Silence enveloped the room. Peter was petrified that Leslie would think less of him after she heard what he had to say, but, to Peter, it was of paramount importance that she know about it. If there was any chance of their budding love affair turning serious, she had to be told. And he wasn't going to leave the burden of it with Michael. Reminding himself that Leslie deserved no less than the complete truth, Peter choked back his timidity and forged right into it.

"Michael and I… hugged. The first time I was more or less showing my… gratitude to him for not beating the hell out of me after he found out about us," Peter indicated himself and Leslie. The vacant look on her face told him she was nowhere near being prepared for what he was going to spew forth. And there was no reason she should be. But, doing the right thing being most important to him, Peter boosted his courage and tried his best to be valiant.

"We hugged again the night before he left for Texas… a goodbye hug, or that's what it was supposed to be. The thing is…" Peter was sweating again, but this time it wasn't from lust. He was so on edge that trying to explain this was going to a mammoth undertaking. But how could he make love to her again without her knowing? Not in good conscience, he couldn't. No, it just wouldn't be right.

"Damn! Let me start from the beginning," Peter was determined to gather his wits to try to find a way to make this easier for Leslie to take. A way to ease her into it, instead of plunging her in head first.

"A while ago—I don't know how long ago it was exactly, but at least a few months before Michael and I met you…we were goofing around… and… I… licked Michael's neck. It was a silly thing to do, but you have to understand how we are—the four of us. We do stupid stuff like that all the time. Anyway… I think I already told you about it, and that Michael got mad and left the room. Well… I didn't tell you… all of it." Peter stopped to wet his lips. Right now he wanted to be anywhere else but here… telling Leslie about such embarrassing encounters with her other lover, but nevertheless, onward he marched.

"I didn't tell you that… I think Michael was… well, turned on by it. And even worse… so was I. I did it innocently, but… there was something there… I wasn't going to mention it to you at all, about the being turned on part… but then the hugs happened…"

You probably could have heard a pin drop from several blocks away at this point. Leslie stared at Peter in confusion at first, then with alarm. Her mind raced back to the time Michael told her about the neck licking episode, and how it had excited him. Then to when Peter had told her his lighthearted but incomplete, version. What does a girl say to that—how should she react?

"And Leslie, listen. If you don't want to see me again after hearing that… then you have every right. Just tell me if you want me to leave."

Leslie sprang into action. "No, Peter! Of course I don't want you to go! I'm just trying to… process this." She didn't know how she should feel. Right now she was more than a little numb with shock. She did know one thing, and that was that she wasn't going to tell Peter that Michael had also told her about the incident, including his feelings about it. She wouldn't do that to Michael. If he wanted Peter to know, he would tell him himself. But she did understand why Peter was telling her—he wasn't comfortable concealing it from her anymore. Things were getting serious…

"And that's not all. Like I started out saying… we shared a couple of hugs… and they weren't just hugs."

Leslie braced herself. "What else happened?" There was a brief silence, and she felt more and more unsettled, as if a big bubble inside her would burst if he didn't hurry up and tell her the rest.

"Well, we were just hugging at first… and then… well, you know how affectionate I tend to be…it was innocent at first… but then…things got hot and I ended up kissing Michael's neck… and he kissed mine. I wouldn't have told you this at all except that it's at the point where I can't not tell you." His words were mirroring her thoughts exactly.

Leslie was so startled that she knew her eyes were widening and that would just make things harder for Peter, seeing what state she was in. So she made an attempt to appear casual. Surprisingly, she didn't feel any revulsion. Actually, she was more fascinated than anything.

"Wow, that's really interesting. Have you ever felt like that before with a guy?"

"No…never."

"How do you know Michael was turned on?" Leslie couldn't help asking the question.

"We were… pressed against each other… hugging, like I said, and… I could feel… and I'm sure he felt it too."

Erections—that's what he was talking about. Well, that was certainly proof of arousal, if anything was!

"Peter, I really do appreciate you telling me this. I can see how hard it is for you, and how much it's getting to you."

Peter nodded. "It wouldn't be right if I didn't tell you."

"Well, I respect you even more now than I did before," she said, and this came directly from her heart. "Any guy who would tell a woman he's interested in about that, well… it shows a lot of sincerity."

