I do not own The Hunger Games.

(A/N: Triggers in this chapter: eating disorder, compulsive behavior and really excessive underage drinking.)

Sticky

Katniss escapes before anyone can say anything, and Finn finally breaks silence. "Hey, man. I'm Finn." He scrambles off the bed and shakes Brian's hand. Brian looks shell-shocked at both Finn's overture and…well, at Finn. I know that Finn gets that response sometimes – he is an Adonis, after all – but it's still annoying.

"I'm Brian. Nice to meet you. You're Finn? Really? I've heard a lot about you…" Ok, now it's getting old. Brian had seemed a little flabbergasted when I told him that my best friend was a guy. But now that he knows Finn is a hot guy…he seems even more taken aback, like I purposefully misled him or something.

Like being amazingly hot is a fucking crime.

Finn, to his credit, laughs. "Yeah. I hear you're the guy who puts the O in Jo-hanna." He grabs his shirt from the floor where he had tossed it last night. "Jo, I'll talk to you later." He waves at me and heads out the door, carrying his shoes.

"What's up?" I wait until the door shuts behind Finn to ask.

Brian runs his fingers through his short hair, his nervous tell. "I woke up and you weren't there. I got worried."

"I'm fine. I had a nightmare. I just needed…I needed to pace for a while." It's not bothered him that I don't stay the whole night in the past couple of weeks and I wonder what's different about last night. Is this what I love you means to him? Checking up on me? Needing me there all the time?

"Yeah, well. I just didn't expect to find you down here in bed with another guy." His shoulders are tense and I realize that he's serious: he really sees Finn as a threat. I'm not sure whether to laugh at him or be pissed because Finn was in my life long before Brian and he needs to get over it.

I try to tone it down when I say to him, "It was just Finn. I bumped into him while I was making my way down here. He must have gotten kicked out of someone's room."

Brian frowns and runs his fingers through his hair again. "I just thought… well, last night was special."

"It was special for me, too." That part isn't a lie and I mean every word.

"So special that you couldn't stay?" He says sarcastically, but there's hurt in his eyes.

I'm trying with everything I have not to be annoyed. "You know I don't sleep well, especially lately. I would like nothing better than to sleep through an entire night, but it just doesn't happen. You have nothing to do with it." I walk over to him. "Last night was great – really amazing. It didn't wave a magic wand over my ability to make it through an entire night, though."

He's frowning at me like he wants to argue more when there's a tap on the door. I yell for Katniss to come in so she can finish getting ready – Brian is not going to force my roommate out of her own room – and tell him that we'll talk more later.

"Ok." He says. "I love you?"

I can't bring myself to say the words, especially in front of Katniss who is looking at the two of us with her eyes as wide as saucers, so I nod. But I can tell that this conversation is not over by a long shot.

-o—

Someone touches my shoulders with cool hands, running them up and down my heated skin; it feels delightful and it drags me from sleeping to awake. I feel a little shoulder shake as I groggily move my head. When I open I my eyes, I realize I'm asleep with my head on my desk in front of our window. It's hot because of the late afternoon sun streaming in from the window and I'm just glad that I haven't drooled on my keyboard.

"Jo. Jo, wake up." Brue's voice snaps me completely awake even as he moves his hands way.

I rub my eyes and sit up. "I'm awake." My voice is rusty even though I spy by my laptop clock that I've only been asleep for an hour.

"Do you still want to go for a run?" He looks at me doubtfully, like he's not sure anyone who was asleep that heavily a second ago will want to immediately move to heavy physical activity.

But I do. I want to lose myself in a run the same way I was lost in sleep a minute ago.

"Let me just change really quick." I get up and cross to the door to shut it. For a split second, I wonder if Brian will freak out that there is another guy in my room and I shut the door more firmly than I intend, pissed off at the idea of Brian, or anyone, controlling my actions. I cross to my dresser and grab a sports bra and a different tank top to replace the sweaty one I'm wearing. Without another thought, I pull my shirt over my head. I hear a discrete cough behind me.

"What?" I look over my shoulder as I unhook my bra.

Brue is staring at me. "You're just going to change right in front of me." It's not even a question.

"Duh. Haven't you seen me naked or close to it bunches of times now?" Hell. The first time he ever came to my room I nuded up in front of him. Then there was the strip poker party…. Yeah. He's seen me before. "It's not like it's a big deal." I scramble into the sausage casing that is my sports bra, then slide my tank top over my head.

