APRIL

Staring into Steph's angry face standing outside the bathroom, my hand tucked into Jackson's, I can't say she's wrong. Not only did I call Izzie once, but twice.

The second time wasn't of my own accord, though. This morning, I woke up to a missed call from her from around 3am and couldn't help but wonder why she would've done that. I could've ignored it entirely; I could've texted her - I didn't have to call back. But I did.

"Biz, are you okay?" I asked, right away.

She laughed a little. "Biz," she said. "I almost forgot that one." Nicknames were a big thing with us. We had about a million, all with varying backstories. "But yeah, I'm okay. I'm sorry. I probably woke you up."

"No," I said. "You didn't, actually. It just freaked me out… people don't usually call at 3am unless they're dying."

"I'm not dying, I promise," she'd said. "I just… I don't know. Now that it's daylight and I've slept, it sounds silly."

"Well, you have to tell me," I said. "You're in too deep not to."

She sighed. "Fine," she gave in. "I don't know. It's not anything serious, really. I was just up late and… and, well, thinking about you. I guess, if we're being honest. I was thinking about when we went to Navy Pier and your sunglasses blew off and skidded into the water. How funny that was."

It had been the most beautiful day. Izzie is from Chicago and claimed that Navy Pier was a tourist trap, but I was dying to go. So, she surprised me with a day trip. We rode the Centennial Wheel, walked through the botanical gardens, went on a few circus-type rides, and ate at the Bubba Gump restaurant. The day ended with a short hospital trip – where I figured out that I'm allergic to shellfish. She held my hand as I sat in the ER and listened as a doctor explained my new emergency EpiPen.

"I literally had to hold you back from jumping in to get them," I mused.

"I'd catch a grenade for ya…" she sang, her voice small and light. I smiled. "It was such a fun day," she continued. "Hearing your voice the other night brought back all sorts of things. Like… a crazy amount of memories. And I know you're involved with someone, so am I, but… I miss talking to you."

"I know," I responded. "We used to talk about everything."

"Yeah," she said, then paused for a long time. "Do you think we could be friends?"

I thought about how fast I fell in love with her and how hard. I thought about how every little move of hers hypnotized me and I swore I would never love another person like I loved her, never again experience the way she wrapped me around her finger. I thought about lying with her at night, limbs curled together, breathing synchronized. I thought about all the tiny things I used to notice and how she took over every waking thought. Then, I thought about what broke us. I wanted us to move in together and surprised her with apartments to look at, thinking she'd love the idea. She pretended to, at first, for my sake. I do think she tried. But it wasn't what she wanted. She wasn't ready and eventually told me as much. Things between us weren't the same after that. We stopped making time. She used to come hear me sing every night and her visits lessened to once a week, if that. She started asking why I wasn't using my nursing degree how it was meant to be used. I started to get the feeling that she thought I could do better, like she was unhappy with where we were, so she started judging me. We left our relationship with too many unresolved feelings to try and scrape together a friendship.

If I allowed it, my heart would still beat for her. But I don't want it to.

"I don't know," I'd said. "I… I just don't know."

"I know," she replied. "But I couldn't not ask."

Nothing scandalous happened during the phone call. My chest ached over what I'd lost; not because I wanted it back, but because it had been ripped away before I was ready. But I'm ready to move on now. Izzie is a huge part of my past, but she's not my future.

"What the fuck?" I spit, narrowing my eyes at Steph. "How do you know I talked to Izzie?"

"Who's Izzie?" Jackson asks, cutting in.

I don't bother answering him. Instead, I keep my eyes on my so-called best friend. "You left your phone unlocked with the call log open, genius," she says. "I didn't spy on you."

"That definitely counts as spying."

"And you calling her definitely counts as emotional cheating."

"Why are you doing this?" I sputter. "All of a sudden, you're out to get me. What did I do to piss you off so much?"

She shakes her head. "You haven't been yourself for weeks. I barely recognize you, fawning over some guy and ignoring my existence."

"I was not," I say. "I was not ignoring you. Just because Jackson and I spend a lot of time together in and out of work-"

I cut myself off. Before this moment, she hadn't been aware of what role Jackson played before he became my lover. Boyfriend. Whatever we are. And I just put it out in the open.

"You're kidding," Steph says, disgusted.

"I don't have to defend myself," I say, avoiding her eyes. "I knew you'd judge me. I knew it. And I was right. Once again, this proves my point as to why I stopped telling you shit."

"Go ahead. Play the victim," she says.

"Fuck you," I say, wrapping my fingers more firmly around Jackson's to lead the way out of the hallway.

"That's funny, coming from someone who's fucking around everywhere they can."

"No, I am not!" I insist.

"April, come on," Jackson says under his breath. "People are starting to stare."

I rip my eyes away from Steph to see that his gaze holds a warning glance. He's right, I can feel people's attention, and that's not something I want. I want to keep coming back to this place, not make a bad name for myself. Or Steph, no matter how much I can't stand her. "Fine," I say, whipping my head around.

We walk to his car without any words exchanged. I forgot my jacket inside and didn't want to embarrass myself by going back to get it, so now I walk with my shoulders hunched and arms crossed. If Jackson had a coat, I'm sure he would give it to me, but he's only wearing a sweater. If things weren't so tense, I have a feeling he'd wrap an arm around me.

"Can I get a ride?" I ask as he unlocks the car.

