Disclaimer: The characters and their world belong to Janet Evanovich. I'm just playing with them for fun, and all mistakes are my own.

AN: This is a one-shot in honor of Stephanie's upcoming birthday, and in answer to a challenge made by MomofPhoenix. The challenge: Use this line in a story - "Time-outs are for games, not relationships."

Birthday Timeout

The morning of my birthday dawned gray and wet – as in my upstairs neighbor had left their tub to overflow, right into my apartment. I didn't even bother to ask why Mr. Kowalski was taking a bath at 5:30 AM on a Sunday.

Hello, my name is Stephanie Plum, and this is my life. I'm about 5'7" tall, 130 pounds on a good day, and I'd rather not say which birthday this is. Since I started chasing down bail jumpers for my sleazy cousin Vinnie a few years ago, I've been in some pretty interesting scrapes, and I can tell you that waking up to a flooded apartment doesn't even make the top twenty-five.

My super, Dillon Ruddick, showed up shortly afterward with his shop-vac and half a box of Pop-tarts.

"I thought you could use these," he told me on his way in to inspect the damage.

I'd lived in the red-brick building off of St. James and Dunworth for a while, so Dillon knew me well. While I was waiting for the coffee to brew, I bit into one of the toaster pastries and savored the fake-strawberry goodness. It wasn't quite a Butterscotch Krimpett or a Boston crème, but it wasn't bad.

Dylan returned after a couple of minutes. "I'll start drying things out in there, but I'm going to have to call in a contractor tomorrow, since part of your ceiling is coming down. It'll be a few days before you can shower in there. Sorry, Steph."

I waved away his apology. "Eh, crap happens." My apartment and I had been through a lot in the last few years – break-ins, shootings and a few fire bombs. What was a little water damage among friends?

"Hey, anyway the management would consider remodeling this time?" I asked, hopefully. Judging by the color of the bathroom fixtures and kitchen appliances, I figured that the last bathroom remodel had been around 1972. But on the positive side, the rent was reasonable and the owners hadn't seen fit to evict me, yet.

Dylan shook his head. "Probably not, but I could repaint, and maybe lay down some new linoleum."

Well, that was something, at least. I promised to tip him in beer, as usual, and I decided I might as get up for good and greet the day. By six-thirty, I was in dressed in my usual uniform of a stretchy long-sleeved T, jeans and CAT boots. Since my bathroom wasn't operational, I'd gathered my hair up into a sloppy ponytail and called it good. I'd probably end up showering at my boyfriend, Joe Morelli's house.

So, I finished my coffee and wolfed down another Pop-tart as I considered the day that stretched before me. My parents had some sort of banquet at my Dad's lodge that night, so we'd had my birthday dinner the night before. And though Joe had made vague noises about maybe having me over for pizza when we'd last talked a couple of days ago, I was pretty much plan-less. Being foot-loose and fancy-free was fun when I was still in my twenties, but now, it just felt a little sad.

Sighing, I reached for my messenger bag and pulled out a few files. FTAs didn't take days off and rent was due. I spread them out on my coffee table and considered my next move – should I go after the drunk and disorderly, the arsonist, or the guy charged with beating his wife's boyfriend with a tire iron? Hmmm, decisions, decisions.

My first FTA, the drunk and disorderly wasn't at home. It looked like Saturday night wasn't quite over for Myron Ludowski, or he was sleeping it off elsewhere. A toss of the coin decided that my next stop would be Bernard Brown, out on bond for setting fire to his neighbor's property. Since said property was a scale model of the Eiffel tower made entirely out of trash, I didn't exactly blame him. Not everyone's an art lover, I guess.

Bernard was at home, but unfortunately, he also must have had all of the makings of a Molotov cocktail right next to the front door, too. I'd barely gotten out of my new (to me) 2004 Ford Escape when a flaming bottle sailed through the air and broke against the rear quarter panel. This wasn't my first rodeo, so I was already running for it when I heard the distinctive sound of the gas tank igniting. Luckily, a couple of trees and his neighbors' cars took the brunt of the blast.

But I had the last laugh – when Bernard came out to gloat over my latest explosion, I tagged him with my taser. "And that's for my favorite pair of jeans," I told his unconscious body as I secured him with the set of cuffs I'd actually remembered to hook into my belt loop. I'd escaped with a couple of scrapes and bruises, but the knees of my last pair of 7 for all mankind jeans – the ones that made my butt look really good – were toast.

