It was a sunny Tuesday in Los Angeles, the afternoon sun beating down on us as we crept down Wilshire Blvd. The pavement had been baked so hot that heat waves were rising into the atmosphere, the clear blue sky held not one cloud, and everyone with a convertible had tops down and music blaring, making for a lot of noise at every stoplight. The beaches were full of women in skimpy bikinis and fat men in board shorts gawking at women in skimpy bikinis and muscle bound men randomly pacing the sand in no shoes and, more importantly, no shirts.

For the working class it was a long day spent toiling while others got to play, and then a mad dash for the car at quitting time, where they were off to be fabulous, to see and be seen, to be a part of what made the Los Angeles social scene so appealing-- loud music, bright smiles, short skirts, the stench of too much cologne and the scent of marijuana giving a slightly herbal tinge to the air.

There were a lot of people on the street for a Tuesday-didn't these people have jobs to go to? How could they afford to be casually strolling Wilshire in khaki shorts and flip flops and trendy shades, appearing as if they hadn't a care in the world? I guessed that people could say the same about me, but I had reason to be out on a random Tuesday afternoon.

Two important tasks sat at the top of the very short list of things to do before I left California: attend the Qwest Kickoff Party (at which we ceremoniously throw the switch that turns the system on-never mind that had been on for weeks) and check out of the hotel. It was my last week in town and JC's wish, his beg, his... well his command, really was that I spend it with him. There were times I said ‘no' to him-- that wasn't about to be one of them. I think I was packed and ready before the suggestion was out of his mouth.

JC steered the car into the parking lot of a low-slung building housed in a nondescript strip mall. Emblazoned across the front in bold, colorful, playful letters was the phrase ‘Pottery Palace'. The dry, bland scent of clay mixed with the pungent fume of paint hit my nose as we walked in. The studio was bigger than it looked from the outside, and was more popular than I imagined it to be, especially on a Tuesday afternoon. This was JC's plan for the day, part of his mantra for the week-Make Memories- so as I sat in front of a grey, dull slab of clay, I tried to think of something that I could make him that would remind him of me.

An hour later, I still had an ugly slab, a colorless, shapeless lump on the table. I pouted and stared at it, willing it to form itself into something classy and sentimental but it defied me and just sat there. Across the room, JC was learning how to use the pottery wheel, to control the speed with the lever at his feet while manipulating the clay in his hands. He was so artistic it made me sick, picking up techniques and complicated steps right off the bat. His clay wasn't rebellious. I pushed at the lump with a sigh, and crossed the room to watch him.

He crinkled his nose up at me as I stood, watching his hands move over the clay as it spun. "It's kind of slimy."

"You want to be careful you don't go too fast, or the clay will go flying. Too slow and won't form for you. That's a very good speed right there. You should be able to just run your fingers up..." The instructor guided his hands up over the shapeless mound and a cylinder appeared. "Excellent job!"

He was concentrating, taking it all very seriously, but he was proud, his eyes bugged out and his smile wide and playful. "Oh, wow," he said, amazed at himself. His face held a joy, a child-like, boyish, care-free joy that I loved to see, when it showed up. That wasn't very often. "That's so awesome."

"Keep going," the instructor said, encouraging him with a pat on the shoulder and moved onto another student with a rebellious lump. JC took his time, painstakingly forming a tall, thin object that turned out to be a vase. The rounded lip arched outward and the body gently sloped to a tapered edge. He'd even made a small pedestal base. Once finished, he stepped back and admired it and then turned to look at me.

"Well..." He gestured toward the wheel with a grimy finger and grinned. "Honey, what do you think?"

"I think I hate you," I said, pouting again, eyeing my pile of clay drying out where I left it. "You've never done this before?"

He shook his head, circling it, looking so proud. "Nope. Cool, huh?"

"It's beautiful." It was, I realized, as I stood and admired it, a beautiful piece. I imagined it shiny with paint and glaze, sitting on his kitchen table, full of fresh, bright flowers. "You should get it in line for the kiln so it can be fired."

He shrugged, a little shy. "I was thinking you could paint it. You know, when you come back. Then we can say we both made it."

"Well I wasn't going to come back but now that I have this to paint, I mean, I'll definitely be back."

He made claws with his fingers, caked with wet, muddy goop, and threatened to touch me with them. He wouldn't dare, and I knew it. I didn't even flinch. "Smart ass," he said, eventually.

The instructor, making her rounds, came to check on JC. She squealed and then clapped, circling just as he'd done moments before. "Oh my," she cooed. "This is brilliant! This is going to look great once it's fired and glazed." Without even asking, she picked it up and ooh'd and ahh'd over it as she walked off toward the kiln.

JC bent to wash his hands in the sink and glanced over at my pile of clay. "So that didn't work out for you?"

I shook my head, daring him to laugh. "We'll let you be the artistic one, ‘kay honey?"

"Well, I mean..." He paused as he tore a length of crisp brown paper from the roll of towels above the sink, rubbing his hands dry. "I wanted it to be something we could do together."

"I know. And we were. Until you became some kind of prodigy star pupil." I rolled my eyes, looping the strap of my cross body bag over my head. "It's okay. Just remember the little people when you're sculpting for the masses."

We left the JC's work of art at the studio to sit in the hot, hot oven and bake, and then wait for some undetermined point in the future, when we would return to paint it.

