My eyes flew open at the sound. It was sudden and strange, out of place. Not frightening, just odd. My head shifted slightly toward the source of the sound—something between a snort and snore, then a deep breath and a yawn. 

JC laid on his side, looking like an angel wrapped up in soft sheets and fluffy blanket. He slept with one hand under his head, the other under the blanket, likely shoved under his armpit or wrapped around his midsection, his mouth closed, in a cute little pout. He was starting to wake up, occasionally sucking in a deep breath through his nose, his eye lids threatening to pop open at any second.

I laid next to him, watching him stretch an arm up, toward the ceiling, yawning, and then brought it back down and back under the sheets, snuggling into the bed and the pillow. His eyes fluttered open and he blinked several times before they settled on mine. I laid on my side, hands under my head, a slow smile crawling across my lips, not even slightly embarrassed that I’d been watching him. I wouldn’t get many more opportunities to watch him sleep before he went home.

He cleared his throat, smacked his lips a time or two and mumbled, his voice deep, “Morning.”

I mumbled the same back to him and we stared at each other for a few minutes before he blinked, those long lashes brushing his cheeks, chuckled and said, “I hate getting up. I’m warm and comfortable.”

“Then don’t,” I said, reaching over the small amount of space that separated us, running a hand down a muscular arm and across his chest. “Stay here and be warm and comfortable. There’s nothing you have to do, nowhere you have to go, right? Relax.”

“Yeah,” he said, yawning. “This bed is comfortable.”

“It’s my favorite place to be,” I said with a wink, and then sat up, throwing the sheet and cover back and swinging my legs to the floor.

His head popped up. “Wait, you’re getting up? Where are you going? I had plans for us.”

I laughed to myself. ‘I bet you did.’  “I’ll be right back. Relax. Here,” I said, tossing the TV remote at him. “Find something to watch.”

I hopped down the stairs, wincing as my feet hit the cool ceramic tile of the kitchen floor. I filled the coffee carafe with water and poured it into the reservoir in the back of the coffee pot, then dug the coffee out of the freezer, laughing to myself that I was ‘just like JC’s mom’. I measured the scoops of the fragrant custom blend, closed the cup, and flipped the switch to turn it on. Someday, I was going to buy myself that shiny Cuisinart machine that I kept staring at, the big fancy coffeemaker with the grinder and the steamer so I could have fresh ground coffee with steamed milk. Until then, my Gevalia pot would have to do, and it was doing fine. Within minutes the gurgle of the coffeemaker and the aroma of piping hot coffee filled the kitchen.

I turned on the oven, dug out a baking sheet, and laid out a tube of croissants to bake while the coffee brewed. The Sunday paper, thick with coupons and sale inserts, lay on the porch, encased in plastic because it had rained a little overnight. The air was muggy—warm and full of moisture—but the day was beautiful. The trees along the street had long since taken on bright reds and oranges, and the fallen leaves coated the sidewalks and the street. I needed to rake the lawn. Maybe I could talk JC into doing it.  

I tucked the paper under one arm, placed the basket of buttery croissants, the thermal carafe of coffee, two mugs, and a small container of cream and sugar onto the serving tray and carefully climbed the stairs. JC was sitting up in bed, cross-legged, watching Meet the Press.  His hair was sticking up in the back, an overnight growth of stubble on his chin and cheek. I smiled when I saw him. I liked him that way. His face brightened when I walked into the room with the heaping tray.

“I really miss Tim Russert,” I said, glancing at the TV. “The show just isn’t the same without him.” I set the tray down in the middle of the bed and walked around to my side to climb back onto the bed.

He reached into the basket and picked out a croissant, breaking it apart and watching the steam rise.  “These smell good. You didn’t have to bring them up. I would have come downstairs.”

“Mmmm,” I moaned, biting into one. “This is my Sunday morning ritual. Croissants or English muffins or toast, coffee and the paper and whatever I feel like watching on TV until I’m ready to get up. Welcome to it.” I crossed my legs and beamed happily in his direction.

“Well thank you,” he said, around a large bite of hot bread. He poured two cups of coffee and tapped his mug against mine, offering me a warm smile before taking a sip. We enjoyed a quiet, comfortable breakfast together, watching random Sunday morning programming and reading the paper. Stuffed full, I piled the pillows up behind me and lounged, reading the comics. JC set the tray on the floor next to the bed and laid next to me, flipping from one bad cable movie to another.

We laid there awhile, relaxing, enjoying the quiet morning. A list of things I could be doing started to pile up in my head: take the tray downstairs, put the leftover croissants away, put the baking sheet in the dishwasher, rake the lawn. But the idea of being next to him, his skin warm and smooth and… there… kept me in the bed, being lazy and enjoying myself. None of those things were going anywhere. I could do them later.

Or tomorrow. When he was gone.

“So,” JC said, suddenly, turning off the TV. “I think we need to do some more getting to know each other. Tell me something about you.” He flipped to his stomach and tucked an arm under him, leaning on the other arm, an inquisitive look about him, and a slight smile on his lips.

I folded the comic pages together and laid them on the table next to the bed. “Tell you something about me,” I mused, suddenly very shy. “Hmmm. Uhm. Well, what do you want to know?”

