AN: Thank you for your reviews. As usual, I don't own anything related to OTH.

Chapter 2

"Can I buy you a cup of coffee?"

I touch his arm and smile at him. "Make it a glass of wine and you're on, handsome."

He flinches a bit when I touch him, which is not the reaction I usually get when I flirt. Still, he smiles. "A glass of wine it is, then."

We walk slowly, side by side. He is old fashioned, opens doors, walks on the street side, and, when we get to the bar, pulls me a chair.

"Red or white?"

"Red"

To the barmaid. "Two glasses of red, please." And, as she came back, "Thank you, sweetie."

"Somebody took the trouble of raising you right, Lucas."

"My mother would appreciate the compliment. She is a very proper southern lady."

"Where did you grow up?"

He does a southern drawl. "North Carolina, m'am. You, I guess, are a New Yorker through and through."

I giggle. "You're quite right. Born on the west side, raised by wolves."

"Them wolves did a pretty good job too."

"Well, thank you. It's funny. I've a pretty good ear for accents, and I couldn't pick up even a hint of southern drawl during your reading."

"Well, I'm pretty good at catching and imitating accents, you know?" He says in as a perfect imitation of a Brooklyn native.

My laughter explodes wine in all directions, including his white shirt. "Oh my god, I'm sorry! You caught me by surprise."

"It was my fault."

"Well.. yes it was." I give him a broad smile. "That was so funny."

"How did you like the story?"

"I loved it. The animals were so quirky, each with their own personality. And the story was interesting and inventive. How do you pick the stories you perform?"

He looks down at the table, clearly embarrassed by my question. "What?"

He gives me the book in his hand. "That's for you." I look at the book, with a drawing of the Lion in the foreground, and the other animals behind it. "The Lion, by Lucas Scott"

"You wrote it?" He nods. "Thanks!" I stare at him for a bit "Wow! You wrote it."

For an instant, words escape me. I was already floored by his performance as a storyteller. He makes me feel a little inadequate, this gorgeous young man with so much talent.

Finally, I find my words again. "Why do you do it? I mean, the readings?"

"I need to keep some personal touch with my readers, to keep them real."

I think a bit about it. "You know, I totally get it."

"How come?"

"I'm a fashion designer. Mostly I design clothing, also some underwear, an occasional shoe, handbag or accessory. Sometimes, I feel the need to do retail, go to a store, spend a day selling the stuff to real people. It's just like you say. I need to keep my clients real."

"I guess you do get it." He looks at his watch. "I have to go."

"Can't stop for a bite?"

"Sorry, no. Maybe some other time."

I feel my heart sinking. "You have someone waiting for you."

"Yes."

I look at my wine, not managing to hide my disappointment. I speak in a low tone. "I have a boyfriend too." I see the surprise in his face, and I know I took a wrong turn somewhere.

He also speaks in a low voice. "I don't have a woman in my life. I have a four-year-old son. His name is Max. And I have a babysitter who is probably growing a little impatient."

He drops cash for the wine, a nice tip at the counter and gets up to leave.

"Wait!" He turns around. I give him the book and a pen I fish out of my purse. "Write me something."

He stops, thinks a bit, and scribbles something. He gives me the book and the pen back, with a gentle smile. "I'll see you around, Brooke."

"Looking forward, Lucas Scott."

He walks out, hands in his pockets, without looking back.

He wrote: "To the little girl within. Lucas Scott."

Damn.

I need to talk to someone.

"Rachel? You home?"

"Yup."

"Alone?"

"Yes, unfortunately."

"Can I come over? I need to talk."

"Yeah, come over, little slut. We can have a little slumber party. Did you eat?"

"No."

"All right, I'll order some pasta."

"Be there in twenty."

Rachel lives by herself on a loft on the lower East side, carefully decorated in a relaxed, modern style. Some of the art is a little screechy for my taste, but the airy, open floor plan makes up for it. I arrive together with the delivery boy.

"Hi, slut. Go to my room and get out of your work clothes. Just grab something comfortable from my closet. I'll setup dinner in the meantime."

"Will do, old whore. Be right back."

I put on a large NYFD gray sweat I find in the back of her closet over my underwear, let my hair loose and even remove the makeup, before coming back down. We sit down to eat.

"So, what happened?"

"Well, first, last Sunday, I decided to give Julian one last chance. We're taking it easy, having fun. We are supposed to go on this romantic dinner date tomorrow."

"Is it working?"

"So far. Problem is, do you remember the complication?"