Undetermined being the operative word, since I would fly back to Atlanta the following Monday, and I already had a meeting on Tuesday to meet with and discuss StarTel's next client. I couldn't believe I wasn't going to be able to relax and breathe and get my bearings back, but according to Gary, we couldn't rest on our laurels, so it was out of the fire, straight back to the frying pan. My last week in LA was actually my break and my rest-if JC didn't tire me out with his plan to do all of the things we said we'd do and never got around to doing. We had a list of movies we meant to see, the classes we meant to take, walks on the beach at sunset to have, and set aside lots of time to stare at each other, to squeeze every last second of time I had left.

The following day, JC had meetings and I had last minute items to take care of, but I was instructed to be ready to leave at 11am. No earlier, no later and wear something comfortable that I could move in. Following directions, I was waiting at the bottom of the stairs in loose yoga pants, an oversized t-shirt and sneakers. He hopped down the stairs a few minutes after 11, in sweats and a t-shirt, a small smile on his lips and a sparkle in his eye as he passed me.

I followed him out to the garage and slipped into the passenger seat, dropping my bag on the seat behind me. "I have the distinct feeling that I should be afraid of that look on your face."

He ignored my wary expression and backed out of the garage and out into the street. Straightening the wheel, he glanced over at me and wiggled his eyebrows, then unclipped his shades from the visor and put them on. "No need to be afraid. You'll have fun. You already kind of know what you're doing."

I couldn't imagine what he meant, though I wracked my brain during the entire 20 minute car ride. It wasn't until we pulled into the Millennium Dance Complex that I started to get an idea of what was in store for me. I hadn't seen a gym in months-he surely wasn't expecting me to dance?

"Let's go, mama. Time to shake those hips." JC stepped out of the car, energetic and bouncy and grinning like a fool. I got out slowly, sort of dreading walking into the building, coming around the front of the car. He laid an arm across my shoulder and guided me toward the door. Try as I might, I wasn't getting out of this-whatever it was. I heaved a sigh and steeled myself.

The studio was bright and clean, the wood floors of the spacious room gleaming with a high shine. Floor to ceiling mirrors lined every wall except the bay of windows on one side, through which the bright sun of the day was shining through, unfiltered. Small groupings of people milled about the room in various stages of undress-skimpy tops, clingy, skintight stretch pants and short shorts--some talking, some stretching, some sitting along the wall, silent and waiting.

An athletic woman, blonde and curvy but muscular, too was at the front of the room, wearing a headset and pushing buttons on the sound system. Her freckled forehead was creased with a wrinkle as she pressed random buttons, increasingly frustrated, it seemed.

JC chuckled and sidled up next to her, elbowing her. "Did you turn it on?"

Startled, she jumped and then seemed relieved to find him standing next to her, laying a hand on her generous chest and making a show out of breathing hard. The crease in her forehead disappeared and her frown was replaced with a friendly, flirtatious smile.

"Shut up," she said returning his elbow jab. "I think it's on, anyway. Oh-" She pressed a button and the sound system roared to life, a peppy tune pouring out of the speakers mounted high in each corner of the room. "Whatever," she said to JC, with a shrug, then adjusted her headset as people moved away from their groups and pushed against the wall to stand, lining up in predetermined spots.

"Okay everyone, let's get into places." Her voice was gritty, gravelly, something I imagined JC found sexy. I had my eye on her.

She paced, swinging her arms back and forth. "For our new class members, my name is Tina. This class moves pretty fast, but don't be afraid. We go over and over and over new steps, so fall in when you get it. Do your best to keep up, but don't kill yourself. There's no test, so just have fun. Okay?" Tina paid particular attention to me, hiding behind JC a little, clutching my bag and not knowing what was going on.

"Put that down," JC whispered, gesturing to my bag and pointing to a spot along the wall. I ran to the edge of the room, dropped my bag, and fell into place beside JC as he started to stretch and then work through a choreographed warm up routine.

"Great, great. We're warmed up. Let's get really moving, huh?"

Tina turned to the sound system and switched out the CD, turning the volume up loud. A horn heavy, full, Latin tune filled the room. She began to call out moves I didn't know, in combinations and formations I didn't know. I was getting frustrated stumbling around, trying to follow along without knowing what a ‘downbeat' was or where was the ‘clave' that I should be listening for. JC wasn't helping me and Tina was moving along from combination to combination, nodding her head to the beat and calling out steps and instructions.

"Relax, honey," I heard behind me, and felt warm hands on my hips and a body up close to me. "This is supposed to be fun. You're all tense."

I shot him a dirty look over my shoulder, watching everyone else out of the corner of my eye move fluidly and gracefully, kicking and stepping and turning and adding of flair. I didn't know when to kick and when to step and I couldn't pick up the rhythm.

"Here, let me show you. I forgot you're awful at this," he teased, stepping beside me and taking a hand in his. "Now do what I do, don't worry about anyone else. Legs apart-- now bring your left leg up and kick, and back down and now your right leg up and kick and back down, now kick, kick, step back, and then to the front. And now, same thing but to the side."

Painstaking and slow, I walked through the steps with a patient JC. I was embarrassed at not being able to get it, but feeling more confident the more times we went through it. By the time Tina was ready to build on the combination, I had it down pat and was moving with the rest of the class. For the first time since we walked through the door, I was smiling and laughing and moving easily. Breathing hard and sweating buckets in the hot, sauna- like room, but having more fun than I'd had in months.

We built upon the same combination of steps, adding some turns and even a small flip, which JC loved. He said he liked having someone to throw around. If I was being honest, I liked being shown off, especially in front of someone who was so obviously into him. It wasn't that I was jealous, and I trusted him-I just didn't trust anyone else.

Before I knew it, the class was over and I was a little sad, trotting to the edge of the room to pick up my bag.

"Where did you pick this one up?" Tina's gritty voice was low, but still audible as she stood at the front of the room, talking to JC, waving randomly at people walking past.

