My feet hit the pavement in a steady, syncopated rhythm.  Right, left, right, left. Right, left, right, left.

In my ear, the sounds of Linkin Park's Bleed It Out blast through my ear buds, the beat driving me further despite the vice grip on my thigh muscles; faster despite what feels like icepicks stabbing my lungs.

Neither the trail nor the music is on my mind. I'm trying not to think about it, but it bobs to the surface at the most inopportune times, bringing with it the swell and arc of emotion- elation, attraction, fear, anger, confusion.

The Kiss. It's now a full blown incident that deserves Capital Letters. The Kiss.

I haven't let myself analyze it, make up reasons to myself as to why it happened. It can never happen again.

We are down to four weeks until the wedding. Rooms and airfare have been booked. Bridesmaid dresses, wedding dress and tuxes have all been fitted. Shoes have been purchased. Excursions have been planned. I've been halfway packed for two weeks. Seven days on an island in the Caribbean requires extra preparation. Swimsuit shopping alone took me a month.

The engagement party is next weekend. The Bachelorette/Bachelor Parties and the Shut-In to end the night are in two weeks. And then the wedding. I am so, so close to shoving JC out of my life forever.

And then I lost my mind and gave in to a kiss.  And not only did I give in, I kissed him back! What was I thinking? I don't know. I don't want to talk about it.  JC, on the other hand, would love to talk about it. He's brought up little else for the last month.

Earlier, while in the midst of prepping for two meetings, a GTalk message pops up on my screen. I recognize JC's handle and involuntarily roll my eyes.

LLCoolJC: So the Embassy is all booked. We can check into our rooms any time after 3. And the ballroom to decorate. 

EBlake: OK.

LLCoolJC: The DJ should be there around 11 to set-up. The Embassy guy will let him in. They'll set up our food around midnight, 12:30. I figure we should be heading that way around 1:30.

EBlake: Noted. Thanks for the update.

LLCoolJC:  Hey, no problem. Thanks for the charming conversation.

EBlake: JC... it's like 1 in the afternoon. Did it ever occur to you that I might be at work and busy?

LLCoolJC: Like I'm not busy? You gotta get into multi-tasking Angie.

EBlake: Okay thanks for the tip. I'll put it to use right away. For example, I am going to simultaneously be done with this conversation and go back to work.

LLCoolJC: Whatever. It's your world, Angie. I just live in it.

I close the window and go back to work. Ten minutes later, a new message arrives.

LLCoolJC: So we're just never going to talk about it?

EBlake: Pretty much.

LLCoolJC: What if I want to talk about it?

EBlake: Lots of therapists in Orlando. Pick one and chat it up.

LLCoolJC: I don't need therapy. I want to talk to you about it.  

EBlake:  You already talked to me.

LLCoolJC: Okay... so, what now?

EBlake:  What do you mean what now? Nothing now.

LLCoolJC: Nothing now? Really? You're sure about that?

EBlake: Positive. I have to go, I have a meeting.

I close the window and this time sign out of GTalk, pack up my laptop, files and notes and head to the conference room for an afternoon of meetings.

After work, I am restless. I don't want to sit at home and work some more. I could go visit with Dad, but every time I stop by the house lately, JC is there. He says he ‘just stopping by while visiting his parents'. Right. The Chasez's haven't seen this much of JC since he still lived at home.

I can't go to Morgan's, because her house is stuffed to the gills with wedding shit. If I think about the wedding, I will think about JC and JC is the last person I want to think about.  Besides, no one knows about The Kiss and I want to keep it that way, and Morgan will know something is up and I'll end up telling her and.... I just don't want to talk about it.

I throw on my running clothes so I can exert some energy and I'm hoping to tire myself out enough to not think about The Kiss. Or about how I remember how full and soft his lips are. Or how I used to love to feel him moan against me, the sound rumbling through his chest, my body absorbing his sheer pleasure.

Maybe I'll exhaust myself enough to go home and go straight to sleep instead of lying there, flipping from one side to the other. I won't have to avoid pulling out my vibrator because lately his face and the sexy sounds he makes and the feel of his body-his adult body seeps into my fantasies and it's disturbing how fast I climax when he's on my mind.

My music is loud and I'm totally in a zone, ignoring the pain, blocking out my thoughts. I don't hear the footsteps behind me.

I catch a glimpse of someone falling into step beside me, out of the corner of my eye. He's wearing a plain white t-shirt and black shorts, white athletic socks and running shoes.  I grunt, push the buds further into my ears and speed up, hoping to eclipse him. 

No such luck. He matches my pace, footfall for footfall. Right, left. Right, left.

