By Didi
Disclaimer: Though the show has been cancelled, (damn those executives) I still cannot claim them as mine. And anyone that even thinks so would be laughed out of the courts. Don't sue; I'm not making any money out of this.
Timeline: Let's just assume this is after the last aired episode. But assume that Nick Kokoris and Rae Brennan are not together. I could not stand the two on the show so I refuse to write anything where they are together. Don't worry; I won't ignore their history already established as the back-story from the show.
Rating: PG-13, I hope that's enough.
Author's Note: I was having some fun writing this chapter but was a little disturbed by what could be the reaction to it. Please do not take offense at the materials. I write it all in the spirit of fun.
Summary: What would you do in the name of love?
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Chapter Seven~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The sharp and insistent knocking had Jules tripping over her running shoes as she scrambled to the door in her bunny slippers while still trying to consume the slice of extra cheesy pizza in one hand. Who knew after a healthy portion at lunch that she'd be this famished? Unlocking the multi-bolted door, a remnant of the last paranoid tenant that live there, she was almost knocked over as Matt Slingerand barged into the apartment. Startled by the locomotive action of the usually languid doctor, "Matt! What happened to dinner with your parents?"
He twisted around to look at her and he yanked off the already loosened tie around his neck and tossed it at the nearest surface. All features on his face twisted with anger. "It ended rather abruptly."
Staring at him, she slowly closed the door. *Oh, oh, something bad happened.* Cautious by nature, "What happened?"
He smiled tightly at her. "We had a… disagreement," for lack of a better word. Unbuttoning the top buttons of his starched shirt, he prepared himself for a long night.
Wisely, she chose not to voice her beliefs on that statement. "I see." She put the slice of pizza down on the plate she had taken out but hadn't used. "And what are you doing here?"
"I thought it wise to come talk to you, get it directly from the camel's mouth so to speak," he informed her then slammed a stack of blue and white papers he had been carrying in his left hand onto the dining room table with more force than necessary or wise. Everything on the unsteady wood furniture, a gift from an enthusiastic but talent less carpenter friend, jumped. He held up his right hand to show her a large glass bottle, "And I brought some of this horrid whiskey that you American drink. I'm telling you Jules, if this things isn't strong enough to knock me on my arse after a few shots, you are going to be in trouble." He took a deep breath. "Where are your shot glasses? I know I saw some here earlier," and headed into the kitchen.
Staying where she was, well out of his reach, Jules considered her opinions: A) Call the police, which would not go well since he hadn't done anything but barge in. B) Call Harriet, who could mother King Kong into submission. C) Call Rae and ask for help hauling Slingerland's ass out; an extremely bad idea because it was likely to cause talk at the hospital. Or D) sit down and hear him out. Since option D seemed the only one where scandal will not be caused, she went with that one against her better judgment.
Picking up her pizza again, she watched as Dr. Slingerland poured himself two consecutive shots of whiskey and polished them off smoothly before coming around to sit across from her at the dining room table. "May I have some?" he asked, pointing to the pizza. "I left before dinner was actually served."
"Want a plate?" she asked calmly.
"I don't really need one," he replied and took a slice, inhaling most of it in one bite. It was possibly one of the more disgusting foods that he's had in his lifetime, but at the moment it tasted perfect with the acid churning alcohol he's consumed on an empty stomach. "And you are never to talk to my mother again."
That gave her pause. "What did she tell you?"
He reached over to the stack of papers and dropped the first document in front of her, nearly on the pizza slice. Pointing to the bolded title, "That is pretty good evidence as to what you were talking about today."
She was no legal junkie but she knew the words meant. "Wow," flipping through the two-dozen pages quickly, not really reading anything but the titles on each section. "Your dad does fast work."
"When he wants to," Matt muttered darkly. He was not even going to speculate on how his father could have produced that much paperwork in one day. Probably had the damn thing ready and in a vault for months now. "And what bloody hell were you doing agreeing to such a thing? How could you let him think that you were going to sign that?"
