The day began slowly and quietly, the scent of something wonderful-pancakes? - and an elegant blend of Columbian roast weaving ribbons through a deep, dreamless slumber.

I laid in bed, motionless, eyes still closed, swaddled in sheets since the blanket had been kicked off overnight. I knew, without even opening my eyes or reaching out, that I was alone. I heard the subtle thump of the bass on the stereo system and the distant clang of activity downstairs. There was rarely a morning that I woke up next to JC that I did not have to crawl out from under a heavy arm. If he was in the bed, he'd have been lying on top of me.

Part of me was afraid to open my eyes, because maybe it was all a dream. Maybe he didn't really get on a plane and fly to Atlanta to face me, to admit his mistake or bad choice or whatever it was we were calling it. Maybe he didn't really do what I subconsciously wished and expected him to do. Maybe it was my mind's idea of some kind of sick joke, to make me feel better and I'd open my eyes and not see our clothes strewn about the room and ‘man stuff' everywhere and happily trip over giant shoes in the middle of the bedroom floor.

It seemed more right that he did. Maybe he really did come to me, to make things right, and didn't make excuses, just said he was sorry and asked for my forgiveness. And maybe I really did give in way too early and too easily, because all I wanted to hear was that he was sorry and he would never, not ever do it again. I didn't think I could take it, if it happened again...and because he would not come out smelling like roses the second time around.

I sniffed, sucking in the fragrances in the room. Aside from the aromas emanating from the floor below, the pungent scent of his cologne hung in the air, muted by a few hours but still noticeable. On top of that was the smell of the soap he used-some fancy Nordstrom brand laden with rosemary and tea tree extract. I smiled to myself, a warm glow spreading upward from the pit of my stomach. I wasn't dreaming. He came.

One by one, my eyes slid open, squinting against the bright rays of sunshine streaming through the sheer curtains over each of the large windows in my bedroom.  I sat up and stretched, working the kinks out of tight, knotted muscles. ‘We may have over done it, last night', I thought to myself, and then giggled, thinking I'd probably feel it for a few days. I leaned back to swing my legs out of the bed and felt paper under my hand and heard a light crinkle. Laid across JC's pillow was a note, his loopy scrawl scratched onto a piece of notebook paper:

‘If you wake up and I'm not here, stay up here. Do NOT come downstairs! I'm serious. Love, C'

I rolled my eyes at being ordered to not go downstairs in my own house, but I was going to obey. Mostly. I hopped out of bed, joints popping and muscles protesting.

‘Okay, I probably over did it on the couch. There is a reason why people stop doing that at 17.'

I pulled open the nearest drawer, threw on a t-shirt and stepped into the hallway, tip toeing toward the banister.  I heard the gurgle of the coffeemaker, the hiss of the electric griddle, and his voice, singing along to the music-off-key and jazzed up.

And I just can't.... pull myself away
Under a spell I can't break

I just can't stop.... No.... I just can't stop
And I just can't... free myself, no way
But I don't... want to escape
I just can't stop.... No.... I just can't stop

I listened to him for a few seconds, mildly entertained by his slower, funky version.  I used to read stories about how he created a jazz version of every song he ever heard and never really believed it until I met him. He did it all the time, often subconsciously. It was hilarious and endearing and one of the things I really loved about him, but something I had become so used to that I hardly even noticed anymore.

My stomach rumbled at the even stronger smell of food, so loud I thought he might have heard it over the music and the noise of the kitchen. I bent over the railing and called down to him.

"Hey!"

"Hey, you," I heard from down the stairs and around the corner. "You're not down here, are you?"

"No," I said, inching toward the staircase. "Who do I have to sleep with to get some of that food you're cooking?"

"You're lookin' at him," he said, stepping into view just in time to see my foot hit the top step. He was casually comfortable in sweat pants and a t-shirt and one of my aprons that was so short I usually let my nephews wear it when they came over. ‘Kiss the Cook' was emblazoned across the chest in puffy red paint and it was tied tightly around his waist. He was disheveled and unshaven, wielding a spatula in a way that told me he had no clue what he was doing. But he looked so cute doing it.

"No, no," he said, waving the spatula at me. "Get back in there. I got it handled. Can I bring you something?"

My face scrunched into a scowl and I backed up toward the bedroom door. "Coffee?"

"You got it. Gimme a minute, since it just finished brewing." Expectant, he watched me for a moment, then grinned and waved the spatula again, shooing me back into the bedroom. "Your pancakes are burning, sweetie. Get back in there."

"Whatever!"

I turned on a heel and stomped back to the bedroom to wait, steeling myself for something possibly burnt or undercooked. Maybe at the same time. I freshened up in the bathroom and climbed back into bed, straightening the sheets and flipped on the TV. JC appeared at the door, slowly walking toward me and gingerly carrying an overfull mug with a billow of steam rising out of it. Tucked under his arm was the Saturday edition of the paper, neatly folded over.

"For you, miss," he said, handing me the mug. "I can't find that tray thing that you use. Where do you keep it?"

