But first, she simply had to talk to Peter. Peter, in his simplicity and complexity, might be able to shed some light on her problem. She'd seen him on the beach earlier, body surfing. She'd also caught him stealing a glance back at her house a few times as if wondering if she were home. His work hours seemed to vary. Sometimes he would call her earlier in the evening. Other times it was much later. Like Michael, he didn't seem to have any set schedule.

She didn't want to approach Peter on the beach for fear Michael would see her if he happened to be home. After all, he only lived half a mile away. She didn't know if Michael was practicing today, or if he was taking the day off. She went into her yard, played a bit with Breezy, hoping Peter would see her. He did. He saw him leave the beach, and not much later, her phone rang.

"I saw you, but I didn't want to come over… in the daytime. I know your boyfriend lives somewhere around here, doesn't he?" he asked. Leslie had told him of the way she had met Michael.

"Yes. There's always the chance he could see us… in the daytime. Can you come over, Peter?"

"Sure, if you're sure it's safe."

"He never comes over without calling… at least so far he hasn't."

"Okay, I'll be there shortly."

"You might have to hide in the closet—just kidding," she giggled.

Peter made sure the others were all occupied before he left for Leslie's house. They had taken a much needed day off today. Davy was somewhere on the beach, but not in the immediate vicinity. He was a born fish—probably way out past the waves somewhere. Mike was doing laundry with the used washer and dryer they'd recently gotten, and Micky was spaced out in front of the TV, trying to ignore Mike's bitching about having to do the laundry, because no one else would.

As Peter walked up, Leslie noted he came from the side of her house, not the front, so as not to be seen as easily from the beach. She was glad he was trying to be conscientious. But it made her feel even more guilty, even though she'd done nothing except omitting mention of her friendship with Peter to Michael. She shook herself in a self-scolding manner.

"I'm having some trouble with Michael, and since we know each other so much better now… maybe you can give me some advice?" asked Leslie after Peter had made himself at home as best he could. This was the first time he'd ever been inside her house.

He saw right away that all her curtains were closed. "Do you always keep your curtains closed?" he asked.

"No, in fact, Michael tells me I actually keep them open too often… I had a peeping tom a couple of months back, and now I keep them closed at night. They're closed right now because you're here, and… well, I don't want to take a chance."

Peter felt a pang of jealousy whenever she mentioned her boyfriend's name, but who was he to be feeling anything other than joy that she wanted him for a friend? He could easily not even have that much. He shouldn't expect anything more. He petted Breezy absently as he waited for Leslie to join him on the couch, carrying iced tea for both of them.

"Was the peeping tom caught?" The thought of another man looking in her windows incensed him.

"No… Michael couldn't catch him. He'd been on his way over when he saw the guy in action. Anyway, that's the main reason I got Breezy."

"Good idea."

"Actually, it was Michael's idea."

How he wished she'd quit talking about the guy!

"I hope I didn't ruin your day off," she commented.

"Oh no, I was ready to leave the beach anyway, when I saw you in your yard. Are things… are you… alright?"

"Oh yes, I'm fine. It's just that… like I told you before, I can't get Michael to open up. I always feel as though… he's holding back. And that makes me resentful. So much that I haven't even asked him inside the house lately. He's coming over tonight…"

Peter struggled to remain open-minded about this. He couldn't let his feelings color what she needed from him—support and advice. He had to be impartial.

"And you anticipate a problem tonight?" He wanted to plug his ears, afraid of what she might tell him.

"Well, yes… Peter, I feel comfortable enough with you now… to tell you… that…" she stopped to gather her thoughts and try to quell her nervousness. "He and I will be alone tonight… for the first time since…. we kissed in here, and…well, it got pretty intense, and I'm afraid he'll think I want to be intimate. And I do. I desire him like crazy. But these other issues get in the way, and they influence how I feel. I don't want this to be ruined. We've been dating a few months and nothing… has happened… in that way."

Oh God. Peter hadn't thought it was going to be this bad. He wanted her—just to kiss her would have been paradise, but here was she was, talking about being intimate with another man!

But he forced himself to work through it, wetting his lips with the iced tea, feeling like his tongue would stick to the roof of his mouth, or crack—so dry was his mouth. He tried to gather his thoughts. He had to make sure they were rational thoughts. He had to separate himself from it if he could.

