“Hello?” Fenny questioned the receiver, a bit perturbed by the interruption — she didn’t like the way Paul was beginning to salivate in the general direction of Jenna.

“Hey.”

“Brad,” she gasped, caught off guard.

“You asked me to call,” he said.

“Did I? Oh yeah. Well, um, you up for dinner tonight? It’s been a while since I’ve gotten to cook for a friend.”

Did she say friend, Brad thought to himself. It may as well have been the kiss of death. While her simple statement had lowered his mood significantly, the blood still pulsed maddeningly through his body at the prospect of seeing her again. “Of course,” he answered.

“Seven-ish alright with you?”

“Couldn’t be better.”

“Great. See you then.”

“Yup.”

“Ok.”

“Bye.”

Almost reluctantly, Fenny hung up the phone and dropped it on her bed. Brad was coming to her home for dinner. She was going to have to cook. The phone rang again before she could decide what meal to make, and she answered.

“I forgot to ask where you’re living now.”

“I imagine that would be helpful,” she smiled before rattling off some quick directions to her apartment.

“Great. So, later I guess,” Brad chirped.

“Absolutely.”

“Alright.”

“Bye.”

Fenny put the phone down on the bed again, paused a moment to see if Brad would find another reason to call back, then flumped back on the pillows. “There goes all hope of getting anything accomplished this afternoon,” she murmured to herself, wondering what she should wear, what she could cook, what would they talk about, what underwear he would be wearing…

The front door closed, snapping Fenny out of her reverie, and she wandered back into the living room where Paul was sitting on the couch thumbing through one of the stack of Entertainment Weekly magazines on the coffee table.

“Did Jenna leave?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Did you do something you shouldn’t have?”

“Yes.”

“That’s not the answer I wanted.”

“Then you shouldn’t have asked.”

“So what’s going on, you’re taking her out for a night of rampant bonking?”

“Maybe.”

“While your wife is in London.”

“Yes.”

“You’re such a man,” Fenny growled.

“Which is why you love me,” Paul mused, raising an eyebrow. “That and my buns of steel.”

“For god’s sake,” she sighed, “will you ever let that go?”

“Probably not,” he chuckled.

Fenny rolled her eyes at him. “I forbid you to go out with Jenna.”

“Who was on the phone?” Paul asked, narrowing his eyes.

“What does that have to do with anything?” she demanded indignantly, giving Paul more than a hint at the caller’s identity.

“You and Brad have plans?”

“He’s coming over here for dinner. A nice friendly dinner,” she emphasized.

“Bullshit. You’ll have his boxers on the floor of your bedroom before dessert.”

“Just because you’re a hormone-crazed pervert doesn’t mean everyone on the planet is.”

“I am not,” Paul cried defensively.

“Then why are you gonna go out with Jenna? The insightful conversation that a Hooter’s waitress with an IQ smaller than her bra size – if she wore one – has to offer? I think not.”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” Paul announced. “I’m a grown man.”

“Hardly,” Fenny jeered, laughing in spite of herself as she dodged a playful punch in the shoulder from Paul.

“I’m gonna go out and I’m gonna have some fun,” he declared, and stood up to leave. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some surfing to catch up on before my date tonight.”

“What would you do if I said I’ll tell Gina?”

“Nothing, because I don’t think you would. Your spine is deteriorating, I can tell.”

“My spine is quite firmly in place, Paul.”

“You tell me that after your marathon fuck fest with Bradley.”

“Screw you,” Fenny said, only half teasing.

“I’ll leave that up to Jenna, thanks.” Paul smiled evilly as he stepped out into the hallway and closed the door.

Fenny leaned back on the couch, hoping that once he got the provocative image of Jenna out of his head he’d see the error in his ways and cancel the date. Paul was better than that, wasn’t he?

“What now,” Gina growled as she slipped into her chair at the restaurant. It was her lunch break, but that didn’t seem to stop people from calling her on her cell phone. She had every intention of not answering, to just let it ring, but something in the back of her mind told her to, so she dug around in her bag a moment to find the thing.

It turned out to be a text message: Help. Fan molestation. Gina pondered the given address for a moment before realizing it was just up the road. She couldn’t help but laugh at the fact that he’d signed the message Speccy, and, shaking her head as she went, she left the restaurant unaware of the confused looks the waitresses shot her as she passed.

The walk of about a block and a half was quick as Gina wondered what exactly Greg had gotten himself into and what she could do to help him. The answer was apparent as she entered the pub.

“What’s it like working with Ryan and Colin?” “Is Wayne as nice as he seems?” “Do you miss Clive?” “Is it true you’re happily married?” “Are you sure you’re not gay?” In the center of the group of twittering fans, mostly young women laying on the flirting and seductive glances so thick you could spread it with a trowel, was poor Proops, his tremendously pissed and agitated expression doing nothing to discourage his assailants.

