I awoke in the middle of the bed and alone, rays of sunlight streaming in from the windows. One eye cracked open, and then the other, blinking against the brightness of the room. For a fleeting moment, I wondered if I had dreamt the night before. Maybe… but it felt too real, too vivid, too… amazing, to use an overused word. But it was really amazing to be with him again, to feel him on me and around me again. It felt like it had been a very long time, and not just over a month since I’d seen him last and yet the minute I saw him it was like time had not passed at all.

I stretched, kicking my legs out, my arms reaching toward the ceiling, my sore limbs protesting against the movement. I yawned, and realized my throat was still a little raw. I sat up and saw his suitcase zipped and standing neatly just outside of the walk-in closet. I could smell him, in the air. I smiled to myself as I sat cross legged on the bed, absentmindedly kneading a knot in the back of my neck. I wasn’t dreaming.

He was here. He was really here and the evening had been perfect, far beyond what I expected—I really hadn’t even expected him to show. He’d twice had to move the date and in my mind I suspected he would keep moving it until he didn’t come and then he would just fade away and he’d be someone I met, once and I’d just go down in history as one of those fans that got to sleep with a celebrity. I didn’t really want to go down in history, that way. I wanted to mean more to him that than. He already meant more to me than that.

The strong scent of coffee propelled me out of the bed, a happy feeling in the pit of my stomach. At least he felt comfortable enough to make himself at home. I made a beeline for the bathroom and made myself presentable. Not that it mattered; he’d seen me at my worst already. I hadn't had a man in my house--in the morning-- in years and I needed a minute to think and wake up and be charming and “The Goddess of Fun and Light”, as one of my self-help ‘Catch Yourself a Man’ books advised. ‘Screw the Goddess,’ I thought to myself, tugging a brush through my tangled hair, brushing my teeth, splashing cool water on my face. ‘If he doesn’t like me by now, there’s no hope for the boy.’

I noticed his toiletry bag sitting on the counter between the double sinks and peeked inside. Colgate Extra Whitening Toothpaste. Scope mouth wash. John Varvatos cologne—that’s what smelled so good. Random one ounce bottles of things like lotion and aftershave and shave cream. Electric razor. Degree deodorant. I wondered if he’d been nosy and looked in my medicine cabinet. I opened the door and checked it. Nothing embarrassing—I kept all the embarrassing things in a cabinet in my bedroom.

I pulled on a pair of pajama bottoms and a t-shirt and softly padded down the steps, toward the delicious aroma of coffee and the soft crinkle of the newspaper. The dining room light was on and the Saturday morning edition of the Atlanta Journal-Constitution covered the cozy, six person table. I rounded the corner and stopped at the sight of him in glasses, holding a folded page in one hand, a mug of coffee in the other, in a plain white t-shirt and jeans. So simple, so casual, so handsome. I leaned up against the wall that separated the living room from the dining room with an elegant arch, and uttered a shy  “good morning.”

He looked up from the paper, then, his blue eyes bright and clear, looking wise behind the thick, stylish black frames. His face broke into a smile as he answered back, “morning,” and then “come here,” with a wave of his head. I pushed myself off of the wall and walked around the table to him as he scooted his chair back and made room for me, gripping me by my waist and pulling me down, onto his lap. I swung my legs over both of his and threw my arms around his neck, sighed at the feeling of his arms closing around me. He hugged me, tight, for a long moment before pulling back, brushing strands of hair behind my ear, cupping the side of my face and gently pulling me toward him.

His lips brushed across mine, so light I almost didn’t feel it. And again, lingering just a few seconds before moving away. A third time, his lips parted. I opened my mouth against his and ran my tongue along his bottom lip. I tasted coffee. We shared a long, sweet, slow kiss. A moan escaped my throat; he moaned in chorus. The vibration sent lightning bolts down my back and I shuddered. It was way too much for the first kiss of the morning, but I didn’t want it to end.

When it did, he glanced up at me, a sexy half grin on his lips. “You make kissing so much fun,” he said.

“Likewise,” I said, leaning down for another quick moment, a capture of his lips, a span in which time stopped and all that mattered was him. I took a deep breath, when I had finally pulled back. “I see you found the coffee.”