"Airport," I heard him say, laughing. "We've uhm, been together awhile. She's been here working on a long term project, but heading back to Atlanta next week, so I'll have some time."

"So, that's why you've been skipping my classes." She tapped him, playfully, on the arm. "Well you look like you haven't minded being occupied," she said.

"No, well-no I haven't minded, really. I kind of need to get back into my usual groove, though. You know?"

Back into his usual groove? What did that mean?

If I decided to stay at the hotel instead of driving out to the house, he pouted until I changed my mind. When I left every Sunday night to head back downtown, he acted like I was leaving the state, instead of going a few miles away-and he was now longing to get back to his usual groove? Maybe he was looking forward to my leaving more than he was letting on. It wasn't like I wasn't happy to get back to my house and my car and my family, but that meant leaving someone I loved on the opposite coast.

Oh well, I told myself. I'm not going to get all emotional about leaving, either. After all, I would be back. Sometime.

I was quiet through dinner, but JC hardly noticed, rambling and babbling about dance classes and moves, throwing in a compliment or two about how quickly I picked up the steps. I smiled and nodded at the appropriate times, tuning him in and out.

"Excuse me," I said, grabbing at the waiter as he rushed by. He stopped and doubled back, recognizing JC and giving him a small grin. "Could I get a glass of wine, please? I don't care what it is, just make it good."

JC watched the waiter shuffle away and shifted his gaze to me, quietly staring, watching me fold the cloth napkin, push my half empty plate away, and set the napkin next to it. I settled back in my chair and lifted my eyes to meet his. "Go on," I said, folding my hands in my lap.

"Are you alright?"

"Yep," I answered, shorter and more curt than I intended, but didn't correct myself.

"You don't seem alright."

"I'm not getting sloshed, JC. I'm having one glass of wine. Get off my ass."

JC blinked once and then again, ran his tongue along his teeth and picked up his napkin, laying it on the table. "Can we... do you want to talk?"

"About what?"

He shook his head a little, his eyebrows almost reaching his hairline. "About why you need to have a drink right now, maybe?"

"I don't need to have a drink. I want a glass of wine. I'm having one." Relenting, I let a smirk tease at the corners of my mouth. "That okay with you, sir?"

He caught it, and tapped at my foot with his, smiling a little. "Yeah, it's fine. It's just, you've been weird since we left the dance class. What? Were you mad that I didn't tell you we were going there? I was trying to surprise you with something fun."

"I know, JC-" I paused while the waiter set a beautiful goblet full of a berry colored liquid in front of me. I nodded at him and he shuffled away again. "I know," I continued. "I just. I felt stupid, out there. And I felt stupid yesterday, at the pottery studio. It's cool to watch you like, make a vase and dance these steps so easily, and I know you wanted to share something with me and I love you for that. I just... I'm not artistic, like that. I'm not you."

He contemplated his words for a minute, scratching the hairs at the back of his neck. "I don't want you to be me," he blurted out, finally. "You think you feel stupid, how do you think I feel? I've been listening to technical jargon for like six months now. I feel like an idiot."

"You said you understood what I do. And you manage to have conversations about it whenever I talk about work."

"We don't have conversations. You bitch and I nod and then we talk about something else."

I took a rather large sip of wine, letting it coat my throat, hoping I wouldn't choke on it as it seemed to be closing up on me. I felt a shiver rush through me, but I wasn't cold. I paled, watching my skin turn from olive to something pasty.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly. "I didn't realize I was making you feel stupid. And I guess last weekend was a lot about me and I could have been more patient at the pottery place. And I did have fun, today. Eventually."

"Good. I wanted you to. I just wanted to share something with you that you would remember, when you went home."

"Oh, I will," I said, taking another sip of wine, savoring the sweet flavor. "While you're getting back into your groove, I'll be at home, remembering that vase I have to come back here and paint."

JC's eyes slammed shut for a millisecond, and I knew that he knew he was caught. "You heard that."

"I did."

"She was asking if I was coming back to class. I was going once a week until you were here all the time."

I shrugged, now cradling the goblet in both hands, feeling a little warm and a little loose. "I don't care why you said it. I just care that you said it. I feel like you can't wait until I leave so you can get back to busty- flirty- sexy- voice Tina."

JC opened his mouth to argue but stopped, letting himself smile, a big, wide grin. "Are you....are you jealous?"

I set the goblet down in front of me and dropped my hands to my lap, glaring at him. "No. I'm not jealous. Not of her, anyway. But she sure had the doe eyes and friendly smiles and I didn't like her ‘where'd you pick this one up' commentary."

He let out a laugh, a chesty guffaw and lightly clapped his hands together, falling back against his chair. "You are jealous. Oh my God. You're so cute."

"You know what, JC? I'm not. Really-- this isn't about her. This is about you, and me feeling like you want me to leave."

"I don't, you know," he said, serious again. "I'd be cool with you staying as long as you want. But you have to go, so." He shrugged, reaching for the small leather case that held the bill. "I'm sorry if I seem like an asshole about it though. I don't mean to be."

I said nothing, but pushed my goblet away and slid lower in my seat. "I'm sorry I'm an asshole, too."

"Hey. Shit happens." He slid a card into the provided slot and handed it to the waiter as he walked by. "I just paid $12 for that glass of wine. I don't care if I have to carry you out of here. You are finishing that."

###

The next evening, two parties were going on at the same time. One of them was fun. The other was stuffy. I was at the stuffy one. JC attended the final taping of MTV's Dance Show and went directly to the wrap party. From his sparse and increasingly misspelled texts, it was my guess that he was having a great time. I seethed with jealousy, finally turning the damned blackberry off and dropping it into my evening bag.

