Thank you so much for the lovely reviews. As you will find out later, this chapter will be the last chapter devoted to Jess/Rob fluff. I am finally moving on.
Oh, and for those of you who are curious, the sequel to this story is already outlined, but I may not write it if this one doesn't end up being very well received…Just kidding. I'd never let Jess and her friends go that easily.
Though, you must know that I sometimes can be very evil. Muhaha. Ahem.
Heidi-ho!
(A name that you may never call me or else I may have to crush you just a little bit)
Disclaimer: I only own the plot and unknown characters; the rest goes to the magnificent Meg Cabot.
Me, Only Me
A Week Later…
Rob dropped by my office this morning.
I wasn't surprised to see him there in the door of my office, because he'd done this all throughout the week which was actually one reason why the nice people at the gates—Glenda and Jason. There. I'd finally learned their names—had let him in through the gates without me going out there and signing him in.
"Hey, Rob," I greeted, lifting myself up off the chair, giving myself a head rush. I didn't make a big deal out of it, considering the fact that I get them a lot. A lot. I just strolled over to Rob and hugged him.
"Hi."
I went back over to my desk and started doing paperwork, which seemed like all I had been doing ever since we—Cecelia, Brian, a guy who I do not like to work with but have to because Krantz said so, and me—caught this freakin' psycho and put him in jail for the rest of his life.
Rob meandered behind my chair and said by my ear, giving it—my ear—a tingly feeling, "Do you have anything after work?"
"Um, I don't think so." I turned around to face him. "Why?"
"I was thinking we could—" Rob started.
I never got to find out what he thought we could do because at that moment Cecelia burst through my office doors saying, in a stage whisper, "Surprise party at seven! Surprise party at seven!"
I narrowed my eyes at her. "For whom?" I asked.
Cecelia shot me a weird look that so obvious said, "Where have you been?" but what she said out loud was, "Dr. Cyrus Krantz. Our boss? It's his birthday today, remember?" (a/n: I don't actually remember if it said anything about Cyrus Krantz's birthday in Sanctuary, because if it did, I didn't catch it. And I'm sorry if it's not the right time, just go with it. Please?)
"Oh, right," I said, while attempting to guess what Rob had wanted to suggest we do that evening after work, and failing miserably. And I had thought I was a psychic…
Only if all psychics could read people's minds in addition to whatever stuff they could do originally. That'd be nice.
"Hello? Jess?" Cecelia waved a hand in front of my face, snapping me out of my trance of thought. Figuratively, she didn't actually snap her fingers.
She smiled at my unfocused expression and said to Rob, "You can come, too. If you want."
Rob shrugged and looked at me for permission, sort of like how a sixteen-year-old asks his/her mother if he/she could go to a friend's house for the night.
Except Rob looked more like he'd rather be thrown into a pile of glass than go to Dr. Krantz's birthday party than hopeful.
If that makes any sense.
Which I'm sure it doesn't.
I bit my lip, and thought about this for a moment. I settled on getting Cecelia out of the way first, not that she was really in the way or anything, but when I have a conversation with someone, I don't particularly like to be looked on by another. Like I'm in a play and the third person is a member of the audience or something.
I mean, I'm sure someone like Claire Lippman—who, by the way, when I went back to Indiana I found out, just had twins with my brother, a thought that made me want to hurl the turkey sandwich I'd just had for lunch—would love to be watched on by a third party, but I personally prefer not to be.
Anyway, so I said to Cecelia, politely, "Okay, we'll be there. Where is it?"
"Auditorium," she replied, and sensing my tone that she was not needed anymore, she slipped out of the room.
"Are we really going to go to Cyrus Krantz's party?" Rob asked, tipping his head, a gesture that may have looked quite feminine on some guys, but made Rob look even hotter. Which up until that point I didn't think was possible.
Seriously, Rob had grown out of his schoolboy cuteness—not that he'd ever been schoolboy-cute ever since I met him, really, now that I put some thought into it—and had grown into this manly sexiness.
You'd think his patients' eye problems would be fixed by just looking at him. I'll tell you, he was one piece of eye candy. Well, that, and he's really sweet.
You really wouldn't picture someone so hot to be so sweet, but he is.
Unfortunately though, my mind didn't get to ramble on about Rob any longer because said person was waiting for an answer from me.
"It'll be fine. I do it every year," I said, shrugging my shoulders like it was no biggie.
"You work for him," Rob pointed out flatly.
I looked at him for a few second before recognizing what he meant by that. And I laughed. Long and hard. "Look, Rob," I managed to gasp between laughs; "He probably doesn't even remember you."
He stared at me, probably wondering what the hell he was doing with the mad, mad laughing machine.
"You look a lot different than you did when I was in high school," I said, thinking about what I had thought just moments before.
"Really," he said—in that same could-be-a-question-or-statement way that drives me insane, no less—taking interest in this particular piece of information. Not in a self-centered we're-finally-talking-about-me way or anything, but in a genuinely curious way.
