JC

The clouds outside the small, oblong window looked like a blanket of cotton at 37,000 feet in the air. A never-ending fluffy white blanket covering the land below them. It was an illusion, one that always entranced him, whenever he flew. He felt like if he just opened the door, he could step out, onto that blanket of clouds, and go running over the tops of them into the distance.

Away. He could run away. 

But the logical side of him, the science nerd in him, knew that fluffy clouds were just a trick of the eye, water droplets gathering in the atmosphere and even if he managed to get the door of the jet open, he would fall to his death trying to run away on the tops of fluffy white clouds.

That didn't stop him from wanting to.

JC turned in his seat, his eyes roving the cabin of the plush, indulgent private jet. He felt a little out of place, though back in the day a private jet was the norm. He remembered those days, mostly fondly, when ‘Nsync was too famous to fly commercial. They'd never be able to get on the plane, and if they could, they'd be bothered nonstop and never be able to rest, which was all a plane ride was good for. Sleep. A private jet gave them room and luxury and a chance to rest, so while he felt a little out of place on this jet, he understood the need for it. He also understood the need for the full bar, and the flight attendant in the shortest, tightest, form hugging-est, slinkiest uniform ever, and the leather seats, and the flat screen televisions. He nodded his head, looking around. It was nice, back then.

But then, as they say, they grew up. The days of 5-part harmony and choreographed dance moves in coordinating clothing and bubble gum pop-though they'd tried hard not to be bubble gum-ran out like sands through an hourglass. Tick tock. One day he was part of a multiplatinum, Grammy nominated, award winning male pop vocal group. The next day he was on his own, staring at the wasteland that is the music industry, trying to figure out how he fit in. Nine years, two solo albums, many, many collaborations and projects later, he found his groove in music writing and production, where he could still be in the industry and still make music but he didn't have to be out in front, pulled from every direction, tempted with all the pretty, pretty sin. He found an excuse to be home, to stay holed up in the studio, or the writing room-it was his job, now. He was pretty good at it, sought after by labels and artists, and as the years rolled by he became more and more popular and in higher and higher demand. A musical force to be reckoned with, if he had to say so, himself.

Writing music wasn't hard. Producing albums wasn't hard. Making stars out of hormone-ridden teenagers and writing hit after hit after hit for established artists wasn't hard. He was kind of a natural, without being boastful, and it wasn't much of a challenge. He longed for something that stretched him, that made him grow, that made him wake up every day and hit the ground running and fall into bed every night, muscles screaming, wondering if he had one more day in him. He missed that feeling.   

Things in LA were bad. The music industry is a dirty, filthy business. He liked to think it was composed of loan sharks, the mob, and used car salesmen. Since it mostly centered in LA, and its stars and starlets, singers and musicians, wannabes and hangers on lived there, LA had become a dirty, filthy place by association. He often found himself in the middle of a debaucherous episode of LA life-drunk people diving out of windows, high people weaving to and fro, women scantily clad, strung out, and desperate for someone to take care of them and fund some habit or another-wondering when the hell these people were going to grow up. Then he realized that they weren't. They were his age and older, and either you were like him-walked the straight and narrow most of the time, with a few veers off the beaten path for fun-or you were like them. 

Sometimes JC wondered why he stayed. Why he toiled day and night in a job that wasn't much of a challenge for him, that didn't make him really think or really push him, musically. Why didn't he just go home, to Orlando? Retire and spend his days ordering Mai Tai's from a cute waitress wearing very little clothing, staring into the sun, allowing his mind to compose songs but not letting his hands write them down. Why did he stay in LA, where the air was thick with smog and the streets were littered with garbage and the homeless multiplied by the day, and the sticky-sweet slick layer of sleaze oozed all over the entertainment industry?

Kim was why.

He thought he'd found solace and peace and reason for living, a reason to not hang his hat and say ‘fuck it all' in her. Statuesque, glowing tan, an ever-present bright smile of full lips and white teeth, a body that fueled his day dreams and his night dreams and his in-between dreams. She was amazing, from day one. Funny and smart and sweet, down to earth, not damaged by The Business, jaded by fame. Kim modeled and tried her hand at being an actress. She wasn't very good at all, but then again neither was he. He couldn't really hold that against her. Besides, she was cute when she was trying.

He took his time, with her. Got to know her.  Opened up to her. Fell in love with her. He'd had the ring in his pocket, that day. The small velvet box stayed hidden away in that pocket for days and weeks and months after. After he found the letter from her.

She felt they'd grown apart. Had different goals in life. She'd found someone else. One of them, ironically. She wished him the best. She loved him, but wasn'tin love with him. What did that even mean? He remembered his bitter laughter, reading her letter to him while the small, square box burned a hole in this thigh. Grown apart? Not in love? He was about to ask her to marry him.

Life was never the same, after. And he felt like if he couldn't beat them, he should join them. It was only a matter of time before he was waking up in strange places, unable to remember what he was doing there and how he got there. And where his clothes were. It scared him, at first, but there was pain to numb, so it happened again and again and again. Weeks and months were wasted, pissed away in a drunken stupor. Deadlines missed. Reputation tarnished. He was becoming a statistic, one of them, and it was quickly getting out of hand.

A phone call-and the reason he was on this jet-had saved his life.

"Can I get you anything, JC?"

The soft, syrupy voice of the flight attendant, if you could call her that, interrupted his thoughts. He smiled up at her, into a face so worn by the sun that it resembled the leather of one of his jackets. She'd done her best to enhance it with makeup, but the damage was done. Looking into her eyes, he saw something that resonated in him, deep down to his soul. He tried not to, but he felt sorry for her.

Pain, maybe. Desperation. Shame that her job was to wear as little as possible and serve food and drinks for pop sensation Rod Phillips and his band. It was an okay gig, a little better than serving wings at Hooters, but not by much, especially when Rod got drunk and slapped her ass, demanding shot after shot of vodka. Sometimes he was barely able to walk by the time they got off of a flight. Her job was to serve drinks and look pretty, though. So, she just did her job.

"No thanks, honey," he said, tipping his still full water bottle at her. His staple, lately. He needed to be alert, because this experience was already a challenge. "Appreciate it, though."   Her smile was thin and barely painted on as she slipped past him to the seat in front of him, bending at the knee to whisper in the ear of the guitarist, Duke, who was already too drunk to be having more alcohol, but ordered another drink anyway.

He was tense. A little nervous. The water wasn't helping. He reconsidered a drink but thought better of it, and reached under his seat for his bag. The same worn, brown leather bag he'd been dragging around for years. It was sort of a security blanket, the one thing that held everything he needed-his tunes and his work. He pulled out both, shoving ear buds into his ears and cranking up the music. Anxiety began to subside, the longer he listened. Music was his healer. Always had been.

The laptop balanced on his knees, he opened the music composition program and scrolled the familiar menu, navigating by memory to a collection of songs he was piecing together. Trying to, at least. It was the challenge he sought, and longed for, and hoped for and honestly, needed. But he was terrified out of his mind of screwing it up.

This flight, the private jet full of rowdy musicians and one sullen, quiet Music Director, was on its way to Orlando, from LA. That was the biggest stipulation-for the time being home was Orlando again, since Rod was based there and hated LA with a passion. Ironic, since he partied like he lived in LA. Rock and roll was everywhere, no matter where you lived.

It felt like he was coming full circle, since Orlando was where he started. Working for Disney, and later becoming part of ‘Nsync, until Orlando just moved too slowly for him and he packed up and tried his hand at living in LA, again. Surely the experience wouldn't be like it was the first time, when he was 18 and was trying to make a name for himself, and had to come home, tail between his legs. LA was much better the second time around. Coming home to Orlando gave him a sense of comfort, a familiarity. His family was there, his friends were there, and he knew the city like the back of his hand. That would come in handy, because everything else would be a brand new game.

The past six weeks had felt like a year, so much had happened. So much had changed. It didn't seem like it was only six weeks ago that he was trying to remember how he ended up in a bed next to a woman he didn't know, in a house overlooking a golf course, staring at the phone as it rang.

"Roooddd," he slurred into the phone, trying to jog his mind. What happened? There was a party... and there were shots... and... something. He elbowed the snoring, naked form next to him. "Hey. Hey, chick. Where are we?"

"Covina," she mumbled, and rolled over, an arm flopping over the side of the mattress, a long snore rolling from her body.

"That doesn't tell me anything. Hey." He grabbed her by the shoulder, and shook her hard, but she had passed out, again.

"JC? JC." The voice sounded so far away...oh. He lifted the phone to his ear and the voice joined the sound of the jackhammer in his head.

"What?" he croaked into the mouthpiece, rolling out of the bed and stumbling around the room. There were clothes tossed everywhere, spilling out of the closet, across the bed, piled in a chair, but none were his.  "What's up, Rod? Whatcha need, I'll take care of it. That's what I do. Take care of people. What's up?"

"Man, where are you?" Rod was laughing. JC never liked that sound.

"I don't know. Covina, I guess. I need to get home. I need my clothes!" He inched the bedroom door open and peeked down the hall, relieved to find it empty. And to find a familiar pair of navy blue boxer briefs lying in front of the door. He snatched them up and pulled them on, then stepped into the hallway, in search of jeans and a t-shirt and a jacket. It was like a little treasure hunt. Except it wasn't fun. "Where are you, man? LA? What time is it?"

"3 here. So, noon there? Listen, can you take a meeting tomorrow? I'm on my way out there tonight. Got a job for you."

"Uhm...." His brain was mush. He didn't know where he was, let alone if he could be somewhere the next day. "I don't know. I don't... I gotta find... my clothes. And my keys. And a shower."

Rod was laughing, a wild, high pitched cackle that grated on every single nerve down his back. "You sound fucked up, man!"

"Yeah," he said. "I agree." And hung up.

Six weeks later, he was on the way back to Orlando. The LA house was empty, pretty much.  For the next year at least, Orlando would be home.

Rod Phillips was one of those child prodigies. Smart as a whip, multi-talented, as handsome as a model, even at eight years old. He started out as an actor, as the cute kid that every ensemble cast needed. By the time he hit puberty he was a bona fide star, and once the network realized he could sing, dance, play piano and guitar, they had him in their clutches. They'd turn him into another Hilary Duff, or Jonas Brothers, Ashley Tisdale, another Disney-turned- Pop star. Rod had other plans.

To everyone's surprise, he refused to renew his studio contract once he turned 18. Rumors flew about his intentions, and the vultures descended. Rod-and his lawyers and his mother-masterminded a landmark record deal. Not long after, he began releasing hit after chart topping hit. His much anticipated solo album blew everyone out of the water in its first week. His biggest hit, Evil Side of Me, written and produced by JC Chasez, cemented him in the Top 40, listed  him among entertainers that people most wanted to work with,  added him to the growing pile of men that women most wanted to sleep with.

As he aged, he grew taller and leaner, his dark hair and brooding eyes, and nonchalant stance on everything from war and peace to which way the toilet paper should hang -"Hey, I don't care, as long as it rolls, you know?" - were among his best features. Rod developed a penchant for alcohol and leggy models, good food and good times. Really good times.

Deep down, though, Rod was afraid. At least that was JC's take on it, from their infrequent late night talks. Everything he had, everything that had been given to him was a gift. Subconsciously, he was trying to enjoy it while it lasted, but the thought that nagged him at night, kept him up most nights, was how fleeting fame was, and how easily it could be taken away. He could wake up on International Drive one day, penniless, nameless, without a career, without a hit to his name, and he could be that guy that everyone looked at with pity, mumbling, ‘didn't he used to sing, or something', and shake their heads and click their tongues and walk away to live their happy lives. LA would not remember him. The music industry would not remember him. And the fans, the fickle, picky fans would move on to someone else.

The time had come to shake things up. To bring a new sound, to grow up a little, to grow out a little. Do something else. Every artist needed to reinvent himself, after awhile, right? Gotta stay on the edge, out in front, razor sharp. One day while watching ‘E!' he caught a glimpse of his old writing partner and producer JC waving at a camera on his way into a movie premiere. That was when the courting began.

JC did not come to this new gig quietly and easily. It had taken some arm twisting and some convincing. Rod tried every angle, but the answer was no, no, no, every time. He'd never been a Music Director before. He didn't think he could do it, not on that scale. He could produce a few songs and a few albums, sure. Change the navigation of a career? Put together a tour? Man the Musical Ship? Surely there were other options he could pursue.  

Rod must have been desperate. He was begging, now. How emasculating.

"I don't want other options," he said, pounding the glossy wood desk in front him. JC sat on the other side, looking uninterested and aggravated at even being asked to take on the opportunity.

"You're the only option that'll work for me. You did my first hit. Remember that? Remember the writing session, and the recording session? That was out of this world! You're out of this world! We had a great time... we could do that again. We could be that team again."

JC mused, and pondered again. And again considered saying yes. He wanted to, but it wasn't his career he was taking chances with, it was Rod's. He was on top, and the slightest tumble could topple him. But wouldn't it be fun, to be that team again. Hanging out in Rod's living room, little white boxes of Chinese food with chopsticks sticking out of them covering the table, cans of Red Bull and dirty coffee mugs lining the kitchen counter, empty bags of Doritos and Hershey's Kisses filling the trash bin. Lyric after lyric, note after note, flowing from both sets of lips. Beat after beat tapped onto the wood of the table. Smiles and nods and satisfaction listening to the playback, the fruits of their labor. He remembered.

"Yeah man, I remember that. I just, you know, that's not my talent, I don't think."

"What do you mean, not your talent? You know music! I want you in charge of the music, of putting something together for me that'll blow people's minds! You're the only guy I know that still uses a synth."

JC laughed, tipping his chair back in his relatively clean office in his big, empty, lonely house, where he was doing nothing, anyway. Hadn't done much, since Kim left. Not inspired and not energetic and just didn't really care. This job could change all that. Give him a change of pace and scenery, something to do, to take his mind off of her.

Rod tossed his hands in the air and fell back against the chair he was in. It was a little bit of a tantrum-he wasn't used to hearing "no." He stared hard at JC, but his voice was soft and low. Sympathetic. "You gotta get back in the game, man. Kim's gone. She's not coming back. Sitting here, doing nothing but drowning in an alcohol bottle won't bring her back. You used to be the guy that lectured people about that stuff. Now you're the guy being lectured to. That's not the JC I know."

The lecture was familiar-he'd been hearing it from everyone close to him. Little by little, it was getting through. He'd stopped responding to it by getting up and walking out of the room, mumbling about people minding their own business, at least. And he thought it ironic, as well, that Rod was the one lecturing him about his drinking habits. Really rich, actually.

"Okay," he responded. Plain. Unemotional. Sort of non-committal, if he had to peg a feeling to it. "I'll try it. For you. But if it doesn't work..." He sighed, blowing a deep breath into stale, dusty air. "Man, I don't know about this."

Rod pumped his fists in the air, a wide grin on his face. "It'll work. I know it. I just know it." He stood, looping a finger around a key ring, a single key bearing a Mercedes emblem dangling from it. "Listen, I'll bang out some details, our people will do lunch or whatever the shit they do, and we'll talk. I can't wait to do this, man!" 

Orlando was muggy. Hot and humid, which mixed to create a sticky wet sensation as soon as the cabin doors opened and the staircase was lowered. Leather bag on one shoulder, duffel bag on the other, he deplaned and walked quickly to one of five waiting vehicles on the private airstrip. Rod and his band were riding in limousines, no doubt headed to Rod's mansion to continue the party before heading to their own estates with a Flavor of the Moment-what he liked to call the girls chosen to party with the band. He had other plans which included a shower, a bed, and a hot meal.

A rusted, noisy passenger van huffed in the distance, just beyond the fleet of long, shiny cars. The driver side door opened and a lanky man stepped out, his wiry, jet black hair just brushing his shoulders. He walked around to the side of the van and slid the door open, nodding at JC as he tossed both bags into the back seat, then climbed back inside. The van was old, but at least the A/C worked. JC climbed into the passenger seat and snapped his seat belt.

"'Sup, Ray? Thanks for picking me up. Were you waiting long?"

Never a man of many words, Ray simply uttered, "'Sup. Nope," put the van in drive and pulled away from the airstrip.

I don't believe I'm back here, he thought to himself, reclining the seat, flipping down the visor to block the afternoon sun.

~ ~ ~

Shelby

The crash of porcelain against stone tile rang out into the silence. A tortured, hissing "shit!" followed.

"What? What happened? You okay, in there?"

"I'm fine," she called out, her voice carrying out of the kitchen and around the corner to the den, where a woman who was in her 70's but didn't look a day over 65 was carefully arranging knick knacks and books on a shelf.

"What'd you do?"

"Dropped some plates. Dammit!" She swore under her breath, whipping around the messy, box filled kitchen in search of a broom and a dustpan. "Mom, do you know where my-oh, there it is." She plucked the broom from a dark corner where it had been propped behind a stack of boxes yet to be unpacked.

"You didn't break the Mikasa ones, did you? The ones we bought you from your registry?"

The fine China, now in shards and pieces, mixed with the dust and dirt of packing in the dustpan and tumbled into the garbage. "Yes."

"No!"

She sighed, rolling her eyes toward the den. "Yes. Don't worry about it, mom. I'll replace them."

"Well how many did you break?" The voice was suddenly closer. She looked up from her squatting position in front of the pile of broken dishes to find her mother leaning against the arch of the doorway between the kitchen and the dining room. She seemed to glow in the light of the sun behind her, peeking out from behind the tightly drawn blinds. The house needed to stay cool, so though it was gloomy, the blinds stayed drawn until at least dusk. There was no such thing as cool air before midnight in the summer, in Orlando.

"Just two. It's no big deal. I'm never eating on more than one plate at a time. I don't need a ten place setting anyway."

"Well, what if you have friends over? Or have a dinner party? Or... have a ... friend... for dinner."

Shelby's eyes lifted again, this time betraying annoyance. Rather than argue, she went back to her task of sweeping up bits of expensive china and dumping them into the garbage. Not one to be deterred by silence, however, her mother barreled on.

"You could, you know. He wouldn't have to be a boyfriend. He could just be a friend, friend. Someone to hang out with."

"Mom..." she sighed, trying hard to be patient and form her words so they made the most impact. She stood, her knees creaking, and returned the broom and dustpan to their corner. "Guys... men... don't do the friend, friend thing anymore. If I invited a guy over here to eat, he'd think I wanted to have sex with him."

"Well." She shrugged, and opened her mouth, but Shelby cut her off.

"Don't even start," she protested, but giggled as she walked off.  "Let's keep working. I only have you until tomorrow and I want to get a lot of this stuff unpacked."

Memories. So many memories, packed away, stacked on top of each other like so much cargo. Shelby felt as if she'd already lived a full lifetime in her twenty eight years, like it had only been a few short months since she was a different woman, living a different life. In truth, it had been years since she was the same old Shelby. After the accident that took the life of her fiancé Lucas, she spent nearly a year in a tumultuous battle that was full of accusations and pointed stares and scathing messages and downright hate.  When it was over, and things didn't get better like they were supposed to, Shelby began to think that maybe a change would do everyone some good.

Then came the packing, stacking up the memories into plain cardboard boxes, saying goodbye to a place that had been home for most of her life, and moving three hours north. Close enough that people could still visit, but far enough away that people wouldn't drop in unannounced. It was a perfect place, a perfect time, a perfect way to start a new life.

Shelby and her mother Renee worked through the afternoon and into the evening, until the sun had set and the house began to cool. One by one, boxes were being emptied, flattened, and stacked in the garage. Room by room, things were taking shape, and bit by bit, the puzzle pieces were fitting together.

"Boy, I feel like I've been beaten by a stick."

Fresh from a shower, smelling like rain, wearing a cotton tank top and matching shorts, Renee plopped onto the couch next to a listless Shelby. Half a pizza sat between them, half a 2 liter of Pepsi, 2 glasses and, as an attempt to make the meal healthy, a side salad sat untouched on the coffee table in front of them. The TV blared a reality show that both were watching but not really paying attention to.

"Shelby, your bed is made. You may as well crawl into it. You'll sleep good tonight."

As if on cue, she yawned, sat up, and stretched, wincing at the pain of moving limbs that had become tight after resting for a few minutes. "You're right. I'll watch the end of this in my room. Thank God the cable guy showed up."

"No, leave that," Renee said, slapping Shelby's hands away from the pizza box. "I'll put it away, don't worry."

"Just... we get bugs here, just like you get in Miami. Put it in the fridge, okay?"

"Don't mother me," Renee said, smirking. "I taught you how to put away leftovers. Go to bed."

Shelby leaned over her, dropping a soft kiss on her cheek. "Night, mom. See you in the morning."

"Night, honey. See you tomorrow."

It was pretty much a sham. Shelby was going to bed, but tonight would end up like all the other nights. She'd lie there, staring at the TV, watching the flicker, then sliding down the pillows, onto her back, looking at the reflection of the light on the ceiling. Feeling tired, willing sleep to come, to overtake her, to allow her body and mind to rest. But it wouldn't. Like every other night for the past... forever, she'd lie awake, until the sun was just peeking over the horizon. And only then would she feel the cloak of sleep cover her, giving her a few precious hours before another day was set to begin.

How long was she going to have to endure this? How long would she lay there, night after night, thinking and tossing and turning and torturing herself? What had happened... happened. She couldn't change the past. If she could, she would have. She desperately wanted to, so she could rid herself of this nightly torture, wishing things had turned out differently.   

But they hadn't. And this was her life. The next day would come, and the sun would rise, and life would go on, with or without her. Time waited for no man, no woman, no situation. Guilt ridden sleepless night or not, when the alarm sounded, Shelby would fold back the covers and get out of bed.

‘Maybe I can catch a nap, later,' she told herself, bending and stretching out the kinks from the hard labor of the day before. She always told herself that. A bribe, to get her to keep moving through the day, keep going, keep pushing. Because maybe if she got tired enough, her body would just give in, and she could sleep.

It hadn't worked, so far.

JC

Morning came much earlier than he wanted it to. It usually took a few days for his mind and body to adjust to the time difference, which always included a sleepless night or two, followed by days where he felt like a zombie. Add a brutal schedule and a difficult project on top of that, and JC felt sorry for anyone who had to interact with him that day. It would not be a pleasant exchange.

The previous night had been a bit of a blur. He wasn’t even home for ten minutes before the phone started ringing, and people figured out that he was back in Orlando, and could they stop by and see him for a few minutes, because it had been so long since they could say ‘hi’, in person? He should have known it would turn into a party. Not that he minded, because they brought food and drinks and sat and talked and made him laugh and reminded him of how much he missed being home. Still, he had only planned to grab a sandwich, take a shower, and hit the bed. Tonight, if he managed to make it home before midnight, he wasn’t answering the phone.

JC sat on the edge of the bed in a t-shirt and boxers, bent over, elbows on his knees, half- listening to the banter of the morning crew on the local radio station. Willing himself to get up and out of the bed and take a shower and get dressed and start his day. Surely there was a way to get through this day without actually having to go through it, right?

“In today’s Celebrity Dirt Alert, we heard that Rod “The Bod” Phillips was back in town, after a short stay in LA. And uh, it looks like he brought someone home with him… no, not a girl, thank God…”

“You almost just broke some hearts, Jill.”

“I know, right? No, he brought home Orlando native, sort of—JC Chasez! He hasn’t been back in town for more than a few days at a time, but I heard someone say he’s moved back into his old house, and uh….he’s gonna be here working with Rod on his new album  and directing the music for Rod’s World Tour next year. Pretty exciting.”

“That’s good news, for JC. He’s been off the scene for awhile.”

“Yeah, well there was that big breakup with that model chick… what was her name?”

'Kim,’ JC thought, breathing through the pang that shot through his chest at the mention of her. ‘Her name is Kim Valentine. I loved her.’

“Katie? Kate?”

“No, that was the name of his last album.”

“Anyway. Whatever her name was, I think she kinda, I don’t know, destroyed him?

"You think?"

"Yeah, he just seems like he’s been doing really bad since they broke up, like drinking pretty heavily, partying with a really weird, rough Hollywood crowd. I mean, the last pictures we saw of him, he was not looking good—“

The radio alarm clock busted into pieces on impact, moments after it was yanked from the wall and hurled across the room, sending sharp plastic chunks in a spray across the carpet. He stared at the mess for a few seconds, finding it hard to believe he’d actually done that. Especially since that wasn’t his alarm clock.

The house was his, the furniture was his, the dishes and cutlery and even the garden hose was his—but that alarm clock had belonged to his good friend Will, who had lived there while JC had planted roots in LA. Though he didn’t have to, when JC called to say he was coming back to Orlando for awhile, Will promptly moved in with his girlfriend so JC could have the house to himself. He appreciated the sentiment but sort of looked forward to not living alone, again. The clock was the only thing Will had left in the master bedroom.

“Guess I’ll add ‘replace that clock’ to my list of shit to do, today,” he mumbled to himself, headed toward the bathroom, where hopefully a hot shower would give him some energy and drive.

A long list of errands preceded any music work--change of address form, picking up boxes and other luggage he’d had shipped, arranging for furniture and other items to be delivered to storage. Basic settling in tasks that JC would normally enjoy, except he just couldn’t believe he was back in Orlando.

4pm was music time. With almost a lift in his step, he hurried up the winding sidewalk from the circular driveway to Rod’s home studio. The massive addition was almost the size of his house, and for good reason. Rod and the five piece band wrote, rehearsed, and recorded there. They needed a lot of room for not only equipment, but clashing egos and feelings of self importance. Along the hallway, toward the recording room were smaller rooms outfitted with comfortable, plush chairs and couches, a mini-fridge, a microwave, and a television. Sometimes the band split off into cliques—the separate rooms kept the cliques from going at each other. JC was amazed, sometimes, at how grown men were such children.

Just off the recording studio was a small room where the furniture was not plush and there were no comforts of home like a television or a refrigerator or a microwave, only a square folding table pushed against a wall, a few folding chairs scattered around the room and a stockpile of pens, paper, and sheet music. The room was barely powered, with only one electrical outlet, and barely lit with a single bulb hanging from the ceiling. It was the old kind, where you pulled a string and the light clicked on. Pulled it again and the light clicked off. It wasn’t intended to be comfortable, just quiet and efficient. This was where JC did his writing, plotting, planning, piecing together, if he needed to. That room was home, to him.

Sometimes, over the course of his career, he’d sneak back to Orlando, even if Rod wasn’t in town, and use the studio for artists he was writing or producing. He’d sit in this room, plug in the laptop, open his composition program and let the juices flow. Many a hit had been penned there, and subsequently recorded, there. He’d come to think of that room as a good luck charm for him, so there was no question that he was eager to get back to the place that had brought him so much good. He hoped the magic was still there.

There were cars in the driveway. Some of the band members were already at the studio, likely huddled in their little rooms, looking pretty worn out. JC nodded as he shuffled past one room, ever-present leather satchel on his shoulder.

“Ay, JC!” The voice belonged to Sam, a heavyset black man that, despite his girth, made women swoon with his soulful saxophone. Three years ago, he was a struggling sax player working the club circuit, just trying to stay afloat. An offhand comment to Rod one night while they shared a few beers started the wheels turning and soon Sam was adding flavor and a depth to plain old pop—a combination that often surprised people. JC liked surprising people with things they wouldn’t think they’d like.

JC doubled back and poked his head into the room. A football game was on the TV and two open cans of Pepsi sat on the small table in front of them. Duke appeared to be passed out on half of the couch.  Sam took up the other half, an arm casually laid across the top of the cushions.

“Hey, Sam. How’s it going? How’s the new baby?”

“The new baby is fine,” Sam answered, his grin wide.  “Got her all shined up, she’s ready to work.”

JC laughed—only people that knew them would know the only baby in Sam’s life was a shiny new tenor saxophone. “That’s what I like to hear. She’s getting a workout, today. I need to get set up back there, but I’ll have some changes for you on Evil Side of Me and Can’t Get Enough. They’ll be different than the original notes, but not too far off the mark. I just want to slow it down a little. Give the new baby a chance to shine.”

“Sounds good. We’ll be ready.”

Duke let out a long snore, loud enough to compete with the sound of the TV. Both men stared in his direction, gave each other a look and a shrug, and laughed.

“I don’t know how you put up with that. I can’t imagine him on a tour bus.”

“You tune it out, after awhile. You can pretty much live your life around him. He sleeps through everything.”

“Thankfully, so do I.”

JC ducked out of the room and ambled further down the hall, poking his head into random rooms, which were all empty except for Rod’s office. It was almost as big as the recording room, and plusher than any of the side rooms. Rod could, and sometimes did, literally live there. One side was every cubicle worker’s dream—spacious wood desk with matching credenza, leather Executive chair, top of the line multi phone system, carpet that gave the illusion of walking on air.

The other side of the room satisfied Rod’s ‘sleep all day, party all night’ side. A mini-bar was built into one wall, alongside a soda dispenser and one of those expensive, shiny, silver coffee machines with all the buttons and knobs that somehow, if you pressed the right combination, would give you a latte or a cappuccino, or some fancy coffee thing. If he drank it at all, JC just liked the plain, non fancy black coffee from the gas station down the street. Rod didn’t even drink coffee, but Rod liked girls, and girls liked coffee, and girls loved that machine. They also loved the long sofa with the comfortable pillows that pulled out into a queen size bed. Few girls actually made it past the studio and into the house, up the stairs to the private living quarters. He liked to say he never even learned their names—he wouldn’t know them long enough to care.

 Rod was in his office, feet propped up, showing off his tan, muscular legs. The phone had been pulled across the desk, the receiver tucked between an ear and a shoulder while he flipped through a stack of pages stapled together. His stare was intense, like he was in the middle of an important conversation, so JC hadn’t intended to stop and talk. The sooner he got to his room, the sooner he could get to work.

“Yeah, hold on one second,” Rod said, covering the mouthpiece with his palm. “Hey what’s up? Hang out for a second, will you? I’m just about off of this call.” He pointed toward one of the chairs in front of the desk and went back to his phone call. Rod really never imagined that people said ‘no’ to him. JC wanted to, but didn’t. Instead, he trudged into the room and plopped into a chair, probably looking every ounce as bored as he actually was.

“Mmmhmm.” JC tried not to listen to the call, to think of other things, occupy his mind, but he was right there. “Yeah, but I thought we agreed on 3 percent. I don’t understand why I’m seeing 7 percent all over this contract. Someone gave themselves an extra 4 percent, and I’ll be God damned if I’m giving up an extra 4 percent….… yeah, well fix it. I want to see a revision by 5 o’ clock.” Rod slammed the phone back into its cradle and dumped the stack of pages onto the desk. He propped his elbows on the surface and buried his head in his hands, letting out a long moan.

“Rough day?”

“You know it. I wish I could trust people to keep these details straight, but… I can’t. I gotta read every contract, comb through it like I’m just looking for something to be wrong. You know, I always find something. Someone’s always trying to get over. Like this thing?” He picked up the stack and tossed it to the edge of the desk. JC glanced at it, but didn’t really care to read it. It was Rod’s business. “If you want to use my name, and have me endorse something, it’s a good idea to not try and pay yourself $25,000 more than I agreed to pay you. I’m tempted to nix this thing right here and now.”

JC knew he wouldn’t. Rod liked to see his name on everything, in everything, around everything. And Rod liked money. He wouldn’t nix it—but he’d most certainly get his way. He’d never heard the word ‘no’, after all.

Rod took a deep breath and raised his head, fanning his fingers out, like he was releasing the bad energy. “So, how’s it going? You feeling better about all this? Can I count on you, Chasez?”

“Yeah. I’ve been… workin’ on it.” He didn’t sound convincing, and he knew it, but he didn’t want to get cocky about his abilities before he could produce something worth listening to. “I’ve been reworking some stuff the past few weeks. I think you’ll like it, but I want to run it through, first. Hear how it sounds in real life, as opposed to how it sounds in my head. You know?”

Rod smiled, nodding his head. Knowing. He and JC thought a lot alike. He knew exactly where JC was going, and liked it more and more. “Good. I can’t wait to get in the studio and start blowin’. I’ve got some more phone calls to make, some more people to yell at. Get to work, why dontcha?”

Finally, JC thought to himself, but resisted actually saying it. Instead, he got up from the chair and went directly to the studio, passing through a dark, cavernous room with every model and make of recording equipment a musician could ask for. Soon that room would be full of music, the beautiful sounds that never failed him, never made him feel inferior, never made him feel unloved or untalented, was faithful and always gave 100 percent. Music had been a perfect girlfriend, a consummate lover. His soulmate. Maybe he just wasn’t meant for anyone else.

The moment he entered the familiar room, and pulled the string to turn the light switch, and slid his bag onto the plain folding table, and sat in the plain folding chair, he felt at home. His heart was light, and a little happier. He started to hum, working through the changes to one of Rod’s biggest hits. Making it a little more soulful, a little jazzier, and a little longer. For a concert, Rod would want to draw the crowd into it and have some time to walk the stage, working the ladies, feeling the groove. He nodded his head as his laptop whirred and worked and booted, and then navigated to the composition program, ready to begin another long day of working magic.

~ ~ ~

“Okay, Sam. So, here are the changes I came up with. Like I said, it’s not dramatic, but it’s just slowing it down enough to find the blue note, that flavor that I know you can bring out. Let’s try it one time, from the top, okay?”

JC settled at the keyboard, fingers poised, but at the last second twisting around again to face Sam. “And let me know if this just doesn’t work for you, it’s not set in stone, alright? I mean, you’re the one that has to play it, so—“

“JC.” Sam’s expression was stony, his hand up to stop the avalanche of words coming at him. “Let’s just play. It’ll all come out in the wash.”

JC paused, then laughed at himself a little, and turned back around, keying the beginning notes, almost cueing him to come in, but Sam felt the rhythm of the song and dropped in exactly when he was supposed to, playing flawlessly through the first verse and into the chorus. When the saxophone dropped off, JC stopped playing and turned around again. Sam was smiling. Grinning rather, ear to ear.

“This is gonna be some hot shit right here, C. Hot. Shit.”

In spite of himself, JC grinned back, dipping his head a little, and then letting it rise again. There was no room for humility in music. Everything you did had to be “hot shit” in order to stay on top. “Glad you think so, Sam. Glad you think so. Now get to playin’! Verse two!”

Hours later, after they’d worked and reworked and worked the notes again, Sam and JC played the parts for Rod, while he stretched out on the futon against the wall of the studio. He closed his eyes, his ear turned toward the two musicians, his head nodding, toe tapping, fingers subconsciously playing the accompanying guitar chords. When the song was finished, his eyes opened.

“I like that,” Rod said with a slow nod and half cocked smile. “I love that. Love it a lot. Question, though. Verse two, where Sam comes in a little late, like a half beat? Is that on purpose? “

JC smiled, knowing Rod would catch that and ask about it. “I think it catches the undercurrent of the lyric. When you play it and sing it at the same time, you’ll hear that. Play it again, Sam.” He played the second verse, dropping the lyric over the music while Sam played the sax. “You see how it picks it up, there? Kind of adds a little hook that people will hang onto.”

Rod stared for a few seconds, his mouth twisted, fingers tapping a phantom beat against the worn futon cover. Then, sucking his teeth, he sat forward, hands clasped. “Genius. This? This, my friend, is exactly why I asked you to come.”

~ ~ ~

JC could not believe his watch. He checked his phone, and the wall clock, and the clock in the car. It really was 4am.  It amazed him how dog tired he was, even though to his body it was only 1am. He was tired, but not sleepy. They’d finally called it a night after Duke passed out again, stretched out on the futon, hat over his face, snoring up a storm. They left him there, just walked out and turned out the lights. Duke would either wake up and drive himself home, or he’d still be there the next day when they arrived. JC was betting on Duke still being there the next day.

He was hungry, but like all big little cities, Orlando had nothing open that appealed to him at 4am. Winter Park had even less. LA had places that stayed open all night—he could go down to Kitchen24 and get a burger right this minute, if he was in LA. But he wasn’t. He was in Orlando, where even the bars were closed, and the only places open served shit food that he wasn’t really in the mood to eat.

JC wandered the streets aimlessly, sort of avoiding going home. There was no one there. Another big, empty house, where Kim wasn’t. She wouldn’t be on the couch, where she would have fallen asleep waiting up for him, because she couldn’t sleep alone. She wouldn’t offer to make him something to eat before they climbed the stairs and crawled into bed and enjoyed each other for a few minutes before sleep sounded better than anything. More important than Kim not being there, there was no food there.

Food. He could buy food. It was the perfect time—he was less likely to run into a gaggle of screaming teenage girls at 4am in the middle of Publix. The most he’d get was a smile and a double take from the clerk that rang up his groceries. Yeah. Food would be a good idea.

Shelby

Another night with little to no sleep. She had dropped her mom off at the airport that evening. Renee had  already called to say she made it back to Miami. Shelby teared up a little, hearing her dad in the background, and made an excuse to get off the phone quickly so she could throw herself onto the couch and let the tears flow with abandon.

She missed her mom, already. And her dad. They were all she had, in this mixed up mess. The last year had been… well, hell would be a good word to use to describe it. Running away from Miami and people she thought she could call friends, and people she was about to call family, and people who said they cared was a last resort. Maybe if she just went away and got to a place where she could heal and reinvent herself, the world would be a better place. The expression went that the world was a cold, lonely place. At 92 degrees, it was far from cold, but lonely fit the bill.

The few minutes that she was going to give herself to wallow in self pity turned into hours laying on the couch, on her back, staring at the ceiling, listening to the TV drone on and one while tear after tear rolled down the side of her face, into her ears, into her hair. The sun set, and the house grew dark, and the late night shows began.

‘Time to play out this farce I call going to bed’, she thought, and pulled herself up from the couch, stumbled toward the bedroom, and rolled into bed, surprisingly falling asleep almost right away.

But now it was 3am and she was wide awake. Tired as sin, grumpy, almost in pain, she wanted to sleep so badly, but it wasn’t happening. Heaving a defeated sigh, she sat up and began her nightly ritual of wandering.

She wandered every square foot of the house, from her bedroom to the two spare bedrooms down the hall, to the den and the formal living room and dining room, to the kitchen and out to the garage, around the back of the house, finally ending up sitting outside in one of the rattan lawn chairs spread about the wood deck. Gazing up at the stars, wondering what the hell she was doing up? And what was she supposed to be doing with this time? How the hell was life better, three hours away from the only people who had proven they loved her by sticking by her side?

“I need to get out of this house.  That’s what I need. “

That idea sounded good, better every second she considered it. A little drive, maybe to the 24 hour grocery store, down the street. No one would be there. No one would think it was odd to see someone picking up a few items at… she checked her watch… 4am.

It was just a time of day. Middle of the day, middle of the night, who could tell anymore? She hadn’t slept more than a few hours at a time in months. Usually around this time of morning, she was fidgeting from cabin fever, having wandered every inch of wherever she was staying—hotel room, condo, house in the hills, or this new home in Orlando. As beautiful as the fantastic view of the lake and the surrounding forest could be, sometimes she felt a little closed in, a little claustrophobic, a little trapped. Fresh air always did her some good, and there was something about the air at the edge of night that she much preferred.

Energized, and feeling like she had a purpose, Shelby stepped through the sliding glass doors off of the den, back into the house. Made a mental grocery list.  Almost ducked into the bathroom to check her hair, but who would be at Publix at 4am? Stock boys and random people that would look just as harried and tired and disheveled as she did.

A little early morning shopping trip. That was a good idea.

 JC

The best thing about shopping before sunrise was that no one was there to hear him talk to himself. Or argue with himself. Or sing along to the 80’s hits coming out of the speakers overhead.

“Aruba, Jamaica, ooh, I wanna take ya…$4.59 for Cheerios? That’s highway robbery right there, man…. Kokomo, we’ll get there fast and then we’ll take it slow…I can’t remember if $1.99 a pound is good for chicken or not…”

The cage of the grocery cart rattled on wobbly wheels as he slowly pushed it up one aisle and down another, not looking for anything in particular, just food to put in the house. JC wasn’t much of a cook, but he could make easy dishes if the directions were clear. He loved those one box meals-- pour it in a pan, shove it in the oven. Warm up some rolls, and there you have it. It was nothing fancy, but it was dinner. And if he couldn’t stop by a Taqueria and get a burrito at 4 am, the least he could do was have something easy to make and warm up when he got home.

It was going to be a long year. 

The store was pretty much empty, just a few cashiers, an overnight manager who didn’t even look up when he walked past the Customer Service counter, stock boys refilling shelves and maintenance gliding over the floors with dust mops, emptying garbage cans, washing windows. It seemed like a peaceful job, if you were a night owl. Not a lot of people around to bug you, pretty much the same deal, night after night after night. Maybe, when he was done with all of this music industry business, he could retire and work at a grocery store, and work overnights, and make it his job to see that the windows sparkled, and the floors were clean, and the shelves were stocked.

Yeah, right.

JC heard the front doors slide open and then closed again. Someone else liked shopping at 4am, it seemed. He’d made his way around most of the store, his cart only half full of boxed food, cereal, milk, and bottled water. He stopped at the vitamin section, overwhelmed with all of his choices—One-A-Day for Men, One-A-Day for Energy, Vitamins with extra Vitamin and added C, D, and E… what the hell was up with the vitamin alphabet?

He pushed his cart, steering it toward the next aisle. With a loud rattle and the vibrant clang of steel on steel, he collided with something he couldn’t see around the bend.

“Sorry, sorry. My fault.”

“It’s okay,” said a female voice from around the corner. Must have been his accompanying early morning shopper. “I’m sort of not paying attention, either.”

His cart wouldn’t pull back, for some reason, no matter how hard he pulled, so he had to walk around and inspect the wheels. As he expected, he’d rammed so hard that the wheels rode up and got caught in the rungs of the bottom of the cart. They were stuck there and the harder he pulled, the more he was melding them together.

“Uhm. Our carts seem to be uh… intertwined, here.” JC bent and pushed and pulled and tipped and twisted, and finally they came apart, rolling away like they couldn’t stand to be near each other.

“Thanks. Sorry, I guess I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

 JC stood, wiping oil and dirt off of his hands onto his jeans, reaching out for his cart before it knocked boxes off of the shelves. He redirected it and finally looked at her. “No problem. It was my fault, anyway.”

She smiled back, and for a millisecond everything was fine. And then he saw it, in her eyes. Recognition. That look that women got when they realized who was standing in front of them, that split second of trying to decide if they should freak out or play it cool, say something or let it go, ask for a picture  and an autograph and a serenade, or respect his privacy. He always enjoyed the millisecond, and sometimes enjoyed what came after but it always bugged the shit out of him when women had no clue who he was. Where had they been for the past ten years? Living under a rock?

“Well, it was nice running into you,” she said, her smile a little wider.  She had a dimple. It was cute. She was cute. “Maybe we’ll do it again sometime.” She was going with playing it cool. Good choice.

“Sure,” he said, with a chuckle. “Anytime you’re out shopping at, like 5 in the morning, I’m game.” 

“It’s a date. Uhm. Well… I’ll let you get back to your… shopping.” 

He was a little sad as he watched her back up and steer her cart around him, on her way to start her own trek through the store. He might be missing Kim but he was still a man, with a libido, and still knew what a pretty woman looked like. Despite a lack of makeup and a messy, half up, half down pony tail, that woman was pretty. He could only imagine how she looked when she really tried.

He poked his head around the end cap that boasted 50% off of Flintstone Vitamins, Bayer Aspirin, and Calamine lotion, watching her walk toward the frozen food section, his eyes fixed on two perfectly formed cheeks, hugged and outlined by the fabric of her yoga pants as they moved with her slow, sexy sway across the dull linoleum. His eyes roved up her body, quickly before she could move out of his line of sight, to her thin waist and slight shoulders and long neck. He wished he’d paid more attention to the front of her, but the back of her wasn’t a bad view at all. 

She turned her head, just as she was about to turn down an aisle. He quickly ducked back behind the end cap. Hot and sweaty and flushed, he pulled his cart down his own aisle and headed toward checkout. Praying she hadn’t seen him leering at her like a creepy old man.

But afraid that she had.

Shelby

Oh my fucking God!  

She just kept saying it to herself, because she couldn’t think of anything else to say. Why the fuck would HE be at a goddamned grocery store at like, 5am? Didn’t he have people to shop for him?

It amused Shelby, only slightly though, that she was more pissed than star struck. Mostly because she looked like ass, and she knew it. She hadn’t even attempted to comb her hair or wipe off her lipstick from earlier in the day, or shower or…or… anything. And here she was in the middle of a grocery store, staring at one of music’s most eligible bachelors looking like shit on a stick. She cursed at herself all the way down the aisle, vowing to never, not ever step out of the house looking bad, ever again. And of course, her luck would dictate that she would never, not ever see him again, despite looking like a beauty queen.

‘Just shop, and get the hell out of here,’ she told herself, mumbling something about frozen waffles, and turned a corner. A sale caught her eye and she turned her head, but beyond the sign she was reading, she saw his cart still protruding from the same aisle, and a flash of raven hair duck behind the end cap. And then the cart yanked out of sight, and she guessed, back down the aisle.

‘He was… I think he was watching me! Creepy fucker.’

Not that she was in any position to entertain an advance from anyone, let alone JC Chasez, she was flattered, sort of. If she looked better, she’d have been happy to return the attention, but who knew what he was looking at, and why? Was he laughing at her? Did he think she was drunk? Crazy? Ugly? Was he comparing her to all those hot women he knew back in LA… and what was he even doing here, in Orlando? Didn’t he live in California?

‘Fuck him, ruining my shopping trip. Hope he liked the view.’

Fuming, Shelby dug her short grocery list out of her bag and began checking items off, trying to put him—that gorgeous piece of man with blue eyes and dark hair and broad chest and voice like silk—out of her mind. It would probably be the only time she’d ever see him. It was just her luck that she met him at the wrong time, but maybe that’s what she deserved. She didn’t need to complicate her life anymore.

For all her efforts, she only ended up with a few bags, not even enough to drag the cart out to the parking lot. She parked her cart with the others and carried her bags to her car, popping the trunk with the button on her key, dumping the bags into the trunk and finally sliding into the driver’s seat. The sun was just peeking over the horizon, lighting up the car with a soft pink glow.

Shelby started the car and checked her rear view mirror. Holy… God. She looked at herself and wondered why he didn’t cringe when he saw her. Her hair was a mess, her face looked pale, her lips were still stained with the previous day’s color. And her t-shirt was on inside out, the seams and backward logo across her chest screaming incompetence and lack of care in how she looked. She wanted to yell and curse and throw things, but would have felt stupid doing so. Instead, she rammed the car into drive and squealed out of the parking lot, back down the road toward the house.

‘Dear God, if I ever get a chance to see him again, please make it when I actually look good, okay?’  

JC

He had just ducked into his car, key in the ignition, about to crank it when he saw her again, bouncing out of the store. She looked to be in a hurry, carrying several bags and a small purse toward a late model Mercedes. He felt creepy, staring at her, watching her, but he couldn’t help himself. He wanted to see her face, again.

She was oblivious, loading her trunk, slamming it closed, walking around to the driver side door, her breasts under her t-shirt bouncing with her movements. He licked his suddenly very dry lips, feeling a twitch in his dick and a lick of fire through his groin. ‘Down boy,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Not today. Not right now, anyway. But good to see you’re still alive.’

Faster than he would like, she ducked into her car. Her windshield was tinted, but not fully, as per the law in the state of Florida. From across the parking lot, he could still make out her face. It had a nice shape to it, sort of a heart. He wished he could remember what color her eyes were, but probably brown. Cute little nose. Arched brows, so maybe her look that morning was a fluke. He couldn’t say he’d look much better if he hadn’t have come from somewhere. She had to have a reason to be up at 5am, out and about, randomly shopping. He was going to guess insomnia.

Either that, or she was nuts.

He watched her check herself out in the rearview mirror, a look of disgust crossing her face. He laughed out loud, the sound a little shocking in the silence of the car. ‘Yeah, she’s kicking herself, right about now.’  She rolled her eyes at herself, her full, pretty lips pursed as she pulled out, tires squealing as she rounded the corner at the end of the street. Girls were funny. She was pissed that she looked like shit.

Really, JC didn’t care. He still hoped he might see her again.

//

Shelby

"Did he say anything to you? Besides the ‘hi' and ‘sorry' and whatever else?"

"What was he supposed to say? ‘Hey chick, you look like shit. Wanna go get some breakfast?' No, he didn't say anything else to me."

"Aww. Damn. Well. Next time."

Next time? Shelby sometimes worried about her mother. Like, maybe she didn't live in reality, sometimes. Or maybe her brain didn't work like anyone else's. Or maybe her ears didn't work right, because Shelby had relayed the entire embarrassing story, and all Renee could think or talk about was if JC had said anything to her and what would happen ‘next time'. It was almost guaranteed that there would be no next time.

"Whatever," she replied, brushing past the subject. She thought it would be fun to share the experience with her mom, but not if she wasn't going to act right. "What's dad up to?"

"You know. His usual. Building things out in the garage. He sends his love." Shelby's father Bob was obsessed with models-trains, planes, cars-if a model of it existed, he built them. Thankfully, he didn't keep many of them. He ended up selling or donating most of them. It had kept him busy since he retired. It also kept him out of Renee's hair.

"Send him some love back for me."

"I will. So, you've moved to Orlando. All unpacked and everything. Now what? Are you going to find a job? Go to school? Lay on your couch for the next fifty years? What's next?"

That was the million dollar question. Shelby had no idea what she was going to do. There wasn't really a plan, past this point. Lucas made sure she was taken care of for the forseeable future. Beyond that, the settlement from the accident made it so she didn't have to work if she didn't want to. She thought she'd enjoy something part time, maybe at a bookstore or a library, something to keep her stimulated and busy.

Maybe she'd drive out to UCF and see if she could pick up something out there. Full time employees could take classes at a discounted rate. Not that she needed discounted rate, but it would be another reason to take classes. She definitely had options, but first she had to be able to sleep at night and function during the day.

Shelby sank onto the chair that matched the couch and loveseat in the den, pulling at a lock of hair caught in the ponytail holder. She still hadn't done anything to her hair. No sense in worrying about it, now. There was little chance she was going to run into a handsome pop star between the den and the bathroom. She twisted sideways and kicked her feet up so she was laying across the chair, her feet dangling over one arm, her head over the other.

"Now... well, I guess I figure out how to live. Figure out how to become this new person I want to be. Live the life I want to live. Try to deal with all of this... yuck going on inside of me."

"Well, one day at a time, sweetie. That's the only way it's going to come."

"I know. I just..." Tears began to well, her voice becoming unsteady, her breath quickening. Her chest tightened, matching the swell of emotion. "I still feel so guilty. I know you're tired of still hearing about this-"

"I'm never tired of hearing you talk this out, honey."

"-but I just keep feeling like it didn't have to be Lucas. He was a good person, despite everything going on with us, then. It didn't have to happen. He didn't have to go."

"But you know it wasn't something you could have chosen, because you would have chosen differently. So that means it was beyond your control. Right?" That was logic, and logic didn't apply, here. Guilt knew no logic or sense. She could use sound reasoning all day, but still wail all night long.

"If I hadn't have insisted that we go back to the house, it never would have happened, and Lucas would be here, and--" Shelby swallowed, stopping abruptly.

Renee prodded. "And?"

Memories of that day came pouring into her mind. For a long time, she blocked them out-too painful to keep reliving. Surviving was not remembering. Over the span of time since the accident, they flooded her mind without warning, relentlessly. She remembered, more often than she wanted to, the last time she'd seen Lucas.

They fought. They were in the car, on the way to look at a wedding venue, one of many he had picked out that were too big, too gaudy, too much show. She longed for a small, private ceremony, maybe one the press wouldn't pick up and paint her as the ‘woman marrying a man twice her age'. He hated the implication that she was ashamed to be with him. It wasn't that way at all.  Lucas made a comment-something snide that she couldn't even remember now. Angry, Shelby whipped the car around, because she was going to pack. And leave. Forever.

If it wasn't for that pissy fit, they'd have never been on that road. If she hadn't insisted on returning to the house, right then and there, eyes and tongue full of fury, her tire wouldn't have blown. The tragic sequence of events that followed would have never been set in motion. Lucas would still be alive. Maybe not withher, but he'd be there, with everyone, with his friends and family and all the people who now hated her. They had good reason. It was her fault.

Shelby sobbed quietly into the receiver, giving in to the wave of sadness as it washed over and nearly drowned her. When it subsided, she sniffled and managed to sit up, wiping at her face with the palm of her hand.

"Just my luck, I'd run into that guy like, right now, when I look even worse." She managed a short ‘ha', trying to lighten the mood. Renee giggled on the other side of the line, feeling the effort, applauding it.

"That's sort of how luck works, isn't it? Well, honey. It's nearing dinnertime here. I better get something on the stove for your dad, but you take care of yourself. Okay? I mean, you know. Shower. Eat. Sleep. Get out of the house. Call me if you need me. I love you."

"Love you too, mom," she croaked, and hung up before the tears could start again. She hated the goodbyes.

JC

Another long day, at the studio. It was a good thing he loved this stuff, because otherwise he'd just throw everything down and walk out. Between half of the band showing late for rehearsal and the other half bickering with Rod, the 9pm dinner break could not have come at a better time.

Head pounding and nerves shot, JC opted to take his break in the car, cool air blowing on his face, smooth jazz station playing on the radio. This was nothing like he was used to-‘Nsync was never a fairy tale, but at the end of the day, the guys all loved each other. They'd spend all day in the studio, and then hang out all night playing video games, eating and laughing and talking. These guys hated each other, it seemed. Everyone was looking to break out and stand in front and soak up the spotlight, thinking they were going to be discovered and stolen away, maybe to play ‘legit rock' - what they called working for a band like the Stones or one of the Beatles, or any of the rock bands on the charts. Duke especially made no secret that he thought he was underpaid, underappreciated, and stuck working in a candy ass genre- Pop.

The truth, JC thought at least, was that pop covered so many different genres-every kind of music crossed over Pop... country, rock, blues, alternative, hip hop-if it was popular, it was pop. Sometimes Metallica was Pop. Madonna was Pop. And yes, as much as he wanted to create a new sound and a new image and come out with new music, Rod Phillips was Pop. He wished some musicians wouldn't view it as such a death sentence, but embrace it. Pop was limitless. You could do whatever you wanted to do and never be ousted from your genre. No one accused a pop artist of being a sellout or trying to appeal to another audience. It was all Pop.

The automatic sprinklers embedded in the sprawling lawn rose from their holes in the ground and began their nightly timed rituals. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, creating a beat off of the rhythm of the spraaaaay-chigchigchigchigchig sounds in the background of Wynton Marsalis blowing that sweet horn in his ears.

The hour passed quickly. JC climbed out of the car and made his way back into the studio, determined to establish some kind of order and camaraderie among the band-otherwise they not only weren't going to get the new album written and the older songs reworked, but they weren't going to be recording anything and they definitely wouldn't make it to the tour. The plans he had for this band called for them to work together, not pull apart.

"Okay, guys," he said, barreling into the rehearsal room and stepping onto the makeshift stage, which was nothing more than a platform at the head of the room. He added a take-charge edge to his voice, leveling a serious stare at each of them scattered around the room.

"This bitching lately has to stop. We have a job to do and that is to sound good. That job is to make music, to make waves, to make people sit up, and turn it up. I'm here to do that. Scratch that, I'm here to orchestrate that. If you didn't need me, I wouldn't be here, so if you're not here to work with me, and if you're not here to do that job, pick up your instrument and get out. Those that choose to stay are here to record an album and plan a tour that will knock fans on their asses."

He should get mad more often-all six of them, the band and Rod, stared straight at him, watching him, wide eyed like children in trouble. But none of them moved. JC nodded, hands on his hips, satisfied he'd made his point.

"Rod." He pointed, and then snapped his fingers to the platform. "Get up here. Bring your guitar. Let's go through verse two of Evil Side of Me, with the changes." Rod obeyed, slipping the guitar strap around his neck, poised to play, watching JC for the cue.

"Duke."  Reluctantly, he stood. JC was amazed he didn't check out, but was happy he stayed. Duke was a talented guitarist and JC had plans for him. "You're too loud and you're coming in too soon, you're riding all over Rod and competing for sound. Pull it back. You have a part, and that is to accent the lead. Play your part right and people will hear you, don't worry about that. Just have a good time. Alright?" Duke nodded, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Contrite, but grudgingly so. "Alright, get up here."

One by one, JC placed the band members on the platform, as he'd had them arranged in his mind. Rod was front and center. Cole, the drummer, was back and center. Sam was on Rod's right, JC on keyboards and Duke on guitar was to Rod's left. He stepped back, rubbing his chin, chewing his bottom lip, finally making his way back to the platform and stepping behind the multiple sets of keyboards.

"Okay, guys. This is our formation. I don't have you here because I'm on an ego trip and I want to be the focus. We all know that's Rod."  A murmur of laughter crossed the room. JC relaxed and fell into his new role as the man in charge.

"I have you here because I can hear everyone. Everyone can hear me. Everyone can hear each other and you each have a piece of the stage. Everybody shines." Each man nodded as his eyes traveled the room. There was no tension, only eager anticipation to start playing. "So since everybody shines, that means everybody has to be good, which means we have to rehearse. From the top."

Cole counted off the song with four loud clacks of wooden sticks. A gritty tenor filled the room as Rod broke into the verse, his fingers working the guitar as if it were an extension of him, a part of his body. JC backed him, his voice almost echoing Rod's in a sweet harmony. Duke and Sam dropped in perfectly on cue.

Finally, finally, finally. A cohesive sound from the band, where everyone complemented one another and no one was riding over someone else, and everyone worked together. JC's fingers slid over the keys and he couldn't hide his grin. He felt like he could cry, if that was a manly thing to do.

‘This is what it's supposed to sound like.'

They played into their usual 10 second fadeout and then the room was silent, everyone watching JC for his reaction. He stood at the keyboard, nodding his head.

"That was good, guys. Real good. Now we're getting somewhere." Not excited, so they wouldn't get to comfortable with making him happy. "We'll go over that one again tomorrow, but I think it's ready to record. Let's move on to Can't Get Enough.  Why don't you guys come around the keyboards and we'll go over the changes."

~ ~ ~

JC hoped these 4am rehearsal endings weren't going to become a habit. His body was starting to adjust to the new time zone and 4am actually felt like 4am, not 1am as it had felt the night before. He fell into his car, dreading the long, sleepy drive across Orlando, to Winter Park, to home. He was hungry, though and tired. Home called him, harder than it had ever called before.

Forty five minutes later, he was nearing his neighborhood. He passed the Publix, half a smile crossing his lips, remembering the woman he'd seen there yesterday, wondering if he'd ever see her again. She seemed nice, kind of cute. He was always up for meeting someone new. Maybe she could distract him from the hole in his heart in the shape of Kim.

He was pretty sure he remembered the car she drove-slick, shiny black Mercedes coupe, tinted windshield, some kind of charm or necklace hanging from the rearview mirror. Without even thinking about how creepy it was, he decided he'd just keep an eye out for her. Maybe run into her again, accidentally on purpose.

Shelby

‘I am so fucking crazy. Crazy!'

It was 4:30 am. Shelby was awake and headed to the store. She needed...milk? Milk. Right. At 4:30 in the morning. Hair done, washed and blow dried and shiny, cascading over her shoulders, casually dressed in tight jeans and a form fitting t-shirt and flip flops, to show off her freshly painted toes. A light dusting of powder, mascara, some lip gloss, her new designer shades and a spritz of body spray.  

‘Oh my God," she ranted to herself, the bright blue and green Publix sign coming into view just ahead. Her heartbeat sped up, almost double time. ‘I look crazy. I'm not gonna see him two days in a row. I shouldn't even get my hopes up. I don't even know why I'm going. I totally look like I got dolled up to go to the fucking grocery store. For milk! And if he's in there, it's totally going to look like I'm trying to make up for looking like ass yesterday.'

Shelby pulled into a spot near the entrance, turned off the car, and stepped inside the brightly lit store, a list in one hand, cute little designer purse in the other.

"Ugh, I can't even stand myself right now. Why am I here? I'm so ridiculous."

"Excuse me?" Shelby whipped around, startled by a voice, not realizing anyone would be around to hear her. One of the janitors was behind her, dust mop in hand, dark brown eyes quizzically staring at her.

"Nothing," she replied, shaking her head, dumping her purse into a cart and pushing it forward. "Just... sorry. Nothing."

Shelby quickly marked items off of her list-things she didn't really need, but thought maybe it would be nice to have. Things she just had to come and pick up at 4am, with her hair done and makeup on and her best jeans and that shirt she loved that hit her waist just right. She was not, absolutely not, subconsciously looking for him. He wasn't crazy like her, frequenting grocery stores before sunrise, while no one else in the world was awake.

She didn't see him. She didn't expect to, but was still disappointed to not run into him. Despondent, she unloaded the items from her cart and stood in the checkout line, watched the clerk bag them and set the bags in the cart, paid for her groceries and slowly wheeled the cart to her car.

Maybe somewhere deep in the recesses of her mind, she thought she might see him again. And maybe she was hoping to make up for the day before, when she looked so terrible, and maybe show him what she really looked like when she put some effort into it.  Shelby sighed, popping the trunk.

And then maybe he'd ask her out, and they'd have a great time and keep dating and live happily ever after. Or maybe (and more realistically) they'd just hook up and have some mind-blowing sex. Blow off some steam. It had been a long, long time since she'd even felt like having sex. She barely remembered what it was like to enjoy it. He simply oozed it. She could use some of that, right about now.

Of course it wouldn't be just the sex, that she'd be interested in. She'd never met a celebrity before. Not a real one, anyway. Lucas knew a lot of high powered people and she'd met them all, but no one that anyone would recognize if they walked down the street. Or ran into her with their grocery cart. None of them had that smile or those eyes or that voice. None of them seemed amazingly down to earth and normal. Any celebrity that did his own shopping at 4am was nowhere near spoiled-he was just trying to survive like everyone else.

Shelby began transferring bags from the cart to her car, mentally berating herself.  ‘I can't even believe I was actually putting effort into it. Like, really trying to meet him again, after bawling my eyes out over Lucas earlier-"

"Hey, there. Thought you looked familiar."   Shelby froze, her hands hanging in mid air, tan plastic grocery bag dangling from two fingers.

That voice. It was him. ‘Holy. Fuck. It's. Him.  What do I do?!'

Her body wouldn't move, no matter how hard she tried to casually turn around and flip her hair back and give him a bright smile. The most she could do was turn her head, slowly, and look at his feet, clad  in red and black sneakers, and let her eyes travel up his body-over jeans that pooled at the ankles and were loose all the way up the leg and hung low on his hips. She tried hard to skip over the bulge at the junction of his jeans but... she couldn't. Her gaze lingered there longer than she'd planned. God. She wondered if the rumors about him and his...assets... were true.

Shelby resisted licking her lips, tore her eyes away from his groin and forced them up. Up over the Ed Hardy hoodie he wore with the grey t-shirt underneath and what appeared to be a ring of dried sweat around the collar. She wondered what he'd been doing, that he was sweating so hard. And why he was out at 4am again. Was he with someone? And then came to talk to her? Asshole.

A pang shot through her. Felt like envy. She hated herself for feeling it.

Her eyes finally made it to a long, thin face, with more than a 5 o'clock shadow growing, a nose that should really detract from his looks but oddly enhanced them, and two gorgeous pools of sparkling blue that were narrowed and hooded as he stared at her, a wrinkle of concern spreading across his forehead.

"Uhm. Are you okay? Do you need-well, here, let me help you with that."

She swallowed the lump in her throat and let him reach around her for the rest of the bags in her cart and watched him gingerly place them in the trunk. He stepped back and smiled. She stared, speechless.

"Oh, this too? Let me...uh..." JC stepped forward again, took the bag that was hanging from her fingers and placed it among the others. "That's it? Anything else going in here? Better grab your purse."

Shelby just about smacked herself, trying to bring her mind into focus, grabbing her purse and sliding it onto her arm. "Thank you. I appreciate your help." She smiled up at him, hoping she didn't look like a lovesick teenager. It was just that he was so... so close and so much better looking in person than on TV and in pictures, and she looked better, she thought, this time around andohmyGodpleasetalktome.

"Uh, do you wanna-- I was gonna close this..." JC had one hand on the top of the trunk and was moving to close it, asking for permission with a raised eyebrow. Shelby nodded and stepped back.  The trunk closed with a soft thunk, after which he shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans, and shrugged his shoulders. An uncomfortable smile drifted between them, as if each one expected the other to say something.  

"So, uhm. I guess you like to shop this early, too."  Shelby inwardly rolled her eyes at herself. Lame.

"Sometimes," he answered, glancing up at the neon green Publix sign outside of the store. "Sometimes it's just somewhere to go. And it's open, and cool. It can be almost 70 degrees at 6am, so..." JC shrugged again, bobbing his head from one side to the other. Shelby thought that was the cutest thing she'd ever seen.

"Yeah, I totally get that. Not a lot of places are open this early. Or... late. Miami is a 24 hour city. I'm surprised at how this place slows down at night."

"Mmhmm," he said, nodding. "Yeah, I uh... have spent some time down in Miami. It is like that, yeah. LA, too. I'm starting to miss that. I mean, there's places open, just..."

"When you get used to being able to get whatever you want at 3am, you just can't settle for waffles at Sheri's." He nodded, looking relieved that she commiserated. Honestly, she was relieved that he understood. "I don't sleep well," she confessed. "There's usually no one here this time of morning. It's peaceful. A safe place to walk around, at least."

His eyes sparkled, giving her a warning that a joke was coming. "Until some jackass runs into your cart and ruins the whole experience."

She laughed, just starting to relax, enjoying this encounter much more than the previous one. "Right. Or some jackass is in the way of your cart." 

He laughed, much to her delight. She made him laugh! It was a great sound, so genuine, and deep and chesty and chuckle inducing itself. She wanted to hear it, again. And again and again. JC pulled his hands from his pockets and then didn't seem to know what to do with them. If she was feeling brave, Shelby would have reached out, toward one of his hands and held it. Or at least shook it.

He gestured toward the automatic doors, opening and closing as people were walking in and out. The city was waking up. "Well, uh...I better head in and pick up my stuff. My day starts around noon. Gotta get home and get some rest. But uhm. It was nice seeing you, again."

Shelby could not imagine why they couldn't just stand around smiling at each other and laughing at lame jokes until sunrise. "Yeah, you too. Maybe we'll do it again... sometime." ‘So help me God, if I have to come to this store every day, I will.'

JC turned before walking inside, the greatest grin on his face. "That would be nice. That would be really nice. Take care, honey." He gave her a nod, just a tip of his head and wiggled a few fingers at her in a wave, then turned and walked inside. Sauntered inside. Goddamn, that man was sexy.

Shelby unlocked her car door and poured herself inside, then slumped forward onto the steering wheel, trying not to scream. That would just be ridiculous, and so immature. But.... Honey. He called her honey.

JC

‘That was slick. Real slick.'  

JC smiled to himself, wandering the store, pretty proud. Feeling good about that encounter. He would just walk around for a few minutes, give her a chance to pull out and be on her way before going back out to his car. He didn't need anything from the store, but as he was passing the lot, he saw her pull in and park and couldn't help it. He pulled in behind her and watched her get out of the car, mumbling to herself.

She'd made up for the day before-that she tried to was completely obvious. He appreciated the effort, and thought that was cute. He thought she was pretty. Beautiful even, but that was no surprise. He was impressed, as he knew he would be, at what she looked like when she tried. Truth be told, he liked her just fine in yoga pants and messy hair. It gave him an insight into what she'd look like after sex. Not bad.

He tried to decide how long he would wait for her to come back out, since he was starting to feel really creepy. Being stalked, knowing someone saw you go into a store and would be waiting for you to come to launch their assault was unnerving. Yet here he was, doing the same thing to her. He now understood the appeal. After about 20 minutes he'd convinced himself that he was rude asshole and that it was dumb to sit out there.

Besides, he was tired, and rehearsal was starting early-noon instead of 4, because the band had a function to attend later that night. He reached toward the ignition, but out of the corner of his eye spotted the doors opening.

It was her! Walking out, the corners of her mouth in a slight downturn. He wondered why she seemed so sad and subdued. He watched her, slowly rolling the cart to her car and unloading the few bags into the trunk. And then, because he was suddenly brave, he decided to get out of the car, and talk to her.

Despite getting all pretty, she must have really not expected to see him. She was dumbstruck for a few minutes, just staring at him, her brown (he knew they were brown) eyes wide. He kept talking, trying to get her to relax. It worked, and she flashed a pretty smile at him, even laughed a couple of times. He liked the sound of it. The sound of her voice. That dimple in her cheek.

She seemed nice. Not crazy. Thank God. A little hung up, but maybe that would fade... well maybe, if he'd actually asked her out like he thought of doing. Or even... he groaned, inwardly, mentally smacking his forehead. He didn't even get her name!

‘You have no game at all, son. No game. She must think you're an idiot! Maybe...'

Hoping against hope, harder than he'd hoped for anything in a long time, he rushed back outside of the automatic doors. She was one slow chick. She hadn't even pulled out of her spot yet.

