgan to have the wedding that she wants. We didn't spend all this time and money and hard work for no one to notice it. I don't want to upstage them.  You know what I mean?"

He nods, finally. Regretfully, I can tell. "I guess. But we have to find a way to be together. I meant what I said back at your place. I have no problem with laying low for a while, but I'm over being without you. I hope you feel the same."

I reach across the console and rub his thigh. His hand leaves the gearshift and covers mine, his fingers intertwining with and squeezing mine. "I do. And I understand. But know that I'm not going anywhere, JC. I'm right here."

"I just want to enjoy every second of having my girl back with me." He lifts the jumble of fingers to his lips and drops a light kiss to the back of my hand. "I sound possessive, I know.  I don't mean to. I just have so much time to make up for. I don't want to waste a single second."

 My heart warms at the sound of that, that he intends to make up for the time we've lost. I have some making up to do myself.

***

"When do I get my big ass rose scented bubble bath you promised?"

I'm sitting at the head of JC's king sized bed, which is a perfect spot to survey the entire room. I've never been in his bedroom before. He's lived in this house on Lake Conway for about five years. At first I refused to come, not wanting to stare at the spot where we'd shared so many intimate moments. I was dragged by Morgan one day and over time, I just got used to ignoring the other side of the lake.

The townhouse has two bedrooms but JC's room is obviously the master suite. A set of double doors open to reveal a fireplace on one wall and the biggest four poster walnut bed I've ever seen on another.  There is a set of glass sliding doors that lead to a balcony that overlooks the patio and fire pit downstairs. Covering the glass doors are black sheer curtains that match most of the décor in the room. Black and grey with splashes of red and blue here and there from the comforter to the art on the walls. It's classy without being overbearingly masculine. I find myself thinking that I could stand to live there with minimal changes.

"When we're done packing. Are you folding or yammering?"

He points toward the leaning tower of T-shirts stacked next to me. Spread open across the bed is an enormous suitcase that looks like it could hold his entire wardrobe. "How many shirts do you have there?"

I count them quickly and tell him, "Ten. But I don't think you need that many. It's only seven days."

"I like options. What if it rains? I might need something long sleeved."

"So switch out a couple long sleeved with a couple of t-shirts."

"Did you not hear me? I like options."

He places a few long-sleeved shirts into the suitcase and motions for me to put the stack of t-shirts in beside them. Next, he drops in five pairs of jeans that all look exactly the same and a pile of shoes, including a few pairs of stark white sneakers. I laugh at them.

"What? What's funny?"

"Those shoes remind me of seventh grade."

"Oh yeah?"

I nod. "You said I had nice boobs."

"No, you said you had nice boobs. I agreed with you."

"Then you said I looked hot. And when I laughed you said you meant it."

JC is turning red and it's the cutest thing ever. He doesn't like being reminded of how soft-hearted he is. He'd rather people think he's asshole, but I know the truth. Despite everything, I always have.

He shrugs, headed back to his closet. "I liked you, okay? We have already established that. Do you think I need anything formal except for my tux?"

"I brought a couple of nice dresses. Not formal but dressy. To wear to dinner and stuff."

"Okay." He digs through his closet and pulls out a few button down shirts, all fresh from the dry cleaners and color coordinated. "Ties?"

I shake my head. "No ties."

"Great." He folds the shirts and lays them into the suitcase, then begins to layer the rest of the things he's packed and staged across the bed-swim trunks, underwear, socks. "I just need to pack my bathroom stuff and a couple of things in a bag for tomorrow night. Let's run your bath now."

Ten minutes later I am nearly submerged in a steamy bubble bath. He wasn't kidding-his garden tub is huge. And deep. I feel like I have to sit up straight to keep from drowning.

"Hey, JC?" I call out to him. He's in the bedroom, dropping things into a duffel bag.  "So why do you have bubble bath? That smells like flowers? Are you big into smelling like a rose?"

He steps into the bathroom with a smirk. "Do you really want to know the answer to that? Or do you just want to enjoy the proceeds?"

I grin. "Never mind."

"You sure? I can tell you. See, there was this girl that---"

"Oh my Gahhh..." I relax a little and let my head sink below the water line. Seconds later I sit up straight again and laugh, pushing hair and bubbles out of my eyes. He's moved to one of the steps that lead up the side of the tub.  

And he's smiling. "So you don't want to know, then?"

"No. I'll just uh, enjoy the proceeds. This is going to take some getting used to."

"I know. For me too."

"This is an awfully big tub."

His eyes roll from one end of the tub to the other, landing on me, all wrapped up in foamy bubbles. "It is. I have stories about that, too. This one time...."

"Joshua Chasez!"

"What? I'm just telling this story about this one time, this girl I dated, she--" He doesn't finish his sentence because I've cupped my hands and sent  wave of water towards him. He sputters then keels backward and lands on his ass.

Then laughs.  "I see what has to happen, here."

He stands, then begins peeling off his soaking wet clothes and leaves them on the floor where he drops them. I'm giggling and just about to apologize for getting him wet, when he takes a flying leap into the tub, flooding the bathroom floor and disturbing my sense of balance. I go under again, but I'm pulled back up against JC's chest and perched on his lap.

I don't try very hard to resist being held there. "Hey! You promised me time."

"And then you got me wet, so I guess you get to share your bath. Serves you right."

"Again, if this is my punishment..."

"Not a punishment. Just natural consequences."

I wiggle against him, teasing. He growls in my ear and his hips arch upward, pressing himself into me. He's already pulsing and my gyrations aren't doing much to help. On the other hand, they're not hurting much either.

 "Speaking of natural consequences."

An appreciative groan rumbles through his chest. His hands climb my body and settle for cupping my breasts, his thumbs flicking my rock hard nipples, sending bolts of lightning through me so strong they curl my toes.  His lips sweep across my shoulder in broad strokes, nipping here and there with a gentle bite as he works his way up the side of my neck.

I'm lightheaded, from the heat or from him-either way, I'm in heaven and I never want to vacate.

My head lolls back against his shoulder, exposing more of my neck for him. "Mmmmmm..." I moan as his lips travel up my neck to my ear.  My sounds of pleasure bouncing off the tiles amuses me, so I make more noise.

"I missed you so much," he whispers. "I don't think I realized how much until you were with me again."

"I missed you too," I mumble, lost in the steam and the hypnotic way he caresses and massages me, gentle little circles everywhere, all over.

"Did you really? Or are you just saying that?"

My burst of laughter echoes up into the ten foot ceiling. "Okay, not the whole time. But that week when you weren't talking to me and it bugged me that you weren't talking to me.... Yeah."

"I had some thinking to do. I didn't want you interfere with my thoughts. Like, influence me. You know?"

"That's what I figured."

"And I had to plan out what I wanted to say. And when. And try to decide if you would be receptive or laugh at me or throw something at me."

"Throw something?" I repeat, while laughing.  "What was the spread on that?"

"Uhm, I had one hundred percent on you laughing at me. And you did."

"I didn't laugh at you.  I mean I wasn't laughing at you. I didn't know what to say. All of that after our fight in the park, and then you didn't talk to me for a week. I pretty much figured we wouldn't speak again."

"I had to catch you off guard. And I had to come to you in a way that I hadn't come to you before, so you'd know I was serious. And I had to stop being a jerk."

"For just a minute."

"For just a minute," he agrees. I feel him smiling as he rests his head against mine. "I wanted you back and it wasn't going to happen with me acting like that. I had to get my shit together."

"Mmmhmmm."

I sit up and then swivel around so I'm straddling him and scoot up, all the way up until I feel him trapped between our warm bodies. The bubbles have begun to melt away, leaving a slick feel to the water and giving me an unobstructed view of what he looks like with my belly pressed up against him. I begin to rub his chest, playing in the layer of hair there. 

"So, your shit is together, then?"

His eyes are half closed and his mouth is half open. Beads of moisture sprout across his forehead and seep into deep, soft waves of hair. I feel his arms move around me, and then each hand cup a cheek of my ass. His tongue snakes out of his mouth to lick his bottom lip.

"I don't know," he says, squeezing the generous portions in his hands. "You tell me."

He lifts me up a few inches and guides himself to me, then gently directs me to sit. My head rocks back and I groan loudly as he fills me.  I fight to keep my eyes open and locked on his as I slowly lift and lower, then speed up as my body adjusts to him. In a few strokes I am completely full, sinking deep onto him, rising until I am just short of pulling off, then grinding down on him again. I contract around him, milking him while I ride him. He holds onto me for dear life, pushing and pulling, controlling my rhythm.

"God... you feel so good." His eyelids have drooped until he can no longer keep them open. Sounds and phrases fall out of his mouth at whim. "Unh... fuck, Angie. Don't stop. Please don't stop, I'm gonna come." I whimper and wail into his shoulder as he grunts and moans.  

"Shit...." His breath comes in hisses as he is wracked with a series of convulsions but doesn't loosen his iron grasp on my hips. His eyes pop open and his gaze locks on mine. He is intense, almost fiercely staring at me. "Tell me," he says, his voice gruff with the strain of holding back. "Tell me how this feels to you."

I wrap my arms around him and lean closely so I can say the words into his ear. I don't want him to miss a single syllable.

"You feel so good inside me. You fit me like you always did. You make me crave your body, your mouth. You make me want more. Ever since that night you kissed me, I can't think of anything but you. I can't think of anyone else but you inside me. When I fucked my vibrator? I was really fucking you. So fuck me like you mean it and make me come."

"Unnnfff...fuck!" His breathing speed up until he's just huffing quick puffs of air. His skin is a deep crimson and his face holds the marks of deep concentration.

His hips lift and rock against mine, wet skin loudly slapping skin, causing waves of water to splash over the edge of the tub. The sound of which, when coupled with our cries at the top of our lungs, creates a moment of pure chaos in JC's bathroom.  A overbearing pressure builds in the pit of my belly-- an impending pleasure that is impossible to keep at bay.

When it finally washes over me, my entire body stiffens and tips backwards. If JC hadn't been paying attention and wrapped an arm around me to catch me, I'd have been a goner, because I could just barely breathe, let alone think about trying not to drown.

I'm still involuntarily convulsing when JC pulls out and moves me around so I am sitting sideways on his lap. He wraps both arms around me and cradles my head against his chest. I listen to his heaving breaths and galloping heartbeat until both slow to a regular pace.

For a long span of time, we sit and let everything settle.  I tip my head up so our lips meet.

"Kiss me."

I'm expecting a light, sweet kiss, but his lips linger and his mouth opens and the kiss deepens into something so slow and romantic, heady and erotic... I'm not sure I'll ever recover.

I feel-and acknowledge-the shift between us. A return to the past to bring everything forward. From here, we craft our future.

Our future? I'm surprised I can even think of those words in relation to him. I am falling in love with him. Again. Never in an infinite number of years did I picture myself here... but now that I am, I can't imagine myself anywhere else.

When our lips finally part, I pull back and give him a smile. "So, I think the verdict is in."

An eyebrow lifts. "Do I want to hear this?"

I nod. "Mmmhmm. Your shit. I think you've got it together."

We'd like to welcome our passengers to Flight 1923, heading to Miami, Florida. As soon as we have everyone aboard, we'll push back and head out. This is a short flight, so just sit back, relax, and we'll be to your destination in no time.

"We should have just driven to Miami and flown straight there. We've got, what, an hour layover and another hour or so to the island?"

Keith and Bridget are seated behind JC and I. Keith, who hates to fly but does it all the time for his job, is already grumbling.

"Hey man," says JC, half turning in his seat, "Order a beer and shut the fuck up. This was the best priced flight we could find. You sprang for first class, so you're not doing too badly."

"Just means my airline miles are good for something."  I hear him settle into his seat and mutter something to Bridget about in-flight drinks. She responds with something about not being belligerent before we even take off.  

We've taken up the last two rows in first class. Several members of our traveling party are behind us in coach seats, including Tyler and Jade. Others, like Morgan and Nick's parents, insisted on flying in Monday, attending the wedding on Tuesday, and flying back out Wednesday evening. They didn't want to encroach upon the honeymoon and no amount of arguing and trying to convince them that it was more of a group vacation would change their minds.

Morgan and Nick, the happy couple, are chattering away at each other. The pitch and tone of their voices betray their excitement and this warms my heart. The entire ordeal-planning this wedding with JC and trying to make it a special event for everyone involved-- was so worth the effort. Seeing the smiles on their faces now, and being able to watch Morgan walk down the aisle... that was all I wanted for her. For them.

Seated next to me is JC, as relaxed and comfortable as I've ever seen him. His hands are clasped over the latch of his seat belt. His legs are stretched out in front of him, feet crossed over one another. His head is tipped back against the seat and his eyes are closed, but the bob of his Adam's apple and the roving movement underneath his eyelids give him away.

Suddenly one eye opens and he rolls his head in my direction. "Yes? Can I help you?"

"Nope. I'm fine."

"Stop staring at me," he mutters.

"How do you know I'm staring at you? Your eyes are closed."

"Were you staring at me?"  I smile. "Mmmhmmm. Don't worry about how I know. I just know."

I stifle a laugh and direct my attention to the world outside of the tiny oblong window. The aircraft is full and the flight attendants are making preflight announcements, then the lights in the cabin are turned down and the plane begins to back away from the terminal.

I check my seat belt, then sit back and wait for takeoff. I can hardly believe we're actually on a plane, headed to St. Lucia. This trip, four months in the making, has changed my life.

Four months ago...hell, four days ago I was a different person. I remember that night at Prime, seething next to a man I absolutely hated, had hated from the pit of my soul for the last decade and more. I listened as my best friends sentenced me to spending a considerable amount of time with him planning what was supposed to be a joyous event, but what I could only see as torture and punishment from two people who just ‘didn't get it'.

I pouted. I cursed. I tried to talk, argue, wiggle my way out of it. I'm an attorney, for goodness sake; I should have been good at that. But so is JC, and he couldn't get out of it, either. They - Nick and Morgan-- were unrelenting. This was their last ditch effort at getting us to put aside our petty differences  and see what must have been a bright, blinking flashing sign for everyone else, for so long. 

I never worked so well with someone I can't stand. I hate to admit it, but it was the perfect project for JC and I. Romantic details and keeping Morgan's wants and dreams was my priority. JC tracked the budget, took care of the unromantic details like what airline we should fly and what kind of alcohol should be served, and kept the wedding from going off of the pink-and-purple-taffeta-and-frilly-hearts deep end. I've spent most of our planning time counting the days to being able to wake up to waves crashing on the shore and digging my toes into warm sand and picking up sea shells and island trinkets. I never would have come up with the idea to go to St. Lucia.

I glance over and stare at JC again, despite him telling me to stop. I can't help it. We haven't been apart since Thursday, since the day he came to my apartment and then wouldn't leave without me. And I've loved every second of being with him. We've talked about everything and nothing, cooked together, drank together, sat together around the fire pit and watched the sun sink behind the mountains on the other side of Lake Conway-a view I finally don't have to pretend is there.

This morning, I woke up in his bed, in his arms, with the sun streaming in through the glass patio doors and a light October breeze blowing through the open window. I felt the scratch of his beard against my cheek, neck and shoulder as he nudged me awake. I smiled and burrowed deeper, pushing back against him snuggled up next to me. I just wanted to savor the moment, the quiet of the room, the peace and serenity between us. These past four days have been the happiest I've had in a very long time. I want to hold onto these moments as long as I can and hope they last. Hope there really is still a chance for us.

Three hours later, we are deplaning at George F. L. Charles Airport, the smaller of two airports on St. Lucia. The flight from Miami was cramped but quick on a small commuter plane. The airport, surrounded by trees and furnished with a single runway and two hangars, looks more like what would be called a county airport in Orlando, reserved for two-seaters and crop dusters. On St. Lucia, this is a major travel way to and from the U.S.

Once our group has gathered into a small mass of tourists and we've retrieved our baggage, we step outside into the sunshine to wait for the shuttle from Rendezvous. The breeze, heavy with salt, is warm on my face as the sun beats down. The weather Gods have blessed us-- the skies are a gorgeous royal blue, dotted with wispy, lazy clouds.  It's a beautiful day to be on an island.

"I can't wait to hit that beach," says Jackie. She rubs her protruding belly as Matt rubs her back.

"You okay, Jacks?" 

She nods, her chubby face split in a wide grin. "Perfect. This is really nice. I'm looking forward to this week. Matt and I never took a honeymoon."

"Well now you get your honeymoon and your babymoon all in one trip."

"What's a babymoon?" Tyler asks. He and Jade are hanging back, on the fringes of the group. She's behind him like she's hiding from us, arms crossed, shades on. There's still tension between the four of us-JC, me, Tyler and Jade. I make a note to grab him and have a heart-to-heart. Hopefully we can put everything behind us and enjoy this week.

"It's a trip new parents take before the baby comes," says Keith. He's playing with his phone, squinting at it and pressing buttons. "You know, before sex means putting on The Little Mermaid and sneaking off to the bedroom to get in five minutes before there's a kid asking for grape juice."

"Keith and I went to... where was it honey? Before Grant was born?"

"Bahamas. Then the Keys before Lucy. Are we supposed to get service down here?"

Bridget grabs the phone and they bicker softly over whether or not they changed their phone plan to International before leaving the country. I glance at JC, standing next to me, his hands resting on the handle of his suitcase. 

"Stepford," he mouths, with a straight face. I'm trying not to laugh.

I see what looks like a bus rumbling down the road, a big blue RENDEZVOUS emblazoned down the side. "This must be our ride," I announce. The crowd titters as we gather our bags and line up at the edge of the sidewalk.

The shuttle pulls up next to us and a very tall, very handsome man gets up from the driver's seat and steps down the stairs. "Welcome to St. Lucia," he says, in a voice I recognize. It's Andrew, the gentleman we booked with and have been working with to plan the wedding and excursions.

His face matches his voice, if that makes any sense. His hair and eyes are dark, his skin the most beautiful color of toasted cinnamon. He's wearing a spotless, crisp white linen suit and sandals and he stands, hands clasped, as if he is our butler, ready to serve.

"I'm looking for Angie and Joshua," he says, seeming to announce it, his eyes scanning the crowd. Everyone points to JC and I.  He rushes forward to shake our hands and smile in our faces. "Welcome. It's wonderful to meet you in person. And the bride and groom?"

JC and I point to Nick and Morgan, standing next to us with their arms around each other and grins two miles wide. He repeats the glad-handing with them and then steps back to survey the group.

"Do we have everyone then?" At our nods, he claps, then moves to open a compartment under the shuttle. "Leave your suitcases here, if you will. Then feel free to find a seat on the bus so we can make the trip to the resort. It's about a forty minute ride, so please take anything with you that you'll need before we arrive."

We all leave our suitcases and carryon baggage on the sidewalk in front of the bus. JC pulls me aside. "This guy's not dressed for loading up suitcases. I'll stay out here and help. Save me a seat."

I scowl. "There's like thirty seats on the bus, and we're the only people on it. You shouldn't have trouble finding a seat." He stares at me like I grew a second head. Until I wink. Relief washes over his face. He winks back, then sighs and turns to help Andrew load the bus.

Game on.

I find a seat towards the rear of the bus and settle in, a small bag in my lap. In my tank top, shorts and slip on sneakers, I'm ready to hit the water as soon as humanly possible. I talked JC into wearing shorts and a short-sleeved shirt. The shirt is tight and clings to his shoulders, forearms and chest. Once we're on the island, even if I can't touch him, I can enjoy looking at him. And taking it off later.

JC and Andrew finally climb onto the bus, and without even glancing my way JC takes a seat several rows in front of me, right behind Keith and Bridget. The occasional laughter and random comment floats back to me but for the most part, I'm by myself. As far as anyone else knows, I'm the only single woman on the trip.  

The roads in St Lucia are paved but not well maintained. The bus bumps along, irrespective of divots and downright pot holes, barreling forward toward the horizon and the peek of blue sea.

The closer we come to civilization, the better the roads get, until we're on a smooth, dark, newly paved road. After what feels like forever, the bus slows as it turns onto a road that takes us between two wide white stone walls. On either side of the wall is a large sign that reads RENDEZVOUS in blue block letters.

The roads inside the gate are cobblestone and it looks like the paths that lead from one building to another are as well. As far as the eye can see, there are white stone structures with bright red roofs, all backing up to pristine white sands and the most beautiful blue waters I've ever seen.

I'm starting to get excited. I've lived in Florida, on the edge of an ocean my whole life, but there's something about a tropical island that fills me with anticipation. Being here with JC will be like icing on my favorite cake. 

The bus stops in front of a red brick building. We pile out, wandering around, taking in the view. I just can't believe we're finally here!

JC helps Andrew unload the suitcases and we are led inside the building and into a small meeting room. Andrew disappears for a few moments and we all take seats around the table, oval in shape, made of a thick wood covered in shiny black lacquer.

Andrew returns, his arms full of folders. "Your reservations are ready," he says, laying them all out in front of him.

"Each set of buildings here are separated into communities. You'll find these easily marked long the footpath across the resort, as well as on the maps included in each folder. For our wedding couple, we've placed you in a beachfront suite in our Verandah Community. It's completely private and tucked away, featuring a private pool and Butler service."

The group ooh's and aah's as he hands the folder to Morgan, who stares, slack jawed, at the resort brochure and description of their room. I peek over her shoulder, though I've seen the photos on the website and JC and I booked the room.

Andrew hands out folders to the rest of the group. Everyone is pretty well spread out, but no further than a few minutes' walk or golf cart ride from each other. All of the couples have private beachfront suites, smaller than Nick and Morgan's but larger than the luxury single that Tyler and Jade and JC and I will be in.

"Last but not least, and by special request, I have two Penthouse Club level rooms in a villa that we call Lover's Lagoon. These are for your trip planners Angie Blake and Joshua Chasez."

Andrew hands a folder to me and slides one down the table to JC. I glance at JC, who seems just as puzzled as I do. We booked single rooms, not suites. 

I lift my gaze from the folder, stuffed with information, a map, and excursion brochures and photos of a decadent and luxurious room to find Morgan staring at me.  "You did this," I say, waving the folder in the air. She grins brighter, wider. There's my answer. "You didn't have to do this, Morgan. This trip is for you guys. Just getting to come along was enough."

"We wanted to. To say thanks for everything." She angles herself to the left so she can see JC, slouching in a chair at the end of the table, his folder open in his hands. "Both of you. We just want you guys to have a really, really good time."

Tyler stands and stretches, yawning loudly. "I'm ready for a beach chair, a beer and a nap. Can we check in right now?"

"Key cards are inside your folders. Take them with you wherever you go. This resort is all inclusive, however you will need to use the card if you choose to dine in any of our fine restaurants or visit any of our local bars. Please make yourselves at home and if you are in need of anything, I am available at any time.  Welcome to Rendezvous." Andrew smiles and steps back, releasing us to the wild.

Nick stands, raising a hand to grab everyone's attention. "Hey, before anybody in the wedding party leaves, just a couple of notes. No plans tonight, chill out, relax and explore the island. Tomorrow morning, the guys are golfing-"

"And the girls are having a Spa Brunch," Morgan interjects.

"Right. Then tomorrow afternoon we have the wedding rehearsal and tomorrow night is the rehearsal dinner. Just a heads up, about the schedule."

Keith is messing with his phone again. "When's the wedding again?"

"Tuesday, two o'clock," JC says. "But don't worry about sticking that in your phone. You won't miss it. In fact, put your phone away. Turn it off. Enjoy yourself, man."

Grumbling, Keith follows instruction and zips the phone away in his bag. "Doesn't work anyway. Probably just spent three hundred dollars trying to open the calendar app."

"We provide free wifi across the resort and there are computers in the business center of every community are available for use," Andrew says.

"Which nobody will be using, because we're on vacation. We can unplug for a few days, right?"

"Hell yes." I stand and grab my folder and my map. "I'm going to find my room," I announce, and wheel my bags out of the conference room.

I'm just outside the building and a few steps down the walkway when I hear the roll of wheels behind me. I know it's JC, but I don't turn around. 

"Hey what's your room number?" I stop and check the number printed on the front of the folder.

"Lover's Lagoon, building three, room 864. You?"

"862. Just like I thought." JC catches up to me and pulls his bag upright, leaning on the handle.

"What, just like you thought?"

"They called and switched our rooms. Put us in the Lover's Lagoon or whatever in rooms right next to each other."

"Yeah, Morgan owned up to that, like five minutes ago. So?"  The part of my brain that makes up things to worry about starts to churn. I'm highly paid to worry. "You don't... don't think they're on to us, do you?"

JC shakes his head. "Nah. I think they think they're still pushing us together."

"Oh." I'm both relieved and disappointed. It's actually killing me to not at least tell Morgan that I'm back with JC. Now we really have to carry this out all week. "They're not very good at this, are they?"

"I know, right?"

I grin. "They totally did us a favor."

His grin matches mine, amped up by a twinkle in his eyes. "In a villa, off by ourselves..."

"In rooms next to each other..."

He snickers. "As if we're going to use both of them."

"You think it would freak them out if they knew we were sleeping together?"

"I don't know," he says, walking ahead of me, pulling his suitcase behind him. "I think they want this to work. I don't know if they expect it to work."

My bags and I follow closely behind. "Gonna blow their minds when it comes out."

"Let's not think about that right now. Let's think about skinny dipping in our pool."

"And romantic dinners on our private balcony."

"Oh, and let's not forget sex in a luxury Penthouse bed."

"Can't leave that out. It's the most important part."

JC stops and turns until he's facing me, an odd expression clouding his face. "No," he says, shaking his head slowly. "The most important part is getting you to tell me you love me before we leave this island."

With that, he turns around and marches down the cobblestone path, his bag bumping along every crack until we reach the entrance to our villa, Lover's Lagoon. The community is a short trip of four white stone buildings, each joined by a skywalk above and a path below. The rooftops are dotted with patio tables, wide, sun blocking umbrellas and outdoor bars.

"We're in building three," I call ahead. JC leads us toward the building marked with a large white number three. We meet at the entrance, walk under the arched doorway and through the glass revolving door into a what looks like a typical hotel lobby-front desk along one wall, bank of elevators just past the front desk.

Since we don't have to check in, we head straight for the elevators and punch the number ‘8' for our floor. The cube smoothly lifts us from the ground floor to the 8th floor and the door slides open again. We step out into the widest, most brightly lit hallway I've ever seen in a hotel.

The carpets are a bright red floral pattern with ribbons of green and gold winding throughout and around each bloom. We follow the repeating pattern until we come to our rooms at the end of the hallway.

"That's you," JC says, nodding his head toward the end unit. "I'm right here. Just like we thought, right next to each other."

I pluck my card from its slot in the folder and slide it through the card reader. Next door, I hear JC do the same. With a click and a beep, the door unlocks, so I turn the handle and step into the suite. "Holy.... Shit," I whisper, just barely breathing.

The room is absolutely beautiful, from sparkling white tile floors to the ceiling fan slowly spinning, circulating island air and cool sea breezes. The floors are covered with a decadent oriental rugs under the plush white couch and  the dark wood coffee table at one end of the room, and the enormous and elegant walnut four poster bed on the other end. There is a matching five drawer bureau and a nightstand on either side of the bed and a large flat screen TV mounted on the wall, easily viewable from the bed or the couch.

"This room is so amazing," I say out loud, to no one. "I might never check out."

It's bright, completely lit by beams of sunlight streaming through sheer white draperies that hang over two glass doors. It looks like these swing open, like French doors, out to the patio, which is constructed of wide red planks that hold a two-person table and a brightly colored loveseat, all shaded by an enormous canopy. 

I head for the bed and sit on the edge, almost drooling at the thick, comfortable mattress and feather soft comforter.

Tap tap tap, I hear, coming from the door.

I walk around the suitcase I've left sitting in the middle of the room and open the door to the suite. JC's leaning against the doorjamb, holding a bottle and an opener in one hand and a pair of flutes in the other.

"Compliments of Andrew," he says, walking past me into my room.

"What? What about Andrew?"

"This was in my room, with a card that said, ‘with my compliments, please enjoy'. Signed it Andrew. So let's enjoy it." He's already attacking the bottle with a stainless steel contraption. The cork pops off and shoots across the room. I hear it skid across the tile and land somewhere. JC pours two glasses of bubbly champagne.

He hands me one and holds the other aloft, waiting for me to bump my glass against his.

"Champagne in the middle of the afternoon?"

"On vacation...yes. C'mon, we have to toast." I roll my eyes but I bump glasses with his, the sound ringing out into the quiet room. "Okay, so... to uh...." The room is silent. JC's face is blank, then his cheeks grow pink. "Uhm..."

I'm trying hard to stifle my giggle, but JC at a loss for words is something I rarely see anymore. "You realize, Best Man that you have to make a toast at the reception, right?"

"I have that one written, smartass. This one's impromptu. Stop distracting me." He clears his throat and lifts his glass again. "Okay, to... uh...reclaiming the loves of our lives. Or something like that. I don't know, drink."

We each take a few sips of light, peachy champagne, alternately watching each other and then taking in the view of the ocean rushing forward toward the sand. JC moves toward the patio doors and swings them open, then grabs my hand and pulls me with him toward the wood railing of the balcony. From this vantage point we can see a large part of the beach. Ahead, as far as the eye can see is calming, pristine, indigo blue sea.

So peaceful. I never want to leave this spot.

"I liked your toast, actually. Fitting, impromptu as it was."

JC is leaning onto the railing, his glass balanced precariously between two fingers before he brings it to his lips and sucks down another mouthful.

"You did, did you?" He finally says. His cheeks are still a little pink.

"Yeah. I thought it was sweet."

"I wasn't trying to be sweet. Just... poignant. I was going for a moment, there."

"It was all of that. I'm probably not going to forget the moment you said I was the love of your life."

"Yeah. Well...." He sips again, swallowing before he adds. "Thanks. But you're not going to turn me into a sap."

"I'm not trying to turn you into anything. I'm just saying I liked your toast."

"Whatever, Evangeline."

"Don't start that, Joshua."

We both chuckle and stare out into the view, at the ocean waves chasing each other until they all crash together on the shore, then roll back out and back in again.

I glance over at him a few times and can't suppress my smile. Or a happy little giggle. I'd better not be getting drunk already.

"What are you laughing at?" He asks me, after my third episode of ‘sneak a peek, chuckle a little, and look away'. "You keep looking at me and laughing. Do I look weird?"

I reach for his hand and wind my fingers around his. "You don't look weird." I take in the light dusting of facial hair, the baseball cap planted backwards on his head, the curls peeking out from underneath the brim, the bright, gorgeous blue eyes and long lashes. "You look the same."

His head doesn't move but his eyes cut over to me. "I what?"

"You look the same. As you did back then. When we were together."

He smirks, but I spot his shy smile. "I do not."

"Uh huh. I was thinking about it this morning, on the way to the airport. You had the top down and music playing. It reminded me of when you first got the Jeep. Remember? And you just wanted to go everywhere, all the time, all day?"

"Yeah," he says. I watch the nostalgia wash over him, evident by the expression on his face, his thin smile and dreamy eyes. "Back when gas was cheap. It was so nice to finally have a ride of my own. Pick up my girl and head out."  

"I remember that I'd get a call around ten or eleven, usually, right before you left work, telling me to be ready to go. Remember what you'd say when I asked where we were going?"

"Who cares? Somewhere."  He shrugs, chuckles, and takes a sip.

"In like, an hour we'd be on the road to Lake Conway or Tampa Bay, or some park somewhere, or just downtown, even. And you'd just started growing facial hair and you wore your caps backwards. I keep looking at you because you look the same. Just takes me back."

JC is quiet for a few beats. Maybe he's reminiscing, too.

"You look different," he says. "Lots."

"I do? How? Older?"

"Sorta." He laughs when I smack him on the arm. "Well, not like you think I mean it. You look... womanly."

"Womanly..."

"Yeah. Like a woman's figure. I mean, you were hot, back then. I was proud to be with you. But right now?" He shakes his head and downs another gulp of champagne. "I like the grown up version of Angie. You know what I mean? I mean... I don't know what I mean." He shoves a thumbnail in his mouth and chews on it for a few seconds.

"You mean womanly like an old hag?"

He rolls his eyes upward before they snap back to me. "That's... not what I meant. You know that."

I laugh and lift the glass to my lips again. I swallow, then admit, "I knew what you meant. I don't think I look the same either."

He smoothes a palm down his disheveled facial hair. "I sure don't miss my baby face, I'll tell you that. I hope I look like an adult now."

"Baby... trust me." I move closer and let my hand travel from his chest, down his abdomen to the warm lump in the crotch of his shorts. I stroke the length of him through the thin fabric, enjoying the feeling of him growing longer and arching toward me. In just a few seconds, he is embarrassingly hard.

"You do, most definitely, look like an adult. I was just saying that you reminded me of you back then. It was a nice memory."

"You should keep those nice memories in mind," he murmurs, his eyes half closed. "Keep remembering how much we loved each other. How much fun we had together. Especially out by the lake."

"I remember," I say smiling at the reminder of our times in the Jeep at Lake Conway. He'd back up almost to the edge of the bank and we'd sit and watch the water stream by. We'd listen to music and talk about our dreams and our plans. Our future. Those were the best times, and always some of my fondest memories.

"I'm hoping you remember what you promised me a couple days ago. And I'm also hoping you're going to follow through on what you're doing down there."

I lean in to kiss him, letting my lips linger on his with a long, low, vibrating hum. "Sex, in the middle of the day?" I say, pulling back. "Well, I never!"

"Liar. We've had more daytime sex in the last four days than I've had in the last year." Which, to be fair, is true. I've loved every minute of it. "And yes, sex during the day on vacation. On an island. Especially before people start calling to find out where we are."

I wrap a hand around a bicep and start to pull him toward the open patio doors. "But... no one is going to call. You made everyone turn their phones off, remember?"

He raises one eyebrow and a smile crawls across his face as he allows himself to be pulled through the door and back into my room.  I grab his glass and set it next to mine on the coffee table, then lead him toward the bed, kick off my shoes and climb up. He follows suit, stretching out next to me.

"We have to finish that champagne today," he says. "I don't know where the cork went."

"Oh, don't worry." I reach toward him and unceremoniously unzip the fly of his shorts. "We will."

"Oh yeah?" He sits up halfway, leaning back on is elbows. "You plan on working up a thirst?"

I undo the button at the waist of his shorts and pull them open, revealing a pair of white boxer briefs. He is outlined plainly, straining against the cotton. I pause, glance up at him, then dip my head toward the tip and mouth him through the fabric. I smile at the sound of him groaning. His hips buck toward me, ever so slightly.

"Remember the first time you did this for me?"

"Mmmhmm," I hum, running my tongue around the rim before rolling my eyes up to meet his.  "And you almost passed out?"

"I didn't almost pass out."

"Yuh huh. You were purple. I had to stop to tell you to breathe."

"And to let go of your hair."

"See? You remember."

"It felt good. Really good. No one ever did that before you."

I glance up at him, looking for the tells that says he's lying, usually an inability to look me in the eye, licking his lips, looking everywhere but at me. He staring straight at me and not moving a muscle.

"Really? I was the first?"

"And the best."

I laugh. "Oh, shut the fuck up, JC. I was just messing around, trying to get you to make funny sounds."

"It worked. You were good. You still are."

I grunt and go back to stroking him through his briefs. I know, for a fact, that JC has bedded a lot of women since me, many of whom would love to choke on his dick. I don't believe him but I'll take the compliment.

"Are you planning on doing anything more than that? Because..."

"Getting to it. Patience," I say, before I reach into the opening of his boxers and pull him out. His dick seems happy to be free, pointing skyward. He is warm and thick and pulsing. Without preamble, I take him into my mouth and suck him in; deep, deeper still until I've almost swallowed him.

"Unf!" He grunts, his arms slipping out from underneath him. He falls back onto the bed and lies spread eagle, in complete submission. JC, under my control and domination is a huge turn-on.

I try to drag it out, tease him, make it last, but it isn't long before his hands are curled up into my hair and he's pumping his hips as I lick and suck and swirl my tongue around him. After he comes, he heaves a deep, loud sigh and seems to shrink into the mattress.

Proud of myself, I crawl up the bed to lie next to him. A light sheen of sweat coats his forehead. He's still coming down, inhaling deep breaths and emitting light moans.

"We've been here, what? An hour and a half? And you already came? Bodes well for the week."

He laughs, then falls into a coughing fit. When he's calm again, he kicks his shorts off and rolls to his side, propping himself up on one elbow.

"Gonna be a rough week."

"It's not like we won't see each other."

"Like that'll help. I'll see you and want you."

"I'll be in the same boat. But it will be worth it, I promise."

He leans over to kiss me, while his fingers roam the waistband of my shorts. They don't have any zippers or buttons, just a drawstring, so I untie the string holding them on and pull them down. My thin cotton panties go with them, and both are tossed over the side of the bed.

I'm more than ready for him as he moves himself to hover over me without breaking the kiss. His body settles onto mine and I feel him between us, hard and warm again. I laugh, mid kiss, which makes him stop and pull back.

"What are you laughing at now?" He tries to sound irritated, but there's a twinkle in his eyes as he asks.

"Nothing."

"Nothing? I think it was something."

"It wasn't! It was nothing."

He pauses, then frowns, playfully so. "Evangeline."

I roll my eyes and laugh, wrapping my legs around him."Okay, okay. I was just thinking that you're like... always ready."

"Ready?"

"Ready," I glare at him. He knows what I mean. "Hard. Erect. Down to fuck."

"Oh. I'm not, really. Just when you're around."

"Well I plan to be around a lot, so..."

"So I plan to be ready to fuck a lot."

I'm laughing, but I'm swooning inside. It occurs to me that there's an entire life after this trip, after this week of solitude and ocean air and romantic beachside antics. I feel like the future is one long, uncharted pathway. Suddenly everything I had planned for myself for the next few weeks, months, years is up in the air.

I couldn't be more excited about it. We have a future again.

Smooth and sudden, JC moves himself into position and pushes inside me, filling me in a few long strokes. We both moan and sigh as if it's the first time we've touched each other in days, and not hours. I cling to him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, burying my face in his neck, feeling his body arch as he thrusts into me. I receive and push back, a beautiful symphony of movement and sound and sheer enjoyment.

"Sex," he huffs into my ear. "On vacation. In the middle of the day. In a Penthouse suite. On an island. Tell me this shit isn't perfect, right now."

I can only pant and wheeze and moan oh my God over and over, but I nod as I catch his eye. He smiles and dips his head to my neck, bathing me with his tongue. His stubble is pricking my skin but it doesn't bother me; rather it adds another point of pleasure that brings me the edge of climax. I'm pulsing around him, trying to hold back, make it last.

"I feel you," he says, watching me, not skipping a beat. "You're close."

"Mmmmm!"

"I already got mine. Don't hold back, I want to watch you."

That was all he had to say before I couldn't hold it at bay anymore. While the sounds of the waves crashing against the sands down below travel to my ear, I'm experiencing the same phenomenon in my hotel suite. The strongest orgasm I've felt in a long time waves its way through my body, arching my back, pointing my toes, pulling the oddest sounds from my throat and sapping my strength.

JC's thrusts finally slow and then stop. He pulls out and then lays next to me, slides one arm across me and listens to me try to catch my breath.

"So, I have an addendum to your statement, Counselor."

He groans. "Already submitted. What statement?"

"About sex, on vacation, in a penthouse suite. And I know it's already submitted, that's why it's an addendum. Geez, you quit your job last week and already forgot how to lawyer? Should I call Tyler to work this out?"

His eyes are closed but he's smiling. "I'll consider it. What clause are you seeking to add?"

"You."

His eyes open and he lifts his head so he can look at me. "What?"

"Sex. With you. On vacation. In the middle of the day. In a penthouse suite. On an island. Tell me this shit isn't perfect, right now."

He leans down to kiss me, a sweet gentle quiet peck on my lips. "Approved. Submitted with Addendum. Sex. With you. On vacation. In the middle of the day in a penthouse suite on an island. Sounds perfect to me."

I open my mouth to reply, but I'm interrupted by a loud, shrill ring that makes me almost jump out of my skin. JC's drops his head to my shoulder. I can feel his body shaking with laughter.

"Right. There are phones in the rooms." He nods his head toward the corded white phone on the nightstand near me. "Get it. You know it's one of your girlfriends."

I roll over and reach for the phone, grumbling. "Like you're not here with your boys. Hello?"

#

"I don't think this week is going to be a big deal."

I bought us some time before we have to meet everyone at the Lounge in the middle of the resort for a drink to kick off the weeklong celebration. Then we plan to eat, drink and party into the night. We decided to stay in my room for the night since I have the better view, so after a quick shower, JC put on the hotel bathrobe and went to his room next door to change. We meet up at the elevator wearing fresh clothes, fresh faces, and sneaky, shit-eating grins.

JC snickers and presses the down button to call the elevator.

"I don't. We're the only two single people on this trip. We've known each other forever and we've been getting along so no one's going to think it's weird if we're hanging out. Just act normal."

"Normal. Okay." The elevator arrives and the doors slide open. We step inside and press ‘L'. The doors slide closed. "Define normal. Normal has changed in the last four days."