"Thank you, sweetheart," I said, taking it, sipping a little off the top, and then sliding the paper out from his armpit. "Perfect. Uhm, the tray... it's in the pantry, behind the door."

"Okay. For me, miss," he said, bending over me. No sooner had his lips brushed mine than he was off again, rushing back out of the room. "I haven't burned anything yet, and I'm really proud of myself. Almost done, be back in a few."

I watched a few minutes of the news and enjoyed the first swallows of coffee that I didn't have to go downstairs and make. After the news segment began to repeat, I snapped off the TV and set the mug down on the bedside table.

In all the months we'd dated, JC had never attempted to cook for me. He didn't really have the interest or patience to cook, and breakfast to him was something quick from the toaster-an Eggo or a Pop Tart or something frozen, warmed over in the microwave. I hated Pop Tarts and frozen food, so if I wanted something else, I had to cook it.  Waiting for breakfast was unfamiliar territory and I was a little bored, sitting there waiting, so used to hopping out of bed and going about my day. I could be bored for once, though-- it wasn't like this was going to become a regular thing. He was most certainly still sucking up, but I would take it.

My phone sat on the table where I'd left it the night before. Just in case I was dreaming that call, I listened to the message again, my heart pounding out of my chest with excitement. I had a good, positive feeling about Taylor Manufacturing. They had a state of the art facility and brand new office space and were positioned - with a Government grant-to make a difference in green manufacturing. Working for them would give me the chance to do something familiar in a completely new field.

I couldn't stop myself from daydreaming about landing in LA for good, and not having to worry about counting down the days or the hours we had together. We wouldn't always be together, but we would always-eventually-- come home. No more dropping him off at an airport and driving back to an empty house, not even knowing when I would see him next. No more dragging myself out of the car to get on a plane and fly away from him.  I was excited-scared, but excited -- about being able to go home. 

It didn't even occur to me until that moment that LA, not Atlanta, was home.

I set the phone into the cradle to charge, but picked it back up again and tapped out a message:  ‘JC showed up here last night. We had a good talk. And a good fuck. We are back on track. He's cooking, pray for me.'

A few seconds later, the phone beeped and a return message came from Melissa:  ‘I know. He called me when you weren't there. He was afraid you'd gone to LA. He begged me not to tell you he was here and I promised I wouldn't. I'm happy for you. No more fighting. Have fun.'

I heard JC on the steps, dishes and silverware clinking against each other. In the seconds I had before he would appear in the doorway again, I rushed a last message to her:

‘JC says no fighting=no makeup sex. After last night, I might have to pick another fight soon. Gotta go.'

*

"So now I know you can make pancakes."

I licked a bead of syrup off of my fork and glanced over at him, tearing into a second helping. "I will expect this on a regular basis."

"Don't push your luck, honey. Law of averages says it'll be at least three years before I make another perfect batch of pancakes." He stacked the misshapen, flat cakes into a large pile on his plate and gestured at me. "Syrup?"

"You sure worked up an appetite," I commented, sliding the small bottle of Mrs. Butterworth across the tray toward him. "Where, exactly, do you put all the food you eat?"

"I'll show you later," he shot back, brows wiggling and evil grin spreading from the corner of his mouth. A steady stream of syrup poured over the short stack, pooling up on top, oozing over the sides and onto the plate. He turned the plate right, then left, arranged the stack just so, and then sliced into it, creating a perfect, syrup soaked wedge, which he then shoved into his mouth.

He nodded, and chewed, and uttered something that sounded like, "Ifsghut."

Puzzled, I just stared, and shrugged. He rolled his eyes and chewed, his cheeks so full they puffed out, resembling a chipmunk storing food for the winter. His high cheekbones pushed his cheeks up so high that his eyes, small anyway, were mere slits in his face.

"IfsGHUT!"

"JC...chew. Swallow. I swear, CJ could teach you a lesson or two."

He chewed more, swallowed, sucked down a gulp of coffee and smacked his lips. "I said ‘It's GOOD.' You didn't understand that?"

"Nope, I don't speak talks with mouth full.  It is good, though. I'm pleasantly surprised."  I swirled the last bite around my plate, catching the remnants of melted butter and warm syrup and popped it into my mouth, then scooted back in the bed, up against the pillows, content to watch JC eat.

He was content to be watched, sitting cross legged on the bed, methodically dividing and conquering the stack. Every wedge was the exact same size, and he made his way around until the last wedge was gone. Exact. Precise.

"Thank you for coming out here."

I didn't even know where that came from. I wasn't specifically thinking about it and wasn't planning on saying it. It just fell out, in the course of watching him do things he normally did, in the way he normally did them, without realizing the way he did everything was different, from eating pancakes to loving me. He was just so different and I didn't think I'd ever get used to him. Nor did I want to.

I hadn't been looking at him when I said it, so when the room got quiet, I looked up and our eyes met-his bright blue, framed by long, luscious lashes that seemed awfully decadent for a man, and my grey that almost welled up from the way he was looking at me.

