JC is the most relaxed I've seen him in a long time. He's decked out in his usual dark Varvatos ensemble, clean shaven, his hair a mess of carefully crafted curls that just kiss the collar of his crisp white shirt.  He's leaning back in his leather executive office chair, feet propped on a corner of the desk and crossed at the ankles. His socks are a bright raspberry and match his tie. His shoes are black wing tips.

His office is an eclectic mix of his personal style and the Perry Law Firm professional interior design. The building is a nine story structure that once was a factory, turned into a loft-style space of exposed brick, large arching windows and real oak wood floors buffed to a near mirror shine. His desk, an L-shaped behemoth, screams mid-level executive. On the desk are piles of folders and notepads and photos in mismatched frames: his family, a few pictures of Morgan, Nick, he and I over the years. I'm surprised and unprepared to see that he has added a new photo to the collection. Homecoming. Our senior year.

I pretend I don't notice it and he doesn't point it out.

My visit to JC's office isn't a social call. I've arrived for a conference between him and me, his client and mine. This will be the first time that all of us have been in the same room. My only prayer is that one of our clients doesn't leap across the table and try to choke the other. My other prayer is that neither of the attorneys will either.

Before that meeting, we have a call with the Events Manager at Rendezvous St. Lucia, an all inclusive, couples only resort. We were both wowed by the seaside suites, the excursions and other amenities, the food and drink, not to mention the fact that we won't be sharing our Caribbean vacation with the families that choose to bring their children to the Caribbean. Not that I don't like kids, I do. Just not when I've spent $1500 to relax.

"Just let me do all the talking," JC says, while we listen to the speakerphone warble. "I know how to handle these people."

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of opening my mouth, Mr. Chasez. I'm just a girl. I've never been anywhere. I don't even talk to people. Ever. About anything."

JC smirks. "Okay fine. If you have questions, pipe up."

I smile and whip out my notebook, opening to the first of several pages of notes. JC rolls his eyes.

"Where the hell is this guy?" he asks, just as the line picks up. "Rendezvous, this is Andrew. Can I help you?"

Andrew has a sexy British accent that is well paired with the deep tone of his voice. He must sound great with the ocean waves crashing onto the shore as a background.  I'm instantly interested in speaking with him.

‘Hi, Andrew. This is Joshua Chasez. My associate Randall Warner gave me your contact information. We spoke briefly on email about a wedding party in October-"

"Ah, yes. Yes sir. I remember. A large party, perhaps twenty or twenty five people?"

"Correct. And I've got my planning partner here, Angie Blake. Say hi to the man, honey." I grimace at the term of endearment. It's like he's marking his territory. JC winks and nods toward the phone.

"Hello, Andrew. It's a pleasure to meet you. We're excited to work with you."

"Hello, Miss Angie," he answers, and I swoon inside. "Yes, I think this will be an exciting event we're planning. Your friends are very lucky, I think. Will you... and Mr. Chasez... be joining the party?"

"I wouldn't dream of missing it. Why don't you tell us a bit about your resort? Like what can we expect from a destination wedding standpoint?"

Andrew spends the next twenty minutes giving us a virtual tour of the resort. I feel as I know every nook and cranny of the main building as well as the adjoining buildings where the suites are located. I almost feel the sand between my toes and the island breeze blowing through my hair and the (included) frosty drink in my hand.  He answers all of my questions with concise, yet thorough answers. Oddly, JC didn't have much to say once we actually got on the phone. Not that it mattered, since Andrew was entirely more interested in talking to me.

"So, I think October will work for a group of up to fifty, if we are thinking of late October, nearly November." I hear the soft sounds of a page turning. "We start to pick up a bit at the beginning of November and we're completely booked through the New Year until..."

More pages flipping. "Well a large part of the next year is booked in some way or another. We wouldn't be able to house a group that large until around May."

"So October is our best bet," muses JC.

"Correct," Andrew says. "And I don't want to rush you at all, it's just that our rooms fill so quickly, especially for winter months in the north, and-"

"Right, right. I get it," says JC. "Can you hold for a minute?"

