Shoutouts:

Rose/ a.k.a. Dusty- I have you in this one! Tell me if I did okay, right?
Ray- AWWW I love you. : Hows that letter!
Lucks- got your CC, you'll be in the next chapter!
Logic/Lo- GREAT CC; your definitely in the next chapter.

everyone else, thanks so much for your support!

Coffee Please!

Rachel Sullivan was blind. And someone was tap-dancing on her head.

At least, that's what she had thought when first awakening to a pounding head and bright light streaming through the opened blinds. She groped her eyelids and prayed that God would hear her agony and turn off the fucking lights.

Well, if he had heard, he obviously didn't care.

More than a little hung-over, Rachel chose to ignore the cheerily bright sun that hung above her, singing colors with annoying tenacity that scattered sunbeams around the room, therefore highlighting all the other hung-over people coughIDIOTScough there. With yet another groan for dramatics, she turned on her side and, imagine her surprise to find another living, breathing body next to her. Ray turned over once more, pursing her lips and squeezing her eyes more tightly shut, praying that she hadn't fucked up too badly. This time.

"What the fuck did I do last night?" She asked herself aloud apparently a little too loud, for her rhetorical question was answered by a shoe being thrown at her face. Luckily it was only a slipper, and said-thrower was aiming blindly.

"What, you mean besides me?"

Dear God. Ray stiffened, aware of a startling chill climbing up her back, tickling her with feather-like icicles, swarming her brain with a roar of confusion. The classic Brooklyn voice, smug with truth of her dishonor, and smelling of a curiously refreshing mixture of southern butter pecan coffee cream and cigarettes, made her dizzy with understanding.

Spot Conlon.

"Dear God."

"Funny. 'Zactly whatchu said last night too." She turned over, ever so slightly, to find two crystal blue eyes eyeing her with detached amusement. Her own large brown eyes widened, and she felt her heart hammering in her chest. A side effect of shock, she told herself, even as the memory of a drugged kiss had her closing her eyes again in abandon. "Morning sunshine. Glad to see the festivities we partook in last evenin' didn't… wear you out." He wiggled two black eyebrows at her and winked.

Finally, amidst all the confusing emotions, one rang clear. Ray was pissed.

"Get your filthy hand OFF OF ME." She yelled, snatching his hand away from her thigh before he even had the chance to… do anything about it.

"Aw, c'mon sugah lips," he eyed hers, which were swollen from last night's kisses, and she pursed them into a tight line, fighting a string of desire that snaked through her anger. "Don't tell me ya didn't have fun last night. Unless 'More, more, god MORE,' is actually code for 'Fuck off bastard'… well, is it?"

"Fuck You" She hissed, tossing aside the covers someone had lain over her during the night, and leaping off the bed in a rush of dignity.

"I believe you already have. Three times, last night alone. I had forgotten you were such a wildcat… does Race know that?" His words, mocking yet somehow painfully urgent, stilled her for a second… Spot was right, even if he didn't know it. Race didn't know. They'd agreed to take things slow, without the sex, after she pled her virginity to him two years ago. The truth was she'd kept him away because she was afraid of him finding out her deceit… and finding out who she had really lost it, too. Of course, thinking back on it, he hadn't been all that upset…

Before she could dwell on it, Spot's fingers reached out tentatively to brush the back of her arm. She turned around, slowly, not realizing as Spot did how the light played on her figure, highlighting her dips and curves, making her thin negligee' nearly transparent. He ran a finger through his dark hair, cursing under his breath.

"Christ your beautiful," he said, his voice husky with raw emotion. She shivered before she could stop it, knowing it had nothing to do with a chill in the humid air. He stood, approaching her slowly, as if she were a doe in the forest wary of human touch.

Though he knew all too well how she reacted to his touch.

"Rachel," he closed the gap with a last step forward, and grabbed her to him, so she was captured in his powerful embrace, unable to move; worse, she was afraid she didn't want to. Ever. She moaned ever so slightly when his fingers brushed her lips, light as a feather over her hair, on her face.

"Oh…Spot…" she lifted her face to his, ready to abandon herself finally and damn the consequences.