I yank one bud from my ear as I slow down. No way could I keep up that pace for the rest of my run.

"Go away please."

"I'm just out for a run."

"Over here, by my apartment, 20 minutes from where you live. You just happen to be out for a run."

"Yep. Strange coincidence, huh?"

JC's breathing is all off. He's heaving deep breaths in a way that might make him hyperventilate. His forehead and neck glisten with sweat and his shirt is already sporting a nice ring around the collar. I almost laugh aloud.

JC is no athlete. His body is pure genetics and fake working out- defined as slowly pedaling on the exercise bicycle or lifting 5 pound dumbbells at the gym with your shirt off while pretending not to see the girls watching you.

"I'm just trying to get some time to myself, here. I'd appreciate it if you'd pace yourself a few steps behind me." I replace the bud in my ear and try to speed up again. JC pulls the bud from my ear.

"Not until you talk to me." At least I think that's what he says. He's panting so hard I can't understand him. His face is beet red and I'm seriously concerned for him, so I slow my pace and then stop. We're deep into the wooded area of the trail. There's nothing but tall trees, wild grasses and short brush around us.

"Let's just take a break so you don't die. I won't have Morgan blaming me for killing Nick's Best Man."

We pace, hands on our hips, until our heartbeats return to normal and we can talk without inhaling deep breaths.

"So, what do you want?" I finally ask, because it doesn't seem like he's going to get us started.

"To talk."

"So talk."

"No I want us to talk. To each other. About what happened."

"We kissed. So what?" I shrug a shoulder, nonchalant. "It was a mistake, right? We both had a little to drink. We were talking about old times. Someone got a little caught up in the moment-"

"I wasn't the only one kissing somebody."

"When someone kisses you, do you just stand there? Or is it second nature to kiss them back? It didn't mean anything, JC."

"Bullshit."

"What bullshit? You said yourself, you know I don't think about you like that and I don't even like you."

He shakes his head slowly, with that smile, the one I hate. The one that says he knows something. "I don't think that's the case right now. I think you're scared that you might feel something for me. You don't want to talk about it because you might realize that."

I'm trying not to giggle... the thought that I'd have any feelings for him is just so cute.  "Where'd you get your degree in psychology, JC? A cereal box?"

"You can't win this with insults, Angie. I saw something in your eyes that night. And you kissed me back. Pretty passionately. That wasn't a mercy kiss. That wasn't an automatic reaction. You wanted to kiss me."

"I didn't."

"You did. And now you don't want to face it because it means you might have to swallow that pride you're so fond of, and get rid of that hurt you've been wearing on your sleeve for 18 years."

"I don't want to talk about it because it meant nothing, JC. Absolutely nothing. Just like you. You mean nothing to me. It's just like you to think that you can solve the world's problems with a kiss. Your dick is the great equalizer, right?"

"Angie-"

"No, JC. No. Let me tell you what's really going on. I think you expected me to be swooning over your heartfelt confession, absolutely in love again because you decided to grace my mouth with your tongue after all this time. I'm supposed to pine for you and wish for you to stick your dick in me because you had some great realization about your feelings for me." I shake my head.  "It ain't happening. Sorry."

"That's not-"

"So have you slept with every woman in Orlando yet, JC? Like Stripper Name Girl? I'm supposed to feel lucky to come after her? I'm supposed to want you to fuck me, because all the other women do, right? Once again, I'm supposed to be happy as fuck to be with you, to come after this long line of women you've slept with. I should feel special for some reason, right?"

JC glares at me, arms crossed over his chest and feet apart in an ominous stance. If I didn't know him so well I'd be afraid he might hit me.

"Jade," he spits out. "Her name is Jade. And I never slept with her. Like it's your business, if I did."

 A cynical, haughty laugh falls out of my mouth. "Right."

"She came by the house, we hung out. You dropped by, laid that whole Morgan's Dream Wedding guilt trip on me and I wasn't in the mood. I sent her home an hour after you left. She got pissed off, I guess. I haven't seen her since. She doesn't work at Prime anymore. I heard she got a real job."

"Well lah-dee-fuckin' dah! Good for her."

JC laughs, unfolds his arms and begins to pace the area. The grass is beaten down from many, many feet doing the same. He stops and turns toward me. "What the fuck is your problem?"

"You are my problem!"

"Okay, we're getting somewhere. How am I your problem? What exactly did I do, that you can find so much to be angry about? This can't be just about one kiss."

