JUNE 1st – HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO PAUL SLATER!

- 8 -

Thoughts about the inappropriateness or the sin of it all just left me the moment he was kissing me again. Because something so hot and consuming sparked right there - he wasn't kissing me to provoke or prove anything.

He was kissing me because he really, really wanted to.

And I'm sorry, but I was already under the influence of a) painkillers, b) intense cold c) heat and d) electricity, so can you blame me for kissing him back the way I did?

Again?

When I got the desired response, my fingers went straight to her hair, which was still wet from the rain. I alternated between knotting it in my fingers and smoothing it out while I kissed her soft lips.

You see, it's moments like these I live for. Moments where life takes you by the hand and leads you to some almost magical surprise. You know something's going to happen, but you don't want to get your hopes up too quickly.

Not only did I have high hopes . . . I had the dive to achieve them.

And it was something a little more than sex drive.

Although, I found myself humming this mantra in my mind I made up not long ago:

"Slater's gonna get some ass, in his little house of glass . . . "

I turned her around so I could get all of her that I possibly could. I mean, its hard kissing someone from behind. And oh, when I twisted her around, I remembered something . . .

I had taken her top off earlier to examine her back. And now there was nothing stopping me from . . . examining her front. I continued kissing her, now rather distractedly but with the same full-on-force.

She fell in to my arms tiredly . . . weakly, giving in and finally proving that I had the power I so craved. She lay, powerless in my arms . . . letting me take over her.

And so I did, taking advantage of her tiredness by moving into a more comfortable horizontal position on the couch. The leather squeaked under us as we slid into the cushions of the couch.

Needless to say, uh, Paul's first encounter with my, um, lack of upper clothing, felt very, very good. Bad in a good way. Details aren't needed. Just . . . he knew what he was doing. And his lips never left mine. I was breathing so hard, and my back was hurting so much, and I kept bumping my hand, and it threatened to start bleeding again, and I was still shivering but I was getting warmer -

Wonder why.

Both my hands were on his shoulders, pulling him down into me. I felt demonic and possessed and what not, but you get that, I guess, when you feel that guilty about kissing someone who makes you feel so thrilled.

His hands left my - uh, yeah, FYI there was a BRA there, guys, don't freak - yeah, and they went straight to the side of my face and all through my hair.

For a second I stopped. Which should be illegal. Stopping him while he was kissing me like THAT, I mean.

And all of a sudden, I was finally ready to think about the prospect of "us."

I didn't like what I saw, though.

I mean, not only would that start by hurting Jesse, but . . . it didn't make sense.

'Paul,' I breathed out in a husky, really-bad-actress sounding voice.

We were getting so in to it, too, you know? My roaming hands received no objection because not only was her body in this, but her heart was too. Below us, the couch was squeaking like a constipated Guinea Pig, but I tried not to let that bother me.

But then she had to pull the stop-you're-leading-me-astray bit. Oh, yeah, I was leading her . . . leading her to a greener pasture.

Yeah, considering the other side's DEAD.

I let out a sigh.

'Not again,' I breathed, my voice thick and foreign with this passion I'd never felt until now.

'No, I'm serious,' I said quickly, trying to shove him back a little, 'Paul . . . what do we have? Besides this? And shifting?'

Is there something missing? What else is there supposed to be? And what did THIS mean to her? THIS is rather vague in my opinion. THIS could be this, or this could be THAT. THIS is unclear, so confusing.

What do we have, you ask? We have possibility. We have promise. We have EVERYTHING.

'What do you want?' I asked. 'Tell me, and I'll make it yours.'

Oh God, that sounded hot . . . very 007-ish, but still hot.

His eyes were frosted with an ice-cold heat that was burning down at me, awaiting an answer so he could make it happen.

What DID I want? What did Jesse and I apparently have that Paul and I lacked?

. . . Uh, why was I even entertaining this?

WHY AM I SO EFFED UP?

'I don't know,' I wheezed, getting woozy again. 'I just - I mean, this is . . . wow . . . and you know I love it, but it's not enough. If you and I were to - you know . . . go out, it'd have to be for a better reason other than you kissing me and me kind of liking it.'

Kind of, Suze?

UNDERSTATEMENT, SUZE?

My wounded ego would now like to thank you for your kind words . . .