A shoulder shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t have a list. Just tell me something I don’t know already. What were you like as a kid? Or in high school?”

“Oh,” I said, waving him off. “I was a nerd. Honor Society, Band Geek. All of that.”

He seemed shocked, an eyebrow shooting up toward his hairline. “Band geek? I don’t see it. What did you play?”

“Clarinet. Then, in high school, I took Marching Band and played the trumpet.”

“I bet you were HOT in your little marching band outfit.”

Embarrassed, I blushed but giggled at the memories. “Hot is not the word for it. Those things never fit well. They purposely make them ugly.”

“Oh, please say you have pictures of you in a hot little marching band outfit.”

“I burned them all,” I said, trying to appear serious but a smile and a devilish laugh escaped.

“I bet your mom has some.”

“She might,” I said, nodding. “She might, actually.”

His eyes lowered slightly, and he hesitated before asking his next question. I knew by his hesitation what it was about and I steeled myself. “So,” he said, ”you don’t have to talk about it, if you’ll get upset, but were you born here? In Atlanta?”

I shook my head. “No. No, I wasn’t. I was actually… I was born in Colorado. Regina lived with my parents for a good part of her pregnancy and for a bit after I was born. My father was transferred to Georgia, with his company, and they couldn’t take me with them unless they took Regina. So. That’s how we ended up here.”

“I thought she split, after you were born?”

“Oh, she did. She always came back. And she could always be found. I think they thought she would clean up, you know? In a new city, but no.” I shook my head and met JC’s concerned gaze. “No. She quickly found ways to get into trouble and was gone again. I mean, she was 16 with a 2 year old.”

“Running from responsibility.”

I nodded. “Pretty much. So, I went to school here, graduated high school, left for college. I wasn’t going to come back but Regina…” I couldn’t find words to explain my sense of allegiance to her, so I didn’t try.  

“Hmmmm,” he said, picking flakes of croissant from the folds of my pajama pants. He was a very meticulous person, I noticed. “So, with all the Regina stuff, did you ever get to be a kid?”

“Oh yeah,” I answered, with a wistful smile, remembering the fun days in between the occasional drama. “Yeah. My parents are really awesome people. I had a great childhood—they were very dedicated to me having a normal life. I had a few dramatic moments but my life was good. I’ve got my dad wrapped around my pinky finger.” 

He grinned, his eyes crinkling up in the corner. “Oh, do you, now? Daddy’s girl?”

“Through and through,” I said, proudly, holding up the pinky finger on one hand. “This one’s for you,” I said, giggling, holding up the same finger on the other hand.

He stared at me, a faint smile on his lips. “Careful what you wish for,” he said quietly.

“I’m very careful what I wish for,” I said, returning his stare. “Anything else you want to know?”

“Oh, I’ve got questions forever, but I’ll stop, now. I just want to get to know you better.”

I scooted down in the bed so that I was eye level with him and sidled up next to him. He laid an arm over me, his wrist curling around my waist. One of my arms snaked around his neck, played with the hair just above his neckline.

“Mmmm… I think I like Sunday mornings with you.” He leaned close to me, lightly brushing his lips across mine. Sighing, he pulled back again. “Last one for right now. How the hell did you meet Melissa?”

I laughed, loudly. “College,” I answered. “I uhm… I met her at the Campus Clinic. She was, imagine this, handing out condoms. We started talking, and we had a few friends in common, hit it off. When I moved back to Atlanta, she followed. Speaking of Melissa… we were invited over there to hang out. Drinks, just casual. We don’t have to go, but the invite is out there.”

“We can do that, if you want,” he said dipping his head to the crook of my neck, nipping at my ear. “I’d love to meet the Safe Sex Fairy.”

I groaned quietly, the sensation sending shivers though my body so fast I was almost shaking. “Well, I mean, she doesn’t know who you are, JC.”

He kept nibbling and I kept trembling. He groaned, the vibration rumbling against my neck, “She’ll find out sooner or later, right? So, uhm, how much time do we have before we have to be there?

I laughed, realizing what he was asking—how much more time we would have in bed before we had to get up.  “Well, I thought we’d go to Luckie for dinner. I promised I’d take you, remember? And we can swing by afterward. Just for a few minutes.”

“That works for me,” he said, swinging a leg over me and pulling himself onto me, dragging his hands down my thighs, hooking his hands behind my knees, and wrapping my legs around him. “I’m cool.”

Our lips met in light, airy kisses, unhurried and not probing and passionate. Those were my favorite kind of kisses. “Might you be cool with raking my lawn?”

He pulled back, and gave me a sideways glance and a smirk. “If you have two rakes, I’ll help.” A light kiss brushed across my lips.  “Later,” he said, the look in his eye suddenly changing, his mouth dropping to mine in forceful, possessive kiss, his hips already moving between mine, a hand grabbing at the hem of my shirt.

We could definitely do the raking later.

###

I sat on the front porch step, a mug of cocoa in my hand, watching JC rake the scattered leaves into small piles, and the small piles into larger ones, and the larger ones into even bigger ones. Methodical. Exacting. I imagined that if he was this much of a perfectionist about my lawn, what he must be annoyingly perfect about in other ways.

“I’m supposed to be helping, you know,” I said when he had worked his way back to the patch of grass near me.