Shelby

The short drive home turned into a long one. Shelby was so distracted, her thoughts bouncing from one to another to another like a ping pong ball that she missed her turn for her subdivision. Twice. Her mind was fuzzy, like a thick fog on a cool autumn morning... except her thoughts were nowhere near cool. No, they were blazing hot.

Giddy. Yes, she was giddy. She felt stupid for being so giddy. She was too old to be so excited over meeting him. He was just a man. A nice man. A nice, handsome, famous, sexy, rich man.

Not that the rich part mattered. Thanks to Lucas, she was used to living at a certain level. Since his death, she'd had to adjust her lifestyle, ratcheting things down only slightly. She was never so spoiled that she'd turn her nose up at simple things like an evening eating takeout and watching movies, so the adjustment was barely noticeable, and at least now she could spend her money on things and events she would actually enjoy. Aside from moving to Orlando and buying a home and a car, she hadn't actually spent much of the money sitting in her accounts. Mostly because she felt guilty about it being there, but still, the finer things in life cost money. She liked to enjoy them and was thankful she had the resources to do so.

But yes, that nice, handsome, famous, sexy man had come tearing out of Publix just as she had composed herself and was getting ready to pull out. Marched right up to her window and rapped a knuckle on the glass. Shelby tried hard not to pinch herself as she pressed the lever to slide the window down and he practically shoved his head into the car.

"You doin' okay?"

She nodded, hoping her shaking hands and fingers weren't obvious. "I'm fine. Was just getting ready to pull out. Thanks."

"Just checking. Uh. So, hi." He smiled, chuckling a little. More like a giggle. He was nervous!

"Hi."

"So, I know you know my name, but I don't know yours. Can I? Know your name?"

"Shelby. Morris." She stuck a hand out toward him. He reached through the window and shook it, giving her a squeeze before he let go. "Nice to meet you."

"Yeah, you too. So, I was thinkin'... " He hesitated, blinking rapidly, licking his lips. "Maybe you'd want to do a little shopping, later?"

"Shopping?"

He laughed, straightening and stepping away from the car and then moving back, propping his elbow in the window.  "It was a joke. About how we keep seeing each other at the grocery store. Sorry."

"Oh. Because honestly? I just bought a ton of shit I don't need." 

He smiled, laughing a short burst of ‘ha'. "Honestly, I was about to do the same. So..." JC stared, like he was expecting an answer. He hadn't asked a question.

"So...I'm sorry. Were you serious about shopping? I'm confused."

"Oh. Oh, no. Sorry. I just wondered if you were free, later on. If not, maybe we could meet up another time, or..."

‘Oh, no you don't!' "Oh, no, I'm free."  

"Cool. Uh. I don't exactly know what time I'll be done today. I may not get any free time at all, sometimes things pop up and I get caught up in writing, or organizing, since I have paper everywhere and like 4 different notebooks that I keep for music and things like that, but uhm..." He trailed off, like he forgot what he was saying. "Well, anyway. How can I reach you?"

Shelby smirked. "They have these things called cell phones. They're pretty handy. You can call me, on mine. From yours."

He laughed, thank God. Kind of hard, with his eyes closed. "Clever. I guess I deserved that. Could I get that number from you?"

She dug into her purse for a pen and a piece of paper, scribbled her name and number onto the back of the moving company's business card and handed it to him. He stared at it for a few seconds and then slid it into the front pocket of his jeans.

"Great. Thanks. So. I'll give you a call, either way. We could meet up sometime around 8, maybe."

"Sounds good. Looking forward to it."

"Me too. So. Uh... okay. I'll let ya go."

JC stepped back, and shoved his hands in his pockets again, moving to the sidewalk just outside the store entrance. Shelby pulled out of the spot, waiving as she drove past him. He waved back. And in her rearview mirror, as she turned onto the side street that ran alongside the store, he was still standing in the same spot, watching her tail lights retreat.

‘What should I wear? I wonder where we'll go. What should I wear? I wonder what time he'll call. What should I wear?!'

Damn. It was going to be a long day.

JC

‘Dude. You have a date with a girl you met at a grocery store. Do you even know where you're taking her?'

The answer was no, of course. But he wasn't worried about it. He'd come up with something.

What he was worried about was making it through the day, and making enough headway that he'd be able to take off early and not feel guilty about it. What he worried about was sitting across from her somewhere... or next to her, somewhere... and not being able to concentrate on being with her. He needed this date. He needed this time away, to be somewhere other than home, or holed up in a windowless studio with five other guys. He needed the company and pleasure and sight and sound of a woman. A pretty woman. There was something about her, this Shelby, that intrigued him. Something in her smile, her laugh, her sense of humor. When she finally relaxed, he relaxed. He wanted to get to know her.

‘Well,' he thought to himself, ‘let's be honest, now.'

He wanted to fuck her.

JC wanted to have hot, steamy sex with this Shelby girl, this hot little thing he met at the grocery store, who seemed to want it, too if he read her right. He could use some sex, it had been a while. Six weeks, almost exactly. In fact, the day that Rod called him about taking this job, when he woke up next to that bony, passed out chick in Covina was the last sex he'd had. It had been even longer since he'd had meaningful sex, with a girl he actually liked and wouldn't mind seeing outside of the bedroom. Or off of the kitchen counter. Or even if she wasn't up against a wall, moaning his name and screaming dirty, nasty things into the air, he'd be okay with it. He had a feeling that this girl, Shelby, was going to be one of those girls.

But first he wanted to get to know her, to decide if the need to fuck her came from the fact that he was missing Kim like he'd miss an arm, or because she was an engaging, beautiful, sexy little thing. He hoped it was the latter.

By the time he finally made it home, bands of sunlight threatened over the horizon and peeked through the blinds in the living room. JC pulled the car into the garage and headed straight through the kitchen and up the steps. Yawning, he peeled his clothes off, down to his underwear, and scratched his belly as he rolled into the bed. He laid on his stomach and pointed a remote at the TV that hung in the corner of the room.

It didn't matter what was on-he wasn't watching it, anyway. It was just noise to drown out the thoughts that kept coming and kept coming and kept coming.  After a few minutes, he snapped the TV off again and flipped to his back, staring at the ceiling, watching the fan make endless revolutions. Around and around, it turned, providing a light breeze that cut through early morning mugginess, when the cool of the night was giving way to the heat of the day. It needed to be dusted.

Finally he gave in, tucking one hand behind his head, the other under the band of his boxers.

He closed his eyes, filling his mind with her face, from the dimple in her cheek to her long, elegant neck, to that dip at the bottom of her throat. His breathing sped up, matching the rate of his heart beat and the speed of his palm along the rigid length. Pulling and twisting and groaning and breathing deeply, his mind raced with images--the curve of her breasts and the telltale twin signs of arousal poking out of the t-shirt she wore. He pictured her walk, that great ass and the way it moved in those pants she wore yesterday. He heard her voice in his head, loved how it was sort of husky and sexy, and how it dug right under his skin and danced across his nerve endings and... uuummmnnnggghhhh...

His head rocked back in sweet relief as he panted, catching his breath. The fan, coupled with the sheen of sweat over his skin cooled him, though his blood boiled redhot.  His eyes grew heavy, but his mind was still alive with the thought that he would see her again. Soon.

Shit. It was going to be a long day.

Shelby

Shelby was slowly finding solace in the new life she was building, like maybe this move far, far away from anything and everything she'd ever known was the best thing she could have done for herself.

Being out of her comfort zone and away from a lifestyle she had become accustomed to, maybe even depended on, pushed her into doing things she thought a twenty-something year old woman should be doing. Going on dates and having fun, putting one foot in front of the other, making it in the world on the merit of her own hard work and life skills. Not hanging on the arm of a man nearly 20 years her senior, playing the trophy girlfriend while trying not to notice the glares of the women that were married to his colleagues. The days may be droll and monotonous and the nights low-key now, but at least they were her own, and not dedicated to whatever event Lucas had committed them to-symphony or ballet or some Executive Retreat at the Keys. The golf tournaments were the worst. Boring game.

And, instead of wandering a huge, empty, mausoleum of a house, watching the help clean and cook and do the same damn thing they did the day before, in the same way, at the same time, Shelby was humming to music on the radio, organizing books in the bookcase in the study, and digging around in the dirt behind the house. In the distance, the chimes of her cell phone rang out over the soft jazz playing over the speakers on the patio. Shelby checked her watch and her stomach lurched. It could actually be JC calling!

‘Walk, don't run. If you miss his call, you can call him back.'

Shelby found her phone on a patio table next to the very chair she'd sat in a few nights before, staring up at the sky, wondering when her life would fall into place. What a difference a day made.

"Hi," she chirped into the phone, hoping she sounded breezy and casual and not overly eager.

"Hey. Uh... can I speak to Shelby?" His voice was muffled by background noise, like wind. Or like he was in his car.

"Oh, I'm hurt. You didn't recognize my voice."

"Actually, I did," he answered. He sounded amused. "I was being polite, in case you had a sister or mom or something that sounded like you."

"Oh. Well I don't. It's just me."

"Well. Hi, then." He laughed, which made her laugh, and then there was that awful, awkward silence and pregnant pause that said, ‘now what?' "So, how are you?"

"I'm really good. You? How was your uhm... workday? Is that what you call it when you work till noon and get off early?"

"I'm fine, thank you. Actually, I ended up not... really working. It is a workday though."

Shelby sat in the nearest patio chair, stretching her feet out in front of her, basking in the sun. It was a beautiful day, calm and relaxing, and about to be a beautiful night.

"So what did you do, if you didn't work?"

"Uh, I hung out. Took care of some stuff. Ran some errands, and uhm... I thought I would give you a call and see what was up."

"Nothing's up, here. Just, enjoying the day." ‘Putting it out there, in 3...2...1...'"I'm excited about maybe meeting up with you. Hoping the maybe turns into a definitely."

She almost heard him smile across the line. "It can, if you're up for it. Maybe we could run into each other at Antigua. Do you know where that is? Downtown?"

"I'll find it. What time should I run into you, down there?"

"Let's say... 8 o' clock? I'll try to grab a table in the back. Look for me."

"Okay. I'll uhm... look for you around 8, at Antigua."

"Sounds great. I'll uh... look for you, too." 

More awkward silences full of smiles, on both ends it seemed, and then the call ended and Shelby could finally take a full deep breath. And try not to freak out.

Something in the tone of his voice caught her attention-a flirty, sexy, expectant tone, like he was already sure how the evening would pan out. She laughed to herself, plotting, not sure at all if she would fulfill his expectation or leave him wanting more.

JC

JC had been working nonstop since he got to town. If he wasn't in the studio, he was at the house, trying to sort through his old lives and start a new one. The long days and longer nights were starting to wear him, put him in a bad mood. A day off would do him good. It also gave him all day to wander his house and anticipate his date.

He went to sleep thinking of Shelby. Woke up thinking of Shelby. Thought of Shelby throughout most of the day, while he took care of errands he hadn't had time to finish during the week. Tried to play it casual, calling her while on the way back from the post office, instead of earlier when he was sitting on his couch, staring at the phone in one hand, the card with her name scribbled on the back in loopy print in the other, willing himself to pick it up and dial her number.

JC told himself-warned himself-to not expect anything, and not to get his hopes up. He'd get nowhere if he made her uncomfortable by feeling like he expected anything. And he didn't but if she was giving, he was taking. If he worked it right, he could have a nice, pretty little buddy. A friend. Or more than a friend. Whatever it was called, it meant he could have regular sex. He just had to play it cool.

Still, he picked up around the house. Showered and shaved, and washed his favorite jeans and spent too long picking out a shirt to wear, finally settling on a casual t-shirt with a short sleeve button down over it. Combed his hair without really looking at it. Slipped on a pair of shades and headed to the garage, whistling a little ditty he just made up in his head.

He ducked into the car and double checked himself. Wallet? Check. Aftershave? Do you stink, boy? Check-err, no. Confidence and a good attitude? Check. He stretched, popped his neck, exhaled a calming breath and turned the key in the ignition.

As he backed out of the driveway and watched the wide garage door close in front of him, a thought niggled at him. Something about Kim, namely that he hadn't thought of Kim all day. It was the first time in a long time that he didn't wake up wondering why he was awake, when he'd rather be asleep and dreaming of her. Last night had been the first night in a long time he'd gone to sleep without digging out his wallet, flipping it open to the photo of them at last year's Lover's Lane themed Maxim party and staring at it, wondering what went wrong, and where, and how he could have changed it. Maybe this Shelby girl was going to help him turn over a new leaf.

He hated to admit that Rod and his manager and his parents and friends were right. Coming back to Orlando was a good thing, for him. Even if he wasn't going to stay, getting away from LA, where the hope of seeing her kept his pain alive, was probably the best thing he could have done for himself. He was happy with his decision, finally. Maybe not so happy with the job, but happy to be back home.

Church Street in downtown Orlando was pretty much Bar Row. No matter what you were in the mood for, you could probably find it along this stretch of city street-pubs, jazz clubs, microbreweries, and dive bars all shared pretty much the same mile of real estate. It made picking a party spot pretty easy, and if one place was packed, there were always several others to choose from.

Antigua, of course, was run by a friend of his, a buddy from way back in the day. Every time JC was in town, he stopped by, so he hadn't really paid for drinks since about 2001. The bartender wasn't in anyway impressive, but free was a good price, even if you were so rich you had no idea how much money you actually had.

JC was early on purpose. He wanted to scope the place out, grab the good table in the corner with the nice view of the stage but away from the speakers, so they could talk. Just before 8 o'clock, and just as the music that blared through the speakers mounted on the walls changed to a driving, hard rock beat, he saw her. Shelby was there, making her way to the back of the club, under the arch of the doorway, looking around. Looking for him.

She looked like she put a lot of effort into looking casual. Her hair looked the same as it had at 5am that day-long, dark straight down her back, framing her face. Just how he liked it. Her jeans made him twitch, the way they hugged her curves as she finally saw him, hanging half out of the booth, waving like a fool, and made her way over to him.  He only saw her shirt as she slid into the seat across from him. Tiger print....growl. She was wearing a black bra that was visible through the thin, silky v-neck shirt that he promised himself he wouldn't stare at, but he wasn't sure if he'd be able to keep that promise.  Shelby was playing hardball.

"You made it. Good to see you," he managed to say, through his grin that was ridiculously wide. She looked good. Smelled good, from the light scent that drifted across the table. He felt like an idiot. He shouldn't be this excited. He met beautiful women every day.

"I told you I'd find it," she said with a smile, her eyes floating up and around at the décor. "So, this place is cool." He watched her check the place out, proud that she was impressed, pointing out his favorite areas-the sections that looked like porches from old southern colonial homes, the arched doorways, the high back leather seats, the general atmosphere. She listened and smiled and nodded and laughed and he agreed with himself that her smile was warm and bubbly but not annoying.

"Well, so," JC said, laying his hands out on the table. "We have so much to talk about. Like... everything."

"I know! It's so exciting meeting someone new. But it's so weird because, you know. I know who you are and everything."

"Right, but you don't know me, know me. See, there's lots of things people don't know about me."

"Really." She paused and leaned in, tilting her head like she expected to hear a secret "Like?"

He leaned in as well, a slow smile crawling his face, a flirty dip of his eyes to her blouse. "Like, all of a sudden, I really like Tiger print."

Shelby laughed, her smile bright, her tongue curled behind her teeth, but didn't blush. Good girl. No need to be modest. Plus, then he didn't have to spend a lot of time working up her self esteem, complimenting her, convincing her that he found her attractive. He liked her confidence. A lot. She had to know that if he saw her, for real, that he'd like what he saw. She was right.

A few minutes of idle, nervous chitchat passed. JC cleared his throat and realized he was parched. Or really, he just needed a minute to collect himself.

"I was just heading up to the bar. Can I bring you anything to drink? A beer, or some wine or something?"

"Uhm..." Her eyes drifted to the bar and back to him. "Don't think I'm a drunk or anything, but I'm dying for a shot of Patron. I haven't had it in...awhile."

His head rocked back in shock. Patron to start? Shelby was his kind of woman. "I don't think that's weird at all. You want it mixed with anything?"

Shelby looked offended at the question. "It's Patron. The whole point is to not mix it with anything."

"I knew that," JC replied, laughing. "I was just asking. Being polite."

"Stop being polite. I'll take a beer to go with it, though," she added with a wink. "Whatever's cold, in a bottle."

JC headed to the bar, smiling to himself. Of course he hadn't met a girl who liked frilly, frozen, pink drinks. She shot tequila straight. God, he hoped this worked out.

Shelby

Shelby watched JC walk toward the bar, emptying her lungs slowly, steadily, and then breathing deeply. Be calm, stay cool. So far, so good.

She was proud of herself, being a little daring and a lot sexy. Lucas would have a fit if a hint of anything showed. Tonight, her entire back was on display in a blouse that was so sheer, she should have worn a camisole under it but opted not to. And with great results, since JC was practically drooling. She sat up straight, adjusted the shirt, made sure it hung just right. She felt a little like an attention whore, but only for a few minutes. It was fun.

Since he was gone, Shelby could actually look around the club, admiring the feel and the energy. The music was great, loud but not overpowering. The seating was ample, which was rare, in a club. Tables were often reserved for VIP patrons who ordered bottle service. At least, that was how it worked in the clubs in Miami. In Orlando, where much of the clientele had to be parents tired of wrangling kids back and forth to Disney all day and UCF students just looking to get drunk and do it cheaply, the rules could be different.

The air was electric, Prince's Kiss soaring out of the speakers and everyone in the place bobbing their heads and shaking their hips and singing along. She missed it, a lot. Being back among the crowd, the people, the atmosphere made her reconsider getting some mousy library job, or taking classes. She could go back to bartending, what she was doing when she met Lucas.

It was funny-not laugh, funny but peculiar, funny-how back then, tending bar was just a means to an end. It was fun, but more than that, it paid the bills. Renee and Bob paid for tuition and books and fees at Miami University. They refused to pay room and board for her to live in the same city when she could live at home, for free, so she would have to cover that on her own. They bought her a car but didn't cover the insurance. And of course, any entertainment was her expense. She worked small time jobs, biding her time until she was legal. At 21 yrs and one day, she walked into a bar, put in an application and started waitressing, and when she had enough money, she moved into a small apartment just off campus. Soon she was helping out in the bar, learning from some of the best barkeeps in the city, and when the Bartender took a leave of absence, took over for him.

It was love at first pour. Shelby felt like the area behind the bar was her domain, her Kingdom, and she was the Queen. What she said went, and she ran her Kingdom with two fists-- one filled with a bottle of vodka, the other tequila. She loved when new people would come in, eyeing her with a skeptical glance, like she'd never heard of their amazingly complicated and specific drink. And then, the raised eyebrow as they tasted it, cynicism turning into admiration. A good drink equaled a good tip. Shelby had earned many a good tip.

Tending bar paid well. Paid the bills, and then some, but for some reason Shelby always felt like she was behind, robbing Peter to pay Paul to keep up a lifestyle she couldn't afford. She worked an upscale bar with sometimes well-known clientele. "The Look" was important, so as soon as money came in, it went to bills and clothes and shoes and hair-looking the part of the attractive, alluring bartender, singing the siren song of liquor. Time was always a crunch, and since she always had a paper due or a test to study for, a slow night was a double edged sword. It gave her time to catch up on schoolwork, but it took money out of her pocket. A packed bar, on the other hand, meant lots of money, but no time to catch up on homework. Falling behind meant she'd have to pay for school on her own. If she thought money was tight then, adding several thousand dollars, several times a year in tuition and fees and books increased the already tremendous weight on her shoulders.

Enter Lucas Samuels. He seemed like a knight in shining armor at the time. And in some ways, he was. He was nice man, an older man. A regular, depending on the season. Some nights he came in after some stuffy function, loosened his tie, slid onto a seat at the bar and sat there until closing. Talking to her, listening to her bitch about how difficult her life was. She saw now what she didn't see then. The trap.

Shelby blinked, bringing herself out of her trip down memory lane, nostalgia brought on by the scent of draft beer. ‘Time to live in the here, and the now.' Here and now, a man who was likely to try and get into her pants (at least she hoped, and he had a pretty good chance at succeeding) was on his way back to their table. Two shots with a slice of lime in one hand, two beers in the other. My, he was talented.

"Okay, here we go. Now, I don't normally do shots, but I hate the thought of you doing one alone, so I got one, too." The shots were lined up between them, the beers to the side for backup. JC slid into the booth across from her and, without even thinking, his tongue flicked out of his mouth and lapped up a few drops of tequila from the palm of his hand. A twinge twisted her insides like a vise.

"We should uhm, toast to something," Shelby suggested, lifting her glass. "What do you want to toast to?"

"Mmm. Good question." JC rubbed his hands together and rolled his eyes up, making a big show out of thinking. "So, you're new here, right? And I'm back in town after a long time away. How about something lame, like new beginnings?"

If only he knew how meaningful that would be. "That's not lame at all. It's appropriate, actually. New beginnings, fresh starts, new lives. Drink up."

The shot glasses made a thick clinking sound as they connected, and then together they licked the salt from the rims, tipped their heads back and let the liquor slide down their throats, then followed with a wedge of lime, sucking down the sweetness, filtering the bite of alcohol and helping to quell the burn.

"Holy shit." JC blinked, taking a long drag off of a dark amber bottle of beer. "It's been awhile. Whew." His face was slightly pink but he was grinning.

Shelby was, too. "Mmmhmm. The Inaugural shot is always good.  Yeah it's been a long time. That was good. May need another one, soon."

JC winced, licking his lips, taking another sip off of his bottle. "About how long? You're not like, sober or anything and I'm helping you be an alcoholic again, are you?"

"Me? Sober?" Shelby tried to make her eyebrows lower but they seemed to be stuck in surprise."Hell, no. It's been... hmmmm...." Shelby thought back to the last time she had a drink. A real drink.

It had to have been the night the settlement was approved. That was a good night. She'd gone out that night, knowing that the next day would bring bitchy, demanding, and therefore unanswered phone calls from Lucas' children. She figured she'd better celebrate the small, hollow victory while she had the chance. That was the last thing, until tonight that she had celebrated.

"It's been about a year, I guess," Shelby finally answered, feeling his stare.

"Wow. I feel kind of like a drunk, then. It's been about a month, for me."

"Time for us both to catch up, then." She picked up her bottle of beer and tapped it against his, then took a long sip. Then sat back, and heaved a sigh, and smiled across the table.

JC

He hoped that smile meant something good, like he hadn't offended her by asking about her drinking. He hadn't meant anything by it.

‘Don't screw this up. She's giving off so many ‘fuck me' vibes. Just do not screw this up!'

In an attempt to change the subject, he asked, "So, what do you do?" but the look he got back from her was weird. Her eyes dropped to the table and the corners of her mouth pulled down, and when she looked back up she was sucking on that great bottom lip of hers.

"Right now...well, right now is truly a new start. I left Miami in kind of a hurry. I've been in Orlando, literally, for four days. I don't really do anything, yet. And I don't know what I really want to do. But in a previous life, I was a Bartender. This place kind of makes me want to be one, again."

"The Patron lecture. I get it, now." Shelby laughed, picking salt off of the rim of her glass with a finger, then poking it into her mouth and licking it off. He couldn't take his eyes off of that finger.

 "Forgive me, I'm a little bit of a know-it-all. Can't help it, I was trained by one."

"Hey, I didn't say you didn't know your stuff. So, maybe you'll go back to tending bar? One of my buddies runs this place-I could introduce you. If you're interested."

She stared blankly, speechless for a moment, then stuttered out a few words of gratitude.

‘Easy. Don't overwhelm her.'

"I understand where you're coming from, though. You know, the... not knowing what you really want to do. I've been back here for four days. Trying to do something different. I don't know how this is going to work out."

"You don't like what you do? You seem pretty good at it."

"Yeah, I mean...I like it. I wouldn't do it, otherwise. I just have been doing it so long. Sometimes, I feel like I need something more. Something to push me and make me do things I don't think I can actually do. So that's why I'm back, here. To fail at something, I guess. If that makes any sense."

She nodded. "Working with Rod. He seems like a piece of work."

"Uhm, I guess he can be." JC hated to talk badly about people-it had a way of getting around-but she had a point, and Rod made it hard to argue with her.

"You just have to know him, though, really. He's a good guy, deep down. He just has to play the game, you know. And I get it; I was in his place, once. You're young, you've more money than God, and certainly more than you've ever had in your life. There are... needs and wants and it's fun to satisfy them." JC glanced up at Shelby, finding her paying rapt attention. He winked, and reached for the empty shot glass, mindlessly picking the salt off of it while he kept talking. "The record label says, you know, go spend your money. Cause some trouble; get your name in the paper. But not too much, don't drag our rep down. And if you don't want there to be, there's no one around, really, to tell you no."

"Yeah..." Shelby nodded, her eyes downcast, again. Something in her tone told him she understood all too well what he meant. "It gets old, though."

"Eventually." He sat back against the leather seat, and tossed his arm up on the back of the booth. "Eventually the money isn't entertaining enough. I mean, after you buy all the shit you never could buy, before, what else is there to waste money on but booze and chicks. It's no wonder people get caught up in drugs and sex and all that. And right now, Rod is running the race. Trying to suck all the fun out of it before it gets old, and showing up to an event is work and not a good time. Like right now, we have an album we're writing, we're redoing some of his old stuff, and we have a tour we're putting together. When I see you at 5 in the morning, I'm just leaving the studio. That's work, not play. That's why you have to love what you do."

"I see that."

JC rambled and Shelby sat there, staring while he rambled, but not wide eyed. There was understanding and a little bit of commiseration, there. Still, he felt bad about dominating the conversation and talking so much. It was a habit that he had never been able to break. Soon, his mind would start to move faster than his tongue and he would begin to stutter.

 "Sorry," he said, "for going on and on. I tend to do that. Ask me about the weather, and I'll probably answer with something like, ‘You know what I read about clouds...' and I won't shut up for awhile." He blushed and sucked down a long swallow of his beer. Stalling for time so he didn't keep talking.

Shelby laughed. "I heard that about you. I don't mind at all. Talk away."

"Well, you talk some, now. I don't want to be all ‘listen to me' all night."

"Okay," said Shelby, playing with her empty bottle, rolling it around the table, back and forth, in an arc."What do you want to know?"

"Well, you said this morning that you don't sleep well. Any reason? Or is that a dumb question, because if you knew, you'd be able to sleep?"

There it was, again. That look, the downturn and the hiding her eyes. ‘Stop doing that,' he screamed at himself, even though he had no idea what he was ‘doing'. He was just asking questions.

"Okay, you know what?" She sat forward, her arms resting on the table, her hands reaching across and long, thin fingers playing with his. "I'm enjoying myself. So, let's make a pact. We can talk, but no pasts, no futures. There are reasons I don't sleep. I'm thinking about them a lot, tonight and I don't want to. I really want to concentrate on this, right now. And for sure, you don't want to talk about who you used to be. And what you're running from. Right?"

"Right."

He was mesmerized by her, by her take-charge attitude, and that she didn't seem shy at all, and now there was added mystery.  

"So we have a deal?"

"Deal," he said, looping one of his fingers around one of hers and leaving it there. "So can I ask about your family? Or does that count as past?"

"No, you can ask. What do you want to know?"

"Do they live here?"

She shook her head, tipping the bottle to her lips with her free hand. She didn't seem to want him to let go of the other one, so he didn't. "Miami," she said after a swallow. "Retired. I'm an only child, born to my parents kind of late in life. They weren't supposed to be able to have me. Then, one day my mom was sick as a dog and went to the doctor. ‘Oh,' he says. ‘You're pregnant, Renee.'Shock of her life, she says."

"Like, how old were they?"

"Mom was..." Her eyes rolled up, in thought. "She was almost 40, I think. Dad was near 50. I mean, it was a shock. But to me, I never knew any different. I thought everyone's dad had grey hair and took Geritol."

He laughed, long and hard. She was the best kind of funny, without really trying to be.

"Your family lives here, in Orlando, right?"

"They do," he answered with a nod. "Real close, so that's another nice thing about being back here. My mom kind of straddles Florida and Chicago, back and forth. My dad works kind of everywhere, but he's here a lot. My sister's been here since... forever. And uh, my brother just moved back, after he finished Law School out west. So, I'm the last kid to return to the roost, I guess. Even if it's only temporary."

Shelby drew her lips in, pressed them together and nodded. "So... you will be going back to LA, eventually."

"Uhm... future," he answered, pointing at her with the neck of his bottle. She dipped her head and giggled.

Truthfully, at that very moment, he wasn't at all sure that he'd be going back to LA. Who knew how Orlando would grow on him after a year. Not only was his family in Orlando, but his real, true, knew-him-before-he-was-a-big-shot friends were there. And Chris and Joey had stayed there and were thriving. LA was great when you could keep up with the lifestyle, but he was in his 30's, and already more mature than the general population of Los Angeles. It was it's own corner of the Universe, it's own ecosystem and style and mode of living. He didn't think he had the energy for it, anymore. The slow pace of Orlando, the even slower pace of quaint Winter Park, the lack of press and the feeling of more privacy in the last four days than he'd had in the last ten years was nice. He could get used to it. And it wasn't like LA wasn't a five hour flight away, if needed to get there in a hurry.

And then there was this sexy little thing sitting in front of him. She had potential, if he decided to stay.

JC thought it might be hard to come up with things to talk about, since they couldn't talk about the past or the future, but Shelby made keeping things in the here and now fun. They talked about everything and nothing, from favorite foods (she loved Mexican), to the name of their most cherished pet (she had a parakeet named Tweetie), to favorite color (she was partial to green, but liked red and of course black). She liked jazz and art and independent films and sci-fi, like him. She preferred a sunrise to a sunset, though she'd rather sleep through both, if she could. Her middle name was Jean. The more he learned, the more he wanted to know.

A bold statement about unusual athletic ability led to a Dart Tournament in which Shelby beat him by a mile. He kind of let her win-he wasn't much into darts, but if he wanted to win, he could have. He really just wanted an excuse to stand behind her, checking out the see-through back of that Tiger print shirt she wore, imagining his hands up under it. Watching her hair swing and the line of her body as she threw dart after dart. And of course that perfect, perfect round ass. After three games, unfortunately, she was tired. They returned the dart set to the Bartender and made their way to the door.

JC had a problem. A quandary. He wasn't quite ready for the evening to end. But he also wasn't ready to ask if she wanted to keep the party going at his house. It was warm and the streets were busy, crawling with people going in and out of bars and clubs and shops and stores. They stood around the entrance for a few minutes making a little small talk, doing a lot of flirting. She didn't seem to want the date to be over, either.

No reason it should, he decided. "Are you hungry?" Girls always liked to eat. Especially if he was paying.

To his surprise, she shrugged. "I had a little to eat at home, before I came out. I could go for dessert, though."  For a second, he thought she was hinting and maybe he was ready to ask her back to his place. It took a minute before he realized she meant actual dessert.  Damn.

"Oh, just a warning, I can be a pig when it comes to dessert. Let me think what's around here..." Again, he cursed the fact that he wasn't in LA. Sweet Love Hangover was the best post-date diner in Los Angeles.  Unfortunately, they were in Orlando. A familiar sign jutted out of a building, a few blocks away.

"Well, Dessert Lady is down the street a ways. Her chocolate cake kicks ass. I think you said you liked that, right?"

Shelby's eyes brightened and she smiled a smile that, he couldn't help it, made his heart happy. "I did. Good memory." She reached for him, running her fingers down his arm, her nails dragging along his bare skin until they reached his palm, and then tucked her fingers between his. They stood on the sidewalk for a few seconds before she looked up at him, one eyebrow raised.

"Lead the way," she said. God, her voice. She was a little hoarse after having to yell over music for awhile. It gave her a perfect tone-smoky and sultry, not high and chirpy. JC swallowed, winding his fingers around hers and walking with her down the street, mindless conversation coming out of his mouth. Filthy thoughts running through his head.

‘Please let tonight happen. This girl is awesome, and I think she wants it and I really, really, really want it, too. Everywhere. Soon. How likely is it that her boobs are real? ‘Cause those look real. My face wants to be between them. Shit, I'm so hard. I hope she doesn't want a hug, later. Wait, what am I talking about? I do hope she wants a hug, later. I hope she wants to hug my dick with her mouth. I wonder how loud she is. Fuck it; I don't care if she screams like a banshee, if this happens tonight she can be as loud as she wants.'

Shelby

Somewhere between the second shot and him letting her win at darts, Shelby decided that whatever was going to happen, was going to happen. It seemed like it was going that way-if he didn't want to ask her to go home with him, he wouldn't have asked if she was hungry. That sneak was trying to drag out the date!  She didn't blame him. She wasn't ready to go home yet, either.

‘Besides, he looks like he could tear me in two. I could use some of that, right now.'

The Dessert Lady was a cute little store front with striped awnings over the windows and tables for two set up around the small space. At the front of the store, a glass case was lined with rows and rows of cakes and pies from cherry to strawberry pie, from pound cake to chocolate cake to coffeecake. Shelby's eyes lit up at the selection. JC was momentarily forgotten-she was lusting after the chocolate torte, sitting in the middle of the case.

"Have you had any of these, before?"

"Honey, I have had all of these before. They are all excellent. You're a big fan of chocolate, right?  The torte is excellent..."

"I was looking at that..."

"Or the 6 Layer Cake is really good, too... or the Oreo Cheesecake. I'm partial to the Peanut Butter Pie, myself."

After a few minutes of slowly crawling the dessert case and drooling over each selection, Shelby made her decision, nodding at the decadent layers of chocolate in the middle of the case. "That torte is calling my name."

JC ordered for the both of them, and then, despite being alone in the store, pulled her toward a table near the window, behind an oversized fringe curtain. The table was small, so small their knees bumped under it.

"So, you've been in Orlando all of four days. What do you think of it?"

Shelby gulped at the glass of water set in front of her. Three beers and two shots made for a very tipsy girl. She wanted all of her wits about her, later on. "I like it. It's nice. I mean, a little frustrating at 4am, but at least it's quiet. I feel like I don't get a moment's peace in Miami. The city never sleeps. That gets tiring after awhile. So, yeah, it's nice. I'm in Winter Park, actually. Real small town-ish."

JC perked, sitting up straight, head tilted a little. "Wait. You live in Winter Park?"

Shelby nodded, smiling. She had no idea where he lived exactly, just that he was rumored to have a home there. Winter Park wasn't that big... he had to be close.

"What part?"

"Off of Park, near Rollins College, I think it is?"

 "Yeah, I'm not too far from there at all. Lake Virginia. How weird that we live so close to each other."

"Well, if you think about it, not really. We met at the neighborhood grocery store. It's not like I drove from Melbourne to shop at the Winter Park Publix."

JC smirked, narrowing his eyes, mouthing a playful ‘smartass' across the table. He was delightful. So funny and laid back. And cute. And so sexy. Every time he smiled at her, her stomach lurched and she felt warm inside.

‘God, I am fucking throbbing. I'm so fucking horny, ask me already! I don't want to go home tonight. How many more clues do I need to send??!'

"Here we are," said the server, a short woman dressed in white, complete with tall white Baker's hat. "Peanut butter pie and chocolate torte. Enjoy." She slid two plates and two forks onto the table and left a stack of napkins.

"That looks so good," she said, eyeing his plate, stacked high with a peanut butter-chocolate concoction.

"It is. Haven't had it in a long time, actually."  He sliced off a chunk and slid it into his mouth, his eyes closing as he chewed, a few light moans coming from his throat.

Shelby laughed at his dramatics. "Is it really, really good, JC? You look like you're about to come."

He laughed, almost shooting peanut butter and chocolate out of his mouth. "Not yet," he said, wiggling a brow at her while shoving another forkful in his mouth. "It is good though. Want to try some?"

"I'd love a taste."

JC picked up his fork again, but she stopped him with a touch of her hand, shaking her head slowly, a hint of a smile on her lips, praying he would catch her hint. "Not from there."

He caught it, loud and clear, but seemed like he wasn't sure what to do. He blinked, swallowed, and then, springing into action, reached under the table to grab a rung of her chair and slide her around so she was sitting next to him.  Wasting no time at all, he laid an arm over the back of her chair and leaned in, tilting his head toward her. She met him halfway, mouth open, eyes closed, heart racing.

Warm. And sweet, and soft and gentle, and oh my God. He was kissing her. And he was awesome at it.

His tongue rasped across hers, over and under and around, swirling, spreading the taste of peanut butter and chocolate with it. His lips were soft, brushing against hers over and over, light as air. Shelby fought herself every second, trying not to push the table back and climb onto his lap, sort of grateful he hadn't touched more than her lips. She was already on the edge, and just about over the point of no return.

He pulled back, his eyes dark and hooded, but his expression gentle. "How was it?" he mumbled, his face still so close to hers.

"Delicious," she answered, grinning, licking residual peanut butter taste off of her lips. Trying not to pant.

"Thank you. I enjoyed that myself."

"Good. It's uhm... rich. The Peanut Butter Pie."

"Yeah, it is. That's why I like it. Lots of flavor." He stared at her, blinking every few seconds. She stared back, bold. Refusing to look away and pretend she was shy, despite how... intense his stare was.  

"So, uhm, not asking about the past, but I know you don't sleep well. Are you... are you tired, or..."

"Not at all."  

He cleared his throat, and swallowed again. "Well, I was thinking maybe we could go someplace a little more private. Do some real talking."

"Really. Where would this place be?"

His tongue flicked out of his mouth, wetting his bottom lip. He reached for his water glass and sucked down half of it. Shelby's eyes never left his face. He laughed, finally, looking at her again.  "Why are you making this so hard on me?"

She giggled, caught in the act. "Because you already know the answer."

"I do?"

"You wanted me to suggest I go home with you? How many times am I gonna hear JC Chasez ask me to go home with him?"

The smile faded, slowly. His eyes dropped to her lips, and he kissed her again, this time more forceful and passionate, deep breaths through his nose, his lips pressing hard against hers, his tongue darting in and out of her mouth, fighting with hers. He grabbed the back of her head and held her against him, against his mouth while he kissed her. It was so fucking hot... the hottest kiss she'd ever had. Ever.

He pulled back, ending the kiss in a smack, and before his eyes even opened, said, "Come home with me. Please."

"Yes," she said, her voice no higher than a whisper. "We should maybe get our dessert to go. I'll want to eat this torte, later."

"And I'll want to taste it." He leaned in to her, his lips almost touching her ear. "Maybe I could lick it off of some places, too."

Shelby stood so fast, she nearly knocked the chair over. She was shaking, she was so excited, and had to calm herself down before they left the store, to- go boxes in hand. JC seemed to be in a hurry, pulling her down Church Street, then crossing the street and walking toward a dark blue Mercedes. The lights flashed and the door lock clicked with a mechanical sound.

"Well, shouldn't I just follow you in my car?"

"Nah, just hop in. I'll bring you back to your car." He all but pushed her into the passenger seat and shut the door as soon as she was inside, then walked around the front of the car and got in on the driver's side.

"Okay, JC?" Shelby laid a hand on his arm. She understood his pain... really, she did. But this rush job wasn't very sexy and was ruining the mood. "Relax. It's gonna happen. I'm not a tease. You don't have to rush. Take your time."

JC exhaled, blowing out a long, slow breath. He laid a hand over hers and squeezed. "Sorry. I'm not rushing. I'm just.... I like you. I'm...ready. And I want to do this. Like, yesterday."

"I know. I want that, too. Just slow down, a little. Be gentle. For now."  She teased him, scraping a fingernail lightly down his arm. He groaned and squirmed in the seat, shoving the key into the ignition and turning it roughly.

"Lady..."  JC heaved a sigh, looked toward the heavens and mentally thanked every higher power that existed, whether he believed in them or not.

"You've been killing me, all night long. I cannot wait to get you home." JC grabbed her hand and shoved it between his legs, wrapping her fingers around the hard mass curled up in the front of his jeans. "Don't you dare move that. Don't even think about it."

Shelby

The closer they got to his house, the faster he drove and more turns he took on almost two wheels, pushing the car with the monstrous, powerful engine toward his home, the more nervous she became. And the more excited she became.

Shelby mused, sitting in the passenger seat of his car, luscious leather hugging her hips, smooth jazz pouring out of the speakers and enveloping the car in a sexy, sultry aura, that there was never really any question that she was going to go home with him. Everything she wore, all of her pre-date preparations were for the explicit purpose of him seeing her and being with her in the most intimate way possible. It amused her that she'd even tried to pretend it wasn't happening... all the while she was shaving and pruning and sprucing, drinking juice and eating fruit and doing yoga for relaxation. Her skin was smooth and supple and lightly perfumed, on purpose. Her lingerie was thin and frilly and barely there, on purpose. Her mind was on the evening, her body preparing itself for pure enjoyment, on purpose.

JC slowed as he drove the small, two lane road through a neighborhood of upscale homes. The moon glowed in the sky above, bright and full, reflecting in the waters below. The lake itself was still, except for a ripple or two that sped along the surface and then lapped at the shore. Toward the end of the block on the slightly winding road, JC slowed further and turned into a driveway, waited for the door to slide open and then drove further into the garage. The light popped on automatically, as soon as the door opened, revealing a slightly messy collection of tools and garden utensils, and boxes stored above the garage space. Shelby wondered what was in them.

"So, we're here," JC said, opening his door and climbing out of the car. Shelby followed suit, meeting him at the door while he fumbled with his keys in the lock. "Nervous," he said simply, tossing back a grin at her, then finally inserting the key, twisting the knob and opening the door. An alarm beeped, twice. His thick fingers deftly punched a code into a keypad on the wall.

"This is it. This is home." With one arm he waved around the bright, spacious kitchen as they walked through it. Shelby noticed that she and JC had the same style and wood color of cabinets. The similarities ended there-her floors were ceramic tile and wood, his were laminate and the rest of the house seemed to be covered in wall to wall carpeting. His appliances were a pristine white, hers were stainless steel. And while his house backed up to a dock that led to Lake Virginia, she had a small pool and hot tub in her backyard off of the deck.

She followed him through the kitchen and down the hall, past a staircase and the front door and a formal sitting room. JC walked under the arch of a door way into a darkened room, and seconds later the room was illuminated with the soft glow of two lamps. A large sectional couch and two La-Z-Boy chairs filled the room and pointed toward a rather large flat screen mounted on the wall above a stone fireplace. The room was cozy and laid back, very comfortable. Shelby already felt at home, dropping onto the couch and sitting back, way back against the plush cushions.

"I'll be taking this couch home, if you don't mind."

"Nuh uh." JC was removing his button down shirt and his shoes, emptying his pockets onto a side table between the couch and a recliner. Wallet, keys, phone, breath mints. "Took me years to find this couch. It's so comfortable."

He picked up one of several remotes lined up on the table and turned on the TV. "Make yourself at home. Mi casa es su casa," he quipped, proud of the only Spanish phrase he could remember, at the moment. "I put some wine in the chiller earlier and I'm gonna pour myself a glass. Can I interest you in some? Or a beer, or some water, or whatever?"

"Wine would be great if it's red. If not a beer would be greater."

"It's red. Be right back, then." He ducked under the arch again, headed back toward the kitchen, and reappeared holding two wine glasses and two forks. "In case you want to eat your dessert," he said, nodding toward the two white boxes sitting in the center of the table.

They drank their wine, sip after sweet sip, and shared the chocolate torte, bite after sweet bite, and talked while VH1 Slow Jams crooned in the background. Slow, leisurely, relaxed--exactly as Shelby had requested. Things were calm, but not cold, their conversation lending to ebbs and flows of flirtation and romantic gestures and downright scintillation.

"Mmmm..." Shelby purred, licking the last bit of chocolate off of her fork and tossing it into the box. "That was delicious. Great suggestion, I'll have to remember The Dessert Lady."

"My pleasure. And I mean that. Watching you eat is amazing."

"What? Do I eat weird?"

"No, no. Not at all. You just...eat sexy. The way you lick your lips and sounds you make. It's a turn on."

"Is it, really? Or are you just horny?"

JC paused for a beat, blinked, and said, "Probably a little of both."

"Probably," Shelby agreed, with a giggle. "I can probably help you with that."

"Probably," JC mimicked, hoisting himself up and sliding over on the couch, right up next to her. "Are you okay? Is this... am I moving too fast?"

"Hmm mmm..." she hummed, turning toward him, tucking one leg under the other. "You're fine. You're just fine."

"Well then, get comfortable, honey. You're not going anywhere for awhile. Take your clothes off." He laughed, tapping her on the arm. "I mean... take your shoes off."

Shelby laughed, slipping off the low heeled pumps and setting them next to the couch, stretching her toes. "Shoes are off. Clothes to follow. In a minute."

"I think you should leave that to me."

"Done."

"I think you should let me kiss you. I bet you taste good. Like chocolate and wine."

"I bet I do."

"I think you should let me taste you. I bet you taste good, too."

"I bet I do."

"I think you should-"

"I think you should fucking kiss me already." Shelby grabbed his chin, cupped in the palm of her hand and pulled his head toward hers, mouth open and ready. His lips landed on hers with a muffled mmmph, and then a groan from deep in his throat as their tongues met in a hot, wet swirl. She whimpered and whined, the fire in her belly building again, streaks of white lightning ripping through her.

"Mmmm, you're good at that," she whispered, sitting up a little so she could get closer.

"I try," he mumbled, just before claiming her lips again. He reached for her, running a hand from her hip to her thigh, then hooking behind her knee and pulling her leg over his, further and further until she was right up against him. He turned on the couch, so she was on his lap, one leg on either side of him. She felt him, hard and hot and pressed right up against her. She almost teared up at the sensation, her hands shaking, finding it a little hard to breathe.

"I wish I could tell you how good you feel, up against me. How much I want to grind into you. Bad, really bad, that's how much."

"I can see it in your face. You don't have to hold back, with me. Let it go, if you want."

How kind of him to think she was afraid, or she was holding back and to try to comfort her. Neither assumption could be further from the truth.

"Not talking about pasts," she mumbled into his mouth, onto his lips. God, his mouth was awesome. "But I'm not wasting anything on a dry romp on the couch." She pulled back and grabbed his face, stared straight into his eyes. "I want you inside me, when I come."

He gulped. And then grinned. "Aw, shit. It's about to be on. You just... let me know when you want that."

"I wanted it yesterday. So take your time. There's more of me that I want you to see before we get there."

JC laughed, that sexy, dirty, throaty laugh. She loved it, especially when he was right up against her neck, and he was licking her skin and his breath was hot and goose bumps were flying. His hands were restless, moving along her body like they had A.D.D. and couldn't focus on one part of her, steadily moving from her back where the heat seared her skin through the sheer fabric, to the generous cheeks in tight jeans. They moved then, down over her hips and her thighs, down her legs to her feet tucked under her. She was a little ticklish, he found, making a game out of getting her to laugh while holding her mouth hostage.

Shelby was hot and getting hotter-not just turned on but sweating. "JC... my shirt. Take it off, please." She lifted her arms so he could pull it off. He smiled and brought them back down.

"No, no. I don't want to do it like that. You asked for slow. We're gonna take our time."

Shelby was starting to regret asking for that, but the regret faded as he ran his hands up her sides and over her chest, palming her breasts and squeezing them through the thin material. He groaned, his hips thrusting up under her a few times as he took his time exploring them, filling his hands with them. Her eyes slid closed, her arms hung limply, her head tilted back.

‘How have I gone so long without this? Without a man's hands on my body and lips on my skin? Fuck, I hope I'm not a one night stand. I need more of this. A lot more. And often.'

Shelby felt buttons being undone. One by one, the snaps on her blouse were being pulled apart, exposing more of her skin, revealing more of her bra of thin, wispy lace. The shirt pulled open when the last button was undone, and fell alongside her breasts. Hands were at her waist, holding her tight and then a long, wet streak licked between each breast. She moaned and shuddered, feeling her nipples rise further, straining against the lacy cup, and then yelped as she felt the pad of a thumb brush lightly across each of them. That was the magic touch for her. A little nipple play and something to rub up against was a one-two punch. She had to be careful, riding the line with caution. She wanted to enjoy herself but didn't want it to be over too soon. She wanted him, his hands on her, his lips on her, but more than anything, she wanted the hard mass of flesh and muscle, pressed right up against her to be driving hard inside her. She wanted him to feel her, what he was doing to her, feel her clench around him. Her thoughts were consumed with it-had been, all day.

Shelby would settle for nothing less.

JC

A vision of loveliness was before him. Sitting right in front of him. On him, actually. He could not be a happier boy, with two beautiful round breasts in his face, being held up by the tiniest bra he'd ever seen. They were spilling out of it, pretty much, and he felt like he needed to free them. So he did, reaching around to her back and unhooking the three clasps. The bra popped open and her breasts fell with a bounce that brought another twitch.

Shelby shrugged off the shirt, with the sexy tiger print and the bra, dropping them on to the couch. She smiled down at him, her eyes smoky and her skin flush, and scooted closer. Pressing right on him, right up against him. He was pretty sure she knew what she was doing. He wasn't sure he could get any harder but she was welcome to try and make it happen.

But first, he had some things he needed to do-nipples to lick and pull and tease and flick, skin to kiss and touch and taste and smell. Shelby made no secret of the fact that she was enjoying every second-writhing and moving against him, sighing and groaning and crying out, grabbing at his hair, the couch behind them, his shoulders, whatever she could hold on to.

"You're... gonna... make me... come..."  Shelby moaned loudly, gasping for air and thrusting her hips into him.

"I am. Just not right now," he answered, slowing his movements, just letting his tongue drag around each breast, and then around each nipple. "Sorry. I know you don't want it like this."

Shelby was panting, breathing hard, sweating. He needed to slow it down, pull it back. As much as he hated to, he had to get her off of his lap, otherwise he was going to grab her ass and press her into him and thrust his hips into her until she came. It was a good thing she said she didn't want that, or it would have already happened. He grabbed her by the hips and moved her to the side, pressing her gently so she laid down. She stretched out, lifting her arms above her, making the most delicious sounds, making her breasts lift and roll, the nipples jutting out. Tempting. So... tempting. Fuck, she was hot.

JC sat up, kneeling on the couch between her legs, and pulled his t-shirt off, flinging it away, and then leaned over her, lowering himself on top of her. Face to face, breasts to chest, belly to belly, they pressed and arched into one another. Her arms came to rest on his shoulders. Her legs wrapped themselves around him and again, he was pressed into her core. He felt the heat through the denim of her jeans. He couldn't wait to feel that from the inside.

"How we doin'?

Shelby smiled up at him, looking a little drunk. "We are having the time of our life, right now."

"We sure are. You feel good to me." He bent to kiss her, their lips touching in a sweet, airy kiss. "I want you. I want to be with you. I want to be inside you. But I don't want to hurt you, and I don't want to rush you. And I don't want you to feel like we have to do everything tonight. I'm hoping you'll want to do this again."

She laughed, running her fingers through his hair, then down his face, then down his neck and over his shoulders and back again. "We haven't even done anything and I want to do everything we've done, again. Over and over. And over."

"Mmmm... sounds good..." His lips found hers again, molded themselves to her mouth, played with her tongue, while her hands took their turn moving and feeling, grasping and squeezing. He was trying to keep his hips still, but the heat coming from her was almost unbearable. Every time he moved, he was rubbing up against her. Her hips responded and then his hips responded and then he was thrusting, and had to stop himself.

"What do you say we take this party upstairs? We can get comfortable. And get serious."

Shelby answered by sitting up, forcing him up, too. JC helped her up, after getting up himself, pushing her with the tips of his fingers out of the room and toward the stairs down the hall.

"You're not gonna carry me? I thought you were a gentleman."

"I could," he said, reaching for remote and pointing it at the TV. One punch of a button quieted the music. The house was very, very quiet, as he turned to follow her. "But it won't be romantic. I'll just toss you over my shoulder and we'll go Caveman style."

Shelby stopped and turned in front of him, a Cheshire cat grin across her lips, her arms raised. "Do it. I need to see you actually do that."

Never one to turn down a dare, he bent to her waist, wrapped his arm around her thighs and lifted her up and over his shoulder. She laughed and squealed and kicked her feet, and then he felt her lips on his back and her nails dragging along his skin. He laughed, climbing the entire staircase with her over his shoulder, past the few empty rooms to his bedroom. Cool and dark. He flipped a light switch and a single lamp at the bedside came on, giving the room a tiny bit of light, enough for him to see where to dump her onto the bed.

Giggling and out of breath, Shelby was already stretching out and backing up, making use of the space on the King sized bed. JC climbed up after her, laying next to her, catching his breath.

"You're heaving like I'm heavy. Killing the mood."

"I'm not heaving cause you're heavy," he said, reaching over her to flick at an erect nipple. "I'm just... trying to compose myself."

"Tell me about it," she said, rolling over and sitting up, and then straddling him.

"This is gonna get us in trouble."

"I know, I shouldn't be up here. You feel so good, though." She sucked in a breath through her teeth, her hands roaming her own body, cupping her breasts, her thumbs working her nipples, her hips slowly moving in tight, round circles. His hands joined hers, then moved hers away and he took over, kneading and flicking and pulling while she tossed her head back and moaned and mumbled things like ‘God, that feels so fucking good' and ‘Yeah, I like that.' JC liked hearing that. He wanted her to be happy. Very happy.

Shelby leaned forward, crawling up his body, until her breasts hung over him. "Lick them," she whispered. "Suck on them. I like that." Eager to please, he closed his mouth over one nipple and then the other and then moved back and forth, pulling squeals and shudders out of her until he just couldn't take it anymore.

He sat up and rolled them over, then rose to his knees, reaching for the button to her jeans. "These have to come off, or I'm gonna fuck a hole in them."

"Mmm, I might welcome that," she said, but laid back and let him unbutton and unzip her jeans, then lifted her hips so he could pull them off. Tiny black thong panties came with them, and were tossed onto the floor.

The light was dim, but JC could see enough to know she was beautiful. Her body was a work of art, exquisite in every way, every shape every form. Every curve of her hip and rise of her breast and roundness of... everything... fuck... was designed by some higher power, he was sure of it. She was not real. She was a figment of his imagination. Some perfect dream, some woman he had designed in his head. And yet she was real. And really there. He was really feeling her, really looking at her.  Really with her.

‘Yeah, coming back to Orlando was a really good idea.'

The scent coming off of her body was heady-a mix of perfume, something light and flowery, and her natural scent, a musky, fruity fragrance. The resulting scent was driving him out of his mind. He was ready. He hoped she was.

"One second, okay? I need to grab... something."

JC had thought this through, earlier. Even if nothing happened between them, he'd want to be ready anyway, just in case. He hadn't had sex in so long he didn't even know if he'd packed condoms, so a quick run to the store-after he called her to make sure the date was on-was in order. He'd picked up a bottle of wine and a package of condoms. The wine went into the chiller, the condoms into the bottom drawer of his nightstand.

He pulled the drawer open now to fish them out, a couple of them, because you never know what might pop off, literally. He tossed both packages onto the table and unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans, letting them fall off of his legs and onto the ground. A tug brought down his briefs, his dick bouncing with his movement, rigid and pointing to the sky.

He glanced up at Shelby, stretched out on the bed, watching him, her mouth open, a hand between her legs, fingers moving slowly.

"Hey, hey, over there. Don't start without me."

"I'm not," she said softly. "I'm just keeping it warm for you." 

He chuckled, picking up a small square package and ripping it open, extracting the latex ring and sheath, rolling it on, down the thick column of muscle. It was impressive, if he had to say so, himself. He knew there were rumors and legends, lots of tongues wagging about the size and girth and shape. He was flattered by most of it-he was quite fond of it, himself. Some of the girls talking so much about it in so much detail though, had never even seen it. Well, not really, not in person and not up close and most certainly had never felt it, had never rubbed on it, had never held it in their hands. Or their mouths. He wasn't that kind of guy. Not exactly.

"So...I never met a guy that could actually fill a Magnum, before."

"Well, honey... now you have." He tossed the wrapper onto the table and glanced at her again, allowing himself a cocky bob to his head. "You want the light on or off?"

"On. I want to see you."

‘Holy fuck. Where has this girl been all my life?"

Shelby

Things were moving along perfectly, more perfectly than she'd even imagined, and she had imagined. Most of the day had been spent daydreaming about what might happen, what could happen. What it would feel like. What he would look like. How it would sound. How he would taste. And now the moment was here, the anticipation driving her wild as he climbed back onto the bed, and between her legs, flicking her fingers away, devilish smile on his lips.

JC laid down in front of her, his face so close to her that she could feel his breath on her thighs as he kissed the delicate skin there. Slowly he moved his head back and forth, kissing one side and then the other, making his way up higher and higher and until his lips were on hers and his tongue was flicking out, licking long, slow strokes. Up and then down, and then up and back down, again, avoiding her clit until the last possible second, and then sucking it into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue, moaning and staring up at her.

Shelby could hardly stay still, and most certainly couldn't keep her mouth closed, almost screaming,  bucking her hips, pressing one palm against the headboard of the bed, the fingers of her other hand deep in his hair.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhmygodohmygodohmygod... Fuck yeah!"

"Mmmm?" He seemed to ask the question with his eyebrows, while his mouth was still suctioned to her, adding a thick finger sliding slowly in and out.

"Mmmm!" she responded, her hips off of the bed, dangerously close to falling over the edge. She moved her hand from his hair to his forehead, pushing him back. "Stop! I'm gonna come, if you don't stop!"

Suddenly his lips were gone, his tongue was gone, his finger was gone. Then she felt his lips again, making their way up her body, over the mound, up her belly, taking a leisurely lick at one nipple and then the other, until they were face to face.

"Are you ready?" Shelby nodded, grabbing his face bringing him down to her lips, raising her hips to him to pull him inside, reaching around him to push him into her. She broke the kiss just to sigh into his mouth and let out a little yelp, smiling all the way through it.

This... felt familiar.  Yeah. She remembered sex. That act you did with people you loved, or at least were attracted to, except this is what it was supposed to feel like. You were supposed to enjoy it. You were supposed to feel like slamming yourself against the person you were with until your body exploded into a million pieces and you had no breath or voice left. Now, she remembered.

He felt delicious. There was just no other word to describe it. He was beautiful, his body was perfect-thin but muscular, great chest, just enough hair, flat belly and a six pack of rock solid abs. A little pale, for her taste, but that was nothing that a day in the sun couldn't fix. Having sex with him, though? After spending the day dreaming about it, the daydream was no comparison. It was delicious and delightful and decadent and damn! All other words that started with ‘d' that she could think of, he was it.

He was moving slow, thrusting carefully, sinking deeper, watching her. Her hips matched his movements, pulling him in, stretching her. Her legs spread wider, her head rolled back, her eyes slid closed and she gave herself over, a long, low moan curling out of her. JC chuckled against her neck as his hips worked, faster and with more force.  

"Ahhhhhhh...shit..." Shelby moaned, her hips moving in time with his, striking a rhythm. "You feel good. I'm not gonna last long. Mmmmmmm!"

"Just let go whenever you want. This is for you."

Shelby smiled, her cries growing louder, timed with his movements and her movements and their movements together. "I think...... I'm gonna......come......hard! Hmmmmmmm!"

A forgotten, coveted, welcome feeling began to well up on the inside of her, a feeling she hadn't felt in a very long time. Shelby hissed and moaned and grunted his name over and over, into his ear, against his skin, into the air as he pushed into her and she thrust back, through the intense clench, the pulsing, the liquid white hot searing through her, curling her toes and taking her breath away. JC kept moving above her, grunting words and phrases she didn't understand but she guessed meant he was close to his own climax, forcing the bed up against the wall in a strong, loud rhythm.

"Fuck!....... comin'..." was all she heard before his hips went wild against her and his hands gripped her tightly, and he let out a final long, loud grunt, panting and heaving and finally collapsing on top of her. With his last bit of strength it seemed, he rolled to the side, onto his back, his breathing so heavy it was frightening.

Shelby laid next to him, unable to stop the grin from spreading across her face. It came from inside her, deep inside, from a part of her that she thought was dormant and long dead. Not anymore. JC had awakened something in her. Brought something to life, more like it. She never wanted it to die, never wanted to go without it, again.  

JC

He couldn't catch his breath. JC laid on his back, an elbow over his face, panting into the air, thick with the smell of sex. Two bodies becoming one, sweat mingling and mixing together to form a perfectly sensual, aromatic perfume. He loved the smell of sex. He loved the feeling of sex. He loved having sex. He loved having sex with Shelby. He fucked her, like he wanted to. Like he said he would. And it was so fucking good, better than he thought it would be, and in his mind, it was damn good.

Shelby. Oh, yeah. Shelby. He lowered his arm and rolled his head toward her. She laid on her back, sucking down gulps of air, staring at the ceiling, smiling ear to ear. He liked to see that. He wanted her to be happy. Very happy.

"So that was good for you, then?"

She turned her head, still smiling, her brown eyes sparkling and happy when he looked into them. It made him smile. He was such a chump, sometimes. Made weak by the smile of a woman.

"It was awesome for me," she said, her voice ragged, adding to the already sexy tone of her natural voice. JC had a feeling that round two would be on the way soon. Or at least he hoped.

"Can I get you some water or something? You sound a little rough."

She nodded, clearing her throat a few times. "Water would be nice."

JC sat up and rolled off of the bed, headed down the stairs where he pulled two bottles of water from the fridge and went back up. Shelby was sitting up when he came back, cross legged in the middle of the bed, staring at the large screen TV on the wall, but it wasn't on.

"You think if you wiggle your nose, it'll come on? Or do you want the remote? Do you want to watch something?"

"Not really. Just looking at it. I have a TV in my bedroom, but I think I'd like to get a flat screen and wall mount it. Just wondering if that would work."

He handed her a bottle of water and climbed back onto the bed, piling up pillows and pulling her next to him. She sucked down half the bottle and set it on the table next to them. She stretched, her muscles pulling tight, scooted herself up against him, laying half off, half on him. His arm came around her, his hand cupping a cheek as he sipped on his water.

"That was good. Real good. I enjoyed that."

"Mmmhhhmmmm," she purred, her head nodding against him, her body pressing closer to him. She felt good, nice and soft, but toned, too. She fit perfectly, right up against him. And around him, too.

"So, I think you should invite me over, to check out that TV situation. I can hang it for you, I mean. And then we can lay in your bed and watch it."

Her voice was hollow, since her face was pressed against him. "We'd better be doing more than laying there. I think it would be watching us, probably."

"Probably."

"At least I hope," she said, tipping her head up so she could see his face. She was cute. Like she had to ask-he already said he hoped she'd want to see him again, and do this again. The first sex always seemed kind of clumsy and clunky. It always got better, after that, after a couple learned the ins and outs and who liked what and what felt good and what made them yelp or scream or moan. As good as this first sex was, he was looking forward to even better.

"Let me know when you have it. I can come see you and take care of it. And you." He gave a slap to her ass and grinned.

She chuckled, a low, sexy, sultry laugh.  

‘Fuck, yeah.  Kim who?'

Shelby

If Shelby thought a night of passionate, sweaty sex would make her tired enough to sleep, she had another think coming. The first session should have been enough to knock them both out, but the excitement of first time sex with someone new was running rampant, and a few minutes after they stopped, they were going again.

The second session was even more electric and amazing and mind-blowing than the first, because it was slower. JC took his time, making sure to kiss every inch of her body, exploring her back to front. Shelby took her time with him, soaking in every inch of him, head to toe, from several angles. By the time they collapsed against each other again, out of breath and extremely satisfied, JC was delirious and passed out in the middle of a sentence. Shelby snuggled against him, on his chest, listened to his heartbeat and tried to fall asleep. As usual, sleep eluded her.

It was a different guilt, this time. This was guilt that she enjoyed the night, the entire night, because it was so different than anything had ever been, before. She enjoyed JC because he was young and virile and handsome and she had things in common with him. He was sexy, and he turned her on like no one else ever had-including a man she had been engaged to marry.  This was guilt that she more enjoyed advances from this pop star who might not remember her name in three months than a man that had opened his life, his home, his bank account, his heart to her-and she didn't want it, and she couldn't pretend to want it, anymore. She couldn't make herself love him. It broke her heart to realize it, and to tell him. And to break his heart. It wasn't even that she wasn't in love with him...she didn't love him at all.

Shelby laid in the bed, a bed that wasn't hers, next to a man she didn't really know, in the dark, staring at the walls, watching the shadows crawl across the ceiling as night turned to twilight and then to dawn. JC was sleeping, still on his back, spread eagle across the bed, snoring lightly. Slowly and quietly, she slipped out from between the sheets and tip toed toward the closet, looking for a robe or a shirt or... something she could put on. JC had more t-shirts than anyone she'd ever met. Hoping she wasn't picking out any a favorite that he was possessive over, she pulled one from the stacks and put it on, then crept out of the closet and past the bed, and out of the bedroom, pulling the door closed behind her.

Down the stairs she went, without making a sound, to the kitchen, snapping on the light. One by one, the fluorescent bulbs burned, lighting up the kitchen, showing off the stark white appliances and empty countertops. That he kept his kitchen this clean only meant one of two things-either he was more of a neat freak than she was, or he didn't use this room at all. She leaned heavily toward the latter.

Yawning, she searched cabinets, looking for coffee, and cream and sugar. Surprisingly, she found an unopened cube of Folgers in the cabinet, milk in the fridge and sugar in a canister. At least he had the basics. In a few minutes, the 12 cup coffeemaker was bubbling and steaming and the aromatic fragrance of coffee filled the kitchen. Looking through more cabinets, she found a mug and a spoon, and stood at the counter, tapping her fingers, watching the dark liquid drip and collect in the glass carafe, until no more dripped and the machine stopped bubbling and sighing.  She poured a cup, added milk and sugar, stirred, and took the first sip. Mmmm... warm and soothing. She actually hadn't had coffee in awhile.

Shelby and her coffee padded through the kitchen, past the staircase, back to the den. She smiled the collection of clothing and shoes around the room, remembering the moment her shirt and bra were flung haphazardly to one end of the couch. She gathered them up, folding them and setting them next to her purse, and then slid into one corner of the couch, curled up toward the window, watching the sunrise over the Lake. 

She'd almost bought a home in this area, but something kept her from buying something too big and ostentatious. She wasn't rich because she'd worked hard for it, fingers to the bone, blood, sweat and tears and all that. She hadn't even written a bunch of songs, worked her way up from obscurity, and lived a life on the road in a bus for years on end, to deserve a home as nice as the one she was sitting in.

Nope, she fucked a rich man for 3 years, let him spoil her, take care of her, satisfy every need but the most important ones, and then broke his heart, and then killed him. She was a model citizen.

Well, she hadn't really killed him. But couldn't help feeling like she had, especially when everyone else - defined as his family and friends and colleagues-felt she had. By that time, she was so deep in Lucas Samuels and getting married and playing the part that she had long alienated friends, and almost pushed her parents to the edge. After the accident, she had no one. After the funeral and the distribution of funds from his estate (which his family fought every step of the way, relenting when they realized she was suing the tire manufacturer and stood to receive proceeds that far outweighed the sum he'd left her), she had managed to patch things up with her parents, but everyone else avoided her.

Lucas' ex-wife and children had been nearly friendly to her during the settlement negotiation until they learned that she had no intention of sharing the wealth. Why should she? Lucas had left them millions in cash and stocks. He left them homes and cars, a thriving global Real Estate practice, and trust funds for their children. He'd provided for their futures. They had enough money. She was regular people, from regular stock, with a regular pedigree. All she needed was enough money to get away and to disappear. The generous gift from his will and the lawsuit settlement made that happen. The money rolled in, and Shelby rolled out.

That wasn't when the insomnia began, but it was when it worsened. Shelby almost never slept; she just caught cat naps here and there. If she could sleep, it never lasted very long and she never slept very deeply, and hardly ever felt rested. Every few months, she could get into bed and sleep deep and hard. That usually only came after a few therapy sessions-but reliving the past, the memories and the guilt and the pain was harder than not sleeping, so she went very infrequently.

It might be time to find another therapist, and have some sessions. The lack of rest was killing her.

Shelby sipped her coffee and watched the dawn turn to morning, the sun rise over the lake in a gorgeous orange ball and climb higher in the sky. JC's house was peaceful and quiet, the neighborhood not overrun with loud neighbors and goings on. Her stomach rumbled-she hadn't had anything real to eat since the plateful of food she'd managed to get down before leaving to meet JC. And then there was the torte and the wine, long since burned off. She got up again, needing to refill her coffee cup anyway, heading back to the kitchen.  He'd certainly done enough grocery shopping, he was sure to have food somewhere in the kitchen.

JC

Bacon. Coffee. Toast. Did he smell toast? Why would he be smelling toast?

JC sat up, still half asleep but curious about the smell of food wafting through the room. A glance around the bed, at his jeans and her jeans and a lovely lacy thong at the foot of the bed jogged his memory and he smiled. Remembering. That's right; they'd left her car at Antigua. Shelby was still there. She must have got up and decided to make breakfast. You know, to thank him for all the amazing sex. Hell if he had a problem with that.

