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Thanks, That Was Fun...

By: RenegadeBelle



Dizzy.

That was this feeling. There'd been dozens of feelings in the past three hours – no, thousands – but this one was dizzy. Jane closed her eyes, willing the world to stop spinning, and then opened them again, blinking. The wild black and white designs in front of her eyes caused her to blink several more times, and she groaned, shifting, only to find her head strapped to something... she couldn't move her head... 

"Whaa.." she groaned, rolling her eyes forward. Brown... wood. And brass plating. A kickboard.

"..I swear to God, she is so..." a voice drawled into her mind, slowly unraveling, the words being followed far too slowly by comprehension. 

"Jane!" the words should have sounded more like panic, not... amusement. Everything was blurry, and slow, and there was something dark and heavy on her forehead. This wasn't funny. This was...

"Oh em gee..." a third voice intoned, and a wild thought crept in to Jane's mind. Aliens. Had to be.

Suddenly, the slow motion sped up as she tried again to lift her head. 

The sound of the skin on her forehead separating from the sticky substance on wood suddenly made sense. 

Oh. 

Lifting, that was the trick. 

Sound erupted into her ears as her butt slid off the barstool, her forehead coming up off the varnished, smooth wood of the bar. The lights that had previously played on the floor were now obvious – from a lamp post on the street outside. When the door opened as someone came or went, it reflected off the massive mirror behind the bar and through the various liquids in various glasses in front of her. As soon as the light was explained, the sounds around her began to make sense, and – Lucy was right. This was funny. Really funny.

"I thought you were aliens," she croaked out, laughing, the blur in front of her face that of her three friends making the situation even more hysterical to her. Too late, she realized the bar stool really was moving backwards, and without her – the thwack of the wooden stool upon the tile was nothing compared to the sound of her laugh being cut off abruptly as her ass hit the floor, being quickly followed by a loud groan.

Her friends couldn't breathe, they were laughing so hard, as Matt reached down and tried to help her up. Lucy's hand was beating down on the wooden bar, a sound completely overridden by the noise and music in the bar. 

"Oh, for FUCK'S SAKE," she said, then regretted it, as Matt hauled her too quickly to her feet. No, not regret. Again, and just as suddenly, this was funny, too.

"I swear to God," Matt gasped between laughs, "I can hear the whiskey rolling around in her head..."

Lucy still hadn't caught her breathe, tears streaming down her cheeks as she was bent nearly double – though not completely. She had to keep her drink steady in her hand. 

Matt latched Jane onto the bar, where she held on for dear life as he went back to retrieve her stool. Suddenly, Carrie's hand reached out and grabbed Jane's.

"Jane," she laughed.

Jane tried to un-blur her eyes, but the end effect was just a confused look on her face as she tried to focus on her friend.

"Jaaaane," Carrie sang.

Jane weaved again, as Lucy laughed harder. 

"JANE," she nearly screamed it.

"WHAT" was the reply.

"...I swear," Carrie tried to whisper, just as drunkenly, giggling, "I don't think anybody saw you fall..."

****

Ridiculous. Atrocious, ridiculous, juvenile. 

And, of course. Painful.

Lucy stood very still by the coffee pot, looking seriously at the window over the sink. Matt lay stretched out on top of the counter, a coffee mug also in his hand, his arms folded over his chest as if he were lying in state.

Carrie's head was on the kitchen table, sitting with equal stillness, her legs stretched out in front of her, a coffee cup near her right hand. 

Jane walked into the room very slowly, the hood on her pull-over yanked down past her eyes.

The swinging door that lead from the kitchen out into the living room creaked as she moved through it. It was a perfectly normal sound in this kitchen, but today, the effect was thunderous. Three bleary, angry, blood-shot pairs of eyes looked at her accusingly.

"Shhhhhh..." Matt said softly, closing his eyes again. It was as if he'd barely moved.

"Oh, you 'shhhhhh'," Jane bit back, though just as quietly.

"Both of you, shut up," Carrie groaned.

"That bird will not be quiet," Lucy said in a whisper, her eyes returning back to the kitchen window. "Do we still have that BB gun?"

Carrie snorted, her head thumping back to the table top, a sound quickly followed by a four letter word. 

"I may regret asking this," Jane said, cradling her head in her hands. "But, I have to get it out there..."

"What?" Matt asked. Her three friends broke their separate silent, uncaring, pain-laced vigils to look at her.

"Why, y'know, in the hell, does my ASS hurt so badly?"

All four of them burst out into laughter, but it was short lived, and followed up quickly by curses and winces.

Jane's head slid down the table opposite Carrie, and sighed. She remembered falling off the stool in Weaver's Pub. She remembered yelling over the music with her friends. Jane could vividly recall the first of 5 shots of Jim Beam, and the slamming of four sets of shot glasses back onto the bar at the end of each pull. She remembered walking in, giving Doug, the bar guy, her credit card and the number to call when they needed to be pulled off the floor. She remembered walking in and squeezing onto a stool with her friends at the corner of the bar. The night's events filed into succession, going backwards as if a tape being rewound. The cab that picked her up outside her office, Carrie, Lucy and Matt already crammed into the backseat. Remembered calling them, telling Lucy in no uncertain terms to circle the wagons and line the livers, it was time to drink. And then, she remembered why.

"Oh, God," Jane said, lifting her head slightly. "Luke."

Her friends looked at her again; their faces were still in pain, but it was for her, this time, not their own hangovers. 

She remembered then, as the tape in her mind finally queued up and was set to play, circling back around to the elevator, remembering that the file in her hand was meant for her boss to look over. She'd muttered a curse, the work day having been over for two and a half hours already. Not to mention it was Friday. And Rachel, the senior editor, never stayed late on Fridays. Jane had raced down the hallway, hoping to catch the cleaning staff vacuuming in order to get the file onto her desk for Sunday afternoon, when Rachel would come in and start getting organized for Monday morning. It contained Tom Jennings' portfolio, and she'd promised she would get the senior editor to look it over. Jogging through the dark bullpens that lead to the long glass interior hallway, and finally Rachel's office, Jane suddenly slowed, seeing the light in the office still on.

"Thank you heaven," she said, catching her breath. 

It wasn't until her hand was on the doorknob, and turning it, that she heard a sound that made her blush from her hair to her toes. As the door swung open, she looked in to see her boss, the unflappable Rachel Jarrett, having an orgasm on her desk. And by the sounds of it, an incredible one. 

Jane couldn't help it. A shit eating grin popped up on her face, and was gone just as quickly – Rachel'd called out her lover's name, the man on top of her, as they came together. Jane's stomach plummeted. She knew that sound.

Hell, she'd made that sound, said that name, just this morning. 

A number of things then happened at once. Rachel, gasping for breath and red-faced, looked over at the door, the same time as the blonde man on top of her. Rachel screamed, covering herself as she fell from the desk. And Luke, her Luke, stared at her as if she'd just popped into existence, his mouth agape. It was almost like a pantomime. If Jane hadn't just walked in on her boyfriend screwing her boss, she'd of laughed at their faces. As it was, however, she had just walked in on her boss screwing her boyfriend. Her boyfriend, the one she'd been running through hallways in heels trying to hurry up and finish work for. The boyfriend that was supposed to be at her apartment, waiting for her. The tape in her mind seemed to speed up a bit, but Jane had a sinking feeling that her reaction was real-time. Words she hadn't uttered in five years, words she didn't even know she still remembered, flew from her mouth as she walked over to the desk that now held her naked, sweating boyfriend, staring at her like a banshee. She remembered pushing him off the desk, kicking him, cursing Rachel, and hitting him with the soft brown briefcase in her hand as he huddled, half trying to say the stupid things that people say when they're caught like this, half trying to cover his vital parts from her blows. 

And just as suddenly, as the tape replaying the events of the previous afternoon whirled on, Jane hadn't been able to breathe, and she'd turned on her heel and stomped out of the office, back through the bullpen, and to her own office, where she slammed and locked the door behind her. 

Jane sat at the desk for several long, slow minutes. She'd been so angry she could've vomited. The images flashed back to her, of the cool, powerful Rachel Jarrett, her usually slick, short black hair flung out behind her, the expensive suit she'd worn that day scattered around her office. Luke, her boyfriend of two years, pumping – God, Jane was actually going to vomit. 

Tamping down the urge, her anger heightening, she'd picked up the office phone, called Lucy, and then slammed her briefcase down on her desk. The next twenty minutes were spent systematically pulling manuscripts from the two massive filing cabinets in her office, slamming the drawers shut as she dropped them into her briefcase. The sound must have carried through the empty office floor, as by the time she'd reached the last drawer, Luke Sonofabitch Keller was pounding on her office door. It was so... Jane flashed to Dennis Quaid trying to explain to Julia Roberts. Bullshit. Total, utter bullshit. 


When Jane did finally open the door of her office, Luke took several steps back as she emerged with that crazy, out-of-her-mind, seven-different-way-of-pissed-off look on her face that he'd seen directed at other people, but never himself. She walked out and past him, clutching a briefcase overflowing with paper to her chest, using her hip to open the door to the stair well and marching down them, Luke following behind her, silent at first, in the face of her rage. As he realized she wasn't going to turn around and wail on him, he sped up, trying to catch her arm, and by the time she was walking through the lobby, he was hot on her heels, saying things that only incensed her further. 

"Baby, listen, you don't understand," he said, pleading with her. 

Jane stopped walking and stood on the busy sidewalk, and he stepped in front of her. His blue eyes pleaded with her, a lost-little-boy look that made her suddenly want to throw up again. Or hit him in the face. 

God, help me. Was there ever a time that that weak-ass look on his face actually worked on me?

The thought was gone as the cab overladen with her troops slid to a stop by her, the door popping open for her. 

"Janey, you can't just go, without letting me explain," he whined.

Jane threw the briefcase into the cab, and rounded on him. He took several quick steps back. 

"Okay, fine," she said, her voice like ice. Loud ice. People had abandoned the furtive looks at the woman, clearly so angry she was about to scream, being wheedled by a barefoot man in nothing but a wrinkled, open pair of khaki pants. Now, they just stopped and stared openly.

"Go ahead," she continued. "Tell me that I'm overacting. Ooh! I've got it. It's a good one. Ready? Tell me this – Tell me, baby, sweetie, that it wasn't what it looked like," she have a harsh, false laugh. "Yeah. Tell me that. That sounds really good. Yeah, that'll definitely work."

Luke swallowed visibly, his blue eyes swimming, trying to speak, and Jane ogled him for a moment. He wasn't actually that big of an idiot. 

She'd had a flashback, the same as she was having now, of all the times he'd pinned her with that whiney look and it'd melted her, she'd taken his hand and gone along with him and whatever he'd done. 

The rage returned, then, as her friends watched, slack-jawed. The realization that she was more mad at herself than him caused her anger to burn bright before she quickly tapped down the awkward feeling. She focused in him, glaring. 

Luke knew her pretty well. He should have seen it coming, but it wasn't until her fist was beside her face, and mid-route directly into his, that he realized and tried to jump backwards. 

"FUCK!" he screamed as she contacted, both the pain in her hand, the sound of her fist against his face and his screams completely, totally satisfying. 

Jane'd been having what she could only deem as an out of body experience for the past half hour, watching herself not shed a tear as she packed up her office, yelled at her half-naked EX-boyfriend in the street, and punched him in the face. It felt like a movie, right up to the point when she turned, put one foot on the floor board of the waiting cab, and then looked at Luke again, where he sat on the sidewalk clutching a nose that was spouting blood beautifully.

