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.