"Certainly."

JC presses a button on his desk phone and the ‘mute' light begins to flash. "Nick gave me his credit card number to hold the deposit if we like it. But only if we both agree."

I nod. "It sounds fine. I mean, it's now or May."

"And we have Nick and Morgan primed for October."  We thought they were going to take the early date badly, but they seemed excited about getting the whole deal over with early. Frankly, so was I. If I had to bite back every word I wanted to say to JC from now until May, I wouldn't have a tongue left. "Let's do it."

"You sure?" I give a solitary nod and with that, JC turns off the mute. "Looks like you're a skilled salesman, Andrew.  My planning partner just told me that if we don't book this right here, right now, she's not coming."

I cringe inside. JC is totally flirting with Andrew for me. Egging me on, making fun of the fact that he knows Andrew is flirting back. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was jealous.

Once we've booked the resort and our dates-a glorious week at the end of October on the luxurious island of St. Lucia-I feel like I can breathe. We will be working with Andrew and his events staff on crafting a memorable vacation and an unforgettable wedding and reception. Through all of this turmoil with JC, I forgot to be excited about Nick and Morgan handing over the reins to their very special event and letting us plan it.

I didn't forget that I know exactly what they're doing. And when this wedding is over, our best friends are going to be shocked as hell to find that their little ploy didn't work.  Four months and counting until he's out of my hair.

JC's phone rings soon after we're off the line with Andrew. It's his secretary, Andrea.

I should note, the secretary that he shares with four other associates, who has never once, in the years that I have stopped by this office, ever brought him a cup of coffee or a file or even appeared to be concerned about doing any work for him.  I always have to hide a snicker when he suggests that someone check his calendar with his secretary.  She probably has no clue about his calendar. She seems disinterested in anything JC is working on.

He picks up the call via speakerphone. "Yeah."

"You have guests in the lobby," she mumbles in monotone.

"Show ‘em up."

"I don't have time," she says, and then the line goes dead.

"Andrea?" He punches a button that makes the crackle on the line disappear. "Bitch."

JC grabs a few files, a notebook and a pen from a multicolored cup on the desk. "We'll move to the conference room."

There are no doors at Perry, just arched openings in the long brick hallway, so I can peek into the offices of JC's coworkers. They're all dressed to the nines like JC-dark suits, white shirts, classy ties, shiny black shoes. Like a uniform.

Each office is a testament to the personality of its inhabitant. Some are neat and tidy, files stacked in one corner of the desk, laptop front and center, phone to the side. Some, like JC's office are a mishmash of everything in the center of the desk, the phone buried somewhere beneath that, laptop on a side table open to an internet browser with the Gmail tab open.

He escorts me to a small, windowless conference room and immediately leaves again. I pick one side of the long table and begin to unload my bag-my case files, my notes, a tape recorder. A few minutes later, JC walks in, followed by my client, Carlos Ramirez and his client, Phillip Bailey.

Bailey is taller than I imagined. He is smarmy and underhanded, so I pictured him more like Danny DeVito than Paul Bunyan. He towers over everyone in the room and his black suit makes him appear even larger and more menacing. We shake hands-his hands are enormous. Bigger than JC's, who has the biggest hands I've ever seen. 

Carlos scoots around to my side of the table and appears to avoid looking at Bailey. After introductions, we're all seated, Carlos and I on one side, JC at the head of the table and Phillip Bailey across from me. I slide my recorder to the center of the space between us all and press the small red button. A light illuminates, letting me know that we have begun recording. I speak for the record.

"Today is June 28th. We are at the offices of the Perry Law Firm. Present are attorneys Joshua Chasez for Perry Law Group and Evangeline Blake for Flanning & Rourke, LLC, Plaintiff Phillip Bailey and Defendant Carlos Ramirez. This conference is in reference to filing number FL-356-49234, Ramirez v. Bailey, filed May 17th for complaint of Housing Discrimination and Civil Rights Violation. This conference is being recorded in accordance with Florida Law."