"You know what I mean. Normal. You've been stalking me for twenty years, showing up everywhere I am. Relentlessly teasing me. Calling me at weird hours of the night to tell me what I shitty lawyer I am. Beating me at fucking everything. Sitting in the parking lot of my apartment complex, waiting for me to leave, apparently."

JC shoves his hands in the pockets of yet another pair of shorts I made him bring. "I was that bad? You make me sound like an asshole."

"If it walks like a duck..." I shrug and he laughs. "I'm just saying. Be serious about what you said, about not becoming a sap. You're happy, I'm happy... but don't stop doing the same annoying shit you were doing when I hated you."

"You mean being in love with you, not wanting to admit it, and getting on your nerves because you always react and it's fun?"

I narrow my eyes and pretend to glare at him. "Yes. Exactly that. Don't stop doing that."

The elevator reaches the bottom floor and the doors slide open again. The lobby is teeming with people milling around like ants, dressed in their vacation wear-sarongs and bikini tops and flip flops on the women, sleeveless shirt and board shorts and sandals on the men.

We step out of the elevator into the melee, into our vacation, into the best acting we'll ever do and what might be the longest week of our relationship.

"You got it, Evangeline."

I awake at sunrise. Not on purpose, it just happens that way. I'd partied hard for just a few hours before the past four days-specifically events the day before-caught up with me. I left JC, happily drunk and holding court with the guys, swapping stories of our youth and indoctrinating Matt into the group.

I stumbled back to my room and just managed to take my sundress off and throw on a night shirt before I fell into the bed and a deep sleep.

Somewhere around 2am, my slumber is interrupted by a beep and the click of the door lock and for a millisecond I'm alarmed. I sit straight up in bed, yelp, "Who's there?" while blindly flailing my arms about, feeling for a lamp but not remembering where they were placed in the room.

"It's just me," says a voice, almost whispering, familiar, soothing. Soft light from the bedside lamp floods the room and JC stands next to the bed, gazing down on me with amusement in his eyes. He's wearing the hotel bathrobe again, so he'd obviously gone to his room first and changed. "Do you want me in here, or should I go back to my room?"

"Oh." I lay a hand over my heart, which is trying to gallop out of the left side of my chest. "I forgot I gave you a key. Yeah... I... I want you in here." I reach across the bed and pull the covers down, making an opening for him.

"Good," he said, untying the robe and kicking off the flip flops he'd worn from his room to mine. "Because I wasn't leaving."

"Then why ask me?" I say, grumbling as I scoot over and make room for him. Clad only in boxer briefs, he slips under the covers with me and reaches to snap off the lamp before he lies down, wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me to him. This gesture makes me smile. I'm snug up against him, his chest hair and cool skin and beard stubble molding me to him.

"Common courtesy," he answers. "Ever hear of it?"

"Sure, I have. Surprised you know the meaning of it, though."

"If I don't surprise you once a day, I don't feel like I'm on my job."

"Well, you're on your job," I mumble. My eyes drift shut and I am on my way back to sleep.

"Did I do okay, tonight? I mean... did I play the role okay?"

I nod, my forehead swishing against the crisp fabric of the pillow. "Perfect. I was actually really annoyed with you."

His head lifts from the pillow. "What? When?"

"When you sat down next to me on the bench outside the bar, practically pushing me off of it, dropped a sloppy wet kiss on my cheek and yelled, ‘what's up, roomie!?' loud enough for most of the island to hear. You're really irritating when you want to be."

"It's a gift."

"It's an annoying gift."

"But you're not mad at me right now, right?"

I snuggle even closer to him and lay my hand over his, draped across my thigh. "Nope. Not a bit."

A few hours later, the fiery orange glow of the sun rises over the Caribbean Sea and the island of St. Lucia. The geniuses that we are didn't think to close the drapes over the windows nor the French doors to the patio, so as soon as the first rays break the horizon, the room is filled with a dusty pink glow. Shards of sunlight poke at my eyelids until I force them open.

My eyes roam the room as far as they can without moving my head. All is quiet, save the muted sounds of the ocean running over the sand at the shore. That, and JC's light snore. During the night he'd rolled over, away from me. I have a nice view of his back and the tousled curls in a mess all over his head.

I sit up and stretch, then work my feet out of the blankets and crawl out of the bed. The room is cool;  I rub my arms to alleviate the chill bumps that pop up. I pad to the bathroom and empty my bladder, still full from the night before. At the sink, I wash my hands and then my face, brush my teeth, smooth my hair back and head back into the bedroom.

JC is exactly where I left him, lying on his side, both arms hanging off of the edge of the bed. His mouth is slightly open, his eyes shut tight. I can't suppress my urge to lean over and drop a kiss on his forehead. My lips gently brush the smooth skin near his hairline and I dare to tuck a curl behind his ear.

As I straighten to step back, he reaches out and claps a strong hand around my thigh, sudden and swift. His eyes pop open and he says, in a gritty, slumber filled voice, "Where you going?"

I scream and then laugh, then punch him in the shoulder. "Let go of me!"

He sits up, grabs me by the waist and hoists me onto the bed. I land in his lap and throw my arms around his neck. He dips his head to me and drops a soft, sweet kiss on my lips.

"I'm sure I need to brush, so that'll have to do for now. What are you doing up?"

"Sun woke me up," I answer, beaming up at him. He's so beautiful to me, from the wild Alfalfa- like curl at the top of his head to the overnight beard growth on his cheeks to his warm smile and sturdy, strong physique holding me close to him. "And my bladder. I think I drank a pitcher of Mojitos by myself. What are you doing up?"

"Girlfriend woke me up," he says, tipping his head back and letting a yawn escape him. "I heard you in the bathroom. I wasn't even going to mess with you but you had to come lay those lips on me, and..."

"Mmmhmm, I couldn't resist."

"That's usually what happens," he says, before he realizes what he's said and he turns pale. "I-I mean..."

"I know, JC. I know. You don't have to walk on eggshells with me. I hope you don't think you do."

"No, I don't think that. Just, for some reason, things fall out of my mouth and I just think some things are better left unsaid. Like bragging to my current girlfriend about how much the ladies want me and find me irresistible and stuff like that."

"Well, I don't know why I should be any different. You once told me that you were a virile, attractive young man and that you could basically get any woman you wanted." I shrug, gazing up at him with innocent, doe eyes.

"I said that, huh? Well I was probably just trying to impress you or something."

"Probably."

"Besides, it's true."

I let one eyebrow raise in question. "Oh?"

"Well, I decided I wanted you. And look who's sitting in my lap right now?" He asks this question as he slaps my thigh and then grips the meaty underside.

I laugh, heartily, kicking my leg out of his grip. "You are such a pompous asshole."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." I stretch up to kiss him, my lips lingering on his for a few seconds. "But you're my pompous asshole."

"That's what I'm talkin' about!" He says, and then pushes me off of his lap. "Speaking of full bladders..."

A few hours later, we take the elevator to the ground floor of the hotel and part at the entrance doors. He's dressed in regulation golf attire-knee length plaid shorts, white sneakers and a polo, and headed to the golf shop to rent clubs and spend the morning bonding with the men.

I head in the direction of the Spa, wearing my swimsuit under a thin, sheer cover-up that flutters in the breeze as I pick my way down the sidewalk. I'm oddly aware of the grin on my face and I'm trying hard to erase it.

JC and I spent the morning having slow, quiet, decadent sex and then we had breakfast out on the patio while we watched the island wake up. By the time we dragged ourselves inside to get ready for the day, I was wishing we hadn't have planned so many events. Or at least that we could beg off and steal away and just be with each other. We definitely needed to come back. Or go someplace else, just the two of us.

I smile again, thinking how nice it would be to go away with him and have him all to myself.

Get a grip on yourself, Angie. People-- and by people, I mean Jackie-- will be able to tell. Wipe that ‘I just had sex' smile off your face and get with the program.  

I am the last to arrive at the spa, a spacious two floor complex bathed in white. On first glance the Spa seems to offer every treatment under the sun. Morgan requested The Bridal Party Package, which includes a full body massage, a sea salt scrub, a facial, paraffin dip for hands and feet and a manicure and pedicure. Outside of that, we could opt for a mud bath or a sea kelp soak or a dip in the Jacuzzi.   

Morgan and most of her entourage are seated in the quiet lounge area, heads bent over clipboards, pens scratching across forms. Soothing guitar music floats from the speakers above us and aside from the ever present sound of the ocean in the background, the ten foot salt water fish tank hums and bubbles and gurgles. I find the sound relaxing as I grab a clipboard with the permission slips and a pen and take a seat to fill out the paperwork.

"So how did things go last night, Angie?" Bridget is asking, her thin lips bent into a smirk.

"You guys are real funny. Real funny."

Morgan laughs. "Aw, I'm sure it wasn't that bad. He promised he would be good."

"How come he was in your room when I called you yesterday?" Bridget again, the nosy bitch.

I balance the clipboard on my knees and mechanically fill in my information-name, address, date of birth.  I pause to answer. "You must be joking. Or senile, to not remember that this is a man that has not been able to ignore or avoid me, ever, in our entire lives. You put him in a room next to me, in a hotel off by ourselves... where did you think he was going to end up? He just couldn't wait to get to my room."

"Did you guys drink the champagne?" Morgan asks.

"JC drank most of it, "I answer with what I hope is a convincing, nonchalant shrug. It's the truth, actually. "He dragged me out to the balcony and we did a toast."

"Oh? A toast to...." Jackie lets the end of her question trail off, leaving me to fill in the blanks before she fills them in for me.

"We actually pulled this thing off without killing each other. I think that's a toastable event for us."  She looks disappointed when I don't admit to having wild sex with JC (in the middle of the day, on vacation, on an island) in my bed and exclaim that I am falling for him all over again. She'll probably go into premature labor when she finds out.

I finish filling out my forms and stack them on top of the pile that has gathered. I return the clipboard and the pen and turn to Morgan. She is bright-eyed and sunny with a wide blue headband holding her blonde hair back. She looks happy-giddy is more the word, despite what I am sure was a late night for her. She will be running on sheer adrenaline until the moment she says I Do.

"Are we ready to get this show on the road, or what?"

Jackie can't have a massage because of her pregnancy-the pushing and pulling and kneading might set off contractions-so she spends her time wandering from station to station, visiting with everyone and helping the staff deliver water and towels, along with coffee and mimosas. She settles into a soft, worn leather chair and hands me a flute of barely orange tinged champagne. I'm lying on my stomach and enjoying my massage but that doesn't stop me from trying to sip my drink.

She folds her hands over her belly and glances up at me, her brown eyes wide and full of fake innocence. I am almost positive she knows, but I'll never admit it. "So..."

I take a few sips and, frowning, hand the flute back to her. "Jackie, I swear if you ask me something about JC I will sucker punch you. I don't even care that you're pregnant."

"You would not," she shoots back, not in the least afraid of me.

"Try me."

"Okay. Fine. I won't ask about JC. How's life? How's work? How's your dad? What's up with JC?"

I groan and press my head into the opening provided in the massage table.

"Oh I know, but I have to ask, because you two just look so happy right now and I would love it if that meant that-"

"Jackie." I manage to sound stern and even a little angry.

I can almost feel her pained squint as she answers, "Yes?"

"Please go find someone else to bother. I'm trying to relax here and you keep bringing up a person I don't want to talk about."

"No, don't kick me out. Okay, okay. I'll be good. Tell me about work. How's it going? Still really stressful?"

"It's alright. Better now that the case I where I was up against JC is over.  I'm happy to not be there right now."

"You said a few weeks ago that you might be burnt out at the firm." I did? Damn, Morgan's Bachelorette party! What else did I say?  "Are you still feeling that way?"

"You know..."   I tip my head to the side and sigh as the masseuse works his hands skillfully across my lower back. I carry a lot of stress there; I feel it oozing away with every wave of his hand across my skin.  "I like being the kind of attorney that does good things. Fights for the underdog, the wronged tenants and the victims of uncaring utility companies and thieving plumbers. I like solving legal problems. I never want to defend murders or drunk drivers -Tyler loves that stuff and so does JC.  I love the human interest kind of cases."

"So why can't you keep taking those kinds of cases?"

I lift my head and reach for my glass. Jackie hands it to me and watches me sip, then takes it back as I lick the sweetness off of my lips.  

"It's not up to me as to what kinds of cases I get. They're assigned. And it seems like the partners want to move away from the services function of law and be more of a defense firm." 

My caseload, at the moment, is a teenager accused of shoplifting; an elderly woman that accidentally backed into another car and the other driver won't settle; and a property damage case in which a city water main broke and flooded a home.  Not the cream of the crop, not my forte and not anything I really want to be doing. While I'm researching the rights of the city vs. the rights of a citizen, or whether or not a seventeen year old can be tried as an adult for theft, or if an 88 year old should even still have a driver's license, a hundred people lose their homes every week due to housing discrimination. That's my heart's work... but since Ramirez v Bailey settled, the partners want me working on more complicated legal issues. I think they think it's a promotion, but it isn't.

"The mission seems stagnant, like they're moving away from the work that put us on the map. I don't get to choose what cases I want to work anymore. They assign me to what they think I can win."

"Like the ones where they used to make you go against JC."

"Exactly. I mean, I loved those cases but if I had my pick, I wouldn't have taken them. I only won against him once, and that was because he gave up. And he only did that because he was quitting Perry."

"Yeah, what was up with that? He won't tell anyone what he's doing now or what he plans on doing. He's always been wide open, bragging about a great case he's working on or a huge bonus he got for a settlement. He's so secretive right now. Kinda scary. Makes me wonder what's up his sleeve."

"Well, he's resourceful," I comment, and stifle a yawn. "I'm sure he's got something worked out. We'll find out eventually."  

"What about you though? You can't stay at Flanning forever. You're good enough to move up, move out. You should be a Partner by now. You're the best attorney they have there."

I smile at my friend, who really knows nothing about the legal field past what she's seen on Law and & Order and its various iterations and what she's heard from JC and I. When I first met Jackie, she was dating a fellow law student at Berkley Law. She tagged along to a couple of study sessions and we hit it off right away. The relationship didn't work out, but our friendship did. She's still only managed to soak up a minute amount of information about the law and what it's like to be an attorney.

"Thanks for the compliment, Jacks. I'm far from the best. I'm good... but I'm not that good. Makes me think, though." I heave my body up onto my elbows. I'm so relaxed I feel like I could seep right off the table and onto the floor, just pour me to the next station.

"About?"

"Going out on my own. Or going to another firm." I smile. "You know Perry once recruited me?"

Her mouth drops and her eyes widen. "Shut up! When?"

"A few years ago, they called me up. JC must have told them all about how we'd known each other forever. They said they thought we'd make a great Dream Team. We could try cases together. Why, what with my smarts-"

"And his charm-"

"We'd make a great Power Couple!" We both collapse in peals of laughter. "Obviously I turned them down. The offer was lucrative, though. And I think if I could get an offer like that from Perry, I should be able to move on to another firm."

"You should really think about it. It might change your life."

Jackie pushes herself up from the chair and hands me my champagne flute before waddling out of the room. I lift the crystal to my lips and sip while watching the view of the beach and the surf outside the windows.

Oh, Jackie. If you only knew how much my life has already changed.   

After my massage, I am relaxed and fluid, floating from one station on the first floor to the next station upstairs on the second floor. I enjoy my salt scrub, practically purring at the sensation of coarse granules sloughing off surface skin and revealing soft, supple skin underneath. From there I head to the Paraffin dip area and am seated in a spa chair. As soon as I slide into the chair, I hear a muffled gasp.

The patron next to me is wearing a green clay mask over her face but I recognize the deep brown wavy hair with golden highlights and the generous chest belonging to Jade.

"Oh, hey," I toss over at her, and return my attention to the technician who is stirring paraffin dip in the seat in front of me.

"Hi," she returns. But she doesn't face front. Instead she continues to stare at the side of my face until I give her the attention she seems to be demanding.

"Something you need to say to me?"

"I was going to ask you the same question."

"Why would I have anything to say to you?"

"Well you might tell me why you're being such a bitch to me. I don't even know you and I'm not here with JC."

"Yeah, that's right. You don't know me. All the more reason for us to not really have to talk. I know you're here with Tyler but that doesn't mean we have to be best friends." 

I lift my foot, as directed by the technician, so she can brush the thick, warm wax on to my feet. It feels so luxurious and decadent, in direct contrast to the conversation I'm having.

"I'm not asking to be your best friend. I just don't want Tyler in the middle of anything, you know? He didn't ask to be in this. I said I didn't know they were brothers when I met him and I meant that. I never knew JC's last name. We didn't get that far."

I'm trying hard not to smart at her comment. We didn't get that far. JC said he never slept with her and I have to believe that.

"Look... I don't really care about what's going on between you and Tyler. If he's happy, I'm happy. But I've known him his entire life and I know he'd be really upset if you had any kind of ulterior motive for being here. And I just think it's funny that you and he met a few weeks ago and you've already managed to get yourself invited to an island in the Caribbean. Where his brother also happens to be."

"Especially after having sort of dated his brother and basically getting kicked to the curb?"

Now you're getting the picture, missy. My answer is a curt nod and a glare before looking away.  

"And you think I'm here with Tyler to get close to JC."

"I didn't say that-"

"But you think it. Tyler already told me all about it."

My heart skips a beat and I feel my face flush. Tyler told her all about what?  "Tyler should concentrate on his own issues. Whatever your deal is, don't hurt him in the process."

Jade huffs a frustrated breath and sits up in her salon seat, her shoulders pivoted toward me so I don't miss a word.  "I don't have a deal, Angie," she retorts. "I'm here to have a good time with a guy I like and that's it. I paid for my own ticket and I offered to reimburse Morgan and Nick for the room. They won't take it. I don't know what more I can do to prove to you that I'm not here to take your boyfriend."

The word boyfriend sticks in my brain and causes a pileup of words behind it. Why does she think JC is my boyfriend? I mean, he is... but no one is supposed to know that.

"First of all," I utter, trying to recover. "If Tyler told you everything, he left out the part where JC isn't my boyfriend. We dated a long time ago and broke up in high school and he's been stalking me ever since. Him being my boyfriend is this wedding party's wet dream. Everyone wants us back together."

"That much is obvious," she says, relaxing into the leather seat again. "You guys are all anyone talks about around here."

Incredulous, I turn to face her."What, really?"

"God, yes. You'd think you two were the guests of honor. Yesterday everyone was wondering if you were getting along or if you'd have to chuck him over the balcony before the end of the first day."

I giggle, more at the thought of everyone talking about us than the imagery of throwing JC off the balcony-though a month or so ago it would have been a good option.

"I'm just saying ... I'm here to have fun. Relax on a beach, swim in the ocean, get to know this lawyer I met. Tyler's a cool guy. His brother is an asshole who doesn't want me. There's no bigger turn off than a guy who isn't into you. I'm not trying to conquer him. Besides..."

She pauses, and the tone and octave in her voice goes lower, softer.  "It's so totally obvious that he wants to be with you. I can't compete with how he looks at you when you don't know he's watching you."

I don't know how to respond. Indignance? Disbelief? Quiet humility?

"That day I was at his house and you showed up... Before you came over he'd been talking real easy. Flirty, you know? I thought something was happening there. After you left he was different. Distracted. And a little bit... I don't know if I want to say sad." 

She shrugs. "I didn't last another hour. He said he wasn't feeling me, thanked me for coming by and walked me to my car. I'd bragged so much about catching him, this awesomely cute, rich lawyer dude. I was so embarrassed I quit the bar. Thank God I got this new job right after."

That was the night I went over to apologize, grovel, make things right with him; otherwise Morgan was going to cut us out of the wedding. And before I left, we'd decided to work together and pull it off, then  basically forget we ever knew each other. The light at the end of the tunnel was a great motivator.

That was the start of the countdown for me, the only thing that made planning the wedding with JC worth it. I marvel at how different things are between us now.

"Okay... I'm sorry. I overreacted. I go all mama bear over Tyler. That kid is just... he grew up one house down from me. I know him like the back of my hand. He's a sweet guy. I don't want to see him hurt."

Jade smiles, her countenance soft. She nods, slowly and deeply, forgiving. "I get it. And he's lucky to have you. Are you always like this with his girlfriends?"

I slide my wax covered hands into warm gloves that are then strapped around my wrists and sit immobile, wearing the equivalent of oven mitts on my hands and electric booties on my feet while the wax does its job.

"I've seen girls do all kinds of things-lie, cheat, steal-- to get close to JC, including using Ty. So, when they used to date his older brother? Yeah. The claws come out."

##

The Bachelorette Brunch is a beautiful affair with more food than we could ever eat, served buffet style. Fresh seafood, sizzling steak and chicken, rich side dishes in delicious cream sauces, crisp vegetables, followed up by three different kinds of cheesecake and endless champagne and wine bar. By the time we stumble out of the event room, we're tipsy, giggly, and swiping tears from makeup stained cheeks.

As bridal gifts, Morgan gave each of us diamond tennis bracelets to wear during the ceremony. It's the most thoughtful gift I've ever received. I heard the men got cufflinks at their post- golf lunch from Nick. This wedding is turning out to be such a monumental event.

Andrew arrives with a load from the airport, including Morgan and Nick's parents. We all head straight to the site of the wedding-a spanse of beach already cleared of tourists, plants and rocks and smoothed to perfection. The bride and groom, wedding band and guests will be covered by an enormous canopy.

We run through the ceremony quickly. JC and I walk down the aisle, first in line. Morgan and Nick stand next to us, respectively. The rest of the party follows and the officiant reviews the order of the ceremony-recognition of parents, the vows, the rings, the kiss. And then the party.  It will be very short and very sweet.

"Thanks everybody," Nick calls out as the officiant calls an end to the rehearsal and people begin to disperse. "If you're joining us for the Rehearsal Dinner, it's at six at The Cliff. It should be on your hotel maps and it's within walking distance. Dress is casual, just come on down and celebrate-"

"Your last night as a single man!" Keith interrupts, clapping Nick on the back.

"Well, yes... that," Nick answers through a cough and a laugh.

It appears that we are free for a few hours. I know what's on my mind-I've not seen JC all day and I really just want to be close to him. Like, skin to skin, cheek to cheek close to him. I catch his eye ever- so- briefly and start to head toward our villa.

Ten minutes after I arrive at my room, kick off my shoes and pull off my cover-up, a light tap-tap sounds at the door, followed by the swipe of a keycard and a beep as the door opens. JC saunters into my room, a slight smile on his lips, the sunlight filtering through the curls atop his head.

"Hey."

"Hey? That's all you have for me?"

I laugh and move across the room, stepping into his arms, letting him squeeze me right up against him. I feel his heartbeat pounding through his chest and his lungs sucking in and expelling air. An appreciative groan begins as a rumble in his chest and curls out of his mouth as he wraps himself around me, tucking his head between my neck and shoulder.

"Missed you today," he mumbles between brushes of his lips against my skin.

I reluctantly pull away, but only to move us further into the room. I climb up onto the bed and lay across it, inviting him to sprawl out next to me. He grins as he stretches and yawns, his moves simultaneously cat-like and cute as fuck.

"God, I missed you. You're all anyone wanted to talk about today."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah. Girls are gossipy. Bridget was all, ‘why was JC in your room when I called' and Morgan was all ‘did you guys drink the champagne' and I wanted to be all ‘we fucked all afternoon and this morning, are you happy?'  Bitches."

JC is laughing, that chesty, gut level laugh that I have always loved, that used to give me heartburn when I heard it across the room because I missed hearing it so much. My days of missing the sound of him laughing are, I hope, long gone.

"Well, no one on the course wanted to talk about you."

"Really? Assholes. Why don't you have to go through seven levels of interrogation about someone you're supposedly not dating?"

He shrugs, leaning on one elbow. "Guys are oblivious to that shit. Don't ask, don't tell. Bro Code. You know the deal."

"Whatever. I need a Sis Code."

He laughs. "So we're going to spend these couple hours of free time we have talking about how our friends don't know we're back together?"

I smile and shake my head. "No. No we are not.  Come here."

He grins and tips toward me, his lips landing on mine in what starts as a funny smooch but turns on a dime into a passionate, sucking-air-through-my-nose, breathtaking kiss. When he comes up for air, he seems pretty proud of himself. I just laugh.

"Have a good day?" He asks. I nod, running my fingers through his wavy hair and smiling up at him. He grabs and hand and, brows furrowed, examines it. "What all did you girls have done? Massage and... hey, they waxed the hair off of your fingers!"

"Shut the fuck up, JC."

He laughs. "You realize that you haven't said that to me in weeks?"

"You were overdue. Do you have something else to say so I can call you an asshole?"

"Covered that this morning."

"Oh yeah." I giggle. "We had massages and a salt scrub and a paraffin dip and manicures and pedicures."

He frowns. "Did you have to stay awake for all that?"

"It's fun if you're a girl. Guys are cavemen. They don't have to do anything."

"Bullshit! How do you think I keep my boyish looks?  Check out this skin." He leans down so his forehead is in my face. "Blemish free, right? Look at that hair. Luscious, shiny curls." He tips his head up and shoves a finger into my eye line. "Look at these hands. These nails, perfectly trimmed, buffed to a shine. Don't tell me I'm a caveman."

I'm laughing through tears, so hard I can't breathe. When I recover, I resume inspection of the luscious, shiny curls. "I'm totally dating a metrosexual."

"And don't you forget it," he quips. "Caveman. Shut your mouth."

"Shut my mouth? You won't like that."

An eyebrow rises. "You know what? You're right about that."  He leans over to kiss me again. I tighten my arms around his neck and gently pull so that he rolls toward me and settles his body onto mine. My legs wrap around him, our chests are pressed together, our lips and tongues are performing the same dance they've been performing since we were fifteen.

I feel him, growing longer and harder between us. My hips and back arch, pressing my core into him. God, he feels good.

JC tears his mouth from mine, ostensibly to catch his breath, as he pants into my skin. "So... are you going to this rehearsal dinner?"

"As much as I want to lay here with the patio door open and let the entire island hear you make love to me all night... I think we have to."

"Whyyyyyy?" He whines.

"Because we are the best man and the maid of honor. We're required to be there."

"Says who?" He asks, his lips burning a hot, wet trail down my neck and across my shoulder, then across my chest. He plays with the cups of my swimsuit, revealing a nipple and closing his mouth over it.

"Says..." I gasp and writhe at the sensation of his tongue rasping across sensitive buds. "Etiquette. Besides, if we don't show up, what will everyone think?'

"That we're in your room fucking, I hope." He moves to the other cup, pulls down the thin fabric and gives attention to the other nipple.

"Pretty sure they're hoping for that."

"Dreams come true," he says, sitting up. "Here, take this off."

I unsnap the top to my swimsuit and pull it off, then shimmy out of the bottom and toss them both over the side of the bed. JC follows suit and pulls off his golf shorts and shirt and gets rid of them in the same manner.

I've seen JC naked every day for past five days, but I still can't get used to it. The difference in his body from 17 to 35 is night and day. He's not thin and spindly with young, wiry hair sprouting everywhere. He's mature and manly, muscular with thick patches of hair that show evidence of years of training to grow in one direction, then another. Sculpted. Man-scaped. I would laugh, but I find him so goddamn sexy right now.

I pat the bed, encouraging him to lay down close to me. As he does, I reach out for him and do my favorite thing, run my fingers through the hair on his chest. He seems to enjoy it, as he lets me do it for a few minutes before his hands start to explore my version of sculpting.

"Do you have any idea how good it feels to touch you?"

I smile and let my fingers crawl south and grip him. He's warm and hard but so smooth and soft. I admire the mere strength I'm holding in the palm of my hand. Slowly, I begin to stroke him from base to tip and back down, squeezing and pulling and slightly twisting. His eyes flutter closed, his hips pulse in rhythm and he groans.

"I have some idea. Yeah."

"You know what you can do with that, right?"

"Again... I have some ideas."

He chuckles, then sits up a little, swatting my hand away. "Get away from there. You're just teasing me. This is what I want."

An entire day of anticipating this moment, coupled with the past few minutes of teasing and foreplay has left me slick and warm. I want him. I'm ready for him. If his long, loud exhale is any indication, he's had the same day I've had.

His body moves like a well oiled machine, thrusting and pushing, giving and receiving. This is all I've wanted all day and I heave a giant sigh of relief to finally have it.

What I'd thought was going to be a hard, quick, loud pounding turned slow and sensuous. Gentle lovemaking, not raucous, crazy fucking. I can handle the latter. The former, while it's so nice to be close to JC, scares me.

Because I know these are the moments he gets emotional and personal and talks about his feelings. These are the moments he is vulnerable and shows me the real him-my sweet JC, the man I've known my whole life.

These are the moments that will make me fall in love with him.

Hours later we are headed to the elevator, on the way to the Rehearsal Dinner. I'm wearing a strapless, deep pink sundress and sandals. JC is wearing khaki shorts and a short sleeved shirt, no socks and slip-on shoes. He looks casual, seems relaxed and happy when I glance over at him, waiting for the elevator to arrive.

"What? I have something on my face?"

"Yep," I say. "A smile."

"Your fault." He gestures to me to step into the elevator first, after the doors open. We get in and the doors close. He presses L for lobby. "I just want you to know something," he says.

I know exactly what he's going to say, but I ask anyway. "What?"

He reaches out, presses the stop button on the elevator and waits until it grinds to a halt. A low beep comes from the instrument panel on the wall.

JC turns to me, grips my waist in his hands and walks us backward toward the wall, then pushes himself right up against me. Head to knees, we are pressed together, not a speck of daylight between us. His mouth drops to mine and he devours my lips, my mouth, my tongue, groaning and grunting and squeezing me in his hands. I'm a pool, melted feelings and emotions and wants. I do not want to go to this dinner. I want to go back upstairs and make myself say the words.

"I love you," he says, his piercing blue eyes holding me hostage. I can just barely hear him over the steadily rising volume of the beeps coming from the elevator. "I always have. And I want you to love me. Whatever I have to do to make that happen, I will. I will hear you say you love me. Understood?"

I have no words. No breath. No thoughts. He's gone from deeply sensual to passionate and loving to brusque and commanding. My mind is a blur. I'm lost in everything I'm feeling right now. All I can do is nod, and say, "uh huh."

He steps back, pushes the ‘Start' button on the elevator. The beeping stops and the cube shakes to life and begins its descent again. I wipe the mess he's made of my lip gloss off of my face.

JC faces front, his face a mask covering any emotion he might have displayed mere seconds ago. He slides his hands into his pockets and says, "Let's not stay long at this thing. Dinner, a toast. You leave first; I'll follow in about ten minutes. We have unfinished business."

I nod, almost shaking with renewed anticipation.

He will hear me say I love him. He's working hard at making sure it happens soon.  

"You are unbelievable. Just unbelievable! Like... just...."

"Unbelievable?"

"Oh, shut up!"

The door to my hotel room slams open and bounces against the door stop before it swings toward the doorjamb. I stomp through the room and toss a beaded, plum colored clutch onto the couch. JC catches the door before it closes and steps inside, letting it slip closed soundlessly behind him.

I can't sit. I can't even stand still. I'm so furious I'm shaking; it's a wonder I even have a voice, since I've been screaming at JC for the better part of an hour-during Nick and Morgan's reception, on the walk back from the reception to the hotel and all the way across the hotel property and up to our rooms. JC has trailed behind me, hands in his pockets, tie undone, shirt unbuttoned at the neck and open just enough to see a hint of babyfine chest hair. If I wasn't so fucking pissed off at him, I'd jump him.

But I am pissed off at him. So much that I feel the steam shooting out of my ears. 

"I don't even understand why you would do such a thing. We talked about this over and over. I told you how important it was to me and you said you got that.  Did you not understand me? Was I not clear?"

JC has taken a seat on the couch. His legs are stretched out in front of him, shoes off, feet crossed at the ankles. He's picked up my clutch and is picking at the miniature beads sewn into the fabric. At my litany of questions, he looks up and calmly answers, "No, I understood you perfectly."

"So..." I huff, hands on my hips. How is he so goddamn calm and nonchalant? "What the fuck, JC?"

Slowly, JC tosses the purse onto the low, glass top table that sits in front of the couch. He pushes himself up to standing position and slowly makes his way across the room to stand in front of me.

"The fuck, as you put it, is that I got tired of hiding and waiting and pretending and making like the only guy here without someone special."

"So you would rather risk that someone special than pretend for a few more days? We had three more days, JC. After today we don't even have to hang out with anyone anymore. We were home free!"

He shrugs. "Well, now we can do whatever we want, whenever we want and we don't have to hide us anymore. I don't get how you don't see this as a good thing."

I turn to face the gorgeous view of the afternoon sun burning on the horizon, the indigo blue water, the blinding white sands, the festive umbrellas with bright red tops dotting the beach. I can't even look at him. If you've ever wondered how things can go wrong in just a few hours, take a perfect situation and add JC.

This morning, everything was perfect.

***

On the heels of a joyous, loud, drunkfest of a rehearsal dinner, JC and I separately escaped The Cliff Restaurant and Bar and met up at my room. Mid-stroke, during our second session of our own version of a loud drunkfest, JC mumbled into my ear, "I think we should tell them."

As I was on the verge of orgasm, I laughed and bucked my hips up at him. "Don't you dare. I'm having too much fun having you all to myself."

JC stopped moving momentarily and caught my eye. "That's what it's about, for you? Having me to yourself?"

"Wha-JC... what is this inquiry about? Right now? In the middle of sex, right when I'm about to come?"

Thankfully, he began to move again, his hips thrusting and pulling back. But his heart wasn't in it. And that means my heart wasn't in it, and I've had enough convenient sex. I didn't want that, not with JC.

"What?" I asked. "What now?"

"Nothing," he said. "You want to come don't you?"

"Well, yeah. But I want you to be into it and you're not. You might as well just stop."

So he did. He stopped and pulled out and flopped next to me, bunching a pillow up behind his head.

"Talk to me."

JC sighed, then ran a hand down his face, wiping away a light sheen of sweat. "I'm just thinkin', ya know. About the wedding and us and everybody. And I know you don't agree but I think our friends should know about us. I feel like we're lying to them."

"But we're not lying to them. And they will know, JC. They just won't know when they'll have wanted to know. They'll know when we're good and ready to tell them."

"I'm good and ready to tell them."

"Well, I'm not. We have this wedding and this reception to get through, still. This trip is about Nick and Morgan. Jade told me today that we're all anyone is talking about. The whole wedding party is tittering about whether or not we're getting along over here. I don't want that."

"I know. I don't either. But eventually..."

I grabbed his face and tipped his head toward me so I could look him in the eye."Eventually, they will know. I promise we won't go the rest of our lives hiding our relationship from our friends. But can we at least get through the reception? Can we give Nick and Morgan that much?"

Reluctantly, JC nodded. And then a sly grin slid across his face and he rolled over, grabbing my legs, holding them open and entering me again. It was like picking up where we'd left off minutes ago, except the small break in the action had done us both good. We both came in a sweaty, breathy mess.

And I really thought things had been settled, especially when he woke me up the next morning with a poke from behind.

We moved around each other easily. We had breakfast and went for a swim and lounged on the sun porch off of my room. Around noon we shared a shower and started getting ready for the wedding. JC zipped my dress, a strapless elegant gown in a deep, custom dyed plum. I helped him tie his tie and fasten his cufflinks, his gift from Nick. When we left the suite at 1:30, all was right in my world.

It was a surreal moment, navigating the walkways of the resort in my matching strappy sandals, the tail of my dress clutched in my fingers so it didn't drag, my other hand tucked into JC's elbow for support. His tux, a black Armani number, coupled with his hair combed back into gentle waves that curled up just past his collar and his strong, manly signature scent made him look and smell good enough to eat.

We arrived at the site of the wedding and lined up according to our rehearsal the previous day. All of us bridesmaids wore the same color but different styles of dress. All of the men wore classy black tuxes, surreptitiously swiping beads of sweat from hairlines and upper lips. The temperature on the beach was in the high 80's-great for us girls in flowing skirts and strapless dresses. Terrible for men in full tuxedos.

"Let's get this show on the road," Keith mumbled, fiddling with his tie and shirt collar.

"Stop messing with your shirt," Bridget fussed, smacking his hands away and fixing his collar. She glanced at me and smiled, saying, "Why can't you be more like JC? Angie has him all squared away and he isn't messing with anything."

"JC's not shoving a ten inch neck into a nine inch hole. I think the tux shop gave me the wrong shirt. I'm choking here!"

My eyes slid over to JC, who was standing patiently, waiting for the music to cue us to begin walking. I noticed the hint of a smile, listening to the longest married couple in our group bicker.

"Could be us. Give us about ten years."

I opened my mouth to protest but the music started, so I just shook my head. Then tucked my arm into his and stepped in time to the sound of the wedding march played on steel drums.

The ceremony was blessedly short but very sweet. Morgan looked angelic, radiantly beaming in her strapless silk wedding dress, looking like she'd just stepped off the cover of Bride Magazine.  Nick looked handsome and proud, though nervous in his white tux. In his lapel was a rose dyed the color of the lilies in Morgan's bouquet and the shade of our dresses. Every detail was perfect-to the letter.

As my two best friends on the planet stood and faced each other and recited vows that they probably wrote together-because they do everything together-my gaze shifted just past this coupling to JC standing on the other side. His eyes weren't Nick and Morgan either. They were on me.

With the rings exchanged and the vows recited, it was all over but the kiss, which was met with a loud, rousing chorus of whooping and hollering. The moment they were declared Mr.  & Mrs. Nick and Morgan del Ray and joyously danced down the center aisle, I watched Keith roll his eyes in relief and unbutton the collar of his shirt.

Right on cue, Bridget showed up to fuss at him. "We have pictures in a few minutes!"

"Do you even care that I can't breathe?"

"Of course I care, honey. But you can't take wedding party photos with your collar unbuttoned."

"Well, when it's time for the pictures I'll button it again. Right now I need some air." Bridget clicked her tongue and reached for his collar. He gently grabbed her wrist and glared. "Sweetheart, I love you but I will toss you into the ocean right fucking now if you touch my collar."

The entire wedding party and half the guests, all privy to this light argument laughed. Nonplussed, Bridget anchored a fist on each hip. "Who're you going to get to raise your brats, then?"

Keith groaned, rolled his eyes, and bent down toward her so she could button the collar.  I stifled a chuckle and walked past them, down the center aisle through a few gaggles of people lingering to chat. I said hello to Nick's parents, then Morgan's on my way to the reception hall, a few steps away from the beach.

Inside the cool, dark room illuminated by candles and low hanging strings of pearl lights, several tables were spread about. A buffet table lined one wall, a full bar and bartender lined another. At the head of the room was a large square of wood paneling that seemed to serve as a dance floor, since a disco ball hung dead center. On a makeshift stage, a steel drum band was pounding out contemporary hits.

"So, I've never heard My Prerogative quite like this before." JC had snuck up next to me, a drink already in hand.

"Yeah, it's.... different. But not bad once you get used to it."

"They don't play all night," he said, reassuringly. "Just for atmosphere, until we get going and then it's piped in music."

"Great. I was beginning to worry about your part in this plan." JC's job was the festivities-the parties, the reception, everything from food to music. My job was style-details like colors and decoration and the general flow of the ceremony. While we collaborated on a few tasks, I let JC do what he does best-plan a party, while I did what I do best-negotiate the hell out of everything else.

"We did a great job, partner," said JC, dropping an arm over my shoulder. "It's been a good trip so far. Very... very good." He nuzzled my neck as he spoke. His lips, wet from his drink brushed against my skin and sent a shock of pleasure through me.  

"Knock it off," I mumbled, stepping away from him.  

JC paused for a moment and then with a twinkle in his eye, said, "That's right honey. Play the part. Put on an Oscar winning performance for all of our friends here. I'm sure they appreciate the effort."

I glared at JC, who knocked back the rest of his drink and headed back over to the bar. The room was beginning to fill up. The wedding party had to meet in five minutes for photos. If JC was planning to get hammered and ruin these pictures....

I rushed to get between him and the bar, a move that must have surprised him. "Okay, clearly you have a problem with me right now but you cannot be drunk. We have pictures in minutes."

"I'm not drunk, Angie. I just got a little something to cool me down and I'm taking the cup back to the bar." He dropped the cup on to the faux wood counter of the makeshift bar and turned to me as if to say ‘see?'  "Have a little faith in me, honey. We've still got a show to put on, right?"

I sighed with relief, grabbed his arm and dragged him back outside.

A half hour later, photos taken and the wedding preserved for posterity, everyone seemed immensely more relaxed. Even Morgan, who was giddy and tittering away earlier seemed more mellow, quietly chatting with Nick at a table. They were holding hands, admiring their matching wedding bands, smiling at each other and acting like they were the only two people in the room.

We ate, we drank, we partied. We danced until our shoes came off and then danced some more.  After a few hours, JC grabbed a flute of champagne, climbed up on stage and pulled the microphone from its stand, motioning for the piped in music to be turned down.

"Y'all know what time it is, right?" JC's question was met with a round of applause and the ting ting ting of silverware banging against glassware. "Yep, it's time for me to wax nostalgic about my buddy Nick and how much he means to me. I mean, you guys all know us, have known us for a very long time. Four of us have known each other just about our whole lives."