"Of course," he says. "I assumed."

We get in and he turns the heat on, which makes me feel a little better. For the longest time, we just sit there in silence, unmoving, not looking at each other. I stare at my bare knees, covered in goosebumps, and let guilt overcome me. I shouldn't let Steph manipulate my feelings, but it can't be helped. She did exactly what she wanted by shaming me - now, I feel like the bad guy. The dirty one. The gross one.

"I didn't call Izzie because we're doing anything," I say. "Or because I want to do anything with her."

"Okay," he says softly.

"I'm serious," I say, turning. "She called me, and I called her back. We used to date, and it's been kinda hard to let her go. But I am. I am letting her go, and I don't want her anymore. I want to be with you."

He smiles a bit and it reaches his eyes, which is comforting. "Okay," he says again.

"I did call her the other day," I say, realizing that I should be completely honest. "I don't really know why. Things between us ended on a complicated note, but they definitely ended. And they're still done. I promise."

"I believe you," he says.

"Are you sure?" I ask, feeling insecure. He nods, starts the car, and I lean back to try and relax. It doesn't work, though. Anxiety still courses through my body, wrecking everything in its path. I can't drop this, not yet. There are still words between us that have gone unsaid, and I won't be satisfied until I say them. I fold forward and place my elbows on my knees, resting my forehead in the cradle my palms create.

"What is it?" he asks.

"I just wish you hadn't seen that," I admit, voice a little muffled. "Me and Steph have been going through a rough patch lately. Just… in the past few days. She's pissed at me."

"For calling your ex?"

"No," I say. "She thinks I chose you over her the last time you came to see me sing. Because we were making out, I missed her set. That hurt her, so she threw Izzie in my face. Claiming that I'm not over her and that it's stupid to jump to someone else." I shake my head. "I am over her, though."

"Are you?" he asks, studying me. "Because it sounds like you're trying to convince yourself."

"I am," I say. He keeps his eyes on the road, hands tightly gripping the steering wheel. I graze over the veins and knuckles in his hands, admiring their strength. "It isn't that I'm not over her, but it's hard to let the relationship go. Not her, the relationship itself." His lips tighten as he listens. "She's the person who helped me realize that I like girls," I say quietly, nervously.

I don't talk about this with just anyone. My sexuality is something I'm still not entirely comfortable with, but Izzie made me feel like I was. Ever since leaving her, that stability has evaded me. But with him, I feel secure again. In a similar yet very different way.

"Before her, I shoved the attraction away. I felt really dirty because of it. I only had boyfriends and convinced myself that my 'girl crushes' were just strong admirations. Um… they weren't." I scratch my cheek and look out the window at the city passing by. He isn't driving fast; we're not in a hurry to get anywhere. In fact, I'd like it if we could stay in the car all night. It feels like a warm cocoon, tucked away from the world. "She and I fell in love fast. It was reckless; we could be really stupid sometimes. It was exciting, though. I don't regret being with her. But I don't want to go back. She helped me grow and she'll always have a spot in my heart." I look at him again. "But it's not the same spot you have. You have a new spot. It's not a… a competition, or anything. She was then and you're now. And maybe I'm still figuring her out - what she taught me, maybe I'm still figuring me out. But I want to do that with you."

He's quiet for a while, but it's not worrying. It's a lot to sift through, I realize, and he deserves time. I face forward again and let my eyes catch on the streetlamps along the road, patient as he finds his response. When he does, I'm ready to listen. "I probably know better than anyone about being finished with a relationship but still trying to figure it out," he says. "So, I get it. I really do."

"Thank you," I say.

"I didn't know you were bi," he says.

I feel a prickle of defensiveness buzz through me, all the way to the tips of my fingers. "It's not like I can just introduce myself with 'hi, I'm April. I like girls and guys,'" I snap.

"No, not like that," he says. "I'm trying to say that I'm glad you told me. I'm glad you feel comfortable enough."

"Oh," I say. "Sorry."

"And I don't care," he says. "Your sexuality is yours. It's not my business."

"Well, it might be soon," I say, sneaking in those words. We catch each other's eye and his flash as a smirk pulls on my lips. But then, another thought crawls into my mind and stomps its way to the front, demanding to be acknowledged. As we're stopped at a light, I can't ignore it. It has to come out; it might as well, since I'm airing everything else. "One more thing," I say. "Um…. I'm a virgin?"

"Is that a question?" he replies.

I laugh a little. "No," I say. "I am. Um… me and Izzie, we… did stuff. While we were together. But I haven't…" I widen my eyes to put across the point. "You know."

"If you consider yourself a virgin, you are one," he says. "If you don't, you aren't."

"Then I'm half a virgin," I chuckle. "Not to be crude, but a man has never been…" My eyes go big again. "Um. In me."

"Okay," he says, and I hear him smile as he talks. "Do you want that to change?"

"I thought I made it pretty clear that I do," I say, cheeks heating up. "But not tonight. I'm making you wait until you actually take me out."

"Ugh, harsh," he says, shaking his head. We drive for a bit longer, get closer to my apartment, then he drums his thumbs on the steering wheel as he thinks. "I have a question," he says.

"Go ahead," I say, expecting he's going to ask one of the age-old questions people always ask girls who like girls. I prepare myself to be aggravated before he even opens his mouth, only to find that I'm wrong. "Does Steph know that you're bi?"