"I was. I am," she said, studying the section on child support. Mrs. Slingerland wasn't kidding when she said that Matt's father wanted to protect his son from financial obligations. Even for someone with no formal training, she could tell it was damn near concrete. "Hum… I was going let my attorneys read it first though. I never sign anything my attorney hasn't read. Not a wise business decision."
The second half of the second slice of pizza in Matt's hand slid back into the box. He stared at her as if he'd never seen her. "You were going to sign it?"
"Yes," came the firm reply.
Matt poured himself another shot of the esophagus burning drink and down it in a single gulp before adding, "We had an agreement."
"Yes we did." Taking the bottle away from him but he quickly snatched it back.
"I've got a feeling that I will be needing this," and poured another shot. "You know, after the initial shock of the first drink that burns away most of your taste buds, this stuff isn't half bad." Then poured another shot, not bothering to offer her any. One of them should be sober through this. And it sure the hell wasn't going to be him.
He eyed her silently for a few moments, watching her watching him. He didn't like the fact that he couldn't read anything from her normally expressive face. It was disconcerting. "Why did you need a legal document if we already had an agreement? Didn't you think I would honor it?" That was the part the hurt like hell. It's like everything she said earlier had been a lie. *She doesn't trust me.*
Something akin to guilt barrowed its way into her conscience, especially seeing the whiskey wasn't hiding the hurt in Matt's eyes. "Look, it's not that I don't trust you. It's just…" she picked at the corner of the agreement for a moment. "Your mother said that our oral agreement has been a contention point between you and your dad. I didn't want to be the one that…"
"STOP!" he yelled, then immediately regretted when his head suddenly went pounding for a moment. *Oh… not so smart.*
Jules almost smiled. "How's the head?"
"Stow it," he muttered and got up for water.
"Look, Matt…"
"Don't talk to me yet. I'm not all together concentrating at the moment." He brought the glass of water back to the table, inhaled another slice of pizza then chased it down with two fingers of whiskey.
Eyeing the rapidly disappearing bottle of Jack Daniels, "Should be you doing that?
"Of course not," he answered loudly then followed the shots with the full glass of water. "You know better than to flood your system to this vile concoction. What's the matter with you?"
*'What's the matter with me?' I'm not the one that barged in here then proceeded to get to get hideously drunk and ask silly questions.* But because he was upset over this agreement thing, she didn't have the heart to tell him exactly what she was thinking of him right then. "Matt, it's just a piece of paper."
He shook his head and took a swig right from the bottle. Having possibly destroyed all sense of taste in his mouth and throat, he was barely aware of the velvety smooth warmth that the alcohol was beginning to create at the pit of his stomach. It was a rather comforting feeling, like returning to the safe haven of a mother's arms… but not his mum. "It's not just a piece of paper. It's a binding agreement that says that you are to have sole respa…. respone…reasespond…" he frowned at his lack of ability to speak a simple word. "Responsibilities," he pronounced slowly and carefully, "To any child that is the product of my little men."
"Your little men?" she asked with great amusement at the sight of the ultra cool Dr. Matthew Slingerland slopping drunk.
"Yes," he answered definitely. "All the little Slingerlands that I offered you."
She reframed from commenting on that. "But Matt, isn't that exactly what you and I agreed upon, orally?"
"Yes," with a nod of his head.
Logic of slightly inebriated people was an endless source of amusement for her. "So the problem would be…"
"You let him put it in writing!" he yelled at her. "Without telling me!"
"Matt…" still uncertain as to what the problem was… besides his perception that she didn't trust him. "It would make your daddy happy."
He stared at her for a moment, outraged. "Oh, hang my daddy!" to which she started to giggle. He blinked blankly at her. "I'm sorry, did I say something amusing?"
