Chapter I- Paying a Visit

This story was chiefly inspired by the Book-Alex Rider fanfic "Alex is home" by the user Classybullshit. Yes. There are a fair number of "Alex Rider" fanfics with an M-rating, most of which aren't very good. But a few are, and if nothing else the fact that several M-rated "Alex Rider" fanfics exist says something about people's taking that 'teenage spy' series of books more seriously than some other works with that subject matter. I have read one or two of the "Alex Rider" books, but since Alex is British I felt like I might have a harder time writing about him with accuracy. So, I decided I'd write about the 'Agent Cody Banks' films instead. This is a considerably more mature fanfic than most of the others present, hence the M-rating. I had some concerns over whether that wasn't taking the whole thing out of context, but in a sense I think this is fine. After all, the life of a real Cody Banks would have been much more serious, and by 17 he definitely would have realised that. I liked the way Alex Banks, Cody Banks, and Natalie Connors all developed as characters in this story- each of them is based off what you see in the first movie, but again, are all seen in a much more serious light. Particularly accurate, I think, is how scared to death Natalie is of the danger Cody's work puts him in, as well as how clearly the two love each other.

My phone was ringing; going off with that stupid tune my kid brother got it stuck on. It wasn't like I didn't know how to set it on vibrate or change the ringtone entirely. When you're in my line of work you end up knowing a lot more about modern electronics than how to turn off a stupid pop song on your cell phone. Knowing how to do it wasn't the problem at all. What was, then? Natalie Connors. She's the nicest girl you could ask to meet, the daughter of this brilliant, not-at-all nutty professor called Albert Connors- you've probably read about him about a dozen times in the past few years if you've even looked at a magazine that so much as uses the word "science"- and she's got a body to die for. I mean, every guy says that about every good-looking girl that really gets their attention, but I mean it.

Natalie really does look that good. She's about five-foot-eight as far as height goes, nothing spectacular, but I like that just fine since it's kind of weird for some guys- like me- to always be looking up at a girl when you're trying to kiss her. Natalie's different than a lot of girls I've met where there's that one thing you like, or something you don't, or both. Like, "She's got a nice ass", or "She's got nice… peaches" or "She looks good but she's asleep upstairs". With Natalie it's not any one thing about her physically that you think is good looking. She doesn't just have nice hair- blonde and flowing, and with some nice flowery smell you could get lost in for days- or a nice face, though I've had the privilege of studying it up close a good couple of times in the past year. I think I could stare at those blue eyes forever.

No, with Natalie it's more than that. She's got nice hair, a nice face, a nice personality… and a real nice body. Everything's just so, perfectly proportioned. Like somehow, unlike most girls- especially in books, where it's like any pretty girl has to have some kind of obvious flaw to make her human- Natalie Connors just showed up just right. She's got nice everything.

When I was fifteen, nobody would have ever believed I would end up dating Natalie Connors. Not in a million years. She was going to that fancy prep school across town, the William Donovan Preparatory School, and she had dozens of rich playboys just begging her for a date. And if you by chance knew me at my old middle school or high school, you'll remember I was that kid who could skateboard his way to school without getting killed but couldn't talk to a girl to save his life. I remember I earned a lot of funny nicknames for the weird, inarticulate noises I made when some pretty girl said hi to me. Well, other people thought they were funny. I didn't. Bad nicknames have a way of sticking to you, in a way that good ones just don't ever seem to. You remember being called "Cody the Cunt" a hell of a lot longer than you remember anything good somebody called you. Bad nicknames can destroy a kid. It makes you doubt yourself, whether you're any good, and you start wondering if the nickname they gave you doesn't fit after all. If you're not careful, you can forget you were ever worth something and become the loser those idiots say you are.

So what changed things for me? Most people wouldn't believe this, but I'm in the CIA. Plain and simple. I joined when I was fourteen, did a bunch of intense training the whole summer at this place they have on some little island off the coast of South Carolina. You wouldn't believe the shit they put you through just on the physical part of the course- before I left nobody really believed me when I said I was going to a boot camp for prospective future Marines. When I got back after that summer, though, they believed me. I still couldn't talk to girls but I sure looked like I could.

So that was one step in the right direction. I started working out- a lot- because if you want the Agency to actually pick you for anything, you make sure you're in the best shape you can manage. And it's not just for your career's sake, either- when you get out there and have to crawl up an elevator shaft with nothing but a greasy cable to hold onto, you need all the muscles you can get. The other was that the CIA gave me my first mission. Of all things, they sent me to talk to Natalie Connors.