In the distance, I could hear the sirens as Trenton's finest made their way to the burning remains of my latest explosion. With a sigh, I nudged my skip with the toe of my boot as the first cop on scene made his way over to me. Eddie Gazzara and I used to play in the sandbox together, and he was married to my cousin. In the Burg, where we both grew up, that made us related, so he was nice enough to haul my very groggy skip to his feet.

"Starting a new tradition for your birthday, Steph?" He asked as he handed the skip off to a couple of patrol cops I didn't know.

"Hunh. I don't know whether to be flattered you remembered or pissed that you're teasing me." I grumbled.

Eddie waggled his eyebrows. "How could I forget? I made it to third base with Lisa Franconi at your fifteenth birthday party. Those were the days," he said with a sigh.

"Eddie, I love you, but you're a pig," I told him as I showed my capture paperwork to the rookies. "This is Bernard Brown, arrested for arson."

Eddie snorted as he nodded toward my car. "Well, at least he's keeping on doing what he loves. Let me guess, he forgot his court date and let you know how he felt about rescheduling?"

I rolled my eyes. "Something like that." The next few minutes went like usual. The Fire Department hosed down my SUV, and I finished giving my statement to Eddie.

"Hey Steph, you got a ride?" He shrugged regretfully. "I'd give you one, but we got another call."

I shrugged. So far, Joe wasn't answering his phone, my pal Lula was still on a date, and I knew my mom and grandma were at church. There was no way I was putting my soul in jeopardy by interrupting mass to ask for a ride. "My Dad's on an airport run, but he can pick me up if I'm willing to wait awhile."

Eddie reached into his cruiser and pulled out a slightly grease-stained pastry box. "Here, you look like you need this more than I do. Happy Birthday, Steph."

I opened up the box and found a cruller and two beautiful, perfect Boston crème donuts. "Aww, Eddie, you shouldn't have." This was the second time today a man had given me sympathy pastry, but I wasn't exactly opposed to pity when it tasted this good.

I sat down on the curb to enjoy one of Eddie's heavenly little bits of sugar and grease, but the cop cars hadn't even pulled away when a familiar Porsche 911 ghosted up to the curb. The driver's side door opened, and I stopped in mid-chew to admire the always awesome spectacle of Ricardo Carlos Mañoso, aka 'Ranger', as he strode toward me.

Ranger is in one word, a bad-ass, and just about the hottest man I've ever seen. He's a better bounty hunter than I'll ever be, his cars and wardrobe come only in one color - basic black, and he is a man of few words. I was pretty sure that he had a tracker on me at all times, which is mildly annoying, but it had also saved my life more than once. He'd once told me I was a line item in his budget under entertainment, which really hurt, but I knew one thing about him: unless he was in a jungle somewhere, he'd show up to check on me. He stopped about two feet from me as his gaze slowly swept over me.

"Babe." That one word could mean a hundred different things. Today, I was pretty sure he was asking if I was OK.

"Mmm fine, Ranger," I mumbled around a mouthful of pastry. I swallowed and held the box out to him. "Want one?"

He shook his head and his lips twitched slightly, which on any one else would translate into a full on belly laugh. "That stuff'll kill you."

I closed the box and stood. "Hey, I thought you were out of town." Some of his trips were to check up on the other branches of his security company, RangeMan. But the others... Well let's just say that CNN had run a story on a coup in South America a few days after he'd left on his last trip.

"Just got back, Babe." He didn't offer any details, and I didn't ask. He inclined his head toward my burned-out Escape.

"Molotov, but I got the skip anyway." I smirked. "He sort of ran into the business end of my stun-gun."

"Proud of you." He inclined his head toward the Turbo.

"I'd love a ride," I said, as I hitched my messenger bag over one shoulder and balanced the donut box in my other hand.

Riding in Ranger's Porsche Turbo is the next best thing to sex. The leather seat cradled me like a lover and the car smelled just like him, a mixture of his Bvlgari shower gel and 100% prime Grade-A man. Of course, Ranger's next word killed my little sugar and Ranger-induced buzz.

"I'll have someone drop a car off for you."

The way my day was going? No way. "Please, don't," I pleaded. "I'll never escape the bad Karma if I destroy another one of your cars." Blowing up even one of Ranger's uber-expensive rides would be bad enough, but I'd been a repeat offender.

Ranger's lips twitched again, but his expression was solemn as he stopped for a light. "Cars are replaceable, but you're not."

This wasn't the first time I'd heard those words, but they never failed to fill me strange mixture of exhilaration and embarrassment. I managed a wobbly smile. "Thanks, but I can just grab Big Blue from my parents'." My Great-Uncle Sandor's 1953 Buick Roadmaster was not my first or even third choice, but it was free and it could take a beating.

