Title: An Inevitable Conclusion
Characters/Pairing: Jesse/Rachel
Disclaimer: Glee and its characters belongs to FOX & Ryan Murphy. I own nothing.
Spoilers/Warnings: Post-"Journey"
Summary: I know that Rachel is going to be a star; it's just a matter of when it'll happen and who will be by her side supporting her when it does. Jesse POV.
Notes: I know it has been forever and a day since I updated this story. MY SINCEREST APOLOGIES. Mothering twins is not an easy feat. It doesn't leave much time for sleeping, much less writing. But I love this fic and I don't want to leave it unfinished. So, here you go. Chapter 11. It's looong and tomorrow I'll probably regret posting this at 1am. Enjoy, darlings!

11. Break It To Me Gently

I never do wind up telling Rachel about New York. When she got back to the room that night in Dayton she's so ecstatic about placing in first that I couldn't find the words. And I wasn't going to be the bastard and ruin her night by telling her about plans that I have made without her. And then later…well, there was never time.

It becomes increasingly difficult for me to broach the subject of New York with Rachel again as New Directions is busy finalizing their performance for Nationals and I am once again embroiled with rehearsals for a play.

We're playing phone tag yet again, relying on simple and short text messages to stay in touch, to keep our relationship afloat. The last time we were in a room together was that night in Dayton. Several times a day my heart seizes in my chest because I miss Rachel so much. The emotion overwhelms me and makes me second guess myself about New York.

I want it. I want it more than anything I've ever wanted in my life. But am I willing to sacrifice my relationship to pursue a dream that may not pan out? It's the thought that stays at the back of my mind and it's that niggling doubt that always stays my hand when I attempt to broach the subject with Rachel during those times when we can connect for a decent conversation. Because the fact of the matter is New York, my dreams of the future…none of it means shit if I can't share it with Rachel, if she's not there to support me. I don't fail to realize that she's unable to do any of those things if I can't summon up the damn courage to discuss it with her and give her the chance to be part of my plans.

As luck would have it, my audition for NYFA coincides with the date of Nationals. I plead sick to get out of rehearsal and fly up to New York to support Rachel.

I arrange to stay at Marshall's. He's recently relocated to New York in order to take a stab at a performance career himself. He hasn't had much luck, but Marshall's way too driven not to get what he wants. Our mutual determination is what's kept our friendship alive for so long.

Marshall accompanies me to the show, insisting that he's got nothing better to do, although I know that he tags along in hopes of finally meeting Rachel. We take our seats, making small talk until the performances start. We reminisce about our years in Vocal Adrenaline, somehow bypassing Shelby's name as we do. We make plans for the future, Marshall optimistic about my audition, about my relocation to New York. Then our lighthearted conversation turns heart wrenching.

"What are you going to do about her?" Marshall hedges, the question not at all invasive, just curious.

For a moment I contemplate not answering him, but I know Marshall too well and he will merely persist until I do. "I don't know yet."

Marshall nods, accepting the answer. Or as least I thought. Because as well as I know Marshall, he knows me even better. "It's unlike you to do something without having developed some kind of strategy, a game plan."

I say nothing, choosing to focus on the closed curtains on the stage instead, my mind racing at how I can get out of this conversation. Marshall's always had the uncanny ability to read me, to know me, as best friends are wont to do. I'm already lying to Rachel by not telling her of my plans. I don't want to compound that by adding to Marshall, too. I feel Marshall watching me, but I bite my lip and maintain my silence, hoping that it will forestall further inquiry.

Marshall lowers his voice. "Are you going to propose to her?"

"What?" I burst out, garnering attention from those around us. I give them a bland smile, my mind racing, little stunned that Marshall would jump to that particular conclusion.

"You've thought about it. I can see it in your face," Marshall accuses, jabbing his finger in my face.

I grab his finger and push it away, confessing quietly, "I love her, Marshall. Of course I've thought about it." Before Marshall can say anything further, I add, "But that's as far as I got. For Pete's sake, I'm only twenty years old."

"A fact I was willing to point out."

"Don't," I warn him. "I get plenty of judgment from my mother." I take a quick look around the room, looking for nothing and no one in particular. I meet his gaze head-on, saying pointedly, "Who you're beginning to sound like, by the way."

