The keys bumping against Adam's knee is the only thing filling the awkward, tense silence. Despite his desperation to find out as much as possible about Andrew's night with the fireball, he also knows his friend. He is a southern gentleman, through and through, and will not be spilling details about his night with Monica unless the redhead is willing to share, too.

"So, I guess asking is out of the question?" Adam finally sighs, when the silence is stretched a bit too thin; there's too much tension, too much he wants to say. "I'm sure you're not going to say anything but…"

Andrew merely blinks bleary, gritty eyes over at his best friend and exhales. His eyes have grown heavy from the hypnotic blur of the passing scenery and the burn of exhaustion is quickly becoming unbearable.

"I don't want or need to talk about it." he finally growls, when he's finally processed Adam's unspoken question. "I spent the night with Monica. What that entails isn't exactly public information, Knight."

"Yes, I know, but you're both my friends." Adam offers him a casual, slightly apologetic grin. "And, since she is like my sister, it is my duty to inform you that if you hurt her, I am obligated to kill you in your sleep."

Andrew just rolls his eyes and releases another sharp exhale, absently squeezing the back of his neck. Truth be told, he wants to tell Adam everything but given his whatever the hell you want to call this just started with Monica, he knows if he says anything and it gets back to her, she could end the whole thing without a second thought. Before he even knows more than just her name.

"Adam, I'm tired. My head hurts and I feel like throwing up because all I've eat in the last twenty-four hours is leftover Chinese." Andrew finally whines to his friend. "I need to puke, sleep for a few hours, and drink a gallon of coffee if I have any hope of getting through my shift, tonight."

"Well, it should be easier with Fireball coming in for an interview." it is too early for Adam to be this damn cheeky. "I'm sure you'll be checking the door every time it opens."

"I greet the customers, it's my job, Adam!" Andrew groans, letting his head fall back against the seat. God, he really is nauseous, now. It'd been almost ignorable before, but now - if he doesn't get out of this damn car, soon, Adam's upholstery is going to be ruined. "Now, get me out of this car before I ruin this new interior."

Adam presses a little harder on the accelerator and gives his friend a mock salute. "Yes, sir."

…

" - Don't even ask, Zoe." Monica warns her friend, disappearing into the kitchen to get a cup of coffee. "I don't want to talk about it. I just want to sleep."

"Talk about what?" Zoe's innocent card has never worked very well for her, but she will damn sure give it her best shot. "I didn't ask you what happened with Andrew, last night."

"You just did." Monica sighs, pulling her favorite mug from the cabinet.

"Okay, maybe so, but Mon," the blonde sighs, giving her friend a very pointed once over. "Look at yourself. You look like you should be doing the walk of shame, right now. Your hair is a mess, your makeup is wrecked, and do you know where the clothes you went to the party in are at right now?"

"They're in my hamper - Zoe, what's your point?" Monica's exasperation is clear, but it's not enough to make the blonde back off, just yet.

"What about your car?" Zoe raises her eyebrow at her best friend.

"I left it at the fraternity house." Monica answers clearly. "Zoe, I got home at midnight. We took a cab. Andrew almost got into a fight with the driver. He stayed here."

"Nothing happened?" brown eyes narrow suspiciously at the feisty redhead.

"Nothing I'm going to tell you about." a sip of her coffee and she sets the mug down, breezing past her best friend with a sigh. "I need a shower and a nap if I'm going to make it to my interview."

Zoe watches her go.

Something had gone down between Andrew and Monica, but she couldn't figure out what it had been. Whatever it was had changed their relationship almost dramatically. They were certainly a lot more cordial than they had been, the day before, and it left her more suspicious than relieved.

Mostly because she's a nosy gossip.

…

The hot steam of the shower relieves some of the left-over tension but it does little for the swimming thoughts. It doesn't really calm the racing hearts or the shaky hands. No matter how hard she scrubs, the smell of him, the feel of his fingertips seems to be seared permanently on her skin.

His soap can't hide the smell of lilacs that clings to his skin and he almost ruins his toothbrush attempting to get the taste of her out of his mouth. He's just pulling on a light blue button down when he spots the bruising and the redness on his chest. The pale crescents where her teeth had dug into tender flesh. Oh. Well. Maybe wearing light colored shirts isn't a good idea. Shrugging back out of it, he tosses it into the corner and heads for his closet to find a different color. He could go with red - oh, no, he couldn't. Too much like her hair. He finally settles on a black shirt, drags his hand through his hair, and absently wonders if he could catch a few more minutes of sleep. Probably not. No matter. Couldn't get her out of his head, anyway.

Monica wonders how formal or casual this interview will be when she pulls a black dress from her closet. A job in a bar makes her nervous but it's also with Andrew, who she feels unreasonably safe with. There is no logical explanation for how safe she feels around him or why the idea of him clings so tight to her thoughts, she can't seem to shake it.

"Mon, you ready to go?" Zoe pops her blonde head around the corner. "Want to make sure you get back in time to get some sleep. Are you sure you're okay to drive?"

"Yeah, Zoe." Monica smiles at her friend in the mirror. "I'll be fine."

Not like she'd be falling asleep anytime soon, anyway. Not with every single thought revolving around one person. One gorgeous, green-eyed, blonde haired person. One who had managed to give her more orgasm than she thought she could have. One who had shown her how a man is supposed to treat a lady. One who she is supposed to hate. But, she's not sure about that, anymore.

She's not sure of anything.