"The one that was all in your head?"

"Not anymore. He's tall, dreamy, too young, incredibly talented, and I'm not sure I can get him out of my head. He writes children's books, of all things. And, oh yes, he's the single father of a four-year-old boy."

"Is he a player?"

"Just the opposite. And he is interested. You should have seen his face when I said I had a boyfriend."

"It sounds like the third rail in the subway. Touch it and you die. But in a fun, complicated way."

"Looks like it. On the surface, he makes me feel like a crushed-out teenager, Rach. And I barely know the guy. Worse, from what little I know, we are totally wrong for each other."

"How did you meet?"

"Two weeks ago, I walked on him reading one of his books to a bunch of kids. I was just getting out of the rain. I got completely mesmerized by his storytelling, sat down to listen and fell asleep. They didn't even know his name at the bookstore, but they told me he comes almost every Thursday around five, to read aloud for a couple of hours."

"So?"

"The first Thursday comes around, and I can't make it out of the office on time. Then I meet Julian afterwards and nearly take his head off. On Friday I met with you and told you about my problems."

"So, today you actually met the guy."

"I went to his reading. It was amazing, just like the first time. Then he asked me out for a coffee. We went for a glass of wine and talked for about twenty minutes. He is charming, sweet, funny, and scary smart. He's also pretty guarded."

"You got all that from a twenty minute conversation?"

"It was a pretty intense twenty minutes. And I know I made an impression too."

"Oh, you always make an impression. Brooke. You got the hardened bitch act down like second nature, but there's this sweetness about you. You're the worst heartbreaker I've ever seen."

"I don't want to break his heart. Or anybody's heart, for that matter."

"Then stay away. Or go all the way in and never let go."

I love the way Rachel can reduce complications to its stark bones. That's exactly right. Either stay away, or dive all the way in. Trouble is, I really, really don't want to do the first, and I am totally terrified of the second. And then there is Julian.

Julian comes around on time, sharply dressed, with a charming grin and a red rose. I dress up, a sexy dark blue de la Renta with all the trimmings. He's really going all out, but, in truth, my heart is not in it anymore. I try it, go through the motions, but he can see something's not right and, by night's end, he is sounding a little desperate. Finally, I can't take it anymore.

"It's not working, Julian."

"Don't say that. I'm really trying it."

"I can see that, sweetie. It's not you. It's me."

"I can't give up on you. Please, Brooke. I love you."

"And I love you too. But..."

He raises his tone a bit and cuts me off. "Just tell me what I can do to fix this."

"I don't think you can. We're done, Julian. Finished."

"Is there someone else?"

He had to ask that. And I'm not about to lie. "Yes. And no."

He gets puffed up, fists clenched. "What does that mean? Did you cheat?"

I shake my head. "No, Julian. You know I wouldn't. It's just that..."

"Someone better crossed your path. Who? Some Wall Street dude? Professional athlete?

Some model?" He stops. "It's your Thursday guy, right? Did you meet him yesterday?"

I stand mute. Nobody ever accused him of being stupid. I just shrug, without answering.

After a minute of silence, and a couple of tears down my face, he stands up. "I'm not giving up, Brooke Davis. I'll fight for you, you'll see. I know I'm the guy for you."

I stay for a while after he leaves. Drop a couple of tears. We had a good run. I order a piece of chocolate truffle torte, and mingle my sadness, relief and the sweet taste of chocolate.

"Rach?"

"Slut?"

"I dumped him."

"Good for you. What about dreamy boy?"

"I don't know. I think I'm going to dip my toe."

"All the way in, but slowly?"

"I honestly don't know."

"Well, good luck. You know I'll always be here to help pick up the pieces."

"I love you, bitch."

"Right back at you."

I spend Saturday at the office, revising my sketches for the Spring line. I actually scrap a couple of them, and do three entirely new ones. To me, it looks like my best collection ever. The unveiling will be on January, during New York Fashion Week, but I need to do a presentation to our Board in November. Aside from our designs, I occasionally sell individual designs to Victoria's Secret. It's a lucrative little side business, as I get a slice of sales, and they manage to put my name on their displays. Besides, I love sexy lingerie. I've even modeled for them a few times, which permanently appended "former Victoria's Secret angel" to my media personality. I finish the day making a couple of sketches of naughty girl undies, while dreaming about corrupting a certain sexy blonde single father. I'll model these for him, if I ever get the chance...

Shit. Someone is turning into a seriously crushed out teenager in her old age.

