You know how I told you that there'd be eight chapters? Yeah, I reorganized some thoughts throughout the weekend and it would actually make more sense if there were nine chapters, so I redid my outline and made it so that this story would be nine chapters long.

And I'd also like to apologize to those of you who thought Jess was unkind to Rob, she has a good reason, which you will find out in this chapter. Seriously, she does have a good reason. I swear. Oh, and also I was attempting to make it so that Jess was only being mean to Rob because she was afraid that if she wasn't, she was going to go through the whole romance trap thing all over again, but I guess that didn't come out too well.

Also, please forgive me and this chapter, as fluff is not my thing. I'm really better at writing emotional dialogueaccording to my mother at leastthan fluff.

Heidi


Disclaimer: I only own the plot and the new characters, everything else goes to Meg Cabot.

Warning, this chapter is rated a medium-high T!

The Secret Reveals

As I had predicted the day before, the minute I stepped into my office at work the next morning, Cecelia cornered me.

"So," she said conversationally, though she practically giddy for some odd reason, "What's up with the guy?"

"Rob? Oh, nothing," I replied, playing her card and trying to be nonchalant, and picked up a file.

I felt her just looking at my back. She sauntered up beside me and put an arm around me in a way that I guess was supposed to be chummy, but since I'm assuming she's never done that before—really, like, ever—it ended being kind of awkward.

"Seriously, Jess. You can tell me. I know you're faking it. Come on, you want to tell me. I can see it written all over your face."

"There's nothing to say," I told her, taking the file over to my computer.

She rolled her eyes, "Jess, this is the Rob that broke you down. The Rob that you told me three days ago was your soul mate. You can't tell me there's nothing."

I turned around in my chair, looked up at her and said, "I'm telling you, there's nothing to say."

She ignored me and pushed on, "Let me get you started, where's he now?"

"I am not being taken in for questioning, Cecelia Harp," I said tiredly. And I knew that even though I was hiding from these questions now, she would end up knowing sooner or later. Cecelia has been in the business for eight years and has an ass that won't quit.

"Okay, tell me this then," she voice became soft and not demanding anymore. "How do you feel towards him?"

Oh, ew.

Why do people always feel compelled to ask that question?

"I don't know."

She gave me "the eyeball" which I know she only uses when she wants people to tell her the absolute truth. Trust me; no one can lie to "the eyeball."

"I'm telling you the truth, Cee, I really don't know how I feel about Rob Wilkins anymore," I told her.

But apparently, she didn't believe me because she sighed and went, "You want to play the hard way? Okay. Let's. You, Rob, Gary,"—who was her boy toy at the moment and works in the forensics department—"and I have lunch today."

I looked at her in mock fiery, "I have a life outside of the FBI, you know." Which was a complete lie, because I totally do not.

And she knew it. "So, lunch at twelve, table by the swings? Okay? Okay. You make the call to Rob, I'll get Gary."

So, with that, I was officially having lunch with Cecelia, her boyfriend, and Rob. Lovely.

The first meal I have with Rob in seven years was with my best friend and her boyfriend. Isn't that nice?


As the clock struck twelve, and the little coo-coo bird came out for its hourly coo-coo, I headed down to the main entrance.

I had called Rob at home—since I hadn't drawn up a file for Rob and given it to Lewis Johnson to give to his son yet—and told him to walk over to the FBI building—don't worry, I told him step-by-step directions on how to get here. Oh, directions that he was not thankful for to say the least. Actually his response was, "Mastriani, I'm not like you, okay?"—, where I would be waiting to sign him in.

Rob was on time. I signed him in and lead him to the cafeteria.

While we walked, I thought about taking his hand, but that wouldn't be appropriate, would it? I mean, after I'd been all tough yesterday, I couldn't just soften, could I? Because then, wouldn't all that resisting from Rob, being all cold to him, and feeling completely guilty for doing so go to waste?

Or maybe I should take his hand because I'd been so mean to him yesterday. You know, to make up for it.

But before I got a chance to do anything, we arrived at the cafeteria where Cecelia and Gary were already waiting for us. They waved us over.

Cecelia stood up and said to me, "You made it on time for once," while I glared at her.

After making uneasy—because a certain person wouldn't let go of Rob after giving him a hello hug—introductions, we all sat and Gary went to place the orders at the counter.

Then there was a moment of silence. And not because we were praying or anything. No,but because no one knew what to say.

"Seven years, huh? That's a long time," Cecelia commented, breaking the dead silence at our table.

Duh. It's almost a decade.

Only, I didn't say so out loud, because it's hard to say anything to a statement like that.

And that was how the rest of the lunch went. You know, awkwardly.

I mean, once or twice, Rob and I would bump elbows, which according to Cosmo was how electricity between two people was sometimes conducted, but even that was awkward.

