They'd decided to go out the next evening. JC was nervous, determined to correct the mistake he'd made so many years ago. At the least, he could look at a new face and have some fun. But In some way, he hoped, righting this wrong might straighten out his love life, as if blowing her off had set him on a certain path and maybe if he'd remembered her, his life would be different.

JC pulled into the driveway of her beachfront condo and, right on time, rang the doorbell. She opened the door dressed in skintight jeans, bare feet and a loose, low cut blouse.

"You made it!"

"See, I was wearing something like that before. I'm glad I changed."

Elizabeth laughed and stepped aside to let him in. "I'm almost ready, give me one second. Just need to put my shoes on."

"No problem. Take your time." He wandered down the hallway until he found the living room and stood there for a second, waiting. Outside, he heard the hypnotic murmur of the ocean. He poked a finger through the slats of the blinds and watched the tide roll in and back out.

"Nice view, huh?"

He whipped around to find her standing behind him, wearing a black leather jacket and high heeled boots. A matching black leather bag was slung over her arm. "That's why I put my office right here," she said, gesturing toward the L shaped desk and executive chair in a space that would normally hold a dinner table and chairs. "This way I can work and watch the water."

"That's pretty cool. Yeah, that is a nice view."

"You live on a lake though, right?"

"Out here, yeah. Not in LA. I have... well I have the pool."

She shook her head and clicked her tongue. "Not nearly the same. Are you ready? It'll take us a good hour to get to Cocoa Beach from here."

The sushi was his idea, a nice spot outside the city with great ambiance and good food, where he wouldn't be followed or bothered or photographed. The Samba, however was her idea. She'd just happened to visit a club a few months ago and was dying to go again. Reluctantly he agreed to go-because she begged and because he owed her.

Over endless plates of fresh seafood wrapped in rice and seaweed, they caught up. Sort of. You can't really catch up with a person you never really knew, but they gave it a good effort. He learned that she was Creative Director for an Internet Marking group. She learned that he was honing a group of girls (a large group of girls) to be the first US Super Group.

"See, in a lot of ways, we're the same," JC was saying, dipping something called a Conch Roll in sauce. "We creative types, I mean. We're stimulated by different things than normal people."

"You're saying we're not normal?" She paused before popping a crispy tuna roll into her mouth.

"Well," he started, but decided to chew more before he continued. He swallowed and then said, "I'm not normal. I know that. I mean, I'm not a serial killer or anything-"

"Thank God."

"But I knew a long time ago that my mind works differently than, say, the guy that sells things all day. Or the guy that picks up my garbage. You know what I mean?"

She nodded. "I do. And it's something I've had to learn to embrace and not try to change about myself."

"Do you get people telling you that you have to change that?"

"Oh, all the time. ‘You've gotta start thinking more inside the box, Elizabeth. These far-fetched ideas of yours'... and then they laugh and walk off like they said something brilliant and mind bending when all they did was tell me to conform."

"Well, don't. The world has enough conformists and if it wasn't for people who think outside the box, we'd never have some of the world's greatest art, for example."

She smiled, waving her chopsticks around the massive plate of sushi they were sharing. "What should I try next?"

"Try that," he said, pointing to a neatly packed roll topped with seaweed salad and sesame vinaigrette. "It's good, a little spicy, but not too much and the salad on top is a nice palate cleanser." He watched as she picked two rolls and set them on her plate. "So what brought you back to Orlando?"

"My mom."

"Sick?" He asked, pausing out of respect before stuffing his mouth with fish.

"Broke. Crazy. Literally, crazy. She's in a home now."

"Oh. I'm sorry about that."

"Don't be. It's the best place for her and she's getting great care. I'm here to give my brothers a break. They've been dealing with her for a long time."

"And how much older are they?"

"Younger," she answered, her mouth full of spicy sashimi. "I'm the oldest."

"Me too. Well, you know that." He shrugged, mentally kicking himself. He knew what she knew, but he didn't have to keep reminding her that she knew things. "Anyway she's got to be a lot to deal with."

"Easier now," said Elizabeth. "I channel all my angst into my job." She chewed and smiled. "So now it's my turn to make you uncomfortable."

"Oh, here we go."

"So are you dating out there?"

"No," he said, plainly, shaking his head.

"Just no? Not kind of, not sort of, not I have this girl I've known forever and we sometimes have sex..."

"Nope."

She gave him a bewildered stare. "I don't believe that, JC."

"Really. Nothing right now. I mean..." He sighed, set down his chopsticks and leaned an elbow on the table. "I uh... I had a girl. And she was great. And she... I should be engaged by now but I uh..."

"Don't tell me you told her you were going to call her and left her hanging for like 20 years."

He laughed, sensing the mood lighten. "No. I didn't do that. But I did fuck around on her."

"Why? Do you know why?"

"Now you sound like my therapist." He picked up one stick and poked at a grain of rice with it. "I don't know. I hate that answer. So did Kath. But I don't know. I guess..."

"She was really serious about you and that freaked you the fuck out?"

He nodded. Reluctantly.

"And then you start talking yourself out of something really good, telling yourself you don't deserve that or don't want that, or it's not for you. And then you do shit to make her walk away so you don't have to."

He cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable. "You sound like you've been through it."

She let out a haughty chuckle. "Hell. I am you with boobs."

He flicked his eyes up, to hers, looking right into them, searching for truth in her words. She gazed at him, her lips a grim, tight line.

