A/N: Okay, okay, I'll admit I ripped a scene here out of an episode of Average Joe: Hawaii, but I found it so cute when I watched it that I couldn't resist integrating it into the story!

-o-

Chapter 5: Stood Up (Ashley's POV)

Scott clicked his cellphone shut. "Looks like Christy's not going to be able to join us today."

I didn't know whether I should strangle or hug Christy the moment I got back to the apartment. For now, the only thing I was certain of was that I was nervous as hell. I was counting on Christy to get the ball rolling, and now I'm all alone. Crap. My heart's racing. I nervously tugged at the hem of my sparkly black cocktail dress.

I mean, yeah, we got along great when we first met, but that was like, a month ago.

"Typical Christy, scheduling a lunch and then not showing up," I muttered.

"Hmm."

"So..." I glanced longingly at a pack of cigarettes on a table beside us. No, I shouldn't. This is hard. It's been six months since I quit, but I can feel the urge for nicotine taking over. I've got to look away.

"Try gum or lollipops next time you feel it."

I looked back at Scott. "Huh?"

"You know, next time you feel that nicotine craving. It's usually just an oral fixation."

"Wow. How could you tell I used to smoke?" I asked. Darn it, do my teeth look yellow or something?

"I used to look at them the way you did just earlier," he said."I haven't smoked a single stick in a year."

I pursed my lips and squinted. "Tough, huh?"

He nodded. "Absolutely. But it's the best decision I've ever made in my life."

Our orders arrived just then. Lobster for him, roast chicken from me. And a glass of chardonnay each. He looked at my order and chuckled.

"Oh no," I groaned. "Did I order too much again?"

"No, it's a good thing. It's just that I hate it when I take a girl out to dinner and all she orders is water. A salad, maybe, but only if she's really hungry." Scott laughed.

I smiled, feeling relieved. "I don't want you to think I'm a total pig or anything."

"Of course not." The way he smiled at me then made my knees go weak. (Thank God I'm sitting down.) "I think you're perfectly charming."

"Really? I was kind of embarrassed for passing out in your car that time we met. Not a great first impression," I laughed nervously, nursing my chardonnay in my right hand.

He placed his hand on my free one, sending jolts of electricity through my body. "Don't worry about it. Did I ever tell you how cute you looked while you were sleeping?"

(I hope he doesn't see me blush.)

God, who am I? Ashley Massaro doesn't get nervous over any guy, ever! I have messed with countless bad boys without breaking a sweat, so why, all of a sudden, can this one man make all the blood rush to my face with just one touch? I feel like a little schoolgirl again.

I've got to admit, though, he looks great in that white silk shirt and slacks. And he's clean-shaven, too! Like, wow.

"Uh...right...thanks," I said, giggling. We started on the topic of philosophy while eating, before moving on to interests. I finished off my chicken and downed it with a small sip of chardonnay. "So, uh, what are you into?"

He asked the waiter for the check. "Tell you what: why don't we ditch this hoity-toity place and I'll show you?"

I sighed in relief, thankful that he would take the wheel. "Sounds great!"

-o-

"I can really only think of one place where we wouldn't look overdressed," he said, pulling over. "And here it is."

I looked out the window to see an art museum. "Okay, who tipped you off that I love art?"

"No one," he replied, shrugging. "It's just that I like to paint in my free time, and I like to go here for inspiration."

"Really?" What a catch! "I love to paint, too!"

Scott stepped out of his Jaguar and opened my car door for me. Not your typical bad-boy behavior. "Shall we?"

Slipping my arm through his, I walked with Scott to the museum. For about an hour, we browsed through several hallways of bizarre, colorful sculptures, and several abstract artworks hanging from the walls. De Stijl, surrealism, and some Picasso paintings.

And we were holding hands the whole time. (The best part of our little tour.) I never knew it was possible for a guy to make one part of you feel cold and the rest of you all warm and fuzzy just by holding your hand.

"This one's my favorite," he said, interrupting my happy stupor. I followed his gaze and rested my eyes upon a canvas practically drowning in lightcyan and ochre. It was a painting of wall clocks melting in the sand.

"I concur," I said, nodding, "Salvador Dali is a genius. Ever notice that sometimes, if you'll look closely, you can see him in his paintings?"

He laughed. "Yeah, actually. He's great."

It was two in the afternoon when we got back on the road. "Ashley, you wouldn't happen to have any plans tonight, would you?"

I shook my head in reply.

"Great," he said and took a left at the next intersection.