I felt not only JC's gaze but the entire room's eyes on me. I smiled and waved and waited for him to continue.

"Back when we were kids, I never saw Nick without Morgan. Never saw Morgan without Nick. They were the same person. One unit. Nick-and-Morgan." The room laughed, as did JC. "That's not to say that Nick and I did not have our share of guy time. In Jr. High there were sleepovers and lunch at our lockers. In high school there was the back of the room during biology lab, when we were supposed to be dissecting frogs. Even when Nick was Pre-Med and I was Pre-Law, and then he was a doctor and I was an attorney, we always found time to hit the golf course for a round or two. Okay, half a round of and three hours of beers and Stogies in the club house, but whatever."

JC paused for another bout of laughter. "I'd say I never met two people more perfect for each other, more in love, more suited for happily ever after than these two... but I'd be lying."

JC's pause was met with an eerie silence, like everyone, including me, was holding their breaths waiting for the next few words. I closed my eyes, silently uttering a prayer to a God that I was sure was not listening. "Please don't do this. Please, please, please."

"See, while Nick and Morgan were hanging out and being perfect for each other, getting a head start on a lifelong love affair, their two best friends discovered each other. And became best friends. And started hanging out. The only couple that rivaled Nick and Morgan  in the "Oh My God They're So Cute Together" and "They're So Perfect for Each Other" categories was JC and Angie. Look it up. I swear. It's in our yearbook."

JC paused to let a light chuckle ripple across the room. "Man, those times were great. The best of my life.  You know what it's like when you're a teenager and everything's just perfect. Until it's not."

JC paused, staring into the air. I watched him swallow once, then twice, before he spoke again. "Until that one time when I made a huge mistake. And I lost the love of my life. And regretted it ever since. Then, because I couldn't let her go, I spent the next decade or two making her life hell. Making her regret ever loving me."

"What the fuck is he doing?' I whispered to Jackie. "He's supposed to be talking about Nick, the Groom. Not himself! This is not a Best Man's Speech!"

"Shhhh, honey," she said, tapping me on the arm. "Just listen. See where he's going with this."

"But see, the perfect couple that Nick and Morgan are... they just want everyone to be happy, like them. Blissful and in love and a perfect couple like them. They knew what could be possible, what could maybe happen, if only we could pull our heads out of our own asses. I know they feel like all those years of encouragement haven't even been heard. Good advice and prayers and even a little ass kicking now and then, total waste of time.

"So they gave up." JC paused, nodding into the now silent room. "Yup, they finally said okay, you guys are our best friends on the planet, but if you two don't want to be a part of each other's lives, you don't have to be. Just do this one last thing for us and then you never have to see each other again. Well, ladies and gentlemen, today you witnessed that one last thing. Two people who couldn't stand the sight, touch, smell or sound of each other put together parties and banquets and dinners and brunches and, if I say so myself, one of the best weddings I've ever been to."

The room erupted in laughter. Even I chuckled for a second.

"So today marks the beginning of something new for all of us. We just watched one half of this foursome dedicate their lives to one another in front of their friends and family. Nick, Morgan..." JC raised a glass of champagne aloft in toast. "I salute you, I congratulate you, I celebrate your union today. May you have twice as many happy years as a married couple as you've had so far."

He sipped, leading everyone else to do the same, but quietly, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop. I was hoping he was done, but he opened his mouth again and kept talking.

"But... what I really want Nick and Morgan to know is that the last decade or so of bugging us and begging us and threatening us hasn't gone unnoticed. It didn't fall on deaf ears. We're not completely hopeless. Your thinly veiled plan to force us to work together so that we'd get the hell over our selves and realize we're still in love with each other and still perfect for each other and we still have a chance at a happily ever after.... well, it worked."

A sharp gasp came from every corner of the room as all heads snapped around to look at me. A dull roar crossed the room from right to left, front to back. I heard Morgan scream... and then sob. I sat there, like a deer in headlights, gripping my glass so tightly I felt like it might shatter in my hands.

"Angie and I had had a lot of stuff to work out. Eighteen years of stuff. It hasn't been easy. I'm kind of an asshole. She's kind of stubborn. But we...we uhhh..."

JC glanced at me from up stage and, through a mildly drunken stupor, I'm sure he felt my rage from ten feet away. Appropriately, I see beads of sweat pop up across his forehead, which he swipes away with a thumb.

"I'm already in... so much trouble. I can't take any words back so let me just rip off the band-aid and say that Angie and I are back together. We wanted to keep it under wraps until Nick and Morgan got hitched but I couldn't wait to tell everyone that it worked. This really stupid idea you guys cooked up to push us back together... it worked. And the point of my whole spiel here is that..."

JC shoved a hand in a pocket and for the first time seemed sheepish and hesitant. "Well, hopefully, if I make it off of this island alive, Nick will be my Best Man someday. Then he can give a crappy, self centered speech at my wedding. Until then, I love you man. Congratulations to you and the Mrs."

JC stepped offstage amid applause and squeals of joy and hands grabbing at him-women to kiss his cheek and men to pat him on the shoulder and shake his hand. In my fog, I barely noticed Jackie grabbing me and shoving me into an awkward hug, pressing her belly right up against me. "I knew it!" She squeaked, practically jumping with her arms around me. "I just knew it. I don't know how, I just knew it; I just knew this was going to happen!  Remember the Wedding Party brunch? Were you together then? You looked so happy!"

"Jackie..."

"And then your face at the Bachelorette Party! Remember I said you looked like you had--"

"Jacks!" I tried to pry her arms from around me but pregnant women must be stronger than steel.

"I'm so excited for you guys! I never knew you together, but I always thought you would make such a cute couple! And I want to hear all about how you got back together and I'm so pissed you didn't tell us! You could have told us, we're your best friends!"

I finally gave a strong tug and pulled away, releasing myself from her iron grip. I stepped back, tossed my champagne glass on the nearest table and stalked to the door. "Air," I managed to choke out. "I need some air."

I sat outside on a painted wooden bench, by myself, for a long while. Legs crossed, arms folded across my chest, one foot furiously twitching.  Relax, I said to myself. Calm down.  So what if JC just revealed to fifty of our closest family and friends that we'd been hiding a reconciliation? So what if I asked him to keep it quiet for just a few more days?

By my count, they managed to leave me alone for about a half hour. I heard the door to the reception hall swing open and the rustle of heavy silk and tulle swish in my direction.

God. Morgan. She should not be out here consoling her best friend on her wedding night.  

She sat down next to me, fluffing the full skirt of her dress around her, saying nothing for a few moments. When I didn't offer up any words either, she reached for my hand. The sight of our clasped jumble of fingers brought tears to my yes.

"For the record," she started, gripping my hand tightly. "It's obvious that he told everyone before you were ready to tell, and I think that's shitty. It's such a JC thing to do. Sometimes I forget that he's kind of an asshole."

I shook my head and despite my mood, laughed a little. "You don't believe me until he embarrasses me in front of everyone."

"There's nothing to be embarrassed about, Angie. It's totally okay for you guys to want to keep your relationship quiet for awhile. You know I never anyone about when me and Nick broke up, and then got back together. Some things are meant for just the two of you."

I nodded and sniffled, swiping at errant tears that wouldn't stop falling. "I didn't want to take away your moment. I wanted you to have this whole day to yourself. Now anything anyone is talking about is how Angie and JC are back together."

"Oh, honey. You two have been a topic of conversation long before this week."

"I know," I said, my voice gritty and shaky with the threat of more tears. "But we worked hard on this. I didn't want to take your spotlight and he knew that."

"I'm not worried about my spotlight, Angie. I've been with Nick for like... thirty years. There's no spotlight, just a big ass dress and a rockin' party in the Caribbean. And even if you did steal our spotlight? I couldn't be happier about it. Aren't you happy to be back with him?"

I shrugged. "I was. Up until about an hour ago I was really, really happy. And now... I just don't know. I didn't... I wasn't ready for everyone to know yet."

"Cat's out of the bag, now. You don't feel a little relief? It had to be hard to hide."

"Actually, it wasn't all that hard to hide."

"Oh really? Because actually, you guys didn't do that great of a job hiding, actually." Morgan smirked, then giggled. "I knew."

"Shut up, you did not."

"Did so!" she said, laughing loudly.  "I've known you your entire life, Evangeline Nicole. I know you better than you know yourself. I could tell."

"How? How could you tell?"

"It's written all over your face."

I groaned.  "That's... that's stupid."

"I'm serious. When we were kids, there was this look that you'd get, when you saw JC. You loved him so much; I could see it in your face. I hadn't seen that look in a long time and it took me awhile to recognize it again. But around..." She paused, furrowed her brow in thought for a second, then continued. "My Bachelorette Party. That's when I saw it again. And I didn't call you out on it because Jackie was doing an outstanding job of that herself."

"Nosy bitch. Pregnant people must be fucking clairvoyant or something."

"Must be. Or you just can't help that look on your face. The one that's still there, even though you're pissed as fuck at him."

"So, Lover's Lagoon and the champagne? It wasn't meant to push us together?"

Morgan shook her head, a small, proud smile on her lips. "We wanted you and JC to have some time together in a really special place, away from prying eyes and nosy pregnant people. This trip is just as much about you and him as it is about me and Nick." She squeezed my hand in hers, then drew our hands to her chest. "We wouldn't have wanted to share this week with any other couple. Foursome for life, right?"

I squeezed back, then quipped, "We'll see if JC makes it off this island alive. It might really be Wedding WrestleMania."

Morgan laughed. "Well, give him hell. That was shitty, what he did, and I don't like it. I mean, I love that you're together, but you should be happy right now and you're not. I want him to fix that."

"Well, give me a chance and I'll see what I can do." JC voice was behind me. I twisted around to see him leaning against the red brick wall, jacket off, collar unbuttoned, tie loosened, hair disheveled. His face was slightly pink but his eyes were clear and bright. At least he wasn't drunk.

Morgan patted my hand before letting go, then without a word, got up and picked her way back down the path to the door of the hall.

"What, you snuck out the back door?"

"Yup," JC answered, taking Morgan's spot. "How deep in shit am I right now?"

"Pretty deep."

"Wow that was a quick answer."

"You asked. That's where you are right now."

"Do I even get a chance to explain?"

"Explain? Explain what? How we just had a conversation this morning about this, and I asked you to wait until after this was over, and you said-"

"You said until after the reception. Reception's pretty much over, honey."

I propped my elbows on my knees and dropped my head into my hands, trying to regulate the anger that was roiling up again. "Are you always so goddamn literal, or only when it suits you? I obviously meant after this trip. That's what we talked about before, JC!"

"Well, sorry. I took what you said and ran with it-"

"You took what you wanted to hear and ran with it."

"Okay. Maybe I did. But now it's out there and we don't have to worry about it."

I sat up, inhaled deeply, closed my eyes. This conversation was not working to soothe anything in my mind. I was angrier by the second.

"You don't have to worry about it, JC. See, guys don't care about this shit. They'll pat you on the back and smoke a stogie with you and that'll be it. Women are different. Women are nosy and catty and judgmental. You have no idea what you've just done to me."

I stood up, kicking up the hem of my dress behind me. "I need to get out of here. I need to get away from you."

I heard JC huff a grunt of frustration as I marched up the path toward the hotels. "Angie, don't go. Let's talk this out. Don't run away from this."

I stopped long enough to hurl a barb over my shoulder. "The only thing I am running away from is a selfish, self serving asshole."

"Oh, I'm an asshole because I want our friends to know we're together and we're happy?"

"Do I look happy to you, JC?"

"Well, not right now, no. But if you calm down and stop being fake mad about this-"

I stopped and turned on my heel, forcing JC, who had been following me down the path, to collide right into me. "Don't. touch. me. Don't follow me. Don't talk to me. Fake mad? I'm fucking pissed at you right now!"

"More or less pissed than when you found out about Stacey? Is this stay mad at JC for twenty years pissed, or will it blow over?

I physically felt myself turn green at the mention of Stacey Rodriguez. "I hate you so much right now."

"Okay, cheap shot. I'm not all that fond of you right this second, for the record. But I want to talk about it, work it out. We were going to tell them anyway-"

"When I was ready! That was the optimum time! Not in the middle of their wedding reception, with some me, me, me, all about me Best Man speech. Is that the speech you wrote? Is that what you planned to say all along?"

"No... I was kinda drunk and really happy. Look, Angie..." I heard JC's steps quicken as he tried to keep up with me. "I know you wanted to wait. I know you did. And I know your girlfriends are going to give you hell and I'm sorry about that. I just felt like we needed to say it."

"You hear yourself?" I shot over my shoulder, marching steadily toward our building, and thank God because my feet were killing me with every step. "We? What's this we shit? I didn't agree to any of that. I had no idea I was about to be ambushed in front of all my friends. Our friends. Nick and Morgan's family and friends. At their wedding, you thoughtless, selfish asshole!"

I grabbed the hem of my dress and hiked it up so I could walk faster and stomped into our building, slammed my hand on the ‘up' button on the elevator and stepped inside as soon as the doors opened. I pressed the button to close the doors just as JC arrived. With pleasure, I watched them close in his face. He would have to take the other elevator.

I made it to my room, swiped the key and tried to shut JC out before he made it to my room but he caught the door before it could slam shut.

***

"If I knew it would make you this upset, I wouldn't have done it. I knew it would make you mad, but not this mad. I'm sorry."

"You're not sorry," I mumble, staring at the view. "You're happy. And I wish I could join you in your bliss right now, but I can't."

"I guess I don't get it," he says. I hear him settle onto the bed, then kick off his shoes. Clunk. Clunk. "Explain to me why I'm the worst person on the planet right now."

"Maybe I didn't want to spend all week being the center of attention."

"Most girls like that."

"Well, I guess I'm not most girls, am I then?"

"Guess not."

"Now everyone will be watching our every move. Oooh, they're holding hands! Ahhhh, they're kissing!" I clapped my hands, slowly and sarcastically. "Good show. Good show, guys."

"That would be less of a show than the show we've put on all week. Sneaking around, not saying anything to anyone, ducking questions-"

"Ugh, the questions! The questions!" I spin around to face JC, perched on a corner of the bed in his suit pants, shirt and socks. "I'm not going to have a moment's peace for weeks!"

"Well, don't you know the answers to the questions? You know, how long have you and JC been back together?" He shrugs. "Oh, a couple weeks.  Why didn't you guys tell anyone? Well, we wanted to keep it private for awhile, just between us." He shrugs a shoulder, calm and nonchalant. "Easy. You know how to work it."

"You're cute. How about this one: why did you guys break up in the first place? Because Angie is a cunt. Because Angie spent twenty years being mad at something stupid. Because Angie has a hard time having to admit to all of her friends that she's been wrong this entire time. Because Angie has a hard time coming to grips with how much time she wasted being angry. And not being with a man she's been in love with since she was seven years old."

The room is silent except for my occasional sniffle. Somewhere in the middle of my speech my chin started to tremble and the tears began to fall. Because that's what it all boils down to, for me. Having everyone on this island know that it was my fault we were broken up for so long. My fault they had to endure years and years of us bitching and snapping at each other. My fault that our best friends got so sick of our shit that they had to force us back together again.

"I didn't realize it ran that deep for you," JC finally says, breaking the silence. "I just... thought you were being shy about it."

I shake my head slowly, quietly swiping tears from my cheek. JC rises from the bed, then walks around it, grabbing a box of tissues from the bedside table. Cautiously, he approaches me with it, leading with the box. I snatch it from him and he rears back, then bends his legs and sticks up his fist as if moving into fighting position.

"You wanna fight me? Come on. Take a swing. First punch is free."

I snap two or three tissues from the box and toss it onto the couch. I wipe my face and try not to smile. "Shut up, you stupid ass. I'm not going to hit you."

JC pauses, then stands straight up.  "Okay. Well then it's not as bad as I thought."

"But it is bad," I remind him.

"Of course. It's very serious." He reaches for my hand and without thinking I offer mine and let him pull me toward the bed. We sit side by side. "You think people blame you for us not being together?"

"I think they do. They don't come right out and say it..."

"You're right, they don't. Because they don't know the whole story. No one knows the whole story but us. Me, you, and the big guy upstairs. And it can stay that way, because I'm not interested in impressing these people. The only person I want to impress is sitting next to me."

I sniffle and swipe at my nose.

"I think people blame me," says JC. "I think you've been living your life and going along your merry way, trying to make something of yourself and here I come, at every corner. Ready to pick a fight. Always had something to say, and it was not nice. Always had a judgment. I loved to get on your nerves. You know that, right?"

"Still do."

"I loved pulling Housing Discrimination cases, because I knew the chances that I'd go up against you were like 99 to 1. I'd work my ass off to beat you. Because it felt good. It felt like I was constantly showing you up. You were fine without me. Great without me, even. I wanted to be better."

I fiddle with the Kleenex, watching the shreds fall onto the pretty plum dyed dress. I smooth the pieces of cotton away and brush wrinkles from the fabric. I want to stay angry and hurt and upset but the words... his words are wearing me down.

"You remember the night of Nick and Morgan's engagement party, when I called you on Facetime? And I said Nick and I had a long talk?" I nod. "I told Nick. I told him everything about the last eighteen years and about that kiss that night at my house and about how I thought I might still be in love with you."

"Yeah? What'd he say?"

"He said everyone already figured that out. He said you'd probably get real fed up real soon and leave town, and I'd miss out on my chance to fix this. He said if I wanted you, if I really wanted to be back with you, to man up. To stop being a dick and just say it."

"He was right. I was going to leave," I quietly admit. "After we got back from this trip I was going to tell everyone that I was planning on moving on, maybe some other city. Not too far away so I can still visit my parents when I need to. But far enough away that I didn't see you everyday. Didn't run into you in every court room."

"You're not still planning that, though?" When I don't answer, he follows up with, "Right?"

I pause in thought for much too long. Then I shrug. "After today? I might."

The look that skates across his face is the opposite of his cool response of "Okay." Then, "Are you leaving me... and us... behind, then?"

I sigh a long, deep, loud breath, emptying my lungs. "That's a really, really good question, JC."

With so much still hanging in the air but my anger floating away light a deflated balloon, I'm happy JC chose not to press the issue of me leaving Orlando. The truth is that I don't really know what I'm going to do. The more I think about it, leaving Flanning &Rourke sounds like music to my ears.  I'm reminded of my conversation with Jackie-if I could get an offer from Perry Law, I could get an offer anywhere. Anywhere in the state, really.

But I'm not sure I want to leave Orlando now. And despite how angry I was at him today, I don't know if I want to leave JC behind.

I hop in the shower for a long hot soak... alone. JC left and went to his room and stayed there. When I get out of the shower, I hear his door open and then close. I brace for him to burst into my room but he doesn't. Instead, I faintly hear the ‘ding' of the arriving elevator.

I don't know if I am being punished or if he's giving me space but either way, I'm nervous about making my way down to the Cliff, where everyone is getting together for post-wedding festivities. Upon my entrance into the sun-lit moderately upscale bar, I spot our group in the back room near the pool tables. Everyone seems to have taken our lead and changed into cooler, more comfortable clothing.

JC, dressed in jean shorts, shoes with no socks, a thin t-shirt and a ball cap doesn't acknowledge me from across the room. Where those crystal clear pools of blue would normally follow me around, he practically turns his back to me, then turns up the amber bottle he's holding and pours the remaining beer down his throat.

"Hey girl." Morgan loops an arm around me and redirects me toward the table where she's sitting with Bridget, Jackie and Jade. Great. Here goes the Inquisition.

I slide into a chair and order a beer with lime from the waitress as she passes. I notice Jackie has a margarita glass in front of her. "That better be lemonade or some shit."

She nods, grimacing.  "With sugar on the rim."

"Good girl."

She snorts. "Good girl my ass. As soon as I can, I'm getting shitfaced. I'm so serious."

I laugh. "Yeah well, you make sure to call me for that. I might be up for getting shitfaced."

"Hear, hear," Jade says, lifting her bottle of beer. "Come to Prime and I'll do the pouring."

"Oh, are you going back to Prime?"

Blushing, Jade lowers her bottle back to the table. "Yeah, I'm going to pick up some weekends. Uhm...." She fiddles with the bottle, absentmindedly spinning it. "Me and Tyler are going to get a place together. We're both still living with our parents, so we're going to try to make some extra money and move into a place in the Spring."

"Really?" I make a concerted effort to bite back any judgmental comments that are sitting at the back of my throat. Not my business. Let Ty be happy. But so help me God if she hurts him.... "That's great, good for you guys."

The waitress brings my beer and pops the top. I grab it and guzzle a few mouthfuls.

"So Angie-"

"Oh my God, Jackie. Please don't start already. Please."

"I'm not starting. I was just going to say I'm happy for you. And that's all. I promise." She sips from her margarita glass of lemonade, but her eyes don't leave my face. I know she has something else to say. "And my ears are open whenever you want to spill. That's it, promise."

"Jackie," says Morgan, through her teeth, from across the table. "You're so fuckin' nosy. She'll talk when she's ready. Back off."

"Or when she's drunk," Bridget says, her words slurring terribly. I laugh as her head bobs and weaves in her effort to sit upright.

"Oh Jesus. What have you guys done to Bridget? Get her some water. Keith!"

Bridget guzzles half a glass of water and seems more in control, a few minutes later. She's leaning up against Keith, grinning through his ribbing her about being drunk. He has always found it funny that Bridget can't really drink. She does give it a good try, though.

"So, I notice JC is like... all the way across the room." Morgan nods toward JC and Nick, deeply embroiled in conversation. Probably about me. "First time he's left you alone in like... twenty years."

"Yeah. We're fighting or something? I think. I don't know."

"How do you not know?" Asks Jade.

"I mean... we fought, and then I calmed down. And we didn't really make up. And we talked about some other stuff and I don't think he liked what I had to say. He left and came down here without me. And now he's pretending I'm not here."

Jackie shakes her head and takes a sip from a fresh glass of lemonade with sugared rim. "Boys are such children sometimes. Matt will let something just bug the shit out of him before he'll say anything."

"Nick doesn't let anything bug him. He's never, ever mad. It drives me crazy, because I can go from happy to sad to mad in seconds. He's so even tempered. It must be all those years of working with kids."

The next morning, I awake swaddled in a cocoon of sheets, manly arms wrapped around me and soft breaths on my forehead. I feel rested, but very tired. Bone tired.

The last few months have been such a whirlwind-so much work, so much planning, so much worrying that things won't go according to the well thought out plan. On top of all of that, dealing with JC and my hate for him. And then my love for him.

He's been the most tiresome element of all. Until last night, I didn't realize how tense I've been about him, around him. First I couldn't stand him, but I could never relax because he was always around. I'd go to lunch and he'd drop in and sit at my table. I'd go to the grocery store or the gym or drop by my best friend's house to say hi and he'd be there. I could never get away from him.  Then when we got over our issues and got back together, it was important to me to keep things under wraps, not just because of Nick and Morgan, but because of me.

And now everyone knows. Well, at least everyone on this island, but Nick and Morgan's parents are headed home today. By the time we get home in a few days, everyone back in Orlando will know.

I sigh and roll my shoulders, trying to tamp down rising anxiety. My movement stirs JC; he sucks in a deep breath through his nose and clears his throat. He tightens one arm around me, drawing me up against him. His other arm strokes from my waist to my thigh and back up.

"What's goin' on?" His voice is low, thick with sleep. "You're all... bunched up. What's up?"

"Nothing. I'm okay." I snuggle up against his warm form and snake an arm around his waist. He feels so good.

JC grumbles. "Mkay, now that the lying portion of our day is over with..."

"What?" I tip my head up and brush my lips against his stubbled cheek. "I'm fine."

"Whatever. Don't tell me, then."

"JC, I-"

"Angie." His tone of voice stops me from talking.  "You're still worried about everyone knowing about us."

"If you already know, why do you ask?"

"You never had any issues with telling me how you felt before. That shouldn't change. I'm a big boy. In more ways than one."  He stops to chuckle at his own joke. I try hard not to smile but I can't help it; he's so cheesy. "I can take it."

"Yes, I'm worried about it. I know I shouldn't be. I know everyone is happy for us. I know everyone's excited about us being back together. It's just... it's been so long. Like you said last night, some of our friends have never seen us together, have never seen us get along and love each other. It's like I don't know how to act around them. And I just know I'm going to hear ‘I told you so' for a long, long time."

"I'm sorry about that, sweetheart. But we weren't going to be able to avoid that, even if we'd have waited a couple more days. You realize that, right?"

I whimper into a well formed muscle in his chest. He flexes, which makes me laugh. "Can we hide up here for the rest of the trip?"

"Nope. We are going to enjoy every second of being on this island with our friends. We're going to enjoy every second of being together, on this island, with our friends."

Together. On this island. With our friends.

What the hell is wrong with me? Am I really moping and tense and anxious because my friends know I'm dating someone they've been begging me to date for as long as I can remember?  

Am I embarrassed that Tyler was, in fact, right, that JC was in love with me and if it was obvious to Tyler, it was obvious to everyone? Except me?

In a swift movement, I halfway sit up and plant a big, loud smooch on a surprised JC's lips. When I pull back, I giggle at the look on his face. "Hi, handsome. Good morning."

"Uh. Hello. Good morning. You're... okay now?"

I nod, grinning. "Yeah. You're right. We only have a couple of days left here and I'm being silly. Wasting time that could be much better spent."

His eyebrows shoot upward. "Much better spent, you say?"

"Uhm hmmm," I hum, tossing back the covers and moving around so that I straddle him. We'd had sex the night before, then had a shower together and crawled into bed naked. I perch atop him, feeling him grow behind me, his rugged physique rippling under my hands as I stroke from his waist and back up.

He doesn't waste time, roaming my body to cup to my breasts, rolling and kneading each one.  I moan and arch my back. He responds by gripping my hips, pulling and pushing me against his lengthening erection.

"Wanna ride?"

I don't answer, but I do grin and rise enough for him to reach under me. When he's ready, I sink down onto him, eyes closed, mouth open, sighing in elation. JC chuckles at the noises I make as I work my way down until I'm full.

"You were always so good on top."

"You only say that ‘cause it means you don't have to work as hard."

"Bullshit. I'm working down here."

My laughter soon turns to moans and groans and sighs of delight as I feel him push deeper into me from underneath, controlling my movements with his hands in a vice grip on my hips.

"Unph....  shit!"

"Good girl... that's it..."

JC grunts, deeply concentrating on building momentum.  In no time at all, my entire body is pulsing with orgasm, I'm misting sweat and I can't suck enough air from the warm room. Beneath me, JC lets out a long, satisfied moan.

I don't have the strength to sit up anymore so I tip forward and make myself at home on top of him. His arms close around me and I feel his heart wildly thumping under my cheek. kathumpkathumpkathump.  The sound soothes me. I used to love to squeeze right up against him and listen to his heart beat.  

We lay in silence for a while, enjoying each other. JC pulls his fingers through my hair, working out the tangles that he put in it.

"So. What are we doing today?" He asks, breaking the comfortable silence.

I shrug a shoulder. For the first time since we hit the island, we don't have anything we have to do. All of the pre-arranged events and rehearsals and outings are done. The wedding is over. As of the end of the reception last night, we're all on vacation.

"Whatever we want to do," I tell him. "There is kayaking today at noon, though."

"Now that's something I haven't done in awhile."

"Yeah, I thought it sounded fun when we planned the excursions for the week."

"So everyone's going, then?"

I yawn and sit up, moving to JC's side and stretching one arm into the air. Just a few minutes of immobility after a quick romp has made me stiff already. "Everyone but Jackie. But she can ride in the boat."

JC leans over to turn the face of the digital alarm clock toward us. It's nearly 9am. "Guess we'd better get moving, then." He sits up, then swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands. I can't pass up an opportunity to smack such a well-formed, shapely, albeit pale cheek.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"You need to find a nude beach and tan your ass. That's what that was for."

"I'm pale. I've always been pale. You of all people know that."

I giggle, remembering that his pale ass was one of the things I lovingly picked on him about. When we'd spend time at Lake Conway and actually get in the lake, I'd tease that he was so bright I could see him in the dark.

"That hasn't changed, I see."

"Plenty of other stuff has changed." He grins, bending over to pick up the shorts he wore the night before. He slides them over his hips, pulling the keycard to his room from one pocket. "I'm going to just bring my bags over here and check out of my room. Save Nick a few bucks. That okay?"

I nod, beaming. "That's a good idea. You're over here all the time anyway. Do you want to do breakfast at the restaurant or up here?"

JC is already at the door, is hand on the knob. "Wherever you want to eat is fine with me. So long as we eat. Be right back."

While JC is gone, I start the shower and hop in. A few minutes later, he joins me, taking the sudsy towel from my hands and rubbing my skin with fragrant shower gel. It feels so good, almost like a massage. When he's done soaping, he directs me to stand under the spray of water and I rinse, then we switch places.

This is new for us and I'm enjoying every opportunity I can get to share a shower or a bath with JC. I suppose it'll get old soon, but we rarely got the chance to see each other completely naked, let alone shower together. Call it making up for lost time.

JC stands still while I scrub him, one hand against the tile wall, the other grasping the top of the shower curtain rod. I take my time, and great pleasure in cleaning him. He's erect, the tip of him red and wanting.

"Do you want some help with that?"

He shrugs one shoulder, catching my eye with a smoky stare. "If you feel like it."

If I feel like it. I roll my eyes and bend at the waist, taking him into my mouth. He tenses, but then relaxes as I work him, applying light suction and swirling my tongue around him from base to tip and back again.  It doesn't take long until he is moaning and thrusting his hips, then shuddering in release. When I he's finished, I continue scrubbing him clean.

"There." I reach around him to turn off the tepid shower. "All better. Now you won't be in a kayak with a hard on."

JC laughs, the sound bouncing off of the linoleum tile.

###

I figured everyone else would show for breakfast at the on-resort restaurant. We could eat and head down to the bus together. Sure enough, our crew is seated at a long table near a window. JC and I appear to be the last ones arriving. They'd saved two seats across from one another.

JC sits next to Matt; I give Jackie a brief hug before I sit next to her. Down the row, everyone's plate is a smorgasbord of food from quiche to bacon to French toast and pancakes.

"Breakfast is a buffet," Jackie informs me, in between bites of turkey bacon. "Just grab a plate and load up." She points to the stack of white plates at the end of what seems like an endless buffet of food piled high.

"I'll grab you something," says JC, already standing.

"It's okay, I'm coming." I start to stand and JC shoots me a look.

"Sit.  I know what you like. I'll get it."

"Better stay put," says Keith, smirking mid bite of eggs and toast. "Sounds like he might take you over his knee if you disobey."

JC halfway glares, then the furrowed brow disappears and he smiles. "Nah, she actually likes that spanking stuff," he says, then saunters away toward the buffet, leaving me red faced and sputtering at the table.

Everyone's laughing and for a few seconds I feel like I'm about to star in my own nightmare. But then everyone goes back to ribbing Jackie about how she's eating for more than two. She laughs, snorts, and then downs another piece of bacon. I jump in and try to defend my poor, pregnant, defenseless friend and by the time JC makes it back with my plate, the entire table is in hysterics.

Amid the noise, the protests, the laughing I glance up at JC from my perfect plate of chocolate chip pancakes, fresh fruit and orange juice. He's spreading a napkin over his lap and ordering coffee for the both of us. He catches my eye, his look lingering for a long second before he says, quietly, "Eat up. It's getting cold."

I pick up my fork and dig in, rejoining the laughter at poor Jackie's expense.

*

By early afternoon, the whole gang is on the hotel bus, traveling the dark paved road, headed a few miles past the resort toward the crystal blue waters flanked on either side by rock formations. The bus is full, so it's not just our group headed toward the river where we'll don lifejackets and climb into kayaks and drift down the river.

Up front, our guide goes over safety precautions and hands out a stack of forms and enough pens to go around.

"Okay, lawyers," says Keith, twisting around to talk to JC and I. "This thing doesn't say I'm signing away my firstborn, does it?"

JC laughs, scanning the few paragraphs of legalese before answering. "Nope. Just says that it's not their fault if you die, and also JC gets your classic Corvette."  Half of the bus laughs, none louder than Keith.

"Right, you want that rusting piece of junk that's been sitting on blocks in my backyard since before I got married."

"Hey man, it's a classic. Might be worth something if you get it running. What's wrong with it?"

The guys talk shop about Keith's vintage, banana yellow '77 Corvette and what it would take to get it off the blocks and on the street. Soon it becomes a project of sorts, a challenge to Keith to be cruising International Boulevard by summer. I glance at Bridget-I know that look and she knows Keith all too well. That car will probably still be on blocks next July.

The bus makes a left turn and pulls into a rudimentary parking lot, marked only by rubble and gravel and not brush, grass and trees. As we pile off the bus, life vest in hand, we give our waiver slips to the guide. He collects them all and then helps others put on and tighten the inflatable orange vest.

"Here, let me get that for you." JC turns me around, snaps the black fasteners together and then pulls the straps so they're snug. "You alright? Too tight? Not tight enough?"

"It's fine. Feels good. Thanks. You want me to get yours?" I tighten his vest and make sure he's secure. Last I remember, JC isn't much of a swimmer.

From the parking lot, I see the calm surface of the river we're about to float on. The kayaks are all lined up along the shore, ready for groups of two. Our guides use bullhorns so that everyone can hear them dictate instructions. They'll be in boats in front of and behind us. Jackie will be riding in the lead boat with the head guide.

It's been years since I even saw a kayak, let alone sat in one. I hope it's like riding a bike-- you never forget. Otherwise, I'm going to have to do some quick learning.

I watch Nick and Morgan step into their kayak, Nick in front. Everyone else follows suit: Tyler and Jade, Bridget and Keith. Matt commandeers a single man kayak and already looks like a pro. An avid water sports fan, Matt has at least seen a kayak in the last few years.  JC steps into the first opening and sits, and then turns to me, still standing on the bank of the river.

JC stares for a few moments. The effort he is putting into not laughing is not lost on me. Finally he asks, "Are you waiting for an invitation?"

"No. I just... I'm just getting ready."

"For what? Someone to pick you up and put you in the seat? Come on, let's go."

For some reason my feet don't move. It occurs to me that I am actually afraid to get into this little wooden contraption and float down the river. I don't even know if I can still swim! What if we tip over?

The worry must show on my face. JC seems to hold back a sigh and stands up, then steps out of the kayak. He grips me by my forearms and pulls me so close, his forehead touches mine.  

"We don't have to do this," he says, his voice almost a whisper. "We can have the bus take us back and we'll do something else. Say the word. It's okay if you don't want to get in this thing."

"I don't want to go back," I manage to spit out. "I'm just... I'm scared." And I feel stupid for being scared. I eat big, nasty landlords for lunch. It's my job to get in the face of some of the most unscrupulous attorneys in Orange County. But I'm scared of this little wooden thing, that I'm sure has been used a hundred times over?

"I get that. But I'm right here. I'm not going to let anything happen to you. And you see this?" He grips my orange life vest, dingy and faded from many trips up and down the river. "I made this extra safe and extra tight. Just in case."

My eyes flick upward, I'm sure full of the fear that just shot down my back. "Just in case what?"

JC smiles. "Honey, don't ask. Don't even think about it. You're fine. It's going to be okay. Just... just get in, alright? It'll be fun, I promise."

I nod, take a huge breath and let JC guide me into the space behind him. Once I'm securely in the seat, JC resumes his spot. He's handed an oar, a thick plane of wood as long as he is tall. We receive some last minute instruction from the guides and then they push each kayak into the water. My heart is in my throat as I realize we're floating. No turning back now.

I distract myself by watching JC dip the paddle into the water on the left, and then on the right, then the left and then the right. The muscles in his back ripple through the thin white t-shirt he's wearing. His biceps bulge with each stroke, and the muted breath he heaves with each dip is actually kind of sexy. After a few minutes I settle in and relax. The day is gorgeous-- clear blue skies, warm but not hot. Birds fly above, wildlife scurries about on the land around the river, the sound of the water gently churns around the hull... so hypnotic and calming. 

"How you doing, back there?" JC says, over his shoulder, while the paddle dips into the water on the left. The others are a few feet ahead, all of us lazily winding our way downriver. "You okay?"

"Yeah. I'm good. This is nice, actually. Are you going to have to row the entire time?"

"Nah," he answers, over his right shoulder this time. "Eventually we can just coast. The current isn't strong here, so I'm just pushing us a long. It's not too bad. Check out Tyler over there, though." He tips his head toward his brother and Jade, in their kayak.

Tyler is already sweating and red in the face, heaving with every dip into the water. I'm thinking that he and Jade might have to trade places, eventually. I laugh at the thought of his girlfriend being hardier than him.

"Hey!" JC calls out, in Tyler's direction. "You don't have to work that hard. This is calm water... save your energy for the rapids."

Tyler seems to heave a sigh of relief and stops chopping into the water like a mad man. They float, nice and easy, just like everyone else guiding their kayak into line behind us. I watch the scenery roll by and let it sink in that I'm in a kayak on a river on St. Lucia with all my friends. And JC.

I let myself breathe a sigh of happiness and slouch down in my seat.

"You alright?" JC asks, without turning around.

I nod, but he can't see me, so I accompany it with, "Yup. Just happy."

He's silent for a few seconds, then simply says, "That's good."

For more than an hour, we float, coast and drift our way downriver. The ride seems easy enough that I'm not even sure what the big deal is about kayaking. That is, until I see the white caps topping the miniature waves and the loud rush of water just ahead of us.

The guide in the lead boat stands, his bullhorn in hand. "These waters are a little rough, but not too bad. Row steadily, maintain control, don't lean to one side or the other." He pauses, then adds, "Passengers, don't panic. Sit up straight, don't lean. We'll be through this patch in no time and then we'll break for lunch."

I'm nervous, understandably. I never knew water could roar so loudly and I'm not exactly sure we can make it through these waves. "Uhm...JC..."

"One second, honey. I'm playing Indiana Jones right now."

The current is already swift, throwing itself around the body of the kayak, pulling us here and there. JC is, somehow, skillfully navigating the path around the rocks and through the rushing water. 

I sit up, focusing on the muscles in his back, working in symphony, bulging and rippling, then resting, then working again. His neck is red from sun exposure. We put on sun block but I make a note to put some more on him when we stop for lunch. After we get out of this rough terrain, through which I'm holding onto the kayak so tightly that my knuckles are white and my joints ache.

Relax, relax, relax, I tell myself. Don't lean, you'll tip us over. Even though I know it's nearly impossible to do so, I've convinced myself that I can cause us to tip over by moving. I'm deathly still, staring at JC's back, waiting for the moment when I don't feel the river fighting for our souls.

Very suddenly, the waters seem much calmer. The river gurgles and ripples; there are no crashing waves. I let a quiet sigh of relief escape my lips.

"You alive back there? Did you need something?" JC twists around to talk to me, the oar balanced on his knees. His face is tomato red and wet with either sweat or mist from the river. His eyes are a brilliant blue, though sparkling at me as he stares. His grin splits his face ear to ear and the laugh lines around his eyes tell me he's having a ball.

"I'm alive," I answer. I even manage a genuine smile. "I needed you to be careful and not kill us, but you already had it handled."

"It hurts my feelings that you doubt that I'll take care of you."

"Poor you. I'm the one back here wondering if my will is up to date."

"It's not any less scary being up here. I've got it under control though. You trust me?"

"Yes, I trust you." I pause, then add. "It's the river I don't trust."

He chuckles, the sound echoing through the canyon of high rocks we're drifting between. "Hey, you know what this reminds me of?"

"What?"

"Remember that summer we all went to that kids camp?"

I grin, the memories rolling back. Yes, that would be the first and last time I saw a kayak.  "And you wonder why I'm scared to be in this thing with you?"

"I didn't mean to tip it over..."

"Sure you didn't. And you didn't mean to forget that I was wearing a white t-shirt. And you forgot to stop staring at my boobs through my wet white t-shirt."

"Do you blame me?" His grin is evil and mischievous. I can't help but adore it. "They were spectacular."

"Are you guys talking about that time at Chippewa Youth Camp, when JC threw Angie out of the kayak just so her shirt would get wet and he could see her boobs?" Tyler rolls past us, and if a kayak could saunter, his would be doing it.

"I didn't throw her out of the kayak."

"You made it tip so I would fall out. Same thing."

"And that's not why I-never mind. I've been tried and convicted, here. I see that now."

JC dips an oar into the water and pushes us forward. I giggle with memories of that summer, when we'd just started to notice each other and JC's preteen hormones were going wild.

Mine weren't all that wholesome either. JC wore swim trunks that were pretty clingy and I liked watching him come out of the water, the fabric of his shorts outlining the assets that every girl was drooling over and talking about.

"You should just admit it," I tease him. "You wanted to see me wet, just like I wanted to see you wet."

"Even if that were true-which it isn't-I was thirteen. How do you hold that against a thirteen year old? I mean... come on. Boobs."

"Exactly. Boobs have gotten you into a lot of trouble."

"Hey, don't get mouthy. I'll do it again."

"The guy said you can't tip these things."

"He said you can't easily tip them. It can be done."

"I don't think so, JC."