"It's... it's the ‘what now' question. It's the incredulous reaction you have when I say there's nothing now. You expect us to just get back together, pick up where we left off? Just erase the past 18 years of hell I have been through with you-"

"I only give you hell because you give me hell. You've been an evil bitch to me since the day after we broke up."

"And you know why! So because you mumbled some nice words in the dark after a few bottles of beer, I should forgive you? You know why you kissed me? Because you were lonely, I was breathing, I have two legs and a pussy. You never, ever cared about me, did you? You took advantage of my feelings for you. You wanted someone to fuck and I was more than willing."

He is still, now. His eyes bore into mine with such intensity I want to step back, but I won't give him the satisfaction of knowing he's made me uncomfortable. I stand my ground and glare back.

"I never cared about you, even way back then? You're totally serious right now?"         

"As a heart attack."

"I..." He shakes his head. Closes his eyes, takes a few steps back like he doesn't trust himself.

"You know what Angie? You're certifiable. You're not happy unless you're angry. You've taken this whole....stupid thing, I might add, and twisted it around in your brain so you can feel justified enough to stay mad. Now I never cared about you? So you totally erased all that time we spent together before I even kissed you for the first time?  

"You don't remember going against each other on Donkey Kong at the arcade? You don't remember me giving you all my quarters so you could play longer and beat my score, or saving my allowance so we could go to that pizza place on Saturdays? You don't remember me making you Valentines every year? You put them up in your locker at school...all that's gone?"

"Yeah, I remember all of that. Kid stuff. So?"

"It wasn't all kid stuff, Angie.  You know it and I know it, so don't tell me I didn't care about you. Don't tell me I wasn't into you since I was like, five years old.  Don't tell me what I didn't feel. I know what I felt and I know I was in love with you, and whatever you tell yourself that lets you wake up every day and hate me more, that's cool, but don't wrap me and what you think you know about me up in it."

"Fine," I shout, throwing up my hands. "I make up reasons to hate you? Okay. I must have just dreamt how you've treated me for so long, so you are totally absolved from all the hateful , ugly things you've ever said to me, simply because you had a weepy, self absorbed moment. That doesn't change the fact that I have crusty shit on the bottom of my shoe that is better than your best client, JC. You think I want to be with you, knowing the lowlife assholes you happily represent? Just to get back at me, I might add."

"You hate the man that I man? You had everything to do with turning me into him, so if you hate me, thank yourself. I'm a motherfucker? Your fault.  Sonofabitch? Money hungry blood sucker? Great. I'll be that. Congratulations, you made me into that."

Now it's my fault he couldn't get over me and he's a bastard? As if!

"I cannot wait until this fucking wedding is over and I never have to talk to you again."

"Likewise," he hurls back. His lips are curled into a sneer and his eyes glow with anger. "Until then, I'm getting ready to scrub the toilets at the courthouse with your law degree. Again."

He turns on a heel and begins a run back up the hill. I lean against the trunk of a tree and listen to his footsteps grow faint in the distance.

I have a knot in my neck the size of JC's head. I rub at it, kneading through the skin but it's not going away. I am seething, shaking in anger, but more upset at the thought of being in court with him in two weeks. Ramirez v. Bailey, my discrimination case, finally gets in front of a judge, and while I know I should win, JC is too confident in his client and himself as an attorney. The onus is on our side to prove Phillip Bailey is a racist bastard and he's violating housing laws. It should be easy, a slam dunk.

They have something up their sleeves. I don't know what it could be.  I could just be paranoid. Or naïve... Either way, I'm nervous.

I push myself off of the tree and trot back up the trail. I am exhausted, not only from a hard run, but the fight with JC. I hope I will sleep well and not rehash the entire conversation all night, tossing and turning. I lobbed an ugly accusation that he didn't deserve. It hurt him, and I could see that. I am disappointed in myself - I've never stooped that low.

When the parking lot is in sight, I slow to a walk and, out of habit, look toward the spot where I usually park. My dusty Corolla sits exactly where I left it. Sitting next to my car is JC's Benz. Idling, lights on.

I head toward my car with no intention of speaking to him, unlock my door, climb inside, insert the key into ignition and start it up. I glance to the right, across the interior of my car to his. He's watching me.

I'm watching him watch me, somewhere between creeped out and pissed off. He pulls out his phone and I watch his fingers move across the keypad. My phone buzzes inside the pouch that is still wrapped around my arm. I pull it out and read the text message.

Waiting for you to leave. Go, so I can go home.

I toss the phone into the passenger seat, put the car in reverse and back out of the spot, roll to the entrance and pull out into traffic, headed the two miles back to my apartment. In my rearview mirror, I watch JC pull out of the lot and head in the opposite direction.