"Bite your fucking tongue."

Amused, I feign shock as I tell him, "I thought you liked my mother."

"About as much as I'd like to be eaten by a lion," Marshall scoffs.

I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees, thankful for the reprieve from the marriage issue. I want to marry Rachel, but I don't want to do it tomorrow. I can't see marrying anyone else, but I can't say the same for Rachel. She loves me—I know she does—but aside from Finn, Rachel hasn't freely dated. That's an option she may choose to pursue and were it to happen, I wouldn't stand in her way. I want her to choose me; not settle for me.

Taking a deep breath, I freely admit, "I haven't told even told her yet."

Marshall nods his acceptance, leaning forward until his position in his chair mirrors mine. "When do you plan on enlightening her?" he asks in a low, probing voice.

"I don't know," I shrug. "I've tried. The time is never right."

"There's never going to be a perfect time, Jesse," he points out reasonably.

I hate that he's right. "I know. But I don't want to tell her when she's distracted by something else."

"What do you hope to accomplish by telling her? What's the point?"

I shake my head ruefully. "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me. I might surprise you."

"You've never had a serious relationship. How could you?"

"That's by choice, not because I'm incapable," he says, a little too defensively.

"Well, whatever the reason…" Marshall looks at me imploringly so I can't help but indulge him. "The past year…it's been rough. The long distance. Commuting between Lima and Ann Arbor. I miss her terribly whenever she's not with me and even when she is we know it's only temporary, that another goodbye is inescapable." I pin him with a serious look. "I don't want to go through that anymore. I want her with me—all day, every day. I want to go to work or class and know that at the end of the day I'm going home to her." I pause for a moment. "Do you understand?"

He nods. A long silence falls between us. Until Marshall asks the question that I've been repeatedly asking myself since January. "So, what are you going to do?"

"I have no fucking clue," I answer him as the curtains slide open and the first act kicks off the competition.

When New Directions takes the stage and Rachel starts belting out Michael Bublé's "Feeling Good" I'm rapt. I sit forward in my seat, watching her with hooded eyes. She's at the top of her game, strutting from one end of the stage to the other, completely in her element, sublimely confident. She shimmies and shakes, the dark red of her dress immediately putting sinful thoughts in my head.

Somehow Rachel's eyes find mine in the audience. Our eyes lock for a long moment, but the spell is broken when she crosses the stage, sidles up to Finn and starts rubbing her body against him. It's a little nerve-wracking watching her touch Finn and watch him touch her in return, the performance a little too sexy for my liking. My fingers clench the armrest as the green-eyed monster rears its head and roars loudly from somewhere deep within me. I know that it's all perfunctory with strictly choreographed steps to coincide with the song. Regardless, I still don't like it.

I only snap out of it once Finn's are no longer on Rachel and Marshall whispers in my ear, "Chill the fuck out, dude."

Later, while the judges deliberate, I find Rachel in the lobby. Amped up from her performance, she runs to me, throwing herself into my arms. I hold her tight against my chest as I twirl her around and around, whispering compliments in her ear, pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek. After all, we're not alone.

As I set Rachel back on her feet I notice most of her teammates are glaring at me. I haven't been forgiven for the egging incident, though I've apologized profusely to Rachel and spent a hell of a long time groveling. It doesn't matter to them that she's forgiven me. I'm glad they're so protective of her, though it's unnecessary; I don't make the same mistake twice. However, as I spy Finn lurking on the outskirts of the group, I think that the egging may be just the tip of the iceberg where I am concerned.

Looping an arm around Rachel's waist, I lead her a few feet away, eager for a moment of privacy. "What are you doing here, Jesse?" she whispers, oblivious to the glowers being directed our way from her teammates.

I smile at her, murmuring, "Like I'd miss you kicking Nationals' ass." Over Rachel's shoulder I chance a look at Marshall and find him imitating a hanged man. Had I not just flat out lied to Rachel, I'd laugh.

Luckily he stops the theatrics as Rachel follows my gaze and glances back at him. He winks and gives a little wave of his hand. I motion him over and do quick introductions, not surprised when Marshall immediately starts flirting with her. His efforts are met with indifference, Rachel unresponsive to each one of his lines. Rachel is the first woman not to fall at Marshall's feet and I take solace that she's immune to his charms.