He nodded. “In the freezer. I don’t know what made me look there. My mom keeps her coffee in the freezer. Maybe that.”

I swung my legs back around and stood, stretching. He poked me in my side with one of his stubby fingers and I yelped, jumping away, and then walked around the table again into the kitchen to pour myself a mug and join him.

“Girls don’t want to hear about how they’re like your mom, JC.”

“Why not?” he said, his head bent over the paper again. “She’s smart, she’s funny, she’s a great cook, I love her a lot. Who wouldn’t want to be like her?”

“Just trust me on this.” I rifled through the multiple stacks of paper on the table, looking for the Life section, the only reason I even had the paper delivered. “Did you sleep okay? You’re up early.”

He didn’t even lift his head as he spoke. “Like a rock, once I got to sleep. Someone wouldn’t leave me alone last night.” I nearly choked on my coffee, remembering our sexy little game from the night before. I won.

“That’s what you get. You should remember what you told Dallas.”

“Hm?”

I blew on my coffee, holding the mug gingerly in my hands, and grinned a wicked grin at him over the rim. “When I say I’m really good at something, I’m really good at it.” He lifted his head, wiggled his brows at me and went back to the paper.

“Did you eat? I’m starving.”

He shook his head, plucking his bottom lip out, and then releasing it, and plucking it again. “When aren’t you starving, Serena? I actually haven’t even been awake that long.”

“Long enough to make coffee. What are you reading, over there?”

“Local news. You guys have no water.”

I nodded. The story had been at the top of every broadcast for months. “Oh, yeah. We’re in a drought.”

A hint of a smile started in the corner of his mouth. “I figured that means we need to shower together. Conserve water.” 

I slowly nodded, trying not to smile back. “Of course. We need to do our part, for the environment. Conserve water and all of that.”

“I agree. The environment is important to me. Isn’t it important to you?”

I put on my best serious look. “Oh. Gosh. Really, very important.” I nodded rapidly and he his face finally broke into a smile. “Do you want to eat something, before we save the environment? Together?”

“Uhm, yeah I could eat. Are you cooking? If we’re going out, we should shower first.”

“I’m cooking.”

I made my dad’s version of Egg McMuffins—he called it Eggs McWillis, and it was the same thing as the McDonald’s sandwich except so much better-- stealing glances at him while I cooked and he read the paper.  I didn’t want to get caught up in playing house, in the domesticity of it all, but if I had to imagine my idea of the start of a perfect day, this was it. Quiet, unhurried, happy. I couldn't help but notice how comfortable I was having him there and how much I enjoyed sharing the morning with him.

After breakfast, he helped me clean up and load our dishes into the dishwasher, issuing his theory on placement of dishes in the basket so as to achieve the best benefits of spray. God, he was cute. I indulged him, because he was so into it. And when he went home I would go back to loading the dishwasher however the hell I pleased.

He motioned for the soap. I handed it to him and watched him fill the cup and took the container back. Impressed, for some reason, that he knew what he was doing. He closed the door and started the cycle, the machine rumbling to life. “We never washed the ones from last night.”

I leaned up against the counter, one leg crossed over the other. “I know. I only run it when it’s full. You’re pretty good at that. You want a job? I hate doing the dishes.”

“I only do them when I’m trying to get some,” he said, laughing, grabbing me by the waist and hugging me to him. I wrapped my arms around him and laid my head on his chest, searching out his heartbeat. We stood together for a few minutes, talking and laughing, swaying slowly, until I heard a knock at the door. 

He stopped moving, and I felt him tense up. “Expecting company?” he whispered. I walked around him, ducking my head around the corner to peer out of the long windows on either side of the front door. I caught a glimpse of Melissa’s car in my driveway and cursed under my breath.

“It’s Melissa,” I whispered. “Go upstairs.” I pushed him toward the stairs and he climbed them, taking two at a time. “And be quiet up there!” I hissed.

I ran my palm down my hair, sure it was mussed from JC’s arms around my shoulders, and opened the door.

“Took you long enough,” she chirped, whipping her sunglasses off of her face with one hand, hauling a box with another. “I went to the Farmer’s Market. I got way too much fruit and vegetables. I thought you might like some.”

