I slept through the alarm I set, overslept by an hour. I woke up to the staticky crackle of a local radio station blaring through the small clock radio next to the bed.  I flipped the switch to turn the alarm off and rolled to my back. I was sore. ‘The good kind of sore,’ I thought with a smile.  I kicked the covers off, sat up, and bounded out of the bed, gathering my shower kit on the way to the bathroom, humming and grinning like a fool.

Sometimes the shower was a blessing and a curse. Because I was held captive, and I was relaxed, a lot of my best ideas came from a great shower. On the other hand, it was in the shower that my fears found time and opportunity to pop up. I usually spent that time thinking about Regina, and the latest issue I was trying to handle. Or work. Or friends.

I tried, that morning, to think about anything but JC. Thinking about him would make me relive the past two days, but my brain couldn’t help but fast forward past that day, and the next. What about the day after next? When I went home, and I wasn’t there, in LA, near him. And he wouldn’t be able to swing by and pick me up and take me to some oddly fascinating place, and ask me nosy questions about my adoption? What then? I just couldn’t think about it—the thought made me feel opportunistic about sleeping with him. We both knew it was more than that. It seemed to be more than that, anyway.

I had a few things I wanted to do, and I had my presentation to go through for the following day’s meeting. I was ready, but I couldn’t be too prepared. I wanted to go through it a few more times, make sure I had answered all of the anticipated questions, and that I had answers for questions that might come out of left field. As if I needed any more pressure, the idea of spending a lot of time in LA in the future was motivation to work hard and to knock the meeting out of the park.

I called a cab, and had him drop me in Beverly Hills. I just wanted to see it, to see if it was like it appeared to be on TV. Amazingly, it was like any other place. People milled about, eating, shopping, laughing, talking. I wandered into a few shops, nearly fainted at the price tags, stopped into a trendy eatery and treated myself to lunch.

I watched the people walk by, from time to time giggling, remembering dinner Friday night, when JC had me nearly in tears with his made-up stories about the people on the street outside the Chinese restaurant. I found myself wondering what he was doing. Was he thinking about last night, or the night before, like I was? Or going about his day, without a thought about me and what we’d shared. Was I just another conquest, a notch in the bedpost for him? I shook my head, chased the thoughts away. I couldn’t give in to that. It served no purpose.  

With a sigh, I laid down a few bills to pay for my lunch and wandered off to find a cab and go back to the hotel.

I had it. I knew it. But I had to go over it, again, one more time. Go over the questions, one more time. The answers, again. I pulled out the suit I would wear-- a sharp Donna Karan number with clean lines and a flattering cut-- and made sure it had no wrinkles. I sent it down to the laundry to be pressed anyway. I obsessively ran a cotton cloth over the low heels I had brought, and set those out as well. I was driving myself crazy- I was ready. ‘So just relax,’ I told myself.

I started to get hungry, and thought it would be a good time to call JC. He’d said whatever I wanted to do, we would do. I wanted to eat. And go somewhere fun, or at least interesting. And I wanted to be with him again, enjoy the feeling of him on me. Not necessarily in that order.

I curled up in the chair, remote in one hand, phone in the other, and flipped through the channels as the phone rang in my ear. His voicemail picked up, a simple ‘hi you’ve reached me, but I’m not here, so tell me who you are and I’ll call you back’. He was such a funny person, without meaning to be. I left a message that I was trying to reach him to see if he wanted to get dinner, and to call me back otherwise I would find something to eat on my own. I stopped flipping channels at MTV, caught up in a random drama-filled reality show. What happened to music? What was this crap, on MTV, in the middle of the day?

The phone buzzed in my lap. A quick check of the display told me it was JC. “Hi, there,” I said, my eyes fixed on the TV screen.

I heard music in the background, loud and then muffled as he began to speak. “Hey. I just got your message. Did you eat, yet?”

I muted the TV on my end, so I could focus on our conversation. “No. I got caught up in some crap on MTV. What the hell is ‘The Hills’?”

“Oh, honey, I don’t know. I don’t watch that stuff. What do you want to eat?”

I pondered the question. There had to be thousands of options, here. “Something not Chinese. And not too heavy. I don’t want to be bloated for my meeting tomorrow.”