Peter was jolted. She wasn't angry, she wasn't disappointed, she wasn't even upset! Her face was fairly easy to read, and he couldn't see any of those things—in fact, what he thought he saw, hoped he saw, was… maybe even… acceptance.

Relief flooded through him, and he embraced her, holding her extra close. "Leslie, you understand! Do you know what this means to me?"

"I think so, Peter… did you discuss it with Michael?"

"I tried to, but… well, you know Michael… he was really disturbed, to put it mildly. I think he went to Texas not only to see his mom, but also to get away to think about it."

"So he wouldn't talk about it at all?"

"No. l think he's worried about his manhood, or something." Wasn't that just like Peter? He didn't seem particularly worried about it except for how Leslie and Michael would deal with it. His concerns were for them. Peter mostly just took things as they came in life. He was comfortable enough in his own skin to accept most things without a struggle. Michael was the one who was concerned about his masculinity. She'd known Michael had insecurities, and needed to have more faith in himself. Of course something like this would be very upsetting to him.

Leslie didn't think any less of either of them. But she was shaken-the thought of either Michael or Peter being bi had never even entered her mind until now, so she couldn't expect the adjustment to be instant.

"Bummer," said Peter. "When Michael gets home, he still has to face up to what happened. I feel bad for him. His relationships never seem to pan out, and now this."

Michael had gone for several walks already, and he wanted to call Leslie's house again, even though he'd already talked to her tonight. He resisted the urge. She'd think he was checking up on her. He wasn't, even though he was curious. Three more days. How was he going to last that long? The last day would be spent driving, so at least he'd have a distraction.

His mother, whom he was very happy to see, nevertheless got on his nerves. She never stopped offering him something to eat. She had remarked on his weight gain as soon as she'd seen him—and had been very pleased because she'd worried constantly when he'd been so stick thin. But it seemed she was bound and determined to put even more weight on him.

"Mom, you keep this up, and I'll get fat!" Michael exclaimed as she set his second piece of cobbler in front of him since dinner. Eggs, bacon, hash browns, pancakes for breakfast, left over roast chicken sandwiches, potato salad and fruit jello for lunch, cookies and ice cream in between, and a 3 course steak dinner along with dessert. And he had two more days of this! Two more days and a day of driving without Leslie, and, reluctantly he admitted to himself, Peter. But at least on that last day he'd be closing the distance between them. He missed them all, as he always did when he went to Texas, but this time was different. Leslie and Peter were foremost in his mind.

"How did you gain the weight?" his mother had asked.

"Peter made me protein shakes. I drank them three times a day, and gained 35 pounds," said Michael. "I went from a scrawny 145 to 180 in just a few months."

"I could have gotten the weight on you, if you lived here," she said for the millionth time, every opportunity she got, it seemed, as she longed for him to move back home.

"I'm a grown man now, mom. I know I'm your only child, and it's hard to let go, but I have a life in California, I'm in a band now, making a good living. I finally made it. You should see how the nightclubs fill up when we're playing. The Monkees may even be famous someday."

Okay, so maybe he'd exaggerated a bit. They were making decent money, but were still far from being famous, still couldn't really afford an expensive rental. Besides, they really liked living right on the beach, even though the place wasn't in the best of shape. They were young men, and that wasn't a priority on their list. Having a little extra dough was outasite, so why spend the extra just to have what some people might consider a nicer rental? Money down the drain, was how he saw it.

The humidity was miserable and he was soaked with sweat almost as soon as he hit the sidewalk, but he had to go for another walk to get away from the TV, his mother's constant chatter, and be alone with his thoughts. The beach was more humid than the rest of Southern California because of the ocean, but it still couldn't even compare to this humidity. How had he tolerated it all those years?

The walk whisked the cobwebs from his head, and he realized he'd have to face the music when he got home. He'd have to have that talk with Peter, and also with Leslie. Get it all out on the table. The talk with Leslie was what bothered him the most. She was a nice girl, and he doubted she'd take it well. He and Peter might both find themselves shunned by her.