I had absolutely no idea what I was supposed to do at first. Here I was being told not only to talk to a girl, but a beautiful one- and the daughter of a famous professor! But there was no arguing about it. If I said no to that one the Agency might have left me on the Reserve List for good. That happens to some kids, I hear. They sign up and do basic surveillance work, if that, for their whole careers. The really unlucky ones go through training and then just wait. And wait. And wait. And never does that big moment where they get picked to go on their first mission actually come. The CIA isn't paid to go get America's mail in the morning. It's not our job to do the easy stuff. If the CIA calls for you to go on a mission- especially if you're a youth operative and it's your first- saying no might very well be it. When the Agency says "Hey, you!" it's not time to say "Uh, I don't know about this time". You go or you may not ever get asked again. And besides- why was I gonna ever say no? They were asking me to "Get to know Natalie Connors". As terrified as I was of the idea, I was a high school sophomore and I was in sight of getting my driver's license. I remember thinking, "Talk to a hot girl, huh? Yeah. I can do that."

So I started my first mission, and I have to admit I stumbled very gracefully along for a while- like zapping that rich snob Alex McCann with that special wristwatch the CIA gave me in front of the whole class; even if he grabbed it first that didn't make a great impression. When you transfer to a new school, even if your reputation doesn't follow you, you do. See what I mean? Cody Banks was still Cody Banks, and until I figured out how to be one of the cool kids- one of those dudes all the girls wanna date and the guys envy- I wasn't gonna have a chance with Natalie Connors or anybody else. For a while it looked like that was how it was going. But then I did what I do best- I saved her life. I was only there by happenstance, walking along nearby when she was putting up that banner. But some quick thinking and a little luck, and I saved her from at least a broken arm- if not a broken neck- in front of more than a dozen people. That was pretty cool. It got me invited to her 16th birthday party, and if that's not a start- with her and with the mission- then what is?

A lot's changed since then, though. Working for the CIA isn't what it used to be. When you're 14-15, they don't use you for much- I think the Director is understandably afraid of one of us teenage operatives getting his head cut off by Al Qaeda on live TV someday- but from close-to-16 onward they start giving you more assignments than tracking, support and surveillance. I saved Natalie and her dad out in the Cascade Mountains in '03, and that was more than enough to make sure she liked me. The Agency didn't exactly approve- personal relationships like that can be dangerous in our line of work- but once the Connors mission was over and Brinkman was taken care of, they didn't really care either way. So I got to first base with Natalie a little while after that, and we've been together ever since. Some things will go a long way towards making a girl like you- like risking your life to save hers twice.

Trouble is that she's worried about me. It's just something I can tell. I keep coming back from some 'school trip' or 'college scouting' with just about every muscle in me strained and sore. I'll have bruises, burn-marks, sprained ankles and even the occasional broken bone. I have some electrical burns on me too. You go ahead and guess where. I'm fine- the Agency checked, and I checked- but I hope Natalie doesn't freak out if/when she sees the scarring. She worries enough as it is.

Is this what's like for guys in the Special Forces? I wonder about that sometimes. I heard once that officers in the submarines have to do so much work to get their Gold Dolphins in the first place, they almost always go career. That means being at sea for six months to a year at a time, though, with absolutely no contact with family while out. I heard they've got a 75% divorce rate, those career submarine officers. Their wives just can't take it, I guess, not being able to see their husband for so many months at a time, having no way of knowing what he's doing or if he's even okay. I hope that doesn't happen to me and Natalie, though. I really don't. Being in the CIA is not the same as the Silent Service, but we're a silent service of a whole other kind. It's a dangerous line of work, intelligence- that or safe but very high-intensity- and you never know who's watching as you go about watching them. It's a chess board, in a way, one where you have no idea when the game will end or whether you've found all the pieces. It's finding the pieces that the CIA is best at, though. That's what we do.

My cell phone was clearly not going to shut up, though. I'd been lying in my room all day, wishing I had one of those hot tubs like Dr. Connors has got in his backyard, a lot of which is tiled and also has a pool Caesar would've been impressed by. My whole body was aching with pain, and I had some nice bruises on my ribs and right leg from the latest 'skiing trip' I'd been on with my 'skiing group'. The Agency sure does like making up interesting activities for you to suddenly have a passion for, all the better to get you out of town on a moment's notice and not have everybody asking you all these awkward questions. I travel a lot these days. I really like skiing.