After a few minutes trying to sway her to his favor, Marshall dejectedly leaves us alone to chat up Brittany, no doubt hoping that she'll respond to his ambitious flirtations.

Her hand in mine, I lead Rachel further away, allotting us some more privacy. "I wish I'd known you were coming. Although you're spoiling me with these surprise visits," she says, clearly happy with my presence.

"Just trying to keep a little mystery in our relationship."

She opens her mouth to question me about that particular implication but Brittany's raucous laughter begs her attention elsewhere. She folds her arms across her chest and notes, "So that's Marshall."

"That's Marshall."

"Don't take this the wrong way, Jesse, but I don't see why you're friends with him."

I fight back a smile as I tell her, "Don't count him out yet. Marshall is an acquired taste. He'll grow on you."

"Maybe," she half-heartedly agrees. "I'm glad I finally met him, at any rate."

"I'm sure he's thinking the same thing."

Suddenly a murmur sounds through the crowded lobby, attracting attention. As it reaches the members of New Directions that the results are in Rachel turns to me and squeezes my hand. "This is it. Wish me luck."

"No luck needed," I assure her. "You've got it in the bag."

I'm able to return to Lima the following weekend due to a long holiday from school. Rachel's dads are having a barbecue to celebrate New Directions' win at Nationals so I'm obligated to attend—not that I'd miss an opportunity to spend time with Rachel, especially since there's been so little opportunity for me to do so.

She's remained elusive for the majority of the morning, preparing the food spread and socializing with the guests. With the members of New Directions in attendance, I make myself scarce, taking refuge inside. I close myself off in the den, fumbling with the piano for a half hour or so until I realize that I can't hide forever, my stomach forcing me outside in search of food.

I'm cornered by Brittany as I'm digging a bottle of water out of a bucket of ice. She's got a serious look on her face as she says, "Jim, we have to talk," her voice low and cryptic.

"Sure, Brittany," I say, thinking that we're going to converse about why cats don't have floppy ears like dogs, or some inane thing like that. I start to face her, but she reprimands me quickly, pushing me back around so that my back is to her.

"No. Don't act like you're talking to me. She'll see."

"Who'll see?"

"Rachel," she whispers. Then, as if forgetting her need for secrecy, she pulls on my sleeve, forcing me to face her. I expel an exasperated breath, dizzy from her pushing and pulling. Brittany—she's a contradiction. "As you probably don't know prom is coming up. I'm sure Rachel hasn't mentioned it to you because she's a big fat scaredy pants and she thinks you'll say no."

"No, she hasn't mentioned it." I look around for the girl in question. "And why would I tell her no?"

"That's what I said!" Brittany says, much louder than either of us expected. A few heads turn in our direction—Finn's included. Unwanted attention garnered, Brittany starts backing away slowly. "Ask her. Don't mention this conversation."

"If that's what it even was," I mutter to myself as Brittany fades into the crowd.

I immediately go in search of Rachel, finally locating her in the house where she's filling a basket with bread. "Oh, hey," she says cheerily, greeting me with a beaming smile.

I lean against the counter next to her, inquiring, "Were you ever going to ask me to prom?"

Her actions slow. She doesn't look at me as she swallows hard. "How did you find out about it?"

"I overheard some girls," I lie. "Well?"

She stops fumbling with the bread to look me in the eye. "Well…you're a college guy now. I didn't think you'd want to spend a Saturday night hanging with a bunch of high school kids."

Rachel," I sigh. I snatch the bread out of her hands, placing it on the counter. Taking her by the arms, I turn her to face me, telling her, "I wouldn't be hanging with a bunch of high school kids. I'd be hanging with you." I reach into my pocket for my phone, extracting it as I ask, "When is it?"

"Three Saturdays from now. But Jesse you don't—"

I hold up a finger, already inputting it into my calendar. "There," I say with finality, "It's a date."

She smiles at me briefly before returning to her work. "Brittany will be surprised. She's been after me for weeks to ask you."

"You should have listened to her."

She turns to me, exasperated. "Honestly, I didn't think you'd have time."

