A/N: Stressed words and thoughts are in italics. During flashbacks stressed words and thoughts are in a normal font.

I really don't want to rush the story so this chapter may not be what you all are expecting, but I hope you like it anyway.

Disclaimer: I don't own LWD.

OOOOOOOO

"Well, what?" Emily prompted, crisply. She was ready to get to the meat of the story.

It was obvious that Emily thought the worst of her, so Casey wasn't sure if she'd believe that things between her and Derek had progressed fairly slowly. But that was the truth—and the truth was what Emily wanted, supposedly, so that's what she would receive.

"Look, I get the feeling that you think that one day Derek winked at me and I decided to fall into bed with him, but that's just not how it went down."

Emily's brows rose dramatically, but she bit her tongue. There was no sense in sidetracking Casey by accusing her of lying.

Casey resisted the urge to verbally respond to the accusations Emily's eyes were throwing at her, and, instead, decided to continue. "We were friends"—she shrugged, before qualifying that statement—"sort of anyway, before we engaged in anything er … umm… physical."

"Really?" Emily was simply baiting Casey. She actually remembered the period when Derek's and Casey's odd little friendship had sprung up, but she wanted to hear Casey talk about it anyway.

"Yes, really," she snapped, voice a little harsher than she intended. "I mean, we weren't best friends or anything—

"Not even close, if I recall correctly."

"—but there were times when we did hang out, just the two of us; and we had fun, even if we didn't want to admit it then."

Casey sighed contentedly. It was really shaping up to her lucky day. When she had rolled into the house at about two in the morning, instead of the yell fest she had expected, she was greeted by absolutely nothing—no angry parents, no snitching little siblings; she was home free. To make things even better, she had woken up to an empty house. There was a note telling her who was at what meeting and what practice, but she barely skimmed it—she had all the information she needed: the house was empty, and it was going to remain that way for at least a couple of hours.

Snatching the rare opportunity for some peace and quiet, Casey decided to cop out of her planned shopping trip with Emily and lounge around the house with a good book. It may not have sounded like much to some people, but it was definitely her idea of a good time.

But she wasn't a good two chapters into her favorite Southern Vampire novel, when the front door opened and Derek sauntered in lazily dribbling a basketball.

"Nice to see you finally decided to join the land of the living, princess," Derek commented, smirking at the annoyed expression on her face.

"That's rich coming from the boy suffering from narcolepsy."

"Narcowhatsy?"

"Narcolepsy," she repeated, annoyed. "It is a condition characterized by deep—

Derek waved a hand, cutting her off. "I know what it means"—Casey eyed him questioningly—"Deuce Bigalow was my favorite movie for like a year," he explained.

"Of course it was," she murmured, before refocusing her attention on her book.

"What cha reading?"

"A book."

"Which book?"

"Dead Until Dark," she answered, hoping he'd run out of questions soon.

"Haven't you read that one before?"

Casey looked up from her book for the first time since Derek had started his game of twenty questions. "How'd you know that?" While Charlaine Harris knew how to write a page turner, her books were a tad cheesy and more than a little racy and offbeat. Casey loved the woman's work, but she hardly went around advertising the fact that she read those types of books, so she was just a little surprised that Derek would know to ask something like that.

"How long are you going to be reading?" Derek asked, obviously choosing not to answer her question.

Casey sighed and returned to her book. "Until I'm done."

"And how long will that be?"

"I don't know."

"You could take an educated guess . . .

"And you could leave me alone," she snapped, fed up with his endless questions and the annoying sound of him dribbling the basketball. She sighed again, before asking, in as civil a voice as she could manage, "What are you even doing here? I thought you had a play date with Sam today."

"I did, but his mom said he couldn't come out and play." He pouted like a three year old then and Casey had the strongest urge to laugh. "He's grounded for breaking curfew."

She blushed at the news. "Oh, really?"

"Yes, really." Derek started to edge towards Casey, all the while rubbing his hand against his chin thoughtfully. "But, what I don't get is, how could Sam have broken curfew and you didn't, when he's allowed to stay out later than you are? I mean, you did go out with Sam last night, didn't you?"

"Uh, yes," she answered, weakly.

"So exactly what time did you roll into the house?"

She snapped her book shut and tossed it onto the coffee table. "What do you want, Derek?"

"Me? Nothing," he assured her. "Pick up your book," she eyeballed him warily, "go ahead," he gestured to it, "I'm no rat."

"Oh, well, thanks." She picked it up, but as soon as she had found the place she had left off, the basketball Derek had been holding hit her in the head.

"Derek, what the hell is your problem?" she sputtered, outraged. Maybe she was naïve, but she really hadn't been expecting that.

"Chillax, drama queen; it barely tapped you," he said, before plucking the ball out of her grasp and resuming his dribbling.

"It hit me in the head."

He shrugged. "You say tomato, I say—

"What is it you want? Would you please just tell me, so we can put an end to this conversation?"