"You wouldn't have been able to keep me away from you," he said, his voice low, his expression solemn. "I'm lucky you even let me in the door. You didn't have to. I'm thankful you did, though."

I dipped my head, suddenly a little shy and smiled. He leaned around the tray, uncomfortably bending to the side. I leaned forward and our lips met in the middle. He tasted like butter and syrup and coffee. It tasted like the best thing ever.

"So, I suppose I have to clean up the kitchen, huh?"

"That's the rule, honey."

"And I suppose you left me a big mess, huh?"

JC shrugged, but avoided looking at me, instead stacking our plates on the tray. "Maybe, maybe not. You'll find out in a few minutes. Relax though. Kitchen's not going anywhere."

He scooted back against the other set of pillows and took the sports section from me. I followed his lead and relaxed as well, flipping through the Life section, reading the comics and ‘Dear Prudence' by habit. Eventually he ended up leaning against me, my arm over his shoulder and across his chest. He rubbed his full belly and slowly drifted into a snooze. I slipped out from under him and picked up the tray, stacked with plates and mugs and silverware and crept down the steps.

As I rounded the corner, I caught a glimpse of the kitchen-or what used to be my kitchen-and felt faint. I managed to slide the tray onto the one bare spot on the counter that I could find and grip the side of the arched entryway.

An unbelievable mess greeted me as I peeked in, again. Flour coated just about every surface, as if it had plumed volcanically out of the bag and dusted everything in its path. Eggshells and an open container of milk and the butter tray covered one counter. Something was pooled under the electric griddle. I hoped it was butter, but I wasn't sure. My nose caught a whiff of scorch in the air and my eyes shot to the coffeepot. The burner had been left on and the coffee that had dripped on to the warming plate had caramelized and burnt to a crisp.

"JOSHUA SCOTT, YOU BETTER GET YOUR SKINNY ASS--"

I was interrupted by a blur of white t-shirt and lime green sweatpants from behind me. "I know, I know. I'm helping. Look, I'm here. See?"

Slack jawed, I watched him begin to pick up shells and wrappers, then fell into step beside him with the garbage can.

"What the hell happened down here?"

Sheepish, he avoided my pointed stare and gave his head a little shake. A cloud of flour rose as he pushed a mound of it into the garbage with the side of his hand.

"I didn't want you to wake up before I finished. I screwed up the first batch, so I panicked, and I dropped the flour and it went everywhere. And then I didn't start the coffee, so I was worried about that. It turned out good, though. Right?"

"Yeah..."

He caught the mild tension and turned around, eyebrows knit together. "What?"

"Nothing," I said quickly. "Breakfast was really good. Thanks. I'm proud of you."

"Serena, what? Are you mad? I'm gonna help."

"No..." I let my eyes wander the room slowly and then settle back on him. "Not very mad, anyway." I shrugged and he gave me a look.

"I'm not complaining," I said in response. "I love that you cooked for me, and please, please do it again. But I never leave you with a big mess to clean up. I want us to be fair to each other."

"Okay," he said, picking at a sponge. "I wasn't leaving it for you. I was coming down to clean up."

Was it going to be like this all the time? Like having a large child? Careful not to hurt his feelings or make sure I didn't pick at his efforts to do something nice for me? I could already see how much simpler my life was when I was on my own. It's a good thing that simple wasn't on the agenda.

I reached for the towel hanging off of oven door handle, twirled it so it wound tightly and popped it. It his leg with a loud snap. He yelped "OW!" and nearly jumped across the room, his eyes wild and mouth open in surprise. 

I giggled and wound the towel up again. "Don't let it happen again, Mister. I have something I want to show you, so hurry up."

Before I could snap my wrist to let the towel fly again, he grabbed it and yanked it out of my hands. Large hands ran the length of the towel and he slowly began to wind it. His eyes twinkled with mischief and his tongue lodged in the corner of his mouth. Sensing the bitch that payback would be, and remembering that I only had a long t-shirt on, I screamed and ran for the door.

"Uh huh. Can dish it but she can't take it," I heard from around the corner, and then a deep laugh and the sound of the dishwasher opening.

*

"Mkay, so... you have to promise not to laugh at this."

"I will do no such thing. I will laugh as much as I want. What am I not laughing at?"

JC plopped himself onto the couch in front of the TV, arms spread across the top of the cushions. I selected an unmarked DVD case from the small stack next to the TV, popped it open and slid the home-made disc into the player, picked up the remote and sat next to him.

"You'll see when I start it. Just watch." I gulped, took a deep breath, and pressed play.

JC started laughing almost immediately as the wobbly, hand held camera blurred and came into focus, settling on a close-up of a familiar face. I remembered the day well-the State Band Championship Competition. I was a geeky, twittering mess, my hair so curly and frizzy that it looked like a puffball underneath the headgear. 

As the camera zoomed out, my full uniform came into view. I had to laugh at myself in the ill fitting white polyester pantsuit, almost military in design, with the bold blue stripe down the side of each pant leg and the utilitarian black shoes every member was required to wear. It was blazing hot and every face in the auditorium flushed pink with the heat.