He untangled himself from the sheets, thinking he hadn't remembered her sleeping next to him. Not that he would have remembered much, the way he passed out, but usually girls kicking and tossing and turning and snoring and insisting on laying all over him woke him up or kept him from sleeping. And that was why he usually showed them the door, after sex. It didn't mean he didn't have a good time. It didn't mean he didn't cherish the time spent with whatever her name was. It just meant that his sleep was important to him. He didn't like it messed with. So, out, they went.

JC wondered what she was wearing, since he was picking her jeans up off the floor, along with his own and tossing them across the foot of the unmade bed. He stumbled to his closet and pulled open a drawer, grabbing a random shirt and pair of sweat pants and pulling them on.

The scent of coffee was strong as he made his way down the stairs. It smelled good with the scent of food alongside it. He rubbed his belly in anticipation and walked down the hall toward the kitchen, stopping at the doorway, leaning against it, watching her.

There was food, on plates on the counter. Coffee made, a full carafe. Sugar and milk out. She was at the sink, washing the pots and pans she had used, and then wiping down the stove and counter. The question of what she was wearing was answered-she looked great in his Moby t-shirt and nothing else. He watched her for a few minutes, that incredible ass moving around the kitchen in his shirt, her hair wavy from sweat and sleep, her great legs and tiny feet in his kitchen. She kind of fit in, there.

"Just so you know, you're never allowed to leave," he finally said. Startled, she whipped around, her eyes wide, hand over her chest.

"Jesus!" She laughed, heaving dramatically. "You scared me! How long have you been there?"

"A little while." He moved from the doorway and shuffled into the room, his arms open. "I was just watching you. Sorry, didn't mean to scare you." She stepped into his arms, sliding her own arms around his waist, laying her head on his chest. He hugged her, his hands roaming her back, and further down and then up under the t-shirt. He was twitching again. He felt another session coming on before he took her to her car. "You feel good this morning."

"I'm glad you feel that way. And also glad you're awake. Are you hungry?"

"Honey, I can always eat. Food woke me up. Before we get to that, though..." He tipped her head up with his index finger and kissed her, nice and slow, taking his time, stroking her tongue with every bit of sensuality he could muster up before noon. She stepped into him, wrapping an arm around his neck, lifting herself onto her tiptoes to get closer. "Mmmmm...." He hummed, pulling away, finding her eyes, staring into them. "Nice. I like that."

"Me too," she said, blissful smile on her lips. "Let's eat. And then maybe..."

JC laughed, releasing her, letting her lead him around to the other side of the counter, to the stools stored underneath. "We're on the same wavelength. Going in the same direction. On the same boat."

He sat, watching her serve him, pour him a cup of coffee, set out milk and sugar before she sat next to him and served herself. "Did you sleep?"

"No," she answered plainly, biting into the edge of a piece of toast. "I felt like I might wake you up, so I got up around 4. Maybe 5. I can't remember. Made coffee, watched the sunrise."

"Mmm," he said, nodding, shoveling eggs into his mouth. He was hungrier than he'd thought he was. "Yeah, it's nice out here in the mornings. So you didn't sleep at all?"

"Not a wink. Tried, but I couldn't fall asleep."

"Hmmm," he mused, then smiled while sucking a piece of toast off of his thumb. "You wore me out. Sorry I passed out."

"I'm not mad at you. I kind of take it as a compliment. I mean, I'm tired. And I'm sleepy. I just... don't sleep. I don't know." She shook her head, moving food around on her plate, letting the fork clang against it as she dropped it, her head falling into the palm of her hand.

"Aw, honey, I'm sorry. I feel like an ass-"

"Oh, don't. God, I'm sorry. I don't mean to make you feel guilty-"

"No... Shelby, I asked. Don't apologize."

She must have run out of arguments. Or steam. She sat next to him, staring off into the distance, saying nothing more, so he went back to his breakfast. A few moments later, she went back to hers, sipped her coffee, sat in silence. It was peaceful, except that something was obviously bothering her. He wished he could get her to tell him what it was.

"Come here." JC twisted in the seat and stood, tossing a used napkin onto his empty plate, wiped clean. "Are you done? Come here." He pulled her arm until she stood, too, and led her by the hand back to the den. "Let's just hang out. Relax in here for a little bit. You're not in a hurry to go home, are you?"

She shook her head, smiling a little, cuddled up next to him on the couch, both of his arms around her. Her eyelids looked so heavy and she was yawning and quiet. Maybe if they got warm and comfortable and watched some movies, she could sleep a little bit. He was already up for a nap.

Shelby

She wasn't sure if it was the warm coffee, or the food, or the sex, or being close to JC, or the combination of all of the above, but one moment Shelby was staring at the images on the TV, knowing full well she wouldn't sleep and the next minute she was waking up. When her eyes popped open, she was curled up with her back to the cushions, a thin blanket over her, and the TV off. She heard movement in the house but it was relatively silent around her.

Shelby was surprised she'd been able to sleep in a house that wasn't hers, on a couch no less, but she supposed it caught up with her, eventually. She actually felt rested and alert and grateful for a few short hours of dreamless, peaceful sleep.

She sat up, stretching, gathering the blanket around her and folding it. She noticed JC's shoes from the night before were gone, as was his shirt. Her shoes had been placed neatly under the side table near her purse and blouse and bra. The to-go containers, forks, and wine glasses from the night before were gone, and the room was back to ‘magazine shoot' clean.  A check of the kitchen revealed the same. Every dish was put away, the coffeepot emptied and wiped clean, every countertop void of food or gadget or dish. Maybe he did actually use the kitchen, and was an incredible neat freak.

She climbed the stairs, headed toward the bedroom where the ‘noise' seemed to be coming from. The bed was made, her jeans folded in a neat square and sitting on top of the cotton comforter.

"Hey," she said softly, stepping into the room and peeking around the corner. JC's head poked out of the walk-in closet-mostly just his hair and eyes.

"Hi. You didn't sleep long. Couple of hours."

"I never do. But I feel okay. It was good sleep, actually.  Was I cranky?"

His head disappeared back into the closet, but his voice carried from inside it. Shelby sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to ruin his perfect bed making job. He was kind of a neat freak. It was amusing. "Not all. You just seemed like you could use a nap. Glad you feel better."

"Thanks. So... I should probably go. Get out of your hair."

He stepped out of the closet, flipping the light switch off. With not nearly as much care to his bed making job, he flopped beside her, stretching out, crossing one ankle over the other. "You don't have to rush off. I'm not throwing you out, or anything."

"I know... I just would rather leave before you want me to. It's one of those rules that girls live by-leave them wanting more. Or some shit like that."

JC was staring, his eyes an intense and piercing blue. "Rules like that were made to be broken."

Shelby blushed. He didn't want her to leave. She kind of didn't want to. But really felt she should. "You flatter me."

"No flattery about it. I had fun last night, from the second you walked into that club until right this very minute. I like you."

He was spoiling her, with all this attention. More than she really expected. She half expected to have been set on the doorstep around 3am to wait for a taxi, greeted with nothing but a wave and a smile and a ‘thank you honey, be safe' and a door closing in her face. She most certainly didn't expect to still be at his house at 11am. In his t-shirt. And nothing else.

"I like you, too," she said, shuffling her feet along the soft carpet. "And I had a lot of fun, too."

"So?" He grinned, grabbing her hand, breaking into song. ‘I know you wanna leave me. But I refuse to let you go. If I have to beg, plead for your sympathy, I don't mind, ‘cause you mean that much to me.... Ain't too proud to beg...'

Shelby laughed, swooning on the inside at his voice, having never really heard him sing. The smooth, silky sound did something to her insides, from the tip of her toes to the crown of her head. She was feeling warm, and more than a little persuaded, now. "Well, so... don't you have to work, or something?"

He nodded. "Rehearsal at 4 o'clock. That gives us..."  He rolled his eyes over to the corner, but nothing was there. "I used to have a clock radio right there. What the hell time is it?"

"Almost noon."

He wiggled his brows at her and grinned a sneaky, sultry grin. "That gives us at least three hours. Two and a half, if I'm showering. Which, if I have my way, I'm gonna need to."

She fought a smile, a knowing one, but didn't fight the stirring in her belly or the hardening  of her nipples or the spreading warmth in her belly and between her thighs. Nor did she fight the gentle pulling on her hand, bringing her closer to him until she was laying next to him on the bed, and he was leaning over her, a hand under the t-shirt, exploring the soft skin beneath it. JC's hands felt incredible, gliding lightly over her.

"You're very persuasive."

"It's a hidden power. Most people think my best asset is my voice. Little do they know..." He kissed her as she laughed, his lips brushing over hers, his tongue licking and flicking at hers, his throat emitting humming, happy sounds. His thumbs found taut nipples, ready to be pulled and flicked and sucked until they were puffy and an angry pink. Shelby responded to the bolt of lightning that shot down her back with a jerk of her hips up off of the bed.

She fought him off for a few seconds and sat up. "I hate to mess up this pretty room you just cleaned up, but this t-shirt has to come off."

"Do it. Just... fling it. It'll give me something to remember later when I'm cleaning up."  The shirt came up and over her head and was flung somewhere in the direction of the closet. "Good enough. Come here," he said, grabbing at her waist.

"Nuh uh. Your turn," she said, a tease in her voice and a smile on her lips. That nap had done her a world of good. Suddenly she was energetic and in a very good mood, and ready to work off all of her rest. JC complied and the clothes he was wearing were flung near the t-shirt, just outside of the closet.

In the daylight, Shelby could see more of him and feel more of him. In the daylight, she noticed his hair was graying a little, at the temples. That his earlobes were enormous, which was funny to her. That his arms and hands were veiny. That he had a scent, and that scent was seductive and manly and excited her more than any cologne ever could. And that, on closer inspection, he was thick and long and perfect, the color of coffee with a few touches of cream, and in the daylight, incredibly more tempting. The night before had clearly been about her. In the limited time she had, the morning would be about him.

She pressed her hand against his chest, grinning back at the smile on his face, pushing him back against the pillows. "There's something I didn't get a chance to do last night, and I'm not leaving until I do it. So just lay back and enjoy it."

JC

He kind of hated to see her go.

He knew she had to, though, and he had to go, too-- another long afternoon-into-evening-into morning of rehearsal awaited him. JC was hopeful that the guys would keep him busy enough that he wouldn't think about her, and get caught staring into space, daydreaming about her. Reliving the night, feeling her again, lips and fingertips and that sweet pink tongue of hers, the way it lapped at him like he was her last meal... Well, Rod, for one, would be relentless and would want to know what he was grinning about, or more to the point who he was grinning about. Shelby would be written all over his face, if he wasn't careful. Shelby was someone he wanted to keep to himself, for now. At least for the time being, just to see what happened.

He was already exhausted but so satisfied, he hardly felt it. Shelby reacted to him like a woman who had been sex starved, like she couldn't get enough. He almost couldn't handle her-almost. The second episode that morning, in the shower, almost did him in. If he hadn't have canceled rehearsal the day before, he would have been tempted to call off that day and keep her. Hold her hostage in his house. That he couldn't do so didn't disappoint him. Just gave him ideas for next time. Because there was definitely going to be a next time.

JC pulled into a spot a few feet from her car, put the gear shift in park but left the engine running.

"Well, thanks for the shirt and shorts. And flip flops."

Shelby wiggled her toes in the oversized sandals he'd lent her. Her clothes and shoes from the night before were packed into a plastic grocery bag and sitting on her lap. "I'm glad I don't have to go anywhere. I look ridiculous."

"Well, it beats having to put last night's clothes back on, right?" He laughed, sizing her up in his large t-shirt, large shorts and floppy shoes. Still sexy. Few women could pull that off. "Can't have you doing the walk of shame, now."

"I'll wash them and give them back to you, I promise."

"No hurry." He paused, and Shelby paused, her finger on the door latch. She didn't want to get out of the car. He didn't want her to. "So ... you'll let me know about the TV thing, right? That you want me to hang for you?"

She nodded, her lips were pressed together like she didn't want to smile but couldn't help it. "Yep. Yeah, I will."

Another beat of awkward silence passed. "So, I'm glad we met. I uh, had a good time. Last night. And today. Really good time."

"Me too," Shelby said. "Really great time. It was fun."

"Well, so... maybe we could do it again. We'll go to another bar, have a different shot, play a different game, eat a different dessert..."

"Try a different position..."

"Are there any left? We were a little experimental last night." JC laughed, appreciating her more every second that he knew her. There was nothing like a woman that was sexy and had no problem letting it show-turned him on like a light switch. "You're somethin' else, Shelby girl. What are you doing for the rest of your life?"

"Future," she said, pointing at him. "But I could possibly carve some time out of my busy schedule next week. Would you like to make a reservation?"

She tipped her head at him, and smiled that smile of hers, the one that made him all weak in the knees and dry in the mouth. Hell yes, he'd like to make a reservation. For the next week and every week until they'd worked their way through the Kama Sutra. Twice.

"It's easier to work my schedule around the same day and time. Seems like a low-key night, too. So, how about next Thursday, same time?"

"Same time next week," Shelby replied with a nod, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. "Uhm, so. I guess I better let you get to work, huh?"

"Yeah. I'm always on them about being late. I guess I should be on time."

"Yep. So... okay." Shelby pulled at the latch and opened the door, gathered her purse and the plastic bag and stepped out of the car.

‘Damn, dude. You are dense. You're just gonna let her get out of the car and walk off, aren't you?'

"Shelby! Wait." JC lurched across the passenger seat and grabbed at her, nipping the hem of the long pair of shorts she wore. She stopped and slid back into the car, feet hanging out of the open door.

"Yes?" She was grinning, like she knew why he called her back. Like she'd been waiting for him to make the move he almost didn't make.

"I was thinking," he said, leaning across the seat, his face close to hers, his eyes on her lips. "Maybe I need something to look forward to, this week."

She smiled and tipped her head toward him, eyes closed, mouth open. He was tempted to just stare at her like that-he loved the moment right before a kiss, when both were so expectant, anticipating the feeling of lips mashing together and tongues intertwining. But he had to go, and he didn't want to go without kissing her, so he pressed his lips to hers, gently at first until her tongue teased his and he got kind of lost in it. He felt her fingers on his face, her thumb stroking at the prickly hairs growing there. Heard her-felt her moans, coming from deep in her chest. Or maybe they were his. He couldn't tell, anymore.

Sooner than he wanted to, he tore himself away from her, licking the taste of mint and lip gloss from his lips and breathing deeply. This was going to be a long week.

"Shelby."

She was slumped against the seat, eyes still closed, smiling. Yeah, he knew the feeling. "Yeah, JC."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but get the hell out of my car. If you don't get out of this car, I'm going to take you back to my house. But I really have to go to work, so get out."

She giggled and slid out again, walking that walk, that slow sexy sway to her car. Even in his old ratty basketball shorts and oversize t-shirt, that woman was amazing.

As soon as she was in her car and pulling away, he did the same, headed in the opposite direction, across Orlando to a studio he didn't really want to be in. Where he wanted to be was at her house. With her. In her bedroom. With her. In her bed. With her.

"Got it bad, son. Got it bad. Be careful.'

Shelby

She wouldn't let herself think about it. Relive it. Revel in it. Imagine it, dream it, hope and think and wish and pray about it.

At least not until she got to her house, and put the car in the garage, and put her things away, and checked the mail, and the voicemail, and the email. And then not until she'd fixed herself a drink, and a sandwich, and sat out by the pool with her feet in the water, listening to life being lived around her. And sniff his scent in the shirt she wore. Then she would let herself think about it.

"Not a bad evening," she said aloud, to no one. "Hell, not a bad morning and early afternoon, either," she added, grinning, her pelvis clenching and her stomach doing a little flip at the flashback. In her ear, she still heard the sounds he made. Her mind's eye still held the look he gave her when he was falling over the edge of his orgasm-eyes half closed, mouth open, strangled sounds coming from his throat. She rubbed her fingertips together, remembering how he felt, the texture of him, the strong, sinewy muscles under smooth skin. She could still taste him in her mouth and smell him in her nose. She laughed at little at things he said or did and how they took the whole experience to erotic heights she never dreamt were possible. Certainly had never experienced, before.

And wanted to experience again. She wanted to do it all, all over again. And again and again. He wanted it, too. It was pretty hard to hide, though he didn't even try to. She had to give him credit for that, not playing the callous jerk that didn't care because he met beautiful women that wanted to fuck him every day. If that was that case, he was good at hiding it, letting her feel pursued and wanted. Not making her chase him. He made it obvious that he wanted her. He liked her.

Inherent in the giddy celebration that he liked her, there was a problem. JC was curious about her. Either he was bad at hiding things, or he was the kind of guy that just put everything out there and let the chips fall. Pick up the pieces after. At any rate, he made it obvious that he wondered about her and was slightly annoyed at how she dodged questions about anything that had happened before she moved to Orlando. A lot of women played at being mysterious-it was some kind of tool or rule, or something that was supposed to attract men. Holding back details, allowing them to slowly be pulled until everything was out in the open, patience and perseverance rewarded with the feeling of closeness.

But Shelby wasn't trying to be mysterious. It wasn't her goal to rope him in with things he didn't know but wanted to know and would hang around until the details were spilled. In fact, the less she had to tell him, the better. There were really, truly things she didn't want JC to know. There were things she wasn't sure she could avoid telling him, but hoped she could hold off on letting him get close enough to find out on his own. As long as they kept it casual and fun, there was little chance he would have to find out about the woman she used to be.  This was fine, because her past, that woman she used to be, proved that casual was about all Shelby could handle.

Shelby heard the phone ringing in the house behind her and checked her watch. 6pm on the dot. Like clockwork, her mom was calling. In the few hundred feet between the pool and the phone on the wall in the kitchen, she decided that Renee didn't need to know about this latest development, about her first night being the woman she'd always wanted to be. Not quite yet. She needed to see where it was going, first.

JC

A guitar strummed, chords vibrating over each other in harmonious rhythm, over and over. A pause, and then the same chords, another pause, and then the same chords again.  JC sat in his writing room, dim bulb overhead, guitar in his lap, pen and notepad in front of him, in a zone. Something new was coming to him, a little bluesy and southern rock. It was going to sound great...if he could just get past the first measure. He muttered quietly, singing just under his breath, his eyes on the page in front of him, fingers on the strings at the neck of the acoustic guitar, guitar pick in hand.

Again, the strumming of the same chords rang out in the quiet room. "Believe in me, baby... there's nothing I would not do... believe in me, baby... I'd be so good for... so good for you...Believe in me, baby...I could never lie to you... believe in me, baby........ Shit."

"Well that doesn't rhyme at all," he heard behind him.

JC twisted in the cold aluminum chair to find Rod standing in the doorway, leaning around the doorjamb, dark eyes full of mirth, his smile matching. He was wearing his signature shorts and sleeveless t-shirt. Rod liked to flip through the tabloids and look at pictures of himself and after careful consideration, decided that his arms looked best in sleeveless t-shirts. They were almost all he wore-and so often that he only wore and endorsed a certain brand.

Sometimes JC had to just roll his eyes at Rod. He claimed to hate the very things he embraced-whoring himself out to a brand, tying himself to a name, playing the media and publicity game. Whatever, it worked for him. His star was the highest it had ever been and was steadily rising.

"What's up, man?" JC didn't get up, just stuck a hand out into the air. Rod took it and gave him a firm shake, entering the room a few steps. The room kind of creeped Rod out. He was a slightly claustrophobic, and really just considered the room to be an oversized closet. When the studio was being built, JC had to talk him into not turning it into a storage room and letting him have it, to work in.

JC nodded his head toward the guitar, strumming a few bars. "Just trying out something new, working out the kinks."

"I heard," said Rod. Crossed his arms, glancing down at his mammoth biceps. JC swore he wanted to stretch his head down and kiss one. It was hard not to roll his eyes. "It's not bad, so far. Lyrics are kind of simple, but with the right track, that shouldn't matter."

"Yeah, well..." JC sighed, glancing back at the paper full of scribbles, lines and notes jumbled together in a mess not even he understood anymore. "Might be time to put it away for a little bit. Let it marinate."

"Yeah, let that soak in, man. It'll come to you. And it'll sound good." Rod inched further into the room, leaning a shoulder up against the wall, moving his hands to the pockets of his long shorts. "Hey, what happened to you last week? It's not like you to cancel rehearsal. You're a machine, usually. You feel alright? Not getting sick, are you?"

"Well, you know. The thing, that night." JC waved a hand, nonchalant, letting it drop to his thigh, where he rubbed through his jeans. He wasn't nervous. Just needed something to do with his hands. "I figured no one would really be here, even if they were here. I hate wasting my time even more than trying to make people work."

"Understood. Even so, you're usually here working. You love being by yourself in the studio. You sure everything's alright, man?"

"Oh, yeah. Everything's great. I just... had a lot of stuff I could do at the house, you know? I've been working since I got to town. I hadn't even been to the mailbox yet, so I needed to catch up on my errands and chores. Stop by and see my mom. Things like that." JC leaned back, stretching his arms above him and yawned, then dropped his hands to the top of his head.  "Actually, I'm gonna try to cut out early next Thursday, too. It's a chill night. I'm sure the guys would appreciate more time with families and whatever."

"Sure. Sure. So, there isn't another reason you want to head out early on Thursday, is there?"

"Uh..." Shit. Stay calm. You had to mention that you were taking off early on Thursday! "What do you mean? Like what?"

"Like... a chick?" Rod laughed, rolling his eyes. "Come on. You got any yet?"

JC held up ten fingers in front of him, palms out. "This is how many days I have been back in town. I have been in this room, in this building, for eight of them. Are you kidding me?"

"Just checkin', man. This is your stomping ground. You should be able to dig up an oldie but goodie to hang out with, no problem. And you should, you know. Would loosen you up. Get Kim out of your brain, off your dick."

JC‘s head wagged in disagreement. "Already tried that. Ended up in a bed with some naked chick I didn't know and still don't remember, in Covina.  Remember? I'm fine, man. I'm fine. If I want a girl, I'm sure I can find one." ‘I know exactly where I can find one.'

"Just looking out for you." Rod turned to leave the room, the stress of having been in there for even a few minutes showing on his face. He glanced, with relief, toward the open door. "I'll be in my office. Send one of the guys when you're ready to go over some stuff."

"Sure will." JC watched Rod duck out of the room, listened to his footsteps shuffling through the studio and around the corner to his office, and waited a few seconds before wilting forward, his elbows balanced on the aluminum table in front of him, head in his hands. He could already tell that Shelby was going to bring him trouble. He was sure she was worth it.

Shelby

"WELCOME TO THE UNIVERSITY OF CENTRAL FLORIDA COLLEGE OF BUSINESS ADMINISTRATION," the pamphlet boasted.

The thick tri-fold brochure was bold and vivid in color, bearing an imprint of the UCF mascot and quotes from previous students about how much they loved attending UCF and what a great benefit the courses were. Shelby smirked at the testimonials, reaching for her mug of coffee and flipping it open.

Shelby was slightly ashamed at even having to go back to school. She was so close to finishing, to having a Business degree, and then working to raise capital, opening her own bar, running her own show, doing it her own way. But then she was distracted by the money, and the jewelry and the shopping sprees and the travel. Being Lucas' trophy and lapping up attention like a woman dying of thirst. The greener grass was most definitely on the other side of the fence, for her.

Having anything she wanted or needed at her fingertips made going to class a bore, even when Lucas encouraged her to finish, saying he'd put up the money for her Bar if she did. She intended to register for fall classes, but then there was the trip to Italy. The following spring was full of events and travel, dates Lucas had to be away and she didn't want to miss. He always seemed so disappointed if she couldn't be there and then he would hint at maybe finding someone else, which was a problem. A trap is what it was.

A year and then two years and then three years went by, while her mother and father pestered her and gently prodded her to go back and to finish. And here she was, five years later, finally doing it, Now that Lucas and the distraction and the attention were long gone and she had nothing, really, to show for it. Pathetic.

The house was quiet, not a sound but the sipping of coffee, the ticking of a clock, the pages in the brochure turning, a finger running down the catalogue of course descriptions. Her credits from Miami U should transfer. That meant she only really needed to take a year or so of classes. And if JC could hook her up with his friend at Antigua, she could brush up on mixology and business skills, and pick up on new versions of old drinks that were being served these days. She couldn't wait to get back behind a bar.

Her eyes drifted from the page to the wall at the mention of JC. She sat back in the kitchen chair, legs crossed and let her mind wander, smiling a little. A calendar hung on the refrigerator, a long, endless line of empty boxes, except for the box that marked Thursday.  8pm, SportsTown Billiards, picking me up.

One more day until she would see him again. Until she could touch him again, run her fingers through his hair again, feel his solid form move beneath her fingers again. She was craving him, like she'd crave a cigarette, or a piece of chocolate or a strong, sturdy drink. Her thighs involuntarily squeezed, bringing a twinge that rippled through her body. Nipples rising, breathing becoming shallow, lips dry. All in anticipation of him.

Shelby inhaled a deep, steadying breath, wiping away a few drops of sweat from her hairline. She checked her watch and looked over the mess on her dining room table. She still needed to go through the course catalog-registration was Monday. It would have to wait. She had a TV to go pick up.

JC

Thursday took about a month to arrive and then crept along, hour by hour. The guys were happy to be getting off early, but not very happy about the early rehearsal time to make up for it.

"Couldn't we have just taken the whole day off? We didn't get out of here until almost 3am today, and we're back at..." Duke craned his neck to see the face of Cole's watch. "2 o'clock? Do you sleep? Cause I sleep."

"You were supposed to be here at noon," Sam said, shaking his head and flipping through sheets of music in front of him.

"You know what, Sam? Fu-"

"Hey!" JC interrupted, his voice booming over the bickering. "Let's not say things we don't mean. Even if we do mean them. Rehearsal started at noon. We're behind, now and we're not leaving until we get this down. It's up to you guys. We can leave in two hours or six hours or eight hours. This is my life. Doesn't matter to me." 

He began to shuffle papers on the stand next to the keyboards, working hard to keep his expression blank. It was a veiled threat-he was leaving before traffic began to build up. He wanted to get in a shower, shave, pick up the house a little, in case he and Shelby ended up back at his place. He had to laugh, because he almost didn't recognize himself. He used to spend hours in the studio. Days on end, not eating or sleeping, but writing and creating and mixing and fixing. After a few days, someone would sniff him out, come find him, drag him out for some sunlight and sustenance. As soon as he could get away, though he was back to it. That old JC would never cut work short to go out on a date.

Well, that old JC spent a lot of time masturbating and sulking over being hurt by various women, using other women to heal those hurts and still ending up in pain, alone in a studio, rolling a pencil back and forth and wondering what the fuck he was doing wrong.

"Oh, are we ready?" JC lifted his head from his pages to find all five members on the platform, staring at him and waiting for a cue. "Good to see you guys showed up for work. Can't Get Enough, from the top."

~ ~ ~

Traffic across Orlando was almost unbearable. And it was only Thursday. Friday would be even worse. He was hot, baking in the car, one among hundreds of cars baking on the interstate, just trying to make it across town.  To home. To his date with Shelby. The thought of her brought a happy feeling, a smile to his lips and a narrowing to his eyes and a twitch to his dick. He was very much looking forward to seeing her.

Much later than necessary, he was finally pulling into his driveway, into the garage, and rushing into the house. Straight through the kitchen and up the stairs, tearing off clothes as he went, jumping into a quick shower, and then back out. Naked, he ambled into the closet to stare at his wardrobe.

He was a big fan of organization, from his clothes to his shoes, and even his hats. His jeans and slacks hung from one side of the fancy, expensive closet organization system that Joey, his old band mate, convinced him that he just had to have. He did admit that it made things easier to find, just not easy to decide which pair of stylishly ripped and old-looking brand new pair of jeans he would wear. And which casual yet expensive shirt he would wear with it. Looking around his closet, he could admit he was a little bit of a clothes horse. He did like to be stylish, after all. He ended up wearing the same things over and over because they were worn and comfortable, shaped to fit his body, molded to him. They gave him a sense of security.

He pulled out a pair of jeans that were pretty much like all the others hanging there, just a hair of a shade darker, then closed his eyes and grabbed at a shirt. Whichever one he picked, he was wearing. Unless he didn't like it. He opened his eyes to find a blue and white plaid short sleeved shirt, crisp and fresh from the dry cleaner. He shrugged and walked out of the closet, grabbing a pair of boxers and socks out of a drawer on the way. It would do-and if he had his way, he'd only be wearing it for a few hours.

He whistled while he dressed, the same tune he'd been trying to write earlier in the week. It was coming to him, slowly. He wasn't sure if it was a song for Rod or for another artist... or a song for himself, which surprised him. He hadn't written a song for himself in ages. Thoughts of recording a follow-up album to his first two were fleeting. Any real serious effort toward it had been long given up. He was pretty sure that Shelby was the reason he was even thinking of it. Leave it to a woman to be a muse and to inspire him, at a time when he neither had the time nor the will to record for himself. ‘Oh, well. Maybe I'll sell it to someone.'  He was still good for that, anyway.

The directions Shelby gave to her house were easy to follow, aided by the fact that she didn't even live fifteen minutes from him. Her subdivision was slightly older than his, but still full of sprawling, brick front homes that boasted three car garages and near Olympic sized pools behind them. There was a view of Grand Lake but no direct access, unlike Lake Virginia, where the homes were built directly on the bank. Still, it was peaceful driving through the streets, looking for her house. She said she was on a dead end road, the third one in.

JC turned into the driveway of an elegant European style home. Lush, green palm trees flanked the white brick single story structure, and as he parked and walked to the front door, he noted a path leading to a wrought iron fence. Beyond that, a pool of calm, sparkling blue water was just visible from the front of the house.

The large, heavy door, painted with a shiny black lacquer, swung open before he could even lift the round knocker. Shelby stood in the doorway, dressed but barefoot. JC could hardly breathe, walking past her as she let him in, phone plastered to her ear, a smile on her lips as she talked.

"Okay, mom," she was saying, closing the door behind him, the sound echoing up into vaulted ceilings. "I've gotta go. I'm taking your advice and leaving the house." She laughed into the mouthpiece, wiggling a few fingers at him. "None of your business. I'm just going out. I'll be careful, I promise. Talk to you tomorrow. Love you."

Shelby smiled and sighed at the phone, then set it on the table in the hallway near the door, next to her purse. "Watch me forget that, later," she said, rolling her eyes. "So, hi. Welcome to my house. I'm almost ready; I just need to find the shoes I want to wear. Be right back okay?"

"Sure," he mumbled, watching her walk past him in a form fitting pair of jeans and white blouse. It was lacy; almost see through but not quite. The neckline was still plunging, though and the curve of her breast was still so very apparent and the shape of her ass in those jeans was doing things to him. Good things. Good things that felt good.

JC stood in the hallway, not really knowing what to do with himself. He didn't want to be a snoop but he figured looking around wouldn't be too much of a sin, so he ventured further down the hall, past the kitchen, spacious and clean. He was jealous of her ceramic tile. If only it had been popular when his house was built. Her appliances were stainless steel and shiny. Not a finger smudge on them to be found.  The kitchen opened into the dining room, where a stately six person table took up most of the space. A blooming bouquet of flowers was the centerpiece, filling the room with a heady, pleasant aroma. There were windows everywhere, floor to ceiling but Shelby had the blinds drawn and closed.  He imagined it had to get hot, in there.

Across from the dining room was the den. A flat panel TV hung on a wall above a brick fireplace, opposite a couch, a loveseat and a plush chair, all in matching supple leather, cream in color. Coordinating pillows and ottomans and wall art hung, bringing the room together into something cozy and comfortable. He felt at home, in Shelby's living room.

"Hey, there you are." Her voice startled him and he whipped around, suddenly feeling guilty. Was he supposed to stay in the hallway?

"Oh, sorry. I was just looking around. Nice in here. I like your floors." He tapped his sneakered foot at the dark, shiny wood laid about, covered in area and throw rugs in the dining room and den. 

Shelby was slipping an earring into her ear, a shiny, silver hoop. Her pouty lips bent into a smile and she winked at him. He looked down, noting her jean clad legs tucked into the sexiest boots he had ever seen in his life.

"No problem. I should have showed you around. I'm so rude. I wanted you to see this painting. We talked about art, last week, remember? I said I'd show you my Pop Art." 

Her scent was alluring as she walked around him, leading him further into the living room and pointed at the back wall. Bold, vivid flowers lay against a backdrop of bright green grass in the painting that hung above the couch JC glanced over at Shelby, so casual and nonchalant about it, hands on her hips.

"Shelby. That's a Warhol. That's not just Pop Art."

"Well, yeah," she said, her forehead wrinkling. "Did you think I meant Dogs Playing Poker?"

"I-no. No, of course not. I mean... I guess I didn't think you meant you owned a Warhol. Like a valuable Warhol painting. How long have you had it?"

"Mmmm..." Shelby tilted her head, lost in thought. "About three years? I think? It was a gift from uhm... an ex-boyfriend."

"Wow. Some ex-boyfriend." What was that feeling? That shot, that pang that ricocheted through his heart and blew right through his gut? Jealousy? That painting was worth at least $5million. Someone had loved her an awful, awful lot. JC swallowed, hard. It almost frightened him that he'd met a woman that left someone that loved her that much.

"Yeah. He was pretty generous." Her face clouded, then and the old pained expression came back. "I'm ready, if you are."

"I'm ready. Let's go."

Shelby

She wondered if her neighbors had any idea what was happening around them. Or did they even care that JC Chasez just pulled into their neighborhood, and picked up one of their neighbors for a date? Probably not. All the same, Shelby took a quick look around as she slid into the car. JC closed the door behind her and then walked around to his side and slid into his seat beside her.

"We ready?" He was smiling, his eyes were sparkling, his face was handsome.

"Let's roll," she answered, finally breathing a sigh of relief. Date night had arrived. "So I figured we'd hang out and whatever and then we could go back to my place, if you want. I uhm... stopped and picked up a chocolate torte, for later. And some wine."

JC kept his eyes on the road but let his hand wander across to her seat, finding her thigh and squeezing it. "I thought we'd try something different tonight, but old faithful chocolate will do just fine, if that's what you want."

"Well, I really just want you to come back and hang the TV I got for my bedroom."

"See. I feel used."

"You offered."

"I know! I feel used by myself. I just can't help but offer. People don't have to accept my offers, though." He shot a quick look at her, while stopped at a red light. She was smiling, disregarding his playful rant. "I'm happy to help, honey. I'll definitely hang your TV for you." He squeezed her thigh again. The light turned green and the car was in motion, again.

"You play much pool?"

He shrugged. "Now and again. I don't suck at it, but I'm not like, a champion at it, or anything. You?"

"No, I totally suck at it," she answered, giggling as she watched Orlando fly by outside her window.

"Oh. Well we don't have to go to this place, if you don't want to.  I just thought it would be fun and kind of out of the way-"

"JC." She gave a pat to his hand, still gripping her thigh. "I love pool. I just suck at it. And since you're good at it, or better than I am, probably, maybe you can show me some tips." A nail dragged across his wrist and up the inside of his arm. A shiver started at that point and shook all the way up his arm. He squirmed in his seat. "You could give me some pointers."

"I'm giving you a pointer, right now."

"Are you, really?"

JC glanced down at his jeans, and then back up at Shelby and then back to the road. "Yeah. Definitely."

"Can I feel it?"

"In the car?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Uhm..." He looked around them, at the cars passing by, oblivious to the midnight blue Mercedes on the road with them. "Sure. Go for it."

Shelby reached across the center console and gripped his thigh, moving her way up until she found it. Long, thick, veiny, throbbing, even through denim. "Hmmmmm...."

"Hmmm? Hmmm, what?"

"Hmmmm, I'm thinking about you showing me how to shoot pool. Having to stand behind me. Real close. You know what I mean?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "Yeah, I know what you mean."

"You didn't even kiss me," she blurted, suddenly. The thought popped into her head and fell out of her mouth, without even realizing it was coming.

"You know what, I didn't. You were on the phone, and then you ran away. I'll fix that in about five minutes, if you can hang on."

Her fingers gripped the mass between his legs. "I can if you can."

"Teasin' me, woman. Gonna make it hard on yourself, later."

"Oh, I'm hoping so. I'm really hoping so."

SportsTown Billiards was located in a strip mall, in an older part of Orlando. The building was low slung, painted with a tannish brown color, day-glo blue sign hanging over the door that likely burned into the night as people drove by, beckoning them from the highway. Inside, the floor was black and white checkered tile, scuffed with footprints and shoe marks, yellowed from the years of traffic and layers of floor wax. Across the long, narrow room were billiard and foosball tables. Beyond those was a cafe, closed off from the rest of the area by floor to ceiling glass partition and a revolving door. The café was outfitted with booths and tables with red and white tablecloths, all with perfect views of flat screens hung around the room.

Shelby was not much of a sports fan, but had learned to keep up. Women who knew what team was actually playing got better tips than the ones who had no idea what was going on. Male patrons were more likely at a bar that had TV's to watch a game, not simply to have a drink. When a man bellied up to the bar, his eyes focused on a game, she wanted to be able to say, "Steelers are winning. We celebrating, or drowning our sorrows?"

JC led her through the room with the billiard tables, through the revolving door and to the Hostess Stand in the cafe, where they waited for someone to show them to a table. JC's hands were shoved in his pockets, balled into fists that she could see through his jeans. He looked around the establishment, eyes taking in the scene from right to left, his head slightly bobbing to the beat of music overhead.

A young, perky hostess walked toward the stand, a bright smile on her face. "Two?"

JC nodded at her, returning her smile while she pulled two menus from the stand and turned around to walk toward the booths. Shelby followed her, and JC followed Shelby to their table, sliding in across from her and flipping open the menu.

"I hear the food here is really good. Like, unusually good."

"Awesome. I'm kind of hungry." Shelby flipped open the menu, scanned it, then flipped it over to check the back and side flaps.

"What? What are you looking for?"

"Where's the rest of it? There's like, eight items on the menu and six of them are Cuban sandwiches."

"Oh." JC glanced down the menu and blanched. "I guess they changed the menu since the last time I was here. They used to have like, hot dogs and burgers and stuff. You know... billiards food. I'm sorry. You want to go someplace else?"

"No, no. I'm fine. I like Cubans."

"Really, Shelby. We can go somewhere else, if you want."

"I'm fine." She slid her feet across the floor and hooked them around his legs. He smiled half a smile at her and flipped his menu to the drinks on the back.

"You want anything to drink? I'll go up to the bar and get it."

"Yeah. Surprise me. Something good."

He got up from the table and walked the few feet across the room the bar, placing his order and then waiting for it, then coming back with two bottles of beer.

"This is turning out to be a bad date," he said, sliding an open bottle of Amber Bock over to her.

"What? Why? No, it's not."

"First no food, now no shots. They have beer and like, wine coolers and wine. No actual liquor, so no shots."

"Oh. Well. We'll just have to do them later." Shelby winked and went back to the menu.

"Are you always this agreeable?"

"Nope. I'm being good."

"Stop being good. Do you want to go someplace else?"

She glanced up, her eyes wide. "No. I don't. Stop asking. Do you want to go someplace else?"

"No. I'm fine. I just... don't want you talking to your girlfriends or your mom later, about how I was a cheapass and didn't even buy you a shot."

"Well, don't be a cheapass and we won't have to worry about that, will we?" She slid the open bottle closer to her and took a swallow, smacking her lips at the light toasted caramel flavor. "Hmm. I can't say I've ever had this beer before. Besides, I don't have girlfriends."

"None? Not even back in Miami?"

"Nope."

"So who do you hang out with? Yourself?"

"I think I'm very pleasant company."

"I'm not arguing with that. Just asking."

"Do you think it would be weird if I said I liked being alone?"

"No. I like being alone too. Kind of a homebody. Causes me problems, actually."

"How so?"

"Well, I mean, if I'm dating, or whatever. I'm not much for going out, and stuff. Nights on the town and all that. I'm not very like... I'm not a showy romantic, so I'm never gonna surprise a girl with like, a moonlight cruise or anything. I might be able to handle a candlelit dinner. It's not that I don't think girls deserve showy romance; it's that it never comes to my mind to do things like that. I think it's awesome to just be at home together, you know?  I can watch any movie I want, whenever I want, from the comfort of my living room. Listen to whatever music I want to listen to. Eat whatever food I order."

He stopped to chuckle for a moment at his lack of cooking ability. "I have these great spaces I create so I can live in them. And I do live in them. So, I get it, if you just like being alone. I think it's more than that, though."

"Could be." She folded the menu and slid it between the wall and the grouping of condiments at the end of the table. "I don't really want to talk about it though."

"Right. No pasts, no futures." JC took a swig of his beer, swallowing slowly, checking out the label, then muttering to himself. "You girls love being mysterious."

"JC."

His eyes popped up and he seemed to jump at the expression on her face. The one that said she was none too pleased. "Yeah."

"If you plan on getting anywhere near my body tonight, you will remember that I am a woman, not a girl. And I am a lady, and muttering about me, in front of me, is rude."

JC flushed a deep crimson and winced at her words as they made their impact. "Sorry. I'm really sorry."

"It's okay. Just stop doing it."

"I mean... it's hard to get to know you without asking about things that have already happened, qualified as the past. Or talking about things that are going to happen, qualified as the future. We already did the small talk thing. I know your favorite color and what kind of food you like to eat. What else are we supposed to talk about?"

"How's work? Let's talk about that."

JC was quiet, almost glaring across the table at her. She stood her ground, keeping her expression pleasant, a slight smile on her lips between sips. Finally, he broke the stare and sat back.

"Fine. Want to talk about work? Work's great. If I can keep the guys from tearing each other apart, before we even start planning the tour, work will be fantastic. And this move will be worth it."

"You've been in town for like, two weeks. You're already worried that it's not worth it?"

He gave a shrug, looking beyond her to the waitress approaching. "Are you ready to order?"

"Yeah. I'll have one of the eight Cubans and fries, I guess. And another beer that isn't this." She pushed the half full bottle to the side. "Kind of weak, not my style."

JC laughed, sliding her bottle to his side of the table so he could finish it. "You're a very interesting person, Shelby woman. Even though I know nothing about you."

"You know plenty, JC. How much more do you need to know?"

"Everything. I need to know everything about you. Backward and forward, up and down, all of it."

It was Shelby's turn to almost glare across the table, an awkward, tense silence between them. "Look. I know you won't understand this. I don't expect you to. And I don't expect you to be all happy about accepting it, either." She leaned forward, arms on the table, her voice as gentle as possible while lowering the boom. "I can't tell you everything about me, JC. Backward and forward, up and down, everything, I can't tell you. And you don't want to know. Please, just trust me on this. You and I both know what this is." She indicated the two of them with a finger back and forth. "Let's not turn it into more than that. I guarantee you that it will not turn out like you want it to."

JC's eyes, almost crystal clear pools of blue, gazed at her from across the small, wooden table, years of use etched into its surface. When he blinked, it didn't seem to be because he was contrite and in agreement. No, much to her disappointment, she saw fire behind those lucid pools. She should have known he wouldn't give up.

JC

Dinner was great.  If stilted, tense small talk over hot sandwiches and fries was anyone's idea of a great meal.

JC wasn't very fond of the sudden tension between them. If there was going to be tension, he wanted it to be sexual and animal. He wanted it to be because they were holding out and keeping feelings and needs and wants at bay, not because he had inadvertently demanded to know more than he needed to know about Shelby.  JC wasn't a fighter, really. If pushed, he would definitely tell you how he really, really deep down felt, but the occasions where that happened had been few, in his life. It wasn't as if he was going to sit there and argue with her. If she didn't want to talk, fine. They'd move on. Shelby was visibly upset, though, and as much as he wanted the promised and expected sexual escapade later that night, he didn't want her mad at him. A major move to set the wheels in motion to reverse was in order. 

Playing pool with Shelby was fun. Sexy and flirty and fun, when she let him stand behind her and show her a move, how to hold the stick, how to aim for a pocket. Not as fun as it could have been, had he not been an asshole before dinner. JC wondered if most guys spent dates mentally smacking themselves in the forehead. He should have this part down pat-why was this so hard?

Just before sunset, JC and Shelby were leaving the pool hall. The narrow room was filling up, getting loud and rowdy with a crowd of people neither of them felt comfortable around. There was already a waiting list for tables, and a small but growing group of girls who didn't seem to be waiting for billiard or foosball tables. They were oddly interested in JC and Shelby's game, so much that the attention was uncomfortable. When JC gathered all of the balls together and took their pool cues to the front desk, there was an audible ‘awwwwwwwww'among the crowd. 

"I'm not gonna be able to get out of this," he muttered to her. "I'll meet you out front in a few, okay?"

JC took a few photographs, signed a few autographs, answered a few questions before he begged off and went in search of Shelby. He found her, leaning up against the car, orange glow of the setting sun behind her. He found it ironic that she looked so angelic, with a halo of rays behind her, seeing as how he really hoped they were going to be very, very evil later on.

"I want to take you somewhere special," he said, after he let her into the car and slid in beside her. "Well, special to me. Is that okay?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Always," he answered, studying her expression. Was she serious? "Would you rather go home?"

Her face softened into a smile. She reached across the armrest and smacked his arm. "I'm playing with you, JC. Relax, geez. You told me to stop being good."

"Yeah. I did." JC started the engine and pulled out of the parking spot.

"Do you regret saying that, now?"

"Not at all," he said quietly, punching at the CD changer. The radio station chatter disappeared and eclectic piano sounds filled the car. "This is my buddy, right here. He's pretty talented."

Most of the CD played as JC drove into the sunset, to what looked like the outskirts of town.  He navigated city streets with ease and familiarity-a turn here, a turn there, until they ended up high on a cliff, overlooking downtown Orlando, all sparkling lights and from one end of the vista to the other.

"Probably one of my most favorite spots, here. When I wanted to get away from it all, from everything and everyone I'd come up here. Sit up here and stare at the lights and bring some paper and a pen. And just... write. Think. Sing. Talk. Whatever."

"This view is breathtaking. People don't think about this, when they think about Orlando. Seems peaceful, and so quiet."

"It is. That's why I wanted to bring you up here, in case you were looking for that. Some peace and quiet, where the world isn't tumbling around you, all in a roar, and you can look at something beautiful and think."

"Do I seem to need that?"

"I'm not trying to put words in your mouth, or talk about whatever situation you're in. I'm just trying to help. I mean, it's gotta beat Publix."

"Oh. Well. Thank you."

"Shelby..." He turned in the leather seat, making a swish sound underneath the soft sounds of piano. "About earlier, before dinner. I'm not trying to be an ass. It's just... you can't expect me to meet you and know you and share what we've shared and for me to not be curious about you. I'm not nosy, I swear, but it's killing me to not know whatever it is you're hiding."

"I know," she said, her head bowed, her voice low. She turned to face him, sitting sideways in the seat. "You shouldn't have to apologize. And I didn't have to be such a bitch about it. I do understand the curiosity. All that stuff you want to know about me is because you want to mean something to me. And you want me to mean something to you. But I don't want anything from you. At all. I'm serious about that. I'm not gunning to be your girlfriend or significant other, or anything."

"So this is all just sex for you?"

"No. No, it's not just sex. I mean... I don't know. I don't mean it's all meaningless. I'm just saying that I'm not looking for a commitment or anything permanent from you. I would think that would be a relief to you."

"You would think, yeah. I guess I never really met a girl... woman... that meant that. Usually they say that and then three weeks later, it's like ‘aren't you more attracted to me, because I said I didn't want anything,' and then I just get all confused and feel trapped."

"So now you can relax, right? I'm not in a position to want more from you, because I can't give anymore than I'm giving. If that can't be enough, then this should be the last week we see each other."

"No!" The sudden burst of noise and protest even startled him. His head shot up and his mouth opened and the word exploded out of him. "I mean... no.  I'll deal with it, until I can't anymore. I'll try. I don't want to not see you again. However it will work for you, that's fine."

"I mean... I want to hang out with you and be your friend and have fun and the sex is... amazing. I don't want to hold anything hostage, and say it's my way or the highway. I need you to be sure you can handle this."

"I'll make it work." JC leaned across the armrest, took her chin in his palm and tipped her head up so he could reach her lips. Softly, he brushed against them, over and over until her mouth opened and tongues could dance and play together. Shelby seemed to wilt against the seat, melting into the leather, falling into the kiss. They parted, but remained close, two faces mere inches from each other, illuminated only by the glow of city lights from below.

"I was thinking about you, today," she said, her sultry tone interrupting the quiet.

"Yeah? That makes two of us. I mean, I was thinking about you. I had to threaten the guys today that we'd stay until they got this one part down, no matter how long it took. Total fake out." He chuckled, fingering the buttons on the face of the stereo system, now off. "Six o'clock, I was gone, man."

"Well, I'm glad you made it. I would have been disappointed if I couldn't see you."

"Me too. Bad date and all."

Shelby laughed. "This is the best bad date, ever."

"I know, right? Well. I hope I fixed it. Not just because I want sex later, but I mean... you can't keep me from caring about you. The less you tell me the more I'm concerned. And I know, I know. I'm not gonna keep pushing. Just making sure you hear me."

"I hear you." She leaned forward and kissed him, and then pulled back. "And thank you."

The air over Orlando was chilly, especially at the height of the cliff. Shelby shivered and crossed her bare arms. "Are you cold? I can turn the air on."

"Actually... this view is great. Really beautiful. Thank you for bringing me here...but I'm ready for some wine and some chocolate and a nice fire in the fireplace. And some you. Can we go?"

"Honey, I have never heard a better idea in my life."

Shelby

The drive back through the city and then on to Winter Park was quiet, but no longer tense. Shelby was afraid that tonight would be their last night together, their last date, the last time she could stand to keep turning him away. He was sweet to care, and it wasn't at all that she didn't want to open up to him. It would just bring more trouble, and he didn't sign up for that. It would be much better for the both of them if she could keep her issues, her troubles, her past to herself.

They arrived back at Shelby's house in record time, since traffic was back to its normal busy but-not-jammed state. It wasn't even that bad, compared to Miami, and the rumors of LA traffic. JC's car wasn't an uncomfortable ride and JC wasn't bad company, either. Except for a few porch lights dotting the darkness, the neighborhood was quiet as the sleek car cut through the suburban streets.

Shelby let him in through the front door, their footsteps echoing on the wood floor. Before she could reach for the hallway light switch, JC grabbed her wrist and pulled her to him, wrapping her arm around his waist, gripping the back of her neck, walking her backwards, up against the door. She was breathless, both in surprise and sudden arousal. He stepped between her legs, pushing himself into her, his head tipped to the side of her neck, hot breath and lips and teeth licking and nipping all the way up and then back down, and then around to the other side.

A strangled cry worked its way out of her throat while her hands made themselves busy roaming his body, one firmly attached to an ass check, the other making the rounds from his back to his neck and shoulders and arms and around again.

"You still mad at me?" It wasn't so much asked as mumbled while his lips made their way to her mouth, capturing her tongue and holding it hostage. "Hmmm?"

"Hmmmmmm," was all she could manage before she tore her mouth from his. "Do I seem mad, mad right now?"

He chuckled, and thrust himself into her, working his hips in sensuous circles, the bulge in tight denim pressing and pressing and pressing against her. "You're kind of sassy, Shelby woman. I like that about you."

"Good. There's a lot more where that came from."

"Yeah?" He was gone, suddenly. There was air between them. Her body instantly missed his, craved his, yearned for his. Her nipples seemed to harden and reach out for him to touch them. "Show me."

Without another word, Shelby grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him down the hall and around the corner to her bedroom, spacious and cool and painted in soothing colors, because that was supposed to be able to help her sleep. At least when she was laying there reading or staring off into space instead of sleeping, she was calm.  She snapped on a bedside lamp, bathing the room in low light, and turned around to face him.

JC was looking around, his eyes taking in almost every inch of the room from the canopy bed of dark brown walnut to the matching furniture and bay window that gave her a perfect view of Grand Lake and the surrounding forest. He took notice of an oversized box standing neatly against the wall.

He nodded toward the box. "Is that the TV you want hung?"

"Yeah."

"How big? Do you have the hardware and stuff?"

"42 inches. There's a bracket and screws and I have tools in the garage." JC walked around Shelby, around the bed, and kneeled in front of the box. He laid it on its side and opened it, sliding out the Styrofoam encased contents.

"Very nice. Good brand, perfect size, for this room." He reached into the box and pulled out the plastic packet holding the steel bracket, nails, screws, washers, and instructions. "This should be great to hold it. It swivels. That's cool."

"I don't believe you're looking through that big damn box when we're in my bedroom, feet from a bed and I'm horny as fuck. Get over here!"

"Oh." As if a light bulb went off over his head, he dropped the bracket and stood, laughing as he came back around the bed.

Shelby laughed crawling up onto the bed, boots and all. "Ohhhhhh..."

"Sorry, honey. Me man, see electronics, get stupid."

"This is why men need women. I'm sure of it." Shelby laid back on the bed, arms above her head. "Come to me, you sexy beast."

"On my way," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed, bending over. "Just a second."

"What are you doing?"

"Taking off my shoes."

"Oh, for fuck's sake. You're untying them? Just kick ‘em off."

"Can't. That stretches them out. It'll be just a second."

"Fuck, JC. Throw caution to the wind. Get up here. Shoes and everything."

"I can't. I know you can, and I personally think that position right there, with the boots, is very hot and I'm begging you to please not move. But I can't get on your bed with my shoes on."

Shelby giggled, watching his fingers move until the strings were untied on each shoe and he had slipped them off. "Okay, here I come."

He climbed up the side of the bed and landed on her, between her open legs, his mouth immediately finding hers, his hips automatically grinding into her. Her legs flew around his body, the shiny plastic of her boots squeaking as they rubbed against each other, riding his movements as he pushed and gyrated against her.

Shelby was panting and white hot, thrusting her hips up and into him. "That feels... so good..."

JC only hummed in agreement, his breath hot and fast in her ear, on her skin, in her mouth. He moved himself down so he was eye level to her chest, kissing the swell of one breast and then the other, all the way down the deep neckline to the first button. One by one, he undid them with his teeth, popping each button open while she watched. When he reached the last one, he spread each side of her blouse open let out a long, low moan.

Shelby smiled down at him. She had been hoping for that reaction-the glassed over eyes, the heavy lids, the open mouth, the irresistible pull of him down to her chest, where he could lick and suck and flick to his heart's content. And hers.

She lifted a leg into the air, before he could dive in. "If you unzip my boots, I can take my jeans off."

"Oh, now you want them off."

"It's all about presentation, baby."

"You know what..."  JC fingered the shiny material and then the stiletto heel. "I think we should take your jeans off and put the boots back on. These are redhot."

"Done. Unzip them, please."

JC did as he was asked, slowly pulling the zipper down each boot and pulling it off, and then setting them to the side while she slipped off her jeans and dropped them to the floor. Then, with his help, she put the boots back on, letting him zip them up.

"Yeah, I like that," he was muttering, his eyes roving her, hands following, top to bottom.  

"Don't you want to join me? Get more comfortable?"

"You read my mind," he said, pulling his shirt and t-shirt over his head, unbuttoning his jeans and kicking them off, leaving him in a plain pair of white briefs, the old fashioned, plain as day kind. "Laundry day," he said, chuckling at himself. "You want ‘em off, or..."

An eyebrow rose. What a silly question. "Can't fuck me with them on, now can you?"

"Uh. I can, but we're not gonna get into that right now." He laughed and pulled them down his hips.

Shelby had to remind herself to breathe, seeing him for the first time in a week. He was just as long and just as thick and just as beautiful as he was seven days before, if not more. She didn't even try to stop herself from licking her lips in anticipation. Rather, she sat up far enough to grab him by the shoulders and pull him down on top of her and then rolled them so she was on top.

"You like my parlor tricks?"

JC grinned, so wide she couldn't even see his eyes. "Pretty sexy. What are you gonna do, up there?"

"You'll find out. Close your eyes. Keep them closed. I know you like to watch, but just feel it." JC laid back, arms above his head, legs open to make room for her, eyes closed.

There was something inherently manly about JC. He wasn't overtly macho, nor was he showy in feats of strength or brute force. He was quiet, more the strong, silent type, likely to be found in a corner, watching the action take place in a room than in the center of attention. There was so much to him that he kept hidden and covered up, but not because he seemed ashamed, or shy or even modest-it was just his style. He offered strength and a calm that not even she was able to produce for herself. In the storm that was her life, the waves didn't seem to rock as hard, or as violently when he was around, the ability to bring peace seemingly a natural skill for him. She couldn't help but think about things like that, while exploring his body, naming off all the things that made him sexy to her, that made him irresistible, that made her seek him out and want to be near him.

Her finger traced a path down the center of his chest, past his well developed midsection, past his navel to the thin trail of hair that led to a pulsing, throbbing mass of heat and muscle and skin. Her hands worked around him, kneading and rubbing and touching, as her lips followed the trail, kissing and biting and making little suction sounds. His eyes were still closed but his mouth was open, erotic groans accompanying bucking hips, trying to make connection with her lips. And then, when he seemed to least expect it, she let her tongue slide around the head, circling quickly in a spiral, licking up any evidence that he was very much aroused.

‘Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuucccccckkkkkkkk."

"Mmmhhmmmm," she hummed, closing her mouth over him and slowly working her way down.  JC was shaking, shuddering as her mouth rode him, hot and wet, humming and moaning while he bucked and jerked and rolled his hips in time, his mouth open and phrases pouring out and into the air between them.

His hands moved from above his head to her hair, at some points holding her still while he did all the work, until he was beet red and barely breathing and pulsing in her mouth.

"I'm gonna come. I'm gonna come. I'm gonna...shit......"

He seemed to breathe sighs of relief and elation as he pumped into her mouth, still holding her head but not tightly. More like something to hang onto, until his strength was sapped and his arms fell back against the bed.  His grin was a mile wide, his eyes still closed as Shelby pulled off, and then kissed her way back up the path to his face, kissing him, letting him taste his salty, almondy, almost bitter flavor.

"How was that? Good?"

JC only groaned in response, the red in his skin fading, his breathing slowing to normal. Shelby chuckled and crawled around to lay next to him, oddly satisfied, herself.

JC

That woman and her mouth were going to bring him lots and lots of trouble. The way she used it was like magic. No two blow jobs were ever the same but... damn, she was good at it.

JC had a plan in his head and a need he wanted to fulfill for her. As soon as he could move.

Before he even realized he had fallen asleep, he was awake, again, in the same position, but alone in the bed. He laid there for a few minutes, listening to the sounds of Shelby wandering around in the house. Her bra and blouse were laid at the foot of the bed... so was she naked?

JC sat up, rifling through the pockets of his jeans, retrieving a condom and hurriedly rolling it on, then stepping out into the hallway in search of her. He could see a band of light shining from around the corner, and a heard drawer opening in the kitchen, utensils clanging against each other. Slowly, quietly, he crept around the corner and peeked into the kitchen.

Shelby was nude, except for the shiny black boots. The lights were off, except for a light above the stove. Her hair hung down her back, long and sleek, drawing his eye all the way down the back of her body. He eased into the kitchen and stepped behind her, pressing into the small of her back. He expected her to jump, but she didn't. Instead she pushed back against him, heaving a breathy sigh. On the counter in front of her were the chocolate torte and two dessert plates, the bottle of wine and two glasses.

He gathered her hair and moved it to one side, over her shoulder and then commenced to rubbing her, feeling her from her shoulders to her knees, front to back and front again, then cupping her breasts and playing with the hard, eraser tip nipples, standing so close to her, still., right up against her, warm hardness between them.

"Chocolate and wine and you. Trifecta." His lips nibbled at her ear.  He could see her smile, even more so as she turned her head toward him and brushed her lips against his.

"You want some? Some chocolate, some wine, some me?"

He sucked in a breath and exhaled, shuddering in her ear, pressing into her as she pushed back. "Yeah. All of it. "

Shelby dipped a finger into the torte, digging out a chunk of it, and then turning around so he could see her smearing the thick, rich chocolate over her chest, around each nipple, down the center of her midsection.

"Then come and get it."

~ ~ ~

JC

"No, it's more of a Lenny Kravitz, bluesy type sound. You know his song It Ain't Over Till It's Over? The bass in the background is ‘bowbow... da da doom da da da da bowbow'.  And then it switches chords, and goes again, ‘bowbow... da da doom da da da da bowbow'. That's the vibe we're going for."

JC bobbed his head as Duke's nimble fingers worked the strings of the bass guitar, filling the room with deep sounds, working his way across the notes on the page.  Duke joined JC in keeping the beat, except he did it with a booted foot, tapping in time to the rhythm.

He wasn't a much of a smiler. In fact, Duke very seldom showed any kind of pleasure on his face, his expression normally stony, adding an air of distaste whenever he had to work with JC. Today though, if JC wasn't mistaken, Duke was pleased. He had a part all to himself, in a new song. The bass line was the most prominent sound, giving him a chance to showcase his skills where he was meant to stand out.

"Sounding good in here. I like that." Rod's voice came from around the corner, heard before he was seen entering the rehearsal room. He stood next to JC, leaning against a waist high speaker, arms crossed, watching Duke play. "Is this the new one you told me about?"

"Yep." JC nodded, his eyes and ears on the bass until the section was finished. "And then right there is where we flow into the chorus, and everyone else joins in. Around bar four, they drop out again, and it's all you, but you've got to be ready for it, because the rhythm changes."

Duke squinted, appeared confused. "Well, couldn't I drop the last note of the chorus, to catch the rhythm of verse two?"

JC shook his head, lips pursed in deep thought. "Live, maybe. For the studio recording, I think it'll catch and sound weird." Duke rolled his eyes. "Okay, you know what? We'll try it both ways. If you can't tell, fine. It sticks. But I'm telling you," JC tapped his temple. "In here, it doesn't sound right."

"Well in here," Duke tapped his chest, just above his heart. "It sounds fine. But you're the MD, so we'll try it your way."

JC laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. Duke made a joke. At least he hoped it was a joke. "Appreciate that. Let's take five, and then I want to get everyone together to go over this new song."

Duke gingerly set the instrument back onto its stand and left the room, his heavy boots pounding along the carpeted floor. JC dropped into a chair, and tapped his laptop. The screensaver popped off and his music composition program came to life. He scrolled a few screens, sent a page to print, and then, whistling a few bars of the new song, turned in his chair to pick up the pages from the printer. He nearly fell to the floor in surprise when he found Rod still in the room, slouched against the cushions of the couch, feet kicked out and one ankle crossed over the other, dark eyes fixed on JC, a suspicious glint to them.

"You're in an awfully good mood, lately," Rod said. "Like a real good mood, the last three weeks or so." JC knew what this was about, but his plan was to play stupid and hope Rod didn't catch on. Except he knew Rod was pretty smart and the charade wouldn't last long.

"Yeah, I feel like this is really coming together. The new songs we're working on are sounding great. The band seems to be getting along. Duke doesn't want to kill me or quit the band, at least this week. And I don't feel like I've killed your career, yet. So..." JC grinned, tossing his hands up. "Yeah, life is good right now."

"Is it, now?" Rod nodded slowly, his arms stretched across the cushions of the couch. He chewed the inside of his lip, eyeing JC. "So, how about life at home? You know, outside of here?"

"Uhm, that life is okay, too. Friends are all happy I'm home. Mom and dad are over the moon to have me close again, the whole family's doing good. We haven't spent this much time together in-"

A deep chuckle interrupted as Rod pushed himself off of the couch and crossed the room, standing right in front of JC."That's not what I meant," said Rod, bending over, laying a hand across JC's shoulder and squeezing slightly. "You know what I'm talking about. C'mon, man. What's her name?"

"Aw, here we go again," said, JC, waving him off. "I'm in a good mood, so there has to be a ‘she' in there?"

"C, you only whistle when you're gettin' some. You've been a fuckin' tweetie bird for like, a month.  You take every Thursday night off.  And then every Friday you bounce in here with a shit eatin' grin on your face, and you smell like pussy." Rod grinned, a wide smile of straight white teeth that looked more predatory than friendly. "I know you, man. You know I know you. Cut the bullshit. Tell me about her."

Nervous, JC laughed, trying to mask his mild panic. He needed to keep Shelby quiet and off of Rod's radar. "I-Rod, you know what? Things are good, for me. This is a good break for me and I appreciate you offering me this gig, and I'm just trying to put my all into it, you know? That's just... that's it. I think things are going well."

"Yeah, right, okay. Play it cool, huh? I still think there's some chick wrapped up in this. I'll find out. You know I will." Rod shook his shoulder a few times and walked out of the room. JC watched him, his bottom lip finding its way between his teeth, then exhaling a deep sigh of relief.

He was sure he wasn't going to get off that easily the next time.

~ ~ ~

JC wandered the studio, picking up random items here and there. He liked to spread out and get comfortable, so he often left things everywhere he went. Part of his routine every night was working his way from one end of the room to another, stuffing things into his bag to make sure he had everything when he went home. The only missing item was his cell phone, which he was sure he didn't leave out except for the five minutes he was in the bathroom. It was, however, nowhere to be found in the studio.

"Shit."A sick feeling was developing in the pit of his stomach as JC dropped his bag on the chair and rushed out of the room. Down the hall, Rod's office door was open, the light was on, and there was a light chuckle every few seconds. ‘No, no, no, no, no!  Shit!'

A thin, oblong device was cradled in Rod's hand, his thumb scrolling.  Rod's eyes lit up and he tossed his head back and laughed, just catching JC in the doorway.

"Oh, man. These text messages are great! This one? I love it!" Rod read the text aloud, his voice booming. "My favorite part of last night--you under me, stars above me, sounds of nature around me, doing something naughty but so much fun in the backyard. It sucked having to be quiet, dot dot dot. You know how hard that is for me. WINK. "

He tossed the phone down onto the desk, clapping loudly, laughing that obnoxious high pitched hyena sound that JC hated. It grated on his nerves, especially when Rod was laughing about his private business, and snooping in his phone.

JC marched across the room and snatched up the device, locking it and shoving it in his pocket. He was shaking, he was so angry, and beginning to rethink taking this job and rekindling his friendship with Rod.  The laughter died down and Rod glanced at him, incredulous at his reaction.

 "Aw come on, man. It was just a couple texts I read. I didn't even get in deep. It was right on top. Why couldn't you tell me about her?"

"Because she's none of your business!"

"Dude. Chill." The smile began to disappear. Rod looked... evil. "She's just a chick, right? They come and go, you know that. Nothing comes between me and my bros. Not even chicks that send sexy text messages. Is she hot? You wanna bring her around? Use the office bed sometimes?"

JC cringed involuntarily while he paced the office, trying to form words that could come out of his mouth and not risk his job. A few things were coming to light in that moment, namely why he and Rod had drifted so far apart in the first place.

It had been years since they had last worked together, when the call came. In the back of his mind, he always wondered why someone like Rod would need someone like him to help write his album and basically lead his band. JC was good, mind you. But not that good.

Clues began to connect in JC's head, stockpiled with all the rumors about how difficult Rod was to work with, and how poorly he treated his partners, and how Rod used people to make his own star bigger. Personal tragedies and triumphs all seemed to come back to Rod. JC remembered, much too late, that Rod was spoiled and immature, used to getting what he demanded, when he demanded it.  And when he didn't get his way, he made a way to get his way.

But Rod couldn't write songs alone and he couldn't produce himself, and he only knew how to play guitar and piano.  His reputation had worked him into a tough spot. No one but JC would overlook that reputation and work with him. JC began to regret being so nice, giving him the benefit of the doubt, giving in to the ‘remember the good times' speech.

"You know what, man?" JC paused, leaning onto the back of one of the guest chairs in front of the massive desk. "I'm not your ‘bro'. Not anymore. You brought me here to do a job. I'm doing that job. My personal life is not that job, and it's not your business. I'd appreciate it if you could keep your hands off of my stuff. If we're gonna have problems with that, I have no problem walking out of that door and not coming back."

Rod seemed apologetic-as apologetic as a cocky, spoiled brat could appear. He sat back in his leather chair, his arms falling to the armrests. "Sorry, man. It was just some jokes. Won't happen again."

"Damn right, it won't," said JC, and without another word, stormed out of the room, gathered his bag and left the studio.  By the time he got to his car, he had almost convinced himself to never go back.

Rod's words rang in his ears over and over. ‘She's just a chick, right?'  But Shelby wasn't just a chick. He wasn't planning on anything serious or long term with her yet but he wasn't counting that option out, either-she had potential. In the few weeks since he met her, JC had been more relaxed than he'd been in the months before he knew her. He was happy, and it wasn't just the sex-- though the sex was good. Shelby was bringing out his fun side, a side he'd long forgotten and thought he had to put away, to deal with them in LA. Someone always had to be the adult. That job had fallen to him. 

He didn't have to take care of Shelby. He'd never had to fish her, drunk off her ass, out of a pool. He'd never had to talk her out of dangerous 3am drive down windy, twisty Mulholland while high on cocaine. Shelby's biggest vice was the chocolate torte from Dessert Lady and frankly, when she insisted on smearing it over his lips, and across his chest, and around his dick and licking it off, he could deal with that kind of vice.

She was cagey, though, and that worried him. She had yet to really tell him anything about herself, about the Shelby that existed before he ran into her at the Winter Park Publix. She so clearly had something to hide.

JC was determined to figure out what that something was before someone else did. 

"I really, really need for this to not blow up right now. Just... not right now.' 

