Too Good To Be True

Joey walked over and handed Monica a paper cup that was half-filled with piping hot coffee. She showed her appreciation with a smile and a nod, but barely looked at him as her attention was fixated on Chandler, who was using the phone on the other side of the room.

Joey leered around the waiting area, as if he were sizing up every woman he could find in a three foot radius. He nodded, almost to himself, and then turned to Monica as he sat down. "The vending machine didn't have any sugar or cream." He then darted his eyes around the empty chairs next to her. "Where's Chandler?"

Monica gestured with her head towards Chandler, who was standing on the opposite side of the nurse's station. "He's calling the hotel in A.C. to cancel our reservations."

Joey nodded and then let his eyes start wandering around the room again.

Monica sat back a little and smiled proudly. "Isn't that efficient?"

Joey shrugged his shoulders. "I dunno."

Monica rolled her eyes at first, but then flashed Joey a smile before she returned her attention to Chandler.

As she waited for her coffee to cool, she studied Chandler's posture and thought about how he appeared to stand differently. There was this casual ease about him. A quiet confidence that struck her. She was already impressed with him when he remembered the hotel rooms they had booked for their group trip to Atlantic City, but watching him in action cancelling the reservations made him look more mature than he usually would. She tried to think if she ever saw him do something like this before, if she had ever seen him be an adult.

She found it so odd that she did not think about the rooms before he did. It seemed like something that she would have already taken care of. Lately though, a lot of things have been slipping by the wayside as all her energy has been focused on this thing growing between her and Chandler. Her ability to care about anything outside of that appeared to have waned. Sure, she tried to help Rachel get over Ross, but she knew her heart wasn't in it. Illustrated by how she was not nearly as forceful with Rachel as she could have been when she wanted to tell Ross she was still in love with him. By the time she got up to leave them alone in the coffee house, she was already thinking about telling Chandler they should get a third, secret room for themselves. She was even less involved with Ross and Emily. They had become such an afterthought to her, that she could only think of the potpourri she was going to be able to make from the discarded roses, and that was only so she could put some of it in Chandler's bedroom.

She noticed the hint of impatience he had on his face, as he was no doubt waiting on hold, and for the first time in a long time, she suddenly saw him very differently. That wasn't entirely true. She had been thinking about him differently ever since London. That wonderful, amazing night in London where he showed her a side of himself that she had no idea existed. The side of him that made her crave his touch in a way she had never imagined possible. The side of him that made her quiver with desire and lust. She felt almost embarrassed by how quickly she had become concupiscence during their time together.

Before they started sleeping together, Monica rarely thought about Chandler sexually. When she had, she assumed that he would be a competent, but nervous lover. She knew it wasn't fair to think of him that way, but in her defense, he was a competent, nervous person. Now that she has seen this other side of him, it opened her eyes to the kind of man he truly was. A man with conviction in his eyes and an almost cocksure, sexy smile when he was about to enter her. There was this self-awareness he had in everything he did to her. Every touch seemed purposeful and potent. He straddled the line between tenderness and dominance that was both endearing and intoxicating. There was something about sex with Chandler that seemed to bring out this need in her to be fulfilled in every way, and he has proven to be more than up to the task.

He was also fun. Which she had always known, but this was different. Before London, fun with Chandler was about playfully teasing each other, or ganging up on one of their friends. It was making jokes and watching bad TV. Fun with him now meant being totally comfortable in her own skin while being penetrated by a skillful lover. She felt fearless in who she was as a person when they were together. It unlocked an entirely new way of enjoying sex, unlike anything she had experienced with any other man. It was as if all the things about herself that she tried to hide from every man she had ever been with, Chandler already knew. Not only did he know, but he expected to see them. He would have been disappointed if she held them back. She didn't need to ease him into her strange little world. He's been living there for years. To have all her imperfections already out on display and have him never flinch, because he already accepted them as part of her, was liberating. All the tension she would normally feel in those first few weeks of intimacy were gone, and she could just be herself and enjoy herself, and in turn, enjoy him. No longer getting stuck in her head, worrying that she was too much too fast. It made the sex better. And knowing she could never be too much for Chandler, made this the best sex she had ever had.

And now, just when she thought that there couldn't possibly be another layer that would make her discover a new way to see him, he surprised her again. When he pulled that piece of paper out of his wallet that had the hotel confirmation numbers on it and he told her he was going to cancel their reservations, and revealed this organized, efficient side of himself, she almost jumped him right there and took him on the floor of the waiting room.