"Yeah. For one thing, you don't have a God-awful hair that practically screams 'I need to get a hair cut' anymore," I said with a grin on my face that told him I was joking. And giggled, yes giggled. Laugh all you want, but it's true, I now giggle. You just have to make peace with it yourself.
"Thank you, Mastriani. For that," he replied, chuckling a bit himself, and then said, "I'll go. Will that make you happy, sweetheart?"
I clenched my teeth and held up a finger. "No," I told him, referring to the term of endearment he just used.
Okay, I'll clear it up for you. For the past week, we thought, since I'd been warming up to Rob a bit more and thinking about maybe getting back with him—maybe being the keyword, there—we had been trying to mind the right names to call each other besides our real names.
You know, like how couples have little pet names for each other like pumpkin, sweetie, or little cabbage…Well, that's more if you're French, really. According to my high school French textbook anyway. (a/n: She took French, right? I've read many Meg Cabot books, and I sometimes get a little confused between characters.)
I mean, we're adults, and it just seems right. I'm sure for you people who haven't heard from since Junior winter probably thinks it is totally nauseating, but I'm twenty-three and I probably should think about settling down and, you know, it could be with Rob. And it's just nice to have practice…doing the whole pretend-like-your-married thing, I mean.
It may confuse you, but it's perfectly clear and right to me, and that's all that matters.
By the way, we've already eliminated sweetie, honey, darling, dear, pumpkin, and now we've eliminated sweetheart.
But apparently, Rob took it the wrong way. "Then what do you want me to do?" he asked, not in a demanding or impatient way, although on paper it may seem a bit atrocious.
"No, no. I meant that 'sweetheart' is not the right way to go. We need to keep searching, but I would love for you to come to Dr. Krantz's party with me.
"Oh," he said, sounding half way between relieved and victorious, which I now realize is how he'd always sounded while talking to me ever since he came to New York…
"Rob?"
He nodded, indicating that he was listening.
"Are you afraid of me or something?" I said sounding mildly suspicious.
Rob visibly tensed. "No," he lied.
I looked at him in a way that said "Come on, now," and he 'fessed up.
"Well, sort of," he admitted.
I motioned for him to sit down so he and I could talk. "Why?"
He cleared his throat and picked at the leather band of his watch, obviously buying himself time. "Actually, I'm really more intimidated than scared."
I smiled to myself. Conversations like these totally take men out of their comfort zone. Seriously, it's so hard to make them admit that they're afraid.
Although, to tell you the truth, I honestly do not know the difference between scared and intimidated. I mean, its meanings aren't that different, are they? "And may I ask again, why?"
"Because," Rob said, slowly, fixating his gaze on his shoe instead of me, which I could take as an insult, but I won't because I knew he thought I was pleasing to the eyes by what came out of his mouth next, "you're a really amazing woman and after how things were left between us the last time we were together I don't know if I deserve another chance at being with you and I don't want to mess up anything more because that may rule out any chance that I had to be with you to begin with."
He was so panicked it was so cute.
I took his hands in mine. "Rob, looked at me," he tore his gaze from his shoe, "we both had our share of mistakes and judgment calls that left us where we were seven years ago. But now, things can have a fresh start between us," I smiled at him warmly, "Oh, and never think you don't deserve me, because you have no idea how great you are."
"Cee, I thought this was supposedly to be like an office party, not a jamboree," I shouted above the loud sad excuse for music.
"Well, now we know not to let Betty,"—Cecelia's fifteen-year-old niece, who in my opinion is a complete bitch—"plan parties," Cecelia replied offensively.
"You didn't know that already?" I demanded incredulously.
"I do now," Cecelia said, rolling her eyes.
"There are still a couple of forensic scientists working overnight, you know. They need their peace," I said, testing how long we could last before Cecelia turns this interesting violet color she always turns when she's extremely irritated. Well, she's either irritated or about to have a heart attack, really. But let's just hope for the former.
Cecelia rolled her eyes again at the previous comment and suggested, "Let's go out in the hallway, there are less people there and is probably quieter."
"Ya think?" I asked sarcastically. I do not hold up well in noisy environments.
Once we got outside and I could just feel myself become less and less testy.
No one said for several moments. I looked around and saw that someone was missing from this picture, and so I decided to fill the silence with, "Where's Gary?"
Well, I was trying to fill the silence and also I was really interested in where he was because Gary's usually attached at the hip with Cecelia at these social events. They freak him out, he says.
I apparently hit the bull's eye because, Cecelia blushed for some reason at this question. "He's…uh, getting my purse from the car," she said, obviously lying. Geesh, can't people just tell the truth these days? Or at least lie better?
"He is not," I accused.
She picked at a nail and mumbled something inaudible to human beings.
"Pardon me?"
