Chapter 7

"REO Speedwagon?" Jason griped, making a face as Johnny turned up the car stereo and sang under his breath.

"One of the top five best bands of all time, buddy," he replied seriously, and Jasonhe knew it was better not to fight O'Brien about his music choices. "Every girl I dated made Take It On The Run my life.?"

"Uh, you made that song their life," Jason corrected, leaning back against the seat and looking out the window. "Do I even want to know who the other bands are?" Johnny started to answer, but he held up his hand and stopped him. "Rhetorical question."

"Asshole," he pouted, turning the stereo up even louder, obviously pleased to drive the rest of the way to Harbor View Towers in peace.

Jason fumbled with his seatbelt as Johnny pulled into the garage. "She's so pissed," he said quietly. "Just like you said she would be."

"I don't believe pissed was my exact word," he corrected, turning off the ignition and looking over at him. "Blind-sided, confused, teetering on the brink of being pissed off, but not quite that far."

"She hasn't painted in weeks," he sighed, closing his eyes when it felt like the car was spinning. His hand reached for the button on the side of the seat, and he let out a sigh of relief when his it seat started to lean back. "Weeks, Johnny, and that's when she's happiest. I thought – Fuck, she's really mad."

"You bought her a building, Jason," his friend reminded him, tapping his hands anxiously against the steering wheel. "That's bigger than dinner or a blouse. Hell, even a ring."

"You bought Lulu a house," he pointed out, cracking an eye open to look at him.

"Yeah, and a building is still bigger," Johnny shrugged, shaking his head hopelessly. "It's a big commitment."

"It's a building," he mumbled, scrubbing his hands over his face. "A stupid building with high ceilings and bright lights."

"Being business partners," O'Brien said seriously, "is a big commitment. Essentially she's working for you, and not in the way that she works at the warehouse, Jason. If she fails at this, it's going to cost you a bundle, and she can't afford to make up the difference."

"I can," he groaned, getting tired of this independent woman tirade she was on.

"But that's you, not her," he said exhaustedly, and Jason could tell that his night of binge drinking and dwelling on issues with his girlfriend was wearing on his friend. Johnny didn't even complain about Lulu like this. They were always on the same page, so understanding and happy , and it was fucking sickening.

"I don't see what the big fucking deal is," Jason hissed, fumbling with his seatbelt buckle again. "So what if we're business partners? We're already…partners."

"You don't get it. You're not thinking about this from her perspective," he muttered hesitantly. "Believe me, I've had years of experience, and I told you she would react this way."

Rolling his eyes, he finally pulled his seatbelt free. "Fuck you." He continued to swear as he shoved the door open. "If you're so smart, Einstein, how the fuck do I fix this?"

"Now you're asking me for relationship advice?" Johnny laughed, smacking his hand against the steering wheel.

"I hate you," Jason growled, slamming the door closed. Seconds later, Johnny's opened and he appeared on other side of the car. "Go home."

"You asked for advice," he reminded him, flashing a toothy grin. "Go upstairs, tell your fiancé-"

"Don't start with that shit either," Jason interrupted, slowly stumbling towards the elevator. "This fucking F.E. is ruining everything. If Elizabeth hadn't started this shit-"

"Dude, you are so drunk," Johnny laughed, walking up beside him and clapping him on the back. "You're belligerent."

"You don't understand," he grimaced, "because you're already married."

"And you could be. I don't see what the big, damn deal is. You and Elizabeth are already living in sin, going into business, so why not-"

"Fucking F.E. – I swear, I told her this had to stop," he muttered, punching the elevator button. Hanging his head, he braced one hand against the wall to hold himself up.

"F.E.?" Johnny asked, holding a hand out to steady Jason should he decide to suddenly fall over. Thankfully the elevator doors swung open and he stumbled away, leaving O'Brien behind.

"Yeah, the fucking faux – fucking Elizabeth," he stammered, catching himself from almost ruining the whole debacle. This was the perfect opportunity to blow the whole secret. He could blame the shots and beers and do them both a favor, except that he couldn't. The words floated around the tip of his tongue, anxious to burst from his lips, but they didn't.

