Sam loved leaping with Al. For so many lonely years he'd been traveling through time with only the image of his best friend to keep him company, but having him there in person was different. He had someone to share his experiences with, someone who really understood what it felt like. Because the thing was, no matter how much support he got, unless you leap you never really know. And Al did now. Very few others could say the same. And it was a rare thing, leaping or otherwise, to find someone who synced up so well. Someone who was there. He could rest easy knowing that no matter what trouble they were in, Al was right beside him.
Always. Constantly. Sometimes unnecessarily.
Incessantly. Overbearingly. Irritatingly.
Always.
"Okay, that's it!" Al threw open the door to his cabin and immediately began to loosen his tie, "I have HAD IT!"
Sam wasn't far behind. "You've had it?" he said incredulously, "You're not the one who had to deal with Prince What's His Name!"
"Oh c'mon, he likes you!" Al dismissed, yanking off his tie.
"Oh sure, I just love hearing all of his boring stories about his ten brothers and sisters," Sam sighed with wide eyes, "And let's not forget his tales about his various gross health problems; those are classics."
"Yeah?" Al ripped off his jacket and tossed it aside with annoyance. "Well I've had to listen to you complain about it all leap! I've lived the horror of it vicariously through you."
Offended, Sam placed his hand over his blazer. "You've had to listen to me complain? You haven't stopped bitching since we got here!" He groaned and did a spin. "Ohhh, I hate this ship!"
"What're you doing in here anyway?" Al asked with irritation, "This is my cabin! Can't you gimme any space?"
Sam stared at Al for a moment, analyzing his friend, hand placed on his hip. Something had definitely stuck in his craw. "What's with you?" Sam asked, gesturing toward him, "All leap you've been acting like something crawled up your you-know-what and died there."
Al tilted his head. A pause. Finally, he stomped over to Sam and lifted his chin up. "I'm sick of seeing your face, Sam!" he yelled, poking him in the chest, "We've been stuck on this ship for two weeks, the leap before that we were holed up in some hotel room, and I just—I just need a break!"
"For once we agree," Sam shot back, turning away. He exhaled deeply and threw back his head. "I mean, I've been leaping alone for seven years and now I've gotta see you 24/7. It's too much!"
"Right." Al nodded, running his hand through his hair and trying to strategize. He flapped his hand toward Sam. "We've gotta set some ground rules so can stand each other."
"Like what?"
"Like, uh…" Al wiped his nose as he thought. "Like you stop leaving wet towels on the bathroom floor when we have a leap where we're living together."
Sam squinted. "Okay, okay, well if I do that then you have to stop wiping your nose with your hand."
Al still had his fingers under his nose, mid-wipe. "I don't do that."
"You're doing it right now! It's disgusting!"
"You wanna talk about disgusting? You do the one cheek sneak while you're sleeping!"
"Oh that's mature. Hey, why don't you tell me a story about some woman you slept with who had a gas problem?"
"That's it, I—"
The door flew open and the two of them, nearly nose-to-nose, turned to see the messenger as they peeked inside. "Great news! The peace treaty was signed! Come celebrate with us!"
At least there was one dispute ended. The door closed again.
"If I have to hear another story about one of your one night stands, I'm gonna lose it."
"Sorry, Mr. Prudent Prince, I'll stop telling my stories when you—"
The blue light disappeared and Al's finger poked into Sam's chest again. "—remove that stick from your ass!"
"Al."
"I thought you liked my stories," Al complained, sore, "They add a little color to the conversation. What's wrong with that?"
"Al."
"You're just jealous because I have a life. Or at least I did, before—"
"Al, shut up."
"What?" Al snapped, finally listening.
Sam was staring. "Look where we are."
His annoyance turning to confusion, Al pivoted around to take in their surroundings. Once he realized where they were, his eyes bugged out of his head. No. This couldn't be.
Everything was blue. The floor, the walls, the ceiling. That is, except for the pads on the floor and the various bits of machinery. It was unmistakable. This was the Accelerator Chamber.
This was Project Quantum Leap.
The two of them gaped at each other, speechless.
"We're home?" Al gasped.
"We're home," Sam confirmed, a slow smile overtaking his face.
"AHAHAHA, YES!" Al bounced up and down excitedly, grasping Sam by the shoulders, "Sam, we did it! We leaped home!"