“So you decided to pop by, at—“ I checked the clock. 11:30. It wasn’t really all that early. “Never mind. Come on, you can dump some of that stuff in here.” She followed me to the kitchen and slid the box onto the counter, next to the refrigerator. She opened the door and propped it open with the crisper bin and began dumping handfuls of vegetables into the drawer.

“Whoa, dammit, how many of those do you think I’m eating?” I called from the bar stool I sat in, across the room.

“More than I’m eating,” she quipped over her shoulder. “So how long is he here?”

Fuck her. I hated her nose and super sense of smell. And why couldn’t she just pretend she couldn’t smell him and mind her own damn business? I propped my elbows up on the counter and covered my face with my hands.

“Melissa—“ I groaned.

“I’m not gonna tell anyone,” she said, pushing the drawer, and then the door closed. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me. I was just wondering, for entertainment’s sake, in case you’ll be alone tomorrow night, you could come over. Annette will be home.”  Her partner was a consultant, a job that kept her on the road half the month. Melissa claimed that Annette’s heavy travel schedule was the only thing that kept them together. ‘By the time she’s starting to get on my nerves, it’s time for her to leave again,’ she said, often. 

“I’m not going to be alone tomorrow night,” I said, with a blush. “He’s leaving Monday. But thank you for the invite.”

She winked, her eyes lifting to the ceiling, asking if he was upstairs. I nodded. “Gotcha. Tell him the Safe Sex Fairy said hello.”

Amazingly, she didn’t linger, hoping he would come down so she could meet him. Melissa picked up the now half empty box and tucked it under her arm, heading toward the door. “Have a good weekend,” she teased as she pulled the door shut. I watched out of the window as she dumped the box into the backseat of her car, and then pulled away.

I climbed the steps to the bedroom and found JC sitting on the bed, leaning forward, hands clasped in front of him, his elbows on his knees. He glanced up as soon as I walked in, and raised a brow at me. I sat next to him, close to him, laid my head on his arm and wrapped my arms around his waist.

“All clear. Melissa says hi.” 

He looked back, over his shoulder at me. “You told her I was here?”

“No. She can probably smell you from her house.”

“Hope I smell good,” he said with a chuckle that I felt, and then heard.

“You smell delicious,” I said, sighing. Content. “So, we should shower. There are a couple of places I want to take you.”

I felt him breathe deeply, and then he sat up. “Come here, stand up.” I did so, standing in front of him, his head at chest level. He laid a hand on each hip, his thumbs sneaking under the shirt I wore, rubbing circles into my skin. He had to know how good that felt, how it sent shivers down my spine. I’d had dreams and fantasies based on the sensation of his calluses alone. My eyes closed, all on their own, and I leaned forward, resting my hands on his broad, strong shoulders.

His hands climbed up my side, dragging the t-shirt up with it until I pulled it over my head and dropped it onto the bed. I watched him watching me become aroused by him, by his hands on my skin, by the slow, methodical way he moved, by the serious expression on his face. He stroked my skin, running his hands down my side again and pushing at the band of the soft cotton pants. They fell to the floor easily and I stepped out of them.

“I like your body,” he whispered into my skin as he kissed a spot here, licked a spot there. “Your skin is soft.” His hands roamed softly, freely, down my sides, past my waist, down my thighs and back up, around back where the curve of my waist gave way to the roundness of a cheek. He grasped it, not rough, but not gentle, and growled, bit gently into my skin.

“Your ass is… mmph.” I giggled, more out of anticipation than embarrassment and he chuckled, riding the wave of my stomach muscles as I laughed. He looked up at me, eyes bright and wide and a gorgeous ocean blue, his lips closed but looking very inviting. I leaned forward and dropped a kiss on them, because I could.

“Are we in a hurry?” he asked. I shook my head no.

He patted the bed next to him and scooted back, and turned so his head was laying on a pillow. “I just want to lay with you, for a few minutes. Relax for awhile,” he said, tucking a hand under his head, the other arm extending for me to lay down next to him. I sat on the bed, but didn’t lay down. Instead I reached for the snap on his jeans, pulling them down his hips. “If I have to be naked, so do you.”

“I’m tired of taking my jeans off and putting them back on.”