The room was packed full of mostly Qwest staff. Some people I'd worked with closely for the past few months. Some I hadn't seen since the first pitch meeting so long ago. Some I'd never met but wasn't about to introduce myself. Not when I was on the way out. I was at the party because it would have been conspicuous if I skipped it, though the ceremonial ‘throwing of the switch' had been tabled.

I mostly held up a wall, and clung to a small throng of developers near the punch bowl, glancing around the room and inanely nodding at their technical chatter. A tall, silver haired man in a crisp suit blacker than midnight was striding confidently across the room, headed straight for me. I recognized him right away- James Barker, President and CEO of Qwest.

What the hell does he want with me? I panicked, wondering if I still had time to pretend I didn't see him working his way toward me, and run.

"Serena!" he called out. I guessed I didn't.

My head lifted, just a hair above everyone else and glanced around. "Serena," he called again. He was right in front of me. It would have been rude to ignore him. Besides, who ignores James Barker? "Walk with me, talk with me."

He beckoned me with a finger and I set down my drink to follow him. We left the loud banquet room and set off down the quiet hallway, our footsteps padded by plush carpet. We walked slowly, as if he hadn't a care in the world. I had no idea Barker even knew my name, let alone what I looked like. I wondered what he wanted with me-the thought had me insanely curious and more than a little nervous.

"So, Martin tells me you've been doing a superb job with this team." Martin was a Project Manager and a complete pain in my ass. He really had Qwest's best interests at heart and served them well. Very well.

"He's really impressed," James continued. "Came in a little over budget, but that's to be expected. These projects normally hemorrhage money."

"Well thank you, sir. Mr. Barker. Martin was pretty easy to work with." That was a lie, but what was I supposed to say? I wouldn't miss Martin, with his nitpicking unimportant details and endless requests to rewrite code and push it again, well after the deadline to do such things had passed.

"Right. Great. Listen, uhm..." We rounded a corner, walking the quiet halls of the fancy hotel. He slipped a hand into the pocket of his slacks, and rubbed his salt and pepper goatee. "Tell me, how is StarTel treating you out there in Atlanta?"

"They do alright," I answered, slowly. "This project is one of the reasons I went to work for them. You know, to get the chance to do something like this. Why?"

"Well, you're a bit of a legend, if you hadn't heard," he said with a chuckle. I hadn't, but I was intrigued.

I stopped walking and turned to face him, my head tilted. "I don't understand."

"Serena, I don't think it's any secret that I wasn't 100% on board with this project, but I must say our weekly progress meetings with Martin have completely won me over. This project has enormous revenue potential for us." He gestured for us to continue walking and I followed his lead.

"You know, if you have any designs on doing more of the same, except here in LA, I could definitely find something for you. I mean, I know you've probably got a non-compete clause but give it some thought. I've got a few friends in manufacturing that could use a sharp tack like you."

We made our way back around to the banquet room, the music getting louder the closer we came. He reached into his interior jacket pocket and pulled out a silver business card case, flipped out one card and handed it to me.

"I'm serious," he said, as I took it. "Very. Use it." James slid the case back into his pocket and wiggled his shoulders to the Muzak- like tunes pumping out of the speakers, disappearing again into the crowd.

I toyed with the card in my hands, staring at it, looking around, and wondering if anyone had seen him give it to me. It wouldn't be good if word got back to StarTel that I was being wooed away. I slid the card into my evening bag, took a glance at the full room, decided they wouldn't miss me, and slipped away. I had some thinking to do.

The driveway and street outside the house was packed with cars, up one side and down the other. I squeezed into a spot a block and a half away and teetered on my heels up the street. By the time I made it to the house, I'd taken my shoes off and limped my way inside. JC had, apparently, brought the party home.

"Hey, Serena. What's up?"

I nodded at a red-faced Tyler as I passed through the foyer. "Nothing much. Just got home. Here. Whatever. Where's he at?"

"Patio," he said, nodding his head in the direction of the sliding glass doors off of the living room.

"I'm going upstairs. If you see him, tell him I'm up there."

"You're not gonna party? Drinks are flowing, music is bumpin', everyone's having a good time." He bumped my arm with his elbow, grinning down at me, his dimples deeply indenting his cheeks. "Come on, Serena. Relax, the project is done. Celebrate."

"Alright, Counselor. Lay off. I might come back down later. I just need some time. Tell JC I'll be upstairs, okay?" I weaved my way through the small crowd of people before he could bring up another argument. He was really going to make an excellent Attorney, someday.

I climbed the stairs and entered the bedroom, closing the door behind me and blocking out the noise. I tossed my shoes toward the open suitcase on the floor outside of the closet, then unzipped myself and shimmied out of my dress, dropping it on top of my shoes. I closed myself in the bathroom and turned on the shower. I would normally avoid thinking in the shower, since it was when things started to roll into my memory and the forefront of my mind. Things I didn't always want to remember, things I didn't always want on my mind.

That night, I wanted the thoughts. I wanted the musings, the ideas. I wanted them to creep into my subconscious and let me talk myself into something I hadn't even thought of. Or talk me out of something I was already considering. I stood in the shower, under the pounding spray, for a long while. Thinking. Deciding, and then deciding again, and the finally deciding not to decide. This wasn't something I could just jump into. It would take some thought. And some planning. It was a terrible idea.

Except terrible ideas had brought me to where I was, standing in JC's shower, staying at JC's house, loving him and being loved by him. Terrible ideas were really good for me.

