* * *
I must look as baffled as I feel about the turnout of this whole evening, because as I step into my hotel room Wesley comments, "Oh, no, what did you do?"
I slump against the door dejectedly. "I'm not sure exactly."
"You don't remember what you did?"
"No, I..." The memory of the first seven seconds is pretty clear. My brain was sort of muddled after that. "It was kind of surreal."
"You want to clean that," he says, pointing at my shirt, and I glance down. It's powdered with flour. I can still sense the faint scent of cookie dough around me.
"Yeah, probably," I say distractedly.
She invited me for dinner...
...with three hundred thousand other people.
I can't decide whether that's a good sign or a bad sign. On one hand, she could be stressing the fact that our friendship (if it exists) is merely platonic (yeah, right). She could have just invited me over to be polite because she was embarrassed. On the other hand, she could be afraid to be alone with me. After all, that kiss...
There was dynamite.
I mean, not to be an egotist or anything, but... I am *da* vamp!
I walk over to the window and open the shades. The yellow streetlights peek through and crisscross the room in a striped pattern. I can barely see the outline of a thin banana shaped moon.
Behind me I hear the door open and shut. "I got drinks," Cordy announces. "Oh, look, Don Juan's back. How'd it go?"
"I'm still trying to decide," I confess, and turn around.
After taking one look at my face Cordy gasps and drops a can of Coke as her hand flies to her mouth. "I can't believe it! You asshole!"
"What?" I ask, alarmed.
"You actually went and did it!" she shrieks, so loudly that I flinch. "You defiled her!"
"*Defiled* her?" I repeat.
"Don't try to deny it, the evidence is smeared all over your face."
Since searching for a mirror would be pretty futile, I turn to Wesley questioningly.
"There's lipstick," he explains, surprised. "I hadn't even noticed."
"Honestly, you guys are such *guys* sometimes," Cordelia cries with exasperation. "I am really disappointed in you, Angel." She glares at me darkly.
"Nothing happened," I assure her a bit regretfully. "We only kissed."
"Only?" she shrieks. "You're such a jerk! The girl is engaged!"
"No, it wasn't like that," I try again, and sigh. "It was a misunderstanding. She thought I was... *him*."
I must really look pathetic, because the anger melts from her face and she pulls me to her comfortingly. "There, there," she murmurs, running her hands on my back, and after a moment of standing stiffly I raise my arms to hold on to her. Such an amazing kiss, and it was for someone else. I can't get her words out of my mind.
I never-
I thought you were-
I never would have kissed you otherwise-
Rob, my fiance-
-never would have kissed you otherwise-
My brain registers that Cordy is still making soothing noises, and I hug her tighter. It actually hurts the memory of what we had, the depth of it, that she couldn't even recognize me.
"Ahhh!"
Not for the first time ever, Cordy's sharp cry interrupts my thoughts. My eyes snap open and I see her staring at me with shock and indignation. "What is it?"
"Angel, I can't believe you!" she screeches, and there's really been enough of that going on today. My arms flop to my sides as she flees to the scant protection the space behind the couch offers.
I feel my brow furrow in confusion and, slightly, irritation. "What did I do now?"
Wesley glances up from his magazine and I watch his gaze settle somewhere below my belt. His eyes widen. "Dear god, you've got something in your trousers!"
I blush furiously and look down at the offending spot in my pants. Sure enough, there's an awkward bulge, though I'm fairly certain it's not attached to my body.
"It's moving!" Cordy sounds absolutely horrified.
Well, isn't this embarrassing. Just what I need to top off an already magnificent day.
I stick my hand deep in my pocket, and before she can comment I declare, "It's just Henry."
This doesn't seem to have the desired effect. "You call it Henry?" Her eyes narrow disgustedly.
"Hamster Henry," I correct, before this can get any worse. "I got him to replace Enrique, mayherestinpeace." I hold out the little bugger in proof that he is, indeed, merely a hamster that was doing a little dance in my pants. His beady eyes flutter at me with distaste.
Wesley looks touched. "Hey, there, little fellow," he whispers and reaches for him, then looks back at me. "This is remarkably considerate of you."
