Edge Of The Earth

So it's been 13 years since the last episode of MSCL, Angela and Jordan meet again, and the sparks fly.

Angela POV

I sat at my lab top trying to work, but that music from upstairs would not stop. So much for him being quite as Mrs. Dryer had said. I tried to ignore it the best I could but as I sat there and listen to the same tune being played over and over again, my temper began to rise. Then I thought maybe he doesn't know anyone moved in yet, he was out of town when I did.

I got up from my desk and ignored the fact I was wearing blue flannel Pajama bottoms with Sheep on them and tank top and decided to go face my new neighbor, and let him know someone had I moved in, and for him to keep it down.

When I arrived at his door, I couldn't believe how much louder it was upstairs. I like loud music, don't get me wrong, but this was pushing it. I banged on the door several times before the guitar stopped; I knocked again when I knew he could hear me. It was a moment before I heard him on the other side, "Who is it?"

"I'm your new neighbor, from downstairs."

"Ya, what do you want?"

"The music, the guitar is a little loud," the door then flew open. For a moment I was staring, this manly bare chest was just there, with faded jeans hanging dangerously low on his hips. My eyes slowly made there way up his body, he was very nicely built with some symbol tattoo and his virtually hairless chest that I couldn't help but look at. His one arm held the door and the other one was stretched out to the doorframe, silver bands graced two of his fingers. My heart flutter momentarily, and I slowly looked up at his face, he had long dark blonde almost brown hair that hung over his face, and a goatee that was somewhere in between stubble and an actual beard.

"What?" he said as he flipped his hair back out of his face. For a second I wasn't sure if I was seeing, what I was seeing. There in front of me stood Jordan Catalano. It had been 13 years since I last saw him, all of a sudden memories flash through my mind at lightning speed. I could never forget those eyes, those lips, that stubborn jaw. This was Jordan, which meant his face gave nothing away, I had no clue if he recognized me at all, and that hurt, but then again if there was thing that he was good at, that was hurting me.

"It's a little loud," I managed to squeak out.

"Sorry I just didn't realize that someone had moved in, cool, I'll use headphones then," he said in Jordan fashion. I stood still looking at him for a moment, taking him in. I nodded my head, pushed my hair behind my ears, I muttered a thank you and then turned to leave. I had only gone a few steps before I heard him, "You look different, your Blonde now."

Jordan's POV

I just couldn't get a rift out of my head all day. It was driving me nuts, I was dying to play it all the way home from L.A, but I didn't have my guitar on me. When I finally made it home, I put a big pot of coffee and sat down with own of my Gibson's and I just started playing it. I was the top apartment, and usually I would use headphones, but the downstairs neighbor moved a few weeks back, and no one had moved in yet, so I didn't think about the noise until I heard this unrelenting banging at my door. When I stopped playing it became more of knock then a bang. I got up and went to the door, "Who is it?" I demand through the locked door.

"I'm your neighbor from downstairs," I barely hear through the door. I knew she was there about the noise, but maybe I could pretend I didn't know it was that loud.

"Ya what do you want?" I ask as I open the door.

"The music, the guitar is a little loud," this small blonde in front of me is saying. I notice her eyeing me up and down, almost like I'm something really good to eat. I feel weird for a moment. I'm use to woman looking at me like a piece of meat, but this was something different, something I couldn't explain.

"What?" I say as I run my fingers threw my hair, pushing it off my face.

She's now looking at me with these giant green eyes; she has pretty eyes, with sexy high cheekbones, and this full bottom lip. "It's a little loud," she manages to say in this soft voice.

"Sorry I just didn't realize that someone had moved in, cool, I'll use headphones then," as I talk, I know that I knew this girl once, and the way she's looking at me, I know for sure she knows me. I was with a band in late 90's, early 2000's, I had been with a lot of girls, I thought for a moment she could be anyone. She looks at me for a moment longer, and a sad hurt look plays across her face as she says thank you and turns to leave. I close my eyes for a moment, and I can see her, but she has red hair, and is wearing plaid, but the eyes, those big green eyes that I swore could see into my 17-year-old soul were the same. Angela, it was my Angela. She was just leaving, just like that. I had to stop her, and then I just call out to her, "You look different, your Blonde now."

She stops and then turns back to me, "You know who I am?"

"Yeah," I say almost hurt that she would think that I had forgotten her after, Jesus almost 15 years, no maybe 13 years. She doesn't say anything, like she's waiting for me to prove to her that I know her name, she hadn't changed, always testing me. "Angela," I say and look away, "Angela Chase."

"You look the same, sort of," she says standing in front of me again; she reaches out and touches my hair. Her eyes are lite up with a look of wonderment, for the first time in a long long time a feel genuine smile reach my lips.

"You're grown up." I say, knowing I sound stupid, but I always thought I sound stupid compared to her, she was always so smart, and I wasn't.

"That happens."

"I have lots of coffee," which is a major understatement; caffeine was my drug of choice and had been almost my entire life. I had given up smoking, so there wasn't much left in life. "Do you wanna, you know, come in?" I ask.

"Jordan," she finally says my name. It sounds good coming from her, too good. She smiles slightly then, "Jordan Catalano."

"Coffee?" I ask again, opening the door for her to come in.