"Rachel…"

"You can't refute the fact that you've been busy."

"And I'm not the only one," I shoot back, gently reminding her of the past several weeks as the deadline to Nationals whiled away. "Don't try to act like I'm at fault here. I'm here, aren't I?"

"You don't have to be," she spats, her back as straight as the spine of a book.

"That's not what I meant." I expel a heavy breath. I don't want to argue with her. It's the last thing I want to do when our time together is so precious. "I'm always willing to spend time with you, Rachel. I find, though, that it never seems to be enough. Even when we're together for days at a time I still want—no, need—more. I've been doing everything in my power to see you as often as I'm able and damn it, it's hard. But I'm trying. I'm making the effort. I wish you'd appreciate it."

Her eyes turn glossy and for a moment I hold my breath, ready for the tears to follow. But Rachel gets a hold of herself and manages to reign in her emotions. "I'm sorry, Jesse. God…I'm so sorry. I know we talked about this, about how this semester was going to go, what we were in for. I just…I hate it." She turns, folding herself into my arms. "I hate when you leave. I hate that we can't be together as much as we'd like." She sighs, murmuring, "I want this semester to be over already."

"So do I. But picking fights isn't going to make our situation any more bearable," I say, smoothing my fingers through her silky hair.

"I know. I'm sorry. I'm just glad you're here."

"Me, too," I tell her, casually stroking my fingers down her back, her sides. Rachel shivers visibly, her body leaning farther into mine. I feel her fingers against my back, slipping underneath my shirt. "God," I gasp as she rakes her fingernails down my back, "I've missed you."

I back her against the cabinet, swooping down to capture her mouth with mine. The kiss is wet and greedy and before I'm aware of what I'm doing I've got my hand up her skirt, her breathy pants in my ear.

"Jesse…Jesse…"

"What, Rach? What do you want?"

"You…no, more…"

I grin against the column of her throat. "Well, which is it?"

"Both…" she breathes heavily.

I trace the outline of her panties and her fingernails bite into my biceps. Before I can touch her we hear the banging of the door. We both freeze and slowly turn to see who has joined us. Standing there, red-faced, is Finn. I let Rachel's skirt drop as I straighten. "I just came for plates," he says as he grabs the stack of Styrofoam plates off the cabinet. He gives us both another scathing look before he departs.

I hear Rachel's sigh in my ear. "Well, shit," she says.

"Hey, look on the bright side, honey—at least it wasn't one of your dads. Because that would've been awkward."

"Awkward?" she squeaks. "You mean, horrifying."

She snatches up the bread and leads me toward the door. "Yeah, that's what I meant."

At the threshold, she stops and turns to me. "Later?" she says, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

I nod and let her lead me back to the party, looking forward to later.

I'm back in Lima three weeks later for prom, forced to stay at home much to my own chagrin. Uncle Pat's out of town for some science conference otherwise I'd be staying with him. I curse myself for giving him back his key.

My mother is nowhere to be seen all of Friday, but resurfaces Saturday when I return from picking up my tuxedo rental. She's perched on the edge of the sofa, perusing a home and garden magazine, but glances up upon my entrance.

"What do you have there?" she inquires, closing her magazine and setting it aside.

"A tuxedo," I say, indulging her, curious as to her reaction.

"For what?" she asks, rising to her feet.

"If you must know I'm escorting Rachel to her prom tonight."

I wait for her to say something scathing, surprised when she muses, "I don't even remember you going to your own prom."

"Of course you don't," I mutter, more to myself than to her.

She's silent for a long moment, her head cocked to the side, blatantly staring at me. I'm about to ask her if I've got something on my face when she asks, "Did you get her a corsage?"

I nod, a little uneasy with her mothering. "I picked it up this morning. It's in the refrigerator."

"What about dinner reservations—did you make some?"

Again, I nod. "Already made."

"You didn't get all cliché and rent a hotel room, did you?"

I nearly choke on my gum. "No," I say, though the thought had crossed my mind.

"Well, good. I hope you have fun."

I watch a little dumbfound as she slips off the sofa and begins to make her way to the kitchen. "Why do you do that?" I ask her.

She turns to face me, giving me a blank stare. "Do what?"