"You don't, huh?" JC takes off like a bolt of lightning, using the oar to speed us along the river, passing up Keith and Bridget, then Nick and Morgan. Then, in a sudden, jerky move, he shoves his body to one side of the kayak, causing us to roll to the right.

I'm screaming-while laughing, but I still don't seriously think he can tip this craft. That is, until he gives us another shove. The boat rolls too far to the right this time and the weight of our bodies sends us over the edge. I land in the water with my mouth open, mid scream, and sink below the surface.

Seconds later, I bob back up, spitting water and pushing hair out of my eyes. JC is holding me by the straps of my lifejacket, but far enough away that my windmill of slaps and punches don't land.

"You ASSHOLE! You just had to be right! I was joking!"

"I told you I could tip it." I hear the giggle in his voice and this pisses me off more. "You should never dare me, Angie. You know that."

"I didn't dare you, fucker. I just said I didn't think you could tip it."

"Same thing," he answers, with a shrug of a shoulder.

"It's so not the same fucking thing!" I lunge at him, but the guide boat comes around.

"Alright kids. Break it up," he says, amusement all over his face. Jackie is outwardly laughing. I'm sure she's already filled him in on how long this bickering has been going on, but we recently got back together and aren't in the habit of loving each other yet.

He's athletic and superhumanly strong, since he pulls me up out of the water by gripping me under my arms. "Rest here for a second. You'll get back into your kayak after lunch." He then leans over the side of the boat and says to JC, "Sir, I need you to grab that craft and float it over to that flat, grassy land there. That's where we'll break for lunch."

JC tosses the oar into the now empty vessel and grips the edge of it, doggy paddling his way toward the shore. I hope he's sufficiently embarrassed, but I know he's just so damn proud of himself. He likes to be right. He loves to prove other people wrong. Just, sometimes it's not a fucking competition.

We dock the boat and everyone pushes their kayaks up onto the bank, then climbs out for our picnic lunch. From the guide boat comes a cooler of sandwiches and drinks, bags of chips and paper plates and napkins. I grab a ham and cheese sandwich and a bag of Doritos and some napkins and plant myself in a spot on the grass. Thankfully I thought far enough ahead to wear a swimsuit under my shorts and t-shirt, so I slip them off and lay them out in the sun, hoping they'll dry a bit before we have to get back in the kayak.

I spot JC, with his sandwich, chips and a can of Pepsi hiking up the small hill toward me. I scowl, biting into my sandwich, angrily chewing. Saying nothing, he plops down beside me, legs crossed, and unwraps his sandwich.

 "How is it?" he asks.

"It's a sandwich. It tastes like a sandwich. It's not gourmet or anything."

"Alright, alright. Just making conversation. How long are you going to be mad at me? Just having a little fun."

"At my expense. It's always at my expense. Your idea of just having fun is to embarrass me or scare me. We can't even joke about tipping a kayak without you having to prove something. I feel like you're still lashing out at me. Why should I be with you if you're still going to treat me the same?"

He doesn't answer, but I don't expect him to. His legs are bent, elbows propped up on his knees. He chews slowly, the slowest I've ever seen him eat a sandwich, bite after bite until he's done, then balls up the plastic wrap and tosses it into the box we're using to collect garbage.

"It wasn't like that," he finally says. "I was never lashing out at you. All that stuff I used to do-it wasn't because I was mad at you or because I hated you. I was just trying to get your attention. Showing off. Bra snapping. Because men are mentally thirteen. I see a pretty girl and I want her to think I'm big and bad and strong. I want her to notice me."

"I noticed you."

He looks over at me, his face full of genuine concern.  "Are you okay? Did you get hurt, falling out?"

"I'm fine," I tell him. "It didn't hurt. I was just mad. And surprised. But you know... we're on a river and I had my swimsuit on and if you can't get wet on a river in your swimsuit, when can you?"

"That's how I feel about it."  He pops the top on his can of soda and takes a swig. After a few meaningful moments, he leans into me and says, "I did tip the kayak on purpose that one time. The guys all said if you get a girl's shirt wet, you can see her boobs right through it. I wanted to try it."

I smile and elbow him. "Duh.  I knew that. Was it boobs the second time too?"

"You know it." He slurps down the rest of his soda while I giggle. In one hand he crushes the can and tosses it into the garbage box.

I ate about half my sandwich and a few bites of chips but I decide I am done and hand my leftovers to him. I expect him to toss them into the garbage, but he finishes them off.

"Worked up an appetite, did you?"

He glances at me, wiggles his brows a few times, his eyes sparkling again. "Not just for food. You just wait until tonight."

A warm feeling fills the pit of my belly. I recognize it, but don't want to acknowledge it. Instead I lean up against him, my hands clasped around the bulk of his bicep. "You're kind of an asshole. I don't know when you turned into him, and sometimes I kind of hate him-"

"You know exactly when I turned into him. But he's your asshole and sometimes you kind of love him."

I blush, not wanting to outwardly agree with him. Instead I tip my head up so our lips meet and peck him on the lips. They're soft and warm. And he tastes like Pepsi.

"No more thirteen year old boy things, okay? I can only take one of those incidences today."

"Can I still snap your bra?"

I laugh, then push myself up, brushing grass off of my bare legs. JC watches me with deliberate determination before he stands and does the same. I reach for the clothes I laid out. They're slightly drier but I have no desire to put wet clothes back on. I hand them to Jackie to lay out somewhere on the boat and step back inside our kayak in just my swimsuit and life vest.

"No, no, no." JC says. "You get in front, so I can see you. I'll still row, but there's no way you're in that hot little number behind me."

I roll my eyes but smile and move to the front seat. It's much different up front, where I'm not blocked by JC's back. I'm hoping we don't have any wild currents this afternoon. I'm in the mood to just coast.

###

 "That was fun, you guys!"

Morgan is chipper and chatty as usual. We've arrived back at the resort after our afternoon on the river. I didn't do much but I sure am tired and sore. I can't imagine how JC and the other guys feel, after having to carry out all the heavy work-the rowing, pulling and pushing the kayaks up to the banks for our breaks.

JC and I headed straight to my our room- to shower off some of the lake dirt and grime and put on clean, dry clothes. Dinner was at the fire pit on the beach for a laid back, beachside meal.

We dine on fire-grilled shrimp and crab legs, baked potatoes and corn on the cob while sitting around a crackling, sparking fire. The sunset gives everything a fiery, rosy glow, making the scene so romantic. Well, as romantic as a scene can be with eight of your closest friends.

"That was really fun," says Jackie, looking pretty in her pink maternity sundress, with the waning sunlight illuminating her rosy cheeks. "Well it looked really fun. Next time I want to be in a kayak. Matt can be in the boat with the baby."

"We should totally do that next summer. We should find out if we can kayak on Victoria." Morgan directs this to Nick, referring to the lake their house sits on. "I mean, we'd just have to rent some, right?"

"Probably. I've seen them out there," says Nick.

"And I bet we could even kayak on Lake Conway, right JC?"

He's been quiet most of the night and throughout the conversation, leaning up against the base of a palm tree. The only reason I'm sitting up is because I'm leaning up against him, my back at his chest. I feel him shrug his shoulders in mild agreement. "Probably. Seems deep enough."

"JC's house is closer to everyone," says Keith. "We're at least an hour from Victoria."

I sense JC tensing up and I don't know why. He loves to host at his house. "Yeah, but-"

"That would be totally fun next summer! Just wait until I have this baby and get my beach body back." The group laughs and Jackie flips them all the bird, with both hands. "Fuck all of you people," she says, but I hear the mirth in her voice. She points to Morgan, "Especially you. I'm laughing my ass off when you're big and uncomfortably pregnant."

"Ha ha," Morgan offers back. "But really, that was totally fun. I wonder if it's still warm enough to go out again this year. JC, how often do you see boats out on the lake in October or November?"

"Uhm....pretty late, I guess. I've seen people jet ski in December if it's a warm winter." JC shifts, as if he's uncomfortable, which makes me shift. "The thing is, guys... I don't want to bum you out but my house might not be available next summer."

Tyler snorts. "You mean cause you and Angie are gonna create a little love nest that no one else can penetrate?"

"Uh, no." JC can't help but chuckle at the idea though. "Because... well, because my uncle is coming back to Florida and he might want his house back. In fact, I'm planning on him wanting his house back."

This is news to me. I sit up and twist around so I can see him. "When did that happen? Does it have anything to do with your super secret post Perry job plans?"

"Just recently. He's been talking about it for awhile. Then, a couple of weeks ago, he let me know it was happening."

"When?" Tyler asks. "Do mom and dad know?"

"Probably after the first of the year. And no, they don't know. He wants to be the one to tell them."

JC's uncle is a prominent criminal attorney who made a name for himself wherever he went. He started out in Maryland, then moved his family and practice south, then got an opportunity to go in a new direction and provide legal counsel to a Wall Street securities firm. He was surely set for life, a few times over. Was he coming to Florida to retire, or practice law?

"So, you think he'll kick you out of your house?"

"His house, honey," he reminds me. "And maybe. I'm okay with it, if it comes to that." He settles back against the tree and pulls me close to him, back where I was before he dropped a bomb on the group. "But, you know... of course I'll have access to the place, so if we want to hang out or throw a party, no problem."

"I'd feel weird if you weren't living there," says Bridget. "I don't even remember where you used to live, you've been there so long."

JC laughs. "It's only been four years. And I lived with my parents."

"Well, you're not going back there are you?"

"Nah," he says, jokingly feeling for the strap of my bra and pulling it, releasing it quickly so it snaps against my skin. "I think I'm going to move in with you."

My eyes involuntarily roll. My apartment is small, 650 square feet. I'd probably kill him after a week in such close quarters.

The group moves on to a different topic and then a completely different topic after that. The sun has set and the air coming off the waves is more cold than cool. The wind is kicking up sand and I decide, very suddenly, that I am ready to be back in my room.

I untangle myself from JC, who is deep in conversation with Keith about the Corvette again. I drop a kiss on his cheek and whisper in his ear, "I'm calling it a night. See you upstairs."

"I'll walk you up," he says, and starts to stand.

I push him back down and insist he stay. "I'll be fine. You can watch me walk up the path to the building." I point up the hill, to the path I'm going to take that's completely visible from where we're sitting. "Stay. I'll be okay."

He eyes me for a few seconds and then gives me a brief nod before returning to his conversation. I wave good bye to my friends and pick my way up the walk toward Lover's Lagoon.

 "Hey. Hey, Angie... hold up." I turn, surprised to see Tyler following me up the walk. "I told him I'd walk you up."

I'm amused and stay where I am, arms crossed, waiting for him to catch up to me. "What is it with you Chasez boys? You don't think girls can do things by themselves?"

Panting, but smiling, Tyler offers his elbow and begins escorting me up the steep hill. "That's not it at all; you know that. Just making sure you get where you're going, safe and sound. And uh... I wanted to talk to you."

"About JC?"

"Sort of. And about Jade."

"What about her?" I work hard to control my involuntary flinch at the sound of her name. I don't mind her, I swear. I just don't quite completely trust her yet. Though, this week she's been a trooper about putting up with me.

"Are you and her cool now? She said you talked."

"Yeah, we did. I told her not to fuck with your heart, you're practically my baby brother and I'd mess her up."

Tyler laughs, one of this big hearty laughs I love from him. "Damn. I've got a mobster in the family. That's good to know."

"Yeah. I'm violent. Ask JC, I about took his head off today."

We crest the hill toward Lover's Lagoon, the groupings of buildings in sight. I nod toward an empty table with a red umbrella that flaps in the light breeze coming off of the water. I sai; Tyler drops next to me, then leans forward, elbows on his knees.

"So. Jade says you two are getting your own place soon." He nods, rubbing his hands together. "It's that serious? It's that real?"

"It's that serious. It's that real." He sits up and clasps two meaty hands together tightly. He's so nervous. I think it's cute. "She's... really cool. Funny. Caring. Motivated, career wise. We want the same things. And she cares about me. No girl has ever cared about me like she does. And... I know you think she's making a play for JC by being here, but he makes it pretty obvious he only has eyes for you. She couldn't steal him if she wanted to."

He gazes at me with those soulful, deep brown eyes. "He always has only had eyes for you, even when it didn't seem like it. Remember, I used to always tell you-"

I nod, laughing. "That JC was in love with me. I remember. You get points for being right about that."

"So you admit it, then? He's in love with you."

"Yeah. He's in love with me." I don't think I ever said it before, not out loud. That made it real.

"So, then... if you know he's in love with you, and if you believe I love Jade and that she cares about me...." His gaze drops and he shifts uncomfortably. "I want her to be a part of the family. Our family. The family you're every bit a part of, too, because you know what's coming next."

I don't pretend to not know what he's talking about. I'm well aware that JC won't rest until the plans we made in the back of h

Three weeks later...

At some point, the chairs in this hospital were comfortable. For the past four hours, though, they haven't been.  But we're not moving-not any of us-until we hear about Jackie and the baby. Until we hear that things are okay, that mother and baby are fine and that daddy is tired but proud, we sit.

JC and I are seated in what minimally passes for padded chairs, in front of a narrow window, ten floors up in the waiting room at one end of the Maternity Ward of Orange County hospital. The overhead light flickers and buzzes, throwing a grey pallor across the room and a dull reflection in the over-waxed floors. It's quiet, except for the swish swish of the crisp nurses' scrubs and the squeak squeak of crocs and sneakers on the linoleum.

At 2am we got the call- Jackie's in labor! By the time we arrived at the hospital, her contractions had slowed and it looked like the baby had changed his mind. Then there was a distress signal and doctors and nurses came running and Matt disappeared and we've been sitting here now for four hours.

I shift in my chair, glancing around the room with a grimace. Bridget and Morgan share the small loveseat. Nick paces, a thumbnail in his mouth while watching the corridor for any action. He mumbles, more than once, out loud, "Maybe I should go back there."

But he doesn't because he's a pediatrician, not a labor and delivery doctor. And this isn't his clinic, it's the county hospital. Still, he paces and mumbles.

JC sleeps sitting straight up, in a t-shirt and a pair of track pants he threw on just before we left the house. I told him he didn't need to come, it would probably be a long wait, but he insisted. Now he's snoozing, arms folded across his chest and hands shoved into his armpits, legs crossed at the ankles, head tipped back against the cool window pane. He's not snoring, but his breaths are deep and loud. At least someone is resting.

"I can't stand this anymore. " I get up and stretch, kneading my sore ass muscles. "I'm going to find some coffee.  Anyone want some, or want to come along?"

Morgan pushes up from the loveseat and agrees to go with me. She makes Nick sit in her place and tells him to call her with any news.  We get in the elevator and travel to the first floor, where the hospital cafeteria is hopefully open and serving something hot and caffeinated.

"This is pretty exciting," says Morgan, through a half assed yawn. "You know, once you get past the waiting part. I guess we shouldn't have all rushed down here."

"I'm sure we all expected it to go as fast as Bridget's births. I think she had her babies in about ten minutes."

She laughs. "Felt like it."

There's a reason we call Keith and Bridget The Stepford's. They just make everything-marriage, family, being your spouse's best friend-look so easy. Effortless. I'm learning lessons everyday that tell me it isn't.

Since we came home from the island, though, JC and I have been on a really good streak. We talk, we laugh, we do just about everything together.  I haven't spent a single night at my apartment since we got back from the trip and, currently, there are more of my things at his place than mine.

I still have no idea how he spends his days and he's particularly quiet about his employment plans. He doesn't seem stressed by the fact that he has no job and potentially no home. That's just JC. He coasts through life and things are just handed to him. It's something I used to hate about him.

What we haven't done is fight. It's been the longest period of time that we've gotten along, save that summer I spent a month in Spain and didn't see him or talk to him. Though, I was mildly surprised to not see him come around a corner and pretend that it was a coincidence, and we should have dinner since we're both there.  It's not that he hasn't been his normal self. His comments, his picking on me, even his sometimes thoughtless, selfish behavior doesn't get under my skin anymore. It's not an Act of War anymore. It's just JC being JC and all it really takes is a glance his way with an ‘I'm serious' look and he reverts to my sweet JC.

Sometimes I think he just wants to see how much he can get away with. And honestly... he gets away with a lot, now.

No one was more surprised than my parents to see JC and I back together. We showed up at the house the day after we had come back from the trip; hand in hand, silly grins on our faces and obviously stupid in love. My mom stared; my dad didn't know what to say, so he laughed. And twitched. 

The Chasez's came down the street, because Tyler had come home and shared the good news. They saw JC's car sitting outside and couldn't wait for us to come down there and tell them. They had to come see the amazing turn of events themselves. Who would have thought that mortal enemies for so many years would end up back together?

We ended up having dinner, laughing together around the dining room table at my parent's house. JC and I had to tell the entire story of our reunion and the rekindling of our romance with input from Tyler, who kept insisting he knew it all along.

The cafeteria is open, serving piping hot coffee in insulated pumpers. Morgan and I grab two cups of coffee a piece and an extra cup of cream, sugar and some stick stirrers and head back upstairs. Morgan's mobile phone is buzzing in her pocket as we step out of the elevator. I look at her, she looks at me and we double our steps to Labor and Delivery.

Matt is out of Jackie's room, surrounded by Nick, Bridget and JC,  who seems alert despite the fact that he was almost snoring not even ten minutes ago. Red eyed, dressed in wrinkled jeans and threadbare t-shirt, Matt is chattering away, stroking his overnight beard as he talks.

"So she'll be here for a day or so, since they had to do a C-Section but the baby looks good. Real good. Big. Long. Pink. Looks like Jackie-dark hair, dark eyes. Beautiful. Screaming like a banshee. I love him already."

"How's Jackie?" I ask, handing Matt a cup of coffee. He needs it more than I do. I hand the other one to JC. "Is she doing okay?"

Matt takes the cup and sips before answering. "Aw, you know Jackie. She's a trooper. She wanted to go natural but Michael wasn't having it. He managed to wrap his cord around his neck and he was really too big, anyway. Once we decided it was safer for her to have a C-Section, she was okay. I'm sure she'll want to see you all soon, but I want to give her a chance to rest and get her wits about her."

"Of course. I'm so happy everything turned out fine. And congratulations, Dad." I tap Matt on the arm and give him an earnest grin. He opens his arms and hugs me tight. When he pulls back, he's all teary eyed again. "You know Jackie doesn't have much in the way of family. You guys are her family. Thanks for being here. I'll let her know you all came."

"Take your time, man," JC says, giving him a bro slap on the back. "Enjoy your new family." Just then, the sound of a baby screeching at the top of its lungs comes from a room down the hall. A nurse steps out of an open door and smiles, waving at Matt. "Sounds like your kid is yelling for you anyway."

"Yeah, I'd better head. I'm already at his beck and call. Thanks for the coffee. Hang tight for a minute, let me talk to Jackie and see what she wants to do." Matt gulps back some coffee and speed walks his way down the hall toward the screaming.

JC hands the coffee cup back to me, doctored with cream and sugar. "I can tell you were really looking forward to some coffee."  We resume our seats in front of the window. The sun is up; the day is looking bright and warm already. JC rubs my back as I sip coffee and listen to everyone talk and wait to hear back from Matt.

The door down the hall opens and Matt comes rushing toward us. "Two at a time, come on back and meet Michael Andrew Cooper." He's absolutely beaming.

Everyone stares at me and JC- we got there first and have been waiting the longest-- until we get up and follow Matt down the hall. Jackie is sitting up in bed, her hospital gown draped across her chest,  arms bare, hair up in the messiest pony tail I've ever seen on her. But she's smiling. Giddy. And probably still on an epidural, so really high.

I bend over her, wrapping my arms around her shoulders and squeeze her tight. I'm so happy I could bust, but I've got to give her a little bit of shit. "Sure, Jacks. Have your baby, but not during the four hours I sat on my ass without moving. Have him in the ten minutes I leave the floor to go get some coffee."

Jackie chortles, her laugh so evil. "I told you bitches I'd get you back."

 She points to the glass bassinette next to the bed that holds a finally sleeping baby. "He's exhausted from all this activity. I fed him and he was out like a light. He'll have to entertain Aunt Angie and Uncle JC at a later date."

JC and I creep across the room to check out Jackie and Matt's work. He's long, red and wrinkled, swaddled like a burrito with a cute little knit cap over his big, round head. His little face is scrunched up, like he's fussing in his sleep. He actually looks kind of pissed off. I guess I would be, too, if I was unceremoniously removed from a place I'd been squatting for nearly ten months.

"No wonder you ate so much," JC muses. "He was eating all of your food." He chuckles, then turns to ask Jackie, "And he's early?"

"A couple of weeks, but he's perfect. Ten fingers, ten toes. Obviously he's got a set of lungs on him." She blushes, but only briefly.  "I'm definitely going to need a drunken girl's night once he's off of breast milk."

We all laugh, staring at the creature in the bassinette. I grin over at Jackie, and whisper, "Good job, mama." She smiles, whispering back, "Thank you."

Hours later, we've napped and lounged around the house and napped some more. Being awakened at 2am and waiting with bated breath for so long sapped all of my energy. It's all I can do to put something together for us to eat, though JC offered to order something.

"Nope. We ate restaurant food for a whole week on that island. I can't look at a professionally prepared plate of food or a vat of reconstituted eggs right now." 

"That was three weeks ago," he grumbles, not because he really wanted takeout, but because I've put him to work. JC doesn't cook if it doesn't involve throwing something in a toaster or a microwave, so it's fun to see him in an apron, wielding a knife and dicing onions and peppers for my homemade spaghetti sauce.

"Just chop," I tell him, browning ground beef in a skillet, adding the spices I've had to bring from my apartment to JC's house because, once again, why would you need onion powder if you don't cook?

"I'm chopping, slave mistress. I'm crying, but I'm chopping."

He lifts his arm to wipe his face on his sleeve and resumes banging his knife through a pile of green and white. "That was pretty cool, seeing baby Michael today. I've never seen one fresh out of the oven before."

I twist around to look at him, shake my head and go back to my sizzling beef. "Fresh out of the oven? You mean a newborn?"

"Yeah, a newborn. Babies are kind of amazing, huh?"

"They are. It's so cool how two people can make a whole new person."

"You think about it at all? Having kids?"

I motion to him that I'm ready for his vegetables. He brings the chopping board over to me and dumps the pile into the skillet on top of the beef. I stir, talking over the loud sounds of frying.

"I used to think about it a lot. Like in my early thirties when all the websites and medical experts say it's best to start having babies. I had that biological clock era about three years ago. Now?" I shrug. "Not so much."

"You used to want kids, but you don't now?"

"It's not that I don't want them." I open the cabinet, pull out the container of garlic salt and sprinkle some over the mixture, then return it to the cabinet. I do the same with a little more salt and pepper. "It's that I haven't really thought about it. Not lately, that is. I've been so consumed with my cases, my work. And I wasn't with a guy that made me want to have his babies."

In a few steps, he is behind me, his hands on my waist, pressing himself into me. I feel his breath on my shoulder as his lips flutter over my skin. I squirm and squeal in his arms, still trying to stir our meal on the stove.

"Are you now? With a guy that makes you want to have his babies?"

"Maybe. Kind of an unfair question with your dick in my ass." I angle my head so I can see him, Mr. Mysterious Acting Person. "Have you ever thought about it?"

He scrunches up his face and rears back. "Hell no."

I laugh. "Damn, sorry I asked. I guess that's not a thing guys think about?"

"Some do. Just... not me."

"Are you just acting macho or do you not really want children?"

He releases me, stepping back to open refrigerator, pulls out a bottle of water, twists off the cap and takes a long swig. He shifts, leaning against the cabinet with his arms crossed. "Do guys have a biological clock?"

"I don't think so." I bend to adjust the flame under the meat and vegetables. A delicious scent is coming from the skillet. I'm so happy to have someone to cook for-someone who loves to eat and doesn't care what it is he is eating, so long as he eats. "A guy can have a kid until he's dead, practically. Ed McMahon had a kid at like, eighty years old. Those swimmers are potent."

"Cool. So I can still have kids after you die."

I glare at him. Then hand him two large cans of crushed tomatoes. "Open these, asshole."

He grabs the cans and the can opener and goes to work. I pour the ground beef, onion and green pepper mixture into a pot and turn on the burner under it. Once the cans are open, I empty them into the pot and stir everything together, then put a lid on the pot and turn the flame to low.

I set the timer for two hours and start rinsing utensils, the skillet and other things we've used to prepare food. "Why don't you grab a loaf of garlic bread from the freezer? It can defrost while the sauce simmers. It needs to cook for a couple of hours."

"A couple of hours?" He whines, but moves toward the freezer, opens the door and slides out a loaf of frozen, pre-buttered garlic bread. "Where you want it?"

"Up your ass." I close the dishwasher and walk out of the kitchen. "Set it on the counter somewhere. Doesn't matter."

"You can't have my kids with a mouth like that." 

"Really? Last night you liked my mouth."

I resume my spot on the couch, making a note to check the sauce in about a half hour. JC settles into the couch next to me. We've fallen into a comfortable routine, lately. And I really like it. Before it started getting chilly at night, we would sit out on the patio and watch the waves in the lake, have a glass of wine, talk.  Lately, we hang out in the living room, him in his usual spot, and me in mine. Sometimes I read the paper or a magazine. He watches the most God-awful TV shows.

"So you didn't answer me," I say to him during a commercial break of some reality show about pawning things. It's the most boring thing ever, but he loves guessing how much money each seller is getting screwed out of. "You do or don't want kids?"

"If you want kids, we'll have kids. If you don't, we won't."

"JC..." I sit up, more than a little exasperated. "There's a whole lot more to having kids than fucking, and then saying ‘go ask your mother' all the time. I need to know that you want to be a dad. That you want to raise them with me."

He presses a button on the remote and mutes the TV, then sits up. "Here's the thing, Angie. I want to be with you. If you want to be a mom and have my kids, I'm there. One hundred percent. I'm not saying the decision is all you, but... " He tosses up his hands in a tic of frustration. "I really do have the easy part. I'm not the one that has to carry the thing."

"It's not a thing. It's a baby. A child. A piece of me and you.  Can you be serious for a whole minute, please?"

He looks at me, his gaze steady, his eyes that bright, piercing, so-blue-they're-almost-clear. "I don't know, Angie. I never let my thoughts get that far, because I never thought I'd be with you again and if I had kids with anyone, it'd be with you. We're so new... again... kids aren't really on my mind right now. But I know women have a short time span when they can have kids, so if you want me to speed up my thoughts on that, you got it. If you want to start procreating tomorrow, I'm on it."

"Did you want to have kids with me before? Like when we were together before?"

"Baby, I was like... seventeen." He laughs. "I didn't think we were having kids for like ten or fifteen years, by the looks of that bag of condoms you dragged around."

The memory of that enormous bag of condoms brings a wave of nostalgia. I was diligent about protection; that was for sure. "And I was on birth control on top of that. My parents were so scared we'd end up with a baby."

"I think we broke up before that could happen. Definitely would have happened if we moved in together after high school."

"You think?"                         

He huffs a laugh. "Unlimited access to you? Sex in a bed?" He leans over and nuzzles my neck and runs a hand down my torso. The tips of his fingers just brush the side of my breasts. My nipples react, standing upright and poking through my bra and t-shirt. My back arcs and I let out a low groan. "Stuff like that happening all the time? Mercy."

I reach for him and let him crowd me, snuggle up against me, arms around me. I run my fingers through his curls and waves and kiss his temple. He's warm and he still smells like the shower gel he uses.

"Do you feel like we're sort of... reliving our high school years?"

He tips his head up so he can see me. "What do you mean?"

"I mean... I don't know. I feel like we've kind of picked up where we left off. Not that that's a bad thing-- we're definitely doing things we could never do together back then and I'm really liking that. I just sort of... feel like I might be ready for some grown up relationship stuff with you. Like taking some bigger steps together."

"Like having kids?"

I laugh, tapping him lightly. "No! Not yet for that. But... I mean, I've been waiting for you to bring this up, but are you going to have to move out of this place? I hate going back to my apartment. By this point it's just a huge storage closet. Most of my stuff is here. And if I have to move it somewhere, okay... but I don't want that somewhere to be back to my apartment."

Without a word, JC untangles himself from me and gets up from the couch. I watch him walk down the hall and turn the corner, to the home office that we've been sharing since I've been staying there. If I have to go to my apartment for something, JC takes me and brings me back. He wants me with him, I get that. But I'm not as easy going as he is about having a place to live where we can move around without bumping into each other. That place is not my apartment.

JC comes back around the corner, a box and an envelope in hand, and sits down beside me again. "I was saving this," he says, "but you're so damn impatient."

"Oh, it's my fault you have to give me a present." I take the box from him and angle myself toward him. The box is plain and white, nondescript. No logo, no wrapping or ribbon, the simplest of presentations. I pull off the lid and remove a couple of layers of cotton before my fingers brush against something hard.

I dig and pull out a key ring. It holds two keys, one a sterling silver, the other a brushed gold. I dangle them, listening to them jingle. JC is bearing the straightest faced expression I've ever seen.

"So, are these the keys to your heart? Does your heart have a deadbolt?"

"One of those is the key to the castle. The other is a surprise I'm not ready to give you yet. You get to wait some more."

"The key to the castle?" I look at them, and hold up the silver one. "This looks like the key to this house."

"That's because it is."

"Okay. So you gave me a key to a house you might have to give up soon. This means what, on Planet JC?"

He sighs, rolls his eyes and pulls me close. "You're so smart, but so dense sometimes. I can keep the house. That's what the key means. This is the castle." He pulls back and stares at me, his forehead a landscape of wrinkles, his brows knit together. "Have you ever wondered how come you never beat me in court?"

"Yes. I decided it was because you cheat."I glance at the key again, a grin slowly crawling across my face. "So you get to keep the house? Forever?"

"I swear I just said that."

I'm trying not to throw my arms around him. To choke him. "My God you're a smart ass this evening! Answer my fucking question!"

"Yes. Yes I can keep the house. We can keep the house."

He hands me the envelope, and I put the key down long enough to open the flap and slide out a piece of paper. It's the deed to the house and a receipt from the County Clerk that the new deed, registered to Joshua Scott Chasez has been filed. He officially owns the townhome on Lake Conway.

I sink back against the couch and heave an audible sigh of relief. I was worried enough for the both of us.

"He laughed when I asked if he was moving back to this place.  His new wife took the liberty of finding them a big ass house in one of those swanky neighborhoods. I told him about you, how we're back together and real serious and you'd be mad if you had to pack your shoes up again."

"Again, this is my fault?" But I'm grinning, so huge.

"Sure," he answers with a shrug of a shoulder. "He's got another place, here. His first condo. He's been renting it, but the tenant recently left. What I've been doing lately is going over to supervise the renovation of that place.  That one goes to Ty at Christmas. But he doesn't know, so..." He presses a finger to his lips in a shhhh gesture.

He takes the deed back, gazes at it for a moment, then folds it up again. He slides it back into the envelope and tosses it onto the coffee table. "So, I thought we could go over to your place next weekend and start packing up your stuff. I want you here, all of you, before Christmas."

"Here. To live here. With you. Here."

"I think you've captured the gist of it, yes."

I do, then, throw my arms around him. He laughs at my reaction, and then he realizes that I'm on the verge of tears and holds me tightly. His hands are warm on my back as he strokes me from my neck to my waist, patiently waiting for my emotional moment to pass.

I sit back, swiping a few tears, clutching the keys in my hand. "You know what I want to say right now."

He nods. "I do. But don't, yet."

"Really? You just told me to pack up my shit and move in with you and gave me a key and everything and I can't say it?"

He snickers, one lip curled in a sneer. "Not yet. There's something much, much bigger coming."

I lift up the key ring and dangle it in his face.  "Does the much bigger thing have something to do with whatever this other key goes to?"

He's sneaky and shakes his head, but I can see the yes in his face. I lean over and kiss him and mentally say it anyway: I love you, JC.

It takes a few weekends and a couple of late nights, but my apartment is empty and clean, keys turned in and JC's place looks like a cardboard tornado hit it. I wasn't married to any of my furniture, so I sold it, favoring JC's more upscale (and newer) furnishings. His Uncle Pete gave him the house and everything in it. Apparently the new Mrs. Peter Chasez, Esquire likes spending money. They got all new furniture and we got hand me downs.

I don't mind a bit.

I'm so used to walking into the house, disarming the alarm and stepping around a landmine of boxes, that the day I come home and the hallways are clear, I wonder if I am in the right house.

"Baby?"

I drop my briefcase and lunch carrier on the couch. The sliding doors are wide open, a breeze billowing the curtains through the opening and out onto the patio. JC is sitting at one of the glass topped tables, under an umbrella that flaps loudly.

"So we're ready, then?" I hear him say into the phone. I wave a few fingers at him and head back inside.

A few minutes later, he steps into the house and slides the doors closed. "Hi, honey."

 I turn from the refrigerator where I'm trying to decide if I'm having something gentle like iced tea or something harder. "Hey. Do we have any vodka?"

"Uh, oh." JC comes into the kitchen, pulls the handle from my hand and lets the door shut. His arms slip around my waist and he pulls me up against him. I tip my head up for a kiss, resting my arms on his broad shoulders.

There is nothing better than coming home to him every day. I've turned into the kind of woman I used to roll my eyes at, like Bridget. But, in a recent Skype conversation I had with her, Jackie, and Morgan, I've realized that I get it. When you find that one, that person that fills that person shaped void in your life, that person that makes you overwhelmingly happy, your life becomes about being happy with that person. At all costs.

We spend time, standing in the middle of the kitchen, in each other's arms and slowly, lazily kissing. JC tips his head to nibble on my earlobe, my neck, brush his lips across my cheek.

"Bad day?" He asks plainly. That's a question he asks every day and every day the question is answered with a despondent sigh.

Things are getting worse at the Law Center. The partners have become such ambulance chasers, taking any case as long as it pays. I haven't been doing well because I'm given cases I don't believe in, clients I don't want to represent. People that I know are guilty as hell, but it's my job to defend them. I remember JC's words, back when he worked for Perry: "Everyone deserves his day in court. Even a murderer needs a defense."

And I suppose that's the point, why I never went to work for Perry. I feel like I work for a Perry clone, now. Even Tyler is thinking about moving on, and he was the one that was grateful to have a job. "I'm getting ready to propose to my girlfriend, you know," he told me today at lunch, which would have been a liquid lunch if we didn't have court dates this afternoon. "I'm working on building a life with her. I don't want to have to worry about being stuck at a firm because I have a family to support."

"I get it," I told him, taking a bite of my half sandwich, and then sipping a spoonful of vegetable soup. "Any idea where you want to go?"

He wagged his head, mouth in a sad downturn before shoving a few French fries in. "No idea. But I'm going to start looking. Now that my Uncle is moving back to town, maybe he can strike up some connections."

"Ah. The old JC move, then?"

He shrugs, eating more fries. His mouth full, he says, "I guess I'm desperate enough." And when Tyler is desperate, that's a really bad situation.

"My day," I tell JC, "Just got way better."

He hums a pleasant tune in my ear before he pulls back and leads me by the hand to the living room. We settle into the couch and I kick off my heels, loosen my suit jacket and let JC help me pull it off.

"What happened?"

"I just flat out refused a case, today. I mean, I could take it; it's a settlement case. But it's drunk driving, which I hate. I can't be sympathetic to some guy that almost killed some people because he was out having a good time and got in his car." I huff, frustrated. "I told Doug I wasn't taking the case. He tried to make me take it. I said no, my caseload is overflowing anyway. My Busy Level is like... off the charts.

"Then he tried to make Tyler take it and he refused, so he made some other lower level associate take it, and Tyler and I both got called into Flanning's office and got reamed." I'm pretty sure I still only have half an ass left.

"Sounds rough. That's how it was getting at Perry when I left."

"See, that's what I'm talking about! I feel like Flanning and Rourke are modeling the Center after Perry now. Trying to beat them at their own game. I'm not that kind of attorney. I don't practice that kind of law."

JC grabs my hand and strokes the back of it with his thumb. Wide swoops that are magically calming and soothing. "So do you still have a job?"

I snort. "Of course. They don't want to handle my cases."

JC gets up and walks back to the kitchen. I hear a door opening, something pouring and he's back moments later with two fingers of vodka in a glass. I'm almost ashamed at how fast I toss it back and hand the glass back to him.

"Another?"

I roll my eyes up to him. "Will you think badly of me if I say yes?"

He chuckles and heads back to the kitchen. "Whatever makes it easy to get your panties off, I'm all for it." He's back with my drink, but not as much this time. "Take it easy, though. You haven't eaten and you've got to drive to Prime in an hour."

"Okay." I decide to sip instead of gulp. I do feel a little lightheaded, already. "Tyler is thinking about moving on. And frankly, so am I."

"Really?"

"Yup. Either drop everything as it stands or take the cases I want to work and go somewhere else."

"Hmmm." He says nothing more for a long, quiet moment. I sip my drink and fume about my day. "Do you have any feelers out? Do you want me to ask around?"

"I don't know. I don't want you fighting my battles."

"I wouldn't be. I mean, that's kind of how this business works. You know someone that knows someone."

I can't help but laugh. That's how the business works for him.

"Think about it. I'll ask around if you want. For Ty, too." With that, he stands, and grabs my hand. "Come on. I want you to see what I did today."

I let myself be pulled up and then down the hall to the office we share. My eyes bug out at how changed the room is. Instead of one desk we sort of fight over, there are two L-shaped desks in the room. Filing cabinets stand alongside each desk and we have two bookcases apiece. Mine are full of the books that had been sitting in the boxes and stacked along the hallway.

"Wow, baby. You've been busy today."

"I hope you don't mind. I thought you'd feel more at home with all your stuff where you can get to it. Now you can work at home without having to sit on the floor in the living room in front of the TV." He points to a flat screen TV mounted on one wall, where we can both see it. "I just have to get cable connected to it. Be set up in a couple of days. And check this out."

He steps to one of the desks and picks up the receiver on one of the three line phones. "We each have a line and then there's the house line." He punches in a number and I hear a phone ringing somewhere in the house. A line is blinking on the phone and its warbling at a low volume. The voicemail picks up and JC puts the phone on speaker.

‘Hi, you've reached JC and Angie. We're not available right now, but leave a message and we'll get back to you. For JC's office line, press one. For Angie, press two. For both of us, wait for the beep. Thanks for calling.'

"You've been really busy today!" I pull out the chair he's picked out for me, a soft cushiony leather office chair. It rolls easily and smoothly. I test it out, pushing myself along the wood floor.  Satisfied, I get up and roll the chair back under the desk.

I wrap my arms around JC's waist and rise up onto my toes to land a kiss on his cheek. "I love everything about this room. Especially that you unpacked all my books and stuff. Thank you, sweetie."

"You're welcome. I just wanted your shit outta my way."

"I knew you'd say that. You're just trying to mask your sweet nature. And trying to stop me from saying I lo-"

JC's face darkens. "Evangeline."

Laughing, I pull away from him. "I call you asshole. You call me Evangeline. I think it means the same thing."

"Not time yet." He winds a hand around my waist and pulls me out of the room, into the hallway, back to the living room. "So... you have to do this thing with Morgan tonight?"

"This thing? This thing where I haven't had my weekly dinner with her in months? We have to catch up."

"You mean talk about me."

"That, too."  I head toward the stairs. "I've got to go change, speaking of meeting Morgan tonight."

"Let me know if you need help," he calls from the living room.

An hour and a half later, I'm seated in our usual spot at Prime. I feel like I haven't been in this place in forever-probably because I haven't. Last time I was here, my life was so different. Coming here feels like going to a place I haven't been in many years, instead of a couple of months. It looks the same, though. It feels the same, like the same kind of people are here tonight that were here months ago-the young, hip clientele that Prime tries to attract. I identified with them  back them.

And now I am so different.

Morgan rushes in, her blond hair flying behind her. I'm glad I changed, because she's dressed in skinny jeans and a long sleeved blouse and boots. We almost match.

"Hey! Sorry, I left the studio late. I got a last minute call... it was crazy for about an hour before I left." She huffs and puffs, tosses her oversized handbag onto the seat next to her and grabs the drink menu. "You haven't ordered yet?" She frowns at the empty spot in front of me.

"I ordered some appetizers. I had a drink and a half at home. The only way JC would let me drive myself is if I drank a bottle of water and promised I'd order some food when I got here."

"Awww," she coos, flipping the menu over. "I don't think I've had a chance to say it, but I'm so glad you guys are back together. You belong together, don't you think?"

I grin. "He's the jelly to my peanut butter."

"And see? Now you say cute things like that, instead of rolling your eyes when I bring him up." She waves down a waitress and places an order for a glass of white wine. When the waitress leaves, she folds her arms on the table and leans forward. "So... how are things?"

"Things.... are great, actually. Really, really good."

"Yeah? You're all moved in, right?"

I nod. "A couple of weeks ago. Today, he surprised me by setting up our office and unpacking my books. And he bought phones and recorded a voicemail message with both our names on it. It's..." I roll my eyes at myself. "It's really cute, actually."

"I'm happy to hear that. So the drink and a half wasn't about him?"