“You only have one rake. And I’m now obsessed with your lawn. You just sit there and look pretty.” He huffed, breathing heavy from exertion, his cheeks red and his breath slightly visible in the cooling air. I ducked my head and smiled. He made me so shy, sometimes.

“You’re trying to work your way into another shower, aren’t you?”

“Caught me,” he said with a wink and walking back to the far end of the yard to rake more. His phone buzzed in my hand. Again. It was Dallas. Again.

“Buzzing again,” I called.

“Ignore it,” he said, stabbing at the lawn with the rake.

“Does he want to work? Do you need to go?”

“I don’t know what he wants. I’m busy. I’ll catch him later. Not the last time I’m coming to Atlanta.”

“JC, if you need to work, I understand.” He stopped raking, holding onto the handle and shifting his weight to one foot, staring at me from across the lawn. “He doesn’t call me to work,” he said, his tone curt. “I call him if I need him and I work around his schedule. Dallas wants to go out. I’m busy.”

“Oh,” I said, nodding. “Okay, but you don’t want to go out with him?”

“And miss Luckie and meeting Melissa? Hell no.” He chuckled and grunted, stretching to reach a leaf and bring it to the pile with the rest of the leaves.

“Seriously, JC. This is your last night, here. You have friends here, too. We could go to dinner and then you could go hang out. What?” I asked, shocked at the redness in his face and fire in his eyes as he glanced up from his task.

“Let it go, Serena. If I wanted to hang out with Dallas I would hang out with Dallas. I said I would go with you tonight, I’m going. Okay? Enough.”

“Okay,” I said, irritation riding the edge of my voice. “It was… just a suggestion.”

“You wouldn’t make that suggestion if I was some random guy,” he said, heaping piles of leaves into large green plastic bags. I set down my mug of cocoa and got up to help, holding the bag open for him.

“What do you mean by that, if you were some random guy?”

“If you were dating some random guy,” he said, blowing a puff of air as he dumped a handful of leaves into the bag I held. “We’ll call him Bill. You and Bill hit it off and you guys have plans and his buddy calls and calls for him to go out and he decides that he’ll just skip whatever he said he’d go do with you, to go hang out with his buddy. You’d be pissed at that. Why are you telling me to go, it’ll be okay? It’s not.”

I rolled my eyes at his analogy. It wasn’t the same thing. “You’re not some random guy though. And the buddy that’s calling is someone—you know what? Never mind, then. Sorry I was trying to be thoughtful and let you to go hang with someone you hardly get to see.”

“Fuck, Serena.” He tossed the rake onto the half-bagged pile and stepped close to me, his jaw set and the vein in the side of his neck throbbing. “You don’t know how often I see or talk to Dallas. You don’t know anything about me. I’m here, giving you an opportunity to spend time with me, but you’re too busy showing off how much you think know and it’s pissing me off. It’s been pissing me off.”

I stared up at him, floored by his comments. I wasn’t quite sure who this guy thought he was, but he definitely wasn’t the guy I thought he was.

“Well, thank you, Mr. JC Chasez, for the opportunity to spend time with you,” I shot back sarcastically. “I just feel very lucky to have been chosen for this opportunity. Maybe you should go out with Dallas so you can give some other young lady the same opportunity. Don’t even bother to wait until the second night. You won’t need to.”

I turned and marched toward the house, throwing the screen door open, tossing his phone onto the table in the entryway and climbing the stairs. I bit my lip to keep the tears from welling as I busied myself in the house, from time to time staring out of the window at him in the yard, angrily shoving leaves into bags.

So that was it, then? Was it already over? Six weeks and great sex and him running after me like a dog in heat and then it falls apart? Was I supposed to be grateful he’d inserted himself into my life and asked for the virtually impossible--- for me to pretend he wasn’t who he was?  I wished, at that moment, I had listened to the small voice that told me not to get involved with him, that he was too good to be true and I should stay the hell away from him.  I really, really liked him, but right now, things did not look good.

Through the patio blinds I watched him, slouched in a patio chair, beer in one hand, his phone in the other.  Three bags of leaves sat in a line outside the gate next to the two large forest green garbage bins. I couldn’t believe he’d actually finished raking the lawn. I sighed and walked downstairs to my office, that photo of him and me staring down at me, reminding me of when I dreamt of knowing him, meeting him. Life was so much easier back then. 

I heard the screen door creak open and he called for me. “In my office,” I yelled, making every effort to appear as if I was paying bills. I heard light footsteps down the hall and a shadow darkened the doorway.

He walked to the desk and leaned on a chair, then pulled the chair out and sat.  “So, I’m gonna hit the shower. Dallas is coming to get me.” I nodded, eyes on the screen, leaning on an elbow. I couldn’t be angry; I was the one who suggested it, except we were apparently skipping dinner. He sat silently, staring at nothing for a few minutes, then sighed and stood up and walked back down the hall. I heard footsteps trudging up the stairs, one at a time, then the high pitched whine of water running through the pipes of the house.

I hid in my office, numb, while he dressed and bounded down the steps at the sound of a honk in the driveway.  “I’m out,” he called, down the hall. “I’ll call you later, I guess.” And then he was gone.

I wanted to cry, but didn’t. Not one tear would help the situation, or solve my problem. I was not going to cry over this. It was a mistake, plain and simple and yet again, I was learning my lesson. He would leave the following day and I’d probably never hear from him again.