"I can't believe it!" Sam said, dumbfounded but overjoyed, "How? How did we do it?"
"I dunno, they must've figured out how to retrieve us! Hot damn, I knew Sammy Jo could do it!" Al yelled again and threw his fist into the air. Sam was still in a daze.
The door slid open and Gooshie stepped inside. It was surreal to see him in the flesh. "A-Am I interrupting something?"
"Gooshie!" Sam exclaimed, throwing out his arms, "We did it!"
Gooshie shrunk back a little. "Did what?"
"We lea—" Sam stopped himself, then shot a look toward Al. From Gooshie's expression, he didn't seem to know what they were talking about, which gave them both a sinking feeling.
Maybe they hadn't been retrieved at all.
Sam didn't want that to be the case, but he had to test this theory. "Gooshie, uh, have you updated Ziggy lately?"
"What're you talking about?" Gooshie asked, confused, "Who's Ziggy?"
Oh no. Sam and Al were slack-jawed again.
"Are you two feeling okay?"
"Yeah," Al said, trying to cover up his shock, "It's just, uh, been a long day."
"I hear ya," Gooshie agreed, appearing to buy it, "I'm gonna need my fourth cup of coffee soon." Chuckling, he pulled out a neon orange clipboard from his coat and handed it to Al. "Here's the checklist you asked for, Dr. Beckett." And he was out.
Al stood frozen for a moment. "Dr. Beckett?"
He and Sam whipped lightning fast toward each other, mirroring each other's expressions of dawning panic. It couldn't be. Sam's eyes wandered to Al's outfit: a plain white button-down and black slacks. Al's eyes wandered to Sam's colorfully patterned shirt and teal pants. On his skinny tie, a small pair of red sunglasses.
"Oh boy!" they exclaimed.
If their eyes got any bigger they'd pop right out of their heads; this was incomprehensible. They began to circle each other, temporarily dumbstruck. Whatever had happened, things had definitely gotten zigzagged.
Slowly, Sam pointed an uncertain finger at himself. "I'm…?"
"You're…?" Al touched his chest. "And I'm…?"
"What the hell is going on?!" Sam exclaimed. He spun around and searched the room for answers.
"I dunno, we…" Al ran his hand through his hair as he tried to unjumble everything. "We must've somehow leaped…into each other."
Sam whipped toward him with alarm. "Oh no no no no no—how? Why?"
"Well obviously, uh, to…to fix something, I guess."
"Then why would we leap as each other? Wouldn't it make more sense to leap in as ourselves?"
"How am I supposed to know, Sam?" Al responded with his hands in the air, "I didn't leap us in here, I'm just tellin' you what I think."
"Ohhh…" Sam moaned and turned around again. Spotting a reflective piece of equipment, he picked it up and squinted at Al's reflection in the metal.
Squeezing in next to him, Al studied Sam's muddled reflection as well. This was bizarre. Even in the murky metal, he couldn't wrap his brain around seeing Sam's face in place of his. He supposed it was a good thing that a couple of leaps back the Project had altered their connection slightly so they could see each other without touching, because he wasn't sure he could've handled leaping in and seeing himself. Who was now Sam. And vice versa. Jeez louise! What a way to finally leap home.
It hit him again like a ton of bricks.
Outside that door was home.
Despite the awful circumstances, Al felt a surge of exhilaration. After the exhausting and often dangerous world of leaping, he couldn't wait to see the Project again.
Sam was sharing the same thought, because he was already opening up the door. With a rush of panic, Al bounded forward and yanked him back. "Wait, hang on a minute!" he said with some urgency, waiting for the door to shut again, "Where are you going?"
"Out there. Al, we're home." He looked longingly toward the door. He hadn't seen the Project since his brief revisit when they'd switched places the first time.
"I know, Sam, but we need to figure this out before we do anything. Remember, this is our own timeline. We need to tread very carefully."
"…right," Sam admitted begrudgingly. Great. Not only were they mixed up, but they were messing with their own pasts. They'd taken a dip into their younger days before, but leaping into the Project hit a little too close to home. Exactly how close though? "Question is, when in our timeline?"
"Beats me."
Pacing again, Sam scratched his temple in thought. "If the Accelerator is already built then Ziggy has to be around too. But if she's not called Ziggy yet, then…he's called Alpha. Ziggy was your nickname."
