AN: As per request, I'm marking the switching POVs. I was also asked when I'm updating "Into the Sunset". My other ongoing story "What she needs" is coming to an end, maybe five more chapters or so. I'll get back to "Sunset" after "Needs" is done. Hope you enjoy the update, and thanks for the reviews. As usual, I own nothing related to OTH.

Chapter 4

Lucas

I try for a Brooklyn accent. "Good afternoon. I would like to speak to Haley James Scott, please."

"This is her."

"Good afternoon madam. I'm calling on behalf of a Mr. Lucas Scott, who was found earlier this afternoon unconscious in a crack house in the Bronx. Our records indicate you are his next of kin, to be contacted in case of medical emer..."

She starts screaming. "Nathan!, Nathan! It's Luke. Wait... what do you mean a crack house?" A pause. "Lucas?"

I crack out. "You unspeakable jackass. You're trying to kill me?"

I hear Nathan in the background. "What about Lucas, sweetheart?"

"It's nothing. The fool was pulling my leg." She puts the phone on speaker.

"Hey, little brother."

"Hey."

"So, big brother, how was the first week of the new job?"

"Intense. The cool thing is that I'm in love with my new boss, Callie."

Haley responds in a serious tone "Hey, that's not good."

"Don't worry. She's a married lesbian, with a kid Anna's age. She's also the best surgeon I've ever seen, and we make a really great team. I'm really going to enjoy the new job."

"That sounds great, bil. How are you really doing?" Haley thinks I'm having a hard time getting over Peyton. She worries. I think of Allie for a second.

"Getting better, sis. I've found some... distractions."

"You dog." Nathan interjects. "What about them Knicks?"

"That's the down side. The players and coaching staff are great. I just don't like the business side of the game."

"Nobody does, big brother. Just take care of the players, and ignore the money men. That's what you are there for, anyways, right?"

"That's right. Thanks bro."

"No problem. I've a client, a twenty year old pitcher with a shoulder injury. Second stringer for the Padres. The team doctors say he's not playing anymore, ever. Can I send him to you for a second opinion?"

"Of course. Did they let him go?"

"Yes they did."

"Get him on a plane to New York. I'll see him next week."

"What about payment for services?"

"Have your financial people call the hospital. They own me now. You might want to write a little service contract with us. Callie and I will be the hottest sports surgeon team in the country, in a few years."

"You got it. I'll talk to Clay. What about those distractions?"

"Well, it's been pretty intense in that aspect too. I met someone."

Now Haley gets back in the story. "Wait, who? How?"

"Well, my boss introduced us. She's an ER doctor, a little older than us. Real pretty, quiet, and I think we get along really well. It's nothing serious. Her name is Allison, Allie."

"You're meeting her tonight?"

"No. I met her for the first time yesterday at Callie's home. We got along rather well." Interesting way of putting it. "She's doing a twenty-four hour shift right now. I'm meeting her again tomorrow night. Tonight I'm going clubbing with an unbelievably hot pair of teenagers from California. I met them at the hotel."

"Clubbing? Teenagers? I'm beginning to believe the crack den story again. What's going on, Luke?"

"Bored and lonely, Hales. One of them asked, and I said yes."

"Does Allie know about this, Big Brother?"

"I told her. She wasn't thrilled, but it's not a big deal either. There's a chance that the two teens may be my future neighbors, I guess."

"You found a place?"

"It's not certain yet, but I'd say probably yes. It's a big place, thirty five hundred square feet. Plenty of space for you guys to stay when you visit."

"Well, get installed and we will come. We love New York."

"How are the kids?"

"Nothing new. Jamie is really nervous about starting for the Ravens this year. The Scott name is a tough legacy to follow. Lydia is missing school, mini Haley that she is, and Anna is worrying about starting kindergarten."

"God, I miss you guys."

"They all miss their godfather too. Come down to spend a weekend sometime. Bring the new girl."

"Thanksgiving for sure. I'll try to arrange something before that."

"Bye, Luke."

"Bye guys."

Brooke

I have no idea why. Maybe it's the huge dirty city, the oppressive humidity or the aura of impatience that hangs over everything. I can feel the energy, but it's a dark energy, and I already see myself missing sunny California. So, maybe I know why. Tonight I'm going for a look I've never used. Black miniboots, with four inch heels. Fishnets and a black mid thigh miniskirt. A ruffled white tank top, fitted below the breasts, a little cleavage and a lot of skin between the top and the skirt. Black leather gloves, with cutout fingers. Black nails. Black silk bolero, with red embroidering. Heavy dark make-up, with purple eyeshadow and lipstick. Hoop earrings, and my hair done in half a dozen chaotic looking little pigtails. Very sexy, in your face, and almost gothic. It fits my mood and the city.