JC was having a great time at my expense, pointing and cackling at my teenage self. "How long have you been keeping this from me? This is awesome!"

"My mom dropped it by a few weeks ago. I told her we talked about it a long time ago and I asked her if she had any old tapes she said she'd look. They found it and burned a copy for me." He busted out in another loud laugh as the camera caught me grinning wide, braces gleaming in the sunlight. "I'm... so glad I decided to share it with you."

Just then, the sound increased as the first band struck up the beginning chords of their selection. "This was the band to beat, right here. God, they were so good."  Our heads bobbed to the music, the sound loud and the images blurry as they crossed the screen.

"When do you strut your stuff? I wanna see you in action."

"So you can laugh," I said, pointing the remote at the TV and fast forwarding a few segments. "Keep in mind that they let Chris tape it so you'll get random boobs in there."

"Mmm," he hummed, so close to my ear that his breath tickled my cheek. "I like boobs."

"I am not shocked," I said, trying not to smile. A smile would encourage him. "And I love you? Why?"

"Yep, you love me." He let an arm drop around me, his hand curling around my shoulder and pulling me toward him. "Come here. Kiss me, you thing with boobs."

"Watch the-are you watching?" I played at trying to pull away from him, but wasn't really trying all that hard.  "Stop it!"

"That's not what you said last night."

"Shut up and watch-look, there I am!"

I could just barely make myself out in the sea of white on the field as we took our formation and started the first few notes of Depeche Mode, Personal Jesus. Thankfully, Chris thought to zoom in on me and my young, clumsy body filled the screen. I remembered trying to count and remember my notes and dance cues at the same time-somehow I managed to not stumble over anyone.

"Uh oh... shake it, mama!"

He bobbed his head and tapped his foot to what must have been the most horrid version of that song he'd ever heard, occasionally laughing and clapping at the cheesy dance moves that each section did in accompaniment with the song. The choreography called for a few tame hip shakes and head tosses, the rest of the time keeping the beat and solidarity with a rhythmic back and forth movement of our instruments. Looking at it from the viewpoint of the stands, it looked pretty cool.

"That was good," he said when it was over, adding a few claps of sarcastic applause. "Did you guys win?"

"Second place. Not bad."

I reached forward and pressed the ‘stop' button on the remote and turned toward him, tucking a leg up underneath me. "So now you've seen me in high school." My bottom lip stuck out, forming a pout. "You laughed at me."

As if on cue, he burst into laughter again, his eyes crinkling up on the sides. "I laughed a lot, at you." He grabbed my head and pulled it toward him, kissed my temple and let go. "That was awesome. Thanks for sharing that with me. That's all I get to see?"

"That's all you get to see. Maybe I'll show you more on our tenth anniversary."

His smile froze for half a breath and then grew wider. "You're gonna let me hang around for ten years?"

"It'll go fast." I settled against him as a heavy arm settled onto my shoulders. "Can you believe it'll be a year, soon?"

The fingers of one hand curled up into my hair and gently pulled. JC stared off into the room, through the vertical blinds of the glass doors leading to the patio, out into the backyard. He seemed lost, deep in thought, before he finally answered.

"I really can't, actually," he said, an oddly emotional tinge to his voice. "Feels like yesterday that I met you. I still feel like I don't even know you, sometimes."

I shuddered at the sensation of his hands rubbing my scalp, soothing and yet electrifying. He definitely knew how to work with his hands.  "We are gonna get a crash course in each other, very soon. I feel it in my bones."

"I'm feelin' last night in my bones. We're not 20 years old anymore, you know that?"

I chuckled and offered an innocent smile. I was hurting, too but I'd never admit it to him. "It was fun though, huh?"

He answered with a wink and bent to graze in the crook of my neck, his stubble pricking and tickling me. "Fun should maybe not hurt so bad the next day."

He groaned and shifted, then seemed to sink lower into the couch. My head dropped to his chest and I sighed against him.  It was frightening how close I had become to never having that again-- never feeling his heart beat through his shirt, never riding the rise and fall of his breathing, never enveloped in the light cloud of delicious manly scent that was just... him. I could pick him out anywhere, just based on his smell.

"JC."

"Hm."

I sat up and turned so I was facing him on the couch. "What is... the craziest place you've ever had sex?"

His mouth dropped open, and his eyelids fluttered closed. Then opened again as his eyes drifted to the ceiling. "Where the hell did that come from?"

"I was just thinking about what you said-that you feel like you don't know me. Sometimes I feel the same... so let's get to know each other. Weirdest place you ever had sex. Tell me."

"You realize I've been all over the world, right?" He rubbed his chin, almost smiling. "Uhm. I want to say... God, I don't know. Maybe-okay." He looked over at me, square in the eye, and said, "Restroom in Germany."

Blink. "Come again?"

