The sound of a doorbell is the most jarring sound on Earth when you don't expect it.

The weekend was an ugly blur, viewed through an opaque pane of tears, felt through a blinding, pounding headache, endured through a gamut of emotions ranging from explosive anger to a depth of sadness I've never experienced before. I didn't see anyone, didn't talk to anyone, didn't go anywhere. I needed my time, to be alone with my pain. The one person I would have counted on, whose shoulder I would have cried on, who would have consoled me and made me feel better was no longer a person I could turn to.

By Tuesday afternoon, I was feeling a little bit better... enough to crawl out of bed, finally and try to get myself back in order. Crying for days on end wouldn't erase what happened.

I bounded down the stairs at the sound of the doorbell, already aware that it was Melissa. Whenever I avoided her calls, she would just stop by. She had a key, even, so if I didn't answer the doorbell, she would just let herself in. There was really no hiding from her, so I didn't try.

A fleeting glance of shock crossed her face as I opened the door. As quickly as it appeared, it went away but I caught it. For the first time since I'd arrived home Friday morning, I considered how I looked-probably pale, sunken eyes, bulbous nose that was sore from too much wiping and sniffling. I hadn't washed my hair in days, just shoved the curly, matted mess under a scarf.

"Hello to you, too," I grumbled, closing the door behind her and heading back upstairs.

"What's all this?" Melissa stood in the middle of my bedroom, between two open boxes in the middle of the floor. "You're still planning on moving?"

I shrugged a shoulder and dropped a pair of shoes into a box. "I don't know about moving yet. He..." I almost choked on his name. Not saying it wasn't going to change anything. "JC left some stuff here," I said, after a steadying breath. "I'm packing it up to send to him."

"Oh." She settled on the edge of the bed and set her messenger bag, a constant companion, next to her. She watched as I moved around the room, back and forth to the closet, her head following me and bobbing like a spectator at a tennis match.

"Why did he bring all that stuff if you have to send it back?"

"Every time he comes, he leaves something here. And this last time he was here for a few weeks and he just didn't feel like dragging everything home."

I sniffled and trekked back to the closet. "His stuff is making this room smell like him. Everything smells like him-the pillows, the sheets, the towels, the..." I headed off a new swell of tears, scratched nervously at my temple, and kept working.

"I called your office. They said you hadn't been in all week."

"Yeah," I said, nodding and plodding back and forth, wishing I was done already. "I just uhm... I just couldn't handle it. I'll be in tomorrow though. I need to get out of this house before I go crazy."

"Serena..."

I turned around to look at her, watched her trace the multi-hue, psychedelic design of the bedspread with a fingernail. She had that hesitant, walking-on-eggshells kind of demeanor about her, one that said she was about to say some things I probably didn't want to hear.

I plopped down next to her on the edge of the bed. "What? You have something to say, may as well say it."

"Well..." She paused, looked around the room at the boxes and the missing photographs and the lack of "JC-ness" around the room-things he'd given me, pictures of us. I'd taken down the poems he used to send that I tucked inside the frame of the mirror on my vanity table. I even took down the poster of him that I had up in my office.

"So, you don't think that you're maybe... you know, overreacting a little?"

She winced, like I would actually dare to bite her head off. I opened my mouth to give her a resounding "no" but it didn't really come. Time and peace and quiet had given me some distance and space. I was thinking a little more clearly, and truthfully, the fact that I could be overreacting was a niggling thought in the back of my mind that I was ignoring. Those niggling thoughts were what got me into trouble, before. Best to keep them at the back of the mind.

"Mel..." I held one of his shirts in my hands and folded it, resisting the urge to sniff it. "Do you know how many times he...JC...told me he loved me?"

She shook her head, her lips pursed. "Had to have been hundreds. Thousands."

"At least," I said quietly, nodding, glancing at the boxes overwhelming the room, not in size but in meaning. Weeks ago, I'd felt like my house was a second home to him. Today, I was moving him out.

"Every day, since the day he first told me. Two, sometimes three times a day, he'd call me. Sometimes we'd talk, but most of the time he'd say, ‘I don't want anything. I just called to hear your voice and tell you I love you. Have a good day.' Or ‘Have a good night.' He still calls. Every day. Twice a day. I just don't pick up."

"Well, that must mean something, then? He must mean it, to keep calling, even though you don't pick up."

"But then, I think about the very second I knew that article was true. How he was quiet when I told him I saw it, and how when I asked him, point blank, he didn't answer right away. And I have to think to myself that I was so close to being duped." I stroked the polo shirt, laying flat on my lap, neatly folded, warm and gentle against my skin.

"I mean, what if that article was never printed? Was he going to tell me? Or was he going to let me wander around LA in bliss, thinking I was the luckiest girl in the world while that same world was snickering and sneering and knowing what he's done behind closed doors?"

"True, there's that."

"So what, he calls every day to say three words. It just isn't enough. You have to show it. Live it. You know?" My eyes welled up, again and my nose flared with the onslaught. Melissa's face began to fade behind the curtain of tears.