"Uh, yeah," I say. "Why?"

He sighs and blinks, eyes still on the road. "Well, from all you've told me, it sounds like she might be jealous."

"Over what?" I ask again. "That I'm spending so much time with you and not her?"

"Kind of," he answers. "But what I mean is... it sounds like she might have feelings for you. She doesn't like the idea of you being with me or you calling Izzie because… well…"

I screw up my face and narrow my eyes. "Jackson, no," I say, laughing though nothing is funny. "I see where you're coming from, but no. Our friendship isn't like that. We're just going through something dumb right now. She's straight, number one. Number two… no. I guarantee she doesn't feel that way. I would know."

"Alright," he says.

"Seriously," I press, turning my head as we're finally on my street. "If you knew her better, you'd get it. But no. She doesn't like me like that."

"Got it," he says. "Sorry, I was just judging from what I saw."

"No, I get how it could look like that," I say. "But trust me."

"Okay," he says, slowing down.

"It's this one, right here," I say. "The brick." He comes to a stop and pulls to the side of the street just in case other cars come. He shifts into park and puts his eyes on me, smiling as he goes. "What?" I say.

"Thanks for tonight," he says.

"I should be thanking you for coming to see me," I say, leaning in.

"I'd come see you every time, if you'd let me," he says, eyes on my lips.

I smile softly and drape my arms over his shoulders, eyelids drooping as our faces inch closer to each other. Soon, I press my lips to his and his hands find my waist to pull me in, seemingly trying to get me over the center console. I lick his bottom lip and can't help my grin when he grunts and digs his fingertips into my sides, clearly as turned on as I am. "We can't… dry hump in this car," I sigh, still kissing him.

"Why?" he teases, finding my thigh with one hand and wrapping his fingers around it.

I giggle and say, "Because people will see!"

"And?"

"And," I say, pulling his head up so I can look into his eyes. "I told you. You're waiting until after our date."

"Then let's go out tomorrow," he says, face flushed as his brain comes back. "And not because I wanna get you in bed. Well, not just that." He laughs. "You deserve a nice night, and I'm gonna treat you. To everything."

"Everything?"

"Everything," he says, thumbing my cheekbones. "Christ, you're beautiful."

"Stop," I say, blushing but doing nothing to push him away. "Where are we going?"

"I know this place," he says. "Uncommon Ground. It's nice."

"No," I say, much too quickly. I laugh at myself and amend my statement. "Sorry, but I work there. That's where I play piano."

"No kidding," he says.

"What?"

He makes a little sound, one of surprise. "My dad manages that place. I suggested it because I knew we could get a good table. Do you know Richard?"

"Richard is my boss," I say, an inkling of a grin appearing. "You're kidding. He's your dad? He was at The Whistler a while ago trying to set me up with his son!"

"He was trying to set you up? With me?" Jackson asks.

"Yes, god," I say. "I sang the song Vincent by Don McLean, and he said it was your favorite. That you… oh…" It dawns on me. "Athena Violet. Yeah, you did name her after it, didn't you?"

"I love that song," he says. "Always have."

"You told me that, I think," I say, squinting as I try to remember.

"Did I?"

"I think you might have, the night we got tipsy," I say with a smile. "That is so weird."

"Well, at least my father has good taste," he says, cupping my jaw and giving me another kiss. His lips remind me of honey - soft, sweet, reverent.

"I should go," I say, lingering as I trace his jaw with both pointer fingers. "Upstairs… I should get to bed…"

"I know," he says, though my hands still haven't left him and his are still on me as well. "But not quite yet."

"If I don't leave now, I never will," I say.

"What's wrong with that?" he asks, threading his fingers through my hair as he holds my head and looks at me, eyes soft. They trail over my face, pausing on each feature, but I don't feel put under scrutiny. I feel, above anything, wanted.

"I gotta go," I say, running one hand down his chest, down his arm, to squeeze his hand.

"Alright," he says. "I'll pick you up tomorrow. 7 - and not Uncommon Ground. I'll think of someplace else."

"Okay," I say, opening the passenger's side door. "I can't wait. Wear something nice."

"Of course," he says.

I get out and stand on the street for a second, only to bend in half, place my hands on the seat, and lean over again. He holds my head and gives me a long kiss, one I can't help but giggle into, before letting me go so I can stand back up. "You make me feel crazy," I say, hanging on the door as I shake my head.

I walk around the front of the car and listen as he rolls his window down. "Hey," he says. "Come here." I screw up my lips in a smile and walk over, arms folded on the car window as he looks on from the inside. "Little closer," he says, jerking his head. I lean in further and he holds my chin to give me the gentlest, sweetest kiss we've shared yet. Eyes closed, lips slightly parted, heartbeats syncing. I can't remember my name when we pull away. "Night, gorgeous," he says, and I walk into my apartment with a thousand butterflies fluttering in my chest.

When I walk through the front door, it isn't quiet inside like I expected. Instead, there's a ruckus coming from Steph's room and almost every light in the house is on. So, I walk down the hall to investigate after setting my stuff down, and when I peer into her room, I find her shoving clothes into a duffel bag with a straight-faced, dead expression.

"What are you doing?" I ask, hovering in the doorway, confused.

"Packing," she answers.

"Why?" I say. "What for?" She zips up the bag and tosses it over her shoulder, breezing past to walk out of her room and down the hall towards the front door. "Steph!" I call after her. "What for?"