Al snorted. Alpha. What a stupid name.
Sam continued. "So that would place us…" He wiped his nose. "…sometime in 1993. Roughly."
"That's two years before you leaped," Al noted.
"Yeah…" Sam squinted and placed his hands on his hips. It wasn't adding up. "But why would we leap here now? I don't remember anything happening that we would need to fix."
"Yeah, the biggie is at least two years away," Al grumbled. But suddenly, a great, big lightbulb lit up over his head as a wonderful idea occurred to him. "Now hang on a minute. Maybe we are here to get ourselves home."
Sam had to stop him before he got to far ahead of himself. "It'd be impossible to stop myself from leaping this far back, especially considering the me from 1993 is in 2002," said Sam. Yikes, these dates were getting confusing. "But even if we could, I'm not undoing everything I've done to help people." Long ago, he'd considered the possibility of leaping close enough to his first time and stopping himself…and quickly dismissed that solution. He wanted to get home, but not at the expense of the wrongs he'd made right.
"No no, Sam, I'm not talking about stopping you leaping," Al explained, getting excited. He grinned and threw out his hands. "All we have to do is fix the retrieval program so that you don't end up stuck in 1995. Then you can leap in the mornings and—blammo!—be home by dinnertime!"
Sam rubbed his hand over his eyes and shook his head. Al had a noble goal, but not a very realistic one. "The retrieval program's not even created yet, Al."
"Exactly, so we create a new one that works!"
"That would take months. Don't you think we would've leaped to when the Project was further along if that were the case? I mean, Ziggy's not even complete yet."
Al closed his eyes and sighed impatiently. Like talking to a brick wall. "I don't know, Sam, but I just have a feeling about this. C'mon. Don't you want to leap home for real?"
Sam breathed deeply and leaned against the wall. He missed home more than anything. Right now he just wanted to run out those doors and see everyone and everything he'd given up, even if just temporarily. "You know I do. But I have a feeling too, and…I just don't think that's what we've leaped here for."
"Don't you think we should at least try?"
Sam met Al's earnest eyes. He really was determined. It would be nice...to finally be able to leap back, to regain the time he lost and put his life back together. He wanted that. But he knew by now to trust his instincts, and GTFW wasn't planning on letting them go just yet. But even if he didn't feel this way, Al was still asking for something he wasn't sure was feasible. "I don't even remember enough about the program to know where to begin."
"I do."
A snort. "No offense, Al, but you didn't know how it worked even before we started leaping."
"Well I do now," Al responded with slight offense.
Sam crinkled his brow in confusion. "Since when?"
A pause. "I dunno."
Before they had time to continue the conversation, the warped sound of the Imaging Chamber startled them and caused them to whip around. But this wasn't the entrance they were used to from the Project. It was awful; the noise was as if it were strangled and dying. And the door didn't look right either. The white rectangle was there, but it was opening slowly, the holographic image fizzling like static.
Al quietly winced at the sudden shooting headache. Damn, not another one! He never got these kinds of migraines before he started leaping. Why was the projection making such an awful sound?
Sam clamped his hands over his ears at the horrendous noise. At last, the door had scraped itself open and allowed Gooshie inside. His image wasn't any better; his body faded in and out of sight.
"…r Beckett, we…ng…nal…"
"Huh?" Sam and Al grunted together.
"Gooshie, we can't hear you," Sam told him. They caught a flash of Gooshie's look of frustration as he said something unheard, jamming his finger skyward. Evidently asking them to turn up the power, because his signal cleared up enough for him to stay visible, if slightly translucent.
Another headache, which Al promptly ignored. Jeez. Knock it off.
"Are we coming in…?" Gooshie's voice was warbled, but still intelligible.
"Yeah, but just barely," Sam answered, squinting to see him, "What's wrong with the signal, Gooshie?"
"W-We don't have much time," the programmer said hurriedly, pressing at the handlink with desperation, "I don't know how long the signal is going to last, so I have to tell you the important things quick. It's September 27, 1993, and, well, if you haven't guessed yet you've leaped into each other. We don't know what you're here for. A-And before you ask, your past selves are being kept separated and away from mirrors. They think something went wrong with an Accelerator test and they're being studied for memory alterations." His image began to crackle out again. "W….re t….st to…sig…"
"Gooshie!" Al yelled with annoyance.