I continue, "Phillip Bailey, owner of Bay Ridge View apartment homes, located at 8664 Bay Ridge Blvd, Orlando Florida, has begun eviction proceedings against my client, Carlos Ramirez, and has requested the tenant vacate the premises well before the expiration of the lease."

I open a folder and produce a copy of the discrimination filing and slide it toward JC. He picks it up, glances at it and slides it back. It is nothing more than two pages of typewritten legalese, indicating an order has been filed.  He's seen it before, but all parties have to see all of the documentation involved in the case.

"My client filed a discrimination complaint in response, alleging that Mr. Bailey is outside of his rights as property owner to ask the Ramirez family to vacate the apartment. Mr. Ramirez contends that he has not violated any term of the lease that is in effect and that Mr. Bailey has and is engaging in active discrimination and has violated his civil rights by attempting to deny him a place to live. The Florida Housing Authority referred Mr. Ramirez to Flanning & Rourke for representation, thereby halting eviction proceedings."

Bailey is quiet, stone faced, staring at the faux wood grain of the table. JC slides a few pages from a folder in his stack and slides it to the center of the table. It is the original Order for Eviction that Bailey filed in early May. I've seen it and decline to review it again. Carlos reaches for it and flips through it, then tosses it back to the center of the table.

"My client, Phillip Bailey, contends that Mr. Ramirez had multiple family members living in his two bedroom apartment for periods longer than 48 hours, which is the length of time permissible by the lease-"

"But that's not true!" Carlos exclaims. "Christina was never there more than two days. We made sure she was gone by the end of the third day! Always!"

Bailey finally looks like he's awake and alert lashes out and Ramirez. "I track everything. You should know that by now. Almost every time your sister ran to you because her shit stain of a husband was kicking her ass, she stayed over the 48 hour mark. I have notes."

JC placed a hand on Bailey's shoulder and squeezed. Instantly, he clammed up and sat back in his seat.

"As Mr. Bailey mentioned, he has detailed notes of arrival and departure of guests to the Ramirez home over the last few years. We can go over those times if you wish."

I shake my head. "Not if there's nothing to corroborate those notes. Video with time stamp? Anything? He could have made them up-it's his word against Ramirez."

"Fine."  He pulls more pages from his folder-8x10 glossy photos of a wall that looks like the Incredible Hulk went at it and an apartment door with a foot sized dent in it.  I hadn't seen these photos before, so I grabbed them up so I could view the damage up close. "Mr. Bailey has documented extensive damage to the hallway outside of the apartment, the door and the interior. I should also note that this damage remains and Mr. Ramirez has neither accepted responsibility nor agreed to pay for repairs."

"I'm not paying thousands of dollars to fix a wall and a door in a building where I can't live. Bailey has insurance, let him file a claim."

"Why should my vandalism premiums go up because my tenants have animals for relatives?"

"Phillip!" JC barks. "This conference is being taped. Shut your mouth and leave it that way." Once again, Bailey shrinks back. He folds his massive arms across his chest and scowls.

"Mr. Bailey just wants control of his building. He feels that there's nothing to stop Emilio Santos, the man that did this damage, from coming back to destroy more property-"

"Mr. Santos is in jail and his wife, Mr. Ramirez' sister doesn't live in this apartment. He has no reason to go back there."

"Be that as it may, should Mr. Santos be released from jail, there's nothing to stop him from coming back to Bay Ridge View and knocking in a door or a wall, trying to find her. Correct?"

"Correct, but-"

"Good, we agree on that. There are eight months remaining on the lease. Normally tenants would be responsible for the remaining months but Mr. Bailey would be willing to forego any penalty for early cancellation. The Ramirez family could walk away today and owe nothing. Step right into something else."

One look at Carlos and I know that isn't the answer he's looking for. I shake my head at JC.  "No way. My client has done nothing wrong; there is no violation of the lease here. Mr. Bailey is evicting them simply because he doesn't like them. He's made up reasons to kick them out and hopes they'll legally stick. They won't."