Rachel is looking much more like herself. A jade green spaghetti strap Valentino, beautifully draped in her fashion model frame, long shapely legs in view, highlighted with five inch golden Manolos. A long gold chain wrapped twice around her neck, delicate make-up with green undertones, bright red lipstick and her red hair loose in waves. "Very nice, slut. You clean up well."

She looks at me and does a double take. "What happened to you?"

"It just fits my mood." I twirl around. "Whaddya think?"

"It's sexy as fuck, whore. But it ain't you."

"You're the one that keeps saying I need to branch out. So there. Branching out."

"That's not what I had in mind, but... go with the flow, right?"

I smile. "That's right, bitch. Go with the flow."

"Shall we go? Blondie must be growing roots by now."

"We're worth waiting for."

It's a bit past midnight when we get down to the lobby. He is sitting in a chair, looking like he is somewhere else. I wonder for a second if he is stoned, but as soon as he sees us, he seems to get back to himself. There is a coiled intensity to him that attracts my eyes and scares me a bit, like a hidden danger. He is dressed fancy, in a preppy sort of way. Tight dark jeans, designer sneakers and a white long sleeve cotton shirt, no collar and a small chest opening. A five o'clock shadow and the rugged look of a GQ model. We're all dressed to the nines, but completely mismatched. He gets up and checks us up slowly with those icy blue eyes, smiling as he takes us in. "You're both breathtaking, girls." As before, I let Rachel take the lead.

"You're looking very nice yourself, stud." She approaches him and pulls his sleeves up to his elbows. "Sorry we're late."

"You girls are worth the wait."

I can't avoid smiling at that. "Someone raised you right, handsome."

He exaggerates his slight southern accent when replying. "Mah mother thanks ya, Brooke."

I giggle a bit, even if that doesn't fit the dark outfit. I guess my mood is improving. "Shall we go?"

"Can I get a picture first? I want to show off the company I'm keeping to my boys at home."

"Of course."

He hands his phone to a bellboy, and we take two pictures. In one he is in the middle, arms around our waists. He gives a smug smile and we look sultry. The other picture has him leaning forward a bit, hands still in our waists, as we both give him a pretend peck in the cheek. He is tall, maybe six feet and a bit, broad shouldered and he feels hard under the shirt. Maybe he's some kind of professional athlete? Also, his large hand on my bare waist does things to me that I'd rather not think about.

The club is some five blocks from the hotel, and there is a line turning around the corner. We walk right up to the door, and with a hard look at the three of us, they let us in. That results in some catcalls from the people in line.

Club is packed, high end youngish crowd, more sober and stylish than a similar place in LA. Three-level place, with a large dance floor in the bottom, with the DJ behind a glass partition at the far end, midlevel split into two, with long oval bars in each side, half a dozen people pouring drinks in each bar, and a few waitresses in skimpy black dresses and trays with drinks floating about. Top level is a U-shaped VIP section with its own bar, accessible by stairs at the front of the middle level, with security at the bottom. The decor is industrial modern, concrete, rebar and fake-rusty steel, with mirrors behind the bars and glass accents. Music is fast, with the bass line heard and felt through our feet. Our trio makes an impression, turning eyes of both boys and girls around us. Rachel and I are in our element, but our escort seems to feel a bit out of place. I exchange a glance with Rachel, nodding to the bar. We make our way to the bar. Rachel asks him. "What's you poison, stud?"

"Just a brew is fine for me."

We both smile, and I grab his arm. "I don't think so, handsome. You need to relax a bit." Rachel gets the attention of one of the bar creatures, a pink-haired, heavily pierced androgynous looking person. "What?"

"Six shots of Patron, two cranberry vodkas, Grey Goose, and a Sam Adams."

"Coming right up."

"I'm not much of a drinker..."

"You just need to relax a bit, handsome. This should do the trick."

The pink-haired person lines up the six shot glasses on the counter and pours the Patron in one swift motion. "Here you go, Lucas. Down the hatch." We pick up the first shot glass and down it in one gulp, both of us keeping an eye on our boy. He downs it too, but has a coughing attack afterwards. He really is not much of a drinker. We pat his back and make cooing noises, until he is composed again. In a few seconds we do it again. This time, things go smoothly. Pink hair comes back with the rest of our drinks, we pay and move to the railing overlooking the dance floor, sipping our drinks. Several guys and a couple of girls try to pry one of us loose, but we wait, letting the alcohol climb into our brains a bit.