"I love him," I moaned, through a sob I couldn't hold back. "More than anyone I've ever loved before. And I don't want to. I miss him like I'd miss my left arm or half my heart and I want it to stop. And I want him. I want him so bad, I just want to drop everything and run to LA, and hug him and kiss him and just beg him to not do it again because I love him..."

The dam burst then, and what had been so carefully constructed with a callous ‘whatever, I don't need him anyway' attitude and a meticulous method of avoidance fell under an avalanche of tears. A warm hand on my back rubbed and patted, in a soothing circular motion while I cried, and then hiccupped, and finally caught my breath. I got up and grabbed a handful of Kleenex and sat down again. Emotional outbursts were exhausting.

"So tell me," she said, in the lowest, calmest tone that has ever come out of her mouth. "Why can't you do that? Go to LA and see him and talk to him and hug him and kiss him and tell him you love him and you miss him and if he does it again you'll shoot him?"

I laughed, and then felt bad for laughing. And laughed again as I wiped my eyes and nose. "I want to. But then I'm in the same spot I was in with Robert. Making excuses for unacceptable things and making decisions based on my libido and not what's right for me. I can't ever be that weak again."

"Okay," she said with a nod and a pat on my leg. "But I want you to think about something. You remember when you told me that you'd spilled it to him that you loved him, and I brought up Robert, and you said the comparison was apples and oranges?"

"Given the situation, I think we're now talking Gala vs. Jonathon. Apples."

She smiled a wry grin and chuckled. "Touche'. I know I'm not supposed to give you JC advice, and I'm not. But it's your relationship. It's your heart. It's your state of well being. Do what's best for you. I don't think that's bad advice, no matter who you're dating."

"You're right." I sniffled and wiped my nose again, caught a few residual tears as they fell. "I guess I just don't want to decide, right now, that what's best for me is to go back to him. I want to be smart about it."

"Understood. But--you should at least hear him out. Give him the chance to respond."

I shook my head, almost violently. "No. No way. I'm not interested in helping him absolve guilt. He can keep his excuses."

"Okay," she answered quickly. "Just a suggestion, nothing more."

I got up again, started filling boxes. Melissa watched in silence, checking her watch every few minutes.

"So. You feel like being social for awhile? It's just dinner. An hour. We won't even pick on your hair."

I almost cracked a smile, but didn't want to give her the satisfaction of admitting I looked like death warmed over. It felt good to be in better spirits. Normal couldn't be too far off, could it?

"Okay, but I'm gonna hold you to that picking on my hair thing."

Melissa and Annette's sunken, cozy living room was like a refuge. It was a place where I was always welcome, where I could come ‘as I was', without any pretention or formality. I could kick of my shoes, pop open a beer or enjoy a cocktail and relax. An immense feeling of relief, and maybe a little bit of escapism came over me as I eased into my usual spot in the corner of the L shaped sectional couch that dominated the room.

We had dinner- pasta and garlic bread, comfort food-and settled in to talk through a badly written, badly acted made for TV movie. My phone vibrated inside my bag twice during the movie. I was sure it was JC, and I had no plans to pick up, but a sick part of me liked knowing that he was still calling.

It wasn't going to last long. I knew JC well enough at least to know that eventually (and by eventually, that meant a few days) he would give up and slink off, so I didn't have long to decide if I wanted to talk to him, or if I was going to let him ride off into the sunset, feeling guilty.

The closing credits rolled up the screen and I stretched and yawned, sliding my feet into my sandals. "Thanks for dinner and conversation, girls. It really helped to take my mind of off... him. I have to work in the morning, so I better head out."

"Well, thanks for coming by, eating our food, and sitting on our couch," said Annette, slapping a hand to my back. "Take it easy, okay? You're not superwoman. You can't get over this in a couple of days."

"I know." I shrugged, bowing my head. "I just feel so stupid. I just feel like I fell for the oldest trick in the book, you know?"

"We all have, honey. Drive safely, okay?"

I nodded and waved and then made my way down the dark driveway to the car. The phone was vibrating again as I slid into the driver's seat and I rolled my eyes.

‘Odd how if I called him more than once, he got pissy with me but he's been blowing my phone up for days.'

I threw open the flap on my bag and dug out the phone, but it wasn't JC calling. It was a local number I didn't recognize and just in case it was my family trying to reach me, I picked up the line.

"This is Serena."

"Serena, Baby!" I let out a breath, and didn't even try to mask it. JC had enlisted Dallas to talk to me? Unreal.

I plugged my blue tooth in and started the car, then backed out of the driveway. "Hey Dallas, what's up?"

"Nothin' much, just calling to see how you're doing."

"You can tell JC I'm fine." I knew I was rude, my voice clipped and bitter. The words just tumbled out that way, before I could stop them and self edit. Oh, well.

"He didn't tell me to call and ask that. I was asking that on my own. I don't play messenger boy."

"Right. So what are you calling for?"

"Well, I mean... I heard. And I've talked to him. I'm not delivering any messages or anything but he's not doing too good, baby."

"Good. That'll teach him to keep his tongue where it belongs."

"Yeah. Yeah." I was surprised. I expected Dallas to defend him or something. Was he actually agreeing with me? "Yeah, he's learning that lesson right now. Listen, can I rap to you for a minute? I just want to tell you something, from me. Just from myself."