He nodded. "Right. Men's restroom. I mean, we were followed everywhere over there, and one of us would have to like, stand guard so we could use a bathroom in peace. Well this one night, I couldn't find anyone and I couldn't wait, so I just ran in there real quick..."  He chuckled, the memory seeming to become more vivid the more he shared.

"So this girl...she followed me in there. I turned around and... hello. We didn't really have sex. She cornered me. And I was young and... horny..." JC collapsed in a fit of laughter, falling forward toward me. I pushed him back upright.

"Wait," I said, giggling more at him than with him. "That's not sex. That's not even a weird place to get felt up. Who hasn't done it in a seedy bathroom?"

"In Germany," he said, incredulous. Giving up, he tossed up a hand and said, "Honey, I don't know... I don't have sex in weird places. Outside of like, the beach, on Hawaii, I'm not that daring. Your turn."

I pounded my fist into the cushion in mock frustration. "I was sure you had an answer that wouldn't make me sound like a freak."

"Well, now," he said, rearing back. "Go on."

"Uhm, okay." I started to laugh, now embarrassed at what I was about to admit. "When I was in high school, my boyfriend and I went to the elementary school down the street and uhm...had sex on the merry go round."

His smile faded. "Serena."

I giggled and gave him a mischievous grin. "What?"

"What if some kids saw you?"

I scoffed. "I'm not that bad. It was at night. And it happened fast. You know... teenage guy--not of the Chasez caliber of love machines."

"But outside? In public? You are a freak. I love freaks." He leaned over to kiss me but I dipped away.

"Takes one to know one. Okay...uhm. Place you've always wanted to have sex."

He shook his head slowly. "I'm way more interested in your answer. It's probably airplane bathroom, huh? Like the ultimate in conquering your fear of flying." 

"Actually..." I felt a blush crawl up my body and a bubble of nervous laughter escaped. "It was a trip to Vegas and I had to get drunk to get on the plane. It's so cliché, though. I don't think I know anyone hasn't done that."

He wagged his head. "It's not my favorite place to have sex. I don't see how anyone can feel sexy in a shit smelling box."

I choked on a laugh, pointing and nodding. "And that's why I'll never do it again. So, you don't have an answer?"

"Uhm...movie theater," he replied, an answer that surprised me. I couldn't imagine anything he hadn't done yet, let alone something so basic as a clandestine, hurried session in a dark theater. "I've thought about it. Tempted a couple of times but... you never know who's watching."

I didn't know whether to believe him or not-so I just stared at him, speechless. He shrugged both shoulders and grinned. "Serious. What?"

"JC...that's... I can't believe you've never... that's what the back row is for!"

He looked away, and then back at me, and shook his head. "Who are you?!"

"Well, I didn't say I've done it! I'm just surprised you haven't."

"You've had sex on playground equipment and I'm the freak? Uhm..." He lowered his eyes to his leg where I was subconsciously picking at random hairs and laid a hand over mine, stroking the back of it. "I'm kind of shy about that stuff. You know I like to keep my freakin' behind closed doors. So, now you answer the question."

"Football stadium."

My answers were having the most hilarious effect on him- he would look at me and then look away and then lean against the armrest of the couch and pinch the bridge of his nose. He acted like he expected me to be the pristine "sweet girl" image that must dominate the picture of me in his head. He most certainly didn't know me yet. I was sure I didn't know him yet. Not really, as much as I'd studied and memorized and tried to ‘read' him. We didn't know each other, at all.

"Okay. Wow," he said, nodding slowly, rubbing his forehead. "That's...wow. But..." he leveled a finger at me. "What if you end up on the Jumbotron?"

I shrugged, nonchalant, then both arms shot up into the air, mimicking two goal posts, and I yelled, "TOUCHDOOOOOWNNN!"

JC turned his head, covering his mouth with his hand but the couch was shaking with his silent laughter. We both erupted into loud giggles, falling back against the couch, near tears until we were limp and sniffling, wiping eyes and noses.

"Okay, so, you... find some empty stadium and decide we're having sex there. But did you know there are like... long range cameras out there?"

"What? Long range cameras?"

"Long range cameras," he repeated, nodding. "Like, cameras that can see you even when you think no one's watching. Don't you ever look at that stuff on the internet? Like, people having sex in public who think they can't be seen? Balconies, living rooms with the curtains open? Hotel rooms?"

"Oh." A thought crept into my mind and I was suddenly a little scared. "Do you think someone was watching us in the hotel? Maybe filming it?"

"Oh, I doubt it. Probably not. But if we have sex at a football stadium? Someone's watching. Guaranteed." He nodded, laughed, and then added, "It'd be hot though."

Intrigued, I dug deeper. "So, does public sex turn you on?"

"Well...like, out by the shed at your parent's house? That was hot. On general principle?"  He cringed, then shuddered, and then shook his head, slightly. "The idea is sexy. Thinking about doing it with you is sexy. But I think you have to be the kind of person that really gets into that and that's not me. I get nervous about things showing up that people I know- like my mom-- might stumble on to. You know?"

"But would you be that way if no one knew you, or no one cared enough to film it?"