"Yeah, well," I flush. "I figured we could keep him in Enrique's fish tank, where he could be happiest."
"No, you didn't." Cordy's eyes are like slits. "You probably didn't want to buy a normal cage because it's more expensive."
"Thirty bucks, Cordelia! That's outrageous!"
"Fine, but from now on I'm calling you Angel McScrooge."
"You know, maybe if I didn't have to pay for this posh hotel-"
"*Posh*? Have you been listening to the Spice Girls again? Cause that is so passe-"
"Keep it down, you two! Can't you see he's trying to sleep?" Wesley hisses, and gently spreads a napkin over Henry's dozing form on the coffee table, tucking in the corners. "You act like a married couple sometimes."
I should be insulted by Cordy's righteous huff, but an idea suddenly pops into my mind. "That's it!"
Recognizing the look on my face (you know, the one I get when I'm about to say something brilliant- happens all the time), Cordy asks warily, "that's what?"
"My new tactic. We'll pretend we're married."
Her eyebrows rise to startling heights. "*Excuse* me?"
"Buffy will be so jealous that she'll forget about everything and come chase after me." I smile, pleased with myself. Oh, yes, the green-eyed monster will chase Buffy straight into my arms. I almost pity her that she'll be so easily manipulated.
"You mean," Wesley remarks, "kind of like the way you dashed to Sunnydale the moment you heard that *she* was getting married?"
I blink, while Cordelia unsuccessfully tries to stifle a snort. Finally I glare at Wesley and wittily say, "shut up."
"You're not really going to try to it though, are you?" he asks doubtfully.
"I don't- Fine, you're right," I admit gloomily. I topple backwards and land heavily on the bed, causing it to bounce a few times.
I feel the mattress dip as Cordy sits down next to me. "So, tell us what happened tonight."
"I told you," I sigh. "She thought I was Commy and kissed me. Then she-"
"'Commy'?"
"The Competition," I clarify vaguely. I don't have to look to know that she's rolling her eyes. "And then she invited me over to dinner tomorrow night."
"What!" Cordy exclaims.
"It's nothing, you guys are invited too," I... well, not exactly pout, though that's undoubtedly what Cordy would call it. This is so depressing. My first dinner date with Buffy will be spent with fifty chaperones and her fiance. I can't help but groan out loud.
Wesley makes a sympathetic sound. Cordelia just stares. "You two amaze me sometimes, you know? This is so typical."
Staring at the ceiling I tell Wesley, "I bet you don't know what she's talking about either."
"Nope," he responds without looking.
She smacks my knee. "It's not 'nothing' if she invited you over for tomorrow. It's Valentine's Day! That's gotta be, like, the biggest come on since 1996!"
"No, the biggest come on would be if she attacked me with kisses on first sight," I mutter. Wide-eyed, I realize, "wait! She did that too!"
I sit straight up in a flash, almost knocking Cordy off the bed. "This fits perfectly with my plan!"
"You don't have a plan," Wesley snorts.
"It's in the making!" I snap darkly. "I thought you were supposed to be the supportive, loyal friend, here."
"I am!" he protests.
"You don't act like it. Why didn't you remind me it was Valentine's Day?"
"I'm sorry for not being a woman!"
A cold silence fills the room as Cordelia slowly turns an icy look on him.
"Er," he squeaks, "I-I didn't m-m-mean that..."
Steering the conversation away to save him from the oncoming rant, I generously say, "let's focus on *me*, please."
Cordy fixes her steely gaze evenly on me. "Let's *not*." She rises from the bed so she can look down disapprovingly on both the male inhabitants of the room, or I suppose the three of us, including Henry. "Neither of you boys should be talking right now. I'm disappointed, gentleman. Badly disappointed. This really would never happen to a woman."
* * *
I can't believe I forgot again.
How could this have happened to me? What kind of woman am I? I should just hand in my membership card and start... I don't know, burping all day long.
Now this thing, which was going to be awkward anyway, will be even more so because it's on expense of Rob's plans, whatever they were.
Oh, Rob, you made plans... that included the words 'love slave'.
And the worst thing is, I'm gonna make him prepare dinner because I can't cook for shit.