That damn phone. I tried to swiped at it, ringing away where it was up on my desk. I was sprawled across my bed, having spent most of this Friday sleeping and wishing my body would stop singing "Ave Maria" with my bones. I should be more grateful that I made it back, but that doesn't stop you from sometimes wishing you had a less active live than skiing trips and a lot of trips to the gym. Of course, that's not all bad- Natalie's not the only one checking me out these days, though she almost always tries to hide it. Apparently there's just something awfully fascinating right behind me whenever I take my shirt off in the gym or at the pool. I mean, when I was over last month, Natalie said she had to do some homework- on a sunny day in April?- but I could sit on one of the sun chairs in my swim trunks if I wanted. She gave up on the whole homework thing within an hour, though, and came down to sunbathe on the opposite side of the pool. I know she was trying to act like she was lying back and sunbathing too- two could play that game since we both had dark sunglasses on- but I know she was over there, looking at me the whole time. Of course, to be fair I was having a look at her too. In a pink bikini like she had on, there's no way she wasn't saying, "Cody! Check me out!" And I was wearing my bright red swim trunks, the ones Natalie says really fit my looks. How obvious can you get?

"Can't touch this- doo doo do, do do, do doo, can't touch this!" Alex sang, dancing down the hallway past my room. I groaned and stuck my head under the pillow. If it was any of the guys at school, they could go stuff themselves. I wanted some damn sleep. I'd been sleeping all day- but those skiing trips really wear me out. My mom thinks I'm looking to go professional. If the Agency says so maybe I will. I could almost not give a damn either way about skiing, so really it's all up to them.

Suddenly, Alex's footsteps halted, and next thing I knew he was bounding into my room, singing that damn song right in tune with MC Hammer on my phone. "Dude!" Alex cried, talking as loud as possible even though he knows I hate that. Especially when I'm trying to sleep. "It's four in the afternoon, man! You're off from school! Answer the phone!"

"Goway" I grunted, hoping he would. He didn't.

"Ooh!" Alex said suddenly, "Is it Natalie calling? Maybe I can talk to her if you-"

Suddenly I threw off the pillow and lunged for the desk, grabbing the phone and falling back onto my bed with it. Quick, darting movements are about all I can manage half the time after I'm back from a mission. It's that or don't move at all.

"Oh-ho! What's up, stud?" Alex cried, now with a note of real surprise in his voice despite his automatic teenager I-am-not-impressed act. Not only had I snatched that cell phone off my desk with a speed some jungle cats would have envied, but the covers I'd been under slipped off me down to my waist as I moved. I pump a lot of iron these days and it shows.

"Shut up, man," I grumbled, flipping open the phone. "I'm tryin' to take a call."

"Tell Natalie I love 'er!" Alex sang, and I took a swipe at him. He ran off down the hall, singing "Secret Agent Man". Or was it "Secret Asian Man"? I couldn't tell. Alex thinks he's some kind of pop star in the making, and the fact that he can sing doesn't help. I wouldn't complain, except he's always singing off-key on purpose when I can hear him, and the songs he picks are ones he knows I hate.

"Hello?" I said, pressing the button to take the call. "What's up?"

"Cody!" Natalie's voice said, and immediately I was fully awake. "How'd your ski trip go?"

"Oh," I said with a shrug even though she couldn't see me, "Went all right. Got back last night."

"You sound tired."

"Babe, I am tired."

She laughed, and I just about melted right then and there. God, she's a great girl to be dating. It's not just the eye candy, and I think I told you there's no shortage of that. It's that- as corny as it sounds- if you could see her soul as easily as you can her face, she'd still be the most beautiful girl in the world. The wonders of lying on a deck chair while she massages every sore muscle on your back like a professional cannot be exaggerated. I don't know how I'd have kept up this double life without her. From the Cascade Mountains to London and back again, I've always had Natalie Connors. I'm not sure if this is true love- not just yet- but whatever it is I want some more of it.

"Well," Natalie said in that cheerful, flirtatious voice she knows I love to hear, "Would Cody have some time to come see Babe today?"

The keys to the Ultra were already in my hand. I stood up, grumbling a little at the soreness in my legs and trying to find something to wear beyond my boxers.