"Tell that whore you're humping that I quit," she said, and got into the cab, slamming the door behind her and glaring at the cabbie that was gaping at her from the rearview mirror. 

She remembered, now, Lucy suddenly yelling at the cabbie, their drive to the bar, during which they'd extracted the story from in between the rather impressive re-awakening of some of her favorite cursewords.

The pain in her butt now the last thing on her mind, Jane zoomed back to the present, to the kitchen table and her friends all looking at her. 

"Oh, God," she repeated. "Luke."

"Rat bastard," spat Lucy.

"Dumbass," Matt intoned.

"Prick," Carrie finished.

And, then, a voice, very male and very unfamiliar rumbled from behind Jane, preceded only momentarily by the tell-tale creak of the wooden kitchen door on it's hinges.


"What, something I said?"

****

Sex. God.

That was her first thought as she spun around in her chair, the motion combined with her hangover causing a delay in the room to stop spinning when she did. 

"Oh, sweet Mary," Lucy said quietly, though she said it more for the man standing in the doorway than the fact that Matt had fallen off the counter top. Carrie didn't say anything, just stared.

Jane now realized several things at once – chiefly being the reason she'd woken up naked, and the sound that'd awaken her. She thought she'd woken up to the sound of water running in the bathroom but shrugged it off, pulling a hoodie and a pair of undies on and coming to find her friends in the kitchen. 

But, it wasn't imaginary. At least, Jane swore, she hoped it wasn't. 

Good Lord. He was tall, about six feet, and stood in the door way of the kitchen, a t-shirt slung over his shoulder and a towel over his presumably wet head, his hands slowly buttoning the dark wash jeans around his hips, glimpses of the V carved into his hips evidence that he wasn't wearing boxers or briefs. 

"Oh, yummy," Carrie said softly, evidently having found her voice. 

It couldn't get any better, Jane thought, feverishly willing herself to remember the rest of her evening, after the tumble from her barstool. Please tell me I took this home, she intoned to herself silently.

The stranger buttoned and zipped his pants and then dragged the towel, her bath towel, off his head. Jane sighed softly. He wasn't just a beautiful body. The tan on his skin fairly glowed on his face, and she watched, they all watched as he moved the towel back and forth over his hair quickly, drying his head, before dropping the towel on the back of the chair Jane was sitting in. He looked at her, his faintly green-silver eyes laughing as he ran a hand through shaggy black hair. The next moment, he pulled his t-shirt on, and the spell was broken. Matt, having spent the time cursing and soaking hot coffee off of himself with a kitchen towel, now looked up at the man standing in the doorway with a scowl.

"Who the hell are you?"

Thanks, That Was Fun... Ch. 02



Chapter Two

After pulling the shirt over his head, he tugged it down and took a quick inventory of the room. 

Aside from the guy who'd fallen from the counter and was now glaring at him, the other girls he remembered from the bar were watching with interest. The tall Pacific Islander leaning against the counter looked at him with a raised eyebrow, while the woman sitting at the table, a shock of short white-blonde hair framing her face, looked as if she was having trouble breathing. 

The last was Jane. He remembered her vividly, even if it looked as if she was having trouble placing him. She sat with her arm resting on the back of the chair, biting her lip and watching him through bleary, hung-over eyes. She evidently didn't know what to make of him, as she ran the heels of her hands over her eyes and looked at him again.

Shifting, he leaned forward, bracing his arms against the back of the chair. 

"Danny," he said, finally looking at the guy on the floor.

He looked at Jane as if his name would spark some sort of recognition, for her to remember dragging him into the cab, and then into her bed. 

The tall woman in the back was the only one to react – her mouth formed an "oohhh", then she glanced at Jane, back to him, and then dipped her head to her coffee cup, her low snicker echoing against the porcelain of the cup.

Jane leaned her head in her hands, propping her elbows on the table, "Oh, shut up, Luce."

She kept laughing. 

Jane, who'd been in the process of digging her hand into an open box of Life cereal when he walked him, turned and flung two of the squares at her. Lucy then looked at Danny and said with a smile too sweet to belong to the skeptical look she'd given a moment ago, opened a cabinet beside her head.

"Care for a cup of coffee?"

"Wha'?" Jane made a strangled sound and looked up, "Ummm... he, Danny, that is, was obviously leaving… and… probably has important… y'know…" she shifted uncomfortably, "…stuff… and… well… yes…" she ended, lamely.

He enjoyed watching her squirm. Truth be told, he wasn't bothered by her dismissal. He'd come out looking for his boots, and then would be gone, but instead he'd walked into one hell of a peanut gallery. Danny looked down at the woman in front of him; the contrast between how she'd acted last night and this morning - she couldn't even look him in the eye - was pretty impressive. He then looked back to Lucy, with a grin.

"Sounds great, thanks."

The guy that'd been sprawled on the floor now stood up, tossing the coffee soaked towel into the sink and refilling his own cup after Danny, who sat down at a chair at the table. 

From over the rims of their cups, Lucy and the two others switched their gazes back and forth between Danny, the picture of relaxation, as though he was sitting at his own kitchen table and not that of his random one night stand's, and Jane, who studied the wooden grooves on the table, slowly raising her hand to her mouth, nibbling at the cereal in her fingers. 

The guy sitting on the countertop coughed behind his hand.

Crickets. 

Suddenly, an electronic chime went through the air and all five of them jumped; those with a hangover considerably higher than the dark haired man at the table. Jane found that irritating. 

"Jesus," Carrie said, clasping a hand over her heart, before digging into the purse hanging off the back of her chair. Flipping it open, she winced at the voice on the other side. 

"Good Morning, sweetie…" she tried nicely, then faltered as the other voice took over. Evidently, she'd forgotten to phone someone last night.

"Danny… Danny…" Lucy intoned softly, as if to herself. 

She then looked over at Matt. "Now, why does that sound familiar?"

He grinned slightly, then schooled his face and shrugged. "Dunno… Maybe we heard it somewhere?"

Lucy nodded seriously, "Yeah, I think you're right. Like… over and over again." 

"Mmhmm…" Matt intoned, agreeing. "Probably loudly, too." He frowned, tapping a finger against his chin. "Hey, wasn't that just last night?"

"Oh, gosh," Lucy said, innocently, "Heck if I know. Sounds right, but it's not quite striking a chord with me…"

A short, muffled laugh came from the blonde on the phone; she watched her two friends, completely forgetting whoever was on the phone, with a mixture of horror and barely concealed laughter.

"Maaaaaybe," Matt said slowly, "It was... more… you know…"

He paused, as if trying to grasp a concept or phrase on the tip of his tongue.

"Oh Daaaanny, yes, yes, Daaannnnny, yes, more, harder, Daaaaaannnnnny," Lucy finished for him in a feathery, high-pitched voice; she then nodded, the serious look still on her face. 

Another horrified squeal of laughter came out of the woman on the phone at the two's antics, and she got out of her chair, quickly leaving the room, cell phone clutched in her hand. 

"Oh, my God, you guys," Jane finally said, her head snapping up. The action caused the hood of her sweatshirt to fall back; her hair, a long, wavy mix of dark blonde tangles, cascading over her shoulders. The look on her face was nothing short of a full-blown case of mortification, and had her cheeks not gone a non-too delicate shade of beet red, she would have appeared deathly pale. 

Danny's grin that developed watching the two heckle their friend lessened slightly at the sight of her long hair tumbling down as the hood fell back. He felt his pulse quicken as he remembered being in her room, cradled between her legs, running his fingers through that hair.

He sat forward, shifting in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable. Jane continued to glare at her friends. 

Lucy was laughing, though she sobered slightly at the look on Jane's face. Matt kept howling.

"Oh, c'mon, Jane," she said, sitting down in the seat Carrie had scrambled from. "After the day you had yesterday, you deserved a big hunk of man. Lighten up."

"Hear, hear," Matt said, lifting his mug up in agreement. "I mean, it's not like you did anything wrong. For all intents and purposes, it was totally healthy. A rebound guy, if you will."

"It happened yesterday, Matt. Luke and I broke up just yesterday. This isn't a rebound, this, is like… drunk and out of control," Jane groaned, rubbing her temples. She felt herself panicking a little, now that the events of yesterday afternoon, last night and this morning suddenly came to bear. "Who, y'know, over the age of 25 sleeps with someone without even knowing their last name?!" She vaguely noticed her southern accent coming in to full swing as disappointment in herself mounted, "I'm such a mess. How did this all happen?"

"I do it all the time," Matt retorted with a grin. "And as for how it happened…" He wiggled his eyebrows at her.

Lucy sighed, "Janey, I hate to pull you out of the little one-woman Blanche Devereaux revival thing you've got going, but you've been 25 for three months," she said. "It's really not that big of a deal. And why is 25 suddenly a magically mature age, anyway?"

"Amen," Carrie said, clicking her phone closed as she walked back into the kitchen. "You were out to have a good time, and it certainly seems like you did. Besides," she smiled in that almost too sweet way of hers, "Nobody said it had to be just a rebound. Take it slow, enjoy it, he's heinously good-looking. Could be something there," she nudged.

Danny watched them, his eyebrows raised. "Y'all know I'm sitting right here, don't you?"

Jane snorted a laugh and shook her head; it was her turn to look over at him with amusement on her face. He'd picked up a out-of-her-mind drunk girl at the bar, let her take him back to her place, spent the rest of the night, treated himself to a cup of coffee and a shower, and then, somehow, managed to scrape together the grace to look affronted. 

Jane's grin also faded as she finally managed to make eye-contact with him. 

The sudden rush of warmth that floated over her when he first came into the kitchen returned in full-force. God, she thought, he is gorgeous. Flashes returned to her as if they were being excavated; she'd fallen on her way to the bathroom in Weaver's Pub, and came back out with her high heels in her hand. Somehow, it hadn't improved her balance any, and she'd fallen. Again. And right into Danny. The rather twisted tape that made up her memories for the past day swung into overdrive as she saw herself giggling and laughing into the cab with her friends, dragging Danny along, then to her apartment, her friends melting off to stumble into the couch or the pullout in the spare bedroom, and she to her room – Danny still in tow. And her clothes coming off. The mental image of her body wrapped around the man in front of her as she tossed her black heels into different corners of the room was the last one that escaped without being marked by more blushing. 

They seemed to trade grins – Jane's vanished as her cheeks inflamed again, and Danny's lit up, the look of recognition he'd searched for in her face earlier suddenly appearing, alive and well. 

Danny chuckled.

Matt looked to Danny, then Jane, then Lucy. 

Lucy looked to Jane, then Danny, then Matt.

They grinned at each other. Luke Sonofabitch Keller was never this much fun.

Jane blushed harder.

She jumped up then, mumbled "Okay, great, thanks, bye," and ran from the kitchen. 

****

"I think she's trying to drown herself," Matt mumbled. 

He, Carrie and Lucy were piled into Jane's bed and had been taking turns watching the bathroom door since Jane'd disappeared into it almost an hour ago. 

"Well," Carrie clucked, looking at her watch and combing through her short, wet hair with her fingers, "she has to hurry. We have to be downtown in 30 minutes."

The three of them had taken turns showering in the spare bathroom during Jane's confinement, coming back at intervals to sit on her bed and wait for her. Carrie stopped the other two from banging down the door; she remembered quite vividly a boyfriend cheating on her, and the emotions that followed. Even though they had an appointment downtown, she privately thought that Jane could stand underneath the water in the shower as long as she wanted. 

"After the day and a half she's had," Lucy said quietly, mirroring Carrie's thoughts, "I don't blame her. The shit she must be feeling in light of the fact that Luke turned out to be as big a dick as everyone told her he was probably only compounded by the little show in the kitchen this morning." 

