The door flew open and a voice gasped out, "Oh my God."
Monica laughed without turning her head. "Air conditioning still broken at work?"
"Yes, and whatever moisture that remained inside me after work was sucked out by the portable brick ovens they use as subway trains." Chandler appeared by her side, greedily sucking down a bottle of water. He got halfway through before lowering the bottle with a gasp. "All right, in the future I will never ever make fun of you for spending more on bottled water than you do on wine."
Monica raised an eyebrow. "Can I have that in writing?"
"Of course not. We both know I have no intention of keeping that promise." Chandler took off his tie and tossed it onto the coffee table. "I finally found out why Dad discovered he was gay. He couldn't stand getting choked to death every day by a stupid strip of cloth."
"Well, dispose of your sweat-soaked clothing elsewhere." Using her forefinger and thumb, Monica lifted the tie off the table and tossed it back at Chandler.
Chandler grabbed it with a sound of disgust. "Screw it, tomorrow I'm going to work naked." He took off his suit jacket and started unbuttoning his shirt.
"Tomorrow is not today!" Monica shoved a coaster towards Chandler, who was clearly looking for a place to set down his water. "This apartment is not, I repeat, not clothing optional."
"Spoilsport." Chandler had finished unbuttoning his shirt but left it on. He collapsed onto the couch beside her. "Where is everyone?"
"Phoebe should be home from work soon, don't know if Ross is coming over today. I'm declaring tonight a do-your-own-thing-for-dinner night because it's too hot to be cooking."
"Oh? You've cooked when it's hotter than this."
"I know, but it sounds like a good enough excuse to be lazy."
"Monica, I somehow doubt the word 'lazy' will ever be used to describe you."
"Well, got me there." Monica turned her head to smile at Chandler. He was drinking from the water again, so her eyes drifted down his chest and stomach. She never saw or heard of him working out, but somehow his stomach was flat. He did play basketball once in a while, now that she thought of it. Even accounting for that, though, he had a surprisingly athletic build.
She opened her mouth to ask him about it when her eyes stopped roaming. "What's that?"
Chandler stopped drinking his water. "What's what?"
"That." She pointed at his chest.
"Oh." Chandler turned bright red. "It's nothing, a congenital dealie."
"A what dealie? Does that mean you're a mutant?"
"Hey, everyone's a mutant in one way or another! I mean, look at you, have you seen how often you clean things? You were exposed to gamma-ray radiation as a kid, weren't you?"
Monica refused to be distracted. "Really, what is it?" She reached over, lifted up his shirt slightly.
Chandler slapped her hand away. "It's, er, my nubbin."
"Your nubbin?"
"A third nipple, okay? My grandfather had one too, evidently."
"Wow." Monica looked at Chandler, saw an opportunity to tease him as much as he teased everyone else. "So if you were a woman you'd have three breasts?"
"I would not-"
"You'd be your own best fantasy!"
"What do you know about my fantasies?"
"Only what you tell us every single day." She leapt to her feet. "Wait, let me get a camera."
"No!" Chandler hastily rebuttoned his shirt. "Look, let's keep this between us, okay?"
Monica grinned down at him. "You mean, I get to blackmail you with this information whenever I want to?"
Chandler rolled his eyes. "Oh, like we don't already know enough to embarrass each other twenty times worse than this."
Which was a good point. Monica decided to give him a break. "Okay, I won't tell."
"Thanks," Chandler said with relief.
"After all, there's nubbin we keep secret from each other."
Chandler winced. "The stand-up routine needs work, Mon."
"Well, look who's been teaching me." The door opened; Monica looked over and waved. "Hey Phoebe."
"Hey." Phoebe set down her guitar with a sigh. "Oh, I need a shower sooo bad."
"Me too," Chandler said as he half-turned on the couch. "Shall we wash each other's backs?"
