It was a bright, loud, smoky dance club with a great, old-style big band. Conversation was out of the question. It was the perfect place.

"Great! A swing band!" He said with a smile when they stepped inside. "I thought these places were so, like, 1996."

"Some things never go out of style, farmboy." She pulled him down onto the dance floor by his tie, and they launched into a jitterbug.

They didn't sit a single one out. He had never seen her like this. She seemed somehow possessed. They were exhausted before long; her camisole top was soaked through to the skin, but she danced on. He tried to lure her to one of the tables that ringed the dance floor, but she always pulled him back out for more.

Finally, there was a slow number. She pulled him to her, beckoning him with a crook of her finger.

She ran her fingers up his neck and into his hair. One leg slipped between his, and she grinded against him, humming along with the band in her throaty alto.

"Do you like this?" she whispered, her lips against his ear.

"Isn't it obvious?" His voice was dark and husky.

"Maybe we should go, then," she said, cool and alluring.

Before he could respond, she had his hand. They were out into the November chill, and she leaned against him for warmth.

"It's cold," she purred. He slipped his arm around her and drew her closer. This wasn't like Jordan. Still, there was more than a suggestion in her voice, and he wasn't going to question things. Not after waiting for this moment for so long.

So, he didn't hesitate when she asked him inside after he saw her to her door.

"Are you sure?"

The corner of her lip curled up seductively. She answered by pulling him inside her apartment and running her hand down his chest and hooking her fingers into the waistband of his pants. She leaned forward then and kissed him, hard, on the mouth.

She backed away from him then, and moved toward her bed. His heart began to race.

"Jordan? Are you sure you're sure about this?"

She nodded and pulled her top over her head.

God, she was beautiful. He tugged at his tie and kicked his shoes off. She had slipped under her sheets, and he joined her there, his clothes lying in a path across the floor.

"Jordan..." he started, but she silenced him with a finger to his lips and pulled her down to him. He kissed her mouth and her neck and laid a trail of kisses across her collarbone. He hadn't noticed that she had gone rigid.

"Woody, stop." Her voice was small and childlike.

"What's that, Jordan?" he barely responded. He ran his mouth across her shoulder and down her arm.

"Stop."

"Am I hurting you?" he muttered.

"STOP! I SAID STOP! STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP!" She was clawing at him then, digging her nails into his bare back and pulling at his hair.

"Ow! Jesus, Jordan! What's wrong with you?" He sprang from the bed. Jordan had pulled herself into the far corner. Her sweat-soaked hair was clinging to her ashen face.

"Just go!"

"What?" he asked in disbelief.

"Go! Just go!"

He shook his head in frustration. "Fine, Jordan. Fine."

He pulled his pants and shirt on angrily, stuffing his tie and his socks into his pocket. "You know, you asked me up here, Jordan. You string me along for three years, and then you pull this crap."

"Get out!"

"Don't worry, Jordan, I'm gone." He slammed the door behind him.

She sat frozen for a moment before sprinting into the bathroom shower. She set the shower as hot as she could stand it, and stood there for a long while, letting the stream whip her clean.