In which, Jordan gets acquainted with Dillon Quartermaine.

Chapter 2: The Handsome Man At the Bar

Nursing a gin and tonic at the Metro Court bar, Jordan felt conspicuous. Not to mention, ridiculous. She'd been sitting there for close to an hour, awaiting the arrival of a date she realized wasn't coming.

"I hate doctors," Jordan muttered as she reached for her handbag. Tonight was a waste of a pretty dress and an eighty-dollar acrylic job she could ill afford. Working in the General Hospital insurance department was a fresh start for her after the pain of her past, but she'd be lying if she said it paid well. With Ben's help, she managed to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table, but extravagances for the siblings were few and far between. She should have known better than to throw away money on something she'd known deep down wouldn't work out.

Of course, she'd been flattered when the handsome new trauma surgeon Alexander (not Alex, never Alex) Copeland asked her out following a literal run-in as she was leaving an ill patient's room, clipboard in hand, pen tucked behind her ear. The hospital grapevine had been buzzing about him for weeks. He had a great smile, Greek God-good looks, everyone wanted him, and he knew it too. He was cocky and a little brazen and he'd reminded her of a blonde version of Chad DiMera, so she'd said yes to him when he asked. She and Chad had never been a love match built to last, but she had been very attracted to the man, even as he'd lied to her about every damn thing.

She sure could pick them, couldn't she?

"What'd you say?" Two stools down, a young thirty-something guy with soft brown eyes watched her with an arch of his eyebrow and a subtle look of amusement on his too-pretty face.

Jordan didn't immediately answer. Instead, she lifted the glass to her plump lips to swallow down the rest of her drink. At fifteen dollars a glass, she might as well get her money's worth.

"Well?" He prompted, his lips twitching.

"I said, I hate doctors," Jordan replied, deciding to be honest with him, and why not? Although Port Charles was a small town, she probably wouldn't run into him again any time soon. Emboldened by the taste of the alcoholic still on her tongue, she added, "And businessmen. And cops. And basically, every man I've ever met."

He smirked and clutched his chest dramatically. "Ouch. But you know, you can't lump all us guys in with the bad ones."

She shrugged. "Why not?"

"Because there are a few good ones out there."

"Oh, are you speaking personally?"

"I'd like to think I'm not too bad. Some might even say I'm a catch."

She smiled a little. "Oh? Would that waitress over there agree?"

His cheeks colored a bit. It was kind of endearing. "Which waitress?"

"The one you've been watching all night."

He smiled. "You noticed. So, were you watching me?"

Jordan was the one with pink cheeks now. "No, not at all."

"Then how did you know I was looking at Kiki?"

"Kiki, huh? That's an interesting name."

"Yeah, it is. But don't change the subject."

"I thought she was the subject."

"We were talking about how you noticed me noticing Kiki."

Jordan shook her head. "I happened to be looking around. That's all. It was perfectly innocent." Why was she entertaining this conversation, she wondered. But she was, surprisingly, not feeling a strong urge to walk away.

"Right," he smiled.

"I am serious. I wasn't -"

"Wasn't checking me out?"

"No!" She shook her head vehemently. "I am supposed to be on a date."

"With a doctor, I presume?" He chuckled. "Or was it a businessman? Or a police officer?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I noticed you too," he said.

She blushed and looked down at the tips of her black high heels.

"I was," he went on. "And I was thinking whoever stood you up was a jerk."

She forced herself to look at him. "Oh, you noticed me when you were drooling over the pretty blonde?"

"Yes," he said.

"But you're clearly into her. Kiki, I mean."

"I like her a lot, but she doesn't exactly feel the same way. She's hung up on her ex-boyfriend. He treats her like garbage, but she can't seem to let him go."

She sighed. "Women who love too much…"

"Have you ever felt that way about someone?"

She balked. "Hey, that's personal." She thought of Rafe back in Salem, attached at Hope Brady's hip last she'd heard. She sighed again. "I thought I was in love once."

"He broke your heart."