I dragged myself from the desk and upstairs to shower, almost in tears over his things so randomly placed everywhere in the bedroom and the bathroom. I wondered how long my bedroom, my sheets, my pillows, the air would smell like him and remind me of him. ‘Knock it off,’ I told myself and finished dressing, picked up my purse and headed out to Melissa’s.

Annette threw the door open, squealing and drawing me into a close hug. She was a small woman with a giant personality, a beautiful smile on her face most of the time and infectious laughter bubbling out of her on most occasions. Her red hair was pulled back in a low ponytail and she looked rested and relaxed in khakis and a polo shirt, her company logo embossed in the corner. In her right hand she carried and open bottle of beer and offered me one as she stepped aside to let me in. I helped myself to the usual stash in the refrigerator and walked through the house to the deck to find Melissa. She was the Grill Master, always.  Her eyes lit up as soon as she saw me, then her brow wrinkled and she frowned. She was looking for my mystery guest.

“He went out,” I said simply, leaning against the railing of the wooden deck. I had helped Melissa and Annette build the deck the previous summer. Nights like these were the exact reason we built it—cool but not too cold to grill, the sunset painting a rosy glow on the landscape and skyline.

“Out? Like, out with… friends?” I nodded.  “Oh. And he couldn’t take you with him?”  I shrugged, and had a long swallow of my beer, letting it slide down my throat, and hopefully take away that nagging feeling of sadness and impending loneliness.

“Okay, out with it,” she said, closing the lid on the grill and setting down her utensils. “Tell me what’s up. You don’t look all glowing and happy like you looked yesterday.”

“What are we talking about? Why is Serena glowing?” Annette asked, stepping out onto the deck through the sliding door.

Melissa glanced at me, and whispered, “She doesn’t know.” I nodded that it was okay, as Annette stood next to Melissa. “What’s up? Am I interrupting?”

“No, No. I just…” I tucked a hair behind my ear, not knowing where to start. It was embarrassing now, to tell the story. “When I went to L. A. a bit ago I met someone. Spent the weekend with him. Had a great time. But I couldn’t say anything because he’s a celebrity.”

Annette’s eyes bugged out and her jaw dropped at the frank announcement. “It’s probably not anyone you guys know, or follow, but… it’s JC Chasez.”

“I figured,” Melissa said, nodding. “About a year or so ago, you mentioned him being adopted and that you’d love to talk to him about it. Then you said the same thing that night you came over.”

“Yeah, well. We’re pretty much over now, so I don’t care what you know. Just, you know. I’m kind of embarrassed about it so don’t spread it around.”

“Well, okay but... so what happened between yesterday and you were all dreamy and today you’re… well, what happened?”

I replayed the entire story—the great morning we had, the little talk, him raking my leaves for me, being sweet to me and then when it started to break down. What I said and then what he said, and what I said in response and then walked away. And then how he just left and said he’d call me later.  “What for, to say goodbye?” 

The beer was not helping. I tossed the empty bottle into the recycling bin, then blew out a short, irritated breath and crossed my arms, staring into the bright orange sunset.

“You realize how silly you sound right now, right?” Annette said, over Melissa’s shoulder.

“Yeah, what she said,” Melissa agreed. “It was just -- not even a fight. It just sounds like you guys need to have a good, honest talk. Have ya’ll talked at all about what’s going on between you? Maybe he thinks one thing and you think another?”

“No, we didn’t even get that far. ‘We want to spend more time together’ is as far as we got. So we did. And now we’re done doing that. I guess.”

Melissa rolled her eyes and huffed in frustration. “Serena. Do you want it to be over?”

“Of course not!” I sputtered. “I like him. In spite of … everything. I like him, a lot. It’s not up to me, though. He made it very clear, a couple times since I met him, that he thought I was too caught up in being a fan to really see him for who he is. And maybe I am.”

“Maybe you are. And maybe he’s not giving you enough of a chance to really get to know him and know who he is. This is what, the second weekend ya’ll have spent together? What kind of miracle is he expecting? Maybe neither of you are giving this a real chance. I mean, do you even know what you are, to him? Somewhere between a fuck buddy and a girl friend, I’m guessing?”

Annette nodded, murmuring. “Mmmhmmm. There’s too much going on to be casual about it. Not enough to be serious. I’d be very confused if I were you.”

“And he needs to know that,” Melissa continued, piling on. ”He’s not dealing with LA girls who are used to seeing celebrities day and night, at Starbucks and the mall and the gym and what have you. You don’t have famous friends to act normal around. He’s dealing with Serena Willis, an awesome, giving, caring, loving woman who needs some time to adjust to him. That doesn’t come easy, and don’t be afraid to tell him what you need, to be able to get where he wants you to be. If he wants you to see him as he is, then he needs to return the favor. Don’t you think?”

Melissa tilted her head toward me, reaching out to rub my arm. I shoved my hands in my pockets and paced the small deck as she went back to the meat on the grill, spearing the breasts of chicken and dumping them onto a serving tray.

“I think you should call him,” Annette said. “Just see if he’s calmed down some. I mean, if you like him, and you want to work it out, that is. Just call him. If he’s made up his mind, then he’s made up his mind, but you need to be sure this isn’t just a bump in the road. Don’t give up so easily.”