We stopped and I looked out the window to see a...well, it really looked like a castle. "For the second time, I would like to welcome you, Miss Massaro, to my humble abode." He bowed.

All I could really remember of my previous visit was a drunken haze, so allow me to describe his house again. It was lovely and old-fashioned, a breathtaking environment of royal blue, dark green, and maroon, with a brick fireplace, a big armoire, large chairs, a library full of classic literature, beautiful portraits on the walls, pictures of himself and his TNA buddies perched on the mantelpiece. All in all, an atmosphere that would make anyone who stepped in feel like royalty. A Duncan Sheik song started playing from the sound system (hey, it's not like he's stuck in the 1800's).

"Duncan Sheik? And I thought you were a heavy metal and alt-rock kind of guy."

"Well, yeah, sometimes, but Duncan Sheik is the best music when you just want to chill out."

Just that second, I realized that I am so not used to this. Scott defied all my expectations: I thought he'd be a typical, run-of-the-mill, Pantera-loving dude with a messy apartment, but...wow. There's certainly more to him than meets the eye.

"Wait here a second. Make yourself at home, Ashley, I'll just get some stuff from upstairs."

I was studying a framed certificate of his MENSA membership in awe. Gosh, it keeps getting better and better...he's a perfect gentleman, he's funny, he's sweet, and he has an IQ of 147? Amazing.

In minutes he descended the stairs with two easels, two brushes, and various colors of paint. He set up the easels on two stands which were folded up in one corner of the living room.

"What are you doing?" I inquired.

He finished setting up the easels before turning to face me. "Listen, you don't have to do this, but I just...I got so inspired just looking at you when we were at the museum that I...well, Ashley, I really felt like painting a portrait of you."

"Of me? Really?" I nervously started toying with a lock of my hair.

"Yeah, but only if it's okay with you."

I hope I'm not blushing. (Again.) "Oh...sure. Why are there two easels?"

"Well, I was thinking," he stammered,"I mean, since you said you like to paint too..."

A light bulb went off in my head. "Oh, we could paint portraits of each other!"

He nodded. "And trade them afterwards."

"That sounds like a great idea!"

We sat down facing each other in front of our easels. I got to work. Let's see: I'll start with his dark, intense eyes...a mix of brown and black. We looked at each other at almost the same time, and at that moment, I could feel butterflies in my stomach. I took a deep breath, and continued painting.

(Appropriately enough, a song just ended and the title of the next Duncan Sheik song that played was called "Drowning in Your Eyes.")

I think I'll paint him from the waist up. A dim, yellowish light emanating from a lamp in the corner illuminated his hair and the outline of his white silk shirt, which was loose, but clung to him enough to outline his muscles. His posture was not stick-straight, but he wasn't slouching, either. I watched in sheer admiration as he worked on his portrait, gazing intently at the easel he was painting on. He glanced up and met my gaze, at which point I averted my eyes, slightly embarrassed. I realized then that at least five minutes had passed...and the whole time, I was staring at him...but not painting.

His black hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, with a few tendrils hanging loose. With one smooth brush stroke I drew his strong, squared jaw. To get the color of his skin, I mixed white with a very small dollop of red on my palette.

And now, the background. I don't care to add the maroon wallpaper or the corner lamp in the picture. I looked beyond. Greenish curtains were drawn open to let in white moonlight. That's it! I'll paint the night sky as the background. A round, pale blue moon, purplish clouds, and several stars. The color of the sky was a mix of dark blue and deep purple.

When I finally finished my portrait, I looked up to see that he'd finished ahead of me, and the whole time he was just sitting there, looking at me with a hint of a smile. "You're done?"

"Yeah," I replied.

We had a glass of champagne each as we stood out in the balcony, looking at the moon together. I shivered at the sting of the chilly night wind. Seeing me react to the cold, he set down his glass on the ledge and held me in his arms, both of us still facing the spectacular view under the moon.

"I hope this'll do," he said, "I left my coat in the car."

I laughed, placing my hands over his, which grazed my waist. "It's alright." Actually, this is much better.

"Hey, Ashley?"

"Hmm?"

"I hate to sound really corny right now," he spoke softly, "but moments like these only happen once in a blue moon, and I'm glad I'm spending this with you."

"Me too." I smiled as I continued to look up at the night sky with the blue moon hanging overhead. The warmth of Scott's body and the very faint but lovely scent of his perfume sent me into a mild high. All I had to do was angle my head a bit, and I found myself looking right at his wondeful, shapely lips. I'd forgotten whatever the hell else we were talking about. I looked up into his eyes, tilted my head a bit more, and leaned in, slowly closing my own eyes and feeling his hot breath on my lips.

