A/N Thank you as always for your kind words!

My interview at the Bartle School on Tuesday went well. The problem was that it was a very temporary situation. They needed someone only for the last eight weeks of the spring term, and the first six weeks in the fall. They did not have a summer term. They were not able to offer a full time position extending beyond the return of the currently-pregnant teacher. I had the impression that they were truly displeased with the situation, but of course the woman was entitled to her leave, and one can hardly schedule a baby's arrival into the world. Technically, you could try. The fact that her actual due date was in the general ball park of the summer break means that she had probably done her best.

The school was clearly eager to work out their problem, because they offered me the job that day. I was tempted to take it, even though I knew that rationally I'd become a less desirable candidate in the eyes of other schools. Most people looking to hire you to begin in fall expect you to actually be available to start then. I ended up asking for a week to consider the offer, being honest about my reservations to make the commitment to them. They understood, and that's how I left it. I called my old boss that afternoon to discuss it. She was saying that I would probably be able to pick up summer school classes at one of the public schools, but the fall arrangement was something that no one would want to touch, if they could possibly avoid it.

Amelia was in the middle of a very busy week, so I went ahead and stopped for some groceries on the way back to her apartment that night, and then made dinner for us. I was trying to stay positive, but failing. Finding the right job is kind of agonizing, and I felt like I had a couple of strikes against me going in. I'd worn my grey suit today, but I was going to wear the navy again tomorrow, with a lighter blue shirt. You could call it my power suit. I only had the two, and then a black one that was pretty funereal. I usually just wear blouses and skirts or pants to work. There was a fine pink line across my forehead still, the only visible trace remaining from my...from the incident with Bill. Easily visible, anyway. My ribs were a whole other story. They were still fading like an alien sunset in a weird mesh of purple, yellow, and green. I was in the powder room with the curling iron when Amelia got home. I was testing hairstyles.

"What do you think of this?" I ask, emerging to show off a loose updo with my hair sweeping my forehead to conceal the last of my injuries.

"I think it's an interview, not a date," she responds wearily. She had a long day. She wasn't really meaning to give me attitude.

"It's an important interview though," I say. "Hestia is somewhere I could stay until I retire. This could be my whole life, Amelia. I still can't believe they even called me."

"Bartle was a bust then?" she asks in reply.

"It was and it wasn't. They offered me the temporary post, but the timing is even worse than they hinted over the phone," I say, and pause to explain to her all the details of the temporary position.

"I told them I would take a week to consider it, but I don't think I can agree. Taking it on could end up biting me in the ass if I'm not available when a permanent offer comes along," I finish.

"That sucks," she offers. Stressed and tired Amelia is not particularly loquacious, but it was still a spot on summary.

I just nod at that, and tell her there's dinner, which serves to pep her up a bit for the rest of the evening.

"I think just wear your hair down," she says an hour later while we tidy up her kitchen. "You're interviewing at a school, not an office building. Plus, it seems more low-maintenance. Also, you might give the wrong impression if you appear too focused on your appearance. What are you going to say about Seattle?" Focusing on my appearance was being a fine distraction thank you very much. Now I have to worry about how I'm going to put my foot in my mouth about the Bill thing.

"I don't know," I answer. "I want to be honest, but I don't want to get into the details. I'm not sure how to say it half-way without coming off looking flighty. I certainly don't want to play up the fact that we were living in sin."

"Oh honestly Sookie. Living in sin?"

"Amelia, I have no idea who I will be interviewing with. It's a Catholic school. For all I know, I could be interviewing with Sister Aloysius."

"I have no idea who that is."

"That mean nun that Meryl Streep played in Doubt."

"Ugh, she was ghastly."

"Right, and how do you think she would respond to my explaining that I was so overjoyed to be living with my boyfriend out of wedlock that I completely ignored all the warning signs that he was a big, big butthead?"

"I think it is possible that you are overreacting right now."

"Of course I am overreacting! This is a big deal!"

"Okay, first of all, this isn't the nineteen fifties," she starts. The movie and the play were set in the sixties, but I wasn't going to interrupt for that. "Second of all, if it were that kind of place, they wouldn't even be interviewing non-Catholic teachers."

I had to stop her there though. "They don't know I'm not Catholic."

"Sookie, you told me the head of their math department is listed as Berakhiah Horrowitz. I am pretty sure we can take that as evidence that your not walking in there with a rosary around your neck isn't going to stop them in their tracks." Okay fair point. Actually it was one of mine from when we'd spoken a couple of days ago. I had checked their faculty webpage. That was unquestionably a Jewish name.

A waved her on, as she clearly wasn't done.

"Third then. Suppose you're right, and they do judge you totally harshly for making a mistake in your personal life. Is that really the environment that you want to work in anyway?"

"Since I don't plan on getting myself into any situation that won't hold up to scrutiny in the future, that hardly matters."

"Of course it does. Even if you do succeed in living a life entirely of virtue from this day forward, you don't actually want to be surrounded by people at work who are constantly looking over your shoulder and passing judgments that in no way effect your ability to educate."