When the hot water finally ran out, I turned off the shower and got out, wrapped a towel around myself and set about the slow, tedious process of detangling the waves of thick hair, then pulling it into a high ponytail. I stepped out of the steamy room, fully expecting to still be alone, so I was surprised to find JC stretched out on the bed, still in his slacks and dress shirt. His tie was flung haphazardly on the seat of a chair in the corner of the room and he had the TV on, the volume low.

"Hey. What are you doing up here?"

He pressed a button on the remote and the TV snapped off. "I live here, remember? You didn't save me any hot water, did you?"

"No. Sorry. I thought you'd still be partying. Is everyone gone?"

"No. I heard you were home so I came up to talk to you but you were in the middle of the longest shower, ever."

I rolled my eyes at him before bending to dig my toiletry bag out of the suitcase. "You want me to pay the water bill?"

"No, I'm just saying. Long shower." He sat up then, and scooted to the edge of the bed. "Lotion time?"

I nodded, handing him the bottle. It had become sort of his unofficial job, if he was around at night. I did it faster, but no one gave a rubdown better than JC. It was something I had started looking forward to, and was high on the list of things I'd miss the most when I was gone.

He started at my feet, as usual, after I'd unwrapped the towel and laid down in the center of the bed, on my stomach. He worked his way up, his breathing changing with the effort as he rubbed the cream into my skin, long, soothing strokes, squeezing and kneading as he went.

"You alright, honey?"

"Yeah," I mumbled. "Feels great, you're so good at that."

"No I mean. Are you okay? You're not still mad at me, about yesterday?"

"No." I raised my head and glanced over my shoulder, but he was bent too far over me, working his fingers into the small of my back and poking his way up. "No, I'm not. Still mad."

"Okay. What's wrong, then? You seem tense, up in your shoulders, here."

"I'm just. You know. Leaving. Hmph." I could tell him. Just so easily, it was on the tip of my tongue that I wanted to move to LA, but I couldn't. I didn't. I needed more time with it, to make sure I wasn't riding some kind of emotional wave and making a rash decision. And being stupid and acting crazy. I tended to do that, with him.

"Yeah, there's that. You want to talk about it?"

"No. I don't. I don't even want to say goodbye, just kiss me and put me on the plane and walk away. Serious." He had finished, and was just sitting next to me, rubbing the last of the lotion into his own hands. He tossed the bottle back into the suitcase and reached behind him to pull at my pony tail.

"I'm not gonna do that. In fact, I'm planning a little something for you, Saturday night." My shoulders sagged and my eyes closed and I tried to stop the swell from coming. Emotion, tears, all of it. I wanted no part of it.

"JC...I-you're sweet. But I-"

"I know, I know. You don't want a big deal. It won't be one. We're just gonna go out, one last time. Have a good time, party it up. It'll be fun, a good way to end our week of making memories. Right?" I felt him shift on the bed and soft lips land on my back and travel up to my shoulders, to my neck, to my cheek, to the corner of my mouth, which wanted to bend into a smile. "Please?"

"Fine. But none of that sappy shit, no speeches and gifts. We're partying. Right?

"Right. Roll over, here. So I can see your face." I obeyed, turning over, watching the expression on his face go from plain to appreciative as his eyes roamed my body. He laid down next to me and heaved a sigh.

"Oh, God." I smacked my forehead and rolled to my side, so I could see him. "I'm so fucking self centered. I didn't even ask about the show, tonight. How was it? Did the girls win?"

He rolled his eyes and laughed. "What did I tell you? Of course not."

"You are... are you kidding me? You said they were good!"

"They are. They really are, but you know. Producers. I told you. You owe me $10."

I snorted with laughter. MTV had been running a marathon of the show all week. Since I hadn't seen many episodes, we sat and watched them all, one day. I bet him $10 that the all-female team would win the title. He told me I shouldn't bet against someone who was actually a part of the show, but I was insistent, so we made the bet.

"$10, sure. Come and get it."

"I am. Soon as I take a shower." With that he rolled over and pushed himself up off of the bed, stumbling to the bathroom, removing clothes as he went. "Hope I have some damn hot water in here. If not, I'm coming to get that, too." The door slammed behind him and I heard the shower turn on.

###

Glum, I stared at the calendar on my blackberry, and then pressed the button to close the program and make it go away. Staring at it wasn't making time go any slower. It was still marching ahead, second by precious second, counting down my time with JC, with LA, with this short slice of heaven I'd come to love. Soon it would be back to the usual grind. Sooner than I wanted to get back to it. It was Saturday-after that night, I had one more day.

It seemed like JC was inviting everyone he knew to come out and party. I hated to be a downer but I really didn't feel like being the center of attention and being out until the wee hours of the morning. He was thoughtful enough to arrange something for me though, so I decided to paste on a smile and pretend to have a good time and maybe, after all that pretending, I would actually have a good time.

10pm was the magic time, West Hollywood's Villa Lounge was the place. JC was looking particularly handsome in dark jeans a dress shirt and a v-neck sweater. His signature spicy scent filled the car as we picked our way through traffic, then waited for the valet. We headed upstairs as soon as we made it past the door, where a group of people were already spread about the couches that lined the perimeter of the room. A heavy dance beat thumped through the speakers on the main floor below-loud enough to hear, but the rooms upstairs were for gathering and not for dancing, so there were no speakers, and no music to try to talk over. Just the din of people already half drunk, talking loudly, girls squealing at each other like they hadn't seen one another in months. I knew for a fact some of them had just seen each other a few weeks ago at the house. Some of them, I thought, tried too hard to be LA socialites, with the air kisses and the ‘darling' and the wide smiles. I sighed, inwardly, then smiled at JC as he headed off to the bar.