Natalie must have heard my grumbling, and sensed it was over my being sore. Before I could answer, she added, "I've got some of that oil, too. That Hawaiian kind you like."

I laughed; Natalie always seemed to know just how to tempt me. She could make a run down the street to a 7-11 sound awesome. "You know," I said with a smile, "I was just getting ready to call you."

Natalie sounded pleased. "Were you really?"

"He was not!" Alex shouted from the hallway, then bolted for his room, cackling madly as I shouted in anger and chased after him. I tried to stay angry as I turned back to the phone after Alex sprinted down the hall and slammed his door, still laughing like he'd told the funniest joke in the world, but I could hear Natalie laughing too.

"Little brothers," I grumbled.

"Little?" Alex protested from behind the door. "I'm hung like a-"

"You be quiet!" I barked, banging a fist on the door. "Mom didn't teach you to talk that way!"

"Mom's not here!"

I sighed in exasperation; it was a good thing Mom and Dad were out getting groceries. The language me and Alex use sometimes isn't exactly dinner-table appropriate, and he loves poking fun at the fact that he knows why I'm tired and worn out whenever I get back from my ski trips. He's been very well-bribed, too- that's what ensures his silence. Alex likes his iPod and Bose headphones and $200 haircut a little too much to give up that slice of the CIA-paycheck pie.

"Just be quiet, man!" I said, heading back to my room. Alex promptly began singing "Secret Asian Man", so I took that as about as good an answer I was gonna get. I went back in my room and found some jeans, starting to pull them on with one hand.

"Is he always like that?" Natalie asked, a little curious.

"Yes," I said, and she laughed. I frowned a little. "What?"

"You're so funny when you're mad at him," she said, and giggled.

"Thanks," I said, laughing a little. "I think."

"Well," Natalie went on, "I think my parents are out of town for the weekend. Dad's got this big convention in D.C. he needs to go to."

I liked that idea. A lot. "So…." I began, feigning ignorance.

She laughed. "So- I was thinking this would be a great time for you to come over and have some dinner. Maybe hang out by the pool."

Now that I really liked. "I'm already in the car, babe," I said, hopping into my jeans. Well, almost in the car.

Natalie laughed again, and I thought once more of how much I loved hearing her voice. The memory of it had kept me going in some dark times, indeed. I never really was sure how much Natalie knew and how much she ignored. I knew I hoped she didn't ever find out about a few things- not because I didn't trust her, but because I didn't want to scare her. She was scared enough for me already.

"I'll be there by five, babe," I said, making my voice more solemn. "Promise."

"I thought you said you were already in the car," she said, sounding puzzled.

"Oh," I said airily, "I gotta do some things first. Wax the car, gel my hair, make sure I can bench-press two of you in the gym- that sort of thing. And buy you a rose- a white one. The kind you like."

I could almost see her smile. "Oh, all right," she said with exaggerated impatience. "I'll see you here at five."

"See you then, babe," I said, using that pet name I know she secretly loved to hear.

"See you then," she echoed, then added, "I'm looking forward to it. You know, Cody… I've been thinking about you a lot lately."

She hung up with a click, probably knowing full well it would drive me crazy.

I stared at the phone for a few moments, incredulous- and then a smile began to work its way onto my face. I had a feeling tonight was gonna be awesome.

Thirty minutes later, I was headed out of the house in a black polo, blue jeans, freshly showered and with my hair styled up like I was a Hollywood playboy. I'm not one yet, but maybe when I get out of the Agency that'll be my new cover. Cody Banks of Hollywood, California.

"Alex!" I called as I headed out of my room with the keys to my 2001 Park Avenue Ultra in my hand, "I'm going out!"

"Where?" Alex called back, having opened his door a while ago once he felt it was safe.

"Natalie's!" I said, deciding it would be best not to lie to him. Alex knew enough already that lying to him would be insulting as well as arguably pointless. And besides, in a way I liked being able to tell my brother the truth. He seemed to appreciate it in his own way, and if nothing else was getting really good at covering for me with our parents.

"Woo-hoo!" Alex shouted, and I groaned out loud when I realised what he was probably thinking. Alex bounded down the hall and into the living room, pumping his fists in the air. "Woo, yeah! Cody's goin' for a home run, man!"

"Dude," I said, and when Alex kept dancing around I raised my voice. "Dude!"

He stopped, frowning a little. "It's Alex, Mister Fancypants."