Waiting for me at the door to my condo, two dozen red roses with the card. "Please, come back to me. Love, Julian." I'm not about to waste such nice flowers, so I put them on a vase. I also toss the card and send Julian a text. "Thanks for the flowers. You're wasting your money. Move on, big boy." Afterwards I wonder if I'm not just encouraging him by replying. The truth is that I never broke up with anyone without being mad at them.

Sunday it's sleeping in, and then hitting the gym. Back home, after a long soak and lunch, I call Peyton

"Hello, Jagielski residence."

"Maddie?" Maddie is Madeleine, Peyton's six year old.

"Yes. Is it Aunt Brooke?"

"That's right, sweetie. How's school?" She started first grade this Fall.

"School is boring. But I like my new friends."

"What about the outfits I sent you?"

"Oh, auntie, they are perfect! I'm the prettiest girl in my class."

"Of course you are. Is your mom around?"

"She was giving Davy a bath. Let me check." Davy is the six-month-old baby. Quick steps. "Mommy, mommy! It's aunt Brooke!"

"Hey, BDavis, nice to hear from you."

"Hi. Can you talk?"

"I just finished giving Davy a bath, and I handed him to Jake for feeding. I was about to sit down for a cup of tea and some reading, so I guess it's perfect timing. What's up?"

"Well, headline news, I broke up with Julian."

"Oh, wow. What happened? Are you ok? Did he misbehave?"

I laugh. "Slow down, blondie. First, I'm fine. More relieved than sad."

"All right, that's good, I guess."

"Second, it wasn't his fault at all. I kind of lost interest."

"Oh. Poor Julian. He must be devastated."

"It was a pretty gruesome scene Friday night."

"This is a bit out of character for you. You'll put up with all kinds of things to avoid hurting the people you love... wait. I know. There's someone else, isn't there?"

"Yup."

"What happened? Did you cheat on Julian?"

"No. You know I wouldn't."

"True, but we all know shit happens anyways."

"No cheating. About two weeks ago, I entered this bookstore near the office, to get out of the rain. This guy was reading aloud to a bunch of children."

"Hot guy?"

"Dreamy. Hot too. Too young."

"Wow."

"He does this amazing job of storytelling. Pulls you right in. I got really entranced by the story, and ended up asleep. Best nap ever. When I wake up, he is gone, and the bookstore staff tells me he usually comes on Thursdays."

"So you went back."

"I couldn't make it the first week. Crazy day at work. But three days ago, I managed to make it back. This time I heard the whole story. He approached me and asked to pay me a cup of coffee. We went for a glass of wine in a bar nearby. We talked."

"And one thing led to another..."

"No, silly. We talked for twenty minutes. And then he had to leave. Actually, he left after I told him I had a boyfriend, which I had at that moment. I hope to see him again next Thursday and tell him the boyfriend is history, and try to go on from there."

"Hm. Twenty minutes."

"Yup."

"What's he like?"

"Tall, skinny, young, blonde, blue eyes..."

"How young is too young?"

"Early twenties."

"Cradle robber."

I giggle. "I know. To complicate things further, he is a single parent, four-year-old boy."

"Now, that's a serious complication. And you're ok with that?"

"I find the whole package enticing and pretty scary at the same time. Ah, and he is the author of the stories. He writes children's books."

"Wait. What's his name?

"It's Lucas. Lucas Scott."

"What?" She yells. "You were two-timing Julian with Lucas Scott?"

"C'mon, Goldilocks, I wasn't two-timing anybody."

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that."

"And you know him?"

"Everyone with children knows him. He's Maddie and Allie's favorite author. I must have read Peter and the Stone for them twenty times."

"Wow. I had no idea he was famous."

"You didn't bother to check his wikipedia page?"

"No. I thought it was stalkerish."

"You should. Well, Peter and the Stone got a Newberry medal, which is the Nobel Prize of children's literature. He wrote five books. When one of his books comes out, there are long lines at the bookstores."

"Now I understand why they are so discreet about his readings at the bookstore. It would be a riot if word got out."

"That's right. He keeps a really low media profile, probably because of his little boy, Max, right?"

"Right."

"I saw an interview with him on public television about a year ago, right after he got the Newberry. Dreamy and hot is an understatement. Do you remember saying that everyone was entitled to a short list, say three people, with whom cheating wouldn't count? I remember Pete, from Fall out Boy was in your list in high school."

"Yeah, of course I remember."