"Act motherly and then…"

"It's what you expect, isn't it? Jesse, were I to coddle you, you would simply do as you've always done, act as you've always acted. I've resolved myself that nothing I do will ever please you, no matter how much or how little. We're beyond redeeming."

It's a sobering statement. Glad to know that I can continue along in the same vein, treating her as I've always treated her, accepting that I'll be receiving the same treatment in return. Nothing left to say, I head for the stairs, making haste to get out of her presence, ignoring the tears stinging my eyes.

I arrive at Rachel's house a full half-hour before I'm supposed to. I sit with her dads in the den as we wait for her to finish dressing. As I accept a glass of water from Greg to soothe my parched throat, I try not to look too concerned upon hearing her panicked voice call from up the stairs. Greg beats a hasty retreat, leaving me alone with Leon.

Leon gives me a sympathetic look. "I'm sure everything's fine."

"Of course," I say, pulling at my collar.

"She's very excited about tonight. She got in her little head that you wouldn't want to take her. We told her she was being ridiculous, that she should just ask you. I'm glad that she finally did."

I smile thinly, taking a sip of my water, my eyes glued to the door.

"So where are you staying tonight?"

I nearly choke. Is he asking what I think he's asking? "I'm sorry?"

"Rachel tells us that you don't get along with your parents and that sometimes you stay at your uncle's. Are you staying with him?"

"Oh. No. No, he's out of town, so I'm staying with my parents."

Suddenly the air changes. I can feel it. I know I'm in for an unsettling conversation when Leon shifts in his chair and leans towards me. I steel myself and take a deep breath.

"Jesse, Greg and I are aware that you and Rachel now have a…a sexual relationship." I cringe inwardly, but nod. "And we know it's prom and that it is a…a rite of passage to, um…you know…We'd rather you didn't…" His voices changes. "Please don't take our baby to a motel," he begs, desperately.

"The thought hadn't even crossed my mind, sir."

Leon deflates and is glancing at me sheepishly as Greg rejoins us. Greg looks from Leon to me and chastises quietly, "Tell me you didn't!" Leon hangs his head. "We decided we wouldn't put him on the spot!" Greg hisses.

"I just wanted to be sure."

"Sure about what?"

I glance at the doorway, my throat closing. Rachel is standing there in a frothy dress the exact color of cotton candy. My mouth waters at the comparison. One shoulder is bare, the other adorned with a thin strap the same color of the dress decorated with beads that look like diamonds. Her neck is bare, her hair pulled up, a few stray tendrils left loose to fan her face. She's gorgeous.

I stumble to my feet, crossing to the room to where she stands. "You look…" I can't even find the words. I shake my head to attempt to dispel the spell that she's put on me, but I'm still transfixed. Somehow I'm able to mutter, "Beautiful," as she places her palm on my cheek and lifts my face to hers. I blush, my hand trembling noticeably as I extract her corsage from the box. I place it on the wrist, thumbing her pulse before dropping her hand.

"It's perfect," she says, grinning at me.

After we make concessions to her dads that we won't drink anything alcoholic or indulge in anything illegal, I take Rachel's hand and lead her outside where I've parked the SUV at the curb. I help her into the passenger seat before clamoring behind the wheel. Once I'm settled in my seat, I rest my head against the headrest for a moment, drinking her in. I grasp her hand, bestowing a kiss to her knuckles. "You really do look beautiful."

"If you keep on looking at me like that we're not going to make it to the dance."

I drop her hand to start the car. "You say that like the alternative is appalling."

"No, of course not. I intend for that to happen later, though." She smoothes out her dress mumbling, "I don't want to wrinkle my dress."

I yank at my collar as I pull away from the curb, my body suddenly enflamed beyond belief. "Really, Rachel."

Her subsequent laugh is husky. "It's prom, Jesse, surely you didn't think you'd get through tonight with your virtue intact."

I laugh at her, pulling to a stop at a traffic light. I stretch my arm out to touch her seat. "And just where is this supposed rendezvous supposed to take place?" I watch her as she pulls a hotel card key out of her little handbag, a huge grin splitting her face. "You didn't."

She nods, replacing the card in her little beaded bag. "I did. And later we will."