We had a horrible fight. He went back to his car... and then waited for me to be done with my run so he could make sure I left before he did?

Why the fuck does he care? I don't get him.

****

JC is conspicuously absent from my life most of the week. Where he would normally pepper my day with GTalk messages or random emails about arrangements, this week he has been silent. A few forwards have come, mostly confirmations, and I've been carbon copied along with Nick, Morgan, Jackie and Bridget.

He hasn't been to my parent's house all week, either. I only know that because Dad has been sulking. He apparently begged out of the last poker game that was arranged, but sent Keith in his place. Dad doesn't love Keith like a son.

I should be happy about his sudden disappearance. I'm puzzled that I'm not. Maybe I just miss being angry at him. I'm not out of the woods, though. I'll be seeing him tonight at the engagement party and he's sure to do something to piss me off. Then we have the pre-wedding festivities, and then I have to spend a week with him on an island in the Caribbean. Plenty of opportunity for him to get under my skin again.

Despite all of the drama lately, I'm overwhelmingly happy for Nick and Morgan. This is a big step for them, and while I've always admired their relationship, I never understood-and Morgan was always pretty cagey-about the real reasons they never got married. No matter, they're doing it now, and doing it in style.

The engagement party looks to be a high class affair, if the line of limousines, Lincoln Town cars and other shiny luxury model vehicles lined up at the entrance gates of Vizcaya mean anything. I drive past the line and around the back of the neighborhood to the Resident entrance and use my code to open the gates, and then drive along the lonely, winding road to the house.

From nearly a mile away I can see the spotlights sweeping the sky from right to left, the beams crossing each other at regular intervals. There are tiny beaded lights lining the wooden walkway from the house down to the small yacht-more a mid-size boat but to Nick and Morgan's ‘regular' friends, anything that holds fifty people is a yacht.

The house itself, a rambling piece of beautiful beachfront architecture, is lit up like Christmas-it looks like every light in the house is on and there are people everywhere. I pull into my usual spot and press the four numbers on the security keypad that open the door at the base of the house. When it opens, I walk through the finished basement, hike up the hem of my dress and climb the steps to the main level.

I come up into the kitchen, which looks like a colony of ants hit it-if the ants were fully grown people dressed in pristine white shirts, black ties, black slacks and dress shoes. Matt is front and center in a black suit, red tie and chef's hat, deftly calling out orders while plating the largest shrimp I have ever seen.

"Take that tray of champagne out, Mark. Dave, come get this shrimp and give it to Dana and then go out to the freezer and grab another bag and start plating that. Let's just keep it going. I don't want to see any empty trays out there."

He lifts his head and smiles in my direction. "Well hello," he says, giving me a quick head to toe once-over, then grinning. My dress is a lacy, backless emerald green number. It was a bit tight when I bought it, which is why I've been out running every day. Then JC kissed me and I couldn't eat or sleep and... well, now it fits perfectly, hugging all the right curves and falling in all the right places.

I flat-ironed the shit out of my hair and then gave myself some waves with the curling iron. I finished off the look with strappy sandals dyed to match and glittering gold and diamonds-in my ears, around my neck and around my wrist. I borrowed the gold sequined clutch from my mother. She can't even remember where she got it or why she still has it, so she'll probably never get it back. I love it.

"Sorry. You just... you look great." He's then distracted by another member of his staff walking past him. "Kevin, the stuffed mushrooms are done. Pull them out and get them on trays and out to Dana, please. And check on drinks at the bar." His employees nod and move quickly and quietly.

"I'll let you get to work. Have you seen Morgan?"

"Living room," he says, nodding to his left, already back at work arranging another tray of shrimp.

"Thanks. Make sure you celebrate with us a little, okay?" I feel bad that we've hired him for the night when he should be at Jackie's side, sucking down champagne and cramming shrimp into his mouth.

"Oh, I will. Just getting us started. Don't worry about me; I love this stuff." He laughs as his fingers seem to know exactly what to do to angle the bright pink tails. They're all lined up in a pretty row.

I move through the kitchen, through the dining room and into the spacious living room. Romantic easy listening music drifts from the surround-sound speakers. Tea light candles flicker through crystal holders, sending a fractured light show across the walls and the ceilings. Front and center is a larger-than-life replica of Nick and Morgan's engagement photo, a happy shot of them out on the yacht at sunset. Morgan's hair looks flawlessly tousled. Nick is beaming. They have their arms around each other and there's this... look. Confidence, love... satisfaction.

If someone took a photo of me today, I don't think there would be any hint of that in my life.