Matt shrugged, then nodded. 

"Still," Carrie said, lowering her voice, "What a man."

 "I know, right?" Lucy said, grinning. "Total score."

"Oh, and those eyes," Carrie purred.

"…and his hair, my God," the other woman agreed.

"Ladies, ladies, control yourselves," Matt admonished, shaking his head, "That's Janey's rebound boy you're talking about."

When Carrie shrugged, Matt nudged her with his elbow, "Not to mention, Miss, you're about to become a Mrs. in a few days – shame, shame, shame…"

Carrie opened her mouth to retort, but stopped when the hair-dryer going in the bathroom turned off, and the door opened. 

Jane smiled at her three friends, sprawled out on the bed as if sitting vigil for her. She really wouldn't have survived very much in the past few years, not to mention the past few hours, without them. Running her fingers through her wavy hair, she walked over and pulled a pair of blue flats out of her closet, then grabbed her purse.

"Are we ready?" she said, as if she hadn't spent the past hour trying to knock some normality into herself.

Well, she thought, slipping her feet into the shoes, fake it 'til you make it, right?

Her three friends scrambled off the bed, watching her as she left the bedroom and passed through the large, well lit living room.

"He's gone, then?" she asked, over her shoulder.

There was no need to name the "he" in question.

"Uhh, yeah, a little after you went to take a shower," Carrie said, picking up her own purse.

Jane nodded, not sure if she was disappointed or not. On one hand, she knew herself to be the truest of red-blood American females; the guy she'd picked up in the bar was nothing short of delicious. He'd also been very cool this morning, all things considered, and any breathing, good-looking, tolerable male was worth a second glance. And Danny was so much more than just breathing and tolerable. She'd be lying to herself if she tried to deny that most of her hour-long shower was devoted to regaling herself with all the details she could remember from the night before. It was almost like a dream that was just out of reach – she remembered the warmth that had coursed through her body when he'd moved against her. She could recall the scratch of his slight stubble against her cheek, her neck, her chest, her waist…

"He left you a note on the kitchen table, though," Lucy said matter-of-factly, as if she realized Jane needed to be picked up by the scruff of the neck.

Jane nearly decided she didn't want to read it, and reached for the door knob, then stopped. 

Curiosity killed the cat, Jane reasoned, and I'm about done for anyway, so why not.

She found a business card folded on the kitchen table when she entered, and picked it up gingerly, half grimacing at herself and her fluttery stomach. What, was she 12 again? Geez.

Pressing the crease out with her fingers, she looked down at it. There was no business title or address, just the name, Daniel Wright. Three lines were scrawled underneath his last name, as if to emphasize that she did, now, know her drunken lover's last name. Underneath that was printed his phone number. 

Jane exhaled slowly just as Carrie's breath hitched, her eyes going misty – it was the same way she looked at the kids in the 2nd grade class she taught or puppies on the street. It was the only precursory warning to something ridiculous, romantic and/or soppy coming out of her mouth.

"Oh, Janey," she breathed softly, a fairy-tale tone to her voice that made Jane want to duck and cover, "don't you see?"

Against her better judgment, she shrugged. "What?"

"Danny Wright. Get it? He's Mr. Wright!"

Jane looked at her, confused, then at Lucy, who, as usual, got the pun light years ahead of everyone else. Lucy rolled her eyes at Carrie and shook her head as if something painful had just happened.

"Oh, spare me, please," she said, turning and walking out of the kitchen, still shaking her head. "Mr. Right. Uggggh, that's the worst joke…" she said, leaving Matt to fall into laughter, Jane to grow nauseous and Carrie's eyes to further glaze over. 

Jane could almost see Carrie monogramming towels for Jane & Danny Wright in her mind. Grabbing her friends arms, she pushed them ahead of her out the kitchen.   "This is ridiculous," she said, "We're late as is. Let's go…"

As they filed out, Jane looked at the card in her hand again. Visions of his body entangled with hers swam in front of her vision, and she folded the card closed again, tapping it against her fingers for a moment, before tucking it into the pocket of her jeans and following her friends to the cab waiting outside. 

****

An hour and a half later, while Jane and her friends nursed cups of coffee in the office of a wedding coordinator, Danny Wright sat in his own office, several miles across town, not at all paying attention to the meeting happening in front of him.

"…which I think, you'll agree, is just what you're looking for, Mr. Wright," one of the men sitting in front of his desk was saying. 

Danny blinked, and looked at them. He had no idea what they were talking about.

Grinding his jaw in annoyance with himself, he leaned forward in his chair, taking the proposal that was offered to him earlier and flipping through it again. The three men in front of him watched as he drew a hand through his hair, and then looked at them again. 

"Mass producing is not what we're looking for, Mr. Franklin," he corrected politely. "These are specialty guns we're talking about here, with a family owned and operated factory that employs far too many local workers for us to be able to take this offer seriously. You're suggesting that over half of our assembly be shipped overseas…" 

Danny trailed off and shook his head slowly, going back over the numbers on the sheet in front of him. This would never work. The hunting rifles and shotguns that his company produced today were of the same distinction as those that his great-grandfather first produced – to take them out of American hands, some of which had worked for Wright & Lewis for generations, and put them overseas, was not going to happen. Danny wasn't about to let this business go somewhere where the case coloring wouldn't be overseen by his father, Mack Wright, who'd done it for a lifetime… not to mention the cutting of hammers and sears for their guns would be done continents away…

Danny shook his head again, and stood up. An imposing figure, it was only a matter of moments before the others stood up as well. He smiled, flipping the proposal in his hand closed and setting it on his desk.

"It's obvious that what you've come up with will maximize profits," he acknowledged, moving around his desk and opening the door, "but I can't see Wright & Lewis outsourcing jobs from South Carolina. Nonetheless, I'll show what you've given me to my brothers, and we'll have an answer for you next week," he finished, walking the three men out to the wide reception area. His secretary stood there with their jackets, and Danny turned back to his office. 

"Thank you for taking the time to meet with me on a Saturday, have a good weekend," he intoned, closing the door to his office as the returned the pleasantries to him. He sat down hard behind his desk again and spun around to look out the window. 

The Wright & Lewis factory, where their specialty hunting rifles and shotguns were produced, sat on the same land that Danny's great-grandfather purchased when he first moved his family to Charleston. Since then, though the technology changed, the factory floor had grown larger and their production was much higher than old Great Grandaddy would have ever dreamed, Wright & Lewis was known in the south for producing the same caliber gun as ever. These days, and especially on the weekends, though the factory was closed, the expansive grounds and gift shops were a-buzz with visitors and tourists. 

Three stories below his office window were families enjoying the preserved Wright family cabin that sat at the end of a nature walk two miles away from the factory, beside a creek, where generations were born and died, and many guns were made in the old workshop near the house. This time of year, autumn was just coming in and the tips of the trees on the expansive property were beginning to change. A clear weekend like this would mean good sales in the ornate shops, not to mention the large café that touted some of Danny's mother's best recipes. Normally, Danny would be down there; he enjoyed answering the questions of the discerning collector or two that always stopped in to see the collection of antique guns stored in the shops below, just as his mother could usually be found baking the scones and turnovers that sold so well during the fall.

Today, however, was not normal. In fact, had he been anyone else, he would have had a laugh at how ridiculous he was being. But Danny felt foolish, not funny, for not being able to get the image of the woman he'd spent the night with out of his head.




Thanks, That Was Fun... Ch. 02



Not as if he'd been a monk up 'til now – far from it. Ever since he'd figured out how to woo a girl, he'd not had a lot of trouble finding someone to spend some time with when he wanted. He was past his "screw everything that moves" phase, but it'd been years since some woman had this kind of pull over him.

It wasn't all together pleasant, feeling his pulse surge at the thought of her dark, golden blonde hair on her pillow, or remembering the perfect way her legs wrapped around his waist or the way she'd fallen into his arms smiling softly after they came together…

Danny groaned, rubbing another hand through his hair and shook his head, standing up. He just needed sleep. He wasn't about to spend any more time thinking about a girl who let half a bottle of Jim Beam put her into his arms, no matter how beautiful she was. Besides, by the sound of her and her scarily protective friends, some shit went down the day before. Judging from the assortment of razors, shaving cream and cologne that'd been in her bathroom, it sounded like he'd been exactly what they said – a rebound.

Which is just fine with me, he intoned to himself, sticking his hands in the pockets of his jeans and closing the office door behind him. 

"Miss Trent," he said turning to his secretary, "Thanks for coming in this morning, enjoy the rest of your weekend."

Danny nodded to her and then turned down the hallway, rolling up the cuffs on his white and blue plaid shirt and trotting down the hall, his boots echoing off the ironwork stairs as he descended. A floor down, and he popped his head into an office that nearly mirror his own upstairs – instead of the antique guns that decorated his, this one featured prints and artists sketches of hunting dogs, pheasants in flight and wood ducks. Behind the desk sat something that also mirrored himself – Charlie, his younger brother, who stood only a few inches shorter, his hair a light brown as opposed to Danny's black, his eyes the same shade of light, light green. Charlie balanced a book in his hand, a phone cradled against his shoulder. 

Danny walked in and fell into one of the leather seats in front of his brother's desk, waiting while Charlie finished the phone call. When he hung up, he started scribbling notes on a paper, then looked up.

"Didn't go like you wanted it to, huh?"

"What?" Danny asked, startled. He'd thought about mentioning Jane to his younger brother, but changed his mind after deciding it was a lack of sleep, not the woman, that kept her rattling around his brain. 

"The meeting, with Mitch Franklin," Charlie said, looking up at his older brother with a confused look on his face. "Don't tell me you forgot."

Danny laughed and pushed fingers through his hair again. 

"No, yeah, sorry," he said, "I meant to bring the proposal down. He'll up our units going out tremendously, but he wants to do partial assembly in Malaysia or somewhere."

Charlie frowned and shook his head. Danny knew his brother would agree with his desire to keep jobs that had always belonged to the local area here. 

Danny stood up, "C'mon, let's go get some coffee downstairs. I slept like shit."

Charlie nodded, looked at his brother and laughed, closing the book in his hands and dropping it on to his desk.

"Yeah, I can tell," he said, eyeing Danny. "Did you go to that thing at Weaver's last night?"

Danny opened the door and walked out of the office, Charlie behind him as they descended the stairs and exited the administration building, then beelined for shops and cafes that stood across a large, tree lined courtyard.

"Uh, yeah," Danny said noncommittally, watching a couple of kids throwing a football back and forth. "It was alright. I never thought I'd see the day that Kirby Dennison had a bachelor party, but lo and behold…" 

Charlie laughed as they approached the large, well-lit café. 

"Well, he's our chief EDM tech, so it was good that one of us was able to be there," he said, shaking his head a little. "Katie is having hormonal shit fits like crazy. When I told her I planned on going last night, she nearly took off my head."

Danny grinned; chock up one more for just being the rebound guy – Charlie's wife Katie is about 7 months in on their first pregnancy. As a result, things for the couple went from dramatically wonderful to dramatically bad. Whatever happened to some pregnant women in their last term was plaguing Katie Wright in double doses – Charlie said things were constantly being blow out of proportion, and Katie went from expectant mother to drama queen in a flash. Either way, it seemed as if Charlie spent most of his time these days doing damage control or placating his wife. It wasn't a situation Danny intended to find himself in any time soon.

As they entered the café, Danny received another confirmation that he'd made the right decision in stating that Wright & Lewis was a family business and would stay that way – his mother, sister and sister Ella were working the counter, serving espressos, coffees and baked goods. 