Quickly stifling her laugher, "I'm sorry, Matt. I now know why I never hear the word 'daddy' on BBC. With that accent, it just sounds ridiculous."
"I beg your pardon," with as much indignation as he could muster given that there was suddenly a strange buzzing in his ears. "But it is you Americans that have slaughtered the dignified and honorable language of the Anglo-Saxons. The things you've done to it are positively sacrilegious."
"Right," she rolled her eyes. "And the British didn't pilfer through a dozen languages to compose the English dialect."
"We are completely off the subject here," annoyed with her for doing that. "We were discussing what you and my father did behind my back."
She stared at him. "Your father and I didn't do anything. Your mother and I discussed the possibility of an agreement that will help to ease some of the tension that she believes lies in the heart of your current problems with you sire, as you call him." Jules picked up the agreement and shook it under his nose for a moment. "And he obviously wanted to make sure I wasn't some lying scheming adventurous out to steal his life's work. Look at this thing!" she flipped the pages. "Look how completely thorough it is. He must have paid his attorneys a pretty penny to get this thing completed this quickly. Can't you see how much he loves you and want to protect you?"
Grabbing the agreement, he tore it into a zillion little pieces and attempted to toss it all into the wicker basket by the table; he succeeded in making a mess. "That's what I think of the old man's interference." And sat with his bottle again. "If you think he had this drawn up this afternoon, you're more naïve that I first suspected."
Jules stared at the confetti on the floor. It was time for her to consider investing in a vacuum cleaner. "Explain."
Matt stared at her over the lip of the bottle, slumped in his seat. "I grew up with this man. I know how his manipulative mind works."
"What are you talking about?"
"I'd bet my salary for a year against the idea that he hadn't had this thing written, typed and ready for any sign of weakness on our parts since I last spoke to him on the subject."
"Okay, now you're just being paranoid."
"No, I'm being damn honest with myself about my father," Matt replied all too soberly. "This was what he wanted, and to hell with what anyone else's needs. All he had to do was get both of our signatures on the papers, his and my mother's signatures as witnesses and he's set. A nice, legally binding documents in storage of any contingency that may arise in the future. Always cover your arse is dear old dad's motto," he informed her bitterly and took a swig from the bottle and hissed as it the liquor burned its way down his throat. "Oh… I think I'm sobering up again. Damn."
"I have vodka in my bedroom if you want," she offered distractedly as she mulled through what he had just said.
"Why do you have… never mind, I don't want to know."
"For emergencies," she informed him off handedly and took the bottle. Pouring herself a shot, she pushed the bottle back. "Look, so your father is a little eccentric on that front…"
"Would you care to know how he was going to get me to sign that little agreement?" he interrupted with a death glare. He leaned over the table, forcing Jules to back up quickly, "Relax, I'm not about to molest you," then thumped his hand on the stack of papers still on the tables. "These are family trust documents that needed to be reviewed and signed. Being the oh-so-wonderful father that he is," he grinded his teeth together on that. "He decided not to tax my brain with the little financial details of things. He had all the signature pages tagged so all I had to do was turn to it and sign."
It was an effort, but Jules managed not to cringe at the icy sarcasm in his tone. "Why do I have a feeling that I'm not going to like this next part?"
"Why not?" he asked and took a bite of pizza. "After all, he practically did it with your blessing?"
"What do you…"
"He slipped the agreement between all this and more," pointing a finger at the offending stack, "Lots of papers. He figured that if he overwhelmed me with materials, I'll simply not notice one extra signature place."
Swallowing the distinctive taste of something vile, "Oh Matt…"
"Don't!" he snapped at her. "Don't even think about defending that lying, cheating, scheming, devious …." He couldn't think of another word that would adequately describe his father. "Of all the conceited, arrogant, underhanded tricks to play. I can't believe he went behind my back and…" he took a bracing mouthful of whiskey and stared at her. "Why?"