"Oh, you." Phoebe grinned, then walked over towards the window, where a vent in the ceiling blew cool air into the room. She moaned in relief, then pointed. "Look! Cute Naked Guy is standing in front of a huge fan!"
"Phoebe, we must work on your definition of cute." Chandler stood up and walked over next to her, also looking out the window. "Wow, that is a big fan. He better not stand too close. Or, you know, get too excited by the sensation."
"Enough, Bing." Monica walked into the kitchen. "Go shower and change your clothes and I'll have dinner ready by the time you're done."
"What happened to too hot to cook?"
"I got a sudden urge to make a salad. You can still do your own thing, though."
"No salad sounds fine. Back in ten." Chandler picked up the bottle of water and took it with him as he left.
Monica glanced over at Phoebe, who was standing with her eyes closed, face lifted up towards the vent, an expression close to rapture on her face. Monica smiled as she began washing the lettuce. "So, seeing bar guy tonight?"
"Oh no, I broke up with him ages ago."
"Ages? So, who was it in your bedroom on Friday?"
"Oh, him." Phoebe giggled. "That wasn't bar guy, that was ice guy."
"Oh?" Monica chuckled. "Have I met ice guy?"
"No, I just met him a couple of weeks ago. And, and yeah, he was in my bedroom, but we just talked."
"You... just talked? To a guy? All night?"
"Yeah. We didn't want to bother you." Phoebe almost floated over to the kitchen. "He is the sweetest guy in the world."
"Is he now." Monica studied Phoebe. "Is that why you're so totally in love with him?"
"I am not!" Phoebe's blush seemed to put the lie to her words. "Besides, he's gay."
That truly surprised Monica. "You mean, gay as in happy?"
Phoebe frowned. "No, gay as in he has no sexual interest in women whatsoever."
"You spent all night in your bedroom talking to a gay man?"
"Well, he had a problem we were talking about." Phoebe sighed dreamily. "And... and he really is wonderful to talk to."
"Why did you call him ice guy?"
"He's an ice dancer."
"An ice dancer? You mean, like, a figure skater? Brian Boitano-style?"
"Yes, yes, all of that. Except much sexier."
"Sexier." Monica eyed Phoebe skeptically. "Are you certain you're not in love with him?"
"No! Yes! I mean-" Phoebe's hand fluttered. "Oh, he's just a friend, we're, we're, y'know, just friends, he, he's gay, so we can't, I, I can't possibly-"
"No, I suppose you can't." Monica went back to making her salad. "As long as you know you can't."
"Yeah." Phoebe sighed.
Monica thinned her lips. "Stop that!"
"Stop what?"
"Being in love with him."
"I'm not!"
"You are and I'm telling you to stop!" Monica began vigorously chopping carrots. "You know you can't have him, which is the only reason why you want him so bad."
"No it's not, he's smart and funny and... and I'm not in love with him, so why am I explaining anything to you!" Phoebe whirled and stomped away. Her bedroom door opened and closed, not quite with a slam.
Monica grimaced as she began working on the cucumbers. That had been unfortunate. It was the closest she'd come to having a real fight with Phoebe, but it had been necessary. Phoebe's flightiness was fine in certain respects, but she needed to have her feet solidly on the ground when it came to this guy. Otherwise she'd just end up hurting herself. And having seen her come so far, Monica would hate to see Phoebe spiral back down into the homeless, disconnected woman that had moved in last year.
So a little firmness and discipline was not out of place. Monica nodded at the righteousness of her cause and put the salad together. As long as Monica worked hard at reining in Phoebe's emotions, Phoebe was certain not to do something foolish regarding the ice dancer guy.
Feeling all was in order, Monica began tossing the salad.
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(to be continued)
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Author's Notes: My apologies, again, that this was so long in coming. I have been writing a lot on this story, but mostly later chapters. Right now I have quite a few months to try and cover, and few ideas on how to do it. So I'm probably going to be just writing short little bits like this, where several months pass abruptly, before getting to the better stuff later on.