"MOOOORRRNNNNIIIINNGGGG SUNSHINE!" A voice trilled out into the darkened room. "Holy HELL, what did you all DO last night? Well, never mind, everyone UP! UP AND AT 'EM! Jesus Christ, Snipe, how'd you get in here? Come on get up!"
Suddenly, the few windows that had been pleasingly covered with Venetian blinds were yanked open, spilling light into the room. Next, the annoying squeak of little-used-windows-being-opened further awoke those that had stayed asleep through the racket.

"What the-
"Who turned on the lights-
"Turn 'em back on-
"Fresh AIR? Ugh-
"Who the hell-?

Rachel broke apart from Spot instantly, recognizing the voice at once, and being both eternally thankful and also oddly annoyed by the interruption. She didn't hear him curse yet again, angry at their broken moment. He pulled on some pants and Ray turned away hurriedly, afraid to be caught staring.

Unfortunately, she was too late. Spot met her eyes, his deft fingers buttoning a simple white shirt. His strong chest peeked through and she had to fight the urge to trail her fingers over the small gap…

"Mush, stop that, have you seen Ray? Rayyy!" The voice was approaching, and they both realized it.

"Ray…" Spot stepped closer to her, but her moment of surrender was gone now, taken away with the voice of reality and the smell of sin, and she took a step back.

"I think you should go. Now." She held herself staunch, and quite out of his reach. He shook his head in exasperation. Her fiery nature was quickly concealed by a thin layer of ice, and he knew well how to break her, but now was not the time.

"I will… now… but this isn't over, Rachel." She watched him go, slipping out one of the many doors in the apartment, and she let out a shaky sigh.

"It never was over." She was startled to find her knees trembling, and she ran a quivering hand through her mane of thick curls.

"RAY, WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU? WAKE YOUR HUNG OVER ASS UP!" Her friend's impetulant shriek brought more groans of mutiny, and Ray thought it best to avoid such a dramatic event so early in the day um, 2:00?.

"Right here, Rose." Ray stepped out of the other room, and walked over to her energetic friend, who was busy doling out aspirin, making coffee, and trying to shake off the firm grasp that Mush had on her leg.

"RAY!" Rose squealed girlishly and hugged her dear friend closely, taking a meaningful step back after their reunion was finished to inspect her friend's skimpy lingerie and tousled hair. "Hmm…." Rose queried, cocking a perfectly arched brown eyebrow in question. "Have any… fun last night?" Her large, dark brown eyes trailed Ray's body in a river of satisfaction and curiosity. Had her friend, at long last, gotten laid!

"Just the usual," Rachel responded, reaching for Rose's cup of coffee and bringing it to her lips with a flourish. "Mmmm…. Hazelnut. My Fave." She hopped on the counter, catching a stranded drip of coffee on her chin and licking it off of her pinky finger. When at last there was not a drop to be had she lowered the cup and met her friend's sparkling eyes.

"It's my favorite, too." She reported dryly, eyeing the empty coffee cup with exasperation. "Oh well. So…" Rose looked down at her fingernails, attempting to hide her eyes from twinkling unduly. "How was last night?"

Ray shrugged. "Just like any other night."

But Rose wasn't so easily fooled. "Right… that's why you're wearing lingerie. Silk lingerie. In red."

"It's Spell's." Ray said, to distract her. She went over to the bumbling coffee machine and poured herself another glass of coffee, wishing that she knew what secret ingredient could turn her lazy mornings into efficient and glam like her friend's seemed to be. Already, though it was only 2:15 late for the drunkards, har har, Rose was decked out in a pair of faded jeans, a white cami, and some crazy dangly earrings she had found at a garage sale last weekend. It wasn't that she had an amazing fashion sense; she just always seemed to look good! Her brown, layered hair touched her shoulders, and her athletic, toned body was a honey golden color from running laps around the park. Her almond shaped eyes were large, and she proudly framed them with a hint of 'Clear Mascara' and her just right lips were redder from her ChapStik, which she got at CVS.

"How do you do it?" Ray asked, looking on enviously at her friend's fit, lithe body.

Rose looked up in genuine surprise, another coffee mug in her hand. "Do what?"

"Be… so… perfect." Rose's lovely eyes widened.

"Me?" She scoffed. "As if. Look, look here!" She pointed to a rip in her jeans that only enhanced their glamour. "See?"

Ray shook her head in mock sadness, a trace of amusement on her puffy lips, as she reached for some more coffee, hoping to make its way through the haze that was last night.