Maybe they were right. Maybe I wanted something with him so bad that I was afraid to lose it, but obviously not afraid enough to fight for it when it seemed like it was slipping through my fingers. I could manage to do what he was asking—it would take some time, though. 

“You think I should, Mel?”

“I try to do whatever Annette says. She’s a wise woman.” Melissa closed the lid of the grill again, flipping the knob to ‘off’. “Call him. It can’t hurt. You can be proud, if you want. You’ll be alone. What’s that thing Dr Phil says?”

“How’s that workin’ for ya?”

She flashed a sarcastic grin, narrowing her eyes. “No, the other thing. Do you want to be happy, or do you want to be right?”

“Fine,” I said, pushing myself off of the banister I was leaning against. I went into the house, to a back bedroom for some privacy, took a deep, calming breath and dialed. JC picked up on the second ring.

“Hi,” he said, loud music in the background almost drowning out the sounds of talking and laughing. Wherever he was, people were having a great time. The din around him faded and then the sound of a door swinging opened came over the line, and then it was quiet and I could hear him.  “I was gonna call you, in a minute.”

“Beat you to it,” I answered back, and then didn’t know what else to say. The line was quiet--he didn’t say anything either for a few minutes.

“So,” he prodded. “You’re calling to sit on the phone and not saying anything?”

“No. I uhm. I guess I was calling to see, you know, what…” Form a sentence, Serena! “About earlier. I mean… are we done?”

“I don’t really know what to think, Serena. We both said some things. I don’t really know where to go from here, or even if we should go anywhere. You know?”

“Yeah,” I answered, sure the disappointment showed in my voice. “Me either.”

“I don’t want to leave like this, though. I mean, whether or not things keep happening for us is another story but I don’t want to leave with you mad at me. Or you thinking that I think some way about you, and I don’t.”

I couldn’t trust myself to speak but I couldn’t just not say anything. My voice was barely audible as I managed to eek out, “I don’t want you to leave with it like this, either.”

“Well good, we agree on something,” he said, laughing lightly. “Are you at Melissa’s?”

“Yeah. I told her. Everything. She said I should call you.”

“So that’s why you called?”

“Well… no,” I said, nervously wrapping the cord that was used to pull the shades around my finger. ” I wanted to talk to you. I didn’t think you wanted to talk to me.”

“I’m not the one that ran off, Serena.”

“I know, JC, I—“ I sighed, frustrated. “Why don’t you keep reminding me of how this is my fault? Just keep turning the knife.”

“Stop. Just, let’s stop,” he said, his tone low, his voice soft. Diffusing. “That isn’t what I was saying, and if I sound like that’s what I’m saying, I apologize.” I didn’t respond, but I was sure he could hear me sniffling.

“I was going to call you because I told Dallas. Everything. And he said I should call you. But I didn’t know if you wanted to talk to me. So, now we’re even and we’re talking. How can we move past this because…” he paused, and sighed a deep, long breath.

“I don’t want this to be over. I finally met someone I’m really comfortable with. The stuff I did, with you, in LA--I don’t do that. No matter what you believe. Nothing I said to you was a line or a hook or anything. And I didn’t mean to make it sound like you should feel lucky to be around me or anything like that. That came out wrong, and I’m sorry about that.”

“I want to see you,” I said, through tears. “I don’t want to do this over the phone.”

“Well, come see me, then.  We’re at… some bowling alley. 300?” 

“Okay. I’m on my way, in a couple of minutes.”

“Serena—“

“Yeah,” I said, sniffling, glancing around the room for a box of tissues. I found one and wiped my face.

“Drive safe. I can’t wait to see you.”

I wasn’t going to be able to drive if I couldn’t stop crying. “See you in a little bit.”

I composed myself on the long drive from Melissa’s to one of Atlanta’s fancier hang-out spots. 300 Atlanta was where those who liked to be seen hung out. Sunday night was ‘hip hop’ night. You might be bowling next to one of the members of OutKast or standing in line behind TI at the snack bar. At $22 to bowl a frame, it wasn’t a place that my friends and I frequented often. When we did go, we preferred to bowl on Friday night when they turned the lights out and played old school videos on the massive screens above each lane. There was nothing more fun than dancing to Ice Ice Baby while waiting to bowl.

The women of Atlanta had a reputation—to put it nicely, they had a nose for the finer things in life and sought out those who could provide it. To put it rudely, Atlanta women were unofficially famous for their gold digging, and as I entered the double doors to the upscale bowling alley, I could see they were out in droves. Short skirts and low cut sleeveless tops that were not appropriate for the cool weather, long legs prancing about in open toe stiletto heels and there was so much… hair. It seemed every woman in the place was flipping their blonde or brunette or red mane to and fro, giggling lightly, a perma-grin plastered on red, glossy, artificially plump, shellacked lips. ‘Goddesses of Fun and Light,’ I mused. Now I could see how ridiculous it looked in action.