It was with extreme reluctance that he realized now that his feelings for Peter weren't just lust. If they were, he'd have urged Peter to find a private place to be alone with him. But instead, he'd held Peter tenderly for minutes on end, caressed the back of his neck, even kissed his neck. You don't do that if you just want a quick piece of ass. This thing was getting damn complicated. Here he was, falling for Leslie, Leslie falling for him, Peter falling for Leslie, Leslie falling for Peter. And now… there was himself and Peter… emotionally overwhelming is what it was. There could certainly be humor in it when looked at from the outside, but not for Michael, being in the midst of it all.

Peter felt free now, a ton lifted off his shoulders, having confessed his intimate moments with Michael. And he was overjoyed to find that Leslie's ardor for him hadn't decreased in the slightest. She was sitting as close as she could get to him, hanging onto his arm, resting her head on his shoulder.

"It's eleven o'clock already," she said. "Let's go to bed."

Well, that was fine with Peter. Could that be a euphemism for something else? Oh, he hoped! Sleeping with her would be far out, and that's really all he expected, thinking maybe all the action and the… news had worn her out. Not to mention the White Russians. He let Breezy out into the yard while she went into the bedroom. When Breezy came back in, he played with her for a few minutes, then slipped quietly through Leslie's bedroom door.

She was on the bed, under only the sheet. It was warm again—this time of year the weather tended to go back and forth before it made it's decision to cool down for good. When he laid down beside her, his hand, which slid under the sheet, quickly discovered she was naked.

He felt she might get the wrong idea if he slipped into bed naked—that it might be more respectful of him to wear something. She might get the wrong idea and think that he assumed… "I can't sleep with my underwear on—I don't wear any," this brought on fits of giggles from Leslie.

"Of course I don't want you to sleep in underwear! Why would I want that? Please take your clothes off."

Peter got his clothes off in record time and settled beside her. She put her arms around his neck, and what, with a little sadness, he thought might be only a goodnight kiss turned into a very deep, passionate one. No words were shared. They kissed for a long time, and when Peter's tongue became available, Leslie sucked softly on it. Peter's gasp was quite noticeable. It made him feel wild. It was so astoundingly erotic. His cock jumped and twitched. After the long sucking kiss ended, he was almost numb with disbelief that she'd actually done such a thing.

"That was so sexy…. felt so good…" he said.

She folded the sheet down to Peter's knees, then ran her fingers ever so lightly over his cock. He thought he would blast off in ecstasy. Well, he didn't know it, but it was going to get better. She continued to semi-tickle, semi-caress his cock. Teasing really, which she knew wasn't nice to do, but she wanted to build on this slowly, keep him guessing, anticipating…

"It's beautiful," she said. "Perfect. And you're…huge."

Peter blushed. "The other guys sometimes call me 'Big Peter." His voice was rough and dark with desire.

Leslie laughed. "So you two, you and Michael are the biggest?" Not that she cared how big the others were, but she was curious to see how he'd respond to her question.

"Yeah."

"Why don't you wear underwear?"

"I like feeling free," a typical Peter-like explanation.

Before he had the chance to even ask what she was doing, she was between his legs, still tickling his erection and looking at it up close. Peter was holding his breath again. He was going to have stop doing that, she mused, or he'd die of oxygen deprivation.

She decided not to tease him anymore—he'd had enough for one day, and took the head of his cock into her moist mouth. It became apparent to Leslie right away that Peter had not experienced this before. The jolt that ran through him delighted her. All the more fun for her… Peter let out a yelp, that being the very last thing he'd expected. She made a satisfied noise, letting him know how delicious he was, then took him clear down to the base.

Peter thought he'd gone somewhere a million times better than Disneyland. The sensations cloaked him, held him in their grip like a vise, and he was a willing prisoner. Good Lord, that felt good! It felt way too good, and he felt his climax already approaching. Up and down she stroked him with her mouth, then, sensing he was near his point of no return, she stopped and began licking the head, all around it in a swirl, and up and down the sides, back and front. Peter's hips were gyrating wildly, trying to keep contact with her mouth, as she kept letting up whenever he got close. She'd take him in for a few strokes, then back off and lick.