‘Here we go with the character witness.' "What is it, Dallas?"

"Well I mean..." I heard him shift in a chair as it squeaked its protest. It sounded like one of the studio chairs. "I've known JC a long time. Personally, a lot longer than you have. And when I say this dude was happy with his woman, I mean it. He was happier than shit when he was here working. Talked about you nonstop. I'm just saying-- that man loves you. And this whole... this thing? It's not like him. If JC's gonna do it, he's gonna go all the way. He doesn't kiss a girl and walk off. He doesn't start what he can't finish."

"You're really trying to tell me that I should forgive him because he didn't fuck her, he just kissed her?"

"No, I'm really trying to tell you that there has to be something behind this. Behind what happened. Something I think you should be listening to."

"What if I don't really care what's behind it, Dallas?" I pounded the steering wheel in my mounting anger. I couldn't understand everyone taking his side, like he was the angel and I was the devil, like he was the victim. I was the offended party! "It happened. That's all I care about. I don't really care what's behind it."

"You know what, Serena? You know how they say pride comes before a fall? Don't let your pride trip you and leave you ass up in the middle of the street. You know what I'm saying?"

"Yeah, but-"

"I mean, here's the deal. Just hear me out. He's been calling, I know. He's upset that you won't take his calls and you're upset at what's going on-ya'll need some time. Some space to think and to figure this out. How about I tell him to stop calling for a couple of days? Give you your space and time to calm down without him all over you. And you'll call him when you're ready to talk, but you got to promise me that you'll hear him out."

"Dallas, I-"

"Come on, Serena," Dallas said, his voice rising. "Don't dog him, be a woman and listen to what the man has to say. If you don't like his words, then it's over, and cool... but you know how this went down the last time. Please don't do that to him. I know he was wrong, he knows he was wrong, but please don't walk away without hearing what he has to say."

I thought for a moment, a long moment, staring out at the dark roadway ahead of me, almost home.

"Tell him to give me a couple more days," I said finally. Quietly. Defeated. "And then I'll talk to him. But this isn't us making up, or whatever, it's just us talking. We'll take it from there. Is that woman enough?"

"It'll do. Thank you, for doing that for me. And for the record, I don't usually do this mediation thing. I just like you, you know. Out of all of his girlfriends, you're the only one that makes him light up. You're something special, to him. He knows it and he knows how close he is to losing you, believe me."

I turned into my driveway and waited for the garage door to lift. "Okay. I've got to go. I guess I'll talk to him sometime this weekend. I-thanks for calling, Dallas. This is hard, but I'll try."

"You're welcome. I hope ya'll work it out."

I sat in the car for a few minutes after I hung up. Ironically, faint strains of "Build My World" crackled over the speakers from the iPod. I turned it up and, probably for the first time in years, I listened. In the dark, not distracted by what I could see, just listening to the voice and hearing the words and trying to understand, to decipher if they were real or just made up phrases set to lilting, haunting melody.

Someone for everyone, but no one for me/ Constantly searching for the love I need to build my world around/ I'll be the lonely one until I find someone to build my world around.

Was he really looking for that? Because I was, and was thinking the situation was hopeless, and that I'd never find someone I could really and truly love. And maybe I was dumb for thinking it, but I thought I'd found it-someone to build my own world around.

###

"So you didn't give him a chance to explain anything?" Garrett chewed on a dinner roll and appeared disinterested, despite asking the question.

I pushed food around on my plate, not really very hungry. As promised, JC stopped calling, and I felt even more alone. I was so lonely by Friday night, that after work I drove out to near Alabama and had dinner with Garrett and Kim, played with my nephews and my niece and broke the news to Garrett, whom I hoped would not assemble a posse and descend upon West Hollywood.

"I don't know why everyone wants me to hear his side of the story. Does it matter? It happened."

"It might be good for closure," Kim said from the other side of the table, making faces at the baby in her high chair. She squealed and gurgled at me as she opened her mouth and closed it around forkful of food, chewing happily with her mouth open and tiny clenched fists raised high in the air.

"Yeah I don't know if that's what I'm looking for. I just... want us to make up or break up. I just want it to be over."

"I know it seems like really unusual advice, coming from me, but... hear him out. See what he has to say. I mean, he's not gonna have an excuse that will work but..." Garrett raised a hand and shrugged his shoulders in an ‘I dunno' gesture. "It's kind of one sided if you don't. Plus it's a punk move. Girls hate when guys just fade away, but girls do it all the time."

"Not as often as guys do, honey." Kim had finished feeding Chloe and was unhooking the tray from the high chair. She wiped the cherubic face, undid the buckle and plopped her into daddy's lap. "Watch her for a bit, I need to clean the kitchen."

"Kim, I haven't even finished eating." He narrowly rescued his fork from her grabby hands.

I pushed my plate away and reached for her. "Here, give her to me. I'm done." I bounced her on my lap, in love with the light feeling of her. "The ‘m' word came up a couple of weeks ago."

"Yeah, Dad said he had the talk. Put the fear of God in him or something. Was kind of surprised you guys were still together and still not engaged. Dad said he thought he made himself pretty clear."