"Maybe they're right do to so, I mean, we are shaping young minds. They have the right to assay us. Maybe I'm not good enough to be applying there even excluding Bill and Seattle and everything else."

"Sookie."

"What?"

"Stop freaking out."

I look at her helplessly. It's kind of impossible to do as she asks, however much I know she's right to make the request. I take a deep breath, closing my eyes for a moment and give her a nod.

"I think you should say that you discovered your fiancé was being unfaithful shortly after you moved together for his work, and leave it at that. The fiancé thing is only a tiny stretch of the truth since, the ring, and stating it like that leaves your actions entirely unquestionable," she says.

"I don't really want to say he was my fiancé though."

"It sounds a lot better than 'boyfriend', or God forbid 'partner'. It also totally justifies the fact that you were living together, if they're so conservative that they would care."

"I guess. I'm just so relieved to have dodged that bullet, that I don't want to bring it up."

"It's up to you but give it some thought, so you're not caught off guard again."

I'd confessed to her my belief that I'd made a misstep in how I answered that question in my previous interview. She was right, I wanted to be perfect.

I had a hard time getting to sleep that night, I was just so anxious. I woke up to find Amelia brewing coffee for me. She gave me a little smile in greeting and went back to getting ready for her day. Before she left for work, she came over and gave me a tight hug, around my shoulders, not my ribs.

"You're going to do great. Call me when you're finished," she said, and then was out the door.

I showered and dried my hair and applied a bit of makeup. I painted my nails with clear polish, and watched the news while they dried. I dressed. I put a spare copy of my resume into a folder and carried it with my small purse down into the car. I checked three times to make sure my cell phone was silenced, and then I drove over to Hestia. I wasn't sure about parking, so I found a spot a block over and walked to the main entrance. I was five minutes early, which I thought exhibited an appropriate amount of keen without appearing overbearing. I waited in a wooden chair like a girl on discipline until a smiling man came to meet me. He was probably about fifty or so, and wore a suit and tie. He introduced himself to me as Douglas Salva and asked me to call him Doug, and showed me back to his office where a woman named Deborah Wing was waiting for us. He explained that he was the Vice President of the school in full, which comprised the elementary as well as the high school, and that his job was mainly as an administrator. Deborah Wing was a Dean in the high school, or the upper school, as she said.

Our meeting went well. I learned that they were considering adding a new math teacher who would cross over between the upper and lower schools, teaching the seventh and eighth grades, which were split. Perfect. They believed it would be positive for the students, in that it smoothed the transition between the two schools, and in addition would relieve some of the strain on the more advanced teachers in the upper school. Most of our meeting was spent with them conveying to me the school's philosophy and methods, and I tried to ask leading and intelligent questions to help me form a good picture. We talked about me only briefly in Doug's office, and after about forty minutes, Ms. Wing excused herself. Doug took me on a brief tour of the upper school, which ended at the office of Barry Horrowitz. That's how Berakhiah introduced himself.

Doug sat mostly quiet while Barry and I settled in to discussing me, and discussing the actual teaching. I was pleased to be able to provide him with one of the extra copies of my resume I'd brought. He told me about the position as he envisioned it, the course work. It was at the upper end of what I'd been teaching before, but I could certainly handle it. He did ask about my employment history, and he did ask why I'd left the Parish school in December. I gave a rueful little smile and the answer that Amelia had come up with. Barry just nodded and moved on to inquiring about my tutoring, noting that the school did allow their teachers to tutor outside of school hours, but not students of the school itself. That seemed like a reasonable policy to me. It really wouldn't do to have any excuse for favouritism if any teachers were also privately employed by certain students' families.

After another hour, Doug and I left Barry's office with handshakes all around. Barry had said it seemed like it could be a good fit, which was encouraging and completely noncommittal all at the same time. Very diplomatic. Doug walked me back to the front entrance.

"It's been a pleasure, Miss Stackhouse, you'll be hearing from us soon. Mrs. Pirrie certainly has a good eye."

"Mrs. Pirrie?" I ask, letting a touch of my confusion show.

"Melissa Pirrie sits on the Board of Trustees for the school."

"Mitzy?" I query. She's the only Melissa Pirrie I know. What?

"Ah, yes. Mrs. Pirrie and I spoke last week and she recommended I get in touch with you. I must say, I'm glad I did. This new position could be very good for us. Barry is quite excited at the prospect."

And I'm agog. "Mr. Salva...Doug," I stammer. "I had no idea I'd been recommended by one of your trustees..."

"Well, that's neither here nor there, I suppose. I'm certainly pleased to have done her the favour. I believe it could work out for all parties." I'm speechless at this point and after a moment he continues. "I'll phone you next week, Sookie. Again, it was great to meet you."

"And you. Do take care," I manage with a weak smile, shaking his hand and then exiting the building.

I walk back to the Rabbit sedately. Mitzy Pirrie had arranged a job for me. In fact, it sounded very like Mitzy Pirrie had arranged to have a job created for me. At her old school. Mean old nuns, she'd said. Yup. I'd seen the old pictures in the main office. The woman barely knew me. I get in the driver's seat and dial Amelia. It rings three times before she answers, out of breath.