"Well, Alex," I said with deliberation, "I'm going to Natalie's and I might be there a while after dinner. Tell Mom and Dad…" I thought about that one for a moment. "I'm house-sitting. The Connors are out of town today and I'm gonna house-sit for 'em. They might ask me to stay overnight."

Alex grinned wolfishly. "You dog, you," he said, batting at my nicely-gelled hair. I jumped away, and he snickered. "You gonna cover for me?" I asked pointedly.

"What's in it for me?" he asked slyly. That old question. Playing along, I leaned down to face him and said, "That depends on what you want. That doesn't mean you're getting it, though."

He considered that for a moment. My offers to pay him for assisting me with something tended to be as vague as this. Finally, he said, "I want a new iPod."

"You already have one," I said.

"I want two."

Alex still had most of the $5,000 I gave him but I couldn't point that out without risking somebody hearing us. I was never supposed to have shared the information I did with him, or that fat chunk of my bonus pay. But I needed to- back in 2003, when the Agency had tried to cut me loose over some mishaps in the Connors mission, I needed all the help I could get. Alex covered for me then and he's done so plenty of times since, but we don't talk about that money I gave him. He knows it's from the CIA- not mob money or anything- but I've had to warn him more than once that this isn't a joke. Being in the CIA isn't like in the movies. It's a line of work that really is very exciting at times, true- but it can also get you stuffed in a plastic bag and dumped by the side of a road in Lebanon, or your head shot off in some other far-off land. It's incredibly exciting and extremely dangerous. Not something you want your kid brother talking about at school.

But Alex didn't look like he was budging; once he named his fee he tended to be pretty stubborn about it.

"All right," I sighed. "Fine." I took out my wallet and slipped out a single Ben Franklin bill- I couldn't help but smirk when I saw Alex gape at how much was in the wallet, which hadn't exactly been cheap either. I handed my brother the bill, with the warning that he would only be paid the other half of his $200 when I got back- whether it was tonight or tomorrow- and nobody asked me any questions other than what I would expect.

Thus encouraged to cover for me again, Alex pocketed the bill. I abruptly scooped him up and hugged him. "You're the best, man," I said, ruffling his hair. "Thanks."

"Mf," Alex grunted. He was getting to be the age where it wasn't cool to be picked up and hugged by your big brother anymore. I knew he kind of liked it- Alex fought a lot harder when he really didn't want you to do something- but he grumbled anyway. Then he sniffed at me, frowning.

"What is, that, cologne?" He laughed. "You're wearing cologne?"

I put him down, nodding. "Natalie happens to like it a lot," I said smugly.

Alex just got a smug look of his own, looking at me slyly. "I bet it's not the only thing on you she likes… a lot."

I took a swipe at Alex then but he'd already darted away, having anticipated that. We both laughed, each amused and getting along with the other in our own way. "I'll give Mom and Dad a call once I'm down the road," I said as I headed for the door. "I'll tell 'em where I'm going."

"Then what do you need me for?" Alex asked.

I turned back as I put on my aviator shades. "To make sure they believe it." Alex laughed and I closed the door behind me, striding confidently towards the garage. It's a three-car garage- we just happened to get a house with an uncommonly large driveway- and my car was always parked in its air-conditioned shade, on the far left side. The garage is often left open on warm days like this, so I didn't need to go around to the side door. It's a 1985 Pontiac Firebird, the Trans Am model with the 15-inch, 5-point steel wheels. Fire engine red inside and out with white racing stripes on the seats- plus it's a T-top convertible. That car is one of the coolest things I've got, and there's nothing quite like hauling ass down the road just because you can. Anybody who would say that's unnecessary or unsafe is either a stuck-up old prude who's forgotten what it's like to be young or someone even more unfortunate, who never lived that life in the first place. If you ask me, being young is all about taking risks and raising a little hell- maybe more than a little. It's the time of your life when you can try new things and really start enjoying the privileges of an adult, without all the hassles and responsibilities. High school can be either boring or awesome, depending on what you make of it.

I walked around to the driver's side of the Trans Am, reaching inside the already-lowered window to unlock the door. It might seem pointless to do that- locking your doors with the windows down- but I do it all the time. People are creatures of habit, and I got stuck doing that pretty much as soon as I got my driver's license.