Shelby

JC was tense. He was trying to hide it and not play into it and not let it affect their weekly date, but it was like the elephant in the room all evening. Shelby did her best to try to distract him and console him, but after an hour of him stare blankly at the TV, not even offering his usual banter about what could or could not be done in movies, she reached for the remote and pointed it at the TV.  The screen snapped off and the house was silent. JC didn't even look at her.

"Can you talk about it?"

He chewed on his lip, his eyelids lowering. "Don't really want to."

"I didn't ask if you wanted to. Can you?"

JC turned his head toward her, his lips brushing her forehead. "It'll be fine," he said quietly. "Sorry to screw up our time together."

"It's not screwed up at all. I just thought if you needed to talk, I have a couple of really good ears that are available. They're perfect for things like this. "

He bent close to her, his teeth gently nipping at an earlobe. "I've never seen sexier ears in all my life."

Shelby shrieked and curled away, giggling as she rubbed her ear. "That tickled. I have a lot of sexy parts. My ears are not one of them. Or, two of them"

"What? Are you kidding? Have you seen your ears?"

He reached over to her and ran an index finger around the outside of her right ear, his touch so gentle that it sent shivers down her spine. Not that she needed a guarantee- the sex was always going to happen-but she liked how he always flirted with her, here and there. It made it seem like he was still working for it. It still excited her, and still set the mood.

Four weeks after she'd run into JC at the Winter Park Publix, their friendship (and more) had really taken off. They had drinks at some of his favorite bars, ate dessert at some of his favorite restaurants, and always ended up at his house or hers, ready to satisfy cravings of the carnal kind. It was the fun, casual relationship she was hoping for, with someone that was interesting and captivating, and most of all, wasn't trying to rescue her. 

Shelby shifted on the couch so that she was on her knees next him. She was going to distract him from whatever was on his mind, one way or another. "I'll just take your word for it. But uhm...can you help me figure out if there's anything under here, that's sexy?"

JC eyes dropped to her chest, where the folds of a frosted white satin robe, so micro that it may as well have been called a shirt, were being pulled open and skin was slowly revealed. Her entire wardrobe that night was new, from the frilly blouse with the endless neckline and skintight leather pants to the slinky, nearly see through robe and the lacy lingerie underneath. He hardly noticed when she let him in, excused herself and came back out to the den in something considerably more comfortable. A DVD was already in the player and he was already zoning out. Disappointed, she curled up next to him and tried to enjoy the movie and just be happy he had the mind to put his arm around her. 

Now that she had his attention, she had no intention of letting it go.

"Under here?" The tip of his finger poked under a flap of the robe, pulling it open further. A burst of color, red color, was peeking out from underneath. "Well I have to examine it, to be able to tell, really."

"Oh, do you have to? I thought maybe you could just look and be able to tell."

"I can, usually. But sexiness of this magnitude really needs an in-depth evaluation."

"Hmmm. You think? What does an... in- depth evaluation entail?"

"I'd tell you but I'd much rather show you. If I may." 

He stood and reached for her hand, and after she took it, walked with her down the hall to her bedroom. The room was spacious and cool, painted in soothing colors, because that was supposed to be able to help her sleep. At least when she was laying there reading or staring off into space instead of sleeping, she was calm.

Shelby snapped on a lamp next to the bed and picked up the remote for the flat screen TV he'd hung for her the week before. With a few clicks of her wrist, she navigated to a DMX Radio station that played slow, sultry, classic jazz, and turned it down low.

"For ambience," she said, setting the remote back onto the side table and easing onto the bed next to him. "So, you said something about an inspection?"

"I said evaluation," JC corrected. "In-depth, even."

"Oh, excuse me. So uh. What should I do to prepare for this in-depth evaluation?"

He studied her for a few moments. She could almost see the wheels turning in his head. "Do you have any tequila?"

She nodded. "And limes, and salt. But you want a tequila shot right now?"

"Not exactly. Will I be able to find them, if I dig around your kitchen?"

She shot him a sarcastic grin as he got up from the bed. "You'll find them faster if you dig around the bar in the den. Limes are in the fridge."

"You just... randomly have limes hanging around?"

"I'm a Bartender. We always have limes. Go. I'm ready for my inspection."

"Evaluation, honey," he called from the hallway. She giggled and laid back, listening to him rustle around in the bar, whistling a tune she hadn't heard before. Then heard the refrigerator door open, the produce drawer open and then close, and then some movement in the kitchen before she saw his shadow heading down the hall again.

"No, no. Stay right there," he said, as she started to sit up, again. On the bedside table he set the full bottle of Cuervo, a small plate of sliced limes and a salt shaker. "This might get a little messy. I apologize in advance."

"Don't worry about it. What is it you say? It'll give me something to think about, while I'm cleaning up?"

JC laughed. "Yeah, I say that. It's good to see you listen to me. So, if you don't mind, I need to get ready for my evaluation. I'm hoping you'll return the favor."

"We'll see."

JC smirked as he undressed, removing his long sleeved shirt and jeans, shoes and socks, crawling up onto the bed next to Shelby. He seemed to not know where to start, but after a moment, he reached for the tie that still held the satin robe closed and both sides fell away from her body. He swallowed audibly as his eyes traveled from her just-from-the-salon hair, down her neck, to breasts just barely contained by a fire engine red fishnet and mesh number. When it seemed his eyes reached their fill there, they continued down, down, down her body, past her belly to her hips, bare except for the thin string and tiny, tiny, tiny triangle covering her mound. His mouth fell open and he seemed, ever so slightly, to pant.

JC

He just couldn't take it anymore. He tried to hold back, for no reason at all except to just let it build up, but he had to touch her, to feel her skin. Shelby went through so much trouble to look good for him-he'd been so wrapped up in Rod's asshole comments that he wasn't even paying attention. She deserved some attention, not an apology, and she was going to get it.

JC lifted a hand to her thigh, slowly gliding over the skin, all the way down one leg, and back up the other, pausing at the triangle, pressing his thumb instinctively where he knew he'd get a reaction. It came, as he expected it to, in a roll of her hips and a moan from her throat. He spent a few minutes there, pressing and rotating and watching her hips move and her abs roll, listening to her. He bent to her breasts, nipples rock hard and fighting to extend around the thick fishnet material and licked at one, and then the other. She tasted good, so good. He teased and tempted, reveling in the taste and smell of her, the sounds coming from her mouth sending a shock or two through his body and a twitch or two to his dick.

"We better slow it down. I know how you like me to take my time." Shelby smiled, both arms stretched out on the bed on either side of her. "Stay just like that. You're perfect," he said, bending toward an arm and licking a thick stripe a few inches long. He reached for the salt, sprinkled a few shakes onto the wet patch and licked it up, then picked up the bottle of tequila.

"I didn't get shot glasses. Hope you don't mind swapping spit."

"Only with you," she shot back, and then watched him down a mouthful of the golden alcohol, reach for a wedge of lime and suck on it. He was laughing, watching her watching him, his eyes watering from the strength of the tequila, mixing with the tart citrus. He pried the wedge from his mouth, tossed it onto the plate and bent to kiss her, wildly swirling his tongue around in her mouth. She licked his lips and sucked on his tongue, sharing the taste of sweet lime and bitter tequila and salt.

"That was the best body shot, ever. And I have now certified that your arm is sufficiently sexy. I'm gonna skip your other arm, because I have some other places I want to check out."

Shelby giggled. It was such a cute sound, one he never thought would turn him on, before he met her. Giggles were so childlike and such a shy gesture. They made him feel like he had to work harder to pull more out of whomever he was with. Hers were sexy, with a bad girl undercurrent. A total turn on. This sexy Shelby girl was turning his whole world upside down.

"What parts? Can I help?" Shelby began to sit up, reaching for the tie to her bra.

"No, no," JC said, protesting, pushing her back into the pillows. "You just lay there. This is my in depth evaluation. You can evaluate later. Just enjoy it."

Shelby sighed, but did as she was told, a glimmer in her eyes. "Just don't get too drunk, okay? Your uh, final exam will be graded."

He chuckled, that low, slow, seductive laugh she seemed to like, bending toward her neck, licking the dip there. "Mama, I am shakin' in my boots."  A sprinkle of salt, a healthy lick, a swallow of Cuervo, a suck of lime, and then another attack on her lips and tongue.

He untied her bra and let her breasts fall free, her nipples calling out to him for attention. He was powerless to resist them, loving the feeling of her hips rocking against him. He licked a thick path between her breasts and took his shot of tequila there, repeating the kiss after. He did another shot from her belly, one from the thigh of one leg and the calf of another. The last shot he reserved for the mound of flesh below the opaque fabric. He licked around it, on the inside of each thigh before his tongue found her, pulsating through the mesh.

Shelby's hips jerked at feeling him there, then bucked up at him. He watched her breasts rise and roll and her chest heave with her deep breaths. He closed his eyes and listened to her moans climbing higher and higher, felt her body move faster and stronger, felt her press herself harder against his tongue until she stiffened, and her body pulsed and contracted, and then her hips fell back against the bed. Only then did he untie the G-string and toss the thin fabric away, run his tongue along her lower belly and take his last shot. His lips lowered to hers and she devoured him, sucking and licking every ounce of herself, and salt, and lime and tequila off of them.

"That was... amazing," she panted, finally falling back against the pillows, looking very satisfied. "Are you drunk?"

JC grinned, feeling good and pretty proud, and laid next to her. "I'm pretty happy. But lucid. Why?"

"Because I don't want you falling asleep while I do this." Shelby shot up and straddled him, landing right on his belly. Then reaching over to the table for the salt, the Cuervo, and the limes. "Your turn!"

Shelby

Try as she might, she could not ever remember doing body shots. Not in high school, or college, though she had plenty of opportunity. And certainly never with Lucas-he was a Scotch man, and his liquor was too expensive to waste by pouring it over her and tasting, licking, suck it off. Shelby would remember this night for a long, long time. That is, if she didn't get very drunk. Which wasn't a guarantee at all.

She pressed him back against the pillows, determined to bring every ounce of pleasure to him that he brought to her. That was a lot, but she didn't have far to go. He was already hard, his dick making a tent out of his tight briefs and poking her ass. He rocked his hips, a silly grin on his face as he bucked himself into her.

She shook her head, looking back at the action behind her and then back to his face. "That amuses you, doesn't it? Do boys ever grow older than 17?"

"Nope. We just find replacements for a palm and some lotion."

"That's what I thought. You're totally in love with it, aren't you?"

"Wouldn't you be? Big Red is a friend of mine. He wants to be your friend too!" JC laughed loud, his arms falling to his side. "I think I might be drunk. But I'm here. I'm awake. I'm... up," he said, thrusting his hips up again.

"Oooh. Baby, relax," she said, leaning forward, grabbing his chin. "Don't break it. I haven't played with it yet." Whatever he said in response was lost in the kiss and reduced to a series of lustful moans while her tongue took its turn with his. Shelby began her tour of his body the same way he started-with a muscular arm that made her weak in the knees just to look at it. To feel it, to experience the combination of strength and gentility was always enough to spark something for her.

He laughed at her studying his arm, so closely he could feel her breath in his skin. "What are you looking for?"

"A patch of arm with no hair!"

JC laughed and pointed at the underside of his arm, the soft pale skin as smooth as a baby's bottom. "God, I hope you're clean," she muttered, just before licking a stripe down his arm, applying salt, and licking it off. Frowning at the taste, she wrapped her lips around the bottle and tipped her head back, her mouth filling with the strong taste, followed by a wedge of lime, cutting the bitter and turning the mixture sweet.  She kissed him after removing the wedge from her mouth, letting her tongue roll along his, spreading the taste around his mouth. He hummed, smiling through the kiss.

"Good, huh?"

"Yummy," she replied, attacking his neck with her tongue, sucking and licking and making her way around to the dip in his neck, just below his Adam's apple. "Hold still. Don't move."

Shelby poured out a cap of tequila and carefully poured it into the dip, drops spilling over and dripping down the side of his neck. "Don't move, and don't laugh," she said, giggling herself while she sprinkled a few grains of salt into her palm, licked it up, and then sucked up the liquor from his neck, taking care to lick up the trail down either side of his neck.

"Can I laugh yet?"

"Yeah," she said, grinning down at him, sucking on a wedge of lime.

"Do you know how long it's been since I did this with anyone?"

"Body shots?" She shrugged, not really wanting to let herself think about the last woman he was with, that shared a bed with him, that he let get close to him, as close as she was. She liked to think she was different, even though it was a casual thing. She wasn't in the mood to be compared to anyone else. "I don't know... how long has it been?"

He paused, his eyelids half open, and then blinked at her, hips lips in a small pout. "I can't remember. But it's been a long time. I forgot how fun this is."

"Mmm," she agreed, making her way down his chest and his belly, licking a long stripe, salting him, licking it up, and then, hopefully to his surprise, pouring a capful of tequila onto his belly and sucking it up. He laughed as she sucked and licked every drop from his skin, her fingers toying at the band of his briefs and then pulling them down. 

"Gimme a hand, here. Up." He lifted his hips and down they came, tossed over her shoulder and forgotten as soon as they left her fingertips. 

And then he was bare, laid out in front of her in naked glory. JC piled pillows up behind him-- he wanted to watch. She had no argument with that, situating herself between his legs, wasting no time taking him into her mouth. He was hot and hard and pulsing as her lips slid up and down and her tongue swirled around and around. She released him with a pop, shook some salt into her hand, and sprinkled it on him, taking him in her mouth again, savoring the mix of his natural taste enhanced by the salt. Again, she released him, but instead of drinking the tequila and sucking the lime, she handed the lime to him. He drained the wedge of juice; she took a deep swig of tequila and climbed him, her mouth falling onto his, the taste of Cuervo mixing with the salt on her lips and the lime on his tongue.

Matching deep, guttural sounds crawled out of them. Shelby shuddered against him, feeling a new wave wash over her as goosebumps popped up along her skin. His skin was flush as she pulled back and moved down to him again, where she repeated the same process until she couldn't drink another drop of tequila, lick another grain of salt, taste another bite of the citrusy fruit.

Shelby was drunk. She wasn't surprised. Together they drank over half the bottle of tequila. JC insisted on doing shots off of her breasts, licking the salt off of her nipples and then pouring Cuervo on her chest so he could suck it up. It felt great but she was so ticklish and he was so heavy that the feeling was near torture. By the time JC sighed, set the bottle back onto the side table and fell back against the pillows again, the bedspread was stained with pools of alcohol and grains of salt and bits of lime.

"I'm gonna have a lot to think about tomorrow," she slurred, "when I take this bedspread to the Laundromat. A lot."

"I bet you don't stop smiling all day, tomorrow. That's what I bet."

"I bet you don't either," she said, tapping his nose with the tip of her finger.

Like a light bulb, his whole demeanor changed. The tension returned. His jaw clenched and his eyes became dark, and he exhaled a long, deep sigh.

"What? JC, tell me what makes your face do that. What makes you get all...emo like that? What is it?"

"Shelby, it's... nothing. It's nothing."

"Then let's talk about nothing. ‘Kay? Open your mouth and say the words. I'm here for more than fucking, you know."

"Okay," he said, but his tone was sarcastic.

"What? You don't think I am?"

"No past, no future. I'm not the only one holding back. I'm not the only one here just for the sex."

She tried to push him off of the bed, but he was heavy and she was drunk. JC didn't even move, despite the hand marks on his torso. "I'm not just here for the sex. Neither are you. You were willing to buy a bunch of shit you didn't need, so you could see me, again. That's not a guy who just wants to fuck something. You could step outside your house and run into five girls you could fuck. I'm not saying I'm like, your girlfriend or anything, but we're friends. You can talk to me."

No response came from under the arm he'd tossed over his eyes. "Or not. Suffer. I don't give a shit."

She flung herself against the pillow, irritated at being cold and naked and laying in a pool of tequila. ‘I'd go to sleep but I'm a fucking insomniac!'

JC

It totally wasn't fair. He knew it wasn't. He didn't want to make it seem like something she could handle or control, or was even her problem, but that one comment had brought the whole afternoon back to him, which rekindled both his anger and his fear.

A few minutes passed, and the situation diffused.

"Shelby," he said plainly, under the arm. When she didn't answer, he lifted his arm and glanced over at her. She looked pissed. At least she was pretty when she was pissed, her skin all pink and her lips pursed in that pretty pout. "Hey," he said, elbowing her.

"What?!"

"Sorry. I just, I had a bad day today. Something you said brought it all back."

Shelby rolled her head so she could see him. "Tell me," she whispered.

"Well. I have a question, first."

"What?"

"Why won't you tell me anything about yourself?"

Shelby shrugged, her eyes blank. "Not much to tell. No need to dwell on what doesn't need to be shared."

"Yeah, but..." he shifted so he was on his side, propped up on an elbow. Shelby didn't move to get closer to him, like she normally would. "I don't know anything about you. I think that's weird, because I've been inside you. I think I should know at least something."

"Okay," she said. "I was born in Ft Lauderdale. I'm twenty eight. My favorite color is red. I like Mexican food. I had a bird when I was younger-stop me if you've heard some of this already."

"Don't be a smartass, Shelby. Don't hide behind being funny. I hate that shit."

She huffed, giving him a cross look. "Look who's asking someone to be real! You were so preoccupied with whatever was going on, I could have been naked half the night and you wouldn't have even noticed. There's no sense in having a friend with benefits if said friend doesn't realize the benefit that doesn't have any clothes on practically, sitting next to him!"

JC laid there for a minute, knowing she was right. He was distracted and worried-about her. And about him. And about them. "Tell me something," he pressed.

"Like what? Tell me what to tell you."

JC went for it, blurting the question into the air, speaking the question screaming the loudest in his mind into fruition. "Who's in Miami, that you're running away from? A boyfriend? A husband? Are you married?"

"No," she answered, snorting a laugh. "I'm not married. No boyfriend." Shelby paused, like she wanted to say something but couldn't force it out of her mouth. "I had a fiancé, though," she added quietly.

"But you don't have a fiancé now, right?" He held his breath, knowing the answer was no but completely expecting the surprise of her looking at him with a guilty expression and giving some excuse that started with ‘actually...' But she didn't. She shook her head and stated plainly, "no."

"Okay, then. So you dumped him and moved here."

"You could say that, yeah."

"Why did you dump him?"

"I didn't love him."

"You mean you weren't in love with him?"

"Yeah. And I didn't love him. I just barely liked him."

"Why were you marrying someone you just barely liked?"

"I wasn't. I dumped him, I told you."

"Well yeah, but-"

"Look. JC. This story is complicated. And maybe you think you want to know all the facts right now, but you don't. Trust me. This is good, right now. This is fun. Let's not make it less fun and more serious. If you need to know more about me to talk about your bad day, then we have a problem." JC stared straight ahead, chewing on his lip. "So, do we? Have a problem?"

He sighed. This was pointless. If he couldn't find anything out, there was little chance Rod would be able to dig anything up about her, either. No sense in wasting a night fighting.

"No," he answered, his hand landing on her thigh, scooting her close to him. "No, we do not have a problem. Actually, I have a problem. I didn't come yet. You plan on making that happen?"

Shelby smiled, her grin growing wider as she sat up and retrieved a small square package from her bottom drawer. "Now we're talking. But you're not gonna get all sulky and brooding again, right?"

"Right." He flipped over, onto his back, welcoming the weight of her, loving the smile on her face and the flush on her skin, the rock hard buds that her nipples had become, looking forward to hearing the sounds he loved to hear coming from her, watching her hips ride and rock against him faster and harder, clawing him until she came.

Nah, he wasn't gonna waste his time arguing with her, when he could have so much more fun doing all of that.

Shelby

"I keep trying to call you, but I just get the voicemail. Where've you been? What's going on?"

Shelby rolled her eyes at her mother's high pitched, overdramatic whine in her ear, coming out of the phone she cradled between her head and her shoulder. On the stove, four pots were going at once. The counter was covered in salad fixings-lettuce, tomatoes, cucumber, carrots and cheese, all waiting to be sliced and tossed together. Shelby kept one eye on the clock and the other on the oven timer. JC was supposed to be coming by around 9 o'clock for dinner. Chances were that he wouldn't show up until closer to 9:30 or 10, but that didn't give her nerves any relief.

"Sorry, mom. I've just been really busy. I started taking some Business classes at UCF. It's accelerated, you know? So you do like, a whole semester in half the time."

"Oh. I didn't know you decided to do that."

Renee sounded miffed and a little left out. Shelby could commiserate-she was used to being able to lean on her mom for support and comfort, but lately she just didn't have time between classes, a few bartending shifts a week, and JC to keep her up-to-date on everything in her life. She just barely had time and energy to keep up with their weekly date, but skipping it was not an option. JC was like a habit, a very, very good habit that she intended to keep up as long as she could.

Like tonight-Shelby went to class, stopped at the library to meet with her study group, and covered a short shift at Antigua, arriving home with just enough time to start her enchiladas, Spanish rice,  refried beans and salad. After two months of going out to eat every week, she thought it would be a nice change to eat in, but the pressure that she put on herself to make it perfect was stressing her out.

To complicate matters, Renee didn't know about JC. Shelby wasn't sure what to tell her, in the beginning. She really wasn't sure what to tell her, now, either. They still kept things pretty casual, in the here and now. On occasion JC offered up details about the past-as a solo artist, or working with ‘Nsync, or as a music producer or writer-but she'd never asked him to share those details. Never asked follow-up questions.

Not that she wasn't curious about it all, about the person he was back then compared to the person he had become, or if he had ever fallen prey to the temptations of being a household name. He had to have, at some point-what mattered was the degree to which he had fallen and how changed he was on the other side. She was insanely curious about his life in LA, and what he was doing back in Orlando, but bit her tongue and didn't ask, because he believed in equality and would want to ask her questions, and she couldn't answer questions about Lucas. The nugget that Shelby had given him weeks before about a fiancé was eating at him, she could tell. He was going to be asking for more details soon. She wasn't quite ready to tell him yet. Shelby wasn't sure she would be ready to tell him, ever.

Dinner was coming along nicely, so Shelby took a few minutes to chat with her mother about how life was working out for her in Orlando. After a few rocky weeks, things were looking up-she had even made a few friends at the bar and in her classes. It was nice to be able to smile and breathe again, to answer the phone without worrying about hearing eerie silence, followed by a hissing, angry, hateful message. Against her better judgment, Shelby had begun to relax.  JC said, pretty often, ‘you can't spend your life looking over your shoulder. Turn around and look at where you're going.  Don't look at where you've been.' He was full of useful, random phrases. If only he knew how well they applied to her life.

As she figured, her cell phone alerted with a text that he was leaving the studio a few minutes after 9 o'clock. That would put him at her house just before 10, which was perfect timing for everything to come out of the oven or the refrigerator. The piece de resistance-a chocolate torte from Dessert Lady-sat on a shelf in the refrigerator, waiting to be sliced into and devoured. Sometimes from plates. Sometimes from each other. That was her favorite part of Thursday nights.

"So, I hear like... food. Plates and things. Are you having friends over?"

Shelby smiled to herself. Her mother was pretty sneaky sometimes.  "I am having a friend over, yes."

"Oh? A friend?"

"Mmmhmmm..."

"Oh. Well. Then...."

Shelby snickered, feeling like she was talking to her high school "BFF" instead of her mom. "You know you want to ask."

"Okay, then. I'll ask. Is this friend a boy?"

"This friend is a boy," Shelby admitted, opening the refrigerator to retrieve a few bottles of beer.

"Oh. But... not a boyfriend."

"No, not a boyfriend."

"Well... are you and this friend...well, I mean... is this friend a....does he..."

"Enjoy benefits?" Shelby held back burst of childish giggles, imagining the blush that was crawling up her mother's neck, the pained look crossing her face, the way her eyes would probably slowly close and her head would fall into her hands.

"Is that what they call having sex with boys who aren't your boyfriend, these days?"

"Yeah, mom. Friends with benefits. Or uhm... fuck buddies."

"Fuck buddies?" She squelched more laughter at hearing her mother say fuck.

"Yeah, fuck buddies. Friends who fuck."

"Well. I mean... if that's what's making you so happy, you know, uhm..." Her voice trailed off, as it often did when she and Shelby discussed sex. Shelby found it funny. Renee wasn't as amused, but rarely shied away. "I mean, is it? Making you happy?"

Shelby leaned against the counter, cordless phone at her ear, eyes on the window over the sink that gave a perfect view of the driveway. The neighborhood was pretty quiet at this time of night. Any headlights she saw would probably be JC pulling in.

"Mmm... It's part of it. Not all of it, but part of it. I actually met him the week I got here, at the grocery store. I looked like shit. He liked me anyway. That's a good guy, huh?"

"Oh, that one. The one you were so upset about? You see, I told you, next time would be better. Besides, even when you think you look like..." She hesitated, almost spitting out the curse word, "...like shit... you look fine. You have a natural beauty. You just don't see it."

"Mom, I'm your kid. You're obligated to say that."

"I sure am. You look just like me." Shelby joined her mother in a bout of uncontrollable laughter. Renee was something else.

"Well, I guess he agrees with you, then. We've been seeing each other once a week for a couple of months. He's real nice."

"So, what is his name? What does he do?" Shelby rolled her eyes at the ‘mom questions' but answered them anyway. She was screaming inside to tell someone, anyone about him.

"His name is JC. Or that's what he goes by. I think his name is Josh. And he works in music. You know that guy Rod Phillips? He had that song a few years ago, Evil Side of Me? They played it nonstop on KISS. Anyway, he wrote that song for Rod, and he's doing more work for him, now.  Writing and stuff, I guess, working with the band on the music. He sang for me, one day. His voice is awesome."

"A musician, then. Hmmmmm."  Renee had a tone of voice, when she wanted to say something but knew she shouldn't, but if you asked her, she could say it-and then you couldn't hold it against her, because you asked. Shelby was aware of all of her tricks and games.  

"Mom?"

"Oh, it's nothing. Nothing."

"Mom."

"Shelby. I mean... well. I just watched one of those VH1 things on relationships with musicians. I'm not sure if dating a musician is a good step for you, right now. They make awful boyfriends. The hours and the women and the drugs and the egos..."

"Good thing he isn't my boyfriend then, right?"

Renee was silent for a few moments, and then quietly conceded. "Yeah. I guess. Just uhm... you know. Well, of course you're being careful. About everything. Does he know about the... Lucas thing?"

"No. He doesn't know about Lucas." Ah, the big question. There was always a big question, wasn't there? Would the ‘Lucas Thing' always be the big question? When would her dead ex fiancé not matter anymore? When would she be able to go through life and not have to consider Lucas or his ex-wife, or his children?  

"Are you going to tell him?"

"I'm trying not to. But he's getting curious and starting to ask questions. I'm hoping I can hold off for awhile. I mean, we're just hanging out. You know? No need for him to know every detail about me."

"That's true. It's not really his business. Right?"

"Right. Yeah."

Two long beams of light crawled down the street in front of her house, and then lit up her driveway as they turned. JC had arrived. "Okay, mom, he just showed up. I made dinner for him, so we're going to eat and watch some movies. I'll give you a call tomorrow, or over the weekend. Okay? Love you, bye!"

Shelby hung up before Renee could get in another word and rushed to the door, flinging it open before he could knock. JC stood on the porch in a white button down shirt, grey vest and black jeans, his leather bag over his shoulder and a smile on his lips.

"I'm so happy to see you," she said, beaming, wanting to yank him inside and press herself against him for about an hour.

"The feeling is very, very mutual," he said, stepping inside and letting her close the door before he wrapped an arm around her waist and dropped his head to her lips, giving her a lengthy kiss that threatened to put off dinner. He wiped her lip gloss off of his lips with this thumb. "Been thinking about you today."

"I like hearing that. I was thinking about you, too. Just talking about you, actually." JC dropped his bag near the front door and followed her into the kitchen.

"Talking about me? To who? Yourself?"

She handed him both beers and an opener. "My mom."

"Oh." He took both beers and popped them open, then stood there holding them, watching her move hot food to serving plates. She nodded her head toward the dining room table, where she began transferring dishes and then plates and silverware. They sat across from each other, the chandelier above them on what she called ‘mood lighting', which was really just a dimmer. It softened the harsh light of the bright bulbs, though and made for a romantic meal, even if you were having pizza.

"So you told your mom what?"

"Just that I had a friend. And that the friend was a boy."

"Oh." JC stabbed at his enchilada, shoving half of it into his mouth, and then realizing it was piping hot, sucked down a swallow of beer. Around a mouthful of food, he asked, "That's it?"

"No." She chuckled and glanced up from her plate, blowing on the steaming hot food on her fork. "I told her you were my friend with benefits."

JC choked on a spoonful of rice, his face obviously pink, even under the soft lighting. "You told her that? Seriously," he said, choking and coughing.

"Mmmhmm," she said, laughing quietly. "I get a kick out of saying things like that to her. She pretends to hate it."

"Yeah well, weirdness runs in your family, I think. So what did she say? Am I in trouble?"

"The usual mom stuff. Go slow. Be careful. Don't break his penis. Things like that."

"She-"  JC's eyes bugged out, opening wide. "She did not say that. Shelby. Tell me she did not say that."

Shelby giggled, rolling her eyes. "She didn't say that, JC. God, you're gullible. She just said be careful, because you're a musician, and she watches a lot of VH1, so she knows all about musicians, you know."

"Oh yeah. Those shows are true to life. Describes every one of us, exactly to a tee."

"Right.. I think she might be secretly pleased that I'm gettin' some. She said I seem happy."

JC grinned while he chewed, his chest puffing with pride. "Well, I'll take credit for that part."

"I knew you would."

"You can take all the credit for my happiness. I willingly give that to you."

"Thank you. Happy to do my part." Shelby went back to her meal, arguing with herself about asking the question on the tip of her tongue, finally deciding to go for it. Get it out in the open. "So does uhm... anyone know about me? In your life? It's fine, if the answer is no."

"Why is that fine?"

She shrugged, biting into another forkful of food. "Maybe I like being your dirty little secret."

"You're not that big of a secret," said JC, picking at his teeth with his tongue. "My family knows I'm seeing someone. Mostly because they know I take Thursday nights off and they keep trying to plan things for Thursday and I keep telling them it's not a good night. I finally had to tell them why it's not a good night. And uh.... Rod knows. I don't know if the band knows, but...." He threw up his hands and went back to his dinner. "Whatever."

Suddenly, food was stuck in her throat. It was all she could do to swallow. "Rod knows? How... how does Rod know?"

"Oh. That. He uhm... was snooping around in my phone. Found a text message you sent me, that day after we were messing around in the backyard." He smiled and wiggled his eyebrows. "He thought it was hot, if that matters."

JC kept eating, like nothing was wrong. No, nothing was wrong at all. Nothing except the biggest mouth and the center of every music industry drama lately knew JC Chasez was seeing someone.  Shelby stared across the table, unable to even blink. If it matters? Was he serious?

"You know, JC, that I don't want it getting around too much. That we're hanging out."

"I know. I'm not broadcasting it, Shelby."

A sharp pain stabbed her in the head, right above an eye-Shelby was sure she was having s stroke.

"You're not broadcasting it, but you left your phone where he could see it? Just... open to that text message? From last week? So, did he really find it, or did you share the message with him? What other messages has he seen, from me? Well, so I guess I won't send you anymore text messages. Fuck, JC!" One hand shot to her brow, where beads of sweat were beginning to collect. Her breathing was erratic, her vision darkening. ‘No, no, no, no! This is not happening!'

"Shelby." JC's fork clanged as he dropped it on his plate and reached across the table to grab her wrist. He gripped it tightly, forcing her to look up at him. "Relax. He saw one message. I totally blew up at him over it. My phone never leaves my body, now. And I would never share that with him, willingly, not ever. Come on. I know we just met and all but you should know me better than that by now."

‘Breathe! Okay, don't overreact. Don't panic. It probably means nothing. Rod probably doesn't give a shit who JC is dating. He's too busy "poppin' bottles and fuckin' models" to think about anyone else, right? So, breathe. Eat. Enjoy your dinner and your company.

Following her own advice, Shelby inhaled a deep breath, then slowly emptied her lungs, letting the tension slide out with it. "I'm sorry. Like I said, I don't want it getting around, you know. I like my privacy."

"Of course. So do I. And it's not like LA, where everything I do ends up on some blog or on some website somewhere. We'll be okay? Alright?"

"Okay." She was breathing easier and hungry again, digging into her enchilada and rice.

"Did you get cake?" Shelby smiled as she chewed, catching the look in his eye and appreciating it. And looking forward to dessert.

JC

That was entirely unnecessary.

JC wasn't a nosy person. He really didn't care what her background was, what her past was. What bothered him was the secrecy, sidestepping the landmines of things they could discuss. Shelby made it a point to keep him at arm's length outside of the bedroom, keeping things light and friendly and casual. He was as open to that as the next guy. A girl that didn't demand the ‘girlfriend' label after two dates was a breath of fresh air.

Maybe it was the secrecy and the mystery around her. Maybe it the fact that she was sort of unavailable-only sort of because she seemed to only be seeing him. Hell, maybe it was just the great sex and her incredible ass and those breasts that he dreamt about, but JC had every intention of moving this... whatever it was... relationship? Forward. If she would let it happen, that was. His biggest fear was that she wouldn't, based on whatever it was she was hiding.

He could, however, understand her freak-out over Rod finding out about her. JC didn't put it past Rod to find some angle to expose her-maybe as a gold-digger, maybe a ‘local girl' preying upon musicians, painting the picture, setting the scene. Even worse, Rod had connections. If he wanted to, he could learn more about Shelby than Shelby wanted anyone to know. And then take it to the press, and play the ‘good friend' who ‘warned him' about ‘girls like her'. JC felt caught, twisted in a vise grip and the pressure was starting to get to him.

Life was looking up, for JC. The band was cohesive, sometimes even friendly. Duke had made an almost 180 degree turn and was now coming to JC with ideas and changes on songs, ideas that didn't even feature him and didn't even push him out front, just ideas that would make songs sound better. Six of  twelve new songs had been written and perfected. Four of those had been recorded, and the others were coming up in the following weeks. Plans for the tour the following year were at the baby stages but would ramp up, soon.

His life was about to be very busy, very full, very fun. He was itching to be on a stage again, to feel the energy thrust from the crowd, ball it up and throw it back. It was everything he dreamt about lately. Besides having Shelby there with him to enjoy it.

If he wanted to, Rod could totally throw a kink into that plan.

Shelby

It was a perfect night in Orlando, not hot but nowhere near cold. Shelby had talked JC into enjoying a dip in the hot tub after dinner before they settled in for the night. The sun had set, the residual bands of rose and gold lingering across the sky. The hot tub bubbled around them as they sat next to one another, facing cold beers in hand.

"I love that on you," JC had said when she came out of the bedroom wearing a new two piece swimsuit. It was black, cut to cover the most important parts but still accentuate the parts it was supposed to show off. His eyes were as wide as his smile as they traveled her body, head to toe. Shelby thanked him with a kiss, not even feeling modest enough to blush at the compliment. No need-- she tried really hard to find a suit that looked good on her.

As soon as she brought it home, she dug through her drawers and threw away every single dowdy one piece bathing suit she'd been forced to wear to every single beach party or pool party she had attended with Lucas. He didn't like her to show off much skin. He especially didn't like his colleagues looking at her. She especially didn't like their wives looking at her, and complaining about their husbands looking at her. All of it, that old Shelby and that old life was long gone. She tossed them all, and the garbage man had come to pick them up that morning with the rest of the trash. She hoped they were mulch, now.

JC wore a plain pair of briefs, dark blue, which hung off of his slight hips. Sometimes, Shelby thought, it was hard to look at him without licking her lips. The feel of him, the taste of him, the smell of him, just touching him, holding him in her hands was erotic. It fueled her daydreams, and offered substance for those nights when she fell into bed, exhausted, and happened to catch a whiff of him on a pillow, or in a room and longed to be with him. She had to close her eyes and imagine him there, touching and kissing and licking and stroking until her hips bucked on their own and her mouth fell open and moans fell out and she was in utter bliss until she slowly came down and amazingly, fell into a deep sleep.

Being able to sleep was making all the difference in the world. She wasn't sleeping all night, every night, but she was sleeping more, and longer, especially if JC was there. She was trying not to let him, but he was turning her world on end. And she hated to admit it, but it was kind of a good thing.

"Your classes are going okay? Everything good? You seem a little stressed out."

Shelby nodded, relaxing against the side of the hot tub, ice cold bottle of beer at her lips. "They are going swimmingly," she said, lifting an eyebrow. He laughed, of course. He liked silly jokes like that. He told enough of them.

"Heh," he chuckled, an arm around her, his hand tapping her on the shoulder. "Great. Swimming puns."

"I'm picking this shit up from you, you know."

"Oh, I don't think so," he said, laughing. "The night we met, what did you say? Something about us running into each other again sometime?" He shook his head, swigging his own beer. "Nah, mama. That's all you."

Shelby laughed, remembering that night. "Hey. I was tired. I'm surprised I remember half of what came out of my mouth."

"We probably both weren't at our best that night. Maybe that was a good thing. We didn't have any walls up, or anything."

"Maybe. I guess."

They fell silent, watching the stars twinkle and the moon glow. The porch lights were on sensors, set to turn on at a specific time. Behind them, a light popped on, illuminating the porch and the pool.

"Shelby."

She lifted her head from the hypnotic pattern of bubbles breaking the surface of the water. "Hmmm?"

"You're not worried about Rod and all that right?"

Shelby tensed, trying not to get worked up again. "I guess not. I mean, it just matters, like, how interested he is in who you're dating. If he doesn't care, it's not a big deal. But if he's trying to find out... I mean..."

"Shelby, that's what I'm saying, though. Would it be that big of a deal if he found something out? I mean, you said you had a fiancé, back in Miami. Is this guy like a big shot or something?"

She could cut the sudden tension between then with a knife as she sat in stony silence in the hot tub. He didn't follow up his question with another. Just sat there, sipping his beer and glancing at her every few seconds.

 "He was," she finally blurted, a few minutes later.

"Was? What's that mean? Is he in prison or something?"

"No, he's not in prison. Listen, JC..." Shelby hesitated. "I don't want to talk about this. About him. I keep saying it and you keep pushing it. How much clearer do I need to be?"

"It makes me wonder what you're hiding, and what I'm getting myself into. And you're freaking out that someone might find something out about you. I'm just wondering what that something is and why it's such a big deal."

Shelby said nothing, really just hoping it blew over, like it had at dinner. Because if it didn't soon, she was going to have to begin some evasive maneuvers.

"I mean, I have something at stake here, too. If it's something that'll affect me, I should probably know whatever it is."

"JC... there's nothing I'm hiding. There's nothing that's going to hurt you, or affect you. I'm trying to keep the boundaries in place here, is all. There are things you don't need to know. You won't know them. Okay?" She looked at him, one eyebrow cocked, daring him to keep the argument going.

He relented, averting his eyes. "I guess it has to be," he said quietly.

"So we're dropping it again, right?"

Tight lipped, he nodded. "Consider it dropped."

Finally, she could relax. For the meantime. "Okay. Great. Do you want to go inside? Have some dessert? It's cooling down pretty fast out here. My shoulders are cold."

They got out of the hot tub, each wrapped in a large Hawaiian print towel. Shelby turned off the bubbling tub and JC followed her back into the house, but lagged behind her a few steps.

"Uhm.."

Shelby turned around and was alarmed at the look on his face. His forehead wrinkled and his eyes were hooded. He stroked his cheek with the palm of one hand while he stood next to the dining room table. "I think I'm gonna head home," he said. "I'm just... not feelin' us tonight."

He started to walk around her.  Eyes wide, she held out her arms, barring him from walking any further. "JC... okay, I'm sorry.  Please, don't go. I've been looking forward to seeing you all week."

"I know. Me too. I'm tired, though. And I feel like I'm just picking fights with you and I don't want to."

"Then don't," she said, drawing both arms around him, stepping into him closer, as close as she could get, which happened to be pretty damn close. She pressed into him, encouraged by the feeling of him pressing into her belly. She gave him her sexiest smile and grabbed his hands, twisting her fingers between his. "Don't pick fights with me, then. Stay. And... relax, and forget about everything else out there in your world and have some fun."

JC stared down at her. His indecision played out in the expression on his face, in the changing colors of his eyes. "Come on," she prodded, teasing. "You're really... seriously... leaving... without fucking me? Like you do every Thursday night?"

JC started to smile, his tongue snaking out to lick his bottom lip. She almost had him. She knew it. "I do like  that part. And you did buy dessert. Can't let that go to waste."

"No," she said, gravely. "We can't. If you want, we can just lay down for awhile. We can order a movie and watch it in the bedroom. You know we never watch a whole movie in there."

"On the TV? The one I hung? The one that should be watching us, not us watching it?"

Shelby grinned. She had him." Yeah. That one. What do you want it to watch us do?"

"Oh, Shelby woman. I have ideas."

JC

Shelby was entirely confusing and yet captivating. Frustrating but endearing and sexy and wonderful but so fucking mysterious. She drove him crazy, both his mind and his heart. And throw his dick in there, too. He only had to think about her before it started to suck all the blood from his body and sense from his mind.

He should have left. He had every intention of leaving, really. In the end, he didn't, and he was happy about that, because no sooner had they hit the bedroom than Shelby was on the attack, pushing him up against the wall, tearing the towels from his waist and hers, stretching up on her toes to meet his lips and kissing him, hard. To make matters worse...or... better, she cocked one leg up on his hip and ground herself against him.

When he could get a lip free and he could take a breath he pulled back to look at her. She was stunning in that swim suit. It hit her in all the right places and oh, there were so many right places, from the swell of her breasts and rock hard nipples poking out to her long, slender waist to her hips and perfectly round ass sitting on top of legs he had only dreamt about before. So yeah, he didn't leave. ‘Sue me.'

"Do you wanna take this off?" She lifted her arms above her head and stood in front of him, expectant. Since she was offering, he did it for her.

"Always available to lend a helping hand, ma'am."

"Thank you sir," she said, stepping out of the wet bottoms and tossing them toward the bathroom, along with the top. "I seem to be naked," she teased. "Hmmm. I've noticed you appear to still have clothes on. Do you require assistance?"

In a flash, he matched her nakedness, his briefs joining her swimsuit in the bathroom. "Somethin' to think about tomorrow," he said, bending to kiss her, capturing her mouth and dueling with her tongue. She laughed, stepping backward, feeling her way toward the bed and climbed up, without breaking the kiss.

"You're so talented," he said, in a break that was only a few seconds long before his lips were on her again. She hummed in agreement, sighing into his mouth as he sank onto her.

Who was he kidding? He was never leaving. He had been craving her for days on end, trying hard to hide the staring into space and the happy grin from Rod and the other guys. Trying not to whistle, especially because, according to Rod, he only whistled when he was getting regular sex and he had noticed that he was a nonstop teakettle lately. She consumed his thoughts, day and night, and nothing satisfied a longing or a craving for her but her.

JC felt a weight lift off of his shoulders as soon as he sank onto her. She felt so familiar, by now. He knew every winding turn of her curves, every nook and cranny. He especially liked the crannies, one in particular that he was getting a lot of pleasure out of stroking. She was hot and wet and tight around one and then two and then three fingers. Her hips were moving so seductively, so wildly. Shelby was so openly sexy, so unashamed. He loved that about her.

As he lowered his head to a breast, flicking over a nipple, watching it grow hard as he blew on it, smiling at her moaning and crying out and the dirty, nasty phrases she was grunting into the air, he tried to make his mind skip over that ‘L' thing. He did not just think that he loved her. He thought that he loved something about her. He wasn't in love with her. He hardly knew her.

That argument wasn't going to work for very long. And that ‘L' thing couldn't stick around, not with Shelby keeping things so very casual. He was going to have to come up with something to keep himself from falling in love with her.

At the moment, though he was distracted from that ‘L' thing by Shelby grabbing at his hair, clawing at his back as he moved his fingers in and out of her like a piston, pressing on her clit like no tomorrow and making small, slow rotations-as best he could, because she was all the way up off of the bed, screaming at the top of her lungs for him to fuck her.

So he did. She was so wet and ready and on the edge that he slid right in, all the way, right away, bringing Shelby to a wild, thrashing orgasm in a matter of strokes. ‘Yeah. I still got that,' he thought, mentally patting himself on the back while he kept moving above her, working toward his own climax.

"Wait!" Shelby sat bolt upright, pushing wild hair back from her face, glistening with sweat. "Hold on.  Wait."

He stopped and sat up, worried that he'd hurt her or something. Things could get a little wild... maybe he didn't know his own strength, or something. "What? What's wrong?"

Shelby stared up at him, mischief in her eyes. "What's your favorite position?"

He blinked, poised above her, getting harder and more frustrated by the second, needing a warm wet hole to bury into. "Shelby.... I like a lot of them. I especially like the one we were in. Why?"

"Pick one and I'll do it. Any one. Pick one that'll make you come so hard you see stars."

"Uh..." He couldn't even think. Pretty much if she touched him, right that second, he would come hard. The decision didn't even have to be all that involved.

"You wanna do it from the back? You like that, right?"

JC sighed, trying to remain patient. She had to have some kind of... point. At least he hoped she did. "Honey-I just... want to have sex. Actually. I don't care if you're hanging from the ceiling when I do it. You're killing me, right now."

A glimmer. An evil little glint. He saw it, in her eyes. And then a smile. She turned over, set herself up on her hands and knees and shook her ass at him. "Then stick it in and go to town, baby."

He swore he felt a sigh as he sank into her again. And then he remembered why she asked if he wanted to do it this way. It felt fucking amazing!

He growled, something low and guttural and erotic and sexy, gripping her hips, holding her where he wanted her, working the way she liked it, around and around and then hard thrusts, slamming against her until she was pushing back against him, her voice a high pitched yelp as she came again. A fierce series of clenches and convulsions teased him until he was pushing into her, deep into her over and over until he was losing his breath and starting to see stars and coming so very hard.

Shelby coughed and panted, catching her breath, her legs giving out under her as she laid flat on the bed. He landed on top of her. "Aren't you... shit... aren't you glad I asked?"

He couldn't think. He could hardly breathe. "Damn, woman. Really, what are you doing for the rest of your life?"

"Future," she said, her eyes closed, rib cage expanding with her deep breaths.

"Right." He rolled his eyes at the reminder that he could know no more about her than he already knew. "Got it. But I think there's chocolate cake in our immediate future. What do you think?"

It pleased him to see a tired smile crawl the half of her face he could see. She liked chocolate cake.

Shelby

"You're kidding me. Like, really? They couldn't put that on any other night but Thursday?"

"I'm not kidding. And we're booked every single night this week, with rehearsals and press. The new single is out Tuesday, the new album is coming along pretty quickly. Tour'll be here before we know it."

Shelby paced her kitchen from one end to the other, cursing under her breath, tempted to throw the phone across the room. Rod and the Band and, apparently, JC had some kind of engagement coming up that week. Some thing where they had to show off the new single being premiered the following week, and rub elbows and shake hands and pretend they really care what people think.  On Thursday. Their date night.

Shelby had worked so hard to plan around Thursday nights with her classes, her shifts at Antigua, and everything else she had going on with her new life in Orlando. Every other night of the week was packed full of the things she didn't want to do on Thursdays. And now her Thursday night was dry as a bone.

"So, what time do these things usually end?"

"They can go all night if you want them to, but here's part two of the bad news. We have a photo shoot and a morning show radio interview the next morning.  I wouldn't have been able to stay, anyway."

"I could have come over." She sighed heavily, putting on her saddest voice. "I know I sound spoiled. Because I am!"

"I know," he said, laughing at her tantrum. "I'm the one that spoiled you."

"It's not funny. You're a habit. I'll feel all... out of place."

"Honey, I'm feeling your pain. It's not like I'm all ‘yay I get to go another week without sex.' I'm pissed about it, but there's nothing I can do. I'm sorry."

"I know." She pouted, leaning forward onto the counter, wearing one of his t-shirts. The day was already warm and it was only 10 am. "I better get in the shower, I guess. I have to go serve alcohol to people in the middle of the damn day."

"Oh, you're working today. Well uh... You enjoy that shower, then."

Shelby chuckled that low, sexy laugh he liked. 10am or 10pm, it got him every time. "I'll think about you, when I'm in there."

"Yeah?"

"Mmmhmm...."

"What... uhm... what are you gonna be thinking about?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?  It hasn't happened yet, but it's a guarantee that certain parts of your anatomy will be running through my mind. It'll be hot, and it'll be awesome, and I'll tell you about it Thursd-oooohhhh. I won't see you Thursday!  Damn!"

JC swore under his breath, almost growling. It sounded even more menacing over the phone line. "You're a fucking tease. That's what you are. You know that, right?"

She laughed, an evil cackle coming from deep in her throat. "Yeah. I know. I actually work hard at it. Have fun this week I guess. I'll see you soon, I'm sure."

"Maybe I can carve some time out this week, or sneak away early from something. I can't go a week without you. I'll explode."

"And not in the good way. I gotta go, love. Shower time!" 

She ended the call and turned the phone off, bouncing to the shower, laughing all the way. She was still pissed, but her plan was set in motion. If she knew him at all - and she had a pretty good grasp on him by that point-- he would find a way to work it out.

JC

"Shelby! Shel-fuck!" She hung up. Fucking tease.

JC tossed the phone to the edge of the bed and laid there, enjoying the last few minutes of peace before he had to get up and get moving. Early rehearsal to make up for the time they were losing Thursday. Fuck, he hated Rod's manager. And his manager, for confirming that he would be at Thursday's event. It was nothing more than some glad-handing and grandstanding, smiling and shaking hands and uttering phrases like ‘we're really excited about this new record'. Blah blah blah.

The promo machine was already huffing, just waiting to rev its engine. It looked like from then until the album release, promotion would be his middle name. And because this album was being touted as such a big event, masterminded and orchestrated by him, all eyes, ears, microphones and cameras would be on him.

‘Great. Just when I don't need attention.'

JC tilted his head up to look at the time on the new clock radio that sat on the side table. He had finally replaced the one that he'd smashed against the wall within days of arriving in Orlando. 10:30. He didn't even really have to be up and out of bed until 11 o'clock, 11:30 if he wasn't showering. Which was gross, but if you were lazy and didn't want to get out of bed until the very last second...

"I can't believe I'm missing out on Shelby on Thursday. Gonna be in pain by the end of the week."

As if in agreement, his dick stirred and twitched in his briefs. Checking the time again, JC slid a hand down under the band, closing his eyes, picturing her in the shower. Visualizing her body, slick and wet and soft, wishing he was there with her, soaping up that bath puff thing she used with that shower gel, the kind he liked that smelled good but didn't taste bad.

A moan rose from his throat, forced its way out of his mouth as he pushed the briefs down his hips and kicked out of them, tossing the sheet back as well, his dick standing tall and proud for him. His chest tightened with the breaths he wasn't taking, but he couldn't spare a single drop of energy, concentrating all of his effort through his arm, through his hand, around his dick, rubbing so fast and so hard he thought he might start a fire, soon. Just as he felt like he might pass out, that tingling, euphoric feeling overtook him and he stroked through an intense climax, making a mess of the sheets, finally able to breathe but only after a hard, loud, guttural grunt.

Panting, heaving, lightheaded, he fell back against the mattress. Sweating. Who sweats from masturbating? Did other guys do that? He didn't even know who he could ask about something like that.

Not even close to really satisfied, JC rolled out of bed and stumbled toward the shower. He was going to have to work something out, about Thursday. No way was he going two weeks without her.

Shelby

Bored. Bored, bored, bored. Shelby lay on her back, on the couch in the den, her legs hanging over the arm, staring at the dust on the overhead fan, listening to the TV drone on and on. Something was on... she wasn't paying attention to it. It was boring. She was bored.

She had run out of things to do to distract her from the fact that it was Thursday and she wasn't with JC. This part of the day was normally spent trying to get things done so she could concentrate on him later-cleaning up, going shopping or to the salon if she needed to, getting a little ahead on her Business class, which was turning out to be quite interesting.

Her mind had been wandering lately and her hands had been idle. She had to do something with herself and with her money, something that might alleviate some of the guilt she felt about having it and spending it. Her shifts at Antigua were just to get her back in the business, back in Bartender mode. The classes, she hoped, would give her insight into opening her own bar, running her own show. The thought excited her, made her heart go pitter-patter. It was the first thing, besides JC, that she'd been excited about in a long time.

She had already read ahead in her course materials, though. Studied for the exam the next week-she knew the subject matter backward and forward and backward again. The house sparkled, even the garage was clean and organized and the lawn was clipped and the pool was clean. The last of her boxes had long since been unpacked, her media organized by genre and then alphabetized by title. There was not a speck of dust or dirt anywhere.

Shelby rolled her head toward the TV, trying to remember what was on, what she was watching. It must have gone off, because she'd never in her life seen That 70's Show.  She let it distract her for a few minutes, laughing at the fashion and the humorous one-liners until it went off and something else came on. She reached for the remote and snapped it off and the house was silent.

Bored.  ‘I could go out,' she thought. ‘Just go hang out somewhere. Have some drinks. Relax. Remember this feeling of being by myself, having my own life, doing my own thing.' It was not a bad idea. Not the thing she wanted to be doing, but not a bad idea.

Shelby hopped into the shower for a few minutes, psyching herself up for going out alone. Her body was conditioned, accustomed to a certain schedule. She felt a little off, like there were things she was supposed to be doing, but she wasn't. Maybe a trip out of the house would take her mind off of those things. And pass some time. For sure, she probably wouldn't sleep that night.

She tossed on some clothes, not even really paying attention to what she was wearing-a t-shirt, some jeans, some slip on sandals. She needed a jacket, or something, in case she ended up by the water, which was always a little cooler than being in the city. Her fingers brushed across something soft. She grabbed at it, pulling it out, a familiar scent woven into its fibers. One of JC's zippered hoodies had somehow been mixed up with her laundry. She smiled at it and sniffed it, catching his scent. She pulled it on and zipped it up, rolling up the sleeves a little. It was way too big on her, but she felt warm and comforted by it.

She got into the car, pulled out of the garage and onto the road, headed toward Orlando, listening to the pop station on the radio. One of Rod's older songs was playing. She turned it up, singing along, smiling. She drove and drove, windows down, a breeze blowing through the car, music on. Past nightclubs and bars and watering holes. When she saw someplace and felt she just had to stop, she would. So far, it hadn't happened.

Nothing sounded good. Normally JC would have a place in mind, and she would meet him there, or at his house and they'd go together. He'd give her some history on the place, or talk about a memory he had of the first time he went there, or when one of his friends got drunk and did something stupid there, and that's why he liked or remembered it. They'd walk in, hand in hand, bold as anything despite his face being a familiar one, especially around Orlando. Sometimes people recognized him. Most of the time, people just walked right on by, or just gave a smile and a wave. He'd smile back, wave back, nod back, and go on with life. So unassuming and not ‘celebrity' like. He never acted like he was too good for a dive bar or for a six inch Subway sandwich. He ate a turkey and swiss the same way he ate a parmesan crusted sea bass. Shelby had no idea what living in LA was like, but it was weird to think that he would go back to being basically stalked all the time. It seemed like things in Orlando moved at a much slower pace and people were way more laid back.

After dinner, they would hit up Dessert Lady, or some other place where they served decadent and delicious food. Sometimes they would eat in, and have coffee or wine and sit and talk and stare into each other's eyes. Putting off the evening on purpose. Dragging it out. Teasing each other. That was the part she liked the most. Well, not the most. But a lot. He knew how to make her feel wanted without having to say it, just by the way he looked at her, the way he let his eyes dip to parts of her body and slowly climb back up to her eyes, her face, her smile. It was in the way he would grab her and pull her up against him, or stand behind her and press himself into her. Knowing what she was doing to him was the best turn on, ever. She'd never met a man like him, so confident in himself but not at all cocky. The expectation was always there but she never felt like she had to be with him, or that she should feel lucky he chose her.

That was the difference between JC and Rod Phillips, she imagined. Girls with Rod were probably made to feel like if they didn't fuck him, they'd be ruined for life. Or at least for another celebrity. Some of those girls made a living out of making the rounds. Like the chick Michael Jackson wrote about in Dirty Diana. ‘She likes the boys in the band, she knows when they come to town/ every musicians fan after the curtain goes down.' Shelby shuddered at the thought of making the rounds. JC was more than enough for her.

Boredom was setting in, again. Shelby was still driving, and hadn't found anything she wanted to do, or anywhere she wanted to go. She pulled into a coffee shop off of International. Maybe a hot cup of coffee or cocoa, some relaxation, and a few minutes of quiet time would do her some good.

The tinny sound of a bell tinkled overhead as the door swung open and she stepped inside. The shop was about half full, mostly with younger people taking up the tables on one side of the place, texts open, paper coffee cups scattered about, heads in hands and eyes on notebooks. The college crowd.

It was, but wasn't her peer group. She'd never been the ‘sit in the coffee shop and cram' type of student. Even now, she was ahead in both of her classes. She laughed, then, thinking back to the first time she was in college. Students like her-older students-were annoying, with their reading ahead and working ahead and setting the grading curve too high. Now, as an older student, she got it. Getting ahead meant survival. Getting behind, while juggling other responsibilities that most 19 year olds didn't have to think about, could mean having to drop out. It was a necessary evil.

"Can I help you? You know what you want?" A short perky girl with a green apron and a name tag that read ‘April' was standing behind the counter, smiling too wide, like she'd had one too many frappucinos or something and she was all hopped up on caffeine. Shelby smiled back, ordered a latte with whipped cream and a slice of cake, and slid a $10 bill across the counter.

Shelby settled into a worn, comfortable chair in corner of the shop, right under a lamp and against the wall. She set her coffee and cake on the table next to her and pulled out an old book she had left in the car. She had been reading it on the way from Miami, while her mom drove. It was a romance, the bodice-ripper kind. Every girl needed a fantasy, and if she couldn't have a steamy, dramatic love affair, she could always read about one. Besides, the dialogue and the premise were always amusing.

Ten pages into the story of a young woman with a snappy attitude and a chip on her shoulder, her phone buzzed in the pocket of the jacket. She dug it out and smiled at the screen.  

muzicman: Hey sexy. What you doing?

Shelby flipped open the phone, slid out the keyboard and typed a response.

shelbyj: was bored stiff at home.

shelbyj: drove around a little, now at a coffee shop.

shelbyj: about to have a latte and some cake. You?

A minute later, the phone buzzed again.

muzicman: Chocolate? Not fair. Sitting next to Rod. He's talking about the album making process.

muzicman: He makes it sound so boring. All he does is show up and sing. Wishing I was with you.

shelbyj: Believe me, I wish that, too. So you have to sit there all night next to him, listening to him talk?

shelbyj: Why do you even have to be there?

A few minutes passed and Shelby went back to her book. The heroine, Janine, had just lost her father to a tragic accident, of course. There's always a tragic accident. Book writers always thought tragic accidents were great points to write around. They added emotion and drama, something to write about and really show angst. Shelby thought they should try living through a tragic accident, sometime. Really get a feel for it. This shit was nothing to play with. The phone buzzed again, in her lap.

muzicman: not all night.  Just was there because he introduced me to one of his buddies, said something about us all working together.

muzicman: Then talked about himself for ten minutes, so I excused myself. Working the room, now.

Shelby smiled at the thought of JC hobnobbing and pretending to care.

shelbyj: HA! Work it, baby.  

muzicman: Careful. Don't get me worked up. These pants are too small for that.

Shelby laughed aloud, and then remembered she was in public. She glanced around but no one seemed to notice her.

shelbyj: I wasn't even thinking that. I was just picking on you.

shelbyj: You made me laugh, though.

muzicman: You have a great laugh.

muzicman: Gets me going, every time. I miss it.

muzicman: I miss you.

muzicman: What are you wearing? So I can get a picture of you in my mind.

She couldn't even remember. She had to look to check.

shelbyj:  uh...Jeans, T-shirt, sandals. Your gray zippered hoodie thing.

shelbyj: I must have stuck it in my drawer.

muzicman: That's where that thing is. Bet you look good in it.

shelbyj: I bet I do.  It's too big. But warm and comfortable. Smells like you.

muzicman: Hope I smell good.

shelbyj: You smell delicious. Makes me really miss you. I'm so used to being with you on Thursdays.

muzicman: You too. Thinking about you right now.

muzicman: You thinking about me?

shelbyj:  I never stop thinking about you.

muzicman: Is that right? What are you thinking about right now?

Shelby grinned at the screen and looked around again. She was up against a wall, so no one was behind her. People around her were oblivious. She was just another one of those people addicted to the cell phone, laughing at something funny. Shelby slouched down in the chair anyway, the phone flipped open and under the book, which laid open, face down on her lap.

shelbyj: You sure you want to get into this right now? I'm thinking some pretty hot stuff about you.

muzicman: I definitely want to get into this right now. I want to get into you right now.

muzicman:  This thing is so boring and I'm pissed I can't leave and come to you. Hiding in a corner.

shelbyj: Actually... I'm seeing your smile. I like how your whole face smiles when you're really smiling. Or laughing. You're cute when you're really smiling.

muzicman: You're a sweetie. You have a pretty smile too.

muzicman: I like that dimple in your left cheek. I think I'm gonna name it.

shelbyj: Really. Name it what?

muzicman: Haven't thought of it. Something sexy. Let ya know when I come up with it.

muzicman: So that's all you're thinking about on a night when we're usually together? My smile?

shelbyj: Haha. No. Trying to stay tame so you don't rip your pants.

muzicman: Rip a hole in them honey.

Shelby was nervous and embarrassed and interested and intrigued all at once. She laughed a loud burst of giggles, much louder than she intended, then slapped a hand over her mouth and apologized with her eyes at the two people that glanced her way. "Sorry," she said, and went back to her phone.

shelbyj: You just got me in trouble. Stop making me laugh!

muzicman: Sorry. How about I make you wet instead?

Shelby's eyes bugged out and she was sure she blushed a crimson red. She gulped and glanced around, again. Just making sure no one could see the phone. This was... new. To her, at least but they hadn't done much texting, lately. Shelby was always afraid someone would find the transcript, because JC never deleted them.

shelbyj: How would you do that?

muzicman: I'd tell you things. Things I'm thinking.

muzicman: Sexy things I'm thinking about sexy you.

shelbyj: Okay. You tell me something, I'll tell you something.

muzicman: Okay.

muzicman: Right now, I'm in a room full of the fakest tits ever. Lots of girls hanging around, hoping to go home with someone important. I'm missing yours and how soft they are and how good they feel in my hands.

muzicman: And in my mouth. I would love to see them, right now.

An eyebrow rose. Shelby typed back, smirking.

shelbyj: Pardon? How do you know their tits are fake?

muzicman: They look fake. I'm an expert on this, honey. And they feel fake.

shelbyj: Wait! Whose tits are you feeling?

muzicman: We're getting sidetracked...

shelbyj: Answer me.

muzicman: Any idea what it's like to be standing somewhere and have a chick press her hard as shit "perky when everything else sags" melons into your back?

muzicman: And you turn around and it looks like she's smuggling two cantaloupes under a shirt she should not be wearing, what with sunspots and all.

muzicman: Ew.

shelbyj:  Yeah, it's like  waiting tables and having a guy pass you and press his limp gherkin dick  into your ass like he's Ron Jeremy or something.

muzicman: Right. So you get me.

muzicman:  Anyway.

muzicman:  Did I mention I wanted to see yours?

shelbyj: Yeah you mentioned that.

muzicman: So?

She smiled, trying not to laugh aloud.

shelbyj: So, what? Come see ‘em.

muzicman: Can't. Send me a picture.

shelbyj: Of my boobs?I can't,  I'm in public.

muzicman: Go to the bathroom.  Send it to the private address.

shelbyj: Are you serious?

muzicman: I'm kidding, honey.

muzicman: Unless you're gonna do it.

Shelby started to type a response, and then deleted it. Then bit her lip and looked around her. No one was paying attention to her at all; she wasn't sure what there was to be so paranoid about. She gave his request some serious consideration. It could be fun. He might not actually expect her to do it.

Before she lost her nerve, she grabbed her purse, leaving her book next to a half eaten piece of cake and her latte. She unzipped the jacket and left it in the seat, to mark her place. She wouldn't be gone, long. Hopefully it wouldn't disappear.

Shelby slipped into the ladies restroom and locked the door, hands shaking, feeling a little giggly. And a little excited. Her nipples were standing on end in anticipation. Her boredom was way past gone. In her hand, the phone buzzed over and over.

muzicman: You there?

muzicman: Shelby.

muzicman: You mad? I said I was kidding.

shelbyj: I'm in the bathroom.

shelbyj: Feeling naughty. Adventurous.

muzicman:  Oh? Do tell...

She  imagined him grinning, biting his lip, trying to hide his expression from the room. That and the uncomfortably noticeable bulge in his pants. Suddenly, she wasn't so bored.

muzicman: You sending me something?

shelbyj: Maybe. What do you want to see? I'm wearing a t-shirt. It's not very sexy.

muzicman: Everything you own is sexy. You got the Midas touch, but for sexy. Everything you touch is sexy.

Shelbyj: this is true. I touch you a lot and you're pretty damn sexy.

muzicman:  See? Help a brother out. Send me something good to look at.

JC had a way with words, even when those words were crude and base and overtly sexual-- at least where her body was concerned. Her heart beat faster as she reached up under her t-shirt and unhooked the bra-plain and simple because she wasn't going to be seeing him, and could be comfortable-and pulled it out of the sleeve of her shirt. She folded the cotton material and shoved it into her pocket, then adjusted her shirt, positioning herself in the mirror, filling the viewfinder with an image of round breasts outlined in the material, swollen nipples poking through thin cotton of her shirt.

Holding her breath, she snapped a few pictures, picking the best one, deleting the others and sending the one she chose to a super secret email address. No one else had that email address. It was just for her. She had one just for him.

shelbyj: I just sent it. Hope it's what you wanted.

muzicman: Hang on. Email just came. Wait a sec, okay?

shelbyj: K.

Shelby paced in the bathroom, waiting. And waiting. And waiting! He must have been roped into some conversation with Rod, again. She wanted to get out of there, but her nipples were embarrassing and ridiculous. She wished, now, that she'd brought the hoodie in with her. Then she could hide her obvious arousal under the thick material. The phone buzzed and she snapped it open.

muzicman: Oh, shit. Those look ripe for the picking.  Driving me crazy.

muzicman: I wish I could leave. I'd come get those, right now.

muzicman: Would love my face to be right there.

Shelby smiled, leaning against the wall with the phone, the cold, hard tile doing nothing for her body temperature.

shelbyj: Want you to.

shelbyj: I would love that. I wish you were here to do that.

shelbyj: And suck on them and flick the tips of my nipples. That feels so good. Craving that, right now.

shelbyj: Shit, I'm lit up, now. You're mean.

muzicman: I'm not mean. Welcome to my world. At least you can leave.

shelbyj: True. Sorry.

muzicman: Are you wet?

She didn't even need to check. She could feel the warmth pooling between her thighs, soaking the crotch of her plain cotton panties and sticking to her skin.

shelbyj: Very. You hard?

muzicman: Mission accomplished. I'm trying not to stand up. I'll put someone's eye out.

shelbyj: Okay, where the fuck is this event? A whorehouse?

shelbyj: You're feeling chick's tits and someone is close enough to you that your dick is at her eye level?

shelbyj: Are you at a strip club?

muzicman: Made me laugh. I was kidding.

muzicman: What are you thinking about right now?

shelbyj: Not sure you want to know.

muzicman: I do. I promise, I do. Tell me.

Shelby punched at the keys, tongue between her lips, eyes half open, her mind on a sexy visual.

shelbyj: Would you believe I have never had sex in car? Always wanted to.

muzicman: I'll believe whatever you tell me to believe. Are you thinking about us in the car?

shelbyj: More than that. Thinking about driving to wherever you are.

shelbyj:  Making an excuse that I'm your long lost cousin or something and there's an emergency and you have to leave.

shelbyj:  And then driving us to some dark patch of road, where it's pitch black.

shelbyj: dragging you into the backseat

shelbyj: unzipping your pants and letting that beast roam free. I bet it would feel good after being caged for so long.

shelbyj: I'd take that in my mouth and suck it like a hoover.

muzicman: Damn....

shelbyj: and then I'd pull my jeans off and slide my thong down. Or better, to the side and climb on that dick and ride it until I come.  

She was almost panting and out of breath just typing it, let alone imagining it. Knowing it couldn't happen, at least not at the moment,  was driving her out of her mind.

shelbyj:  That's what I'm thinking about.

shelbyj: Are you there?

shelbyj: Fucker. Why are you doing this to me?

muzicman:  Cause it's fun and I'm bored.

muzicman: You make car sex sound hot. I would love that right now. Every second of that.

muzicman: You have an incredibly vivid imagination.

Shelby smiled, knowing he was thinking about it now, too. And probably trying hard to hide the bulge by now, wishing it could really happen.

shelbyj: That's just the beginning. I have an incredible sex life from which to draw such imagery. Okay to leave the bathroom? I've been in here awhile.

muzicman: I guess, if you're done in there? Lol.

muzicman: Keep talking though. Don't get shy on me.

shelbyj: Not a chance.