“Oh yeah, that’s tomorrow. Are you ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be. So, did you want to go somewhere? To eat?” My stomach was starting to protest the long span of time between lunch and dinner.

“Yeah, I could eat. I’ll come get you. We’ll go somewhere fun. About an hour okay?”  ‘Somewhere fun’ sounded like the best idea, ever. I agreed to be ready and hung up, then un-muted the TV. Who were these people, and why did I care?

An hour later, there was a knock at the door. I was surprised—I’d planned on meeting him out front. Dressed in loose blue jeans and a plain long sleeved cotton shirt, he sauntered into the room with a smile on his face.

“Hey,” he said. I didn’t miss his eyes giving me a quick once over, noticing my attire. “You wore jeans. Good girl.”

I beamed up at him. “And sleeves, even. I’m a good listener.”

“That you are,” he said, his arms circling my waist. I had to reach, up on my toes, to hug his neck, since I was much shorter in sneakers than heeled sandals. Warm lips and the gentle sting of stubble hit my cheek as he gave me a close, tight hug, then pulled back, tilted his head and touched his lips to mine, feather soft. So soft that if I hadn’t have watched him do it I’d have never known he kissed me. That kind of thing had to be in the ‘Chasez Arsenal of Things That Drive Women Wild’ because it turned me on more than anything we’d done the night before.

“How are you, today?” he asked me, his eyes staring into mine.

I felt myself blushing, not only from the kiss, but from the attention. He was… so intense. When he looked at me, he really looked at me, in the eye. When he asked a question, he looked like he was really interested in the answer. He was like that on the plane, at dinner, at drinks and all day the day before. I wasn’t used to it and wondered if it faded, after awhile. After the novelty of someone new wore off.

“I am… wonderful today. And you?”

A smile broke across his face and he dipped his head for another kiss. “I am fucking fantastic,” he mumbled, in the seconds before his lips touched mine and he kissed me, quite like I’ve never been kissed before.

“Please say you’re not hungry,” he panted, between kisses.

“I’m sorry, JC, I’m starving. I wish I wasn’t but I’ll pass out if I don’t eat something.”

His throat made a funny noise, and he reluctantly pulled back, running his hands down my arms until he was holding both of my hands in his. “You need lots of energy, so let’s get you something to eat. Italian okay? I know a little place not that far from here.”

“Sounds good,” I said, picking up my purse and leading him to the door.

When he said ‘not that far from here’, what he might have meant was ‘kind of far away’. I felt like we drove and drove and drove and I was so hungry it hurt, but soon he switched lanes and pulled into the parking lot of a quaint Italian Bistro. Relieved, I almost fell out of the car as he turned off the ignition, and he followed me to the door. As soon as we stepped inside, we were immersed in Old World Italy—music, art, décor, the works. The servers were dressed in black slacks, crisp white shirts and black vests, with a carnation pinned to the lapel.

The hostess recognized him, and asked him if he wanted his usual seat. He gave her a warm smile and nodded, and she picked up two menus and led us to a small cozy table in the dimly lit restaurant. The table was lit by a single candle and the surrounding walls were high, making the table seem semi private. It was lovely and the smells made my mouth water.

“So, what’s good here?” I asked. “Everything?”

“Just about. I usually get some chicken and pasta dish. It’s really good. I mean, anything with pasta and a sauce is just done really well here.”

I laughed to myself. I never pictured Chasez to be a connoisseur of Italian food, but then again he did seem to be the expert on everything. I settled on a dish of manicotti, since I hadn’t had it years. I looked forward to it and my stomach rumbled loudly.  “And could we get some bread, for the lady, before she passes out?” he asked the waiter, winking in my direction.

“Thank you,” I whispered, after the waiter walked away. “So what did you do, today?”

He folded his arms on the table, leaning forward. “I slept in, first of all. Felt good. Uhm, just hung out. Sunday is still kind of my relaxing day, so I didn’t do much. Worked in the studio, on some music a little bit. Watched some football. Then you called. And you?”

I gulped water, trying to calm my stomach before the bread arrived. “Uhm, I slept in as well. Also felt good. Went to Beverly Hills, looked around. Just to see it. I didn’t buy anything.” I played with the folded napkin, trying to get it to stand on end. He watched me, amused. “Then I worked on my pitch for awhile. Not much could be done to it. Obsessed about my suit and my shoes. Then I called you.”