Son of a bitch.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

"This wedding shit is getting to me," Jason shrugged, hitting the button for his floor. He leaned back against the wall and waved to Johnny as the doors started to close.

"There's always Vegas!" he laughed, before disappearing when the doors closed and the elevator lurched upward.

Shit.

He was going to throw up all over the fucking elevator.

That would really piss Elizabeth off.

He groaned loudly as the elevator dinged and opened to his floor, sure that his stomach was going to completely cave in. Stumbling off the elevator, he dug through his suit jacket for his keys, finding only his money clip and wallet.

"Fuck," he groaned, pressing his forehead against the door to his penthouse. He swore loudly when he turned the knob and found out the door was locked, which meant Elizabeth was asleep, and that he'd have to wake her up.

He'd have to sleep on the couch.

Would Elizabeth make him sleep on the couch?

There was so much that didn't make sense to him.

"Jason?" He listened as her feet pattered across the hardwood floor, trying to decide whether or not she was angry. "Is that you?"

"Yeah, I think I lost – left my keys…somewhere," he replied, pawing at the door with his hand.

Yes, he was slinking home with his tail between his legs, and he wasn't even sure what he'd done wrong. That was the worst part.

Fuck.

What if she asked why he was sorry and he didn't have an answer?

The deadbolt turned and the door slowly opened, revealing Elizabeth in a pair of loose sweatpants and a tank top, her hair pulled into a messy ponytail.

He easily had the hottest girlfriend in all of New York.

Fuck that.

The whole entire world.

"You're drunk," she murmured, her lips turning into an amused grin.

"I had some drinks," he said, slinking inside. He immediately shrugged off his suit jacket and tossed it down on his desk.

"You've got the glow," she teased, kicking the door closed with her foot. She crossed her arms over her chest and followed him towards the couch, where he collapsed, rolling onto his side and pressing his face into the cushions. "Or maybe not. Don't throw up on this couch."

"Hmph," he grunted, lifting his head and looking at her. He noticed the flecks of paint across the front of her shirt. "Were you painting?"

"Yeah," she answered, rolling her eyes. "I think I – I felt…inspired."

"Because I bought you a building," he grumbled, dropping his face back against the cushion. He felt the couch shift as she sat down beside him, and he didn't open his eyes until he felt heris hand on hiser face. "What?"

"Don't throw up on this couch," she repeated sternly, still smiling.

"You're not mad?" he asked, rolling onto his back. He grabbed her arm and pulled her towards him, causing her to fall into his side.

"Why would I be mad?" she asked in a terribly mocking tone. The kind that meant she had many reasons to be mad and was still deciding if she should be.

"I bought you a building," he reminded her, like that was going to make some kind of difference.

"You bought a building for yourself," she corrected, shifting to drape her legs across his lap. "I am merely a partner, a receiver of forty percent, and liable to be sued if this fails."

He perked up at her words, sitting up slowly to look at her. "You read the proposal?"

"I have to say that I'm surprised about two things. One,, that you gave yourself sixty percent of profits, but your reasoning behind that was understandable. You make more money, so you don't have to feel guilty about charging me less, right?"

"Not exactly…" He squirmed beside her, struggling to get through the fog of his drunken haze to talk about this.

"And I'm also surprised that you want to go into business with me," she continued, her eyes darkening. "It's a commitment, a very big one at that."

Yeah, she'd just said that like she'd opened her favorite cheeseburger and found it topped with an inch of onions.

Like it was foul and disgusting.

And worst of all, she was acting as if he was the one that felt this way.

"I'm committed," he replied defensively, waving one of his hands at her. "Look around;, penthouse, you, me, us. We share things like…people share things."

She stiffened, drawing her legs back and scooting away. "Exactly my point."

"Son of a bitch," he muttered, rubbing his hands over his face. "This is about the fucking F.E., isn't it?"

"Do you have to say it like that?" she asked, getting up from the couch. She grabbed her robe that was draped over the back of the couch – because she left her shit lying everywhere – and pulled it on. "You act like it's the worst thing that's ever happened to you."

He just looked at her.