I shake my head, sensing my face clouding over. "Work. It just sucks." I fill her in on the latest employment related drama, to which she listens with rapt attention. "I'm probably going to look for something after the New Year. I just hate being so happy everywhere but work."

"It sounds miserable. You're smart and talented and accomplished. Don't be afraid-just step out there. You know we're all behind you. And so is JC-"

"But in a totally different way," I finish, laughing.

Morgan's white wine arrives and she sips from the glass slowly before setting it down in front of her. "What's he doing, now anyway? Still not working?"

"Still doing stuff for his uncle, I guess? I try not to question him about it. He's really... I don't know. Mysterious lately. Like, weird questions about stuff, he hasn't gone back to work but doesn't seem too worried about it. He gave me a key to the house, but there was another key on the key ring. He won't tell me what the other key is for."

"Hunh. Weird. I wonder what's up?"

"Me too. And he won't let me tell him I love him."

Morgan's eyes grow to the size of saucers, until the blue in them is a mere dot surrounded by white. "He won't let you what?"

"Well I haven't... since we've been back together. He keeps asking me to wait, that he's still working for it, that there's a big thing coming. I don't know, but it's driving me crazy. Six months ago you couldn't pay me to tell him I loved him. Now I have to bite my tongue to keep from automatically saying it."

"That's... really weird, Angie. I hope you find out, soon."

The waitress brings out several plates and sets them between Morgan and me: potato skins, chicken wings and mozzarella sticks. I glance up at her and laugh. "I was hungry, okay?"

 Morgan and I chat and laugh and catch up with each other like we haven't seen each other in ages, instead of weeks. She's now married; I'm in a solid, committed relationship. One of our best friends just had a baby and another is on the verge of proposing. Somehow, when we weren't paying attention, we evolved from a ragtag group of kids that hung out together to grown up couples doing grown up things.

It's pretty awesome, and it's awesome to not feel so alone anymore. And to know that you don't have to be alone, ever again, if you don't want to be.

I wave goodbye to Morgan, watching her hop into her new MINI Cooper-a wedding gift from Nick- before I slide into my car and head home. The new home. I'm still getting used to driving to the Lake Conway house and not automatically heading to my apartment.

The lights are on when I pull up to the house, so JC is still awake. Still, I open the door gently and walk softly through the house, snapping off lights as I go. I hear the TV as I make my way up the stairs and down the hall to the bedroom.

Lying spread eagle in the middle of the bed is JC. The TV is on, the overhead light is on and the ceiling fan is on. He is out cold. I almost hate to wake him, but we both have to share the bed.

I kick off my heels and crawl across the bed, curling up next to him. As soon as I touch him, he jerks awake, inhaling deeply, combing a hand through his hair, tipping his head up and looking around.

"Oh. You're back."

"Did you think I was leaving you?"

"'Course not. What time is it?"

"About 10:30."

He grunts, then rolls to his side and pulls me to him, wrapping his arm and legs around me. "Missed you, honey."

"I missed you, too," I respond, my voice muffled by this shoulder.

"Have fun? How's Morgan? Did you see the car Nick got her?"

"I did. Morgan is great and the car is cute. It really suits her." I start to describe our evening but JC soon makes it clear that he has no interest in what two chicks talked about over drinks. He pops open a few buttons on my shirt and dips his head toward my chest. I try to keep talking, but I'm distracted by how good it feels when he nips at my skin, when he pulls my breast out of my bra and flicks his tongue across my nipple.

A wave washes over me, so strong I feel like I'm drowning in desire for him. I'm shaking and short of breath and, at the moment, I want nothing more than him. Right now.

"You drunk?" He mumbles the question against my lips as we kiss.

"No. Do you want me to be?"

"Nope. I want you to remember this night of epic sex."

I laugh, even as my body seems to shout its approval of this proposal. Everything in me reaches out for him. I struggle to pull off my clothes with twitching fingers while JC attempts to make sure he's touched every inch of my skin with his lips. When I'm down to my bra - which is halfway off anyway-I reach for JC's t-shirt and sweat pants and pull them off. I'm not surprised to find that he's not wearing briefs or boxers. He lik

Christmas, 1994

JC and I, Morgan and Nick always exchanged gifts on December 23rd. We'd meet up at Nick's house around noon, since his parents would be at the clinic they ran. Nicks mom considered it a little party and she always made sure there were punch and cookies and snacks galore. We'd lie around watching movies in the home theater, talking and laughing, having a great time and enjoying our winter break from school. 

Our parents didn't like us hanging out too long at the Del Ray's, since Nick was alone a lot. And because Nick and Morgan were a couple and our parents considered them a questionable influence. So around 5:00, we'd gather around the six foot Douglas fir with white pearl lights and sparkling tinsel and glass bulbs.

We'd pull out the small packages we had surreptitiously hidden under the tree earlier in the day and pass them around. I always got Morgan something soft and pink. That year she was into leg warmers so I found her a cute knit pair at the mall. She squealed when she opened them and put them right on. I also got her a pair of dangly pink feather earrings.

The guys always got each other music or movies or clothes-a t-shirt or something otherwise ‘cool'. One year they gave each other the same shirt, thought it was hilarious, and on occasion would plan to wear them the same day.

JC and I had been together for almost two years at this point and he'd never disappointed on a gift giving holiday.  That year I'd gotten him something I knew he'd really like, so, excited, I handed him the medium sized box that I wrapped all by myself. He handed me a small box that, unfortunately, looked like he wrapped all by himself.

"Don't frown at the wrapping, Angie," he scolded, then ripped the paper off of the box I'd handed him.

"I'm not. I'm just wondering why you couldn't at least get Nick to help you. Look at the box he wrapped for Morgan." I tipped my head toward the other couple, who sat, heads together, investigating the video game that Morgan had bought Nick.

"Morgan wrapped her own present," he quipped, peeling off the tape holding the box closed. He tipped the lid up, then his eyes lit up and his mouth dropped open. "Yeah! Oh my God, Angie!"

I giggled at his reaction, overjoyed that he loved it. He reached into the box and pulled out the Washington Redskins Football Jersey, gently and lovingly unfurling it like a flag. Also in the box was some paraphernalia-a logo key chain and a Redskins Velcro close wallet.

"This is so awesome. Thank you, baby!" He leaned over and kissed me but was really more interested in his new jersey and Redskins gear. "My team! I can represent!"

"You're welcome. I thought you'd like that."

"I totally like it-I love it. Okay, open yours." He put his gifts down long enough to turn himself toward me so he could watch me open the poorly wrapped box.

The paper was green, with Christmas trees printed all over it. I tore it away to reveal a small, nondescript black box. I lifted the lid from the box and pushed aside the two thin layers of tissue paper. Inside the box lay a gorgeous, pewter locket. It looked antique and had a clasp, the kind that flips open and holds tiny pictures inside.

"Open it," he said, so I clicked the tiny button and inside was the cutest picture of JC and me from the previous summer, out on Lake Conway with family and friends. We'd laughed at a joke at the same time and then laughed at each other. His dad snapped a photo just then, a happy moment frozen in time.

My grin was so wide my face hurt. It was the single most meaningful gift he'd ever given me and I could hardly wait to put it on. I pulled the locket from the box; it dangled by a thin silver chain. I maneuvered myself around so he could put it on me, and then jumped up right away.

"Where are you going?"   

"I want to look at it!"

I ran to the bathroom and snapped on the light, my breath catching at the view of the delicate locket hanging at a perfect length around my neck. JC ambled around the corner and leaned against the doorjamb. "So you like it? I had to get my mom to help me pick it out."

"I love it. It's so awesome." I played with it, rubbing the metal between my fingers, then flicking it open, smiling at the picture inside, and snapping it closed again. Then I grabbed his arm, dragged him into the bathroom and closed the door. "I really, really love it."

A few minutes later, we emerged, sweaty and red-faced. We hadn't had sex, but we'd done enough that we were both satisfied.

JC dropped me off at my front door, his usual habit, but before I could turn the knob and walk inside, he stopped me, snaking his arm around my waist and bringing me in for one last, long hug for the night. We'd both be with our families through Christmas and wouldn't see much of each other.

"I'm really glad you like your gift," he whispered in my ear and dropped a kiss on my cheek. Then he pulled back and smiled that shy, sweet smile at me. Nervous, he ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it back even though the heavy waves would just fall forward again, feathering around his face. I smiled up at him, wrapped my arms around his neck and stretched up onto my toes to kiss him.

We were still kissing when my dad opened the door and snapped on the porch light.

***

The lunch crowd at Grande Luxe has thinned by the time JC and I arrive for a belated midday meal. We pick our favorite table and slide into either side of the booth, accept a menu from the waitress and chatter with her as she sets our table with water and silverware wrapped in napkins. She steps away to let us decide what we're going to order.

"Starvin'," JC says, perusing the menu he knows by heart. We'd been coming to Grande Luxe since we were kids. While there were some additions and subtractions and revamps over the years, the menu hadn't changed that much.

"I'm sorry that took so long."

"It's okay. I'm not complaining. I'm just hungry, is all." JC flips the menu over, scans it quickly, and then slides it to the edge of the table. "I think I'm going to just get a burger. I've worked up an appetite."

I'm still trying to decide. "Yeah, all that waiting really takes a lot out of a guy."

We've been at the hospital all morning. I'm old hat at this hospital thing by now. A few days ago, my dad started having tremors-heavy shaking that he can't seem to control or bring himself out of and that mom can't regulate with medication. Eventually, they subsided, but the doctor decided he that he wanted to see Dad. During their weekly Thursday night poker game, JC overheard my mother trying to arrange a courtesy van to pick him up and take him to his appointment, since she had a meeting at dad's dealership. The van was full and she couldn't get him on it, so JC offered to take him. Grateful, Dad agreed.

But he should have told JC not to tell me, because when JC came home and mentioned, casually, that he was taking my dad to the hospital for some tests in the morning, I freaked out. I called the night service at the Firm and told them I wouldn't be in and insisted on going with them.

It turned out to be nothing more than violent tremors, par for the course for Parkinson's. Dad was afraid the episode meant he was getting worse, or that his meds weren't working. Doctor Barnes spent a few hours running tests and monitoring his levels and determined everything to be fine. He sent Dad home with orders to rest and stay on his medications at the current dosage.

It was time for his nap, so we took Dad home, tucked him in and gave the report to mom to follow up.

As I slid into the passenger seat of JC's car, I sucked in a deep breath, held it and then exhaled.

He grabbed my hand and squeezed it. "He's okay, honey. He's okay."

"Yeah." I try to relax, tamp down my anxiety. It's tough to watch him deteriorate, worrying about every little thing that seems out of the ordinary. Dad's strong though, upbeat with a great attitude about his illness, even a little laid back. He makes it easier to hold on.

"How about some lunch? Our favorite place?"

JC's fingers brush mine as we wait for the waitress to come back and take our order.

"Remember that one time we narrowly missed getting arrested by coming here after stopping by that party?"

I snort. "Yes! Whose party was that? Cade Johnson, right?"

"Right. His parents were out of town so he thought he'd just have a couple of kids over. Turns into a total rager. I'm so glad we decided to leave when we did."

"You? I would still be grounded today if I'd got arrested that night." We'd shown up at the party about an hour after the announced start time. It was already out of control-loud music, people hanging out everywhere, cars up and down the street, kids screaming and whooping into the night. Our team had won, still undefeated, so there was reason to celebrate.

I remember glancing at JC as we pulled up to the house. There was nowhere to park within blocks. "Maybe we should wait awhile for it to die down," I suggested.

So we went to Grande Luxe. And while we were there, kids that we knew were at that party started to come in and sit at the tables around us. JC twisted around to ask one guy what was up, was the party lame? "Busted," the kid said. "Cops showed up. Everybody ran."

The waitress stops by our table to take our orders and menus. We sit in comfortable silence, listening to the piped in music crackling through the speakers above us.

JC's eye catches something. I've been waiting for him to notice. "Hey," he says, sitting straight up all of a sudden.

"Hm?"

He points at the silver locket that hangs from my neck, still at a perfect length. He's staring hard at it. "Is that what I think it is?"

I smile and finger the metal, worn and softened by the years. "I found it when I was packing my apartment."

"I didn't realize you even still had it."

"Well, I do."

"Is the picture still in there?"

I shake my head ‘no'. His face falls, ever so slightly. "I still have it. It's just not in here." I flip the locket open and reveal a picture of us on St. Lucia. The day we'd come back from the kayak trip and we were sitting together up against the tree trunk.  Someone had snapped a photo and added it to a slideshow site where we'd all uploaded our pictures for sharing. I downloaded it for myself and when I found the locket, had it resized to fit inside.

"That's a nice shot," he says, before I snap the locket shut. "I like that one."

"Me too. So, tomorrow you have to wear the Red Skins jersey I bought you that year, along with your key chain and your wallet, okay?"

We laugh together as the waitress arrives with our lunch-chicken sandwich for me, burger for JC and fries we could share.

"I probably still have that stuff in a box in my parent's basement. I never threw away anything you gave me."

I stop chewing a fry as I glance at him. "Really?"

"Really." He undresses, then redresses his burger and takes a bite. Mouth full, he says, "I'm going to look for them when we go by there Christmas Eve."

"You don't have to look for some crap I gave you when we were sixteen."

"It wasn't some crap. You had to save a lot of allowance money to buy that. It meant a lot to me."

I can't and won't argue with him. JC had a job, but I was always saving half of my weekly allowance to be able to buy him something for Valentine's Day, his birthday and Christmas. It meant half as much spent on things I liked, like nail polish and cool clothes and shoes, but worth it to see the look on his face when he opened that box.

"I like that you're wearing that," he comments, finishing off his burger. "And that you still have it."

"I'm not sure I meant to still have it, but I do." I blush and dip my head and shove a fry into my mouth. "I threw away a lot of stuff you gave me."

"Yeah. Pissed off girls do that kind of thing."

After lunch, we get in the car and JC starts it up, but instead of pulling out of the space, he leans onto the arm rest, his face an inch from mine. I close the short distance between us and kiss him.

"Thanks for lunch. I needed that, after today."

"Sure," he says. "You don't have to go to the office, do you?"

I shake my head. "No. I brought my files home so I can work from the house. Why?"

He gives me that coy smile he's been giving me for weeks. I've stopped asking what's up, because he never tells me. He just acts mysterious and then walks around with a smug grin. Classic JC. I'm just about over it.

He finally pulls out of the spot and starts heading in the opposite direction of home. I'm curious, but I'm not asking questions.

On the way to wherever we're going, he asks me questions about work: how the Partners are doing at bringing in cases, how Tyler's managing with a heavier load than he's used to. He lets me complain and relate story after story of why I don't want to work at Flanning & Rourke much longer. All the while, we're headed toward downtown and the Business District.

We turn into an empty parking lot that surrounds a beautiful two story brick building with elegant arches, lots of wide windows and what looks like freshly planted grass and bushes around the perimeter. He takes into a spot right in front of the building and cuts the engine. Wearing that same smug grin, he pops open his door and gets out of the car. I follow his lead and meet him at the glass double door entrance. The lights are on inside; the building is empty.

"What is this place?"

"You're about to find out. Wanna let us in?"

I reach for the door and pull one of the handles. It's locked. "Sure, if you have a key."

JC pauses, then grins. "Honey, you have a key."

"I have a key? To this place?"

"Yeah." He stares at me for a few seconds before he starts to laugh. He reaches out to cup my chin and tip my head up. "Baby. Think. You have a key."

My eyes pop open. Wide open. I have a key.

My purse hangs from the crook of my arm by short, rounded straps. I dig into and grab the ring with the silver key to the home we share and the mysterious, homeless brushed gold key. I hold it up. Grinning, I almost shout, "I have a key!"  

Then, confused, I frown. "Why do I have a key?"

He chuckles and nods toward the door. "Let us in. I'll show you."

I insert the key into the lock below the door handle and twist. It unlocks easily and we swing the door open and step inside. Our footsteps echo on the dark tile as we walk toward a large, round wooden reception desk. The wall behind the desk goes all the way to the up, leading to solar panels that allow the sunshine to beam in, lighting and warming the building. The space is wide, open and airy.

On either side of the reception desk, the two separate hallways are open. I can see all the way down to the other end of the building. A flight of stairs leads to the second floor. The whole space flows from front to back, top to bottom.

It smells new. The building's façade is obviously old, but the interior is renovated. I smell fresh paint; I see windows still encased in plastic wrapping. The floors gleam with a shine that doesn't say it was laid fifty years ago. The wood on the stairs looks freshly milled, the banisters still dusty as if they'd just come off the lathe and sander.

This place is under construction.

"You ask me a lot what I do all day."

JC had been walking ahead of me, point things out here and there. Now he turns and smirks. "I'm either over at the place my Uncle had renovated for Ty, or I'm here. The place my Uncle is having renovated for him."

I'm starting to understand. JC's Uncle isn't moving back to Florida to join the ranks of retired seniors, playing golf and shopping at Wal-Mart. He's coming back to work. In his own firm. A new and improved firm, from the looks of it.

"The whole place is wired for hi-def and surround sound. We'll have a couple TV's up here by the front desk. Gotta keep up on the news. Every office is wired for cable and will be piped into the network room at the back of the house. You can play music or watch TV or whatever, in your office." He shrugs. "Lawyers live at work. Why not make it comfortable?"

I follow him as he points out more rooms. We walk into a small room lit by the bright sunlight streaming through the windows. Around the perimeter are long tables where, every few feet, a flat screen monitor, mouse and keyboard are plugged into a computer tower.

"Law Library. Everything we need is online now. Lexis-Nexus too. Everybody will have a login and anything you need can be emailed to you, or you can print it out. You can also dial into this network with a private connection, so you can work from home if you need to."

A few doors down is another room, larger with a wide table, leather rolling chairs standing at attention around it. On one wall is what must be a 60inch television. The table has a square cut in the middle, with a conduit running to the floor. He reaches over and flips one end of the square, revealing a number of plug-in ports.

"Plug your laptop in here, USB or HDMI cables and what not. It beams onto the screen there. There's a ceiling mounted camera so we can do video conferences. It's... also a TV, in case you need to catch up on The Young and the Restless."

We walk more around the first floor, finding the copy room with several machines ready for the power switch to be flipped and put into service. "These are all coded, so if you're making copies for a case, you can punch in that number, it adds it to the billing for that case. Wait until you see the accounting system Pete uses. He helped design it. Revolutionized law billing."

JC sounds excited; I would be too, if I got to be a part of a firm that was operating in the current century-and maybe beyond, looking at some of the technology in place. The building I work in is falling apart. Our parking lot isn't even paved.

We pass a few closets-network room, supply closet, filing, storage-then climb the stairs.

"The Associate offices are downstairs. Senior Attorneys and Partner offices are up here." There's a second conference room, a mirror image of the one downstairs. The rooms are larger, with space for an Executive desk, lateral files, a meeting table and chairs. Bright, airy and spacious.

I'm jealous.

"This is my Uncle's office," he says, heading to the furthest edge of the floor. "Corner office of course, biggest office. Most responsibility."  It's already furnished with what looks like an antique desk, credenza, computer hutch, and leather chair, still wrapped in plastic and tape from the moving company. A sliding door reveals a private conference room with the same setup as the others, only smaller.

A few doors down from his Uncle's office, he stops and swings into an open room. "And this is mine."

The room is carpeted-black background with bold designs in red and yellow, swirls and circles and blocks creating a pattern. It's otherwise empty. His voice echoes through the empty space. "Furniture comes Monday. I picked some nice stuff-- dark wood. I think it'll go nicely with the carpet. A lot like my office over at Perry."

He turns and points to the TV mounted on one wall. "Got the important part installed, though."

"Your office. So you're working for your Uncle?"

He walks to the window and perches on the windowsill. He folds his arms across his chest like he's got a story to tell.

"More like with. New York is a mad house and he wanted to come back to Florida. He'll still do some work for them but he wanted to come home. I'd been talking to him about Perry, getting advice because I was just ready to leave. Except for working cases with you, I hated what I was doing. That stuff Flanning and Rourke is doing? Perry did it too."

He stands and paces the room, hands in his pockets. It must feel great to finally let everything out. I let him talk.

"They wanted me to do stuff like post up at the hospitals and look for accidents and hand out my card. Read the papers and the court filings and cold call, drum up business like that." He shakes his head, his eyes closed like he could block out the memory. "That's not what I want to do with my life. They told me if I won that last case I was working on with you, that I'd get a promotion. That should have made me happy. It didn't. I felt trapped. So I lost the case and then I quit. They were doubly pissed."

"You were their meal ticket, practically. You won just about every case you argued." And I knew, because I always tracked his cases. His ratio was unbelievable.

"But being ruthless is hard work. Pretty tiresome and it doesn't pay enough. Not to hear from the woman you love that she's ashamed to share your profession. They didn't care how close to the line I walked, how many rules I bent, how many times I almost got myself disbarred or had to go in front of the disciplinary committee. Whatever it takes to win. That's not law."

He bites his lip, staring into the air. "It's a game. I'm not in this to play games. This is people's lives. I'm in this to change lives."

"So... your uncle is opening a firm here. And you're working with him. Why keep it a secret? Why couldn't anyone know?"

"Two reasons." He crosses the room and stops when he stands in front of me. He brings his hands out of his pocket and slides them around my waist, pulling me closer to him. I don't object or fight it, letting myself be pulled right up against him.

"First, I didn't want a lot of questions, because I didn't know the answers yet. My uncle moves slowly. He's a thinker, a slow planner. I didn't think he'd really come through. And then when he did, I wasn't sure he'd be on board with what I really want to do with this place."

"What you want to do? Isn't this his firm?"

"Our firm. I'm the Managing Partner." My eyebrows shoot to my hairline in surprise. He chuckles. "Did I not mention that? I'll be running this place, pretty much, with his direction. Heading up everything, hiring and running the departments, managing the budget and growth planning. And practicing a little bit of law."

"You're good at that stuff. And the law, too." I wink and give him a long, loud smooch. "Congratulations, baby. This place looks awesome already. I'm proud of you."

"Thanks. I hoped you'd like it."

"Me? Why?"

He steps back, then grabs my hand and leads me out of the room, down the hallway, around the U-shaped bends to the other side of the building. "Second reason," he says, pulling me into a room that is the size of his office. Same set up. Also empty.

"No furniture yet, because I don't know what you want. I didn't want to be presumptuous, but we can look through some catalogs and stuff and pick out something. Won't take long to get here."

He's standing in the middle of the room and talking, saying words, but I don't really understand them. Something about picking out furniture for this room.

"Don't make me say it, Angie," he says, every inch of his face showing his smile, his eyes the brightest, most sparkling blue I've ever seen.

"Are... do you mean..." I swallow. My throat is so dry. I'm lightheaded, so I back up and lean up against a wall. "This... this is my office. In your firm. Your law firm."

"If you want it to be." He kicks at a loose tuft of fabric from the carpet, then bends over to pick it up and shoves it in his pocket. "I didn't want to assume that you'd come and work with me. Before I knew you were so miserable at F&R, I thought you might actually turn me down. But lately it seems like this would be a dream come true for you."  He waves his arm around the empty room and shows me what my dreams could be made of.

"Think about it, honey. A place where you can practice the kind of law you want to practice. Bosses that aren't demanding that you chase ambulances or compromise what you believe in. You can use your degree, your skills, your talent to change lives, fight for the less fortunate. It's what you do really well. Actually, you're the best I've ever seen at it, and I'd love work alongside that kind of passion."

I feel like I'm dreaming, but I know I'm not. At least, I hope I'm not.

"So I'd work for you?"

He shakes his head. "Nope. We both work for Uncle Pete. I wanted that to be clear when I proposed it to him. The Senior Attorneys work for him. The rest of the staff works for me."

"Holy shit." I pace, fanning myself, because I'm suddenly hot. And breathing faster because I'm hyperventilating. There aren't words to describe how badly I want to run to Flanning and Rourke, grab everything that is mine and run back out, screaming ‘Fuck you!" And then never set foot in that old, rickety, broken down building ever again.

"So... I come to work for Peter Chasez-"

"At the Florida Center for Justice," he says. I cringe. "We're still working on the name, but Chasez & Chasez sounds... cumbersome."

"And I... practice law. The way I want. The cases I want. The clients I want. And there's no pressure to win at all costs or anything otherwise shady and annoying?"

"Well, it's always good to win. We want to win. But we want to win the right way, the way that lets us sleep at night and like ourselves the next morning."

I stop pacing, landing in front of JC. "Uhm. Us... I mean..."

"How's this going to work with you and me being together?"

I nod. The very last thing I want to do is poison our love life by combining our work lives.

"We're at opposite ends of the floor, on purpose. Doesn't take much effort to see me if you want to. If you don't, it's not like we'll run into each other around every corner. You'll be busy. So will I. We won't be in court together unless you want to be. And we won't be on the same cases. I won't be your boss, so I won't be dictating anything to you. And we don't assign cases here, so you won't have a chance to hate me for giving you a case you don't want or have time to handle."

"This... this sounds so good... too good. Like everything I want in a firm."

"I designed it that way. Every complaint you or Tyler or I ever had about working for a firm, I tried to answer that. I wanted to create a place where people are fighting to come to work here."

"When would I start?"

"We should be open for business by January. Whenever you can bring your cases and start billing, whenever you're ready to upgrade your career.  You don't have to leave F&R to start here. We can leave signing the contract and all that to the last minute. But..."

He turns in the empty room, his voice bouncing off of the walls. "I'm not buying furniture for this office without a commitment."

"Yes."

I don't think he was expecting an answer so soon or so quickly or with so much conviction, but I feel like if I don't jump on this chance, I'll be stuck at F&R indefinitely, jealous of JC in his new fancy digs and regretting not taking the chance because I was scared of working in the same building.

"Yeah? You're sure?"

I smile, then laugh and open my arms. He crosses the room and steps into them, grabbing me up and hugging me so hard he lifts me off the floor.  "You won't regret it," he says, when he puts me down. "I'm making that promise to you. Between me and Pete, you'll be happy here. We decided that has to happen."

"I appreciate being a high priority. But... can I ask a favor?"

"The same deal goes for Tyler," he said, reading my mind, answering my question, granting my request in one statement. "I can't rescue you and leave my brother in that shit hole. He and Jade are coming by in a bit. We can tell him together."

My mouth drops. JC is full of surprises today.   "I'm not sure you realize the magnitude of everything you've done here, the chance you're giving us, me and Tyler."

"It's not just me," he protests. That shy smile comes back, the one that says he really does know, but he's being humble. "I want the people I love to be happy and if there's anything I can do to make that happen, I'll jump on it."

"The people you love, love you back."

He smiles. "About that..."  He pulls me close again, drops his lips to mine and gives me a long, deep, sweet kiss.

"I've been avoiding saying it because I don't want you to automatically say it back. I see you biting your tongue to not say it. I know you think it. I want to say it, and I want to hear it.

"But I didn't want you to say it until I felt like I deserved it after all those years. I made a huge mistake, and you had every right to be mad at me, and maybe I felt like we shouldn't have stayed broken up over that, but that was no reason to harass you for so long over it. To stalk you, to instigate fights, to get joy out of beating you down, especially in the courtroom. I was grateful you took me back, but I didn't feel like I deserved it."

"Oh, baby. I was never asking you to prove that. I took you back because I wanted to be with you again, because I-"  I stop, wondering if he's going to let me say it.

He swallows, hard and audibly and bites his lip. His lashes drop to his cheek as he closes his eyes. "You can say it," he whispers. "I want to hear you say it."

I step close to him, place my hands on his face and stroke the beard he's been growing for the past few weeks with my thumbs. "Open your eyes, baby."

His eyes open and I get to watch them glass over when I tell him, "I love you. You are my first and only love, the love of my life, always have been. No one ever compared to you. And no one ever will. What you've done for me in the last couple of months has more than made up for all those years. You don't have anything else to prove to me."

I pull him to me brush my lips against his. His head tilts and his mouth opens and the kiss deepens. I feel every emotion coursing through his body as he holds me. He squeezes me in his arms, so tight I can barely breathe.

"I love you too." He's trying hard to maintain his cool, but his face is crimson and he's shaking with the effort. "My mom made me promise to never make a stupid mistake ever again, because she can't take another breakup."

Our laughter lightens the mood but not the emotion. I'm still basking in the glow of knowing I have a new job when I am ready to move to it,  my man loves me to the ends of the earth and I love him back and we're about to jump into an exciting adventure together.   

"So..." he pulls back and grabs my hand, winding his fingers between mine. "What are you thinking you'll do with your office?"

I gasp, looking around. My mind is a complete blur. "Oh, gosh. I don't even know. I think I'm going to have to look at some pictures and plan it out. I can't believe I'm going to have room enough to move around. Tyler can walk into my office without the door banging into a chair."

"Ty's an Associate, since he's only had his license for a couple of years, but he'll have an office downstairs, not a cube. He's going to be excited."

"When does he find out about the condo?"

"Christmas. Just a couple of days. He's set for life and doesn't even know it yet." My eyes grow huge at the thought that Tyler doesn't know how his life is going to change.  JC flicks his wrist up to check the time and glances at me. "He'll be pulling up any second. Let's head downstairs."

We retrace our steps through the halls and back down the stairs. JC is telling me that he has an office design book for me to look through when I'm ready to start putting my office together. I tell him I'm ready now. He laughs. "Well, hold off until we tell Tyler so you two can work together. Kill two birds with one stone. You know that kid needs help."

As soon as we get down the stairs and around the reception desk, I see Tyler and Jade stepping out of his car, looking up at the building, squinting into the sunlight. JC rushes toward the door and pushes it open.

"Hey dude. Come on in."

***

Tyler is still in a daze hours later. He just shakes his head, then swipes his palms over his bald head and down his face and says, over and over, "Oh, man." 

The fire pit is lit, shooting sparks into the sky and waves of warmth in our direction. JC and I are enjoying some wine. Tyler is having something a little harder. Jade had to head to work-she'd picked up a few weekend shifts at Prime-but she stuck around long enough to toast our new beginnings before she headed out.

"So, all this time, you and Uncle Pete have been planning this."

"Scheming," I add. "They've been scheming."

"You could call it scheming," JC says, owning up to his undercover activities. "There was a little bit of covert action going on. I didn't want anyone to know until it was done, everything set. If it fell apart, I didn't want to raise any hopes just to disappoint later."

"I mean, I get that... I just..." Tyler looks over at me and smiles. "Can you believe it?"

"I had to catch up real quick so I didn't miss out.  This will be great. We'll have a good time and we'll do some good work."

"Yeah, man." Tyler paused, then sat up, switching his drink to the opposite hand. "Hold up. Wait.  Associates work for you? So I'm working for my brother?"

JC laughs. "And Angie and I work for our uncle. But it's not like I'm going to be an asshole. I told you. You bring in your own cases. If you have enough work to do, you won't be assigned cases. If you're assigned cases, we're not taking anything shitty or shady."

Tyler nods, his bottom lip between his teeth. He's deep in thought... daydreaming, I imagine. JC gets up, walks into the house and comes back with a thick glossy catalog. He hands it to me and nods to Ty.

"You two should start looking at that. Pick out some stuff that looks nice, suits you. Like I said, lawyers live at work. If you want to sit on a rubber ball and have bean bag chairs in your office, we'll do that. Make it unique and comfortable. No cookie cutter, stuffy law offices at Florida Center for Justice."

"That name blows so hard," quips Tyler, grabbing the book from my hands and flipping through the pages.

"Make yourself useful. Throw out a suggestion. We haven't filed for a business license yet. Still operating under Pete's old license for now."

"How about Chasez Law Group? You got you, me, Pete..." He glances over at me and winks. "Angie pretty soon probably."

JC shrugs, sips his wine. "What do you think?" He asks me.

"It's better than Florida Center for Justice. Who came up with that?"

Offended, JC rears back. "I came up with that! You don't like it?"

I laugh. "I love you, but it's awful."

He takes another sip of wine, then lifts an arm and drops it around my shoulder, pulling me close to him. He kisses my temple, his lips still wet. "I'm going to let you get away with that, because you said you loved me."

"You guys are giving me diabetes." Tyler gets up, drains his glass and ambles into the house. He comes back with a bottle of water and twists off the top, then resumes his seat across from us. He sips and watches us as we talk, sitting closely together, sharing a smooch here and there.

"So... I know I say a lot that I knew ya'll would be back together, and I know you don't take me seriously when I say it. And maybe it really was just wishful thinking. But it's sure nice to see my brother happy again."

"Thanks, man."

"Yeah, thanks Ty."

"You're welcome. And now I need to use your facilities and go see my honey at Prime before I head home."

After Tyler leaves, we tamp out the fire in the pit and move to the living room. I head to the kitchen and put together a tray of snacks for us-some cheese and crackers, slices of ham, turkey and salami, nuts and apple chunks. I grab two bottles of water and join JC on the couch. He's cued up a movie on Netflix-something weird with subtitles, but I don't complain because I don't care.  I just want to be next to him, in the glow of twinkling lights from our first Christmas tree.

JC is already commenting on how much weight he's gained since I moved in. He's not used to seeing food in his refrigerator, having something quick to snack on or warm up for lunch or dinner. I tell him it's almost an even trade. What he's saving in bar tabs and restaurant bills, he's gaining in a woman that loves to cook for him. He doesn't quite see it my way.

We are twenty minutes into the movie and I have no idea what's happening. It's in French, some deep, mysterious film that someone told him was good and he should watch it.  After plowing through half a sleeve of crackers and almost all of the cheese, I give up, drop a kiss on his cheek and leave him to his terrible movie. I head upstairs, deciding I could really use some time to myself to process the day.

My favorite spot in the house is the Master bathroom. The enormous garden tub is a feature I would miss terribly if we had to move and leave it behind. I'm so thankful we don't, especially tonight.

I pull my hair into a ponytail and then wrap it around and tuck it until it's in a high bun. The tub is filling with hot water, the steam already rising and spreading a light, lovely flower scent into the air from the bath beads that I've tossed into the water. When the tub is full, I peel off my clothes and settle in, leaning my head against the side of the tub with a rolled up towel under my neck.

My brain is completely full, right now. Between my dad, my job and my boyfriend, every spare brain cell I have is occupied by some thought or plan or action.  They're all vying for top rank and I just don't have the capacity right now to sort everything out and make the best decision. I thought I was really stressed out when I was unhappy, mad at the world and buried in work so I could ignore my life. Now I have a life I've always wanted to live and I'm still stressed out.

Maybe the grass isn't really greener on this side of the fence.

The bathroom is full of steam, the air warm and wet. When JC opens the door to pop his head in, a swoosh of cool air blows across my shoulders.

"Hey. You okay in here?"

"Yeah.  Can you close the door, please? You're letting in cold air."

"Yes ma'am," he says. I'm expecting him to step out, but he walks in and shuts the door behind him. I watch him unbutton and unzip his jeans, then push them down and kick them off. His socks and underwear follow, creating a small pile in the middle of the room. He reaches behind his head and grabs the neck of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head then, tosses it toward the pile.

I take a few seconds to admire his body before he climbs into my bath. It's a body I've been looking at for a long time, save a few years. He might have gained a few pounds, but his form and physique is beautiful. Broad, strong shoulders, arms so thick and bulky that he makes a hug an erotic experience. Without even trying, his chest is so manly; a light dusting of hair, a pair of well formed pecs, and a wide rib cage that narrows to a slightly growing waist and, we both agree, his best feature.

I'm smiling at the memory of the first time I really saw him, hard and erect, red at the tip, yearning for something, anything warm. He seemed big for his spindly frame and slightly embarrassed about it but I had no complaints. And still don't. Experimenting with him was always fun, since he was hypersensitive and liked everything I tried. He never had a problem getting to orgasm. And he never had a problem returning the favor.

No wonder he was always so popular with women.

Most of his body is submerged in pink bubbles and murky, bath bead tainted water but he doesn't seem to mind. He stretches his legs out, resting his feet on either side of my hips. He leans his head back on the edge of the tub.

"You missed a great flick."

"No, I didn't."

It is a cool winter December afternoon. I’ve loved being able to wear sweaters and tights with long skirts and boots; to sit outdoors on a restaurant patio and enjoy a drink or a meal and not melt in the heat, but not actually need a coat. Winter in Orlando isn’t a wonderland by a long shot—Christmas lights wind around palm trees here, but it’s still a magical time of year, especially for JC and me. It’ll be our first Christmas together… back together that is, in almost twenty years. I’m giddy at the thought of waking up next to him on Christmas morning. I always wanted to, and never got the chance.

So many things I always wanted to do but never got the chance. I smile to myself sometimes, a look of pure stupid bliss on my face, I’m sure. We can do everything we ever wanted to do but never got the chance. Everything.

JC’s Benz slows to a stop in front of the Chasez house. As soon as he turns the key in the ignition, I unhook my seatbelt and pop the door latch. “I’m just going to check in at my folk’s place for a second. I’ll be back over in a minute.”

“Oh, I’ll go in with you.” JC unbuckles his seat belt and reaches for his door latch.

“Babe, it’s okay. I’ll be over to your parent’s place in a few minutes.”

“You don’t want me to go in with you?”

“It’s not that… it’s just that we’re attached at the hip. Every time my parents see me, I’m with you. I’d just like to see them and say hi without my boyfriend hanging out in the background.”

JC pauses before pretending to look offended. “You know they love me, right?”

“Like a son, sweetheart.” I give him a conspiratorial wink and climb out of JC’s car. “I’m sure your mom wants to hug you without your girlfriend hanging behind you.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” JC grumbles. “I think they like you more than they like me.” He heads down the sidewalk to the front steps of his childhood home. The Chasez residence is a two story country charmer that has aged but served the family well through three growing— and now adult children. I have fond memories of hanging out at the light blue house, sitting on the porch with JC or playing the huge backyard with Heather and Tyler. We spent as much time at his house as he spent at mine, over the years.

I pass the house that has always been between us, the reason I could never say that my boyfriend lived next door. When we were growing up, an old lady lived there. She died when we were ten and it sat vacant for a few years before a retired couple bought it. I remember asking my parents why we didn’t buy it and tear it down so we could say we lived next door to the Chasez’s. They laughed.

Bounding up the steps to my parent’s house, I try the knob on the front door. As usual, it’s open. If my parents are home, the front door is open. If the door is open, anyone is welcome to come in. My mom locks the door before they turn in for the night. Old habit, one they’ll never break.

The house is warm with the glow of Christmas lights and the fragrance of evergreen and freshly baked cookies and breads. Mom’s annual tradition is to decide I’m too thin and send me home with batches of baked goods. I bring them to work and let the other lawyers feast.

Heheh. Not this year.

“Mom? Dad?”

“Angie?” Mom pokes her head around the corner from the kitchen. Her face is dusted with a light coating of flour, as is her hair and her apron, a red and white candy cane striped number. Her hands are covered in guck and she’s holding them away from her to make sure she doesn’t touch anything. Her smile brightens as I step into the house and close the door behind me.

“Hi, honey! I didn’t think we’d see you until tomorrow. I’m whipping up a few things for you to take home. Where’s JC?”

I unbutton the light jacket I’m wearing. Dad has to stay warm-- it’s better for his muscles, so they keep the temperature in the high 70’s. “I sent him home to say hi to his family without his girlfriend hanging around.”

“Oh.” Her face falls, which makes me chuckle. “Maybe I wanted to say hi to my son in law.”

“He’s not your son in law yet. You’ll see him tomorrow. Aren’t you happy to see me? Your daughter? Your only child?”

She rolls her eyes and turns to go back into the kitchen. I follow her, giggling. “Of course I’m happy to see you, honey. How are things going?” Her baking has taken over the kitchen. Ingredients are spread across the table and the counters are covered with dozens of cookies and loaves of banana bread, iced lemon loaf and chocolate brownies.

“Things are fine, mom. Really good. Who are all those desserts for, though? Not for us, are they?”

She turns and glances at the pile and shakes her head while going back to her KitchenAid Mixer. “Not all of them. I’m sending some things over to the dealership for the guys working tonight. They’ve decided to work till midnight. Let’s hope a lot of people want to give a car as a Christmas present. We’ll drop them off later on. Dad wants to go by and say hello.”

“Oh, that’ll be nice. How long has it been since he was over there?”

“It’s been awhile. Maybe since last year at this time. We’ll take the wheelchair. It’s just easier.”

“Let me know if you need help. I can have JC and Tyler come over.” Mom nods, watching the mixer do its thing, slowly trickling ingredients into the dough. “Where is Dad, by the way?”

“Napping. It’s late for a nap but if we’re going out, later…” She shrugs. “So, everything is okay then? With JC? You didn’t come by yourself for any other reason?”

“We didn’t break up. Stop stressing. Actually…” I grab a napkin and nab a couple of cookies, then resume my seat at the table. “It looks like we’re going to be working together soon. Did Karen tell you about the firm his uncle is opening down here?”

“She sure did. She’s real surprised Pete is coming back here, but I guess the new wife is a Florida native and wants to come home. New York can be so brutal. So much concrete and coldness.”

I munch on my cookie, conveniently filling my mouth so I don’t have to respond. My mother has never lived outside of Florida. She’s been to Ohio a few times to visit Dad’s family. She’s never been to New York.