"Well, I made myself clear to Dad and told him to butt out. He scared the shit out of JC. But now I'm wondering though. Like, maybe he was just scared or something. Of settling down and this was his way of kind of getting out. But if that's the case, then... I don't know. It doesn't make sense."

I shook my head, more trying to get my curls out of Chloe's grasp than any confusion about JC's behavior.

"He's had so many chances to end it. It's unlikely he'd do it by kissing some chick when you weren't even in the room. He just doesn't come across as that kind of guy. That's why you need to talk to him."

I shot an annoyed look at Garrett over the baby's head. "I don't get how you're so supportive. Don't you want to shoot him?"

"Of course I do," he said, laughing, then shoveling another forkful of food in his mouth, talking around it. "That's beside the point though. Do you want to shoot him? Or do you want him back?"

"It depends on the day. And the time of day. But mostly I want him back."

"So think about that. And work toward it and put all your feelings shit, all that emotion aside and just listen. And really, if what he has to say doesn't meet what you think he should be saying then you can dump his ass free and clear."

Chloe leaned her head against my chest and yawned. I stroked her head, her wisps of brown hair tickling my skin. This wriggling bundle of pure joy had no idea what was in store for her, years from now. I sent up prayers that men and relationships might be more evolved by the time she started dating.

"You know what you need to do," Garrett said, pushing away his completely empty plate. "Remember the good times and why you love him. How you feel about him. I know you think people will say you're stupid for going back to him, but your relationship is about you and him and no one else. "People"-he used the air quotes - "don't matter worth a shit. What matters is who you wake up next to in the morning. Ignore people. Listen to you."

"Yeah. You're right. It's just so much easier said, than done. You know? That hurt me. A lot. I want to get over it but..."

"It won't go away any time soon if you don't turn around and face it. You guys need to talk."

He stretched out his hands to his daughter. Sleepy but still awake, she lurched forward into his arms. My heart swelled, watching him cuddle her close to his chest, watching her curl up against him, so secure in him. She had no reason to not trust he wouldn't always be there for her.

I remembered feeling that way about JC, just not in a fatherly way. I'd let myself trust that he couldn't, wouldn't hurt me. That was what hurt the most-I trusted him. I wanted to give it back to him, to let him earn it back, but I wasn't sure he even wanted the chance and even if he wanted it, could we ever achieve the same level of trust, of love, of relationship that we had before?

There was no way to know but to go through it.

On the drive home, I resolved to myself to try-because there was no guarantee I was ever going to find a love like this again and if he was fighting to get it back and jumping through hoops to make me happy, I could listen to him and then listen to my heart.

The chance to hear him out would come sooner than I thought it would. As I pulled into the cul de sac, I almost didn't recognize my house, because when I left, it was dark. As I approached, I could see lights on, and another SUV rental sat in my driveway. My heart fell to the bottom of my stomach as I crept down the street, in disbelief. He didn't just wait for me to call him so he could grovel over a telephone line, all the way across the country.

"He came," I breathed. And almost started crying right in the car, in the driveway, in the dark.

The garage door lifted slowly, revealing the open back door and the yard, and him leaning against the fence, talking to my neighbor. His head had turned toward the garage when he saw me pull up and I sat in my car, watching him watch me until the overhead light in the garage turned off. Only then did I stumble out of the car, wrestling with the seatbelt, and work my way around the garage and out into the backyard.

"Hey," he said simply, staring me down with those steel blue eyes as I walked toward him.

"Hey," I answered back. "Hello, Mrs. Rhodes. Nice evening out tonight."

"It sure is. Perfect summer evening. Not too hot, not too cold. Perfect for snuggling up with someone you love."

She stared off into her roses, wistful and dreamy, then snapped back. "I was just talking to your handsome young man here. He says you two are having some problems. Such a shame, a beautiful couple." She clicked her tongue and shook her head and kept saying "now that is a shame, such a shame."

"Well, uhm," I gulped and lifted my eyes to JC's. His eyes hadn't left my face since I started walking from the garage. "Since the... young man... is here, maybe we'll talk. Work it out."

A flash of hope glimmered in his eyes and he pressed his lips together, like he was excited but trying to hold it in. I tried not to give away my excitement either.

"I remember my Paul..." I cringed, but she paid no attention to me. I was hoping to avoid a long drawn out story, but it seemed an impossibility.

"He took some other hussy to this dance-it was an all city dance, and I couldn't go. I thought he would just go alone or not go at all. I was so devastated because I thought, you know, I was his special girl. Of course it's not the same thing as here..." She waved a pale, splotchy hand at us.

"But anyway. It broke my heart and my Paul tried and tried to make it up to me and apologize and one day, I just got tired of being sad. And being strong. I thought, ‘you know what? I love this man and I want to be with him.' And so I forgave him. And he was eternally grateful and we lived so many wonderful happy years together, after that."

She sighed, and smiled, and glanced from me to JC and back to me. I guessed she was talking to me. How nice of JC to make me look like the bad guy.