Gina smiled at him for a moment, basking in a bit of sadistic pleasure watching him struggle with his bevy of fanatics. He glanced towards the door for probably the thousandth time and his eyes lit up when he saw Gina standing there, and she figured she might as well bail him out.

She stormed over, looking very businesslike, and pushed her way through the crowd of girls. “Hello, Mr. Proops, you ready for your interview?”

“Abso-bloody-lutely,” he smiled. “Sorry to disappoint, ladies,” he said to the visibly upset crowd. “Thank god you got here,” he whispered to Gina as she dragged him to a table in the far corner. She wanted to get away from the mob that looked quite displeased with her and ready to attack at the drop of a hat. “I was getting ready to fake my own death.”

“So, what do we do now?” Gina asked, more than happy to be seeing Greg again so soon and not willing to let the meeting end so quickly.

“I dunno,” he shrugged. “How much time you got?”

“Well, I should be at work, writing up that article on you,” she grinned. “But I don’t really have to be back any time soon.”

“Gina,” Greg chastised, “isn’t that what you keep getting in trouble for, shirking off?”

“Maybe,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him. “But, if someone calls looking for me, I can say I’m doing research, can’t I? You’re the subject of the article, I’m with you…”

“I see where you’re going,” Greg nodded, smiling at her. “Such a devious genius.”

“It’s why I’m here,” she shrugged. “So, any plans for the afternoon?”

“No, not really,” he admitted.

“Great. Let’s go shopping.” She jumped up and grabbed his arm.

“What? Shopping?” Greg gasped.

“Don’t play macho male with me, Gregory,” Gina laughed. “I know you’re a closet fashion hound. Besides, I need something to wear to your next show.”

“Why is it that women never have anything to wear when their closet is overflowing with crap?” he mused.

“You’ve seen my closet recently, have you?”

“No, but you’re a girl, I know these things.”

“And to think your wife actually took you back,” Gina sighed, shaking her head as they stepped out into the street to hail a cab.

“This is a nice place,” Jenna announced, looking around the pleasant Italian restaurant. “I’ve never been here before.”

“Neither have I,” Paul said as he poured them each a glass of wine.

“You look cute in that suit,” Jenna declared, giving him a suggestive glance.

“Thanks, you look…nice,” Paul nodded. She was dressed in a light, nearly sheer dress with a dangerously low neckline and a devastatingly short skirt.

“So, what’s it like being from England?” Jenna chirped.

“Australia, actually,” Paul corrected, wondering just how thick you’d have to be to get the two confused.

“Well Fen told me your wife is in London, so I just figured.”

Paul took a long gulp of the red liquid at the mention of Gina. “No, she’s there for work.”

“It’s a very sexy accent, anyway,” Jenna purred.

“You really think so?” Paul asked.

“Yeah, you sound like Crocodile Dundee.”

“Good lord,” Paul murmured and took another drink, pausing to refill his wine glass.

Jenna let out a sigh as she leaned forward on the table, giving Paul a highly intriguing view. “It’s nice to go out for a change, all I do all day is listen to people at work complain, complain, complain, and Jett and his guitars and all his musician friends, and Fenny and all her art shit. Don’t get me wrong, Fen’s a nice chick, but she spends all her time on that computer, and what’s with all this art stuff, I mean, how many pictures of fat naked women and flower pots can you look at? Say, what is it you do?”

Paul grabbed a passing waiter by the arm. “I’m gonna need another bottle of wine over here?”

“…this huge monster of a dog named Bunny, and it’s supposed to jump up and knock the pie off the counter, right? So I’m standing there in a pair of pajamas, and the trainer’s off to one side giving all these signals to the dog, and things were perfect for the first maybe three takes, when the dog starts to get bored. Halfway through the scene he leaps up, grabs me around the waist and just starts humping my leg like he’s Colin or something.”

“That’s charming,” Fenny managed through the giggles.

“What’s worse is the director liked that better than the pie thing, so it’s in the fucking movie!” Brad yelped, sending Fenny further into her hysterics.

It was amazing how quickly they had fallen back into their groove. The first few minutes of his visit had been a bit strained, Brad unsure of where to sit and what to look at, neither knowing exactly what to say. He had helped her get the food to the table, commenting on how good it looked and how “you never used to cook.” That had led to her explaining she’d had a lot of free time since she’d gone to work for herself and a friendly discussion over dinner about their respective projects over the past year. It was as if they were the oldest of friends, reunited after a year of traveling, no hint at the animosity or bitterness one would have expected, no mention of their torrid love affair or its heartbreaking end, although they could both feel that it was all lurking just under the surface, the friendly discussion sincere yet almost illusory.

“I’m so glad I didn’t opt for pie for dessert tonight,” Fenny laughed.

“Ooh, there’s dessert?” Brad asked hopefully.