His smile flashes. "Yeah, well, I just thought that it would be different now that we're friends."

I turn to face him. "Let me get this straight: I'm supposed to care more about being naked in front of you because we know each other? That's weird. They're just boobs: once you've seen 'em, it's not like they look different over time." I shrug.

Brian's disapproving face from earlier in the day flashes in my head; I doubt he would feel the same way.

He shakes his head and laughs. "Just boobs. You really don't get how guys think, do you?"

-o—

We're back in my dorm room after doing fifteen miles, waiting for Katniss, Madge, and Gale to meet up with us for dinner because somehow bad dining hall food tastes better with friends.

Brue is frowning at me as we stretch. "You're pushing yourself pretty hard, Mason."

"How so?" I guzzle some water from my Bobble. Some dribbles out onto my pink tank and I don't even think twice about how messy I look because the cool water feels so good. I would pour the whole thing over my head if I didn't think Katniss would flip out about a puddle on our carpet.

He shrugs. "You keep pushing yourself on the pace. What's up?"

"Nothing. I just… I need the physical activity." I don't add that it's the only time my brain isn't going a million miles an hour, pushing and pulling me until I feel mentally exhausted. Running is the only way that I can get my brain to shut off so I can sleep at night: I'm beating up my body so my brain can rest.

"But it's harder and faster every day." ." He's thoughtful when he says it, like he's trying to figure out my motivation. When I smirk at him, he snorts. "Not like that."

I spread my legs into a "v" and push my torso to the floor, hamstrings already tightening up. "What's the matter, MacLeod? You starting to feel like you can't keep up?" Ha. Like that's even possible. The guy barely broke a sweat today. I wonder exactly how much conditioning he does for water polo.

He smirks. "No. Just… running is new for you and I don't want you to get hurt."

Oh, I'm already hurt, Brue. This is just anesthesia. "I'll be fine." I dismiss his concerns. I'm going to do whatever I want anyway, and he doesn't get a vote.

"But…" he sounds doubtful.

"Look. If I were a guy, would you be giving me this lecture?" I look at him pointedly. "Because I'm betting the answer to that question is no. Girls aren't fragile. I won't break."

He frowns. "If you were a guy and I cared about you, I would still bring it up. Everyone has a breaking point, Jo."

I stare at him for a minute, wondering what that means when I hear Gale and Madge coming down the hallway. Their bickering breaks the sudden heaviness of the mood.

"Yams should be baked like a potato, not pureed." Madge sounds every inch the correct dame.

"But you can't put marshmallows on baked yams. Baked yams are just another vegetable. You need that slurry of sweet, melted marshmallows to make them taste good."

"Maybe you need that, Gale. My waistline and I do not need it, thank you."

"Oh, Madge. Lighten up about the calories. It's a holiday. Hey, where's Catnip?" Gale asks as they walk in the door.

"Not back yet. You guys having a good discussion?" I cock an eyebrow at the two of them.

Madge flips her hair. "Jo, tell him that marshmallows and yams do not belong anywhere near one another."

I'm about to give my opinion when Brue holds up his hand. "Let me answer this: I'm pretty sure I know your opinion." He's squinting at me like we can mind-meld. "I'm gonna say that Johanna is wholeheartedly for marshmallows on her yam casserole. Possibly with butter and molasses, maybe pancake syrup, brown sugar, and whatever else is sweet and not bolted down in the kitchen cupboard."

"Oh, really?" I cross my arms over my chest. "What makes you say that?"

Brue crosses his arms too. "I don't know. Maybe the tubs of frosting you eat were my first clue? Or maybe the fact that you dive into Peeta's baked goods like you're going off a ten meter platform? Tell me I'm wrong."

Fucker. I glare at him because he's right. It's like Finn has imparted all of my food secrets to him.

"Hey, everyone! Jo, look who I found in the hallway…again." Katniss emphasizes the word as she walks in the door with Brian, who looks around the room and immediately hones in on Brue and I: our sweaty outfits, and the obvious tension between us. At least, it seems that way because his eyebrows knit together and his jaw clenches. Which would be sexy, if I weren't still a little bit pissed off by our conversation this morning.