Ranger nodded and took the turn for my Mom and Dad's. "Okay, Babe, that thing is practically a tank, anyway."

Huh, Ranger humor. Five minutes later, I was walking up my parent's driveway as the Turbo glided away from the curb. My day was obviously looking up, because no one was home. I dashed off a quick note, letting Mom and Grandma know that that I was OK and that I'd taken the car. I didn't mention that I'd borrowed their first aid kit to fix up my scraped knee, though.

Inspiration struck as I motored down Hamilton Avenue, so I took a quick detour back to my apartment. Twenty minutes later, Big Blue and I parked just down the street from my drunk and disorderly. Myron was at home, this time.

"Whaddya want?" Myron had been a couple of years ahead of me in school and the years hadn't been kind. At all. He'd put on about forty pounds, and every ounce of that weight was stretching out the stomach of his stained undershirt. He smelled like soured beer, and his tiny, bloodshot eyes were having trouble focusing on anything but my boobs.

"Hi, you probably don't remember me from Trenton Catholic, but I'm Stephanie, and I represent your bail bondsman. You're in violation of your bond agreement."

He started to close the door, but I'd learned long ago to stick my foot right in the doorway as soon as it opened. "Yeah, what about it?"

I reached in my bag for one of the beers I'd grabbed from home. "If you come with me to reschedule, this guy and his five brothers are yours."

Amazingly, it worked, and he followed me into my car, with no further argument. Usually I'd say that it was due to my winning personality, but it was more likely that Myron was out of booze, and the liquor stores don't open until noon on Sundays. Myron and I made it to the Trenton PD just shy of 11 AM. He was a little more unsteady on his feet thanks to the two beers he'd downed on the way over, but he was behaving and I was feeling just a bit smug. That is, until he puked all over me and the Desk Sergeant.

"Dammit," I muttered as I trudged out to Big Blue a few minutes later. My shoes were in a plastic bag and I don't think I'd ever been a bigger mess. Since I roll in garbage or have food dumped on me at least once a week, that's saying a lot.

On the positive side, I had my body receipts and someone else had the job of hosing my skip down. But on the other hand, it seemed like half of the Trenton PD had been around for Myron's recreation of 'The Exorcist.' I was pretty sure pictures had been taken and I knew money changed hands, because Big Dog had given me a couple of twenties from his winnings. As a birthday present. Betting on when my cars would go to the great big junkyard in the sky was one thing, but it was a little weird that they had a pool on when a skip would throw up on me.

Well, at least Robin Russell had given me a pair of flip flops and the towel out of her gym bag, so Big Blue's upholstery was still safe.

I was halfway home when I realized that my shower was out of commission, and that I didn't have a lot of viable options. My parents wouldn't turn me away, but my mom only has two coping mechanisms for dealing with my disasters – ironing and Jack Daniels. I'd really rather not be responsible for sending her into an alcoholic coma before the annual lodge banquet. I guess I could've cleaned up at Ranger's apartment – I had a key and I was pretty sure I still had a couple of my old uniforms in his closet from when I'd briefly worked for RangeMan. But Ranger's building is fully video monitored, and I didn't want any more pictures of me covered in Myron's vomit floating around.

That really only left me one option: Joe's. Morelli lives in a cute little house off of Slater Street that his Aunt Rose had left him. The décor is mostly little old lady, and Joe isn't much of a housekeeper, but he had a fully functional bathroom. As a bonus, he usually ate lunch on Sunday at his mother's. I mean, our relationship is pretty comfortable, but it's I-don't-have-to-put-on-makeup-first-thing-in-the-morning-comfortable, not I'm-covered-in-someone-else's-puke-comfortable.

Joe still wasn't answering his phone, so I parked in front of his neighbor's and went to retrieve his spare key. But before I could even get the front door open, he was there.

"Cupcake! What are you doing here?" He was looking pretty damn tasty – in that I just rolled out of bed and barely had time to throw on a pair of jeans kind of way. Unfortunately, even my super Hungarian hormones were only interested in getting cleaned up right then.

"Eh, I had a little trouble with a skip," I told him. "I'm surprised you hadn't already heard." I tried to go around him, but he blocked me. Strange. "Look, I know I'm pretty ripe, but can I use your shower, anyway?" I joked.

"Uh, you really should've called." Joe looked nervously over his shoulder, which sent my Spidey senses to tingling.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "I did, but you weren't answering."

Joe stepped out onto the porch and pulled the door partially shut behind him, which really made the alarm bells go off. "Look, Cupcake, this really isn't a good time."