"What you must remember," she went on to say, "Is that if you're hurt or sad or angry or disappointed, then you still care." She smiled, her bright blue eyes narrowing, staring right into mine. "There's still a chance. Work it out. You belong together."

"We'll try," we said together, backing away from the fence and heading toward the house.

"Good luck, you two," she called after us.

"Thanks for that," I hissed, just out of her earshot. "Now my business will be all over the fucking neighborhood."

"Sorry. She asked me what was up and stuff. I'm sorry." He fell into step behind me and followed me into the house.

"What are you doing here?" I stopped short in the kitchen and whipped around to face him. "I thought we needed some time, or something."

"I had enough time," he said quietly, shrugging one shoulder. "I wanted to see you and talk to you. And tell you I'm sorry and I miss you."

I wanted to say something else, something snappy and bitchy but I stopped. I just... stopped and dropped my hands to my side and stared at him, from that black Fedora that he wore all the time that was the completely wrong shape for his face, to the crease of worry between his brows, his deep set blue-green eyes, a few days of hair growth on his face and his clothing that looked like he'd slept in them. For a few days.

He moved toward me a step and I moved back a step, and he moved toward me until I was backed up against the counter. It was a usual dance for us, except this time he wasn't cocky, pushing me up against the counter with half a grin on his face and a sparkle in his eye. Tonight he was serious and somber and trying to get closer. Once I got up against the cabinet I had nowhere else to go.

Slowly, very slowly, his arms circled my waist and he pulled me toward him. My hands slid up the sleeves of his shirt until they rested on his shoulders and in one breath, I lost it. I held onto him, felt his arms close around me and his chin on my shoulder and his breath on my skin and let out every ounce of anger and disappointment and sadness and hurt in a flood of tears.

"I'm so pissed at you," I said through my tears, sobs wracking my body.

"I know. You should be."

I pulled away and tried to regain control. His shoulder was wet, soaked to the skin.

"You don't get to be that guy, this time," I said, sniffling, ripping a paper towel off of its holder and wiping my face. "You don't get to stand there and be all humble and all ‘I made a mistake and I'm owning up to it'."

"Honey, I'm not trying to be anything. I'm here because you won't talk to me. I'm here to talk to you. You want to yell at me, scream at me? I'll stand here and take it."

I sniffled. I thought I would want to, but not if he was offering it. "No."

"Okay, so what do you want? What could I say, to help? To restart us? Or do you not want to?"

I glanced up at him, did a double take when I saw his face. I recognized utter sadness in his eyes, in the downturn of his mouth. Fear flashed across his face and his voice had lost all confidence and macho. He was quiet and submissive, and nervous- chewing the hell of out of his bottom lip.

"You said... when you called me, after that first weekend in LA... you said to give you a chance. To not write you off as a celebrity that fucks a fan and walks away. You said, when I asked you about cheating on the road, that you were a different person. You said, the few times we talked about Robert and about Eva and about you, that you weren't the kind of person to do it, since it had been done to you." I paused, and swallowed, my bravado running rampant and giving me strength I didn't think I had.

"So what you can say, right now, is that it didn't happen. That you really, seriously, didn't undermine everything I believe about you and everything I love and everything you say you are, and kiss that girl on your couch in your house."

"I can't say that, Serena." His voice was so low, so quiet, so full of shame and pain that it hurt my heart. "But it definitely didn't happen like it's happening in your mind. It's not like I tossed her down and kissed her like I kiss you."

I rolled my eyes and braced myself. ‘Here we go, with his side of the story.'

"So, what happened? Everyone is telling me I should hear you out, so tell me. What happened?"

"Okay." He finally let go of me, and leaned against the counter beside me.

"The honest to God, scout's honor, truth is that I didn't invite her. She was invited by a friend of a friend but I couldn't un-invite her after she already showed up. I literally haven't seen her in over a year. You and I have been together almost a year, so it's been even longer since the last time I saw her and longer before that, the last time we hooked up."

He glanced over at me to see if I was following along. I nodded at him to continue.

"So, anyway, she's got some bit acting parts and she was excited about them, so I was telling her about the movie-you know, the script I showed you-- and she's suggesting we run lines and all this and... I never agreed to, I promise you that. So, she says she has an early call time in the morning and gets up to go, and she bends down to kiss my cheek. And somehow she turns her head and gets my lips and just... goes for it. And I... uhm..."

"And you..." I prompted.

"And I... don't stop her." He dropped his chin to his chest and his gaze fell to the floor. "Not right away. I don't know why, I don't have a reason or an excuse, I just... didn't. Slow reflexes, not thinking, whatever it was, it was dumb. It was shitty of me and stupid of me and I can't believe I risked a relationship I've worked so hard for, with someone I want to introduce to my mom with someone I haven't seen in a long time and kind of hope I never see again."

I chewed on his confession for a long moment, mulling it over. If there was one thing JC was not, it was a liar. Even if it didn't benefit him at all to be truthful, he just couldn't help it. It was hard for him to be deceitful. I knew he wasn't lying, but that didn't make what happened any easier to swallow.

"But you did kiss her."

He blinked, twice, his long lashes shading his eyes. "Well, she kissed me, yeah."

"Same thing. But you didn't stop her."