"I'm leaving," she says.

"What?" I say. "Why? You're moving out? What?"

"I didn't say moving out, I said leaving," she says. "For a few days. I need to be away from here."

"Steph!" I say, growing a bit desperate. "Come on. Can we just talk?"

"That's the last thing I want to do," she says, finding her shoes.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I'm sorry for ignoring you because of Jackson. I haven't been the best friend, is that why you're mad? Just let me work on it."

"You're acting so immature, April, and you don't even see it," she says. "You never do. Whenever you start a new relationship, you get so damn selfish. You brought him to The Whistler again. After we fought about it."

"I'm sorry!" I shrill. "I really like him! That's not a crime!"

"Quit screaming," she says, frowning. "I just need space, okay? I need to… just not see you for a while."

"Steph," I say, bringing my voice back down to a normal level. "Steph…"

"Stop," she says, hand on the doorknob. "Just… don't text me, okay? I need a break. I'll be back… I don't know when. But I need to go."

I watch her leave as I stand in the foyer, aimless. I stare at the door and my mind clouds over with a thousand things - the heaviest being how lonely I feel. I want to talk to someone; I want to talk to Steph, but that's not an option. Jackson clearly doesn't understand our relationship, though it's clear he's trying. Calling Izzie feels duplicitous - I realize I have to let her go. I'm serious about Jackson and running to her would be a betrayal of his trust. I should just go to bed. As Jackson said to me on my first day of work, tomorrow will be kinder. All I can do is put my faith in that.

As I lie down and try to close my eyes, I think about my mom and the kite. I can't remember what happened to it; if we ever found it or not. I know I let it go, watched until it disappeared, but I wonder where it ended up. Probably stuck in a tree, ripped to shreds, realistically. The only ending of that story I have is how it felt to be pulled into her chest, face tucked in her neck, as she stroked my cheek. She always knew just how to hold me – without words, she was my comfort. I stroke my own cheek now and pretend that it's her, if just for a little while.

…

I spend most of the next day in the quiet apartment picking an outfit for what's to come tonight. I laid out what felt like a thousand dresses on my bed and tried them all on in the mirror, deducing what the best fit is for The Capital Grille. At the last minute, after my hair is twisted into a sleek up-do and my makeup has been painstakingly applied, I choose a dress by Morello that I've never worn before. As I look in the mirror after Jackson texts that he's on his way, I'm happy with what I see. I think he will be, too.

Instead of waiting in the car, I'm surprised when I walk down the stairs to find him at the front door with stargazer lilies in hand. "Oh, my gosh," I say, opening the door to greet him. "Jackson…"

"For you," he says, extending the bouquet.

"You didn't have to, you know," I say.

"I'm courting you," he says. "I wanted to."

"Well," I say, thoroughly flummoxed as I smell the petals. "Thank you."

"You're very welcome," he says, holding out his arm for me to take. "You look absolutely stunning, by the way. I love this dress."

"Thanks," I say. "You don't look so bad yourself."

He's dressed in dark jeans and a crisp, charcoal button-up. He trimmed his facial hair so it's short and tidy, and his freckles stand out even more now. His eyes sparkle in the low light of the car and I don't bother to hide my smile. "Thank you," he says after I set the flowers in the back seat, next to Athena's booster. "April," he says once I'm facing forward again. "You can't look like this and expect me not to kiss you. Come here." I sigh contentedly as he cups my chin and presses his lips to mine, then listen to him take a deep breath as we part. "You smell good again," he notes.

"This time it's not only hair product, but perfume," I say, one hand on his chest. "Just to drive you a little bit crazy."

"Mm," he murmurs. "It's working."

We listen to music on the way to the restaurant and I sway along with the Top 40 station, thoroughly amusing the man beside me. He takes my hand a few minutes into our ride but moves his grip to my thigh instead as time passes. To solidify it, I cap my hand over his and let him know without words that I want it to stay. I like the feeling of it, so strong and sturdy. It makes me feel like I belong to him, and that's a feeling I'm ready and willing to accept. He grins and keeps it still, squeezing intermittently before we arrive. When we do, he gives the car to the valet and comes to open my door for me, taking my hand once I'm out. "You're such a gentleman," I say. "I had no idea."

"I didn't have the chance to show you before now," he says. "I was raised right."

"I can see that," I say, wrapping his fingers tight in mine. I look at him fondly while he calls our reservation and lean against his upper arm while the waitress collects the menus. He drops a casual kiss to the top of my head, landing somewhere near my bun, and taps my hand with his thumb when it's time to sit down. "It's beautiful here," I say, looking around and getting comfortable.

"It is," he says. "I've never been here before, either."

I nod towards the piano in the corner of the room. "If I have a bad time, I can just sneak over there and take over," I say.

"Hopefully that won't happen," he laughs, turning to look at the pianist who seems ready to fall asleep. "Although, she does look like she could use some help."

"Speaking of the piano," I say. "Where is Athena tonight?"

"With Maggie," he says, looking up from the menu. "She was pissed that I handed her off another night, so we compromised. She let me leave as long as I let them stay at our house."

"Oh," I say. "So, they're home tonight."

"Yeah," he says, chewing the inside of his lip. "I realize that makes things a little difficult for… us, afterwards."

"We can go to mine," I say. "Steph is gone. I won't have our first time be in the back of a car."