"Sorr…re doing our best," Gooshie apologized, temporarily clear again.
"Gooshie, what's happening?" asked Sam with worry, "Why is the signal so bad?"
Gooshie's arms fell to his sides and his shoulders sagged anxiously. "Well…something i-is wrong with Ziggy."
"What is it?"
He looked away and rubbed his arm nervously. "…she's shutting down."
"What?!" Al exclaimed, an octave higher than normal, "What do you mean, she's shutting down?! How can she shut down?!"
"W-We don't know, that's the problem!" Gooshie buried his head in his hands for a moment. This was much more stressful than usual, and he was always stressed. Not good news for his ulcer. "We're…gnostic but coming up with…" His signal went out again, then flashed back. He sighed. "We think it has something to do with you two being here so close to the first leap and throwing the timeline into flux, but we don't know for sure. All we know is that she's shutting down, a-and if we can't fix her…she could shut down for good."
Sam and Al sat in stunned silence. If Ziggy shut down, not only would they lose contact with the Project, but they'd never be able to leap home.
"What can we do?" Sam asked. It wasn't over until it was over. They couldn't just sit back and let their future slip away.
Gooshie shook his head and responded with something unheard. The signal was getting worse. "…n't be able to make contact…ggy's fixed..."
"What was that?" Sam asked as he struggled to make him out, "You can't make contact with us?"
"..'m sorry, y…n your own!" The image rapidly began to degrade.
"Gooshie, don't you dare fade out on us!" Al yelled with fury, "Gooshie!"
But he was gone. They waited to see if he'd reappear, but he never game. Al cursed under his breath. They needed the Project more than usual on this leap, and Halitosis Hal had left them high and dry.
Maybe forever.
That could've been their last contact.
"Thanks, Gooshie…" Al mumbled under his breath.
"Hey, it's not his fault."
"Who cares whose fault it is, Sam? The Project could've just snapped, crackled, and popped right outta here!"
Sam raised his hands calmingly. "Okay, okay, I know this seems bad, but let's try not to think about that. We don't know what's really happening yet. It could be they're fixing Ziggy even as we speak. So just keep your head on, alright?"
Al rubbed the back of his neck and nodded reluctantly. It drove him crazy not knowing what was really going on there.
"In the meantime, we should be thinking about what we leaped here for."
"We know what we leaped here for," Al said pointedly.
Sam rolled his eyes. "Fine, yes, it's possible we're here to fix the retrieval program. But before we go changing anything, we should look into our other options. We don't want to go in half-cocked. Agreed?"
"Agreed," Al responded resentfully. It was true they shouldn't change anything that could seriously muck up the timeline, especially considering the state Ziggy was in. Even if he was 99.99% certain he was right. But if he wasn't working on that, he was…well, a Nobel Prize winning quantum physicist with twice his brains and a thick skull to match. Oh boy. "I guess, uh…I guess I gotta be you then, huh?"
"And I guess I've gotta be you."
They stared for a moment. It was really starting to register with them the predicament they were in.
Well. Sam checked Al's colorful watch. "It's 9 PM, what would you be doing right about now?"
"Probably getting ready to go home," Al said as he studied the floor. He huffed. "Back when I actually had time to go off-site. And you still had your own place too." Suddenly he gasped and looked up. "Hey, wait a second. What if I run into Donna?"
Oh, Donna. Sam's heart hurt when he thought of her. It still hadn't sunk in yet that she wasn't part of his life anymore. He wasn't sure he could handle seeing her again, and to see her and not be able to touch her…it'd be more than he could bear.
"You can't tell her anything," Sam answered pressingly, "No one can know that we actually managed to leap, or else we could change how it happened."
"I'm not talking about that, Sam, I mean if I run into her at your place. What if she wants to…y'know…?" Al rolled his hands to suggest his meaning.
Oh. Sam's eyes were wide. "That's a good question. She—" He stopped when he remembered, sighing with relief. "Wait, no, on September 27 she was at a conference in Albuquerque. She won't be back for another week." The pain in his chest lessened a little. It was for the best.
Al exhaled and put a hand on his stomach. "Well that's a relief…"
"So I guess we're both living alone."