He cocked his head back and blew a breath into the air, staring into the new light fixture he'd hung in the kitchen. "Serena, are you hearing me, or looking for something to still be mad at?"

"Okay, so..." I pushed off of the cabinet and walked to the other side of the kitchen, directly across from him. "Erase the blog article. And I have no idea that this kiss happened and I have no way of finding out, really. Were you planning to tell me?"

"Serena, I swear to God the phone was in my hand to call you when it rang. I swear, and I just knew, when I saw it was you... I knew you'd seen it and I expected you to brush it off. I thought about just not saying anything and pretending it was made up but I knew it would come back to haunt me. If you were gonna hear it, I wanted you to hear it from me."

I crossed my arms and watched him, his eyes nervously darting about the room, standing against the counter, one leg crossed over the other, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans. He slouched and his head hung low and every once in awhile he pulled a hand out of his pocket to wipe his nose or scratch his forehead-but he stayed quiet and let me think. Neither of us made a sound as we had our quasi- friendly standoff in the middle of the kitchen.

‘Fuck this. I want this over with'.

In one, two, three steps I was across the kitchen and throwing my arms around his neck. He was surprised at my rapid fire reaction but caught up quickly, pulling his hands out of his pockets and wrapping his arms around my waist, burying his face in my shoulder.

"Oh my God, Serena." His voice was muffled against me, against my blouse. His arms around me squeezed harder and tighter, pulling me closer to him. His heartbeat was crazy fast, erratic, out of control. His wasn't the only one.

"I know. I know." I grabbed a handful of hair and whispered near his ear. "Please tell me you're sorry and you'll never, ever do it again because I can't take it, if you do."

He pulled back, ran his hands up my sides and cupped either side of my face, dug his fingers into my curls. It ran shivers up my spine to look into his eyes and see a pool of tears gathering in them.

"I am so very sorry," he whispered, an inch away from my lips. I wanted to kiss him, but I wanted to hear his apology more. "I wish I could tell you how sorry I am. I miss you, and I'm so scared that I fucked this up, and I want it, so badly. I don't want to hurt you, I never wanted to hurt you, I wasn't trying to hurt you."

"Okay. Okay." I pulled away, and paced the kitchen, from one end to the other, dragging fingers through my hair.

"So, I'm still mad. But I'm not furious." I stopped in front of him again and took the hand he offered to me. His fingers tangled with mine and he squeezed, holding on tight. "I miss my friend. I miss you, I love you, I want you, I need you, but-- more than all of that mushy stuff, I don't want to look stupid. I don't care who you are, or what you do, or how rich you are. In my life, in my arms, you are Joshua Chasez. No more, no less. You don't get a pass because you're a celebrity surrounded by beautiful women and you just can't help yourself. That's a crock of shit and a cop-out and if you want all of that, you can have it, just let me out of our deal, first."

"I'm not," he said, shaking his head. "I'm not trying to take a pass and don't want all that. I'm not making excuses. I'm saying I'm sorry and I was stupid and please give me another chance. Let me make this up to you."

"And if it happens again?"

He pulled on my hand, inching me closer to him. I played at resisting, a smile almost breaking. "It's not happening again. This week was a nightmare."

"I can't be in competition with every woman in Hollywood or worse, every chick you've ever slept with. I can't compete. I won't."

"Honey, no one compares to you. I mean, I can't control them and neither can you but I can control me and I am never, not ever, getting myself in this situation again."

"Promise me that I'm not doing all of this work to move to LA, closer to you, in vain. Promise I won't regret it."

He pulled again, taking our clasped, tangled hands behind his back, bringing me close enough to tip his head and press warm, soft lips to mine. I almost melted into a puddle when he pulled back, looked me in the eye and said, in a voice so gritty that it rubbed right against the nerve in the small of my back, "I will make sure you don't regret it."

I leaned up against him, laid my head on his chest, closed my eyes and exhaled a breath I'd been holding all week. I was lightheaded, relieved, and ready to put the week behind me. Behind us.

"I was about to dump the whole moving to LA idea."

He laughed, the sound muffled through his chest. "Honey, if you don't move to LA, I'm coming to live on your couch."

I tipped my head up as he bent to meet my lips in a feather soft, gentle kiss-- my favorite kind of kisses from him. We took our time, standing together under the glare of the kitchen lights, until I got tired of standing and pulled him into the living room.

We fell together, against each other onto the couch, arms and legs instinctively wrapping themselves around us.

"I'm tired," he said through a yawn, gathering me to him, resting his chin on my head.

"Me too. Rough week?"

"You know better than anyone." He rolled his head to kiss my forehead. "I'm sorry, sweet girl. I am. I didn't mean to hurt you."

"JC, I forgive you. Stop apologizing."

"Just... I'm just making sure."

"I know, but I want to start moving past it. Right now. Can we do that?"

"Mmmhhhmmm." He tipped his head down and lifted my chin with the tip of his finger. I stroked his cheek, his stubble pricking my thumb, but such a welcome feeling after a week from hell. I tilted my head and let him kiss me, long and slow and wanting, the sensuous rhythm and his light moaning made me heady and short of breath.