Seriously . . . had she any idea what she was saying? Saying that number 1) I wasn't good enough for her and number 2) that my kisses are only "kind-of-like-able"?

What's wrong with my kisses? It's a time-tested technique. 5 out of 5 girls agree . . .

No wait, make that 5 out of 6.

But even more hurtful was the fact that she

practically said I wasn't good enough for her. Me, Paul Slater. Tennis Team Captain, body of Adonis, son of a physician, straight A student, nice shiny car . . . and all-powerful shifter. What else does she want from me? On paper, I'm the perfect guy.

But I guess its her job to write me off.

'I can give you a reason, Suze,' I said, trying to pick up the broken pieces of my shattered pride.

'I like you. You like me. It's not rocket science.'

'But - ' I began, turning my head away and looking at the couch that my forehead was nearly against, 'I don't know if that's enough - '

GOD, Suze, what MORE do you want? ROSES? SONNETS? You freaking RETARD.

I'm a greedy asshole, that's what I am. But there was just something missing. I didn't know what. But it was what made this all seem so wrong, Jesse aside.

'I can take you out. I can take you to the movies, I can buy you coffee, I can take you here . . . this, right here. And I can take you so much father, too. Places beyond what's here right now in this moment. I'd take you to the freaking moon, if you asked me to. Jesse can't –'

I looked into her clear, green eyes. And suddenly, it hit me.

'This doesn't have anything to do with Jesse, does it?'

That could only mean her misgivings about whether or not this would work came from deep inside of her. Meaning she had to be thinking about US.

It wasn't about THEM, it was about US.

Us. I like that word. One syllable, really easy to spell . . . easy to say.

And before she could answer me, I was at it again, kissing her and holding her, making she and I an "us".

Two pronouns can melt to be one. I see a connection here.

You can't not kiss Paul Slater when he kisses you like that. It's just . . . it's not done. Even a GUY would kiss back if he was kissing them like that.

. . . Not that Paul would.

Okay . . . bad example.

But all over again, hot shivers left me clammy with heat and dizzy with pleasure. I turned my head again fully, and he kissed my neck, making my nerves go completely bonkers.

I mean, it wasn't only the fact that he was such a good kisser. I knew very well it was something else. Even though I didn't want to say it out loud . . . because - I dunno. I didn't tr -

Oh.

That's what was missing.

Even though a million tons suddenly weighed down on my after the discovery of what was absent between Paul and I, I didn't stop this time. I couldn't. I was too far gone. It was dark, and the fire was burning, and he was once again making merry with the fact that I was shirtless, and I was loving it and I had no inhibitions for once and my fingers were curling under the edge of HIS shirt . . .

The passion was sparking like a lit match in hydrogen gas - the reaction was huge and hot and dangerous. Once again, I felt his knee pressing between my legs, making my shudder even more. God knows why a relationship couldn't be based purely on this. I mean, this was heaven. Paul was GIVING me heaven. The way he was making me feel was so phenomenal. And desired.

But still, I knew.

'I don't - ' I breathed out heavily, as he was dragging his lips swelteringly to my jaw, 'I don't tr - that's what's not here . . . I don't trust you.'

'Trust me with what?' I asked. 'Because if you think I'll push you farther, I will. But I'm not sure that's it. You don't think you can trust me with your heart.'

I trailed a finger across her body until it rested above her heart. I could feel it pulsating, pounding against my finger.

'Yeah,' I agreed. 'In case you've forgotten . . . a few hours ago you were making me do push-ups in front of the whole tennis team. You humiliated me. You were acting like you hated me. And it hurt. It did. So I can't trust you.'

'I didn't hate you,' I said, remembering what she was relating to with a wince. 'I didn't hate you for even a second. I was just being . . . a tennis captain. You were pushing too hard, and yet you weren't pushing enough. It was frustrating. That's not THIS, though. Tennis is just a game.'

And though I didn't choose to say it, THIS was something much more.

She gave me this look of incredulity, the one I tend to receive from her when she is either a) awed by something brilliant I have just said, or b) disbelieving. I'd like to think option "a" was the look she went for, but I could be wrong.

This was much more tiring than I thought. All this talking seemed to be more physically straining than any of the stuff we were doing earlier.

I wanted to take a break. So I did. I rested my lips on her collarbone.