I suppose I could cancel. But I have this feeling that if I cancel Angel's gonna go back to LA and another year will pass by before we see each other again. Besides, I really want to smooth over what happened today when... well, you know... with The Incident and all.
Guilt, guilt, guilt, guilt, guilt.
The sudden shrill ringing of the phone makes me jump, and my heart pounds as if I'd been caught doing something wrong. Which is ridiculous. All I've done is kiss my ex-boyfriend and commit my fiance to cooking him dinner on Valentine's Day.
Well, okay, I suppose some people would qualify that as wrong. But I think that if one were to take a poll, a good seventy five percent of the surveyed would agree that I was simply a victim of circumstances. Or possibly sixty percent. Half, at the very least.
I answer the phone on the third ring, and Willow's voice greets me pleasantly. "How'd the cookies turn out?"
"Not too burnt," I reply absentmindedly. "Listen, do you think getting sixty percent in your favor on a poll is satisfactory?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Like, let's say- okay, let's say your, um, your old parakeet flew back to town and you gave him some really good toys to play with, like, uh, balls of string and stuff, only now your new parakeet whom you promised to spend the rest of your life with has to cook him dinner on National Bird's Day. So I'm saying, if the poll shows that sixty percent of the public's opinion is that the whole situation isn't your fault, that's okay. Right?"
There's what I imagine to be a confused silence on the other end of the line. "Willow? You there?"
"Yeah. Uh, I lost you right around the ball of string."
"It's the toy that you gave the old para-"
"Buffy. Could you possibly have come up with a metaphor that's any more confusing?"
I take a deep breath. "Something happened today."
"Okay."
"Something unexpected."
"I'm listening."
"Something that should have little to no effect on my relationship with Rob."
"Buffy, spill."
"Angel dropped by."
I brace myself for her reaction, but all I get is an amused, "that's it?"
I frown. "Yes. Mostly. Well, no, not really. We sort of kissed." For a few brief moments I hear nothing from the receiver but the faint sounds of coughing and sputtering, and I wait patiently for Willow's response. Finally I ask, worried, "are you okay?"
"Yeah," she croaks. "I was just choking on my tomato juice. Please, continue."
"That's it," I pronounce with resignation.
"And you actually think that sixty percent of the surveyed would vote in your favor? What fantasy world are *you* living in?"
"No," I start, remembering that she doesn't know the whole story, "it was simply a misunderstanding."
"Uh-huh."
"I only kissed him because I thought he was Rob."
"I'll bet."
"Willow!"
"And you probably invited him over for dinner, too, just to be polite."
I wince slightly. "You don't think I should have done that?"
"Oh, my God!" For once, her skepticism gives way into shock. "You actually went and did something like that? On Valentine's Day?"
I try to justify myself. "I forgot."
Let me correct that. I try to justify myself very, very *lamely*.
"Buffy," she reproaches, "what were you thinking?"
"That he was Rob, I swear. I only realized it was Angel on about second five, and-"
"Second *five*?" she yelps. "You made out with Angel for *five* whole seconds?"
"Seven," I admit.
"Oh, Buffy..." Her voice hosts a tinge of anxiousness.
"Look," I cut her off before she can lecture me. "It was an honest mistake, tonight I'm going to tell Rob all about it and he'll understand because he's an incredible, sensitive, forgiving guy." I fold my arms with finality, though I know she can't see me.
"I hope so," she says worriedly.
"I know so. Rob's great, I love him, I've got nothing to worry about. Oh, and you're invited over to dinner tomorrow. Rob's cooking."
"Well, that just borders on exploiting the poor guy."
"Hey," I joke, "I'll happily cook for anyone willing to taste."
Her voice takes on a panicked pitch. "No, no, you just sit back and, you know, make sure Rob locks you out of the kitchen."
"Will do," I reply with mirth, relieved that The Incident has quietly lapsed into being a non-issue.
Just before we hang up, Willow calls out my name in a more serious tone, and gravely tells me, "I hope you know what you're doing."
Believe me, Will, I have absolutely no clue.