“And here we are.”

I nodded, watching the waiter approach the table out of the corner of my eye. I took a bite of the piping hot, buttery breadstick that I plucked out of the basket he set on the table.  

“So,” I said, chewing, “you’re not missing any important games, because of me, are you? I know how you hate to miss your games.”

“You’re creepy. You know too much about me,” he teased. I giggled, feeling better since I had something on my stomach. 

“Sorry. I’ll stop.”

“No, don’t stop. I just need to even the score. So, tell me. What do you hate to miss? What do you and your friends do for fun, out there in Atlanta?”

I actually had to think about it. I hadn’t really socialized with my friends in a long time. I’d been feverishly working on the pitch I was giving the following day, night and day, for months. “Uhm. The last time I got together with my friends, we had a Wii party at Melissa’s. Like a little tournament thing. I suck at everything, but no one’s really that good anything, so that’s a benefit.”

“Really. I like that Wii thing. What do you play?”

“Uhm. Like. Bowling,” I threw out, laughing. “Mario Kart. I fucking HATE Guitar Hero, though. I suck at it.”

“Aw, don’t give up on it. You improve, over time.”

“I think I’m a better fan than I am musician. I have to practice at home.”

His eyes brightened, then. “You have one at home?”

I nodded, grinning. “Yeah. I’m spoiled. My dad just dropped it off, one day. He was like ‘here honey, I thought you’d like this. All the kids love them.’ Because to him, sometimes I’m still twelve.”

“Well you know, when you get back home, look me up on Mario Kart so I can kick your ass from LA,”   he said, bobbing his head in that cute way when he was being sassy.

“Okay, I said I sucked at Guitar Hero. Not Mario Kart. I kick some serious ass on Mario Kart.”

“This, I’m gonna have to see,” he said, sitting back as two heaping, sizzling plates of pasta arrived at the table. “Thanks,” he said, nodding to the waiter, declining additional cheese. I nodded for him to pile it on.

“This smells so incredible. I am going to enjoy myself. Sorry if I throw any food around.”

He laughed, swirling pasta around a fork. “You like food, then.”

“I love food. Food is good. I’m a foodie but I’m not picky. I just like to eat it.” I shoveled a bite of steamy, cheesy pasta into my mouth and groaned, eyes closed. It was delicious.

“So when I come out to Atlanta, where are you taking me to eat? Where do you like to go?’

When he comes out to Atlanta? When was that decided?

“Oh, too many choices,” I said, swallowing and preparing another bite, taking the casual, subtle announcement in stride. If he actually came to Atlanta, I would eat my left shoe. “There are new restaurants opening every day. I’ll weigh 600 pounds soon.”

He nearly choked on his dinner, laughing. “Honey, I doubt that. Stop that. Really. The last place you ate that you really liked.”

“Uhm. Okay. Last summer we had a little birthday thing at this new place called Luckie Food Lounge. It’s not so much the food, just the atmosphere. The place is gigantic, and they open it in phases as the night goes on. Usually just the lounge area, then half the bar, then the other half. By the end of the night the place is just packed wall to wall with people, and they have these flat screens everywhere, playing music video stations, really cozy booths. And the food isn’t really all that bad.”

“How are the drinks?”

I shrugged. “A little watered down. A little expensive, but not too bad. About average, maybe a little better. There are better places to go, for drinks, but I liked Luckie. It was fun to hang out. I prefer a place with things to do, like… I don’t know. ESPN Zone or Jillian’s--- billiards and games and a sports bar kind of atmosphere.”

“So the place we went Friday night…”

“Very nice. A little slow and stuffy, though.”

“For me, too. I don’t go out there that much. I was just trying to impress you.”

I looked up at him, at that handsome face with a drop of cream sauce on his chin, and smiled my prettiest smile. “Not necessary. Not at all. You got a little something on your chin.”

He raised his eyes from his plate, setting off a smoldering fire in the pit of my stomach. “Come lick it off,” he whispered.

“Don’t tempt me,” I whispered back, and handed him my napkin. He took it and wiped his chin. “Am I good?”