"Dusty? 'Zat'chyu?" A creaky voice called out amongst the rising clamor. Rose/Dusty rolled her dark eyes at her friend. Ray snickered. Hung over people are so fun to watch! Right, until you are one. "Duuusssttyyyy!"

"GAWD! I'm coming!" Dusty rushed to pour some more coffee for the poor soul, and Ray sat and watched with an ease that only came after a few reviving shots of caffeine. It was relaxing somehow, sitting on the cheap tile counter, watching her friends rouse themselves with a little compassion of course. However, she doubted that any amount of coffee could help make sense of last night.

She took a tentative sip. How had it come about? She remembered a card game with Spell, losing as always, retreating to the futon with Racetrack, and then… what? It wasn't unthinkable that she had ended up with Spot in bed. It was just… she didn't want to think about it. Or did she? I mean, of course she didn't! She was with Race now for god's sake, had been for 22 months now! So… why did the sight of Spot Conlon in a faded white button up shirt still have the power to make a shiver course through her body like lightning? White hot heat, was how she had described their relationship; passionate till the very end. It had ended in the disastrous amount of unleashed passion that such a relationship could only promise. After her heartbreak she had promised to never become involved with him again, or the likes of him, and 2 months later she'd found Race; kind, sweet, caring Race. So… why was she thinking about Spot again after all this time?

"Mornin' Rachel" The voice startled her from her musings and she turned around to find a rumpled Racetrack standing a few feet behind her. To conceal her surprise, Ray jumped from the counter, leaned against it, took another sip of coffee and smiled. "Morning, Race." She looked at him, in his tight jeans, his messy hair which he'd allowed to grow out past his ears, in a cute scruffy way, a faded grey t-shirt, and a day's growth of stubble on his chin. She waited for a burst of passion to course through her, making her feel alive in the most alarming way, and felt only a steady warmth of affection in her belly. Because that was what their relationship was, and that's what she depended on it to be. Steady.

"You okay?" He asked her, walking over to the cupboards and scanning the empty shelves for, she guessed, a glass. Finding none, he got a red plastic cup, poured his coffee black, as always and took a long sip. She cocked her head and smiled crookedly. How could she not adore him?

"Fine." He cocked his eyebrow skeptically. "Okay. Better than everyone else." She pulled a chair from the table and sat in it, watching his eyes close as he drained the cup.

"Good to hear." He remained standing, and looked her over carefully. She felt her cheeks redden and she tugged at her hair, wondering if she had a hickey on her neck.

She cleared her throat awkwardly. "So…"

"So." He waited.

She opened her mouth to say something when at that precise moment; Dusty came rushing in, oddly out of breath for a mere sprint around the apartment. Her hair was tousled, probably from the wind sneaking in through the open windows, and her eyes were sparkling a little maniacally which added to her quirky charm. "RAY, YOU WILL TOTALLY NOT BELIEVE-"

"Hello." Race's quiet voice lacked its usual cockiness, and Ray watched as her friend's excited face went through a humorous range of emotions. Her exuberant expression became surprised, her mouth a perfect 0, her eyes wide, then her cheeks flooded with heat, she shut her mouth guiltily, and her eyes became pleading. Before Ray could ask what was wrong, her face became quietly blank, and she turned her back on Ray to face Racetrack.

"Oh. Hello there." Her voice oozed disinterest, but her eyes were sparkling with an intensity not to be ignored. Rachel felt like an outsider, a million miles away, as she watched the curious meeting.

"I didn't know you'd be here." Race continued, taking a baby step forward. Dusty looked as if she'd like to retreat, but Ray was in her way and wasn't about to move to make anything easier.

"I came to help some friends." She said simply. Race nodded, his dark hair falling in his eyes. Dusty's breath caught, and in that moment Ray felt a flicker of heat pass between the two, a flicker so small as to be almost unnoticeable to the rest of the world, yet so big as to create a swell of something lingering in the air. Ray, out of place, felt isolated, sitting there watching the intensity of the moment pass by, the passion never fading from the two. They, too, seemed to have forgotten she existed. Dusty's breath came a bit fast, and her head began to spin: NOT because of him, she assured herself, even as her vision closed around him.

Race came rushing forward. "Are you alright?" He asked, steadying her. Their breathing was in synch, their heart beats were as one, and Ray felt further and further away with each second. It was as if the universe had stilled time, but only for these two, and everyone else was continuing with normalcy; yet Ray had somehow gotten stuck in between. They were both breathing a bit hard. Rachel wondered what the cause was. Did stopping time make you breathless?