"Well, maybe you should clear it up first then…" he said, literally pushing the words from his mouth. He couldn't make himself finish the thought. That if she just went ahead and had sex with the guy, she might feel regret. He didn't want to influence her in any way. He could give some vague advice, but in the end, she had to figure it out for herself. What she really wanted, that is.

"He's not being straight with me, like I told you before. He hasn't introduced me to his friends, or asked me over. And it bothers me… and I don't want to… be intimate with him when I'm feeling rankled about… his secrecy. It shouldn't be that way… it should be… special. Don't you think so?"

Peter struggled with this challenge—he really did. But the thought of her and this guy having sex—he couldn't think of it as making love, just couldn't, made him want to scream at her to please stop talking about it.

But she needed his input, so he pushed on and said what he would have said to anyone with a similar problem.

"Well, maybe you shouldn't…. do…. anything…. until you aren't feeling this suppressed anger anymore. Most important, you need to talk to him, Leslie. You need to…get how you feel out in the open."

Leslie liked Peter more all the time. There was a lot of practicality to what he said.

They talked a while longer, Peter trying to be as sincere as he could. He really couldn't be any other way anyway. Peter and sincerity were synonymous.

Leslie found herself lost in his eyes. Those eyes that showed such caring feelings. Those eyes that were so sweet, but revealed a trace of sadness too. She wondered what that was all about. She wanted to ask—but somehow knew he'd keep it inside. It had been all about her… they hadn't discussed Peter very much. Suddenly, she wanted to see inside him.

Peter realized her boyfriend would probably be showing up in a few hours, and he should get out of here so she could get ready, or whatever it was women did before their boyfriend came over. Damn. If only she were getting ready for him…

He got up from the couch. "I should be going," he said. Leslie felt a pang of loss. The magic moment when she'd tried to see into his soul was gone.

"Thank you so much, Peter. You just don't know how much you've helped. You reinforced… what I think I already knew… but was too… personally involved… to see it clearly myself."

She followed him to the door and then hugged him. She didn't know, couldn't know, how the hug tormented him, haunted him after he'd left. He'd wanted to keep her in his arms.

The firm knock sounded at about midnight, and it reverberated through Leslie's entire body, shaking her down to her bones. Michael…

She squared her shoulders, steeling herself for the discussion she knew she had to have with him. She opened the door, Breezy right there at her side, her plume of a tail slapping back and forth in silent glee. If she weren't such a noble dog, she would have whined softly. Breezy loved Michael. She loved Peter too, but Michael was really special. He was the one who had rescued her. Michael reached down and scratched her ear, called her a pretty girl, then hugged Leslie warmly, and closely. These close hugs were becoming a very pleasant habit. When the hug was over, she stood aside to let him in. Right away she could tell he was preoccupied.

"Can we talk?" were the first words out of his mouth. He'd never used this particular inflection before. His look was different too. Although usually appearing serious, he was almost somber tonight. He seemed troubled, and it concerned Leslie so much that she sat down on the couch right away, patting the space beside her, and nodding. "Of course. What's wrong, Michael?"

He cleared his throat as he sat down, then coughed gently through a dry throat. "Hang on just one minute," Leslie went to the refrigerator and brought him and herself a glass of iced tea—the same ones she'd used for Peter and herself earlier, she thought sheepishly. Placing the glasses on the coffee table, she turned her body and her complete attention to him.

"I feel bad about something," he began. His voice was gravely, shaky. "I haven't… treated you in the right way." He gaze drifted toward the direction of the ocean for a few seconds, then back to her. He brushed his hair back, as it was falling into his eyes. Momentarily, Leslie thought of Peter, and how he was always flipping his head, yet his blond crowning glory kept flopping right back down into his eyes. Why had she thought that?

"I know you must be wondering why I haven't introduced you to my band mates…. or asked you over… or asked you to come see us sing. I can feel it in you. Up until tonight, you haven't wanted me to come inside your home. You've been fairly obvious. I know you said it was because you didn't trust yourself… but…I think there's more. I haven't shared my life with you…."

Leslie was flabbergasted. She never thought he'd be so candid. Or know exactly what she'd been thinking these last weeks.

"Well yes, I have wondered. I have to give you credit though… you did hint at me coming to one of your gigs very early on."