"Your boy has been in mine since that interview."

What? Are you kidding? "You keep your claws away from him, Peyton Sawyer! I got dibs."

Peyton laughs. "That's fine. Buds over studs, sweetie. By the way, I think he's twenty-three."

"He looks young, but he certainly doesn't act it."

"Parenting. If it's done right, will mature you really fast."

"Shit, girl. What am I doing? I don't think I've ever had it this bad. And I barely know the guy. My heart says to go for it, and my mind thinks we are all wrong for each other."

"Brooke, you know my first advice will always be to follow your heart. You owe it to yourself to check it out. Or, at least find out if your mind might be wrong. But keep in mind, he is a parent. You will always come second with him, at best. He has to be really careful about who he introduces to his life."

"I know, and I agree. At least after our talk I know that my being rich and famous is not a concern."

"That's right. Well, I think I gotta go." I hear some shouting in the background. "Good luck to both of you. He is quite a catch, I think, and I know you are too. I hope it works out."

"Thanks."

"I'll wait to hear more next week."

"Bye."

Monday there are more flowers waiting for me on Christie's desk. I give her the revised sketches for the Spring line. Get them to prototyping. I want a photo book for the Board presentation. And these go to Veronica Devereaux, at Victoria's Secret.

Wednesday, aside from more flowers, I get a call from Veronica. She is their head designer and my former boss.

"Hi, Ver. What's up? Did you like them?"

"Like them? We loved them. I'm calling with a request. Do four more, along the same lines, and get a range of colors. We'll market them as a separate line, say "Dream of You" by B. Davis, a Victoria's Secret exclusive line. We'll double your cut." That's pretty serious. Like, eight figures serious. "There's more, sweetie. We want you to model it. Moderate use of your image. We'll write a separate contract for that." In truth, I love modeling underwear. I have an exhibitionist streak a mile wide.

"I'm getting too old for this, Ver.".

"We strongly disagree. We would like to remove that "former" from your angel."

"I won't see giant pictures of myself in naughty undies on outdoors or on the mall's displays?"

She giggles. "No. I swear."

"Then, please, have both contracts sent to my lawyers. We'll discuss details later."

"All right sweetie, bye."

This time I brought a change of clothes to work. So, around four I tell Christie to hold all calls and change. Black skinny jeans, a v-neck cream cashmere sweater over a light green silk blouse, just a hint of cleavage, dark leather wedges, hoop earrings and a high, glossy ponytail. Just a hint of makeup. Understated sexy and young.

Of course, Julian was waiting for me outside the building. He was looking awful, crumpled, two-day beard and looking like he hadn't slept in a week. He stared at me like he was seeing a ghost.

"It's Thursday. You're going to see him."

I smile at him. He is not going to spoil my mood."Yup. Just get lost, Julian."

"Please, give me another chance, I know I can make you happy."

I start walking up third. He follows me. I walk faster. Now he is pissing me off. After a few blocks, I spot a couple of uniformed cops at a corner and I run. Julian runs after me. I get to the cops and pretend to be scared. "That man is following me. I don't know what to do." The cops intercept Julian and start talking to him. I begin to sneak away, and Julian gets frantic, trying to bypass the cops by force. As I turn the corner, I peek back and see Julian in handcuffs, being placed in the back of a police car. Good riddance..

He sees me sneaking in when he is just getting into his reading. Today's story is a modern urban fairy tale, about two brothers from a poor neighborhood and a pair of magical sneakers, that makes the wearer into a great basketball player. Same magical performance. He finishes, receives his quiet applause and approaches me again, bright blue eyes looking straight into mine. I give him my broadest, happiest smile and I get his own happy grin in return.

"Can I buy you a coffee, handsome?"

He shakes his head, still grinning. "It's not a good idea, pretty girl. I should probably be going."

As he passes by me, I grab his arm and whisper in his ear. "The boyfriend is history." He stops and turns back, looking me in the eyes.

"Really?"

I grin at him, "Yup."

He mulls it a bit. "What about dinner instead?"

"That's fine too."

"Give me a moment." He picks up his phone and speed dials. "Lucy? Is Max awake?

Hey, peanut. Listen, I'm taking a pretty girl out to dinner. Do you mind if Lucy reads to you and tucks you in tonight? I know, but she is ok too, isn't she? All right, thank you. Let me talk to Lucy.

Hi. Yeah, something came up. Can you stay for a while? No later than eleven, all right. Thanks, bye."

"All right. My curfew is eleven. Any preferences?"