"How did it go?" she asks excitedly.

"It went great," I say, my voice sounding for all the world as if it did not go great. "I don't think it could have gone better. Heck, I don't even think it could have gone worse."

"Sook?"

"I don't think it could possibly have gone badly," I clarify.

"I'm not following you at all. Did your meeting with the school go well?" Amelia asks.

"Remember Mitzy Pirrie?" I ask her.

"From brunch? Yeah?"

"Yeah, she's a member of their Board of Trustees. Apparently she made them call me, for a job that maybe won't exist unless I'm interested in taking it."

"What?"

I give her my explanation, of the meeting and then of Doug Salva's parting words to me.

"That's crazy. You only met her the one time," she says. Then after a pause, "Um, you don't think Inge...or Eric...asked..."

"Yup. That's kind of exactly what I'm thinking," I say flatly.

"That's..." She can't seem to think of how to finish that.

"Let me know if you come up with something besides 'crazy' because that's all I've got either."

"What..." she starts.

"I have no idea," I say. It doesn't even matter what she was going to ask. I have no idea what to make about this entire situation or anything pertaining to it. "Listen, I'm going to wrap up here and head home. I'll call you tonight, okay?"

"Please do. Drive safe... That's just...loony...Alright, Sookie, love you, call me tonight. Bye."

"Love you bye," I say, disconnecting.

I start the car and drive back to her house. I change and retrieve my things. I lock up and hit the road. I've just passed the exit to Baton Rouge when Eric calls. I raise my eyebrows at the caller ID and give it a sharp look, then set the phone down. A moment later it chimes with his text message.

Sent by Eric - 2:12 p.m. How did it go / is it still going?

I set the phone back down on the passenger seat very pointedly. He knows how excited about this I was. It is perfectly reasonable that he is eager for news. I am not angry with him. I will gather my thoughts on this subject before I talk to him. How felicitous that I should have another four hours all to myself to ruminate. I can feel my mouth set in its hard line and try to smooth my features. I flip the radio on. It does not distract me.

Best case scenario. My new friend Mitzy is a well-meaning, yet interfering old-lady that independently sought to give me a leg up in this hard world. I look at that from a couple of angles. Do I want a job? Yes, I badly do. This one in particular? Heck yeah. Do I want come by a job through preferential treatment? No. Well...no. I wanted to be hired because I was a good teacher, obviously. And because I would be a good fit for the environment. Because they liked what I had to say, and how I planned to be. The troubling thing was that I'd left with the impression that they were genuinely pleased with me. I mean, either that or Barry Horrowitz could be moonlighting with the theatre. From what Doug had said it seemed like space had been made for me, explicitly. Was there any other way to take his words about 'this new position'? Did I want that? Definitely not. There are favours and then there are favours. This was beyond the limit. What would even possess her? I could never work in a job where my superiors knew that I'd essentially only been hired as a favour to one of their Trustees.

Worst case scenario. Eric Northman used his family connections to finagle a job for me in New Orleans without asking or telling me anything about it. He'd been candid about his interest in me, and seeing me in New Orleans. I knew as well as he did that our best, well, our only chance at seeing each other really, would be in the city. He's already shown that he'd go to lengths for me. Would he go this far? I didn't think so, but I wasn't certain. He hated this kind of thing. He hated it in others, and for himself. But, I knew he was savvy. And I certainly knew that he liked to have his way, and he wasn't particularly shy about inveigling it into being. He would say finesse. He might say he had acumen. You could just as easily call it sly and cunning. Would I be mad about it? Yes. Yes because he didn't offer or consult me, but moreover yes, because he should know that not wanting to take things we hadn't earned was something we had in common. It's not like there was a whole lot on the surface that made us compatible. If he were to ignore something like that in favour of his convenience, then basically I was just another Escort in his eyes. That had me frowning. I kind of thought there was more to it than that. I had to clamp down hard on my pique.

My phone was ringing again. It was him again. I guess he was just calling between meetings. Twenty minutes later I pull off for gas and send him a text.

"Hey, driving home now. Can I call later? What time is good?"

I fill the Rabbit's tank and grab an iced tea and a granola bar from inside. He sends a message back letting me know he'll be home by nine, my time. I spend the last two hours of my drive singing along with the radio and trying not to run any more hypotheticals or place any blame.

At home, I hang my clothes up, dress a chicken and toss it in the oven. I'll have a late dinner since I'll be up on the phone. I call Jason and invite him for lunch tomorrow, I can make up a salad with my leftovers and have sandwiches for us. I call Amelia and let her know that I've arrived safely. She's eager to discuss the Hestia job, but I tell her I want to ask Eric his part before I get back to it. She lets me get off the phone only when I assure her that I'll call her if not tonight, then tomorrow at the latest. I run a bath and read a romance while my dinner cooks. Why can't my dilemmas be more along the lines of these heroines? Why does it have to be, 'should I take a job I both want and need but shouldn't rightfully be offered'? Why can't it ever be 'should I yield to the dark temptations of this pirate lord'? Because I know the answer to the second one. Totally yes. Well, given her situation. Maybe not in mine. I'll cross that bridge for myself when the pirate lord shows up to ravish me if needs be.