"Do you have a counter offer?"

I chuckle. "Uh, yeah. Your client withdraws his eviction filing and lets my clients live in peace. They'll pay for the insurance deductible so Mr. Bailey can get his property repaired. Past that, we don't have any other obligation or concession."

Bailey has been shaking his head, slowly back and forth, for a few minutes. "No way," he mumbles. "I want them out.  Not gonna have a bunch of Mexicans that don't even speak English all piled up in that apartment. They're sneaky. They think I don't notice them coming and going."

Carlos rolls his eyes. "There aren't a pile of Mexicans living in my apartment. I was born in Miami, you redneck inbred!"

"Carlos," I whisper, trying to shush him. "You are on tape."

He starts to rise out of his chair but sits back down when I hook my nails into his arm and catch his eye.  He stares me down for a few seconds, but then his calm returns. 

"My wife, my children, my family," he says quietly. "We speak English. Fluently. I want him to know that."

"Right," Bailey says, grumbling. "No dice. If you won't get out, I'll force you out."

"Sounds like we're going to court, then?" I glance at JC, who isn't sufficiently embarrassed by his client, in my opinion. How can he represent this scum?

JC pushes back from the table and stands. "That's what it sounds like. We'll file in the morning. Should have a court date by early next week." He nods at Bailey, who stands and lumbers out of the conference room, JC in tow.

I hear them going down the stairs and finally feel the freedom to exhale.  "I can't believe you want to stay there, Carlos. He's willing to let you out, free and clear."

"I know," he answers. "But like my wife says, if he does it to us, he'll do it to the next family. We'll move when our lease is up and not a minute sooner. We won't be forced to leave early by his bigoted views of me and my people."

I gather my piles together and load them back into my bag. "Okay. This could take awhile. Just letting you know. Housing complaints fall far behind rapes, murders and kidnappings. We might not get to pre-trial for a month or so. Until then, avoid Bailey. He can't kick you out but I don't put it past him to watch you and Gloria like a hawk. Follow the lease to the letter. Don't speak to him. Don't let him get under your skin. Basically, don't give him any ammunition that he can present in court that would sway the judge in his favor."

"Got it. I understand. And thank you."

"Thank me when I've won this case." Because I might not. "And give my best to Gloria."

We stand and I lead him out of the conference room. We meet JC at the steps. "So I'm going to head over to my office, if we're done here," I say to him.

"I'm just getting started with you," he says, a playful smile on his lips. "See you Sunday?"

I stop on the third step down and turn around. "Sunday. What's Sunday?"

"Check your email. Bridal Party brunch at the Del Ray Manor."

I groan. "Alright. See you Sunday then."

"Want me to pick you up? It's on my way."

I start to snap at him that I could drive myself, thank you very much. Then I remember our agreement and try to craft a nice way to decline. Before I can do so, he says, "I'll take that as a yes. I'll be at your place at 10:30. Be ready, I don't like waiting."

At what point, I wonder as I turn and stomp down the steps in mild irritation, does he have to bite his tongue?

###

Sunday morning is beautiful--warm and sunny but not yet hot, clear blue skies, a typical summer day in Florida. I would love to do nothing more than skip down to the pool in a skimpy bathing suit with a trashy novel and lay around working on my tan. I haven't done enough of that this summer.

Instead, I have to put on a dress and heels and flat iron my hair. I have to get in a car with JC and ride over to Nick and Morgan's fancy million-dollar home. I have to sit next to JC at a table overflowing with delicacies and pretend that we're getting along just great and yap about this wedding for a few hours. Mostly I have to make Morgan believe that we're making this happen for them.

I'm going to have to start keeping track of all these things I'm doing so Morgan can have a great wedding. She's going to owe me. Big time.

Promptly at 10:30, I see JC's Benz turn into my apartment complex, so I head down to meet him at the bottom of the steps. Instead of stopping and waiting, he parks and comes around to the passenger side and opens the door with a flourish, all with a shit-eating grin.