Smash!

We both rushed to the ledge of the balcony to see what had happened. Apparently, the wind blew Scott's empty glass right off the ledge of the balcony, landing on the floor below and bursting into a million crystals.

"Damn," I said, giggling. "Buzz kill." I'm feeling really tipsy right now, and it's not because of the champagne.

He held me closer. "Ah, don't mind it. I've got a million of those." We laughed into the night wind.

-o-

It was close to midnight when we finally got back to my place. With Scott's painting of me tucked safely under my arm, I walked to the door of my apartment with him walking beside me. I set it down and turned to face him. "I had a wonderful time, Scott."

Time seemed to be at a standstill when he smiled at me. "I did, too."

I started fidgeting awkwardly with my keys, trying to find which one was for the apartment door. Oh, who was I kidding? I could easily point it out just by looking at the set of keys. I only had three, and they were all colored differently. The red one for my BMW, the yellow one for my house in New York, and the blue one for this apartment.

A weird silence came between me, pretending not to know which key opened the door, and Scott, who was looking at the ceiling, down the hallway, at my keys, pretty much everywhere except at me.

Oh, forget it. I didn't expect that he had watched the movie Hitch anyway. (For the uneducated: Hitch revealed in this movie that when a woman fumbles with her keys, it means she wants the guy to kiss her. Totally true.) "Ah, here it is."

I'd just stuck the key into the keyhole when I felt his hand under my chin, slowly lifting it up until I faced him. The hall was quiet, and we were the only two people standing there.

God, I hope it's going to happen this time.

Millimeter by millimeter, he lowered his head to mine and...you know, I think one of the sexiest things ever is that electrifying moment when you're about to kiss someone for the first time. It's a moment that I rarely come across, since the guys I date usually like to do it really fast. Trust me, it's a bigger turn-on when a guy takes his time.

So when our lips finally touched, it was, in a word, magical. I felt like I was reliving one of those rare moments in high school.

No tongue, no dripping saliva, no hand on my ass or boobs, no rush to get to the bedroom. It was just a sweet, slow kiss. The kind of kiss whereyou just stop caring about anything else except the guy you're with.And. It. Was. Amazing. I savored the moment before finally breaking free for air (which right now seems totally overrated).

"You're a real catch, Scott Levy."

Holding me in his arms, he grinned down at me. "Likewise. I have never met a girl like you before, and I doubt I ever will again."

He kissed me on the forehead and we bid each other good night, and I turned the blue key to open the door, still giddy from the kiss.

"Christy, you here? Damn, these stilettos are killing me!" Seeing that Christy's bedroom was locked, I assumed she was fast asleep. (Where had she been, anyway?) Oh well, I'll thank her for not showing up in the morning. I walked into my own bedroom and set down the portrait on a chair, flopping backwards onto my bed to take a good look at it.

Wow. How is it possible that one painting could make me look so...wow? The Ashley in the portrait was staring right at the viewer with green eyes like a cat's. My blonde hair cascaded down my bare shoulders (I was wearing a black halter dress). Behind me was a maroon wall with a framed artwork adorning it. I leaned closer to examine it closely. Anyone could see that it was a painting of a sunset, but there was light reflecting against the glass surface of the frame (coming from that lamp in his living room, I figured). Upon closer inspection, one could see the familiar outline of a man sitting down with his hair in a ponytail, a man I recognized to be Scott himself.

I recalled our conversation on Salvador Dali.

"Ever notice that sometimes, if you'll look closely, you can see him in his paintings?"

-o-

A/N: In case you were wondering or you don't know already, yes, Raven really is a member of MENSA, and reportedly has an IQ of 147. I read it on Wikipedia :) The painting ability is totally fictional, though (unless there's a fact I overlooked).

Also, to answer some of your questions about the story plot: Christy has ten condoms in her purse because like most modern free-thinking women, she knows that it's important to always be prepared -wink wink- LOL! After all, she did manage to give in to Jeff within an hour of meeting him (Chapter 2), so don't you think she'd remember to bring protection in case it might happen again? Hee-hee :)

Jeff doesn't want Christian to know about him and Christy because he knows Christian would totally razz on him for it. It's a guy thing, LOL :) And Jeff's very reserved about his personal relationships. But that doesn't mean that Christian will be totally in the dark about Jeff's liaisons for the rest of the story...because something might slip out in a subequent chapter...-hint hint-