"Yes, but I haven't since then. Let me explain… as you know, my past love life has left… a lot to be desired. My friends, roommates and band mates… since they're all three—are better liked by girls than I am. I'm not as outgoing and friendly, or in some cases… as flamboyant. (He was thinking of Micky when he uttered the last word). I don't… stand out in a crowd like they do. They're funnier, more entertaining, and better looking…"

"Wait… hold on a minute here! That's ridiculous! Even though I don't know them… I still know you're really selling yourself short!" She shouldn't have interrupted him, since he was finally talking to her about it, but she couldn't help making that statement. "Now, go on… sorry I interrupted."

"Well, what I said is how I feel… so that is why I haven't asked you over to meet the guys. Or asked you to come to one of the clubs some night and watch us play, since that one time." He looked relieved as he sighed, as if he'd carried this burden around far too long, then leaned over to take a sip of his iced tea.

"My gosh, Michael! I had no idea… you felt that way. And it's terrible that you do. But at least now I have my answers. I'm so relieved…. I was afraid you might have some big, dark secret." Leslie almost winced when she said that, as just then, Peter popped into her mind again. She certainly had a secret of her own! She smiled at him, her tensions somewhat eased. The earnestness on his face was touching. She'd had no idea he'd thought so little of himself. Such a handsome man, and convinced the other guys he lived with were better than he!

"Well, David is the cutest guy most girls have ever seen… according to what the girls have told me," he smiled slightly. "In addition, he's social and entertaining. Charming. There's never a dull moment with either he or Micky. They always know the right thing to do and say. And they fast dance too. Another thing I don't excel at. And even Peter, who is shy and can't bring himself to talk to girls…is liked better than I am. He's very cheerful and fun once he's at ease. I appear sullen to a lot of people. Some even say I look… menacing. I know I don't smile enough… and that doesn't help things… but people are often intimidated by me. Even you were."

Leslie mulled this over. "Yes, it's true I was intimidated. You're tall, dark, and … sinister looking, until a person gets to know you. Especially when you don't smile," she smiled herself to cushion her words.

"That's the thing—I've been misunderstood most of my life. The only reason you came around… and tried to see the real me was because I chased you and caught you. Literally . You didn't have much of a choice." He laughed, but it had a bitter edge to it. "But the average woman… won't even look at me twice because I look foreboding. But anyway… that is what I wanted to say the first thing tonight. That I haven't meant to exclude you… from my life. I was just afraid…you'd like the other guys a bit too much. I wanted to keep you for myself. Still feel that way, in fact."

There! He'd said it! It had been gnawing at him for the last few weeks. And now it was all out on the table. He felt like a ton had been lifted from his shoulders.

Leslie thought she must be glowing. "I feel so much better now… hearing that from you," she said. "But does that mean you aren't… going to introduce me to them?"

"Oh, I will, you have my word on that. But not yet. I'm not quite ready."

She could live with that. She'd wait until he could handle it. The important thing was, he'd bared his soul to her. That was a huge step in the right direction.

His leg brushed against hers as he leaned forward to the coffee table to put his glass down yet again. He was drinking too much, just like he'd done the first time he'd come over. Nerves. He wanted so much to kiss her, but didn't want her to think that was the only reason he'd come over. He'd come because he wanted to be with her, talk with her. Not that he'd ever turn her down if she went to kiss him—never! But he didn't want her thinking he wanted to jump her the second he got his foot inside her door.

"Lay across my lap," he said. "I want our faces closer together—I want to look into your eyes when we talk." He could scarcely believe he'd had the guts to say it. Leslie silently obeyed. As she did, her arms went around his neck—just what he'd been hoping for. She had to, or she would have fallen down onto the couch, and he knew it. He was a sly one, she thought dazedly, but she didn't mind. He slipped his arms around her waist. She was racked with sensations of hot, bold desire. It was building in her middle, and spreading out like warm water saturating her insides. Every nook and cranny. She was sitting on his lap.

"What happened in your life to make you so unsure of yourself?" she asked. "Besides the lousy love life, I mean."

Michael adopted a faraway look in his eyes for just a few seconds, then his attention snapped back to her. "I'm not really sure…I have a pretty good idea… but it could just be my inborn temperament too."

"What's your idea?"

"My father."

"What happened with him?"

"He left my mother and me when I was three. Haven't seen him since."

"Oh, Michael. Obviously I didn't know that."

"You… what about your family? I haven't asked. How selfish of me."