"Not really."

"Very well, I know just the place." He takes me by the hand, fingers intertwined, and we walk slowly, about five blocks uptown on Second, and half a block down towards the East river. The place we stop is a tiny french bistrot, less than four blocks from my condo. It's a little weird that I had never noticed it. We get lucky, as there are only two free tables when we walk in.

"Good evening, Mr. Scott, welcome back. And good evening to your lovely companion."

"Hi, Michel. This is Brooke..." He looks at me, suddenly realizing he doesn't know my last name.

"Davis. Brooke Davis. And good evening to you too, Michel."

We order wine and food, and we are left with an awkward silence. He reaches for my hand, and we intertwine our fingers. Finally, I giggle. "You've been swirling around in my head for three solid weeks now. I've even dreamed about you a few times. Now I'm sitting here, and I have no idea what to say."

He laughs softly. "That looked like a good start." He plays with my fingers. "I've been obsessing about you too. I haven't dreamed about you yet, except maybe in daydreams."

"And what were we doing, in these daydreams of yours?"

"The same as in your dreams?"

I look into his eyes, amusement and desire swirling around my head. "You're good."

"And you are beautiful."

"Thank you."

"How long, you and your ex?"

"Two years and a bit."

"And you want another relationship right away?"

I open his hand, and trace the lines with the tip of a nail. "Not a relationship. I think I want you."

"I bring a lot of baggage, Pretty Girl."

"So do I. Nothing as obvious as a child, but heavy stuff anyways. By the way, I love the nickname, but calling me a girl stretches the meaning a bit."

"The only thing I really know about you is that you like to listen to stories. That means you're still a girl, in some way."

"I haven't let myself be a girl in a long time. That's why listening to your stories feels so good, I think. It opens a window that I didn't even know existed."

"I like that."

"Lucas. Storyteller."

"Yes."

"I'm afraid that once you get to know me, you won't like me."

"That's an unavoidable risk. But, I really like you so far. More than I should, maybe."

"I'm a real bitch much of the time."

"Is that who you are, or is it a role you play to get by?"

Now that's a tough one. "Both?"

He crinkles his eyes in amusement. "One's got to use the tools available, right?"

I smile too. "That's right, babe."

"I used to be an arrogant jackass."

"Used to be?"

"Then I became a parent. I swear, Brooke Davis. You learn more from your children than they learn from you."

"That sounds like something a good parent would say."

"I sure try, Pretty Girl."

"I'd like to meet him."

"Do you want to come to the Park with us on Saturday? If the weather is good, I mean."

"What time do you go?"

"Around nine. Do you live around here?"

"Four blocks away. A condo on East sixty-eight, between First and Second."

"I live on East sixty-four, between Third and Lexington, at the Royale. We could meet you downstairs."

"It's a date."

"It's a big step for me, Brooke."

"I guess I realize that."

We linger over dessert. I tell him about being a fashion designer, about running Clothes over Bros. He tells me about his routine, and his work as a writer, about pre-schools and play dates. We pay and we walk slowly, hand on hand, towards my building.

"I got a tempting offer yesterday."

"What?"

"Modeling sexy underwear for Victoria's Secret. I've done it before, a few years back, but they want me modeling my own designs. It's a kind of publicity stunt."

"Is it? You certainly seem pretty enough to be one of their angels."

"I'm not tall enough, and I'm a bit too old for a lingerie model."

"I'll reserve judgment on that until we're better acquainted."

"Does it bother you?"

He laughs. "Do you enjoy doing it?"

"Yes."

"Then it doesn't bother me at all. Quite the contrary."

"Do you want to come up? Get, better acquainted?."

He sighs. "It's tempting, Pretty Girl. But I'd rather wait."

I pout. "Really? You're sure?"

"I think you're a keeper, Brooke. We have time. Let's take it slowly."

"I can agree with that. But not too slowly. If I don't get at least one good kiss from

you tonight, I'm going to explode."

He turns around and faces me. He holds my face between his hands and gives me the sweetest slow kiss on the lips I've ever had. He pulls back, looks into my eyes and smiles. I'm lost in sensation. His hands are large and rough, he feels strong and toned and he smells of soap, some citric aftershave and a bit of sweat. He changes his grip, placing one hand behind my neck and one in my hip. He approaches for another kiss, this time we open our mouths and give each other a deep, sensual kiss that I feel all the way to my toes.

We exchange contacts, another couple of kisses, and he watches me as I enter my building.