Well, I certainly think all of you deserve this after such a long hiatus, thank you to all my readers for sticking with me this far.Some saucy language in this bit, gentle readers.

--Badgirl

Showtime!

"Where's that whipped cream, I feel like making a Sara sundae!"

The eager voice filtered down and tugged at her brain.

"Sar'? Hello? Sorry I'm late, paperwork…you know how it is."

She needed to be ready for something, what? Was there someone she was supposed to be meeting?

"Are we playing hide and seek, you naughty girl?"

Greg! Her surprise for him! Sara shot upright blinking and disoriented.

"Sara? Are you here?" A tiny note of worry in his voice now.

Sara looked at herself in the mirror. Her hair had flattened on one side and the rest had frizzed up around her face, she pushed it back and saw black smudges under her eyes from the liner, her eyes no longer looked smoky and sexy, no instead they looked more raccoonish and crack whorey. What was she thinking, she didn't look sexy, she looked like a fool. This wasn't her; she was no glamorous seductress. He was going to laugh at her. He was heading towards her bedroom—her robe! She scooted to the edge of the bed and lunged for it but she felt something catch and hold, one of her stupid fuck-me heels. She stumbled forward, hands out to brace herself, and banged into her dresser. Her jewelry box zipped forward like a hockey puck and slammed into the mirror sending a huge crack shooting upward, trinkets and knickknacks scattered everywhere, her clock radio fell on the floor with a crash, briefly emitting one strangled squawk of noise. She heard a thick purring noise as her heel punched through and shredded her comforter, releasing her unexpectedly from its grip. She lurched forward and banged her shoulder hard into the wall.

"Shit!"

"Sara? Are you okay?" Greg pushed open her bedroom door, just in time to catch her as she staggered back and careened into him. Driving him backwards with an audible grunt as they both slammed into the wall, cracking the drywall. A fine rain of plaster dust sifted down.

In the moment of stunned silence that followed, they could very clearly hear Sara's downstairs neighbor thump the ceiling in angry protest. Muffled shouts to "Keep down the fucking noise!" followed.

Sara couldn't help it, she snorted, bit her lip, but the pressure was too much, she leaned forward in Greg's arms and started laughing hysterically. His arms tightened around her waist and he said in a tiny bewildered voice.

"Sara, are you okay?"

This only made her laugh harder. She turned to Greg and shook her head helplessly as laugher bubbled up.

"Sur-surprise!" she managed weakly.

Greg blinked owlishly at her, incredulity flooded his face as he slowly looked around her bedroom and took in the destruction she had wrought, finally he brought his eyes back to her. They widened noticeably when they saw what she was wearing. One of his hands released their grip on her waist and gently stroked the black satin; he looked at her with wonder in his eyes. As if she were some bizarre species of strange and destructive genie he'd just released from the bottle

"Sara?"

"Happy Birthday Greg. You like?"

"You broke your mirror." He pointed dazedly towards the mirror.

"I know. I tripped." She lifted a leg and displayed one of her high heels.

"Oh wow."

"My ankle hurts."

"Oh hey…" Greg moved to her side and supported her as they collapsed on her bed.

"This one?" His hands were warm on her ankle.

"Yeah."

Greg slipped the shoe off and gently rubbed her sore ankle. "Can you move it?"

Sara rotated her ankle, there was a dull ache but already it was diminishing. "Yeah, I think I just went over on it, doesn't feel sprained."

"You sure, I could get some ice?"

"I'm fine, nothing's wounded except for my pride." Sheepishly she looked at the dent in her bedroom wall. "And I guess my room."

Greg grinned at her, "You're something else, Sara. You did all this for my birthday?"

"Yeah."

"But my birthday isn't for another month."

"I wanted to surprise you."

"Mission accomplished." Greg raised his brows at Sara, he looked down at her foot which he still held in his lap, his fingers had found the raised ridge of the seam in her stocking and he caressed her calf, following it.

"Please tell me this goes all the way up?"

"It does."

"Thank you, Jesus."

"Stop it." she said irritably, "I look ridiculous." She crossed her arms over her satin covered tummy, shielding herself from his gaze.

"No you don't."

"Yes I do. This isn't me, look what happened when I tried to pull it off."

Greg looked around her room.

"That could happen to anyone…"

Sara lifted her brows, mouth slanted skeptically.

"Okay, maybe not everyone." Greg finished.

"Let me up, I'm going to change." She struggled to sit-up. His hand tightened on her ankle and he tugged her down flat again, her satin covered ass slid easily on the comforter and before she knew it he had leaned forward and planted an arm on either side of her, pinning her beneath him.

"Nuh-uh. No way. If you think I'm going to let you get out of this bed, looking like that, you're crazy."

Poor Sara, I turn her into Bridget Jones, don't I? Well, I hope the next part will make her feel better about that.