I texted JC as soon as I pulled up. I was sure I could not get past any kind of security to get to him and didn’t want to have to toss out the ‘I know JC’ card. He sent a message back that they were in Club 300, a private section, closed off from the rest of the lanes. I picked my way to the back of the building toward the club, looking around to see if I recognized anyone. There were easily hundreds of people milling around, every lane full of bowlers, the eating area and sitting lounges full as well. I saw the top of JC’s head bouncing as he laughed at something, his hair curling up a little toward the top. I stopped a few feet away, not knowing if I could just walk in there. Then deciding I could, I did.

He glanced up as soon as he saw movement near the door, and his face broke into a smile. A big, beautiful smile that I had missed for the last few hours. I was so happy to see him I almost jumped into his arms as he held them out. I grabbed both hands and brought them around me, wrapping my arms around his neck, burying a hand in his hair, breathing in the scent of him. My heart sighed at the feeling of his arms tightening around me, his chin on my shoulder, his hands rubbing my back, swaying side to side slowly. Eventually he loosened his grip and I let go. He pulled back and looked me in the eye, so intensely I almost stopped breathing. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Me too,” I said, cupping his chin in my hands.

“You still mad at me?”

I shook my head. “No. Are you still mad at me?”

He let out a short breath, glancing around, realizing the room was watching. “I wasn’t—let’s go talk. Come on.” He led me back outside, holding the door open as I walked out and around to the side of the building. Once we were almost concealed in darkness, he stepped close, forcing me against the cold, red brick of the building. In mere seconds his hands were in my hair and his mouth covered mine and a hungry, desperate moan escaped his throat. The sound, the force of the kiss itself made me weak in the knees—the only reason I was still standing was because he was holding me up.

“I thought I lost you,” he mumbled, tipping his head to the left, near my ear.

“I thought you lost me, too,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. He closed his eyes, a brief ‘ha’, escaping. “Seriously. I’m sorry. But, JC we… there’s something going on, here. And I want it, but I need you to cut me a break.”

“I know,” he said, nodding, drawing a corner of his bottom lip into his mouth, nervously chewing on it. “I just--you wouldn’t let it go. I just wanted you to understand that I was willing to keep my plans with you and you were just pushing, pushing, pushing, and I—“

“I know. I know.” I laid a hand on his chest. His heart was beating out of control. “Let’s not rehash it. Let’s move forward. Can we? Do you want to?”

“Yes,” he breathed, his shoulders sagging, seeming to breathe a sigh of relief.

“Okay well… I hate to put conditions on this thing. But can I get a fucking clue as to what’s going on? Either we’re just chill, which is okay, but then don’t freak out when, every once in awhile, I remember you’re a celebrity. It’s gonna happen. Deal with it until I get over it. Or we’re more than just chill, in which case you need to come with some more patience, Mr. Chasez, because I’ve got a lot more irritating habits where that one came from.”

A smile tugged at the edge of his mouth. He looked away, and then back at me. “I did say I wanted to get to know you, huh?”

“Yeah,” I said, nodding. I clutched two handfuls of his shirt and pulled him close to me. “This is me. I didn’t ask for any of this, remember? I didn’t ask you to take me out, I didn’t ask you to spend the weekend with me, to sleep with me, to keep coming back and to want to get to know me and to come out here. Well, I did ask you to come out here. I’ll own up to that.” I bobbed my head side to side and grinned.

“Alright, alright,” he said, giving me a sarcastic eye roll and that mega-watt smile. “I get it. I’m getting what I asked for. I will be patient. Just try, really hard for me, to treat me like a regular guy. Don’t let me get away with shit like breaking plans with you to hang with someone you think is more important. Don’t demean things that you plan for us to do because it’s not star studded, or whatever. If I didn’t want to be here, with you, shopping and raking your damn lawn,” he stopped and chuckled, dropping a kiss on my forehead. “I wouldn’t be. I’d be at home. Where I don’t have to rake.”

“You’re right, one hundred percent, there and I will try. Really hard. I promise.”

“You better,” he said, leaning toward me. I tipped my head up to meet his lips in light, sweet kiss. “As far as what’s going on. With us. Uhm. I don’t know. That’s the best answer I have. It’s… this is good. Right?”

I nodded. “Very. I mean, I don’t want to have the ‘what are we’ talk so soon. I really don’t. I just… part of me needs to know that I’m not wasting my time. Or yours.”

“You’re not,” he said, his arms coming around me, around my shoulders, my head pressed against his chest. “I promise. You’re not. And neither am I.”

After a few stolen, desperate kisses, we walked back around the building and inside to the small, private lounge. JC had left his jacket and he wanted to say goodbye to Dallas and the others gathered there.

“Serena, always nice to see you, baby. You don’t want a drink or anything?” Dallas smelled of marijuana and liquor as he hugged me. I shook my head and touched my cheek to his. “No thanks. Zero tolerance in my county. Can’t get pulled over with JC in my car. Thank you, though. I hope to see you again.”

“For sure, for sure. JC, fly safe, we’ll talk when you come back. Or when I come out. Either way, man.” 

Dallas went back to his conversation and we walked back out. Somewhere deep inside, I laughed at the irony of all those--admittedly gorgeous-- women in suggestive attire with suggestive smiles and suggestive hair flips still trying to snag a rich man, watching me walk out, in jeans—well fitting, really flattering, but jeans nonetheless—and a plain t-shirt and a jacket and my regular hair, not teased and sprayed and flat ironed to hell, with one of music’s most eligible bachelors. I never felt more beautiful doing so.