“Very good. Very good.” I ducked my head and attacked my pasta while he launched into a story about the first time he’d gone to that lounge and whose party it was and who was there. I didn’t know any of those people and didn’t really care. I just wanted to hear him talk, so I let him, while I finished my meal to the last drop, even scraping the cheese off of the plate.

He finally finished his story and began eating again. I looked around the restaurant, thinking it to be a strange, out of the way place for someone to pop in for dinner. “How did you find this place?” I asked him, sipping ice water, pushing my plate away.

“Ex girlfriend brought me here once. Got rid of her, kept the place.”

“Rude. When you come to Atlanta, you can never go to Luckie Food Lounge without me, ever.”

“I’m not planning on it,” he said, sliding the last of his pasta off of his fork, into his mouth, and biting off a chunk of bread.

“Are you planning on coming out to Atlanta?”

“Eventually,” he said with a shrug. “I mean, I work with Dallas a lot out there and uhm. I might have something next year. We’ll see.” He said it so casually that I almost didn’t catch it, but I’m a fan. So I did.

“Something, as in music? New music? Your music?”

He put up both his hands, palms facing me, and stumbled over his words. “Now, Serena, just… just relax. Calm down. It’s nothing to get excited over, really. I’m always working on music. But maybe. MAYBE next year. Maybe. I don’t want to get your hopes up. And please don’t say anything. Can I trust you?”

I made a zipping motion across my lips. “My lips are sealed. I hope it turns into something to get excited over, though.”

“I know,” he said, bashful. “The fans are waiting. I’m trying, I’m trying. That’s all I can say.”

I wondered what that was about but decided not to push. If he wanted to share, I would find out in due time, I supposed. I was far more excited about the possibility that he might be traveling East and that I might get to see him far earlier than I expected. Once I gave the pitch to Qwest, I didn’t expect a decision for at least 90 days.

“Are you done?” he asked. I nodded. “Dessert?”

“Cannoli. To go,” I suggested.

“You do like food,” he said, laughing. I liked the sound, liked his face when he laughed. He just looked like a happy person, especially when he smiled with his eyes. It made me smile back at him.

“We need a treat. For later.” He agreed and placed an order for them when the waiter came to clear the table.  His elbows appeared back on the table. “So uhm. What time do you fly out, tomorrow?”

I perked, and sat up. “Oh. I don’t fly out until Tuesday. I thought you knew that.”

He sat up, mimicking me. “No, I didn’t. I thought you’d be leaving tomorrow.”

“You trying to kick me out of California, Chasez?”

He was playing with his straw, and used it to flick water at me. “No. I just was thinking I had to make tonight last. I mean. Unless you had plans tomorrow.”

“I don’t, but if you don’t stop flicking water at me, we’re going to have problems.” I wiped my face with my napkin, trying to give him a stern look, but it didn’t work. “You want me to call you, when I’m out of my meeting?”

“Yes.”

“Would you say no, if you didn’t really want me to?”

“Yes. But why wouldn’t I want you to?”

“Just asking. Maybe four days in a row is a lot. You don’t have to entertain me. That’s all I’m saying.”

“I want to, though. So, let me. Okay? Unless you’d rather be alone.”

I shrugged one shoulder, and blinked slowly. “Eh.”

He tossed his head back and laughed. “I have never seen a more convincing vote of confidence. Thanks. Yeah, Call me. If you want. I’ll just leave it up to you. How’s that?”

“I’ll call you.”

The waiter arrived with our box and the check. I reached for it but he smacked my hand away and picked it up, looked at it and then tossed it at me. “Yeah, you can pay that,” he said, then picked up the box and stood up. I shook my head, laughing, and dug my wallet out of my purse, leaving enough bills for the meal and the tip under the ticket and followed him out of the restaurant.

“I can’t believe you just paid that,” he said, after he let me in the car and got in on his side.

“Why? You’ve paid for everything since Friday.”

“I don’t know. I guess I’m just used to a certain kind of girl, I guess.”

“Hmmmm,” I mused. “Time to change the company you keep, I think.”

“Maybe. Maybe so.” He pulled out of the lot, into traffic, traveling the opposite direction, the setting sun giving off a glare. I unclipped his shades from the visor and handed them to him. He took them, smiled over at me, and put them on.

“Anything else you want to see? We’re losing sun, so speak now.”