Smelling like heaven and feeling relaxed, I eat a leisurely late supper. It's finally time to call him. I think I've figured out how to approach it without getting irrational, even if my worst case proves correct.

"Hey Sookie, how did it go today?" he answers.

"It went great, with a small hitch at the end," I say.

When he questions, I explain further, quoting Doug Salva. He does not interrupt at all.

"So Eric, I guess I have to ask," I wind up. "Did you say anything to your grandmother? Because as nice a time as we had at brunch, I don't feel like I so impressed Mitzy that she'd go and do something like this all on her own."

"I did not," he says coldly. "The only mention of you at all was right at the beginning of the conversation when I told her you'd run into her friends and suggested I call her to say hello."

"Oh Eric, you told her that?" I scold, completely distracted by his comment. "You shouldn't have implied you were only calling because you were told to."

"It was true."

"It wasn't very nice though. She doesn't need to be told that you wouldn't call her normally," I continue.

"But I wouldn't call her normally. And apparently with good reason," he answers. "Sookie, if she did this, or had her friend do this, I'm very sorry. It's not intended to be an insult to you. This is just what they do."

"I'm not quite following."

"Favours for friends, pulling strings, solving problems their way. Finding you a job that they can approve of." I knew he wasn't just talking about me at that point.

"It's interfering and misguided, I'll grant you, but it doesn't seem ill-intentioned..."

"No, don't excuse it."

I sigh. This battle of wills, or whatever it is that goes on with him and his family, just makes me sad. I don't want to push him. I can tell he wouldn't be receptive to anything I have to say about it right now. "I'm so relieved it wasn't you," I say, instead.

"Me? Sookie, I'm eager to see you situated, but that's not something I would presume to do."

"I didn't want to think you would," I say quickly, "Which is why I asked you first."

Now he is sighing.

"I'm not going to take it, if they formally offer it," I decide.

"Despite that it's perfect? I can see why you might want to," he says. Liar. He pauses for a moment. I figure he's debating whether or not to call himself on his own baloney. Instead he continues, "You said it went well otherwise? You think impressed them?" Now trying to rationalize, just like me in the car.

"The ends are good, but I don't like the means. I felt it went well, yes, but knowing the circumstances, it doesn't really seem as though it couldn't have, does it?"

"You could have shown up naked. Or drunk."

Laughing I say, "I hope you're not speaking from experience there." He stays quiet, making me wonder. "You didn't!" I exclaim after a moment, in a tone that wonders if maybe he did, at some point.

"I haven't, no. I will not say I was not sorely tempted on more than one occasion," he says.

"Do you think I should call her? Just tell her thank you for trying to help, but no thank you?"

"I'll call her."

I sigh loudly. I'm biting my tongue, but apparently I cannot control my airflow.

"What?" he demands.

"It's not really my place," I say. I want to tell him not to yell at his grandmother, but I don't want to nag him. "I'm sorry, for this situation."

"I as well. Let's talk about something else," he suggests.

So we did, for another twenty minutes or so, before we said good night.

The following day, I'm watching Jason devour his third chicken salad sandwich on the wheat bread I'd baked that morning while I told him about the whole business with the fake job, and the real but temporary job.

"Wish someone would set me up like that," he says, once I'd summed up the Hestia situation.

"Is the shine completely worn off running the road crew then?" I ask lightly. I'm unsurprised that he doesn't share my moral ambiguity. Jason's always been a 'take what comes to you' kind of guy, without asking questions. I suppose it explains why he's such a tomcat. I guess overall he leads a pretty charmed life, within the scope of our small town, anyway.

"Nah, I like it well enough," he says, finally leaning back away from the table and giving his tummy a satisfied rub. "But if someone were to make up a job for me doin' exactly what I want to do anyway? You don't want to look a gift horse in the mouth."

He gets the same stern look I'd given Amelia. "No using Gran to win your arguments," I huff. He starts laughing.

"The manner'a givin' is worth more than the gift!" I quote back furiously. He keeps on grinning at me, chuckling all the while. "Jason Stackhouse, don't make me get the switch," I warn, in full Gran-voice.

He manages to school his face long enough to match the look I'm levelling at him. I crack first, the corner of my mouth twitching up in a smirk, and then we're both uproarious. God, I miss her.

"Eric thinks it's his grandmother sort of roundabout interfering with his life," I say when we settle. "And apart from anything else, I don't want to be in the middle of that."

"That's your new man then?" Jason asks, raising his eyebrows.

"Not quite," I answer honestly. "I guess you'd call it dating, but I wouldn't call him mine."

He just nods at that. It's an arrangement he can understand. "So I guess you're gonna tell them to take their job and shove it?" he asks.

"Yeah, I think I have to," I answer. "I think I should," I correct.

"You sure you want to be moving back down there after all?" he asks.

"Yup, still sure," I say.

He excuses himself after that and I head out to do some weeding in the flowerbed. My phone goes off from its perch on the porch, and I flounder standing up and pulling my gloves off so I can answer it. I don't want to miss any calls that could be about my employment. It's another job substituting for the following week, not another interview. I gladly accept it anyway.

