Longest Author's Note Ever: So…my friend and fellow author, dustytiger and I are trying something new.

The concept is simple: Come up with a plot for a story, then title and outline each chapter. Some chapters were left with no prompts, except for the chapter title, allowing us to further our plots to where they need to go, but in others we used little ideas to get our creative juices flowing!

This was done in an effort to see what would happen when two authors used one plot. We haven't read the others work yet, haven't even discussed them aside from the outline, in fact. (Obviously, because I write as I go.) We'll be posting every other day. Usually she posts every single day, but since our writing processes are so different, we had to compromise and go every other day.

The title of this first installment is 'Swing and a Miss,' and I'll include the short description we came up with at the end of this chapter.

If you're interested in reading her story as well (and I hope you are, because I think this is going to be lots of fun!) it's called Matters of the Universe.

Enjoy!

~ Angie

Dr. Spencer Reid perused the dance floor as he took a sip of his beer, and then frowned at the flavor. He still hadn't acquired a taste for it as Derek had promised he would. But he'd been forbidden to drink fruity cocktails anymore. Apparently, they weren't 'manly' enough and didn't attract the 'right' kind of women. Reid nearly rolled his eyes at the thought. Derek had so many rules about meeting women that it was almost too much even for someone with an eidetic memory to absorb.

As was typical for a Saturday night, the club was teeming with people. Derek was, un-shockingly, surrounded by females. Reid didn't know why he let himself get talked into this. Again. Derek always insisted he needed a 'wing man'…whatever that was. Reid was pretty sure it wasn't someone who was to remain seated in the booth while Derek 'prowled,' but that was what it had turned into.

He didn't know why they even did this! For God's sake, it was time for Morgan to admit that his feelings for Penelope ran a whole lot deeper than the lust he claimed. Did he really not notice that almost every woman he tried to pick up was blonde? With glasses? The man was a profiler; surely that hadn't escaped his attention!

Oh, there was the occasional brunette—like the one standing at the bar that he was making eyes at as if he was oblivious to the four women dancing around him vying for his attention—but mostly it was blondes.

In predictable Derek fashion, he danced away from the women who clearly wanted him in favor of the one he wasn't sure about. Reid watched as his friend approached the lone woman at the bar. Of course he'd have some suave come on, the woman would melt, and once again, Derek Morgan could add another notch to his bedpost. Reid continued to watch, mostly out of habit, and to his astonishment, it wasn't long before the woman shook her head and walked away.

Undeterred, Derek returned to the waiting women on the dance floor.

Forty five minutes later Reid had his chin resting on his palm, his leg moving impatiently back and forth as he contemplated another beer when he felt the booth shift beside him. He looked over and the woman Derek had approached at the bar earlier was sitting next to him. "Hello," she said, handing him a fresh beer.

"He…hello," Reid said.

"I'm Emily," she said with a smile.

"Spencer," he answered. His voice resembled a squeak, so he coughed to clear his throat. "Spencer," he repeated more forcefully this time.

"Care to dance, Spencer?" she asked.

"Oh, I don't dance," he told her. "It would be more accurate to say that I can't dance. But, thank you for asking." She was a beautiful woman up close. Her hair was darker than he'd originally thought, her brown eyes incredibly bright. He couldn't imagine what she wanted with him. After all, she'd just had Derek Morgan at her disposal. He nearly jumped when she reached over and placed her warm hand on his arm. If Dr. Spencer Reid hadn't known everything there was to know about human anatomy and physiology, he'd think his heart was about to beat right out of his chest.

She laughed. "No problem." She looked around. "So…are you here alone?"

Reid shook his head. "I'm here with a friend," he answered.

She waited a moment, but he didn't continue. "A lady friend?" she prompted.

Reid laughed nervously as he moved his hands to his legs, forcing her to let go of his arm, and moved his palms from his thighs to his knees and back again in an attempt to dry them. "No," he told her. "A man friend."

"Oh," Emily said, taking a sip of her own beer. Then, when he didn't say anything after a moment, "Oh! I am so sorry," she said, scooting to the edge of the booth.

"For what?" Reid asked in bewilderment.

"I didn't know," she said standing.

"Didn't know what?" Reid's brows furrowed in confusion.

"That you were…not into women," she explained.

"What?" Reid asked. "I'm into women!"

Her gaze narrowed. "You are?" she asked doubtfully.

"Yes," Reid said with as much conviction as he could muster. "I'm just…not very good with them," he muttered.

"Well, I'll tell ya what," she said, looking around. She finally found what she was looking for in the coaster on the table. She reached underneath his sweater vest to his breast pocket and pulled his pen out.

Reid nearly groaned at how predictable he was. He was going to have to start taking Derek Morgan's rule #15 seriously: Never let a woman know your next move.

"If you're ever in the mood to prove that…" Emily took a moment to scribble something on the piece of cardboard, and then lifted her eyes to his. "Give me a call."

"OK," he said uncomfortably as she placed it, along with his pen, in his palm.

She stood there for a moment expectantly, and then laughed as she took a step back. "I'll tell ya what. It was nice to meet you, Spencer."

"I thought you weren't here to meet anyone."

Emily Prentiss turned around in surprise and came face to face with the man who'd hit on her earlier while she'd been trying to order another drink. Never break away from the pack, she'd reminded herself then. Unless you were the one stalking prey. She'd been able to tell immediately that the man was a player through and through, and Emily Prentiss didn't do players. "I lied," she said unapologetically, then shrugged. "The truth is you're just too old for me."

Derek quirked a brow as he looked her up and down. "I think I'm younger than you," he pointed out dryly.

She put a hand on his chest and gave it a single pat, then threw her head back with a laugh. "Still too old for me," she told him when her chin had dropped and they were face to face again.

She looked back over her shoulder at Spencer, who remained seated in the booth. "Call me," she said as she walked away. Reid had to lean to the side so he could watch; he couldn't help but think that she had a nice sway about her hips.

"What the hell just happened, Kid?" Derek asked, puzzled.

Reid grinned at him as he held up the Red Dog coaster. "I got her number."

"You got her number? How in the hell did you get her number?" Derek asked disbelievingly.

"Derek Morgan's rule #31," Reid answered.

Derek gave him a puzzled look.

His grin broadened. "No matter how interested in a woman you are, always pretend otherwise."

The prompt for this chapter was: Reid and Prentiss meet at a bar; she hits on him, but he's not interested. (Or pretends not to be.)