I shook my head no, slouched down in the seat and tapped my foot to the beat of the soft music playing over the speakers, watching the evening lights come on and the cars pass by. I hoped I would be coming back to LA.

JC parked in the same spot he’d parked the night before and we took the same route up to the room. I took the box of Cannoli and set them in the refrigerator to stay cool. He made a bathroom stop and I sat in the corner chair, rolling through the screen on my Blackberry. No important emails, no missed calls. All was right with the world.

The laundry had delivered my suit, nicely pressed, covered in a plastic garment bag. I removed the bag and checked it, again. JC stood next to me as I inspected the work. “That’s a very nice suit, Miss Willis. You’re gonna knock ‘em dead in that.”

“You think so?” I asked, scrunching my nose. “You don’t think it’s too…” What was the word I wanted? I dropped my hands and sighed. “I don’t know. Not like I have a choice, it’s the only suit I brought.” I hung it in the closet, near my newly shined shoes.  I untied the sneakers I wore and lined them up in the closet as well.

JC had already removed his shoes and had commandeered half of the mountain of pillows on the bed. “Should we watch a movie?”

“No,” I said. “We ordered a movie last night we didn’t even watch.”

“I watched half of it,” he said, in a funny, sort of whiny voice that made me giggle. I took my turn in the bathroom, brushing my teeth and hair, and checked my light makeup. When I came out of the bathroom, JC had the night stand drawer open and was fishing condoms out of the stack I had tossed in there.

“You still didn’t bring any condoms? What if I had thrown all those out?” I kneeled onto the bed, watching him read the back of the package of lubricant.

“I would have gone to the store. What is this stuff?”

“Lube.”

He sneered at me, then said, “I know it’s lube. I mean, why does your friend have so many packages of them?”

“She’s uhm. She’s a freak about safe sex. We call her the ‘Safe Sex Fairy’. Out of condoms? Melissa probably has some. What’s funny is that she’s a lesbian. She’s just… really into safe sex. I think she had a cousin die of AIDS, so…” I shrugged.

“Well,” he said, setting the packages on the nightstand. “I am going to send Melissa some flowers.”  He leaned back, extending his arm, and wiggled his fingers at me. “Come here,” he mumbled.

I laid down next to him, where his arm met his shoulder, facing him. He curled up next to me, sliding an arm around my waist. I reached up to stroke his face, his stubble prickling my fingers. “I should have shaved,” he whispered.

I shook my head. “No, you should be yourself,” I whispered back, stretching up kiss those sweet lips.

“About last night…”

“What about it? And if you apologize, I will knock you out.”

I felt his laugh before I heard it. “No apologies, then. Okay. But you’re… I mean. You don’t feel weird or anything about it, do you?”

I looked up at him, made sure I was looking him in the eye. I wanted no question as to my feelings on the matter.

“No. I feel good. I knew pretty early in the evening that it was going to happen and I’m happy it did and I don’t care if it’s a typical thing for you, or whatever. I enjoyed it and I don’t regret it.”

“That’s not a typical thing, Serena.” He blushed, very slightly.  “I don’t… I haven’t done the groupie thing in a long time. And even when I did the groupie thing, it’s probably not nearly as bad as you think.”

“I don’t really want to lay here and dissect the number of women, besides me, that you’ve slept with. I’d venture a guess that none of them regret it, though, and neither do I.”

“I regret some of them,” he said quietly. “But I don’t regret you.”

“Yet.”

He rolled his eyes and gave me a sarcastic smile. “I’m trying to be sincere, here.”

“Why? Why do you care what I think or if I regret it or if you would regret it? I’m not trying to be a bitch or anything but… why care?”

“Because,” he said, smoothing my hair back, away from my face, and planting a kiss on my neck, whispering into my skin. “Because I don’t want you to regret being with me. And I don’t want to regret being with you. And because I’m planning on seeing you more and regrets just won’t work for us.”

I shuddered, his breath tickling my skin. My goodness, this man did things to me. All I could do was lay there and breathe, eyes closed, feeling the sensation of his lips on me, his breath on me, his body close to me, his hands in my hair. I was drunk off of that feeling. No, I didn’t regret a thing. And wouldn’t.