We make a sexy little boy sandwich, Rachel and I rubbing ourselves against Lucas. Of course, we know what we are doing, but our boy is a sad state of affairs. He is game, and he can keep the tempo, but the poor guy is as stiff as a board. Well... Rachel and I did spend three years teaching people how to move with the music. "Lucas, pay attention. Keep your eyes on Rachel, and try to follow what she is doing."

"All right."

He is game. I place my hands on his shoulders. "Relax your shoulders. More." I slide my hands down his arms. "Now your upper arms. Follow Rachel." I let him do it for a bit. "Better." Now I hold his waist. "Now comes the critical part. Relax your abdomen. Move your hips. Yes, move them. Keep following Rachel. Better. Can you do the circular motion?" I push him in a circular pattern in time with the song. I grab his ass. "Your glutes now, handsome. Unclench. Work with it." I love the feel of his ass in my hands. There's one hell of a tight bod under those clothes. "Now your thighs. Bend your knees a bit. A bit more. All right. Keep it up and follow Rachel a bit more."

He turns around, and I can see the bulge in his pants.

"Can I follow you a bit now?"

"Sure." I go through a simple series of motions and he follows. I wouldn't call it good, but it's a big step in the right direction. "You're a good student, Lucas."

"You're a damn good teacher, girl."

"All right, stop following and just do your thing. Let's enjoy ourselves."

Half an hour later we get up to the bar level, sweaty and breathing hard. Rachel stands on tiptoes and gives him a kiss in the cheek. "That was fun, stud."

"Yes it was. Thank you for the lesson, girls." He is more relaxed, glowing a bit, but he is still somewhat apart. Observing, instead of living.

I offer. "How about another drink?" We are approaching the bar when someone yells in our direction. "Hey, Doc!" It's a hugely tall black man, bald and with a big smile. He's coming up from the dance floor with a skinny blonde under his arm.

"Leroy? Hey!" They approach and greet each other with one of these combinations of handshake and mutual slapping. "Hi, Doc. This is Simone."

"Nice to meet ya, Simone. These are Brooke and Rachel."

Leroy gives a huge laugh. "All right Doc. It's always the quiet ones. Just in town, and out with the hottest pair of babes... Nice to meet ya, Brooke and Rachel. Come on up. There's a couple more guys from the team up there."

Leroy... Guys from the team... I look at him again. Of course. "Leroy Markham. All State Wash. U. four years ago. First round draft pick to the Knicks." I frown at him, and he smiles back at me, while Lucas, Rachel and Simone stare like I just dropped from Mars. "You should be starting. What happened?"

He lifts his south paw. "Bum left hand. Doc here says he can fix it."

I turn my eyes at Lucas, who has a totally foolish grin in his face. "You work for the Knicks? And you fix hands?"

"Yup. You a basketball fan?"

"I love basketball."

Leroy laughs again. I can get used to this sound. He wraps his arm around my shoulders and walks up the stairs with me. "Where did you find this treasure, Doc? Can I take her for a spin?"

"She's not mine, man. Just a friend. You're gonna have to clear it with her. And your date, I think."

Lucas goes up the stairs with his arm around Rachel, and poor Simone follows, looking like she swallowed a fly. My head is swirling. A doctor? A fucking hand surgeon? Works for the Knicks? The guy is so out of my league it's not even funny. Well... the night is not a total loss. At least I get to meet some basketball players.

Lucas

I'm not sure what I was expecting when I went clubbing with them. I mean, I'm a heterosexual male, and showing off around town with those two does massage the ego a bit. A lot of it was just feeling protective, and hoping for some new acquaintances in a city I don't know anyone. I certainly didn't expect to enjoy their company, and dancing with them, quite as much as I did. And those little hands on my ass... Hm. Better not go there. I like Rachel, sassy and unconventional as she is, but I'm really impressed by Brooke. That girl has such a presence. She lights up a room. I've read that some of the great movie divas, like Bacall, Taylor, Hepburn and Deneuve were like that. Of course, life has a way of killing such... presences. I stop to imagine what a force of nature a fully mature, thirty or forty year old Brooke would be like.

"Hey, stud. Penny for them?"

"Oh. Hi, Red." I pause to collect myself. "I was thinking about you two. How much I've enjoyed tonight."

She presses herself against my arm. "The night is still young, baby. There's still a lot of fun to be had."

I look into her eyes and I see a bit of desperation behind her aggressive flirting. I take a bit of hair away from her eyes, and she pounces, aiming for a kiss. I put a finger on her lips and gently push her away. "I'm spoken for, Red. Just friends for now, if that's ok."

"All right, stud. But I reserve the right to try again later."

"You flatter me. A drink?"

"Sure."

After the drinks arrive, another cranberry vodka for her and another brew for me, we continue talking. "So, where is this girl of yours?"

"Working. She is an ER doctor."