Swinging open the long driver's side door, I sat down in the cloth bucket seat and slid the keys in the ignition. They were good, solid, all-American metal- none of that electronic key-coded stuff that makes a damn car key cost $800 or whatever it is these days. Sometimes, when I think about how often some of these high-tech, 'theft-proof' 21st century cars get stolen, I think that car companies just made these electronic keys to have one more way of making cars needlessly complex, thus increasing the labor hours for mechanics and their profits from you, as well as cutting out the appliance stores and forcing you to buy replacement keys only from the car company, thus increasing what they could make off you as well. Apparently paying them what some people make in a year or more for the damn machine is not good enough anymore. It was when this Trans Am was made, though- back then GM halfway knew what it was doing.

I turned the key forward in its slot, and the Trans Am's V8 roared responsively, revving as it turned over and then subsiding to a steady growl as it idled. Reaching up with a hand, I tilted the rearview mirror towards me and looked into it. I smiled when I saw my reflection, surprised by how sexy I looked. The formal-but-not-too-formal black polo, the everyday dark blue jeans, and the very-casual aviator sunglasses, reflective and mirror-like. Maintaining that sly, flirtatious smirk, I set a hand on the aviator shades and slid them down a little, looking up at the mirror as I tilted my head down. I don't know quite what it is about that eyes-over-the-sunglasses thing, but when I throw my sexiest smile into it Natalie says it just drives her crazy. I like it when Natalie says that about me or something I do, so I have bought several pairs of expensive sunglasses since the time she first said that. I looked myself up and down in the mirror one more time; it surprised me again just how good I looked. Everything about me was just slimmed down, buffed up and sexy as hell. I was definitely ready to go.

Shifting the Trans Am into reverse, I backed out the concrete driveway and into the suburban neighborhood street. Call me lazy or whatever you want, but the Trans Am's an automatic. It was really just a practical choice, though; the car was awesome otherwise and I hated the idea of passing it up just for the transmission.

I glanced to my left and right. No cars were coming- considering our neighborhood is a cul-de-sac there's noplace to go but back the way you came, so we get little traffic besides tourists and people who live here. Turning the wheel, I shifted into Drive and gunned the engine a bit; the Trans Am roared and jumped forward. I grinned, and accelerated steadily down the street and to the stop sign at the edge of the neighborhood. The Trans Am was one of my favourite possessions, bought with the bonus pay from last year's summer job. You'd be surprised how well my summer jobs pay these days. And speaking of summer, that was coming up pretty soon. The wind blew in through the open windows and the space created by the removed panels of the T-top, cool and refreshing like it should be. Naturally I wanted to drive faster; the feel of that wind on my face is something I just can't get enough of.

It took about ten minutes to stop by the florist's and pick up the white rose I promised, another ten to drive to Natalie's house. She lives in probably the most expensive neighborhood I've seen that doesn't have gates or armed security. The Connors house, big and brick-made with lots of imported windows from somewhere in Europe, was coming up on my left right as my watch- a rose-gold coloured Rolex, also from somewhere in Europe- ticked over to 5:50. I smiled yet again, steering the Trans Am left onto the concrete-and-pebble driveway. Right on time.

Pulling up to a stop at the front of the driveway, I shifted the Trans Am into park and pulled my phone out of my pocket, intending to send Natalie a text message and let her know I was here.

"You know, that's noise pollution, what you're doing!" Natalie Connors called, leaning lazily over the black, wrought-iron fence.

I looked up, cupping a hand to my ear and turning up the AC/DC song that was on my iPod. "What?" I shouted, acting like I had no idea what she meant. Or had said.

"It's just like dumping toxic waste on my lawn!" she said, still smiling in good-natured reproof.

I shut off the Trans Am's V8 and pocketed the keys. "Well, I would hate to do that, Miss Connors," I said, smiling back. I opened the driver's door, getting out and standing up. I walked over towards her, glad my reflective sunglasses hid my eyes as I gave her a once-over. Through the fence I could see she was wearing jeans, pale blue in contrast to the darker shade mine were, and in the afternoon sun I could only admire that white tank top- some guys might call it an A-shirt- she wore on her upper half. Her arms were folded as she leaned on the fence, looking at me, and the sun shone beautifully on her shoulder-length golden hair and the smooth, creamy skin of her shoulders.