I ran a hand down his arm, to the bottom of his shirt and pulled it up, pushing him back so he was laying flat. He grabbed the shirt by the hem and pulled it off, tossing it onto the floor. “Better be careful,” I teased, bending toward him, lightly kissing his belly along the trail of hair that led from his chest into the band of his jeans. “It took you five minutes to find all your clothes last night.”

“They’ll be somewhere in this room. That’s all I need to know.” He laid back, relaxed, hands under his head, and closed his eyes as I explored him, covering him with kisses from his belly up to his neck across each shoulder and each arm. I sat up, straddling him, his hands in mine, kissed one palm, and then the other, then wrapped his hands around my waist. He tugged my blouse up and I pulled it off, revealing a plain white bra.

“No lace, tonight?”

I shook my head, slowly. “No lace, tonight.”  He reached behind me and unclasped the bra, on the first try. “You’re too good at that,” I said, tossing it away.

“It’s not rocket science,” he said, sitting up to nuzzle each breast, licking a ring of fire around each nipple before closing his mouth on one, and then the other, back and forth, while I slowly went crazy, clutching his head, lightly scratching his scalp. I couldn’t take it anymore, and pulled back, bending my head to kiss him. I’d been too shy, the night before, to really kiss him, like I wanted to. I took the opportunity to make up for that, and thoroughly enjoyed it, as did he, moaning and sinking back onto the bed, reaching down to unbutton and unzip his jeans and kick out of them. When his were gone, he reached for the band of my jeans, unbuttoned them, and shoved them down over my hips and down my legs so that I could push them off.

He brought an arm around my shoulder and rose, rolling us over. I exhaled, feeling him gently lower himself onto me. My legs wrapped around him, instinctively, my arms went under his and around his shoulders, feeling the muscles in his back. His mouth, tongue, teeth, ravaged my lips, pulling at them biting them, gently. His breathing was heavy, rapid, as he tipped his head and made himself comfortable in the crook of my neck, licking and lightly sucking.

“If you give me a hickey, Chasez…”

“I’m not sucking that hard.”

I tapped him on the back. “Don’t suck there, at all. My suit doesn’t cover that. I can’t go to a meeting with a big purple bruise on my neck. I can’t go home with a big purple bruise on my neck.”

“Alright, alright,” he said, bringing his head up. “Getting dark in here. Do we need the lamp?”

“Yes. Can you turn it on?” 

He reached to flip the slider on the lamp, lighting up the room. He noticed the alarm clock, then, and turned the radio on, tuning the station to some easy listening, light rock, jazzy station, then laid down next to me. He was in no hurry. Neither was I. We laid there for the better part of an hour, talking randomly about random things. Music, people, life—the conversation peppered occasionally with kisses and touches and caresses, each one building a tiny step on the foundation we’d been setting all weekend. I already knew I was going to miss him something awful when I got home.

I shivered, despite being wrapped up in him, his arms around me, his legs intertwined with mine. I had nothing on but my panties and the room had cooled considerably. He reached up and yanked the covers and sheets down, climbed inside and then held them open for me. I crawled in and snuggled up against his warm skin. He laid on his side, propped on one elbow.

His hand was heavy. I never realized how big and thick and heavy his hands were, until they were on me. He had stubby fingers but the palms themselves were large, and sometimes the veins bulged, especially if he had been exerting himself. At the moment his hand was busy moving over my skin, setting off little five alarm fires wherever it went. I felt him travel south, saw his head dip to kiss me and my eyes fluttered closed. Gently, he rubbed me through thin fabric. My hips responded and I moaned into his mouth.

The kiss didn’t break as his fingers began a slow rhythm.  My body couldn’t keep up with my brain and was doing things before I told it to. He rubbed faster and harder and my hips moved with him. I finally broke the kiss and took a breath. I couldn’t concentrate on two things at once. Undeterred, a wet trail of kisses journeyed down my neck, across my chest. My nipples stood at attention and he bit at them. Between his fingers and his mouth I was losing control, a mess of moans and shudders. 

Suddenly, his hand left me. I thought he was stopping and I lifted my head, and then saw that he had pulled his briefs off. Before I knew it, he hooked his fingers under the waistband of my panties and did away with the thin cotton material.  He went back his rhythm of stroking and biting, driving me to the brink, so close I could taste it, but I needed more.

Reading my mind, he leaned over me and whispered in my ear, “You want it?”