The drive home was long, and quiet. I wasn’t in a mood for disco, and JC had no radio preference, so I just turned it off. He watched the road and the cars around us and the streetlights and the landmarks until we pulled onto my street, my little home nestled in the cul-de-sac, the garage door sliding open and welcoming the car inside and closing behind us.

“Did you eat?” I asked, dropping my keys on the table in the entryway.

“A little. I could eat if you’re cooking, though.” He took a seat on one of the bar stools at the counter that surrounded the kitchen.

“I could warm up the soup from Friday?” He nodded, his hands tapping a beat on the Formica. “Sorry we didn’t get to go to Luckie.”

He lifted his hands, and dropped them, as if to say ‘don’t worry about it’. “Next time,” he said, quietly.

I warmed two bowls of the spicy soup and sat at the counter next to him. He inhaled it, like hadn’t eaten in days. I took it, and asked if he wanted more. He gave me a shy smile and shrugged. “Guess I’m hungry.”

I warmed him a second bowl, still working on my first when he finished it. “More?”

JC shook his head, leaned back and rubbed his stomach. “Nope, I think I’m good. For food.” He tipped his head toward me and wiggled his eyebrows. I nearly choked on the last of my soup, giggling at his gesture. I hoped he never stopped flirting with me. It was cute and it made me like him even more.

I left our bowls on the counter and dragged him the stairs. This would be his last night in Atlanta, with me. I wanted to make it count.

He started to pull clothing off as soon as we entered the bedroom, but I stopped him. “Wait. You wouldn’t open a present meant for me, would you? Leave my present alone,” I said, grinning at him.

He stopped pulling and held up his hands in surrender. I smiled up at him, a glimmer in my eye and an evil smile on my lips.

“Uh oh,” he said, his eyes lighting up, a sexy grin spreading across his face. “What?”

“Wanna play a game?”

“Sure. What game? Sex?”

I laughed. “Well that’s the goal. It’s getting there that’s the fun part.”  I left him standing in the middle of the room and went into the closet. I brought out a box -- well hidden in case my mother got nosy—and opened it, revealing an adult board game. JC sat on the edge of the bed, curious.  

“Okay, what is that? What do we have to do?”

We read through the rules and figured out how to score points-- a combination of Twenty Questions and Truth or Dare. Right or wrong answers were met with an action on yourself or your partner.  I thought we would only play for a few minutes, get in a sexy, playful mood before we abandoned the game and continued on our own.

I had a lot to learn about JC. He did not stop a game in the middle, even when he was winning by many, many points. He did everything to the fullest, even play this simple, stupid little game, and only won because I was naked, aroused, and very ready for him. He delighted in making me wait.

Finally, he decided he’d teased me enough and set the board down on the floor next to the bed. I breathed a contented sigh as I felt his weight settle on me, his lips on me, his hands roaming my body.  I could feel him, erect, rubbing against me, pulsing as if it had a heartbeat of its own. JC busied himself nipping and biting at one nipple, then another, paying an inordinate amount of attention to them—more teasing. I was going out of my mind.

A hand slid down my body, past my waist, and found a spot between my thighs that made me squeal and groan and grind my hips against him.

“You feel so good,” I panted, barely able to speak, I was breathing so hard. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do when you’re gone. It doesn’t take long to get used to having sex every day.”

He groaned in my ear, the deep growl coming from the bottom of his throat. “Do you know how good you feel to me? So good. So… good. I’m gonna miss being with you. Touching you. Kissing you. I love being with you.” His voice had lowered to a sultry whisper and he gave me a long, hot, wet kiss. “I want to make love to you.”

“I need you to.” His tongue traced from my ear to my collarbone and around to the other side. I nibbled at his shoulder and lightly scratched his back. He shuddered and moaned.  

“Please, please, please, pl--” my voice trailed off as he took me, filling me in a single stroke and began a strong, steady rhythm. “Oh my GOD! Fuck! God, yes…” My back arched and my legs flew around him, drawing him close to me.

“Shit, you feel so good,” he grunted through clenched teeth. “Talk to me. Tell me you want it.”

I smiled slowly, taking his face in my hands and kissing him wildly as he moved above me. He moaned, just barely able to keep up his rhythm. “You want the naughty girl to talk to you? You want her to tell you to fuck her, fuck her hard?”

“Yes. Fuck!”

Sex with JC was like a taste of the best thing you’ve ever eaten. Delicious while you had it, made you think about it when you didn’t and look forward to the next time you could. I craved being with him. I longed for the feeling of his arms around me, being able to run my hands over his strong, broad shoulders, through the hair on his chest, the strength and muscular form of his legs, his sweet, soft lips--my God, his lips-- even the sometimes days worth of growth on his chin and cheek. He knew how to work and worked hard to bring me pleasure, always made sure I had a good time. I wasn’t sure how well I would do when he went home the next day. I wanted to get all I could while I had him with me.

I tightened my legs around him, reaching under his arms and laying my hands on his back. I liked to feel the muscles rippling and twitching with every movement. As he drove me higher I felt myself getting weaker and fought to hang on, my nails digging lightly into his skin. I clutched a tuft of hair and brought his head down to mine, whispering in his ear. “You feel so fucking good! You’ve been thinking about this all day, haven’t you?”