I introduce Brian to everyone, leaving out the title of boyfriend because it makes me uncomfortable in a way I do not want to examine closely. I can tell that everyone remembers it from our conversations at the frat house, though. Gale immediately invites him to dinner with us, but Brian declines; I know he likes to eat dinner with the other Navy guys, so I'm doubly surprised to see him darken my door at this hour.

"Jo, can I talk to you for a second?"

I tell the group to go ahead and that I'll catch up. Katniss throws me a concerned look, like her personal motto is no man left behind, but I wave her off. I'd rather have this conversation alone than with some sort of audience and we can't keep putting it off.

"I just wanted to apologize for jumping to conclusions this morning. I'm not sure what I thought would happen after last night, but waking up alone wasn't really in my plan." He laughs a little. "So, when I saw you and Finn, I guess I just flipped out."

I nod. I guess I can see how it would have been a shock. "Ok. But it's just Finn. He's like my brother."

Brian raises an eyebrow.

"Ok, my exceptionally hot brother. Don't be a hater, Bri."

He smirks. "He's not the only one, Jo." He motions his hands around my dorm room. "All of the guys here tonight are your friends? …what am I supposed to think?"

I walk forward and poke him lightly in the chest. "You're supposed to trust me. How can you say…what you said to me...and not trust me?" I'm angry again because I've never done anything to make him doubt that I'm faithful. He should know by now that when I'm with him, I'm with him. "It's not like we spend a ton of time together, but I still trust you."

"Well, maybe we should change that…spending time together. Would you be up for that? Maybe I'd feel better about your friends if I knew them too."

I nod, only partly understanding. I don't get the need for all the qualifiers, all of the need for details. For me, it's simple: I trust him. That means no bullshit, just trust.

"Ok. Well, we can talk more about that later. I'll let you get to dinner – I love you." He kisses me lingeringly and seems to be waiting for something.

I feel a jolt of recognition. He wants me to say it back. "Love you," I say. But I don't meet his eyes.

Once he leaves, I grab my arm strap and phone: I won't be heading to the dining hall tonight after all.

-o-

By Saturday, I feel like my body is beginning to adjust to my own personal hell: I'm running ten miles a day with Brue and another ten before bed in an effort to collapse. In between I go to classes. I allow myself one meal a day and no sweets. I want control over something in my life because almost every part of it is weighing on me. I want to prove to myself – to everyone, really – that I can do this. I'm an adult. I can handle school and my fucked up family situation and a boyfriend that rocks my world in some ways but doesn't make my heart sigh.

If Brue thought I was pushing myself hard before, I'm not sure what he would call this training and deprivation exercise. Except that he doesn't seem to notice and I probably wouldn't stop even if he did. My muscles are cramping and tight almost every day and I have to stretch just to get out of bed: but it does help me sleep for at least a few hours every night.

Brian and I haven't slept together since our argument the day after the handcuffs. I know that he has expectations that we'll spend some time together this coming week before we both leave for Thanksgiving and maybe even hang out with all of my friends. I'm personally hoping that everyone is busy so that I can use the break to think about what my next move is. I just need to get my feet under me and get a clear idea of how to either tell him that I don't love him or to make myself fall for him. Easy, right?

I feel trapped, like his words put handcuffs on my soul that night. How does one backpedal on a vow of the heart? I need to figure it out and fast.

-o—

Katniss and Finn convinced me to party at the frat house and I agreed, thinking it would help me blow off steam. Finn wasn't surprised, unlike Katniss, when I said that Brian wanted to tag along. I had been half-hoping that he couldn't come when I texted him our plans for later that night. He had immediately let me know how excited he was to come along. I'm disappointed in myself because I should want him to come along: he is my boyfriend, after all, even if I'm not sure how I feel about him.

We're all at the frat house and I'm drinking whatever Brian puts in my cup. It's not beer, but some sort of purple Kool-Aid concoction. Katniss and Gale are playing beer pong, Madge and Finn are holding court with the beautiful people. Peeta and Brian are talking about soccer while I tune them out. Brue is nowhere to be found.

I know this because I'm looking for him.

The minute I figure this out, I gulp down the grape flavored concoction and pass a sidelong, guilty glance at Brian. Truth is I'm bored. As in, mind numbing, get-me-really-drunk bored: if I'm not here to spar with Brue, and I'm not here to flirt with other guys, why am I here? Brian is like the ultimate fun-killer.