JC rolled his eyes and dramatically dropped his head back against the couch cushion. "People always care enough to film it. I just mean that when I get down I like to feel comfortable enough to really enjoy it. Not have any inhibitions or anything. I think public sex just-- it sounds fun in theory but not in practice."

"Isn't that the appeal?" I gripped his leg, high up on his thigh, and moved higher. "The danger of maybe getting caught? Not that you weren't totally sexy that night out by the shed, but wasn't it more that my family was close and could have caught us?"

"Well, sure," he said, watching my hand roam around his lap. "I mean, once or twice it's probably fun. I wouldn't want to do that too many times, though. It makes me so nervous I can't...you know... perform."

I slid a hand across his chest, letting it travel across his abs and back down. "Oh, and we definitely need you to be able to perform."

JC growled, a low rumble that reignited the flame in the pit of my stomach. "Don't tease me, woman. I wonder what would happen if I said no." 

I chuckled and gave him a sideways glance. "It would take everything in you to say no."

He leaned onto my shoulder, laughing to himself. I laughed with him, playing in his hair and bent my head to softly kiss his cheek. He lifted his head to meet my lips, light moans coming from him. When he pulled back, he settled against the couch and sighed, eyes closed.  Content.

"So, what are you saying, you wanna do me in public? I probably wouldn't turn that down the first few times."

"No, not at all. I mean... not unless..."

He groaned and one eye opened, a baby blue orb rolling in my direction.

"...but if you won't like it, then no. I was just asking. Just to know."

The eye closed and he shook his head slowly. "Not likely, sweet girl."

"Of course not," I replied with a snort. "You don't even walk around without 2 layers of clothing on."

"I like to be covered," he answered in almost a mumble, starting a deep breath that usually led to a nap.

"So...do you stay friends with your exes?"

I wished I knew where that question came from. It wasn't one I was planning on asking, but once it popped into my head, it traveled directly to my mouth and fell out. It was out before I even realized I had asked it.

He didn't react, at first-his eyes didn't open, he didn't flinch, didn't swallow, didn't breathe. Eventually he slid a hand over to my lap, where my hands were now clasped tightly together. He worked his fingers between them, separating them, and then, fingers intertwined, brought our hands back to his lap. Only then did his eyes open and his head roll in my direction.

"She wasn't an ex."

"Wasn't she? She's someone you were with, at some point..."

"You sure you want to go there? I thought you wanted to get over it, get past it, start healing, like right now?"

His words, echoing mine from the night before, should have stopped me in my tracks, but didn't. The conversation turned on a dime from light and flirty to serious, and I felt powerless to stop myself from taking it there.

"I don't know, JC. I don't know what I want, right now. The closer we get to me moving out there, the more scared I get about the women in your past. Or worse-- your current, because you give me reason to be, if you stay connected to women you've dated or slept with. And maybe you can walk away, give a wink and a smile and a ‘thank ya honey, see ya around'."  I bobbed my head and put on my best JC impression-he wasn't amused by it. 

"It's different for women and I don't buy that they can fuck you one day and be platonic the next. They have to still care for you, and the second I screw up, they'll be there to soothe and console you. I'm not stuck up, you know.  I feel...like I'm being set up to fail. And when I do, you have back-ups. And back-ups for your back-ups."   

JC tucked in his bottom lip and bit down on it, his eyes fixed on our fingers still tangled together. I couldn't tell if he was mad or just thinking, but the longer we sat there in silence the worse I felt about what I had said.

"I'm not trying to make you feel guilty, JC," I said, in an effort to apologize, take it back, remove some of the venom from my words and my tone. "I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm harping on this-"

A gentle squeeze of my hand in his caught my attention. "You have no idea," he said, his voice gritty, rubbing on the nerve at the small of my back. "You have no idea how bad I want to say that you have nothing to worry about and how you can trust me and all that."

I nodded. "I know. I know you want to say that and reassure me, because that's you."

"The thing is, I can't make an enemy out of everyone. I'm not one for kicking people out of my life--you know that about me. And the business I'm in, I see people all the time, everywhere. I have to be able to work and function without avoiding this person or that person because we had a connection at some point. So, I don't know. You'll just have to have faith in us, I guess."

"Okay, but I did." I tipped his chin with a finger, turning his face toward me. Caressing the stubble there with the backs of my fingers I stared into his half open eyes to make sure he was listening.

"I did have faith in us, JC. I had no reason to think you would..." I dropped my hand and heard a heavy sigh-then was surprised to realize it came from me. "You kept saying not to worry, that you hadn't and you wouldn't, even after I told you about what happened with Robert. Did you know almost every boyfriend I have ever had has cheated on me? What am I doing wrong?"

JC's chest barreled with the deep breath he took and he unwound his fingers from mine. "Nothing. Nothing, honey it's not you. Look-- I can't do this right now.  Last night you said we were moving on; today you won't let it go. Obviously, you're not as ready to move on as you said you were. I can't apologize for the rest of my life."  

Sadly, he got up from the couch and padded slowly, quietly up the stairs.  