"Mm, no, I'd be married around this time," Al corrected him, squinting one eye shut as he tried to remember who to. Sam tensed up. Evidently Al wasn't as worried about the reversal with the Prudent Prince in his house. "Lessee, my fourth…? No, my—" He stopped. His face animated with alarm. "Uh-oh."
"You ASS!" Sam dodged out of the way as another appliance flew in his direction, barely missing his head and smashing into the wall. "I can't BELIEVE you've done this, Al!"
Sam didn't remember much about Al's fifth wife, Maxine, but he'd quickly learned that she had a temper to rival a bull staring down a red flag. And previous to Sam's arrival, Al had messed with the bull and gotten the horns. The tiny blonde woman was hurling objects at him with the fury of a much larger individual, and likely not for the first time. Al had warned him about her mood swings. Gee, he was right though…she did look just like Diane Frost.
An old roller skate whizzed past Sam and he ducked again. He raised his hands to try and protect his face. "Can I at least know what I did?!"
The attack stopped for a moment and Sam peered nervously over his fingers. He didn't like that sickly sweet smile on Maxine's face. "Oh, honey, I'd be happy to help refresh your memory… Does THIS look familiar?" Well prepared for this moment, she whipped out a napkin and shoved it in his direction. In bright red lipstick there was written a number and a name: Charlene. Next to the name, a kiss.
Damn it, Al! Okay, maybe this wasn't what it looked like. Sam tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. "W-Well just because a woman gives out her number doesn't mean I—"
Maxine's arm shot out with a lacy thong clutched in her claw-like hand.
Sam gulped. The evidence was pretty damning.
"Where'd you meet her, Al? In some bar? Out at the mall?!" Maxine picked up an ice skate this time, the blade glinting dangerously in the lamplight. Who had ice skates in the desert?!
"I-I'm sorry!" Sam yelled, once again in the world's worst game of dodgeball, "I don't know what else to say!"
"Say you're a cheating scumbag!" Maxine yelled. She threw a lamp. "And to think you had the NERVE to accuse me of sleeping with our bricklayer! Maybe I just will after this!"
If Sam was going to come out of this without something sharp embedded in his face, he was going to have to think fast. Why couldn't Al just keep it in his pants for once? Now it was Sam's problem. Think. Maybe Al wasn't very faithful, but he was a very smooth talker. He could sell religion to the Pope. Sam could try and harness some of that. What would Al do in this situation?
"You're right…" Sam said, putting on a look of remorse. Maxine stopped mid-throw. "I'm a no good, lying, cheating, scum of the earth. I deserve to be shot. Drawn and quartered. Uh…"
"Castrated?"
Sam instinctively moved his hands protectively lower. "Uh, yeah. That too. But I only did it because I thought I'd lost you. I was trying to fill a void that only you could fill. And..." He really got a good look at Maxine's face, the sadness underneath the righteous fury…and felt horrible lying to her. This wasn't fair. He dropped the Al facade and let Sam back in. Sincerely, "It…it's not a good enough excuse, Maxine. It was stupid and careless and…I'm sorry for hurting you."
Maxine unfurrowed her brows. "You mean it?"
"Yeah."
She lowered the phone she was about to throw, then coyly began to twirl the cord around her finger. "You really missed me that much?"
Then Sam noticed just how…adorable she looked when she bit her lip like that.
He looked out from under his eyelids and gave a charming grin. "Oh you bet, baby…I couldn't stand the thought of not having such a perfect woman in my life." His gaze moved slowly across her every curve. She dipped and swerved in all the right places. "Maybe you and I can, uh…kiss and make up."
Sam gasped and went ramrod straight. What was he doing?!
Oh no.
Instantly, Maxine's arms were draped around his neck and her body was suctioned to the front of him. He froze and tried not to panic. Gently, he attempted to pull away. This was bad. This was really bad.
"Oh, Al…" she breathed into his ear, "you always know just what to say…"
Deafening alarm bells began to go off. The voice inside Sam was saying to not listen to the Calavicci on his shoulder telling him to give in, but it was a little hard to ignore his growing problem down below. The best thing to do would be to remove himself from this situation as quickly as possible.
Then Maxine's lips were on his.
And to his surprise...he didn't stop her. Mmm, her lip balm tasted like strawberries...wowza!