"It wasn't just you…we haven't had a lot of deep conversations, really. I lost both my parents… they're both dead."

Michael was silent for a brief period, staring into space- then turned his head to hers, his eyes bright with tears he was holding back.

"I had no idea. I'm sorry. Why haven't we… discussed anything like this before?"

"I don't know. Neither one of us thought to bring it up…I guess."

"Well, I guess we were too busy worrying about me chasing you on the beach, and being sarcastic to each other," Mike said dryly.

"Well, do you know something? That night… that I drove about a mile away from here, to walk, so you wouldn't find me, I started to walk home, forgetting I was in a different area. I was that shook up. I didn't know where I was for a minute, then finally realized it and got in my car and drove back home."

"I shook you up that much?"

"Yes. You were so solemn, and in the dark… you looked even more dangerous."

"I didn't want to seem like I was stalking you… I just couldn't seem to stay away though. I saw where you parked."

"Ah, so that's how you found me," she smiled to herself, relishing the fact that he cared that much—to go to the trouble.

"You didn't tell me about any of your relatives either," he said.

"Don't have any left that I've kept… in touch with. I'm an only child."

"Wow…" he looked thoughtful. "I'm also an only child. And I thought losing my dad was hard. What you went through is a lot worse."

"Oh, I won't say it wasn't hard… but it might be why I'm so… solitary. I'm afraid of losing someone again. So I maintain my distance. Kind of… like what happened with you. Say, I never did ask you—I love your accent. Is it Texas?" He sensed she was trying to change the subject.

"That it is, ma'am," he drawled. She laughed, and before she knew it, he'd captured the back of her head and pulled her to his lips. He just couldn't wait any longer. He was careful, very careful. He'd timed it well, right after she'd laughed. Her laughter told him she was relaxing. Now that he was inside her home he feared she'd tense up, remembering how smoldering things had gotten the last time he'd been there. It might be too much—it might frighten her. But no… after kissing for a short while, she was every bit as receptive as the time he'd been shirtless—he'd never forget that night in a million years. The desire had been overwhelming—as it was fast becoming now.

It hit her like a burst of flame—the yearning. It was a bright and sudden flash, with no time to brace against it. And no hope of fanning it out, as it was already blazing hot. It was the night of the storm all over again. Now that he'd been open with her—she wondered… should she get closer to him? She didn't doubt he'd lead the way, but it had been so long…

The kissing was causing her to feel dizzy and weak. Mike's lips were caressing and tender, yet this was heavily laced with blunt lust. The way his mouth moved over hers…

He couldn't help it—he'd waited so long already. He held her tight against his chest, and she felt his chest rising quickly—felt his effort to slow down and give her time, but he was fighting a losing battle.

His mouth was doing wonderful things that made her think of lovemaking. His tongue was entering, teasing, begging for more. When his tongue started to thrust, he ripped himself away, at the same moment she started to object. He'd been about a second too late…

"I'm sorry… I'm becoming an animal. It's you—you have this… effect on me," he explained quickly, trying to get through to her that he wasn't usually this carnal, this… lascivious.

Even in the middle of all this incredible pleasure, Leslie couldn't help but think about all the guys she'd known that would treat her decently… until she went to bed with them. Then they'd treated her as not much more than a toy. She knew Michael wasn't like that. There'd never been any indication, and he hadn't ridden her constantly to go to bed with him. In fact, he never had, but she'd been used, and it wasn't that easy to just disregard. To forget. She didn't want this relationship to turn out like that. If it did, she couldn't imagine how bitterly disappointed she would be. How heartbroken.

"I guess…. I'm just not ready yet, Michael," she bowed her head, not able to look directly at him. So, it was more complicated than him keeping his roommates and his life from her. She could see that now. That had been resolved, or at least they'd talked about it and she now understood his reasons for his actions. Yet she still couldn't let herself go with him. It was pretty obvious she still had demons to contend with.

"You don't have to do anything if and until you're ready. We can… continue on the way we have. Going to movies, swimming, shopping, walking…. whatever you want. I will not pressure you."

She'd never had a guy be so compassionate, and it brought her to tears. So she cried into the front of his shirt, and he comforted her the best he knew how. He rubbed her back and kissed the top of her head. "The bad things will never happen again, Leslie. At least not with me. I promise you that."