I took several deep breaths in through my nose to calm myself, which I immediately regretted. I was really ripe. "Care to explain why it's not a good time for your girlfriend to drop by, Joe?"

Joe raked his hand through his hair a couple of times, but for once I didn't find the gesture cute. "About that… Remember when we talked about maybe taking a time-out?"

That had been a couple of months ago, when we'd fought about my job for the hundredth time. "Ye-es," I said, drawing out the single syllable. I was trying to keep a tight rein on myself, but I could feel my inner rhino start to stir.

Joe fidgeted a little, and looked down at me, pleadingly. "I really think we should take a little time off. Give each other a little space." He moved to duck back inside, but I wasn't having any of that.

"Not so fast, Joe." I did a little fancy footwork of my own and lunged past him to push open his front door. I wasn't really surprised to find a half-dressed woman in his living room. The next couple of minutes were a blur, but I know the rhino slipped free. When it was over, Joe was unconscious on his living room floor. "When he comes to, tell him we're through, for good." I said to the girl when she'd finally stopped screaming. I wasn't sure, but I thought she might be someone's younger sister.

I ended up borrowing Dillon's shower. The great thing about my Super is that he doesn't judge and his hot water heater was bigger than mine, so I had plenty of time to think. The first thing I realized was that the fact that Joe's playmate was about 10 pounds thinner, and maybe 10 years younger than me, hurt a lot more than the death of our relationship. We'd hadn't really worked as a couple for a long time, and the breakup was sort of a relief.

And while I wasn't blameless (those kisses in the alley with Ranger came to mind), I allowed myself some righteous anger. Sure, Joe and I had discussed a time-out a couple of months ago, but even more recently we'd sat down and talked about taking our relationship to the next level. As in no hiding behind non-commitment agreements, or maybe even moving in together, someday. I hadn't even allowed Ranger to poach for months and months.

My apartment door was unlocked when I came back from my shower, but the tingling sensation that settled along the back of my neck told me my intruder was friendly. Sure enough, Ranger was in my kitchen.

He dropped a grape into my hamster, Rex's, bowl and stalked toward me. "Babe." He ran a finger along the strap of the camisole I'd thrown on after my shower. "Cute."

I rolled my eyes and tried ignore the flash of desire his touch sparked. "I'm always glad to see you, but didn't you just drop me at my folks' a couple of hours ago?"

His lips twitched. "Just wanted to check on you. Maybe see if you needed an alibi for later?"

I snorted. Of course he'd heard. "Nope, I'm done with Joe." When he raised an eyebrow, I plopped down on the couch. "I mean it. We're really, really through this time. I think we've both burned our bridges."

Ranger joined me on the couch and grinned. "I heard. I have to admire your style, Babe. Gruesome but effective. "

"Oh?" I'd knocked Joe out, but it hadn't been that remarkable.

Ranger grimaced. "Stunning him in the balls, Babe?"

"What? Where did you hear that?" I couldn't help the embarrassed giggle that escaped me. "I kneed him in the boys. He mostly blocked me, so then I stunned him. In the arm." I shuddered. "I wouldn't do that to my worst enemy."

Ranger's lips twitched. "It's still a good story. No one's gonna mess with you after this."

I grinned back. "By the way, this last taser you gave me is quality equipment. Two uses and it's still reading fully charged."

Ranger chuckled and shook his head. "Proud of you, Babe."

Those four words filled me with warmth as usual, but a sudden thought had my eyes widening in horror. "Shit. I just assaulted a police officer."

Ranger stood and pressed a kiss to my forehead. "I wouldn't worry about it." He stood looking at me for another long moment. "You busy tonight?"

I wasn't expecting this twist to our conversation, so I just shook my head.

"Good." He tucked one of my curls behind my ear. "I'll pick you up at seven."

And then he left. I just sat there for several moments, wondering what had just happened, and then I smiled. It looked like I was getting dinner out on my birthday, after all.

The rest of the day passed a little more pleasantly than the first half had. I made a peanut butter and olive sandwich for lunch and took a nap. My pal Eddie called around 4:30 PM to let me know that he and the guys had talked Joe out of pressing charges. I have great friends, even if they do bet on my life from time to time.

Around five, I borrowed Dillon's shower again. He didn't seem to mind, but I was going to owe him two cases of the good beer after all this. By a quarter 'til seven, I was showered, shaved, buffed, and my hair was tamed into loose, face-framing curls. I slipped on a little blue distraction dress that always made Ranger's eyes go dark and hungry and stood back to study my reflection; I cleaned up pretty good.