“Anyway, Karen said that JC and Pete are opening the firm together and that JC is pretty much running the place. Which, I mean, I guess is okay. Makes sense, right?” She twists so she can see me. I nod, my mouth still full of cookie. “So, then you’ll be working for JC? Do you want to do that, honey?”

“No,” I answer, after I swallow. “I work for Pete. So does JC. All the associates and the other non attorney staff work for JC. The one who has to worry is Tyler.”

“That won’t be too bad at all then. And now you can leave Flanning and Roarke. You do want to leave them, right?”

“Yesterday.” I bite into a second cookie. “I can’t wait. I’ll probably give notice when I go back in January.”

“Good, honey. Start the new year off right.”

The mixer comes to a stop. She tilts the head of the machine upright so she can lift the bowl off of the stand, then sets it on the counter. Using a scooper, she begins plotting a large cookie sheet with dots of dough.

“These cookies are good, Mom. Like always.” I’m plotting another one, but I’m already not happy with my waistline lately. There’s some old saying that says when people get happy, they get fat. Well… let’s just say that JC and I are pretty damn happy. I’m going to have to pick a fight soon.

“You’ll get some, don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried. JC will whine until he gets his anyway. Hey mom… there’s something I wanted to talk to you about and since Dad is sleeping…”

“I knew there was something. Clear me a space over there, would you?” I make some room for her and her bowl and her enormous cookie sheet. She moves to the table and keeps plotting dots. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on, Mom. I’m just concerned about Dad. About his treatment and how he’s been getting along lately. I mean, I know Dr. Laurence said he’s fine for his stage but I’m starting to wonder what else we can do.”

“Like?”

“Like, what’s that electro-therapy treatment he was talking about awhile ago? What about new drug trials? Maybe he could try some different things. I just… I just don’t want us to limit ourselves. Or him.”

“I don’t think he’s limited at all,” she responds, dumping scoop after scoop of dough onto the cookie sheet. “He has a good quality of life right now. You’re not here with him, all day and every day. You don’t know what he can do, what he’s capable of doing—”

“I’m not trying to down your caretaking. This is absolutely not about the care he gets or the life he leads. I just think… maybe we should look at all of the options available.”

“And I’m asking you, what options are those? What magical avenues are you going to pull out of the sky to offer to your dad?” She slams a scoop of dough onto the cookie sheet, accentuating her words.

“What’s going to take away the tremors that rock his body every single minute unless he’s sleeping? Hmmm?” Slam. “And what about the cramps and the upset stomach he gets from the medications he’s on? What kind of options are out there to give him relief from that?”

Slam. She throws the scoop into the bowl, grabs the full cookie sheet and stomps across the room to the oven. She opens the door and roughly slides the sheet inside, then sets the timer.

“I’m not trying to insult you. Or Dad. I’m just asking questions. I’m sorry I brought it up.” I stand and brush crumbs from my skirt, grabbing my jacket from the back of a chair. “I should head over to the Chasez’s. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Angie.”

The gritty tone of my mother’s voice stops me in my tracks. I turn and face her. She’s short and graying. And rounding. Her eyelids droop with how weary she is as she steps forward and grips the back of a chair.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to attack you, but I’m frustrated. Your father… he wants to take the experimental drugs and undergo these risky procedures but at what cost? We just don’t know how they’ll affect him. I don’t want to take the chance that we’ll lose him earlier than we’re already going to. I…”

Her bottom lip trembles. She sucks it in and inhales a few deep breaths to steady herself.  “I love him. And I want him around, in any capacity he can be around. I don’t want to… experiment. I want tried and true. I want what works and right now, his medication level is working as best it can. His physical therapy is working. It’s working. Let’s not mess with it.”

I nod a few times, then open my coat and slide my arms into it, then open my arms to her. She steps close and lets me hug her, holding her still dough covered hands aloft. When I pull back, I’m lightly dusted in flour, but I don’t mind.

I flick some dough from her hairline and smile.   “I get it, mom. I’m gonna go. I love you. See you guys tomorrow.”

The reception at the Chasez house is warmer. I walk in the door and am immediately greeted with a chorus of “Angie!” JC’s mom, then dad, then sister take turns hugging me. Karen takes my coat and Tyler waves at me from the couch where he’s snuggled up to Jade. I give them the customary wave.

“Where’s JC?”

“He went downstairs to his old room. He said he had to find something he thinks he left down there.”

“Ohhh.” I grin. “I think I know what he’s looking for.” I head through the kitchen to the stairs to the daylight basement.

“Hey, no hanky-panky down there,” says Roy as I pass him, trying hard to maintain his ‘Dad’ voice. He’s holding a crystal bowl of full of mixed nuts. “You guys know the rules.”

“Oh yes, sir. And we’d never think to break them here in the house.”

“Wise asses,” he grumbles, then passes through to the living room to hand the bowl to Karen. I navigate the dimly lit, carpeted steps to the lower level. Down the hall and around the corner is JC’s old room.

Posters from the bands JC loved when he was in college still line the walls. Between them, the dull gray of sheetrock shows through, giving off that minimalist feeling. A full sized bed dressed in plain blue bedding and light blue pillow cases and a small bureau are the only furniture in the room. The carpet is thin and worn, the fibers crushed under years of feet in shoes, boots, sandals.

JC is on his knees, half in, half hanging out of the closet. A few old jackets hang on the rod above him but for the most part, it’s stacked with boxes of JC’s things.

“Finding anything useful?” I slide onto the edge of the bed, cringing at how soft it is. I can’t believe he slept on it for so long.

“Bunch of junk. I don’t know why I saved all this stuff. Or why my mom saved this stuff. I’m pretty sure I meant to throw most of this away.”

“You’re not looking for that jersey, are you? The one I gave you that Christmas when you gave me this locket?” I finger the thin metal hanging around my neck.

He turns to glance at me and smiles. “I just want to see if it’s in here. And if it still fits.”

“I doubt it fits, baby. You’re bigger than you used to be.”

“It was kind of big on me, though.” He grunts in frustration and moves to another box. “I’m gonna throw this shit out. There’s no reason to keep stuff like this—” He pulls out a tattered plastic three ring binder. “It’s got assignments in it from my junior year in high school. Some stuff in here from Rollins. That was a joke of a year. All this shit from law school… what the…”

“I can’t believe you’re so emotional over your mom keeping your stuff. Just put it back in the boxes. I’m sure she kept it for a reason. Did you check any of the drawers?”

“No, but take a quick look if you want. They’re probably empty.” I hop up and walk over to the five drawer bureau. The top drawer is empty, but the second drawer has a few folded items left in it.

“Here’s a couple of things.” I pull out some shirts, ones I recognize, and toss them onto the bed. In the next drawer, I hit pay dirt. “Babe. BABY! I found it!”

“You did?” JC hops up from the floor where he’s still elbow deep in his college coursework. I hand him the neatly folded Washington Redskins jersey. He unfolds it, just as slowly and reverently as he did when I gave it to him, then shakes out the wrinkles and holds it up to his chest. “What do you think? Can I still get into it?”

“I don’t know. It’s awfully small. Try it.”

“Well, I don’t want to rip it,” he says, but he’s already flipped it over his head. It drops around his shoulders and he pulls his arms through. It fits differently than it used to, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. His chest and shoulders are broader, his arms thicker. He fills it out more.

“Wow. You actually look really good in this. I mean, not really good but it doesn’t look as bad as I thought it would.”

“Don’t hurt yourself, almost complimenting me.” He turns to check himself out in the mirror that hangs behind the bedroom door. “Man I can’t believe she kept this thing.”

“She knew it was a gift. She wouldn’t have thrown away anything I gave you. All of these shirts in here…” I sift through the pile and note that they all look familiar because I either picked them out for him, or I bought them. “She saved all of these.”

“I told you, she loves you.”

I grin as I place the shirts back in the drawer, just as neatly as I found them. “Okay, take that off, so I can fold it and put it back in here with the other stuff.”

JC looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. “No, I’m wearing it.”

“You’re wearing it. Over a cashmere sweater. To dinner. On Christmas Eve.”

“Why not? You’re wearing that.” He points to my locket.

“Joshua…”

“Evangeline…” He wiggles his brows at me, then sits down on the bed. Then lays down, taking up most of the space the full sized mattress provides. “You know, we can make out in my room, now.”

“No, we can’t. Your dad told me five minutes ago that there wasn’t to be any hanky-panky down here.”

He scowls. “Aw, man.”

 I push the drawer closed, since it seems like JC isn’t going to take off the jersey. “Cock blocker.”

JC groans and sits up. “I’d really rather not think about the words cock and my dad in the same sentence.” He pats the spot next to him on the bed. “At least come sit here and let me kiss you. I want to feel like I’m breaking the rules.”

I giggle but head around the end of the bed and plop down next to him. He tosses an arm over my shoulder and leans back, dragging me with him so we’re lying next to each other. “I should have remembered that trick.”

“Works every time,” he says, grabbing a pillow and shoving it under his head. “Come over here and don’t get any makeup on my awesome jersey.” I wiggle over until I’m up against him and lay my head on his chest. An arm drops down and around me. His fingers curl around my waist.

“I always wanted to do this. Just lay here with you and talk and stuff and not worry about getting caught.”

“Well, we still might get caught. We just won’t get in as much trouble.”

“True. So what happened, over at your parent’s place?”

“Nothing. Mom’s baking up a storm. I’m afraid some of that might make it to our house.” JC rubs his belly and moans appreciatively. “Dad was napping. He’s going to the dealership later. His annual visit.”

“Did you talk to her about… you know, what we talked about?”

I nod. “Mmmm. Didn’t go over well. Like I thought.”

“Really? Why’s she against him seeking other treatment?”

“She’s scared. It’s the unknown. She doesn’t want to take the risk. Doesn’t see the value in it.”

“Do you think he wants to?”

“Yeah. I think Dad would be all for it. At least, she says he is. She’s the holdout.”

“So why does he need her permission to change his treatment?”

“Because he loves her. And she loves him—”

“So she should want him to have what he wants.”

“And if something goes wrong, she’s the one that has to take care of him for the rest of his life. Her opinion matters. If she doesn’t want him to experiment…” I shrug a shoulder. “He won’t.”

“Do you want me to say something to him about it?”

“No, I think you’d better not go down that route with them. You just got back into my parent’s good graces. Let’s not mess with it.”

“But honey, I thought—”

“I thought that too. I thought I wanted something different for him. But it’s not about me. It’s not up to me. And if we get married, he can roll me down the aisle in his wheelchair. It doesn’t matter, as long as he’s there.”

JC is silent for a few beats, then taps my hip with his fingertips. “Excuse me, Evangeline? What’s this if we get married, thing?”

I smile, then laugh, arching my neck so I can press my lips into his cheek. “It’s just a saying, JC. I know where we’re heading.”

“Okay. But given your dad’s condition, do we have some kind of timeline? I mean, whatever you want­--”

The thumping of feet on the steps interrupts our conversation. Tyler bounds into the room, stops, and points at the point of us. “I’m telling! Dad! They’re messin’ around down here!”

“What do you want?” JC hasn’t moved an inch. Neither have I. There are benefits to being adults.

“Dinner. Mom won’t serve unless you come up. Get your asses upstairs. I’m hungry.” We both sit up at the mention of food. I roll off of one side of the bed; JC rolls off of the other. “What the fuck are you wearing? Is that from high school?”

“Yeah,” He smooths down the fabric. “My first girlfriend gave me this for Christmas one year.”

“So you’re torturing the rest of us with it, this year?”

“Tell him, Tyler. Tell him he can’t wear that thing to dinner.”

“I can do whatever I want to do. And you two can’t stop me. So get used to seeing this, because I’m wearing it.”

JC leaves the room and hops up the steps. Tyler and I roll our eyes and follow.

###

“I do not believe you wore that thing all night.”

JC chuckles as he folds the thin polyester into thirds and then in halves and reverently lays in into a drawer. “I didn’t wear it all night,” he says, pulling his sweater over his head and tossing it into the basket we use for dry clean only clothing. “I took it off, eventually.”

I follow suit, pulling off my sweater and unzipping my skirt while stepping out of my casual flats. “Oh my God. After drinks and hors d' oeuvres and dinner, where we all had to stare at you wearing it. And almost through dessert until your mom threatened to withhold pie if you didn’t take it off.”

JC was laughing, as was I. “I said I’d find it and wear it and I did.”

“You did. And I’d like to not see that again soon.”

“You are a hater.”

“I’m not. It’s just that my gifts now are so much classier.”

“You’re just trying to keep up with me. You don’t get much classier than a vintage pendant.”

I grabbed the smooth round silver pendant and rubbed it as I did a hundred times a day. “Was this the last gift you gave me?”

Clad only in a pair of black boxer briefs and socks, JC, tosses a pair of jeans into the laundry hamper and turns to me, an impish grin on his lips. “No, baby. I gave you a nice gift this morning.”

I roll my eyes and try not to laugh because it’ll only encourage him but he’s so damn proud of his joke, I can’t help it. “Answer me.”

JC lowers himself to the bed and lifts one foot and then the other, peeling off his socks, then throws them in the direction of the hamper. They don’t make it. “Uhhh…. Sort of.”

“Sort of what?”

“It’s the last gift I gave you. It wasn’t the last gift I bought you.”

“What…” In my bra and panties, I sit next to JC and tap him on the leg. “What are you talking about?”

“Well. I mean… I was working, and all. And uh…” Suddenly nervous, JC leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I had already put a down payment on it. And after we broke up, I was so sure you’d get over it and we’d be back together soon, so I kept making payments until it was paid for. Except I had it and I had no one to give it to.”

“What? You had no one to give what?”

JC sighs, then pushes himself up from the bed and shuffles to a wooden box that sits on his dresser and stores his watches, tie clips and cufflinks in crushed velvet. He pulls open the drawer underneath the main storage case and pries a small blue from the small compartment. From inside the bag, he pulls a velvet box. Without opening the box, he walks back over to the bed and offers it to me, in the palm of his hand.

Speechless, I stare up at him. This is not how I thought this would happen.

“I was eighteen, Angie. It’s not what you think it is.” He offers the box to me again. I whisper a slight sigh of relief and grab the box. Inside is a thin silver band adorned with tiny diamonds around the swirls of an infinity symbol. Half of the symbol is accented in shimmering green peridot—JC’s birthstone. The other in sparkling sapphire. Mine.

“It’s kind of cheesy now,” he says, plopping down next to me again. “I was pretty proud of myself, though. I was… well, I couldn’t propose. But I was going to let that kind of ride as a promise to propose. Until, you know, we had our own place and everything.”

I stare at the ring, never worn, never given, secreted away in a box inside a bag for so long. “You never… wanted to give it to anyone?”

“Yeah, babe… I knew tons of girls born in April that I was in love with and wanted to wear my cheap ass promise ring.”

I chuckle, spinning the thin band between two fingers. “It’s not cheesy. And it wasn’t cheap, not back then. You would have had to pay this off.” I glance up at him to find him staring at the ring in my hands, his expression wistful. “Why didn’t you sell it? Or… cancel the order? Or something?”

He shrugs, his bottom lip poking out in a pout. “I wanted to buy it for you. I didn’t want anyone else to have it. I wanted to give it to you.”

“But—“

“Even if we never got back together… which we didn’t… I wanted to buy it for you.”

I can’t think of a single word to say to measure up to that sweet declaration, so I don’t say anything. Instead, I hand him the ring and old out my right hand.

JC laughs. “You want to wear this thing? It might turn your finger green.”

“Then it’ll turn my finger green. It can be your promise to propose.”

“Angie, I…” He stops protesting, sighs and slips the band onto my finger. It’s snug, but it fits. “So. There.”

“There,” I repeat, suppressing a giggle. I wiggle the ring clad finger at him, my hand still aloft. “So romantic. Is that what you were going to say when you gave it to me?”

“No,” he protests, his cheeks turning pink. “I… was going to say stuff. Meaningful stuff. But then we had that fight at Homecoming and…”

“Forget the fight, JC.” I cup his face and turn him toward me. “Forget that fight. It’s Christmas Eve 1995. If we never broke up, what would you have said?”

“I would have said...” Suddenly, he pulls away from my grasp and stands. “I don’t want to do this right now, okay honey? You can wear the ring if you want. It’s yours. But I’m not… I don’t…”

He inhales deeply, then shakes his head, not unlike a dog shaking off water. “I’m gonna hit the showers and then the bed. I’m pretty tired and we have both families to see tomorrow. You in or out?”

“Are you… did you want to be alone?”

He looks back at me before heading into the bathroom. His normal, playful expression, his sparkling blue eyes and ready smile are all back. “Don’t ask dumb questions, Angie. Get in here.”

Happily, I strip myself of the last articles of clothing before following him into the bathroom.

I’m confused but I know it’s not the right time to push. JC always has a reason for doing something. Or not doing something. There’s a method to his madness. I just have to figure out what that is.

It’s too quiet.

The absence of sound… neither the TV or the radio or light snoring or the tap tap tap of fingers on a mobile phone touch screen niggles at me enough to drag me from the depths of slumber.

I sit up, inhaling a deep breath as I do, shoving a curtain of hair out of my eyes and slowly coming to. A glance at the other side of the bed tells me JC is not sprawled next to me, spread eagle and taking up most of the bed.  From the floor below comes muted sounds of conversation that at first I mistake for the TV until I hear the front door close, a car door slamming and an engine revving as it drives away.  

“What the hell?”

I throw the covers back, intending to find out what JC is up to-- on Christmas morning, no doubt.  But then the bedroom door opens and JC saunters in. His jeans hang low on his hips and his favorite shirt, an AC/DC concert t-shirt, hangs just above the band, the hem tattered and uneven. He’s unshaven and his hair is still sleep tousled.

If I wasn’t so confused, I’d be tempted to pull him to the bed and give him a Merry Christmas—my way.

“Oh good,” he says, clapping his hands together. “You’re up. We need to get a move on. Got stuff to do.”

This announcement does nothing to move me from the bed. “What stuff? We have brunch at your parent’s place and dinner at mine. Remember? We planned it so we didn’t have to be anywhere early.”

JC rolls his eyes. “That’s not all we’re doing today. Get up.”

I yawn, still perched on the side of the bed. “I’m up. Damn.”

“Get out of the bed and put clothes on and come downstairs.”

Irritated, I slap the surface of the mattress. “Really, JC? I wanted us to wake up together on Christmas morning. Instead you’re playing Drill Sergeant and I’m not amused, okay? I’m up. I’ll be downstairs when I get good and ready to go downstairs.”

He opens a drawer in the bureau and digs out a thick cotton hoodie. He pulls it over his head, talking through the fabric. “Five minutes, Evangeline. Dress warm, it’s a little chilly out.”

“Out? We’re going out? For what?! Where are we going?”

“Somewhere,” he says, he that smug grin he used to always wear returning. I thought we were done with surprises, but I see that we’re not.   

“Because I love you, I am going along with this. But whatever this is better be good.”

“You’ll see. Four minutes.”

“You said five!”

JC chuckles and walks back out of the bedroom. “Wasted a minute arguing with me. Let’s go!”

In three minutes, I am downstairs in jeans, sneakers, a long sleeved shirt and a hoodie. It still smells like coffee and bacon, but the coffeemaker is dry and empty and JC has no idea how to make bacon.  The house is quiet and as clean as we had left it the night before. Our Christmas tree is lit, the lights winking at me in synchronized fashion. Over the fireplace, two festive stockings hang, one initialed JC and the other EB.

JC is in the kitchen, leaning against a counter and tapping away at his phone, which is vibrating every few seconds. The mirth on his face is boyish and fun and reminds me of the funny kid that lived down the street.  The one that grew into a handsome teenager, the one that I fell in love with, and then lost for awhile and thankfully, came back to get me.

My heart melts, just a bit. It’s early and cold but he’s planned a surprise and he’s excited about it. I guess I can play along.

“So, I’m downstairs. What now?”

JC glances up at me, then slides the phone into his front pocket, plucks a set of keys from a hook next to the refrigerator and points toward a basket sitting on the table. It’s wicker with red and green gingham fabric around the edges and woven around the handle. The bacon smell is coming from inside the basket.

“Grab that and let’s hit the road.”

It won’t do any good to ask questions. Once he gets something in his head, it has to play out and apparently I have to be a part of it. I pick up the basket, hang it in the crook of an arm and follow JC out the front door.

Where I stop and stare with my jaw practically on the ground.

In the driveway, instead of JC’s Benz, is a vintage 1993 cherry red Jeep Wrangler. It’s a soft top with the spare tire on the back and removable doors. The interior is tan leather, cracked with age.  It looks eerily similar to the one JC owned for years and drove until it died, after which he bought his first Benz. The one we used to cruise around Orlando in; the one we used to hang out at Lake Conway in.

JC stalks right to the driver’s side, keys the lock and hops in before unzipping his window and hanging out of the opening. “C’mon. We got places to go, baby.”

Stunned, I walk around the vehicle to the passenger side door. JC leans over, pops the latch and pushes the door open.  “Hand that over,” he says, gesturing toward the basket. I hand it to him and then climb inside, then take it back once I am settled in my seat.

JC starts the Jeep and it’s like being in high school all over again—the rumble of tires on pavement under my seat, sitting high above traffic, listening to the gentle rattle of the engine. The memory of sitting in the passenger seat of a Jeep next to JC makes me smile.

He puts the Jeep in reverse and the house gets smaller as we back away from it.  I watch out of the window as JC speeds to the entrance of the subdivision and hangs a right. If we were going to town, he’d turn left. This way…

“Are we going where I think we’re going?”

“Depends on where you think we’re going.”

 “This is the way to the other side of the lake.”

He nods, his expression blank. “So it is.” He loves doing this to me.  

He pushes the Jeep a few hundred yards and confirms my guess that we’re heading to the other side of the lake by taking a right turn on a familiar dirt road.

“We’re really doing this? Right now, today? On Christmas of all days, we’re going to the other side of the lake?”

“Have you been out here since the last time we were together?” The weekend before homecoming. We’d talked about our plans for the night… and for later that night. We’d had the millionth conversation about our future. We broke up the next weekend and I hadn’t seen this side of the lake since.

“No. It was too painful.” I glance over at him. His expression is getting less playful and more serious. “You said you hadn’t. Is that true?”

“True.” Then he takes his eyes off of the road long enough to level a concentrated stare at me. “So it’s about time we came back out here, right?”

I don’t answer. The question is rhetorical and the answer is obvious and besides… we’re doing it, whether I agree or not.

After a few minutes of driving, the Jeep bursts through a thicket of trees into an open area where a field of grass separates the road from the water. This signals that we are near our spot—a nice divot in the grass where we back up up to the lake. After passing it twice, JC finds the spot and maneuvers the Jeep perfectly, like he just did it yesterday. He puts the vehicle in park but leaves the key in ignition, keeping the heater on.

“You know the drill, baby.”

JC isn’t the only one who remembers things from decades ago. I get out, get into the backseat and unhook the clasps that hold the seat up. Once they are loose, the seat flops back and we have space to sit. Or lay. JC opens the basket and pulls out a light blanket that’s usually slung across the back of our couch. He spreads it over the seat and with a flourish, invites me to sit.

“I’m sorry this is kind of cheesy. I pulled it together at the last minute. I know it’s cold and you wanted to sleep in and there are better things we can do on Christmas morning.”

“Baby, it’s…” I glance through the thick plastic that comprises the rear window. The sun is high in the sky, bright and reflecting beautifully off of the choppy waves. The trees that line the banks stir in the breeze. I’m sitting in a warm cloud of nostalgia next to the love of my life.

“It’s not cheesy at all.”

He grins, obviously proud of himself. “You can’t tell me you’ve ever had a picnic breakfast before. This is romantic as fuck, right?”

I close my eyes and try hard not to laugh. “It is, as you say, romantic as fuck. What is the occasion for an early morning picnic breakfast?”

“You’ll find out in a minute.”  JC starts pulling things from the basket—two McDonald breakfast sandwiches, a plastic container of mixed fruit and a thermos.  There is also a box of milk and packets of sugar. He screws the top off of the thermos and hands both to me. “Why don’t you get started on some coffee and I’ll set up the spread?”

In a few minutes we have a rudimentary picnic breakfast set up between us. We feast on bacon egg and cheese on English muffins and nearly overripe fruit, share a cup of coffee and listen to Lake Conway splash onto the shore just a few feet away. It feels familiar; not unlike devouring burgers and fries after a football game or pizza after a dance. We used to love to steal away to the lake to be alone, to make love and dream out loud about our future. A future that we were now living.

“This is really nice, actually. I hadn’t thought much about coming out here again but I think it’s the perfect day to do it. I’m glad we’re here.”

“Good,” he says, his mouth full of eggs and bacon.  When he swallows, he goes on, indicating the ring that graces my right hand that he’d given me the night before. “I was going to give you that ring out here. It was going to be your birthday present.”

My heart melts. “That would have been really sweet.”

“Yeah.” He starts to say something but hesitates. He seems enchanted by the water rushing by, but eventually he starts again. “This is going to sound weird, but…sometimes I’m grateful that we broke up.”

Grateful wouldn’t be the word I would use. Even though I was angry at him for so long, I was also miserable. I mourned what might have been for nearly two decades. “Why grateful?”

“Because… I guess…in some ways, our parents were right. We were all wrapped up in each other. It was so intense. I was crazy about you. So crazy that when we broke up, it broke me. I mean, yeah… we were in love but—“

“It was immature love,” I finish, understanding and nodding in agreement. “It hadn’t been tested.”

“It was hopeful and dreamy. And naïve. And there’s no way that could last. It’s the same thing I try to tell Ty, you know? It was easy to be desperately in love when we both lived at home and I worked part time and our biggest problem was making it to homeroom before the bell rang and finding a private place to have sex. I think we needed time away from each other, to mature and stand on our own two feet. Maybe it didn’t happen the way it should have happened. And maybe we didn’t need 20 years, but that was my fault.”

“Not all your fault. I share a lot of blame, too.”

JC concedes my point with a nod as he finishes his sandwich. “I mean, I wonder if we would still be together if we would have never broken up. Would we have burned bright and then fizzled out? Or would we have stuck it out together? Like, I look at Nick and Morgan and I can’t imagine we would have had what they have. They’re an extraordinary couple but even they split up for a minute.”

“You tell me all the time that we aren’t Nick and Morgan, but even they realized what they meant to each other and ultimately got back together. Look…”

I set down the coffee and breakfast sandwich and lay a hand against his cheek, turning his head toward mine. The stubble of his overnight beard growth pricks at the tips of my thumbs. I love that feeling, especially against my cheek every morning. “We can speculate all day, but we can’t change a single second of what happened between us. That’s all gone, so there’s no sense in regretting those years we could have been together. All I want to think about now is all the years I still have with you.”

The smile I love to see returns. He leans in to kiss me and says, “Happy to hear you say that, Evangeline.” Then he reaches for the basket and roots around the bottom. When his hand emerges, he’s holding a small velvet box. My stomach does a quick flip-flop and my heart rate speeds up so quickly I can’t breathe.

It’s not a surprise, but I’m caught off guard. I imagined this happening in a different way. Not in casual clothes in the back seat of a Jeep, for instance. But suddenly I realize… this is perfect. It’s happening exactly where it should happen.

“I can’t do this in here,” he says. His voice is a little shaky. I think it’s cute. He’s actually nervous! Let’s get out.”

I scramble toward the door and climb out of the Jeep. JC follows and directs us around to the tailgate. The lake babbles softly, the air is crisp, the sky a cloudless blue but I don’t notice anything but this man I have loved my whole life, holding a pretty little box in his great big hands.

“So.” He clears his throat while gripping the box in one hand. “I’ve wanted to ask this question since that day that I came home and you were setting the table on the patio. I let my mind wander for a second and imagine that you…” He swallows, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“… that it was you and me, and we were having our friends over for dinner. What we have is what I’ve always wanted with you.  I’ve had about a million chances to ask, but I didn’t feel like the time was right.”

“But… you said this was a last minute thing. What makes the time right, right now?”

He blushes a pretty shade of pink and averts his eyes. There’s a story here, I’m sure of it. “Well...a couple days ago, that punk Tyler texted me that he was proposing to Jade today. Not that I need to beat him to it--”

I chuckle. “We both know you do. You hate when he one-ups you.”

A cheeky grin flashes across his lips. Sheepish, he acknowledges the brotherly competition. “I can’t lose to that kid. But mostly it’s because you shouldn’t have to sit through one more engagement and bridal shower and wedding and honeymoon and not be celebrating your own. You should have been the first one married and because of me, you weren’t. I want to make it right.”

In a smooth motion, JC sinks to one knee, almost slipping in the soggy, muddy grass. He flips open the box, revealing a brilliant diamond set in a gorgeous platinum setting. It’s the kind of ring I’d always drooled over when Morgan and Jackie and Bridget got engaged. My heart is so high in my throat I can hear it beating in my ears.  He had to have asked them for advice, which meant they all know what’s happening right now.

“Uh…so, I think I know what the answer is, but you never know what might happen in the heat of the moment.”

He gives me a conspiratorial wink, and then his face returns to seriousness. “Angie… it’s been a long time coming, a lot of years with a lot of shit between us. I have a lot of regrets but the biggest one is disappointing you and not being the man that you needed me to be. Not back in high school and not in the years since then. I want to make it up to you and that’s why I’m asking if you’ll finally marry me.”

It takes everything in me to hold back a scream. I’m ready to explode.  “Finally,” I squeak.

“Finally,” he repeats.

I inhale the deepest breath possible, then shove it out and let the word ‘Yes’ escape with it. JC’s eyes narrow as he gives me a sidelong glance.

“Was that… a yes?  I’m just making sure I heard right.”

My head bobs and I can’t stop laughing as tears spring to my eyes. “Of course it’s yes. Finally. Yes.”

JC heaves a long sigh and his shoulders relax as if he was afraid I would say no. Before I can change my mind, he plucks the ring from its fancy, velvet lined case and slips it onto my left hand. It’s nearly perfect.

“In a couple of days we’ll go get it sized. You can show off that bad boy for New Year’s.”

“Yeah, that’s totally what I’m thinking about. Get up, come here.” JC stands, suddenly bashful, ducking to avoid me. I grab his face and pull him to me, landing a long and loud smooch. “I love you,” I tell him, staring deep into his eyes. “I always have. I always, always will.”

“Promise? So I can go back to being an asshole?”

“Don’t push it,” I say, trying to scowl.

“Well, now my mom can get off my ass, at least. I uh…” He gestures toward my hand and finishes his sentence softly. “I hope it’s worth the wait.”

With one arm still around his neck, I hold my left hand aloft and stare at the sparkling gem on my finger. I’m already used to its presence. “It’s perfect, baby. Just perfect.”

From a distance, I hear noises, what sounds like clapping and cheering but from far, far away. I whip around and notice a small crowd standing on JC’s patio. “Oh my— hey!” I wave at them and the group waves back.  I hear Keith’s ear piercing whistle from all the way across the lake. I turn back around and grin at JC.

He looks more satisfied than smug. And, if I may say, entirely less tense. He wraps both arms around me and pulls me to him, dipping his head toward me. I rise up onto my toes and meet his lips with a playful kiss that turns sultry and heated in an instant. My knees go weak and I wilt against him. He tightens his grip and any thought of moving from the spot we’re standing fly out of my head. I’m warm and getting warmer as the kiss grows slower and deeper.

Way earlier than I’m ready for him to do so, JC groans and pulls back, glancing up at the sound of more cheers from the gang on his patio. He shakes his head and returns his attention to me. “They all wanted to be here for this momentous occasion that no one thought would actually come. I said they could watch.” He nods his head toward them. “From over there.”

“You put a lot of effort into this. Thank you.”

He shrugs. “Now we can relax and celebrate our first Christmas back together. How about we go home, future Mrs. Evangeline Chasez?”

I smile. Even though he’s using my full name, which I hate, it somehow sounds amazing next to his. I already love it.  “Sounds good to me, future husband.”

We climb back into the Jeep after packing up our makeshift breakfast and lifting the seat back into position. “Too bad we didn’t have time for sex. That would have been nostalgic. Icing on the cake.”

I slam the rear door and get into the front seat next to him, pulling the seat belt across my lap. “Honestly… that was cool for high school but after two years of fucking in the backseat of your Jeep, I so prefer sex with you in a bed.”

“We can do that.”

JC starts the Jeep and begins to pull back onto the road, hanging a left at the highway.

“Whose rig is this, by the way?”

“A friend of Keith’s. He dropped it by this morning. Along with breakfast.” He glances over at me with a silly grin. “I thought about trying to cook but burnt toast isn’t romantic.”

I giggle, turning my attention to the scenery outside of the plastic window. If someone had told me six months ago that I’d be engaged to that asshole JC Chasez, I’d have slapped the words out of their mouth. Now I’m wearing his ring. And we’re on our way home. To our house.

Life comes at you fast.  

“What are you smiling at?” JC asks. I must be subconsciously beaming. I feel like I could glow in the dark.

I pop back to attention and reach over to tap his knee, still wet and muddy. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

“About how payback is a bitch. I’m already concocting ways to torture Morgan with my wedding plans.”

“It’s all her fault, you know? That we’re back together. She just couldn’t let it go.”

The memories—the arguments, frustrations, how much I had to bite my tongue just to get along with JC for her sake—come rushing back to me.  “Her stupid plan worked, huh?”

“I knew it would.”

“Oh, you did not.”

“Did so. When Morgan made you come to me, groveling, begging me to help you plan that wedding.” He snickers, making a teeth sucking sound. “I knew it.”

I stare at him, incredulous. How can he say that, when… “But… you agreed that we’d never see each other again after the wedding.”

JC is quiet for a few seconds, gripping the top of the steering wheel as we barrel down the street. “Just meant I had my work cut out for me. I had four months to make you mine.”

I know, from my own recollection, that I did not make it easy on him. But maybe that’s why being back together with him means so much to me. He fought through every barrier I put up. Long after he should have given up, he was still there.

I reach across the console of the Jeep, find his hand and interlock my fingers between his. He squeezes, and I squeeze back.   

He turn onto our street. In a few moments we are back home, the driveway full of the cars of our friends who have given up their Christmas morning to celebrate our engagement with us.

Us. The two people no one ever thought would get back together are actually engaged.

JC cuts the engine but doesn’t get out of the Jeep. We sit, holding hands, savoring the moment. Finally, I give JC’s hand a squeeze and nod toward the house.

“Suppose we should go in. Say hi to people. Get Christmas going.”

“Yeah,” he answers. But doesn’t move.

“You okay?” He nods. He’s staring at me, those baby blues boring a hole right through me. “Just realized I never said Merry Christmas.”

I wiggle my finger at him, the one bearing the rock that he’d just slipped on. “Yeah, you did.”

“No, I didn’t,” he says softly, shaking his head. “Merry Christmas, Angie.  I’ve never been happier than I am right now. Thanks for that.”

I bat my eyes, blinking away tears. No tears today, happy or otherwise, I tell myself. “Merry Christmas, baby. You’ve made me very, very happy.”

We lean in, meeting over the gearshift and get in one last smooch before the front door opens and a gaggle of people spill out. JC pretends to be irritated. “We just can’t get rid of these people, can we?”

I laugh, both at him and the small crowd surrounding the car, tapping on the hood and lightly beating on the windows. I feel like if we don’t get out, they might flip it over.

“It would be a waste of time to try. Shall we?”

We escape from the Jeep and, hand in hand, walk into our house as an engaged couple for the first time.

It’s the start of the most amazing Christmas I’ve had in a very long time. 

"I kind of don't want to go anywhere now," says JC. He is sprawled along the length of the couch, his legs, clad in a pair of the fleece lounge pants that I'd bought him for Christmas, crossed at the ankles.  His head is in my lap and I am trapped by the heft of his body. I don't really mind.  "I'm tired. Could use a nap."

"Well, it was someone's idea to get up at ass-thirty this morning and take a trip to the other side of the lake." My tone is nonchalant but my eyes glisten and dance as I lift my hand-- again-- and stare at the ring on my finger. The sheer weight of it, its brilliance and shine and gorgeous detail impress me over and over again.

JC angles his head up, as if he sensed I was staring at the ring again. His smile confirms that his suspicious is correct. "At least you got something out of it."

"You're gonna get something, too," I mumble, wiggling my finger so the diamond glints in the light of the fire and the tree. "Just, in order to get it, you have to get through the day and be a good boy."

He groans.  "I'm not good at being a good boy."

"I know. That's why the reward will be worth it."

JC grins and wiggles in my lap. "I like rewards." He yawns again, giving a sidelong glance to the tree and the wads of wrapping paper piled up around it. "It was a good Christmas, honey."

I stretch my legs as best I can and prop my feet up on the coffee table, taking in my own view of the living room-- the tree, the now empty stockings and unwrapped boxes stacked around it.  JC has always liked to show off his buying power and impeccable taste, so gifts are his specialty. This Christmas was no exception; my stocking was stuffed with trinkets like my favorite brands of lip gloss, a bottle of perfume and a few pairs of earrings-- sterling silver and glossy, shiny gold. Under the tree were lots of little boxes for me-- a new ipod and an expensive pair of Bose noise canceling earbuds, a pair of running shoes, a Marc Jacobs watch with matching bangle and the piece I cherished the most: a gleaming, dark wood desk set for my new office, complete with an engraved brass plate. Evangeline N. Blake, Attorney At Law.

 I didn't have room on my desk at F&R for much more than my files, let alone a name plate. At Chasez Law Group I have an entire office, with room for guests to sit. I'm giddy all over again at the prospect of a new start.

I didn't know what to get JC. I hadn't had to think about what to get him for a gift giving holiday in a very long time. I about drove Tyler crazy trying to pump him for ideas but I finally settled on a few creature comforts like soft, fleece lined pants to lounge around the house in, new t-shirts, a bottle of his favorite cologne and aftershave, a selection of designer ties and a few sets of cufflinks with matching tie clips.

I never imagined that he would outdo me but I'm so glad he did.

I tap JC on the chest a few times. His eyes flutter open, even though he'd only closed them for a few seconds. "We'd better get moving. We have to be at your parent's place in an hour."

He grumbles but begins to sit up, freeing me from my spot on the couch. I stand and stretch and kick a ball of festive wrapping paper out of the way. "You can clean this mess up later."

"Me? I've already worked so hard today." JC begins to climb the stairs with me right on his heels.

"Oh, geez. I can already tell you're going to try to get out of stuff because you gave me a ring."

"Of course I am. Gonna drag that out as long as possible."

*

"They're here!" I hear Karen yelp from inside the house, seconds before the front door flies open and she bounds down the steps. "Merry Christmas!" she exclaims, wrapping first me and then JC in warm hugs.

"Hi, mom," says JC, bending so she can hug him and plant a kiss on his cheek. He returns the kiss and straightens.  "You act like we weren't just here twelve hours ago."

She smiles, clearly giddy. "You weren't engaged twelve hours ago. Let's see that ring!"

I lift my hand and smirk at JC, who rolls his eyes and walks around her into the house, toting gift bags containing presents for his family.

"It's beautiful," she gushes, staring. "Just perfect. He wouldn't say anything to me about it because he didn't want me to tip off Donna. You know she wouldn't have been able to resist saying something."

I nod. Mom is not the best secret keeper, especially when the news is good. She gets too excited and things she isn't supposed to say just fall out of her mouth. I stopped telling her things a long time ago, preferring to surprise her along with everyone else.

Karen and I admire the ring for a few minutes before heading into the house.  "Whose car is that?" I ask, nodding at the black BMW in the driveway.

"Oh," says Karen, her face brightening even more if possible. "You're about to meet your new boss, my brother in law, Peter Chasez."

No pressure. I wonder if JC knew about this and just didn't tell me. I feel my chest tighten and I find it a little hard to breathe as Karen practically pulls me into the house behind her. That is, until I round the corner and get a good look at the man who would run my professional world for the foreseeable future.

Uncle Pete looks nothing like I imagined he would.

I thought a high powered Wall Street attorney would be tall and svelte, smarmy like a used car salesman and swaddled head to toe in everything designer from hair gel to shoe polish. Dark hair, light eyes, language full of 25-cent words. Pretentious and obnoxious.  Sort of how JC used to be. I assumed he modeled himself after his wildly successful uncle.

On the contrary, Pete is more like Tyler than JC. Average height, a little on the overweight side with thinning wisps of blonde hair, warm brown eyes and a charming smile. His shiny black BMW M5  sits in the driveway and I heard he was buying a sprawling multimillion dollar home a mile or so away from Nick and Morgan in the swanky Vizcaya neighborhood. He obviously does well, but to look at him you'd never know it. He is as friendly as if he owned a chain of pet stores, welcoming me with a bear hug and pats on the back.

"I hear great things about you, Angie. Is it Angie or Evangeline?" He stands back and crosses his arms over his chest. He's dressed casually in slacks and a polo shirt, open at the collar. The high end watch he wears seems like an afterthought.

"It's Angie unless I'm in court. And thank you. I've heard a lot about you as well."

"All good, I'm sure. My nephews wouldn't dare say anything bad about their favorite uncle. And new boss."