He laughs a bit. "Oh, why not?" he jokes, then shakes his head. "No, that sounds great."

"If I had known, I would've cleaned…" I say, imagining the kitchen in its state of disarray. "It's a little messy."

"I have a child," he says. "I know messy." He pauses for a moment and orders a bottle of wine when the waiter comes, then continues. "But what do you mean, Steph left?"

I inhale deeply and clear my throat, folding my hands on the table. "Uh, she left," I say simply, shrugging, trying to make it seem like less of an ordeal than it is. "I came home last night, and she was packing a bag. I tried to have a conversation, I even apologized, but…" I shrug again. "She left. She said it'll be for a few days, but I don't really know what that means."

"Damn," he says. "Damn. I'm really sorry."

"It's fine," I say, shaking my head. "We fight sometimes, it's fine."

"Have you ever fought like this?" he asks.

"No, not really," I say. "They usually don't last long. This time, she's really pissed. Which is why I apologized. But… it didn't do any good. She didn't want to hear it."

"What do you have to apologize for, though?" he prompts. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"I hurt her," I say. "That doesn't sit right with me. She's been by my side through a lot of shit. And I obviously wasn't there for her when she wanted me to be."

"It sounds like she wants you to be perfect," he says. "That's not right."

"But I put her second," I say. "I don't know. I think we're both wrong to a certain degree. It'll figure itself out. She said she needs space, so that's what I'm gonna give her. Space and time." I lean forward and open my palm, to which he responds by interlacing our fingers together over the tabletop. "But for right now, I'm here with you. My super handsome boyf-"

I start the word but cut myself off before I can finish. We haven't officially labeled ourselves, and I'm nervous to do so. I don't want to say it and then have some odd, stricken look come over his face. Luckily, though, he senses my trepidation and fills in the blank, "Boyfriend," he encourages.

"Boyfriend," I echo, testing the word and enjoying how it feels in my mouth. "And that's all I want to think about."

When it's time, Jackson orders filet mignon and continues looking through the menu while I do. "I heard the ceviche is amazing," he says, reading.

"Can't," I say, still scanning. He looks up curiously, studying me, and it takes a second to remember that not everyone knows. "Oh," I say. "I'm just allergic to shellfish."

"Oh," he says. "Good to know."

I end up choosing the roasted chicken, and once I take the first bite, I instantly know that this will be the best thing I taste for a while. It's not that I don't eat healthy, but I rarely treat myself. I don't have a huge income, so a lot of my dinners consist of salad kits. It's not a lavish life, but I don't mind. I might start to mind, though, after tasting how amazing this chicken is.

"Oh, my god," I say, covering my mouth with a cloth napkin. "So good."

Jackson beams as he cuts his steak and looks at me with satisfaction. "I thought you'd like it," he says. "I mean, you can't really go wrong."

"Oh, god, you're telling me," I say, dicing up a bit more. "I gotta pace myself, or else I'm gonna embarrass you. The Michigan in me is gonna come out."

He chuckles softly, shaking his head. "Would you like to try mine?" he asks, fork poised after piercing a perfect square.

"Oh, yeah," I say. "Wait. You sure? It's so good, I don't wanna take it from you."

"I offered," he says.

"Then hell yeah," I say, but before I can take the fork from him, he extends it and offers the bite to me. I open my mouth and he slides the tines past my lips, and when I close them around the utensil, we lock eyes. Something like this should be benign, routine, but it's anything but. There's a clear charge between us because of it.

"What do you think?" he asks.

"Amazing," I say after I'm finished chewing. "I want both."

He laughs. "Feel free to take more," he says.

"I'm not gonna steal yours," I say. "Because there's no way in hell you're stealing mine."

We both grin, then continue to eat. I was hungry, so conversation isn't on the forefront of my mind until he speaks again. "Hey. We're having Athena's birthday party at the house next Sunday," he says. "She's turning 8. We wondered if you'd like to come."

That catches me off guard. Something like that is a big step, especially considering I can only assume family will be there. What will I go as? The nanny, presumably. There's no way I would attend as his girlfriend; that would be way too much, way too soon. "You want me there?" I ask, eyebrows pulling together.

"I do," he says. "Thena does, too. She requested you specifically. My mom asked what kids from class she'd like to invite and the only name she would say was yours. She called you her best friend."

My eyes widen, heart softening as I hear those words. "She did?" I ask, one hand pressed lightly to my chest.

"Yeah," he says. "She did. We tried to get her to invite friends her age, but she refused to budge. In her typical Athena way."

"I can talk to her about it," I say.

"You should try," he says. "It would be fun, having kids running around."

"She might hate it," I say. "She doesn't really like anyone else on the playground. She's kinda disgusted by them."

He laughs a little. "Sounds like her," he says. "But okay. Enough about the queen - or else we'll talk about her all night long. I want to hear more about you."

"No," I say, leaning in. "I want to hear more about you and that singing voice. You didn't let me ask before, so now I need to hear everything." I lace my fingers together under my chin and look at him smugly. "Spill."

"Spill, huh," he says, grinning. I nod. "Alright. Well, it's not a long story, honestly. I've always had good pipes, I was born with them… not much to tell there."

"So modest," I say.