"He's at the drug store…picking up a pregnancy test," Cecelia admitted, turning that shade of violet I was talking about, only she didn't look irritated nor did she look like she was about to have a heart attack. "So, where's Rob?" she asked, in a lame attempt to change the subject.
My eye widened. I was not about to let her change the subject. "Oh, my god. You think you might be pregnant?"
She blinked at me. "No, I need the pregnancy test to stir soup, Jess. What are you thinking? Of course, I think I might be pregnant. Why else do people need pregnancy tests?"
She was babbling like a little chipmunk. If it were any other situation, I'd find it comical, but…Cecelia, pregnant? Something wasn't adding up in my mind.
"But you aren't even married yet!" was the only thing that came screeching out of my mouth, though.
"I know, I know. That's the thing. Gary's a great guy and all, but I just don't think that I can handle being tied to one guy yet," she said, sucking in such a big gulp of air, I could practically see all the bones on her neck.
Then, me being me, I said the first thing that went through my head, "You are not thinking of an abortion."
Cecelia contemplated this thought and said, "Jess, calm down. I don't even know if I'm pregnant yet."
"When'd you find out you might be pregnant?" I asked, not realizing that I was so interested in other people's pregnancies. Maybe it was the fact that I was once there, but I totally blew the chance at it by driving home in the middle of a thunderstorm.
And that was when Rob came back from the restroom and strode up to us. "So, what's up?"
I looked at Cecelia for permission to tell Rob about this thing, and she shook her head. I nodded; tell her telepathically that I understood. Well, not really telepathically, but you know what I mean.
"Uh, nothing," I said, pretending to be nonchalant, "We're just hanging out."
I could tell by the way that Rob narrowed his eyes at me that he didn't buy it, but him being the nice guy that he is, let it go.
Just when Cecelia looked like she was about to say something, a bunch of the girls from our department—of which there were only about, like, ten, out of the thirty some agents we have here—hopped over to where Rob, Cecelia and I were standing cheering, "This is so fun! We've never had a better office birthday party!"
I just raised my eyebrows at them. And my eyebrows went up higher when their gaze landed on Rob…
This dark haired girl—Sally was it?—decided to speak first, "Hello, I don't think we've met," and stuck her hand out for him to shake.
Rob politely took her hand and shook it.
"My name's Molly, Molly Hoffman," she introduced, still shaking his hand. What an ass. And Sally's a much better name for her than Molly.
Huh. I know I shouldn't be upset…but yet, I am. I mean, they're just shaking hands, and yet I have this urge to kick someone's—okay, that bitch Molly's—butt.
"Rob Wilkins," Rob said, wringing his hand out of Molly's trap of which is traditionally referred to as a hand, but I sincerely think trap is a much more fitting word.
Then, one by one, girls introduced themselves to Rob until I couldn't take it anymore. "Rob, honey," I said sweetly, even though we had already eliminated honey, taking hold of his left arm, "I think we should go now, we need to go to the store and pick up some more birth control pills for me, I'm really running low on those."
And when Rob shot me a bewildered look, I tried to tell him that I wanted to get out of here through my eyes. I guess it worked, since we waved good bye to Cecelia, Gary—who had gotten back from the drugstore by that time—and the rest of the people.
"What was that all about?" Rob inquired as we entered my apartment, "You're on…" he cleared his throat even though I'm sure there was nothing to clear, "the Pill?"
I collapsed on the couch with my face buried in my hands and said in a flat tone, "Of course not. I haven't had sex in seven years, why would I be on any pill?"
I felt Rob looking down at me. Really, for a doctor, he was quite slow. "Then why'd you say you needed to pick up some more Pills?"
I took my head off of my hands and looked up at him, still standing in the doorway. "Because I didn't want to be around them anymore."
"Aren't they your friends?"
"Some of them are," I said. And when he still looked at me quizzically, I explained, "I didn't want you to be with them."
"What's the big deal?"
I sighed. "Couldn't you tell? They were all coming on to you, and I…Well, I don't want you to be in love with anyone but me right now. I want it to be me, just me and nobody else. I know it's selfish, especially because I still don't know how I feel about you, but it's hard enough as it is without a third wheel rolling alongside—"
Rob laid a set of fingertips on my lips to stop me from blabbing on like an unstoppable moron and said gently. "You don't have to worry, because I can promise you, as long as I live, it's always going to be you, just you."
I met his eyes and saw all the truth that I needed. He didn't have to say those words; his light blue eyes told me all that I ever need to know.
We just stayed that way until suddenly, the phone rang.
I went over to pick it up.
"Hello?"
"Jess!" someone who sounded vaguely familiar screeched into my ear, "We need you over at the bureau right now! A man just came in and heavily injured four agents including someone by the name of Harp?"
Oh, my God. Cecelia.
"I'll be right over," I said into the phone before hanging up and flying out the door.
Like it? If you do, please review. If you don't. . .still review. I'm going to update the next chapter as soon as I get 5 reviews.
Much love,
Heidi