* * *
Okay, the next part'll be out just as soon as I get through this horrible, horrible test... I promise you feedback won't make it come any slower, though ;-)
I must look as baffled as I feel about the turnout of this whole evening, because as I step into my hotel room Wesley comments, "Oh, no, what did you do?"
I slump against the door dejectedly. "I'm not sure exactly."
"You don't remember what you did?"
"No, I..." The memory of the first seven seconds is pretty clear. My brain was sort of muddled after that. "It was kind of surreal."
"You want to clean that," he says, pointing at my shirt, and I glance down. It's powdered with flour. I can still sense the faint scent of cookie dough around me.
"Yeah, probably," I say distractedly.
She invited me for dinner...
...with three hundred thousand other people.
I can't decide whether that's a good sign or a bad sign. On one hand, she could be stressing the fact that our friendship (if it exists) is merely platonic (yeah, right). She could have just invited me over to be polite because she was embarrassed. On the other hand, she could be afraid to be alone with me. After all, that kiss...
There was dynamite.
I mean, not to be an egotist or anything, but... I am *da* vamp!
I walk over to the window and open the shades. The yellow streetlights peek through and crisscross the room in a striped pattern. I can barely see the outline of a thin banana shaped moon.
Behind me I hear the door open and shut. "I got drinks," Cordy announces. "Oh, look, Don Juan's back. How'd it go?"
"I'm still trying to decide," I confess, and turn around.
After taking one look at my face Cordy gasps and drops a can of Coke as her hand flies to her mouth. "I can't believe it! You asshole!"
"What?" I ask, alarmed.
"You actually went and did it!" she shrieks, so loudly that I flinch. "You defiled her!"
"*Defiled* her?" I repeat.
"Don't try to deny it, the evidence is smeared all over your face."
Since searching for a mirror would be pretty futile, I turn to Wesley questioningly.
"There's lipstick," he explains, surprised. "I hadn't even noticed."
"Honestly, you guys are such *guys* sometimes," Cordelia cries with exasperation. "I am really disappointed in you, Angel." She glares at me darkly.
"Nothing happened," I assure her a bit regretfully. "We only kissed."
"Only?" she shrieks. "You're such a jerk! The girl is engaged!"
"No, it wasn't like that," I try again, and sigh. "It was a misunderstanding. She thought I was... *him*."
I must really look pathetic, because the anger melts from her face and she pulls me to her comfortingly. "There, there," she murmurs, running her hands on my back, and after a moment of standing stiffly I raise my arms to hold on to her. Such an amazing kiss, and it was for someone else. I can't get her words out of my mind.
I never-
I thought you were-
I never would have kissed you otherwise-
Rob, my fiance-
-never would have kissed you otherwise-
My brain registers that Cordy is still making soothing noises, and I hug her tighter. It actually hurts the memory of what we had, the depth of it, that she couldn't even recognize me.
"Ahhh!"
Not for the first time ever, Cordy's sharp cry interrupts my thoughts. My eyes snap open and I see her staring at me with shock and indignation. "What is it?"
"Angel, I can't believe you!" she screeches, and there's really been enough of that going on today. My arms flop to my sides as she flees to the scant protection the space behind the couch offers.
I feel my brow furrow in confusion and, slightly, irritation. "What did I do now?"
Wesley glances up from his magazine and I watch his gaze settle somewhere below my belt. His eyes widen. "Dear god, you've got something in your trousers!"
I blush furiously and look down at the offending spot in my pants. Sure enough, there's an awkward bulge, though I'm fairly certain it's not attached to my body.
"It's moving!" Cordy sounds absolutely horrified.
Well, isn't this embarrassing. Just what I need to top off an already magnificent day.
I stick my hand deep in my pocket, and before she can comment I declare, "It's just Henry."
This doesn't seem to have the desired effect. "You call it Henry?" Her eyes narrow disgustedly.
"Hamster Henry," I correct, before this can get any worse. "I got him to replace Enrique, mayherestinpeace." I hold out the little bugger in proof that he is, indeed, merely a hamster that was doing a little dance in my pants. His beady eyes flutter at me with distaste.
Wesley looks touched. "Hey, there, little fellow," he whispers and reaches for him, then looks back at me. "This is remarkably considerate of you."