By the time we were finished with lunch, I was totally thinking:

Note to self, NEVER LET YOUR BEST FRIEND TALK YOU INTO HAVING LUNCH WITH HER BOYFRIEND AND HERSELF WITH YOU AND YOUR EX


When Rob and I were done with lunch, had bid our goodbyes, and were walking away, Rob asked me, "When do you get off work?"

I thought about this for a moment. "I can go right now, actually. Krantz told me that I didn't really have to come today, anyway, because we just finished this huge psycho-killer case."

That seemed to strike Rob's interest. "Krantz as in Cyrus Krantz? The guy who got shot in the leg at that True American's place?"

I chuckled inwardly. He still remembered after all these years. "Yes, he was," and then I added become I couldn't help it, "But he at least he wasn't the guy who got hit in the head by a mashed potato bowl."

And instantly felt remorse for what I had said. It's like when I'm around him, I don't know how to say human-like things anymore. "Oh, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"It's okay," he said, shrugging it off.

I shook my head, "No, it isn't. You got hit in the head and were in so much pain because of me. And I, well I have been nothing but nasty to you about it. You know, now that I think of it, I don't think that I've officially thanked you for everything that you had done for me. Here, how about, I'll get my stuff from my office, we'll go home, and I'll make up to you."

When he looked at me, sort of excitedly, I knew what I said didn't exactly come out right, so I added, "With a massage or something."

His face fell.

I honestly need to start acting warm-blooded again.

Maybe a hot bath would help sooth my frazzled nerves.

Ah, the bubbles. The bath salts. Rob's washboard abs.

Okay, dangerous territory. Very dangerous territory.

Even though I told him that I was going to try to get my feelings for him back. I didn't want to do it that way, you know? I wanted to reconnect not as much physically but more emotionally.

As we were walking past the security gate, I flashed my badge at the nice gate people—whose names I seriously need to start learning—and Robasked to me, "Don't you ever get the feeling that right now is a total role reversal of seven years ago?"

I looked up at him—I'd grow a few inches since my junior year of high school, but that's really not saying much—and asked, "How so?"

"Before, you were always trying to get me to go out with you—"

I stopped walking andstared at him, "Right, just keep bringin' it up. That'll help you."

He smiled at what I said, though I was completely serious. But I let that go and let him continue with what he was saying.

"Sorry, but what I was going to say is, that now I'm trying to get you to go out with me again. Don't you ever feel that reverse?"

I furrowed my eyebrows in concentration. "You know, I don't think it's the 'role reversal' exactly, because the situation before was simple—well, simpler. What we have now is extremely complex."

"Really," he said in a manner that was between a question and a statement, making it hard to decide if I should put a comma or question mark after that word.

"Yes. More complicated than someone being on probation and refusing to go out with a sixteen-year-old girl who was madly in love with him."

And before he could say anything, I said, "Yet was willing to blow up a helicopter."

He said nothing.

We walked for a few blocks until we were at the street where the apartment building that held the apartment I was renting was, and I got a thought. Well, a question really.

"Rob, something that I've never understood was the fact that before, when we were in our 'non-relationship' thing, you always told me that you wouldn't go out with me because I was sixteen and could get you into serious trouble with your parole officers if we went out."

He nodded, urging me to go on.

I did. "Then, why didn't you fight for me?"

Rob looked puzzled. "Fight for you?"

"Yes. Fight for me. When I finally turned seventeen, when we had that awful fight. If you claimed to have really had feelings for me," I said, slyly getting past the l word, "why didn't you fight for me? Because when I turned seventeen, we actually could legally date . . .and stuff," and then I added, because I couldn't help it (well, that, and thought it was totally ridiculous), "I mean, you fought for me—us—when I was sixteen and couldn't even go out with you without getting you into a tremendous amount of trouble, anyway. Why didn't you do it when we could actually legally go out?"

But when he looked troubled, I said, "You know what? I don't want to know. Besides, we're home, and are in a serious need of subject changing."

Once I unlocked the door, let both of in, changed into my "apartment" clothes, and rinsed off my face, I said, walking out ofthe bathroom, to Rob, "Okay. I'm going to make all you've been through, you know, all the missing people you helped me get to, with me up to you. So, what do you want? A massage, using me as a target to kick box, perhaps? Anything." Since I had promised him something and all.

Rob just looked up at me from where he was sitting on the couch and said, "All I want is you."

Okay . . .

I thought I had already vetoed that—sort of—but I guess that didn't sink in too well into his brain.

He swept me off the floor—sort of like how he did it the day before, only this time . . .—and placed me and the couch, got on top of me and started kissing me.

And I swear, he did that all in the time frame of about three seconds.

All I have to say is: How could I resist? Honestly, how?