Katie smiled, came around the corner and hugged Charlie close over her distended stomach. Whatever pregnant craziness she'd displayed last night was evidently gone – she looked at Charlie with nothing but total love in her eyes. 

Danny felt a slight tightening in his chest, as sometimes happened around couples that were evidently meant to be together. The point he'd marked for being the rebound guy suddenly didn't seem as attractive. He shuffled his feet a little and turned away from his brother, who was now in the grips of a serious lip lock.

"Hey, you," Ella said, giving the last lady in line her bag of what smelled like pumpkin-spice scones. 

"Hey baby sister," he grinned, leaning against the counter. "How abouts a coffee for your favorite brother."

"Favorite brother here present, you mean," she said, wrinkling her nose in a laugh and reaching up to get a coffee mug, then turning back to the dispenser. As she handed it over, their mother came around the corner with a fresh batch of something, and slid it into the display case.

"Hey there, dumplin'," his mother intoned, walking over and wiping her hands on her apron.

"You're not working too hard, I hope," Danny said, looking at her over his the top of his coffee mug. She had a tendency to try and do everything at once, and watch out if you got in the way. 

Bette leaned against the counter and put a hand on her hip. "Don't baby me, Daniel, it works the other way around," she said, a smile on her face. "Besides, I could say the same for you," she intoned, looking at his face. "When is the last time you went to bed at a decent hour?"

Danny rolled his eyes, unavoidably recalling the last bed he was in, the long, dark golden waves that he'd wrapped around his fingers as he moved back and forth, the woman that laid beneath him, biting her lip as she looked up at him, their eyes matching as evenly as their bodies, stroke for stroke.

"Danny?"

He blinked and looked up, realizing that he'd been staring at the display case while his head played on the sexual exploits of the night before. In front of his mother.

"Yeah?" he said, as if nothing strange had happened.

Bette stared at him with one eyebrow raised, while Ella's concerned face turned to the display case her older brother was staring at a moment ago.

"What is up with you? You look like you could eat a wolf," she said, looking at him strangely. "If you want something to eat, just say so."

Danny's jaw dropped slowly, then he forced himself to laugh and swallowed the rest of the hot coffee in the cup. It burned going down, but he managed to look at the two women with something he hoped bordered on normality.

This woman is turning me into a complete nutcase, he thought, tamping down the desire to hit himself in the head. 

"No, I'm good," he said, putting the empty cup on the counter. "Sorry, I just had a…" Long night? Something inside him snickered. "…long week, I'm fried."

Ella nodded, but his mother looked unconvinced.

Digging into his pocket, he pulled out his keys. 

"In fact, I think I'm going to head home," he said, twisting the key ring around his finger. By that point, Katie and Charlie walked over; it was evident that they'd made up for whatever transgressions happened the night before.

"You're not coming over to watch the game?" Ella asked, looking at him. Between the identical gazes of his mother and sister, Danny felt 15 again. 

"Nah. I'll see y'all tomorrow, though," he grinned and leaned over the kiss Bette on the cheek then headed for the door as quick as he could go. It was hardly possible, but it felt like if he stayed there long enough, between the two of them they'd dip into his mind and pull out golden Jane and all the images of her body she'd imprinted into the backs of his eyelids. 

Sliding into his Jeep, Danny fought the urge to knock his head against the steering wheel. He was 30 fucking years old, not a teenager that carried a hard-on for a girl all day long. 

No, he was going to go home, go to sleep, and when he woke up in the morning, she'd be gone from his head. 

As he revved up the truck and slid it into gear, a grin crept over his face. 

If she's not gone in the morning, he thought, maybe I'll just have to go find her again. Suddenly, the idea of reliving every one of his memories, and then some, sounded like a better idea than sleeping it off. 



Thanks, That Was Fun... Ch. 03



By Saturday evening, Jane's head was still pounding, the cause of which was equal parts wedding planning, a waning hangover, a half-hearted attempt at sorting Luke out in her head – and mentally avoiding any thoughts of the man she'd spent the night with. 

Matt dropped them at the coordinator's office at noon, leaving Lucy and Jane to follow behind Carrie while her wild ideas spun around, with Mrs. Brantley and her wedding staff looking confused and a bit out of breath. 

Carrie and her boyfriend decided a few weeks ago to get married, a spur of the moment decision that caused several raised eyebrows through both families. When the news came out that he was going to be deployed overseas, instead of that Carrie was pregnant, everyone seemed to relax – if only a little – and it was easy to get caught up in the celebration and planning. 

Still, two months was hardly enough time to pull together a wedding – a phrase that Carrie repeated at a bare minimum of five times a day. Somehow they'd managed to pull it all together; the dresses, flowers, caterer, DJ, invitations, hotel bookings for out of town guests, etc. One of Carrie's cousins was a decorator and was easily persuaded to jump. In fact, as nearly everyone involved marveled, Carrie Abbott turned into a wedding machine. She'd always been able to get people to fall in line behind her when she turned on the charm – a talent that Lucy and Jane appreciated at it's new-found height when they were freshmen in college with fake ID's – but her whirlwind party planning skills were beyond impressive as she advised and ordered the wedding planner and staff. She'd even managed to ward away a case of the bridezillas – costing Matt 20 dollars in a bet with one of Carrie's brothers – and stayed perfectly calm throughout the past five weeks.

At least, until this afternoon, when Mrs. Brantley rather timidly informed the bride-to-be that the hotel banquet room she'd so quickly snatched up had, in fact, been double booked.

Since then, Mrs. B, Wedding Coordinator Extraordinaire, spent the ensuing hours calling new venues while trying to reassure a now hysterical Carrie to relax. 

There, of course, was no way in hell that Carrie was going to relax. 

Jane and Lucy could have told her that, and tried, once, before two assistants came in with lattes and a basket of muffins. Jane wisely intercepted Carrie's cup; surely these people knew not to give a bride in the midst of shit-fitting caffeine? 

Now, as Lucy and Jane drank their coffee, Carrie sat silently glaring at Mrs. Brantley, the basket of muffins in her lap, tearing each one several times before cramming it, bit by bit, into her mouth. Her eyes followed the wedding planner as she scooted about the office, simultaneously cooing comforting words to the bride while calling venues across Charleston.

Once or twice Jane had been forced to place a well-aimed kick under the table to Lucy as she opened her mouth, a grin on her face that fairly shouted that whatever was about to come from her mouth would be, while undoubtedly witty, insensitive to the extreme. Watching Carrie, wide-eyed with anger, ravage a basket of mini blueberry muffins as if they'd done something to personally offend her, her short white-blonde hair sticking out at odd angles, was almost too much for Lucy to let pass without comment – she always made it a point to mock everyone she loved, especially when they were acting as deranged as Carrie was at the moment. It was a matter of principle, really.

When Mrs. Brantley excused herself – Jane wondered briefly if she'd come back, after the way Carrie stared at her accusingly for the better part of two hours – Lucy leaned in.

"Carrie," she whispered.

Their friend turned her head slowly, almost robotically looking at the woman beside her.

"Ummm…" Lucy hesitated. The smartass comment on her lips a moment ago was now evidently forgotten.

Jane was reminded of another Carrie. At a prom.

"Listen…" Lucy started again. Carrie looked at her blankly. 

"It's going to be fine," Jane broke in. "We'll find a place, just calm down. And stop looking at Mrs. Brantley like she double-booked on purpose."

Lucy nodded, "You have everything else ready, perfectly. Even if you have to get married at a Wal-Mart, it'll all work out," she joked.

Wrong. Carrie nearly choked on the mini muffin in her mouth, and not with laughter.

Then, she burst into tears. "This will n-never woooork," she wailed. Lucy guiltily scrambled for a box of tissues. "It's all messed up-p now, and we won't be able to get m-married, and J-Joe is going to be leaving in a few-w-w weeks without-t getting m-married, and his m-m-mother is going to h-h-haaaate meeeee…"

Lucy, who was holding out a tissue and patting Carrie's shoulder, looked at Jane with a conflicted expression. Jane could tell she wasn't sure whether to console or laugh at the dramatic outburst. 

Giving her friend a dark look, Jane reached over and hugged Carrie tightly, then took a tissue and began wiping what was now muddy puddles of mascara from the bride-to-be's face. 

"Hush," Jane said, mopping at her friend's face. "Don't talk like that. You're going to be a beautiful bride, even if you are a rushed one. You will get married before he leaves."

"B-but I d-d-don't wanna get married at Wal-Maaaaart!"

Lucy barked a laugh then covered her mouth with her hands.

"Don't be ridiculous," Jane said, looking over Carrie's shoulder at her other friend, shooting her be nice looks. Reaching for another tissue, she wiped at Carrie's face again. 

"We're going to find you a place to get married, and it will be beautiful. Don't worry about it."

"Besides," Lucy chimed in, finally deciding to be helpful, "Mothers are supposed to hate you. Circle of life, and all that."

Carrie looked at them both and gave a watery smile. "Thanks, y'all…"

"It's what bridesmaids are for," Jane smiled, throwing the handful of tissues on the table in front of them. "Right?"

Lucy made a face behind Carrie's back at the reminder of the matching yellow dresses they were supposed to wear, then leaned forward, flicking the tissues with her hand absently.

"Right!" Lucy forced out, ignoring Jane's grin when she'd shuddered at the term 'bridesmaids' and looking at Carrie cheerfully, "Though one thing is obvious. We're going to need gobs and gobs of waterproof mascara."

****

Now, Jane sat on the balcony of her apartment, looking up at sky, the stretches of clouds floating by streaked with what was quickly becoming an orange-purple, enjoying the sunset. 

Silence.

Finally.

She'd be the first person to profess her love for her three best friends, but between Carrie's usually unnatural cheerfulness, Lucy's irreverent humor and Matt's flat-out irreverence, Jane found herself just along for the ride around them. 

Except for the occasions when she really, honest to God, needed them to be there for her. And they always were, just like yesterday evening, when she needed them to join her and Jim Beam in a night of total destruction. They'd marched in, asking just enough questions to ascertain that Luke was the hound-dog they'd always told her he was, then spent the rest of the evening getting absurdly drunk and alternating between cursing Luke and making her laugh.

Ah, Luke. 

Jane sank down further in the cushions of the outdoor couch, stretching her legs out in front of her. The pain she'd warded off for the past day and a half with alcohol, friends and wedding planning suddenly settled upon her, full force. Her eyes stung and she rubbed two fingers against the bridge of her nose, applying pressure against the headache that suddenly cropped up. A day and a half, and he hadn't called, come by the apartment, demanded to see her – nothing. In fact, even when he'd chased her through the building, he was trying to explain himself – there were no apologies to be heard, that she'd picked up on. At the very least, a boyfriend of two years should be trying to fix their relationship, right? Shouldn't he be begging to be taken back, at least? There must have been a small part of Jane that expected to mollify the humiliation of finding her boyfriend screwing another woman by assuming that he would crop up as soon as possible, begging her attention and forgiveness.

Not to mention, the other woman. Jane thought back to the overflowing briefcase that sat on the desk in the spare-bedroom-gone-home-office. A disappointment almost as acute as that of her relationship with Luke settled upon her at the realization that she was unemployed, now. The past five years of busting her ass at the headquarters of the biggest publishers in the state now cumulated in the manuscripts she'd managed to steal from her office. It was just pathetic enough to cause the tears that crept upon her at the thought of Luke to spill over. 