Take a hike, Mr. Morals. He dipped her lower and leaned passionately into the kiss.
Plink. Al let one finger rest on the key of Sam's piano; the sound hung in the air of the empty house. Exhaling deeply, he released the key and looked up. Sure was quiet around here.
Taking in the rest of his surroundings, slowly a sense of familiar security rolled over him, like a blanket wrapped warmly around his body. The echoes of the life lived here reverberated off the walls, reminded him of how badly he'd missed home. And he'd only been gone for a few months. He couldn't imagine how Sam felt. Even…if they weren't home for good.
He grinned. Maybe they'd change all that though.
Still. He wished he were in his home. Although…maybe not if Maxine was around. Yeesh, massive bullet dodged there. There were things he felt guilty about concerning how things ended—more than a few actually—but not enough for him to risk life and limb in the lion's den.
Sam's home was…cozy, yeah, that was a good word for it. Adobe walls, photos hung sporadically on the wall, decorated in Southwestern style (most definitely put together by Donna), couch draped with woven blankets next to a largely unused fireplace. It wasn't messy but it was definitely a bit out of sorts, the bookshelves seemingly random and askew with various knickknacks. It would appear out of order to the average observer, but Al knew Sam. Seeing as how he had a photographic memory, he had his own system of organizing things. Always he knew just where he'd put something and where he wanted it to be. It drove Al crazy at the Project because no one could decipher how anything was filed in the kid's office, but when he'd tried to organize it in proper alphabetical order, that drove Sam crazy.
Al didn't mind the chaos so much now. In fact he kind of liked it. It felt comforting.
He jumped. He hadn't realized he'd started to play the piano. He didn't even know he could play.
That was weird. Pulling his hands away, he spun around on the bench. A picture of Donna caught his eye. She was smiling, knees pulled up in front of her as she sat on a blanket in the desert. Maybe a picnic? She seemed so happy. He couldn't remember her looking that happy for at least seven years.
Man, she'd gotten a raw deal. Months ago, before Al had leaped, Sam had asked her for a divorce. He couldn't let her keep waiting for him, especially since he'd changed the timeline and gotten them hitched in the first place. All she'd gotten out of this were a set of divorce papers and nearly a decade gone. Not the family she wanted or the husband that set out to prove he was different than the men before.
Oh but Sam loved every ounce of her. Her ambition, her smarts, her sense of loyalty. Her drive to find out what people were made of, why things happen. Her laughter, her gorgeous smile, the way she tucked a stray bit of hair behind her ear.
Al missed her.
Wait—Sam missed her.
Embarrassed, Al quickly whipped himself away from the picture. He'd been away from home far too long; he was seeing everything with rose-tinted glasses.
His stomach rumbled. Boy was he hungry.
Suddenly famished, he made his way to the fridge, opening it up the find it chock full of nada, zip, zero, zilch. That is, except for one box of questionable looking Chinese food stuck in the back. Cautiously, he picked it up and took a whiff. Pee-yew! All his leaps combined had a shorter lifespan than this shrimp fried rice.
Without someone to keep his head on straight, Sam was hopeless. Guess he was going out for dinner.
This late at night eating options were pretty slim, and this 24-hour diner made possibly the worst chicken fried steak Al had ever eaten. But they were open and it was the middle of nowhere, so that gave them a leg up over the nothing else around. He was just paying his bill and getting ready to go when he heard distinctly female giggling.
Curious, he tried to covertly spy on the girls—only to find them getting up and approaching him.
Two young women, early twenties, both a couple of knockouts. And they were staring at him like he was their dinner.
One of them, a brunette in shorts and a tight white shirt, spoke up first. "Hi. Sorry to bother you, but—you're like, famous, aren't you?"
"Uh, yeah, I guess I am," Al admitted with a big grin. He leaned back in his booth proudly. "Name's Sam. Sam Beckett."
The girls broke down into star struck giggles again. "Oh I knew it!" exclaimed the other one, "We've seen you on TV!"
"My name's Cherry…" White Tee leaned down onto the table, showing off her ample cleavage. "And I think you're so cute…"
Holy smokes. Al hadn't had a woman of this caliber throw herself at him this easy in an exceedingly long time. Not that he thought he was a goblin or anything—he knew he was a handsome gentleman—but he was still an older vintage than these model types usually went for, unless someone was a celebrity or loaded.