I've got people coming up to me and saying hello. Quite a few of them are guys, and they're saying stuff like, "Hey, Jo! Are you gonna play strip poker tonight?" Someone else asks if Finn and I are going to lead a So. Cal. Spell Out. I'm laughing and giggling and waving, which is probably a bad sign, so it barely registers that Brian is asking Peeta about some of those events. Peeta, to his credit, makes them more legendary than they actually were with his amazing gift for words. Which, now that I think about it, seems more impressive when he's tipsy.

Or maybe it seems impressive when I'm tipsy. Because I am. I realize when I slur an excuse to go to the bathroom that I'm weaving on my feet. I haven't had more than normal to drink – two red solo cups at this point – but I guess the purple stuff is more potent than beer. Or maybe it's the fact that I'm subsisting on Cup O' Noodles and water and I'm just more susceptible.

Whatever.

I wait in line with the other ladies and am jealous when a few of them start making out with guys while they wait. Talk about multi-tasking. One in particular seems into her date and it's getting the erotic engine of mine – never far from started – kicking into high gear. I want that. I want a guy's hands on my hips and his lips on mine to make me go all warm and dreamy on the inside in order to avoid my own shitty angst on the outside.

Is that too much to ask?

I finish my business and make my way to Brian. When I rub up against him and purr something in his ear, he laughs, pats me on the ass and whispers back, "later." I might recall that neither of us is particularly into PDAs if I were more sober.

But I'm not sober and I don't want later. I want now.

I go grab more purple stuff, unsteadily pouring from the Gatorade cooler being used as a dispenser. A little sloshes over the edge and I have to take a quick gulp so it's at a reasonable level.

"You ok?" Gale asks. He seems remarkably lucid and it permeates the rainbow vapor fogging my brain.

I think I mumble, "Never better."

He broods for a moment and looks at my drink, "I think you should slow down."

"I think you should go fuck yourself," I say. At least, I think that's what I say. It sounds a lot like "You're a frog yourself."

He reaches for my cup and the drink sloshes down the front of my t-shirt and mini skirt. I barely notice, just take another sip. "Seriously, Jo, you've had enough."

I shake my head and turn toward Brian. I'll be happy to stand with him. Frankly, I'll be happy to just lean against something solid so that the world stops spinning. I sashay over to him and drape myself around him, using his shoulders to hold myself up. I lean in and sloppily suck his earlobe, whispering to him that I want to suck him off. He startles, like he's actually interested this time, and I can see him eyeing my boobs through my purple stained and tacky t-shirt. I lick my lips in anticipation as I think about licking him like a grape Popsicle.

So I deflate faster than a guy during a Betty White cameo at a strip club when he says, "Five minutes."

Five minutes. Five-freaking-minutes? I croak it out in disbelief, "Five minutes?" But it sounds like "fried peanuts?" When it gets me no response and he just casually goes back to his conversation with Peeta, I stomp away. I'm sure there's other fun to be had at the party. I sip more of my drink as I weave around the party looking for action, thighs sticking together slightly from the purple residue. It makes me want to take off my panties and throw them at the nearest, cutest guy I see, but I somehow still register that Brian is watching.

I spy Madge over in her corner. I wave at her with a flutter of my fingertips and blow her a kiss. She blows it back and giggles. Finn glances over and I stick out my tongue at him, which has him flipping me off.

I end up in back where the dancing is – hot bodies rubbing and gyrating while a strobe light blinks. It's dark enough, and the music loud enough, that the reverberation pounds through me like an aural vibrator. I want that feeling of being filled with something, so I start to dance, but my drink is too full and more sloshes out and down my front. I do the only thing I can think of to do and gun it so I can have two hands – two, very sticky hands – free.

All the better to grope with. Right?

I throw out the cup and skid back to the dance floor quickly because I hear a jam starting that I love. LOVE. I'm sure that I would find it ironic that they're playing a gay man's anthem at a fraternity party if I really stopped to think about it, but I'm too wrapped up in bouncing on the balls of my feet and screaming the words. It's fun to stay at the…Y.M.C.A…. I'm totally doing the dance and shaking my ass and I feel great. GREAT. Especially when I climb up on one of the speakers so more of the room can see my incredible dance skills.

Really, I'm quite talented.

I spy Brue talking to another bunch of guys and wave frantically, almost toppling off my perch. Thank goodness that the graceful motions of my arms help me regain my balance: I'm sure The Karate Kid practicing his Crane kick has nothing on me.