Jane felt herself release control to the tears at the same time as the cell phone on the table beside her lit up and began to chime. She almost flipped it open before she read the Caller ID – Momma. Jane heaved a sigh, hit the "Ignore" button on the side and dropped it back onto the wooden table. The last thing she wanted to do right now was tell her parents that the boy they adored was actually a two-timing son of a bitch. More than that, though, was the dread that followed the idea of telling them that she'd quit her job after punching said son of a bitch in the face in front of God and everybody.

It occurred to her that this was at least the third time that a mournful thought of her now ex-boyfriend was immediately overshadowed by something else even more upsetting – whether it was her job or the fact that her friend's were right about Luke. A fleeting thought that she was actually more upset with herself than Luke by-passed her tired mind before being dismissed; she had no desire to further inspect herself or the situation. Not tonight.

Closing her eyes, she fully expected to be accosted by images of Luke between her boss' thighs – the image that swam in front of her eyelids, instead, was of another pair of legs. Jane felt a shiver go up her spine and wrapped the light-weight shawl around her tighter, as if it would protect her from the images of herself, completely uninhibited for the black-haired man from the bar. Jane reminded herself to breathe but didn't will her mind away from the images of falling into bed with Danny Wright. Even through the whiskey-tinted memory, she remembered her body arching and responding to every inch of her skin that he touched. Jane tilted her head to the side, as if doing so would somehow make the memory of him kissing down her neck before lashing the pulse point behind her jaw with his tongue more real. Jane shivered again, though she recognized the almost instantaneous feeling of tingling warmth that spread through her as well. 

The desperate thought that she wished she hadn't been drunk when they'd gotten in to bed together was cut off and shouted down by her conscience – she shouldn't be wriggling around on the couch on her balcony at the mere thought of her one night stand. 

Jane made a face at herself and stood up, stretching. Hardly matters how gorgeous he is, she told herself firmly. It was a one-time thing. There is enough shit going on, I don't need the drama of falling for a rebound guy. Mentally, she knew that calling Danny Wright and the memory of him, arching back as he came inside her – she shivered again – a simple rebound was a cosmic injustice. The rest of her was angry and hurt over her sudden single-and-unemployed state, and quickly won over the dampness that reminiscing about the night before caused between her legs. 

Though her body demanded sleep, there was one thing she needed to do, first. Walking back into the kitchen, she reached under the sink and pulled out a big bucket Luke used when he washed his car. Working her way through the living room, bedroom and both bathrooms, she collected the things that Luke left behind – hair gel, baseball caps, two bottles of cologne, several University of Florida t-shirts, a tie that was under the bed, his favorite coffee mug… she paused, her fingers resting on two boxes of condoms in the medicine cabinet. A wild, painfully created image of him dropping several into his pocket on the way to meet Rachel Jarrett snaked into her mind. God, imaginations were cruel, sometimes. Dropping both boxes into the bucket, she moved on, from room to room. 

Jane sighed as the big bucket slowly filled, the sound of each item thudding into it satisfying, as if she were slowly, item by item breaking ties with the man she'd spent two years with. Bypassing the two large bookcases in the living room – any books he left she'd just adopt, along with his razors - she opened the apartment door and dropped the big bucket next to the bags of trash that were left on the walkway for nightly pick-up. If he was smart enough to come looking, Luke could get his shit. If not, the trash man, a neighbor or wandering hobo was more than welcome to it. Looking down into it, she grimaced at the sheer amount that filled the old bucket. Gracious, he'd left a lot of crap here. Feeling slightly as if she'd been infiltrated, she stared down at it, wrapping her arms around herself, then walked back to her apartment and closed the door behind her, locking it and leaning against the cool wooden surface. Looking around, she thought for a moment that the spaces that once contained vestiges of Luke would glare at her with the sudden vacancy. Instead, a perusal of the room only left her with a contended feeling, as if she'd taken back ownership. 

Jane stopped once more, at the table in the entryway. In the center was a beat-up antique platter she'd found at a garage sale and loved – it sat near to overflowing with folded business cards. Pulling Mr. Wright's from her jean pocket, she flipped it open, looking at it for a moment. There was a brief, ridiculous thought that she liked the way he wrote the number eight. Folding the card back again, she dropped it on top of the pile and, feeling as if she'd now dispatched with both of the men that were plaguing her, walked to her room, fell across her bed and immediately surrendered to sleep.

****

Buzzzzzzzzzz.

Jane sat straight up in bed, the noise causing her to roll, confused, nearly off the bed.

Buzzzzzzz buzz buzz buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.  …Aliens…

At the thought, Jane did fall from the bed. 

"Shit," she muttered, curling up and resting her head on the plush white carpet in her bedroom.

Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" she yelled, getting up and stalking from the bedroom, through the living room, and jamming her finger down on the intercom.

"WHAT?!"

Barely smothered laughter.

Jane groaned, "…Hello?!?"

Someone cleared their throat… "Ahhh, room service, you want me fluff pillow?"

Jane stomped her feet in irritation and looked over at the clock on the TV – 9:37AM. 

"C'mon you guys, really? Sunday equals day of rest. Go. A. Way."

Sticking her hands in her pockets, there was a half-lit realization that she'd slept in the clothes she wore the day before, Jane turned and was halfway back to the bedroom, when –

Buzzzzzzzzzz.

"Whaaaaaaat?" Jane fairly whined, resisting the urge to slam her head into wall beside the intercom.

"Jane, honey," came Carrie's voice, her friends clearly no longer laughing, "It's not Sunday…"

Downstairs, the three of them exchanged glances with each other as the door was buzzed open a long moment later. When they reached the fourth floor, they found Jane's door unlocked, and could hear the shower running in the bathroom.

Matt pressed in through to the kitchen and picked an apple up out of a bowl on the table, then followed the rest of them into Jane's room, before they plopped down the bed.

He shined the apple lazily on his shirt, watching the bathroom door.

"Here we go again…"

****

Unlike the day before – two days before? – Jane showered, dried her hair and dressed in record time. After Carrie's concerned voice floated through the intercom, she'd buzzed them in, bounded over the couch and into her room, picking up her cell phone and checking the date. Monday. Christ.

Now, kicking open the bathroom door, she marched over to the closet and grabbed a pair of shoes, then looked sheepishly at her friends. 

"Déjà vu, huh?"

They grinned, obviously relieved to find her appearing normal. 

Fake it 'til you make it, she thought. Again.

"So…"

"Soooo…" Carrie replied, as she pulled a stack of pamphlets out of her purse. She positively glowed. 

"Mrs. Brantley found me a bunch of places to go look at. It's not really places where weddings are normally performed, she says, but each one is beautiful and since it's not a massive wedding, we've taken off work and are going to look them up and were hoping maybe you'd come…"

Jane blanched. Work. She felt, for a moment, like sinking to the floor and wailing about being unemployed. She couldn't remember the last Monday that hadn't found her in the office at seven in the morning. 

Upon making eye contact with Carrie, who also paled when she'd realized she'd brought up the tenuous topic, Jane smiled. She hoped it looked authentic.

"Sure…" she said, settling on the bed to pull the first pamphlet from the stack. "Where do we start?"

Carrie, whether she recognized Jane's cheerfulness as forced or not, bounded off the bed with the rest of them in tow, chirping happily.

****

It really was déjà vu, Jane thought, horrified. 

By noon, Matt and Jane confessed to headaches. 

Lucy declared that she would shoot the next poor sucker that tried to ensnare them into a wedding venue with plastic smiles and tiny Styrofoam cups of coffee. 

Even Carrie's natural brightness was dimmed slightly after three busts – a less than impressive, dusty winery; a rentable river bank that sat downwind of an evidently very busy riding stable; and a 'quiet slice of heaven with an old world feel' that turned out to be a poorly constructed faux cathedral façade in a make-shift park outside of town.

Bucking up, Jane wrapped an arm around her friend, hugging her.

"Don't worry. We'll find a place." 

"Or at least…" Matt said, taking the next pamphlet from Carrie's hand and looking at it idly, "We'll make one more stop and then have big fat martinis for lunch!"

The towheaded bride-to-be beamed at him.

Tossing the brochure to Lucy, Matt steered them to the waiting car. 

"And at the very least, Luce, you can follow through on all those empty promises of chirpy employees meeting their maker. This next place has guns."

****

Danny Wright jerked at the knock that came from the other side of his office door. He'd been sitting, blankly staring at a computer screen full of e-mails and dozing, for the better part of an hour. 

"Dan?"

"Yup?" he replied, running a hand through his hair and standing up. He picked up the phone quickly as his sister opened the door and walked through, and then dropped it back into the cradle, hoping it made him look busy. 

"Hey," she said, walking over and sitting down in one of the large chairs on the other side of his desk. Danny followed suit and plopped down. 

"You alright?" she asked when he didn't respond.

Danny smiled. "Of course," he said. "Just a little preoccupied. What's up?"

"Ohhh, nothing, I have an appointment in a few minutes, just wanted to poke my head in and say hi," she said, eyeing her big brother. 




Thanks, That Was Fun... Ch. 03



She twisted a black curl around her finger lazily, leaning back a little in the chair. Danny knew she was studying him; even if she hadn't quite mastered the x-ray vision of their mother, Ella was way too intuitive for her older brother's tastes. She'd always easily figured out that something was going on. The instinct made growing up with her annoying at times – she made it a habit, when they were younger, of popping up whenever her brothers were in the midst of a brilliant, if trouble-inducing, scheme and blackmailing them into letting her be a part of it. And as her clear gaze zeroed in on him, he knew she was mulling him over, thinking of the way he'd acted the past few days, seemingly lost in his own head. For her gregarious older brother, it meant something was up.

Still, Danny kept the smile on his face.

After a moment, Ella made a show of giving up, then grinned and stood, "You should check in at the café when you get a chance, those leftovers you forgot at the house yesterday are in one of the fridges."

Danny jumped up, glad the mini-interrogation was over, and walked his sister out and downstairs to her office. "Leftovers" was hardly a good enough name for what awaited him next door, he knew – Sunday dinners were a bit of a big deal in the Wright house, and he knew the plate his mother left for him was probably overflowing with baked ham and generous portions of yesterday's meal.

Danny's stomach grumbled at the thought, and he grinned. "Ahh, bless your heart but you're a good girl," he said, suddenly mimicking his late grandmother's Irish accent to accompany one of her favorite sayings. His tactics were blatant; using the accent within the Wright family was always followed with laughter, and Danny knew the grin that enveloped his sister's face would save him from questions about his distracted mood for at least the rest of the day. 

He leaned against the door frame as his sister shuffled things around her desk. Ella was in charge of the events that took place year round on the expansive Wright-Lewis grounds; everything from specialized hunting trips deep into the acreage to show off the newest models, to large banquets and private events passed through her fingers; it had the benefit of being a great source of revenue, not to mention something Ella loves doing. 

Strains of laughter from the lobby to Danny's left floated in, alerting to the fact that his sister's previously mentioned appointment had arrived. His thoughts now solely on the wrapped plate of home cooking that awaited him in the café next door, he held the door open for his sister and was moving around her as she shook hands with the people waiting in the lobby, when his eyes rested on the last member in the group; his pulse threatened to abandon ship as the woman that he'd spent most of his weekend trying to forget stood in front of him, her mouth slightly open, staring at him in much the same way that he must be staring at her.

****

Jane closed her jaw with a snap as her eyes met the silver-green ones of the man nearly towering over her in the lobby.

Damn.

She'd nearly made it through the day without thinking of him. 

And, damn, he was just as good-looking as she remembered him being.

A muffled laugh was cut short by someone's elbow jamming into someone else's ribcage. 