"Uh-huh," he says, pleased with himself. "I get that a lot. Anyway, I didn't sing in grade-school or anything, I was more into sports. Basketball, football, soccer, cross; I was really athletic. I wanted to go pro for football - I even got a full ride to Bama. But then, during my senior year, at the Homecoming game of all fuckin' games, I busted the shit out of my knee. Tore it up, there was no going back. I had surgery, but five different doctors told me I would never play again. So, I didn't."

"Oh, god," I say, blinking hard. "That must've been awful."

"It was," he says, nodding. "And it's strange to imagine what my life could've been. I met Myla here in Chicago because I ended up coming to Northwestern and she was at DePaul. I met her at some house party in Evanston where I knew a guy who knew a guy; shitty party, too. But I met her there. And I mean, it crosses my mind every now and then - what might my life look like had I actually gone to Bama?" He shrugs. "Wouldn't have met Myla. Wouldn't have Athena." He meets my eyes headily. "Wouldn't have you."

I smile softly and say, "Things have a weird way of working out."

"They do," he says, pausing for a moment to turn it over in his mind. "But anyway, I started a band while I was at Northwestern and it got kinda big. Not huge or anything, but we were known on campus and we played at a few local bars. We were called In Debt because…" He laughs. "We were. Big time. It was fun, though. People liked us and I liked performing. Put my singing voice to use, at least."

"In Debt," I say, smiling. "That's funny."

"We thought it was pretty hilarious," he says.

"Did you write your own songs?" I ask.

"Oh, god, no," he says. "Cover band. Do you ever write originals?"

I shrug. "Sometimes," I say. "I used to, more often than I do now. I haven't in a long time. I usually do it when I'm having a lot of feelings - whether they be good or bad. So…" I shrug, looking directly into his eyes. "Maybe I'll start up again."

"I hope you do," he says.

"And I hope I get to hear you perform someday," I say.

"What, get all the guys back together and see if we can knock one out?" he chuckles. "I don't know about that."

"No," I say. "Just you would be enough."

"That could be arranged," he says, eyes sparkling. "As long as you keep your standards pretty damn low."

…

The rest of dinner passes delightfully slowly. We must spend hours sitting across from each other, talking about everything. I tell him about my childhood in Michigan, my closeness with my dad and what he does and doesn't know about my life. I don't dig too deeply into the subject of my mom mostly because I want to keep the mood light, and I think he can tell. He doesn't press when I don't offer.

"It's getting late," I say, catching the time for the first time since we sat down.

"Oh," he says. "Are you tired?"

"...No," I say, eyeing him. "I just… I don't know what time Maggie expects you back, and…" I clear my throat, hoping the rest is insinuated.

"Right," he says. "Well, let's get going then. That way, we have plenty of time."

"That's what I was thinking," I say, and he helps me into my coat after paying the bill. We leave the posh restaurant hand-in-hand, subtle grins on our lips, and I give him directions to my place once we're in the car. "I have to say it again. I'm sorry if it's messy," I say, trying to picture the state of my apartment. The kitchen probably isn't great, but I always keep my room clean. I'm not too worried. Mostly, I'm anxious to have him in my space, among my things, having officially made his way into my life. The two boyfriends I had before Izzie – Vik and Matthew - never made it to my apartment, let alone my bedroom. Izzie was the only one to ever pop this bubble, but I feel ready to let Jackson in. It hasn't been all that long, but something about him makes me feel as if we've known each other forever. "Sorry if it's cold," I say, unlocking the door. "I have a space heater if you're chilly. I can turn it on in my room. Are you cold? Do you want me to take your coat, or… or are you chilly? You can set your shoes right there by the door, by the way."

"Hey," he says, one calming hand on the small of my back. "Relax. It's me."

I let out a short, powerful gust of air. "I know," I say. "Sorry. I tend to ramble when I'm nervous."

"I noticed."

"Are you cold, though?" I ask.

"I'm fine," he assures me, shedding his coat. I take it and drape it over the couch, not bothering with the hall closet because I'm still caught up in the fact that he's here. "You have a really nice place. I like it."

"It's not much compared to your house," I say.

"It's more than enough," he insists. "It's beautiful. I love the hardwood; it has a story. Also, it smells like you."

"Smells like me?" I repeat. He nods. "What do I smell like?" I ask.

"I can't describe it," he says. "But I like it."

"Well, good," I say, chest feeling light. "Um… do you want to see my room?"

"We don't have to rush," he says. "How about a tour? Some wine, if you have some?"

I shrug, saying, "Only beer."

"Beer is great."

I show him around the house, each of us holding a cold bottle. Mine is dripping condensation, so I wipe my hand on my tights as I show him the kitchen, dining room, bathroom, living room, then finally, my room. "I chose the blue a couple winters ago," I say. "When I moved in, it was this awful beige."

"It's nice," he says, setting his beer down on my dresser, atop a paper towel he'd been holding.

I move to sit on the bed after setting my own down and sandwich my hands between my knees. "Thanks," I say.

He takes a few steps forward and sits next to me, looking into my face as he says, "It's a nice place. I really like it. It's homey."

"Thanks," I say again.

He laughs to himself, lowering his chin to shake his head. "I feel like we're in high school," he says. "All this talking."

"I know," I say, emphasizing the words with wide eyes. "Can we just make out? You brought condoms, right?"

"Don't worry," he says, then takes a few out of his back pocket to set them on the nightstand. "I thought ahead."