"Hi," I say simply, and get in the car. He closes my door and jogs back around to the driver's side. As he slides back into the smooth leather seat, I notice his attire-dark jeans, a button down plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and a gray tweed four- button vest.  A high end Gucci watch catches a glint of sunlight as he turns the wheel and guides the car to the street.

"You always dress this nice for brunch?"

His eyes leave the road for a brief moment. "Do you?" he asks, his gaze roving the chest and thighs that my dress unfortunately leaves bare.

I tug at the hem of my dress but it does no good. It used to be JC's favorite thing, while he drove, to reach over and tuck a hand between my thighs. He liked it when I wore dresses and sometimes I would have to hold his hand to keep it from wandering up my thigh. That memory makes me blush and I tug harder.

"Touché. I just thought you might have been on your way from somewhere else."

"Where would I be on my way from? What are you talking about?"

"Nothing, JC. Just drive."

"You seem overly concerned with my dating life. Who I'm sleeping with, whether I'm on my way home from a one night stand. Which I'm not, by the way. I slept alone, since you care."

"I don't." I make it a point to stare listlessly out of the window just to show him how much I don't care.

"Coulda fooled me."

"I don't. It's just that if you were going to swing by and pick me up and take me to brunch while you're on your way home from screwing what's-her-face with the stripper name, I think that's kind of shitty and disrespectful."

"Really?" JC chuckles. "I think it's kind of shitty and disrespectful that you assume I'd do that."

"Like you never have?"

JC inhales deeply, then exhales so it sounds like he's emptying his lungs. "This truce thing isn't going very well," he says eventually.

He's right. And I know it. I'm instigating. It's just that... I know he's only nice for brief moments and then, when my guard is down, he goes in for the kill. If I stay alert-and bitchy-he doesn't have any reason to think I'm weak and ripe for an attack. I realize, of course, how crazy this sounds. But I know him.

For a few minutes, I hear nothing but the sound of the tires gripping the road and the luxury machine working as it was designed. JC is dangerous when he's quiet, and he's very, very quiet. I wouldn't put it past him to quit this wedding again because I won't be nice to him.

"Okay. I apologize." And inside, I die a little. "It's hard to go from snapping at you to being nice to you."

"I know."

"But... we agreed. So. I'm trying."

"You are?" I see him take a peek at me out of the corner of my eye. "Since when?"

"Since now, jackass."

"Your idea of nice needs more work. Say something nice."

"You first."

"Fine. I like your dress. It's nice on you." He grins. "Happy?"

I'm trying not to blush. He sounds like he actually means what he says, and despite the fact that he bugs the shit out of me.... I'm flattered.

"Thank you, "I say quietly.  "And I only commented on your clothes because you look really nice."

"Thanks."

I heave a sigh like that was the most difficult thing I've ever had to do. JC busts out laughing and doesn't stop until we pull up to the gates at Viscaya.

Nick and Morgan's two story Spanish Mediterranean style 4500 sq foot home overlooks Sand Lake and sits on a pricy, exclusive piece of real estate in an Orlando suburb. There are five bedrooms, six bathrooms, formal and casual living and dining areas, a heated pool, a two car garage and ample space to be anywhere in the house and feel deserted. When Nick travels for conferences, Morgan hates to be in the huge house alone, so I take one for the team, pack up a few days' worth of clothing and move in.

Inside the gated community, there are hundreds of homes along the lake, most of them bigger, more opulent, more spacious and, I'm sure, incredibly more gaudy in interior design. Morgan likes simple, classic finishes so the house has gleaming wood floors on both levels. The breakfast bar and countertops are granite, the appliances are stainless steel.

There's nothing austere and untouchable about the décor. Colorful prints and art pieces dress the walls, the corners are made warm with lush greenery and, built into a wall in the den, a salt water tank bubbles and hums while fish of all kinds and hues dart from one end of the 10 foot tank to the other.