When she delved her tongue into the slit, then licked and sucked at the same time as she enclosed him once again, Peter began to make all kinds of strange noises. Grunts, groans, moans. He was completely engrossed in this, and couldn't think another thought if his life depended on it. He'd never felt anything so glorious in his entire life. All those nights imagining this, and the real thing was still leagues better. So… when people made love, they did wonderful things like this… ah…God.

She settled into steady sucking, and it was just too much for Peter to tolerate any longer.

"Uhhh…. Uhhhh… Leslie!" he tried to pull away, knowing he was at the brink, but she held his hips firmly, making her satisfied noises so he'd know her intent. He still didn't understand. He tried to signal her that the stimulation was pushing him over the edge, and he was so afraid she'd be horrified at the outcome. Lord knows, he didn't want to ruin things with her now! And that would surely ruin things. In between desperate moans, he cried, "Leslie, stop!" She shook her head in a firm negative and continued what she was doing. He found he couldn't fight it anymore, he had to let it overtake him. The warm sensations skittering up and down his spine…building, building.

Peter couldn't hold back any longer. He erupted, his hips bucking, and a shout came out of his mouth a moment before she felt the warm, tasty fluid fill her mouth. She continued to suck so he'd know this was fine with her. In fact, it was heavenly. He spurted many more times, his hands on the back of her head, not pushing, but holding. Emptying himself, he had never felt this kind of ecstasy. Hadn't known it even existed. Her mouth sucking, licking, the entire time he was coming! His moans filled her with an unspoken, earthy need.

His grunts became quieter as he finally tapered off and began to come down. She swallowed it all eagerly, and remembering how he'd thrust a bit longer after he'd come earlier tonight, she bobbed her head soothingly for a couple more minutes, very gently, then licked him clean. He was still mostly hard. This guy was amazing!

Peter was speechless. He petted her hair as she slithered back up his body.

"My God…" he said, not able to say anymore. In disbelief, she felt his cock flex a bit against her upper leg, and grow hard as a rock again within seconds.

"I want… is it okay?" he asked, not able to get any more words out. His hand was lowering to her sex, his fingers ready to enter, awaiting her approval.

"You don't ever have to ask, Peter."

That was all he needed to hear. He dove down and nestled between her legs. His mouth was ravenous, all over the place, eating her with abandon, and she could even feel his teeth now and then. Strong suction, wild licking. She realized he wasn't merely trying to return the favor, but was completely immersed in it. She'd never had a man go at her this avidly, although Michael had come close. Her head was reeling. Her legs spread wider all on their own. Peter's hunger was raw. Long licks captured all her fluids that had gathered and overflowed when she had been sucking him. It had excited her as much as it excited him. The strong pulls of his mouth on her clit caused her to buck up into his face as he'd done to her. Her orgasm was shattering. She cried out, moaned, made almost as much noise as Peter had. Near the end of her orgasm, she felt him rubbing himself on the bed furiously, and he moaned into her sex.

When it was over, they lay in each other's arms. "I came on the bed," Peter said bashfully.

"You're kidding! Again?"

"I told you it doesn't take much time… and doing that to you just made it happen a little sooner." She smiled into his eyes, and he smiled back. At least he could look at her now when they discussed anything about sex. He grabbed a tissue from her end table and wiped it up.

"Wow, Peter, you wicked thing!"

The next morning, Peter was aware of a dizzy, sick feeling before he even opened his eyes. The sunlight hurt his eyes even from behind his eyelids. Sometime during the night, he and Leslie had made love again. It had been soft, gentle and tender. It lacked the desperate edge. Slower, and the orgasm was more tame, yet very erotic just the same. He'd just climbed on top of her and inserted himself with a little help from her. He'd had no idea sex would be like this. He thought he'd have to woo a woman every time, and usually not have any success, but Leslie was apparently willing and eager for him every time he approached her. At least she had been last night. It clogged his throat at the thought that she wanted him so much.

He opened his eyes with much effort into tiny slits and squinted at the bedside clock. It was 7:30, and Breezy was licking his face. That was why he'd awakened. She wanted out. He looked over at Leslie, still fast asleep and looking like an angel with her long blond hair spread all over the pillow, the sheet pulled down to reveal one perky breast with its large, rosy nipple. Oh, his aching head! Goddamn! His mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and he could hardly swallow for his dry throat.