"Course not, Uncle Pete." JC laughs, arriving at my side and pulling me to him. "We're both looking forward to starting the New Year off right. New job, new office, helping people. And having fun doing it. Right, baby?"

I nod, firmly. "I can't thank you enough for taking me-us... on."

He waves me off, chuckling. "Don't thank me. Bring good cases and win them. That should be easy for you. Josh speaks highly of you. Frankly, Tyler is the one who needs to be worried." With merriment in his eyes, he turns to point at his nephew.

Tyler's brow furrows and he scowls. "Why am I the one always getting picked on?"

"Comes with being the baby of the family. Are we eating, or what?" JC heads to the kitchen, where seconds later I hear Karen fussing about him lifting lids and looking in the oven.

Brunch is delicious, loud and fun. Pete loves to tell stories and Marlena, who must be used to hearing them, looks on lovingly, laughing along with the rest of us. I expected a bimbo, a pretty young thing that hooked her claws into a successful attorney, but I'm as pleasantly surprised by her as I am by Pete. She is a blonde with big hair, big boobs and shiny red nails but that's where the dumb young chick act stops. She's a law professor and ran a small women's centered clinic in New York. She'll have an office at Chasez Law Group, offering her expertise on case law as needed.

Every day I am more excited about leaving Flanning and Rourke behind and stepping into a new life with JC by my side. As my husband. And my partner. His office will be down the hall from mine. I suppress a sigh at this sudden realization. Oh boy.

Full from brunch, we gather in the cozy living room. I'm snuggled up to JC on the couch watching A Christmas Story, a holiday tradition since we were kids. In a corner of the room is a giant spruce whose branches are weighted down with too many strands of lights and what must be every ornament the Chasez family owns, from the chintzy homemade ones to the ornate gold and silver heirlooms. Karen really gets into decorating-there's garland and tinsel and snowmen and Santa in every available space. JC says it looks like Christmas threw up in the house.

"Well, so..." Tyler sits up, then stands. Roy mutes the TV and everyone perks to attention. "I have one more gift. For Jade. Baby?"

Jade blinks, then stands to join him in front of the tree. She's blushing and wringing her hands. Tyler is smiling so hard that his dimples are deep indents in his cheek. He's also blushing, his face tomato red and beads of sweat dotting his bald head.

"This is crazy, I know. Everyone's been telling me this is crazy, but when you know, you know. I met you and I knew right away we'd be together the rest of our lives. And maybe I'm out of my mind to be doing this, but I want the rest of our lives to start right now. So..."

For the second time that day, a Chasez man sinks to one knee; flips open a velvet box and presents a gorgeous ring to a woman so in love with him she can't see straight.

"Oh my...God..." Jade is barely audible and visibly shaking.

"I'm so... in love with you and...I just..." Tyler swallows and coughs. He looks like he's having trouble getting a breath.

"Just relax, buddy." JC mutters. "She can't say yes if you pass out before you pop the question."

Tyler glares at JC, but his chest expands with the deep breath he takes. "Okay. I uhm... I love you and I'm asking you to marry me."

Tears streaking each cheek, one hand over her mouth, Jade doesn't move or say a word. Then, slowly, she starts to nod. A sob escapes from behind her hand. She's shaking like a leaf and sobbing but nodding so hard I'm sure her head is going to pop off.

"I think that's called a yes, bro." 

I shush JC, waiting for the emotional moment to pass. Jade deserves a chance to say the word. Finally, she begins to breathe normally. Karen passes her a Kleenex, which she uses to wipe her face while she composes herself.

"I knew it was coming," she warbles. "The words just made me so happy. So yes!"

With cheers and claps in the background, Tyler grunts as he pushes himself up off of the floor. Jade grabs the box holding the ring and plucks it out of its cushioned slot. She gives it to Tyler and holds out her hand. He slips the ring on and grins as she wiggles and waves her fingers. I know the feeling. I know it very well.

I push myself up from the couch and offer Jade a hug. "Next year is going to be crazy with two weddings in this family. I'm really happy for you guys."

"Thank you," she says, her cheeks turning pink. "I'm so glad things worked out the way they did. I can't imagine..." Her eyes drift over to JC, who is congratulating Tyler with loud slaps on the back and serious ribbing about almost choking.

"Yeah, well. You wouldn't have lasted long with him. He's kind of an asshole." Jade laughs as if I've just told the most hilarious joke. I chuckle along but I couldn't be more serious.

"I guess we should share the other surprise with the newlyweds... well the newest set anyway." Pete is standing next to Tyler and Jade with an envelope in his hands. He hands it to Tyler, who looks confused but rips it open anyway.  

Jade leans in. They both stare at the enclosed document, mouths open. "This is the deed to your condo downtown." Tyler glances at Pete. Pete slips both hands into his pockets and shrugs. "This says you put it in my name. You're giving it to me?"

"It's not brand new or anything, but it's all updated, thanks to your brother."  Pete turns to grin at JC, who happens to be shoving a chip loaded with dip into his mouth. He waves off the smiles and chews, brushing chip dust from his hands. "He took care of all  the details. You guys have new flooring, new appliances, new paint-the whole nine yards. I knew I was going to give the lake house to Josh, so I decided it was only fair. Plus it gives me a break on my taxes."

Tyler and Jade are dumbfounded, huddled together and reading the short document over and over until it finally sinks in. "Whoa," he says, looking again like he's having trouble catching a breath. "This is... thanks, Uncle Pete. We've been saving for a place, so we really appreciate it." He folds the document and slides it back into the envelope. He still looks dazed. Happy, but dazed.

JC produces a key ring and presses a set of keys into Tyler's palm. The younger pulls the older into a hug. The exchange between brothers is brief but meaningful and heartwarming.

"Congrats on everything," says JC, his voice gruff, betraying his emotion about the moment. "You're crazy... but if you're happy, I'm happy. Just don't get comfortable; you're definitely going to work for it."

"I figured that," Tyler says, laughing, twisting the key ring around his index finger. He still looks so incredulous.  "Thanks man,  for setting us up, all the way around. New job, new place to live. You didn't happen to buy me a new car, did you?"

"Think I'll leave that up to you. You gotta do something for yourself, kid."

*

After a few hours of lying around the Chasez house, I head down the street to help my mom finish dinner. Everyone is due at six o'clock and she'd sounded frazzled when I'd checked in earlier that day. 

My mom is too flustered-and covered in mashed potatoes to notice my new hardware but my dad's eyes are keen as anything. "So he finally took the leap, huh? Good boy."

I grin at dad, sitting comfortably in his wheelchair in a sweatshirt and flannel pants. He's wearing his Christmas socks- red and fuzzy with green trees printed on them, and his slippers.

"Can't get anything past David Blake."

"What? What's going on?" Mom calls from the kitchen. I lean down to hug my dad and drop a kiss on his cheek. He rolls himself to the living room. I take my coat off and roll up the sleeves of my sweater, ready to dig in and help.

"What's your dad talking about?" she asks, vigorously whisking a pot of gravy on the stove. My mouth is already watering at the aroma from the simmering pot. Mom does a prime rib with all of the trimmings for Christmas. We always have the Chasez family over and, in years past, JC would jockey to sit next to me so he could harass me the entire time.

"Oh nothing," I answer, giving her a nonchalant wave. "Just some jewelry JC gave me for Christmas."

"Oh, really? What did he-" She lifts her head in time to catch a glint of sparkle from the ring. "EVANGELINE NICOLE!" Her eyes are wide open, as is her mouth. She grabs my hand and pulls it to her to study the ring up close, so distracted that she drops the whisk she's been using to stir the gravy.

I pick up the whisk and keep stirring with my right. She has a death grip on my left hand. "Mom, can't let your gravy stick."

"Fuck the gravy. David! Come see this ring! It must be two carats!"

I hear the wheels of his chair roll gracefully along the hardwoods before I see dad. He stops in the entryway to the kitchen. He's smiling, seeming proud.  "He was real nervous about it. I told him to just do it; it's not like you were going to say no."

I'm pretty sure I'm beaming.  Mom swipes a tear from each cheek before taking her whisk back and turning down the burner under the pot. "So, tell me how he proposed! What did he say? Where did he do it? Get used to telling this story, by the way. Everyone will want to hear about it."

I launch into the proposal story and help mom finish dinner. Just as I am getting ready to set the table, the front door bursts open. JC is loud and festive as he greets my dad and then my mom. She calls him her ‘son in law for real', then hugs and kisses him on both cheeks. He's grinning like a fool. Tyler is on his heels, pulling Jade along behind him.

"Oh, mom! Ty has news too!" With a smirk, I wave them over. Tyler is beet red but proudly shows off Jade's ring.

"What in the world?" Her gaze bounces from JC to Tyler and back. "Two engagements? On the same day? Are you boys trying to kill your mother? Karen must be beside herself!"

"She's a tough cookie," says JC. He moves to my side and drapes an arm across my shoulders. "Dad's just happy because the bride's family pays for the wedding. Both of them."

I hear dad playfully groaning from the living room.  Mom rolls her eyes before returning to the kitchen. "Well, this calls for a toast. I'm going to get some sparkling wine to put in the chiller and we'll toast the two happy couples at dinner."

I hand JC a stack of plates and grab the good silverware from mom's china hutch. "Get to work, future husband.  We're setting the table."

JC grumbles something about rewards but begins to move around the table, setting a plate at each seat. I follow him with silverware. Mom hands Jade a stack of cloth napkins and she places one at each setting. Tyler is on glass duty and ordered not to break any of them, under penalty of death. Gingerly, he places a water glass and a wine glass at each place.

Mom stands back to inspect the elegant dinner table, nodding appreciatively.  "I'll be ready to put the food out in just a minute. Boys," Mom says, commanding attention from JC and Tyler. "Call your parents. Tell them to come on down."

This is the first year in a long time that I have truly enjoyed Christmas. Dad loves his presents-a thick, warm blanket, some arm pads for his wheelchair and a boxed set collection of Pink Floyd, his favorite band. Mom loves anything to do with cooking, so a heavy Dutch oven from Le Crueset and a gift card to spend to her heart's content at William Sonoma made her eyes sparkle. The diamond solitaire necklace from her future son in law didn't hurt.

I don't mind sitting next to JC at dinner this year. More than once, his hand creeps over my lap and his fingers intertwine with mine. He'd give me a quick squeeze before letting go, then a wink and a smile before jumping back into conversation.

"So, Angie..." Karen begins, half a roll in one hand, a buttered knife in the other. Already with the wedding questions, I think. "Have you thought about what kind of ceremony you want? Maybe you'll go away like Morgan?"

"Or maybe we'll elope like Jackie," JC says, to a rousing chorus of no's.

"Don't even think about it," says mom. "I've been putting up with the two of you dancing around each other long enough to reap the reward of watching you walk down the aisle. I don't care where you get married, just so long as dad and I are there."

"Hear, hear!" says Karen, lifting her nearly empty wine glass.

"And maybe I'll walk her down the aisle," says dad. My eyes shoot over to him, then mom. She frowns and excuses herself to the kitchen.

"What do you mean, dad? How would you walk me?"

"I'm calling my doc next week. I'm going to tell him I want to get in on one of these medical trials. There's a lotta good drugs in the pipe for Parkinson's. Maybe try that shock therapy they told me about."

"But... mom said-"

He flops a hand at me and shakes his head. "She doesn't want me to. She's scared something will happen. I'm in a wheelchair, I can barely walk, some days I can't talk. How much worse can it get?"

"It could get a lot worse." Mom is lingering in the entryway between the kitchen and the dining room. "Something could happen and you could die. All because you want to walk for thirty seconds."

"Donna, honey... don't be so dramatic. And besides, I'm the one living this life. I think I get to decide if I want to try something different."

"And the rest of us just have to deal with it?"

"That's right," says dad. "The rest of you just deal with it."

This ripple in the holiday atmosphere is awkward. Roy and Karen stare into their wine glasses. My parents glare at each other from opposite ends of the table. I feel guilty. All this talk of walking is my fault, my idea. JC must sense it; under the table, he grabs my hand and brings it to his lap.  

"Dad, I don't want you to do this-these experimental things-if mom doesn't want it. She's right. Something could happen. And she's the one that has to take care of you if it does. I'll still be married if you don't walk me down the aisle-"

"Dammit, I said I want to walk you down the aisle and I'm going to walk you! Now you two set a date so I know how much time I have to work with." He moves his wheelchair out of lock position and backs up, rolling himself away from the table and down the hall.

"I'm so sorry," Mom whispers as she takes her seat again. "We've been arguing about it lately and he just won't listen."

"I've never known David to back down from a fight," says Roy. "You know it, too. He sets his mind to something, and that's it. He's going to do it."

"I just..."

"Oh honey, I know it must be tough on you." Karen stands and walks over to mom, wrapping an around her shoulder as fresh tears fall. "You're worried and he knows it, but David wouldn't do anything to seriously harm himself or put a burden on you. You have to believe that."

"Yeah, mom. It'll be okay. Trust him. He knows his limit."

Mom nods, brushing tears from her cheeks. "Well, this is a somber Christmas, isn't it? Everything will be fine." She pastes a wan smile onto her lips and taps the table, then gets up and heads back into the kitchen. Donna Blake solves every problem with food.

"Let's put on some music! Who's ready for dessert? JC, I know you want some of these cookies I made. I even packed up some for you to take home."

A few hours later, loaded down with what must be five pounds of prime rib, mashed potatoes, candied yams, green bean casserole and mom's famous chocolate chunk cookies, JC and I are finally home.

 Alone, in pajamas in front of the fire, basking in the glow of the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree. Snuggled up next to JC, I sip from a thick mug of spiked hot cocoa and munch on the chocolate covered popcorn and nut mix that mom sent home with us-along with other sugar laden goodies that won't make it past the next couple of days.

"Thanks for cleaning up the mess, sweetheart."

JC shrugs, lifting a mug to his lips. "It was just some paper. Besides, I heard I get a reward for being good."

I giggle and sip more cocoa. I'm so warm. And happy. "It was... an interesting day."

"Hm. That it was," he agrees, slurping another sip. "What do you think about that stuff with your dad?"

I shake my head and sigh. My heart is nearly broken over it. "I don't want my parents fighting because of me. Because of what I want. I've never been one to pit my parents against each other. I should have never mentioned walking me down the aisle. Now he's going to kill himself trying to do it."

"You need to take your own advice, Angie. What you told your mom? Trust him? You should do that too. He knows what he's doing. And truthfully, he's been talking about it for awhile. He made me promise not to say anything."

I sit up and twist around to face JC. "He has? What did he say?"

JC pulls me back toward to him. I settle back into my spot. "Way before you were thinking about walking down any aisle, he was talking about it. He's sick of the chair. He's sick of looking and feeling like an invalid. Not being able to work. The guys at the dealership looking at him like he's a charity case. He's not, you know."

"Yeah, I know-"

"So you and Donna have to stop treating him like he doesn't get an opinion. He gets the only opinion."

"And the rest of us get to deal," I mutter.

"Like the man said..." JC leans forward, setting his nearly empty mug on the coffee table. "I think that's enough talk about your parents. I want to talk about you."

"Me?"

"Yeah, you. And me and all that money I spent on that ring." I giggle. And stare at it again.  "And us and getting married..."

"And you spending your life getting on my nerves."

"All day long."

I pause, thinking about that sentence, letting it wash over me, once again, that JC is going to be my husband and my coworker. We will literally be together all day. I smile and stretch so my lips meet his.

"I'm nervous about practicing law with you. More than that, I'm happy that I'm about to be your wife."

"Hmmm."JC hums as he shifts on the couch. He takes my cup from me and sets it on the coffee table before dipping his head toward me. He presses his lips gently against mine in a kiss much too brief. "Just happy?"

"What other emotion would you have me feel?"

"I mean, something more exciting. Ecstatic, maybe."

"Ecstatic? To be marrying you?"

He shrugs, grinning."Yeah. Do you know how many women you beat out?"

I pretend to ponder this question. "Uhmmm... enlighten me."

"Remember when you asked me if I had slept with every woman in Orlando? Well..."

Playful, I smack his bicep and laugh. "Tease. Trying to make me jealous again?"

"Is it working?"

I shake my head, reaching for him so I can snake an arm around his neck and bring his face to mine. I pull, gently, until I am laying against the cushions and he sinks his weight onto me. Through the thin cotton of his pants-and mine, I feel him. Warm. Rigid. Already throbbing. He's not the only one.

"Jealous isn't the word that comes to mind, right now."

"Oh?" He mutters against my lips, then drops feather light kisses down my neck, brushes over my lips and travels back down the other side. "What uh...what's the word that comes to mind?"

"I think you have an idea."

He nods, chuckling softly. His torso begins to move in a slow, grinding circle. It's enough to make my eyes roll back into my head. "Maybe I want to hear the word, Evangeline."

"Horny. That's the word."

"Mmmmm...horny. That's what you feel?" His hips pick up a rhythm, a more forceful thrust. I lock my limbs around him and grind against him.

"Yes." I pant with each movement. "Very."

"Very? Hmmm. Sounds like you might want me to do something about that."

"Yes." I'm close to whimpering-and he knows I'm not above begging. JC rests his forehead on mine, the better to stare at me with those ice cold blue eyes.

"Tell me what you want. Say it."

"I want to end this day the way I wanted to start it."

He chuckles, a sound and sensation that sends an electrified pulse through me. "And how is that?"

"I think you know."

He laughs again, tipping his head back a little. "Humor me, honey.  I like to hear the words. How did you want to start today?"

"Naked. In bed with you."

"That's it? You want us to go upstairs, get naked and get in the bed."

"No..." I stroke his chest, dragging my fingernails through the soft hair.

"So what else, then? Naked, in bed and..." His voice trails and the question lingers in the air.

"Naked. In bed..." I flick my eyes up to meet his and let the rest come. "And you, balls deep inside me."

The smile that spreads across his face stirs any lustful thoughts that might have been languishing in the corners of my mind. Suddenly, I want him. Right now.

I tip my head up so that our lips meet, trapping his tongue in a frantic kiss. My hands claw at him, at his clothes, pulling his t- shirt up, his pants down. While JC kicks his pile of discarded clothing off of the edge of the couch, I pull my t-shirt over my head and shimmy out of my pants.

"Wait, wait, wait..." says JC. Much to my disappointment, he's sitting up. "You said naked in the bed."

"We can do it there, too." I grab him by the shoulders and pull him back down to me. Without arguing, he settles his body onto mine and resumes driving me out of my mind, lightly nipping at my skin with his teeth.

He moves down my body, taking first one nipple, then the other into his mouth, whipping them both into stiff, pointed frenzy. Moving further down, he licks a trail from between my breasts, down my stomach to my warm, pulsing core.

"Holy fuck," I sigh as I feel the rough texture of his tongue rasp over my clit. My hips buck; I reach for his head and press him into me. He closes his mouth around me and rolls his eyes up to mine so he can watch me fall over the brink. It doesn't take long. He licks and sucks me to hip jerking, thigh shaking, sore-throat-from-screaming orgasm.

As if it were nothing at all, he kisses his way back up my trembling body. With all of my strength I wrap my limbs around him as I feel him push into me with a muffled grunt.

"Fuck, Angie..."

I giggle because I tell him that's the first thing he says when we have sex. He says he can't help it; I feel so good to him. Though I'm sure he heard me, he ignores me. Instead he reaches between us and grabs my outside leg, pressing it so that my legs open wider.

His thrusts set a rhythm quickly, his strokes deep. "Is this what you want?"

I can only smile and grunt in approval, clinging to him as his hips buck into mine, our skin slapping together in a most erotic chorus. He glistens with sweat; drops fall from his forehead and his back is slippery. His breath is hot as struggles to keep time with his thrusts.

With no warning, he stops and pulls back, then sits up, pulling me up with him.

I feel like I've been knocked out of orbit. All of his warmth, his heaviness, even his sweat is gone. "Wha... what happened? What's wrong?"

"Upstairs." His voice is gritty, his chest heaving.

I obey without another word, heading for the staircase. As soon as I make it across the threshold of our bedroom, I feel JC behind me, pulling me back toward him. He walks me over to the edge of the bed and gently tips me forward. "Up," he orders. I climb up onto the bed on my hands and knees and turn my head to look back at him.

At least it seems like I'm looking at back at him, but as he grips my hips and slips inside me, I'm watching us in the mirror over the bureau behind him. It's an erotic view-- JC with his feet apart, every muscle standing out, glowing with sweat, my thighs on the outside of his, feet hanging over the edge of the bed. The sight of his hips working as he plunges into me, the sound of his grunts and moans, the feel of his hands pulling me tightly up against him. I could watch us fuck all night.

But I can't, because I'm about to come. I want to wait for JC though and that means I need to help him along.

"You close?" I egg him on, pushing back against him, clenching him inside me. He grunts. His eyes are closed and his face bears evidence of extreme concentration. "I want you to come with me, baby."

"Not... yet. Wait." He speeds up his rhythm, increases the pressure. His grip on my hips tightens and very soon, his skin takes on a pinkish blush. "Close," he mumbles. His eyes open slightly and his gaze locks onto mine. I recognize a flash in his eyes and I know before he does it that he's going to pull out, push me forward onto the bed and flip me over.

When he sinks into me again, I'm not sure how much longer I can hang on. "Fuck, baby. I need you to come."

"Working on it," he says, smirking. "Was I a good boy today?"

I grin and buck my hips into his. "You were the very best boy today. I love you so much. I'm so happy with you."

He smiles back, a wide and happy grin. "That's all I needed to hear. Come for me."

"Are you--"

"Angie. Don't kill the vibe. Do it."

My legs lock around his torso, tying us together and making it so that he can't thrust as deeply. This makes him grind on my clit. It doesn't take more than a few seconds before my hips are convulsing and my body spasms.  

"Fuuuuccckk......." I groan, my head tossed back, not caring if every owner on the lake heard me. 

"Mmmmmm....." I feel him pulse and then his entire body stiffens as his breath catches in his throat. "Angie..... fuck. Oh my God..." His hips jerk against mine as he moans, his movements growing slower until he grinds to a stop and nearly collapses on top of me.

This was always my favorite part of sex with him. When he's exhausted and I wrap him in my arms and legs and we just lay together and catch our breath and revel in the moment. It's been nice to have these moments with him again.

I tip my head to brush my lips against his sweaty temple. I feel the cool air of the room on our bodies as we come down from our high.

"Baby..." JC grunts in response, not even bothering to open his eyes. "You realize that marriage is like... forever, right?  Richer or poorer, in sickness and in health and all that jazz?"

"We're leaving obey in our vows," he mumbles.

"We'll talk about that. But I'm just saying... maybe you shouldn't tire yourself out, sex-wise. We have a lot of years together. Don't want to wear yourself out."

JC yawns, long and loud, before lifting himself up and tossing his body over onto the bed next to me. "I know it totally doesn't seem like it right now, because I gave you everything I've got..." He rolls his head toward me and makes sure I'm paying attention. The glint in his eye amuses me.

"I've got so much more where that came from. I just hope you can keep up."

It takes everything in me to not laugh. I almost make it. "I'd like to see you try to wear me out."

"Game on, baby," he says, before another yawn overtakes him. "Right after I get some sleep."

We should get up and shower, as is our habit before bedtime, but neither of us make a move. Instead we lay next to each other and watch the ceiling fan make revolutions above us.

"So, Tyler was surprised with the condo."

"Yeah."

"Did you try to talk him out of proposing to Jade?"

"Nope." He shakes his head, pursing his lips. "That kid had his mind made up a long time ago. I could no more talk him out of proposing than anyone could talk me out of proposing to you. He says she's right for him." He shrugs. "It's like with your dad; we all just decided to treat Tyler like he knows what he's doing and trust that he does. And if it's a mistake, it's his to make and we'll be there to help if he needs it."

I nod slowly. Understanding. Seeing the whole picture. "Well in that case I hope they have a long and happy marriage."

"He better. He's gotta compete with me and not for nothin' but..." He finally finds the strength to sit up, his bones creaking in protest. "My marriage is gonna be longer and happier."

"You think so?"

He's already scooting to the edge of the bed, but he looks back at me over his shoulder. "You know it, baby. Come on. Let's hit the showers."

I sit up, feeling a little energized. "Round two?"

He stalks toward the bathroom and flips the light switch, bathing the tiled room in light. "That would be round three, and despite all my big talk, I'm mostly dead right now." His eyes twinkle and the edges of his lips twitch as if they want to turn up into a smile.

"Oh. Well, how about we wake up tomorrow like I wanted to wake up today?"

"You know what, Evangeline?" JC starts the shower and pulls the curtain back. The room is starting to fill with warmth and steam. He pulls me to him, tucking me tightly up against him. Curiously, I feel him stir between us.

"That ring I gave you? It means we can wake up that way every single morning, for the rest of our lives, if you want to." 

Gravel, rocks and sand crunch under my tires as I turn into the parking lot at Flanning & Rourke. I pull in and park next to Tyler's light colored Honda Accord, cut the engine and get out of my car just as his door is opening.

Side by side, we stand, staring at the employee entrance.

"We're ready for this," he says. He sounds more like he's trying to convince himself of this fact than making a bold statement.

"Yep," I respond. "I'm kind of nervous. Are you?"

"Shakin' in my boots. Never quit a job before."

"Me either. Except that one summer I worked at Dairy Queen. I gained fifteen pounds."

Tyler glances over at me. "You get free ice cream there?"

"Duh."

"Shit. I should have been working at a liquor store."

We laugh together, then the chuckles die down and we sigh together. "Well," I say, turning to him. "Let's do this."

Tyler inhales a long, deep breath and blows it out, his cheeks expanding to dangerous proportions. "Can't we just show up in the middle of the night, clear out our desks, take some files and leave the keys in the break room?"

"Don't I wish." I begin walking through the uneven parking lot. "I will be so happy to not have damn rocks in my shoes every day. Why can't they pave this shit?"

Tyler follows closely behind me. At the door, I scan my employee badge. With a beep and a flash of green light, the door lock releases and I let us in. We walk past the break room, the conference room and the Associate cubes. Tyler tries to dip into his cube but I grab him by the lapel of his jacket.

"Nope. We do this first. Otherwise you'll hide in here." He mumbles a few choice words under his breath but cuts his detour short and follows me down another hallway to the corner offices.

Flanning is in. Flanning is always in. He's on his third wife and something tells me that he's heading for divorce number three if he's in the office during the Christmas to New Year break. I'd called ahead, just to make sure he'd be here and was expecting us. His office door is open and as we come down the hall, I hear the clack clack clack of fingers on a keyboard.

"Hey Doug," I call out, trying hard to keep things friendly and casual. Tyler is quiet, skulking behind me with his hands in his pockets.

"Angie," says Doug, the glare from his computer screen reflecting in his glasses. "And Tyler. Odd to see you two in here this week. Have a seat."

We follow his suggestion, each taking a plain, straight back chair. Doug's office is a study in male decorating. Not a piece of anything he owns goes together. I'm sure he got his furniture from a used office supply store -one tan and one black metal filing cabinet, a dark walnut desk, a scarred credenza whose best days are long gone, two guest chairs that look like they are long lost relics from two different kitchen sets and a couch that is straight from the Sears 1979 catalog. 

"Just working on a brief, I need to get it to the prosecutor by noon." Doug goes back to typing, but his eyes flick up toward us every few seconds. "What can I do for you?"

"Well..." I clear my throat, mentally reviewing the speech I've gone over and over and over in my head. "The thing is, Doug..."

"We quit." I glare at Tyler, who looks like he wants to throw up. He stares at me, eyes wide. "I mean..."

"He means," I continue, taking the reins of this conversation again. "He and I have been offered and accepted positions at another firm."

Doug has stopped typing. Frozen, he glances from me to Tyler and back to me again. His mouth opens as if he has something to say, but then closes without uttering a peep.

"We uhm... well, I personally am thankful for F&R. I've been here a long time. I clerked here. I cut my teeth on the law here. I've done a lot of good work here and I am proud of my record. But if I am honest I have wanted to move on for awhile."

"Uh huh." Doug's brown eyes float over to Tyler. "And you're leaving as well. Going to the same firm, I imagine? Your brother's firm?"

I'm surprised, but then again I'm not at all surprised that Doug knows about Chasez Law Group. Peter Chasez is a local celebrity and his return to Orlando is making the gossip circuit. As is my love life. The entire firm, from the receptionist to the newest Associate, was floored when I returned from St. Lucia attached at the hip to my arch nemesis, JC Chasez.

"My uncle's firm," he corrects. "Yes sir. It's an opportunity to work with family. To do something different."

Doug removes his glasses and rubs a thumb and forefinger over closed eyelids. "So... what about your cases? Are you handing them off to anyone? You're certainly not taking F&R clients with you."

"I have a few cases I'd like to see to completion-"

"Well, too bad. Those cases belong at this firm!"

"You and I both know I can work around that."

"Don't threaten what you can't pull off, Ms. Blake."

"I'm not threatening, Mr. Flanning."

After a brief and unsuccessful stare down, Doug continues. "Chasez doesn't have any cases he can take with him. Every single file stays here."

I glance over to Tyler, who shrugs. "You were giving me shit cases anyway, stuff any intern grunt can handle in between snaking the drains and hauling boxes and other busy work you make Associates do."

Doug huffs, pushing his chair back from his desk. He reaches for a post-it notepad and starts dictating notes as he writes. "Re-assign Chasez cases. Reassign Blake cases." He glances up at me. "The ones you're not stealing from the firm, that is."

"I'm not stealing anything. Everything will be done on the up and up. I'll rescind the offer of counsel and if they want to stay with F&R, that's totally up to them. But if they want me as an attorney, they'll have to contract me through a different firm."

He sighs, sounding dejected and defeated and tosses his pen across his desk. The note pad follows. "Clean out your offices. Today. Leave your access cards and keys at the front desk. I'll have Human Resources call you with any exit details but I don't want to see you back in this building unless you're opposing counsel. Are we clear?"

I nod. I see Tyler do the same out of the corner of my eye. We stand and quickly file out of Doug's office. I feel like we've dodged a bullet. I also feel lighter than air. I am one hour and two boxes away from getting the fuck out of this hellhole.

Hours later, a small but rowdy group has gathered at Prime. Tyler and I, JC, Morgan, Nick and Keith are bunched together at a table much too small for us, but we don't want to move. It's our spot. It's always been our spot and despite the fact that other patrons are taking up the other half of the tables we usually dominate, we want our spot.

"I can't believe you just blurted it out like that, you moron." I nudge Tyler, who's in the middle of sucking down a longneck beer.  He finishes the bottle and plunks it down on the table with a loud belch.

"It was gonna take you forever to do it diplomatically. You were all I so appreciate the opportunities, blah, blah, suck up, blah. I just put it out there. And now we don't have jobs." He lifts an arm to signal the waitress and points to his empty bottle.

"Hey take it easy, man," says JC. "It's two in the afternoon and we have a long night of drinking ahead of us."

We have huge plans for New Year's Eve. Our whole group will be together for the first time since the wedding. Jackie and Matt even got a babysitter and baby Michael has taken to formula really well so Jackie can drink. The plan is to start at Prime and head to a party at a swanky hotel. I bought a cute new dress and JC got a new Varvatos ensemble. We're looking forward to celebrating with our friends and stepping into the New Year together. 

My cell phone rings. Since my fiancé and my best friend are right next to me, I'm tempted to ignore it, but it could be my mom or dad, so I zip open my bag to retrieve the phone.

"Oh, it's Jackie!" I grin as view the caller id and press the button to pick up the call. "Hey Jacks! What's up?"

"Fucking bullshit is what's up!"

"What? What's bullshit?"

"My sitter has strep! Goddammit!" Jackie is nearly whispering, so the baby must be asleep. She still sounds pissed, even though she's trying to be quiet.

"Oh no! Do you have a backup?"

"No! Everyone I've tried already has plans. Matt's parents offered to cancel theirs but I can't do that to them. They already watch Michael all the time." I hear her stomp a foot and grunt in frustration. "Fuck! We might not be able to go tonight."

"Noooo," I whine. "You guys have to come!"

"What's going on?" Morgan asks, alarm in her eyes. "Jackie and Matt are coming, right?"

"Sitter has strep. She can't find anyone to watch the baby." Morgan's face falls. I know the feeling.  "Jackie," I say, resuming my conversation, "Let me ask around and see if I can find someone, okay?"

"Well..." She hesitates. "I... I just don't want to leave him with a stranger, you know? I won't have a good time if I'm worried about him."

"Yeah, that's true.  Keep trying though. And let us know what's up, okay?"

Jackie agrees and I press the button to end the call. What was going to be a great night seems just a little less festive. "I hope they can find someone. I feel bad. Jackie never gets to go out anymore."

"Jackie chooses not to go out," JC argues. "Jackie chooses to stay home with her husband and her kid. She's not being held hostage."

I glare at JC, for what feels like the first time in ages. "The point is that she has a chance to go out and she can't. It's not like she can leave the baby at home, like a dog."

"I wasn't suggesting that she should. I'm just saying." He shrugs. "She decided to have a kid and that's the life you get to live when you have kids."

JC sucks down a swallow of beer and continues. "Look at how often we see Keith and Bridget since they had kids. Like never."

Keith rears back, mouth open, eyes ablaze. "Seriously, dude? Sometimes reading to your eight year old is way more important than watching you and Nick outdrink each other on a Thursday night. Maybe you can get hammered and then get up and go to work the next day, but I can't."

JC snorts. "And we know Bridget can't."

At that, I grip his arm, digging my nail into the tender flesh of his bicep.  "JC... knock it off, alright?"

Keith finishes his beer and pushes his chair back from the table. "You know what, I gotta run anyway. Bridge and I have stuff to do-with our kids-before tonight's party. Catch you guys later." He stalks away, his long legs making deliberate strides, one hand clenched tightly around a set of keys.

Everyone at the table is staring at JC, who is nonchalantly drinking and popping peanuts into his mouth. "What?" He finally demands, at which everyone looks away. Everyone but me.

"I think we need to go."

"Why? I'm not ready to go," says JC.

"Well, I'm going to go. I'm going to see if I can help Jackie find a sitter."

"Alright. I'll see you at home." He leans toward me for a kiss that he doesn't get. I grab my bag and my keys and head for the door. Just as I reach my car, I hear JC behind me. "Baby! Angie. Wait."

"What?" I unlock the car and drop my bag inside. "You have some more rude shit to say about my friend? How about some more insults for Keith and Bridget?"

"No." He moves closer, stepping between me and the car so I can't get in yet. I fold my arms across my chest and glare up into his face. "I'm sorry. I just... I wasn't thinking. I was talking shit, like we always do."

"We don't ever say that shit to their faces. And that crap about what Jackie chooses? You don't know the first thing about choosing responsibility over partying. But I'll tell you what... you'd better figure it out, real fast."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that I'm expecting you to act like a mature responsible adult, one who's ready to get married, not like a guy who's just happy he made his conquest. You can't just whisper sweet things to me for a couple of weeks or months and then a couple of days later, Asshole JC is back."

"That guy you call Asshole JC never left. I am who I am."

"Yeah?" I push him out of my way and get into the car, slamming the door. "Maybe I don't like who you are right now."

I start the car and back away from the space, leaving JC standing in the middle of the parking lot.

I'm in our office, filling out the exit paperwork that Doug must have had our Human Resources Officer come in on her vacation to send out. I shake my head, typing hard and fast, fuming on her behalf. I can't get away from F&R fast enough.

The familiar roar of JC's car comes near, idles and then stops. A minute later, the front door creaks open and shuts with a thump. "Babe? Where you at?"

"Office," I call out. I hear footsteps coming down the hall and look up to see JC standing in the doorway. "Hey. It's good you're here. I need some information from you, like on health insurance and stuff. Should I continue my coverage from F&R or does my insurance start on my first day?"

JC walks around my desk to peek at my paperwork under the guise of rubbing my shoulders. "First day for Senior Associates. Junior Associates have a 90 day wait so make sure you tell Tyler he needs to continue his." His hands feel good, kneading the taut muscles across the back of my neck. "Why are you worrying about that stuff today? It's New Year's Eve. Come on, let's watch a movie or something. I want to get a nap in since we're going to be up late."

"You go ahead." I return to my paperwork. JC concludes his massage and walks around my desk, headed toward the door. "I just want this over with. And I'll probably meet you guys for drinks but I'm not going to the party afterward."

He freezes mid-step and turns around. "You're what?"

My eyes flicking up to his briefly before returning to the computer screen. "I'm not going. I'm going to watch the baby so Jackie and Matt can go."

"You're..." JC huffs, his hands landing on his hips. "You're serious? You're not going to this party we've been planning on going to for weeks. This party we bought new clothes to go to. Angie... come on!"

"Yup, I am really serious. I'm not going. But you don't have to hang out with me and the baby-- go to the party. Have a good time."

"Just go? Have a good time? Are you serious, Angie?"

Frustrated, I slam the lid of my laptop shut. "Stop asking me that! I am serious! I'm not going. I'm not telling you what you're doing and I'm not asking you to skip the party, but I am not going." I get up from my desk and maneuver around him, heading toward the kitchen. "Do you want something to eat? I'm hungry."

"Evangeline--"

"What, Joshua?" I whip around to find JC directly behind me. His face is flushed red and his eyes have a spark to them that I haven't seen since we went toe to toe in that park. Before everything changed for us.

"Can you stop acting so casual about this? You weren't going to talk to me at all? You just... decided not to go. You randomly bring it up to me and walk out of the room and ask me if I want dinner. You're out of your mind if you think we're wasting the $75 we spent on your ticket for this party tonight. And you're crazy if you think I'm going to that party by myself, to stand around and dance with myself, drink with myself--"

"You will be fine, JC. All your friends will be there. I'll pay you back for the ticket."

"That's not the fucking point, Angie!"

Slowly, I step back from JC. He's screaming in my face and I don't much enjoy the experience. As if he notices what I am doing, he takes a step back as well. "I--I was looking forward to this party, because when everyone is doing the countdown and they get to One and the clock strikes midnight..."

He shrugs and quietly adds, "I wanted to finally be with you. I want the first seconds of this new year to start with you."

"I know," I admit. "And I'm kind of sad about not starting the New Year off at a big fancy party. But I just... Jackie is so upset about not being able to go. This was her first time being able to go out with all of us and she's just... pissed that she can't."

"The thing is, Angie? Jackie and Matt have had their first new year together. They've had that moment. I get that you love her, and I love her too and I feel bad for her too... but to forego our special moment so you can be nice to her? Without even talking to me about it? That's shitty, Angie."

"Well...I'm sorry." My head hangs with an appropriate amount of shame. I knew the reaction I would get, but he pissed me off with being so flippant about Jackie and then being so callous about Keith and Bridget. I say all kinds of shit behind Bridget's back, but none of it is ever malicious and most of it is out of jealousy. I'd leave a bunch of drunk fools behind to snuggle my husband and kids on the couch while we watch Frozen for the 199th time.

"So... you're not going to reconsider? You're still not going?"

I lift a shoulder in a noncommittal shrug. "I already told Jackie I would watch him."

JC's brows are furrowed so tightly that it looks like they are one single brow riding a deeply lined forehead. "And she let you cancel your plans so she could party?"

"I..." I reach behind my head to scratch at the nape of my neck. I feel my temperature rise. "I kind of... told her... that we'd changed our plans and we weren't going so I was free. I didn't... I don't think she believed me but I talked her into accepting my offer. I can't go back on her. She's excited about going."

JC groans, his hands gripping the tufts of hair atop his head. He turns a full circle before he stops and drops his hands to his sides. "You realize smarty-pants that Jackie still isn't getting to go out with all of us. You won't be there. And now I won't either."

"JC, you should still go--"

JC pounds the countertop with a tightly balled fist. "I'm not fucking going to a New Year's Eve party by my fucking self, Angie! What about that do you not get?"

"So what are you going to do, then? Hang out at home, watching movies like it's a normal Thursday night? Fall asleep on the couch with your hand down your pants?"

JC chuckles but it's not fun laughter. "Very funny. I'll go with you, I guess."

"Oh hell no." I turn to the refrigerator and open it, pulling out leftover chicken Alfredo from the night before. "You'll be pouty and grumpy and I'm not in the mood to put up with you."

"It'd be your fault that I'm pouty and grumpy. It would serve you right to put up with me."

"If you hadn't been such a dick at the bar, I wouldn't have even thought of skipping out."

JC sighs and moves in, closing the space between him and me. He pulls the spoon I am using to dish up cold chicken and pasta out of my hand and sets it back in the bowl. "If I apologize about what I said about Jackie and about Keith... will you go? I mean, we can find a sitter for Jackie, I'm sure. Fuck, my mom will watch him if we need her to. But... I want to be with you tonight. Please?"

"JC, I..." Helpless, my hands flap to my sides. "I wish I could go back on my promise... I just can't. Jackie doesn't know Karen. She'd be so worried about Michael all night and she wouldn't have a good time--"

JC's face clouds over and he spins away. "You're so fucking concerned about Jackie and not at all about me!"

"Because when you were being a dick to me, day in and day out for eighteen years, Jackie was there for me! You are the love of my life, JC. You are... but..." I shake my head slowly. "You're not my whole life. And the fact that you're throwing a temper tantrum because of this party instead of accepting that I need to be there for my friend because it's important to me that she and her husband get out of their damned house and be together for once... it's just telling."