Jane took another moment and then forced her gaze away from Danny Wright's, exchanging surprised glances with her friends, before noticing with a twinge of annoyance that Carrie's eyes glazed over with romantic daydreams at the sight of Danny and Jane looking at each other. 

Jane then glanced at the woman whose hand was still slightly offered in a handshake to one of them; now, she stood with it extended, her eyebrows raised high as her glance shifted between Jane and Danny. Jane felt another twinge, if belonging to a radically different emotion, when she realized that the woman and Danny had come from her office. 

The woman reached up casually and tossed a handful of thick black curls over her shoulder, then cleared her throat. Jane blushed suddenly at the realization that Danny hadn't taken his eyes off her; at the sound from this woman's throat, however, he shifted and looked at her, instead. Was he blushing, too?

"Hi," she drawled slowly, with the tone of someone who wasn't quite sure what was going on but knew that something definitely was. "I'm Ella Lewis."

Jane smiled weakly at her. At the last second, she recognized that the hand Ella had pushed her hair over her shoulder with held a sizeable diamond accompanied by a thick silver wedding band. Married. Jane felt her spine relax.

Ella looked back and forth between Danny and Jane again, a small smile quirking on her lips.

"…and this is my brother, Danny Wright," she said, again with a tone that belied that idea that introducing her brother to them was a smidge unnecessary.

Jane breathed slightly, the twinge in her chest lightening. Sister. Yay. 

Knowing full well that she didn't have the right to any mental 'Yays', she looked at Ella again. The thick black hair was suddenly familiar, as were her eyes – the shade may be a bit darker than her brothers, but the shape was the same. Jane couldn't help but smile again. She stole a glance at the tall man in front of her, but her courage failed and she looked away when his eyes bore down on hers again.

"Yes," Lucy said, her voice almost the same tone as Ella. "We know Danny," she said, smiling in a way that made Jane nervous. 

"Yep, yep," Matt agreed. As usual, he caught up with Lucy in an unnervingly quick manner.

"We go way back, you see," Lucy said, still smiling and turning to Ella. She then glanced at Matt. "Right?"

"Oh, definitely," Matt nodded sagely. "At least…" He paused, thoughtfully, "…since Friday evening, I would say."

Carrie watching the two of them, biting her lip as she wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh at the horror crossing Jane's face or admonish them for teasing their friend. 

"But that's not why we're here," Carrie said meaningfully, drawing out the syllables as she looked between Lucy and Matt. 

"Right!" Jane said, grasping at the change in topic. "We're looking for a place to get married!"

Danny blinked and took a step back, a reaction that was nearly mirrored by his sister's eyebrow shooting up again in a questioning look.

Danny looked from Matt to Jane, confusion written on his face, though it warred with something else for control of his features. While the proceedings had, up to this point, amused him, he took another look at the guy that'd questioned him in Jane's kitchen, and now stood beside her. Matt shifted his feet nervously and ran a few fingers through his curl light brown hair. Danny looked to Jane, who watched him with a raised eyebrow. 

Ella, however, had taken the words much more literally and looked, now, between Jane and Carrie. 

"Well…" she said, clearing her throat again, "A civil ceremony would be a first for us, but I'm sure we could work something out that you'd both like…"

Jane went from embarrassed to mortified. Then again, Ella wasn't privy to the same information as her brother, who knew intimately that Jane was thoroughly aware of how to enjoy a man. Her blush deepened.

"No, heavens, no," Carrie said quickly, shaking her head. She chirped a laugh, "No offense, Jane…"

Jane couldn't help but roll her eyes as Lucy and Matt snickered.

"I'm getting married," Carrie said brightly, her mood swinging up as it did whenever she said it. "Well… actually, I hope I'm getting married. We had double booking craziness and lost our spot at a place downtown, so now we're looking for alternative sites…" she trailed off, her mind re-overcome with newly romantic thoughts as she looked between Jane and Danny again.

Danny visibly relaxed.

Swinging into gear, Ella smiled and motion back to her office, causing Carrie to pull her eyes away from the two objects of her fascination. 

Glancing sternly at Lucy and Matt, she motioned for them to follow her, as if they would interrupt the silent looks moving between Jane and Danny. Instead of interrupting, however, they grinned at the short woman directly them to follow her and frog-marched after her into the office. 

Danny watched as Jane pulled her eyes away from his and moved to follow her friends into Ella's office. 

Oh, no, he thought. Not happening. 

Maneuvering, he gently grasped her elbow, turning her back to face him.

"Hey!" she said, surprised at how lightly he'd spun her around. Jane did her best to ignore the tingle that shot up her arm at his touch.

"C'mon, I'll buy you a cup of coffee," he said, his hand going to the small of her back as he lead her in the opposite direction of her friends. The fact that she didn't jump away at his touch felt like a minor victory.

Still, she turned to go back towards the door through which her friends were now disappearing, another protest on her lips.

Dimly warning himself to keep his thoughts far from her lips, he vaguely heard the petite blonde woman telling Jane to go away, they had it perfectly handled. Putting his hand to her back again, he gently steered her out the door and towards the café across the courtyard.



Thanks, That Was Fun... Ch. 04



They walked in silence, each absorbed in their own thoughts. Looking down at the woman beside him, Danny felt his pulse pick up again. Just the fact that she was standing near him was enough to startle him before, but the small details were now suddenly obvious – her long, dark blonde waves brushed against his fingers as he guided her, something that only enhanced the dryness of his mouth as he noticed the way her dark wash jeans molded against her perfectly. She had one of those cotton tanks on underneath a plain blue cardigan; there were small diamond studs in her ears, and she smelled like the jasmine shampoo he knew to be in her shower.

Danny watched her chewing at her bottom lip for a moment and barely suppressed a groan. The desire that caught him unaware when he found her standing in the lobby of his office building seemed to help his mind level out. He wanted her… and the only thought that had entered his mind as they stood in the lobby was getting her away from her troop of friends; they were probably great folks but only served to confuse pretty much any situation. He decided, as they walked, that he didn't really give a damn if he'd made a scene by marching her off to have coffee with him.

They were quickly approaching another stonework building, across from the three story one that held the lobby and offices. Jane's thoughts were a whirlwind as they crossed the green. Tall trees, the tips of which were beginning to show their autumn colors, that so took her breath away when combined with the natural beauty of the buildings and courtyard were now a blur. 

Two things stood out amidst the tornado in her mind – the undeniably warm feeling of his hand at the small of her back, guiding, and the fact that her giggling friends were no longer protecting her from the man that suddenly cropped back up in her life. She could feel the weight of his watch through the thin fabric of her cardigan and relished in the small details of his masculinity; the jeans he wore to work, which combined with the brown boots and deliciously un-tucked yet fitted button up shirt he wore made him look casual, as if he belonged amidst the trees and natural beauty of the land around him, while at the same time exuding an almost executive type of power. Jane glanced up and felt her fingers twitch. His dark hair was nearly long enough to fall into his eyes, the thick strands wavy and slightly curling against the collar of his shirt. The sudden impulse to push the hair away from his face was strong. Sucking in a breath, she realized the sound must have carried as his impossibly light green eyes looked down and met hers. He grinned slightly and Jane jumped, realizing they'd stopped walking and he had reached over her head and was holding the door open for her. 

He motioned for her to sit and held up two fingers to the young man behind the counter. In a matter of moments, it seemed, large white cups of steaming hot coffee appeared in front of them. Jane, grateful for something to focus on, nervously tore open a packet of Splenda and dumped it in.

Danny watched her over the top of his cup as he drank, "So…"

Jane sighed slightly. She was determined to act normally, as if sitting here having a cup of coffee with this man was nothing outrageous. He didn't let his friendly smile slip, but she could feel his eyes burning in to hers. Was his face arranged differently, she would think he was angry. She tilted her head a little as if it would help her get a better read on him. 

No, it's not anger, she thought, awareness followed closely by yet another deep blush. It's desire. 

He wants me.

Jane felt her fingers twitch again as she resisted the urge to rub her temples. Taking a deep breath, she took a sip of coffee and then sat the cup down carefully on the table, her fingers absently following the wooden circles under the table's lacquered surface. 

Get a grip, sweetheart, she told herself firmly, and straightened, looking Danny fully in the eye. She smiled.

"So…"

The realization that she could tell, just by looking at him, that he wanted her, was a spark in the hay to the knowledge that she wanted him, too.

Jane briefly thought of Luke, and the two or three boyfriends that preceded him. They were, by all appearances, sensible guys. And in the small town where she'd grown up, they were alright, even if they didn't set her afire. They had been safe, polite. Boring. When they weren't total jerks, of course. 

An ancient memory of Jake, her boyfriend in high school, dumping her to go out with a girl generally considered to be the biggest slut in her Virginia town so he'd score on prom night was followed closely by the unwanted image of Luke and Rachel Jarrett. Jane let out a self-deprecating snort of laughter. Yeah, she thought, Luke was the Rat King in a long line of real fucking princes…

She looked up from her cup and studied the man across the table from her. He sat looking at her, one dark eyebrow raised in question, undoubtedly at her snort. 

Jane felt her pulse quicken. Chewing on her bottom lip, she allowed another deep breath before questioning herself again. She knew that he made her uncomfortable, but it wasn't necessarily in a bad way. Just new. It wasn't, either, in the way that Carrie had watched them either, in a wedding induced fog of love. 

No, this wasn't some compelling whisper of fate, like the windblown romance book covers suggest. It was compelling, but in a tangible way. She recognized it as very human, very basic, very much a force of nature…

"Listen," Danny said, clearing his throat. He'd watched her battle with herself for a minute or two, and though he realized it wasn't an uncomfortable silence, he didn't like the warring factions she was evidently experiencing. "I thought we could have a cup of joe and chat, but if I'm making you uncom-"

"Would you have dinner with me?" she interrupted evenly.

Danny blinked, looking at her. He thought he'd read her face pretty well, before, when she'd seemed anxious, as if there were a million places she'd rather be…

Now, she watched him expectantly, cradling the cup of coffee in her hands.

"Yes," he replied, just as calmly, though bewildered at her rapid-fire change.

"Great," she said, relaxing into the low, cushy backing of the booth they were sitting in. "That's great," she repeated, as if to herself. 

Now, though he smiled slightly, it was Danny's turn to feel a bit awkward. He preferred doing the asking. Looking down into his cup, he threw the last of the coffee down and waved at Hank behind the counter for more. 

When he looked back at Jane, she was staring out the window and onto the Wright & Lewis property. Where they sat faced away from the admin and factory buildings, and afforded a view of the wooded grounds that sloped out from the back of the café and down into a valley. Though the trees were too dense to make out the winding path, Jane could see the beginnings of a wide nature walk stretching away from the small cluster of buildings.

"What is it that y'all do?" she asked casually, looking back to Danny before smiling at the freckled kid refilling her coffee cup. 

Danny stopped scrutinizing the woman in front of him and glanced out onto the grounds stretching away from the windows of the café.

"Wright & Lewis?"

She nodded.

"We manufacture hunting rifles," he replied, returning to look at her as he picked his coffee cup back up. "On the side, we have three nationally recognized historical sites, hunting and fishing camps during the summer, private events…" he trailed off, jerked his head to the bakery display cases with a smile, "We also make a mean scone."

Jane grinned. "Is that a fact?"

"Gospel truth," he returned, holding up two fingers. "Scout's honor."

She took another sip of coffee, then tilted her head at him again. "...and what is it you do?"

He watched as she toyed with the diamond stud in her ear.

"My older brother Jamie and I oversee the manufacturing – he focuses on the new stuff, while I pay attention to the production of locks, barrel gauges and screws for our used guns and antique collectors."