She wasn't all together sure what part he was asking. "Matt…"
"Why did you let him?" he clarified, judging correctly that she didn't understand his question. "Why did you give him the opening he needed to… to…" he rubbed his face with his hand and took a bite of pizza. The salty taste crust was like sawdust in his mouth. "Didn't you trust that I wouldn't back out on my word?"
She reached over and took the bottle from him, forgetting that she hadn't tasted the shot still in front of her. It just seemed wiser to remove the liquor from his reach. "Matt, of course I trusted you. I won't have agreed to use you as donor if I didn't trust you. But you weren't getting along with your father. And your mom was upset by it. Given that I don't have my parents with me anymore, and would give just about anything to have them around, I just wanted to help make things easier for you. It wasn't done intentionally to betray you."
"You don't… you shouldn't have done it," Matt insisted. "You didn't need to. I won't have interfered with the stem cell donation. Hell, I was the one that requested it." Then took another vicious bit of the pizza. It tasted more like sand now than sawdust.
For a brief moment, she considered confiding in him on the other little matter that involved the embryos. But the ringing phone interrupted her thought. They both looked at it for a moment, neither one moving.
"Aren't you going to get it?" Matt asked, reaching for the bottle again.
"No, the machine will. We are going to finish this conversation," she pulled the bottle out of his reach. "Though I would prefer you less inebriated when we do so."
"I assure you that I have full control of my..." the voice from the answering machine distracted him.
Beep. "Julia, it's David. Please call me when you receive this, dear. I need to talk to you about this weekend. I'm at home, you know the number." Beep.
For a full minute, there was silence.
In the voice that was relatively calm and reasonable, Matt asked, "Who is David?"
"David," she reminded him with a look. "My brother in law. Husband to my sister, Jenna. Father of my nephew Kevin." She shook her head. "What does it matter anyways?" Jules asked exasperated, now more than a little unsure of what his mood is. Drunks may be amusing but they can also be damn dangerous. And she's never seen Matt in that state to know what kind he is.
If he clinched his jaw just a fraction tighter, he may just crack his molars. "It matters to me."
"Matt, I don't understand why…"
The damn phone rang again.
Jules moved to pick it up when Matt stopped her. "No, no," bodily blocking her way to the phone. "Let's allow the machine to get it again. You and I were discussing…" again he was distracted by the voice from the answering machine; this one more than recognizable and irritating as hell.
Beep. "Dr. Keating, it's Nick Kokoris. I just saw the memo you left for me. Could we talk? I'll be home in half an hour. Oh, what is the number to my place? Call Rae if you don't already have it. Bye." Beep.
Matt made a mental note to himself to kill Kokoris first chance he gets. The resident surgeon has been a thorn in his side long enough. "My, my, aren't we the popular one tonight?" and reached around her for the bottle. The whiskey seemed to have this wonderful ability of make the world a softer place. Exactly what he needed right now. "What does Nick want?"
"Probably to talk about the stem cells since that's what I left the memo in his box about." Jules pulled the bottle away and took a healthy gulp of it herself. If you can't beat them, join them. "Now back to what we were talking about. This agreement that you just threw all over my nicely cleaned floor is…"
"Actually, I believe we were talking about your friend, David," he pointed out and took a step closer to get the bottle… or so he convinced himself of that.
"Matt," taking the bottle back but setting it on the table behind her. "I think we should discuss the issue of the parental rights agreement when you're more in the right state of mind." She shook her head and wondered if she could get in touch with Mr. and Mrs. Slingerland again before they leave for England. Printing another copy won't be that hard. She was somewhat confident that she could talk Matt into signing it before too long… if she lived through the night. "In the mean time, I think I'll call you a cab." She moved to get around him but Matt had other ideas.
Grabbing her by the biceps, he turned her about to face him. "Why are you trying to get rid of me?"
She raised a brow and looked at the wide hand encircling her upper arm. "Besides that fact that I'm exhausted and you're completely smashed?"
"Smashed?"
