This started out as a gift in the Joplin Relief auction. Somewhere along the way, though, its morphed into a bit more than the 4K outtake she asked for. If you haven't read Let Your Fingers do the Talking, I'd suggest reading that first, or you'll be in for some major spoilers.

So, without further ado- Glee68, here is how Geeksper came to the decision that anonymous sexting is a great way to pick up a co-worker. I am thinking 3-4 chapters for your outtake, doll! Any other outtakes of LYFDtT in JPOV will be posted here, too.

Much love to nails233 and butterflybetty, who are amongst the few who truly know how hard this was to write.

Chapter 1

How It All Began

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JPOV

I'd been in Chicago six months. Six, long, agonizing months that I'd obsessed over Bella Swan. Only my best friend and former college roommate, Ben Cheney, had even a hint of my feelings and he'd just figured it out a couple weeks ago. My idea for an office get-together every Friday had been nothing more than a lame attempt to spend more time with Bella each week. I'd hoped that seeing me outside of the office, having a good time, would help her see me as something more than just another boring IT guy. While she was always friendly and sociable, she'd never given me a hint that she was interested in me as anything other than a friend from work.

The week prior, though, had been the worst. We'd visited the same club for the past few weeks; some of the servers had begun recognizing our group. I'd also noticed that one server, Jared, paid a little too much attention to the status of Bella's drinks, taking the order from her tits each time he visited the table. It had taken every ounce of my self control NOT to beat the shit out of him. Ben managed to step in before I made a complete ass out of myself, asking me to walk out to his car with him. The minute we cleared the front door, he laid into me.

"Jazz, dude, what the fuck is going on? It looked like you were gonna go all WWE on that guy and I'm pretty sure you growled, too."

"Did you see the way he looked at Bella?" I shoved my hands deep into my pockets to keep from punching something. "That shit's just fucking disrespectful. He couldn't take his eyes off her chest." My answer came out in a huff of thinly veiled contempt.

"I'm pretty sure Bella can take care of herself if she doesn't want his attention." At my exasperated growl, Ben looked at me, a smile ghosting his lips, "Oh you are so screwed! Dude, if you like her, you need to step up to the plate. She has no clue, and at the rate you're going it'll be another six months before you ask her out. If it's any help, I'm pretty sure she's interested in you, too."

I stopped my pacing to stare at him, feeling like he'd given me the secret of the Holy Grail. "Seriously? Why the hell didn't you say something sooner?"

"What difference would it have made?" Ben shook his head. "Let's face it; you aren't exactly Johnny-on-the-Spot when it comes to going after someone you're interested in." He leaned against the side of his burgundy Town & Country before continuing, "Jazz, you had what, two relationships the whole time we were in college? And really, Irina shouldn't even count. You guys were nothing more than friends with benefits, because you were both too damn insecure to actually date anyone else. Luckily, anyone you do decide to become involved with can take advantage of the vast knowledge you gained from the university's extensive erotica collection and Irina's willingness to play along while you experimented. Hell, that wasn't a relationship; it was more like a research project."

"Damn it Ben, that's not fair. Let's be honest, opportunity wasn't exactly beating a path to my door. Hell, it didn't even knock very often. I'm just not the guy women are looking for." I gestured at myself, pointing out my obvious faults. "I'm a computer geek, right down to being color-blind and myopic."

"Jazz, at the risk of having my own sexuality called into question, when the hell was the last time you looked, and I mean really looked, in a mirror?" When I tried to wave him off, he persisted. "No, I'm serious. Dude, you're a good-looking guy. Add in your intelligence and bank account and really, there are few negatives." He chuckled then, before continuing, "Even my own wife thinks you're hot and has unabashedly commented on it right in front of me."

"I…I…I just don't know," I stammered, still trying to absorb everything he'd said. Grasping for something to bolster my confidence, I repeated his words from earlier, "You really think she's interested?"

"Well, I mean, I don't have firsthand knowledge that she does, just things I've noticed. If you want, I can ask Angela, but that seems pretty fucking juvenile, if you ask me. Damn Jazz, just ask her out. The worst that could happen is she'll say no, but I doubt it'll happen. Now, here comes my wife. I'll see you at work on Monday."

I watched him drive away before slouching against my truck. I debated going back inside, but I really didn't want to watch the waiter make another play for Bella. With a muffled curse, I climbed into my truck and drove home alone, again, to my empty apartment.

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After a restless night filled with dreams that alternated between Bella rejecting me outright and Bella in bed, tangled in the sheets with Jared, I woke up sweaty and miserable. The cheerful sun streaming through the blinds I'd forgotten to close the night before only served to mock my shitty disposition. I pulled the pillow over my head, groaning. My attitude certainly wasn't helped by the morning wood I sported. Frustrated, I crawled out from underneath the sheets and strode into the bathroom. Reaching into the glass-enclosed shower, I turned on the water, letting it warm up while I took a piss.