When the light turns green, I press on the gas, the car lurching once more into motion. "I told your dads that we weren't going to—" I snap my mouth closed.

"Jesse St. James, were you were talking about sex with my dads?"

Despite the darkness, I watch her face flush. "Leon didn't want me to take you to a motel. Clearly he should have had that conversation with you."

"It's prom. You're supposed to have sex on prom night. It's expected."

"Is it?"

"Did you have sex on your prom night?"

"That's beside the point!"

She points her finger at me. "Aha!"

"Can we talk about something else?"

"Sure," she says. Then, to torture me further, she adds, "Oh, I bought flavored condoms!"

After a quick dinner at Breadstix where we tabled the sex conversation, we headed to the dance. It was in full swing once we arrived, the dance floor filled with swaying bodies, some wound together so tightly it was as if they were one body instead of two.

I allowed Rachel to lead me to a table. I notice immediately that her teammates are seated at it, but the only one that seems the least bit happy to see me is Brittany. She immediately hauls me off to the dance floor telling me, "My date found his soul mate in the boys bathroom." I didn't know what to say to that so I let her lead me away, mouthing I'll be back to Rachel.

The song the DJ was playing was fast, but Brittany insisted that we dance slow. I didn't know what other option I had but to just go along with Brittany. She talked all throughout the song, telling me that she was happy for me and Rachel even though Rachel refused to give up any sex dirt. "You make her happy, Jim," she tells me as the song draws to a close. "Make sure she stays that way."

I endeavor to, I think as Brittany leaves me standing alone on the dance floor. Luckily I'm not there for long, for Rachel's sliding into the spot her best friend just vacated as a slow song starts. "What didn't Brittany say that put that look on your face?" she asks as I pull her close and we begin to sway to the music.

"She said that I make you happy."

"You do."

"And that I better not fuck this up."

She gasps. "She said that?"

I shrug. "More or less." I glance down into Rachel's questioning eyes, following them to Brittany where she's engrossed in a conversation with Santana. "Have I done something to make her think that?"

Rachel winces. "No, of course not! I don't know why she said that to you. I'll talk to her."

"No, no, it's fine." She gives me a doubtful look, gnawing on her bottom lip. "Really, Rach, it's okay. She's concerned. She only did what any best friend would do," I reassure her. Silence washes over us as we continue to sway to the music, Rachel's head resting on my shoulder. "You make me happy, too," I whisper in her ear. I feel her smile against the lapel of my jacket as she burrows her body farther into mine. Two fast songs later, we're still swaying.

We take our leave after the King and Queen are announced, neither of us surprised when Finn and Quinn are awarded both titles. We're both so eager to take advantage of the room awaiting us at the hotel, that once we step out of the gym's double doors we run to the car.

Once ensconced in our room, we order room service—ice cream, slices of chocolate cake and cheesy fries—and climb into the bed to await our food. We turn on a movie and lay next to each other, enjoying being alone together, even if it's just for tonight.

"It feels like forever since we've done this," Rachel murmurs. As I absentmindedly run my fingers along her arm, I agree with a faint noise. "We've spent the majority of our relationship apart," she goes on, reflecting aloud.

"I wouldn't say the majority…"

"I'm jealous of the girls at school," she blurts out suddenly, garnering my attention.

I glance down at her. "Why?"

Rachel leans back a little so that she can see my face. "Because they see their boyfriends every day. Some of them pull their boyfriends into the broom closet during classes and I wish I could do that with you. It sounds silly to tell you that…" she says, blushing.

"No, it's not silly at all. I can understand wanting that. Sometimes I see couples at school…they're doing mundane things—holding hands, sitting beneath a tree talking—and I'm overwhelmed with this…want. Usually those are the times that I call you. When you get one of those I-miss-you rambling voicemails…that's why."

"I didn't know," she says, her voice catching.

I turn my body until I'm halfway draped across her. "I hate being away from you, Rachel. I miss you every damn second we're apart." I say the last with my forehead pressed against hers, my voice laced with conviction. "I love you so much that it scares the hell out of me."

Grasping my face in her hands, she lifts my head up. "Why are you scared, Jesse?"