He sat back against the couch and pulled me up onto him so I straddled him. The thin short sleeved blouse I'd worn to work was quickly pulled over my head and dumped onto the floor. Already erect, my nipples strained against the lace of my bra.

"Lace, " he growled, licking along the edge of each cup. He reached behind me and expertly unclasped the bra. The straps and cups fell away and he flung it aside. It landed on top of my blouse on the floor.

I pulled at his long sleeved t-shirt, hinting at him to take it off. The eclectic Ed Hardy design was nice, and the shirt outlined his chest in a way that made me weak in the knees, but I wanted it off. He pulled it up and over his head, dropping it on top of my growing pile of clothes.

"Mmmm..." I stroked his chest, my hands wandering everywhere- up and over his shoulders, down his arms, across the taut, six pack of abs and back up. His skin was so soft, stretched over well-built muscle. I shuddered at the thought of how close I was to giving him up.

"I'm glad you came. It was hard to stay mad at you when I could see you."

"Like I said, it's easy to deny over the phone. Harder in person. That's why I came. I knew I was gonna lose you if I didn't get here."

I bent to kiss him, captured his lips with my teeth, gently biting at them. His tongue darted out and I played with it, swirling and flicking around it, taking my time. JC was vocal in his enjoyment, moaning and humming. The vibration added to the pleasant sensation and I moaned and hummed along with him.

He was already aroused, as was apparent by the bulge in his jeans pressing against me, his hips already bucking and grinding. I ran my fingers through his thick head of hair, my nails lightly scratching his scalp. He lowered his head to a breast and licked the very tip of the nipple once, and then again, and then again, the sensation shooting lightning bolts down my back with every touch. I arched my back and pressed my hips to him as he steadily ground into me.

"That feels good," I moaned. "Don't stop doing that."

He sucked the entire nipple into his mouth and flicked it with his tongue, eyes closed and brow furrowed in concentration. The vibration was driving me mad, making me grip the fabric of the couch behind his head. He rubbed the other nipple with his the pad of his thumb, moaning with me as my gasps and yelps and cries reached a fever pitch, high and loud.

He released my nipple, an angry red and puffy and erect and landed loud, noisy sucking kisses all over my breasts, down the center of my chest between them. He groaned, loudly, gripped my hips and pulled me tighter against him while he ground into me so hard he'd lifted us off of the couch, his breath coming in short pants timed with his hips. I buried my hands in his hair and rotated my hips to meet his pumps.

"Oh my God...you feel so good..." I moaned and whimpered, moving against him as fast as I could, my climax approaching rapidly.

"Shit... yeah, don't stop," he panted in my ear, muffled against my shoulder. The couch tapped a beat against the wall, matching grunts and groans and growls.

"I'm...mmm! I'm gonna-dontstopdontstopdontstop....I'm coming!"

Orgasm washed over me like a giant tsunami wave-involuntarily, I sucked in a breath, like water being sucked way from the beach, and then in one giant, crashing wave, it hit and consumed and me destroyed everything in its path. Every ounce of hurt and pain and suffering over the last week was drowned in that wave. My hips jerked as it coursed through me, refreshing my spirit and washing everything away. I heard JC grunt and moan and felt his hips twitch before he dropped us back to the couch.

"God, that was so good." I kissed him, wildly, passionately as my climax subsided. We took a moment, catching our breath-- me topless and spent, him grinning madly, his eyes on the ceiling fan turning in slow rhythm. Slowly, breathing returned to normal and enough blood returned to my head to make me realize what had just happened and be sufficiently embarrassed.

"What are you blushing at?" He grinned, teasing. "Never dry humped your boyfriend on the couch?"

I was too happy to really care about the flush crawling up my body. "Not since I was like... 17. But it felt good."

He hooked a hand around my neck and pulled me to him, planting a kiss on my lips. "Yeah, it did."

I stretched and sighed happily, climbing off of his lap and gathering the small pile of clothes. "Come on," I said, offering a hand out to him. "I have an idea of how you make the last week up to me."

He grinned and took my hand, letting me help him up and followed me up the stairs to the bedroom. He almost tripped over the two boxes stacked next to the door.

"You kicking me out?" He pointed to the boxes, taped and labeled with his address.

"That stuff has to get back to your house anyway but yeah I was kicking you out." I slipped out of my linen pants and panties, and tossed them into the basket in the closet, then crawled up into the middle of the bed and laid down. "So take your jeans off and come here."

"Yes ma'am," he said, and did as he was told. His body felt hot as he cuddled up to me, on his side, leaning on an elbow. "Wait a minute, got something here..."

He brushed at my skin with the tip of a finger and held it up to me. "Eyelash. Make a wish."

"It already came true." I blew it away and grabbed his arm to pull him over. I sighed as I felt the weight of him sink onto my body. My legs wrapped around him, my hands ran up and down his sides, from his ribcage to his hips, around to his backside and up his back, gripping and pinching and feeling the ripple beneath the skin as I went.

He dipped his head to the side of my neck, his breath hot and wet, his lips so soft, his light beard so comfortingly scratchy and prickly on my skin. I felt him between us, rigid and pulsing, wanting, searching. My hips began to roll, on their own, the motion caressing him, and he groaned against my neck.