"Thank god," I say, then practically jump him. I've been thinking about this part of the night since it started, and I hope he can tell from the fervor behind my actions. I hold his cheeks with both hands and kiss him hard, squeezing my eyes shut tightly as he grabs my waist and lowers me flat on the bed.

After the initial rush, I decide to slow down and take my time with him. He's worth it - both in mind and body - and I want to remember this. So, after we've been kissing for a while and I need to come up for air, with throbbing lips I go slack under him and just stroke his skin with my fingertips, tracing nonsense shapes over every inch that I can reach. I start on his face and drink in the way he's looking at me, and when he notices what I'm doing, he sits back on his knees to take his shirt off. Afterwards, he hovers over me again and I drag my nails down his chest, over his nipples, across his pecs and down the firm muscles in his arms.

"I love your body," I whisper, moving my hands to his face again where I drag my thumbs over his eyebrows. I smile dreamily, tracing the apples of his cheeks before moving lower to skim his lips. "I love your face," I say.

"Then sit on it," he says bluntly, and my eyes widen with initial shock. I've never been spoken to like that before - that's not to say I don't like it, but it catches me off guard. "Wait, shit," he says. "Was that too forward?"

"No," I breathe, swallowing hard. "I just… I didn't expect it."

"Well, do you want to?" he asks, watching for my reaction.

I part my lips, take a small breath that ends in a smile, and say, "Yes."

He switches our position so he's the one lying on his back and I'm perched on his stomach. For a moment I just stare at him, hands braced on his warm chest, and wonder where to go from here. I think he can sense my caution because he overlaps my hands with his and says, "Are you uncomfortable?"

"No," I answer quickly. "I'm not. I'm just…" I laugh at myself. "I have no idea what I'm doing. I'm gonna look like an idiot."

"You won't, I promise," he says, picking up my hand to bring it to his face. He kisses the palm and flattens it on his cheek, concentrating on my eyes. "But if you feel strange, don't say yes because you think I want you to."

"No, I want it," I say. I lick my lips. "I'm, uh… I've never sat on…" I clear my throat. "Never done this before. But I know what oral feels like." I bite my cheek and murmur, "Izzie."

"Right," he says, trailing his fingernails up my arms. "Well, if there's one thing I can guarantee - no matter how good she was, I'm better."

"Wow," I say, leaning back on his thighs while keeping my eyes on him. "Okay. Yes, god, I want that. I want it really bad."

He smiles devilishly. "Then get naked, baby," he says. "I love this dress, but I've had enough of it for tonight."

Stretching my rib cage, I pull the dress over my head and toss it to the floor, sitting on top of him in only a black bra and underwear. He drinks me in with his eyes, moving his hands to my stomach then lower to wrap around my hips, urging me closer with tightening fingers. "Jackson," I say, stopping his movements. "What do I do? When I'm…"

"Whatever you want," he says. "Move your hips, touch yourself, fuck my face. I want you to feel good and I'm gonna help you with that by giving you the best orgasm you've ever had."

"But what if I suffocate you?" I ask, hands moving around to unclasp my bra.

"You won't," he says. "And even if you did, I can't think of a better way to go."

"Stop," I say, smacking his chest playfully. "Seriously."

"I'll be fine, I assure you," he says. "Now, will you come here?"

I stand up for a second to take my underwear off and surprisingly, I don't feel self-conscious being naked not only in front of him, but on top of him. He gets settled and winds his arms around my waist as I get closer, and when I'm directly over his face, he smiles up from between my thighs and I take a deep breath as I think over what I'm about to do. "I can't," I say, hands on my stomach. His have found my ass, and they stay there as I back up and lower my weight onto his torso. "I can't," I say. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he says, rising onto his elbows. "Do you wanna stop?"

"No, no, god," I say. "Just that… that's a little too much for me right away."

"I understand," he says.

I lift one knee so I can dismount him and then press my hands against the bed so I'm on all fours. Then, I lower to my elbows and put my ass in the air, widening my knees so all my weight relaxes forward. "What about… um, like this?" I ask. "I've never done it with someone else like this, but I've seen it in… um…"

"Porn," he says. "You can say it."

"Yeah," I say, letting my forehead fall. "I've always kinda wanted to try it, but it felt too dirty. With you, though…"

"Baby, dirty is my middle name," he says, shucking off his pants and finding a place behind me.

Before I have time to prepare myself or fully register what's going on, his mouth is on my core from behind after he's spread my thighs accordingly.

"Uh, fuck," I moan, bending my neck so the top of my head touches the mattress. "Jackson, fuck." He drops sloppy kisses over my ass cheeks, biting the supple skin while giving me a small reprieve. I do the best I can to catch my breath, but I lose it again once he winds his arms around my waist and flips me onto my back. I let my arms splay over my head as he finds a home between my thighs, yanking them apart to bury his face in my sex again. He's obviously not afraid to get messy, and that turns me on more than anything else. He's not careful about his movements until he finds my clit, then he slows down and pays it the attention it's been dying for, closing his eyes while quickly sucking on it with his lips and tongue. "Oh, my god!" I shriek, dropping my feet to his back and bucking against his mouth. "Shit. I'm gonna… I'm gonna come, you're gonna make me come…"

"Come then, baby," he says, twirling circles around my clit with this thumb while keeping his mouth wide open between my legs. "I can't wait to see what you look like when it happens."