He's frowning at me as he walks over. Uh oh.

"Jo, how much have you had to drink?" He helps me down off the speaker. I wonder if he'd help me take my sticky underwear off. It's really distracting and I know how much he likes to be helpful…

I hold up some fingers, not even sure if they represent what I've actually imbibed.

"You're drunk." He says. It's less an accusation than a statement of fact.

"Nuh uh." I shake my head. It makes the room spin a little, so I have to change the direction of the head- shake to add counterpoint.

"Yeah. Know how I can tell? You just spelled Y.M.C.A. wrong. Which I'm pretty sure is impossible."

He lets me lean on him and it feels so good to be close: he smells like beer and deodorant and soap, his jeans and t-shirt clinging in all the right places. I want to lick his collarbone and nibble up his jaw.

"Where's your boyfriend?" He scans the room, brows furrowed.

My stomach does a funny little flip – and not in a good way – when I think about how he and Brian had shaken hands earlier tonight. I don't want them to know each other. I don't want him to call Brian my boyfriend.

I wave over to where Peeta and Brian were last sighted in what I hope is an elegant gesture. "Over there." I lean forward and say conspiratorially, "He won't let me blow him."

It comes out as "He won't get me a doughnut."

Brue looks at me and squints as if trying to decipher what I've just said. He takes a moment to look me over from the top of my mussed hair, to my stained shirt and jean mini-skirt. "You're a mess, you know that?"

I blink at him. Was that an insult? It doesn't seem to be. I need him to comprehend that I'm not a mess: I'm great. I'm just a little... "I'm just sticky." I make sure to over-enunciate the words so that he can understand.

"Sticky?" He rocks back on his heels and grins.

I have to blink a couple of times at how blinding his grin is and what it does to my insides. I nod slowly, swaying side to side as the room tilts with my head. "Yeah." I don't really even think about what it might look like to anyone else when I grab his hand and put it between my thighs so he can feel for himself.

The feel of his warm palms and long fingers against the stickiness on the inside of my thighs…If I were sober, I would probably freeze. Hell, I would never have grabbed his hand if I were sober. I'm not, though, as evidenced by the fact that I wiggle so that his hand is more firmly wedged between my legs. It's the closest we've ever been and I love the heated, warm feel of him and how his fingers move just a little against my skin. Almost like they're stroking...

He's staring at me and I'm staring at him. The moment is spinning almost as fast as the room. His lips part ever so slightly and I watch, mesmerized, as his tongue touches the cleft in the middle of his generous lower lip. I want to bite him there. I can feel the heat blossom across my cheeks and chest as I watch him and a thousand fantasies flash...

Suddenly, I hear One Way or Another and squeal. "One Direction!" I bounce away from him and jump up on a chair, dancing to Niall and the gang with my eyes closed. I don't even spare a thought to the guy I've left on the floor.

I don't know how I end up next to the karaoke machine a little while later, which is the hugest party foul ever because I can't sing but I'm so drunk that I think I can. I'm scrolling through the music when I hit the one I want and let out a woohoo! Yes, that's how drunk I am: I am actually a woohoo girl.

I stride toward the middle of the little makeshift karaoke stage, only stumbling twice in the five foot walk. I wait for the music to start with the microphone held in my hand like it's a dick, mouth hovering above it in anticipation as the music starts.

This was never the way I planned, not my intention. I got so brave, drink in hand, lost my discretion. It's not what I'm used to. Just. Want to try you on. I'm curious for you, caught my attention…

I'm just grinding my hips to roll into the chorus when I see Finn grinning at me with his arms crossed. I stutter a little at the expression on his face because I know what that look means: it means that Finn is about to end all of my fun. I cross my eyes at him.

I kissed a girl and I liked it….

And just like that, he swoops me up and over his shoulder. I reflexively hand the mic to Katniss, who looks remotely panicked before literally picking up where I left off. Only she doesn't nearly look like she knows what she's doing holding the dick/mic. Figures.

The taste of her cherry chapstick. I kissed a girl just to try it, hope my boyfriend don't mind it.

I'm shrieking. "Finn! What. The Fuck! Put me down!"

He's carrying me emphatically toward the stairs and being tipped upside down moving is making me queasy. "Friends don't let friends sing Katy Perry."