Derek seemed to have realized that he had crossed over from amusingly annoying to just plain annoying, because he quit attempting to spin the ball on his finger and adopted a charming expression. "Play basketball with me."

Casey's mouth dropped opened a bit, and then she erupted into a fit a giggles. When, after a few minutes, she composed herself and noticed that Derek wasn't joining in her merriment, she straightened up a bit. "Oh, you were serious . . . um, no thanks."

"Oh," he mocked, "you were under the impression that I was asking? Let me spell it out for you: either play a game with me or I'm telling Nora you broke curfew," he threatened.

She sat up from her lounging position and rose from the couch, hands upon her hips. "B-b-but you said you wouldn't tell."

"I lied." His tone was flat, but she could see the slightest twinkle in his eyes and that sparked her anger more than anything.

'Why is it that he always seems to be amused when I'm pissed?'

"God! I hate you sometimes," she yelled, frustrated with her lack of choices. Stomping over to the coat hooks she grabbed a jacket and slipped it on. "Humph, snitches get stitches," she mumbled, under her breath.

"What was that?" he asked, following her quickly retreating form out the door.

"Nothing."

OOOO

Long gone was her jacket. Casey was hot, sweaty, uncomfortable, and for some reason she couldn't fathom, she was having a good time. Sure, Derek had beaten her in every game they'd played, but there was just something magic about playing a game of Horse in the park on a Saturday afternoon. She felt young; she felt carefree—and even if it had been unintentional, she knew she had Derek to thank for her current state. She just wouldn't ever tell him that.

"One more game, princess, you might even score this time."

"Right," she laughed wryly, "cause this game is magically gonna be different from the last five."

"It could be," he said, while taking the ball through his legs in a way Casey couldn't imagine herself ever being able to do.

"When did you become an optimist?"

"I've always been an optimist." He smirked, before hurling the ball towards the hoop and sinking in a perfect three pointer. "Nothing but net."

Casey's lip quirked. 'So modest.' "I guess it's hard to be pessimistic when you have everything going for you."

"Was that a compliment?" He passed her the ball.

"Sure, if that's how you want to take it—

"That's how you said it," he insisted.

"Whatever." They were slipping into uncomfortable territory, and Casey didn't want to spoil the relaxed camaraderie that had popped up between them, so she changed the subject. "Fine; one more game, but I get ball first."

"Of course," he agreed, with a mock bow.

She marched up to the basket and stood as close to it as she possibly could without being ridiculous, and threw the ball up. By some miracle, it actually went in. Casey began jumping up and down excitedly and clapping her hands. "It went in! Did you see?"

"I'm standing right here, Casey," he said, retrieving the ball. "But remember, I get a turn—if I can sink the same shot we're still even."

"Duh!" She rolled her eyes. "I may not be Wayne Gretzky, but I think I know the rules of Horse."

Derek almost dropped the ball. "Gretzky played—

She almost laughed at his pale expression—he looked sick. "I know what sport he played. I was joking, Derek."

"Oh. Well, thank God," he mumbled. He dribbled the ball a couple of times before tossing it up . . . and missing.

Casey's eyes bulged, and for a minute Derek was reminded of that wolf in those old cartoons he used to watch on Saturday mornings when he was a kid.

"You missed"—she was jumping around again—"you actually missed a shot."

"Once again, Casey, I'm standing right here." He was trying to sound annoyed, but it came out more amused. "Your ball."

OOOO

She was engaged in what was turning out to be the longest game of Horse in basketball history, and she didn't know if she should be happy she was winning or angry that Derek doubted her ability to win on her own merits so much that he was, so obviously, throwing the game.

"Are you gonna play?"

"I am playing." Just then he attempted, and missed, a lay-up that he had hit at least a dozen times already that day.

"Derek!"

"You pout when you loose—

"I was not pouting!"

Derek cocked a brow, but refrained from debating the issue. "You pout when you win—you're impossible. You know that, right?"

"Well, I'll smile when I'm really earning my win."

"Since you think I'm cheating why don't we agree that whoever hits the next shot wins it all? And I promise to try my best to beat you," he added, before she could say anything.

She considered his suggestion for a moment and nodded. "Fine, but I want you to go first."

He shrugged. Scooting back to the three point line, Derek gave a few practice wrist flicks, before throwing the ball up. It rolled around the rim a few times before falling off the edge. He had missed.

'Even Derek isn't skillful enough to have purposely missed a shot in such a way.'

Satisfied that Derek had done his best, Casey recovered the ball and went in for a lay-up and the ball went in.

"I WON!" she yelled. "I really beat you in something that didn't involve school. Yes!" she exclaimed, pumping her fist.

"Okay, Jordan, you got to gloat, can we go home now?"

"Fine, sour puss." She stuck her tongue out at him. "Just let me go to the restroom first; I must look like a pig."

"Hurry up," he snapped.