'Mmmmm . . . ' I half-whined, half-sighed. He didn't answer my question. Not that I actually asked a question, but that was totally and completely beside the point. He didn't answer the question that my STATEMENT was obviously IMPLYING. He just made a crappy excuse for why he'd been an ass.

However, yet again, the tantalizing force of his lips on my neck was enough to send me over the edge, let alone shut me up. I moaned something incoherent, and the next time that I remembered how to think, both my hands were in his hair. He moved lower so he was kissing the skin of my chest, just above any of my, um, bra-covered items, and I pressed my knees together.

'God,' I said.

'Don't you just love creation?' I laughed in a teasing way. 'I have a fine, FINE appreciation for it myself . . . '

I stopped kissing her skin long enough to slip one bra strap from her shoulder with my teeth. Suze let out a grand sigh that caused her whole body to move from beneath me. But she wasn't moving away.

Oh. I have raw talent.

Uhhhh . . . that was . . . uhhh . . .

Kind of weird . . . but, uhhhhhh . . . My eyes were closed and I was a million miles away in an ecstasy of the flesh. God, that felt good.

It also scared me. I mean . . . between you and me, I didn't want my brassiere to be removed.

If he kept doing this for the rest of eternity, purgatory would be heaven.

He was such a good kisser . . .

I twisted my head away, exposing more of my neck. Which may not have been the best idea, considering my throat got attacked yesterday.

But I didn't care. It felt so nice. And just painful enough to be tolerable, and alluring.

Nothing in the universe could have stopped me then. Not the never-ending corridors of Shadowland, not the giant waiting room of purgatory, not the pearly gates of heaven . . .

. . . Or even the fires of hell.

Speaking of fire, things were really getting hot. Literally. I didn't really think such a thing was possible, you know, to kick up the room temperature by just the heat of our heated acts.

It was as if passion was incarnating itself as a fire . . . a fire we created and shared. It was so hot that both of our bodies were beginning to perspire a little.

We were getting hotter and hotter. My skin was beginning to stick to the couch a little bit. However pleasant this all was feeling (and pleasant isn't near strong enough), I was bothered by this particular smell. It smelt like, well,-

I didn't understand. I mean . . . it was freezing out. My top was off. I was shivering like hell, before.

SO WHY WAS I SUDDENLY BOILING HOT?

Temperature-wise. Not sexiness-wise.

And there was a smell like -

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!

There was a FIRE. I'm not kidding, a real FIRE. And it was threatening to burn down my whole freaking house-

Never mind about the ass in my house of glass. The only thing I'll be getting is ASH.

I got up and pulled Suze off the couch with me. Suze stared at the fire while she held on to me, frightened and shocked and not knowing what to do.

'WHERE THE HELL DID THAT COME FROM?' I exploded.

'It looks like I wasn't the only one who had it out with your turtleneck,' I said, pointing to the ground where her turtleneck was being consumed ever so quickly. The fire had burned up most of my rug so far, but it wasn't burning her shirt as fast because the shirt was still a little damp.

Or it WAS before it caught fire.

'DO YOU HAVE A FIRE EXTINGUISHER?' I yodeled at him.

Oh, that makes sense. Quickly, I ran upstairs to my kitchen and grabbed the extinguisher from under the sink and ran down. It was really cold upstairs, in contrast to the threatening fire below. I forgot how, exactly, but I somehow didn't have a shirt on. It must have been pulled off by someone during the intense moment.

I just hope the fire didn't get it, too. Those white polos aren't cheap

I stood hysterically away from the fire, my hands over my chest. I mean, yeah, it technically was covered, but STILL.

And I may or may not have been guilty of ogling Paul's as he ran past with the big red fire extinguisher in his hands, spraying white stuff everywhere.

. . . Out of the fire extinguisher, guys. NOT ANY PART OF HIS ANATO -

You know what? STOP BEING IMMATURE.

Within a few seconds, the fire on the hearth rug was no more.

Still hugging my arms around me, I just blinked in total bewilderment.

What a mystery . . .

How Paul was topless, I mean. I couldn't even remember taking it o -

I mean, yeah, the uh, fire. Very mysterious.

A loud, sudden crack of thunder made me jump, and swear sailorishly under my breath. I looked back at my hand, and saw that it was swelling up.

Ow.