She walked and typed, unlocking the door and opening it, almost knocking someone over on the other side. "Oh, sorry about that," she said over her shoulder, rushing back to her seat, hoping her arms covered her nipples jutting out of her shirt.. It was still empty, grey hoodie crumpled there and still marking her place. She picked it up and put it on, feeling more comfortable now that her rock hard nipples were hidden beneath it.

shelbyj: Back to my seat. Shop is half full. They almost got a peek at what you do to me.

muzicman: I want a peek at what I do to you. Trying to think of puppies and rainbows so I can stand up.

shelbyj: You should send me a picture.

muzicman:  Of me?

shelbyj: Yep. I sent you one. Send me a picture of those pants almost ready to bust open.

muzicman: Nice try, honey.

shelbyj: Come on, I did it. Please?

Seconds passed. He was thinking about it. Otherwise he would have changed the subject.

muzicman: Gonna regret this. Let's see if I can make it to a bathroom.

Shelby almost squealed, her heartbeat speeding up in anticipation. She didn't actually think he'd do it. In fact, she bet herself a dollar that he would get to the bathroom and chicken out. He'd take the picture but she probably wouldn't see it until they were together again. He got paranoid about sending pictures. They always ended up somewhere they shouldn't be, eventually. The phone buzzed again.

muzicman: I can't believe I'm doing this.I know I shouldn't.

shelbyj: But you're going to, aren't you?

muzicman: You only sent me your boobs.

shelbyj : You don't have to send me your dick. Just the dick print. Lol.

muzicman: Bad influence. Really bad.

muzicman: Okay, I know you know this but I have to say it.

muzicman:  Don't send this anywhere. Don't even email it to yourself. Delete it soon as you're done... uhm. doing whatever it is you're gonna do. Looking at it, or whatever.

 Surprised that he was even going through with it, she agreed, and then waited for the notifier that she had received an email.

shelbyj:  Pic is here. One sec.

Shelby navigated to email, and then to the private email address she created for him. Two emails were there, the second sent minutes after the first. There was no subject and no text in the body of the first email, just a picture from a bathroom of the front of him. He was wearing dark slacks, so he had to turn sideways otherwise the bulge was camouflaged. That effect probably saved him a little embarrassment. From the side, though, it looked like he was smuggling a small child in his pants.

She knew it was supposed to be sexy, but she laughed, quietly, this time. She opened the second email and her eyes slammed shut at the image, and then opened again. She pulled the phone in, close to her chest, just in case people around her could see. Except there was no one around her, she was just being paranoid.

The screen was filled with an image from the inside of his briefs. He'd simply pulled the band away from his body and snapped a photo. He was almost fully erect, the length curled along his groin, against his body. She recognized the girth and the color, the angle of the tip. She could pick that dick out anywhere.

Shelby took a deep breath, wiping away a drip of drool from the side of her mouth. She deleted both emails, making sure they were gone.

muzicman: See what you do to me?

The message was waiting for her when she closed the email function and navigated back to texts.

Shelbyj: oh my God! You have lost your mind!

shelbyj: Not that I'm complaining.

muzicman: Do not believe I did that. Delete that shit forever.

shelbyj: I don't want to.  You're beautiful. I love that part of you. So hard but so smooth and so warm. Feels good in my hands. Feels good in my...

muzicman: See. Now who's being mean?

shelbyj: It's killing me that any other week, I'd have that in my mouth by now. I want it. God, I'm dying. 

muzicman: I'm right next to you. Hang on, someone knocking, have to leave the bathroom.

Shelby waited impatiently, tapping her foot, watching the patrons in the coffee shop study and talk and drink coffee and read the paper. None of them had any idea that she was having a dirty IM conversation on her phone. It was fun. When she wasn't throbbing and missing him.

About a minute later, the phone buzzed again.

muzicman: Okay. Back to the shindig. Hanging out in the shadows though.

muzicman: I don't understand why I had to be here. No one wants to talk to me.

muzicman: No one here gives a shit about who wrote the song just who sings it.

muzicman: Do not want to be here.

shelbyj: I'm sorry you have to be. Am I helping to distract you?

muzicman: Are you ever. Having fun thinking of all the delicious ways I could lick you up.   

muzicman: Am I helping keep the boredom away?

shelbyj:  You have no idea. Not bored anymore at all.

muzicman: Still wet?

Shelby squirmed in her seat, feeling the liquid heat between her thighs again.

shelbyj:   Horny as *fuck* right now. Thank you very much.

muzicman: Me too. Thinking about you. Wishing I was with you, right now. I just want to hug you. I want to hold you and feel you next to me.

Muzicman: I want hard nipples up against my chest.

muzicman: Wouldn't that feel nice?

shelbyj: Hmmmmmmmmmmph..........

She wanted him to stop, but didn't want him to stop. She was hot, almost sweating with the hoodie on but didn't dare take it off, now. Her nipples were so hard and her breasts were so swollen that she was sure she would look like a circus act, sitting in a corner of a coffee shop, glistening with sweat, pretending not to notice how turned on she looked.

muzicman: Hahaha. Is that a yes?

shelbyj: Mmmmmmmm.Fuck.

muzicman: You okay?

muzicman: Shelby?

Shelby crossed her legs and squeezed, almost moaning out loud as her hips, ever so slowly, she hoped imperceptibly, pressing the seam of her jeans up against her clit. It throbbed in response, wanting her to rock hard and fast and put her out of her misery. She wished she could. But she couldn't. Knowing that turned her on even more.

shelbyj: So, I've never done this before.

shelbyj: Getting extremely hot and very bothered over here.

muzicman: What does that mean?

shelbyj: Means I think I'm gonna come.

The response from JC came lightning fast.

muzicman: No way.

shelbyj: Mmhhmm.

muzicman: Shelby, you're serious? You're not playing?

shelbyj: I swear, I'm so close. Fucking throbbing.

muzicman: Tell me. What are you doing?

shelbyj: Slouched in this big ass chair in here. Kind of turned away from everyone.

shelbyj: In a corner. People in here but not around me. Can't be too obvious, but I feel so dirty. In a good way. : )

shelbyj: My nipples are so hard So sensitive. Driving me insane. All I want is a tongue to run across them. Just once.

muzicman: I would volunteer, but...

shelbyj: Crossed my legs and squeezing my clit so hard. Feels good. Pressure feels good.

shelbyj: Working my hips but have to move slow. Tiny circles.

shelbyj: mmmmmm....

Shelby had to lean over a little, against the armrest of the chair, blinking to keep her eyes open, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from moaning out loud. Inside, her mind was screaming for release.

muzicman: You there?

muzicman: Shelby?

muzicman: Did you?

shelbyj: Not yet.

shelbyj: But close...soooooooo close.

She slid further down in the seat, the seam of her jeans, once just a tease, now applying very steady pressure. Her pulse throbbed there, sending a rushing feeling to her ears. It didn't take much movement of her hips to accelerate the pressure, sending waves up her body.

muzicman: Please don't stop.

shelbyj: Couldn't stop now if I wanted to.

shelbyj:  Really close.

shelbyj: Lightheaded. Squeezing, working my hips around and around, up against the seam of my jeans.

shelbyj: Feels so fucking good, baby.

shelbyj: Gonna come so hard. I can barely breathe.

shelbyj: omg I hope I don't scream

The phone buzzed with a message from him.

muzicman: Have to go back to the bathroom!

Shelby smiled, slowing her movements.

shelbyj: Hurry. Catch up.

Communication lapsed for a few minutes. She sipped her latte, took a bite of her cake, pretended to read and look normal, like she wasn't teasing herself to what was going to be an incredible climax, waiting for this guy on the other end of the phone to hide in a bathroom stall and do the same. Perfectly normal. Totally hot.

muzicman:  Hiding in a different bathroom.

shelbyj: Sneaky fucker.  

shelbyj: By the way, I don't want to hear about how hot it was the last time you did this. This is my first time. Don't ruin it.

muzicman: Got it. Don't wanna ruin it.

shelbyj: What are you doing?

muzicman: What do you think? Haha. Silly girl.

muzicman: But I can't type to you and do this. Just keep going.

shelbyj: Ha, one of the benefits of being a woman. Hands are free but I'm going to town.

shelbyj:  Had to slow it down so you could catch up, but working my way up, again. My thighs are getting a workout.

shelbyj: Clit feels so good, though. I'm so wet, it's like a marble in oil.

shelbyj: Mmmm...I'm  rocking my hips up. Imagining us. In the backseat of a car. Yours, mine, doesn't matter.

shelbyj:  riding that amazing dick.

shelbyj: Can almost feel you inside me. Getting closer. Feeling so good.

The phone buzzed but all she got was ‘......   ......... ................'  Shelby giggled. He only had one free hand. Hopefully, that was code for ‘sounds good, keep going'.

shelbyj: So wet. It's warm.

shelbyj: Feeling a tingle.

shelbyj: Tingle stronger.

shelbyj: Shit. mmmmm

shelbyj: Wishing I was with you.

shelbyj: Under you.

shelbyj: On top of you. Riding you.

shelbyj: Your breath on my skin.

shelbyj: Your chest pressed up against me, heart beating crazy fast.

shelbyj: Your voice in my ear, asking me to come for you.

shelbyj:  Fuck, I'm close.

The phone buzzed. 'Close,' was the only word that popped up. Her hips sped up at the thought of JC, tucked into a bathroom stall pulling and twisting and rubbing with one hand, trying to type with the thumb of the other, all because of her words appearing on the screen in front of him. She felt powerful. And sexy. Electric. On fire.

shelbyj: Gonna come.....

Shelby's fingers flew across the keyboard, her hips moving so fast in small, tight circles. She hoped to hell no one noticed, but even if they did, she didn't dare stop.

shelbyj: Close. So close.

shelbyj:  omg. Oh my holy fuck, I'm gonna come right here.

Her breath caught in her throat as she pulsed, and felt an intense clench and then contracting, over and over and over. She gripped the arm of the chair so hard a fingernail snapped, slouched in the seat, hugging the phone to her chest, her hips still writhing and convulsing through the longest, most intense orgasm she had ever had.

shelbyj: omggggggggggggggggggggggggggggccoming!

shelbyj: omg so fucking hard

shelbyj: still. shit!

An email message popped up for her, to her secret account. She opened it without thinking, the image enclosed making her almost want to scream. She settled for a tiny, quiet whimper, deep in her throat. JC had a death grip around the head, bulbous and red. Pooled around his head and his hand was the evidence that he was every bit as naughty and dirty and kinky and daring and turned on as she was.

‘Thank you,' was the message in the body of the email. ‘Delete this, right now.'

She hated to, but she deleted it and went back to the text function.

shelbyj: That kind of just made me want you more. I am out of my mind.

shelbyj: Are you sure you can't leave? I just want a good, hard fucking right now.

shelbyj  RIGHT NOW.

muzicman: What side of town are you on?

shelbyj:  International and Orange.

muzicman:  Wanna see if I can make your fantasy come true. Hang on. Will be a few minutes.

shelbyj: K.

Since he was occupied, Shelby tried to compose herself. Sat up straight, finished her latte-cold by now but it was wet and she just needed something on her throat. Marked her spot in her book, popped the last bite of cake into her mouth and headed toward the door, legs wobbly as jello, feeling so very naughty. She'd sat in that chair, the one over there in the corner, and totally did something she'd never dream of doing before. JC was bringing a lot of firsts, to her life. Definitely a good addition to the new and improved Shelby. Something in her hoped there were a lot more new things she'd do with JC.

She slid behind the steering wheel, started the car and let the cool air circulate. Orlando could be so muggy sometimes. Hot, the air thick with moisture. She was sweating and so worked up, heart still beating madly in her chest, which didn't help.  

"I hate today," she said aloud, pounding the steering wheel. "I miss my man. I should be up against a wall, or on a table, or on a counter or on a floor, or for a change of scenery, in a bed. Instead I'm in a car! And even that's not fun!"

Shelby banged her head against the headrest, screaming out her frustration. Her phone buzzed, interrupting her, alerting her to a message.

muzicman: Was gonna have you come get me, but I'm sprung. Go to my house.

muzicman: Key under the cinder block on the right side, by the shed.

muzicman: I'll meet you there. Can't wait to see you.

‘K,' she typed back, casual and calm. That was nowhere near what she was feeling, as she peeled out of the driveway and got on the road, back to Winter Park, toward Lake Virginia, grinning the entire way.

JC

He'd had enough. This event was boring, at some fancy hotel, arranged by Rod's record label rep and his manager. Some deal they set up to get the word out, keep the hype running about the new single. JC hated schmoozing and hyping things up. Either it was good, or it wasn't-and the single was good. It stood on its own two feet just fine without promotion masquerading as a social event. He knew none of these people, though Rod and the rest of the band hadn't stopped talking to people since they walked in the door.

"I'm leaving," he said to Dave, Rod's manager. "I got some stuff I could be doing, before tomorrow's shoot. No one cares about the producer or the music man. This gig's a waste of my time."

"Fine, fine," Dave answered, his beady eyes bulging out of his head, waiving him off and returning to his conversation.

‘That was easy. I wish I would have known it was that easy an hour ago.  Could already be with Shelby right now.'

He felt a twitch and suppressed a groan at the thought of her. He'd already taken care of his problem, but it was growing back, and he had no intention of wasting it on another handjob in a hotel bathroom. He wanted to be home. Needed to be with her. Not that the night wasn't already a raging success. It was fun and kind of exciting, going back and forth with her. No one had any idea that he was sending and receiving sexy missives, getting him all worked up so bad he had to go hide in a bathroom at the other end of the hall and jack off. There was something exciting about sneaking around, having a clandestine interactive encounter. Shelby was something else.

But he'd had enough. He was doing nothing, accomplishing nothing, didn't need to be there and could have a hot and bothered young woman under him in about an hour, so as he stepped out into the muggy evening, he didn't feel bad at all for ducking out on the guys.

A line of taxis sat outside the hotel, the cabbies all gathered around one car, talking and smoking, waiting for fares. JC caught the eye of one and nodded at him. "Windermere," he said. Had to go pick up his car at Rod's first. They had all come together in van provided by Rod's manager.

The long ride to Rod's and then the long ride across Orlando to Winter Park gave JC a lot of time to think. Against his better judgment, he was falling for her. She didn't want him to, but it was happening. He wasn't sure how to tell her, or if he should tell her, or if he should just keep it to himself. Maybe telling her would give her the confidence and security to open up. More than being curious, he felt like he was on the outside of her life, looking in. He wanted to be on the inside. He wanted her on the inside of his life, too.

He tried to guess what she was hiding. It was like a game, when he was bored, to think of all the crazy things she could be keeping from him. It had something to do with her ex fiancé, he knew that. Maybe the guy was a member of the mob, and she had to hide from him. Maybe he was a drug dealer and she made off with some of his good stuff and if he found her, he'd kill her. Maybe he was a politician with a wife and kids and a good life and he sent her away with a bunch of money if she wouldn't say anything. He had to wonder what a former Bartender was doing that she could afford the house she lived in and the car she drove. He didn't figure she was from money-at least she didn't act like she was from money. She didn't work, except for a few shifts a week at Antigua. She was going to school. Shopped every week, showing off some sexy new thing every time he saw her. She was having a good time, and didn't seem to be worried about what she was spending. Either she was nuts and tits deep in debt, or she was loaded.

His head reeled at the possibilities. Some of them were outrageous. Some of them could very well be true. He wished he could know for sure.

Lights were on, at the house. Porch, living room, and upstairs that he could tell. Shelby's car was in the driveway. He twitched, straining against his jeans. That made it official. Every part of his body was looking forward to seeing her.  He pulled into the garage and got out of the car, headed toward the interior door that led to the kitchen.

He hadn't even fully entered the house before a blur came into his vision and something-someone, rather, had climbed him. Was hanging off of him. Legs wrapped around him, arms around his neck, lips on his cheek, hair in his face. He felt the rumbling of her moans in her chest, the twitching in her body.

"Hey, hey. Hi."

"Hi," she answered, her face shoved into his neck. "I can't believe how much I missed you."

"I missed you, too. You okay?"

"No."

"No?" She shook her head. "Wanna talk about it?"

"No," she answered. "Take me upstairs."

Sounded good to him. "Well. Okay, then. Hang on for the ride." He snapped the lights off in the kitchen and the hall and climbed the steps, cupping her against him the entire way up the stairs, down the hall to his bedroom. A single lamp was on, the TV was on but muted, the bedspread showed evidence that she'd been laying there until he got home.

"This is kind of nice," he said, dropping her gently onto the bed, beginning to unbutton his crisp white dress shirt. "I like that you were here when I got here."

Shelby laid on the bed where he dropped her, watching him undress. Her eyelids were heavy, but her eyes were open and didn't miss a thing. He finished undressing, peeling off the soiled briefs and tossing them toward a basket in the closet. Shelby was undressed, wearing one of his shirts and a plain cotton pair of panties. Oddly he found them just as sexy as her lace or mesh ones, especially when she wasn't wearing anything else.

Things didn't feel as urgent as he thought they would. Maybe because they'd already had a climax earlier, and could take their time with each other, but he didn't feel rushed at all. He was even home pretty early so they'd have lots of time to take it slow and do it right.

JC reached up toward the top of the bed and folded back the light bedspread and sheets. Shelby got up and climbed inside them while he rescued the remote from the certain death of being kicked under the bed. He navigated to a music station and turned off the display, just letting the audio play through the speakers mounted throughout the room. Soft music drifted through the room, circling them, enveloping them in a mood. He slid in between the sheets, toward the warm figure in the middle of the bed waiting for him.

Shelby's voice was soft in his ear. "I just want to lay here with you for a little bit. I don't want to rush it, you know?"

"Sure," he said rolling toward the edge of the bed, leaning out of it toward the drawer, retrieving the small, square package, ripping it open and rolling on the thin latex material in the dark. "Whenever you're ready, we're good," he said, moving back toward her.

Her head found his chest and he felt her relax against him, a deep sigh coming from her body. He dug his fingers into her hair and kissed the crown of her head. He had no idea what was going on in that brain of hers, but he was just going to give her some time. Be close to her. Feel her heart beat on top of his and her body close to his. And even if they feel asleep and didn't do anything, he was so much happier than he would have been without her.

Shelby

She wasn’t quite sure what was wrong. She wanted him. Her body pulsed, she wanted him so bad, but it was too much. Somehow, it wasn’t just about the sex, anymore. It was about him. Him. It was…too overwhelming. Too much. Too much.

She needed a few minutes, so she stalled for time and asked if they could just lie together for a few minutes. She laid her head on his shoulder, pressed against him, breast to chest, felt his heart beat and listened to the music and his breathing. Trying to stop thinking that she was lying to herself.

She knew what was wrong. She didn’t want to know what was wrong. She’d prefer to blame it on hormones or the moon or something, but that wasn’t it.

Dammit!  In no way did she intend to get attached to him, this musician who, as she was reminded by her mother, probably made a terrible boyfriend. For all she knew, he thrived in a setup like this, where he didn’t have to commit to her and she didn’t have to commit to him, and they could hook up once a week and work their frustrations out. Eat some good food, drink some good wine, have some good sex. The next morning he was gone and she was gone and life moved on until the next Thursday, when it was a new restaurant and a new bar and a new lingerie set and a new position. This a great arrangement. A perfect setup.

Why could she not enjoy it? Why did she suddenly need more?

It was starting to feel like… what was that feeling? Not hollow. Definitely not hollow. It just… wasn’t enough. Shelby found herself craving him uncontrollably sometimes, needing him so badly she could cry. She held the phone in her hands sometimes for hours on end, willing herself to call him, but in the end she wouldn’t. She had no right to count on him, to make demands of him and his time. He wasn’t her boyfriend. She wasn’t his girlfriend. No commitments, remember? He was a friend, sure, when it came to movies and music and food, hanging out and having fun. He wasn’t someone she should get close to and share her secrets with.

Against her better judgment, though, she really, really wanted to. If she could find the words to say it, she’d spill every word, confess her little ass off.  Tell him, tell him all about how she used men for money, let them take care of her, let them spoil her. All she had to do was give up a little bit of sex, a blow job here and there, hang on his arm and every word at parties and events and functions. And of course, be his private toy. In exchange, he took care of her. Gave her everything she ever even thought she needed or wanted or had to have. Or just paid her rent. It was an arrangement.  

They weren’t supposed to fall in love with her.  She wasn’t supposed to love them back.

Shelby saw it coming with Lucas, thinking that deeper feelings from him would be to her advantage. Much too late, she realized there was no advantage at all to bilking this man out of money and time and affection. She wasn’t sure how far she would let things go with JC before she cut it off.  Her feelings for him—unexpected and passionate and suddenly so deep-- confused her, clouded her judgment.  She was starting to like it. Getting comfortable. And that scared her. She refused to use him like she used Lucas.

Breathing slowly and deeply, lying in his arms, Shelby felt his hand rubbing her back, being so patient with her. She let her hand roam, wandering smooth skin, tight muscles, and his tempting, pulsing, hot-to-the-touch erection.  His head turned toward her, his lips at her forehead. He kissed her, so sweet. So soft. Her heart was sighing, tears were welling up, so much pent up emotion spilling over.  Lucas and JC and the last few years and the last few months swirled around in her head. Everything was just all mixed up.

Shelby rolled to her back, pulling him with her, on top of her. He made all the usual moves, the ones that made her writhe and squeal, the ones that tickled and made her laugh and beg him to stop, and then never stop. But she didn’t feel much like playing insatiable sex kitten.

“Slow. Do it slow,” she whispered to him, her eyes wet with tears that threatened to spill over. He paused, confused probably, but slowed down, making his moves more sensual and meaningful, deep breaths and long, low moans. When he finally slid inside her, she couldn’t hold the tears back, anymore. She clung to him, held him to her, while her hips worked beneath him. She cried and moaned and grunted and almost screamed as her climax shook her, all the while her face wet with tears. JC came soon after, saying her name over and over, in her ear, against her skin. Asking if she was okay, could he help her, could he do anything for her? He was such as sweet man.

Just like Lucas. She was going to end up hurting him, just like she hurt Lucas.

Whores weren’t supposed to fall in love.

JC

They weren’t talking about it. They hadn’t talked about not talking about it, but Shelby seemed like she wasn’t eager to get into it. He didn’t want to push her. She’d probably talk about it when she was ready. Or maybe she’d just put it where she was putting all the other things she should be telling him, but wasn’t.

Shelby must have been exhausted since she slept for a few hours, but as usual she was awake when his eyes fluttered open at the sound of the alarm. She brought him a cup of coffee and they sat in silence—him in the bed, she on the edge of it—enjoying the strong brew, mentally preparing for the day. He had a full day of music ahead of him. She had classes and work and a date with some new friends she made. After she left, he wouldn’t see her again until the following Thursday. That was their routine. He was supposed to find some kind of peace in that, he supposed. He was starting to hate it, though.

Way too soon, he had to get out of bed and get in the shower. He had to meet Rod and the Band at a radio station at 9am for some other useless session of ‘look what we did’. Shelby snuck out of the house while he was in the shower. So, that was it. They never talked about it, the deeply emotional episode the night before. The need and want to be there for her. The disappointment that she would let him screw her, but not love her.

Shelby

“It’s like… it’s like the more I try, the harder it is, you know? You know what I mean?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. But maybe that should be your last shot.”

Shelby giggled and tipped her head back, letting the alcohol fill her mouth and slide down her throat.

She was just on the edge of drunk, spouting rambles that didn’t even make sense to her, let alone to the small group of women gathered around her. The music—raging pop hits from the 90s and beyond--wasn’t doing much to lift her spirits. The alcohol—top shelf tequila, her favorite—wasn’t doing much to quiet her thoughts or make her problems disappear. The company—a group of five other women from her classes at UCF—weren’t making her feel any less lonely. On the contrary, the voices seemed louder, inside her head. The elephant in the room, or in her mind, seemed larger and more ominous. The puzzle pieces all seemed to be the wrong shapes and didn’t fit together at all. She was working backward, now. Not making progress at all.

“Well, what’s going on, Shelby? What’s getting harder, the more you try? Maybe we can help.”

Shelby lifted her eyes from their fixed stare at the squiggly lines of wood grain to the multicolored pairs around the table, watching her. Anne-Marie, next to her, was a friend from her Business Economics study group, comprised mostly of young men and women in their early 20’s, eager to learn and do well, energetic and optimistic. Shelby and Anne-Marie were both in their late 20’s, had been in the real world for more than a few years and weren’t exactly jaded but weren’t as wide eyed and hopeful. They made an instant connection and often gravitated toward each other both in study group and in class. Anne-Marie had a plain-Jane, Pollyanna name but had a shock of short red hair on her head, sparkling blue eyes and tattoos up one arm and down another leg. She topped it off with three or four ear piercings and a silver stud in her nose. Shelby felt like the new kid in class, trying to make friends after being without them for so long, but Anne-Marie made the transition from friendless to girlfriend an easy one. 

The other members of the group enjoying the disco lights and endless tequila and live DJ at Antigua were various women that Anne-Marie knew. The weekly gathering, gab session, chick’s night out was an open invitation. Whoever could make it, made it. Shelby was new to the group, there to have a good time, relax, let off some steam. She wasn’t making a very good first impression.  

“I’m sorry you guys. I’m dragging the room down.” She perked, shooting a drunken, lopsided smile at Anne-Marie. “More shots! Let’s have another round, on me! I’ll get them!”

Shelby tried to stand but was blocked by Anne-Marie on her right and another girl on her left, Shelby couldn’t remember her name, but remembered that she was nice. They both pulled her back down to her seat and slid the stack of empty shot glasses away from her.

“What’s with you?” Whatever-her-name-is on the left said. “What are you trying to forget, girl?”

“A boy.” Shelby sat back in her chair, defeated. Sullen. Hopeless. “A man. He’s a man. He’s awesome, so fucking awesome. And he wants to be with me and I can’t.” Her head wagged in protest, but that was starting to hurt, so she stopped. “I can’t let that happen. It’ll be bad. So bad. So….so bad.”

“Why? What would be bad?” That sounded like Anne-Marie. Felt like Anne Marie’s hand on her arm, rubbing up and down, soothing. Shelby wasn’t too sure, but she was going to go with it.

“He’s too good. And I’m too bad. I’m evil. I wish I could tell you guys. He... he should go find a nice girl. He deserves a nice girl.”

From across the table, someone said, “You seem nice, to me.”

Shelby shook a finger in the general direction of the table. “Oh, if you only knew. You don’t know,” she said. “You don’t know me. You don’t know what I’m capable of.”

“Why do you say you’re evil?”

“I just am,” she said, to no one. “I don’t think I deserve someone like him. Not after all the things I’ve done.”

The fugue of alcohol and flashy lights and party atmosphere weren’t keeping thoughts of JC away from her. Sexy, wonderful, JC, sweet JC. That man that she’d practically stalked until he asked her out— ‘let’s be honest, we stalked each other’—thinking he was just like every other musician on the planet. Selfish and wild and sex crazed, all about rock and roll and having a good time.

Shelby recognized his face and his name and his history, at that grocery store at 4am. She had no idea who he really was, when she met him, had nothing to go on but rumors. In her mind, they would hook up a few times, wake up drunk and naked somewhere and not be able to remember how they got there, and then he would get bored and fade away. She hadn’t realized that he wouldn’t be her ticket to living life out loud, finally free and away from people who seemed to only want to tear her down. She didn’t know she’d sit with him until all hours of the night, drinking wine, talking about music and art and film and… cereal. That he would be so deep and introspective and poetic, but at the same time so very simple and precise about everything he did.

More than anything, she didn’t think the sex would end up being more than sex. She didn’t think she’d feel like a piece of her was missing, without him. She didn’t count on missing him on the non-Thursdays, not just his body but the sound of his voice and the touch of his hand and the quiet comfort from knowing he was right there. This was not at all what Shelby had bargained for. JC was trouble, big trouble.

She was going to have to do something, soon, probably; otherwise they’d both end up getting hurt.

The air had cooled considerably, almost smacking Shelby in the face as she stumbled out of the double doors of the bar, Anne Marie on one side of her, that one girl whose name she couldn’t remember on the other, both holding her up and shuffling her to the car. She wasn’t so much drunk as bone tired—from dancing and drinking and thinking. And feeling. Feeling was exhausting. She much preferred to turn her heart and mind off and just go with what her body wanted.

Her body wanted JC, though.

JC

Dwelling on it-the whole Shelby thing, where he couldn't stop thinking about her and really wanted to just call her but knew she'd push him away-- would only drive him crazy, so he tried his best to put it out of his mind. His days were full of enough distractions to ensure he was too busy to be consumed with her. The nights were the worst, laying there staring at the ceiling fan turning around and around, willing himself to call her. She hardly slept, she was probably up. Maybe see how she was doing. Say hi. Something. He never did, though. She made it clear, early on, that she wasn't in it for that.

So life droned on, busy but dull, when it lacked a dimpled cheek or a sultry laugh from deep in the throat or just the simple way she said, ‘hello'.  JC just went through the motions until one day he woke up and it was Tuesday.

Not just any Tuesday, though. Drop day.  He remembered Tuesdays, from back in the day. New singles, new full length albums, soundtracks, anything music related released on Tuesdays. Weekly statistics-- sales, spins (the amount of times a radio station played the song), and charting details-- were released on Tuesdays. The most important day in any musician's life, if they were signed to a major (or even not so major) label, was Tuesday.    

The new single from Rod Phillips Band, Can't Get Enough, had been released to radio and was on sale in stores. It was a proud moment for JC, to have something he wrote and produced on the shelves again, but there wasn't much time to stop and stare at the cover art and grin madly to himself. JC and the whole clan-Band, Producer/Music Director, and the man himself were scheduled to make the media rounds, starting with a TV morning show interview and a full day of press. The good news was that press was being done at a ritzy downtown hotel, and all outlets were coming to them. The bad news was that it was a posh, comfy venue to answer the same questions over and over, some of them having nothing to do with the new album and everything to do with his personal life.

How was this experience different from working with ‘Nsync? It was 10 years ago, with different people, doing different music and they had a Music Director of their own.

Did he miss Kim? No.

Had he talked to Kim?  Hardly thought of her, since meeting Shelby. 

Was he dating, now?  No. The schedule didn't allow for much of a relationship. At least that's what he told the press. He'd love to call what he and Shelby were doing ‘dating' but it was obviously just an arrangement. He was supposed to be having fun and taking it easy. 

By noon, he was rolling his eyes internally and ready for a long break. Who wrote their questions? 12 year olds?  

Lunch was served in a private banquet room off of the lobby. He had a choice of chicken or fish and he loved seafood so he chose fish, and a side of fire grilled vegetables and rice pilaf. He listened to random conversations around him, joining in every once in awhile, but kept to himself, mostly. Fingering his phone in his pocket. Thinking maybe he would send Shelby a text. See how she was doing. When he couldn't stand it anymore, he pulled his phone out of his pocket, and under the guise of checking important email, sent her a short message.

muzicman: How are you doing?

Casual.  Easygoing. He hoped. Shelby was skittish about sending text messages, ever since Rod found her message to him about the night in the backyard. The private addresses were set up after that incident, addresses no one could get into without intricate code words that only each of them knew about. Even so, they rarely texted with each other anymore, except to say ‘I'm running late' or ‘pick up some wine', which was what made last Thursday so hot. He was almost flush, just thinking about it. He shouldn't have saved the chat, but he did. He didn't even think she would answer.

"I think it's completely jarring and really unnecessary, I gotta say."

"And I disagree, it totally wakes you up when the tempo changes. It takes you to someplace otherworldly for a minute, then drops you back on earth and you're like whoa... you know? JC, what do you think?"

JC was preoccupied with the phone buzzing in his pocket.  Stuck between Cole and Rod, it wasn't like he could just whip it out and check it. Not without at least one of them being nosy enough to lean over and take a peek. "What are we talking about?"

"Cole here is being a whiny ass about the tempo change in Believe in Me. He likes everything boring, status quo. We like to shake it up a little, don't we, C?" Rod grinned, jabbing at JC with his elbow. He'd been trying hard, the past few weeks, to get back on JC's good side. It hadn't quite completely worked.

"You know I'm all for that. Anything different that catches the ear." He turned to Cole, who leaned onto the table with one elbow, his blond hair woven into shoulder length twists. "What's wrong with Believe in Me?"

"Nothing," said Cole, rolling his eyes, red from lack of sleep. He sipped on piping hot black coffee and seemed to withdraw into himself.

"We still have time to change it, if it doesn't work for you. Why don't you say anything in rehearsal, if you don't like it? Everyone has a voice."

"I dunno," Cole mumbled, shrugging a shoulder, staring into his coffee cup.

JC made a concerted effort at not appearing irritated. Rather, he tapped Cole on the arm and gestured for him to continue. "It's just, it seems like every song has a trick. Like, a gag. I don't think we need those. I don't think we need to..." He brought his fingers up in air quotes, then.  "...catch ears. Rod's voice is like... it's enough. More than enough. With him on guitar, and Duke on bass, then you backing up vocals. It's good. I just hate tricks."

JC nodded, contemplating. Maybe the songs lately were overly complicated. "Tell you what. We go back to rehearsal, what... Tomorrow? We'll sit down with it, take out the up-tempo parts, and try it without. See which one we like best. I offered that to Duke, and I'll offer it to anyone."

Cole seemed embarrassed, even a little shy, tucking a thick tangle of blonde strands behind his ear. He nodded, suddenly reanimated, leaning around JC to give a thumbs up to Rod. "Sound good?"

Rod simply shrugged, already bored with the conversation. "He's the boss."

"I'm not... I'm not the boss, Rod. I run the music but this is your band" The two gave each other a few seconds of glare before uncomfortably turning away. "Everything is always open to suggestion. We haven't recorded that one yet. We've got time."

"Yeah...well...we nail down the tour, soon. And the rest of the album. Let's not keep changing things so we don't have everything committed to memory."

"And I agree with that. One change won't hurt our progress, though." His attention returned to Cole. "Come early, a little. We'll go over it. Even if you don't like it now, you might like it better than running it straight through, even tempo. We'll duke it out. Alright?"

Cole stood, giving JC an agreeable nod and headed toward the tables at the back of the room, still laden with enough food to feed an army. Rod soon followed, hovering over the dessert tray piled with pastries. His phone buzzed in his pocket, again. 20 minutes had passed. Hopefully, she wasn't pissed.

shelbyj: Whoa. Hey, handsome.

shelbyj: I'm fine. You?

muzicman: Yeah, thought I'd say hi. See if you're okay.

muzicman: Doing okay. Long day, today.

muzicman: Press till like, 9. Then rehearsal.

muzicman: Concert tomorrow night. Wanna go?

shelbyj: I'm fine. Concert? Maybe...who's playing?

muzicman: Me. : )

muzicman: Well, and the band.

It was a low-key thing, a show at some out of the way club, just to get some performances under their belts, see how the new songs were working out. Since only half the albums was finished, it would be a short set, but they had enough material to do at least an hour, more like an hour and a half. He thought about inviting her, but then things got weird and he never got the chance. Then he figured she would decline. Something made him ask her. She would probably say no, but at least he asked.

shelbyj: Oooohhhhh... but is it gonna be a huge deal, with cameras and stuff?

muzicman: Don't think so. It's at Canyon Ridge, this club out on the edge of town.

muzicman: Kind of a short show, an hour or so. We just need to hear the music outside of the studio.

shelbyj: Hmmm...would be cool to see you at work...

shelbyj: Have a shift tomorrow night, though. What time?

muzicman: Around 9. Probably offstage by 10, worst case 10:30.

shelbyj: aww...covering dinner, 7-10. : (

shelbyj: If I can get out early, I will sneak by. If not, kick ass, okay?

muzicman: I will. I probably won't see you but I'll put your name on the list. And if you make it, let me know you were there. I hope you can make it.

muzicman: We still on for Thursday?

JC wasn't sure what made him ask that, except for maybe how weird their last date ended. He didn't want a night full of awkwardness, and if she was going to ditch him, he wanted to know so he didn't have to go to work early and take off early, only to end up sitting at home alone. He could also already see that the busier the schedule got, the more likelihood there was that he was going to miss some Thursdays. He needed to stockpile them now, for the future.

shelbyj: Yes.

He let out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding in. Relieved, he smiled at the phone.

shelbyj: Let's go see a movie. We can sit in the back.

shelbyj: Grope each other like teenagers in heat. : )

Shelby was back, sexy Shelby.  He laughed, and then looked up and realized the room was watching him. His face was hot with embarrassment. He almost didn't care, he was so happy to "see" the same old Shelby.

"My mom," he said, jiggling the phone at them. "Asking weird questions about the show tomorrow." The room laughed and went back to their conversations.

muzicman: Got me in trouble, Shelby woman. I better go.

muzicman: I have more stuff to do today and I can't sneak off like last time.

muzicman: Have a good day. See you Thursday.

Shelby

"I wish I could quit you," she whined at the phone as she slid it away. Shelby had just tentatively committed herself to seeing him the following night. On a non-Thursday, which was going to be weird, as much as she secretly longed to see him more. She was almost sure she could get out of Antigua early. She wasn't sure if she wanted to.

Their last date had been... strange. Really out of place and very emotional and she almost wanted to write it off as an anomaly. They hadn't talked about it. And she didn't want to talk about it. She didn't know what she wanted to do, but talking about it definitely wasn't it. She expected him to be freaked out, and standoffish, or even more demanding about getting information from her, but he wasn't. It was business as usual, for JC. Maybe he had given up his quest for knowledge about her. He must have been so confused, twisting in the wind that the tornado of her thoughts had become, just hanging on for dear life. 

Shelby had a lot of thinking to do. A ton of thinking to do and some decisions to make. Either she was going to break it off with JC-- because she just couldn't bear to hurt another man the way she had hurt Lucas, dragging him along in her little game until he was too far gone, and was willing to give her the world, if she would stay.

Or she would bare her soul to JC and spill everything, and give in to having feelings for him, of the more-than-friends-with-benefits kind and hope that his feelings for her weren't diminished when he found the information he had been hounding her for, that had been unwilling to give, for fear he would hate how evil and conniving she was.  Used to be.

The following evening, her mind would not let her rest if she didn't see him, at least for a few minutes. She wanted to hear the new music he talked nonstop about. See the Band he had been working with. Witness him in action, on a stage. He seemed excited, and that excited her, and attracted her. More than attracted her. Made her think about him in ways that would make him blush, if she ever told him. 

Dammit, she had it bad, for him.

At 9:30, Shelby was pulling into the parking lot at Canyon Ridge. Run down and out of the way did nothing to describe this desolate strip of land with nothing around it but a Chevron station and an old rusty combine. The grayish colored paint on the building was peeling. The sign above the door had more letters missing than were there-she only knew it was Canyon Ridge by the sign off of the highway and the address on the building.

She gave her name at the door, guarded by a burly man whose beard had been groomed to a point at the center of his chest. ‘Very Grateful Dead,' she thought, brushing past him, clutching her arm band through the door he opened for her.

Despite the low rent look, there was a considerable crowd in the place. Every major radio station in the area was running ads for this show, so the size of the crowd shouldn't have been much of a surprise, despite the very basic room and simple stage that the facility provided.  Canyon Ridge was a standing room only venue where the ceilings were high and the stage was large and the sound was great, evenly dispersed throughout the room. She could hear just as well at the bar as she could in the middle of the floor.

The music was already pumping through the speakers mounted throughout the building. Rod was out in front, center stage, shaking that head of dark brown luscious hair, sweating buckets and growling into a microphone, still attached to the stand, his guitar around his neck and poised for play. The girls, at least, were enjoying it, all out in front, hands raised and singing along to the mid-tempo ballad with a driving beat.

A few of her buddies at her old club in Miami had developed a rudimentary scale by which they used to rate the crowd every night. They called it ‘Grizz Factor', measured by the amount of rough-and-tumble people that were in the place. Long beards and leather jackets and big heavy boots meant a high grizz factor. Preppy boys in brightly colored shirts carrying drinks that matched their shirts out of cosmopolitan glasses factored so low that they were a negative grizz factor. The atmosphere at Canyon Ridge was about a 7 at the highest. The people weren't preppy or frilly, but not hardcore rockers either.

 "Lemme get a beer," Shelby said to the bartender, who dug a dark glass bottle out of the cooler and uncapped it. He slid it across the bar to her, wrapped in a napkin. Shelby gulped down a few swallows, taking in the place while she looked around. If it was one thing she'd learned from her Bartending mentor, it was to not drink while on shift. Like any recipe, alcoholic drinks could be varied, but not too much. A tipsy hand was a loose one-more alcohol was poured than paid for, and the quality of drinks suffered. By the time Shelby found the club and made it inside, she was long overdue for a drink.

JC was easy to spot, on keyboards, eyes closed, his silky voice falling into the verses behind Rod's. Sweat glistened on his forehead and soaked the collar and arm pit of the shirt he wore. His head bobbed wildly to the beat, fingers flying over the keyboard. Every once in awhile he would stop playing and turn to the bass player, pointing and clapping with the crowd, huge smile on his face through the solo. And then attention would shift to the sax player, who had a microphone clipped to his instrument. He threw to the drummer, who slammed out the most amazing drum solo she'd heard in a long time. Everyone had their chance in the spotlight. The crowd was loving it, singing along, clapping and dancing to the beat.

Shelby left the bar with her bottle and found a wall to lean against, in a corner of shadows and listened to the sound, the entire sound, from drums to Rod to the keyboard to the guitars. The beat was catchy, as was the melody, and before long she was tapping her toe and singing along. She was so proud of all of them, JC especially. Rod Phillips, the man, wasn't exactly her cup of tea, but Rod Phillips, the musician was magic on two legs. Rod was who she thought she was getting, when she met JC. She wouldn't exchange them for the world.

Two more songs passed, and then an encore, and then JC and the band were onstage, in a line, taking their bows to thundering applause and ear piercing screams. All of them were dripping sweat, shirts soaked through, skin red and ruddy from the heat in the building, the lights overhead, and the action on the stage, but all of them were grinning ear to ear. JC looked happy, trying to catch his breath, big smile on his face. He was looking for her. His eyes combed the crowd right to left. That warmed Shelby's heart like nothing else.

She didn't want to talk to him. Just see him. She would, for sure, find a way to tell him that she was there and he kicked ass. She'd try to leave off the part where she was falling in love with him and didn't want to, and wanted to spill everything and have everything out in the open but was afraid it would freak him out and he wouldn't want anything more to do with her.  Not that it mattered. She was going to have to let him go soon, anyway.

JC

His first live show in... forever, actually was orgasmic. Like a dream come true. Every time he got on a stage and let loose, it was like a religious experience, like being transported to another planet, another time, another place, where music was the law of the land. The beat was the sheriff and the lyrics were the deputies and if the music said to rock, you rocked. JC liked that. He lived by that law.

But now the show was over, and it was time to get back to the real world. The world where the performance that night had highlighted areas where the band needed work. Songs that needed refinement. He had his work cut out for him. But first, some fun.

"I'll meet you guys at Shorty's," JC called over his shoulder to the rowdy group of men crunching through the parking lot of rocks and sand and gravel, headed toward a passenger van. "I want to run home and shower. I feel gross."

"See you in awhile, man," Duke called back. "Great show. Sounded good, tonight."

"Thank you. Pat yourself on the back, too. You guys did great. We'll go over the tape tomorrow."

JC nodded and smiled and ducked into his car. The Band had a tradition of gathering at a local dive bar after a show. They'd down some drinks, eat some wings, tie one on, reliving the entire performance from the first song to the second or third or however many encores they had. Since this was JC's first real performance with the Band, it was his first invitation to Shorty's. He was really starting to feel like he belonged there. Like he was making a difference and pushing himself and stretching himself, musically. This was a challenge. This was hard work. This was making him happy.

JC cranked the engine and as he watched the passenger van pull out onto the road, noticed something stuck under a windshield wiper. He got out again and yanked the folded sheet of notebook paper from under it, got back in the car and clicked on the interior light. He recognized that pretty cursive loop, so he knew it was from her before he even opened it.

I caught the last half hour or so of the show. I loved it! I really enjoyed myself. Rod Phillips Band is HOT, especially that sexy ass keyboard player.  Can you introduce me?  : )

All kidding aside, you guys did really, really well. I can't wait to see a full show and for the album to be out.

And I can't wait to see you Thursday.

                                    Shelby

He read it three, four, six, seven times, sitting there in the parking lot, then folded it and slid it into the front pocket of his satchel. No amount of drinks or wings or reveling at a dive bar was going to make feel as good as those few lines made him feel. She was there. She saw him work. She liked the show. And it wasn't a Thursday, and he didn't get to see her, but he was okay with that. He could still call it a good night.

~ ~ ~

Thursday came too slowly. And dragged by, the hours noticeably ticking away. He always started the day early, so he could take off between 6 and 8:00, but sometimes he didn't make it out of the studio until 9:00.  A busy day helped to keep his mind off of their dates. 9pm didn't seem early, but compared to the usual 4am quitting time, it may as well be noon.

He liked her suggestion of a movie, so they made plans to see a late show that didn't start until 10:30. He had just enough time to head home, shower and change and head back to Orlando to the theater. Shelby would meet him there and save seats for them in the back. It was a trick he had been using for a long time so they got good seats, but he could wait until the lights were already low to go in. They'd slip out before the lights came up, so no one would see him leave.

At 10:40, he was lurking in the shadows of the dark theater, climbing the stairs up the right side of the stadium seating. Shelby was three seats in, on the very last row, and had saved the outside seat for him. He settled in and lifted the arm rest up, so she could sit closer to him. She snuggled up against him, where she fit so well. She smelled good, like that shower gel she used that he liked, and when she tipped her head up and pressed her lips to his neck, he had a hard time not moaning out loud.

She made him happy. There was no denying it. He would have liked to deny it. He would have liked to be more suspicious and maybe more demanding, and maybe have a little more self control and stop seeing her. The prospect of that-not seeing her-was impossibility. He was too far gone.

JC had a hard time being patient. It had been a long time since a girl made him wait for anything. Not that he was being cocky-it was just a fact. Sometimes a man got used to the way things went and that became the norm. Anything outside the norm that required more work or attention was usually avoided. Why he couldn't just avoid this... her... his feelings... was beyond him. He felt powerless to resist, and more than that, he didn't really want to resist. Maybe he was blind, but he couldn't see why there couldn't be more between them. They were sitting in a movie theater, watching a movie together. He didn't even ask what movie they were seeing. He knew she'd pick something they both liked. They liked the same kinds of food. They both liked chocolate cake and sweet red wine. They liked the same kinds of music, mostly. She fit him like a glove, in more ways than one, but if she wouldn't let him in, and let him get close, he wasn't sure how long he could hold on. He promised he would make it work as long as he could, and he was trying, but coming close to the end of his rope, with her.  If she wasn't ever going to move things forward, maybe it would be better if he moved things back.

The thought made his heart sink. He definitely didn't want that, but he'd done enough pining over Kim, a woman who had been long gone. Longing for a woman that was already there seemed so much worse. And so much more lonely.

He couldn't think about those things now, though. Not in the middle of a sci-fi action flick. Certainly not while Shelby nonchalantly tossed the famous hoodie into his lap, and then slid her hand up under it. Not while he felt the zipper of his jeans being tugged down, ever so slowly and then a hand inside them, and then inside the flap of his briefs. He squirmed, trying not to breathe funny or groan or draw attention to what she was doing. She squeezed him, her bare hand on his bare skin, and began stroking him with her fingers. Light, airy, barely-there touches.

He glanced over at her, finding it hard to believe she was actually doing it. Her face was expressionless, her eyes on the movie, but a tug on him told him she knew what she was doing. She glanced at him for a flash of a few seconds, managed to wink at him, and then turned her head back to the screen. His arm around her dropped to her waist, poking under her blouse and past the band of her jeans, gripping the ample cheek hugged tightly by crisp denim. It kind of wasn't fair that she was making it hard to concentrate on the movie and he couldn't do the same to her.

He would just have to repay the favor, later.

Shelby's warm hand, and what she was doing with it, distracted him for the majority of the film. The credits were rolling before he realized the movie was over-- they should have already left the theater by that point.  JC rushed to zip up before the lights came up, then grabbed Shelby's hand and led her out of the dark room, down the stairs, and out of the double doors through the sound of the booming film score. Out of the theater, through the lobby, to the parking lot they went. Straight through with hardly a nod, head down, dragging Shelby behind him he rushed out, trying to beat the crowd pouring out of the theatre.

"Hey JaayyyCeee! Whatdja seeee?"

The voice. He knew it. That inappropriately loud voice accompanied by the most annoying laugh he'd ever heard. It instantly grated on his nerves and set his heart beat to double time. Rod lived at least an hour away. What was he doing on this end of town? At midnight?   

"Hey man! I know you hear me! Slow down!"

Uttering thousands of curse words inside, JC stopped, gripping Shelby's hand tightly and pulling her behind him. As he turned, he was blinded by a bright flash. And then another and another, a click and a whir of cameras and a lot of noise as he and Shelby were surrounded.

"Hey, man," JC called to Rod, who was rapidly approaching, one hand up, waiting to slap it into JC's hand in one of those manly ‘handshake-into-hug' gestures. The hand hung in the air until the exchange became uncomfortable and he dropped it.

"Hey, bro. Out to a movie with one of my girls." He nodded toward a small pack of girls that looked almost exactly alike. Tall, blonde, thin. Short skirts, high heels, big boobs. Most of them looked like they'd had work done.  "Okay, a few of my girls. My main chick lives over this way, so... seeing it here. Gonna catch Space Junkie. Is that what you saw? Did you like it?

JC glared at Rod, surrounded by cameras, and turned away, shaking his head. "It was okay. Gotta get outta here. See you tomorrow."

"What, are the cameras bugging you? I don't even notice them anymore. We travel in packs, now." Rod laughed, that horridly annoying cackling hyena call ringing out for cameras and audio to catch.  Shelby's movements behind him seemed to catch his eye and he dove around JC. "Hey, is this that girl? I heard about you!"

A photog followed Rod, dipping behind JC's back as well, bright lights shining, shutters clicking, flash popping.  Shelby yelped and tried to wrench her hand out of his grip. No doubt to run away.  He didn't blame her, and planned on joining her.

"Hey, come on, man. We don't want to be on camera!" JC set his jaw and narrowed his eyes at Rod, sending him a mental ‘fuck off'. Hoping he got the message.   

Rod let them pass him by, turning to shrug and grin at the group of followers lugging heavy cameras, lights, and video equipment. The cameras got every shot they could as he and Shelby retreated into the darkness.

She didn't say anything as they marched through the parking lot and toward their cars. Her heels clicked against the pavement in a hard staccato rhythm and she had her arms crossed and her head down. He could guess how she was feeling.

"Shelby, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry about that, I know that sucks. I swear I didn't know he would be there."

"Whatever, JC," she tossed over her shoulder, headed for her car.

"You're mad at me? I didn't have anything to do with that."

"I'm not saying you did," she snapped.

His temper flared, and he snapped back, "Then what is your fucking problem?"

Shelby whipped around, then hands on her hips, fire in her eyes. "My fuckingproblem is that I don't want my face plastered all over TV and magazine covers, JC."

"And I get that, Shelby.  But I'm not the one you should be mad at. I didn't bring them here.

"Then how did Rod find out we would be here? He lives nowhere near here.

"I don't know! I didn't tell him we were coming. I hardly talked to him at all, today. Did it ever occur to you that this is the only theater premiering the Space Junkie? What do you want me to do, Shelby? Undo this?"

 "Nothing. Just... nothing. Don't do anything." She turned around again and stomped away, reached her car and then slowed, and stopped. He was parked a few cars away from her in the same row, so he stood in front of a car that was halfway between them.

"So, what now?" She leaned up against the car, arms crossed. "What do you want to do?"

"Well, I want to talk for a minute. Say hi to you. Kiss you, or something."

After a few long stretches of stony silence, she uncrossed her arms and opened them. He almost ran to her, almost threw his arms around her. Almost. Instead, he made himself move slowly, sauntering across the parking lot, standing in front of her stepping closer and closer until he was pressed up against her, her body between him and the car. Shelby hugged him, then let him kiss her, then held him against her as they stood together in the parking lot, leaned up against the driver side door.

"I'm sorry about the cameras, Shelby. I didn't plan that. I didn't tell Rod we were coming here. I promise that."

"I know," she said quietly. "You wouldn't do that. I know. Do you think they got me? They were all up in my face."

JC sighed, shrugging his shoulders. "I don't know," he said. "I was blind before I even knew they were there. This part of my life sucks. You really never get used to it. Orlando tends to be real low key about press like that, but Rod eats that shit up. I wouldn't be surprised if he called them and suggested they follow him around to see what kind of trouble he gets into. I know you value your privacy. And I'm sorry. Again."

After a long, quiet moment, Shelby tipped her head up, smile on her lips. "Stop apologizing," she said, her face illuminated in the distant light of passing cars. She didn't look pissed at least. Not anymore. His eyes settled on plump, cherry red lips. He just wanted to kiss them, to set his lips on top of hers and leave them there, for a long time. "Well hi, there, old friend," she said, grinning as moved her hips against him, still hard from the attention during the movie. "I feel you."

"You should. You did it." He felt, then heard her low, lusty laugh. Yeah, that was the stuff. "So, you asked what I wanted to do. Do you really have to ask? Didn't you figure I'd want you to finish what you started?"

She laughed, tipping her head back. He jumped at the chance to nibble at her neck, at her ears.  "Not really, I can guess that part.  But what do you want to dobefore that?  I'm hungry. Do you want to go eat? Do you want to pick something up? Order in?"

"Let's go to your house. Order something in. Since you're closer."

"What, you mean because we get to my subdivision, before we get to yours?" She pushed him away and dug into her purse for her keys. When she found them, she unlocked the door with a press of a button. "Are you following me, then?"

"I will, literally, be right on your ass," he said, backing away toward his car.

Shelby

She was not going to let it freak her out. Not, not, not. What were the chances that some low rate tabloid would be interested enough to post pictures of a random woman hiding behind JC Chasez? Low, she hoped. For her sake, and JC's sake, and even her parent's sake. He would never understand why it mattered to her to lay low-at least not until he knew everything, and by that point it would be too late. She would have already lost him.

There was no sense in worrying about it now, she had decided. It was a ‘what if,' an arbitrary moment in a blur of moments. Maybe they wouldn't even be interested in who she was. Feeling somewhat consoled, Shelby turned her mind to her weekly date, in his car, following close behind her. Maybe she could let him help her forget her troubles for a few hours.

~ ~ ~

A large pizza box lay empty on the floor, in the middle of the den. Empty bottles of beer and still more full bottles sat in the cardboard carrier from the local convenience store littered the glass top coffee table. The TV flickered some late night programming, the volume set to low.  

In front of the fireplace, there was moaning, and then whimpering and then a strangled, passionate, near scream of "Oh my... God! Fuck me!"

"Oh, you like that," a voice said, followed by a deep dark chuckle.

"Fuck yeah. Don't stop!"

The sights, the sounds, the smells of sex filled Shelby's den. The rug in front of the fireplace had never seen so much action before she started dating JC. As the temperature cooled outside, it was quickly becoming one of her favorite places to enjoy him. Watching the orange light of the flames reflect off of the sweat on his body, seeing his face cloaked in shadow, feeling the room wrapped in warmth and the scent of burning logs and greenery mixed with the musk of the sweat of two bodies-it was a perfect way to spend an evening. Work off some frustration, some fear, some anxiety.

JC was on his knees, behind Shelby, her hair gathered in a long ponytail and wrapped around one hand and pulling gently as he held her tightly with the other, working his hips like a piston inside her. Skin slapped against sweaty skin, until it was red from contact, accompanied by guttural moans from JC and yelps from Shelby.

"I'm gonna come!"

"Do it."

"Hummmmmmmmfuck!" Shelby gasped, trying hard to suck in air in the warm room as the most satisfying clench rocked her hips, sending vibrating waves through her body. And another. And another, as JC kept moving behind her, an ‘oh yeah' following each wave.  "Fuck, you're trying to kill me!"

"If I was trying to kill you..." he stopped to breathe. "You wouldn't be able to walk, tomorrow."

"You shouldn't say things you can't back up."

JC yanked at her hair, to which she responded with a scream, and then moved his hand from where it had been clamped onto a breast, to her clit.

"I don't need acrobatics. You just work that little button right there and make me come until I scream, okay?"

"Whatever you say," he said, his lips on her shoulder, nipping at her skin while his fingers worked, around and around, harder and faster. Her hips moved in rhythm, working herself up and down, her cries growing louder and higher in pitch until her body shook with her climax, squeezing the last ounce of energy out of her. Only then did JC let himself fall over the edge, grunting and groaning as he pushed into her with long, hard strokes until he too collapsed, landing on top of her.

"This rug so wasn't meant for this," Shelby commented.

JC laughed and then rolled off of her, onto his back. "I shudder to think how much value it's lost just in the last few months."

"Oh well. If I have to sell it, I just won't tell the new owners what I did on it."

Wrapped in an afghan her mom had knitted for her a few Christmases ago, Shelby curled up next to JC in front of the fireplace, listening to the wood pop and hiss, watching him catch his breath, his skin glowing in the light. He pulled her closer to him, covering her mouth with his, despite the fact that he couldn't yet breathe normally.

"And if anyone is trying to kill anyone, it's you trying to kill me."

"No, I'm not," she said, laughing, but inwardly rolling her eyes at the irony. She put it out of her mind, again. It would not ruin another night. She moved close to him, molding herself to his body, laying her head on his chest, holding onto him tightly. "To quote you, welcome to my world."

"Yeah, you seemed like you were suffering a lot."

"I suffer quietly."

JC laughed at that statement, as did she. Mentally, she double checked the house to see if she'd left any windows open. Shelby could get pretty loud.  No matter. If someone heard them, she hoped they were enjoying it as much as she did.

The intro music for ‘Extra!' interrupted her thoughts and their post sex-in-front-of-the-fireplace quiet time. They talked off and on, listening to inane stories of celebrities being celebrities and pretending to be upset at being caught. JC snoozed, one arm stretched out across the floor, the other around her shoulder.

 ‘Pop stars Rod Phillips and JC Chasez took some time off from creating hits tonight, hitting a local theater for the premiere of  Space Junkie, the futuristic thriller set in a postwar Los Angeles...'

Shelby shot up and scrambled around to face the TV. JC jerked awake at her sudden movement.

"What? What's wrong?"

"It's a story about tonight. If they got me, I'll be sick."

"Shelby..."

"Shhhh!"

JC sat up and joined her, craning his head around to watch the coverage. Shot after shot of JC talking to Rod, giving him the glare, and walking away flashed across the screen, followed by video of the same.

Shelby nearly screamed, her hands flying to the top of her head, her fingers buried in her hair. Blurry, too-close-for-comfort still shots of Shelby filled the screen while the perky voiced entertainment reporter speculated on who the ‘woman hiding behind JC Chasez' might be.

"Girlfriend? Lover? Friend caught in the middle? Who knows, but it looks like she wasn't pleased and didn't want to be on camera. Is this the first woman to steal JC's heart after the heartbreaking split with Kim Valentine? Only time will te-"

The TV snapped off, the image fading to black. The den was silent, except for the sounds of the fire emitting a pop every few seconds. Shelby turned around to find JC sliding the remote back onto the table.

He already had a hand up to quiet her protests. "It's not a big deal, Shelby. It's like... 1:58 am Friday morning. They put that in there for filler and probably won't run it again. By 8am it'll be old news. Trust me, okay? It'll be fine."

Shelby just stared at him. How could he be so calm? Maybe he was used to his face being plastered across the news and tabloids-she had a reason to want to keep her face hidden.

"You don't think they'll run it again?"

He reached for her, grabbing her arm and dragging her across the rug and back to him. He took her face in his hands and kissed her softly, then looked her in the eye. "Pretty sure they won't run it again. Relax. It's okay."

Shelby let herself be pulled across the room, and then up off of the floor and down the hall to the bed. She wanted to believe him, but had a sinking feeling about it all. She crossed her fingers that she was wrong,  in hopes that no one would particularly care about ‘the girl hiding behind JC Chasez'.

JC

Shelby was obsessive, almost manic about checking the news and the internet the following morning. Not much had been said about the few minutes of coverage the night before. A few blogs and YouTube had picked it up, but blessedly, most had cut off the end. It seemed people were really only interested in Rod, and then JC, not the random woman hiding in the background. Shelby seemed to breathe a small sigh of relief.

"Told ya," JC said, munching on toast and sipping coffee at her dining room table.

"Yeah, I know. I had to see it for myself."

"Would it be really bad, if it ran a lot? I mean, I know you don't want to get into it-"

Shelby set her mug down on the table with a thunk. "I just don't want it to get back to Miami, really. I don't care what Orlando thinks."

"Who's in Miami that would care? Your ex? You think he'll come find you? Take you away, or something?"

Shelby ignored him, clicking through websites on her laptop, picking up her mug again and almost gulping down coffee. He didn't repeat the question, but he didn't move on. He finished his toast and drank his coffee, an uncomfortable silence between them. Finally, in a fit of frustration, he pushed the cover of her laptop closed.

Shelby glared at him, across the table. He shrugged a shoulder and stared back. Daring her to brush him off, again. He was getting sick of that shit.

"My ex is dead," she said quietly, plainly. "Okay? My ex fiancé? The man you're so curious about? He's dead. So no, I don't think he gives a fuck what I'm doing with pop star JC Chasez."

JC watched her get up from the table and walk down the hall and turn the corner, head down, hand over her mouth like she was about to cry. He wanted to follow her, but couldn't move. Wanted to call out to her, but he was breathless and speechless and his mind was void of any thought that made sense.

Dead? Her ex was dead?

He now had abundantly more questions than answers, but felt even more uncomfortable about asking her. Maybe this was what she meant when she said it was complicated, and he didn't want to know. Except he really did want to know. He wanted to know all of this woman's secrets.

Shelby

She already felt it happening. The beginning of the end.  It was time to let him go, before things got out of control and she wrapped him up in something that wasn't his problem, and wasn't his business, and frankly, wasn't something he even wanted to know about.

Shelby only hoped she would have the strength to do it without breaking his heart. There was no chance she could do it without breaking hers.

JC

“Mail call! Chasez!”

A FedEx envelope flapped against JC’s shoulder, startling him. He looked up to find Rod’s manager, Dave, waving it at him, looking irritated at having to play delivery boy.  JC removed the buds plugged into his ears and peered, squinty-eyed, at the label of the envelope. The return address was a FedEx drop off in Hollywood, Florida.

Who would be mailing him something from Hollywood? To Rod’s studio?

He took the envelope, which appeared to be stuffed full, and shoved it in his bag. He’d open it later—at that moment he needed to finish the last part of the song he was working on. Constant interruptions were breaking his concentration over and over. He couldn’t get into a zone.

The interruptions weren’t the only culprit. He was more than a little concerned about Shelby, since her sudden burst of information about her ex three weeks before. She seemed quiet, lately and sullen, there but not there, and wouldn’t say another word about him. They didn’t have as much fun when they were together and she seemed to be pulling away from him just as suddenly as she was starting to open up.

JC invited her to come spend the Thanksgiving holiday with him and his family. It was low-key, just dinner and then laying around sleeping it off. She declined, saying her parents were coming to visit, but then wouldn’t say how the visit went. He suspected she stayed home, alone. They missed their date, that week. She didn’t seem concerned about making it up.

It was happening, again. He was falling for a woman who was ultimately unavailable. In love with someone who probably ‘loved him but wasn’t in love with him’. As much as he cared for Shelby—and that was a lot—and as much as he saw potential in her and with her, he wasn’t going through the ‘Kim thing’ again. It was time he started learning his lesson. He just had no idea how to let her go, when he wanted so badly to hang on.

Rehearsal droned on and on, boring and yet exciting at the same time. It wasn’t where he wanted to be, but it was where he needed to be. The album was nearly finished, tour plans were underway. He would have to fly to LA with Rod to mix the rough cut and then a blessed break before the drop date and tour announcement. He was looking forward to that, but for the meantime, it was work, work, work.

The usual 3 to 4am quitting time rolled around and there was so much grumbling about the late hour that JC called it a night. Tired musicians didn’t play well, anyway, including him. He shuffled out of the studio into the air, that time between night and morning that smelled like dew and was slightly breezy. It was incredibly dark and quiet, at that time. His favorite time, lately. He could hear his thoughts, then. They almost echoed back to him.

Home, finally.

JC stumbled into the house, tired to the bone. Flipped the lights on in the kitchen, waiting for all of the fluorescents to glow before walking to the refrigerator, opening it, and standing in front of it for a few minutes. He sifted through a few leftovers, some older than others. Grabbed an apple and a can of Pepsi and closed the door, leaned against the counter and rubbed the apple on his shirt, emitting a loud yawn.

JC and his Pepsi and his apple walked through the kitchen, past the counter. The edge of the sturdy white FedEx envelope jutted out of the front pocket of the satchel haphazardly tossed there. He grabbed it, shoved it under his arm, turned out the lights in the kitchen and headed up the stairs.

Upon reaching his bedroom, he turned on the lamp, set the apple with a few generous bite marks missing from it on the night stand, set the can of Pepsi next to it, and tossed the envelope onto the bed. He began to undress, bleary eyed and yawning nonstop. He tossed everything into the closet except the briefs he was wearing and slid into bed, Pepsi in one hand, remote in the other. The TV popped on, a random late night-early morning showing of Home Alone 2 coming through the speakers. 

He tossed the remote aside, picking up the envelope, flipping it over, zipping the strip across the top and pulling the stack of papers out of it. He was expecting a contract or a proposal, or some other random submission. Sometimes his manager sent him documents from wherever he could, whenever he could. Sometimes song writers and singers sent copies of songs and demos to him for consideration. Sometimes companies and corporations wanted him to endorse something or represent them, or were looking for a donation.

What JC pulled out of the envelope was not a contract or a proposal, was not a request for a handout or to endorse a shoe or a drink or a food. It was a haphazard stack of photocopies, newspaper clippings, article cutouts. Brow furrowed in confusion, he sifted through the stack without really looking at anything.  Clipped to the article on top was a handwritten note in neat, but tightly written penmanship, the letters very close to one another.

            Mr. Chasez;

            Please forgive this sudden intrusion into your life, but I fear that you may be in danger. A few weeks ago, I was up late one night, couldn’t sleep, and just as I was about to turn off the TV, a very brief clip of you, Rod Phillips, and an unidentified young woman aired. I can identify that young woman because I know her. She killed my father, Lucas Samuels.

JC’s eyes grew to the size of saucers as he read the sentence and again and again and again. Shelby killed, her ex? And this is why he was dead? As much as he didn’t want to know, really, he had to read on.

            I have enclosed copies of articles that were printed about them, from when he was alive and she hung on his arm like a prize, to the accident and the following investigation and the settlement. Ms. Coster (I believe you know her as Ms Morris—that is not her name) is a diabolical murderess that preys on wealthy, well known men.

            I’m sending you this letter in the hopes that it reaches you before she’s able to dig her claws into you, too. Be careful, very careful. I have reason to believe that she was about to lose everything my father provided for her. She found a way to get it anyway, and more.

            Thank you for your time. I assure you, this is no hoax. Ms Coster is no longer welcome in the city of Miami. I cannot imagine that she shared any of this with you. I fear, then, that this duty falls to me.

            Regards,

            Melina Samuels

Well… shit. He’d just found out a hell of a lot more than he really wanted to know about Shelby.

Shelby

The nightmare of a day had begun relatively peacefully. Shelby awoke easily after a night of the usual broken sleep, at the usual time, which was always quite early.  She turned on some music, allowing it to permeate the house with zest and pep—it helped to motivate her for the day. She showered and dressed for class, and was stuffing her books and notebook and pens into her school bag when the doorbell rang.

Shelby froze. Few people knew where she lived. Even fewer would be at her door at 7am.

She tiptoed through the house and peeked out of the kitchen window just in time to see a FedEx truck pulling away. Breathing a sigh of relief, she went to the front door and pulled it open. The sturdy white envelope had been leaning against the door, and now fell back into the house.

Shelby picked it up and started to open it, but happened to catch the shipping label and nearly dropped it. A tremble began to shake her, from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. It was addressed to Shelby Coster.

It was odd to even see that name, after not using it for so long. No one knew her as Shelby Coster except for people back in Miami. People she didn’t want to know, anymore. People she didn’t want to know her, or remember her, or send her FedEx packages. Apparently a name change wasn’t enough to keep the boogie monsters in Miami away.

She slowly made her way to the dining room, fingering the edge of the envelope, not sure if she even wanted to open it. There was definitely bad news inside. Shelby dug into her bag and pulled out her cell phone.

She paced as the line rang and rang. ‘You people are retired, what could you possibly be doing. Pick up!’

“Shelby???” Renee sounded panicked. “It’s so early! What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” she said, realizing for the first time that her voice was trembling, too. “I was on my way to class and-and-and the doorbell rang, and it was FedEx.  I just got this envelope, from Hollywood, and it’s totally freaking me out. It’s addressed to Shelby Coster.”

“What? Who would…send you… oh. Oh!”