I swallow the lump that has formed in my throat. "I'm scared that it won't last. That you'll find some other bastard more worthy…someone who hasn't put you through the ringer."

"Oh, Jesse," she sighs before bringing my mouth down to hers. The kiss is so achingly soft and simple that if she were to just give me that tonight I would be satisfied. But Rachel has other plans— she said so at the start of the night.

Her tongue sweeps into my mouth as the same time her fingers start unbuttoning my shirt, the pearly buttons slipping through the corresponding slits. When she pushes it off my shoulders and her effort to undress me is upended by the shirt catching at my wrists, she growls—yes, growls. I laugh and come to her aid, unbuttoning the two buttons at both my wrists and shuck the shirt off, throwing it onto the floor.

I flatten my body atop Rachel, attacking her mouth as she winds her arms around my neck. Her hands don't stay still for long, moving from my neck to my back, skimming my overheated skin with long strokes. My fingers do a little venturing of their own, starting at her leg, pushing her dress up as they climb and knead, eager to find purchase.

"Jesse…" Rachel's voice breaks through the fog of lust and it takes me a long moment before I realize that she's been chanting my name for a few moments. I shake my head and look at her. "The door," she says.

I drop my head to her shoulder and sigh, realizing that our food has finally arrived. "Why the fuck did we order food?" I complain as I climb out of bed to answer the door.

I return a few moments later, pushing the food cart into the room. Stopping it a few feet shy of the television console, I look from Rachel to the food, trying to decide which hunger to satisfy first. When I snap my eyes back to Rachel she's kneeling in the middle of the bed, crooking her finger at me. "What?" I breathe, turning my body to face her fully, my body flooding with desire.

"I have something to show you," she says as I meet her at the edge of the bed.

"What's that?" I ask playfully, watching with keen interest as she reaches behind her to unzip her dress. When the bodice drops to her waist, I stare at her chest as if I hadn't ever seen a pair of breasts before. My fingers twitch at my sides. I reach out, cupping both breasts with my palms. I give them a gentle squeeze, a small squeak emitting from Rachel's mouth.

When I swoop down and take a nipple into my mouth, Rachel closes her eyes, savoring the gesture. With a swipe of her tongue against her lips, she murmurs, "We'll eat later."

Suddenly we're attacking each other, snatching at clothes, kissing as if we're starved for one another. An arm thrown around her back, I glide her down to the mattress, my other hand buried between her legs, touching her with shallow strokes that have her breaths coming in short, soft pants. She writhes and begs, touching me in kind, her small hand rubbing my erection until I'm so hard my eyes cross and I can barely see straight.

Finally when neither of us is capable of handling anymore foreplay, I don a condom and sheath myself inside her with a sharp thrust. Palm to palm, I entwine our fingers and go slower, my strokes long and deep. Her legs wrapped around my waist, her eyes open and trained on mine, Rachel comes apart, my name parting her lips on a gasp. I follow her lead with a small cry and collapse on top of her. Our breathing ragged, I press a quick kiss to her cheek before slipping out of the bed to take care of the condom. Climbing back in bed beside Rachel, I settle my body against hers and pull the blankets over us.

Sleep doesn't overtake us—hunger does. Ten minutes later we're leaning against the headboard with our previously discarded food, laughing and giggling as we feed one another, making a complete and utter mess. When I "accidentally" spill ice cream on Rachel's stomach and insist on cleaning it up with my mouth, the laughter suddenly morphs into soft moans once more.

After prom it becomes evident to me that I cannot keep my plans for New York from Rachel any longer. Marshall's been scouting out apartments for me, calling me when he finds "a Rachel-friendly" one. I've already booked a flight for the following week to go look at them.

Having finally received my acceptance letter from the film academy, I decide it's time. I can't put it off any longer. Arriving home, I walk into my apartment, the darkness enveloping me as I navigate my way through the room, my mind awhirl as I scroll through the contacts on my phone, searching for one in particular. I punch her name for the umpteenth time today, put the phone to my ear and wait for the call to connect. I've been calling Rachel for the last two hours, her phone continually sending me to voicemail. Now that I've resolved to tell her about my plans, it's just my luck that I can't reach her. But this isn't a conversation that just can wait. Not anymore.