'What happened?' I asked Paul quickly.

That's kind of what I wanted to know. Things like that just don't HAPPEN. You know, your grandfather's really expensive rug spontaneously combusting as you're getting hot and heavy with the only girl that can satisfy your intellectual (not to mention PHYSICAL) desires. It was almost comical . . . as if our situation lay in the hangs of two teenagers with over-active and torturous imaginations.

'I hate to be obvious,' I said intelligently, 'but I believe the rug caught on fire.'

I gave him a filthy look, and demanded urgently for means of covering my chestal region.

When she asked for something to wear, I stepped around the couch (avoiding the burnt rug . . . it was sizzling under the foam of the extinguisher) and rummaged under the blankets and leathery couch cushions until- AHA!- I found my white polo shirt shoved and buried in the corner of the couch.

'So THAT'S what happened to my shirt,' I proclaimed, holding it up and shaking the wrinkles out. 'I was wondering what happened to it.'

Suze had her arms folded tightly in front of her chest like some sort of makeshift force field.

I brought the shirt over to her and held it out to her. 'This will do for now, won't it?' I asked.

Yeah. Until I can get her out of it again.

But that had to wait until we got this mess cleaned up.

A note to the pyromaniacs out there: fires are NOT fun.

I gave him an indignant look, snatched it, and turned around. He was getting a very nice view of my oh-so-attractive exit wound again, but oh well. I yanked his shirt on, briefly appreciating how good it smelt, and turned around, my rack covered once more.

'Uh,' I said eloquently.

It took a while to notice considering all of the excitement, but without the fire it was kind of dark. The only real source of light was the occasional lightning outside.

'Now what?' I asked, kind of boredly. 'We can't exactly use the phone since they're dead, it's still storming outside, and I don't think starting another fire is very smart. So I guess we wait . . . how about some Brandy?'

I widened my eyes. 'Eww,' I said. I thought he was kidding, but he narrowed his eyes a little. 'Uh,' I rectified, 'I mean, no thank you.'

Well, I sure as hell didn't want to stay in this place. Burnt rug smell wasn't exactly like smelling a bed of roses or anything. So I decided that it might be wise to make some sort of movement.

This time, I was more or less guided by my stomach than my brain . . . or my OTHER brain for that matter. I was completely famished.

'You hungry?' I asked, as casually as I could.

I tugged the white polo a little, and nodded vaguely. It was like, six something by now. 'Yeah,' I muttered, running my hands through my now almost-dry hair.

It was probably all poofed up at the back from where Paul's hand had been molesting it in a more-than-okay way, but I guess I had to deal.

'Good,' I smirked, 'Because I'm STARVING.'

With that, I took her hand and led her to the kitchen. It was really dark, so it was just safer that way. Safety first, is my motto. Especially when it comes to – uh . . . haha.

In the Slater household, we rarely cook. Mark or whatever attendant is tending to Pops that day does it all for us. And since I'm not a big fan of gruel and applesauce, I usually pick something up for myself or order takeout. That was rather hard to do because of the power situation.

I was able to find some bread that was still good (I think) and some peanut butter. The jelly had disappeared somewhere, so I was able to improvise with something in this tall green jar. I cut the sandwich in four little squares and garnished it with a leaf off of a head of lettuce that I found in the fridge.

It may not taste good, but the presentation was perfect, if I do say so myself.

Wow. Obviously the culinary creativity thing was not a guy thing. It really WAS just Andy's talent.

So far, Paul's chest was looking yummier than his creation.

I wasn't even sure if his monstrosity was edible.

I set my masterpiece in front of her and lit a candle on the table. I sat next to her, and watched with eager anticipation as to what she thought of my culinary delight.

She just stared at it and tugged at the lettuce that I put on the side as garnish.

'Uh,' I said, 'You don't cook much, do you.'

The way she was looking at it . . . it kind of hurt. I mean, she obviously has no respect for genius when she sees it.

Then again, I'm not quite a chef. I couldn't even cut the sandwich right.

'You don't have to rub it in,' I said, trying not to let my bruised ego show.

So what if I can't cook in the kitchen. What matters is that I can cook other places . . .

I smiled lazily. I pointed to the oven. 'Is it gas or electric?' I asked.

'Gas,' I replied. Not that it really mattered what it was because I didn't know how to cook on it or anything.