The garden was coming along really nicely. I worked on it a little bit more on Friday and Saturday. I'd also started on the inside of the house. I'd decided to work from the top down, since the warmer it got, the more unbearable working in the upstairs would become. So, I spent most of my weekend scraping wallpaper and cleaning baseboards. I was going to paint. It was low-impact enough that I wouldn't strain myself.

Sunday morning I found myself at church. I was grateful for the friends who wished me well, and for healing. I prayed that I was making the right decisions in my life. After service I visited for a while with the rest of the congregation over sweet tea and coffee cake. I came home and went for a walk in my woods.

Discouragingly, the only call I got from New Orleans that week was from Doug Salva on Tuesday. I return his call later in the afternoon. He did offer me the job. The salary I was about to turn down made me cringe when he finished rattling off his 'good news'.

"Doug, while I'm truly grateful that you took the time to meet with me last week, I don't think I can accept this offer."

"Pardon me?" he asks. Reasonable response, from his point of view.

I'll just go for full honesty, then. "I wasn't aware when you contacted me that it was on a favour to one of the school's Trustees. From what you said when we spoke, I don't feel like I'm being offered a position at your school based on my merits. Nor do I feel confident that such a position would even exist were it not for Mrs. Pirrie. She and I are not so well acquainted that I believe she could have made the recommendation with confidence, even as I am flattered by it." I pause, taking a deep breath before I finished, "I apologize for wasting your time in this way. I assure you that I would have cleared this matter up last week had I been fully aware of the situation at that time. I could not accept a post under these circumstances."

For a long moment, he has nothing to say to that. "Well I...appreciate your candour, Miss Stackhouse. I think I understand your position."

"Thank you, Mister Salva," I say. We're obviously back to formal now. "Again, I am sorry for the confusion in this matter. I was an unwitting party."

"Yes, I understand. In that case, I wish you luck, Miss Stackhouse. Please feel free to apply to Hestia in the future. Available positions for the forthcoming school year are posted in the last week of June."

"Thank you sir. It was a pleasure to meet you. Take care."

"Goodbye," he says.

Since I might as well get all the bad out of the way, I contact the Bartle School the same afternoon and give my regrets. I feel very down in the dumps for the rest of the week, brightening again only on Friday, because I'm headed back to New Orleans this afternoon, for pleasure, rather than business. Eric's flying in tonight. When I asked Amelia if I could stay with her, she had given me a bit of a hard time. It wasn't because I was unwelcome, but because I was refusing to assume I'd be staying with Eric. I was unopposed to the idea, but he hadn't mentioned it specifically. We'd spoken this morning and he told me he was getting in late, and I told him the same. The brief conversation had ended with "See you later," but not when. I finished my day at school and changed in the faculty washroom and left straight from there. I'd still be getting in close to nine o'clock.

Amelia was not home when I arrived at her place. She'd left a note telling me not to wait up for her. At least someone is having fun tonight! Yawning, I changed into shorts and a tank top and watched a movie on her couch. Eric called when it was nearly over.

"Hey, where are you? I just got in." he says.

"Amelia's," I answer, stifling another yawn. That drive really takes it out of me.

"Really? I figured you'd still be driving. I was going to suggest you just come straight here. Are you tired?"

"Little bit, yes."

"Ah. Well, do you want to?"

"Hm?"

"Just come here?" he asks.

"Eric, I'm in my pj's," I say.

"That's alright. I can very easily also be in my pj's," he says. I look at the clock. It's nearly eleven. But, it's Friday night. I'm a young person. I can go out at eleven on a Friday night. That's totally reasonable.

"Alright, I'll see you in twenty minutes. Um, Eric?"

"Yes?"

"Um, should I bring my bag?"

"That's up to you. I'm fine staying in bed all weekend where I assure you clothing is optional, but maybe you'll get hungry at some point and want to leave," he says offhand. I can hear that grin again. In stereo, since mine is up too.

"Alright then. You may need to find me a redbull tonight though. See you in a bit," I say, and hang up.

I leave a quick note for Amelia, on the back of her note to me. "Here and gone, you can guess where! Talk to you soon! XXOO -SS." I switch the shorts for a pair of jeans and put on a cardigan sweater over my camisole. I don't bother with a bra again. The sweater will keep me decent enough to get out of my car and walk across a lobby. I haven't unpacked anything, so I just lock up and head over to Eric's hotel. He's waiting when I reach the valet. He is holding a can of redbull and a straw. He's not wearing pajamas, he's in jeans and a grey tee. He's got his arm around my shoulders in a squeeze and is lifting my weekend bag out of the hatchback.

"This is the Rabbit?" he asks. When I give him a nod, "I like it, it's cute. Suits you."

We walk inside and the same night manager, Stuart, greets us. I give him a nod and a smile. Eric is walking a step or two ahead of me toward the elevator. Once we're on it, he grins down at me.

"I'm glad you came over," he says. I just return his smile.

"How was your week?" he asks.

"Good and bad. I taught all week. Another good group of kids," I say. He nods.