Angela POV

I can't believe I am standing in Jordan Catalano's apartment, in his kitchen. I really wanted to call Rickie at that moment, he was somewhere in Europe critiquing fashion for a glamour magazine. "How do you take it?" he asks as he pulls down a black mug out of his cupboard.

"Black, just three sugars," I say.

He turns and smiles at me; even with him being shaggy looking he was still a stunning man, with a beautiful smile. "Same as me."

"I know, I didn't drink Coffee before I, well before I knew you."

"Really, huh." He says and turns back to his coffee pot, if you wanted to call it that, it was the type of maker you would find in an office, where lots of people would be using it.

He passes me my cup and then grabs his own and leans against his fridge. "So the landlady said it was a divorced writer moving in."

"Ya, that's me I guess."

"So what do you write."

"Oh, it's nothing really, I don't even really write, I more proofread and edit books for real writers," I felt myself babbling, I was 15 all over again. I had traveled to Europe, I was married to a doctor for 6 years, but here I was babbling like a schoolgirl.

"Oh," he said, still leaning against the fridge," but your divorced?"

"Mhm," I said taking a swallow of coffee. "You?" I ask.

"No, never got there," he pushed himself off the fridge, and took a small step towards me.

"Girlfriend?" I ask, taking a small step towards him. I felt like we were doing that dance we always seemed to be doing back in high school, the one that seemed eternally ours.

"Not in awhile," he said in almost a whisper, "boyfriend?"

"No," I simply say, by this point were standing mere inches apart. Then it seemed like out of nowhere he was kissing me. This was nothing like the kisses we had shared in the boiler room, this was no boy kissing me; this was a man.

Jordan's Pov

I stood there, against my fridge watching her play with her hair as she explained what she did for a living, "Oh," I said. "But you're divorced?" I hated the thought of some other man being married to her, some nameless, faceless bastard touching her, kissing her. She nods her head "Mhm," and takes a large drink from her mug. "You?"

I stand up straight, "No. I never got there," I step closer to her. I vaguely remember always walking in circles with her, both physically and metaphorically. "Girlfriend?" she asks as she takes a step closer to me.

"Not in awhile," I confess. Then I ask if she has a boyfriend, taking another step closer to her.

She answers "No," as she steps forwards, and now we're so close that were almost touching. All of a sudden I had to wonder if she tasted the same, because she tasted amazing back in school, when we use to skip class to make out. The urge was too strong to fight, so I gave in and I kissed her. There was no hesitation when she kissed me back. All that was touching was our lips, and then her tongue was in my mouth. She pulled back all of a sudden. She just stood there looking at me for a moment, not saying anything, which made me nervous. She pulled her gaze away and walked over to the counter where she placed her cup, great she's leaving. I must have scared her, freaked her out, "Angela," I say to her. She turns and looks at me, and there is something in face I have never seen before, this was not the wide eyed 15 year old I left all those years ago, this was a woman.

Angela's POV

I love the way my name sounds coming from his lips. I turn and look at him, and there's this like pleading look in his eyes. I knew I should leave, but he tasted so good, like coffee and simply Jordan. Now I'm the one kissing him, my arms are wrapped around his neck and are bodies are touching; my fingers are intertwined with his long hair. His hands travel down my back, and down over my ass, where he grabs me and pulls me closer. I can feel him grow hard against my stomach. I moan into his mouth and find my hands leaving his hair and wander down over his hot, bare back, and into the top of his jeans.

By this point my pulse was racing, and I was aching to touch him, all of him. His lips leave mine, but now they are traveling down over my chin and onto my neck, where he takes a small nip, making me push him away slightly, but only enough for me to get my hands between us, where I boldly begin to undo his jeans. This seemed to be all the encouragement he needed, now he's pulling off my tank top and I am not stopping him.

His lips are now traveling down my throat, towards my now exposed breasts, and my hands are inside his jeans traveling over his naked hips and lower, until I can feel him, hard, large and hot against my hand. He moans as I wrap my hand around the length of him.

He pushes me against the wall suddenly, and pushes my fleece pants down. His own jeans but a distant memory. He lifts me up and I wrap my legs around his waist. In one fluid movement he was inside of me. I had never felt so complete ever. His hands guided my hips as we rode each other, while our lips melded together. At one point, he stops and holds himself still inside of me; I open my eyes to find him staring intently at me. "Angela," he whispers. I had to admit it was the most erotic moments of my life, in my five years of marriage I had never experienced a moment so dirty yet so poetically perfect. In the moment I felt my orgasm hit me, I screamed out his name as his hands lifted me and down on his hard length. It was only moments later he was joining me.

I could feel his heart beating against my chest as he whispered my name in my ear. Slowly he unwrapped my legs and lowered me to the ground, but my legs were like jelly and I felt them give out. His arms were around me before I could hit the ground. "Steady," he said with a slight laugh. I couldn't help but laugh myself, which sounded more like a giggle in my head.

"Think you can walk," he asks as he brushes my hair back off of my face.

"I think so?" I manage to say.

He takes my hand and is pulling me naked out of his kitchen and deeper into his apartment. His pushes open a door and we're in his bedroom. A huge king sized Platform bed is in the middle of the room, its covered in simple white sheets, I notice that the whole room is white, with the exception of some photos hanging on the walls and mirrored closet doors, but the rest is white. I try not to think about what just happened, or what was obviously was going to happen again, but then he was pulling me onto the giant white bed, and I didn't dream to stop him.