"Are you a mind-reader?"

"No, just a keen observer of human nature."

She crossed her arms. "Oh?"

"Yes." He had a smug smile but she found she was drawn to it, rather than repelled. "It's what makes me a good writer and director."

"Oh, okay, Mr. Hollywood."

He laughed. "Yes, that's me. Mr. Hollywood. And you are…?"

"I don't make it a practice to tell strange men my name."

"You mean me? Strange man? Really?" He grinned. "I will have you know, I am not strange. I'm the most perfectly normal guy you've ever met."

"And here I thought you were an exceptional director and writer and ever so humble."

"Well, I have had a few small successes…"

"And you seem like the type who is hungry for more."

He looked her well over, head to toe, an appreciative smile on his face. Her bare knees knocked together. "I am a bit hungry, now that you mention it."

"What are you -" her voice shook - "hungry for exactly?"

"I think you know. Are you hungry too?"

She rocked on her heels. Was she standing here having a thinly veiled sexual conversation with a total stranger? Sure, he was gorgeous and witty and kind of charming, but she never did this. Ever.

She swallowed over the lump in her throat. Their eyes locked and held. She managed to choke out words finally. "I'm - I'm not interested in being a notch on your belt. Or your rebound for that matter."

"That's not how I think of this," he assured her. "I just… I am attracted to you."

"And if Kiki sees us leaving together…"

"She won't care."

"But you care …"

"I do care about her and she doesn't think of me like that. My feelings are like white noise to her."

Jordan couldn't believe she was considering this, but she was. "Do you … Could you get us a room?"

He nodded. "Absolutely. My family owns a suite here."

"Oh, of course, they do," she smirked. "You're wealthy, a brilliant Hollywood force, and handsome. Life is your oyster, isn't it?"

"You think I'm handsome?"

"That's your takeaway?" She said, hugging her bag to her chest.

"I am kidding. I am just a normal guy."

"Keep telling yourself that."

The man dropped a twenty on the bar and stood up. "Shall we?"

"No."

"No?" He looked incredibly disappointed. "But I thought…"

"Let's go separately, meet up wherever your suite is."

"Why?"

"Because I just don't want to make a scene. This isn't my normal thing… I don't ever really do this."

"Alright," he agreed. "It's suite two on the top floor. I'll meet you up there in ten?"

She nodded slowly. "Yeah, okay."

Riding up in the elevator, Jordan wondered why she was doing what she was doing. She didn't even know this guy's name. He could be a serial killer for all she knew. And she didn't do one-night stands. She never had. Growing up the way she did, knowing sex could be used as a weapon to hurt her, she'd shied away from this kind of intimacy. She hadn't made love to a man until Rafe came along and look how that had ended.

"It's just sex, Jordan," she told herself. "It doesn't need to be some big thing. It's a release and nothing more. He's hung up on his pretty waitress girl and I'm - I'm-" She thought it over. "Alone. I'm alone. And I'm feeling horny so why shouldn't I just scratch a little itch? It won't turn into anything. I don't want it to. It's just one night. You can do this."

Despite her nagging worries, Jordan ended up at the suite door. The handsome man was waiting for her, his white shirt unbuttoned down to his navel. He had insane abs. He was gorgeous.

Tumbling into his strong arms, they barely got the door closed before they were all over each other. Jordan did not do one-night stands but tonight she would make an exception.

As his tongue danced over her heated skin, she quaked on the mattress. "Oh god… unnh," she mewled.

Right before he rolled on a condom and took her, he gazed down at her, smoothing an errant lock of dark blonde hair from her face. "What's your name?"

"Call me … Dorothy," she tossed out the first name that popped into her mind. "And you are?"

She could tell he knew she was lying. "Okay Dorothy, you can call me Dave," he said as he thrust deeply into her. Her long legs knotted around his lean waist. "Or you can call me Mr. Hollywood. Or hell, you can scream my name. You know, whatever works."

Claiming her mouth with his own, their bodies began to move in time.