"Yeah, well," I flush. "I figured we could keep him in Enrique's fish tank, where he could be happiest."
"No, you didn't." Cordy's eyes are like slits. "You probably didn't want to buy a normal cage because it's more expensive."
"Thirty bucks, Cordelia! That's outrageous!"
"Fine, but from now on I'm calling you Angel McScrooge."
"You know, maybe if I didn't have to pay for this posh hotel-"
"*Posh*? Have you been listening to the Spice Girls again? Cause that is so passe-"
"Keep it down, you two! Can't you see he's trying to sleep?" Wesley hisses, and gently spreads a napkin over Henry's dozing form on the coffee table, tucking in the corners. "You act like a married couple sometimes."
I should be insulted by Cordy's righteous huff, but an idea suddenly pops into my mind. "That's it!"
Recognizing the look on my face (you know, the one I get when I'm about to say something brilliant- happens all the time), Cordy asks warily, "that's what?"
"My new tactic. We'll pretend we're married."
Her eyebrows rise to startling heights. "*Excuse* me?"
"Buffy will be so jealous that she'll forget about everything and come chase after me." I smile, pleased with myself. Oh, yes, the green-eyed monster will chase Buffy straight into my arms. I almost pity her that she'll be so easily manipulated.
"You mean," Wesley remarks, "kind of like the way you dashed to Sunnydale the moment you heard that *she* was getting married?"
I blink, while Cordelia unsuccessfully tries to stifle a snort. Finally I glare at Wesley and wittily say, "shut up."
"You're not really going to try to it though, are you?" he asks doubtfully.
"I don't- Fine, you're right," I admit gloomily. I topple backwards and land heavily on the bed, causing it to bounce a few times.
I feel the mattress dip as Cordy sits down next to me. "So, tell us what happened tonight."
"I told you," I sigh. "She thought I was Commy and kissed me. Then she-"
"'Commy'?"
"The Competition," I clarify vaguely. I don't have to look to know that she's rolling her eyes. "And then she invited me over to dinner tomorrow night."
"What!" Cordy exclaims.
"It's nothing, you guys are invited too," I... well, not exactly pout, though that's undoubtedly what Cordy would call it. This is so depressing. My first dinner date with Buffy will be spent with fifty chaperones and her fiance. I can't help but groan out loud.
Wesley makes a sympathetic sound. Cordelia just stares. "You two amaze me sometimes, you know? This is so typical."
Staring at the ceiling I tell Wesley, "I bet you don't know what she's talking about either."
"Nope," he responds without looking.
She smacks my knee. "It's not 'nothing' if she invited you over for tomorrow. It's Valentine's Day! That's gotta be, like, the biggest come on since 1996!"
"No, the biggest come on would be if she attacked me with kisses on first sight," I mutter. Wide-eyed, I realize, "wait! She did that too!"
I sit straight up in a flash, almost knocking Cordy off the bed. "This fits perfectly with my plan!"
"You don't have a plan," Wesley snorts.
"It's in the making!" I snap darkly. "I thought you were supposed to be the supportive, loyal friend, here."
"I am!" he protests.
"You don't act like it. Why didn't you remind me it was Valentine's Day?"
"I'm sorry for not being a woman!"
A cold silence fills the room as Cordelia slowly turns an icy look on him.
"Er," he squeaks, "I-I didn't m-m-mean that..."
Steering the conversation away to save him from the oncoming rant, I generously say, "let's focus on *me*, please."
Cordy fixes her steely gaze evenly on me. "Let's *not*." She rises from the bed so she can look down disapprovingly on both the male inhabitants of the room, or I suppose the three of us, including Henry. "Neither of you boys should be talking right now. I'm disappointed, gentleman. Badly disappointed. This really would never happen to a woman."
* * *
I can't believe I forgot again.
How could this have happened to me? What kind of woman am I? I should just hand in my membership card and start... I don't know, burping all day long.
Now this thing, which was going to be awkward anyway, will be even more so because it's on expense of Rob's plans, whatever they were.
Oh, Rob, you made plans... that included the words 'love slave'.
And the worst thing is, I'm gonna make him prepare dinner because I can't cook for shit.