Stepping into the hot water was pure bliss. The steaming spray pelted against the knotted muscles on the back of my neck, easing some of the tension there, but doing nothing for the tension that built elsewhere. Squeezing a small amount of shampoo into my hand, I scratched it into my scalp, scooping up the longer strands from where the water had plastered them to my neck. I stood directly under the spray, allowing the water and lather to run down my face.

Taking a step back out of the spray, I shook my head to clear the hair off my face, before picking up the shower gel. Squirting a liberal amount of the crisp, woodland scented liquid in my hand, I began absentmindedly scrubbing his hands across my skin, washing away the sweat from a restless night. Resting my foot on the ledge in the corner, I worked the lather across my leg, then switched to the other one. My hands slowed when they moved back up to my abdomen, dipping down to wash my sac, before stroking across my hardened shaft.

With a hiss, my fist closed around my cock, while images of Bella ran through my mind. Her laugh, her smile, her sharp wit, the alluring way she dressed, her effortless sensuality all attracted me to her. Bella was more than a beautiful woman, she appealed to me on every level. My finger grazed across the piercing I'd had done shortly before I moved to Chicago, after reading about its enhancing properties. I'd yet to put it to the test with a member of the opposite sex, but when I pressed up against it, a rushing heat soared through my body, centering all my need in a tight coil. Closing my eyes, I fantasized about Bella one day discovering it for herself, her small hand the one that manipulated it, manipulated me, to her every whim. The coil tightened more, a spring wound tight in my abdomen, while my hips snapped against my pumping hand. My teeth clamped down on my bottom lip, the sudden pain an aphrodisiac that snapped the coil, pushing me over the edge. With a muffled shout, I exploded, my release shooting from me in violent spurts, the thick ribbons coating my abdomen and the wall I'd pressed my forehead against. Letting my still semi-erect cock slip from my hand, I braced both hands against the wall, struggling to catch my breath that escaped me in harsh, stuttering pants. Castigating myself for my cowardice, resorting in self-pleasure to images of a woman I worked with, I rinsed off and stepped out of the shower.

Wrapping a towel around my waist, I swiped my hand across the mirror, clearing the condensation away. Pushing away my self-image, I tried to see what others saw. My blond hair, dark from the shower, hung down my neck. I knew, when dry, it would be a lighter color, with light brown and wheat colored streaks. Well-shaped brows, the same brown as the streaks in my hair, hovered over green eyes, flecked with gold and brown. I struggled to focus on the blurry image in front of me, before giving up and putting on my glasses. I'd tried wearing contacts, but they irritated the shit out of my eyes and just weren't worth the bother. A straight, almost patrician, nose was marred by a small bump, caused when I broke it playing dodge ball in fifth grade. My lips were full, almost obscenely so. Back in college, I'd been hit on by a homosexual who referred to them as "dick-sucking lips", certainly not the image I'd wanted to convey. My sexual explorations had never extended to members of the same sex, even though I had no problem appreciating a well-built male form. The top of my body was also visible in the mirror, revealing a broad chest that tapered down to narrow hips, a far cry from the 150 pound, scrawny, gangly kid I'd once been. While I wasn't a gym rat, I did work out a couple times a week, including a five mile run every day. Maybe Ben had been right.

Shaking my head, I walked into my bedroom. Wicket looked up from his spot on the bed, opening one baleful eye, before settling back down with his head on his paws. He knew he shouldn't be on the bed, but the animal took every opportunity to get on it when he could. After four months, I knew I should give it up; the cat knew he wasn't going anywhere. In reality, he owned me more than I owned him. A scruffy tortoiseshell colored ball of fluff, he'd sauntered in the front door, taken up residence on a chair, and had never looked to leave. I'd put him outside, but he parked himself on the welcome mat, content to wait me out. After two days of battling him whenever I opened the door, I gave up. I'd taken him to the vet, bought out the pet store for supplies, and resigned myself to being a pet owner. He'd graciously allowed me to continue to live in my own home, but made it patently clear he considered it his domain.

Dropping the towel on the otherwise spotless floor, I strolled naked into the large closet. Another Saturday with no plans. I needed to go for my run, but didn't feel like it. I wanted to call Bella, but was too chickenshit to do it. I needed to get a life that revolved around something besides work, my cat, and a woman who barely knew I existed. On that thought, I grabbed a pair of khakis and a tone-on-tone, green, broad striped polo shirt. Dropping the clothes on my bed, I opened my dresser to grab a pair of boxer briefs and pull them on. After chasing Wicket off my pants that he'd rolled over onto, I got dressed, then wandered into the kitchen to find something for breakfast.