“Then quit putting them back on,” I said, pulling at the hem of his shirt. He pulled it off as well, and after I laid next to him he pulled the sheets and duvet over us. I felt and heard an unmistakable deep breath and a sigh. Not an angst-filled, worried sigh, but a satisfied, content one.

He rolled his head so he could see me. “So. Therapy. You decided to go. Tell me about it.”

“Yeah. I decided to go,” I said, tipping my head up so I could see him. “Well. I mean, it’s therapy. It’s paying someone to listen to you, who might know what’s wrong with you, except they get to figure it out before you do and have to give you clues to draw your own conclusion.”

“Mmhmmm. And what conclusion have you drawn?”

I sniffed. “That I’m batshit crazy.” We both chuckled. “No, uhm, I think I have a lot to work through, not just about Regina but she’s a big part of it. But, most of it is just that I do a lot of this to myself.  I seem to have driven myself crazy.”

I felt a pull on my hair, a hand loosely raking through a few strands. His voice was soft, and low. “Sometimes we think things, and think everyone thinks that, and then realize no one thinks that but us.”

“Right. Like, I always think people assume I’m going to take the same path Regina took and eventually end out on the street, or whatever. I’ve spent my whole life trying to prove I’m better than that, I’m better than her. But no one thinks that, about me, but me. It’s my WORST fear. They say I look like her, but that’s it.”

JC was quiet, and contemplative. “It’s not an insult, you know.”

“Yeah. I know,” I said, trying to keep the irritation out of my voice. “I don’t need to take it like one, but I do. I’m working on it. That’s all I want to say about that.”

“Okay. Just… I’m here. If you want to.”

“I know. Thank you.” I rolled toward him, cupped his face in my hand and stretched to kiss him. He met me halfway, rolling toward me, one hand behind my head, the other wrapped around me, gripping me, pulling me closer to him, the kiss growing deeper and more passionate until he broke it and reached across me for the black plastic bag.

“This is kind of a mood killer, right here,” he said, opening the foil packet and rolling the condom on.

“No it’s, not,” I argued, a lone finger dragging down the center of his chest and the trail of hair from his belly.  “I think watching you put a condom on is sexy. It’s even sexier putting it on you myself.”

“That’s because you don’t just put it on.” He winked and tossed the bag and the wrapper back onto the night stand. “Now, where was I? Oh. I was not getting enough of you. Come here, girl.” His hands resumed their places and his lips claimed mine again.

I squealed and threw an arm around his neck, squirming closer, feeling the heat building between us. He ran his hand down the back of my leg and hooked behind my knee, bringing my leg up and over his side, creating an opening for him.

 “Can I?”

“Yes,” I almost screamed, my skin ultrasensitive, my breathing shallow. At the moment I thought I would break down into tears if I didn’t feel him soon, I felt him push into me, grabbing me, pulling me close to him, pushing his hips against mine. It wasn’t enough, for me.

I pushed him so he was laying flat on his back and I was on top. There was something about this position, with him, that turned me on. It seemed like work with anyone else. With him it was sensual and erotic and so much fun. 

He smiled that smile up at me, almost laughing. “Well now. Hi, there.”

“Shhhhh,” I whispered, a finger on his lips, then replaced the finger with my lips and muttered against them. “Mama’s workin’.”

I moved my hips slowly against his, taking my time. We were not in a hurry. His eyes slid closed and he moaned and laid his head back on the pillow. I took his hands from my waist and put one on each breast, my hands over his. He flicked the taut nipples in his hands and kneaded gently. Tiny shockwaves shot down my body, into every orifice. I grimaced as my toes curled and he kept teasing. I talked to him, softly, said sexy things, said dirty things, all the while directing my movements to elicit the most pleasure possible. He breathed, heavily, mouth open, eyes half shut, signs of bliss on his face.

His hips rocked, pushing him further into me. My hips met his and rolled faster. I braced myself against his chest and moved against him. He moaned, I moaned, it was a beautiful chorus, leading up to a powerful climax.  I could feel it in my toes, working its way up my body.

“I’m about to come,” I grunted, breathing hard with the effort, staring down at him, in his eyes.