"You're letting Katniss!" It almost sounds like Catpiss when I say her name.

He says reasonably, "That's different: she's not tone deaf."

"Fuck you, Finn. I can sing!" I struggle a little bit but I've forgotten how well he knows how to handle me.

'Johanna, hyenas mating sound better than you did. You could have single-handedly ended the party. I was just doing everyone a favor."

"Fuck you."

"Yeah, you said that already. If I put you down, are you going to take it easy and sober up?" I can hear him laughing at me and I almost say it again.

From my vantage point upside down I can see that Brian's walking toward us because he's rocking those boat shoes he likes to wear without socks. I idly think about how sexy his ankles are.

"What's going on?" He says.

"Jo's really drunk. I was just going to help her sober up." Finn says and hikes me up on his shoulder. My stomach bottoms out when he does it and I wonder if that hollow, jiggling feeling is supposed to be there.

"I can take care of her." I hear Brian say over the blood that's rushing in my ears every time Finn moves. I don't think I've been upside down for this long in a while and it's making me swallow reflexively. I can still tell what they're saying, though, as I struggle.

Finn has to put his hands on my lower back to stop me from moving around. "No, you can't. You let her get this way in the first place. Did you even notice how drunk she was getting?" Finn's pretty magnificent when he gets angry. His perfectly easy-going persona doesn't slip often, but when it does…I can almost imagine the way his green eyes are flashing fire underneath his dark brows, golden hair caressing his forehead. I say almost imagine because I'm busy fighting the almost constant urge to swallow every time he moves his shoulder.

"No. She's a big girl. Jo can take care of herself." I know Brian means it as a sign of respect. But that's not the way that Finn…

"But you came here with her." There it is. Finn is very insistent that, if a guy brings a girl somewhere, he looks out for her. Call it chivalry, call it old fashioned, call it an almost guaranteed sure-lay at the end of the night….Because sure-lay Finn gets laid every time.

Get it? I crack myself up.

I would laugh if I weren't concentrating so hard on raising my hands to tap on Finn's back incessantly. Because there's something he needs to know. Right. Now.

Finn's warming to his topic, so he ignores my thumps. "So, since you didn't do your job, someone who actually cares about her will."

Tap tap tap…

"But I care about her and she's my girlfriend." Brian's pretty pissed.

I just know that's going to set Finn off and I really need to get his attention, so I start clawing his shirt up his back.

"Yeah? Well, I've had my hands between her legs a lot longer than you have so maybe that gives me an edge. Because you should be paying attention to her. She's a wreck. How can you not see it?"

"Finn?" My voice sounds very far away, like my head is a giant drum and my voice just echoes through it. There's a rushing water noise that might be my pulse or the Jungle Juice...

"She's independent."

"Yeah. But the way to lift her up is to be a partner and not take that for granted."

I'm almost glad he's holding me so that he can't deck Brian; he sounds that pissed.

"Finn…" I'm insistent now.

"What?" He's cranky, even with me.

"Put me down." I over enunciate so he can be sure to hear me. He gently props me up against the stairs and I'm grateful to feel the blood rush from my head. Though the lights seem very, very bright suddenly…

"I want to go with him. I'm supposed to love him." Brian doesn't catch it, but Finn does, even though I'm mumbling. He rounds on me with wide eyes. Supposed to. Finn gets that I don't. My eyes fill with tears because I'm a failure. I can't even love someone right.

I'm such a fuck up.

So I say the thing I've been meaning to say since I was upside down. The thing I've been holding back for a full two minutes now. I announce it loudly to the room, as if they all deserve to know and I'm the most important person at this party. Because, if I don't announce it and it takes people unaware, I suddenly will be.

"I'm gonna puke." My voice is that of a cool imperial duchess.

Things move in slow motion after that as I concentrate on controlling the gagging. My next lucid thought is Thank God for Peeta when he shows up with a trashcan just in time for me to stick my head inside of it and lose my Cup 'O Noodles.

(Very, very special thanks to two amazing people who provided feedback on this chapter: Baroness Kika and Soamazinghere. This chapter in particular was almost impossible for me to write. At one point I told BK I was just going to delete the entire story, but she believed in it and she kicked my butt to get me through it. A thousand thank you's, ladies. For you readers – you should check out All the Right Friends in All the Right Places,Flesh and Bone, as well as The Endless In-Between. They are tremendously great reads.)