Opening the refrigerator, I stared blankly into the interior, not even registering the shelves of food. Closing the door, I searched through the cupboards, dissatisfied with everything I came across. The choices weren't the problem, I'd become fed up with everything, most of all me. Fucking snap out of it, Whitlock! Deciding it'd be better to get out of the apartment, I slid my feet into my deck shoes, picked up my wallet, keys, and phone. Turning the lock on the door, I pulled it closed behind me, taking the steps down to the parking lot instead of waiting for the elevator. It had been six months, long past time for me to find something to do with my time besides obsess over things I couldn't have.

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After a leisurely breakfast at a diner up the street from my apartment, I set off to do some exploring. I headed to the Navy Pier, deciding to play tourist for a day. Within minutes, I began reconsidering my decision. Everywhere I looked, couples strolled hand in hand, taking in the sights and sounds of the Chicago waterfront. Yet here I stood, all alone, a twenty-eight year old, single, slightly attractive man, a weekend of freedom stretching in front of me, with my thoughts consumed by what I didn't have. Despite my penchant for solitary activities, I didn't enjoy being lonely. I suppose my parents' successful thirty year marriage could be the reason for that. I'd grown up in a home full of love; where not only had I never doubted my parents' affection for their children, but also for each other. I knew relationships worked when the couple worked at them, and I'd witnessed firsthand how much better life is when you have the right person to share it with. I wondered if that, combined with my self-image, contributed to my lack of dating in college. I'd never wanted to settle for less than what my parents had; I knew if I were willing to wait, the right girl would come along.

Determined to enjoy the rest of my day, I pushed away the depressing thoughts about my personal life. I wandered in and out of the little shops that crowded the main mall, wasting several hours. After a solitary lunch, I headed outside to enjoy the late afternoon sun while checking out the various sights. A local band had set up on a stage near the end of the pier; the sounds of their tuning up drew me closer. Finding a vacant bench nearby, I took a seat to listen to the show, while continuing to watch the people out enjoying their day. The band wasn't bad. Playing a large variety of popular covers, they drifted between new country to some older soft rock. The crowd near the stage thickened, the familiar songs drawing them closer, the talent keep them there. Losing my vantage point in the throng, I contented myself with leaning back on the bench, my eyes closed, while the music played on.

I allowed myself to relax, the music becoming a background to the many thoughts that swirled in my mind. I'd tried to ask Bella out once, a couple months after I'd moved to Chicago, at one of the office's Friday night get-togethers. She'd turned when I touched her arm, her brown eyes shining above a bright smile, and I lost my nerve, unable to get past asking her if she needed another drink. Tickling the fringes of my attention, I realized the band had launched into one of my favorite songs.

I was glued to my TV when it looked like he looked at me and said
"Best start putting first things first."
Cause when your hourglass runs out of sand
You can't flip it over and start again
Take every breathe God gives you for what it's worth

Cheesy or not, something inside me clicked. I knew the words were true. I'd never get a chance if I didn't reach out and take it. I needed to man the fuck up; I just needed to figure out how the hell to do it. One by one, I weighed scenarios, discarding them when I imagined them through to crashing in monumental failures. My eyes drifted over the couples in the crowd around me. How had they met and fallen in love? I knew not every man in the group was as suave as Cary Grant, there had to be some secret I'd missed out on in all the years I'd had my head buried in books and computer programs.

The band moved on to the next song in their set, another country ballad. My eyes were drawn to an older couple, probably in their sixties or thereabouts, who stood in front of me, holding hands. The man twirled his wife around, pulling her close, the two of them dancing on the pier, while she looked up at him, her eyes full of adoration. Just like the lyrics that lifted over the crowd, I wanted to be loved like that, to have someone look at me as if I hung the moon. I watched them until the song ended, when she laid her hand on his cheek and kissed him tenderly. The small group around them applauded, causing her to blush. In that moment, I made my decision. I wouldn't let another week go by, another month, without finding a way to let Bella know how I felt.

Getting to my feet, I walked over to where the couple stood, his arms still around his wife, while she leaned back against his chest. The woman smiled up at me, curiosity filling her face, when I thanked them. Without going in to details, I told them that watching them together had given me the impetus I needed to stop sitting on the fence. The gentleman looked down at the still-beautiful woman in his arms, then back to me, understanding filling his eyes. Offering me his hand, he wished me luck, reminding me anything worth having, was worth working for. I nodded and thanked him again, before walking away toward the head of the pier. Instead of thoughts of failure, my mind began to wrap around the possibility of making a dream come true.

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There is no schedule to when this will update. I'm at the end of a rather difficult term for school, and the $60K education takes priority. At this point, consider any updates like meteor showers : rare, exciting, and worth the wait.