You won't see me surrender. You won't hear me confess.
You've left me with nothing, but I've worked with less.

- Ani DiFranco, "Dilate"


It's only after her face is pressed into Jack's chest - after - that she starts to think maybe this wasn't the best idea.

But then why is she supposed to be so concerned? They're both sweaty and she's still trembling a little, and her mind's only barely beginning to clear up.
There'd been that strange familiarity between them all through their second time out together (their second date? Is that what it was?), this weird underlying something (or maybe that was just in her own head?) that translated itself into something unexpectedly hot once she'd meant to only go up to Jack's apartment for a drink. Only a drink. Ha.

All the same, she's not sure why the sex had felt so good and so... hostile... at the same time.

As if reading her mind, Jack shifts slightly and trails his fingers along her side. "I didn't invite you up here just to get you into bed," he says, almost sheepishly. "Just so you know." His hazel/green/whatever eyes look brown in this dim light.

Juliet lifts her head slightly, keeping the sheet in place. Which she knows is ridiculously silly, considering just a few minutes ago, she was anything but modest. "I'm leaving for the summer in two days," she reminds him. And without meaning to, it comes out almost wistful.

Jack continues like he didn't hear her, or maybe because he does. "I don't know what it is. You remind me of someone I..." He shakes his head and blinks uncomprehendingly.

Some girl who blew him off? And now he's got this impressionable little freshman in his bed, who looks just like her? Juliet's mouth goes dry. What is he trying to say, anyway? And why would he say it?

Putting her head back down onto his chest seems too cutesy now, like a forced intimacy. So she rolls away slightly, pressing her head into the other pillow, before she could let herself do something stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Like this whole thing.

But she's not going to let her face crumple or somehow otherwise betray what she's feeling... even though she's not exactly sure what she's feeling. Somehow she assumes whatever secret, stored-up hope she has of actually dating Jack is out the window now. Isn't that what all the magazines say? Don't sleep with them too soon or they'll lose respect for you? Except the more she thinks about it, well... she's thinking maybe doesn't regret what they just did, not really. Even if this one night is all it turns out to be. It's just that something in the back if her mind is telling her to feel regret. Like that's what a "nice" girl would feel.

Except is she really a nice girl? Nothing makes any sense. (What exactly is she supposed to want?)

Besides, Jack sort of reminds her of someone too, except she's doubtful that whom she's reminded of could even be a real person. There's no one lurking in her memory that could possibly be Jack; she'd searched it periodically throughout dinner tonight, half-convinced her mind was being haunted by... what?

She needs to stop wondering about this.

"I didn't mean..." he tries, and peters out because he clearly hadn't thought this through, and she thinks maybe she shouldn't be overly sensitive about it. His confident veneer has slipped some, maybe due to her silence. But she likes when it slips, this is maybe the second time now, when she can see these little glimmers of whatever's going on beneath. It reminds her maybe there's some equal ground between them, like maybe they could be more alike than she'd thought. Like maybe they could have more in common than a couple of dinners and then that rushed, sweaty sex.

"It's OK," she finally says, mainly (maybe 75 percent) because she has to say something, and maybe 10 percent because she wants it to be OK, and another 10 percent tugging gently at her, reminding her that's exactly what he's told her when she'd broken down sobbing in the booth of the restaurant that night they'd met, and it was probably the best thing anyone had done for her in probably months. (And maybe that last 5 percent because honestly, she'd really really like to have sex again.)

"That, uh..." He rubs his forehead like he's exhausted, "that wasn't your first time or anything, was it?"

She can't quite stop the blush. Fourth, actually. Was I that bad? But she doesn't think so. He'd seemed to have a good time, anyway. "No." A weird little chuckle slips out of her. Now she's starting to laugh like him?

Jack at least has the good sense to look embarrassed, too. "I didn't... I didn't think so, 'cause you, uh..." Finished? she wants to suggest, even though she also wants to disappear, pretty much RIGHT NOW. He continues. "But I probably should have asked."

She's not sure whether he's being kind, or trying to be, or just pretending to be. But, wow. This is turning awkward at lightning speed. "Don't you think this is getting a little personal?"

Jack's nostrils flare slightly, the navy-blue sheet dipping down to his waist, and he rolls over to look directly at her, propping his face up on his hand. "We just slept together. How impersonal did you want to keep this?"

There wasn't exactly any sleeping involved, she notes, but Juliet tries to coerce her face into something expressionless. It isn't easy, but why does she feel like she suddenly has the upper hand here? The power dynamic isn't at all what she'd thought it was. "I don't - I don't - I didn't mean..." Oh, yeah right. It doesn't matter how impassive her face looks if all that can come out of her mouth is outright stuttering.

But his face softens somehow. "Are you hungry?" Juliet glances at the clock. 1:08 a.m. It's been hours, at this point, since dinner. She nods.

Jack sits up, leans over his side of the bed, finds his boxers. She feels a little embarrassed, in retrospect, by how violently she'd tugged them off of him earlier. But he just slides them on like there's nothing, nothing, awkward about this situation at all, and crosses the room of his little studio apartment to the kitchen area. He leans down, behind the laminate island counter, opens a cabinet and reappears over the edge holding a frying pan.

"Grilled cheese OK? I really need to make a grocery run."

"Mm-hm." She smiles politely. Funny, it had felt like they were on the verge of a fight just seconds ago. Now he's cooking for her? "Thank you."

She pulls on her shirt and underwear while he cooks, unsure if she should get dressed the rest of the way when, after all, he's still only in his boxers. But if he'd wanted her to make a hasty retreat, he wouldn't be cooking for her now, she thinks, as she tries to run her fingers through the huge knot at the back of her hair. She definitely has what Gemma calls "sex hair" right now.