"Come on, Breezy, let's go out," Peter's voice, which was already low, sounded strangely rough to his own ears. Peter was enormously glad for the fence he and Mike had put up—otherwise he would have had to walk Breezy, and he felt so sick to his stomach that he was sure he'd throw up if he had to walk further than the front door. Besides, he was naked, and would have had to get dressed—more torture.

Out went the dog, and into the kitchen went Peter, hunting for some aspirin. He was so nauseated that he didn't even know if he could keep the aspirin down, but he would try. Anything to get rid of this hellacious pounding in his head.

Leslie shuffled out of the bedroom to find him riffling through her cupboards. She smiled… his hair was messed up and he looked adorably innocent, naked in her kitchen. Freckles on his shoulders, and what a butt! On closer inspection, he was ghastly pale, clammy and shaky. The poor thing.

Even in his poor state, Peter appreciated her naked body, his eyes scanning up and down, and smiling shyly through his pain. "Beautiful…" he murmured, half to himself. "Morning, Leslie," he said, sounding as if he were on death's doorstep.

"You have a hangover, don't you Peter? And the aspirin is here." She handed him two that she poured into her hand from a bottle in a drawer he hadn't checked.

"How'd you know?"

"Well, for one thing, you're sluggish and pale, and for another, you're not cheerful. Michael said you're usually bursting with sunshine in the morning. Sickeningly so."

"How are you feeling?" asked Peter.

"Oh, I have a hangover too, but seems like yours is worse."

"That extra third of a tumbler, maybe?" Peter was trying to act normal, but he felt, and knew he looked, far from it. What he was deathly afraid of was throwing up. He imagined that would put a damper on her attraction for him quicker than anything else he could think of.

After downing the aspirin with half a glass of water, Peter turned to Leslie. "I think I need to go home and sleep it off."

"Okay, Peter. I was going to fix you breakfast… but…"

"Oh dear God, please don't mention food." Poor Peter, she thought. Now she wished she'd gotten beer instead. But how could she have known?

He got dressed, then kissed and hugged her goodbye, but it was very subdued and lethargic. Leslie knew he'd be fine by night time, and she was already looking forward to seeing him again then.

"I'll give you a call later, when I feel better," and Peter headed back for the Pad. Leslie watched him go, sorry he had to walk half a mile in his condition. She thought of yelling out to him that she'd drive him down to his end of the parking lot so he wouldn't have to walk as far, but, with the sound of the surf, he was probably already too far away to hear her. She felt guilty, but at least she knew he didn't have to practice with the guys.

Oh, that damn sun! Shit! It was drilling a hole into his brain! Every step into the sand, and his feet seemed to sink forever, the effort of pulling each foot out to take the next step pure agony, making his head pound all the harder.

When he came dragging in the door, Micky and Davy were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and bullshitting. They looked up in tandem.

"Holy shit… Pete, what's the problem?" asked Davy.

Peter looked at him glumly. "I got shit faced last night," he said simply, heading for the stairs, his dragging feet hardly clearing the floor.

"Why?" asked Micky as Peter began the painful process of tackling the stairs, each one jarring his throbbing head. First sand, and now stairs. Would he ever make it to his bed?

"Felt like it," and Peter disappeared into the bedroom, firmly closing the door with an air of finality, leaving a clear message that he didn't want to be disturbed.

"Wow, I've never known Peter to get drunk by himself. Why did he drink alone?" Davy's face was thoughtful.

Micky shrugged. "Wonder where he slept last night?" Then Micky's short attention span quickly shifted. "Hey, you know… I was thinking. We should check on Leslie while Mike's gone. I mean… she's all alone and we really should make sure she's alright."

"I was thinking the same thing last night. I was going to suggest it too," said Davy. "It's the least we can do while Mike's gone. When Pete starts feeling better, maybe we should suggest to him that we all go over there tonight."

"Good idea."

Peter didn't throw up, but he came very close to it a number of times. He stayed completely still in bed, not moving a muscle, in fear that he'd trigger the event. He remembered now why he preferred beer, other than the cost. It didn't produce the hangovers that the harder stuff did. He slept until mid afternoon, and when he woke up, the headache had decreased by about half, and he found he was actually feeling a little better.