I made myself comfortable on a pristine white couch and shrugged out of my jacket, laying it across my lap and taking in the room. Minutes later, JC returned with two brown bottles, talking over his shoulder to someone who was following him across the room, and then fell in step beside him.

My heart skipped a beat. Skipped a few beats, actually as I watched, almost in slow motion, a shorter, well-built muscular man with choppy spiked blonde hair and the whitest teeth ever approach me, smiling and laughing with JC like they were old friends. Because they were old friends.

It had been so long since I'd met JC, I hardly remembered to fawn over his history with *Nsync anymore. Every once in awhile, I heard a song on the radio from them, or a song would come up on the iPod and I would laugh and reminisce, but the JC I had come to know was bigger and greater and so much more than his time with the band. I had subconsciously kind of forgotten, until now.

"Hey, look who I found." JC flashed a megawatt smile at me. I stood and smiled back, more than a little nervous. "Lance, this is her. I was just telling him about you, honey." He handed me a bottle, ice cold. I gripped it with both hands, afraid I would drop it.

"Hi, great to meet you. Again. I met you before. A long time ago. You wouldn't remember." Shut up, Serena. Just stop talking. I stood, nodding like a fool, looking from Lance to JC and back to Lance again.

"Yeah, I heard that," he said, nodding back, one hand around the neck of a beer bottle, the other shoved into his pocket. "It's cool that you could, you know, meet him again. And forgive the hair. Because, wow."

"I keep telling him I liked his hair, back then. But I liked Chris' braids too, though so maybe my opinion doesn't count?"

JC laughed and stepped closer, sliding an arm around my waist. "You never told me that. I think we need to evaluate this situation."

"So, I hear you're leaving in a couple of days, sorry I didn't get a chance to meet you before. I hope you'll be back. Gotta keep this guy in line."

Oh. I would definitely be back. Definitely.

JC looked on proudly as I made small talk with Lance, interjecting now and then with a laugh or a joke or a story. Lance had to leave after a few minutes and then it was just he and I, relaxing on the long row of couches along the back wall, watching people talk and laugh and drink, flitting from one end of the room to another.

"You look bored," he said, an arm across the back of the couch, his bottle of beer half empty, nestled between his thighs. I glanced over at him, my bottle hardly missing a sip.

"What?"

"You heard me. You look bored. I planned this..." He gestured to indicate the full room of people milling around. "And you're just sitting here."

I shrugged, glancing quickly about the room. I didn't see anyone I just had to get up and talk to. I wasn't very close to JC's friends. "I guess I am distracted," I said, looking back at him. "Or something. But I'm here."

"Yep. You are."

"JC, I told you I didn't want a big damn deal. You asked me to come. I'm here."

"Not having a good time, though."

"I'm... I'm just not much of a big party girl. We talked about this, like on our second... or third... date. Remember, the first night we went out? When we went for drinks, and you said you tried to impress me, and I said it wasn't necessary?" He stared at me, not blinking, not smiling, not moving. It was unnerving-I didn't know if he was really upset, or if he was just messing with me.

"Look, I'm sorry, I feel like shit, now. You want me to get up and mingle or something? You want to go downstairs and dance?"

He broke the stare and glanced through the wrought iron bars of the railing, toward the crowd down below, moving as one and gyrating to the beat of 50 Cent, Just a Little Bit.

"Not if you don't want to," he said when he looked at me again. "I just don't know what to do, to make things meaningful for you. I keep planning things I think you'll like and you just sit there. You plan stuff and I love it because you know me. You know what I mean? You've known me longer than I've known you."

I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing. I wished I had known that he was trying to make it special, for me. He was trying, so hard, and I was fucking it up.

"I asked Lance to come, because I thought you would be excited to meet him."

"I was excited, JC." I set my bottle on the floor and twisted so I was facing him, wrapping a leg around his. "I promise, honey, I was. But you know what, this whole time with you, being out here, has been meaningful. I don't need something big and special for something to be memorable to me. You know what I'll remember most?"

"All the sex?" He grinned, that silly Alfred E Neuman grin that made me giggle.

"Well, yeah. But besides that. I'll remember all those times we sat on the couch and watched fucking Top Chef Marathons, and Intervention and Star Wars and all your science shows. I'll remember laying in bed with you at 3 am while you ramble on and on about something or another, while I'm trying to fall asleep. I'll remember Sunday morning pancakes and arguing over the remote and... yes, all the sex."

"Especially the sex? The really great sex?"

"Especially the sex. Even the really great sex."

He tucked a lip between his teeth and his eyelids lowered. He hadn't shaved since the final taping, and the stubble on his cheek and chin were at that length where it didn't hurt for him to hug me or kiss me anymore. He raised a brow at me and, in a low voice, "I want to go have some memorable sex, right now."

I scoped the still full room out of the corner of my eye, and raised a brow in response. "Right now? You can't leave your own party."

"Sure I can. I just get up, and walk out. These people don't care. They're just here for the booze. Let's do it, just go. We'll hang out and argue over the remote and watch a stupid movie and then roll around in the bed a little." He waited for my response, and when it didn't come, he prodded a little, winking at me. "Wanna?"

I smiled, smoldering already. "I wanna."

He nodded, and then stood, offered me a hand to help me stand and then walked out, with me in tow. Down the stairs, to the valet stand, and then into the car as soon as it arrived and back onto the road, in the direction of the house. Home.

"You want to hang out upstairs or down here?" He tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter as he passed, flipping on lights as he went.