Oh, God. Gemma. Juliet just fucked Gemma's mentor for next year. Or, he'd just fucked her. Either way. However that worked. This is going to get tricky. Not that Gemma's even met Jack yet, but even so, the last thing Juliet wants or needs - right now or ever - is to find herself in the middle of some awkward triangle.

Over at the counter, Jack slides two grilled cheese sandwiches onto a plate and then ambles over to the bed. "Want to eat this here?"

"As long as you don't mind crumbs in your sheets," she replies, and somehow the mood's lightened further. Sinking back onto the bed, Jack bites into his sandwich, and she bites into hers, and he touches her lips after she swallows the first mouthful.

Jack leans over and kisses her again, and he tastes like grilled cheese and scotch, although not necessarily in that order.

It's then she knows he's going to ask her to sleep here, and she also knows it's unlikely that they'll be doing much actual sleeping, and she is so, so grateful that she isn't going to be alone for the rest of tonight, because today was Rachel's birthday, and Rachel hasn't even returned her calls in weeks.


Juliet wakes up before him, watches him sleep. The sheet's fallen down to his hips. With her eyes, she traces the appendectomy scar she'd first noticed last night. Looks around the apartment from the spot she's curled up in, in the bed, now that he can't see her looking. His bookcase is stocked full of textbooks, but she can't even see one non-academic book. She realizes that she doesn't really know what he does for fun.

Travel, she remembers from their dinner conversation last night. He'd said he loved to travel. But what about when he's in L.A.? OK, so he's not a reader. Not everyone is. Besides, he probably reads enough in his medical textbooks and cases. Maybe she'll have to give up reading for fun, too, in a few more years.

The place is small, sort of messy, sort of run-down. Shabby dark-brown carpet worn by the door and over where the couch meets the coffee table. Jack's father's a neurosurgeon, he'd said. They must have serious money, but this apartment doesn't show it at all. It looks just like any other student's apartment. And Jack's car is fairly new, but it's not anything fancy, and she wonders what's the issue there, or if Jack is just trying to make his own way.

A blinking number "4" on the answering machine catches her eye in this early-morning light. She'd noticed it last night, too, and she wonders who'd called, wonders who's left those four messages. What if there's some other girl?

Jack stirs slightly beside her and she rolls over to face him. He looks a little tongue-tied, bleary- eyed. He looks, frankly, hungover.

"Hey," she says softly.

Jack snuffles a little, still waking up, and then reaches out for her. She curls into his arms, and whatever awkwardness she'd felt last night seems to have melted away, at least for the time being. "Hi," he whispers back, into her hair. His arms tighten around her, almost too tight but it also feels nice, like someone finding her drowning and clamping onto her, tugging her toward a boat. "What are you doing today?"

"Studying for my last final?" They're talking so quietly, it's like they're still sleeping.

"You should study here," he mumbles.

"Yeah?" It's like he doesn't want to let her go, she marvels. It's almost a little bit amazing.

"Yeah. I can take you back, to get your books. A fresh change of clothes. But I have studying to do, too. Might as well do it together. One thing, though."

"What's that?"

"You'll have to make me breakfast this time." Jack cracks a grin like he's just made the funniest joke ever, and he really is pretty unfunny, but he's also awfully cute when he's amused.

But then the phone rings beside the bed, and Jack's eyes darken slightly. He hesitates for a moment. "Lemme just..." He rolls over, picks up the phone. "Hello?... No, this really isn't a - ...well, what do you want me to - you've gotta... No, I told you that was the last - well, I don't... - OK. What's the address?" Jack reaches out, shuffles through the end table, locates a pen, scribbles something onto his left hand. "Fine." He hangs up, exhales heavily. He waits a long moment before turning to face her. "My dad's gotten into a jam. I need to go pick him up."

She nods wordlessly.

"I'll drop you off on my way to get him. I'm sorry. I can't... I can't..." He looks like he's a mess, all of a sudden.

Juliet puts a hand on his arm. "Jack, it's OK." Please don't be lying to me about who that was on the phone, she thinks. "It's not a problem."
He drops her off outside her dorm, and she's hungry but mainly she really, really wants a shower. The building's still asleep, not even any voices echoing between the cinderblock walls.

She creeps into her room, and her roommate Sarah is still asleep, curled into a nest of blankets. Juliet finds her slightly damp towel (which means Sarah used it last night, probably - just awesome) and her shower caddy, lugs her stuff down the hall to the communal bathroom.

The bathroom is quiet, empty, an echoing tomb of blue and green tile. Refuge in 1960s Technicolor aqua. Five mirrors, spotted with age, angle out as they approach the ceiling. Spiders dart back into their private personal corners.

Juliet undresses quickly, wrapped a towel around herself in case someone walked in. Her hair still smells from sitting in that smoke-choked restaurant with Jack last night. She tiptoes to a sink to brush her teeth, tries to ignore her reflection in the mirror, pale, sallow, her eyes fatigue-ringed in purple. How come Jack could seem to find her so interesting when no one else in her life does? At least, he had until he'd dropped off her this morning. He'd been so quiet in the car.

Maybe going home would be a relief after all. Maybe then she could just fade into the background all over again.

Juliet turns on a shower, waits as the water makes its logical transition from cold to warm to hot. She steps in, washes her hair, watches her shampoo becomes streams of suds circling the drain.

She wonders if Jack will call before she leaves L.A. She wonders what she'll do if he does. (Or doesn't.)