I suppose I could cancel. But I have this feeling that if I cancel Angel's gonna go back to LA and another year will pass by before we see each other again. Besides, I really want to smooth over what happened today when... well, you know... with The Incident and all.
Guilt, guilt, guilt, guilt, guilt.
The sudden shrill ringing of the phone makes me jump, and my heart pounds as if I'd been caught doing something wrong. Which is ridiculous. All I've done is kiss my ex-boyfriend and commit my fiance to cooking him dinner on Valentine's Day.
Well, okay, I suppose some people would qualify that as wrong. But I think that if one were to take a poll, a good seventy five percent of the surveyed would agree that I was simply a victim of circumstances. Or possibly sixty percent. Half, at the very least.
I answer the phone on the third ring, and Willow's voice greets me pleasantly. "How'd the cookies turn out?"
"Not too burnt," I reply absentmindedly. "Listen, do you think getting sixty percent in your favor on a poll is satisfactory?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Like, let's say- okay, let's say your, um, your old parakeet flew back to town and you gave him some really good toys to play with, like, uh, balls of string and stuff, only now your new parakeet whom you promised to spend the rest of your life with has to cook him dinner on National Bird's Day. So I'm saying, if the poll shows that sixty percent of the public's opinion is that the whole situation isn't your fault, that's okay. Right?"
There's what I imagine to be a confused silence on the other end of the line. "Willow? You there?"
"Yeah. Uh, I lost you right around the ball of string."
"It's the toy that you gave the old para-"
"Buffy. Could you possibly have come up with a metaphor that's any more confusing?"
I take a deep breath. "Something happened today."
"Okay."
"Something unexpected."
"I'm listening."
"Something that should have little to no effect on my relationship with Rob."
"Buffy, spill."
"Angel dropped by."
I brace myself for her reaction, but all I get is an amused, "that's it?"
I frown. "Yes. Mostly. Well, no, not really. We sort of kissed." For a few brief moments I hear nothing from the receiver but the faint sounds of coughing and sputtering, and I wait patiently for Willow's response. Finally I ask, worried, "are you okay?"
"Yeah," she croaks. "I was just choking on my tomato juice. Please, continue."
"That's it," I pronounce with resignation.
"And you actually think that sixty percent of the surveyed would vote in your favor? What fantasy world are *you* living in?"
"No," I start, remembering that she doesn't know the whole story, "it was simply a misunderstanding."
"Uh-huh."
"I only kissed him because I thought he was Rob."
"I'll bet."
"Willow!"
"And you probably invited him over for dinner, too, just to be polite."
I wince slightly. "You don't think I should have done that?"
"Oh, my God!" For once, her skepticism gives way into shock. "You actually went and did something like that? On Valentine's Day?"
I try to justify myself. "I forgot."
Let me correct that. I try to justify myself very, very *lamely*.
"Buffy," she reproaches, "what were you thinking?"
"That he was Rob, I swear. I only realized it was Angel on about second five, and-"
"Second *five*?" she yelps. "You made out with Angel for *five* whole seconds?"
"Seven," I admit.
"Oh, Buffy..." Her voice hosts a tinge of anxiousness.
"Look," I cut her off before she can lecture me. "It was an honest mistake, tonight I'm going to tell Rob all about it and he'll understand because he's an incredible, sensitive, forgiving guy." I fold my arms with finality, though I know she can't see me.
"I hope so," she says worriedly.
"I know so. Rob's great, I love him, I've got nothing to worry about. Oh, and you're invited over to dinner tomorrow. Rob's cooking."
"Well, that just borders on exploiting the poor guy."
"Hey," I joke, "I'll happily cook for anyone willing to taste."
Her voice takes on a panicked pitch. "No, no, you just sit back and, you know, make sure Rob locks you out of the kitchen."
"Will do," I reply with mirth, relieved that The Incident has quietly lapsed into being a non-issue.
Just before we hang up, Willow calls out my name in a more serious tone, and gravely tells me, "I hope you know what you're doing."
Believe me, Will, I have absolutely no clue.
* * *
Okay, the next part'll be out just as soon as I get through this horrible, horrible test... I promise you feedback won't make it come any slower, though ;-)