“Yeah!”

“So… have you opened it?”

Shelby eyed the envelope on the table, stepping away from it. “No! I’m freaked out. There can only be bad news in there.”

“Well Shelby… open it, so you know what you’re dealing with.”

Shelby paced in front of the table, chewing on a finger nail. She sighed, then said, “Okay, hang on.”

Phone tucked between her ear and shoulder Shelby grabbed the envelope and ripped the strip across the top, reached in and pulled out the stack of pages that had been stuffed inside. “Okay, looks like a bunch of photocopies. Let me see what I have here.”

Shelby paid close attention to the first page of the package. Her knees nearly gave out on her and her heart hit the bottom of her stomach when she read the first line. “Oh my God! Mom! They sent this to JC!”

On top of the stack of pages was a photocopy of a handwritten note, addressed to JC. Clipped to that pages were pages and pages of photocopied articles and clippings and photos of Shelby and Lucas, some from the years they were together, quite a few from the accident that killed him, coverage of the suit against Firestone, the pending settlement, the disbursement of Lucas’ will and the final settlement. The past few years of her life were wrapped up in a neat little photocopied bow.

 “They what? Who? What did they send?”

“It’s… it’s a package of articles and news about Lucas and his death and the settlement and they sent him a note! Melina sent him a note. That fucking bitch actually hunted him down and sent him a note! He is none of her business.”

“What does it say?”

“Just that she feels he’s in danger because I killed her father… and I’m a…diabolical murderess?” Shelby felt like laughing, it was so incredibly unreal. “Okay, she needs to not read any more Nancy Drew novels, for fuck’s sake. How dare she! Then she says that I ‘make a habit of preying on wealthy well known men’.  I cannot believe this!”

Across the bottom of the photocopied note to JC, an additional note  had been written in tense scrawl.

            ‘I see you’ve found yourself another one. Try not to kill him, like you killed my dad.’

 Seething with anger, Shelby threw the stack of paper across the room. Pages flew everywhere, fluttering down around her, onto the floor and the table, some sifting into the hallway.

Melina was the culprit behind the evil coming from Lucas’ family. None of the family ever warmed to her, really, but Melina was always vocal. Melina was the one making threatening phone calls every day, calling her all manner of names from ‘whore’ to ‘murderer’ to ‘gold-digger’. Melina was the one who fought against Shelby receiving any amount of funds from Lucas’ estate, despite the fact that she was in the will. Melina was the money hungry one, salivating over what she thought she deserved from the lawsuit settlement.

The funny thing was… Melina wasn’t all that close to Lucas. They had a strained relationship at best—her early 20’s were no picnic. She may have forgotten, but Lucas never did. He kept his distance from her, because she seemed to be unusually interested in what money she was getting when he died. After his death, she was a vulture, storming into the house to take things she didn’t want Shelby to have. She railroaded over the rest of the family, claiming to ‘care more than anyone else about him’ or some shit. Shelby knew that was nowhere near a truth.

In the end, Shelby left with her clothing, her jewelry, a locket that Lucas always carried, which now hung from the rearview mirror in her car, and the Warhol painting. Everything else, she left for his family to fight over. It was no wonder Lucas had shunned them. Dysfunctional bunch of greedy morons, they were.

“How could she do this? I haven’t bothered her at all. I even moved away so we didn’t have to accidentally run into each other all the time.  And then she found JC!  And sent him a letter full of lies and told him my real name. He’s probably scared shitless!”

“Shelby Jean!” Renee’s voice cut through everything and she stopped cold. “Now just relax. Alright? Let’s figure this out one step at a time.”

“Okay. I mean… what do I do? I don’t care that they know who I am. I don’t care what they say about me, but I care about JC. I care what he thinks about me. I didn’t want him to know this stuff about me.”

“I thought you planned on breaking up with him before he found out.”

Yes, that was the plan. Don’t get close. Don’t get attached. Play with him for awhile, have some fun, let him go. JC didn’t turn out to be who she thought he would be. He was sweet and kind and fun, and they had a lot in common. The more time she spent with him, the more she wanted to be with him, until she her feelings were running too deep. She couldn’t let herself fall in love with him, and had already begun pulling away.

They’d missed a date during the Thanksgiving holiday. He invited her to meet his family, have dinner with them, hang out. Of course, she couldn’t do that. That wasn’t the arrangement. She told him that her parents were visiting from Miami. She spent the night on the couch in the den, staring at the TV, her loneliest night to date, tears falling and heart hurting.

Something about him soothed her and relaxed her. Made her forget this whole mess. Pulling away from him meant losing that comfort and sanity—she wasn’t even sleeping as well. The winds in the tornado that was her life were picking up. She could sure use his stability… but not while he thought she was a murderer. And she hadn’t been the one to tell him.

Shelby sank into a chair, her heart sinking with it. “I wanted to, but… I couldn’t let go. And now it’s all ruined anyway. She did it for me.”

“Well… you said he was nice. Maybe he’ll understand?”

“About this?” Frustrated, Shelby rose from her chair and paced the room, around and around and around the table.   “About this girl he was dating who’s being accused of killing her wealthy ex-fiance, and oh by the way, he happens to be wealthy, too, what a coincidence? I don’t think so. He probably thinks I’ll off him soon.”

“Oh, Shelby. You’re full of dramatics this morning,” Renee scolded. “So… what are you going to do?”

A fire engine red nail tip tapped the table. Shelby grew quiet, deep in thought. A plan. She needed a plan. A good one.

“I have to clear this up. Clear my name. I thought I could just disappear, but I can’t. I’m coming home. I’ll be in Miami tonight.”

“What about your classes?”

“I have an exam today, so I have to go, but I’ll email my assignments to a friend,” she said, digging her laptop out of her bag and booting it up. “They’re already done. I hope I don’t have to be in Miami long.”

“Well. I’ll be happy to see you. Dad, too. But I know what you mean. You seem to be doing well in Orlando. I’d hate to see you mess that up, over this Lucas thing.”

“Yeah, it’ll be nice to see you guys.” Shelby’s fingers tapped at the keyboard, quickly locating the next two assignments for the classes she shared with Anne-Marie. She shot off a quick email about an emergency trip out of town and attached the assignments for her to turn in, in Shelby’s absence. She signed off with a promise to call with news in a few days. This Lucas thing was about to be over, once and for all.

“Okay, mom. I have to run to take my test, and take care of some things and then I’ll be on the road. I’ll see you this afternoon.”

“Drive safely, Shelby. This will all work out. You’ll see.”

“I hope so, mom. I really do.” 

Shelby hung up the phone and looked around the dining room, now covered with paper. Evidence. True words, about her and about her past and the ugliness that she was trying so hard to get away from—it was now strewn about her house. And in a house 15 minutes away, the same pages, the same true words, the same revelations about the past were being read about her. Shelby shuddered to think what JC thought of her, now. He probably never wanted to see her again.

She didn’t blame him. Not one bit.

JC

He hadn’t slept. He couldn’t. His heart raced and his mind ran the scenarios over and over. He’d grabbed the stack of articles and clippings and the note and went downstairs, dumping it all on the kitchen table. He dug his laptop out of his bag and booted it up, and spent the hours until sunrise surfing the internet, reading everything he could find about Shelby Coster.

Not much of her existed online, until she met global real estate tycoon Lucas Samuels. There were society articles and photos of him and her. He was an older gentleman, late 40’s at least. Dark hair, rich complexion, handsome but much too old for Shelby, at least the Shelby he knew. He didn’t seem to be the kind to sit on the floor of her den and scarf down a homemade sandwich, or go to a salsa club and dance till his feet hurt and the muscles in his legs were tight. Lucas Samuels didn’t seem nearly as made for her as he did.

Shelby seemed subdued, in most of the photos. Modest and discreet, not the woman he knew—brazen and openly sexy. He liked his Shelby better.

He found hundreds of links to newspaper articles and editorials about the fiery crash that had killed Lucas Samuels. Speculation and conjecture, criticism and photographs. The mangled wreckage made front page news in Miami, an indistinguishable Mercedes twisted and burnt to a blackened crisp on a two lane highway. Onlookers standing around, gaping in shock, ambulances in the background. A black bag. Personal items strewn across the road. It must have been a nightmare.

After Shelby was released from the hospital, she made a single statement and then never spoke to the press again.

“Lucas Samuels was a kind, generous, thoughtful man. His loss has brought unimaginable pain. We were months from being married. I was on the edge of happily ever after. That life and my future has been taken from me. I intended to consult my attorneys and explore my options. Thank you for granting my privacy during this difficult time.”

 JC was confused, now—hadn’t she said she didn’t love him? And that she was dumping him?

More articles and editorials and opinion columns, some written by the same woman that had sent him the note. Melina Samuels played to the press, calling Shelby every name in the book - gold digging whore, black widow, praying mantis. Murderer. Killer. The words hurt him, physically. He clutched his chest reading them, feeling the pain Shelby must have felt, reading them herself.

The sun was up, a bright orange ball in the sky, heating up the city already. JC sat back and closed the lid of the laptop, gazing out of the dining room window to the view of the lake behind the house. He contemplated this situation. He had two choices, as he saw it: Run. Run far, far away, and let her fight her own battles on her own; or stay. Stick around, and not abandon her because she doesn’t have a rosy past, and make her let him help her.

He got up from the table, stretching out the kinks in his back and legs from sitting in the chair so long, and then slowly climbed the stairs, hoping the answer to what he should do would come to him, soon.

It was Thursday.

 Shelby

The drive between Orlando and Miami via the Florida Turnpike was as dull as a rusty nail, usually. The trip wasn't so bad the last time because her mother had been with her. The return trip was torture, since Shelby was alone and dreading dealing with the ‘Lucas Thing' with every mile that passed.  At the last minute, she decided to take the scenic (but slower and toll-free) route to I-95 south.

This trip home would not be joyous and special, the triumphant return that she had planned. No, she would be sneaky and skulk around, trying to stay under cover. As large and expansive as Miami was, it was too easy to run into someone she didn't want to see or talk to. It seemed everywhere she turned, Melina was around-at the gym, at the bank, at some of her favorite restaurants. So she simply moved away, knowing Melina wouldn't go that far to follow her.

"What an underestimation of that evil, nosy bitch!" She slammed her hand onto the steering wheel inadvertently honking the horn, not bothering to smile or wave an apology to the cars around her.

Shelby hadn't even talked to JC, yet. And tell him what? ‘Hey, babe! Sorry about that letter you got from my fiancé's daughter, the one that accused me of murdering him, the one she probably had to hire a private investigator to send to you. Yeah, sorry about that. You still want to get together and have some sex? I promise I won't kill you! Or take your money!'

Shelby shook her head, almost laughing again. It really would be funny, if it weren't so tragic.

The shiny, black Mercedes coupe sped down the highway toward southern Florida, past tiny rundown towns and larger, more spruced up towns.  The car was quiet, the muted sound of the road under the tires and the smooth sound of the engine purring along as she pushed it toward home. She punched at the buttons on the CD player, setting it to shuffle. All at once, her eyes were wet with tears. The sounds that poured from the speakers were from one of her favorite jazz CD's, a collection of songs that she had come to love over the years. Jazz was one of the loves that she and Lucas had in common. It amazed her that the CD would even still play. It had to be years old and well worn. Despite that, she hadn't heard most of the songs since Lucas died.

From Frank Sinatra to Dizzy Gillespie, even a little Judy Garland, Shelby smiled and sang along, tears rolling down her cheek every few minutes, more nostalgia and wishing for the past, than sad. Wondering if she could ever turn back time and do things the right way-maybe never get involved with Lucas. Maybe never get a job at a bar. Maybe just stay home and go to school and be the good, boring girl her parents wanted her to be. Maybe become a teacher, like both of them. Be frumpy and dowdy with a bun and glasses and long skirts and polyester pants and wear sweaters with reindeer on them and make her life about educating children---ugh. Maybe she wouldn't go back quite that far. Maybe just far enough to undo this shit storm.

But if she could undo this nightmare, that would mean never meeting JC. Never staring into those eyes and never feeling those arms around her or those lips on hers. Never hearing his voice-- that voice that sent chills up her spine when he said a certain thing a certain way. He had a manner of speaking, an air about him that was quietly sexy. She loved that about him.

So, even if this shit storm destroyed her and the new life she was trying to build, the one good thing that it brought her was him. And hope. She had found someone, and had been happy, for the most part. She was, honestly, so close to telling him everything. And that was why she had to let him go. Well, tried to let him go. But couldn't. And now things were a mess, and his name was about to get caught up in it, and that just couldn't happen.

Traffic in Miami in the afternoon of any day was unbearable. It was hot and sticky and crowded and it took forever to get to suburbia, traveling the familiar streets and neighborhood stores. Her old high school and friend's homes brought a smile to her lips. The sights and smells and sounds of home were comforting, at least. It was late afternoon, nearly sunset by the time she pulled into the driveway of the two story Spanish colonial that she'd always called home.

The front door was opening before she'd even turned off the car, Renee and Bob spilling out of the opening, bright lights of the hallway and living room behind them. Shelby hugged her dad, then fell into her mom's arms while her dad picked up her bag from the backseat. Together, the three of them walked back up the sidewalk to the house.

"I'll just take this up to your room," Bob said, making his way up the steps. Shelby and Renee continued into the house and to the kitchen. Shelby settled into a bar stool at the kitchen counter while Renee went back to her simmering pots. Dinner smelled delicious. Mexican, her favorite.

"So how was the drive?"

"It was fine. Long, of course. I took the pretty way, home. I'm amazed I didn't get pulled over. I must have been going over ninety most of the way."

Renee shot a raised eyebrow at her, and then shook her head as if to say ‘kids'. "Well, on your long drive, did you come to any decision about what you're going to do? You must have some kind of plan, to rush back to Miami like this."

"Not really. I need to talk to my attorney first thing tomorrow. I need to know if I have options."

"For what?"

Shelby bristled, slapping a palm against the counter. "For going after her! What else? She needs to leave me, and anyone I'm dating alone. Want to have me arrested for murder? Do it, bitch! Except she won't. She has no case, just her own suspicion and greed."

Renee nodded, agreeing while she listened to Shelby ranting, rolling enchiladas and lining them up in the pan. "I agree that you have to do something. There has to be something that can be done to shut her up."

"I have to find out what that something is, and make it happen." 

A light tap at her shoulder startled her. She yelped and almost leapt off of the chair. It was only Bob standing next to her. "Daddy! Don't sneak up on me like that! You know I'm freaked out right now!"

Bob chuckled and handed Shelby her cell phone. "It was ringing. I thought you might want it."

Shelby grabbed it, shooting a glare at him, which he ignored and made his way into the kitchen to supervise dinner. He asked questions, poked and prodded and offered his advice on the best ways to do whatever she was doing-but better.  Renee put up with him for only a few minutes before she was directing him toward a door off of the kitchen.

"Why don't you go out into the garage, and I'll call you when dinner's ready? My nerves are shot. I can't take you hanging over me right now."

As soon as he was safely gone, Renee rolled her eyes and went back to her enchilada preparations. "Thank goodness for that garage." Shelby only mumbled in response, scrolling through her phone. "Anyone interesting call?"

Three calls from Anne-Marie, messages included. She was probably freaked out, from Shelby's email. One call, no message from JC.

"He called. I guess I should let him know I won't be there for our date tonight. As if we were actually having one." Shelby flipped open the phone to the keyboard and slowly typed out an email. Words she didn't really want to say via text, but wasn't sure she could handle by voice, either.

To: Muzikman

From: shelbyj

Hey. Sorry to bother you. I can't even imagine what you think of me right now.  I kind of don't want to know.

Anyway. I can't make our date tonight. I'm not even sure I'll ever see you again. So in case I don't.... thank you.

Shelby

Her finger lingered over the send button longer than she really wanted to, in the end, finally pressing the button and watching the envelope disappear and the icon turn from ‘new' to ‘sent', then turning off the phone and sliding it away. The last thing she wanted to see was a rejection via text, or something cold and callous that she didn't figure he was capable of, but was afraid of, anyway.

More than that she was afraid of no response at all, because that meant he either didn't care, or didn't know what to say. Rarely did JC not know what to say-something had to be absolutely out of this world, out of his realm of understanding, something he couldn't even mentally conceive, in order for him to be at a loss for words. This situation may have just fit that bill.

"Dinner will be ready in about an hour, then," Renee said, sliding a pan into the oven, then stirring her rice and preparing iced tea to serve with dinner. Sitting at the kitchen counter watching her mother cook brought back memories of an earlier time, an easier time. Before she decided she was a grownup and she could handle being on her own, being with an older man, then being what that older man wanted her to be. Sometimes she really longed to go back to that easier time, and be the old Shelby. The one that wasn't afraid of the tiniest bump in the night. The one that wasn't constantly looking over her shoulder, or hiding in the bushes. 

She held a deep, dark fear that the old Shelby was long gone.

JC

He was staring at the email, his expression stony, eyes ice cold, at the words that made sense, but didn't.

 'I can't even imagine what you think of me. I kind of don't want to know... I don't even know if I'll ever see you again. In case I don't, thank you.'

So she was writing him off? Dumping him like she dumped Lucas, or so she said? She was done with him, now that he knew most of her secrets. She wasn't going to come clean and tell them all.

JC sighed, frustration giving way to anger. He powered the phone off and shoved it back into his pocket, shaking his head, blinking back a tear as a familiar feeling coursed his body.  'I don't get how I keep getting mixed up with these chicks. Do I have some kind of magnet on my forehead? Does it say 'I love drama and crazy shit?' Fuck!' 

He kicked at the table in one of the side rooms where he was trying to catch a quick nap on the worn wooden futon, until his phone buzzed in his pocket. He had figured the date would be off-- he now knew that Shelby was aware of the package he had been sent. He was expecting her to want to see him, though. He thought she’d want to get things out in the open. Talk it out. And then maybe they could be real with each other. He wasn't expecting the email brush off. The Dear John Letter, just as he'd allowed himself to admit he felt something real for her. It was Déjà vu all over again.

"Hey, man. It's not sounding good in here." JC rolled his eyes up to find Rod bent over the couch, and then leaning on the back of it, smashing down the cushion. "Wanna talk it out? I promise not to be a shithead."

"Not at all. You have done quite enough," said, JC, shaking his head, pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers. That was all he needed, was for Rod to insert himself into the situation.

"Okay. I deserve that. I do, and I know I do. I did you dirty, and I realize that, and I've been trying to apologize for it, but you won't let me. We're all a part of this whole big... thing." Rod walked around the couch, closing the door as he walked past it, then plopped into the chair opposite the couch. "We've gotta work together, man. Help each other out. We have history. I know I've been an asshole, but give me one last shot. I swear I'll do my best to help and not hurt."

"It has nothing to do with you. It barely has anything to do with me."

"Okay." Rod was silent for a few minutes, waiting for JC to open up, if he was going to. When no further words came, he asked, "Does it have anything to do with that package you got yesterday?"

JC nodded.

"Was that bad news?"

Again, JC nodded.

"About that girl?"

A third time, JC nodded.

"You seemed kinda happy with her. I saw the footage of what they got of her, that night at the movie. She looked scared out of her mind. I kind of forget that not all girls out there are famewhores and starfuckers. Some of them actually like their privacy. Tell her I said I'm sorry. Okay?"

JC laughed. A short, bitter laugh, and then another and then another. "I uh... I don't think I'll be seeing her again anytime soon."

"No? Freaked her out bad? Man, I'm sorry."

Irritated, JC twisted around so he could see Rod in the chair opposite the couch. More to the point, so he could glare at him. "It's not you, Rod. Get over yourself."

And then against his better judgment, the whole story began to spill out. Meeting Shelby. Asking her out. Having an incredibly fantastic sexual experience with her, time and time and time again. Realizing that being with her was way more than the sex. Falling for her. And then, knowing nothing about her, and her standoffish response to his requests to get to know her more.  And then her almost accidental blurt a few weeks ago about how he wasn't just her ex. He was dead. The controversy that swirled around her. And now, indecision. What to do about it?

Rod was quiet, listening to the long ramble of tangled web that came from JC, nodding, thoughtfully considering. "Well," he said, in the softest tone that had ever come from Rod. "Kinda seems like she doesn't want you to do anything."

"I know. It seems like that. It's just... I don't know how long I can sit by and do nothing and watch her suffer and be this guy on the outside of her life. I want to know her. Really know her. I want to know all about this mess she's in. I want to know how I can help. I want to know how I can stand by her. I don't want to be pushed away. That makes me feel...." JC struggled to find the word that fit this situation.

"Used?" Rod's suggestion hurt. "You mean, like you used her to get over Kim? Even Stevens, I say. Why not just walk away, man? That seems the easiest thing to do. Is this girl really worth getting yourself involved in her drama? Her past, a past she didn't even feel like you were good enough to know?"

JC considered, honestly, Rod's point of view. It didn't match what he felt in his heart. It didn't match what he was sure he knew about Shelby. Fake name and blurry past be damned, her feelings were her feelings. It was hard to fake those.

"I don't think it was that. I really don't. I get it, now. Why she didn't want me to know.  You know? It's ugly and it's messy and it has nothing to do with me. But everything to do with me ‘cause..." JC hesitated, having never really said it out loud. Saying it out loud would make it real, and in the current situation, more pitiful and heartbreaking. But it had to be said. "I think I love her." 

Rod leaned back in the chair and laughed that laugh that JC couldn't stand but tolerated, for the moment. "Love her? Like you loved Kim? But she didn't love you back, did she? Do you think Shelby loves you back? If she did, would she have drop kicked you? Would you be on the curb like Thursday's trash?"

He sat forward in the chair again, staring intently, dark eyes boring through him. "I hate to be harsh, but it has to be said. You let yourself fall for chicks that don't feel what you feel. They aren't capable of feelings that run as deep as yours. When are you gonna learn that lesson?"

Rod's words hurt. Hit him right in the gut and punched hard. Because they were true. When he let himself feel, he felt deeply. When he let himself love, he loved deeply. That was the main argument against not letting himself feel. Not letting himself love. Keep it light, casual surface, until he absolutely had to dip into those feelings. If it didn't come back to him and he didn't get the same love in return, it was heartbreaking. He got great songs out of it, but being an award winning songwriter wasn't worth the pain, anymore.

"I thought I did," JC said, after a few moments of heavy, thoughtful silence. "I really thought I did."

"So, you really think she killed her old man?"

"No. I don't,” He said, as confident in that statement as he’d be if asked a detail about his own life. “The thing is that the money came from somewhere, and if there was really suspicion, she’d never get a payout. That guy was rich—that will had to be ironclad. And the letter came from the ex's daughter-- chick sounds majorly bitter. Almost insane, she's so bitter. She hunted me down to send me a letter about Shelby, because she thought I was in danger?"

JC sat up, shaking his head, and moving to sit on the edge of the couch. "It doesn't add up, to me. There's something else going on."

"Sounds like it. So there's no date tonight? No walking in here with a grin on your face tomorrow?"

JC shot a dirty look at Rod, which then softened into a mere grimace. He laced his fingers together and stared at them, shaking his head. "Not until I can see her, or talk to her. Find out what's going on."

"You should go see her. You'll never be able to concentrate until you get this straightened out."

JC exhaled what felt like a lung full of air, and stood. "Too much work to do. We leave for LA, soon. And maybe...” He shrugged, hesitating to even verbalize his thought. The sad reality was that even if he never said it out loud, it was still truth. “I don't know. Maybe I should stay away for awhile. Let her sort this thing out and figure everything out later."

He extended a hand to Rod, who took it and used to help pull him out of the chair. After an awkward pause or two, JC pulled him into a hug. "I appreciate the ear, and the common sense that only Rod Phillips can deliver."

Rod laughed and returned the hug, slapping him on the back with his free hand. "I owed you one or two, I figured. And hey, man….” Rod shrugged, a little shy, a lot bashful and embarrassed.  “I'm done fucking with the only good connection I have left. New leaf and all that. Sorry, man. About everything." 

JC nodded quiet approval. "It sucks when you don't have my back, man. Especially since I'm bailing you out, here. We both know I am. Don't make me regret trusting you again. This'll be it, for me."

"You won't," Rod said, his bottom lip wedged between his teeth and his expression never more serious. "I mean that."

Shelby

The sleep that night was fitful. Shelby slept off and on, dreaming alternately of Lucas and JC, jerking awake every time the dream reached a pinnacle point. Morning dawned bright and early, especially since she'd had no sleep. She showered and dressed in her best business attire--a suit that went at least to her knees. Leather satchel, dark heels, and hair pulled into a low clip, she slipped out of the house quietly and got into the car, headed downtown.

A short time later, she stepped into the suite of offices leased by her best friend in high school and attorney, Robin Gold, at 8am sharp. Her appointment was at 8:30, but one could never be too early when discussing litigation. The receptionist showed her to a seat in the lobby, and Shelby sat down to wait.

‘Isn't this something? I never imagined myself back here. Ever.'

It had been at least a year since Shelby sat in that chair, in that office, waiting to talk about this issue, the Lucas Thing. Shelby thought back to the last meeting, the settlement meeting, when the papers were signed and hands were shaken, and Robin had pulled her aside and gave her a long, tight hug and told her to take care of herself. She'd tried. Lord knew, she'd tried.

Robin had upgraded, Shelby noticed. She smiled to herself, thinking the fee she got from the representing her against Lucas' family, in addition to mediating the Firestone settlement was a large portion of what it took to take the two-man firm from modest neighborhood law office to almost posh, upscale attorney's headquarters, with deep carpet that still smelled new, plush leather chairs for the lobby, a fancy coffeemaker with little china cups and a tall, mahogany receptionist's desk. Shelby almost couldn't wait to see Robin's office.

A few minutes before 8:30, Robin's door opened and she stepped out, looking fashionable as always, in a smart pantsuit in black. Robin rarely wore any color but black. She said it was her power color. "Shelby Coster," she gushed, caramel skin glowing, teeth gleaming white, hair in springy spirals down her back. "It's wonderful to see you again. You look fantastic. Come on back."

Shelby stood, gathered her bag and followed Robin to her office. The door clicked softly as it closed behind her. She almost laughed to herself, seeing that the upgrade train had found its way to Robin's office as well. Not only did she no longer have the rundown, run of the mill office supply store desk with two broken drawers and not enough desk space, but she also didn't have the ratty rugs and the cheap gold plated lamps and the futon that looked like it got quite a bit of use. Robin had hit the big time, replacing her old desk with a massive glass top executive desk that just barely fit the room, matching chairs and credenza and side tables. High end rugs, silver lamps and classy shades, coordinating art on the walls Robin looked like she belonged. Shelby was proud.

I see Gold & Farmer is doing well, these days," Shelby said, trying hard not to smirk. It wasn't working. "How is Greta?" 

Greta Farmer, the other half of Gold & Farmer mainly worked in divorces and domestic cases. She was a bulldog, but could be sweet when she wanted to be. One would think that she hated men and marriage, but she was happily married to a judge who presided down at City Hall. She liked to say she hated folks that didn't understand what marriage meant, and destroyed the meaning of the institution. The sooner she got them out of their sham of a union, the better. Greta had more than a frown for Shelby when she heard that Shelby and Lucas were engaged. Embarrassed but used to the criticism, Shelby ignored it. After they were married, it would have all seemed worth it.

"Gold & Farmer is doing excellent. So much business came in after the uh... well, you know."

"The landmark settlement?" Shelby grinned across the desk. "You can say it. I'm just happy I could help out an old girlfriend. That's all." 

Robin smiled, pointing manicured nail tip at Shelby. "Hey, careful with the ‘old'part, okay?"

Shelby sighed, and the bright smile she was trying so hard to keep on her face faded. "So anyway. You must know why I'm here."

"I do," she said, her demeanor shifting on a dime. She sat forward and pulled a thick file from the pile on her desk. Shelby recognized it... God, how she had hoped to never see it again. On top of the file she set a notepad and picked up a fountain pen.

"So, what I got from your message is that Melina is pretty much stalking you. All the way to Orlando? And involving someone you're dating. Am I correct?"

Shelby nodded, scooting to the edge of the chair so that she could lean her elbows on the desk. "I've been living in Orlando for the last six months, and seeing someone sort of high profile. 13 seconds of my face aired at about 2am on an early Friday morning, and all of a sudden, he gets a package with a lot of information that he really doesn't need to know. Who I date, wealthy or not, famous or not, coincidence or not, is none of her business, and I guess it isn't against the law to be nosy, but isn't it against the law to send letters to him, claiming that I committed murder?"

"Did you bring the package with you?"

"Yep.” Shelby dug the envelope out of her bag and slid it across the desk. Robin picked through the stack, rifling through pages, frowning at some pieces, shaking her head at the stack in general. She read the note on top, chuckling to herself.

"Melina is an idiot," she said simply.

"I know that," Shelby said, wanting to laugh, too. "But how so, specifically?"

“She implicated herself. I'd bet if I called this gentleman that you're seeing, that he'd send me a photocopy of the FedEx shipping label that he received. No matter, I bet it would match the copy that FedEx has. And I bet it would match the copy that she was so good to insert in this neat little package, the one in which she completely identifies herself. She's so eager to get back at you for not giving her that money that she's dancing herself right into a harassment suit."

Robin sat back, pen between white teeth, rattling it around. It was an irritating sound, but Shelby could endure it, if it meant good news. "I bet if I twist this, that I could definitely put her over the edge of the law. Your friend should file, too-- no one should be sending him unsolicited information about someone he's seeing. If he wanted to know all of this, he would have just hired a private investigator, no? But yes... it is dangerous to accuse someone of murder with no proof and attempt to sway other people of it. Not quite illegal, but I think we've got a leg to stand on."

"Tell me, plain as day. Can I shut her up?"

"We can try, Shelby." Robin reached across the expanse of glass, covered in manila file folders stuffed with briefs and action items and looked Shelby right in the eye. "You know I don't like to make promises I can't keep. But I got you this far. I have no intention of letting you down. We can fight this out as long as you want to fight it. At the very least get an injunction to keep her away from you. We'll have to have a statement from your friend. He'll have to file his own paperwork."

Dejected, Shelby shrugged a shoulder. "Robin... I don't want this all over the news, again.  I don't want him to have to file anything. I don't want his name in this at all. I can't mix him up in this."

Robin was hesitant, playing with the pen, her mouth twisted as she winced. "Well...we can certainly try to do this without him being involved. It would be hard to get through it without mentioning his name.  And it would give us so much more impact. What... what is his name?"

Shelby hesitated before answering. Was Robin asking because she needed to know? Or being nosy?

"JC Chasez. That's his name."

Recognition flashed across her face, gone as soon as it came. Robin blinked a few times, then closed her eyes for a few moments and then opened them again. Her reaction would have been funny, had Shelby not been in such a serious mood.

"JC Chasez.” Robin choked out. “Like from ‘Nsync, JC Chasez. Tearin' Up My Heart, was on our walls in high school, JC Chasez."

Shelby smirked. "Well, it's not like he's still a teenager, Robin. He's our age. Older than us, actually."

"I knew that. It's just..."  She snickered. "It's just... he's ... JC."

"Do you have a point?"

"No. I don't. It's just funny."

"What makes it funny? He's sweet, and a wonderful person, and very deep and I lo-"

Shelby swallowed, clutching her throat, feeling the blush crawl up her chest. Was she really about to say she loved him? Out loud? She inhaled a deep breath and shook her head to clear it. ‘Get rid of it. It's too late for that.'

Shelby exhaled and tried to return to business as usual, looking Robin in the eye. "JC is a great guy. He really is. I've enjoyed knowing him and being with him, but it won't work, with him. I need to make a clean break and if possible, I want to keep him out of this. He didn't ask for any of this, and I don't want to give it to him."

So that was it. She'd just decided, right there, that she wasn't going to see him again. Her bravado was hiding her heart breaking in two, top to bottom. It was amazing that it had even become whole again, but it had. In the short time she had known him, she had known happiness, and what it was like to be with someone who wanted nothing in return, who didn't offer money or favors in return for what she gave. He was in it for the fun of it. It felt good to give it, just because. Shelby had to wonder if she'd ever find anyone like him again. 

"Listen. Robin. I want to know how you feel about something... and if it'll make her and this whole thing go away without involving JC, it would be worth it, to me. But only if you think it's a good idea, I mean."

Robin put down the pen and folded her arms on the desk, eyes open wide. "I'm listening. What, exactly, are we talking about?"

JC

It felt strange. Strange to be heading back to LA, though he hadn’t really been gone long. Until he boarded the plane and tossed his worn brown leather bag onto the seat next to him and settled into the supple leather, he hadn’t even really given any thought to what it would be like to go back to LA. To walk back into his house. To see his neighbors and people he hadn’t seen in what felt like forever. It didn’t even feel like home, anymore.

It wasn’t really. And he wasn’t the same person, either.

No doubt, LA would be the same. The same pace, the same people, the same hurry-up-and-wait. The same wannabes and the same irresponsible, fly-by-night people living life like Peter Pan—they never grow up, blowing through money and opportunity with no regard to tomorrow and how to pay for it. They’d expect someone—someone like JC—to be around to pick up the pieces and bail them out. LA was its own universe, and a strange one at that; strange enough that even Rod dreaded his frequent trips back to the West Coast. JC shook his head, frustration mounting with each hour that passed at the very thought of being back in the city.

“We’re in and out, man,” JC said, directing his voice across the aisle to Rod, who laid sprawled across two seats and was watching Bad Santa, intermittently cackling at Billy Bob Thornton.

“What?” Rod sat up slightly, just enough to glance at JC across the aisle.

“We’re in and out,” JC repeated, his bottom lip being turned an angry red by the gnawing of his teeth. JC replaced the lip with his thumb and chewed on that, for awhile. “I don’t want to be in LA for a long time. We go in, we get this done, we send it off, and we get back to Orlando. I don’t want to hang out.”

Rod stared, not blinking, for a few seconds before lowering his head and returning his attention to his movie. “Okay, dude. Whatever you say. You’re the boss.”

Normally, JC would argue that point, but in the past few weeks, he’d demanded and achieved respect from the band, from Rod, and his manager. If they wanted to let him think he was the boss, then he’d be the boss—of the music. “Yeah, I’m the boss. So we do this and we get it done and we leave town.”

“Whatever,” Rod muttered. “Back to old habits, I guess?”

JC glared across the aisle at the top of Rod’s head. “What?”

“You heard me,” he answered. “Back to your old tricks. Boy meets girl, boy falls hard, girl doesn’t feel the same and dumps boy, boy hides in recording studio, where he doesn’t eat, sleep, or fuck until he loses 20 lbs and has to be clubbed upside the head and dragged out. That’s your M.O., dude.”

“That’s not… I don’t do that. I just focus. That’s all.”

“Yeah. Focus on running away from your problems and writing depressing emo shit.”

JC sighed, and then shrugged. “That depressing emo shit wins me Grammy noms. It’s from the heart.”

“Yeah. Well. I’d rather be happy than have material for Grammy nominated songs. It’s not worth it. Just sayin’.”

JC didn’t respond, and didn’t really need to. He knew Rod was right, and what was more, he agreed. If only Shelby was in on the idea.  If only.

The small, private Lear jet landed smoothly on an airstrip just outside the Burbank airport. From there, JC and Rod climbed into a waiting car and headed into LA. Rod kept a condo in an upscale gated community in a suburb. The driver dropped him off first, nodded at the instruction to return the following morning to pick him up, and then drove JC to his home in West Hollywood.

The house was bare, but not empty. The minimum had been left, just in case he needed to come back. Eventually, the house would be sold. Even if JC returned to LA, he’d likely never live the rambling four bedroom home again, not now that Tyler had relocated to Florida and there was a significant chance that he had, as well. Besides that, the house just wasn’t home any longer. It hadn’t been home since Kim left.

JC entered through a side door off of the garage, tossing his key across the counter like he always used to. It was late in Orlando—not particularly in LA, but since his body was on east coast time, he was exhausted. He didn’t even turn on any lights as he trudged up the stairs to his bedroom. The bare minimum had been left there, too. A bed, a dresser, a lamp and clock radio. No TV, no music system, no DVD player—it had all been packed and moved to Florida.  JC glanced around the cold, dark room, his hands on his hips, shaking his head. The feeling was just so… strange.

JC hit the shower and then hit the bed. The next day would be long and the work backbreaking-- bent over a mixing console, heavy headphones on his head, listening diligently, measuring, exacting, adjusting.  It was absolutely not where he wanted to be. He wanted to be with Shelby.

His heart sank even lower in his chest at the splash of cold water that hit him over and over when he thought of her—she obviously didn’t want to be with him.

Shelby

"So, I’ll arrange a meeting and draw up the papers. I’ll give you a call when a date has been set.” Robin scribbled notes and talked at the same time, her pen scratching along the surface of the paper. It was the sound of accomplishment. At least Shelby hoped. "Will you be in town?"

She nodded, her lips pressed together, reserving any joy or merriment until things were final. Sitting in Robin’s office for the second time in as many days was beginning to remind her of the long battle with Lucas’ family, and then the settlement with the tire manufacturer. As plush as Robin’s working space was now, it was still the last place she wanted to be. It was Friday morning. She was usually in class, and then would head straight to Antigua to open at noon, work until dinner, and then go out with her friends. In between, she’d think about JC and their date the night before non-stop.  Today, everything was different and upside down. She was not in Orlando and not in class and she wouldn’t be skipping off to a job she rather enjoyed. There was no date the night before.

And JC was gone.

"I'll be here until this gets settled. I'm hoping it won't take long. I don't think they want to fight this out anymore than I do, but I need that bitch off my back and out of my life. That has to be a part of the deal. Don't forget that."

"I won't, Miss Shelby. I wouldn't dare." Robin made a few more notes and closed the thick file, pages jutting out haphazardly. "I'll get my paralegal on the research. You should probably head to the bank and prepare a check. We won’t hand it over until everything is signed, but it will go over better if we're ready to go once they agree."

"I'll do that today,” Shelby said, her arms resting on the desk top, almost sinking down onto it.”I can't tell you what a relief it's been to know that you're handling things. I've been a bag of nerves for so long, now."

Robin reached across the table to soothe Shelby, rubbing her arm, offering a smile that was warm and comforting and friendly. It had been so long since any feeling of friendliness had come from this city. "It's almost over, hon," she cooed. "It's almost over."

"Well, I better get to the bank. And home. My parents are probably pacing a groove in the floors."

"Tell Bob and Renee I said hello."

"I will."

Shelby swung her bag over her shoulder and headed toward the door. Before she reached it, she stopped and turned around. Robin glanced up from her paperwork, alarmed by the look on Shelby's face.

"By the way... I love what you've done with the place. I'm really proud of you, you know? You managed to make it through law school, and here you are in your own firm and helping me out. I'm kind of... well, I don't want to study law, or anything, but I'm jealous. You're doing it, you're really doing this. I can't see straight, I'm so jealous."

"Oh, Shelby...honey..." Robin stood and was around the desk in a matter of seconds, grabbing Shelby by the shoulders and pulling her forward, wrapping her arms around her friend, as the tears pooled in both sets of eyes. They said nothing as they stood hugging, clinging to each other. Robin stroked her hair and rubbed her back until it felt like the sobs were receding, and she could let go. She turned away for a few seconds, just to pluck a few pieces of Kleenex from a holder on the table. She shoved the bunched cotton into Shelby's hand and kept rubbing her back.

Shelby inhaled and exhaled and repeated that cycle until she was calm. "Sorry," she said, her nose stuffy, her face red. "I just get so emotional about all of this. I leave and try to fix my life and I can't get away from it and-"

"It's going to be okay. I'm going to take care of this. I want you to repeat that to yourself. It's going to be okay, and Robin is going to take care of everything. I'll give you a call, okay?" One final hug was shared between the two, and then Robin pulled open her office door and gently pushed Shelby out of it. "I have work to do. I'll be in touch. Promise."

Shelby nodded still sniffling, shuffling down the hall and past the receptionist, who watched her walk by with a sympathetic smile. She plodded aimlessly, but somehow ended up at her car, and then got on the road.

So, it was settled. Sort of. She would offer a deal to the Samuels family, giving them a portion of the multi-million dollar payday she had received from the Firestone settlement. In exchange, they agreed to virtually forget she ever existed. Never mention her name in the press. Never come to find her. Never send anonymous packages to men she was dating. Never interfere in her life, ever again. Melina was getting what she wanted. If it kept JC out of it, it was worth the price.

If they couldn't agree to that, they were more cold and heartless and dysfunctional than she could ever imagine. There was nothing else that she could offer, nothing else they could take from her. They'd never be able to steal her memories of Lucas, or the years she spent with him-those would matter the most to her anyway.

Just down the road from Robin's office was her branch at Miami Bank and Trust, where most of her money was being held. Some liquid, some invested, some put far, far away. Not unreachable, just far away. She would have to dip into that, eventually. She had just enough liquid to have a check prepared, and sooner than she expected, she was leaving the bank with a sealed envelope. Exactly one third of the settlement from Firestone, less her attorney's fees.  She hoped it was enough to erase those people forever.

The day had nearly exhausted Shelby. She pondered lunch, thought about calling her mom to meet her somewhere, but deep inside her, she just longed to be home. To sit between her mom and dad and let them dote on her and spoil her, and love her. It had been a long time, since she had that.

Her thoughts drifted to JC, eventually. Her body had missed him, the night before. She hadn't slept a wink. She tossed and turned most of the night, thinking of him. Wanting to call him, talk to him, and hear his voice in her ear. Feel his arms around her. His body near her. She wondered how long this would take-getting over him. Learning to live without him. Starting over.

All over, again.

Shelby pulled into the driveway at her parent's house, turned off the engine and walked up the sidewalk. Both her parents met her at the door, quizzical looks on their faces, bursting to ask what happened at the meeting.

"Hey, you guys," she said, as they let her pass. "I'm gonna change and then I'll come down and give you an update, okay?"

They nodded, not saying a word as she climbed the stairs and went to her room. Her old room, her childhood room, though it wasn't very childish anymore. After she moved out, it had been converted to a regular guest bedroom, classy and stylish and comfortable. It still felt like home. Still smelled like home-Shelby had adopted her mother's habit of putting fresh flowers in each room. She loved the fragrance and the natural perfume. There was lilac in her room. It was soothing. Great for her headache.

The bed was so tempting. Queen size, fluffy down comforter, crisp sheets. It looked like Renee had changed them that morning. Shelby laid down, fully clothed, for just a few minutes. Just to close her eyes. Rest her head. Think. Breathe. Feel. 

JC appeared behind her closed eyes. That face, that smile, those eyes. That hair, that body. That heart. That personality. That sweet, sweet man. She missed him now, more than ever before. Felt alone now, more than ever before. The tears erupted again, and this time she didn't stop them. Her heart exploded, and this time she didn't stop it. She would never have him, but this feeling...this wonderful, terrible, awesome, exciting, awful feeling... The feeling of loving him, really and truly, and not being able to have him was torture.

JC

Time spent in the studio was always therapeutic, no matter what else was going on. Once JC entered the large, dark, closed off room with the flashing lights and expansive control board, he was in another world, on another planet, a part of another universe. Hours passed quickly, songs piled up, ideas flowed. This space, this zone was the only place, lately, where JC felt like he knew anything or had any kind of expertise. It was the only place where, beyond a shadow of a doubt, he had it together. He knew every inch of every song, every nuance of every note. He knew what it was supposed to sound like... it would be his job to push the engineer to make those sounds happen. It was Rod's job to agree with him.

Six hours into the mixing session, JC called a break. His thoughts traveled back to Rod's comment the night before about being up to his old tricks. JC was determined to not be the same guy, anymore. To not hole himself up in a soundproof booth and stare off into space and think about how he'd fucked up his life this time. He was determined to learn something, this time. To move on, but be smart about it. Maybe he'd take a break from women altogether. Focus on his music. At any rate, a break was in order, so JC took the time to sit around the conference table and eat pizza and drink soft drinks and even laughed and joked a little bit. He let the music heal his soul, mend his broken, tattered heart. As much as it could, anyway.

JC sat across from Rod, who was telling a hysterically funny story about his last date-gone-wrong. Rod either had great dates or terrible dates. He'd never had a mediocre evening in his life. JC half listened, laughing at the appropriate moments, but his mind was elsewhere. For all his bravado and new goals about getting over Shelby and moving on, he sort of hoped she'd call. Or text. Or instant message. Or send a carrier pigeon. Or fly to LA and tell him she wanted him and she wanted to be with him, and by the way, would he like to hear her life story?

No call came, though. No text or instant message came. There was an intense, incredibly loud, painful silence from Shelby. That hurt the most.

So he shoved it down, some more, pushed his chair away from the table and stood to toss his paper plate into the garbage can. He pointed at the console on the other side of the glass partition. "I'm gonna head back in. Listen to a couple tracks, maybe try to get ahead. You guys head in there in a few, okay? The sooner we get done.... well the sooner we're done and we can collect a paycheck, right?"

Rod and the engineer, Derek, nodded and went back to the conversation. JC was sort of hoping they'd feel a little uncomfortable and rushed by the suggestion that they get back to work. He sighed, though, and didn't push the issue. He could use some alone time, anyway.

Hours later, well past dinner, much later than sunset, and truthfully past midnight, JC called it a day. Rod was cranky and irritable and suddenly had no opinion on any changes. He sulked in a corner with his arms crossed and his eyes nearly drooping closed. When JC called it quits, though, he suddenly perked and sat up straight. "Anyone want to go party? There's a couple new clubs downtown."

JC shook his head and yawned, pulled out his cell phone and called a cab. He would always and forever be the one worried about the photoshoot the next day or the recording session the next day or the interview the next day. It was no wonder they called him daddy. "You are going home, son. You are going to sleep, because you fell asleep during my mixing session of your album. We're back bright and early tomorrow. I don't want any whining."

Rod stomped his feet for a few seconds and followed JC and the engineer out of the room. He grumbled, but he followed. He stood outside in the cool air until the cab arrived, and climbed in after JC. In minutes, really, he was at the front door of his condo and stumbling inside. JC bet himself a dollar that Rod would stumble back out of the apartment the next morning looking haggard and unshaven, possibly still drunk. There was no way that Rod was staying in. It was still early, by the 'rock clock', or the sometimes inverse hours that musicians kept. Rod had always been a child of rock hours, so it was practically noon, Rod's time.

The cab traveled along the highway to West Hollywood and turned into the driveway of JC's home in the hills. He was tired—exhausted, actually and happy to be home. Not happy to see a car sitting in the drive way. A familiar car, one he hadn't expected to see and didn't really want to see, ever again.

The sporty red Mercedes coupe was a gift. He’d stupidly had it put in her name so he couldn’t take it back after she left him. He chalked it up to thinking with his heart and not with his wallet and now that same heart thumped wildly as he got out of the taxi, paid the driver and edged into his house.

Obviously, she still had her key.  Obviously, JC hadn't changed the locks. Subconsciously, perhaps, he'd been waiting for this moment. The moment that Kim returned.

Shelby

Shelby sat up, rubbed her eyes and looked around the darkened room, confused for a moment as to why she was at her parent's house- and then it all came rushing back. She was still in her suit from earlier, now wrinkled and frumpy, twisted around her body.

She got up from the bed, pulling at the buttons on her jacket and the zipper to her skirt. Her face felt dry and caked. A glance in the mirror revealed black streaks down her cheeks and around her eyes. She winced, looking back at the pillow. Her makeup had run in her tears and stained the pillow.

A soft knock at the door sounded. "Shelby? We’re holding dinner. Did you want to eat?" Renee's voice was muffled on the other side.

"Yeah, mom," she called through the door, her voice ragged. "Dinner smells good. I'll be right down."

"Okay. See you in a few minutes."

Shelby listened to the sounds of her mom walking away and back down the stairs, then went to the adjoining bathroom where she washed her face and brushed her teeth and ran a brush through her hair, restoring order as she went. She changed into a plain t-shirt and jeans, slipped out of her heels and into a pair of slip on sneakers and then headed down the steps.

She hadn’t thought she was very hungry but the smells coming from the kitchen changed her mind. Roast beef, potatoes, and green beans were being served up in healthy portions. Shelby took a full plate, grabbed a roll or two and sat at the dining room table. Bob sat at one end, Renee across from her.

“Hot one, today.” Bob sliced his roast beef into bite sized pieces and then, coupled with a dollop of potatoes, popped a forkful of food into his mouth. “Probably hit near a hundred degrees in some places.”

Renee only nodded, chewing slowly, watching Shelby stir food around her plate. The sound of forks and knives tinkling against porcelain plates was almost deafening when it was the only sound in the room.

“Uhm…” Shelby started speaking and then stopped to clear her throat and set down her fork. “So I met with Robin. And uhm…we think we have a way for this to all go away. At least we hope they’ll go for it.”

Renee seemed relieved, albeit curious. “Well, that would be wonderful, if you could make it happen, honey. Then you could be finally free of all of this.”

“What did she say?” Bob demanded, always more impatient than his wife.

Nervous, Shelby picked up her fork and poked at the pile of plump, vibrant green beans. “I uh… I went to the bank, today and had them draw up a check for a fourth of the settlement. It was, I think, what the family trust—or maybe just Melina—was expecting. The only way they get the check is to muzzle Melina. She forgets I ever existed, they get the check, she gets her portion and never bothers me again. And she doesn’t hunt down the men I date and tell them that I killed her father. I did not kill Lucas.”

“You really think that family is motivated by money?” Bob scoffed, pounding his fork through a mountain of potatoes. “Lucas was wealthy. I’d bet they got a fair sum when he died. They wipe their asses with what you’re offering.”

“No, I don’t think they’re motivated by money, Dad. They’re motivated by me having Lucas’ money. They’re motivated by this woman that screwed Lucas getting the same fair sum that they got. And on top of it, I sued for wrongful death and I got even more money that they feel they’re entitled to. A fourth is what I’m offering. They can take it, or we can go to court.”

Shelby paused, listening to herself. Since when was she ready to go to court over the money? Over what Lucas provided for her? Over what she’d been awarded, fair and square, just to prove that she wasn’t the gold-digging whore that Melina insisted she was?  Months ago, she’d been such a coward that she packed up in the middle of the night, leaving her name and her past behind. She’d invented a whole new Shelby—a strong, confident, aggressive Shelby… but that Shelby was fake.

Right? Or was this person inside her all along?

Renee seemed tired, sipping on a tall glass of iced tea. She licked her lips, watching the back and forth banter between her husband and daughter. “Well,” she broke in, “We’ll find out soon if it works, right? What’s the next step?”

“Robin has her team working on gathering details to present at the meeting—all of the internet postings that Melina makes about me, about the case and the settlement, the package that she sent to me and to JC. It borders on harassment and stalking. The Samuels family shuns any negative publicity. Robin feels like if we say that they’ll get the funds if they muzzle her, they’ll be more motivated because she’s likely screaming at them, too about going after me. Except they won’t, because it’ll hit the papers. So Melina gets what she wants, I get what I want. And if they refuse…”

“You go to the press,” Renee finished, nodding. “It just might work, Shelby.”

“I hope it does. I just feel so guilty about wrapping JC up in all of this. I don’t want any of this to tie back to him, not right now. He’s working so hard to build a new image for himself, and—“

“You worry about Shelby Coster.” Bob pointed his fork at her, his brows knit together in the center of his forehead. “JC is a grown man. He’s a big boy and he’s a veteran in show business, right? He knows how to handle himself, how to squash something. You, on the other hand, are not that savvy. You worry about you, sweetheart.” With a resolute nod, Bob went back to his dinner.

Renee abandoned her plate, only half empty. Her eyes drooped and she seemed to slump over, leaning onto one elbow. “So,” she asked quietly, mid yawn, “When will you know?”

“Ma… get up from here. Go lay down, you look exhausted. I’ll clean up. I’ll make daddy help.” Bob grumbled but didn’t protest much, or very loudly.

“Answer me,” she insisted. “When will you know their decision?”

“I don’t know,” Shelby answered. “You’ll know immediately after I do. In the meantime, we wait. And hope it doesn’t take long.” Following her mother’s lead, she gave up on finishing her dinner as well and stood. She picked up her plate and her mother’s plate on her way into the kitchen and scraped the leftovers into a Tupperware container.

Mindlessly, she began tidying the already nearly spotless kitchen. Renee had always believed in ‘cleaning as you go’, so all that was left was to put the plates, glasses, and silverware into the dishwasher. Her thoughts drifted as she worked, occasionally to JC. What was he doing and who was he with and where was he? Wishing he would call. Or text. Or something, find a way to tell her that he wouldn’t stand for her running away from him and demand, once again, to know everything. She’d tell him, this time. Why didn’t he fight for her? Why didn’t he fight for them? He knew everything, now. He let her break it off and hadn’t said a word.

His silence was speaking volumes. Those volumes were breaking her heart.

Since her nap had been so long, Shelby laid awake long after her parents finally retired for the night. Under cover of darkness, with only the flicker from the TV offering flashes of brightness in the living room, she curled up in the corner of the couch, alone with her thoughts. She dreaded these times. The worst part of being with JC was any night that wasn’t Thursday, or a night she didn’t work, or didn’t have something to do for school, her life was reduced to sitting on the couch or out on the patio chairs near the pool and thinking.

Thinking was dangerous, sometimes. Thinking created questions that didn’t have answers, so her mind made them up. She believed in the answers so fervently that she operated her life by them. Her thoughts created questions about JC that her mind immediately answered.

Of course she couldn’t tell him about the Lucas thing. He’d be repulsed. Of course, she couldn’t fall in love with him and want to be with him. Once he found out what kind of woman Shelby really was, at her core, he’d want nothing to do with her. He’d met enough of that for a lifetime—he left LA, where that kind of woman ran rampant. He had to have been searching for something different, for someone different. Shelby convinced herself that she wasn’t someone different, or something different. She was the same woman he would have fought to untangle himself from, if only he knew.

Shelby sighed, hugging a throw pillow, and flipped to her other side, willing the thoughts to go away. The thoughts told her this was all her fault and all her doing. If she hadn’t been so hot for him and so forward and so naïve to think an affair with him could be surface and simple, she wouldn’t be in so much pain. Those cameras never would have caught 8 seconds of her face. Melina would never have found her. And she wouldn’t have been forced to walk away.

And he wouldn’t have been forced to simply accept it without so much as a whimper.

JC

There were a few lights on inside—the kitchen, the hallway, the lights above the steps. JC moved slowly into the house, rounding the corner into the kitchen. He tossed his keys across the counter and glared at the tall, thin, statuesque woman standing in the middle of the room, guzzling a beer.  

“This shit tastes stale,” she mumbled, tossing the bottle into the empty recycle bin next to the refrigerator.

“It is,” he said, dropping his satchel on the counter next to his keys and slowly crossing the threshold of the kitchen. “It’s months old. I haven’t been here in awhile. Tyler probably left that, the last time he was here.”

She nodded, rubbing her belly through a thin, silky red blouse. “That explains why it tastes like shit. Tyler never could pick beer.”

JC got right to the point, not in the mood for small talk about beer and insults about his brother. She wasn’t a part of the family, anymore. She couldn’t talk about Tyler like she was family. “Why are you here, Kim?”

Her eyes dropped to the floor, following the nervous tapping of her toes against the ceramic tile. Her jeans were skinny and nearly painted on her body; her feet wrapped in leather and lace Louboutins, her hair sleek and bouncy. She looked great. Really good, actually. Kim shrugged a shoulder, smiling shyly.

“Just came by to say hey. I heard you were in town. Someone said they saw you.” She stood up straight and crossed her arms over her chest. JC watched her limbs move gracefully, and then couldn’t stop staring at her chest, accentuated by her arms crossed under it. “I can’t come by and say hi?”

“No,” JC said, the word falling out before he even knew he was saying it. “No, you can’t just come by and say hi. Not when you left me by sneaking out while I was working and left a letter taped to the fucking TV about how you weren’t in love with me and I never saw you again.”

JC paced the length of the kitchen, walking past Kim one way and then another, ranting. “I waited for you, you know. I waited a long time to hear from you. I waited for some kind of explanation of what I did wrong. What was it that I did to make you leave me?” He shook his head slowly, his narrow eyes staring her down.”I never found out. And now I don’t care.”

“I made a mistake, JC. I never should have left.”

“Damn right, you shouldn’t have.”

“I mean it, JC.” Her eyes pleaded with him, following his every move from one end of the kitchen to the other.  “I loved you. I did. You know I did, or you wouldn’t have been so confused and messed up after I left.  I knew you were about to propose and I…I freaked out. I thought I wanted something different and I didn’t know if I even deserved you. I found out the hard way that I didn’t. I heard you were in town and I wanted to see you. To see if you still felt the same, and maybe if you did, we could start over. I’d like that.” 

While she spoke, Kim was inching toward him until she was directly in front of him, so close that he could smell her perfume. That scent, as it filled his nose, was familiar. That voice and those eyes and that hair, it was all familiar. Memories rushed to mind—the good times, the times before things fell apart, the times when, at least he thought, they were happy.

Kim stretched up, onto her toes and wrapped both arms around JC’s neck, stepping even closer, so close that he could feel her body heat and every curve, all the way down her body. His body responded-- she was warm and soft and smelled good. He didn’t like it but couldn’t help it. She smiled up at him, grinding against him.

“Hello, old friend,” she murmured, her voice husky, her breaths curling up around his neck, tickling his skin. She rotated her hips, pushing herself up and into him.

JC’s breath quickened as he became aroused against his will. Except it felt good. So good. He had missed her, but missed Shelby more. Shelby was way more difficult than Kim, though. Kim was simple. Easy.

“I uhm…” He cleared his throat, trying hard not to touch her, to keep his hands at his sides. “I thought you were with someone. Someone you left me for.”

She shook her head. “It ended almost before it started,” she said, her eyes closed. “I missed you, JC. So much.  I was too proud to come back and then when I heard you left town, I blamed myself. It sounds conceited, but I really did blame myself.”

She opened her eyes, shiny and rimmed with tears. He almost felt sorry for her. “I heard Rod’s song on the radio. I knew you wrote it. It has JC Chasez written all over it.”

There was something about her, about her knowing him so well that she could tell when he had a hand in a song, even if he didn’t write the song originally. He’d reworked it, sure. Put his own touch on it, apparently. Obviously, it showed enough that Kim took notice. Despite the situation, he smiled, a little proud.

“Thanks, Kim. I mean that, thanks. But this…” He touched her, finally, but only to push her away. “This can’t work, right now. I can’t just jump back into something with you. Not after how things ended with us. It took me a long time to get over you, and—“

“Are you really over me, JC? You’re sweating and breathing heavy and your dick is hard and you’re scared to touch me. Do you think if you touch me, you won’t be able to resist me? Are you sure you’re over me?”

She stepped close to him again, gripped him by his forearms and forced his arms around her body. Instinctively, they closed around her. “Or are you fighting this because you think you shouldn’t still want it? You think you should hate me… but you don’t. Do you?”

Words. The words wouldn’t come. ‘No’ and ‘get away from me’ and ‘I don’t want you’ and ‘I’m over you’ wouldn’t come up from his gut and out of his mouth. His mind was a swirl of what he knew was wrong but what felt so good to him. His body literally ached for human contact, the kind of contact he wanted from Shelby, not Kim. Yet he was reacting to her—the sight and sound and feel of her up against him, her lips on his neck, teeth nipping at his skin, She knew him so well, still. She knew what drove him up a wall and threw no punches, standing in the middle of the kitchen.

She must have read his mind, too. Sensing that the kitchen was the least romantic place to reconcile, Kim stepped back from JC, out of his arms and grabbed his hand, pulling him out of the room and toward the stairs. JC followed blindly, helpless. Was this really happening? Was he really doing this?

They reached the bedroom and Kim snapped on the nearest lamp. Her eyes crawled the barren space, her face registering shock. So much of what she was used to seeing in the room was no longer there. Shadows and markings were in their place—reminders of another time. A different time.

“It’s so… empty in here,” she said. “I can’t believe this is the same place.”

“Yeah, I… I moved everything down to Winter Park. I’m living out there while I work with Rod and the band. Seemed easier.”

“Oh, yeah. Rod hates LA. But I don’t want to talk about Rod, right now.” In one smooth movement, her blouse was off and she stood in front of JC in just her bra, which joined the sheer, red material on the carpeted floor moments later.  She pushed JC, pushed him back until his legs hit the mattress and he lost his balance, landing on the bed.

Kim climbed up onto the bed, her thighs on either side of his. Her jeans were tight and thin, so thin he could feel the heat coming from her core. Helpless, he laid there while she straddled him, grinding her hips against the long, hard lump in his jeans.

“God,” she moaned. “You drive me crazy. I missed you. I want to be with you. I’m sorry I left, but we don’t have to stay broken up.” She gripped him through his jeans, running her fingers along the length. “You still love me. You still want me.”

His jeans were unbuttoned and unzipped, the band of his boxers pulled down and he was exposed. The cool evening air hit his skin and his dick began to rise higher and grow harder. Kim bent over him, her rock hard nipples scraping against the soft cotton of his t-shirt, moving herself down until her breasts were cradling him. His head rolled back and his eyes drifted closed.

So close to giving in. Just this once. He could pretend it was Shelby. He could believe that it was Shelby hovering over him. It was Shelby that wanted him so badly that her hips were making tiny, convulsive circles against him. Those were Shelby’s breasts that he wanted to fill his hands with, her nipples he wanted to lick and flick and suck.

“Don’t torture yourself, with trying to do what’s right. What does your body want? What does your heart want?”

Those weren’t Kim’s lips around him, her mouth sinking down on him, sucking him in. Warm. Wet. God.

His heart? His heart didn’t want this. “Fuck! Stop! Kim…. No.”

He grabbed her head, pulling her away, off of him. He fell from her mouth but stood upright. It almost pained him to stop her, but he had to. She wasn’t Shelby. His heart wanted Shelby.

Kim, meanwhile, was wide eyed and panicky, moving off of him and sitting up. “What’s wrong? I thought you wanted this.”

JC sat up, tucking himself back inside his boxers and his jeans and zipped them again. He scrambled around the bed to pick up her bra and blouse and tossed them at her. They bounced off of her chest and landed in her lap. “I do want this. Just not with you. I can’t. I can’t do this. Not with you.”

Kim’s eyes were blazing with rage, her skin turning a deep crimson, a visual meter for her anger. She pulled her bra on, then yanked her blouse over her shoulders and with shaking hands, buttoned it.

“Not with me?” She huffed, rolling her eyes. “Then with who? You’re so goddamn picky, you probably haven’t had any since the last time I fucked you. Good luck jacking off in the shower, later. Are you still doing that?”

“Kim… let’s not make this ugly. I’m not the one that left. I’m not the one that snuck out of here. I’m not the one slinking back six months later, acting like nothing ever happened. Like you didn’t rip my heart out and stomp on it and then parade it up and down the street for the press. I wasn’t the one seeking out attention and playing the victim.”

Kim finished buttoning her blouse, adjusted and stood up. Despite the size of the room, she made it a point to pass JC so closely that her breasts brushed his arm and her hip collided with his still hard dick. She glanced down at him, chuckled and shook her head.

“Waste,” she spat, pausing in the doorway. “That’s what you are. A waste. You don’t know a good thing when you’ve got it. You could have found me, you know. I wasn’t hiding. Instead of waiting for me to come to you, you could have found me, if you missed me so badly. You could have told me I was an idiot and tried to get me back. You never said anything. You never came after me. I took that as a hint that you didn’t want me back.”

Kim turned on a red-soled heel and stomped down the stairs. From three flights above, JC heard her heels clicking against the hardwoods and then against the tile of the kitchen, and then the front door opening.

What did she say? I could have come after her?

JC raced down the stairs, skipping two and three steps at a time, throwing the front door open and bounding down the front steps just as Kim was getting into her car.

“Wait! Don’t leave yet! Wait!”

Kim paused, key in ignition. A smug grin bent her lips as she pushed the button to roll the window down. Eyebrows raised, she said, “Change your mind?”

“Sort of,” he said, leaning against the door, almost inside the window. “You just said if I would have come after you, you’d have come back. Is that true, or were you just saying that to make me feel like I missed out on something? Would you have really come back to me?”

“At first, no,” she said, uncharacteristically quiet. She relaxed against the leather seat and sighed. “I left because I thought I couldn’t handle what we had. It was intense, you know? Like, really deep and I thought I wasn’t ready for that. I knew, right away that it was a mistake to leave,  but I was too proud to go back. So, I stayed away and watched you destroy yourself. I wanted you to come find me. When you didn’t…” She shrugged a shoulder, looking at him, sincerity in her eyes and voice. “I just figured I’d lost you. Forever.”

“But if I had come after you…”

“In a heartbeat,” she said, on the verge of tears, her bottom lip trembling. “Are you? Are you coming after me?”

He hated to say it. He wasn’t this guy, this mean guy that got joy out of shooting her down, even though she’d caused so much pain for him. He wanted her to be happy, even if he couldn’t bring happiness to her. He wanted to be happy, too and despite having to let her down easy, she was giving him hope.

“Honey… no. We had something great and special, something I could have lived with for the rest of my life, and I’ll never forget what we had but… it’s gone, now. I couldn’t ever go back to that time and that relationship because I’m not that same guy.”  Before he continued, he questioned whether he should even say the words on the tip of his tongue.

“You know what, Kim? I loved you. A lot. And I still love you, yeah. You still turn me on. You always will. But… I met someone, down in Florida. It’s real complicated right now, which I hate, but she loves me. I know she does. Except she left, too. And I was blaming myself, you know? Licking my wounds. I haven’t talked to her or anything because I didn’t think I should.”

“And now you think you should? Because of what I said? That I’d have come back if you came after me?”

JC nodded, slightly, searching her face for an answer. Mainly, the one he wanted to hear.

“You love her?” He nodded, again. A pained expression crossed her face, very briefly, before she made it disappear, replacing it with a brave, nonchalant gaze. “Call her. Don’t beg, or anything. Just call her. If she wants you back, she’ll pick up.”

The answer was so simple; it could not possibly be a real answer. Just call her? Just pick up the phone and call her?

“You’re not sending me to the wolves because I rejected you, are you?”

Kim laughed, wiping an errant tear crawling down her cheek. She reached up to cup his chin in her palm, stroking the stubbly hairs on his cheek. She sat up, kissed his lips lightly, then sat back and dropped her hand.

“I hope she deserves you,” she said, before turning the key in the ignition. The engine purred to life. Her fingers reached for the button to slide the window back up. JC took the hint and stood, moving away from the car as she backed out of the driveway. The last he saw of her was a wave to him in the rear view mirror, and then the back of her coupe as she drove down the hill and turned the corner.

Shelby

Whoever was calling at 5am had to know her very well. They had to know that she didn’t sleep well, especially the past few nights, and would likely be awake; otherwise a 5am phone call was rude as hell. But this person did know her well--she was awake. Bleary eyed and exhausted, but wide awake. She hadn’t slept a wink, and was lying in her bed reading when her phone alerted, chirping the cheery tune she’d picked out to identify JC.

Thinking it was a mistake or a misdial, she reached for the phone to send the call the voicemail. Instead of ‘unknown’ or an unrecognized number, the display read, ‘Muzikman’. Her name for JC.  It was JC calling.

Her heart almost beat out of her chest. She forced herself to press the button to pick up the call.

“Hello.”

“Hi.”

Oh, God. Shelby felt like rolling over and crying for days and days at the mere sound of his voice, the way he said hi, how the tone of just that one word made her feel. Instead she tried to breathe and concentrate on talking.

Say something.

“Uhm. Hi. How…errr…”

“Did I wake you up? I thought you’d be awake, or at the least I could leave a voicemail.”

“No. No, I’m up.” She heaved a breath, sitting up, crossing her legs and running her free hand through her hair, though he couldn’t see her. Was this happening? Did he actually call? “Uhm. How are you?”

“I’m okay,” he said, rather unconvincingly. “I just… wanted to call. I got your message. A few days ago.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry I had to do it that way, but I—“

“Me too, Shelby. As much as we’ve shared, you couldn’t just pick up a phone?”

“I could have, yes,” she admitted, after a pause. “I was scared. And embarrassed about all of this stuff going on and how you found out about it. And pissed off that Melina found you. There were things you were never supposed to know. This is something you weren’t meant to be involved in, JC.”

“I know. And it sucks that I found out the way I did. But that’s the past and we can’t change that. Dumping me doesn’t make anything go away. Does it?”

“No,” she whispered. “It doesn’t.”

“Shelby…”

“What?”

“I miss you. A lot. And not just because of the sex, before you say it. I miss you. The sound of your voice and your smile and the way you say my name and the way you shoot tequila straight. I miss you up against me and around me. I miss you in my life, even the little bit that you were in it. I don’t want to lose you, over this. It doesn’t have to be over, if we don’t want it to be.”

Shelby sighed, her heart virtually crying. “It’s just so much, JC. There’s so much that you don’t know yet, and you could potentially get wrapped up in some ugly shit. What I did was best for both of us.”

“I don’t want it. Neither do you. And I won’t accept it. I won’t be pushed away, because you think it’s the right thing to do. It’s not. The right thing to do is to let me in, so I can be there for you, Shelby. Please.”