"Telling of what?"

"That you're spoiled. And you're immature, just like I was saying earlier at the bar. This is real life, JC. This is what having real friends is about and this is what caring about someone besides yourself is about. If you want us to be together at midnight, you better find a way to fix your attitude because you're not ruining my evening with your tantrum."

I walk out of the kitchen, leaving the bowl of chicken Alfredo on the counter and stomping up the stairs.

He's right. He has every right to be mad and I know it, but it's too late to turn back. I figured he'd be upset about the party, but he'd get over it and just go. In the past, I'd see JC at the annual Ritz Carlton New Year's Bash, either alone or with one--or several ladies on his arm. It's not like he's never attended this party without someone special.

Even though he pissed me off, he's angrier and probably more hurt than I thought he'd be. A part of me wishes I could back out on Jackie and still look myself in the eye in the morning, but I can't. I sigh, resigning myself to staring into Baby Michael's big brown eyes at midnight.

I'd fallen asleep for a few hours and when I awoke, the bedroom was awash in the rosy glow of dusk. I check the clock radio next to the bed and yawn, kick my legs over the side of the bed and stand up. Downstairs, JC is playing music, rather loudly.

"Rude," I mumble to myself, though I slept right through it. I hit the bathroom and wash my face, brush my teeth and comb my hair into a long, low ponytail. The last time I held baby Michael, he grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked. Hard. It brought tears to my eyes. I'm not making that mistake again.

Coming out of the bathroom, I'm startled to find JC in the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Shit! You scared me. What are you doing?"

JC tips his head a few times, nodding me over to him. "Come over here a second. I want to talk to you." Wary, I cross the room and sit on the bed next to JC. "So... we need to talk--"

"I'm not changing my mind. It's too late now anyway."

 "I know," he says, rolling his eyes in my direction. "I know. But we still need to settle this between you and me. You can't convince me that you weren't trying to spite me today. I don't want to get into that habit, Angie. I'm sorry for what I said about Jackie and about Keith and Bridget and I'm not just sucking up to you when I say that."

"Okay... thank you."

"I realize that these people are your friends and they've been your friends for a long time and you're loyal to them. But... you're special to me. You mean a lot to me and you're my priority and what comes across as immature and spoiled to you is me feeling threatened that I'm not more important to you than your friends are."

I nod, my bottom lip disappearing into my mouth.

"So... I get that you feel bad about Jackie. She was all excited and then she felt really let down. Kinda like me." He wiggles his brows at me and I can't help but smile. He can't be very angry if he can still joke around. "I came up with a way you can make it up to me... if you're game, that is."

I glance at my watch and mentally subtract the time I need to be at Jackie and Matt's. "I don't know if we have time for much more than a quickie--"

JC's loud laughter fills the quiet room. In seconds, his face is red and the bed shakes as he fights to gain control. "Oh, baby..." He swipes a thumb under each eye while suppressing residual giggles. "Uh, maybe later but we don't even really have time for a quickie."

"We don't? What? What are you laughing at? I thought you wanted sex."

"I do," he says with a sniffle. "I always want sex with you. But right now we have to go downstairs and get ready for the party tonight."

I stare at JC, incredulous. "I already told you, I'm not changing my mind."

"You don't have to. I worked it out."

"You worked what out? Did you find a sitter? And okay her with Jackie? Because she's not going to leave her son with just anyone, JC--"

"Angie." He quiets me with a palm cupped under my chin. He pulls my face toward his and plants a kiss on my lips. "Shut up and listen. You're not the only person with answers, okay? I worked it out, I said. You want to know how?"

I nod, slowly.

"The party got moved. Everybody's coming here tonight. Jackie and Matt are bringing the baby and Keith and Bridget are bringing their kids. We'll set them up in here, put on some movies, get the kids some pizza. I went to the store and I got some more wine, some beer, and some ice, a couple of drink mixes, some tonic and stuff. It won't be a big fancy deal, but..."

He shrugs and sheepishly meets my gaze. "At least we will all be together at midnight. It's a warm night, so maybe we can toast the New Year around the fire pit."

My mouth is hanging open. JC reaches over and tips up my chin so it closes. "Uh... so... everyone is just... fine with not going to the party? It was $75 a ticket!"

JC blushes and cringes, one corner of his mouth twisting up. "I kinda... I kinda promised I'd give them their money back if they'd just come here. My stupid comment is costing me a lot of money."

"Baby...I didn't want you to--"

"Too late!" He hops up from the bed and pulls me up with him. "Do we have anything we can feed these people or do I have to go back to the store? What about kids? What do kids eat?"

At nine pm our little townhouse on Lake Conway is bustling with people. All of our friends plus three children are packed into our warm and cozy house. The music is just loud enough to fill in the spaces between conversations and laughter and carry the mood. The fireplace crackles with fresh logs and the fire pit is shooting sparks into the starry sky. The patio door is open so guests are free to roam from one end of the house to another.

I managed to pull a few snacks together to serve-- caramelized onion, sausage and cheese mini pizzas, chicken wings, mozzarella sticks with marina sauce and the last of Mom's famous chocolate chip cookies. JC threw together some spiked punch and I made another batch of spiked hot chocolate.

For throwing a party together in a couple of hours, we've done a pretty good job.

Jackie sidles up next to me, a pudgy, smiling baby in her arms. She leans her head on my shoulder and I tip my head so our foreheads touch. "I can't thank you guys enough for making this happen. This is so much more awesome than some stuffy hotel party."

"It was all JC, I promise. I was set to be at your house with this little man." I poke Michael in the belly and he giggles like the Pillsbury dough boy, grabbing for my finger. "But this is cool, too."

I take a survey of the room and smile at the sight of all of our friends spread about-- Nick and Morgan on the couch flipping through a home design book-- they're thinking of redecorating the Vizcaya house; Tyler and Jade out on the patio clutching glasses of wine and puffing on Stogies; Keith and Bridget cuddling their youngest, who didn't want to watch movies with her brother, out by the fire pit; and JC and Matt standing next to the fireplace, chatting while staring at the illuminated screens of mobile phones. The discussion looks to be about their Fantasy Football teams. Both suffered tremendous losses.

So we're not at the Ritz Carlton like usual, in expensive clothes and uncomfortably high heels, makeup stacked on and hair shellacked and sprayed to within an inch of its life. We're in jeans, casual shirts, comfortable shoes... and having the time of our lives.

Having made the rounds in the room, JC finds me out on the patio enjoying the warmth of the fire and the view of the lake at night. A glass of wine appears in my eye line and I smile as I wrap my fingers around the bulbous globe. "It's about that time," he whispers, snaking an arm around my waist and dropping a kiss on my neck. Then another behind my ear.

"Is it?" I check my watch, noting the time. 11:50. "Do we want to do the toast out here?"

"I thought we would. I just wanted to get a minute with you before everyone comes out here and crowds us."

I chuckle as I take a sip of bold, full flavored red wine. He opened a bottle of my favorite. "Says the man who invited everyone here." I lean back against him, take in a breath and sigh. "You did a good job tonight, baby."

"Fixing my fuck up, you mean?"

"No." I balance myself again and turn in his arms, winding my free arm around his neck. I rise up onto my toes and press my lips against his. "Putting this party together in a short amount of time. Getting everyone here. Making it comfortable. And making it so everyone could be together tonight. You did a good job."

"Thanks." His head dips, as if he had the ability to be shy. "I wish we could have just talked about it earlier, instead of wasting time being mad at each other and lashing out."

"I know you mean me... you did no such thing."

"Well, I was an ass." He nods, like he's finally agreeing with me. "And you were mad about it and I get that. And again, I'm sorry. The deal is that I'm not an ass to you anymore. I didn't make any such commitment to our friends. And if you could hear the amount of shit we give Keith on a day to day basis about being whipped... today's comment was nothing."

"Okay. I get it. You guys are rough with each other. But..." I nod my head toward the house. "That's a room full of people we love, people who have rooted for us and want nothing but the best for us and put up with our shit for a long... long time, JC."

"I know." His head bobs, his expression contrite. He takes a sip of wine before he adds, "So I have to be nice to our friends, now?"

"Well, not too nice. You are who you are. But...you don't have to skewer them, baby."

He laughs, his belly bouncing against mine. "I can handle that, I think. I reserve the right to skewer my brother, though."

"Skewer away. That kid deserves it."

The patio is louder, now that people are pouring out of the house in anticipation of the midnight celebration. "You guys ready for us or are you still making out?" Nick rounds the fire pit, followed by Morgan. From around the other side come Jackie, Matt, Keith, Bridget, Tyler and Jade. The kids have long since gone down for the night.

"Almost time, you guys!" Bridget is so excited she might vibrate out of her skin.  "Thanks JC and Angie, for opening up your place tonight. This is cool."

"We're all together," adds Jackie, wistful. She's curled up against Matt and grinning. Her smile lights up the entire patio.

I feel JC's fingers drum against me, his arm tight around my waist. I look up into his face and return his smile. Nick, intently watching his wristwatch, raises a finger in the air. "Hold that kiss... here we go, guys!"

We stand on the patio in the glow of the fire pit behind us, the moon full and bright in the sky. At the stroke of midnight, the only sounds heard are the waters of Lake Conway and the crackle of embers.

The eight of us are lip to lip, entering the New Year in the embrace of those we love. 

 It feels like the first day of school, nerves and all.   I pace the length of the walk-in closet, perusing my wardrobe options. For my first day at Chasez Law Group, I want to be smart and sophisticated but still comfortable. 

"What are you worried about?" JC calls from his spot in the middle of the bed. The TV remote is balanced on his belly while the latest episode of Top Chef blares from the surround sound speakers. "You've already impressed anyone you need to impress."

"Really?" I poke my head out of the closet and peer across the room at him. "What did Pete say? He wasn't worried about me, was he?"

"I was talking about me."

I roll my eyes and head back into the closet. But he's right. JC is the Managing Partner and clearly has the ear of his uncle. I was hired before I was even offered the job. I know I don't have much to worry about... but I'm still nervous. A new job, a new office, new clients, new boss, new coworkers. Plenty to be nervous about. What if the only thing I like about the change in circumstances is that I work with my fiancé?

And then there's that. JC and I will be far enough away from each other that he won't be up my ass, but how well will we mesh when we're under pressure, when there are a lot of case files on my desk and I haven't eaten in eight hours? How will the rest of the staff feel about JC's fiancée being a Senior Associate?

I sigh, pushing all of those unanswered questions from my mind. I can't help what other people say or think. I'm happy to be moving forward- and to be doing it arm in arm with someone I love. One day, Peter Chasez will retire. If JC takes over the firm, that would put us both in a good position.

But first we have to build the firm. And to do that, I have to show up for my first day. Which means I need to pick something to wear to work. I close my eyes and reach for something, dragging it out of the closet and holding it out.

"What is this?"

"What do you mean what is that?"

"My eyes are closed. What is it?"

"Why are-" JC makes that sound he makes when he thinks I'm crazy. "It's that dark blue dress with the deep v-cut neckline. You wear it with a white thing that unfortunately covers up your amazing rack."

"Do you like me in it?"

"Yeah. Except for the part where I can't look down your dress."

"Is it appropriate for work?"

"Again.....when you cover up your boobs... yeah. It's fine. Wear it."

I open my eyes, give the dress a once over for wrinkles or stains and nod before hanging it on a hook outside the closet door. "What are you wearing?"

"I don't know," he mumbles. "I'll pick something out tomorrow. I'm not as concerned about being appropriate."

Satisfied that I am ready for the day, I climb up onto the bed and snuggle up next to JC. He's warm and manly-scented and the kind of strong that is comforting and soothing. He wraps an arm around me and pulls me close. I feel his heartbeat under my cheek and smile to myself.

"What are you smiling at?"

"How do you know I'm smiling?"

"Mirror." He points toward the mirror that hangs over the dresser. The image of the two of us huddled together in the middle of an enormous bed makes me smile wider. "I'm watching you grin like a fool."

"I was just thinking back to this time last year. You would have never been able to convince me that we'd be living together, working together and engaged."

He chuckles. "I know. It would have sounded like the cruelest joke."

"It would have been that bad for you? Even though you knew you were in love with me?"

"I didn't know, back then. I just knew I couldn't stand to be around you but I couldn't stay away from you."

"Well..." I pause to yawn and draw my arm across his belly. I'm getting sleepier by the second and ready for a good night's rest. "Now you don't have to stay away from me. I'm gonna be around all the time."

"All the time," he repeats. He sounds morose.

I open my eyes and sit up a little so I can see his face. "See, you're worried about it too!"

His face clouds before his lips bend into a smile.  He gives my ass a pat as he reassures me. "I'm not worried, Angie. I'm just... I don't think it hit me till you said it. All the time."

I return to my warm spot on JC's chest and feel it rising and falling with his breaths. "It'll be fine," he says quietly, out of the blue. It sounds like he's talking to himself.

&

I'm not ready for the alarm when it goes off at six am. The sun hasn't risen and it's chilly and I haven't seen this time of day in almost a month... but I'm so excited about this new day that as soon as I realize it's morning and I need to get up, I hop right out of bed and head for the shower.

I quickly scrub down, rinse off and hop out so JC can get in. We'd already agreed that joint showers don't save us time because JC plays grab hands and I spend half the shower fighting him off. At least on work days, we take separate showers.

I pass JC on his way into the bathroom. He doesn't seem awake yet, but he lifts his palm as he brushes by me. I slap him a high five. "Morning," he grumbles, before the door slams shut.

An hour later, the toaster spits out two golden brown slices. I spread a pat of butter around each one and place one on each plate that already has eggs and slices of bacon. The clack of expensive shoes on Spanish tile and the spicy scent of Givenchy cologne announce JC's arrival downstairs.

"Smells good down here."

I turn at the sound of his voice and the swish of an expensive, lined jacket. I'm not quite prepared for the sight of him-tall, slim, clean shaven in a dark blue suit, crisp white dress shirt, blue, tan and white striped tie and navy blue crocodile leather shoes. His hair, still slightly damp, just reaches his shirt collar and is combed back from his forehead in waves. He's breathtaking and standing in the light of sunrise, his deep blue eyes twinkle as he smiles at me.

"You like?" He takes a few steps into the kitchen, walking past me, then turns and walks back before striking a pose.

I giggle at his catwalk and try not to blush. I'm reminded of that day in Junior High when I realized JC was cute. Really cute.  "I like. Very much. You're quite handsome, Mr. Chasez."

"I know." He pulls out a chair at the spot I've set for him and tucks his tie into the inside pocket of his jacket. "Make sure I fix that, so I don't walk into work looking like an idiot. Speaking of..." He checks his watch while simultaneously shoveling a forkful of eggs into his mouth. "We should hit the road in about ten minutes. I don't want to be late."

JC, at least, is done with breakfast in minutes and loading his plate and coffee cup into the dishwasher.  Right behind him, I do the same, then rush upstairs to brush my teeth, grab my purse and my work bag. JC stands at the door with nothing but keys in his hand.

"You don't have anything to drag to work?"

"Nah, I'm not a girl." He smirks as he pulls the door shut behind me. The car is already running and pulled out of the garage. I dump my bags in the backseat and slide into the car beside him. The whole car smells like him.

"You have enough cologne on, you think?"

"Need people to smell me comin'."

He reaches for the seat belt, but before pulling it across his chest, he leans onto the arm rest. I close the space between us and give him a long, loud smooch. "You alright?" He asks, as he snaps himself in and puts the car in reverse.

I nod, clasping my hands together in my lap. My heart is beating out of my chest and I'm about to break a sweat, but I'll never admit that to JC.

"You still seem nervous," he muses, stealing sidelong glances at me. "It's really going to be okay."

"I know, babe. I know. I'm just... it's good to be nervous. You know? Don't want to be too cocky." I swing my head from my view of the Orlando landscape racing by to him in the driver's seat. "You're seriously not nervous."

He shrugs. "Why would I be? I'm the boss." His throaty chuckle and smarmy grin make me smile. And calm down a little. He reaches across the seat and grabs a hand, pulling it to his lips. We ride that way for a while and I realize that I'm not shaking and I'm not about to have a heart attack anymore.

"I'm excited," he admits. "I'm really looking forward to this. I've been thinking about this... planning it forever. Long, late night phone calls and video conferences with my Uncle. Fighting for some things. Fighting against others. Putting everything together. Watching it happen. I'm excited."

"You should be very proud of yourself. You did a good thing."

"We'll see," he says, nodding slightly. I have the tiniest inkling that he might be a little bit nervous.

The drive to the office is a half hour on a good day. A Monday morning is not a good day, so it takes us about forty five minutes to swing into the parking lot. I hadn't been to the building in a week or so and in that time, parking spaces had been assigned. I roll my eyes at the prominent space marked J Chasez, Managing Partner.

"Good God," I murmur as I release my seat belt and pop the door handle.

JC chuckles, then adds, "Don't laugh too hard. You have a spot too." He points to the spot next to him and I have to get out of the car to inspect my reserved parking sign. 

E Blake, Senior Associate. Holy shit.

The parking lot is dotted with cars as we walk to the front door. From the side of the building, Tyler lumbers up the sidewalk, briefcase under his arm while he tightens his tie. His tan slacks and brown shoes look new, but I recognize the dark blue jacket as one of the few pieces he bought when he started taking court cases.

"Morning," he calls out, his grin wide and bright. His cheeks are pink and brown eyes warm. "Uh... starting some new fashion trend with your tie, bro?"

JC glances down, pulls his tie out of his inner pocket and straightens it while glaring at me. "Thanks for having my back, baby."

JC pulls open the heavy glass door already etched with Chasez Law Group in bold white letters. Walking into our new offices feels... magical. It still smells like fresh paint and plastic sheeting and milled wood and new carpet. The floors are shiny and the high ceilings echo the faint sounds of a machine just beginning to chug.

"Good morning, Mr. Chasez."

The receptionist stands as we approach her desk, a chest-high, curved, dark wood structure. She's petite, mid 40's and dressed to the nines with a smart bob haircut. To one side of her desk is the guest seating area and Administrative offices. To the other side are the Associate offices, the stairs leading to the second floor and the hallway to the back of the building which houses the network room and secured storage closets.

"Good morning Patricia." JC stops to lean against the desk. "Everything okay so far?"

"On schedule, like clockwork. There's fresh coffee and bagels in the kitchen. Do you need anything?"

He shakes his head as he pushes off of the desk and walks toward the stairs. Tyler is already headed to his office. The phone rings and Patricia resumes her seat, plugging her earbud back in as she answers a call. "Good morning; Chasez Law Group."

"Like the sound of that," says JC as we climb the stairs together. 

"Like the sound of that," says JC as we climb the stairs together. The second floor is quieter, less busy than the first floor. "Downstairs is all about churning out work," JC said one night when we were discussing his philosophy of CLG. "I want them working cases. I want to hear noise. I don't want it to be a mausoleum, you know? I want to hear meetings and conference calls. I want paralegals running all over the place. I want people to be busy, but not so busy that they can't enjoy what they're doing."

I remember nodding and smiling at the thought and wishing a place like CLG existed when I was clerking. Then I wouldn't have spent so many years languishing at F&R. No matter, I think to myself as JC and I split off at the top of the stairs-him to his office and me to mine. I've moved up to The Big Time.

I love my office. It's the perfect size, in a perfect spot, in a corner of the office that gets a ton of sun, no matter the time of day. I have a pretty view of a flowering tree right outside my window and my office doesn't face the street, so no street noise. I picked out a beautiful black wood desk, computer hutch, credenza and a comfortable leather seating area for meetings away from my desk. A round, low table, two side chairs and a two person loveseat sit in the corner of my office, just waiting to be used. On the wall across from my desk are a large, flat screen TV and two surround sound speakers. On top of the television, a camera is mounted so that I can conduct video conference calls from my office.

The rest of the room is standard-a multiline phone, a leather executive chair, and all of my new toys and accessories, including the name plate that JC had made for me and gave to me at Christmas. I christened my desk with it last week when we came in to receive the furniture shipment and get everything set up.

I drop my bags and sink into my chair. Listen to the silence of my office, marvel at how much room I have. Listen to the faint sounds of conversations down the hall and JC's laugh traveling through the airways.

And smile. I am really here. Really, really here.

"Miss Blake?"

A soft voice pops me out of my reverie and I stand so fast, the chair rolls backward into the credenza. "Uh. Hi! Yes. I'm... I'm Angie Blake."

The short woman with a shoulder length mass of curls smiles as she steps into my office. She has sparkling blue eyes, a wide and welcoming smile and a firm shake, I find out, when she offers her hand. "I'm Kristine. Kris, actually. Your legal secretary. You and the other Senior Associates, as soon as they fill out the floor. I wanted to introduce myself."

"I have a secretary?"

She laughs. "Yes, you do. You'll be far too busy for certain things like preparing briefs, scheduling meetings, making phone calls, transcribing notes, billing clients. That's where I come in. There are two of us. I'm for the Senior Associates. You'll meet Diane a bit later I imagine. She's for the Senior Partners. The uh... Chasez's."

I wonder how they're going to tell all these Chasez's apart. Especially after I become one, too.

"Happy to meet you, Kris. Call me Angie. I'm just getting set up, but I have some cases I brought over from my old firm. I'm guessing they need to be input into some system?"

"I'll take them and make sure they're in the billing system. But..." She dips into the pocket of a pretty pink cardigan and pulls out a slip of paper. "I got a phone call for you this morning. It's what I came to talk to you about. Some new clients and they're... they're downstairs."

My eyes almost pop out of my head. "As in... here?" She nods and I whip around, taking in my bare, sparse office. I hardly look like an attorney right now. "Okay... what's the run down?"

"There are two of them. Neighbors in an older building. The landlord is trying to get tenants to move out so he can tear the building down and build condos. These ladies don't want to move. They've not had heat in the apartment for three days. They heard about you from a former client of yours-you did his landlord case last year. They tracked you down here."

The only case I ever beat JC on is turning out to be my luckiest break ever.

"Okay. Put them in a conference room. I'll be there in a minute." When she leaves, I pull out my purse and dig out my compact. I'm checking my lip gloss when JC walks into my office.

"Hey, baby. You getting settled?"

"Hi. No time. I already have a client." I rifle through my desk for pens, a notepad and a tape recorder.

"What? Already?" I fill him in as I gather the things I need. He laughs when he hears about the referral from my former client. "See what happens when I let you win?"

My eyes roll involuntarily. "Yeah it's not like I didn't win that fair and square or anything. Anyway, I have a meeting right now."

"Mind if I sit in?" I'd been heading out of my office but I stop and turn around at his question, my eyes narrowed in suspicion.  

"Why? You don't think I can handle this case? I thought you weren't going to micromanage me, JC."

"I'm not micromanaging you, Angie. I'm not even your boss. I'm interested in the case. I just -" He pauses, his cheeks developing a slightly pink tinge. "You know what? Nevermind. You're right. Go. Kick some ass baby."

"I thought we talked about no terms of endearment at the office." I'm trying to sound stern but I can't help my smile.

"Sorry. It might take me a year or two to get the hang of that rule."

"You really just want to sit in? Not take over my case?"

He lifts both hands in surrender. "I really just want to sit in."

I know I'm going to regret it, but I give him a cursory nod and gesture him to follow me. "Just eyes, no hands."

"What does that mean?"

"It means keep your mouth shut." Before he can respond, I duck into a conference room and greet my new clients.

Two middle aged ladies are seated in the soft leather chairs around a dark walnut table. They stand as we enter the room, both dressed conservatively in loose slacks and long sleeved sweaters. The taller of the two offers a hand to me across the table.

"I'm Jeannie. This is Ruth." She points to her quiet companion, who bobs her head in a nod and smiles. "We know Carlos Sanchez. Well, his wife, Gloria. She said you really went after that landlord and he backed down."

"Yes, well..."  I blush and glance at JC. "This is Joshua Chasez. He's a Partner here. He just wants to sit in on our conversation today. Is that okay?" Both agree, so I lay out my armful of accessories and press the red button on the tape recorder. "I tape all of my meetings so I-I mean... my assistant can transcribe the notes. It's important to have a record of everything said."

Blank stares greet me from across the table, so I continue. "Okay. Why don't one of you tell me what's going on? Start with where you live, when the problems began, what issues you're dealing with and what you've tried to do to solve the problem so far."

Though the recorder's light flashes to let me know it's working, I take notes anyway. It would be good to have my own set to go over and interject my thoughts about the next steps. Taking turns, Jeannie and Ruth tell me about their two bedroom apartments on the southern end of Orlando; how they'd been living at Breakstone Community Housing for the past twelve years and had never had any problems until recently; how the building had been sold after the economy took a downturn and the new owner had his own ideas of what to do with the land he now owned. He'd tear it down, build expensive condos and sell them to yuppies looking for an affordable place to live.

Which, had Bryson Witherspoon gone about his plan the legal way, would not have been an issue. He hadn't taken the proper legal precautions, ones that would keep him out of court.

And if he didn't turn the heat back on in not only these two, but the remaining units, he would definitely not stay out of jail.

"We have leases that go through the end of next year," Ruth explains, one finger pointedly tapping the table surface. "We signed multi year leases with the previous owner. We didn't sign new leases when Witherspoon Management took over, so our current leases are still legal, right?  He can't cancel those leases just because he wants us out, can he?"

"No, he can't. And we'll make sure he stops trying to force you out before your lease is up. It's illegal to turn off utilities to force a tenant out. Have you spoken to him?"

Jeannie nods vigorously. "Several times. He says he didn't turn it off. It's a problem with the electric company and maybe I didn't pay my bill. I said that my lights were still on and my power was still working so obviously it was a problem with the furnace in the building. The electric company says there's no problem with my bill... with Ruth's bill, that we should be getting heat to our apartments."

She shakes her head. "Nothing. He says it's out of his hands. I'm sure he's turned the heat off. It's nice and toasty in the leasing manager's office. Last night I had to turn on a space heater, but then I was nervous about starting a fire so I kept turning it off until it got too chilly and I'd wake up and turn it on again."

Ruth shivers and I understand why. I recall grumbling about how chilly it was this morning. I imagine having slept all night with no heat in our house and I suppress a shudder of my own.

After several minutes of discussion, it becomes clear that Jeannie and Ruth have exhausted their options with Witherspoon Management, short of moving out of their units, and now are in need of legal assistance. Like most crooked property managers, Bryson is counting on two ladies living off of social security to be without legal resources. He's not counting on Chasez Law Group signing on to fight for them. I'm looking forward to this battle.

"Clearly what needs to happen here, is the guy needs to get a real scare," JC pipes in.

"I agree-"

"I say we send him a letter, a strongly worded letter that spells out the law in no uncertain terms and demands that he complies with it." JC reaches for the file containing the lease that Jeannie and Ruth signed several years prior. He begins to flip through the pages, chewing on his bottom lip as he scans the legalese. "This lease seems valid, on its face," he comments.  "Very straightforward. And you didn't sign a new lease with Witherspoon?"

"No," Ruth answers, with a slow shake to her head. "When he took over we were told our current lease was still in effect; just pay your rent to this new place."

"Okay, well we can definitely help you ladies. What I'll have Miss Blake do is draft that letter to go out today. You'll get a copy of it as well for your files. He'll get-"

"A certain amount of time to answer and comply," I jump in, giving JC a scathing glance. "Say forty-eight hours to turn the heat back on. He'll also be ordered to cease all attempts to intimidate you both into moving out. And if he doesn't, or if his counsel responds, we'll take it from there." I nod, making sure they understand the process.

When I'm sure they do, I stand and extend a hand to them, giving them each a warm and comforting squeeze.  JC nods as they exit the conference room. Kris is waiting to show them down to the front desk.

When everyone is out of earshot, I whirl around and smack JC's upper arm. In no way could I hurt him through layers of thick, lined cotton, but he flinches and whimpers anyway. "What's that for?"

"I told you. No hands! Shut your mouth. You just can't help yourself, can you?"

"Sorry. I got caught up. The next step was obvious-"

"Yes, it was. I was getting to it, before you jumped in. And what was that bullshit about what you'll have me do? I don't work for you, remember? You won't have me do anything." I heave an impatient puff of air and storm out of the conference room. I hear JC following close behind me.

"It would be nice, sweetheart," he says, as he swings my office door closed," if you could defer a little bit of respect to me here. I know you're used to being the Queen Bee over at F&R, but I am a Senior Partner."

"And I'm a Senior Associate. Which means I know what the fuck I am doing. I have a pretty good grasp on the law and a great track record. So while we're asking for respect, it would nice, sweetheart, if I could get some too."

"Look, Angie..."

"Could you just go?" I drop into my office chair and roll myself up to my desk, flipping open the recently acquired file and my pages of notes. "I have things to do and I need Kris to draft this letter to go out today."

JC stands in front of my desk for a few seconds, but when he realizes I'm ignoring him, he stalks out of my office without another word.

It's sort of like old times again, me against JC. Except we're not in a court room. I already see that it's going to be a daily battle between he and I. He wants to assert his authority. He still wants to show me up. I have no interest in his wants. I'm here to do a job.

I spend the afternoon elbow deep in notes and research, then type out a terse letter to Witherspoon Property Management and its owner, Bryson Witherspoon. Once I've turned it over to Kris, I focus my attention on filling out my office so that I look like I actually work there. By the time JC fills my doorway,  keys in hand, my desk is sufficiently covered with notebooks, manila folders, law books and the dock that my laptop plugs into.

JC has managed to stay out of my hair for most of the day. He stopped in to see if I wanted to grab some lunch but Kris and I had already asked the receptionist to order sandwiches. He seemed disappointed as he left my office and I caught a confused glance from Kris.

"We're engaged, in case you didn't know," I told her. "It's not a secret but I hope we'll be able to work together without the office gossiping." Her mouth dropped open, then closed after a few seconds.

"That explains it, then," she said, with a nod. With some prodding, I got her to tell me that JC sat in on her interview and peppered her with some extremely tough questions, both from a legal and a professional ethics standpoint. "After my interview, he walked me out to the front desk and told me that I got the job and that I'd be working for the Senior Associates, one in particular that meant a lot to him. He said he wanted to make sure I was the perfect fit."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, but my heart swelled. "At his old firm, his secretary sucked," I mentioned, giggling. "I don't blame him for wanting to interview you himself, but I'm happy so far."

Kris, the poor girl, let an audible sigh of relief escape her lips before taking another bite of her sandwich and going back to the document we'd been poring over.

"Are you about ready to go?" JC asks, lingering near the doorway. "I'm meeting Nick at Prime. We're gonna hang out while you and Morgan have your girl date."

A glance at my watch tells me we have just under half an hour to get to the other side of town. I start packing up my notes, my bag and my laptop.

"Here. Give me that stuff." JC scowls as he takes my laptop bag from me. "Why do you drag so much stuff to work?"

"Never know what I might need," I answer sweetly, leading him out of my office and downstairs to the first floor. Tyler is waiting, chatting up the receptionist. "Hey Ty! How was your day?"

"Rad," he answers, beaming ear to ear. "Really great. You?"

"Rad covers it pretty well. We're on our way to Prime. You coming?"

He nods. "Jade is working tonight. I'll hang out for a while and spend her dinner break with her. She wants to talk about wedding stuff. And house stuff. And car stuff."

I grin at Tyler's faux exasperation. I know, deep down inside, he could not be happier.  

JC is quiet on the drive through town, but the expression on his face-- the slight smile on his lips, the way he hums along with the music flowing lightly through the speakers, the way he's easing through traffic without honking his horn all tell me that he's pleased with himself.

"You have a good day?" I finally ask, since he's not going to bring up why he looks like he overdosed on Xanax.

"Yup," he answers with a nod.

"Are you mad at me? Cause I yelled at you about butting into my case?"

"Not at all. You were right."

"Wow." My jaw nearly hits my chin and I rear back in complete surprise. "I was right? Are you­--are you a pod-person, JC? Are you an alien in a thousand dollar suit right now?"

He laughs, loud and hard. "No, I am not a pod person. You were right. I'm just... you know, like you said. This is going to take some getting used to."

"Yeah. It is. I mean, it's nice to know you're right down the hall." He agrees with a single nod. "But you're not the enemy. I have to remember that now."

"Right. We are on the same team."

"We are... but I'm also not your opponent. And I'm really, seriously not your underling. I have just as much experience as you do. I know just as much-- or more than you do. And I'm good at what I do. You said it yourself."

"I know..."

"You said you wanted to work with me because you like my passion for this arm of the law. You have to let me work it the way I work it. We're not at Perry."

JC pulls into the lot of the strip mall and comes to a stop at a spot near the front door at Prime. "I know that, too. I just...." He cuts the engine with a press of the ignition button, "I guess I miss it. Practicing law."

I laugh. "Really? You miss it?"

"Yeah. What?"

"Nothing, I just... I don't know I guess it isn't weird to miss it. I just thought you wanted this Senior position so badly."

"I did. But I went to law school and got a law degree and I pay the Florida Bar Association an obscene amount of money every year. I don't do all of that to never get in a courtroom." He pauses and glances over at me, a twinkle in his eye. Then leans over and drops a light, lingering kiss on my lips.

"I'm sorry. About earlier. The... bogarting your case and acting like you're some kind of Junior Associate to me. The truth is you're just as senior as I am. I know you know what you're doing. I didn't mean to insinuate that you don't. It won't happen again."

"I appreciate that. And I will work on showing you respect in the office. You deserve that."

He nods a brief acceptance, kisses me again and pops the door handle. Before stepping out, he glances back to me with a smirk on his lips. His eyebrows giggle and I know something obnoxious is about to come out of his mouth.

 "You can apologize to me later."

The whole gang is at Prime, in our usual spot. Jade is working our section and it looks like the drinks have been flowing for awhile. Even Dr. Nick is there, seated next to Morgan, their hands clasped together like the newlyweds they are.

"Hey everybody. This is a surprise!"

I bend down to brush my cheek against Jackie's and take a seat next to her. JC grabs the seat next to me and settles in, unbuttoning his jacket and ordering a lite beer. "Did you guys get a sitter?" I ask Jackie.

"Sort of. My mom is in town. She's watching the baby." I pause for a moment and search her face for any sign of worry or concern. Jackie and her mother don't have the best relationship. We are her family, and have been for a very long time.

"Okay. That's... new."

She gulps a swallow of margarita and relaxes against the back of the chair. "We started talking again when I told her I was pregnant. She's been to rehab and all that. Clean for over a year." Jackie taps the table with her knuckles. "Knock on wood. Anyway... something about being an adult now and being able to tell her all sorts of things I felt like I could never say before... well, it's changed things."

She shrugs. "She's different, sober. Better. We talk all the time now. She's been here for a week and it's been great. She's leaving tomorrow and she wanted some time with her grandson so..." She clinks her glass against my fresh delivery of martini from Jade. "We're hanging out with friends!"

"Well, good." I sling an arm over her shoulder and give her a squeeze. "It's nice to see you out again."

"We need to plan a Girl's Night In," announces Morgan. "We haven't done one of those in a long time."

I have fond memories of our quarterly Girls Night In, which goes all the way back to when Bridget was single. "Sounds good to me. When? Where?"

"Sounds like the girls are getting into girl things," JC announces, standing. "So we guys are going to go do some guy things." He bends to drop a kiss on my cheek. "Someone make sure my girl gets home?"

JC, Keith, Matt and Nick file out of Prime together, laughing amongst each other at a joke JC tells which is most assuredly crass. "There they go. The men of our dreams."

We all bust into loud, boisterous giggles at that.

"All except Tyler, over there in the corner with his laptop." I nod toward Tyler in a poorly lit corner of the bar, the only booth near a power outlet. Jade passes his table, dropping a hand to his shoulder as she does. "He's so whipped."

Bridget rolls her eyes. "Like JC isn't."

"He is not," I protest, laughing.

"Oh. Girl." Jackie shakes her head. "He's so bad."

"What? He's not, I promise."

"I have one hundred and fifty dollars in my wallet that says he is," argues Morgan. I laugh, thinking about the New Year's Eve party, where he promised to repay everyone for their ticket purchase if they would just come to our house so he wouldn't have to go alone. "He always has been, where you're concerned. Even in high school, if Angie wanted it, Angie got it."

"Well... that is true..." I admit to being pretty spoiled back then. Even before we started dating, JC was all about my happiness. If I liked something, wanted to go somewhere, wanted to do something, his priority was making sure I got it, went there, did it. After we started dating, it was more of the same.

And now... I can't even think about something before he becomes overly concerned with me getting what I want.

"Anyway, we had a better time at your house than we would have had at some stuffy hotel, anyway. We  all decided we're giving it back, but we're going to put it in account to save for your Bachelorette Party."

"Oh...God." I hadn't even thought of that, yet. A wedding has been nowhere near top of mind since the day we got engaged. We don't have a date picked out; we've never talked about venue. I don't have a clue what my colors are. "I'm afraid. I'm very afraid."

"Don't be afraid," Morgan coos, reaching across the table to reassure me with a pat on the arm. "Just know that you two will pay handsomely for the last twenty years of bullshit you've put us through."

"Oh. God." My head sinks toward the wood of the table. My second martini is hitting hard, but that's not what's making me light headed.

&

Jackie pulls into our driveway a little after ten o'clock. I cut myself off after three martinis and finished the night off with water. Still, I'm a little wobbly on my feet as I step out of the car.

"Thanks Jacks. Cool to hear about your mom."

"You're welcome. And thanks. I have my fingers crossed."

The front door opens as I stumble up the sidewalk. JC's grin as he watches me walk through the door makes my eyes roll. "Hey, Drunky. Nice of you to come home."

"It's only ten. And I'm not drunk. I'm tired." And hot. I start undressing as soon as I get into the house, kicking off my shoes and unzipping my dress. "How was guy's night? Is that going to be a new thing, now?"

"Guy's night was fun. We went to look at naked women." I turn on the steps to glare at him but he doesn't notice. "We went to that new cigar bar, just to check it out. Had a couple of drinks. Played darts. Then I came home and waited for Drunky to make her way back here."

"I'm not..." I hear him chuckle as he follows me into the bedroom. "Fuck you, asshole."

"Fuck me? Asshole?"

"Yes. Fuck you. Asshole." But I'm laughing as I repeat myself. "We doin' it tonight or what?"

"Goddamn, you're sexy, woman. Doin' it?"

"Yeah." I peel off my underwear and toss both articles in the closet laundry hamper, then set about removing my jewelry. "Doin' it. Are we?"

He shrugs like he couldn't care less if we have sex. "If you want..."

"I want. I'm going to take off my makeup. Be naked when I come back."

JC snorts, but I hear him shedding his suit through the closed door of the bathroom.

As directed, JC is lying in the middle of the bed, naked, spread eagle and fully erect when I come out of the bathroom. "I took the liberty of getting hard for you. Don't want you to have to work too hard to arouse me, seeing as how you're tired."

"It's the little things," I sigh as I tap the light switch on the wall. The lamps next to the bed give off a soft, romantic glow. I climb up onto the bed and collapse next to JC, reveling in his warmth and strength. I feel every moment of my day melt away, right there next to him. I sigh again, this time inhaling deeply and emptying my lungs.

"That was dramatic."

"That was cleansing. I am happy right now."

He rolls to his side, propping himself on an elbow. "Are you?"

"I am. I really, really am."

"Even though you're about to marry an overbearing asshole?"

"Even though." I giggle.

"Lucky me," he whispers, dipping his head toward mine and capturing my lips in a sweet kiss that turns sultry in seconds. He hums his pleasure and rolls toward me until he is on top. My legs move as if by instinct to wrap around his torso. I'm lost in the kiss, in the rhythm of his heart beat, in the scent of musky, woody cigar smoke in his hair.

"I love you," I whisper, when he releases my lips.

JC doesn't answer with words; he tells me he loves me with a thrust of his hips and a deliciously full feeling and a steady, heady wonderful grind on my clit.

"Oh my God..."

"Mmmph," he mutters, muffled by his face buried in my neck, where he's gently nipping my skin. We move in time, moaning aloud in chorus. My limbs tighten around him; my nipples are at attention and the sensation as they bounce against his chest is delightful. To me, anyway though I am sure he enjoys it as much or more.

"Baby... fuck me. I'm close."

"Mmmmmmmmmmmm," is all I get from him, but he speeds his thrusts. My hips match his rhythm, my back arches on its own and my body begins its own dance, convulsing and gyrating and eating up every second of powerful orgasm. The moment I go over, I feel JC right behind me, spilling into me with spasmic jerks of his hips against mine.

"Goddamn!" He heaves a loud sigh and pulls out, then falls onto the bed next to me.

"Good, Goddamn?"

"Good Goddamn," he repeats, rolling his head to the side so he can grin at me. He glistens with sweat and he's just beginning to catch his breath. I like doing that to him.

"Did you know that you're pussy whipped?"

He chuckles. "Right now? Yes I am."

"No, I mean... tonight. All the girls have informed me that you're whipped. And I'm kind of inclined to agree."

"Honey..." JC finds the strength to sit up, pulling me with him. Our ritual is loud, sweaty sex. And then a shower.

"Like I said...Yes. I am. Let's hit the showers. Long day tomorrow."