She had always assumed that Chandler was lazy. That he was sloppy. That he was unorganized. Sure, for a man, he might have been okay, but for Monica, he was an amateur. A blind man stumbling in the dark. But the fact that he had kept all their hotel information on one folded up piece of paper, carried it around with him, and then had the wherewithal to call and cancel the rooms once Phoebe went into labor may have been the sexiest thing she had ever seen him do.

She wondered if she had missed seeing all of this over the years that they had been friends and neighbors. Could she have been that obtuse? Not only was he great in bed, not only was he handsome and sexy, not only did he make her feel good about who she was, not only was he fun, not only did he make her laugh, but he was efficient and organized too? It was almost too good to be true.

Monica stormed off and grumbled to herself. She should have known this was too good to be true.

"Goofing around. Chandler is an idiot."

Monica turned the corner and found a bathroom to hide out in for a moment. She walked over to the sink and instinctively washed her hands and then looked up at herself in the mirror.

"Goofing around. This is so typical, and it's typical Chandler. Ooo. I just want to squeeze his head!"

She took a paper towel, dried her hands and then squeezed it in her fist. She tore at it and threw it roughly into the trash. She exhaled loudly and then leaned up on the sink as she took a few more deep breaths.

"He wants to goof around? I'll goof around all right. I'll goof around like no one has ever goofed around before! I'll be the goofing around queen!"

She gave herself a quizzical look as she realized she did not know what that even meant. She closed her eyes and shook her head. She was stunned and angry and she needed to lash out, which would be very hard to do in a hospital. She needed to yell at someone. For a moment, she thought to see if that ridiculous doctor was still around, and she could yell at him to shut up about Fonzie in hopes that would make her feel better. But she knew it wouldn't. Then she thought about giving the man who put her in this mood a piece of her mind.

"Chandler. I should go back out there right now and tear him a new one."

She looked at her face one more time as her lips wrinkled into a dejected frown. She didn't want to fight with Chandler. She didn't want him to be a jerk. She didn't want to go out with some nurse, and she definitely did not want Chandler to think she was the kind of girl who goofed around with guys.

She was certain that whatever she was feeling about what was happening between them, he was feeling it too. That this was more than a fling. That there was more going on between them than just sex. That he wasn't like so many other men she had known who were constantly on a different page than she was. He was supposed to know her better than that, and if he didn't, then she decided, he didn't deserve her.

"If he's too stupid to realize how good this has been, then he can go screw himself. I'll show him, I'll go out with that nurse. I'll make sure it's the best date in the history of dates and I'll throw it right in his face!"

She gave herself one more, determined look. She thought about how infuriating Chandler could be. How immature and cruel and stupid he was. She shook her head and silently admonished herself. She should have known that this was too good to be true.

Monica leaned over and gave Chandler a kiss that caught the corner of his mouth. She hopped off the gurney and walked away (not before making sure that he didn't act a fool behind her back with his ridiculous victory dance) and she could not help but smile. Just when she thought she knew every facet of this man, he surprised her once again with something new.

He came after her.

It wasn't dramatic, like in some movie where he ran through crowded streets and pushed people away from him as he sought her out. There wasn't some storm he had to brave so he could reach her before she wed another man. He didn't have to jump a turnstile, or buy a plane ticket so he could stop her at the terminal before she boarded her flight. He didn't have to storm the gates of some castle. His journey was less than a few dozen feet. His voice barely loud enough to be heard by anyone other than her. His tone was tender. He was contrite. He was vulnerable. He was there for her.

He didn't promise her anything. He didn't make some grand gesture. He didn't claim to have feelings for her that neither one of them were ready to think about. He didn't sweep her up in his arms and try to kiss her. He did not fundamentally change who he was. He simply told her the truth. They were amazing in bed. They were friends who cared a lot about each other. They wanted to spend more time together. That was enough for her.

There was not this new, fantasy version of him that had been unlocked by two weeks of great sex. He was still stupid, and immature, and sarcastic, and infuriating, but he was also smart and handsome, and sexy, and sweet, and considerate and confident and reliable.

He was all of these things.

He was Chandler.

He didn't need to be anyone else. She liked Chandler. In the same exact way that he liked her, flaws and all.

This was not going to be one of those too good to be true courtships. She knew that. In the real world, nothing ever really was too good to be true anyway. And truth be told, she didn't need that fantasy anymore. She didn't need some schoolgirl invention of what a man should be. She needed the real thing. She needed this real thing that was right here. Growing between them, and she needed to know that he needed it to. And now, thanks to him and his ridiculously sweet attempt to rehabilitate the term "goofing around", she does.