“I don’t have any right to ask for that or expect it, JC. I’m some girl you met at the grocery store one morning. You were hot for me, I was hot for you, and we got together and hung out some. And you’re an amazing person. Please don’t think I’m saying you aren’t. I don’t want to involve you in something that could take you down. This could.”

“How many times, in how many ways do I have to say I don’t care? I can’t think of anything I care less about than the shit that came inside that envelope. I get that you couldn’t tell me. I understand, Shelby. But like I said, that was the past. I know, now. I’m here, now. I’m willing to fight it out with you, right here beside you. Right now.”

“I hear you, and I appreciate that—“

“I don’t think you’re listening, honey, because you’re not hearing me. Shelby, I’m not going anywhere.”

She laughed in spite of herself. “You’re so damn stubborn!”

“I am. Especially when I think I’m right. And I do. The sooner you realize it and agree with me, the sooner we can figure out what’s going on and what to do about it.”

Shelby laid back down again, turning out the lamp next to the bed and closing her eyes. “If… if things go all stupid, I want you to know that I don’t blame you for bailing. This might be rough.”

“I’m ready. Rough is my middle name. Well, not really, it’s Scott.” He stopped to chuckle at himself. “But really, I’ve been through a few battles in my life, though. I know a thing or two.”

“I have an attorney,” Shelby said, giggling. “You don’t need to know a thing or two. But I would appreciate your support.”

“You got it, honey. You always had it. I was just waiting to be let into the inner circle. I hate that I had to be ushered in by something nasty.”

“And I’m sorry. About the email. I didn’t know what else to say. I thought you were pissed at me. And you didn’t answer, so I thought you agreed it was the best thing to do.”

“I did think it was best, for awhile. I thought you wanted me to go away. I was doing what you wanted me to do. But something happened, and changed my mind about it.”

“What changed your mind?”

“Uhm…. actually. When I got home tonight, my ex was here. In the house.”

A pang of jealousy stabbed at Shelby’s heart. She sat bolt upright in the darkness, a death grip on the phone. “Kim? What’s she doing in Orlando? What’s she doing in your house? I don’t even have a key!”

“I’m in LA, honey,” JC said, calming. Soothing. “We’re mixing the album, out here. I got to the house and she was here. She still had a key, I guess.”

“I guess. So what happened?” JC hesitated, causing her heartbeat to speed up, again, only not out of excitement. “JC?”

“Shelby…nothing. Nothing happened with her. She wanted it. She kept saying that I never came after her. I never showed her that I didn’t want the breakup, I just accepted it. And then she accepted it because I accepted it. I was waiting for her to think it was a mistake and come find me. She was waiting for me to fight for us. And I realized that I was doing the same thing, with you. Just letting things happen.”

“You didn’t sleep with her?”

“No. I didn’t. I told her about you. I told her that I love you.” He paused, waiting for a response. Shelby was too shocked to form a cogent one. “I told her that I think you love me, too but that something was going on and that you left and I didn’t know what to do. She said to call you and if you wanted me back, you’d pickup. So I called. And you picked up.”

Shelby lay down again, willing her heart to stop beating so fast, so loudly in her ear. She’d almost lost her mind at the thought of him being with his ex-girlfriend. Kim was the holy grail, the stick by which everyone else was going to be measured. Shelby didn’t even know where she ranked, against Kim. Deep down, she didn’t really want to know.

“I’m not saying you’re right, or anything. But if I was going to say I loved you, it wouldn’t be on the phone.”

JC laughed at her coy admission, her saying it without saying it. “Well, I’m out here for a few days, and then headed back home. I have a break for awhile, before the album drops. Maybe we could work on saying it in person. And maybe you could say some other things in person. Maybe you could say everything in person.”

“Uhm…” Shelby sighed, her eyes rolling toward the ceiling. “I’m in Miami. Dealing with this Melina thing. I’m waiting to see if we have a meeting set up to try and resolve it. I might not be in Orlando when you get there.”

“Oh.” JC sounded surprised, a little shocked. Maybe he’d already been planning their reunion in his head. “Then I’ll come to you. It doesn’t matter where we say the words.”

Shelby wanted to argue, but didn’t. She wanted to tell him not to bother, to go to Orlando and live his life and stay out of the mess, but didn’t. She couldn’t. He was offering, and he wanted to be there for her. And she wanted him to be there for her, more than life itself. She took it.

“Then let me know when you’re heading back. I’ll pick you up.”

“Deal.” She heard a long, loud sigh on the other end. “I’m hard. I’ve missed you.”

Shelby laughed. What a transition. “I do really wish I could help you with that, right now. We missed our date.”

“We did. I haven’t really slept in days.”

“Me either. It’s been kind of stressful, plus all this stuff with us… sleep seems like a luxury.”

“Well, sweetie, just relax. Don’t stress yourself out too much over it. It’ll work out.”

“Everyone keeps saying that. No one knows for sure. I’ll believe it when I see it I’m so worried about this. And I know you said you don’t care, but I care if your name gets brought up.”

“You let me worry about that,” he said mirroring Bob’s words at dinner. “I know what to do.” He yawned, loudly, in her ear. “Now, it’s late here, so it’s really late over that way. I’ve gotta put up with Rod all day, so I need to get some rest. And you just need rest, because you don’t ever sleep.”

Shelby smiled into the phone and snuggled further down in the bed. “Yes sir. I’m in the bed. I’ll try to sleep.”

“Wish I was with you. Will be soon. Night, Shelby.”

The line disconnected and there was dead air in her ear, but Shelby held the phone, not wanting to let go quite yet. If she didn’t move and didn’t disconnect, then she could stay in this place where she was happy and relieved and overjoyed. The moment she moved or hung up on her end, she would lose the warm, fuzzy feeling in the pit of her stomach. It would be replaced by immeasurable fear and nervous anticipation.

The years before Lucas were a dark corner, to JC. One that was about to be lit up with a fluorescent bulb, all shadows chased away. Shelby was nowhere near out of the woods with him.

Melina had merely scratched the dirt on the surface of the woman she used to be. Shelby hoped JC really was in for the long haul. There was a lot yet to uncover.

JC

Very suddenly, JC was in a hurry. He  hung up the phone after talking to Shelby-- which went much better than he thought it would—and did a little dance of victory around the sparse bedroom. For the first time in days, he felt hopeful.

Maybe he hadn’t completely lost her. Maybe he hadn’t screwed things up by not following his first instinct and going after her. Maybe she was scared, cowering in a corner and needed someone to find her and grab her, wrap her up in comfort and safety and never let her go. The question was… was JC ready to be that man for her? Or was Shelby right to step away, because he didn’t want or need the tornado swirling around her?

He passed out in the bed soon after his shower—he had to wash the Kim off, once and for all. He slept harder than he’d slept in ages and awoke early and well-rested. He dressed, packed, and called a cab. If everything went as planned, he would be on a plane back to Florida that night.

Rod was in good spirits, which meant he was sober. He was a surly, ragged drunk. He wasn’t at all excited about being awake and at the studio before 3pm, but when JC said he wanted to finish and get back to Orlando, Rod was suddenly motivated. The sooner he got back to familiar ground and his gaggle of women, the happier he’d be.

JC worked ahead of the engineer until he showed up, and then the three of them got down to business, working on the remaining songs to be mixed. Music recorded live by the band was layered with vocals from Rod and JC on top, and then a balance of the two. Then adjusting and playing and adjusting and playing--over and over and over again until it was perfect.

At lunch break, JC bit down a sandwich held in one hand while taking notes with the other. “I think we can knock out two more songs this afternoon and we’ll be pretty much be done. I want to give everything one last listen but… we’re cool.”   He nodded, satisfied, and tossed the pen down. His eyes lifted to find Rod eyeing him, a suspicious glint to his stare.

“You get some last night?”

JC stopped mid-chew and stared at Rod, hoping his facial expression said shut the fuck up. He swallowed and said, “Did I what?”

“Get some, you old dog! Not even back in LA a full day and you’re all cheerful.”

JC almost smiled at the thought that a ten minute conversation had changed his entire demeanor. He shook his head, saying, “Just ready to go home. Uhm, by the way?  I need to go to Miami instead of Orlando.”

Rod’s dark eyes were alive, popping wide open at JC’s nonchalant announcement. “Mia- whoa. What?”

JC gulped the last bite of his sandwich, avoiding looking at Rod straight on. He couldn’t help the grin, though, as he wiped his hands on the rough paper towels he’d swiped from the bathroom. “Okay. I didn’t get any, but I talked to Shelby last night. It went well. She wants to see me but she’s at home, in Miami. She uh… she needs me.”

“Well, alright, brother!” Rod held a hand up and, after a few seconds of hesitation, JC slapped it in a high five. “Go get your woman. I like the sound of that. Is she okay?”

JC shook his head. “She sounds like she’s in trouble.”

“So you think the best thing to do is just rush right down there and dig her out of it?”

JC stood, crumpling the sandwich wrapper and tossing it into the garbage. “I think the best thing to do is to rush right down there, tell her I love her and that I’m there for her. And then not go back on that, ever.” With a nod, he left Rod alone in the room and went back to the studio. Sometimes Rod was such a dumbass.

Shortly before sunset, JC exhaled a lungful of air and relaxed against his seat. Every song was mixed. The run-through was complete. The sound engineer was burning a copy for JC and filling out the Request for Courier form. A messenger would arrive in a few minutes to pick up a disc and deliver it to a non-descript building in downtown LA. Once it arrived, JC’s first project as Music Director for the Rod Phillips Band would, essentially, be complete. It was a great feeling to have accomplished something, and if JC didn’t have other things on his mind, he would have taken a bit more time to bask in the glory of his achievement.

But there was still a ride to Burbank, and then a five hour plane ride to get through before he would see Shelby’s face. Even in the lap of luxury, it sounded like a chore. JC was ready to move.

In the car, he made phone calls. He caught up with his family and friends and let them know how things were going and that he wouldn’t be heading straight home. There were questions, none of which he could really answer—a fact that used to drive him up a wall, but he now understood. Hopefully soon, he would no longer be in the dark.

Finally, he and Rod climbed aboard the jet, falling into their usual seats, settling in and getting comfortable for the ride. Before takeoff, JC pulled out his phone, scrolled to a number and listened to the phone dialing out.

“Hi,” said a familiar female voice on the line. It was a voice he loved, a voice that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. God, he missed her.

“Hey. Just wanted you to know I’m on the plane. It’ll be awhile before I land. Should I just catch a hotel room, or—“

“No!”  They both laughed at her excited answer. “No, I want to come get you. You know I’ll be awake. I won’t be able to relax until I see you.”

JC smiled into the phone. That was the answer he wanted to hear. “Alright then. I’ll see you in a few hours. It’s a private jet, so you’ll have to just wait for me to call and tell you we’ve landed.”

Shelby laughed—he’d missed that sound, too, that chuckle with a sexy, throaty, gritty undertone that dug under his skin. He couldn’t wait to feel that up against his neck. “Wow, a private jet, huh? I’m dating someone very important, apparently.”

“Apparently. Or more like his employer thinks he’s a big shot who’s too spoiled to fly commercial.” JC ducked in time to miss a size 11 shoe fly past his head. “I better go. Rod’s throwing shoes and it’s about to be germ warfare up in here. Can’t wait to see you, honey.”

“Counting the hours,” she said softly. “And get some sleep. We have a lot of talking to do.”

“Looking forward to it. See you in a bit.” He ended the call, wanting desperately to tell her, again, that he loved her. There’d be time enough for that soon.

The mask and suit of armor he wore gave him the appearance of bravery and boldness, but he was taking the biggest risk of his life. Bigger than moving back to Orlando. Bigger than taking on Rod and the Band and everything came with it. Bigger than trying to keep his name in lights and stay relevant, doing something he'd never done before. Bigger than planning and embarking on a World Tour, no longer the main event and the performer, but in the background and the shadows as the Music Director. If he couldn't know that Shelby was there for him and not only loved him but was in love with him, the rest of his life would seem like a waste. It had to work out.

What was he even going to say, when he saw her? Hey, I know people think you murdered your old man, but I'm here for you. Just please don't kill me was probably not the best approach, even if he was kidding. She would be scared and stressed and overwhelmed. He could almost feel her emotions in his heart. He heard the clipped tone of voice in his head. He used that feeling and that sound to propel him forward, to push him toward Miami.

Hang on, Shelby woman. I’m coming.  

Shelby

She slid the phone closed but held it in her hands, staring at the LED screen, trying to force the hours forward. The time at the top of the phone flipped, minute by very slow minute. At this rate, it would take forever for the hours to tick by.

Shelby was nervous. More nervous than she’d been when she met him that early morning or on their first date, though she wore a brave face. She’d been scared out of her mind that night, completely out of her comfort zone, acting very unShelby-like. Aggressive, sexual, animal—that had never been her. It was a persona that she put on, hoping to change herself and her life.

Her ruse worked, and yet it didn’t. It netted her a great guy who thought she really was that person. Shelby dreaded having to tell him that she was really a coward who took the first opportunity to run from her problems, only to have her problems hunt her down and surface in another city. Orlando may as well have been a desert island, but the world had suddenly become a much, much smaller place.

She hadn’t slept since JC called that morning. She tried, but couldn’t. There was too much going on inside her head and her heart. Too much she was holding at bay. Too much she was sick and tired of hiding. She had to prepare herself, mind and body and spirit, to see JC again. To show him the real Shelby. To tell him everything, and hope he meant it when he said he wasn’t going anywhere.

To distract herself, she bumbled around the house, spent time with her parents until they went to bed, and then sat out on the patio clutching a drink in one hand and her phone in the other. The hours dwindled, inching by until it was time to go to the airport. The private airstrip was behind the main building, so JC would have to first get into the building and walk through it to the other side. From her car, she could see flights from major airlines approaching, the jet engines roaring from far above and then, from the left, a small aircraft—in comparison to the others—descended from the skies, coming lower and lower until it sank out of view. That had to be his plane.

Shelby waited on pins and needles for the call to come, the call that said he was on the ground and headed her way. She was expecting it, but the car was so quiet that it still made her jump when it rang in her hands.

“He-hello?”

“Hey. I’m here. Where ya at?”

His voice, his voice, the sound of his voice!  She felt like a sap, grinning into the phone at the mere sound of his silky tone with the light northeast accent. Knowing he was in close proximity to her made her almost leap out of the car and go running for him. She didn’t even know where she’d parked. She just swung into the closest spot with a view of the airstrip.

“Uhm, come out at baggage claim and I’ll drive around.”

“You got it. I’ll be there.” She didn’t even say goodbye. She slammed the phone closed, started the car, jammed it into reverse and then into drive. The car whined its way around the parking deck, narrowly missing a pillar and two other cars.

Calm down, Shelby! Damn!

In record time, she was screeching to a stop in front of baggage claim, spotting a nondescript JC in a hat, a light leather jacket and jeans with a duffel bag over his shoulder. She honked, watching his head whip around in her direction and then a smile cross his face. She put the car in park and practically exploded out of it, rushing around to the sidewalk and throwing herself into his arms.

For a minute, she was sure she was dreaming. And it was a horrible, ugly, mean thing for her mind to do to her, to produce a dream in which JC had come to find her and tell her that he didn't care about the black cloud hovering over her. But… she wasn't dreaming. He was really there and really holding her. Her nose was really full of his scent and her arms were really full of him, and his lips were really dusting her forehead and the top of her head. Her heart would probably burst if it hadn't already exploded earlier in a fit of sadness over probably never seeing him again-and here he was.

Shelby had almost knocked him over with the force of her body against his, but he stood strong, planting his feet, his arms wrapped tightly around her, the world at a standstill. It took everything in her to hold back the tears that threatened. She didn’t want to cry. She wanted to be overjoyed at seeing him again and relieved that he still wanted to be a part of her life. For now, at least.

When she could bring herself to let go, Shelby pulled back, just to look at him. Just to see him. Her face was tomato red, her eyes were shiny, but her smile was wide. "You look tired," she said.

"Long week. Long flight. And I've been worried about you."

Shelby gulped, feeling the look of guilt and shame crossing her face. "I'm sorry. I was trying not to involve you in all of this. Trying to keep this from all of you just made it worse. I was irresponsible to get involved with you, in the first place, while this was so fresh. I-"

"No, no." He silenced her with a finger to her lips. "No regrets. However we came to be, it's already happened. We can't undo it, so let's not have regrets. Let's just turn around and look at where we're going."

Shelby gulped, and dared a small smile. "We?"

"We," he repeated, smiling, dropping a kiss on her forehead. "I'm not arguing that point." JC grinned down at her, then with a finger tip, stroked her cheek until he reached that dimple he claimed to love so much. “See, I had to come back. I haven’t named this dimple, yet.”

She laughed, basking in the feeling of being near him, the sight of him the smell of him, his smile, the tenor of his voice, the sensation of just the tip of his finger on her face that sent shivers down her body. Behind them, cars honked and parking police whistles tweeted, knocking her out of blissful reverie.

“Is the bag all you have? Are you ready?”

“This is it, and I am ready. Take me home.”  She grinned, leading him back to the car and sliding into the driver’s seat. JC reached to snap his seatbelt in place and then leaned over onto the armrest between them.  “You know what I’ve been thinking about?”  

“I have an idea, but tell me.”

“Well, you remember that night I had that event? It was on a Thursday, and you were at a coffee shop? You told me about something you’ve never done. Remember?”

Shelby pulled away from the curb, wracking her brain. She remembered the night—she had been bored and left the house in search of something to do. She ended up at a coffee shop, and… ooohhhh. The red hot text message conversation. The chair in the corner. The muggy night. Her admission of a fantasy. She shot a few quick glances over at JC, trying to gauge if he was serious. She couldn’t tell by the slight smile, but the smoky eyes gave him away.

“You mean the car thing?”

“The car thing?” He laughed. “That’s what you call it? Your unlived fantasy of me and you in the backseat of a car, someplace secluded and dark and quiet, where it’s just us? You said something about—“

“I know what I said!” Shelby laughed, the memory rushing back to her. The feelings as well—desperate, restless, climbing –the-walls and out of her mind. And not being able to do anything about it. “That’s what you want?”

It had only been a few days since she’d seen him but aggressive, sexy, confident Shelby had been buried underneath worried, insecure, troubled Shelby. She gripped the steering wheel, her mind reeling, all the while trying to unearth the only Shelby he knew and would want to spend time with.   

Halfway between the airport and home, Shelby pulled over onto a dirt road. Her car slowly rode the uneven surface for a few minutes until they reached a clearing—an open field surrounded on all sides by trees and nothing above but the light of the full moon.  She killed the engine but left the power on so she could slide open the moon roof.

JC shifted in his seat so he was facing her, then reached over the center arm rest, found her hand and laced his fingers between hers. For a moment, neither moved. JC stared at Shelby, Shelby stared back.

“Missed you,” he whispered to her, finally.

“Missed you, too,” she returned. “A lot. Feels like forever since I saw you.”

“Longest week of my life.”

“Agreed,” Shelby said with a light laugh. JC was quiet, letting her take the lead. Shelby guessed that was fair, since she was the one who had a lot to say. It took a few minutes for her to get up the nerve to say anything.  

When she did, she gestured to the view outside the windows.  "I haven’t been out here in a long time. Maybe since high school. I used to come out here and sit in the dark and think. Reflect. Just trying to figure out life. Maybe I should have spent more time out here, recently."

“It’s nice,” JC said, passive. He squeezed her fingers then said, “Your hands are shaking.”  Shelby nodded, gulping audibly and bowed her head.  “Don’t be nervous. I’m not here to judge you.”

“I know,” she said, her voice just above a whisper.  “It’s just that… what I’m about to say could change a lot of things. Like what you think of me and how you feel about me, and—“

“That’s not gonna happen, Shelby. I told you—“

“I know what you told me, JC.” She lifted her head and dared to look him in the eye. “I heard you. But you haven’t heard me, yet. You don’t even know the half of the story. Just wait until I tell you everything before you decide that you love me and you want to stand by me.”

“Okay. “ He nodded, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth. “Go for it. I’m ready.”

“There’s so much to say.”

“Let’s start at the beginning. Who are you?" 

JC

It was a perfect night, if there was such a thing. A cool breeze wound through the car, bringing the scent of freshly mowed grasses and flowering trees and a trace of ocean. The interior was barely lit, providing for shadows and shades of grey. Maybe not sitting in bright daylight or under the harsh glare of fluorescent light bulbs would make Shelby feel like she could talk easier. He hoped, at least.   

JC settled in and got comfortable in preparation for a drawn out, emotional story. He had never been so eager to hear a long story in his life.

Shelby was laughing, that sultry chuckle. He loved that sound coming from her. "I don't think I've ever told the whole story. I'm not even sure where to start."

Her hand, wrapped in his, was still shaking. He squeezed, and the held it tight. "I want to know everything. Forward and backward, up and down, all of it."

Shelby opened her mouth, at first just blurting words out as if she hoped they made sense.  "For starters, Shelby Morris doesn't exist. Morris is my mother's maiden name.  I took that name when I left Miami, because I thought it would make it harder for Melina to find me. That obviously didn't work. My name is Shelby Coster."

JC smiled and squeezed her hand again. "Nice to meet you, finally. And who is Shelby Coster?"     

She sighed into the air, not answering for nearly a minute before her gaze moved from the view to his face. "That's a really good question."

Slowly, the story began to unfold. The happy childhood of the only offspring of mature parents, a child who had more run of the house than she should have, and was trusted with adult responsibility at a young age. Precocious and curious, Shelby was diving into sex and relationships when most of her peers were still playing with dolls or squealing over teen idols.

"I was in college, at University of Miami because my parents would pay my tuition if I didn't move away. But I couldn't do half the crazy shit I wanted to do, because I was living at home. I tried staying out all night--" Shelby shook her head, a stern impression of Renee's frown on her face.

"Mom was not down with that. They started talking about a curfew, saying I couldn't come and go at all hours. To them, I was still a kid. I got a job as a waitress at this place off campus, and I put money away here and there until I could get a place of my own. I couldn't work in the bar because I wasn't 21 yet, but hearing all the girls talk, it seemed like they were getting better tips.”

She glanced over at him, smiling. “You know how that is-you get a little tipsy, the waitress shows a little boob, you get a little happy and you leave a better tip.”

JC knew that racket pretty well.

“When I turned 21, I told the manager that I wanted to work the bar. He said he had enough girls in the bar, so I got mad and quit. And then went home, put on my best clothes, headed to the swankiest, fanciest place in town and said I wanted to waitress, but only if I could work the bar. They said it was tips only. I like a challenge, so I took it, and in a month I made more than I had made in the last three months in the bar off campus. I started watching the bartender, and learning about drinks, since I was serving them. It didn't seem hard. You learn the recipe, and learn how to enhance a recipe? Bob's your uncle, you're a great Bartender. So he took me under his wing. And some other places…"

Shelby gave him a look.  JC grinned. Understood.

"It was a lot like how we are, you and I. Fun, crazy, casual. Great dinners, great sex, nothing in between. No falling in love, not anything serious. He taught me a lot about the business behind the bar, too, you know? How to keep people coming back, how to get the most out of a bottle, the economics of running a profitable bar."

"So that's where your dream of having your own bar came from."

"Yeah. Pretty much.”

"And you took over his bar? What happened to him?"

"His father got sick, back in Cuba. He had to take a leave of absence, so I took over. It was hard, and I was in way over my head but I had an assistant that kicked ass, and I was doing it. Then I met the owner of the place. Fresh out of a divorce." Shelby glanced up at him and then back down. "Millionaire."

"Uh hmmm."

"Yeah. He was lonely and I was poor and we helped each other out. I had no expectations of anything coming out of it. Sometimes, if I was a good girl, he'd make a deposit into my account. I didn't really think anything of it. My rent was getting paid. I wasn't looking a gift horse in the mouth."

"Right. No, wouldn't want to do that."

Shelby smarted at his comment and recoiled. "I can skip over some of this, if you can't handle it. I mean, you asked to hear this, and I don't want you think I'm-"

"No!" JC tightened his grip on her hand, his tone as apologetic as he could manage. "I want to hear it. All of it. Keep going. I want to know."  

A deep breath later, Shelby continued her story. "I dated him for a few months. It was fun, but going nowhere. He met someone else and the money he gave me started to run out and I was desperate again. I had to stay in school because my parents were paying for it. I was burning the candle at both ends, working all night, going to class all day, sleeping when I could. I guess my body learned to live without sleep.

"A few months go by and this guy walks in. Handsome, sophisticated, older but kind of young looking. He slides up to the bar, slick as shit, and says ‘top shelf scotch, honey.'  Music to my ears. I keep him flowing with the VSOP, the stuff in the back, not the cheap stuff up front. He and I chat, here and there. He keeps coming in, and he's pretty much a regular, in a few weeks. I could set my watch by him, most days."

"This is Lucas?"

Shelby nodded. "This is Lucas. Meanwhile, my life is in shambles. I was having a hard time making all my classes, working to pay the rent. Lucas would listen to me bitch all the time about it. He'd tell me how tired I looked, and I would tell him how I was up all night studying and then I had classes and whatever. He would just nod and commiserate and at the end of the night, he’d leave me a fat tip."

"Nice guy," JC commented, though he was thinking something entirely different. Lucas was a sucker and JC knew it because it took one to know one. Shelby was a con artist of the highest caliber, even if she didn't want to think of herself as such. He'd met more than one, in his day. Given in to more than one, too. Rich men knew when they were being used for their money. Most didn’t care, so long as he got attention in return.

"Very nice guy,” she said. “So, he became a regular. He would come in every once in awhile off of his regular schedule, all dolled up in a tux or a nice suit. Now, I don't care how old you are, a man in a suit is a hot ticket. I love the look."

JC laughed. "Remind me to wear suits more often."

"Lucas would come in and have a drink or two. We’d talk until closing, sometimes after. He never made a move until one night-- it was early for him, probably around 7 o'clock or so. He stopped in on his way to dinner in the restaurant above the bar, and said, Miss Shelby-- he called me that, a lot. Anyway, he said he wanted to invite me to this function he had to attend. It was going to be full of his fledgling young real estate associates.”

“And you went?"

"I went, she said, nodding her head. “If there's one thing older men are good for, it's that they know how to treat a lady. Most girls my age wouldn't have experienced that, yet. Younger men are not taught how to be gentlemen." She flashed a smile at him, before continuing her story. "And older men have the means to do it the well."

JC sidestepped the comment. He’d always considered himself a gentleman, but he also knew that it wasn’t chivalry that drew women to him. He longed to tell Shelby that, but kept his mouth shut. He’d let her live in her delusion that she liked having doors opened for her without pointing out that the doors often led to places the common man couldn’t take her.

"So you started dating him, after that?" He prodded, moving the story along.

Shelby winced, bobbing her head back and forth. “It evolved into that. He would ask me to attend firm functions and he'd always say that if it was about the money, he’d be sure to reimburse me what I’d miss by not working. I felt a little bit like a hooker being bought for the night, but I liked being with him, you know?  He was fun. A little stiff, but at the time I was eating Top Ramen and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and counting quarters for laundry. It wasn't like I could say ‘oh, French food again? At that place where no one can get a reservation again? Gosh, we did that last week.' It was kind of an addiction."

"Don’t blame you. Nice things are hard to refuse. Were you….” JC hesitated, not sure why he even needed to know. “… having sex with him?"

Shelby seemed uncomfortable, suddenly. JC worried she would stop, but she didn't. Through squirming and nervous hair pulling and tucking behind her ear, she went on. "The sex... uhm...well, the sex didn’t come until a few months after I started seeing him regularly and really only because I started to feel like I owed him-"

"Did he say that?"  

Shelby patted his hand, soothing. "No," she answered. "He never said that. It was my own thinking. After a few months, he took me to some party in the Keys. We had a really nice, luxury condo. I was drunk off my ass and he was spoiling me to death. And I slept with him.”  Shelby shrugged, as nonchalant as if she’d said the sky was blue. “But it wasn't what I thought it would be. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't amazing."

“Was I amazing?”

Shelby stopped talking, her breath catching in her throat. She smiled, seeming wistful, gazing out at the field spanning around them. “You remind me why people have sex. You gave me everything I’d been missing out on. Being close to someone, intimately close. That feeling of building pressure, just holding out until you feel like you’ll explode if you don’t release it.” She turned her head, finding his eyes. He could see the sparkle in hers. “Yeah. You were amazing.”

"But you kept seeing him, even though he wasn’t?"

"It didn’t take long to get wrapped up in Lucas, and the nice things and the clothing and the jewelry and the trips. By then, I was living with him. Once I moved in, it was ridiculous. He spoiled me rotten. I wanted for nothing. He got a lot of pleasure out of putting a smile on my face."

JC knew the feeling, and felt sorry for the old guy. He never really stood a chance.   

“I dropped out of school. I was a year away from being done, but I was too busy playing rich girlfriend to care. And I was a snob. I was evil and catty and stuck up, so I lost all my friends, really, when I started dating him."

"Well, that had to have some kind of impact. Or did you care?"

“Of course I cared. Just too little, too late. He had asked me to marry him. I was shocked, to say the least. I thought it would be like before, nothing serious. Lucas and I said I love you like we said good morning, but it really didn't mean as much to me as it did, to him. I don't think I realized that, until much later. He opened the little black box and the ring was blinding. It was so bright and so fantastic and I was so greedy that ‘yes' popped out of my mouth before I could even think about it.”

Shelby sighed, pulling at her hair, again, running her fingers through the length. “After we got engaged was when Melina lost her mind. She went on a rampage that has never stopped. Lucas had three adult children and an ex-wife that seemed to always be around, but they were at least coldly polite to me. Melina openly hated me. She sniffed around a lot, tried to be close to him, but he would tell me things about her that would curl your toes-"

"Like?" He interrupted, leaning in. "I'd like to hear some dirt on her."

Shelby chuckled to herself. "Like...she’s a thief. She'll rob you blind, right under your nose. Nordstrom, the house next door, cocktail parties? Goldmines. Lucas paid a lot of money to make a lot of things go away. And he always kept things locked up. The family hates her, Lucas said. She was always the most conniving of his kids, very money hungry. He was to the point where he was ready to cut her off.”

"Hmmm,” JC mused. “Makes sense.  That explains why she's interested your money."

"Yes it does," Shelby said, her nod vigorous. "I was getting tired, though, of the charade. I liked him a lot, but I didn't love Lucas and I couldn’t deal with his spoiled brood. I never had anything of my own. He would give me anything and he would buy me anything and I could shop with his credit card, but he would never hand me a stack of money and say, ‘here, go play with this.' It was all his always his and he was always in control. When I would start to complain, he made sure I knew that I was replaceable, and that I had nowhere to go. I never finished school and I quit my bartending job by just never showing up again. I burned all my bridges for him."

JC had to laugh, at that.  "In one breath you make him sound like a sweet ass sugar daddy. In the next he sounds kind of evil."

Shelby seemed to mull his point for a long span of time. Maybe her opinion differed from his, from the other side, or maybe this guy just had two faces. And maybe she couldn't decide which the worst face was.

"I think every man has a little sugar daddy in him,” she said eventually, quietly. “Men like women to be happy. They like to see a woman light up, to smile and laugh. Some men will go to extraordinary lengths to make that happen." Shelby glanced up at JC, her eyes squinting in the moonlight. "And even you can be a little bit evil."

He didn't respond, mostly because it was true, on both accounts. He preferred to call his evil by its lesser known name: passion.

Shelby shifted, the leather beneath her squeaking and groaning. “I didn't really see that evil side, though, until it was too late. And then I wanted out, and I couldn't find a way out. And I didn't have any friends to help me, because I'd been a nasty bitch to them all. My parents just barely liked me, by this point, and forget any of Lucas' friends. They'd be on his side."

"So you’re with this guy. And starting to see that the grass isn’t greener. And you’re ready leave, I take it?” 

“I was going to. But then…”

“The accident?” Slow and solemn, Shelby nodded. “Tell me,” JC prodded, moving so he was closer, resting an elbow on the arm rest. Shelby sighed and hummed, tapping a foot, staring blankly out at the night.

“I think I’ll remember those moments for the rest of my life. We'd been fighting a lot, almost every day. Clashing over every little fucking thing. He was self conscious about the age difference, but he took it out on me by accusing me of thinking he was too old for me. Every argument turned into me being ashamed of him. The day of the accident, we were in my car. I'd taken it that morning to be serviced and had brand new tires put on, oil change, brake service, the whole deal. I got back to the house and he was furious because we were supposed to be looking at a wedding venue-- some swanky place that his Real Estate buddy owned. I didn’t want to go, but we got in the car and we argued the whole way. I'm... I was done.”

Shelby shook her head, her eyes directed toward JC.  In the glint of moonlight, he saw regret. And pain. They pleaded with him to understand.

“I swear, I’d had it. I was leaving. I didn’t care if I had to live in a box on the beach, I was leaving. I made a U-turn and I start heading back to the house.  We were fighting and it was ugly and evil. We have never called each other the names we're calling each other. I said something about leaving him. For good. I was going back to the house to pack and I would just get the fuck out of his life, right now. He says to me, ‘So you can fuck your way into someone else's wallet?'"

JC seemed to jump, startled at the crass comment. A man who’d given her the world seemed to lash out with the most hurtful of insults, as if he was blameless and had no part.  Her eyes fluttered closed and then open again, pointedly avoiding JC's shocked, slack mouthed stare.

"I'll never forget it. I punched him-"

"Shelby...you didn’t…"

"Yup, I punched him," she repeated with an evil cackle. "It wasn't that hard, but hard enough to make him mad. He reached over, with both hands, and like, wrapped them around my neck. And he was... he was choking me. And I was losing control of the car and pushing him and clawing at his fingers to let go. I hit something. A dip in the road, a rock or something. I just heard this pop and the tires squealing and I felt the car veer off in the direction of the explosion, because it's pulling, you know?"

"Inertia, or... whatever. Right."

"We hit a few guardrails and he let go but it was too late to correct. The car is just… out of control and we flip and we flip and we flip..." Shelby's hand rolled and head bobbed to imitate the slow revolution of the car turning over and over in the air. "The car lands upside down and skids across the pavement. I can't… I can’t describe the sound of metal on concrete—it’s ear shattering. The feeling…”

She stopped and looked over at him. “Have you ever been in a car accident?"

"Uh huh," he said. “That crunch is an indescribable sound."

"It's the loudest most jarring sound I’ve ever heard. Sometimes I still dream it…it’s that sound that makes me wake up, because after that… I…” Her breath caught and she began to suck in deep, heavy breaths. Her hand, even in his grasp, was shaking violently. Her other hand, instead of pulling at her hair, gripped her neck at the shoulder and nervously rubbed. “This is hard…”

“Hey, hey,” JC soothed, switching the hand that held hers so he could attempt to comfort her. He rubbed her back, massaged her neck, and squeezed her shoulder. “It’s okay. I’m right here, whenever you’re ready.”

Shelby gave him a quick glance, flashing a grateful smile up at him. “I couldn’t see anything. It was smoky in the car. I was screaming for Lucas—I could feel him but he wasn’t answering. The next thing I remember is being pulled of the window. There was this thick, black, acrid smoke—that smell never leaves my nostrils-- and there was a lot of yelling and a feeling of panic. I couldn't really breathe and then there was this sonic boom and a flash and this incredible heat. I felt like I was being pressed to the ground, by some force."

“Gas tank exploded,” JC said. 

Shelby swallowed, hard, and squeezed his hand wrapped around hers, so hard her nail dug into his skin. “Lucas was still inside."

The only word he could think of to fit the situation was, "Wow..."

"I think I passed out, after that. What little I saw is embedded in my mind. I woke up in the hospital. I had some heavy bruising." She tapped her head, her fingers on her temple. "But no permanent damage. I stayed for a few days, for observation, mostly. After they told me that uhm… that Lucas didn’t make it, I sort of broke down."

He rubbed her back with long, soothing strokes. “You got lucky."

Shelby scoffed. "I didn’t feel lucky. For awhile, everyone was feeling sorry for me. And then, for some strange reason, the family did an autopsy on Lucas. The results of that started this whole nightmare."

"What'd the autopsy show that you couldn’t tell? He was… he was dead, right?"

"Yes… but…the accident didn't kill him." Shelby hesitated before going on. The air was still except for the sounds of the night around them—crickets in the distance, trees rustling. "They found smoke in his lungs and esophagus. If you're dead, you don't breathe that stuff in. He was alive and breathing smoke in the car. That's not to say he would have survived the accident. His injuries were extensive, and it still would have been my fault that he died. But he was alive."

Shelby blinked back tears and swallowed a sob, her chin shaking with the effort. A wind kicked up and blew her hair across her face. Mindlessly she swiped it away and tucked it behind one ear and then the other. She cleared her throat and pressed on.

"Once they-the family- found that out, two things happened. The first was that Melina started saying that I killed him. To everyone.  She’s convinced that I masterminded the accident so that only I would survive. A few months before, after a particularly fun and sex filled weekend, Lucas added me to his will. I had no idea. I guess he had been planning to propose for awhile."

"Hold on, what?" JC’s head tilted, his brows tangled together in confusion. "You didn't know he put you in his will?"

Shelby shook her head, slowly. "I thought he was having a pre-nup drafted. We were supposed to look at a version in a few days. I already didn't want to sign that, but I wasn't marrying for love. It was only fair, so..." She shrugged a shoulder, so calm and straightforward about it. She wasn't bragging but also didn't ashamed, either. It was what it was, all laid out in black and white, so to speak.  

"I was as surprised as anyone to be summoned to the Executor's office, so he could tell me that Lucas left me something. He had no choice but to do as the will dictated, but his family fought those few million like it was a billion dollars. They didn't want me to have a penny.”

"I turned into the greediest of bitches. I was angry, so angry, and feeling so guilty, and so hurt—I lashed out at everyone, at everything. I was mad at the world. I wanted it all, everything he left me, everything due me. I kept all the wedding gifts. My dishes, my pots and pans, that rug in front of the fireplace at my house? Wedding gifts.”

JC’s eyebrow lifted. Well… that was certainly a way to thumb her nose at the Samuels family. JC wasn’t sure he wanted to have sex on that rug anymore, though.

“Melina made sure to tell me that I was to take nothing without her permission. I took it all. Crystal vases, appliances, jewelry. I let them fight over the house. I didn't want that museum of a place, anyway."

"I read some stuff she wrote about you," JC said. “She’s nuts.”

"I've read it all. Sometimes I would sit up at night, when I couldn’t sleep, and read her latest hate filled rant about me or my family. Or her latest theory about how I killed him and why."

"See, that’s why we were told to try not read what people wrote about us. You’ll never please everyone. And it's no wonder you never sleep. Who could sleep after reading that stuff about themselves?" JC shuddered-- not from the cool air, but the sheer evil of that woman. "You said two things happened after the autopsy. What was the second?”

"The second was that I filed a suit against the manufacturer of the tires on my car. When my tires were examined--what was left of them-- there was no doubt that they shredded on impact. After Firestone, there’s no way they were going to get away with it. I wouldn't join a class action; I named a dollar amount or I'd see them in court. They countered with a number I could live with.” She gulped, then whispered. “Millions. In the triple digits.”

JC’s jaw fell open. Shelby nodded, almost smiling. “I accepted. A large sum went to my attorney and some medical bills from the accident. The Samuels Family Trust was expecting a fat check for one third." Shelby let out a haughty bout of laughter and said, defiantly, "They never got it.”

“First of all…” JC’s head was a blur, trying to form itself around Shelby’s revelation. He remembered, not long ago, trying to guess what her story was, whether was either crazy or loaded. Loaded, it was. “I mean, holy fuck, that’s a lot of money. Second of all… were they supposed to get a third?”

“There was never an agreement,” she answered with a shrug of her shoulder. “There was an assumption, but no one ever put it in writing. No matter, I never intended to split the settlement. Lucas was the brains of that operation. They weren’t smart enough to realize that money doesn’t just come to you. It doesn’t grow on trees and if you feel like you’re due some, you ask for it. I took half of it and put it away, invested some and left some liquid. I paid off my parent’s house. Bought myself and them a car and started planning my escape. When I was ready, I left town in the middle of the night.

"Melina, especially, was furious. It was like she'd already spent the money. Her campaign against me has grown worse with every passing month, but since she had no idea where I was, there was nothing she could do."  

Shelby sighed. She seemed tired, worn out from unfolding her past.

"And now you know why I freaked out when you said Rod knew about me. Cameras follow him everywhere and he tells everyone’s business. And when we were at the movies that night, I just knew it was the beginning of the end. Someone would tell her that they saw me on TV. In Orlando, dating a celebrity, a wealthy one. It must have made her head explode to think I had moved on. I guess she must have figured I was up to my old tricks, and thought she would, you know... stop me."

"And were you? Up to your old tricks?"  JC seemed entirely more interested since Shelby had reached the part that had anything to do with him. He didn't even want to ask, but he had to. It came with knowing everything, forward and backward, up and down, inside and out. He needed to know what he was dealing with.

Shelby grew quiet, the answer to his question becoming obvious, the longer it took her to answer. It didn't matter, really. Except it did. He never figured himself for a mark, and he wasn't even sure how he felt about it. He never, for a minute, considered one word of the letter he received from Melina could be true. How naïve.

Shelby rambled on, her head resting on the seat behind her, but her voice was so low, JC could hardly hear her. He leaned in, to hear her better. "You weren't supposed to be so nice," she was saying. "The sex wasn't supposed to be so good, and we weren't supposed to have so much in common. I wasn't supposed to like you so much."

“But I was, I guess. And we did have fun and the sex was great. Amazing, even. Right? Was that really all it was supposed to be?"

"JC..." Shelby sighed, almost laughing. "Is it so bad that the answer is yes?  Does it hurt your feelings that I really never wanted anything from you?"

"But you did, Shelby.” JC sat up, moving around so he could glare at her easily. “You did want something from me. You wanted me to not care about you, to treat you as an object, to enjoy the few hours I got out of you a week and never expect more. You wanted me to never ask questions and to accept this coy, mysterious thing you had going on and never wonder who you were, or where you were from or… what you were doing to me. I'm not that kind of guy."

"That's not true at all,” she said, her voice level, almost cold. “From what I’ve heard, you can be that guy when you want to be."  

His face was flush, his mind reaching back to that blur of six weeks between Kim leaving and accepting the job with Rod. It annoyed him to be defined by a period of time when he didn't even know which way was up.

"Maybe I didn't want to be that guy with you,” he countered. “Maybe there was something about you that made me want to get close to you, but I couldn't. Maybe you think you didn't want anything from me, but being with you has been harder than any relationship I've ever been in. Hiding this from me didn't make this any easier."

“It wasn’t all that easy for me either, JC. I wanted some fun and a good time with a cute guy and to not owe him shit. I wanted him to want me because... well, just because. I never asked you for a thing, except good company."

"But you knew, Shelby. You knew three dates, five dates, six dates in, that it was about a lot more than sex." JC leaned into her, a finger jabbing at his chest. “I’m not stupid. Neither are you. That night, when all you did was cry… you felt it. You still couldn't tell me? After everything we've had together, everything we've shared, you still couldn't let me in?"

Shelby shook her head, tears welling, glistening in the corner of an eye. "No, JC. I couldn't. And even if I could, I wouldn’t."

JC felt like screaming. Like if he climbed out of the car and fell to his knees, pounding his fists into the earth until they bled, she might possibly understand how he was feeling. The frustration was maddening.

"I never wanted you to know the gold-digger. I never wanted you to know the whore. I never wanted you to see the girl that ran through men like water and treated them like her own personal bank account. You were never supposed to know that girl, because you've already known those girls. Those are the kinds of girls that chase after guys like you. Celebrities. Rock stars. Rich men. I never wanted to be that girl, to you."

She paused, took a breath, gauging his reaction. When he offered no comment or protest—because he couldn’t think of one—she continued.

"I moved to Orlando, to be a different person. To leave the spoiled, prissy whore behind. To start over. I wanted nothing but to rock your socks off. Just because. For nothing in return. You'd have some fun with her and then like every other rock star on the planet, get bored with her and move on.” She shook her head, a haughty laugh falling from her lips. “But you hung around. And you made me like you. And you complicated things by wanting to know me."

"Yeah, sorry about that," he spit out. "I'm kind of nosy when people hide things from me. So this is my fault?"

"Not at all. This is not about you. It never was. This is all me, all on me. No matter what we feel for each other, I should have avoided you like the plague. I know that. And I'm sorry, JC. I'm so sorry."

He was upset, and rightly so, though he didn’t want to be. He wanted to be kind and loving and understanding. He had come to Miami to be consoling and compassionate, not accusatory but… fuck. This was a heavy load to bear.

"I'm not sorry that we met. And I'm not sorry about anything that happened between us, but I am sorry I didn't think things through, and I didn't think about how it would affect you. I thought I had left this all behind, here in Miami. I was stupid to think it wouldn't follow me to Orlando."

JC was quiet. Not speechless, he just didn't know which set of words to let out of his mouth first. The angry ones, or the hurt ones, or the understanding ones.

"So, that's it," he said, his eyes hard, his forehead creased. "The whole story."

"That's most of it," she answered, her eyes on him. "That's everything I never wanted you to know, that you had to find out in the ugliest way possible."

"Thanks for sharing," he offered flatly.

"You wanted to know. You asked for everything." A beat or two of silence passed, and then, meek and shy and quiet, she asked, "Are you sorry you came down here, to hear all of that?"

"I don't know what to think," he said. "I don't think I heard what I expected to hear. I'm not sure what I was expecting." He shrugged, burying a hand in his hair, combing it back with his fingers, his jaw twitching like mad. "I think I might be pissed off, but I get it. I know why you couldn't say anything. And I'm still here. I will say it every day of your life if I have to. I'm not going anywhere."

"JC...." Her eyes popped wide open. Like she'd expected him to storm off into the moonlight. It wasn't like he hadn't considered it. It just wasn't his style. “But... the package... and the articles, and Melina. The note... the... everything..."

"Maybe I’m an idiot. I don’t know, but I was serious, this morning. I didn't make Rod reroute the plane to Miami to walk away when I heard the truth."  He leaned over and kissed her forehead, his lips lingering on her warm skin, and pulled back. “And I don't care how many times you push me away, or tell me to leave you alone. I'm ready to fight you, every time.”

Suddenly shy, Shelby bowed her head but he tucked a finger under her chin and pulled until her head lifted and he could see her eyes, so she could see his, and see that he wasn’t angry or ashamed. And he wasn’t leaving her.  

"So, now what? You came to Miami because why? To confront Melina? Kick her ass? Can I watch? Cause I kind of hate her. She hurt my woman."

Her beautiful face broke into a wide smile and a melodious sound came from inside her. A deep, throaty, hearty laugh- he liked the sound of it. That whole theory she had, about men wanting women to be happy, to see them smile and hear them laugh? He was starting to think there was something to that. Otherwise, there was just no reason for hearing everything he had just heard and never even thinking of walking away.

Shelby

She felt good. So good, like a dam breaking and the truth gushing forth like a wall of water. She felt light as a feather, now. If Shelby had a preference, she'd never tell it again. She’d bury that bitch and never dig her back up. Start over. All over again.

"God, I wish," she said swiping at tears, first from their conversation and then from laughing so hard. "I saw my attorney today, and we called a meeting with the Family Trust. “

Shelby heaved a giant sigh, squeezed JC’s hand and then admitted, sheepishly, “I guess I am going to have to give up some of the money to make Melina go away. I can’t have her digging into my life and exposing my past. Not that I care much about that, but I can’t have her bringing up your name. If the money will make her shut up, it’s worth my peace of mind.”

JC seemed dumbfounded. He stuttered for a few moments before he said, “So… you’re just gonna give her the money? After fighting her all this time, uprooting your whole world, creating a fake name and a fake life… I mean, you’re giving in? This is what she wants, Shelby.”

“I know,” she whined, dreading the prospect. “I know. And I don’t want to. I don’t want her grubby hands anywhere near that settlement, believe me, but I don’t know what else to do.”

“I do.” Stern and decisive, his eyes bored into hers, his mouth set, his jaw square. “We fight her. The right way, with big guns. And not the Lucas Family—Melina herself.” JC punched at the leather seat with a finger.

No matter how many times she heard the word ‘we' it still sent butterflies through her belly and a shiver up her spine. She smiled and dipped her head, then shyly looked up at him. "You're going to my meeting? Or just giving me instructions."

"Both," he answered. "You're not paying her to protect me. You're not handing over some money, hoping you can fade into the sunset. You'll march into that meeting, and I'll be right behind you and you'll tell her to shut her fat mouth or you'll stick a lawsuit in it." He nodded, then. A final gesture to ensure that he meant business.

Shelby sat next to him, in shock and amazement and awe. And lust. "I'd ask if you were sure," she muttered, "but... I kind of like this side of you."

“You said it yourself-- they can’t stand her and the family hates publicity. That’s why they never went after you for the money; they just let Melina be the bad guy. Name her in a harassment suit and they’ll fall away from her and make her stand on her own two feet, just to separate themselves from her. You know she has no money, away from the family. Her dad’s lawyers won’t represent her for free and she acts like she needs the money. Your money.”

Shelby blinked, confused. It couldn’t be that easy. “But—I mean—we just… file suit?”

JC chuckled, as if to say, ‘poor, misguided girl’. “If we have to. Shelby… what happens when, a year from now, she’s spent all that money you gave her and she decides she wants more? It’ll never end if you pay her off, sweetheart. You can’t give in to her.”

“JC, I don’t know…”

“I do. And if your attorney can’t handle it, I’ll get you one who can. You’re done running from her. You’re done bowing to her. You’re done rearranging your life around someone so powerless. If she could have done something, she would have. So we call her bluff.”

He reached for her face, tipping her chin up so he could see her eyes. His were full of fire, both beautiful and frightening at the same time. “We’re in this together,” he said. “I’m gonna help you get away from her. For good.”

“I…I don’t know what to say. I don’t know if that will work.”

“We have no choice but to make it work.”

It took a few minutes. A few long, slow, quiet minutes, but for the first time in a very long time, Shelby began to relax. It wouldn’t be easy to face her long-time nemesis. Or cheap, if the case went to court. But she had money, and it appeared she still had JC’s support. Whether she still had his love remained to be seen.

“I have to know. Are you disgusted?”

JC studied her for a moment before answering. “By what?”

“By me.”

“How could I—” He shook his head, frowning at her. “No. Just… adjusting. Combining the Shelby I know and the Shelby you just told me about and the Shelby sitting right here next to me. We all have different sides, you know?”

“Yeah.” She paused for a beat, chewing on her bottom lip. “But…one of my sides killed someone.”

“Do you plan on flipping this car? Stabbing me in my sleep?”

She laughed, in spite the gravity of the conversation. JC’s flippant question lightened the mood—she was grateful for that. “No,” she answered, laughing again.

“Then we’re cool,” he said, smiling. Slowly, he leaned over, sliding against the seat, stopping when his head was near hers, so close she could feel his breath, in and out. “Kiss me,” he whispered.  

It was Shelby’s turn to be dumbfounded and shocked. She reared back, checking his face, his eyes, looking for a sign that he wasn’t joking. “After all that heavy I just laid on you, you want a kiss?”

JC slid over further, closing the space between them again. His lips were inches from hers, so close they were almost breathing the same air. “Shelby… sexy, sexy woman. You could tell me you whacked some guy on the way to the airport and you’d still have to fight me off.  We missed our date. I missed you. And we’ve been sitting here for an hour and we haven’t even kissed, yet. What are we waiting on?”

Shelby shrugged, a small smile on her lips. “The right moment, I guess?”

“Well, here it is,” he mumbled, in the seconds before his lips grazed hers. Shelby sighed a breath, emitting a light whimper as his lips stiffened around hers. Open mouths meshed together, tongues slowly intertwining and moans softly rising out of both of them.  JC arched his body over the arm rest between them, awkwardly sliding a hand around her waist. As quickly as the kiss began it ended with him tearing his lips from hers.  

“I can’t get to you. Can we move to the backseat, at least?”

Without a word, Shelby opened her door and stepped out, opened the rear door and slid in next to JC. With no armrest between them now, they dove for each other, a mad flurry of tongues and moans and roaming hands and shuddering breaths. 

"I missed you. God, I missed you," he said, in the brief moment their lips were parted. Shelby mumbled something in response, muffled by his mouth. "Hmmm?"

"I said..." She broke away from him, laughing as he busied his mouth around her face, across her cheeks, down her neck. "I said I'm sorry."

"Don't," he whispered against her neck, his eyes closed. "Let's just enjoy this, right now. It's special. Know why?"

She shook her head. "No. Why?"

"Because it's not Thursday."

Shelby couldn’t answer—her mind was occupied, her body overheating, her heart pounding in her ears. She pushed JC so he was sitting up and moved to straddle him. Hands planted themselves on a cheek and pulled, scooting her closer, right up against him. He was already erect, the heat of him seeping through thick denim. Beneath her, his hips writhed and bucked against her body.

JC panted, his breath hot and heavy, his hands roaming her body, slipping beneath her t-shirt to caress the warm skin from the band of her bra past the band of her jeans.  Shelby moaned in reply, her lips busy moving down his neck into the opening of his shirt. Her fingers nimbly loosened the remaining buttons, until she got impatient and pulled the shirt open. She giggled at the sound of fabric tearing and the ricochet of plastic buttons around the interior of the car.

Suddenly, Shelby sat up, clawing at her clothing. Her t-shirt went over her head and she sat up, ripping open the button closure of her jeans and sliding them down her hips and over her shoes, one leg at a time. JC sat helpless while she undressed, watching and grinning while she planted herself on his lap again.

“You’re doing that thing I like, where you leave your shoes on.”

“I’m gonna do a few things you like,” she said, breathless and suddenly in need of his lips again. She took them—surprisingly bold and forceful, just like the Shelby she invented would do. Except this time, it wasn’t invented, manufactured Shelby. It wasn’t Shelby Morris, wanton sex kitten, dreamgirl, the answer to a rock star’s raging libido and wildest fantasy. It was Shelby Coster, a woman who’d lived a thousand lives in her short twenty eight years, but vowed to live no other life but her real one.

“Your jeans. They have to come off.” Shelby reached between them and felt around his lap, her shoulders sagging at what she found. “Fuck, you’re wearing button fly?”

“Well… yeah, but I’m an expert at taking them off. Gimme a minute.” In a flurry of movements and just a few seconds, JC had all five buttons undone. The fly of his jeans hung open, revealing boxers bunched up around a familiar shape.   

She reached for him, caressing him through the soft cotton, nearly salivating at the feeling. It was like riding a bike—something she’d never forget. JC didn’t dare move, except his hands which were restless on her skin, gliding up her thighs, over her hips and waist, up to her breasts, cupping them in warmth and then making their way back down. After a few minutes of gripping and rubbing and teasing him through his boxers, she moved aside.

“Take ‘em off,” she ordered, and then waited for him to obey. With his jeans and boxers pooled at his ankles, JC slouched in the seat and leaned over so he was halfway lying down. Shelby climbed over him, settling on his thighs as best she could. She giggled, saying, “This was probably not the best idea.”

“It’s your fantasy,” he replied, a laugh in his tone. “Besides, what are we supposed to do? Be real quiet at your house, down the hall from your parents?”

“I should have let you get a hotel room. Maybe tomorrow. Right now, though…”

Shelby leaned forward, balancing her hands on his chest while she lifted herself and promptly sank down on him. A long, low, moan of relief came as he filled her.

“Holy…fuck,” he said, for the second time that night. “I missed this, right here.”

Shelby could only whimper as she rode him, her hips moving up and down and around and around with increasing fury. JC’s hands gripped her waist and then moved down to her hips, pulling and pushing in rhythm with her movements. He grunted, small sounds of pleasure with every gyration seeping from his throat.

“Feels good… so good… soooo good,” she chanted, anchoring herself on his chest.

“Don’t… even think… about stopping,” JC grunted, his words flowing together in one long exhale, his hips rolling underneath her in rhythm with her body.

The car rocked on its axle, back and forth with a squeak that could be heard over harmonious moans rising into the air. The windows fogged over from heavy breaths and despite the open moon roof, the interior of the car was hot and stuffy. Neither Shelby nor JC seemed to notice, and if they did, they didn’t care.

“You feel so good. I’m gonna fucking come… I’m sorry…”

JC chuckled. “Don’t be sorry. What do you think I’m working so hard, for?”

“So you can come.”

“After you.”

As if she was waiting for permission, Shelby’s head flung back, her hips rocked forward, her mouth fell open and everything fell into place. The sensation of her climax brought JC to the brink and then over the edge, though not as loudly but just as passionately.

Eventually, the squeak of the rocking car slowed and then stopped, leaving the sounds of shallow and then deeper breaths sucking down cool air. Shelby shifted, sliding off of JC and collapsing against the seat and across his legs.

“God, that was good,” JC said, between two coughs.

“Sure as shit was. Good to have you back in my life.” Shelby grinned across the cramped space and pushed a bushel of sweat-matted hair back from her forehead. “How was LA, by the way? You got a record?”

JC grinned back at her, slowly nodding. “We got a record. Almost. It’s done, anyway.”

“And now?”

“And now… a break. And then after the first of the year, tour planning. Record release. And then midyear, a tour. I’m kind of hoping you’ll come along. Should be fun.”

Shelby smiled, but after a few seconds, the smile faded. “I’m hoping to be done with school and opening my bar around then. Besides, I think picking up my life and following some man around is how I got into trouble, the first time.”

Shelby sat up, swinging her legs off of his lap and digging around the carpeted floor for her jeans. One leg and then another into the pants and then she wriggled them up and around her hips. She leaned back to button and zip them and then fell silent and motionless. JC sat up and pulled his boxers and jeans back up, tucked himself back into his clothing and took his time buttoning each of the 5 buttons.

"So..." he finally said, breaking the silence.”I'm proud of you."

Shelby's forehead wrinkled in confusion. "For?"

"For owning up to everything. Not running away anymore. Not hiding anymore, risking what I thought of you. That had to be hard."

"I'm no hero," she said, groaning. "Really. I'm a coward, is what I am."  She sat back a few inches and tucked a leg up under her. "I would have never come back here if I didn't have to. I only did it because my lawyer said we might have to drag you into it, and I didn't want to do that. This was the only way, we thought. I mean… you know the whole reason I was concerned about Melina and you not finding everything out was because I didn’t want you to pay for my past.”

“Look, Shelby…” He felt around the interior of the car for her arm, slid down to her hand and held it. “If there was ever a reset button for relationships, I needed one. We needed one. I needed to remember, and to remind you about us, about what we are and what's normal for us. A date, and some good times and some good talk are normal for us. Red wine and chocolate cake and good sex is normal for us." He stroked the back of her hand, playing with her fingers. "Hiding and lying and secrecy aren’t us. It can’t be, not anymore.”

Shelby swallowed, looking at him. The shadow of him rather, since his long, thin face was only half illuminated by the moonlight. She wondered if she had told him everything, right away, would he still be there with her. Or would he have run for the hills, tail between his legs, scared out of his mind about all the drama that surrounded her? Did he even understand why she kept so much from him? How she selfishly kept him around her more because if he knew, he'd surely have never asked her out?

She yawned, a wide mouthed, loud, groan filled yawn, followed by fit of laughter. "That was smooth, right in your face. I’m so rude, I’m sorry!"

“Shelby honey… that is music to my ears, coming from an insomniac," JC groaned as he stretched his limbs and then sat up, reaching for the door on his side. “It’s late and your car is small. Take me home so we can pretend we’re not having sex right down the hall from your parents.” 

Shelby

It was late, nearly morning when Shelby’s headlights lit up the driveway of her parent's house. The car idled for a few moments before she cut the lights and the engine, popped the latch on her door and climbed out. She waited for JC at the sidewalk so they could walk in together. Lights were on, inside. Someone was awake.

"Is it okay for me to be here?" JC hesitated, his hands in his pockets while walking slowly beside her, a duffel bag hanging from a shoulder.  Shelby laughed, hooking her arm into his, walking him to the door that was already opening, light from the hallway spilling out and brightening the pre-dawn air.

“It’s fine,” she said. “I told them you were coming.”

Renee was in her robe, a dark blue one she wore for company. The long hem of her nightgown peeked from underneath and just brushed the floor as she held the door open and ushered the two inside. Softly, she closed the door behind them and smiled at weary faces.

“You two look… well, exhausted is a word,” she said, her voice low. Shelby glanced at JC, trying to keep the smirk off of her face. Renee missed it and shooed them toward the staircase. “Go on upstairs. Get some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”

Shelby led the way, quietly climbing the stairs. JC followed her down a narrow, dimly lit hallway to a bedroom at the end of that hall. She pushed the door open and smiled. In her late night wandering and waiting, Renee had changed the sheets and made the bed. The window was open, allowing the breeze they’d been enjoying for a few hours to waft through the room. The sounds at the cusp of morning were comforting, but Shelby pushed the window closed and drew the drapes against the darkness.

She pointed toward a door. “Bathroom there. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.”

Shelby left the room again and crept back down the stairs. Renee was silently shuffling around the kitchen, rifling through cabinets, running her fingers through her short brown-but-graying bob.

“I wonder if insomnia is hereditary.” She smiled as Renee twirled around, startled by her voice. She tucked her hip against a counter and crossed her arms, eyeing her mother. “You’re probably why I don’t sleep.”

“Could be,” Renee answered. “So things turned out okay? I'm guessing yes, since you look…" Renee shrugged and smiled, a light pink rising from the bodice of her nightgown and creeping up toward her face.

Shelby nodded, pushing off of the counter and reaching for the handle of the refrigerator. She opened it, peering into the bright light and scanned its contents. Leftover tacos from dinner. Pepsi. Iced tea. Milk.

“We spent some time together. And we had a good talk. Probably not the last one, but a good one anyway."

"I'm happy to hear that. I really am."

Something in Renee's voice made Shelby close the door and turn around. She was usually nosy and prying and passive aggressive about digging for information while pretending to be concerned.

"Why? I mean... thanks. But why?"

"Because," Renee answered, pointing a long, bony finger at her. "He makes you happy. How long has it been since I could say I saw my daughter with a smile on her face?" She shook her head, her eyes drifting away and then back to Shelby. "I don't know. I don't know why you fought him so long. This Lucas thing..."  She scoffed, flapping a hand as if she could wave the entire situation away. "Well, anyway, you deserve someone that would come find you, even when you tried to run away."

Shelby leaned back against the door of the refrigerator, relaxing her head against the cool stainless steel. "It felt good, you know? To tell him everything. No one I was ever with before would have stayed. And he probably shouldn’t, either.” 

Out of habit, Shelby cast her eyes down, concealing long hidden pain, shame and regret. Renee moved across the room, her arms open. Shelby fell into them, holding onto the short but strong arms of comfort.  After a few minutes, they parted, each swiping a finger under each eye.

"Well, now…what's going to happen with the Samuels family? Are you still going to give them the money?"

Shelby shook her head and sucked in a deep breath through her nose. She still had a battle to fight before this "Lucas Thing" was over. "I was only doing that so they would leave JC alone, but he doesn't want me to do that. We'll go to the meeting and tell them the harassment has to stop, or we'll take legal action. If they think they deserve some of the settlement, they should file suit. Otherwise, they - meaning Melina-“ Shelby glanced at her mother, a sarcastic rise to her eyebrow. “-don't have reasons to keep bringing my name up in conversation, stalking me and printing lies. It should be over. Done."

"Exactly. That's so right." Renee nodded, her mouth in a tight, firm line, a crease across her forehead. "I don't want this hanging over your head anymore, you know? You’ve been through enough. You deserve to be able to live your life."  She reached up and, out of habit, swiped at a long strand of hair and tucked it behind Shelby's ear. Renee had been doing that Shelby's whole life. Sometimes JC did it too.

Shelby felt relaxed. She was aiming for free, but she wouldn't feel close to that until this ordeal was behind her. The massive weight that had lived on her shoulders for the past few years had, over the last 24 hours, slipped away. Shelby was light and happy, near giddy. The dark cloud of the looming meeting with the revered Samuels family and their clan of curt, well dressed attorneys lurked ahead, just over the horizon. Shelby hoped JC was really, for real, serious about standing by her. She'd need him there. 

"Well, whatever happens is what happens," she said with a dejected sigh. "Maybe I'll feel differently in a few days. I'm riding euphoria right now. I took a big risk and spilled everything and came out with someone that cares about me, despite everything I put him through, and the person I used to be."

"You had that all along," Renee chided, but smiled through it. "But I know what you mean. We all need someone who'll stand by us." Renee rubbed Shelby’s arms, then clasped hands with her and made her way to the stairs again, pulling Shelby with her. "Now, before I get really nosy, you'd better get up there and get some rest."

"Hell yes, before you get really nosy."

JC

Flowers.   He smelled flowers.

It wasn’t floral, more pungent. The fresh scent tickled his nose and infiltrated his dreams, pulling him out until he was almost awake. He sniffed, before his eyes were even open. He was sure of it now. He smelled actual flowers.

His eyes fluttered open a few times before they could focus on anything. The room looked unfamiliar. Really unfamiliar. As in, he had never been in it before. And didn’t remember how he got there.

He was covered by a white eyelet duvet, the sheets a pristine white as well– totally not his style.  On the bedside table, painted white to match nearly everything else in the room, was a vase of lavender blooms. Flowers. JC yawned and scratched and sat up, wracking his brain to remember where he was and what he was doing there. And why he now smelled pancakes.

The knob turned and the door eased open with a light creak. Shelby slipped into the room, closing the door softly behind her. She was a sight for sore eyes, cute and comfortable in shorts, a tank top, and bare feet.

“Hey, sleepy.”  Shelby climbed onto the bed and leaned over him, brushed her lips against his and laughed at his hair standing on end and going in every direction.

JC dipped his head away from her hands trying to smooth his hair down. “Where are we? Your parents?”

She nodded. “You passed out cold last night. I came back upstairs and you were knocked out. I had to undress you.”  She angled her head toward an armchair next to the only window in the room, piled with his clothing from the day before. JC vaguely remembered climbing the steps and collapsing onto the bed. Quickly, he lifted the sheet to find himself undressed to his briefs. Inwardly, he breathed a sigh of relief that he wasn’t naked.

“Sorry about that.”

“It was fun. Did you sleep okay?”

“I guess. I don’t remember much. You?”

Shelby smiled wide and nodded. “I slept great. I always do, with you.”

JC would have smiled back, but he wasn’t quite awake yet. In fact, this was already too much conversation for the morning. He motioned with his hand for her to move so he could get up. “Gotta pee,” he said simply, when was up and out of the bed and stalking toward the small bathroom.

“Come downstairs for breakfast, when you’re done,” she called through the door.

“ ‘Kay,” he mumbled back, turning on the faucet at the sink and filling his hands with cool water.

Feeling more awake, alert, and alive, JC padded down the steps in socked feet and the jeans and t-shirt he’d worn the night before, his shoes hanging off of two fingers. He reached the landing and turned right, toward the bright sunlight streaming into the house.

The hallway opened into the living room where Shelby’s dad sat in a recliner, his face hidden by the Miami Tribune. He lowered the page a little, revealing a pair of thick-rimmed glasses perched on the end of his nose. He nodded at JC, then raised the page again and went back to reading. Around the corner, JC heard Shelby and her mom puttering around in the kitchen, chatting like school girls. Silverware tinkled and plates clacked as they were stacked on top of each other.

He announced his presence with a quiet, “Uhhhmm…” The room fell silent as both women looked up from their tasks and stared at him. He smiled a little and gave a wave of few fingers. “Morning, ladies. Do I smell coffee?”

Renee rushed across the kitchen to pick out a mug from a cabinet for him, and then directed him to the coffee pot on the counter next to the refrigerator, the small bowl of sugar and the carton of flavored non-dairy creamer.

“Shelby says you’re picky about your coffee, so I’ll let you fix it up yourself.”

“Shelby makes me sound pretentious.” 

Smiling at Renee, he dropped his shoes in the hallway, took the mug from her and stepped a few feet into the kitchen. He felt eyes boring into his back with laser precision, watching him pour himself a cup of the dark, Columbian brew, measuring out cream and sugar, and taking a sip. He gave them time to pretend they weren’t watching him, slowly turning and leaning against the refrigerator.

“Shelby is right, though. I am picky. She does a great job of fetching me coffee, though.”

Shelby tried to stifle a snort but it escaped anyway. Renee laughed and JC laughed and Bob asked, loudly, if breakfast was ready or if everyone was just going to stand around flirting with JC.

“Aw, Dad. Don’t be mad that JC doesn’t think you’re cute. Come and eat.”

“So, I called and talked with Robin this morning,” Shelby announced over pancakes and eggs, bringing all eating to a standstill. Raised eyebrows and halted breaths signaled that she could go on. “Woke her up, which she was pissed about, but whatever. I told her that we didn’t want to pay Melina off. I’ll head back to the bank and redeposit the check. She’s surprised, but she says she can handle it.”

JC signaled his approval by returning to his plate, heaping with pancakes and eggs and sausage. “In case she can’t, let me know. I can get you in touch with a couple of great attorneys down here.”

“I appreciate that, JC… but Robin has been with me since the beginning. She knows my case. I want her to handle it. I know she can do it.” Shelby hesitated a moment before asking, “Okay?”