Except, he was now in the much younger, muscular form of the not-loaded-but-certainly-a-celebrity, Nobel Prize-winning, genius quantum physicist Sam Beckett. One look at his puppy dog eyes and every woman he ever met fell in love with him.
Al's smile grew as wide as he could make it. He could get some serious tail in this body.
Pulling away from Maxine and gasping for air, Sam was again at war with himself. One part of him—the Sam part—wanted nothing more than to take off and not stop until he hit the next town over. The other part—the part that was Al—wanted to do the bingo bango bongo with Maxine. Like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Calavicci. What the hell was he doing?! This was wrong! He barely knew Maxine—and she was his best friend's wife!
Oh but her lips were so soft, and her bazongas…
Gah! He had to get out!
Easier said than done; he found himself trapped when Maxine leaped onto him, wrapping her legs around his torso like a twisted pretzel. They fell back against the wall and broke another lamp as she kissed her way down his neck. "Oh Al…you're so sexy when you've done something wrong…"
"I-I'm not sure if I—"
"Let's screw!"
"Okay." He kissed her passionately, desperately, carrying her away from the wall and toppling onto the bed.
The diner parking lot wasn't the classiest of places, so Al drove Cherry out to one of his favorite spots overlooking the desert. Sam's car wasn't as nice as his Ferrari—an old clunker a mom might drive, honestly. But it did the job.
Cherry played with a strand of Al's hair. "I looove your little white streak…" she cooed. Chicks always adored the white streak.
"Thanks," Al said happily, "and I like your…uh, your eyes."
He grinned. Cherry grinned. Then she launched herself at him and began sucking face.
Whoa, this was going way too fast! Strange considering this is what Al brought her here for...but he unexpectedly began to feel something he wasn't sure he'd ever felt: extreme shyness. His cheeks flushed red and he managed to pry her away from his neck.
"Hang on a minute, uh—Cherry," he panted. He began to loosen his collar. Was it hot in here?
"What's the problem?"
"Well it's just, uh…" Gee, what was the problem? "Shouldn't we, um, get to know each other first?"
"Get to know each other?" Cherry laughed; this was hysterical. "Boy's got brains and a sense of humor!"
"I'm serious!" Al said defensively. It wasn't that strange of a thing to ask. "I don't even know your name."
"I told you, it's Cherry."
"I mean your real name."
Now Cherry seemed a little bashful. Casting her eyes away, she shrugged and said, "Well…I guess it wouldn't hurt to tell you. It's...Georgia." This was the most real she'd seemed since they met, an oddly vulnerable moment. Not many guys asked her about her real name. And she definitely looked like a Georgia.
Al gave a small smile. "That's a nice name."
"Now tell me your real name, Sam," Georgia joked, shoving him playfully.
The words filled Al with a deep sense of shame. This wasn't right. He was lying and using both her and his best friend. He shouldn't be here.
"Hey. Is everything alright?"
Al met her eyes guiltily. "I…I think I've made a mistake."
The Calavicci house had taken more damage when Sam and Maxine were getting along than when they were fighting. If they had any neighbors, they'd be complaining about the noise.
"Oh Al! This is the best you've ever been!"
"I know!"
"I wish there were more nice guys like Sam Beckett around," Georgia sighed. With a kiss on Al's cheek, she waved and went inside her house.
Al shut the car door. This wasn't exactly how he'd planned out his night, but his conscience was clean. He had no business taking advantage of young women like that. What if, god forbid, he'd actually made love to her?
He hoped Georgia found what she was looking for. Maybe she'd go back to her hometown and finish that degree she was talking about. Back to the country, just turning orange for the fall, the crackling leaves intertwining with the corn. The cows mooing calmingly and not a care in sight. Katie swinging lazily on the porch swing, braiding a friendship bracelet. The most perfect place in the world.
Al tensed up in horror. What was happening?
He was turning down sex? 'Made love'? The farm? He hated farms. And Katie, why the hell was he thinking about Katie? He wasn't acting like himself at all, in fact he was sounding a lot like—
God, no.
Sam. Leaping into him must've caused them to magnafoozle! How could he do this to him?!
The gas might never have been punched faster in this clunker.