I'm trying not to feel jealous and empty. The more I shove the feelings down, the more they seem to seep around the edges of everything. I don't know how to achieve what Nick and Morgan have.  And frankly, though I went to college and law school and got a job and I do good things, I feel like my life is off the rails.  The only way I know to put it on some kind of track is... is to leave.

I have been thinking about it for awhile. A few months. My job is okay, but I can practice law anywhere in Florida. Dad is stable for now and when he isn't, there's always the open road or the airport. That fight I had with JC has niggled at me all week. The things he said to me keep echoing in my ear.

I wake up every day thinking of a reason to keep hating him.

I wear my feelings for him on my sleeve. Unfortunately they are not good feelings.

I'm not happy unless I'm angry-at him. This week has proven that. I've felt so empty without someone to roll my eyes at.

I've let him take up residence in my life while claiming I want him out. He's obviously not going anywhere, so I guess it's up to me. When the wedding is over and we're back from St. Lucia, I'll make my announcement to everyone. And then prepare to move on with my life.

"Hey! You look beautiful, Angie!"

I turn to greet Morgan's mother Katy. She looks the same as she always has-peaches and cream skin, blonde hair, blue eyes. She and her daughter are practically twins, happy-go-lucky rays of sunshine among hardy, rough-and-tumble men. Morgan's dad is a General Contractor, so he's a tall, burly manly man. His sons work for him as foremen, building commercial structures like parking decks and grocery stores and office buildings.

Katy and I share a hug and some small talk. I haven't seen her since this whole wedding process began, but she seems overjoyed that Morgan and Nick are finally taking the leap.  We chat for a few minutes, until she is called away. I grab a flute of champagne and take a sip, wandering the rest of the house.

JC is here, of course. So is Tyler. Both are wearing dark suits-JC's is black, Tyler's is grey. Otherwise they look exactly alike: white shirts open at the collar, dark shoes and one hand shoved in a pocket, the other holding a plastic cup brimming with amber liquid. JC though... I remember why I fell for him, way back then. The hair, the eyes, the sound of his voice. The casual, quiet confidence. My mouth is goes dry, watching them across the room.

JC is talking, obviously telling a joke or a funny story. Tyler is laughing, his cheeks bright red. The hero worship between the Chasez Brothers has always been apparent. Over the years, I don't remember Tyler ever saying anything bad about his brother. Not even when I asked him why JC didn't get him a big fancy job at Perry. He just shrugged and said, "He offered. Perry's not the firm for me." 

JC must have hit his punch line because I can hear both of them laughing over the din of people talking, music playing, dishes clacking together. Tyler's gaze moves across the room as he lifts his cup to take a drink. I fall right in the middle of his eye line and he freezes, his cup mid-way to his mouth, lips pursed to take a sip. Noticing his intense stare, he follows Tyler's gaze and I am now being ogled by both Chasez brothers.

The smile disappears from JC's face. Replacing his jovial expression is a hard stare, a crease across his forehead, a stiffening of his lips. He mutters something to Tyler and turns to walk away. Tyler watches him go, shaking his head. Obviously disappointed in his big brother.

I cross the room and clink my champagne glass with his plastic cup. "Swell party," he says, taking a few more sips.

"It turned out really nice." I have to agree, looking around. It looks very classy. "JC did most of the work setting this up."

Tyler chuckles. "You don't have to sell him to me, Angie."

"I'm not selling him. I'm just saying, you're complimenting me on this party and it wasn't my doing."

"Okay." He takes a few more sips of his drink and sighs. "You uh... you haven't talked to him lately, have you?"

I shake my head.  "Busy week." And he hasn't been talking to me, which is all I've ever asked for, and I finally have and don't really like.

Tyler nods and says, "Mmmhmm."

"Why?" I ask, because I am curious and because Tyler is being cagey. Is he trying to make me talk to JC, or is something up?

"No reason. He's just been a bear all week."

"Oh. Well we did talk last week-"

"I heard. Heard all about it."

Not from me. I haven't told anyone. I wonder how much Tyler knows. Does he know about The Kiss? Does he know about JC admitting to me that he missed ‘us'? Does he know the real Stacey story?  

"Anyway," he says with a sigh, pouring the last drop of alcohol into his mouth. "I'm going to refill. Need anything?" 

I lift my still full glass of champagne as an answer. He ambles off in the direction of the bar across the room.

Throughout the night, while drinking, eating, talking, looking at pictures, laughing with my friends, I am conscious of JC. He's never far from me-always in the room, or in a spot where he can see me. He's always watching me, pretending to not be watching me. On occasion, someone will slide next to him and engage him in conversation, at which time I take the opportunity to move around, get out of his sight. But he always shows back up.