Jane didn't really get that, but she thought it was cute his heart was so into it he just assumed she knew what the hell he was talking about.

She felt another question coming on when the blackberry he'd dropped on the table as they sat down suddenly lit up and buzzed. He flipped the wheel on the side quickly, rolled his eyes and then glanced at her apologetically.

"Sorry," he said, standing up, "Duty calls. I guess my break is over," he grinned.

Danny looked at his watch, then at her. "Enjoy the rest of your coffee…" he glanced at the phone in his hand as it whirred to life again. Jane almost wanted to laugh at the look on his face as he haphazardly mashed buttons, trying to get the phone to quit buzzing. 

"I can't figure this damn thing out…" he grumbled, before shoving it into his back pocket. Jane started to stand up, too, but he waved to her.

"Don't let me rush you," he said, smiling down at her. "Like I said, enjoy that, and I'll see you later, right? Dinner?"

Jane ignored the ridiculous urge to melt. She cleared her throat and nodded, then returned the smile.

"Definitely. Thanks for, uhh…" she couldn't help but laugh at the way she must have looked in the lobby, trying so obviously to dodge him, "…encouraging me to join you for coffee…"

His smiled widened and he looked as if he was going to respond when the blackberry in his back pocket went off again, causing him to jump, if only slightly.

"You better go," Jane said, unable to hide the fact that she was laughing at him.

He gave a frustrated look she was sure was only half meant for the blackberry and nodded, flashing a grin as he walked to the door.

"See you later, then…"

Jane watched him head off and back towards the stone and wooden building they'd come from only 15 minutes before. She exhaled, relaxing for a minute, before walking up to the counter to pay for her coffee. After being politely rebuffed by the teenager behind the counter – he clearly didn't know what a total menace she could become to the fool that offered her free caffeine – she mused her way back towards the main building.

She'd never asked a guy out before. Even if she'd thought about it, a man like Danny Wright, who could wiggle his eyebrows and make her swoon – the imaginary mental image of that made her snort in laughter again – would be too much for her to even consider doing before. Somehow, however, she'd just… It was almost as if her mind was so exhausted by the run-around, bouncing off of thoughts of Luke, her boss, her job, her one night stand, etc., that she'd just had an honest to God 'what the hell' moment. The sheer act of doing something seemed to ease her frustration and weariness. 

And so, it was with a definite bounce in her step that she met her friends as they were coming out of the building, and ignoring their glances, fell in as Ella walked them around, discussing possible sites on the grounds for the ceremony. It seemed that whatever the pitch was to have the wedding at the Wright & Lewis plantation worked; Carrie was enraptured at the idea of having it in front of the old cabin, or down by the river that sprawled through the territory, or underneath a canopied grove of tall trees. If there was any indication that Carrie wasn't sold on the place, it was gone at the squeal that followed Ella's remark that the leaves should be at their peak of color when the wedding rolled around.

Another half an hour later, they were piling into Matt's car, the bride-to-be loaded down with information from Ella on the event planning services and nearly bouncing up and down in the front seat. 

So thrilled was Carrie that she babbled at them all the way back into the city; Jane was nothing less than relieved, though she could feel Lucy looking at her. Jane was just as obvious about ignoring her. 

When they pulled up in front of her building to drop her off – she didn't have to go to work – she hopped out, thanking her lucky stars at the near-interrogation, until Carrie gasped.

"I forgot!" she said, whirling around in her seat.

Jane sighed, one foot out the door.

"You had coffee with Mr. Wright!" Carrie said, half accusingly.

Jane slid the rest of the way out of the car and closed the door as Carrie frantically mashed the button for the window down. She then poked her head out, Matt nearly in her lap and Lucy hanging out the back window. All three of them looked at her expectantly.

Jane waited, smiling pleasantly. 

"Oh, c'mooon!" Carrie wailed.

"What?!" Jane said innocently, pulling her keys out of her purse.

"Jane. Really. Come. On." Lucy dead-panned.

"I asked him out," she said, skipping up the first few steps of her large, stone apartment building. "And he said yes."

"No way," Matt said, as Lucy grinned and Carrie squealed. 

"You," Carrie said, somehow managing to sound out of breath. "…have… a date… with… Mr… Wright…"

Lucy rolled her eyes at the girl in the front seat, a look mirrored by Jane's own expression.

That towel-monogramming look was back in Carrie's eyes.

Jane waved at them, walking up the rest of the wide steps and pushing her key in the door. 

"Bye, y'all" she said over her shoulder, giving them a grin before closing the lobby door to the apartment building behind her.

Feeling very satisfied, she checked the mail, pulling out a stack that looked uncomfortably like it contained quite a few bills, tucked the pile under her arm and jogged up the stairs before letting herself into her apartment. Jane dropped her keys on the table in the entryway and walked into her living room, kicking off her shoes as she scanned one of the magazines in the stack. Throwing her purse on the couch, she was just about to collapse onto it – what was it that unemployed people did at this time of day? Oprah? – when she froze, the magazine falling from her hand.

She had a date with Mr. Wright.

But, when?!? she thought. They'd never said which day they were going to have dinner. 

Frantically, Jane grabbed her cell phone from the front pocket of her purse, then stopped. Nearly hopping from one foot to the other, she stared at her phone. She didn't have his number!

Feeling the totally irrational panic heighten, she remembered the business card she'd dropped on the table in the entryway days before. Running back through the living room, she hopped/tripped over an ottoman, attempting to come to a stop in front of the table next to her front door. Instead, her socked feet touched down on the hallway rug and she fell, sliding into the table, causing the small tray of business cards to cascade down around her. Letting out a curse as her butt hit the hardwood floor, Jane flipped through the cards around her. Caterer. Publishers. Editors. Bankers. Writers. Florist. Taxi. Rob, her mechanic. Several hair stylists. Plumber. Daniel W—

"Ha!" she said, pressing the number into her cell.

By the second ring, she froze. What if he hadn't mentioned a day on purpose?

The chaotic thought was cut short as the phone picked up and Daniel Wright said hello.

Jane's mind went blank. 

"Hello?" he said again. 

"Ummmm…"

There was a beat, and then, "Jane?"

She inhaled, pushing hair behind one of her ears, then forced herself to speak.

"Yes! Hey, Danny."

"Hi there."

"I'm calling because…" she halted. Why'd she call?

"Is everything okay?"

Jane could sense the amusement in his voice and ground her jaw.

"Yes. Fine. Listen, we never set a date for dinner."

He started to say something, but Jane spoke over him.

 "So, I'm thinking, dinner at my place on Friday? If you remember where…" She trailed off, cheeks inflamed. 

There was a low laugh, then a pause. "I remember."

"Okay. Friday. 8PM?"

"Sure."

"Great. See you then."

"Bye," he said, obviously still amused with her.

Jane ended the phone call and sighed, running her fingers through her hair. Glancing sideways, she took in the purse she'd dropped, the contents of which she'd scattered around the couch when digging for her cell phone. Then the large, overturned ottoman she'd tripped over. And then the scrunched rug she'd twisted as she slid and fell to the floor, where she now sat, encircled with fallen business cards, the platter they normally sat on halfway hanging off the table at eye-level with her. 

I've gone completely around the bend, she thought. 

Jane had to laugh. And once she began, she couldn't stop. Falling backwards, she lay in the halo of business cards with the mussed rug and laughed until her sides ached and tears came to her eyes. 

Several minutes later, Jane got up and wiped her eyes with the hem of her cardigan, then flung it off and walked over to the couch, where she collapsed, suddenly tired. 

****

Tuesday passed quickly. Jane woke up at 11AM and spent several minutes programming a day's worth of television with the satellite box, making sure that one show was on the heels of another. By 11PM, she turned off Law & Order, noted dimly she'd eaten an entire loaf of bread instead of actual meals, and promptly fell asleep on the couch again.

Wednesday found her on the couch, and the day went much the same way as the one before. A blur of screeching voices on The View to sobbing voices on Dr. Phil to consecutive crime shows. Two jars of apple sauce she hadn't known were even in the apartment were gone by the time that Thursday came around, a day that went like the others before it.

Her thoughts, week long, hours that dragged by while the world outside made itself busy with people and traffic, bosses and grocery store lines, consisted of untangling herself from blankets or flipping the couch cushions over in search of the remote. In the odd lucid moment, she thought of her career and/or her love life; the introspective moment lasted briefly, before she returned to being numbed by the TV. 

There were moments when she almost got up from the couch and went into her home office to sort through the manuscripts she'd taken. Guilt washed over her at the thought of her writers, waiting on news that Jane Cooper, Junior Editor, had gotten their work through and was coming down the line with good news for them. How long would it take for the 20 or so authors under her care to hear that she'd imploded in front of the shiny downtown publishing office, shrieking at her half-naked boyfriend, before quitting and disappearing with copies of their work? And on that note, how long would it take the legal arm of Wickline Publishing to decide to come and get her and the pilfered manuscripts?

The truth was, Jane Cooper always came through for them. Once she got her hands on a piece she believed in, she fought for it. And she was good at it. It was a fact that at any point during the five years she'd worked for Wickline that Jane could be found after hours and weekends, rifling through the discarded manuscripts that her co-workers and higher-ups tossed out. If she read something that stuck with her, she'd adopt the piece and it's writer and steer it through the muddy waters of editing and publishing. A nuisance to those that tried to side step her and best friend to those who helped her get the job done, it was not a secret – nor something that she particularly regretted – that Jane had become a workaholic, completely and totally dedicated to her job and the writers in her care. 

Which was why it went against her grain to lay around for a few hours, doing nothing. Let alone a few days. 




Thanks, That Was Fun... Ch. 04



But she did. The week passed in a meticulous blur, seeing her rise to go to the bathroom and answer the door when the Chinese food or pizza came. Her stupor lasted the rest of the week, until she rolled over early Friday morning, turning off the T.V. from where it hung on the wall still flickering the Sci-Fi channel from when she'd last fallen asleep. Jane sat up slowly, a dull ache in her lower back testament to days spent laying on her stomach, head propped in hand, watching the television. Lifting a throw blanket off herself, a fork fell to the hardwood floors with a clatter, obviously having been left there at some point in the preceding days. 

Two things came in to focus for Jane – first, it was obscenely obvious, by virtue of lifting the blanket off herself, she'd forgotten to shower since Monday morning. 

Second, she had to get the hell out of her apartment. 

Jane stood up, her legs a little wobbly from lack of use, and stepped over several boxes of take-out food, chocolate wrappers, an empty bag that at one point contained a loaf of bread, and a plate from the night before, when she'd discovered half a bag of French fries forgotten deep within the freezer. Kicking a now empty bottle of ketchup out of her way, Jane hobbled over to the massive windows in her apartment, ones that looked out over her wide balcony and Charleston below. The sky was lightening; Jane pushed open the sliding glass door that lead out onto the balcony, then walked through the patio furniture and leaned against the railing. 

Autumn had arrived in the city, and Jane pulled down the sleeves of her thin shirt over her arms, before wrapping them around herself, warding off the chill. From the fifth floor of her apartment building, she had an expansive view of the skyline of the city as it began moving about, starting the day. Jane glanced behind her at the couch in her living room, a piece of furniture that had been her sanctuary for the past week, and grimaced. She had a strong need to be near other people; and people acting normally, at that, not hibernating as if shrugging off the hours via daytime TV was going to solve her problems. A thought occurred to her to dress and take an outdoor seat at one of the cafés along the block where she could have coffee and read her first newspaper in five days and watch people walk by… it was then dismissed. Maybe tomorrow. 

