"This is happening, Nick...this is happening..."
The words would float like an echoey promise through his dreams, although the red lips that pouted temptingly in the white face before him never moved, and those unflinching blue eyes just gazed up into his, their depths unfathomable.
And he would lean in, to see if he could make those eyes shut, and that mouth open. But just about the time it would start to feel like it was all going to go someplace really good, it would all start to go someplace really bad.
Because he would start to feel Remy's hands massaging his neck...Remy's hot boozy breath brushing past his ear...and pressing against his back, Remy's...
"JESS!"
He would always wake up shouting (or mumbling, or whining, or cursing) her name. It depended on the particular dream whether he was begging, calling, or damning her.
Tonight there could have been an 11th commandment added to prohibit the foul intent with which he uttered her name.
A threesome with their slightly gross and frankly terrifying landlord? even though it had just been a giant NEVER TO BE REPEATED game of chicken, with one of them destined to be the one to swerve before disaster struck, he knew it would never stop haunting his dreams.
It had to be the craziest thing he'd ever done sober. And hopefully non-sober as well, although it must be confessed that often he was a blackout-style drunk who didn't remember much the next day, so who knew.
But GAWD, if he'd ever done anything worse than that he prayed he'd never remember.
The only consolation he had to cling to was that in the end he'd won the fight and proven Jess wrong. And that comforting thought enabled him, as he climbed out of bed, to finally shrug off the lingering dream-sensation of Remy's sweaty palms on his back.