"Fine. I'm… great." Race's hands were still on her shoulders, and he was staring into Dusty's eyes with an intensity she had rarely, if ever, seen from him. Was that a pang of jealousy, or longing? And who exactly did Rachel long for? She suddenly felt very guilty, as if she were the one intruding, and she began to quietly back away. "And you?" She heard Dusty ask, her voice muffled to Rachel's ears. Her friend's small hands unconsciously reached up and settled over Race's, which were still on her shoulders steadying her.

"Great." He answered, smiling at her shyly. Ray felt her heart lurch. Oh.

"I…" Dusty began.

"Yes?" Race asked, stepping closer, one of his hands reaching to cup her cheek. Ray felt her world tumbling this way and that as she tried to stop herself. She just needed to go. Now. Ray was almost successfully out of the way when she felt her feet slip beneath her. She grabbed a chair quickly but still went falling, falling, falling down.

"RAY!" She heard her friend call out. As she went tumbling down, the last thought on her mind was Spot, and his open collar shirt. She let out a cry as her head hit the concrete flooring, and stars erupted. Spot, she thought, and she wondered if she actually said his name out loud. But before she could wonder any longer, her world went quite black.

Lights, Camera, Auditions!

Spell, unaware of the drama at the apartment, was being tortured with her own rumbling emotions. A lump formed in her throat with no words, no time, as her stunning eyes glistened with unshed tears, her pointed chin trembled, and her full lips formed into a tear-your-heart-out pout. "He... he doesn't care," She felt her heart hammering in her chest and she moaned in agony, a few tears spilling onto her flawless cheeks. The effect was rendered all the more touching and beautiful because of her thick, dark lashes brushing her cheeks, as tears slipped silently in quiet agony. She felt as if her tears were melting her, which would be a welcome escape from the emotions that tripped through her body.

"WHY!" Now she felt anger, showed it on her face in a snarl, and her sumptuous lips curled around her ivory white teeth. "Why ME!WHY was I cursed with this love, this ache inside of me that, oh if only I could, I would reach out under my heart AND RIP IT OUT!" And at that point she was making wild gestures with her lovely hands. But because of her beauty and grace, and the moment, it was captivating rather than insane.

"Why..." She turned to speak to her listeners, the ones who would condemn her or save her grace. "Why this dull aching inside of me that will live on until the day I die, which if I had it my way would be shortened with the arrow of cupid's bow piercing me through my heart and not just lodged in it, hurting, throbbing, poisoning my soul!" She cried out, her hands clutching her heart, and she tumbled onto the floor, moaning as if there were actually a literal arrow stuck in her chest. She ignored someone's quiet gasp and continued with her own curse. "Well," She took a shaky breath, and stood up with the help of her trembling hands. Her tone had softened, and she looked quite literally drained of energy; her face was pale, foreboding; a beautiful death. "I told you once, sir, that I don't believe in ghosts. But…if I did, I would haunt him, pierce him with this insane loving that has driven me to insanity. Yes." She relished the word, drawing it out, savoring it. "I would. I would feel no regret when the first lovelorn attack took him, his frozen heart wrought with all my emotions and more. He would then know half of my pain. Half of my suffering. Only then, will I shed my precious tears for him." As if on cue a silent tear trickled down her cheek, catching on the sharp jut of her cheekbone, falling into her thick hair, disappearing with nary a glimmer.

She was beginning to turn away when she heard wild applause. There were few observing the auditions that day, but she turned around and flashed her brilliant smile so that two endearing dimples popped up on both her cheeks. She flicked away the tears and scrubbed her face, thanking God that her lovely friend had lent her some 'Black Waterproof Mascara' as a dramatic afterthought. Apparently it had worked, dramatizing her already skilled capabilities as an actress.