"Drunk. Intoxicated. Under the influence. Whatever you want to call it."
"I'm not drunk," he informed her. "Merely a bit tipsy."
Cause he was so adorable as he said it, she smiled indulgently. "Fine. You're tipsy. Now let go so I can call you a cab."
"But I don't want to let go," he whined then pulled her closer. He hugged her, tucked her head under his chin and enjoyed the feel of a soft feminine body against his for a moment. Some times has passed since he's been able to hold a woman in his arms. It calmed him, gave him peace. Like a puppy dog, he sniffed at her hair. "Why do you always smell so nice?"
Level ten fire alarms went off violently in Jules's head. "Um…" wishing Dr. Slingerland wasn't so damn tall, "Matt? I don't know if this is such a good idea for you to be standing so…" he sniffed around her ear, sending of shiver down her back. "Okay, definitely not a good idea," backing off quickly.
He stood here, arms out from where she had extracted herself from, and stared at her sadly. There was a moment of 'lost little boy' there that tugged at Jules's heart. "How come you don't like me?" Startled, Dr. Keating had only a moment to react before she found herself in Dr. Slingerland's arms again. "Why don't you want me, Jules?" big brown eyes pleading with her.
For someone that rest of world thinks has an ego that needs regular deflating, Matt was so genuinely vulnerable at that moment that Jules felt almost guilty. "Of course I like you, Matt. We're friends, remember?" she urged with a big smile all the while gently trying to loosen his iron grip around her. "But we're not lovers."
"We could be," he responded, leaning in closer to sniff around her neck. She had a long graceful neck, like a swan. "You do smell so nice. Like lavender and…" he couldn't quite name the other scent. "What is that?"
She wrinkled her nose and pushed his face away from a rather sensitive spot on her neck. "Pepperoni."
"Hum…" he grinned. "Yummy."
She wondered if he realized just how loaded that was. Deciding that he was definitely too intoxicated to know what he was doing, she played nice. "Matt, I think it's time you go to bed."
His eyes twinkled as he remembered an earlier conversation with Kokoris and Jordan. "Are you offering yours?"
Giving him one of her stern doctor's frown, the one she reserved for naughty patients, "Absolutely not." Though some small part of her was rather tempted to see what he looked like under all those neatly starched suits and ties. Every girl has her fantasies. "I was thinking more along the lines of your bed."
Positively delighted, "Oh, you'll like my bed. It's one of those wonderful California kings on a bed frame that was custom designed by an old college friend. It's customized in the Baroque style. Lovely inventions those things are. Much more comfortable than…"
"I'm not sharing your bed with you, Matt," Jules informed him firmly and wretched herself out of his embrace. He had a tendency to allow his hands to wonder when he was distracting himself with his thought process. And as nice as it was to know that a man can still want her, especially after the prolong man-draught she's been experiencing; he was still too drunk for her to fully believe him. "I'm going to call you a cab and send you home," picking up the phone.
Because he was feeling lonely and hurt, caution was not high on his list of priorities. He wrapped his arms around her from behind and buried his nose in her hair again, "Come home with me then. Show me that you trust me."
There was no way in hell she was going anywhere near that little statement. She paused in dialing the local cab company that she used sometimes; a thought occurred to her. Let's see just how much he truly cared about the subject that started this whole strange situation. "Would you sign the agreement if I did?"
It was akin to being doused with ice-cold water from the artic, and more effective in sobering Slingerland up then a triple shot of espresso. His arms fell to his side and he stepped away. "Not if God were to jump down from heaven and dance the tango with Satan himself."
Jules wasn't sure if she should scold him for taking the lord's name in vain or laugh at the absurdity of it. Her quirky sense of humor won out. The corners of her lips curled upward.
"Don't even think about laughing," he warned darkly before turning about and grabbing the near empty bottle on the table. "Where's that Vodka you were talking about earlier?"
"Sobering up?"