The elevator dings open and I follow him down the short hallway to his room. The moment the door is closed my bag has vanished and his arm is around my back holding me to him and his hand is at my cheek tilting my head up toward him and I'm being kissed. He presses into me and my lips part with his and our tongues meet, stroke, twirl. I let my purse drop to the floor and I lift my arms, my hands running up his chest, coming around his neck.

After a moment he pulls away, staring down at me with lust in his eyes. "These aren't your pajamas," he smirks.

I step back, and without hesitation unfasten my jeans and push them down, toeing out of my flats as I step out of the legs. I shrug off my sweater. It's been maybe fifteen seconds and I'm left in my cami and panties. I smirk and raise my eyebrows at him. He is stunned for all of a moment before he scoops me up and I squeal. He carries me off toward the bedroom, moving haltingly as he rids himself of his own shoes on the way. He's grinning, and before he can get carried away I grab at the collar of his shirt, curling my fingers into a fist around the fabric to get his attention.

"Be careful with me," I warn softly, letting my fingertips slide down his sternum as my hand falls against my ribs where his eyes follow. For an instant his expression falters and he gives me a nod, but the lust is back as he sets me down gently on the bed. His own shirt and jeans are off as quickly as mine were. He kneels at the side of the bed staring down at me for a minute. His look is predatory as he crawls up my body, stopping only to pull my top up over my head as he comes. I feel him brush his fingers softly against the last traces of my bruising which stubbornly remain, holding himself over me by the arm now bent beneath my head. His mouth is on mine again.

He rolls his hips against mine, pressing into me and I press right up to meet him, pausing as I lift to push away my panties. He leans back to help me with that, his hands running down across mine, then trailing away to stroke down my legs as he pulls the thin fabric with him. He returns in a trail of kisses up my body, my calf, my knee, the inside of my thigh, the peak of my mound, my belly, my ribs, my breast, my neck. His arms wrap around me again and I feel him shift to the side and I follow him, guiding myself as he rolls and shifts me on top of him, straddling. His hand drops to my ass and he gives me a squeeze, murmuring appreciation as he pulls me up along his chest. His hand at my breast, his mouth finds the other. My hands reach out to brace against the padded headboard. I moan softly as his tongue swirls across my nipple and his fingers trail down my crease of my ass, stroking across my lower lips, then across the top of my thigh, around my hip.

I try to reach back for him, lifting myself from his mouth, leaning back to stroke down his length. My eyes turn back to his when I feel a sharp pinch on my nipple. My hips buck involuntarily. He pulls my hand away from him, lifting it to his head. "Stay," he orders, commanding with a hoarse whisper. He draws his hand back down my back. I lean toward him again, offering my breast once more and he licks, nibbles, suckles. His hand comes around my hip once more, snaking between my legs. I cup his cheek, stroke through his hair, hold him to me. His fingers begin to rub circles over my clit, pausing to stroke down, to dip into me, and then returning.

"Yes," I breathe, and "Yes, yes, yes..." as I pant, and in moments I cry out as I come. I relax my fingers in his hair and lower myself to kiss him. He pushes back against my hips, sliding me down his body, never breaking from my lips. I feel as my sex brushes down his shaft and push myself against him, spreading my wetness down the length of him. He breaks my kiss at last to moan as I lift away and start to sink back down, slowly impaling myself on him. I drop my head to kiss across his jaw and down his neck, burying my head against his shoulder until I finally start to move over him.

I hear his voice as I roll my hips and lift myself off him again and again. I am not listening to what he says, instead I feel the rumble in the fingertips I have splayed across his chest as he speaks. I move faster and faster, drawing up an arm to cradle one of my breasts as I cup the other, plucking and pinching at my nipple. His hands take hold of my hips, fingers spread across my ass, as finally he cannot help but start to thrust to match my rhythm. I feel myself start to flush again and I arch back, letting him finish me as my hand falls to his thigh, trailing down to cup his sac. I feel him spasm there as I shudder over him, crying out my pleasure and drawing him with me with a groan of his own.

I come forward to rest against him, hugging his shoulders with my head resting against his chest as I breathe. His hands come around my head and my waist, holding me to him. We stay that way as he softens inside me until finally I can move away. I withdraw to the bathroom and wash myself, bringing him back a fresh damp cloth of his own. I pull the covers back and climb into the bed, snuggling down and he joins me, pulling my hips back against him, letting me shift my torso back against his chest. He drops a hand to rest across my stomach. He nuzzles into me, kissing my neck and shoulder. I drop an arm to his, entwining our fingers. We fall asleep that way, without saying another word.

I wake as I feel him stir, or else I stirred and he wakes. He hugs me back against him, eliminating the few inches of space between us where we'd drifted in the night.

"Mmm, g'morning," I yawn.

"Morning," he murmurs into my hair. He catches my yawn as well and I feel him stretch with it before snuggling back against me. We lay there for a few more minutes before he grins, more awake, "Really glad you came over last night."

"Over and over again, if you didn't notice," I blush.

He laughs. "Good."

"Are we really staying in bed all weekend?"

"We certainly could. I am guessing you want a shower though."

"Bingo."