After he speaks, he lowers his head and absolutely devours me - digging his nails into my outer thighs and sucking on my clit harder, shaking his head back and forth until my orgasm finally comes with a rattled, broken scream. As it pulses through me, I clench his head between my legs and hold there for a long moment as my body jolts and twitches, one hand gripping his hair tight. After it's over and only the aftershocks are left, I open my legs and he kisses his way higher, nibbling my stomach before moving to my breasts and licking my nipples, pulling them into his mouth after they're hard and wet. "You taste so good," he says, popping away from my breast with a satisfied look on his face.

Later, once the condom is on and we're both more than worked up, I'm ready for it to happen. I'm not worried about pain - I've used toys on myself before - what I'm thinking about is how after this, we'll have an impermeable link. Not that we don't already, but it will be solidified after this. Because not only does sex do that to people; he'll be the first man I've been with, the first one who's given me all that he has.

"You ready?" he asks, face tucked in my neck as he kisses me there. I'm sure my skin must be covered in hickeys, but I love the idea of it. I'm already excited to check the bathroom mirror to see how he's branded me.

"Yeah," I say, arms around his neck. He gives me a long, slow kiss that I melt into, closing my eyes as I allow him to fill me. In the next moment, our bodies become one and he's inside me; by the way his jaw goes slack and his eyes close, it's clear it feels just as great for him as it does for me.

"Jesus Christ," he moans, and just then I remember that, for him, it's been 7 years. He must be on another planet right now, completely lost in pheromones and the way his body feels. "Jesus fucking Christ, you are amazing."

"You, too," I say, keeping him close.

"Shit," he grunts as he starts to move. "You good? You still good?"

"I'm great," I say, widening my thighs to give him more room. After I do that, he reaches low and finds a grip under one of my knees, bringing it towards my face so he can push inside me at a new angle. "Fuck," I groan, kissing him desperate and messy.

"Uh-huh," he hisses, holding my hips firmly. "Flip around, baby. Flip. Hands and knees."

Without questioning, I comply. I get on my hands and knees and go molten as he buries himself in me again, feeling his hands press flat against my shoulder blades as his body overcomes my own. "Oh, fuck," I moan, all pitchy, as his pelvis slaps against my ass. "Oh, fuck!"

"You like that, baby?" he grunts.

"Oh, god, yes," I cry, turning my face to the side as my eyes roll back.

"I thought you would," he says, then pulls out, flips me over, and eats me out much in the same way he'd done in the beginning. My body shudders from the contact and my hips lift and come into rough contact with his chin.

"Shit," I sigh, and my breath doesn't come so easy now.

He licks me slow and steady until I'm a sobbing, panting mess. Then, he slips back inside easily since I'm beyond soaked, and fucks me. When I come, I cover my face with both hands and cry out loudly, as loud as I can, and assume he comes too because in the back of my hazy mind, I can hear his vocal reactions. If I weren't so distracted with my own, I would've been able to notice how hot his orgasm is.

We don't talk for a while after we're both finished; I don't think either of us are capable. Instead, he collapses on top of me, still inside me, and uses my right breast as a pillow. With a hand overlapping the left one, I'm comfortable as I wrap my arms around him and kiss his forehead. "I loved that," I say when my thoughts come a little clearer.

"I can't put it into words right now, but if you give me some time…" he says, yawning.

"You can sleep," I say, stroking his hair. "I'm not tired. I'll wake you up to go home."

"Mmm, no," he says. "I'm not gonna fall asleep after sex, that's so fuckin'..." He laughs. "No." He lifts up and pulls my face to his, giving me a long, meaningful kiss that I'll hold onto.

I drag my thumb through his facial hair and listen to the rough sound it makes, then rub my nose against his. "I really want you to spend the night," I murmur, tangled up in his body still.

"I wish I could," he says, winding an arm around my waist to stroke my side with his thumb.

I don't know how it happens like it does, but the next few moments pass as a blur. I don't hear the front door come open because I'm stupidly lost in Jackson's eyes, reeling from the way his body felt. I don't register the words Steph says as she walks down the hall, expecting me to hear, because he's whispering sweet, sexy nothings to me that I don't want to miss. But she says this:

"April? April, I'm sorry. I acted stupid, I was being irrational and dumb. I know you're awake, so please don't ignore me. I've been bottling up a lot of feelings lately, and I know that's not fair, so I wanna tell you. 'Cause we're best friends and I got pissed at you for not telling me shit, when it was really me who I was mad at. Well, and a little bit you, too, because… well, you'll get it after I tell you. I don't want it to ruin things between us, okay? I just want to be honest… I… I think I might like you. Like, I might have the tiniest crush ever. I don't wanna do anything about it, I know you're not interested, and I would never ask you to reciprocate. I don't really know where it came from, but it's there… and… it's been upsetting me lately and I felt like I couldn't talk to you about it, because, well… obviously. I want to put it out in the open, though. I want to move past it. If you're not totally weirded out."

All of that has only just begun to filter through my consciousness when the doorknob turns and she appears, having come in my room like she always does, having not known that there's a man in my bed.

Standing in shock, the blood drains from her face and she blanches, stunned and still. "Oh," she says, taking a stutter-step back.

"Steph!" I say, pulling the sheet up to cover my exposed chest that Jackson had been resting on when she walked in. "Oh, my god!"

"Oh," she says again, still walking backwards with her eyes cemented on us. "I gotta go."