“Take me with you.” He held his breath as he pushed his hips up into me. I watched his skin flush red, his lips curl, then suck in a giant gust of air through clenched teeth. He stiffened, his hips coming up off of the bed, his head jerked back and a loud groan escaped him. His hands fell to my hips and moved them against him, faster, harder, while he groaned.

Watching him writhe and contort right before my eyes, knowing that I took him there, took me there and I followed with a climax of my own.  My cries reached a fever pitch, my voice raspy and hoarse, my throat still raw from the night before as the convulsions wracked my body, leaving me lifeless and limp.

I fell forward, onto his chest, riding the rise and fall of his heavy breathing. He wrapped his arms around me and kissed my forehead. It seemed to take forever to catch my breath.

“That was… fuck.” He coughed, his throat dry.

“Yes. I fucked you,” I said, laughing. I sat up and reached for the half empty bottle of water on the nightstand. “Is this yours?” He nodded and sat up, took the bottle in one hand and laid a hand on my hip with the other. He sucked down the rest of the bottle, set it back on the nightstand and wrapped both arms around me. My arms fell easily around his neck. I leaned forward, his forehead meeting mine.

“I kinda like you, Serena Willis.”  My eyes rolled up, to see his face. His eyes were closed and his expression was serious.

“I kinda like you, too, JC Chasez.”  His eyes opened, watching me watch him. “I’m happy you came out here. I was convinced you weren’t coming.”

His eyes closed and he breathed deeply. “I’m happy I came out here, too.”

“Let’s go be happy in the shower,” I said, climbing off of him.

###

A few hours later, we were zipping down the interstate, a local pop station playing in the background, weaving in and out of afternoon traffic.

“So, I know you’ve been to Atlanta, before. I just don’t know where you’ve been.”

He slouched in his seat, rubbing a hand over his freshly shaven chin, thinking. “You know, aside from Dallas’ house, the studio, some radio stations and hotels and clubs, I haven’t really been anywhere. Your world is my oyster. Or whatever that saying is. Show me what you want me to see.”

“It’s on, then,” I said as I pointed the car to one of Atlanta’s most eclectic neighborhoods. Little Five Points was one of those places where no matter who you were, as long as you were not in a suit and tie, you fit in. People of all walks of life milled about, going in and out of vintage clothing and furniture shops and live bands on random corners filled the air with a cacophony of sounds. I took him to one my favorite places, a clothing store known for their snarky t-shirts and snappy comebacks. I found a t-shirt that said ‘Damn right, I’m good in bed’, unfolded it and held it up against me.

“What do you think?” I asked.

He looked at the shirt, read it, let out a short, loud ‘HA!’ and then said, “You need two of those,” and walked away, laughing to himself. I giggled and draped it over my arm, digging further through the stack.

We wandered the many shops, lost among the crowd, flitting into one door and then out of another and then another. We stopped at a candy shop, where I was surprised to learn he liked chocolate. “Milk chocolate, not dark chocolate,” he said, “Though dark chocolate is really good for you. It’s rich in anti oxidants.”  

I led him, eventually, toward Junkman’s Daughter, which held anything and everything and was only slightly junky. It was just one of those places where the clerk might be wearing a pair of pink fuzzy wings and striped socks that day and no one would think anything of it. I just knew he would like it in there.

We stepped into the shop and his eyes traveled from one end of the warehouse sized store where vintage, vivid clothing was on display, to the toys and memorabilia one could pick up to add to random collections, to the expansive section of shoes. “We should have come here, first,” he said, slinging an arm around my shoulder. “So do you shop here?”

“Yeah, sometimes,” I said, taking his hand from my shoulder and pulling him toward the clothing. “It just depends on what I’m in the mood for, and when I want to be fun and spunky I wear something from here.”

While the staff could be a little standoffish at times, they were helpful and pleasant once they realized that JC wanted to spend more than the average amount of money there. I fell back and followed him around as he had a great time on his tour of the store. It felt like he looked at everything, twice, before he finally brought his pile of t-shirts, jeans, hats and shoes to the checkout counter.

By the time we made it to the car, my fingers ached from dragging around bags of clothes and shoes. JC had bags as well from the vintage record store and an odd little jewelry shop. I locked his finds away in the trunk and we hit the road again.