It took a while for her to stop crying. She felt ashamed of her outburst. After that, they tried to talk, but words didn't come easily. Mike ended up going home much earlier than he usually did. She needed time alone, he could see that. Well, he'd have to "take matters into his own hands" tonight, or, as Davy had so eloquently said not that long ago, he'd get "blue balls."

When he got to the Pad, Peter was reading with his feet propped up on the couch. "You're home early."

Mike didn't answer. He just grunted and flopped down in the chair. After a few minutes, Mike broke the silence. "How come you and I take our beach walks on different nights?"

"Well, I don't want you thinking… I'm trying to be romantic with you by going along." The edges of Peter's lips tipped upward and his hand covered his mouth in a badly concealed smile.

The next time Leslie saw Peter, he was scared stiff that she would start telling him about her lovemaking session with her boyfriend. But she greeted him with something different entirely.

"Nothing happened. He was upfront with me about not wanting me to meet his roommates. It's because he feels inferior to them."

"Roommates? I thought you said it was his friends he hadn't introduced you to."

"Well, they are his friends too. Friends and roommates."

"How many roommates does he have?"

"Three."

Wow, this guy has three roommates, just like me, thought Peter. And he doesn't want her meeting them either. The same line of thinking that Peter had had about her meeting Micky, Mike and Davy.

"So why did nothing happen, if he was… upfront?" Peter knew he was tormenting himself, but he wanted her to know he cared, so he felt obliged to ask her about it, even if it pained the hell out of him.

"I guess it went a lot… deeper than I thought. I must still be uptight because of the guys who used me before."

During their long talks, Leslie had told Peter about that, and he'd had the hardest time trying to figure out why a guy would do that to such an outasite girl.

"So you… kinda…. froze up?" asked Peter.

"Yeah, that's exactly what I did. He went home not long after. We tried talking, but ... I guess we were both pretty upset."

"Why does he feel inferior to his roommates?" Peter couldn't quite hold back the curiosity.

"Oh, something about… them being more charming… better looking… none of which is true."

"How do you know it's not true?"

"Well I haven't met them, but he doesn't have to worry about anyone taking me away from him… no matter how charming or cute they are."

Now he wished he hadn't asked.

"Did he….he didn't try to… force you or anything did he?" In spite of himself, Peter felt anger rising.

"No, not at all. He was completely understanding. Said he'd wait until I was ready."

Peter pulled a grudging respect out of his gut for the guy, but of course he didn't say it out loud.

"So….what is your nationality, Peter?" Leslie felt it was time to take all the attention off her and her problems.

"Oh, German, English, a bit of Norwegian. And you?"

"German, English, a smattering of Irish and Scotch. So we have a bit in common there."

"Yeah."

"Peter, why have you not told me… what you do for a living? You seem to keep very odd hours."

Now Peter was really in a bind. He couldn't admit that he was in a band, because he was afraid of her wanting to meet his bandmates. And if he admitted that to her, she'd know he had a romantic interest in her. And he wasn't supposed to—they were supposed to be friends only. Man, this was touchy. How to answer her without lying?

"I'm in between jobs now… sorta." Well, it was kind of true. They were always between gigs on weekdays, so technically, he wasn't lying.

So… he was out of work. How did he afford rent then? Food? He'd taken her out for ice cream too, and now she felt guilty about it. Could he be doing anything illicit? She couldn't picture Peter in that light, but you never knew…

"I'm sure you'll get a job soon, Peter."

He didn't seem particularly concerned about it, so she dropped it. Better to let him bring it up on his own, in his own time.

Now Leslie had all the more reason not to tell Peter Michael was a musician. She was afraid Peter might know him—the Monkees were becoming more popular all the time. They were quite the rage in town, and if Peter ever went out to clubs, he'd probably be familiar with the group. It had been in the newspaper, and she'd heard people talking about the band on the beach. Here Peter was—not working, and her boyfriend was in a rapidly up-and-coming band, an accomplished guitarist. If she told him, it would surely hurt his ego. Make him feel like a nothing.

Leslie was mystified as to why it was concerning her to this level. Unbidden, tenderness for Peter washed over her. He had been so supportive and willing to listen to her troubles. So protective—ready to rush to her assistance when she'd told him she was having problems with Michael. Had been afraid Michael had tried to force himself on her; she'd seen how red his face had gotten. Suddenly,she had two very special men in her life, and she wasn't prepared to give either one of them up…