"I want you so bad, baby. I missed you so much."

JC mumbled something, muffled in the crook of my neck, a hand wandering slowly down one side of my body. He pulled back and scooted down the bed, kissing his way down, between my breasts, my mid section, my stomach until he was lying between my legs, teasing like he always did, biting and sucking my inner thighs. Without warning, I felt something stiff and wet, sliding up and down and around, inside and then around again. My hips jerked at the sensation and my hands flailed around until they finally landed in his hair.

"Mmmm," came the report from below. I laughed and laid back and tried to relax and just enjoy the feeling of his tongue playing, exploring, licking, pushing, sliding. It was always blissful, so intimate and special, just between us. I moaned softly as he worked, my hips rolling by impulse, my body reacting, my voice squeaking as the pressure built.

"God, that is good," I mumbled, my fingers in his hair, then sucked in a breath as his tongue flicked, gently and quickly over me. "Oh, fuck, I'm coming!"

My body pulsed, my fingers tangled in his hair, my hips gyrating and jerking, eking out the last drop of orgasm before I let go. I grabbed him by his shoulders and pulled at him, trying to get him to come up. He moved slowly, always at his own pace, kissing his way up until his face met mine, his lips sought mine, our tongues intertwined. He moaned into my mouth as he relaxed against me again.

"I want you." I panted, out of breath and on fire. "Right now. Please."

"Help me," he whispered, hovering just over my body. I reached between us and gripped him, guiding the head into me. I pushed my hips up and he entered and kept pushing until he was inside.

"God, I missed you. Let's never fight again, ever."

"You're kidding, right?" He grunted and thrust, pushing into me with vigor and an energy I'd never felt from him before. "Makeup sex is the best part of fighting."

My hips worked with his, rolling and mashing up against him, my nails clawing at his back. "I don't wanna-oomph! Careful baby! I don't want to fight just to get great sex. Except-ahhh shit, you're fucking me so good right now."

"How about..."He stopped to swipe at a bead of sweat dripping off of his nose. "How about we just have makeup sex without the fighting?"

"Baby, I know you can do two things at once, but let's just concentrate on-oh my GOD!" He laughed and thrust faster, his hips a frenzy of movement, climbing to the pinnacle moment of climax.

"Don't stop... right there... shit, you're gonna make me come."

He drove into me with fierce intensity, balancing on one hand, the other gripping my body at the waist, dripping with sweat. "I'm right behind you. Open your eyes, look at me."

I struggled to open my eyes, on the very edge of pleasure. As soon as I opened them and caught his stare, his eyes opened wide and he sucked in breath. His face flushed a deep red and he grunted as he pushed harder and faster. "Yes, yes, yes, yes, fuck yes! Come with me."

I writhed and grasped and twisted against him, tipping over the point of no return, joining him in grunts and cries of an overwhelming orgasm, intense and powerful, even divided between us. I clenched and squeezed, he groaned and tightened his grip on me, pushing until we milked the last bit of pleasure out. JC's arm gave out and he collapsed, landing heavily on me. I didn't mind at all.

Both arms circled his neck as we heaved against each other, struggling to suck in oxygen, kissing any bit of skin our lips came into contact with. We slicked and slid against each other, each of us glistening with sweat, our legs still intertwined, trying to stay connected.

"I hope that uhm... started the healing process." I opened my eyes and rolled my head to look at him, his head laying on my shoulder, his body still tossed across mine. His eyes were closed but his cocky grin still sat on his lips.

I leaned down and kissed him and the grin spread into a happy smile. "It's a start. I'd say you have a lot more of that kind of work to do, though. A lot more."

"Okay, well. I'm willing to put in long hours." He was mumbling, exhausted and almost incoherent.

"I bet you are. You should rest up. Get some strength back. I expect some overtime in the morning."

He laughed, a single burst of ‘ha', then yawned and sat up. "I'm gonna get us some water. And then I'm going to sleep. You wore me out, mami."

"You're complaining?"

"I didn't say that," I heard from the hallway. I rolled off of the bed and pulled the blanket and sheets back, then crawled inside the cool comfort to wait for him.

"Brought your phone. It's beeping. Missed call and it wasn't me." He handed the phone and a bottle of water to me, walked around to the side of the bed and crawled in beside me. I uncapped the water and took a long, slow gulp of ice cold refreshing water. My throat was dry and scratchy and it felt so good going down.

I dialed into voice mail, expecting something from a member of my family or Melissa, but a strange voice played back to me.

"Hi, Serena, this is Chuck with Taylor Manufacturing. You came in for an interview a few weeks ago and we'd like to have you back in for another conversation. We're pretty flexible so if you could give me a call at---"

I pressed ‘9' to save the message and set the phone on the nightstand. "That was that environmental firm. They want me to come out for another interview."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously!" I turned out the bedside and slid further between the sheets, sliding up against him. "This is gonna be a good one. I can feel it."

"I hope so. I'm ready for you to be with me."

"I think I'm ready to be with you." I sighed, a blink away from sleep. "In fact, I'm sure of it. I'm definitely ready to be with you."