Nine

Over a cup of Greg's signature Blue Hawaiian coffee, he explained the details of last night. Apparently, Grissom had kept him at work later than he planned to be there, analyzing DNA, or testing a blood sample, or playing with some sperm. Something like that. When he finally got the chance to call me, I, of course, didn't answer. I was set sailing with Captain Jack Sparrow and the rest of his lowly crew, so to speak. Eventually, Greg got worried and came over to my apartment. If it hadn't been for my overly friendly land lady, Greg would have never been able to find me.

I sat at the kitchen table after Greg finished his tale, watching the steam rise up from my untouched coffee. I wasn't much for the stuff – I just liked to smell it (and use it to wash down my six Aspirin). I ran my fingers through my hair, and that's when I felt the giant knot that I had seen earlier in the mirror. If I didn't comb it out soon, a small family of robins would use it as a nest.

"Greg," I began, not knowing what I was going to really ask. "Did we...well, you know....?" I trailed off, and let Greg fill in the blanks. He sat across from me at the table, a blank expression on his face. For a scientist, he was kind of clueless.

"Did we....have sex?" he finally finished my question. I bit my lower lip and nodded 'yes'. This was almost as uncomfortable as a sex talk with my mom. "No, we didn't," he answered.

I let out a sign of relief, knowing that there was no foreign substance in my hair. Still, Greg didn't seem as relieved. He took another long drink of his coffee, never taking his eyes off of me; studying me like a specimen. I knew he was bothered by my elation over our intercourse-free evening.

"I think you would remember a night with me," he boasted, sitting up straight and proud. I laughed a little, if only to humor him. I knew he was just trying to brush off any serious feelings he may have had. "Did you have sex last night?"

"Greg, no," I said, straightening out my back and looking him squarely in the eye. I had to let him know that I was being honest. "I was just wondering, that's all."

"Would you like to have sex tonight?" he asked, getting a mischevious look on his smug little face. Despite all of his best efforts to joke around, I knew that Greg's intentions were completely genuine.

Ever since the two of us had been intimate together, Greg had been anxious to do the old wham, bam, thank you ma'm. He is a 20-something guy, so I couldn't really blame him. But there was always something nagging me; something telling me that if I gave in too soon, he would throw me out like an empty bottle of hair gel (something that Greg, no doubt, does a lot). So I became a prude of sorts. Every time he would try to unbutton my shirt, I would guide his hands up to my hair. Or when he would walk his fingers up my thighs and under my skirt, I would say the most unattractive, mood spoiling thing I could think of, like, "do beans give you major gas, or is that just me?" How romantic.

"I don't think so, Greggo," I answered, standing up to go to the bathroom but plopping right back down into the chair. Hm....maybe I needed a little more time to regain my strength.

"Okay, okay, I'll reason with you," he began, going in to insanely elaborate hand gestures. "The cheerleader outfit is a bit much, but at least consider the naughty nurse." He smirked at his own comic genius, and I had to do the same.

"Greg, when we have sex, if we have sex, it's not going to involve any sort of costumes," He raised his eyebrows at the 'if' part.

"Yeah, we're just going to take them off anyway," he said, grinning from ear to ear. I reached across the table to punch him on the arm, and he grabbed my hand, covering it in kisses like a goofy Frenchman.

Greg had no idea that his patience would pay off on one rainy Las Vegas night.