"I don't know what it is. Maybe I haven't found the right guy or something. I just... I get into something really good and it's... it's not perfect but it's so great and so what I need. And then he's in love and he's planning our future and I..."

She shook her head. "I want to see myself there with him. But I don't. And that kills me because I don't want to hurt this guy."

"But you end up hurting him anyway. Because you know the truth now. You can't pretend, now. You have to be you and being you means you can't fake the funk. So you start to pull away and become kind of... annoyed by this person that loves you to death."

She was nodding, smiling, almost laughing with recognition. "Man, this is better than therapy. My emotional doppelganger telling me about myself."

"You know, I... I kind of thought earlier that I should do this tonight-you know, make it up to you, because maybe that was the point in my life where it all went to shit. Maybe if I correct something from my past, I can heal from it. Or at least I'll feel better."

"That's a crock of shit," she responded, which made him laugh. "An interesting thought and a nice gesture, but also a total load."

He'd laughed so hard he was choking, so he grabbed the neck of an open bottle of beer and chugged down a mouthful. When he'd recovered, he was still smiling. "I did really think that though."

"That's because you're sweet. I can't believe you even wanted to make it up to me. I thought you'd think I was crazy for even remembering."

"I don't think you're crazy for remembering. I feel bad that I forgot."

"I don't hold it against you. Your life completely blew up after that."

"I feel a little better about it. You?"

She nodded. "I'm having a great time."

After dinner, they left the car parked at the sushi and Thai restaurant and wandered a few streets away to the sounds of Latin flavor wafting through the air. Ritmo was a new dance club that had opened in the last year to rave reviews and huge fanfare. Elizabeth had done part of the web marketing for the grand opening.

It was impossible not to tap his toes or bump his shoulders to the heavy mixture of hip hop and salsa booming from the speakers. The line around the bar was three people deep. The dance floor was full of bodies rhythmically gyrating against one another.

Despite his arguments, JC found himself in the thick of things, his hands resting lightly on Elizabeth's waist as her hips moved from side to side to the latest Sean Paul hit. He laughed, he danced, he dipped her and twirled her and even moved his hips a little.

Snippets of their dinner conversation popped up in his mind. He found her interesting. Intriguing even. As beautiful as she was back when he first met her. And ten times sexier.

Her hands were everywhere, smoothing across his shoulders, down his chest, back up his arms before looping around his neck. She laughed as they were jostled into each other by all of the bodies on the dance floor. Her smile faltered for a few seconds when he pulled her tightly up against him to get her out of the way of some rowdy dancers. There was no way she didn't feel that hard lump against her thigh.

She moved closer, wrapped her arms around his neck, stood on her tip toes and pressed her lips against his. JC responded immediately, moving a hand to the back of her head and attacking her with all of the passion he could muster up. He felt her moans and squeals even if he couldn't hear them. He felt her shudder when he touched her and sigh when he kissed her.

She pulled back after a few breathless minutes.

"You want to get out of here?" They both asked. And then laughed.  "Great minds," he said, then grabbed a hand and began to lead the way off of the packed dance floor.

They walked back to the car hand in hand. Once inside and safely buckled, the heat blowing gently through the vents, JC backed out of the parking space and pointed the car toward the highway.

"I really appreciate our conversation in the restaurant. I hope you weren't just saying things to make me feel better."

Elizabeth reached across the console with her hand upturned. He closed his hand around hers and brought the jumble to his lap. "I was saying things to make me feel better. Do you really have a therapist?"

"No." He chuckled. "I have well meaning friends, who think I'm a total freak and I'm broken and I need to figure out what's wrong."

"Are you?"

"A freak? Maybe. Broken?"He sighed glancing over at her. "I don't know. Am I?"

"I say no. If you're broken, I'm broken. I'm your emotional doppelganger, remember?"

He chuckled. "Yeah. So how long ago did you and the guy split up?"

She didn't answer for a few moments. "A year ago," she finally said, gazing out of the window at the darkened scenery between cocoa beach and Orlando slipped by.

"I don't mean to pry. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Technically you're my oldest friend."

"Well in that case..."

"But I don't really want to talk about him."

"Okay."

They rode in silence, with no sounds but the road beneath the tires and the light music coming from the speakers.

"Is this your girl group?" She asked.

"Yup. Gotta hear new music in the car. More people bump tunes in the car than anywhere else."

"Turn it up," she said, nodding toward the series of knobs on the console. With his thumb, he pressed a button on the steering wheel and the interior was full of the sound of upbeat pop music. In spite of herself, her mood began to lift.  "I like them. They sound fun."

"They are. Each one an individual. Hard workers though. They really want to make it. And I really want to get them there."

"Really? Knowing what you know about the business? And the life that comes with it?"

"Yeah. I mean, you take the good with the bad, right? And I'm still alive and around so it wasn't that bad. I do whatever the hell I want to do, all day every day. I don't ever have to worry about money or anything. That's a good life, right there."

"But then there's the bad..."

"Yeah. And you can get wrapped up in that if you aim for fame and not success. Success is something you have to define for yourself. In my eyes, I'm successful. In your eyes, maybe not, because I'm not as famous as I could be."

"I think if you're happy and you like where you are, you call that a success and ride that puppy as long as possible."

"We agree on that."

"Of course we do," she said, leaning back and resting her head against the headrest. "We creative types do things our own way. In our own time. And we don't conform."

"Nope. We don't."