I stayed downstairs, in the same spot he left me in, listening to him move around upstairs. He probably expected me to run up there and apologize and smooth things over. Again. I was tired, though. So tired of the fighting and the making up and the moodiness (from both of us). Things would only get worse when we were in close proximity with nowhere to escape, nowhere to hide and no waiting it out until one of us was going home.

He was right, though about one thing-I really wasn't as ready to move on as I told myself I was.

I heard him in the hallway, the floorboards creaking with every step. And then silence. And then footsteps on the stairs. I glanced up, surprised to see him back downstairs, even more surprised to see him resume his seat on the couch next to me.

"So."

"So..." I eyed him, wondering what was up.

"So... you were supposed to come upstairs, after me."

An eyebrow lifted-I knew him better than I thought I did. "I was?"

He nodded, once.  "I was waiting for you. And then I was going to say all this cool, awesome, romantic stuff to you and then lay you down and make love to you."

"Really." I couldn't help the smile that was spreading across my face, or the lightening of my mood. "Sorry I missed out on that. Maybe you should have given me some kind of clue, like by not getting up and walking out of the room."

"My bad," he said, with a dip of his head. So cute it made it hard to stay strong. "I needed a minute. But I'm back. So, do you mind if I say all the cool stuff to you right now?"

"Not at all." I waived a hand at him, ending in a flourish. "You may begin."

He laughed a little, then grabbed my hands and held them both and when I looked up again, the expression on his face was indescribable-so serious but so soft. I think I melted into a puddle, right there on the couch.

 "You didn't really let me say I was sorry. Last night. And I was wrong to let you just blow it over. I mean, I know you just wanted to so it didn't hurt so bad, but I need to say it. And you need to hear it. I fucked up. I almost lost you and that was scary because I need you." He squeezed my hands in his and held onto them tightly, like I was going to pull away and run off. I considered it, if only because I felt a terrifying swell of emotion coming.  

"I'm sorry," he was saying, scooting closer to me, still gripping my hands. I squeezed back and he loosened up a little. "I'm really, so sorry. I promise you, it will never, ever happen again.  I don't expect you to believe me, but do believe that I love you, and I want to be with you, and I am working hard to earn your trust back. Your complete trust. I know it won't happen overnight but I hope you'll let me know when I have it again."

By the time he finished his speech, probably painstakingly prepared in the few minutes he was upstairs by himself, tears were threatening to spill over the edges of my eyelids and down my cheeks. I struggled to keep it together. I wanted to be done with the crying and the sadness. He came to see me and tried to make it better... so why wasn't it? Why was I still crying?

"Thank you," I managed to mumble. I felt my nose swell and my nostrils flare, as they did when I was about to cry. It was probably a glowing red bulb in a matter of seconds. "For saying it. And making me hear it. It helps. And I love you, too. And I want to be with you, too. And uhm..." I sniffled, a sob caught in my throat. "I know it's not fair to you, to hold onto this so... I have to... I'm gonna work on, you know, moving past it."

He let go of a hand and pulled me toward him and then wrapped both arms around me, settling back against the couch. I hiccupped into the hollow of his neck, trying to stop the whimpering and the hot, salty flow of tears.

It had been a few minutes since the last tear fell when I finally sat up. I wiped my face with the bottom of my t-shirt. I could feel how puffy and swollen my eyes were. It hurt to blink, so I just squinted at him.

"I hate my crying face," I warbled, then hiccupped again.

"You're beautiful," he said softly, catching a residual tear with the tip of a finger.

"Liar," I said, but smiled.

"So..." he said, his voice low.

"So," I whispered, my throat raw.

"So... how can I make this up to you? Are you gonna be able to let this go? Or is there something else I should do or say?"

What a great question.

What could he do, besides what he was already doing? Being there. Treating me well. Still not making excuses or giving stupid reasons, but taking full responsibility. The burden was on me now, apparently.  If I was forgiving him, I had to do it all the way. Anything less would be unfair to either of us-he'd always feel like he was working off a punishment and I'd never feel like he did enough to make up for it.

"I just need some time, I guess," I admitted finally. "I want to let it go and for it to be over and for us to go back to the way we were. I just... I can't push it there. Not by myself."

"Well, I'm here. You're not by yourself. Please let me be here for you."

It was a surreal experience, sitting in my living room with JC Chasez staring so earnestly into my eyes, almost pleading for this to work out, for another chance. I did not, at any point in my past, imagine that I would be in the kind of position I was in. It was a little unbelievable, but these giant hurdles that we had to jump made it so, very real.

"You know the weirdest thing about this? About us?" 

He shook his head, but said nothing. I toyed with the bottom of my t-shirt, soaked with my tears.

"Way back in the day, like when Schizo came out, I was obsessed with you. I would have dreams about you, so vivid I would wake up and wonder if they were real.  I'd imagine seeing you somewhere and our eyes would meet and you would be totally taken by my beauty..." I laughed, a little nervous at admitting my previous fantasies. "And it would be happily ever after. I don't think I ever imagined what comes between the meeting and the ever after. I think most people don't."