JC whimpered and moved harder, faster. His breathing came in gusts and he was soaked in sweat, as was I. I began to gyrate my hips up and into him. He let out a lustful moan. The headboard bounced against the wall in a loud, steady beat and he moaned loudly along with me. I was so close to the edge I could scream.

And then I did. And clenched and stiffened and writhed beneath him. A sound came from him, somewhere between a scream and a cry.

He rose up onto his knees, grabbed a leg and moved it over so that I could flip onto my stomach. I gladly did so and gasped as he resumed his assault. He held my hips tightly and firmly and moved like a piston, the sounds of wet, sweaty skin smacking against the same.

“Oh my God yeah!” I tossed over my shoulder, pushing back against him.

He dripped sweat on to me. I felt it roll down my back. One hand left my hips to tweak a nipple, which made my hips roll and twitch. “I’m close, mama,” he breathed into my ear, bending over me. “I want you to come for me. I want to hear you. Right now. I’m so close, come with me.”

I grunted something unintelligible, I’m not even sure what I was trying to say. My whole body was tingling, my nerve endings wide open and feeling the rush of my climax washing over me again and again and again. I felt him pulse as he joined me seconds later, blowing out a deep breath, and then a low grunt, eyes closed, one hand clamped onto a breast, the other keeping him from falling over.

Sated, I fell forward, onto the bed and he landed on top of me, sweat dripping everywhere, panting, coughing, laughing, kissing.

“Wow, you’re good.” He rolled over and tried to catch his breath.

“Me? I’m just along for the ride.” My breathing slowly returned to normal.

He rolled his head toward me slowly, as if it took great effort. His smile was wide, his expression peaceful. “It’s a fun ride, huh?”

“The best. My favorite.” He scooted close to me and leaned his head close to mine, close enough to kiss me with a loud smack.

“You want some water? I’m gonna grab some.”

“Please. Thank you. And hit the lights.” He laid in the middle of the bed, sheets twisted, blanket on the floor in a lump, an arm over his face, chest still heaving from the exertion, one leg bent, the other laid out flat, a hand on his taut abdomen. I hated to turn out the lights and not see his beautiful form, but I did as he asked. I guessed it was too dark, because he leaned over and turned one of the bedside lamps on and dimmed it low.

From the kitchen, I brought us cool bottles of water and uncapped one, handing it to him. He sucked it down in seconds, so I gave him my half full bottle and he finished that, too. He laid back down and held out his arm for me to cradle my head on his chest and he could wrap his arms around me.

“JC.”

“Hm,” he grunted.

“Every time we have sex, I think it’s the best I’ve ever had. And then we have even better sex. You can never leave me, ever.”

“Lots more where that came from,” he laughed, his chest rumbling with the sound. “You put me to shame, though. If I let you, I think you could go all night.”

“Give me a few minutes and I’ll be happy to prove you right.”

“You’re on, honey. Definitely on.” I tossed a leg over him, he gave me a few pats on my backside. “Hey, that game was fun, we should play it again.”

“No,” I grumbled, giving his arm a light swat. “I’m never playing that game with you ever again. You’re a tease.”

“That’s the whole point of it, to want it… but you have to wait till the game is over to get it.” He rubbed whatever skin he could get his hands on, the callous on his thumb re-energizing me, adding a log to the fire that was still smoldering. “So sexy. I loved it.”

“It wasn’t fair. I was ready before we started.”

“I know,” he said with a pat. “Impatient little one. You can’t have everything right when you want it.”

I glared up at him, scratching at the hair on his chest. He shivered at the touch. “Oh really now? Somehow, in the near future when I say the same thing to you, I know you will have a problem with it.”

“It would be perfectly fine with me, if you were around to say something like that to me, in the near future.”

“Yeah?” I asked, lifting my head, looking at him, in the eye.  He nodded, slowly. “I’m sorry. About earlier. I’ll try, I really will.”

He cupped my head in his hands and brought my face to him, giving me one of those very, very sweet, beautiful kisses I loved so much. When he pulled back, his eyes found mine and he said, “I’m sorry, too. And I’ll try, too.”

We spent most of the next day lounging around, watching movies, talking, laughing, playing, enjoying the last few moments we had with each other before I would take him to the airport. Before I would  come back to my quiet house to think about the long span of time it would be before I could see him again.

“Moving slow, missy. Come on, I don’t want to miss my flight.”

“I’m coming.” I closed the door to the house and ducked into the car. I hit the button to open the garage door.

“That sounds familiar to me. Where’ve I heard that before? Hmm.” He stuck his tongue out at me. I made a move to bite it and it retreated. I started the car and pulled out of the garage, heading for the airport.

On the drive to the airport, I picked up a call from my boss-- Qwest was ready for another meeting. I was due back in LA two weeks before Christmas for a more in depth presentation. Knowing I’d see him again, definitely, in another few weeks made dropping him at the Delta gate that much easier. I wished him a safe flight, hugged and kissed him and watched him walk past the sliding glass doors toward the security gate.

Atlanta police did not like for cars to linger at the curb, so I hurried back to my car and headed home. I figured I had better start working on perfecting my proposal. It was more important than ever that we land this account—I was falling in love with someone in LA and I wanted to see him as much as possible.