I don't know what it means, and I don't know what to do about it, so I ignore him.

In each room is a round table laden with food, which Matt has kept hot, fresh and full. I grab a plate and pile on a few shrimp, stuffed mushrooms, and cheese and crackers. Jackie is next to me, filling up a plate as well.

"Wanna tell me why JC is lurking in the shadows of every room you're in? What's up with you two?"

I shrug and bite into a piece of shrimp covered in cocktail sauce and walk away. Sure enough, a few minutes later, JC happens to be in the room. I laugh. I don't know what game this is, but he's playing it by himself.

The volume of the music rises in the next room. I recognize the lilting, jazzy sounds of Sade, By Your Side and smile. I love that song. I stand in the doorway so I can watch people sway to the music, the lights low, the mood romantic and sultry.

I smell him before he says anything to me... that woodsy, musky scent he always wears is a dead giveaway.

"I need to talk to you."

I shake my head, vigorously, to the negative. "You've had all week... all night to talk to me. Instead you've been following me around this house like a puppy."

"And you've been leading me." He grabs the plate from my hands, sets it on a nearby table, hooks a hand in the crook of my arm and pulls me out of the doorway into the next room. "Come on. Dance with me. You like this song."

"I-no...I don't-"

He turns and gives me a look. "Don't make a scene. This is a happy occasion. Please don't ruin it."

I relent and let myself be guided to the dance floor. JC pulls me into his arms, wrapping me up in high end fabric and good smelling cologne. He places a warm hand on my back. The heat radiates through me and I feel my body flush.

By instinct, and not because I want to wrap my arms around him, I lay one arm across his shoulder and a hand against his chest. His heart beats a steady thump under my palm. We begin to move in time to the music, with the other couples. I remember the last time I danced a slow dance with JC, and then try to forget it, because the feelings I had for him then roll back to my memory, too. 

JC is the best slow dancer, ever. I'll give him that. It's more than shifting weight from foot to foot, stiff legged and immobile. He moves fluidly, rocking with the gentle lull of a wave tossing a boat from side to side, slowly turning us in a tight circle. It's easy to close your eyes and get lost in the feeling of dancing with him... it's hypnotic and so, so erotic.

"Couple things," he says in my ear. "In the spirit of us getting along, I apologize for last week. And for... you know."

I lift my head so I can see his eyes. I can tell if he's serious-or lying or just appeasing me-by his eyes. His gaze gives a note of sincerity. His whole face, his countenance seems... sullen. I'm not used to seeing that in JC.

"Thank you.  As for... you know... are you sorry you did it?"

"No. I'm not."

A petulant, frustrated huff escapes. "Then why-"

"I'm not sorry I did it. But it was the wrong thing to do at the time, I guess. I'm sorry if you feel like I forced myself on you."

"Oh." I hadn't thought of it as him forcing himself on me. It came out of nowhere and he expected something to magically grow from it. I can't think of anything else to say, so I dip my head back to his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, too," I finally say. Force myself to say. "I've been thinking about some stuff I said to you and... I didn't mean it. You know, about you not caring about me, back then..."

"Yeah."

"I know you loved me. I loved you too."

"I did love you. And you loved me, for sure. Do you still?"

I almost choke on the air at his question. Mostly because I don't know how to answer it. I quietly laugh instead.

"Okay. I'm a glutton for punishment, I guess." He's quiet for a few moments and then says, very softly near my ear, "I think I might, still."

I'm completely dumbfounded, not even all there at the moment. We're moving in time to the fading strains of one song into the swelling notes of another. I haven't made a move to be relieved of his arms or his scent or these words that I must have known were coming, at some point.  Tyler has been telling me this for years.

"You don't have anything to say to that? Not anything snide or sarcastic, like, ‘duh, JC. That's why you've been hanging around here instead of moving on with your life.' Nothing like that?"

"You seem to have my reaction covered. I apparently don't need to say anything."

He chuckles. "Ah, there she is. There's my spitfire, Evangeline."

That, again. I tense up; try to step backward, out of his embrace. He tightens his hold on me.

"I'm not trying to hold you hostage, Angie. Just finish out this dance with me. I'm not done saying what I need to say."

I relax, but promise myself that when this song is over I am going to put an entire room of people between myself and JC.

"I was thinking about some of the things you said, and you're right. I expected a lot from a kiss and some words. There's 18 years we have to work through."