Micky knocked on the door. "I'm awake," Peter called out. Micky brought in some crackers and tea. "Thought this might help to settle your stomach," he said, putting it down on Peter's end table.

"Thanks, Mick."

"Now… why'd you get drunk, and where'd you stay last night?"

Peter was totally unprepared for the question. He'd been feeling so bad when he'd walked home this morning that all he could think about was his own misery. Now he was going to have to come up with something off the top of his head. He paused, his mind went into overdrive, but he couldn't think of a single believable reason why he would get drunk by himself, let alone make up something about where he was all night.

"It's a secret. I might tell you someday," he said cryptically.

"Come on, Pete! I need some excitement in my life!"

"I said no!" Peter wished he hadn't said it with such emphasis, as it sent a dagger of pain through his head. He nibbled on a cracker, waited a minute and found it didn't disagree with his stomach. When he'd sipped on the tea also, and found he could keep it down, he was relieved that the worst of it appeared to be over.

"No one makes tea quite like David," Peter said contentedly.

"How'd you know it wasn't me who made it?"

"Like I said, no one makes tea like that little Brit."

"Yeah, all he did was put a tea bag in hot water," scoffed Micky. "Even I could do that."

"I can still tell Davy made it."

"Hey, Davy and I were talking, and we think it would be a good idea to visit Leslie, with Mike being gone and all. We were thinking about tonight. You know, just to make sure she's okay and doesn't need anything."

Peter almost spit his current mouthful of tea out, but was able to control himself.

"Uh, yeah… good idea."

When Micky went back downstairs, Davy was waiting eagerly for the story.

"There isn't a story. Pete says it's a secret, and 'he'll tell me someday.'" Davy knitted his eyebrows, seemingly deep in thought.

When Peter finished his crackers and tea, he got into the shower and felt much better almost immediately. The cool spray was soothing, the soap invigorating. Yep, maybe he was gonna live after all.

They had soggy frozen fish sticks for dinner along with shriveled up, overdone baked potatoes and a poorly constructed salad. But it filled their stomachs.

Man, how could we go wrong, just heating up frozen fish sticks in the oven?" Micky was dismayed.

"Beats me. I'm just glad I can eat without it coming back up," said Peter. "I mean, it wouldn't be polite to throw up right here, at the table."

"Pete, you're disgusting," and Micky slapped him on the back.

"That certainly didn't help the remnants of my headache!" complained Peter. "Next time I think I'll leave the jelly beans out of the salad too," decided Peter.

"Yeah, I was gonna suggest that."

"Let's call Leslie before we go over there," suggested Peter. She was going to be surprised enough as it was to see the other two tagging along.

"Good idea," Davy located her number that Michael had left tacked to their bulletin board, even though Mike knew Peter already had the number. They had to be discreet and keep their guard up to keep the others from developing any suspicions.

"Here it is, who wants to call her?" said Davy.

"I'll call." Peter took the phone. Davy was surprised that shy Peter would volunteer to make the call.

"Hi, Leslie, this is Peter. Peter Tork. You know, Michael's band mate. Anyway, the guys suggested we might come over tonight to see how you're doing. You know, so Michael won't worry."

There was a brief silence on the other end. She quickly concluded the others were listening. "Oh sure, Peter. I'd love that. Have you eaten?"

"Yeah."

"Well I have the ingredients for White Russians," Peter heard the tease in her voice.

"Well, maybe for the others, but I think I'll have to pass," he managed not to laugh or even smile, as Davy and Micky were watching him.

"Okay, well, what time?" she asked.

"Six-thirty, if that's okay."

"Sure, see you then."

"What did you say you'd pass on?" asked Micky as Peter hung up.

"White Russians." The other two laughed…

"With that doozy of a hangover you had, it's no wonder. But I can't wait to try one," said Davy.

Peter fought back the nausea at the mere thought of drinking a White Russian. He sure hoped Leslie wasn't going to give him a hard time about it. It would be easy enough to do without revealing anything if she were creative. Like try to push the drink on him…and watch him squirm.

The first thing Micky and Davy noticed was Breezy's attitude. She barked at them at first, until she realized they were the ones she had played with before at the Pad. Yet, the moment she saw Peter, she bounded around, wagging her tail with abandon. Peter bent down to pet her.