“Yeah. Yes. It’s fine. Okay.”

“She got the meeting scheduled, though. 10am tomorrow morning.”

Renee and Bob’s heads jerked up at the announcement. JC chewed but kept his eyes on Shelby. She didn’t seem nervous or upset, at all. Stoic, was the word. Without thinking, he slid a hand over to her lap, under the table, and gripped her thigh. At the last moment, he remembered where they were and started to draw his hand back. By then, Shelby had laid her hand on top of his and wrapped her fingers around his. The strength of her grip told him her demeanor was bravado. She was putting on a face for her parents. She didn’t want them to worry.

“Good,” JC commented, playing along. “We’ll get it done and over with. Right?”

“Right,” Shelby agreed, giving his hand a few squeezes. Thank you, she was saying.

“Well, JC…” Renee shifted in her chair, grinned a sly smile at him and laid a hand on his arm. Did she just squeeze his bicep? “Shelby says you spend quite a bit of time in Miami. Whereabouts do you usually go?”

“Uhm…” JC swallowed, stalling for time, trying not to choke while biting back a laugh. “I come down here usually over New Year’s Eve. Some buddies throw a party every year, around South Beach. My brother and I usually go.”

He nodded a few times, signaling the end of his contribution to the discussion. Renee wouldn’t be able to flirt her way into getting him to admit all the other activities he looked forward to each year—scantily clad women nearly fighting over each other to get to him, endless complimentary alcohol, party rooms that reeked of pot and other substances. Nope, as far as Mrs. Coster was concerned, he was a fine, upstanding young gentleman that happened to be a musician.

“What is it that you do?” Past Renee, Bob had cleaned his plate and leaned back in his chair. “I mean. You sing, or something? Shelby says you’re a musician.”

“Shelby has shared a lot about me. I wish I could say the same.” JC shot a playful glare in Shelby’s direction. She hid an embarrassed half smile and shrugged a shoulder. “I do sing. I used to sing. These days I’m more behind the mic. Producing and writing. I’m working right now with Rod Phillips Band—I don’t think you’d know him—“

“That song you like, on the younger station, Daddy? Evil Side of Me? JC wrote that.”

Recognition crossed Bob’s face and he started to hum the melody. “Yeah, I did like that one. They played the shit out of it, though.”

“That’s the idea,” JC said, then glanced at Shelby, an eyebrow raised. “Thank you… honey.”

“I was just driving your point home.”

“I… I get that. Anyway,” his attention returned to Bob, despite Shelby’s fingers tightening around his, her nails digging into his skin. “Yeah, I wrote that and a few other songs. We just finished a new album and we’ll be touring next year, so…”

“Rod is uh… kind of a wild one. Isn’t he? You run with that crowd?”

“No sir,” he answered, promptly. “I’m low-key. I like it that way.”

“Good,” Bob answered. “I like to hear that. These kids don’t realize what they do today will leave an imprint on tomorrow. Rod will see that, someday.”

“We hope,” JC said. Bob nodded his agreement. He seemed satisfied. JC felt relieved.

Shelby

Shelby ate quietly, one hand in a death grip around JC’s, the other poking through her breakfast as she listened to the featherweight grilling from her parents. Shelby had never really brought a man home for a meal. The experience was enlightening, and probably would have been more fun if he hadn’t had to chase her down the night before.

The men Shelby dated in college were never the kind she wanted to bring home. Most were one-night stands anyway, and her parents didn't know about them. Lucas made a big show of trying to impress them, to buy them with fancy dinners at expensive restaurants. The Costers weren't fancy, high cultured, expensive food kind of people with evolved tastes. Eventually, they started begging off of the dinners because the food upset their stomachs.

Breakfast with JC and her parents, in contrast, was fun. He was just as laid back with them as he was with her, never looking twice at misshapen, homemade pancakes instead of gourmet, perfectly round ones, and regular old coffee instead of some expensive fresh ground fancy brand. Renee and Bob were both retired from careers as teachers and administrators. JC peppered them with questions, flattering them with his interest on their opinion on the state of public education.

"I tell you," JC said, swallowing a mouthful of food, loading up a fork with the next load. "Kids don’t realize how formative the high school years are. If it's one thing I miss, it's the high school experience. Every kid has that to look back on, and I really don't."

"Well, you went for awhile, didn't you?" Renee asked, piling more eggs onto his plate. "And then... what, you had to drop out?"

JC shook his head, attacking the new mound of eggs. "Not exactly. We had a tutor when we moved to Florida. We had to be in class for a certain amount of time before we could even hit the set every day. My parents were kind of nazi about good grades and things like that--"

Bob put down his fork, his eyebrows knit together in confusion. "Hit the set?"

Shelby tore a biscuit in two, smiling at JC. "JC was on a Disney TV show as a kid, daddy."

"I thought you said he was a singer?"

"He is, Bob," Renee said. "Pay attention."

"I am paying attention. I'm confused. Does he act or does he sing?"

"Both," volunteered Shelby and Renee while JC laughed and ate, enjoying the playful argument.

"Ah, you kids," he grumbled. He slid his glasses up, but they never stayed. Slowly, they slid down again to their usual spot. He pointed his empty fork at JC. "So many interests, you don't even know which way is up, do you? How do you do so much and still be a kid?"

"You don't, sir. You learn to grow up very quickly." JC cleared his plate and pushed it away, drained his glass of orange juice and rubbed his belly. “Mrs. Coster—“

“Renee,” she interrupted.

“Renee,” JC continued, not missing a beat. “That was the best homemade meal I’ve had since the last time Shelby made me dinner.” He stopped to grin, obviously proud of himself. “How’d I do, with that compliment? Did I cover all my bases?”

The table erupted in laughter. Renee blushed and pushed her chair back, reaching for his plate. “Pretty good, I’d say. Pretty good. So, what are your plans until tomorrow?”

“Uh… “ JC glanced toward Shelby, the question written all over his face.

Shelby took over, reading the near-panic in JC’s face. “We were thinking that we might go into the city and stay a couple of days. We’ve never spent a weekend together before. We’ve… never been out of town together, before. “ 

“Sounds like fun,” Renee said, already distracted by loading the dishwasher. “You’ll let us know how Monday turns out?”

“Of course. I’ll call you as soon as we’re out.”

“Well, then. You kids had better get yourselves upstairs and ready to go before I put you to work around here. Garden needs weeding, lawn needs mowing…”

Shelby shot up from the table, tapping JC on the shoulder. "We’d better go, while we have amnesty. In five minutes, she'll forget she said that and make us help." 

“Thanks for the hospitality, Renee. Bob.” 

JC backed away from the house, waving and still tossing compliments about breakfast through the screen door. Shelby’s parents waved and watched them get into her car and drive away.

“Pleasant Sunday morning,” Shelby chirped, snapping the seatbelt closed and settling back against the passenger seat. A glance toward the back seat brought a smile to her lips—memories of the night before, flashes of space and time and feelings and thoughts raced through her mind. Her body reacted, double time when she saw her overnight bag tossed next to JC’s duffel bag. Things were working out, for the moment.

“Yeah, that was great. I’m actually glad we stayed there last night. It was nice to get a chance to talk with your parents.”

Shelby smirked. “My mom has a crush on you, I think.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah. I think you knew that, though.”

“Maybe. I’m kind of an expert at knowing if someone’s into me.”

“Oh, really? What did you think I thought of you, at first?”

“Uhm, let’s see.” JC scratched his temple, and then the growth of hair that had sprung overnight on his cheeks. “Okay, the first night we ever saw each other, at the store, I think you were shocked. You know what I mean? To see someone, like… like, well me…doing his own grocery shopping. I don’t think you thought anything at first. But sometime between when you walked away, and the next night, you definitely got interested.”

“What makes you say that?”      

JC glanced over at the passenger seat, his brows furrowed. “Oh, please. Who shops at 5am?”

“I do!”

“In full-on hot girl gear? Makeup, perfume, painted toenails, the whole deal. Tell me, who does that, and isn’t interested?” Shelby refused to answer, instead staring out of the window at traffic.  “You wanted me and you know it. And you made sure I knew it.”

“Fine. You read me. I wasn’t really hiding it. I went at 5am because I hoped I would see you again.” Shelby poked JC in the side and twisted, her finger digging into his ribs. JC groaned and laughed and tried to pull away, but there was nowhere to go and besides, he was driving. “And guess who was sitting out there when I came out of the store? None other than JC Chasez.”

“I saw your car pull in. I never said I wasn’t interested. I knew I wanted you the second I ran into you the first night.”

“I saw you duck your head behind that end cap. Staring at my ass, dirty old man.”

“I wasn’t staring at your ass,” he argued. “Not right then, anyway.”

“What were you looking at, then?”

“Your back. Your neck. Your hair, up in that clip thing.” JC shot another glance over at the passenger seat and smiled. “I was picturing you walking around my house looking like that. In my bed, looking like that.”

Shelby burst into full on laughter while JC guided her midnight blue coupe, cutting through Miami traffic like a Pro-Am driver. The day was glorious, the sun hanging in the sky like a big, gorgeous yellow ball, baking the city with heat and not a cloud anywhere in sight. Tourists were out and about, shopping, eating, and heading toward the beach.

JC seemed to know exactly where he wanted to go, swinging into the parking lot of a swanky beach hotel. The parking lot was nearly full of luxury model cars and beautiful people strolling aimlessly around the sidewalks and lounging by the pool. He pulled into a spot in the self-park lot and turned off the ignition. Shelby climbed out behind him and followed him to the check in desk, through the lobby and to the elevator.

In the room, the air still smelled of cleanser, the bed was freshly made and the mini-fridge had been stocked. If they didn’t want to, they didn’t have to leave the room. And maybe they wouldn’t.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he said, digging through his bag. “I need a shower and a shave. Think of some things you want to do. Need to relax before tomorrow. Big day.”

Why do people insist on reminding me what a big day tomorrow is? If anyone knows that, it’s me!

Shelby bit her tongue to keep her inner dialog from flowing out and toward JC. Instead, she sat on the side of the bed and reached for the remote. The TV snapped from channel to mindless channel. There was nothing really worth watching—not when the best thing to be watching was either outside beyond the balcony or inside, in the shower. Shelby set her bag aside and marched into the bathroom.

JC’s head appeared from behind the curtain. “Can I help you?”

“Nope,” she said, hopping up onto the long counter. “I just wanted to be in the same room with you. Carry on. Unless you’re masturbating in there, in which case I can help you with that.”

JC rolled his eyes, but he was smiling when he ducked back behind the curtain. “I think we had enough last night to keep me on full for a little bit.”

“I could use some. But I can wait.”

“It wouldn’t be healthy for us to stay holed up in this room all day,” he said, his voice bouncing off of the tile, accented by splashing water. An arm appeared above the curtain rod and disappeared, again. “Besides, it’s a nice day out. We’re together, on a weekend. We should enjoy it.”

Shelby thumbed through the items he’d pulled out of his bag. She uncapped his deodorant and sniffed it, smiling at the familiar scent, and then capped it again. “I’d enjoy never leaving the room, but I understand what you’re saying.”

“Tonight will be fun though.” Shelby heard a splash of water and JC‘s voice bouncing off of a different wall. He must have turned around. “So, what’s up with tomorrow’s meeting?”

“Tomorrow’s meeting will involve stuffy men that look like they have sticks shoved up their asses in expensive suits. On our side it’ll be you, me and my attorney, Robin.”

“That’s your old high school friend, right?”

“Yeah. And by the way, I told her about you.”

“Yeah?” JC’s head poked out of the shower, again. “How did that go?”

“She reminded me of how she used to practice kissing with your poster on her wall. And then she laughed, hysterically so, because I’m dating you, now.”

“Figures.” JC slid the curtain all the way open and stepped out of the shower. Shelby handed him a towel and then watched him wipe away the dripping water. “Does she know I’m coming?”

“No.  I’ll tell her when we’re on our way. She’ll get all… teeny with too much advance notice. Do the naked dance for me.” 

JC stopped wiping long enough to give Shelby a quizzical stare. Brows furrowed, he went back to drying himself, then wrapped the towel around his waist and tucked it into place. He shooed her to the end of the counter and impatiently moved all of his toiletry items so that they were within reach.

“Messin’ up my groove, Shelby woman.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” she responded, smiling sweetly. He smiled back, sarcastically so, while putting on deodorant and pulling a comb through his hair. “So, tomorrow. I hope it doesn’t get ugly, but it might. I just…you don’t have to go in there with me and you don’t have to be involved in this at all. I really would rather keep you out of all of this.”

“We already had this discussion. I’ll be there. You’re not paying anyone off to do the right thing. There are proper channels and proper ways of doing things. Melina does what she does because you let her do it and get away with it. Well, now you’re done doing that.”

Shelby stared at her hands in her lap. He was right, of course, but she’d had her reasons for running instead of fighting. She’d mistakenly underestimated Melina’s conviction and dedication to her father—or more to the point, her father’s money. JC laid a hand over her clasped ones.

“Tomorrow is tomorrow. We’ll worry about it then. Okay?” He leaned in and tipped his head to meet her lips, dropping soft kisses on them until she lifted her head. “Feel better?”

“What would make me feel better is if you did the naked dance. Just once?”

Shelby laughed and JC groaned, unwrapped the towel and kicked it to the corner of the bathroom, then leaned against the counter in front of her. She trapped him there, wrapping her legs around his legs and her arms around his neck, pulling him closer to her. Their eyes met, laughter subsiding into residual chuckles.

“Still haven’t named that dimple.”

“Slacker.”

“Been preoccupied with the rest of you. If you weren’t so damn sexy...” A shiver overtook him, wracking him from head to toe.  “It’s cold in here. Let me go, so I can get dressed.” 

She released him, but only after she stole a kiss or two. JC went back to combing his hair, then brushed his teeth and shaved while Shelby looked on. When he was done he checked himself in the mirror, winked at her and left the bathroom.

“Better hurry up and get out here,” he called from the room. “If you need to be in the same room as me, you’re already behind. I move fast as lightning, honey.”

JC

He felt like a sap, but he couldn’t help it. Every minute that he knew her, he was happy he’d put himself in her path and almost forced himself on her. Happy she was open to being with him, for the most part. But—and there was always a but—if he was being honest with himself, JC was more than a little concerned about the meeting. He was putting on a brave front, but the last place he needed to be was in the middle of a family feud and what could turn into an ugly controversy.

It was too late to back out now, though. He was involved—he’d asked to be involved, and couldn’t leave Shelby to fight them alone, and couldn’t, in good conscience, let her dip into her own accounts to keep his name out of the mess. They’d have to deal with things as best they could. And if he had to, he’d call his ‘more powerful and not inclined to take bullshit’ LA attorney. But only if he had to.

In the meantime, it was his job to keep Shelby’s mind off of Monday. And by means necessary, he planned to do that.

JC had been to Miami more times than he could count. He didn’t feel like a tourist anymore- hadn’t in years. His previous trips had taught him that the best part of Miami was the nightlife. During the day he did his best to pass the time, lounging on the beach, sleeping or playing with a sexy-yet-vapid conquest until the sun sank below the horizon and the pretty people came out to play. This trip was different. This trip, he was with Shelby.

She drove, directing him a tour of the Miami that she had known her whole life and he’d never seen-- her elementary, junior and senior high schools, the college that she tried to attend before dropping out,  the small-off campus bar where she waitressed, the upscale downtown club where she had met Lucas and her life began to take on the feeling of riding a roller coaster.

Maybe she was tired or nervous or not all there, but Shelby didn’t seem sentimental. She wasn’t wistful during her stint as a tour guide, more informational. She pointed, rattling off figures and interesting facts that she must have thought he wanted to know. He didn’t mind the history lesson, but he wanted to know why the places were important to her, and what memories she still had of them.

As if she could read his mind, she mused, almost under her breath, “I kind of can’t wait to get out of Miami. It’s always home, but this Lucas thing has ruined this city for me. I feel like Orlando is home, now. I really want to go home.”

Later that evening, over sushi, tender cuts of beef, crisp green salad and just enough Sake to make the night interesting, he let himself ask the questions that had been on the tip of his tongue most of the day. One step at a time, one issue at a time, he’d told himself, but now was as good a time as any to ask them.

“Did you want to talk about last night at all?”

Shelby paused, her chopsticks holding a half eaten tuna roll in limbo between her plate and her mouth. “You obviously want to,” she said, before popping the last half into her mouth. “Say what you need to say.”

“You sound like you think you know what I’m gonna say.”

“Don’t I?”

“How about you try not to act so smart and just listen, hmm?”

She set her chopsticks on the corner of an elegant, square plate, picked up a small glass mug and tipped it back. She swallowed and sat back, her eyes on him. That look was back—bravado. The strong, brave face, full of mock nonchalance. She put it on when he would ask her questions about her past. This time, though, he was hoping there would be no evasive maneuvers.

"So, I mean... I'm gonna try not to be a jerk but I'm pretty straightforward. It's hard for me to bullshit. Just know that I'm not mad, okay? I just feel like I need to be real with you."

Shelby nodded a brave, solemn bob to her head and an almost audible swallow.

"So. I know you know I really shouldn't be here, right now. I should be in Orlando, getting my life back on track and avoiding this drama. I know you know that, because you tried to run from me.”

Shelby's eyes didn't waver from him. She had to know he was right. "Why are you here, then?"

JC shook his head, his eyes wandering the full restaurant. "I wish I could say, Shelby. I mean, I know all of this stuff and you showed me a side of you that... I guess I'm disappointed. I don't even know if I have a right to be, because I didn’t know you then I don’t even know you, now. But then I see you and I kiss you and it's like I've known you my whole life. I can't walk away from you. I kind of want to. At another time in my life, I would have. I think it's only fair that you know that."

She nodded, slowly. Knowing. "I’m honestly trying not to question why you’re still here. Like, maybe you’re just hanging around to make sure your reputation isn’t damaged and then you go your way and I go mine. And if that’s how it has to be, then fine. But don’t be overly nice. Don’t be romantic with me. Don’t kiss me like you kiss me and make me feel the way you do."

“Is that what you want?”

He hadn’t meant to sound so… stern… but after everything they’d talked about, it was like Shelby hadn’t heard a word he’d said. Why was he putting so much on the line for a woman who was determined to push him away? Did she have any idea what he was sacrificing to be near her?

“Do you want me to walk away, Shelby? I mean, I know I said I’d fight to stand next to you, but if you seriously want that, I’ll take you back to your folk’s place and head home.”

“No,” she said plainly. The chopsticks were back in her hands and she was poking at stray grains of rice. She’d yet to lift her eyes to him. “No, that’s not what I want. I just… was agreeing with you about where you said you should be and what you said you should be doing. I’m glad you’re here, in the wrong place, where you shouldn’t be.”

 Finally, she tipped her head up and he caught a hint of a shine to her brown eyes.

"Here's the thing. You and I both know that if you had told me that story on our second or third date that I would have never called you back. You hid things from me for a reason and I understand that, but it was still underhanded. I don’t have to like it. I don’t have time in my life to figure out what game somebody’s playing. At the same time, I think back to the last six months and everything we've done together and everything we've been together and I get it. I don't know that I would have changed anything, if I had it to do over again."

Shelby seemed surprised at that. Her eyes grew big and round and her head tilted slightly in confusion. She started to say something, but JC pressed a finger to her lip, shaking his head. "What I'm trying to say is that I guess I do know why I'm here. There's a reason I don't give a shit about all the stuff that came in that package from Melina, and why I heard what you said last night but it doesn't really matter, in terms of how I feel about you."

"JC, I-"

"Shhh, wait…I've been thinking about this. I just want to say it, and we'll deal with it after I get the words out."

Shelby pressed her lips together and sat in front of him, mute and expectant and wide-eyed. The backdrop of the clear, starry night over wave after crashing wave onto the beach outside the restaurant, the warm temperature, the light scent of salt in the air from the ocean... it was perfect. He couldn't have arranged a better setting if he'd tried.

"What I'm trying to say, Shelby, is that...despite everything, and I do mean everything, I love you. I'm here because I want this cleared up. I want you to be free to go home, back to Orlando and live your life. With me in it. What kind of life that is, is up to you.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“It means that I want to make this, you and I--" He pointed, indicating the both of them. "I want to make this official. No more hiding or lying. No more saving ourselves for one night a week. You stop living in fear and looking over your shoulder and being scared. And you and I have a real relationship. We give us a real chance."

Shelby didn't say a word. At least for a minute or two, she alternately stared into his eyes, pools of electric blue, and glanced over his shoulder at their fellow restaurant patrons, the view, anything but him. JC stood his ground and held his gaze on her face. Waiting.

“Tell me about Kim,” she said. Surprise, he was sure, registered on his face. “Are you over her? Are you over what she did to you?”

“Kim was…” JC sighed. He didn’t want to talk about Kim.  Not to Shelby. “Well, there was a time in my life when I was desperate to be with her. I wanted to share my life with her. She didn’t want that and I admit I wasn’t working very hard to let her go. Really, just lashing out and trying to numb myself.”

“And now?”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to be with her, Shelby. In the way that you’ll always remember Lucas, I’ll always remember her, but I don’t love her. Not in the same way. I told you, I saw her in LA.” Shelby nodded, a flash of… something… crossing her face. Jealousy, perhaps. “I almost slept with her.”

There it was again. It was most certainly jealousy. She shrank back and averted her eyes and turned her head and bit her lip. Jealousy is a useful emotion. It means you still care.

“Almost?” She asked, quietly.

“But I didn’t. Because she wasn’t Shelby. She wasn’t you. And I told her that.”

“Did she want you back?”

“Uhm…”  JC almost answered, but thought better of it. considered the question for a long moment. Did she, really? Or, like him, did she enjoy the ease and comfort of the past? 

“Kim thinks she wants me back, but… really, she’s looking for something that doesn’t exist anymore and was digging for it in a familiar place. I’ve put that part of my life behind me. I’m moving forward, in every aspect. You haven’t told me if you’re moving with me. Do you want to keep doing what we were doing, limiting ourselves to one night a week and keeping each other at arm’s length and using each other for sex and nothing else?”

Shelby sat forward again, leaned her elbows onto the table and clasped her hands behind her neck. After a few moments of silence, she shook her head, and quietly said, “No.”

When her face lifted again, her eyes found his and locked. "I tried to break it off with you, but I couldn't. The plan was to just start backing off, be standoffish and distant and kind of fade away. But I couldn't do it. You were everything good in my life, too much good. I got used to it and then I got addicted to it and I was hardly making it, week to week. I felt like I was jumping you, the second you walked in that door every Thursday. I wanted more of you and I didn't feel like I deserved more of you."

"Well, I mean... we can't really measure who deserves who. We all make mistakes. Most people have a past. I can't fault you for having baggage. I have some, too."

She smiled. "Kim?"

He nodded, blushing. "A lot of Kim. A lot of women past Kim and before Kim, too. A lot of hurts from  a lot of people, a lot of my old life. A lot of things I always think I left behind, but they're lurking right around the corner. You're not the only one that tried to escape something. I left LA in a big damn hurry."

“So…” Shelby smiled warmly but didn't look away. "I’m not ready to say what I feel, yet. But I feel something. Something big, big enough to want you to live a life free of all the drama that surrounds me. Enough that I don't want you hurt because of something I did and how I used to live."

"The thing is, though? I love you. And the thing about loving someone and being in love with them is that you don't want them to go through this kind of thing alone. What kind of man would I be if I was living it easy, back in Orlando, while you're down here trying to deal with this? I get what you're saying, but sacrificing yourself isn’t… feeling something for me.” He stopped to chuckle a little at her wording. She’d say it, eventually. “It's taking you away from me. It's hurting me and hurting us. You get what I'm saying?"

"Yeah," Shelby whispered, not trusting her voice. "I get it."

A  romantic, moonlit walk along the beach at the edge of the water line, fingers entangled together and bare feet in the sand was the perfect complement to their meal. They sprayed the caked mud off of their feet, slipped their shoes back on and headed back upstairs to the room. The following morning would be stressful, at the very least. JC hoped Shelby would sleep, some. Maybe he could help.

As soon as the door closed behind them, JC took control, pushing Shelby up against the door and stepping in to her, closer and closer until there wasn't a sliver of air between them. Body pressed against body, two sets of hands wildly explored, reaching and groping and pulling and squeezing. Mouths pressed together, tongues dancing and swirling and chasing one another while hungry groans rose, accompanied by dry, raspy gulps of air between fiery kisses.

His body ached for him, every nerve cell reaching toward her. The days away had been so much self imposed torture for the both of them. Now that he was there and near and within her grasp, she clutched him, clawing at him like she couldn't get enough of him, couldn't get to him fast enough. 

JC pressed, moving closer, spreading her legs with his feet and stepped between them, fitting himself into the new space he'd made. Shelby's hips seemed to move on their own, grinding into him as he leaned into her. A white hot pooling between her thighs and increased heartbeat turned her skin red like sunburn. His was already dewy with sweat, the pink hue of his skin complementing hers.

He pulled away, all except for his hands, which reached for hers. He led her, buckling knees and nodding head and half-open eyes across the carpet, past the bathroom, toward the bed, neatly made but not for long.

Shelby climbed up onto the bed, laying back, watching JC open the in-room refrigerator and pull several bottles of water. He set them on the nightstand and then went for his duffle bag, tossing a few small, square packages onto the table next to the water.

"Wow, someone came ready." Shelby asked, a hint of laughter to her voice while she watched him prepare.

"Not quite," he shot over his shoulder, settling on the edge of the bed and bending over.

"Oh, shit!” She fell back, laughing so hard she coughed. “I forgot that you can't just kick off your shoes in a fit of passion. You have to untie them." She laughed, kicking her own shoes off and flinging them across the room.

"You know what?" JC grinned, sitting up, and then with a few swift motions, two stark white sneakers flew across the room and landed near the wall. "There. I kicked my shoes off. Happy?"

"Very. Come here," she said her arms open wide. He climbed up onto the bed, into her arms, easing himself onto her. Her legs opened and wrapped around him, her arms closed around his neck, her lips sought his lips out and when they were found, plastered themselves to his.

When the fire of the kiss had faded slightly, they pulled back and just stared at each other. Smiling, laughing, tickling and teasing, flirting. Like old times. Like every other time they'd been together, but better. Because they'd be together that night. And the next day. And the day after. And every night until forever came, if JC got his way.  And he always got his way.

A thick finger traced a path of skin from her neck down into the zippered jacket of the jogging suit she wore forcing the zipper down until it revealed her bra and supple skin encased within it. "I don't think you missed me as much as I missed you. I thought I lost you. I was having a hard time dealing with that."

"You missed me?"

"Mmmhmmm," he hummed, his head dipping toward the swell of a breast, his lips lightly dancing over the skin. In the wake of his breath, more bumps erupted, and her nipples hardened anew, pressing against the prison of lace that was her bra. He pulled at the fabric, moving the cup aside and exposing the entire breast and angry red nipple, growing and reaching toward him in the coolness of the air conditioned room.

His mouth, warm and tender, closed over it, his tongue flicking expertly, the way she liked it. Her hips responded in the usual way, with a violent clench and a roll against him, pressed against her body.  He freed the other breast from the cup and gave it the same treatment, moving back and forth between the two.

"They missed you," Shelby purred, her hips working, rolling in a rhythm undefined.

"I missed them." His eyes rolled up to meet hers while he licked a thick stripe down her chest. "Wishing for some tequila and salt and lime right now."

"We can make do without it, can't we?"

JC smiled, his eyes only half open but sparkling. "I plan on it."

He went back to licking and sucking and flicking, while her breaths continued to come in short bursts, timed with the near desperate thrusts and rolls of her hips up and into him. He was rigid and long and perfectly placed between them, allowing the long simmer that had bubbled just under the surface to boil over into a loud, powerful, convulsive orgasm. Shelby's limbs tightened around him as she rocked against him, alternately groaning and yelping and muttering into his ear.

When she had calmed reasonably, but was still panting and glowing with a light sheen of sweat, JC sat up and pulled off his t-shirt, unbuttoned his jeans and kicked out of them. "Your turn," he said, teasing her with a grin, pulling at her clothes.

"I'm working on it," she grumbled, helping him pull the jacket off and the shirt down, and then unclasped her bra and pulled it off, too. Her clothes were dropped in a pile alongside the bed and two naked bodies rolled around on bed, free of any barrier of clothing or shyness or inhibition.

JC was reminded of that night, the first date, the first time they were together. The longing for her, wanting her, watching her and how she moved and how she was, with him. Like she couldn’t get enough of him, like she hadn’t had sex… good or otherwise... in a long, long time.

He understood so much, now. She had been hungry. Sex starved. She swallowed him up and came back for more. Every time with her seemed like that first time. He hoped this time would feel like that, too. A long awaited reunion full of passion and, most importantly, the promise of tomorrow.

Shelby seemed quiet, comparatively. Except for the very vocal orgasm, she didn't take on her usual role of goading and teasing, tossing banter back and forth, making sex with her fun and exciting. Maybe it had something to do with how he took over the situation as soon as they hit the room. She was giving control to him, letting him call the shots where she normally would.  

"How we doin'?" he asked, rolling on top again and squirming at the feeling of her legs closing around him.

"We are just fine," she said, her voice soft but carrying that sexy, sultry undertone that sent shivers up his spine and made the hairs on his nape stand on end. He dove into her, burying his face into her neck, nibbling and biting at her skin, her earlobes, her cheek, her chin, then beginning his descent down her body. Past her neck, where he took a moment to savor the dip at her throat. Down her chest, where he stopped to linger over one nipple and then the other, teasing her back to the simmering point. Further down, across her belly, the skin so smooth and soft, he just laid there a while, rubbing the pads of his fingers across from one side of her to the other.

Finally moving on, he crept past her belly button and lower belly to a mound of sensitive skin and nerve endings, the root of fire and passion. He took his time, laying light kisses along her thighs, savoring her skin and how it felt against his, and then moving back up to the whole point of his journey.

Soft, slow, gentle, tender at first, he teased her, his tongue working its way along the folds of skin and up to her clit, engorged and red. Shelby's legs opened further, her head tipped up, watching him. Her breath caught in her throat as he took the sensitive, red-hot bud into his mouth and played with it, his tongue stroking in a rhythm that did nothing to settle the boil. Shelby gasped, sucking in air, her hips arching toward him, hands flying to the back of his head, pressing him harder into her. This brought a moan from his throat and roll to his hips as he rubbed against the comforter that covered the bed. His dick was erect, rock solid beneath him, trapped between the warmth of his body and the give of the mattress, ready to explode, as soon as it made contact with something wet.

Hang in there, he told himself, circling his tongue around her clit, riding the movements of her hips as she bucked against his face, watching her breasts and eraser tipped nipples lift and roll, listening to her moan and grunt and beg, "don't stop. Please, please don't stop."

He had no intention of stopping. He followed his plan to ride it out until the end, until her body convulsed and her hips jerked and her toes curled. Until her hands closed around a tuft of his hair and her legs involuntarily closed around him and held him there. Until her cries grew in intensity and the volume reached a peak level and then when it was over, all she could do was lay there, limp and staring at the ceiling with a grin a mile wide on her face.

"And that's how we do it," he said, his grin cocky.

She seemed to do her best to lift her head, if only slightly. "Proud of yourself, aren't you?"

"Very. Really. Very. We still doing fine?"

"Oh, baby," she answered, venturing a roll to her side, where he'd climbed up and laid next to her, his lips already on her again. "I am more than fine."

"Grab some water. You sound parched." He nodded his head toward the bottles on the nightstand, just over her shoulder. "And grab one of those-you know what? You're weak. Nevermind.”

"You're really feeling yourself," Shelby said, giggling. JC sat up and reached over her, picked up two bottles and a square package and came back to rest beside her. He handed her one but she pushed it away and sat up.

"What? What's wrong?"

Shelby glanced at him with fire in her eyes and a teasing smile. "Nothing. Everything's right, for once."

JC was never much for foreplay and teasing. As much as he dished it out, if he was hard, he was ready. Shelby was the one that liked to play, to drag it out, to tease him to hell and back. Not this time. This time, she went straight for the jugular, moving down his body with a speed he'd never seen before. He almost didn't know what was going on, until one hand was wrapped around the base of his dick and the tip of him was in her mouth, being bathed by her tongue. In one fluid movement, she sank down onto him, his dick wrapped in warmth and wetness and pressure. Such good pressure.

He relaxed against the mattress, letting her work, his head lolled to the side, trying to watch but feeling his eyelids slide closed. The feeling was magic and ecstasy and elation, all in one big jumble, piling one onto another. Shelby knew what she was doing, and for the first time, JC was a little bit grateful for her past. What she'd been through in the years before she met him had created an incredibly skilled lover. He rather enjoyed reaping the benefits, especially when she could sense that he was on the edge and could feel him throbbing and pulsing.

He grunted, his hips moving on their own, thrusting into her mouth. Her eyes flicked up and caught his gaze. She smiled around him.

"Shit. Lookin' at you, your mouth full of my dick. Driving me crazy. Make me come, mama. Take me there."

Never one to turn down a request, Shelby obliged and increased the pressure. Her tongue swirled and her hand stroked and her mouth sucked, until his teeth clenched and his body curled and a long, loud, tortured grunt poured forth. Shelby made a sound, sort of a whimper but kind of a moan, watching him as he came, holding him in the warmth of her mouth until he was spent.

JC collapsed against the mattress, wiping sweat from his brow, heaving deep breaths. Then reached for her, pulling her up by her arms until they were face to face, then rolling them so he was on top again. 

"I can't wait," he said, laughing, scrounging around the bed for the square package he'd tossed aside when she made her move.  "I think you're laying on it."

"On what?"

"The condom. Sit up."

"You put me here. Now I have to move?"

"Shelby-Just... I don't know why I'm arguing with you" Shelby giggled as he practically picked her up off of the bed, retrieved the condom package and laid her back down.  "You're a bad girl. I just want you to know that." He ripped the package open and pulled out the latex ring and sheath, tossing pieces of wrapper in either direction around them and rolling it on.

She laughed, watching him, her eyes full of evil mischief. "A bad girl? Oh nooooo. I think you should teach me a lesson."

JC looked up from his task, his eyes focused on her. "Like I said. I plan on it."

"I'm shakin' in my... socks," she said, kicking a leg up.  

"Good," JC replied, climbing over her, moving her legs so he could get between them. "Because this is gonna be one memorable fuck, right here."

Shelby started to laugh, but it cut off as soon as JC lowered himself onto her, capturing her lips in his teeth, sucking on her bottom lip. She moaned, grabbing his face and kissing him back, playing with his tongue, volleying the kiss back and forth with feverish intensity. He dipped a hand between them and guided himself to her, his body reacting with a shudder at the sensation of being surrounded by her. Her back arched and her hips bucked, bringing him further inside. Her legs tightened, holding him to her as he began to move inside her.

Slowly at first, and then with building passion, they moved together as if they were one being. Joined at the mouth, bodies pressed against each other so closely their sweat mingled, hips thrusting into one another, legs tangled in each other. Shelby was the first to break the kiss, giving way to moans and random mutterings.

"I can't hear you," he said, moving above her, their bodies slapping together with a flat, smacking sound in perfect rhythm. "Tell me."

"Shit," was all she said. All she seemed to be able to utter, between pants and groans.

"That's it? Shit?"

"Shit!" She screamed, writing beneath him."You feel good, so fucking good to me. I missed this."

"That's more like it," he said, laughing, scooting up a little and then resuming his thrusthrusthrust into her. "You feel good, baby. This is how it should be, you know? You and me. Don't make me go without this again, okay?"

"Okay. Yes. Just... oh my GOD!" Shelby convulsed, her hips clenching, her nails digging into the skin of his shoulders. "Uhm!! Right there, baby. Right there. Please. Oh... God! Please make me come!"

"What do you think I'm doing up here?"

"Fuck," she said, with a laugh that turned into a desperate whinemoanwhimper. "Make me come. Please please please…."

Shelby was panting, heaving, glistening with sweat, her little body working hard. She unhooked her legs from around him and spread them wide, arching her body up to his, grabbing his hips and pulling him to her.

"Yeah!” She yelped. “Right there! Right there. Fuck yeah, that's right on my clit. Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't......shit! Unh! Yes! Fuck!"

JC felt like his dick had just been shoved into a clamp that was systematically tightening over and over. He watched the wave roll over Shelby like the tide, up and down and back up again. Every time it rolled, she clenched and yelped and jerked, milking him until the siren song of orgasm lured him in as well. Their cries and moans and grunts and laughs mixed in the air until there was nothing but sighs and whimpers and gulps. JC lay on top of a sedate Shelby, who appeared to be asleep except for the telltale smile on her face.

"Memorable indeed," she mumbled, without even opening her eyes.

"I told you. And there's more where that came from."

"Oh. Goody. I can't tell you how happy that makes me." Her eyes opened slowly, the brown in them glazed over."How about that water you offered and then didn't let me drink?"

He laughed. "Oh, nuh uh. Not my fault. You refused the water, trying to get at me. All hot in the ass over there." He sat up, retrieving the bottles of water that had rolled onto the floor amid all the activity, then laid beside her.

"I'll show you who's hot in the ass." She pointed at him, sitting up cross-legged on the bed, taking the open bottle that he offered and gulping down half of it.

“So… what do you think, Miss Shelby?”

She laughed. “Don’t call me that. Ever.”

“Okay,” he said, wincing at his flub. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I don’t want any reminder of Lucas or… anything… to mess this up. This is perfect, right here.”

“I agree. I think we should try to keep it perfect, you know?”

“Yeah. I know.”

“And…”

“And…” Her head rolled toward him, her eyes upward to meet his. “If you still want to make this official… I want that, too. Badly.”

He was both pleased and disappointed at the same time. It’ll come, he told himself. Be patient. It’ll come.

JC

He fully expected Shelby to be up and about, waiting for him to wake up, but when he yawned and stretched his arms out, his wrist brushed against soft hair. She laid next to him, on her stomach, her top half uncovered; bottom half beneath the sheets and thin hotel bedspread. 

He smirked to himself. Must have worn her out.

JC lay next to her and indulged in a few minutes of staring. From the tip of her head--disheveled hair spread around the pillow like a halo--to the long neck his eyes had crawled the first time he ever saw her in the dead of night at Publix. Her bare back, long and smooth and tanned, led to the curve of her bottom under the sheet and twin lumps of her thighs and further down, her calves and little feet. Her sleeping form held his attention for longer than he cared to admit. He was amazed, actually. It was daylight-broad daylight-and Shelby was still sleeping.

If she was anything like him, she hadn't slept well for a few nights. He yawned, careful not to be too loud or move too much, but she didn't budge. Her breaths were long and steady, in and out. In and out.

JC stared at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of the ocean, muted through the windows. Thinking about the whole long and drawn out story. Contemplating. 

Today’s the day. For Shelby’s sake, but especially mine, I hope it ends today. I need it to end today.   

The thoughts were nagging and annoying and relentless. Also useless. His brain was telling him to run like hell. His heart wouldn't let his feet move.

He rolled over and eased out of the bed, pulling the sheets and blanket back up, covering Shelby to her neck, then picked up his duffel bag and tip toed into the bathroom, closing the door softly behind him.

Minutes later, he emerged, clean and dressed, dropped his duffel bag back where he'd left it before, slid his wallet, keycard, and keys into his pocket. A quick glance over to the bed told him Shelby hadn't moved an inch. He watched her back, saw her take a deep breath in, and then out and then in and out again. Satisfied she was still asleep, he slipped out of the door.

Shelby

Her brain was foggy. A heavy blanket had been laid over her head, filtering everything out and keeping her from being able to think straight.

Ocean. She heard ocean. Peaceful, wonderful, blissful ocean. Had to be a dream, a dream about Miami, about being home, somewhere on the beach, maybe.  The blanket and the fog were lifting inch by inch, her mind was working, clicking and whirring and coming to life. Events from the past few days were starting to come back.

The package. JC. Miami. Robin. JC. The beach. JC. The confession. The hotel. JC.  

JC!

Shelby's eyes popped open and she sat up, springing onto her hands and knees, her eyes darting around the room. She was alone and it was dead quiet. The other side of the bed was mussed and sort of made up, the blankets and sheets merely pulled up. JC's bag sat in the same spot it was sitting the night before, but his wallet and keys were gone.

She flipped over in the bed, scooting back against the head board, pushing her hair back from her face, gathering her thoughts. She brought her knees to her chest, hugging them tight against her as the memory of the days before flooded her cobwebbed mind. She remembered now, telling him the story. Feeling relieved to get it out, feeling guilty for feeling relieved that he wasn't angrier, or that he hadn't stormed out, and he was sticking by her even though he shouldn’t.

A beep sounded outside the door and the handle jiggled before it opened. JC walked in, catching the door before it could click into the lock and pushed it closed. A paper bag rustled in his hand as he stepped lightly into the room and then stopped when he saw her.

"You're up," he said simply. "Finally. I kept watching you sleeping to make sure you were breathing." He set the bag on the edge of the bed and walked around to her side, settling gently on the edge. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead and then pulled back to look at her. His eyes began to cloud, and his forehead grew a few creases that weren't there moments ago. "You alright, Shelby? You feel okay?"

"I'm fine," she answered. "I'm okay. Where'd you go?"

"I was hungry,” he said, reaching for the bag and then opening it, unloading its bounty in her lap. "Got some quick, light stuff. Bagels, cream cheese, some fruit.” He glanced up at her and caught her wide eyes staring at him. “Well, I mean… the meeting starts at 10. We should eat something and then we should probably go.”

 "Thank you," she said, reaching for a mini-bagel, tinted blue from the berries. She ripped it in half and shoved the dry bread into her mouth. "Last night…JC… I wanted to say it..."

"Hey," he interrupted, stopping her with a hand on her arm. Her head shot up and her eyes met his. "Let's just... take this a little bit at a time, okay? Why don't you relax and eat? And then get dressed, okay?"

He dug a copy of the Miami Tribune out of the bag and then tossed the bag away.

“Chop chop, sleepy. We gotta move.” He climbed up onto the bed next to her, grabbed a muffin and bit into it. "By the way,” he said, grinning around a full mouth. “I never thought I would be calling you sleepy."

She laughed a little as she sat next to him, reading the paper over his shoulder, chewing on a bagel, thinking about the day. Me either.

"You know,” he said, turning the pages of the paper, scanning the headlines, “Breakfast was cheap on purpose.”  

She glanced up at him, wearing a confused, quizzical expression.

"I'm just saying. Don't get any ideas about taking my money. I squeeze every ounce out of every penny. I’m as cheap as they come. Maybe I’ll date you for your money.”

Shelby stared blankly at him for a moment. The mirth in his eyes was irresistible. So were the laugh lines around them and the creeping smile across his face and the hearty laugh that came from within him. He was trying.

Shelby appreciated it, more than he would ever know. Still, she elbowed him, stole the Life section from the paper, and muttered, "Shut up, JC. You couldn’t get any coffee?"

The conference room: a large and quiet corner suite. The conference table: long and glossy cherry wood. Eight cushioned leather chairs were seated around the long table in the expansive conference room in the corner suite at the Law Offices of Gold and Farmer. JC and Shelby were the first to arrive, impossibly early due to Shelby's nerves.

The receptionist showed them into the room, poured two delicate China cups of strong black coffee and slipped out of the room. And then there was quiet. JC and Shelby sat next to each other, watching the clock on the wall and waiting.  

After a few minutes of listening to minutes tick away and the traffic twelve stories below rush by, and the tip of Shelby's heel rhythmically tapping against the base of her chair, the door swung open and Robin swept in. She was dressed in black—her usual uniform in her power color—and her hair was drawn to a long ponytail banded at the base of her neck. Elegant and yet professional, Robin flashed a bright smile at the only other occupants in the room.

"Gee, Shelby," she scolded, laying a hand on her back, smoothing her hair down. "You look awfully nervous. You might want to pick up a game face between now and five minutes from now. The Trust Attorneys are on their way up from the lobby." Robin reached over Shelby and smiled brighter, if possible, sticking a hand out toward JC. "I'm Robin. It's a pleasure to meet you, finally."

"Same here," JC said with a nod and a firm handshake.

"Sorry it had to be under these circumstances, but I hope that after today, these circumstances can fade into the past." Robin took a seat at the head of the table and unloaded an armful of folders stuffed with papers, a notepad and a pen. She began sifting, handing copies to JC and Shelby. They turned the stack of pages detailing the history of Melina's antics since the accident, since Lucas' death, since she'd lost out on a portion of a multimillion dollar settlement.

"Do you think she'll fight? I mean, do you think she'll make us take this to court?"  Shelby flipped through page after page of familiar rants and false claims, shaking her head.

"Honestly? I don't know. I'd like to think she'll slink out with her tail between her legs but really there's no tell--" 

The door swung open again and the receptionist ushered in a wall of men in dark suits, white shirts and briefcases. Behind them entered a statuesque woman bearing a strong resemblance to Lucas. Shelby's heartbeat thumped in erratic, staccato rhythm. It had been ages since she'd seen Melina and the old fear was rising within her. If she could, she’d have got up from her seat and bolted down the hall to the bathroom, but it was too late. Melina was in the room.

The passage of time had not been kind. Her once jet black, mid back length hair was stringy and graying. Crow’s feet etched deeply into puffy skin surrounding eyes that used to be bright, despite their dark color but were now dull and listless. Melina made it a point to sit directly across from her, set her mouth in a scowl made an attempt to stare Shelby down.

Shelby laughed. Loudly. Over and over, laughter bubbled up from inside her. She tried again and again to stop herself but it just kept coming. With laughter came an easing of her nerves and dissipation of fear. Melina looked poor and desperate and crazy.

Let's get this show on the road. I have a life to get back to.

"If Ms. Coster is quite finished, I think we're ready to call this meeting to order." What must have been the lead attorney for the Samuels Trust spoke strongly and with confidence, but was obviously unamused. Shelby didn't blame him, so she stifled her laughter and folded her hands together in front of her on the table.

"I'm quite finished, thank you. My apologies, and nice to see you, Peter."

He nodded but didn't smile; rather, he turned his attention to Robin.  "Let's get down to brass tacks. Your client won a settlement, a rather large one, as a result of the death of Mr. Samuels. His heir, Ms. Samuels--" he gestured toward Melina, who made a good show of sorrowfully casting her eyes down toward the table. "-- feels that the Trust should have received a portion of said settlement. In fact, there was an expectation of such. This payment never came to fruition. Instead, your client fled the city and lived under a pseudonym for six months, where we can only assume she was hoping to evade attempts to collect."

Robin was not flustered in the least. "We’re assuming, now? Then can I assume that you have an agreement detailing the terms of the split of the settlement, signed by my client, myself, your clients and the Trust Attorneys?"

Peter faltered—they had to know Robin was going to ask for that! "Our understanding was that the agreement was verbal and that your client failed to sign--"

"Then can I assume that you have an audio or video tape of my client agreeing to the split, and a notarized, signed transcript... yadda yadda... you see where I'm going with this, right?"

"Certainly, Ms Gold, we’re aware that no paper trail exists, however, Ms Coster was directly involved in the death of Lucas Samuels. She received an inheritance from his estate, then sued the tire manufacturer and because of his death, received quite a large sum in settlement. It's virtually a slap in the face to the Samuels family for her to not at least repay the portion of an inheritance that should have gone to his ex-wife, his children, his charities."

Peter's ocean blue eyes moved from Robin and focused on Shelby, staring her down the way lawyers stare down the opposing counsel's witness. "At the very least, Shelby-- Ms Coster-- you owe it to the Samuels family to return what you never should have inherited."

"I owe the Samuels family nothing," Shelby said, calmly. "I sued the tire manufacturer because I bought a faulty, shoddily manufactured set of tires. Those tires were installed on my car and hours later, were the cause of a fatal accident. Even if Lucas had..."

Shelby swallowed, almost stumbling over her words, but regained her footing easily. "Even if Lucas hadn't have died, you and I know well that he would have done the same. And he wouldn't have distributed a settlement among the family. I took what Lucas left for me, just like every other member of the family—“

A scuffle came from across the table. Melina was standing, pointing across the table at Shelby, screeching, “You were never family, you slut! Money hungry, gold digging whore!”

Shelby reared back. Peter stood, gripping Melina’s forearm tightly and leaned over her. He whispered something coarse and gruff. Whatever he said made her sit, yank her arm from his grip and huff a breath, arms folded across her chest.  Peter sat again, nodding at Shelby.

“Like I was saying, I didn’t take anything from anyone. I accepted what Lucas wanted me to have, because he thought enough of me to want me taken care of. I won’t apologize that my fiancé loved me. You want to talk about undeserved, though? Some light reading." Shelby slid the stack of pages across the table toward him. He stopped the slide with the palm of his hand and flipped through a page or two.

"A working history of every lie, every deceitful word Melina has spread about me and my family since Lucas died, since I was named in the will, since the settlement came in. Copies of the intrusive note that she sent to Mr. Chasez--” Shelby nodded toward JC. JC nodded, shyly, at the men across the table. Melina’s eyes grew to the size of saucers once she realized the man sitting next to Shelby wasn’t another attorney, but the celebrity she’d tried to use to bring Shelby down.

“In her haste to destroy and defame me, she involved a high powered household name in something that was not his concern, and dropped him into the middle of a controversy. That was dirty warfare. This isn’t his fight. And if the Samuels family felt they deserved part of that settlement, there should have been less assumption and more motion filing, more contract writing. The time for begging for what must amount to a penny in the pockets of the Samuels Enterprise was back then. If you think you can force my hand now, think again. Not now, not ever.”

Shelby sat back, aware of the stares in the room, all eyes on her. Robin toyed with her pen, a slight smile on her face.  "So what we're saying here today is... it's not happening. There will be no disbursement of funds from the Bridgestone vs. Coster settlement. Ever. Furthermore…"  Robin opened a folder and slid another stack of pages across the table, distributing copies down the line to Melina and every lawyer.

"This is a Cease and Desist order, signed and sworn before the Honorable Judge Henry Farmer, barring Melina from mentioning the settlement, the inheritance, or my client, ever again. No interviews, no internet postings, no public rants. No TV shows, no radio shows, no blog posts. Ms Samuels will simply fade from Ms Coster's life. Effective immediately.”

“Not on your life, fucking whore!” Melina spat. “I’ll take you to court and sue you blind. Your great grandchildren will owe me money!”

Robin smiled. “I anticipated that to be your next move. I’d rethink it. We’ll countersue for harassment. You provided all of the evidence by being stupid enough to identify yourself, even when you sent the package to Mr. Chasez. And the Pièce de résistance… "

She reached into the folder once more, pulling out yet another stack of pages.  She handed a set to Shelby and JC, a set to Melina, and a set to Peter. Shelby glanced at the top page and nearly jumped out of her seat when she read it.

THE STATE OF FLORIDA

PLAINTIFF

VS.

MELINA SAMUELS

DEFENDANT

COMPLAINT FOR THE CRIME OF THEFT

The date on the document showed that it had been filed with Florida Courts nearly a decade ago. Behind the top page was a long, detailed description of every item that Melina had been accused of stealing from an upscale department store. And behind that, several more stamped official court documents:

COMPLAINT FOR THE CRIME OF CHECK KITING, THEFT

COMPLAINT FOR THE CRIME OF FORGERY

COMPLAINT FOR THE CRIME OF FRAUD

Smug, Robin said, “Feel free to skip to the end of the story. I love happy endings.”  A flurry of pages rose as everyone flipped to the last set of documents, stapled together. It was the most recent, filed almost a month prior to the arrival of the FedEx package on Shelby’s doorstep and into JC’s hands.

UNITED STATES BANKRUPTCY COURT

DISTRICT OF FLORIDA

CHAPTER 7 ORDER RE: DISCHARGE AND ORDER DISCHARGING TRUSTEE AND CLOSING CH.7 “NO ASSET” ESTATE.

Shelby’s draw nearly dropped to the table. Her head jerked up toward JC, who was still reading, but his eyes were growing bigger and his brows were drawing closer together and the lines across his forehead sank deeper and deeper. He tossed the pages down, the stack hitting the table with a satisfying thunk. So much proof that Shelby was doing the right thing.

“Lucas was paying off your debts, off the books,” JC said, giving a cold, hard stare to Melina. She turned a crimson red and stared back. “He paid off the courts system to shuffle this through without any fanfare-- he didn’t want this to hit the press. You were paying restitution, but he was giving you money to live on and to make the payments until every creditor was paid back for what you stole. Am I close?”

Melina swallowed, but didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. Each of the five suits at the table stared down at the glossy surface of the table.

“Let’s see if I can fill in the blanks.” Robin stood and clasped her hands behind her back. She began a slow pace across the front of the room as she laid out the story.

“We can see from the multiple court filings that magically fell through some huge crack in the justice system, as well as a forensic analysis of Lucas Samuels’ finances that Lucas was the only thing standing between Melina and prison time, for everything from theft of merchandise to forgery to trying to cash checks from her father’s account. In fact, a review of the Last Will and testament of Lucas Samuels shows that not only did he recently add Shelby to his will, but he removed you. Didn’t he, Melina?”

The stricken expression across Melina’s face said everything. Robin had stumbled upon a gigantic Lucas family controversy. “And he wouldn’t add you back until you proved you were trustworthy, by taking the money he gave you and making the restitution payments. Only… when Lucas died, your source of income dried up. Your creditors came calling and when it was time for the disbursement of the Estate, which you must have been eagerly anticipating, you learned that you got nothing. It must have burned you up to know that your dad’s fiancée got something, but Lucas left you nothing.

“Then came the settlement, which I bet you were excited about, because while you were removed from the will, you weren’t removed from the family. Whatever came to the Samuels family would be split evenly and you’d get your portion. When that didn’t come and Shelby came up missing, you must have lost your mind.”

“It wasn’t fair!” Melina slapped a hand loudly against the table, her puffy face beet red. “I was working hard to get back in my dad’s good will. That whore spent a couple of years under him and took what was mine. Then got rich off of his death and didn’t even have the decency to share with the family she took him from!”

“You can stop your client from calling my girlfriend a whore any time, now.” Shelby blinked, then blinked again, then smiled in JC’s direction. He looked irritated, his jaw twitching and eyes sparking.  “Feel free to jump in.”

Peter leaned over to his client and mumbled a few words to her. She cut her eyes at him and then rolled them, tossing her head away. Robin was behind Melina, talking over her head, hulking around her. Melina had shifted in her seat several times, finally swatting at Robin to get her to back up. The wall of Attorneys looked on in awe and – Shelby was just guessing—surprise. Shelby wasn’t surprised in the least. This was how Lucas Samuels worked—several irons in the fire and none of them knew about each other.

“Get real, sister,” Robin said, her words raining down around Melina. “If anyone thought Shelby killed Lucas, she’d be in jail right now. With no money coming in, you were forced to file bankruptcy. You thought Shelby was in the wind, but then got word that she was in Orlando. Your greed reared its ugly head and you scraped together enough money for a private investigator, who found her living under an assumed name. You located the man she was dating, Mr. Chasez, and saw that he, too was worth millions. You figured you’d expose Shelby to him and shame her into giving you what you want and then you could live on that money, since your creditors couldn’t come after you for it. Considering Mr. Chasez is sitting on Ms. Coster’s side of the table, and you still have no money, that didn’t quite work out for you, did it?”

Shelby gulped, almost audibly, and glanced at JC. His head turned slightly, a glint in his eye. I told you, he seemed to be saying. She would have won. Shelby unclasped her hands and slid one under JC’s arm. He covered her hand with his, adding a few soothing pats.

Melina fidgeted, breathing heavy. Her eyes darted from Peter, at whom she shot daggers, to Shelby and JC across the table. She couldn’t hold her gaze, though and her eyes dropped again.

“What this amounts to is another Melina Samuels scam. We’re not falling for it.” Robin made her way back to her seat and settled into it. “Melina agrees to drop this fruitless effort, and we won’t go public with this entire story. How many people would do business with Samuels Enterprises if they knew his daughter was a white collar felon with a rap sheet as long as my arm?”

Peter rolled his chair from the table, turning his back to Robin. Three other attorneys stood and huddled around him and a blushing, fuming Melina. Peter whispered, Melina hissed back, Peter seemed to threaten her, pointing and then throwing up his hands, shaking his head at her.

Shelby glanced at JC and he shrugged, quietly watching the exchange. She didn’t know what those signs meant, but hoped they signaled something good. After a few minutes of hushed conversation, he wheeled back to the table.

“Considering all of the facts—or lack thereof, we think your proposal is reasonable. We only ask that the gag order go both ways. This meeting should be deemed to be on the level of a Grand Jury hearing and is therefore strictly confidential. It cannot be discussed, so Ms. Coster is not to speak on the proceedings, the topics of conversation, or the outcome at any time.”

Robin glanced over at me. I glared at Melina. “I have no problem never mentioning Melina or the Samuels family ever again. Deal. But if Melina talks, a whole stack of unmentionables will hit the press. I’ll definitely make sure nothing is swept under the rug. Control your client.”

Peter stood, picking up his briefcase. Robin stood as well, shook hands with him and walked him to the door. They mumbled details to each other about faxes and agreements and signatures. Peter led the trail of attorneys with dark suits and briefcases back out of the office. Melina followed like a defeated black sheep—head down, shoulders sagging, slow plodding steps out of the room and down the hall out of sight.

 “Wow.” JC leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, rubbing his eyes with his thumbs. “That was intense.”

Shelby exhaled a long, loud breath, wilting from the stress and strain of the past week. “Wow is right. I’m in… just… shock. You were right… she was penniless.”

“Did you know all that? All this?” JC pointed toward the now dog-eared pages. There were several documents Shelby had marked to read.

“Bits and pieces. Lucas was very protective over private family business. We almost never discussed it. I see why, now.” Shelby glanced through the stacks again, her eyes roving page after page. “You did a great job, Robin.”

Robin shrugged with a small but proud smile. “All in a day’s work. I had to figure out what made Melina tick. I always knew it was money, but she sank her teeth in just a little too deeply. She was too passionate and crazy. Once I reviewed Lucas’ accounts, I pieced things together. I think the Trust attorneys knew there was no case. They just hoped we were too dumb—and scared to figure it out. And I bet Melina promised them a nice payday once she got her money.”

“Popped a hole in that balloon,” JC said. Shelby and Robin laughed, staring at him. “What?”

“Nothing, JC. Just… nothing. ” Shelby wrapped both hands around his arm and laid her head on his shoulder. “Is it over? Really over?”

“Seems like it,” JC said softly, leaning down to brush his lips across her forehead. He looked up to find Robin watching them. “Is it? Can we go home?”

She nodded, gathering papers and folders together and stood, heading toward the door. “There will be an agreement coming over the fax to seal the deal. I’ll need Shelby to sign it, but I can send it by messenger anywhere. If I were the two of you, I’d get the hell out of Miami. Go live your life, Shelby. You’re free.”

JC

No one could have been more relieved than JC. As brave as he was trying to be, Shelby—and he—had dodged a bullet. It would have been nasty, had Robin not dug deeper and found everything she’d found out Melina, her past, and what Lucas had tried to hide from not only his fiancée, but the world and possibly himself.

Suddenly, and almost unbelievably, it was over. Or it seemed to be. Time would tell, if Melina would really fade, or if she was crazy enough to keep going. JC was betting she was off her rocker, but not that crazy. That was a big bet that he hoped paid off.

Life was a flurry of activity, after leaving Robin’s office. To the bank, to redeposit the check she’d withdrawn. To the hotel, to check out. And back to Hollywood, to the quaint Spanish style stucco home where Shelby was more herself than anywhere… to pack up her clothes and say goodbye to her parents.

“But we hardly saw you,” Renee whined, watching Shelby pile clothes into her suitcase. “And we didn’t get to spend any time with JC…”

“I need to get back to class if I’m graduating in June. And it’s not like we’re never coming back.” Shelby shook her head and surveyed her suitcase and then the room, making sure she didn’t forget anything.

“Yeah, like I said, I’m down here for New Year, every year. We’ll be back in a few weeks.”

“And you’ll stay here, not some hotel?”  JC glanced at Shelby. Shelby glanced at JC. They grinned at each other. Renee rolled her eyes. “Whatever, you two. Here is better than the backseat of the car, isn’t it?”

“But it’s not better than the hotel. This bed is small. We’ll see, mom. We’ll see.” Shelby closed her suitcase and whipped the zipper around. JC moved in to grab it, slid it off of the bed and headed toward the door.

“I’ll let you two have your moment.”  He made his way down the narrow staircase with Shelby’s suitcase. At the landing, Bob was waiting on him. JC set the suitcase down and extended a hand. Bob shook it, his grip strong.

“Pleasure meeting you, son.”

“You too, sir.”

“Got a lot of respect for you. Shelby…” His eyes rolled upward, as if he could see her through the ceiling above them, in her room. “She can be difficult. We made her that way, I suppose. I appreciate you seeing through the things that she’s done to the woman she is. She’s an incredible person. I want you to know that. I want you to know her.”

“I’m gonna do my best to dig in and do that. If she’ll let me.”

Bob clapped him on the shoulder, letting out a garbled chuckle. “She may not let you do very much. Push her. It’ll be good for her.”

JC laughed along, nodding his head, reaching for the handle of her suitcase. “I’ll keep that in mind, sir. And when she gets mad at me, I’ll just tell her…”

“I didn’t say a word…”

He walked away, his hands up, mumbling and laughing to himself. JC wrestled the suitcase out the door on his own and dropped it into the trunk of Shelby’s car. Right behind him, the door opened and Shelby came out. Bob and Renee followed her. JC laughed to himself. They were so clingy—but it was beautiful to see.

“Drive the speed limit, now. None of this going ninety miles an hour, like when you drove down here. And call me when you get to Orlando. And let me know when you’re coming back.”

Shelby turned when she reached the car, dumped her purse in the driver’s seat and opened her arms. “Mom… hug me and go back in the house before you start crying.”

JC looked on, amused as Renee and then Bob and then Renee again hugged Shelby, showering her with kisses and strokes to her hair until she got flustered and ducked into the car. He took his cue to slide into the passenger seat next to her. He’d just closed the car door when she turned the key in the ignition, yelled, “Bye!” out of her window and began to back out of the driveway.

“Ye gods. It was like I was leaving for college, or something.”

JC laughed. “They love you. I think they’re great.”

Shelby rolled her eyes, ran a hand through her hair, and adjusted her sunglasses. And then smiled. “They’re pretty great, huh? I love them back.”

JC reached toward the CD player and pressed play. “What do you have in here?”

“The Greats,” Shelby answered. “Not that what you do isn’t real music, but this…” She smiled, wistful as the smooth, silky voice of Frank Sinatra poured from the speakers, seeping into the air. “This is real music, to me. Passionate and big. Instrumental. It’s one of the things Lucas and I had in common.”

“And you and I do. This is the stuff that makes it even possible for me to do what I do. I owe my career to some of these cats.”

JC turned the music down, very slightly, and settled into his seat. The drive to Orlando from Miami would be an easy one. He had Shelby by his side and a few weeks of peace before he would have to think about Rod and the band and work and a tour. It felt good to be going home.

Yep. Orlando was home. LA would soon become a distant memory.

“JC…” Shelby stared ahead, watching the road, but behind her shades, her eyes blinked rapidly. She swallowed, over and over.

“Hunh? What’s wrong? Shelby?”

“Just…nothing. Nothing’s wrong. Why does something always have to be wrong?”

“Well, you called my name and then you look all… like something’s wrong. What?”

“I just… I love you, okay? That’s it.”

He stared at her profile for a few seconds before a flippant, “I knew that,” fell out.

“Well, good.” Shelby exhaled, her shoulders dropping the tension, her chest relaxing, her fingers loosening in their white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel. “Now I know it, too.”

JC directed his attention ahead of them, at the road and began to smile, bobbing his head to the music. After a few minutes, Shelby let one of her hands drop from the steering wheel and land in his lap. He grabbed it up like it was a prize, wound his fingers between hers and clutched the jumble of hands to his chest.

“Love you too, you know.”

“Yeah.” Shelby smiled and nodded. “I knew that, too.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Are you… are you in love with me?”

Shelby inhaled, deeply. He waited, almost holding his breath. She answered, finally. “More than you might ever know, JC.” She shook her head, lost in her thoughts, not even realizing how much relief she’d just given him. “More than you’ll ever know.”

The following year, mid-summer

JC

“What do you think, boss?” JC stood at the front of the room, arms crossed, a thumb working his bottom lip. Deep in thought, he barely heard Rod’s question until he repeated it. “JC? Whatcha thinkin’? We did every song. No big mistakes. Sounds good. Feels epic. But you’re the boss. We ready?”

JC paced from one end of the room to the other, in front of the makeshift stage. He’d taken a leap, with this job. A huge one. He had no idea what he was doing, no idea what a Music Director was even supposed to do, or be. Rod gave him full reign and all of his trust and a year later, there was an album with his songs on it and in a few weeks, a tour that he’d put together. Things were falling into place and if JC hadn’t have been so calculated, planning every step, every move, every note, he’d have been scared shitless.

Hell, he was still scared shitless. But they were ready.

He pulled his thumb from the corner of his mouth, lifted his eyes to the four band members staring at him, waiting for an answer. “Well,” he said, approaching his music stand, slapping the pages together in a jumbled stack and then climbing down from the platform. “I think it’s time for a drink. Let’s celebrate.”  

Shelby

“Swank-y!”

The loud voice and low wolf whistle behind her was as familiar to her as her own voice, but Shelby was still surprised to hear it. Her first customer, on the first day of Grand Opening Week at Shelby’s was none other than JC and his merry band of musicians—Rod, Duke, Sam and Cole. JC had brought them all, in lieu of tour rehearsal to have a drink at Shelby’s bar. This was a big deal, she realized. JC was all about work.

“Welcome to Shelby’s. I’m Shelby!” 

JC laughed as she came around the shiny, waist high bar. She slid her arms around him, tipped her head up and let JC’s lips drop onto hers. She savored the kiss with a hum from deep inside her while she kissed him back. When they finally pulled away from each other, she waved to the other guys, standing in the middle of the bar and gawking at every little thing.

“I’m so proud of you, honey. It looks great in here. Smells great. Brand new.”

He kicked a toe against the gleaming wood floor, roved an eye over to the tall tables and chairs littering one section and the lounge-like area at the opposite end, lined with comfortable, plush couches and chairs. A fireplace with hearth seating separated the two spaces. In the winter, Shelby imagined people would sprawl around it, soaking in the heat of the fireplace on either side, perched on pillows with their glasses of wine or port, shots of whiskey or bottles of beer while waitresses made their way around with baskets of pretzels and trays of hors d'œuvres.

Shelby’s was her dream. Everything she loved about the place that sparked her vision and everything she’d wished it had been, she poured into her own creation. Building the bar, creating the menu, designing the décor and the drinks and the ambiance did wonders for absolving the long standing guilt she’d held over… everything. Her relationship with Lucas that was so wrong but in some ways, so right. His death and her hand in it. The Settlement, the confrontation with Melina, but most especially how JC made her stand up and fight for herself. All of it gave her strength, strength she’d poured into every floorboard, every tile, every beer tap and every bottle of top shelf alcohol lining the wall of the bar.

She’d made it. And she was proud of herself.  

“What’s a Lucas?” Rod was studying the selection of Spirits, his finger running down the list.

“It’s a scotch,” Shelby answered. “Top shelf.”

The band crowded around a table, laughing and telling jokes to and about one another. More than one joke centered on JC, but he laughed along and took it all in stride. Shelby kept leaving the table because she was working, welcoming each guest as the hostess, making her rounds to see that everyone was taken care of. The background music to the dull roar of conversations going on around them varied from jazz to classic rock to big band to pop. For shits and grins, Shelby put on Evil Side of Me and watched Rod beam with pride during the entire three and a half minutes it played.

“Might have created a monster,” JC said, when the song went off, the music switched back to rock, and Shelby reclaimed her seat next to him.

“How so?”

“Well, I’m just saying. It’s a good thing we leave on tour in a few weeks. You play Rod Phillips in here. Rod Phillips likes to hear Rod Phillips. You’ll never get rid of him, now.”

The table erupted in laughter, high fives slapping all around.

“Hey, if Rod Phillips brings me customers, I’ll play Rod Phillips all day.”

“So is it gonna be weird for you to run this place?” Rod asked, downing his second Lucas of the night. “I mean, a barkeep is pretty much a nocturnal job. Like ours. It’s not unusual for us to be getting out of work when people are just getting up. I mean, you know, from dating JC, here.”

“It’s something we’ve I have always had in common.”  She smiled, glancing over at him, sliding a hand across his lap. “Did JC ever tell you how we met?”

“No, never heard it.”

“Well, it’s the story of how a pop star, doing his own grocery shopping at 5 in the damned morning, was leering at an innocent fellow shopper suffering from insomnia. She was just seeking a little distraction and here was this dirty old man was staring at her ass from behind an end-cap—“

“Oh, here we go,” JC said, rolling his eyes, holding up his hands in defense against the already building laughter. A waitress stopped by to drop a basket of pretzels and a tray of nachos in the middle of the table, gather the empties and take orders for refills. Shelby nodded at her, laughing along with everyone else, enjoying the happy moment.

“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it until the end of time. I was not staring at your ass...”