I took one quarter of my sandwich and took a bite from it. I quickly set the sandwich back down, and tried everything possible to swallow it without spitting it back up.

Wryly, I crossed my arms.

Spit or swallow, Slater?

'I think that green stuff was avocado,' I said lightly, with a grimace.

I moved around to the refrigerator, and opened the freezer, rifling through.

'. . . Oooh,' I said happily, after I'd lifted them up to the candlelight.

NUUUUUUUH-GGETS!

Not McNuggets, but they'd do.

Gleefully, I looked over at Paul, who was still trying to digest his Frankenstein sandwich. He appeared unaware of my nugget discovery bliss. I pulled the large packet out of the freezer draw, and went rifling through the cupboards looking for an oven tray.

Upon finding one, I poured a mountain of frozen nuggets onto it, and then turned the oven on. There was no light working, but I felt the heat instantly.

God, that was the weirdest thing I'd ever tasted. And what's worse was that all the peanut butter was cemented to the roof of my mouth. I had to drink so much water to get it out.

Suze was doing something in the kitchen. I wasn't quite sure what it was because I could only see as far as the candle glowed.

After they were in, I closed the oven. It made a hum.

'Fifteen minutes,' I said. 'What can we do till th - '

I broke off when I saw the devilish look on his face. Or maybe he was just trying to suck the bad taste off of his tongue. I don't know.

Ha. If I said that out loud he'd probably asked if I wanted to do it for him.

. . . Eww.

Needless to say, Paul's very hot in candlelight.

I took a long draw of water and set the glass down. 'Take a seat,' I said, shoving our sandwiches out of the way.

She sat down warily, but it was sitting all the same. I rested my chin on my fist for a moment, just staring at her in the candlelight.

'You know, I've always fantasized having a candlelight dinner with you,' I said after a few moments of dramatic silence. 'Albeit, it's under a different set of circumstances. I imagined a fancy restaurant, dressed to the nines, all that jazz. Well, I'm half-dressed, and my polo shirt isn't exactly a low cut dress.'

'You fantasize me in a low-cut dress?' I raised my eyebrows.

Thank God. That's a lot better than what I expected.

However . . . he probably wasn't TELLING me about the other sexually harassing thoughts.

'Gee,' I muttered, with a pseudo cough, 'I'm tired.'

'You would be,' I pointed out. 'You got struck by lightning, Suze.'

She giggled.

'You feel lucky?' I asked her.

'Please don't be all Clint Eastward,' I begged him. I added, 'Punk.'

I grinned. 'No. I mean . . . you survived a lightning strike.'

'I'm hard to kill,' I sniffed.

I'm just plain hard.

. . . Sorry.

'So,' I said, sitting opposite to him, seeing the lick of flame dancing in front of me. 'Is your grandpa going to have a cow about the rug?'

'He doesn't say much of anything,' I replied bitterly, 'So I hardly think it'll matter. Mark'll freak though. Especially if I told him under what circumstances it occurred.'

She looked away, and I smirked. 'Nothing to be guilty about, Suze,' I teased.

'Hmm,' I said absently. I shivered in Paul's shirt. 'It's really cold . . . '

'Well, I only just explained what happened the last time we tried to generate a little heat,' I drawled. She looked up at me snappishly.

I swear to God, she was so gorgeous. I mean, if I was like this around Kelly, she'd totally take it on board and sleaze right back. But with Suze . . . it was just so much fun seeing her reactions to everything. I'd lower my gaze from her face, she'd cross her arms. I'd flirt, she'd blush. Or attempt to hit me, whatever came first.

I didn't realize how fast the fifteen minutes would go. I was just talking with him and stuff, when the I checked my digital watch. I sat up quickly, and went back to the oven. The wave of heat was beautiful.

'They're nice,' I said. 'I mean, ready.'

I grabbed the hand towel that was hanging off of the oven, and carefully retrieved the tray. Then I brought it over to the table, laying the tray across the towel so it wouldn't annihilate the wood. God knows I'd burned enough today.

I grabbed the first one –

'Ooh! HOT!' I gasped, shaking my burnt fingers.

'Why thank you,' I smiled. 'You too.'

I glared up at him.

- 8 -

Not a cliffie . . . but whatever.

Lolly and Hayley.