JC buzzes us in with his code and once we're inside the gates, it's a 30 second drive to Nick and Morgan's. He rounds the circular driveway and parks behind a black Lexus that I recognize as Keith and Bridget's.  As I step out of the car, I see someone else has parked behind us and Jackie, who I haven't seen in months, climbs out of the passenger seat.

I laugh. And shake my head. 

"Shut up," she mumbles as she waddles toward me, her belly creating the most adorable bump in her long, flowing sundress. She's fussing at me but she's glowing and grinning and I can see by the glint in her eye that she's overjoyed. I'm so happy for her I could bust. She got pregnant years ago but lost the baby and her doctors told her it would probably be hard for her to get pregnant again. The stress of trying and failing destroyed a long relationship. Frankly, I was happy to see Bryan gone, but sad to see Jackie want a baby and not be able to have one. When Matt came along, she fell for him so quickly. I was afraid for her, for her heart.

I love it when I'm wrong. About other people, that is.

Matt steps out of the driver's side of their sedan looking a bit more like a chef than before. He's gained some sympathy weight and it looks good on him.

We make our way up the winding walk to the front door, which opens before we can get to it. Morgan waves us in, babbling about the menu. She's the only person I know that invites her friends over for a catered brunch. Past throwing a pizza in the oven or a frozen dinner in the microwave, Morgan doesn't cook.

A few of our other friends are already inside, chatting over trays of finger foods and holding champagne glasses filled with pale orange liquid. After that ride, I'm thankful for a drink, so I grab a mimosa and make my way around the table, plating a few things here and there-a mini quiche, some fruit and a few slices of bacon.

I choose a seat at the table, where people are slowly filtering in. Jackie sits next to me and immediately digs into her eggs, bacon and toast.

"I guess I figured out why I was gaining so much weight," she said between bites. "I didn't think it would ever happen again."

"How long have you known?"

"A few months. We didn't want to say anything until I was further along because of... well, you know."

I nod. "Of course. You had to know before you got married."

She grins. "Why do you think we got married in Vegas? I didn't want to be rolled down the aisle in a yard of white lace."

I laugh so hard I choke on a bite of quiche and reach for my drink to wash it down.  A glass of water appears to my right and JC takes the seat next to me. I grab that instead and gulp it down, clearing my throat.  "Thanks," I say to him.

"Welcome," he says back, and attacks his overflowing plate with vigor and a concentration that is familiar. JC is always very serious about his food.

Jackie elbows me, and when I ignore her, she pokes at me again.

"Would you stop shoving your bony elbow into my arm?"

"Uh, sure," she says, leaning in close so she can lower her voice. "As soon as you spill. You rode here with JC-I saw you get out of his car. He's sitting next to you and you haven't clawed his eyes out yet. And he brought you water. Not because you were choking, but just because. Are you guys..."

"We are not back together. Don't even go there."

I can see the disappointment and disbelief in her eyes. I'd love to make it disappear but it's going to have to stay, unfortunately. "You'll find out what's up in a minute, but... we agreed to be nice to each other for a little while."

Jackie starts to ask another question but is interrupted by a loud tingtingting.  Nick is at the head of the table, tapping a knife against his glass. When the room is quiet, he sets the glass down and clasps his hands together. He can just barely contain his smile, which is normal for him-he and Morgan are perfect for each other: amused, entertained and pleased by things so greatly that they are almost bursting with joy.

"Morg and I want to thank you all for coming, especially on short notice. It's a beautiful day and we hope you'll hang out and enjoy it with us. First, we have a small announcement."

Morgan stands, her grin matching Nick's. They have always been too damn cute.

"As some of you know, Nick and I have decided to get married... finally!" She stops while everyone laughs, since that has been the most asked question since they were in high school. They never had a reason for not getting married-just that they were happy with things the way they were and didn't feel like they had to get married to make it more real.