"Why does she remember you right away, and not us?" asked Micky.

"I have a way with animals," stated Peter. Davy silently took it all in.

Leslie let them in, being careful to smile at each one in exactly the same way. She was a good actress, Peter reflected. She looked breathtaking in her tank top and shorts and a high ponytail.

"How are you doing, Leslie?" asked Micky when they were all sitting on her couch, Davy perched on the arm of the couch, since Leslie didn't have a loveseat. It was a bit of a tight fit, and Leslie was sitting next to Peter on the opposite end, wishing he didn't feel so warm and solid. She positively itched to touch him. She realized she was still terribly hungry for him.

Davy had noticed how Peter had slipped by Micky, cutting him off, to ensure he sat beside Leslie. He wondered if he were the only one who noticed.

"I'm doing fine, Micky. It was so nice of you guys to come check on me. How about some White Russians!" she asked everyone in general. Peter groaned, and Micky and Davy giggled. Leslie pretended as if she was surprised at Peter's groan.

"Oh, he doesn't drink?" she asked the other two.

"No, that's not the problem. He had a bit too much to drink last night and just got over a hangover," explained Davy.

"Oh, I see." Leslie went into the kitchen and brought Micky and Davy each a tumbler of White Russian, and an iced tea for Peter. He took it gratefully.

"Aren't you having any, Leslie?" asked Micky.

"Um… no. I don't drink often,"she said, not having anticipated Micky's question.

"You don't drink often, but you have the stuff to make White Russians?" Micky looked puzzled.

"Well, I thought I'd have it here for you guys, since you were coming over."

"You made a trip to the store just for us?" asked Davy.

"Well, not exactly. I already had the ingredients." Leslie quickly changed the subject. "I'm thinking of inviting my friends, Mrs. Marston and Veronica over for a day on the beach tomorrow. You remember them, Peter." Immediately, Leslie caught her mistake. "Um… Peter went to visit them with myself and Michael once. Anyway, I think they'll enjoy it. And then, if you guys and Michael don't mind, I'd like to invite them to a gig this weekend." The words came out in a rush.

"So you met Leslie before we did?" Davy's heavy brows were wrinkled.

"Uh, yeah. Michael was going to the homeless shelter with Leslie one day and asked me to go along."

"How come you didn't tell us about it?" was Davy's reply.

"Come on… do I have to tell you guys about every little thing I do?"

Davy let it drop, but intended to bring it up again once they were back at the Pad. Peter and Leslie were both acting a bit uptight and artificial, and he intended to put the puzzle pieces together. He couldn't imagine Peter not telling them about the foxy lady Michael had been seeing. They'd all been curious about the air of mystery surrounding Mike before they'd met Leslie. And he also was still wondering about the way Leslie's dog had been so overjoyed to see Peter…

Leslie briefly thought back on the conversation. Boy, she'd have to be more careful! If she'd blown it and let them know she'd also had a hangover today, which, she almost had, they might put two and two together. Also, that comment about Peter having gone to the homeless shelter… Leslie's gaze fell on Davy. He was chewing his lip as if he were reflecting on something. She had a hunch he was pretty quick on the gun. If anyone picked up on their secret, her bet was on Davy.

"Wow man, this is groovy!" Micky was referring to the White Russian. Davy eagerly concurred.

Just then, out of the corner of her eye, Leslie saw a shadow outside the window, on the side of the house. Breezy growled at the same moment. It was dusk, but the shadow had appeared at just the right angle so that it had caught Leslie's eye. She looked in that direction with her eyes only, not turning her head, and whispered, "The peeping tom! I think he's outside the window right now!" she directed this to Peter. It had been totally a reflex reaction to tell Peter first, since he already knew about the peeping tom. Another mess-up, but right now, they had an urgent situation. Even so, Davy noticed how Leslie had addressed Peter, and how Peter seemed to know just what she was referring to.

It took Peter only a second to register and process what she'd just said. "Davy," he said quietly. "Put down your drink—there's a pervert looking in Leslie's window to our right. Don't look now, but chase him down!" Davy was up off the couch like a shot and to the front door all in one movement. He threw the door open and was gone before Leslie could blink, Peter not far behind…