"Wish I wasn't," he commented bitterly.
Looking as him as he down the last of the whiskey from the bottle, Jules felt truly sorry that she hadn't told him about the semi-agreement she had with his mother. It bothered her that he had been hurt. But then again, she wasn't sure how much better he would have reacted coming from her. Though she will admit that Mr. Slingerland's methods were rather underhanded. "Enough with the drinking. It's not healthy."
"No less detrimental to my health at the moment than the massive amounts of cell phone usage by the population. Don't people know that the radiation that is emit by those gadgets are…"
"Stop," Jules replied, her hand held palm forward in his face. "Don't want to hear the lecture on cell phone safety. And in case you haven't noticed, I don't carry one of those things."
He gave a snort of amusement. "We are doctors. Someone is always looking for us. The last thing we want is to carry around ridiculous contraptions that allow the rest of the world to locate us at will. These damn pagers they make us carry are bad enough." Tossing the said offensive device on the dining room table along with the now empty bottle. "Do the local markets deliver?"
"Not alcohol they don't," Jules advised him sternly and with a wholly disapproving look. "I think you've had more than enough."
"I can still feel my heart and my anger; so no, I haven't had nearly enough."
"Matt, I don't think that…. HEY! Where are you going?" following him as he marched off.
"To your bedroom," he answered over his shoulder.
"Why?" wishing his legs weren't so damn long and in the way as she tried to scurry around him.
"Cause that's where you are keeping the liquor," he reminded her when she blocked his entrance. "Jules," he said in a rather reasonable tone. "I need the alcohol. It's either get drunk, throttle you or bed you. Since the Hippocratic oath prevents me from doing harm and you've indicated that you are not interested in the third option; the vodka is the only thing I have left. Now, would you excuse me, luv," and picked her up by the waist and set her aside, though he was tempted not to.
It was a rather interesting novelty to see someone search her ultra femininely decorated room, one of her secret vices since college and her first Victoria's Secret catalogue. The honest hurt on his face, and knowing that she had been partly to blame for it, spurred her. "How about I give you another option to consider," she announced just before she shoved him onto the bed. There was only a moment of regret for her pristinely white sheets before she picked up his feet and dropped them on the spread.
For a moment, Matt was too stunned to react properly to having been toppled by someone half his size. But the alcohol was making him slightly reckless. "Changed your mind about that third option?"
Laughing as she yanked off his shoes and pulled the cover from underneath him with some effort, "You never quit, do you? No. But I have decided that sending you home alone in this disgusting condition wouldn't be very nice of me. Plus, you'll probably talk the taxi driver into buying booze for you on your way back to you place." She hesitated a moment before undoing his belt buckle then frowned at him when he just laid there and grinned at her. "Don't look so happy. I'm only trying to make you comfortable."
"I know what will make me really comfortable," he suggested lazily as she pulled his belt off.
"Go to sleep, Matt," she advised him with a shake of her head as she tucked him in. "You'll need an economy size bottle of aspirin in the morning."
"Where are you going?"
"Living room," she told him with a smile. "The fourth option was for you to go to sleep."
"You're not joining me?"
"Not a chance, Matt. I don't mix business with pleasure. I told you that years
ago."
He stared at her; eyes soften
with disappointment and hurt. "Is that
only reason?"
She raised a brow at him. "Does there have to be more?"
"No, I suppose that… Well, I…." There was almost an uncertainty about him as he ask, "You don't find me completely unattractive, right?"
Again with the 'lost little boy' look. "Of course not," exasperated.
"And I haven't done anything terribly upsetting to you, right?"
"None that comes to mind."
He pouted suddenly. "Then why don't you want me?"
It was tempting to just tear her hair out. "Matt…." Then thought better of trying to do any kind of explaining in his state. "Good night."
He flopped back on the bed with a huff. "It could have been."