“So, you like Latin music, right?”

He nodded, then his eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Just checking,” I said, glancing over at him, smug.

His head tipped back against the seat as he laughed. “Ah I can see where I’m going to regret being so secretive.”

“Don’t worry, I have good taste.” I reached across the seat to pat him on the thigh. “You’ll be fine.”

Lively and loud Salsa music spilled out of the open doors of Loca Luna, a tapas bar in Midtown, where I spent many a Friday night sitting around the bar with friends, laughing and talking and dancing into the night. The DJ usually played a great mix of salsa, merengue, and mambo, providing a fun, energetic soundtrack for an evening of kicking back with your friends. At nine, a live band took the stage and the dance floor opened. I hoped to get JC out on the floor to dance the Salsa with me.

I requested a seat for us at the covered patio so we could see the sun setting over the Midtown skyline and enjoy a drink or two before moving to the music room. We ordered a few dishes to share and sipped colorful drinks while we waited for them to arrive.

“Am I showing you a good time?” He tore his gaze away from the fiery sunset and turned to me, adjusting his shades. He flashed a smile and nodded.

“Honey, I’m having the best time, ever. Aren’t you?”

“Yeah. Yes. I’m just, you know, I was just wondering. Making sure.” I leaned an elbow on the table and fidgeted with my earring.  

JC reached across the table, arranging and rearranging the condiments, glancing at me a few times before saying, “You alright? You’re not having a good time?”

My brows shot up, and my hand dropped to his arm. “No, no that’s not what I meant. I’m having a great time. I just don’t want you to be bored. I just… I don’t live that exciting of a life, out here. No, you know, high class celebrity studded events, stuffy lounges and such.”

His eyes rolled and he sat back in his chair, watching the sun disappear below the horizon. “Serena, remember what I said, that first night we were together?” He looked back at me. “Remember? About forgetting my fabulous life and all that? Let’s go back to that.”

My eyes dropped to the painted, wrought iron table. “I remember. Sorry,” was all I could get out. Maybe someday I could sit with him and spend time with him and not do or say something to embarrass myself and then wish I could get away from him and be embarrassed in peace.

He reached out and poked me in the arm. When I didn’t respond, he poked me again. And again and again and again until I was laughing, and he was laughing.  I grabbed his hand and held it, mostly so he couldn’t poke me again but also because I could. I expected him to pull it back. He didn’t though, until our food arrived, and I let go.

The fun thing about tapas is sharing different pieces of a meal. I was annoyed when I went to tapas with people that didn’t understand how to eat tapas style and ordered like, three fish tacos and ate them all. I was relieved to see JC ‘got it’, and picked out several dishes of different variety to accompany the dishes I ordered. All of the plates sat in the middle of the table and then it was one big family style free for all. Tapas were the best when you had a large group of people and a large variety of foods, but it was fun with just the two of us, trying new dishes and new tastes. I found little things to be endearing, like him offering me a forkful of something that he wanted me to taste, or getting the waiter’s attention to refill my glass when I didn’t notice. Little things that other people just wouldn’t do, or notice. I liked it.

The crisp sound of bongos floated through the restaurant, drowning out music and conversation, ricocheting about the room. JC’s shoulders bounced to the beat as he polished off the last of his meal, and sucked down the last of his drink. We followed the crowd into the music room, where the band was warming up. We took a table in the corner where we could see and hear, but still talk.

“So, you know I’m hoping you show me a little something, tonight,” I said, leaning toward him to be heard over the music.

He smiled, and dipped his head, feigning embarrassment. “I figured, I figured. Have you danced Salsa before?”

I nodded. “A little. We come out here pretty often. This band is amazing.”

“So you’re not shy about getting out there, right?”

I shook my head, my shoulders and hips moving to the bouncy beat, the horns making a sweeping sound, filling the room. The band launched into a peppy beat, and the floor started to fill with couples gyrating, hips moving, toes tapping, spinning around, laughing. We sat through the first song, and then the band leader stood to make his introductions. After his speech and a round of applause, the lively music started up again. I felt a poke on my shoulder and looked over at JC. He held a hand out to me and pointed his head toward the dance floor.