With a sigh, I realize that I'm not going to talk to her tonight. When I get her voicemail again, I say after the beep, "Hey, I've been thinking about you all afternoon. We need to talk. Call me." It's only after I've disconnected that I realize how bad the message sounded. "Nothing I can do now," I grumble to myself.

Before I can draw a breath Rachel walks out of my bedroom. I'm surprised to see her, to say the least. I'm swamped with the desire to push her back into my bedroom and lose myself inside her, maybe tie her to the bedpost while I tell her about New York and beg her to bear with me…

But words fail me as Rachel's phone beeps alerting her to a new voicemail. My voicemail. I watch as she picks up her phone and dials her inbox, her eyes never leaving mine. A few moments later she closes her phone, curling her fingers around it. "What's going on, Jesse?" she asks, her tone accusatory.

Stalling, I say, "I'll tell you after you tell me what you're doing here."

"I missed you," she admits truthfully. Then, meeting my gaze for a brief moment, she glances down at her phone, and murmurs, "But maybe you don't miss me?"

"No, no…" I say, crossing to her. Before I can reach her, she moves away, avoiding contact. "'We need to talk'?" she mocks. "That's something you never want to hear when you're in a relationship."

"It's not what you think."

"So, you don't want to break up with me?"

"NO! God, Rachel. No."

She throws up her arms. "Well, what the hell am I supposed to think, Jesse?"

"Would you just please sit down?"

"Don't tell me what to do!"

I let out a labored breath. "Please? I need to tell you something and I need you to be sitting down when I tell you."

"Oh, God," she gasps as she falls onto the sofa.

I sit beside her and try to take her hand, but she pulls it away, balking from my touch. "Whatever you're thinking…it's not that."

"Just tell me. Just…get it over with," she demands.

Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath, not even knowing where to start. It'll be harder if I just drag it out, so I just come out with it. "I'm moving to New York." Her eyes widen. It's obviously not what she expected. "It's something I've wanted to do for awhile. If I want to make it on Broadway, I need to be where Broadway is. I applied to a film academy…and I got my acceptance letter today."

"When?"

"When, what?"

"When did you decide this?"

I sigh and admit, "A couple of months ago. Marshall's been looking for apartments and trying to procure me a part-time job…"

"And what we're you going to do about me…about us?"

I shrug. "I honestly thought that we'd go on as we have been. Nothing has to change, Rachel."

She jumps up suddenly. "You're kidding me, right? This changes everything, Jesse. You'll be living in New York for fuck's sake."

"I want to be with you, Rachel. That hasn't changed."

"Yes, it has. Of course it has. If you wanted to be with me, you wouldn't have made this decision without me. If you wanted to be with me, you wouldn't have made plans for a future that didn't include me."

I drop my head into my hands for a long moment. Neither of us speaks and she's so quiet I wouldn't be surprised to find her gone when I lift my head. But when I do she's standing there, staring at me with hollow eyes. "I didn't think all of this shit through, I'll admit it. Truth is I didn't even think I'd get accepted."

"Jesse…please. Don't be ridiculous. You're brilliant and talented. They'd be stupid not to take you."

I smile at her. "You humble me."

Arms crossed, Rachel glares down at me. "We had plans. I was transferring here to be with you."

"I know," I say quietly.

"Then why? Why the hell have you been making plans that didn't include me?"

I shoot to my feet. "They included you, Rachel."

I watch as Rachel taps her chin with her fingernail. "Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot that conversation we had when you told me about this and asked my opinion on the matter," she quips sarcastically. Then, as if needing to level the field, she blurts out, "I got my acceptance to Tisch today."

She hadn't told me that she was applying to any schools in New York. "Okay," I say, feeling the need to pump my fist in the air. Suddenly everything falls into place.

"That's all you have to say?" I say nothing. Rachel deflates instantly. "Jesse, the last year has been so hard. I can't do this anymore. And if you move to New York…when will we see each other?"

"Every day if I have anything to say about it," I say, doggedly.

When Rachel's eyes widen, I know that she knows what I'm asking. But, apparently, she wants to hear me say the words. "What are you saying?"

Grabbing her hands, I meet her eyes dead on and plead, "Come with me, Rachel. Come with me to New York."