"Upstairs," I answered, already headed there.

"I'll be up in a minute," he said, his head behind the door of the refrigerator.

I left the overhead light off, and snapped on a lamp next to the bed. The room was cool, and clean, and quiet. I would miss this room, this spacious escape from anything else going on. I sat on the edge of the bed, working my shoes off, one by one, glancing around at the sparse but classy decorating, the obvious manliness of the room with hints of nostalgia and things that were important to him, like the photo of him and Tyler on top of one dresser, and him as a child at the piano, in a pewter frame with engraved music notes around the edges.

I heard footsteps on the staircase, headed toward the bedroom, and then saw a shadow at the door. "Leave it off," I called out softly. He obeyed and walked in, closing the door behind him, and then just stood there. He was feet away from me, but I felt the heat between us from across the room.

"Did you want to watch a movie, or..."

Slowly, I shook my head no, then held a hand out to him, beckoning him to me. He moved to stand in front of me and then dropped to his knees, his arms circling my waist, his forehead leaning against mine. A long, low breath escaped him, and I felt his fingers working their way under my blouse, seeking out warm skin, rubbing and caressing in slow circles. I moaned a little, the sensation sending sparks up my back.

"I'm... gonna miss you so much," he whispered.

"Don't make me cry," I said, tearing up already. "I feel like I'm always crying in front of you, lately."

"There's nothing wrong with crying," he said with a light chuckle. "I might do some."

"Oh, no you don't. Let's not do that yet, okay? I just. I want to enjoy this, with you." I lifted my head and tilted it just so, enough that I could brush my lips against his. Once, twice, three times, feather soft.

His mouth opened, just enough for me to play with him, tease him. It worked, and he opened wider, his tongue coming out to play, swirling itself around mine, over and under. It was heady, and intoxicating and sweet. He broke the kiss and moved to the side, climbing up on the bed, grabbing my arm and pulling me. I scooted back, all the way, until my hand hit pillow, and then laid next him, on my side, my head propped up on an arm. He laid the same way, snaking an arm across my waist.

"You know what I'm remembering?" His thumbs found skin, again, and rubbed their usual circles. Sparks shot off, in the usual places. That old familiar feeling- the fire, and the passion, roared through my body, from the tip of my toes to the longest hair on my head.

"What are you remembering?" I reached out to him, stroked his cheek, his stubble pricking my fingers. He moved his head to kiss my palm, and smiled.

"That first night that I met you. Actually, the plane ride. I was uhm. I wanted to ask you out, on the plane, when you asked if I knew of any cool places to hang out. I talked myself out of it, because it was a dumb idea. Then we were getting off the plane, and talking while we went to baggage, and I just... couldn't help myself. It took everything in me to not follow you up to your room, that night. I wanted you, so bad."

"Really. You hid it pretty well."

"I know, but the second day was like... there was no way I was leaving without at least trying. But then you told me about Regina and how close you felt to me, in that way, because we had that in common and that really should have turned me off. I mean, you're not the first fan to tell me she's adopted and hope that I feel some sort of wicked connection, or whatever. But you didn't use it, like that. I liked that."

"Well, I didn't plan to. I wasn't even going to tell you. It just kind of came out. I had no idea that I was going to sleep with you until it happened. I guess if I was conniving I could have tried to seduce you."

He chuckled, and his fingers drummed a beat on my skin. "You didn't have to try. Believe me. But then I was like, laying there with you and watching the movie, sort of, and in my mind I was having a total battle, of if I should or shouldn't try. And if you wanted it, or not. But you looked so good and smelled so good and I liked being with you... I just went for it."

"And I'm so happy you did."

"But after. I didn't want to leave. And that's never happened before. Usually I'm up and out about a half hour later. You know, just let me catch my breath and I'll be seeing you around, you know? But I just-- I hated that you live in Atlanta, and I just wanted to see you as much as I could, before you left."

I hated that you live in Atlanta rolled around and around in my head. If he only knew how much comfort that gave me and how it mattered to the changes I wanted to make and the decision that weighed heavily on my shoulders.

"I guess I'm just trying to say that I'm there, again. I'm there every time you have to leave. I hate that you have to go."

"I hate that I have to go, too. But I don't leave for another day, so let's make the best of the time we have left, okay?"

He answered by rolling forward, pushing me back against the bed, his weight sinking onto me, his lips landing on mine in a rushed, hot, wet kiss. In brief flashes of movement, we undressed each other, flinging shirts and jeans and socks in random directions. We only parted to move under the sheets, our limbs tangling together again, our bodies pressed against one another from head to toe.

He tipped his head to find his favorite spot to lick, sucking like it was his last meal. I would, for sure, have a mark but I didn't care. I kissed and bit at his shoulder, the skin smooth, and wrapped my arms around him, feeling the muscles ripple underneath. God, I would miss that.

He rolled us over, so I was on top, and I sat up, straddling him. The lamp on the bedside table cast a glow across the room. I caught my shadow on the wall, my erect nipples apparent in it, my hair wild and big and... everywhere. I glanced down at him, laying back, arms spread out on either side of him, eyelids barely open, two baby blues focused on me, traveling up and down my body.

"You want me to-"

"Yes," he interrupted, laughing. "Since you're up there."

I giggled and leaned over, reaching for the drawer in the nightstand, pulling out a foil package and tucking it into one of his open palms. "You just hold onto that, for me."

I moved down his body slowly, laying soft, light kisses here and there, hopefully torturing him the way he did to me, when he knew I wanted it, and he did everything he could to delay pleasure until just the right moment. I stopped when I reached him, erect and a long, solid column. He bucked his hips up toward me, and when I glanced up at him, had a grin on his face.