“Of course. You ready?”

“Aren’t I always?”

Fenny raised her eyebrows at him and stood from the table. “Help me get the dishes back into the kitchen?”

He nodded and they quickly had the table cleared and the leftovers tucked safely away in the refrigerator. “What’s for dessert?” Brad asked.

“I picked up an angel food cake at the store, thought we could evil it up a bit with some hot fudge.”

“No home baked cake?” Brad pouted.

“I may have mastered the art of chicken paprika and frozen corn,” she smiled, “but the ability to bake still eludes me.” Fenny pulled a couple of plates from the cupboard and began cutting into the cake.

“Is this what you wanted to use?” Brad asked, and she turned to see him close the refrigerator door with his hip, the bottle of chocolate sauce in his hand, his eyes all too inviting. Her hand went limp as she flashed back to that frenzied afternoon in the kitchen of Brad’s apartment, licking drops of chocolate sauce from his chest as he dribbled it across her stomach. Even as she thought of it, she flinched involuntarily at the memory of the icy liquid and his warm mouth on her skin.

The sound of the knife clattering against the linoleum floor jolted her back to the present, where Brad was gazing at her questioningly. “Something wrong?” he asked.

“Hmm? Oh, nothing, no. Here, cake,” Fenny said, thrusting a plate at him, turning so as not to watch him work his magic with the chocolate sauce as she retrieved her knife. Brad took the two pieces of cake to the table, where they sat in silence for a moment, eating. Something had cracked the surface of pretense, and the uncomfortable truth began bubbling forth.

“I think we should talk,” Brad said.

“Yes,” Fenny breathed, still a bit shaky.

“I need to tell you, Fen, that I’m sorry about how everything worked out. I thought what I was doing was right, but it turned out to be the worst choice I ever made. You were right to leave, I was an asshole.”

“True.” God, why did he have to be so damn noble? “But I wasn’t that great either.”

“We fucked up,” Brad sighed. “I did anyway, it’s my fault, all of it.”

“Not all of it,” Fenny said softly.

“It doesn’t do any good to place blame,” he declared.

She shook her head, gingerly taking a bite of her cake.

“I miss you, Fen,” Brad breathed. “It’s a cliché, but I miss you so much it hurts sometimes.”

“I miss you too,” Fenny said, unable to look at him, knowing she’d crumble, knowing she couldn’t let herself.

“Right now I’m aching to kiss you, but I don’t think that’s what you want.”

“It’s not that I don’t want it, it’s that I don’t think I could handle it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’d kiss me, I’d kiss you, the clothes would come off, and we’d wake up in the morning tangled and sweaty and back in the old routine of slowly ruining each other’s lives.”

“It’d be worth it,” Brad said, smiling cheekily.

“You’ve learned some new tricks since I left, huh?” she teased.

“You’d be amazed what a man can do with a silk scarf and a handful of mini marshmallows.”

Fenny giggled in spite of herself. “It may be best if I just didn’t ask.”

“What about this?” Gina asked, holding up a tiny t-shirt with one of the My Little Ponies on it.

“If you were twelve,” Greg laughed. “Even then I’d probably worry about you.”

“Oh, now this, this is the shirt for you,” Gina cried, grabbing a shirt with one of the Gremlins on it and holding it against his chest. “Do your Gremlin laugh for me?”

“Do you know how often I get that?” Greg grumbled.

“Aw, do it for me, please?” Gina pouted.

“Only if you put this on for me,” he laughed, holding out a t-shirt with the words “porn star” emblazoned across the front.

“Deal.” Gina grabbed the shirt from him, slipped it over her head, and struck a few modeling poses for him. Greg let out an especially evil-sounding gremlin laugh, and together they giggled as a few of the other customers glanced in their direction in disapproval. Gina pulled off the shirt, refolded it and dropped it back on its shelf.

“Ooh, this is pretty,” Gina said, wandering over to another set of tamer tops. “What do you think?” She pulled on a deep violet jumper.

“God no,” Greg cringed. “You can’t wear purple, take it off, please.”

“You’re always in such a hurry for me to get my clothes off,” Gina smirked, regarding herself in the mirror. “You’re right, no more purple. You like the green?”

“The green I like,” Greg nodded in approval as she held another shirt up to her chest.

“Paul has a tie this color,” Gina mused. “I used to hide it from him because it was such an atrocious color.”

“So no green then,” Greg sighed.

“I don’t think so.” She pulled the purple sweater over her head and dumped both unwanted articles uneasily on the rack. “I wonder if Paul’s found that tie again since I left. I hope not, not if I’m not around to help him color coordinate.”

“Aw, come on,” Greg said, wrapping an arm around Gina’s shoulders and leading her out of the store. “I know what you need.”

“Psychotherapy?”