~~~~
The clock read two in the morning. And there was a Bugs Bunny laughing at him by the side wall. For a moment, Matt Slingerland had absolutely no comprehension as to where the hell he was and why the bed pillow under his nose smelled familiarly comforting. Then the repulsive taste of whiskey penetrated his daze haze. He would have cried in shame had he the energy to do so.
Rolling onto his back slowly, so as not to jar the painful head that seemed too heavy to be maneuvered by his weak neck; Matt allowed his cotton filled mind to wonder through the events of his last conscious moments. Or at least what he believed to be his last conscious moments.
There were holes in his memory the size of craters on the moon. Turning his head, he looked about the room with some morbid curiosity. Reaching out, expecting to encounter some soft body, he found none. Frowning, he turned his head again. Yep, he was definitely alone in bed. But whose bed was he in? That's the big question.
Moving with the utmost of care, he sat up. First unusual thing he noticed: he was still completely and fully dressed. Well, that's not true. He noticed that his shoes, tie and belt were gone. No, correction on that statement, they were on the floor… on top of a rather distorted face of Daffy Duck.
Hum…. Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck… Only one person he knew to be this diligent about their collection of Loony Toons: Jules Keating.
Getting up, he winced at the floor underneath him squeaked sharply at the added weight. Pulling off his socks because he felt ridiculous wearing them without shoes, he padded into the living room. The lights had been dimmed; the laptop sat forgotten with the screen saver of Loony Toons characters hopping, skipping, cart wheeling and running across the screen; a CD that had been left in the machine had long since completed its run around the track. And Dr. Julia Keating was curled up on the futon like a kitten, fast asleep.
He was breathless with wonder for a moment. Perfection seemed like an inadequate word to describe how this moment felt. Matt didn't want to move, didn't want to break whatever spell she had cast upon him.
Coming closer, he sat down on the ground, closest to her face. She was so pretty. Even the most generous of critics would not describe her as beautiful, but she was so pretty. He wanted to ingrain this moment in his mind.
He had been wrong when he told Letty that he has long since outgrown his infatuation with the pixie-face doctor. If anything, it had been buried and ignored without treatment, festering like a wound. There were moments when he wondered why he had volunteered to be her sperm donor; and in those moments, he had convinced himself that he had done it on a lark, that he had not expected her to actually take him up on the offer. But a doubt has always been there. Even now, he couldn't completely say what the truth was.
Perhaps it was the idea that she was going to turn to a complete stranger, a nameless person, to help her fulfill her dreams. He had been annoyed-hurt even-that she choice not to ask a friend, ask him, to help her. Part of his persistence was to annoy her, to bother her the way she unknowingly bothered him. And perhaps if he were completely honest with himself, to put a band-aid on his bruised ego when she flatly refused to contemplate the idea of going out with him.
The bonus of it all was to see the joy on her face when they were told that the embryos took; that they had been successful in their endeavors. The pleasure on her face as they put the little buggers in cold storage had been more than worth the humiliating experience it had been.
And the dinner… that meal together had been so pleasantly soothing, he wondered why he never thought to ask her out again… just as friends of course.
The honest part of him knew that he hadn't asked because he hadn't wanted to be rejected again. *Let's face it, old boy. You're heart couldn't take the kind of stomping a nice girl like Jules could give it.*
Climbing onto the futon with great caution, Matt curled up as close to Jules as he dared. He could smell the soft feminine scent she wore and count all the golden freckles across the bridge of her nose. A part of him wished he could reach out and touch her cheek, to see if her skin was really as soft as it appeared to be. But freaking her out would be a terrible idea. She may wake up swinging and he did not feel well enough to deal with that.
Yawning, he knew that the smart thing to do was to get up and go back to sleep in the bed she had obviously offered him for the night. But a few more moments in her quietly endearing presence won't hurt anyone. And in the morning, he was going to have to ask how it came about that she was on the futon and he was in the bed, for a gentleman should never allow a lady to be the one to….
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TBC….