"And then I'll have to feed you," he continues, not yet releasing me.

"I'm so much trouble," I say, feigning an apologetic tone.

He leans over and gives me a smooch before uncurling from me and getting out of bed. I turn and catch him with his arms thrown back and up and his back arched forward, lifting on the balls of his feet for a second as he stretches what is truly one of the most magnificent male bodies I have ever seen, even in pictures. My mouth had fallen open slightly at the sight of him. I close it when he catches my eye with a smirk.

"What?" he asks.

"You're a good looking man, Eric," I say with absolute honesty.

"You're a good looking woman, Sookie," he replies. "Now get your especially nice ass out of bed. I thought you were supposed to be the morning person." He flashes me a smile as he wanders off into the bathroom.

We managed to have a shower wherein we did not get dirty again before we got clean. I felt like we should get a merit badge for that, and told him so as we were drying off.

"Were you a girl scout?" he asks.

"Nope. Well, I was a Daisy for one year I think. They're the littlest ones. I couldn't do it anymore after we went to live with Gran," I shrug. "Were you a boy scout?"

"No, it wasn't offered."

"Poor Eric, stuck with fencing instead. Did you want to be one?"

"Maybe when I was eight or so, there was a kid I used to play with in summers down here. I recall feeling very bitter when he abandoned me to my grandparents alone while he went off to some sort of jamboree."

"Aww," I say. "Some time we'll put on short pants and neckerchiefs and toast marshmallows, so you can realize that dream."

"It could be fun if you promise that's all you'll be wearing."

I tossed my wet towel at his head, which he caught reflexively, lifting his own away from him as he did it. I ogled him shamelessly for a moment and then grabbed a dry one for my hair.

"So what are we really doing today? Or were you serious about the sex marathon and you just had me get all cleaned up for nothing?" I ask.

Without waiting for his answer I wrap my towel around myself and walk past him out into the living room where my bag and my clothes are. I hit a bit of a conundrum once I reach my bag about what to do with it, so I just hunch down and start digging through it for my toothbrush and an outfit to wear, folding up my jeans and putting them back on top. I start to zip up the bag again when he comes over and lifts it up and carries it into his bedroom. He grabs the luggage stand and sets it up in the corner of the room on the same side of the bed I'd slept on.

"Thanks," I say, with a smile. "That was awkward for a minute and I didn't want to invite myself." It also answered any lingering questions about if I was staying here tonight as well, so unspoken double-thanks, big guy. I start pulling on my clothes, and he is doing the same.

He nods at my thanks. "I'm thinking Audubon Park."

"Can we go to the zoo?" I ask. I love Audubon Park. There's a zoo and an aquarium, and a really picturesque walk with all the old oak trees hung with Spanish moss. It can be quite busy on weekends, but it still promises to be a lovely outing.

"Sure," he says. "We can just walk around for a while, do whatever strikes our fancy."

"Should we take my car?" I ask.

"Let's take mine," he says with a smile.

"Isn't it in Seattle?" I ask.

"I've bought one, for here in New Orleans," he says. He must catch my odd expression because he justifies, "For one thing, I just want to be able to drive myself when I feel like driving, and I'm apparently still here often enough that it's worth having. For another, I think I prefer the idea of driving than walking around with you at night."

"Ah," I say. I can't really argue the second point at all, even if I were so inclined, which I'm not. "What kind of car?"

"It's a corvette. It's the newer model, but otherwise the same as my other, only it is blue."

"What colour is the other?"

"Red." I grin. Of course it is. "Anyway, I haven't driven it yet."

"Why don't we do that first then? Let's just go for a drive. See where the road takes us," I grin.

"Yeah?" He asks, sounding excited.

"Can I pick the radio?"

"Will you be singing?" he asks, and then ducks theatrically. I shoot him a mean look that I'm unable to maintain and it quickly turns into a grin. "Go dry your hair then and do your girly things. I'll call breakfast, what do you want?"

"Um. French toast and fruit. And coffee."

He bends to kiss me and saunters off to order breakfast. I fix my hair and my makeup and find him back at his 'workstation' with his laptop, so I take a seat across from him.

"I thought no work on weekends?" I ask. It's not chiding, just a question.

"I came to look at maps, and there was an email," he says. I'm left to sit there for a couple of minutes as he finishes his typing. After another moment of perusing whatever, he closes his laptop.

"Can I ask how things are going? With the merger, and the Bill and Lorena fall out, and all that?" I ask. There's a knock on the door though and our breakfast has arrived. Since we happen to be sitting at the table already, we're also served, instead of just left to manage the cart. Eric has eggs and pancakes and a muffin and fruit and ham, sausages, and toast. So, typical light repast, for him.

In between mouthfuls he finally answers, "It's going better. I don't like to say that, because I don't want to jinx it, but some key people I've needed to ah, bring to our point of view, seem convinced in the ways I need them to be. I have ground to work from. I'm sorry to be vague here, I hope you can appreciate why needs be. I'll be happy to bore you with the details once we're after the fact."

I smile. "You seem less stressed out, even vague, so I'm glad."

"It's still stressful," he answer quickly. "It's just stressful from a more manageable position. Not floundering."