“That might help too,” he laughed. “But I was thinking chocolate, the ultimate healer. Look, there’s a McDonalds around the corner, how’d you like a milkshake?”

“It’s three degrees outside,” Gina declared. “Yeah, ok,” she nodded with a smile.

Paul sloppily ran his finger along the lip of his glass, well past the stage of giving a flying fuck what Jenna was talking about, but paying attention to the way her skirt was slipping up her thigh as she twitched her really quite spectacular leg.

“So there I was, y’know, and the lady swears up and down the wall that there’s, like, nothing she can do, she just can’t find the pink ones. But let me tell you, when the guy sales dude came out, he had no trouble looking for it for me. It wasn’t the one I wanted, but magenta is almost as good as bubblegum pink, don’t you think? More sensual I think, anyway, which is probably why he brought those out instead, you think?”

“Sure,” Paul shrugged, his mind numbed from the conversation and alcohol, yet he couldn’t pry himself away from her shapely body, the fact she’d practically said “I’ll fuck your brains out if you buy me dinner.” He’d had some reservations at first, but his head was humming pleasantly, and as she licked the pasta sauce from her fingers in a way that would make a lesser man ravish her right there on the table, he noticed that other parts of his body were humming a bit more insistently.

“Your check, sir,” a waiter announced, placing the tray on the edge of the table. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“Oh, I’m ready,” Paul murmured, pulling out a few bills and dropping them on the table. His gaze settled loosely on Jenna. “Your place or mine, sweetheart?”

“If we go to my place, we could wake up Fen. I bet you could have me screaming loud enough for your wife to hear.”

“My place then.”

“I guess I should put up the chocolate sauce, huh?” Brad asked, eyebrows raised. “Unless you’ve got some exciting use for it in the near future?”

Fenny smiled at him. The ice had been broken and they’d plummeted into the waters and at least acknowledged the fact that there was tension between them, and it seemed to make things a bit easier. She was almost startled that they were practically flirting, and she was letting herself get pulled into him just as she said she wouldn’t. It was like being nibbled to death by ducks, slow and painless until wham, you’re dead and you didn’t even see it coming. “Put it away, Brad,” Fenny laughed. He shrugged and headed for the fridge. “So, tomorrow’s your last day of shooting?”

“How’d you know?”

“I’m working for the same people you are now, I’ve got a schedule.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah it is. Early morning shoot.”

Fenny nodded. “I’ve got to get that poster at least started.”

“You’re trying to get me out of your house, aren’t you?” Brad asked, leaning against the counter.

“Yes, before I do something I’ll regret.”

“Sounds like fun,” Brad grinned, but grabbed his jacket from the couch and headed for the door anyway. “It was great seeing you again, Fen.”

“Yeah it was. We’ll have to do it again.” She leaned against the door. “I like being friends.”

“Me too.”

Both knew they were lying. Friends. Like hell. Even as they stood there, their bodies gravitated towards each other. Both noticed at the same time, and while Fenny froze, unsure what to do, Brad leaned down and swept her into his arms, capturing her in a soft, endearing, fleeting kiss that melted all her resolve, all her self control, all her reasons for saying no to him.

He pulled away, and Fenny dragged in an uneasy, ragged breath. “Bye Brad,” she gasped, and shut the door.

“How can it be this cold in the middle of summer?” Gina asked, trying to keep a good hold on her cup of hot chocolate so she didn’t spill it with all her shivering.

“It’s London,” Greg reminded her. “Its job is to be cold, rainy and miserable.”

“It’s not this cold in LA, is it? It’s not this cold anywhere else in the northern hemisphere. How come it’s always cold where I am?”

“It wasn’t cold in Australia, it was damn hot. I nearly melted.”

“I thought that was all your pent up lust,” Gina laughed.

“Well it certainly didn’t help,” Greg smiled.

“What was the weather like in LA when you left? Paul said he was surfing…”

“Paul’s in LA?” Greg asked.

“Yeah, ran into Fen. Literally. While surfing. I never wanted to be in California more than I do right now.”

“Look, let me buy you a cookie or something, huh?” Greg suggested, gesturing to the display case in the café.

“I know what you’re up to, Speccy,” Gina said with a smile. “I mention Paul, you buy me sweets. There was the shake, the ice cream, the brownie, the hot chocolate, and now a cookie? I get the message, I’ll stop my whining. Any more of this and I won’t be able to try on any more clothes.”

“Damn, you caught my ulterior motive, get you fat enough to want to stop shopping.”

“Nice try,” she grinned. “Now come on, I still don’t have an outfit for the show. You don’t want to be seen hanging around a woman dressed in rags, do you?”

“You could show up to my gig naked if you wanted. Hey, there’s an idea—”

“Don’t even think it,” Gina giggled.

“Oh, I’m thinking it,” Greg said with a lusty grin, quickly replaced by a twinge of pain as she swatted his arm.