It's hard enough to keep myself from kissing the hell out of him when he's not even touching me, but now that he was kissing me and pressed up so close to me? How do I resist?

Bad Jess. Remeber, you do not want to reconnect with him this way.

Except that I apparently did.

Or my body did anyway. Because the next thing I knew, I was pushing myself against him, and my nipples were turning hard against his touch when his hands started to wander around again.

This time I didn't push him away.

I moaned against his lips as he started to massage both of them, and felt him smile against my lips.

So, I guess my satisfaction was his, too, now isn't it?

And my own hands strayed away from his neck and began testing the muscles on his chest.

Then, he began lifting myshirt—tank top, really—up off of me.

In addition to needing help being a warm-blooded person—which didn't seem to be a problem at that moment—I also need self control help miserably, I realized as I just let him take my purple tank top off of my body.

He then trailed kisses all down my neck, down my chest, and when he came to my breasts, he unhooked my bra quickly—wonder when he'd mastered that art—and threw it down on the floor by my tank top, and began sucking on the twins—which is a phrase that I have never used before, by the way.

"Rob..." came a voice from my throat that was very unlike my voice.

After he felt that he had spent enough time there, he continued to trail kissing all down my stomach until he reached my pants.

When he began undoing those—the buttons to my pants—it was like somebody had come and poured ice water downby back,because I broke out of whatever world I was in—probably, the land where Jessica Mastriani stopped being realistic—and stopped him with a reluctant, "No, Rob, stop."

And he stopped to look up at me. "What's wrong?"

I bit my lip and said, "I don't think we should do this."

He nodded. "Okay."

As I pickedup my bra and put it back on, I said to him, "It's not that I didn't like what you were doing. I did," I blushed as I said that, "But there's just something you need to know."

I got up and picked up my purple tank top off of the floor as Rob just looked at me confusedly.

I put it back on and said told him that thing that no one except me and some of the guys at the hospital in Indiana had ever known, "I was pregnant with your child."

I watched in fascination as Rob's eyes widened until it was about the size of two oranges.

"I . . .How?"

A dirty look was all that he got.

"You can't mean that night at the after the reopening of Mastriani's," he said, looking incredulous.

I rolled my eyes at him. "Yet I do mean that night. What other night was there?"

He still looked confused—which, may I point out looks way hot on him. "But we used protection."

I laughed in spite of the situation. "I know you didn't pay much attention during your health classes, Wilkins, but did you honestly not hear the health teacher say that the only way to be 100 percent sure of avoiding STDs and unwanted pregnancy is abstinence?"

Rob seemed to think about this for and moment and asked that dreaded question, "So what about the baby?"

I bit my inner cheek and replied, "I lost it."

"You got an abortion?" Now he looked perplexed and sort of angry, although he had absolutely no right to be. In my opinion, anyway.

"No, of course not. I would never do that."

"Then, what happened to it?"

I looked at him, meeting his eyes for the first time that day. "You know how I got into a car accident after I left your place after our fight?"

He nodded. And then, slowly, apprehension dawned upon his face.

"Yeah, at that time, I was three weeks pregnant and because the car behind me collided against my car with so much impact," my voice broke, "I lost it. I didn't tell anyone about it until now."

And with that, everything became blurry to me.

Rob took my head in this arms said into my hair, "I'm sorry. If I hadn't been so stubborn in my ways, maybe we would have a six year old child right now, but why didn't you tell me about you being pregnant?"

I sniffled. "I didn't know until it was gone."

He held me tighter and pulled me on to his lap.

"Didn't your parents know about you losing the baby?"

I shook my head. "No, I begged the people at the hospital not to tell my parents."

I looked up at him. "But maybe it was meant to be that way, you know? Because if I had had the baby you wouldn't have gotten a career in ophthalmology, and I probably wouldn't have had time to go through FBI training and have my job here."

After a moment of comfortable silence, he smiled down at me.

When I asked him why he was smiling, he answered, "Couldn't you just pictured the look on your mom's face if you told her you were pregnant, with my child?"

I laughed.

And remembered why I was so in love with this man seven years ago.

Why I was in love with him now.


So, what did you think of this one? I know it was sort of slow going on the beginning, but I though it ended okay. Right? Or did you think that I should I written in more element?

Oh, and also, I have broken my personal record. 3167 words! Yay! I know you can't see me or anything, but I'm totally doing a long chapter dance right now.

Need Opinions: Do you think I should continuethree or fourmore chapters of Rob/Jess romance before I go on to the "criminal scenes/turning point of the story" or should I just do one or two more chapters and then go on with the plot? What do you think? Because if I just do one or two more chapters, I'm going to be skipping a few days in between, and if I do more chapters, I can actually write all the days out (but then I'd have to redo my outlines again). Please tell me what you think.

Oh, that, and review. :-)

Heidi