"My mind never got past the sex, when I met you."  When I laughed, he laughed, too. "Honest. I'm a man, and you're hot. That's really all I was thinking about. You're not the only one guilty of that."

"Yeah, I kind of knew that. So I pushed back hard when you started calling me after I came home. I was surprised you wanted anything more than sex. And I guess the weird thing is that we ended up dating, because now that I know you, I can't imagine you with someone like me. Does that make sense?"

A wrinkle creased his forehead.  "No. Not at all. Why do you say that?"

"Well, I mean... I was fucked up. I had all this turmoil about Regina; I didn't even know I had a father." I recounted my issues on one hand, hoping I wouldn't need the other when I was finished.  

"I was so insecure about you. And about us. I guess I see you with like... uber confident, way sexy, Goddess type of women. The women in your life shouldn't scare me and I think if you didn't already know me, it would bug the shit out of you that I even think about them. And I think-- well, I know that's why that--the kiss--fucked with my head, because I already thought that in a tossup between boring old down home Serena and an exciting hot Hollywood actress chick that you might pick her over me."

JC didn't respond. But I didn't really expect him to.

"I really don't want it to, but that scares, me, JC. It scares the living shit out of me, so I'm just gonna put this out there. If you don't want this-this, being us- or you want to pull back a little or take a break, I need to know now. I'm about to pick up my entire fucking life and move it to the West Coast. I want the best benefit to be that I'm close to you, and I so wanted this move to not be about you...but life in LA will suck if I'm not with you."

"Serena, we're talking in circles. I never said I didn't want this or-"

"I know." I held up a hand and he stopped, but huffed a frustrated breath.  "Look, I know. You're here and you love me and you want to be with me.  I heard you. I'm just saying I know you're kind of stretching your likes to be with me and what if... I mean, what if this becomes too big of a stretch for you? What if the stretch breaks?"

A long moment of silence followed while I bravely looked him in the eye and he returned my gaze, intense as ever. His jaw was set, his breathing shallow. "There is no stretch. That isn't how I feel," he said, finally. "I wish I could say something to turn that around for you."

"If you could say it, I would repeat it to myself until I believed it."

"You're more to me than what you look like, and you know that. I look for someone that matches me. That challenges me and makes me think. You match me better than anyone I've ever been with, and if you don't see that, I don't know what to tell you. And if you don't see the sexy thing I see when I look at you,  then honey you need new mirrors."

Unexpectedly, a burst of laughter shot out. It wasn't really all that funny, but I could laugh or I could cry some more. I had a headache from crying, so I laughed. He smiled and bobbed his head a little, like he was proud that he could make me laugh.

"But seriously," he continued, "Every day, I think about you coming out there and us being able to hang out together. All the time. No one has to go home in three days or five days or six weeks or three months. I'm really looking forward to that. You just don't even know how much."

Yes, I did. I did, I did, I did.

"I really can't wait to be there," I breathed, still staring into his eyes.

"It'll be great. But honey, you have to forgive me, or this doesn't work. I mean it, when I say I can't apologize forever."

I inhaled deeply and sat up straight, then slowly let the breath out. Letting it go. Resolving not to bring it back, again. Really, seriously moving forward this time. I grabbed his hand and held it, squeezed it in mine, and said, with the most conviction I could muster, "We're gonna be fine."

"I hope so," he said, squeezing back. 

"I love you, so much."

"I love you, too. Just keep remembering that."

"I will. I do, everyday." 

I leaned forward, toward him as he leaned toward me. Our lips met in what started as a light peck but grew into something deeper as he pressed his mouth onto mine. Insistent and lingering and almost desperate, his tongue forced my mouth open and teased mine, coaxing it into playing with his. I wrapped both arms around his neck and laid back, pulling him down on top of me, sighing into his mouth as his weight sank onto me. I think my entire body exhaled in relief.

"We are too old for the couch," he mumbled against my neck, but made no moves to get up.

"We're not too old to lay here," I said, smiling up at the ceiling. "I just want to lay with you and be close to you."

"Mkay." He settled onto me, reaching back to hook his hands behind my knees and wrap my legs around him.

"God, I love this. I could do this all day."

"Mmmmm..." he hummed. The vibration danced along my skin and skipped down my back.

"So what do you want to do today?"

"This. You just said you could do this all day. Let's".

I giggled and tapped his shoulder. "I'm serious. Before we fight some more."

"No," came a muffled reply, then he lifted his head. "No more fighting, today. What do you want to do?"

I pondered my options for a few minutes, knowing that if the choice was to run upstairs, he'd be all over that. I wanted to save that for later, though, when the day was done and we could relax and not have to worry about getting up, again. I wanted to take my time and enjoy him. Appreciate him.  My mind sparked an idea and as my eyebrows rose, so did his.

"'kay, I've decided. But you'll probably say no."

He tilted his head to the side, eyeing me with suspicious reservation. "If you think I'll say no, I probably will. But you don't know that. Try me."