He seemed upset about losing so she took off in the direction of the park center where the restrooms were; she had to get some of this sweat off her face before she even thought about going anywhere. When she made it to the center's entrance, she turned around to see if Derek was throwing a fit yet, and what she saw made her gasp. There he was standing at the three point line, sinking shot after shot. She counted ten successful baskets in a row before she shuffled dazedly through the entrance doors.

'Why would he do that?' she asked herself. Then she recalled his words from just a few moments earlier: "You pout when you loose …" 'Was that why? Had he just been trying to make me feel good?' Well, if that had been his plan, it worked. She gave a small smile—it was getting easier to see Derek's sweetness for what it was, and harder to doubt his intentions. What would he have to gain from throwing a game of Horse?

Casey couldn't think of a single thing.

Emily didn't know how many of her dates with Derek had been spent at the arcade, or at the park watching him shoot free throws, or at the ice rink watching him run drills, and she didn't even need to think hard to remember how many games he had thrown just to see her smile: none. Yup, that little bit of information had done little to improve her feelings for Derek. But, angry as she was, she had to admit that him purposely losing that game had been one of the sweetest things she had ever heard. However, that wasn't something she was planning on sharing.

Coming out of her thoughts, she asked, "That's not it, is it?"

"What do you mean?" Casey questioned, perplexed.

"Your friendship, or whatever, wasn't composed of only Derek centric activities, was it?" She shrugged. "Heck, maybe it was. I mean, Derek was a real ass"—she was purposely agitating Casey then—"and known for being selfish, so it's not surprising that—

Emily was successful in her endeavor. "Hey," Casey cut in, ready to defend her husband, "he wasn't perfect, but he wasn't completely self-centered either; we did stuff I wanted to do too."

"Sure." Emily sounded skeptical, but she didn't really doubt Casey's words—apparently Derek was capable of anything when it came to Casey—she just wanted her to elaborate.

"We did," Casey assured her fiercely.

"Remind me again, why did I agree to this?" Derek asked, sounding on the verge of tears.

He was waiting in the box office line with Casey, and while he loved movies, he was pretty sure he wasn't going to love The Long Hot Summer. He hadn't ever heard of it, but from what Casey had been telling him about it there weren't going to be any explosions, sports montages, or tawdry sex scenes- in short, it was going to be totally lame.

"Because you owe me," she explained, looking up at him. "This doesn't even begin to compare with the workout you've been giving me; you're worse than the gym teacher."

"Hey, you weren't my first choice. I can't help it that Sam lives in the house of perpetual punishment; I don't think he's seen daylight for a month."

"Well," Casey bristled at the implication that he didn't like spending time with her, "you weren't my first choice either. Liz has stupid tae-kwon-do and mom was always a Steve McQueen fan."

"Who?"

"Ugh, never mind," she said, rolling her eyes. "Could you just be quiet and try to enjoy yourself?"

He shook his head at her and frowned. "Why try to do something I clearly won't succeed at?"

She almost smiled at the genuine note of confusion in his voice.

OOOO

"Well . . ." Casey prompted when they stepped out of the theatre a little over two hours later.

"Well, it didn't suck," he admitted, "at least Paul Newman's character was kind of cool."

"So, you'll come with me next week to see The Hustler?" she asked, smiling brightly. "He's in that too."

Derek moaned. "Do I have to?"

"Do I have to keep being your personal rebounder whenever you can't find anyone else?" she countered.

They stared at each other for a long moment, each one trying to force the other to back down, but when Casey pouted, Derek sighed and looked away.

"What time does it start?"

Okay, the basketball was one thing, but going to movies together . . . Emily remembered them being chummy around that time, but they had never mentioned anything to her, or anyone she knew for that matter, about them hanging out alone together. That whole movie thing seemed an awful lot like a date to Emily, but Casey hadn't referred to it as such, so maybe it wasn't. Either way, it was a pretty big deal. 'When did Casey's pout become Derek's kryptonite?'

"Why didn't y'all tell anyone that you were hanging out? Why'd you still fight in front of everyone?" Emily asked, her voice coming out more anxious than she had intended.

"We still fought because we still annoyed each other, and we still do today—all the pick up games and old school movies in the world couldn't change that," she answered, honestly. "And, it's not like we didn't tell people we were hanging out, we just didn't not tell people we were hanging out."

That was a cop out answer and Casey knew it, but she honestly didn't know how to respond to Emily's question. She had often wondered why the details of their friendship, if one could even call it that, were a secret even back when they weren't fooling around. The only halfway reasonable answer she could come up with was that maybe somewhere deep, deep, down inside she and Derek had known that their relationship had . . . sexual potential, so they had decided to keep certain things secret from the beginning as a kind of preemptive strike.

Emily wanted to pry further into the subject, but Casey seemed genuinely unable to answer, so she was forced to move on.

"Okay, I'll accept that, for now." Casey smiled thankfully, but Emily pretended not to notice—she was moving on out of necessity, not want. "So, what's next?"

TBC…

A/N: Let me know what you thought!

Reviews Are Always Welcome!