My head is already shaking. "No, JC... you don't get it-"

"Shut up and listen, okay?" My lips slam shut at his tone. "I'm trying to say something important. About the case we're supposed to argue next week... you're going to win. You win."

I win?  "Wha-what are you talking about?"

"On Monday, you're going to get a notification of settlement and dismissal. I'm making my client settle the case. I know he's wrong, he knows he's wrong, he's an asshole and he doesn't like losing. He'll spend a hundred grand to not lose. I'm done with him."

He exhales, which makes his shoulders drop like a weight has been lifted from them. "And I'm done with Perry. I'm leaving the firm."

I almost trip over my own feet. He catches me and keeps moving.

"You're right, my job, about the clients. I hate the job, actually. It's not what I signed up for. I hate how they put me against you, because they know you're good. I hate how it makes you hate me, makes you disrespect me, makes you think I like representing lowlife assholes. I do it because it's my job, because everybody deserves their day in court. Even murderers have to have representation, you know?"

He shakes his head, chewing on his bottom lip with the most wistful expression on his face. He looks like he's dreaming. "Doesn't have to be me, though. And it won't be. Not anymore."

"JC, I-"

"I don't deserve anything from you. I know that. Not after the way I've treated you, the way I've talked to you. But I'm hoping that if that kiss awakened even the tiniest shred of any feeling for me at all, that you'll let yourself explore it. And maybe think about giving me another chance."

This is the first time in many, many years that JC has asked for another chance. I have dreamt about this moment for years, so I could throw his behavior back in his face and break his heart when I told him no. And get great joy from doing so.

Tonight, those words don't come. That need for vengeance, the desire to destroy him, it isn't there. I don't have it in me to look at this man and tear him down.  

"Don't say anything right now." As if I had anything to say. "Just think about it. And be honest with yourself. There's a lot riding on your answer."

As if I need anything else to confuse me, he dips his head and kisses me. It's nothing more than a soft, sweet press of his lips that lingers for a few seconds, but it has the same effect on me as the kiss from a month ago. Butterflies take flight throughout my body and goose bumps break out in waves, despite the pink flush that crawls along my skin. And Goddamn, my panties are soaking.

The song ends and he steps back, freeing me from his grasp. "By the way, you look beautiful tonight."

He gives me a solitary nod, then steps around me, leaving me on the dance floor by myself, looking-and feeling-confused.

I feel like I am dreaming. I know I am not.

The rest of the evening passes in a shimmery grey fugue. I remember chatting with Nick's dad, meeting Morgan's grandfather. I remember the champagne toast and the speech that JC gave, something about knowing both Nick and Morgan their whole lives, so he couldn't imagine anyone better for either of them.

I sneak out the way I came in, through the basement, to my car at the back of the house. I drive home in the same fog, slowly becoming aware that the words that fell from JC's mouth were real. And while I have hoped for this moment for so long, the emotions I expected to feel as a reaction are a no-show. I feel disarmed and unprepared without the self-righteous anger and hurt.

Maybe think about giving me another chance.

I pull into my parking spot and climb the steps to my apartment. As soon as I close the door, I hear a beep inside the sparkling clutch. I grope for the hallway light and flip the switch, then zip open the purse and dig out my phone.

JC Chasez would like to begin a Facetime session with you. Click yes to participate.

With my heart slamming around in my chest, I press ‘yes'. The screen is dark but I can make out JC's face and shoulders in the shadows. His jacket is off, his shirt unbuttoned low enough that I can see the hair on his chest. He looks tired, but not in a bad way. His eyelids are drooping, halfway closed over the cerulean blue of his eyes. His fingers have been in his hair, combing it back. That, along with biting his fingernails, is something he does when he's nervous.

"I see you made it home."

"Just now. Yes."

I walk to the living room and sit on the couch, holding the phone aloft so the screen stays on my face. I look harder at his image and realize he's not at home. He's in his car-that's why the screen is so dark. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"

His smile is faint, just a hint. "Maybe," he says.

"So you're just going to sit outside my apartment all the time, now?"

"I don't sit outside your apartment all the time. I wanted to make sure you got home."

"Well, here I am. I'm home."

"So you are." He stares at me via the screen. I stare back. "So, tonight..."

I inhale a deep breath. Here we go, the part where he takes back everything he said because it was a mistake. And we just move on with our lives because that's the way it should be.

"I guess I probably shocked you, with my... news. I'm not much for foreplay. Never was, right?"

I burst into laughter, repeating a phrase I would often say when we were dating. "I'm not a guy, JC! I need more than five minutes to be ready for sex!"

"Well, yeah. I picked it up after awhile, right?"