"I don't understand you one bit, Jason," she continued, throwing her hands up at him. "One second you're buying me a building so I have a place for art, so I have something that makes me happy, and the nextn you compare us to people and you're-"

"Really, I shouldn't compare us to people because this-" He paused, motioning back and forth between them. "This is so unlike everyone else and it's-"

"What is that supposed to mean?" she asked, her hands on her hips.

God, she wanted to fight.

That was what this was about.

She was putting on that grim Elizabeth Webber fight face, and she'd be damned if he didn't do something stupid that pissed her off so she could yell.

This was not what was supposed to happen when you bought someone a building.

"I didn't mean it like that. You know that I love the fucking F.E. – that I love having these silly conversations about cupcakes and icing and first dances and-"

"You're so drunk," she interrupted, tossing her head back as she laughed. "You hate the F.E. and everything that it stands for."

"I do not," he replied, shaking his head as he pushed himself up from the couch.

She continued to laugh, which was a relief because that meant she was losing all her will to fight, except now she was laughing at him.

Because really, sometimes, when they started talking about this stupid shit – the doilies, the appeal of finger foods, and eating icing off one another's bodies – well, the F.E. had some kind of potential.

Even if it just made for good dinner conversation.

"Stop laughing at me," he slurred, starting towards her.

She held her hand out and motioned for him to sit on the couch arm when he stumbled. "I'm not laughing at you, but – God, how can I be mad at you when you say something like that?"

"That I like the F.E.?" he asked, arching his eyebrow.

Usually they spent so much time talking about how they hated the F.E., the two of them griping about their best friends always pressuring them to get married, and how they wouldn't have some fancy wedding that cost thousands and thousands of dollars, and basically how stupid they were for getting into this.

How the fuck could he like something when he hated it so much?

"You hate it," she laughed, stepping between his legs and sliding her arms around his neck. He shook his head in protest, and she instantly challenged him. "When was the last time that you actually thought positively about the F.E.?"

"Ride home," he answered instantly, slipping his hands beneath her robe. The material of her tank top was so thin that, and he could feel the heat radiating off her skin.

Seriously, they hadn't had sex in like…a really long time.

"Jason?" she asked, tipping her head to the side and looking at him. "You're not even thinking about the F.E. – you just want-"

"Songs," he interrupted, sliding from off the couch arm onto the cushions and pulling her into his lap. He nuzzled the side of her face, brushing his lips over her cheek. "I was telling Johnny about how this wedding shit drives me crazy."

"That's nice to hear," she murmured, shivering when he nipped at her earlobe.

Ha.

She was already giving in.

She couldn't stop him if she wanted to.

The F.E. was the like the Golden Ticket to sex.

Well, liking it was, at least.

"And then we were talking about…wedding songs," he continued, easing her robe off her shoulders.

Okay, technically it hadn't gone down like that, but it was close.

Top five bands of all time.

And songs that defined relationships.

"We don't have a song," she pointed out, her fingers lazily unbuttoning his dress shirt.

"Yeah, top five bands of all time have our song," he slurred, gently lifting her curls away from her neck.

"You don't have a top five band list," she murmured, hissing softly when his teeth raked over her neck. "You don't even…like music."

"Sure, I like…" He was torn between taking her clothes off and figuring out what band Johnny had been playing, but Elizabeth seemed to get the hint and moved to straddled him, easing her robe the rest of the way off and slipping her tank top over her head.

Seriously.

Best fucking girlfriend ever.

"Take It On The Run," he muttered, groaning his approval as his eyes raked over her. His hands skimmed up her sides to touch her breasts, and it was only when he pulled her hands away that he realized she was no longer interested.

Fuck.

What did he do now?

"Take It On The Run?" she asked, falling forward as she laughed. "Jason, are you serious? You want that to be our song?"

"We have to have one," he sighed as if there was no other choice.

"Sure," she continued to laugh, not even stopping when he flipped her onto heris back and braced himself over her. "If that's what you want it to be."

"Fine," he gave in, pushing her pants down her legs as she fumbled with his belt buckle. "I guess you can pick the song."

"Oh, I can assure you of that," she agreed, still laughing hysterically as she undid the snap of his pants and slipped her hands inside. He groaned and thrust against her. "Because we aren't dancing to an REO Speedwagon song at our wedding, especially one about cheating."