"Well," she continues, "We wanted to share this event with our closest, dearest friends, those of you who have been around for a long time and have seen us through some good years and some bad years. We're announcing today that we'll be treating everyone at this table to seven days and six nights on the island of St. Lucia. You'll just be responsible for your airfare. The resort is all inclusive, so you won't have to worry about a thing from the moment you land until you get back on the plane. Nick and I will get married on the island, you'll all be in our wedding party... and the entire affair is being planned by Angie and JC!"

Morgan waves at us, encouraging us to stand. We awkwardly rise and smile through the smattering of applause and sarcastic commentary.

"So is the theme of the wedding gonna be like... throw down? Death match?"

"WWE, Wedding Wrestling Entertainment!"

"You picked the two people who don't get along to plan your wedding in a foreign country. One of them isn't coming back alive."

"Seriously? Oh, this is gonna be good!"

I suppose I should have been prepared for the reactions, but I'm not. I'm embarrassed that when people think of me and JC, they expect some kind of spectacle. They practically bet on who will win every round. I hate what we've become over the two decades that have passed and I know it's just as much my fault as it is JC's.

Right there at that table, I hold on to my resolve that this wedding will be fucking success if it kills me.

And it just might.

Hours later, as the sun is dipping past the horizon, throwing shadows through pink haze, JC is driving me back to my apartment. I haven't said much most of the day. After brunch, while everyone else dipped their feet into the pool and sat around the patio enjoying more drinks, I claimed my favorite lawn chair and watched the waves-small and weak as they might be-crash against the beaches of Sand Lake.

"You're too quiet."

Surprised, I glance over at him. He's wearing wrap around shades and squinting into the bright sunset. "Enjoy it," I say. "It doesn't happen often."

He smiles, silently laughing. "You uh... you okay? You've been quiet all day."

"I'm okay. Just thinking."

"About?"

"Stuff, okay? Just... thinking about things. I do that, you know. Think."

"I wasn't trying to insult you, Angie. I was just asking."

"And I was just answering."

"Okay."

Now JC's too quiet and I sigh. This shit is hard!

"Okay, I was thinking about how everyone at that table was surprised that we're planning this wedding. And they expect it to be a total clusterfuck. They're expecting us to practically kill each other by the time this is over. And how I really want to prove them all wrong. And I'm not sure I'm going to be able to do that but..." I shrug.

I see JC nod, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth. "Yup. Was thinking the same thing."

I stare at him for a moment before I ask, "Really?"

"They're our friends, you know? But... today I feel like it's us against them." He glances at me and I barely catch his eyes through the dark lenses before he turns his attention back to the road. "I want it to be us. I mean, we're gonna get this done. No doubt. But... I really want to blow people away. You know?"

"Yeah. I do know."

I'm amazed that not only do we agree on something, but he understands how I feel and feels the same. In few days, we have come so far. We are nowhere near falling in love again, but not wanting to kill each other seems like a great compromise.

JC guides the car into the parking lot of my complex and smoothly pulls into a space next to the stars that lead to my apartment. I release the seatbelt and pop the door latch.

"Thanks for picking me up. I appreciate it."

"You bet," he says, as I climb out. Then he leans across the seat and says, "Hey... I still think we ought to combine the Bachelor and Bachelorette parties. It'd be the easiest way to do both, and the same people are going to be at both."

I giggle. "I had no plans of attending Nick's Bachelor party."

He rolls his eyes. "You know what I mean."

"I'll think about it. We'll talk about it when you call me."

"When should I call you?"

I smile. "You're an attractive, virile young man. If you don't know when's a good time to call a girl, you're not as popular as you think you are." 

I push the door closed before he can respond and bound up the stairs to my apartment. When I reach the door, I turn and notice the car is still there, idling. Through the windshield I see him smile and wave.

I dig out my key and unlock the door and slip inside, then peek through the curtains from the living room window that overlooks the complex entrance. I wait there until I see JC pull out of the parking lot and turn left, heading toward his house.

 I'm touched that he waited until I was inside to leave.

And I'm confused that it even matters to me.