I nod, smiling, lost in the memory for a moment. "Yeah, you did okay."

"More than okay."

"Fine, more than okay. You're Facetiming me so we can talk about how good you were at foreplay, eventually?"

He laughs. "No. Just saying that uh... I just popped that on you without a lot of warning. So I'm sorry about that."

"Well, you must have been thinking about it for awhile."

"Here and there," he says. He sighs and his eyes leave the screen. The interior of the car is illuminated by the headlights of a passing car. He watches the car pass, then his gaze return to me.

"I uhm... I mean... I just don't want you to be freaked out. About what I said. The other thing."

"About how you think you still love me?"

He nods, briefly. A short bob of the head up and down.

"So what brought that feeling... or that thought on? The kiss?"

 "No. It was that night at my house. You were setting the table and everything was just... so perfect. You were beautiful and the table looked great and the whole scene... just for a split second I let myself think... what if..."

He licks his lips. I watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows a few times. "I realized that's all I've ever wanted. A home with you. A life with you. You're all I've ever wanted, Angie and I'm tired of pretending that's not true. I'm tired of thinking I can replace you with someone else. Anyone else. I'm tired of not being with you."

I feel a need to swallow a few times myself.

"You've had some anger issues with me, and I understand that I haven't helped the situation. I just egg you on, I think, because even if you hate me, at least it's something. It would be worse if you didn't care at all."

I nod, slowly. Like a key into a lock, things start clicking into place and I finally get it-what the last eighteen years have been about. Making sure I don't forget him.

"I don't know if it's too late to turn that around," he says. "I hope it's not."

"Yeah, well...." I clear my throat, which seems dry all of a sudden. "I have not been on my best behavior either. I've been pretty bad, especially recently."

"It's the wedding."

"You think so?"

"Our best friends are finally tying the knot, and everyone's looking at us like why can't you two do that?" His low laughter crackles over the phone line. "Weddings bring out the worst in people."

"Especially when your best friends are unintentionally flaunting what you should have had."

"But Angie....you know we were never going to be like Nick and Morgan, right? They have, like... they have an uncommon connection. We can't duplicate them. No one can. And I think, maybe I'm wrong, but I think your biggest problem was that I took away the possibility that we could be like them."

"Maybe," I admit quietly. My eyes drop to my lap.  I can't look him in the face and admit that all of the strife from the past few years has been because I was jealous of Nick and Morgan.

"So I had a long conversation with Nick the other night."

My eyes rise to the screen again. "Yeah?"

"Mmmhmm. All about why they're just now getting married.  I don't want to betray his confidence but I think you should ask Morgan about it."

"She never answers me when I ask. She dances around the question and then gives me some lame answer."

"Ask her again. I think you'll be surprised at the answer."

"What kind of answer am I looking for?"

"One that will help you realize that ‘they've only ever been with each other' myth is just that. A myth."

I rear back, eyebrows furrowed. "What are you talking about? They have only ever been with each other."

He shakes his head slowly. "Nope," he says. "Ask Morgan. You're clinging to something that doesn't even exist, Angie. And basing something you wanted for us on a myth. And you've been angry at me about it for the last two decades, almost."

Why is my world turning upside down right now?

"Just wanted to give you some things to think about. As for Perry, they won't miss me. I won't miss them."

"Yeah, what about that? What are you going to do? Go to another firm? Do you have an offer?"

"Sort of. I'm not ready to talk about it just yet. I'll fill you in. Soon."

I'm reeling from all this new information. My head is spinning, twirling in time to my world flying completely off its axis. I cannot take this night anymore.

As if he can sense my near panic attack, he says, "So you're home, which means I can go home. I'll let you get to bed. Please think about what I told you tonight. Seriously. Okay?"

I nod. He brushes two fingers across his pursed lips and touches them to the screen. And then he is gone.

JC Chasez has ended this FaceTime session. To reconnect, press OK.

It takes everything in me not to dial him back, for no reason at all but to talk to him. This is odd, because I haven't wanted to just talk to JC in almost twenty years.

I get up from the couch, removing my jewelry, peeling off my dress, kicking off my shoes. I crawl into bed in just my underwear, pull the covers up over me. And lay there.

On my mind? In every thought? Lurking around every corner, and in my eventual dreams? 

Those piercing blue eyes, that curly wavy hair, those soft, full lips. The sound of his voice. The warmth of his skin. The weight of him on me, around me. His hands, large and manly and possessive.  I suddenly want nothing more than all of him, all over me. The thought of being with him sends my brain in a tailspin.

My life is, yet again, all JC, all the time.  Right now though, I don't really mind.