I took it, and stood up, letting him lead me to the corner of the small amount of space given for people to dance. He moved easily and fluidly to the beat, gathering me into his arms and leading with his hips. At first subdued, after a few moments he was grinning wide and stepped back, taking both of my hands in his and spinning me around, then dropping his hands to my waist, stepping forward and back, side to side, and then another spin. I laughed hysterically as I landed in his arms again. He held me close, swaying his hips, laughing with me, his cheek next to mine.

“You move pretty well for someone who never took classes.”

“Thank you, I try,” I said, then went into another spin and then I was back in his arms, dancing close to him, my hips matching his.

“Can I tell you something?” His lips were so close to my skin,  I could feel his breath.

I nodded, stepping even closer as he bent to talk directly into my ear.  “If we had danced together, that first night I met you, I’d have followed you up to your room. You are so sexy, right now. The way you move is driving me crazy.” His hands were moving up and down my sides but mainly clung to my hips. I exhaled as I felt his lips on my neck, just below my ear. My head dropped to his shoulder as we moved to the beat, plastered together, through the end of the song. I only lifted my head when the song ended, and turned around and applauded the band, with the crowd.

I turned back to JC, his eyes twinkling in the dim light above the dance floor as a slower, more sensuous song began to play. “You know we have to dance this one,” he said, wrapping an arm around me, pulling me closer to him, holding my hand in his.

We danced until we were sweaty and tired from laughing and spinning and rocking our hips to the beat. We took our seats at the table again and watched other people dance, listening to the music and talking about the salsa class he still sporadically attended now and again. At some point during the evening he laid a hand on mine and clutched it, and just never let it go, rubbing the back of my hand with his thumb. So relaxing and yet so electrifying.

I yawned wide. The day, though luxurious, had been long and started to catch up with me. He squeezed my hand in his and said, “You’re tired. Let’s go.” Reluctantly, I nodded and we headed back to the car, hand in hand.

“That was fun. Food was good, drinks were good, company was excellent,” he said, our footsteps crunching in the gravel of the parking lot.

“I like that place a lot. It’s always fun. I had no idea you were so good at salsa. Not like I know, but I had fun.”

I saw my car a few feet away and dug out my keychain to unlock the door, yawning madly. I hadn’t realized I was so tired. “I’ll, drive,” he said, holding out his hand for the keys.  “Just tell me where to go. You’re exhausted.”

Without another thought, I handed the keys over and got in on the passenger side. The car started smoothly and he navigated to the highway, using the GPS system I had installed. After a few minutes I relaxed, leaning back onto the headrest, mesmerized by the entire experience—being close to him, moving with him, his hands on me, his eyes boring deep into mine. This—being with him--could not possibly be real, and yet it was so very real. I had a hard time differentiating between what I knew to be truth and what was probably fantasy.

What was truth was that he was here. What was fantasy was that he would always be here. I didn’t want to get too comfortable with him, too used to him, too accustomed to how he treated me. He kept asking me to disregard, or to ‘put away’ the biggest part of him, and the part that made it so that even dreaming of this night becoming more than a few cross country flights and enjoyable romps was such a ridiculous prospect. I wasn’t counting on anything real or long lasting or terribly meaningful happening with him. While I could, though, I would enjoy the fantasy.

He pulled into the garage and we dumped his bags in the living room. He would have to ship some things home, since they wouldn’t fit in his suitcase.  I stripped as soon as I hit the bedroom, dumping clothes into a hamper in the closet and completing my nightly bathroom ritual. JC took his turn after me and I crawled into the bed, flipping on the TV as I sank back against the pillows. It was hard for me to remember that he was just visiting. He was just a guest. There was nothing uncomfortable about having him there—we fell in an easy, considerate rhythm quite easily and very early.

Minutes later, he slid in next to me and as soon as he laid down, I gravitated toward him. He wrapped both arms around me as I laid my head on his chest and a leg between his, just barely watching the movie I had settled on. My head was already cloudy and my eyelids already heavy. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the rise and fall of his chest put me right to sleep. I briefly remember waking up to a dark room, being turned so my back was to him, then being pulled tightly against him, strong arms around me and the scent of pumpkin and spice in the air.