I walked up to the fence, pocketing my sunglasses. "Uh," I said with theatrical hesitance, and right away she could tell I was joking, "Did they tell you what my fee is? The escort service? I'm a thousand. $1,000, and not a dollar less, Miss Connors." She started laughing, but I held my hands up. "I'm worth it, trust me. I know I don't look it, but I'm worth it. I know that's pretty steep, but think about what you get! I mean, some people, yeah- they'd rather do $500, or even $200. And that's fine! If you like that sort of thing."

Now I was standing in front of her, and she laughed again. "You asshole, Cody Banks."

"Oh, that's another $50!" I said. "I don't even talk about that unless the fee is included."

"You know what I think, Cody?" she asked, looking up at me.

"What do you think?" I asked her, in a voice that said I just had to know the answer.

She smiled sweetly. "I think you're selling yourself cheap."

I laughed, walking around to the gate, lifting its latch and locking it again as I passed inside and closed it. Natalie came up to meet me, her feet softly patting across the rich, dark green grass- how grass that green can be real I have no idea- and I walked off the tiled pathway to meet her.

We embraced, holding each other close, face-to-face. I kissed her on the lips, and she put her arms around my neck as mine went to her waist. "Hey, babe," I said, as I kissed her again. "Missed you."

She smiled; I could tell every time she smiled like that how truly happy she was to see me. "You know," she said softly, "after all the times you've called me "babe" sometimes I wonder if you forget my name and just say that to cover it."

I feigned surprise. "Uh, why would that be- Miss Connors? I'm sorry, the escort service only told me your last name-"

Natalie leaned forward and kissed me, pressing herself a little closer as she did it. I think she knew that feel of her soft, shapely breasts was just driving me wild- of course, I was sometimes extra slow with putting on my suntan lotion at the pool, taking my time running the liquid over those athlete's muscles on purpose. We loved driving each other crazy like that. It was just part of the game we played, any and every time we were together.

"You talk too much," she said, then gently extricated herself from our embrace. "Come on," she said as she started heading around back, "I've got us some dinner." She shot me a grin, adding, "And we've got the whole place to ourselves."

I grinned and followed; suddenly I noticed I'd all but forgotten how damn sore I was, and that all came back to me rather abruptly. Not even that could do much to dampen my mood, though; not right now. I was busy admiring Natalie's… departure, and as we walked along the back patio I reflected again how damn lucky I was. Of all the guys who could have won her, it turned out to be me.

As I followed Natalie around to the wood picnic table her family had set up on the patio, maybe fifteen feet from the back doors, I noticed she'd set up a couple of tall candlesticks and lit one at either end of the table. She'd made spaghetti for dinner, and even at this distance I knew it was the best god damn spaghetti I'd ever seen. There's some things where you can just tell that way. One look, and you're sure. That was some god damn good looking spaghetti. Breadsticks, meatballs, some equally good looking salad on a smaller plate nearby. Fine silverware and ice water in two crystal glass goblets. She'd sure gone the whole nine yards on this one. I slipped a hand into the back pocket of my jeans, and I heard the slight crinkling sound I was hoping for; the foil wrapper assuring me that I still had a condom in that pocket. Being Cody Banks and all, I always carry one in my pocket, anywhere I go. Just in case.

Stopping near the table, I looked it over, gaping in amazement. I'd seen it at a distance, but I was just amazed, seeing it up close now- this was some damn good looking food. I'd known Natalie could cook- sometimes she volunteered to do the honors for the evening meal, taking care of the whole thing instead of her parents. Once she made seared roast when I was over for dinner; it was amazing.

"Wow," I said, a wonderfully original thing to say. "You made all this for dinner?"

She smiled modestly.

"Thanks, babe," I said, my voice the very sound of gratitude. "It looks amazing." I walked closer to where she was standing near the table, embracing her again. In a low voice, I added, "You look amazing, too." I started to kiss her, starting with a smooch on the lips and moving down to her neck, then her shoulders; something about it tickled, and Natalie held onto me by the neck as I kissed her, giggling the whole time. "Oh, stop it," she laughed, but I just nuzzled her beneath the chin and kissed her again.

I looked down- I couldn't help it- and kissed her on the collarbone, lower than I'd usually dared to go, but not too close if she wasn't up for that. She just kept trying to fend me off, enjoying herself too much to really mean it. Finally she slapped me playfully on the face, gently but hard enough that I knew it was time to stop. Panting a little, she brushed a few strands of blonde hair out of her face. "Uh," she began as we separated, "Dinner. It's time for dinner. Yeah."

I just nodded, smiling. "Whatever you say, babe."