She gives me a sardonic smile. "Does she know where you are and what you're doing tonight?"

"Yes. I sent her one of the pictures we took at the hotel. I told her about you two, and she was curious."

"And won't she be jealous?"

"Of course she will. She is a smart, beautiful and accomplished woman. But, can you imagine what such a woman, near forty, feels like looking at you and Brooke?"

She looks at me and shudders. She is quite afraid of growing old. "You're a dangerous man, Lucas."

And sharp as hell.

I shake my head. "Most of the time, it seems that I'm more of a danger to myself than to others."

"You mean there isn't a string of broken hearts in your wake?"

I smile and get up. "Maybe one or two. Do you want to dance some more?" I offer her a hand.

As we walk down I notice Brooke, surrounded by basketball players, following us with her eyes.

We dance. For the first time in my life, I find myself enjoying it. Rachel is an amazing dancer, in an over the top, brassy way that I begin to see as a true expression of her nature. As she rubs her shapely ass against me, undulating enticingly, I note that the spectacle is mostly for her own enjoyment. She doesn't care about my reaction, or the reaction of the other men near us. A few minutes later Brooke comes down, with one of the younger players in tow. I can't avoid keeping what I think is a discreet eye in her direction. Her dancing is sensual, less overt than Rachel's and, I suspect, much more aware of the attention of others. Including mine, as it happens. I try to let go of all my compulsive observing and let myself just dance, and enjoy my partner. I think I manage to let go for a few minutes.

Suddenly, I find myself partnered with Brooke. For some reason, she draws a sharper physical reaction from me than her friend did. She looks into my eyes. "You were staring."

"I guess I was."

"You like what you see?"

I smile at her. "Yes."

Suddenly a slow song starts, and most people leave the dance floor. Brooke gives me a questioning look, as I place my hands on her naked waist, pulling her towards me. She crosses her arms around my neck, and we sway to the music. I'm keenly aware of her lithe body in my hands and her breasts pushing against my chest. I feel the tension between us growing. I stop dancing and step back from her. She looks at me, tilts her head sideways a bit and gives me a thin smile. "What is it, Broody?"

"Broody?"

"It suits you. Answer me."

She is eighteen. A kid. I'm reminded of the effect Peyton had on me a long time ago. "I'm spoken for, Brooke."

She giggles. "We promised, didn't we? Intact virtue? Just dance with me, Broody."

We go back slow dancing. The tension is still there, but it's just part of the background now.

We go back up. Brooke receives a text. "Rachel went home with Tyson." Tyson is Tyson Waits, forward-center. Unattached and very handsome.

"That's ok. She's safe with him."

"Good. Do you want to go back to the hotel?"

"I'd dance with you a little more. Just a couple of songs."

She gives me a sideways glance and a smile. "Hooked."

"I guess."

"Let's go, Broody. A couple of songs."

When we get back to the hotel, she is walking with difficulty, wincing at every step. "Brooke, will you come up to my room?"

She frowns "I don't think so, Broody. You're spoken for."

"Nothing will happen that my girl would disapprove."

She smiles. "Now you got me curious. Let's go."

"Can I carry you?"

"Oh, yes, please."

I carry her into the elevator, down the corridor and to my door. I set her back on her feet and open the door, carrying her to the bed. "Just sit there a second."

From my backpack, I pick up a jar of liniment and a tube of a medicated warming paste, prepared to my specifications by an apothecary back in LA.

I sit on the floor in front of her. "This is payment for the dancing lesson."

"What?"

"The best foot massage you will ever have."

I unzip and remove her boots, and she takes off her stockings. I dilute a bit of the paste with the liniment, and start working on her right foot. Starting with her toes, focusing on the muscles and tendons at the front of the foot, which is what suffers most with high heels. She begins moaning softly, and doesn't stop. I work on the arch, back to the front, and then to the back of the foot and the Achilles heel. The top of the foot, the ankle joint, finishing with a long, deep massage of the calf. Repeat with the other foot. It's a half hour job, beginning to end.

"All right, we're done."

"Ah. That was better than sex, Broody."

I smile. "You need to find better lovers."

That gets me a full belly laugh. "That was a hyperbole. But you're probably right, anyways. Recommend anyone?"

"I'm sure New York is full of handsome young man who know their way around."

"Not around a girl's feet, apparently. How did you get this good?"

"I've been a masseur for a few years now. It's part of my job. I've developed some new techniques, and I know more about muscles, tendons and bone than any masseur ever did."

"What do I need to do to get a full body massage? Teach you cheerleading? Do your laundry for a month?"

"Occasional massages are free, for my friends."

"And how do I become one of those?"

I shrug "As far as I'm concerned, you already are."