"Well that's good then."

"As far as Bill and Lorena go, we replaced them really quickly with a couple of promotions. Internally, it's not an issue. Externally, they're something of a sticking point in and of themselves. We're obviously not thrilled about their departure from an official standpoint, and rightfully so. I guess you could say that they've inadvertently given us a bargaining chip, for whatever dealings we do with the devil. Their continued presence is an issue we can press on whenever we're stuck on other matters."

"But you're... I mean you're not really going to merge with Arkansas are you?"

"By all appearances we are," he answers. That's fairly noncommittal, though he seems to be saying it's all for show?

"And how are things with Cataliades? Have you heard anything else?" he asks, artlessly changing the subject.

"I haven't, no. I sent him all my records. I guess Bill hasn't responded."

"I imagine that's deliberate. He's locked in a room somewhere in Little Rock writing code again. He must believe that he doesn't need to address it with any haste, whereas they probably anticipate that you're feeling pressured financially from your medical and legal bills. The longer it's drawn out, the more likely you are to capitulate, in their eyes."

I frown at that. I still don't know when exactly he got so spiteful toward me. "I'm grateful to not have to think about it a whole lot. So thank you, again."

"He's always been a petty little twit," Eric continues between another swig of coffee and a bite of toast. "Both he and that beldame bitch of an ex-wife of his."

"Maimonides?"

"What?"

"Simon Maimonides is the petty asshole? Bill's lawyer?"

"No Bill is the petty asshole. Maimonides is apparently good, but our guy is better."

"So who is the beldame bitch then?" I ask. He's not making any sense at all.

"Lorena...?" he says slowly, sounding out the syllables as if he's telling me something obvious.

"Ex. Wife?" I question, my voice rising a bit.

"Yeah...?" he says. He has actually stopped eating. Apparently my reaction is unnerving him. It is unnerving me as well.

"Bill and Lorena were married at some point?"

"Am I to take it you were not aware of that fact?"

I set aside my fork with a slight clatter against the table, and push my hands down to my sides. I am trying very hard to stay seated. So far, I am succeeding. I am struggling to take deep breaths. Probably I sound like an asthma sufferer right now. He's just sitting there watching me. My face feels hot. I close my eyes and steady myself. "I'm sorry for that," I say. My voice sounds strained, but it's the best I can do. "No, I was not aware of that fact. I think that it answers some questions. How is it that you know this?"

"Standard background check when we bought his startup. Sookie, I'm sorry, I had no idea you didn't know about this."

"It's...it's really just another thing. She isn't called Lorena Compton. He chose not to tell me and I had no reason to know. It is just another thing. Just another reason to be glad I found out before he proposed, and just another thing to feel stupid about after the fact." I draw another breath.

"Sookie..." he begins. Just that one word is dripping with his pity.

"May we not talk about it anymore please?" I interrupt. "I am not angry, or even hurt, much. I am...embarrassed."

"You needn't be."

"We will have to disagree on that point."

He stands up and comes around the table to me, kneeling down so that we're roughly on the same level while I'm seated, and he tries to put his arms around me.

"I don't need a hug right now," I say wearily. It's his condolences I don't need right now.

"But perhaps you want one?" he asks, echoing back what I'd said to him. It gets half of a small smile, hearing him say that. I accept his embrace. "Do you want me to take you back to Amelia's?" he asks as he pulls back a bit.

"Oh, no, that's fine Eric, I can clear out," I say, standing up. I guess getting upset over your ex is a big turnoff. Quelle surprise.

He stands up right along with me. "Sookie, no, that's not what I meant. I was asking if you want to go clear your head, not telling you I want you to leave." Oh.

"Well, I... don't then. I'd really like to go for a drive." He smiles as I say it.

"Good," he says, and lifts a hand to brush some of my hair away from my face.

"You should finish your eggs before they go cold," I suggest. "I'm going to go and splash some water on my face," I admit. He leans to kiss my forehead and goes to sit back down to his breakfast of champions.

As I walk towards the bathroom he calls me back. "Sookie? For what it's worth...you're not stupid. Not for having trusted him. It's he who is stupid for betraying your trust."

"Thanks," I say, nodding a little, and head back to the master bathroom.

I'm surprised when I look in the mirror and realize that beyond a bit of extra pink in my cheeks, I don't look a wreck. I managed to take all that in without bursting into tears again. A small victory. Maybe I've become inured to these things about Bill over the past few weeks, or maybe it truly does bother me less, now. Probably both things. I go ahead and press a cool wash cloth over my face and hold it for a minute. I brush out my hair, and brush on a little clear mascara, and a little more lip gloss. I give myself a smile in the mirror, and lean up across the counter to kiss my reflection.

I hear him chuckle from the doorway. I hadn't bothered to close it. I quickly grab a piece of toilet paper and wipe the faint outline of my lips off the glass while he watches.

"All full?" I ask.

"Yes. Should I ask?" he says.

"Just a little self-love," I respond, as I toss the tissue into the trash.

"Ready to go?" he asks. He holds out his hand to me. I give him a nod and take it, grabbing my purse as we head out.