Ranger showed up promptly at 7 PM and to my great shock, he actually knocked on the door. When I answered, he was holding a dozen long-stemmed red roses.

"Happy Birthday, Babe." He said as he brushed a kiss along my cheek. "You look beautiful."

"You're not so bad yourself." I did a discreet drool check while I was looking for a vase. Ranger didn't just clean up good, he was downright hot. He'd swapped out the cargoes for perfectly fitted wool dress pants, and his black silk shirt was open at the collar, exposing just a couple of inches of smooth, mocha-latte colored skin.

I wanted to lick and suck at that skin, but I instead found an empty pickle jar for the flowers so that we could go to dinner. I was glad we did, because Ranger had reserved the back corner booth at Rossini's, and we had maybe the best dinner of my life. The fettuccini Alfredo with sausage was as good as ever, and at the end of the meal, a dish of tiramisu with a single candle burning showed up like magic.

I also got to see a completely different side of Ranger than I was used to. It was as wonderful as it was strange. He was charming, and not at all closed off. He actually laughed at my jokes and told funny stories. He held my hand between courses. He even asked me about my holiday plans and mentioned that his nephew's christening was in Newark the next weekend.

We were walking back out to his car when he asked if I wanted to attend the christening with him. I waited until we were in the Turbo before I finally spoke. "Uh, Ranger should I be looking for the pod or something?"

He grinned. "I'm still me, Babe, so you want to meet my family or not?"

Hmm… "Conditionally, yes, but could you tell me what's with all this?" I made a vague gesture between me and him. I'd known Ranger for over four years, and he'd been my mentor, co-worker and occasional lover. He'd never failed to help me when I needed it, and he'd saved my life more times than I'd like to count. But until tonight, I would have told you that Ranger didn't date or do casual dinner conversation.

He was silent for several long minutes as we drove through the dark Trenton streets. I was just about to ask him what was up again when he turned into an overlook next to the River. With the city lights reflecting off of it, the Delaware looked mysterious and almost magical, instead of a place the mob uses to dump bodies. He cut the engine and turned toward me. "What happened with Morelli?"

It wasn't something I was itching to talk about, but a fair question. I briefly explained about waking up to a flooded bathroom, and after a couple of showers, I could laugh with him about Myron Ludowski's weak stomach. His jaw clenched when I got to the part about showing up at Joe's and his asking for a time-out when there was a half-naked woman in his house.

"Pendejo!" He muttered a few more words under his breath, but that was the only one I really caught.

"That sounds like a good word," I joked. "What does it mean?"

"Babe."

I sighed. I should've known better than to try to distract Ranger. "The sad thing is how not hurt I am. I'm mad, sure, but I won't cry myself to sleep over Joe tonight. I realized this afternoon that we were just marking time and that wasn't fair to him or me. Morelli and I are through."

Ranger muttered something under his breath. I was pretty sure it wasn't complimentary. "I thought he could give you what you wanted. What you needed."

I shook my head. "I'm just now asking myself what I really want, but I can tell you it's not Joe, or even a house in the Burg with a dog and kids." Not that I was exactly opposed to marriage, but I'd known for a long time that my biggest fear was turning into my mother. We sat, watching the river, for a couple of moments before I finally worked up the courage to ask my question again.

"If you're not a pod person, then what has this whole night been about, Ranger?"

"Carlos." He corrected me, quietly. "I think I'd like to hear you call me Carlos from now on, Babe."

"OK, Carlos," I said slowly, still not knowing where he was going with this.

He shuddered once, and when our eyes finally met, his gaze was dark and lava hot. "Yeah, that'll work." He took a deep breath. "I've said a lot of shit in the past, but the truth is I love you.

I waited for the usual qualifiers, but they never came.

"No qualifiers, Babe. I loved you years ago, I love you today, and I'll love you forty years from now."

Oh. My. God. I swallowed several times before I could finally answer him. "Forty years. That sounds an awful lot like a relationship."

He smiled then, a full, beautiful two-hundred watts. "That's exactly what I want with you, Babe. You up for it?"

I couldn't help the grin that spread over my own face. "Youbetcha. I love you too, Carlos."

Before I knew it, he had me out of my seatbelt and was hauling me across the console into his lap. It was as tight a fit as I remembered, but I didn't really mind the steering wheel digging into my back. Just before our lips met, he pulled back slightly. "One thing, Babe, we won't be doing any of that on/off shit. Time-outs are for games, not relationships."

With this man, I was in complete agreement. "Agreed. Just try to get rid of me." As our lips met, I realized that we were promising each other forever. After countless wrong turns, Carlos and I were finally going to do this, and it was going to be good.

The End.