"Thank you," She said shyly, contradicting her quiet manner with a bold gazing into the audience, feeling their stares, their judgment, their approval, their arousal. She had read the scene and perfected it, feeling the poor girl's sorrow. The play was all about a young girl named Isabelle, who had been taught magic by her mother, and was accused wrongly of a murder. She was then spirited away by a man a bit older than she, because of her supposed powers; he had hoped for her to use them to gain riches and power to win the heart of his lover lost, Emmeline. Predictably, both of them fall in love. Of course, Emmeline is then determined to get him, and in a mad fit of jealousy turns Nicholas against Isabelle with the 'conclusive evidence' that she has him bewitched. Nicholas, disgusted, turns her into the authorities. The play ends with Isabelle at the stake, crying, and her last words, which Spell had memorized already, had been: 'You fool. Can't you see she is the one bewitching you, with her false words and tongue of lies? Hear this my beloved Nicholas: When I am gone, so is my magic. Then you will see that our love was true; not of witchcraft. Then, you will hate yourself for what you have done.' He did end up hating himself, drove himself insane, and eventually killed himself by way of poison.

A predictable plot, perhaps, but it was just the kind of play she adored. Plus, the director was quite a famous one, despite his young age, and she was a great fan of his. She did a little curtsy, smiled at the director, and walked off the stage with a trail of elegance behind her, the way she imagined Isabelle must have walked with the authorities, her lover behind her cursing the one he once adored.

The director, in his 20s and very ambitious, was amused at her boldness. He had already mentally cast her as his lead. Sure, she was a bit on the young side, but that mature face of hers, those sexy pouty lips, those sleek subtle curves, had all screamed Isabelle! Isabelle! He chuckled into his poor excuse for a beard and feasted his eyes on the stage where he would see, in just a second, another of Isabelle's potential lovers. He supposed he should watch her just as much for any reaction of pleasure or distaste. Not that it mattered, he firmly told himself, and believed it. She could easily bring any romantic feelings she had for any potential candidate and make the scenes burn with such a vivid intensity the audience could feel the flame's take them away from their predictable lives and make them all Isabelle and Nicholas. He smiled, pleased at the thought. He was still smiling when he called out the next name.

"Francis?"

He cast a quick glance at 'Isabelle', before the potential lover took the stage. She looked bored. His eyes shone as he watched her lean a head on her hand and yawn widely, stifling it as she noticed a few harsh glares directed her way. Apparently she had stayed up too late last night. Doing what? He mused. He came up with several possibilities waiting for the actor to take the stage.

"Er, hi, my name is Francis, and I, uh, am trying out for the part of Nicholas." The director smirked. Like this kid had a chance. He looked over to evaluate Isabelle's reaction and was surprised to see a terrified look had swarmed her eyes, and she was opening and closing her mouth rather crudely. Well, well, well. He thought to himself, stroking his beard (an annoying habit his girlfriend was constantly nagging him about. LET HER NAG, DAMN IT! HE WAS AN ARTEEST!). He turned to Nicholas just as he began to read.

"I want Isabelle! I feel it, humming in my bones, throbbing in my temples. Oh, she drives my crazy, drives me wild with longing! I can feel my heart constrict in my chest when she glances my way, when I know thatI am the one to put that blush into her cheeks. I want to feel her silkiness... feel her tongue slide into my mouth and stroke it caressingly. I want to peel off that dress and dig my hands in her blonde hair," The director was shocked out of his own intense reaction to the powerful young actor when he said that line. Because it was wrong. It wasn't blonde hair. It was thick. Well, well, well. He sat back in his chair, glancing slyly at 'Isabelle'. She was a deep crimson red and her eyes shone with innocence, and anger. Such anger. And something else... something else... that was when he knew that no one else would do for this part. He was shocked by the end of the performance and the actor trotting gaily down the stairs.

The director watched with detached curiosity as Isabelle tried to make a quick get-away. She was sneaking towards the exit when a mob of disappointed, angry, sniveling college kids pushed past her, muttering their complaints only loud enough when they were out of his ear distance. 'Nicholas' stood a few feet from her, a smug smile on his lips as she realized that she was cornered. Finally, she slowly rounded on him. Her eyes were blazing, and her body language was withdrawn. An interesting contradiction, the director thought distractedly. Shifting his acute gaze to 'Nicholas' he noted that the young man was surprised though he was trying not to show it a little smug, and… what? Again that unidentifiable something else...Nicholas took a step toward her and she took one back. His eyes blazed with anger at her retreat; hers screamed fear.

Passion.

That was it. Their rhythm, their un-self-conscious passion between the two.

He walked up to them, and put a hand on each of their shoulders. "Congratulations, you got the role... both of you."

And he left them there, laughing gaily.