Right now, she needed air. She needed movement, to feel her body doing something she could control and have an immediate response to.

Jane re-entered the apartment, then her neglected bedroom. Pushing past her suits and business outfits, she grabbed her gym bag, pulling out the clothes she would have taken with her to work, where she made liberal use of the treadmills in the basement gym. 

As she stepped in to a pair of track pants, Old Dominion t-shirt, zip up hoodie and running shoes, it occurred to her that she'd seen about as much of the world outside her apartment during the last few days as she had during the past few years. She'd been a hundred percent more productive, yes, but aside from outings with her friends, there were a handful of days she could remember actually doing something good and fun out in the city. Drinking excluded.

Locking the apartment door behind her, Jane tucked the key into a jacket pocket and moved to the elevator before quickly changing course, taking the steps two at a time down to the bottom floor and nodding as she held open the wide glass doors of the apartment building for a harried looking teenager carrying a stack of newspapers.

The city sidewalks shone in front of her; it was a if the good decision to get off the couch met the act of breathing fresh air into her lungs on the balcony, then combined itself with getting dressed and deciding to take the stairs, all cumulating in one very good feeling. Jane took several moments to stretch and then took off, loping down the sidewalk. Mentally, she sketched out a path, connecting the city blocks around her apartment together. Three streets passed under her feet before she realized she was breathing too heavily; Jane adjusted, remembering to breathe 'naturally', in through her nose and out through her mouth. It took another street to adjust to the correct method, but soon her rhythm was down pat, the sounds of her feet methodically hitting the pavement and the timing of her breath seeming to hum together as the city began its Friday morning hustle and bustle. Golden leaves were tipping trees lining the streets; in a few weeks, it would be gold all the way down, and weeks after that, they would fall like snow. Jane felt her body ping, both in protest at the sudden action after a week of hardly moving at all and in joy, her muscles opening up and stretching for her as she weaved in and out of people pushing baby strollers and opening up the front of their shops. 

Each step seemed to chase the emotion-induced fatigue from her body. When Jane skirted a line in front of a coffee stand and a van of church ladies setting up a pumpkin patch, she felt a part of the morning, instead of someone with no reason to be out and about. And by the time she hopped over the leash of a wandering dog sniffing flower bushes as it's owner yawned against a lamp post, Jane had nothing less than a full on smile on her face. Before she had time to realize it, she found herself panting outside her apartment building, the muscles in her legs burning in a comforting way, one that echoed of purpose and a reason to go about, be outside and with other people. It was as if her legs knew what they'd done for her soul, reminding her she wasn't the only one out there. 

Jane sat down on the low wall outside her apartment building, watching her neighbors leave for work, taking kids to school or run errands - some doing all three. As she caught her breath, she felt a million miles away from the slug that spent the better part of a week in a television-induced stupor. When her breath returned to normal, she bounded off the wall and back up the five floors to her apartment. 

The harmonious feeling lasted up until the moment she turned the key in her door and flung it open, suddenly coming face to face with the disaster zone that her apartment had become over the last week. 

Jane leaned against the doorframe, taking in the mess while at the same time, not really seeing it. It was nearly 9AM – this time last Friday, she'd been sitting in a staff meeting. Paying attention to the drawn-out, superfluous voice of her boss, Rachel Jarrett. Jane'd busted her ass last Friday, like she did everyday; then found her boyfriend horndogging her boss, punched him in front of God and everybody, drank herself into a stupor and… 

Jane went very still, the keys in her hand falling still from where she was spinning them around one of her fingers. A second latter, they fell to floor with a clatter that echoed through the apartment.

She'd taken a guy home. Tall, broad-shouldered, strong, black-haired, green-eyed, gorgeous… 

And he was coming here tonight. To this, this mess of a woman and her mess of an apartment and her mess of a life. 

Jane looked around a moment more, feeling defeated before the battle'd even begun. She stooped to pick up her keys from the floor, and realized she'd been standing in the open doorway for the past ten minutes. Shutting the door behind her, she frowned suddenly. Jane tried to concentrate on capable feeling that coursed through her veins mere moments ago. This 'battle' wasn't with Danny, or Rachel Jarrett, or even Luke. 

A brief flicker of thought crossed her mind, an idea to call Danny and cancel.

Get real, she thought, walking over to the bar that separated the living room from the kitchen, and plopping down on a stool. No more hiding.

Pushing cartons of week-old take out and miscellaneous crap aside, she picked up an old receipt from somewhere, then scrounged around for a pen. Taking a deep breath, she toyed with the pen, clicking the end of it over and over again, thinking. She needed a list. Lists were empowering. 

Jane ran her fingers through her hair, then tossed the tangled mass of her ponytail over a shoulder and looked down at the blank, crumpled receipt. Smoothing it out with her fingers, she laughed idly - Danny was in for a hell of a evening with a woman who thought that lists were exciting. 

She clicked the pen once more, then chewed at her lip. First, obviously, was her apartment. It needed a serious airing out, tidying, probably a daytime TV exorcism. Jotting this down, Jane added groceries – had she really volunteered to cook?! – and at the very least a massive pile of laundry to be done. Then, finally – Danny.

There was a chance that putting him on a 'To Do' list was pushing it a bit, but as Jane returned to clicking the pen in her hand, she decided she could live with being a bit cheeky today.

Jane flipped her TV to a music station, hoisted the volume up as Springsteen came on, and proceeded to open up all the windows and balcony doors, inviting the autumn chill to ward away bad spirits from the carcasses of week old pizza boxes. Next, the trash was cleared, the place vacuumed, her various sheets and blankets and the poor, overused t-shirt she'd worn during her confinement washed. The sign of the cross was made over her couch cushions with Febreeze. Dishes were washed, wine bottles from the balcony and under the couch – Jane felt more than a little mortified at that – were collected. The recycling bin was full, and by 1PM, three bags of trash lined the walkway outside her door, ready to be taken to the dumpster out back. In fact, with the exception of her home office – the door to which was closed, in order to make ignoring it's existence easier – her apartment looked (and smelled, thank God) like home again.

It was with a compounding sense of capability and satisfaction that she crossed the first task off her list, knowing that when the time came for Mr. Wright, her apartment would at the very least be decent. After a quick scouring through her pantry and fridge, Jane concluded that unless she was going to serve her date beef jerky and two old cans of Coors Light – it was unclear at which point in the past week she'd become a 21 year old boy – Jane was going to have to go to the supermarket. 

Which she did, quickly and efficiently. 

When Jane Cooper cooked, there was really only one stop in the store she needed to make – the pasta isle. One of the greatest lessons she'd learned in college was that pasta was pretty standard; there were a variety of ways it could be fouled up, but after a week or so her freshman year of eating burned, overcooked, boiled over, undercooked, mashed, stuck-together, coated in olive oil, too salty, and/or tough-as-nails spaghetti, Jane felt she had the boiling water + noodles thing down pretty well.

Feeling inspired, she gathered her pasta, several different kinds of seafood from the shiny counters at the back of the store, two large bundles of orange, yellow and maroon flowers and a bottle of wine, a random sampling of cheese, salad makings and a large, crusty loaf of bread – and was back in her apartment by mid-afternoon. 

Groceries put away, laundry nearly completed, her apartment clean, then a shower – all her senses were satisfied. Jane popped the cork on a bottle of Riesling and had a glass on the balcony, watching the sun go down and marveling at her day.  

Surely, somewhere, someone was noting this day and marking it down into history. Never, she was sure, had so much domestic flare been shown by someone so naturally inept for it. As darkness settled, the chill in the air rose, and she finished her celebratory glass of wine, shutting the windows and balcony door and looking toward her kitchen, ready to take on the construction of seafood pasta.

****

Danny was not, by nature, a creepy person.

Of that much, he was sure. 

Still, it made him a little uneasy as he parked his Jeep outside the tall, stone building, knowing that without directions or help, he'd found Jane's apartment building, having been there only once before. 

But uneasy was par for the course today – Ella actually accused him of being nervous – and it went hand in hand with looking forward to seeing the blonde woman waiting upstairs for him.

Grabbing two parcels from the front seat, he clicked the doors locked and walked up the apartment building. Stopping, he scanning the array of intercom buttons for a moment before realizing he didn't know her apartment number. Making an annoyed sound in his throat, he scanned the list of names – before realizing, again, that he didn't know her last name, either. 

He could call her. 

But then he'd have to admit he didn't know her last name. 

It may be the stubborn way, but so what…

Danny scanned the list of names again, then pressed a button that proceeded the name J. Makowiz.

A moment later, he was cursed at by a heavily breathing man with a thick accent. 

Danny muttered under his breath, then pressed his finger down on J. Benneton's intercom. A fluttery, female voice breathed out of the box on the sidewalk; he was almost sure it wasn't Jane's voice, but was about to ask when a series of loud screeches sounded, noises that could only belong to a very new baby.

After a terse apology, Danny mashed down J. Koppelman – no answer – followed by J. Hammett – a teenage boy doing a startling imitation of both Beevis and Butthead answered and had almost a complete conversation with himself before Danny moved on – and by the time he laid a finger on J. Cooper's, Danny had is cell phone in his hand, ready to surrender. 

"Yes?"

Finally. He knew that voice. 

Danny cleared his throat. "Hey, Jane," he said.

"Hi there," her voice was decidedly cheerful. Danny felt some of the tension – not nervousness – fade. He had to admit that there was apart of him that thought perhaps she'd regretted asking him over; he'd remembered the far-off look in her eyes as they sat in the café on Monday and wondered if she was really sure she wanted to see him again. 

"Come on up," she said, her words followed by a buzz and click as the door released. 

Or was it him that wasn't sure he wanted to see her again? Danny pondered this as he noted which apartment she was in and passed through the lobby, avoiding the elevator and walking up the stairs. She was charming. She was beautiful, and confident enough to grin back when her awkwardness made him laugh. Still…

Danny moved to the side as a couple passed him on the stairs, then took the two remaining flights quickly.

Still, he'd gathered as much from her conversation with her friends the first morning that she'd broken up with a boyfriend just recently and, from what he could tell, also quit her job not long ago. He'd be lying if he didn't acknowledge that the confirmed bachelor in him was on high alert, warning him against getting involved with a woman who was probably, if what he'd presumed was true, going about a mile a minute on the crazy train from all the changes her life was taking. 

This thought occurred to him about a second after he knocked on her apartment door. 

As he heard her walk over the hardwood floors towards the door, his mind skidded over several excuses and scenarios that would get him out of having dinner with her tonight.

And then, the door opened. 

The hallway was suddenly lit as she swung it open, the soft light from inside creating a glow that haloed the woman standing before him. She smiled up at him tentatively, leaning against the door, one hand stuck into the front pocket of her dark wash jeans. Jane Cooper had a talent for picking out jeans – he was convinced of this now. They molded against her – not tight enough to make him uncomfortable in his own jeans, but enough to make the sight of her slender thigh and hip cause his breath to hitch in his throat. A satin lavender tank top peeked out through the sheer dark purple of her long sleeve shirt, both of which were also form fitting enough to make the curve of her hip and breasts evident to him, if not cheaply on display. Dark blonde waves curled lazily over one shoulder, and as she turned to lead him into her apartment, he caught a whiff of her jasmine scent. Smells of whatever she was cooking wafted over him at the same time as soft strains of bluesy guitar.

She stopped and looked back, the grey-hazel of her eyes puzzled, then raised an eyebrow slightly at where he stood outside her doorway. Another smile followed and Danny stepped into her apartment, closing the door behind him, doubts gone.

This was exactly where he wanted to be.