I took that as an invitation and wrapped both hands around him. No foreplay, no teasing, no more torture, I took him in, working my tongue around him. A sigh of relief and pleasure and who knows what else ticked my ears and I was encouraged, moving him deeper, applying light suction, squeezing him with my hands, swirling around him.

He wasn't shy about letting me know he was enjoying it. The sounds and movements under me, his furrowed brow, the beads of sweat that popped up along his skin and the reddish pinkish tint that covered him told me what I needed to know. His breath quickened and his groans grew louder and his hips bucked faster and then, in not nearly enough time to be ready, he grunted, and shuddered and let go, his hips moving steadily, working out every ounce. Finally, his hips fell and he exhaled, deeply. His face was split by a wide grin, he was sucking in air and coated in a sheen of sweat.

I reached for the foil packet, but he tossed it up onto the nightstand and grabbed my hand, pulling me up toward him. My hair fell around us, and he brushed it back, pulling my head down toward him, planting his lips on mine and moving, rolling us over.

"Sorry," he said, when his lips released mine. "I wanted to warn you, I just couldn't breathe, let alone talk. You okay?"

I nodded. "I managed."

"Well. I'm gonna repay the favor, if you don't mind."

I answered by pushing on his shoulders, pushing him down on my body. He laughed against me, and it tickled as he made his way down, stopping at each breast to take a nipple into his mouth, soft and warm. He swirled his tongue around one and then the other and then flicked one and then the other, until my hips were out of control and I almost begged him to keep moving. He read my mind and traveled further south, settling between my legs and taking his time, licking and nipping at my inner thigh, moving higher and closer, until I felt his breath on me, and then something wet and stiff and teasing.

I let out a breath and resisted the urge to press him to me. I tilted my hips up toward him and he glanced up at me, smiling with his eyes, knowing full well he was driving me mad. "Shit, I hate it when you do this."

"I know. It's why I do it. I am evil."

"Well stop it, and-ohhhh...God." I lost all ability to speak when I felt his entire mouth on me, his tongue bathing from bottom to top and back down again, and then focusing, twirling, sucking in wild rhythm and combination. He moaned in response to my hips and yelps and cries, the vibration only adding to sweet painful pleasure that was building. It didn't take long, considering I'd been waiting for awhile, to reach the cliff and then fall over it, happily, eagerly. Loudly.

My body stiffened, even my toes and my eyes slammed shut and hips jerked involuntarily and then and for a long, blissful moment I laid there, panting. Feeling. Coming down.

"How we doin'?" I heard, from far away. I forced my eyes open and tried to answer but choked, and realized I was drooling. I laughed and sat up, wiping and flushing pink with embarrassment.

"Damn, I'm good," he said, crawling over me, off of the bed. "I'll grab a towel, I'm sticky anyway. Hang on." He left and came back with a warm, wet cloth and handed it to me. I wiped my face and handed it back and he wiped his, and then tossed it into the basket in the closet. I picked up the foil packet and ripped it open, handing it to him as he crawled back into bed.

"Thank you," he said, rolling the condom on, adjusting. I took over, pushing him so he was laying down, running my hands up and down his body, from his chest to his abs, and further, past his waist, rubbing him through the thin latex. He came to life, pulsing and growing stiff in response.

We said nothing, just stared at each other as I stroked him and his fingers found me again. Passion built quickly as we writhed against each other, until he couldn't take possibly one more second and sat up, rolling me over, positioning himself above me, and pushed, filling me in one long stroke.

"God, you feel good," he moaned in my ear, between pants that matched his strokes.

I couldn't talk, only moan and groan and grunt. I dug the fingers of one hand into his hair, wrapped the other around him, gripping his shoulder, my nails digging into his skin. My legs wrapped around him, squeezing him closer to me. Though just about every inch of his skin was touching mine, I couldn't get close enough to him.

The rhythm built, and felt incredible, so fucking incredible, I never wanted him to stop. He was close, though, if his increase in speed and force was any clue and I wanted to finish with him. I moved my hips with him, matching his pace, feeling the pressure start to collect just under the surface. He moved a hand to my waist and gripped me tightly, then dipped his head to my neck and thrust hard, his voice muffled as he groaned and grunted over and over. "Come, please, I ca--please."

"I'm coming," I moaned, as I worked my hips with his, a calming, soothing climax lazily coursing through me. I laid back and just let it wash over me like a wave, again and again until the strength of the wave subsided and I came to, with JC on top of me sucking in air, dripping with sweat.

His hand moved from my waist to stroke my thigh, which had loosened itself from around him and laid limply next to his. He hooked his hands behind each knee and wrapped my legs back around him, settling onto me, laying his head on my chest, occasionally turning his head to kiss the skin under his cheek.

"I love you, Serena. More than anyone I've loved in my life. In a way I never loved anybody before."

I could have answered, if his voice wasn't so soft and small and quiet, yet filled with so much emotion and meaning that it opened the floodgates. I tried, to tell him I loved him, too, more than anything, anyone, at any time, ever, but all that came out were sobs and ragged breaths, so I gave up, and just wrapped my arms around him and hugged him as tightly as I could.

###

Days later, I peeked out of the window as the LA skyline retreated and the airplane sped me toward Atlanta. Home. To my house. To my car. To my family-Garrett's wife had a baby girl while I was gone and I was dying to meet her. To my job, where I was some kind of superhero, apparently. But away. Away from the absolute love of my life and a city that had worked its way into my heart.

I sighed, not out of sadness, out of resolution. I would be back. To stay. When, I had no idea, but I would be back.