I just wanted to remind you that this ficlet is only five chapters long, so, after this post, we only have one chapter left. Enjoy!
Charlynn
Chapter Four
The sun was entirely visible in the sky, and, as Elizabeth felt its far away, warm rays awaken the earth around her, she was surprised to find herself perfectly content with her surroundings. In the haze between sleep and complete consciousness, she was unsure of where exactly she was, but she knew she had not fallen asleep the night before in her apartment's comfortable bed. However, unlike the morning after her first sleep over in elementary school, the first time she stayed in her dorm room freshman year, and the first time she realized she was living by herself in her own home, the thought of not recognizing her environment did not scare her. Instead, she felt relaxed, comfortable, and even protected, an odd combination in her current state of confusion. Braving the unknown, she slowly peeled her weary left eye open, squinting at the brightness of the day, to figure out just exactly where she was.
The first thing she encountered was flesh – tanned, muscular, masculine flesh, and, from that point on, she knew it was going to be a very bad morning. Opening both eyes, she scanned what appeared to be a rooftop, and the previous night came back to her – the party, the ridiculous Playboy Bunny costume, the horrible reality of getting trapped with Jason on the roof, and, worst of all, the sex with a man who not only had the amazing ability to annoy her like no other but who also was practically a stranger. His nude body was wrapped around her own vulnerable form, luckily still sleeping, but what caught her by surprise was the fact that they were covered by several thick, luxurious throws of various colors, that there was two overnight bags placed to the side of their impromptu pallet, and that there was a picnic basket with what she could only presume was breakfast. Obviously, someone knew they had spent the night together in more ways than one after being locked up on the roof the evening before, so not only would she have to face the mortifying memories of her lack in judgment and her one night stand as soon as he woke up, but she would also have to face teasing innuendos, probing questions, and the humiliation of being caught having an affair that never should have happened by, in all likelihood, Lucy. After all, she was the only person, besides Jason, that she had talked to at the party, and her boss had known about the set-up date.
Snatching the top blanket, Elizabeth rolled it into an oblong ball before sliding away from the slumbering man beside and replacing her warm form with that of the substitute blanket. Carefully, she held her breath as she waited to see if he would wake or not, but, after several incomprehensible mumbles and one shift in position, Jason settled back down into the inviting cocoon of blankets, allowing her to sigh in relief before locating her small suitcase and pulling out the clothes she would need to escape from the hotel and the recollections of a night that never should have happened.
Whoever had packed her bag had done a good job, including warm, comfortable, simple clothes that would be easy to put on and disappear without much hassle. After quickly putting on a pair of basic undergarments, track pants, a t-shirt followed by an oversized sweatshirt, Elizabeth sat down away from the pile of blankets she had fled mere minutes before to tie her tennis shoes. Despite the ravenous rumblings of her stomach, she had decided to forego the provided picnic basket so she could leave as soon as possible. Let Jason eat the food if he wanted to. By the time he woke up, she would be long gone and stopping by Kelly's for a large hot chocolate and two apple turnovers on her walk back to her studio apartment. Hopefully, if everything went to plan, their paths would never cross again, and, eventually, both the night and the man would fade far, far away from her mind, never to be seen or heard of again.
Dressed, costume tossed in the duffel bag, and standing up, once again, with her back turned away from Jason, she was just a handful of short steps away from freedom, from escaping her own private hell when perhaps the most stomach clenching words were spoken in her direction.
"So this is what it feels like to be used and tossed aside in the morning. I've had lots of one night stands, but I've never been the one to be left behind without a number, a goodbye, or even a thanks the next day; I'm normally the one doing the leaving."
"Now there's something you can write home to Mom and brag about."
Ignoring her sarcastic comment, Jason asked, "what do you think you're doing, Elizabeth? Did you think that if you snuck out of here and went home quick enough that you would wake up later in the morning and this would all be a bad dream? Well, I'm sorry, but you weren't drunk, so you can't excuse your misguided optimism as the side effect of a hangover."
"If I wasn't drunk, then you sure the hell weren't either," she returned, swirling around, an angry flush tingeing her still sleep softened face.
"I know that."
"So what's your justification," she challenged him.
"Justification," the bodyguard pondered, cocking his head to look at her closely. "What are you talking about? I wasn't the one trying to run off before the other woke up."
"I'm talking about last night, about sleeping with me," Elizabeth snapped, dropping her bag and placing her hands on her hips. "What was that all about?"
Despite her ire, he couldn't help but laugh at her, his mirth only incensing her further. "Get off of it," he ordered, standing up and, unabashedly nude, despite her nervous gulps and stammering, making his way towards his own overnight bag. "We didn't do anything last night that you didn't want to do. In fact, if memory serves me correctly, and, trust me, everything from last night is crystal clear in my mind, you were the one who made the first move."
"Even if I did kiss you first," the brunette argued, "you didn't pull back, and, instead, you definitely pushed it forward. Besides, my actions could be explained by desperation or temporary insanity brought on by the cold. You can't say the same."
"Maybe I just wanted to help a lady out, you know, try on the whole chivalrous, white knight role for once. Obviously," he frowned, "it wasn't worth the time or the effort, because you're just not very appreciative."
"Appreciative," Elizabeth repeated heatedly, "appreciatively! Where do you get off? Just because you slept with me, that does not give you the right to expect a thank you. I'm sorry, but no matter how good the sex was, I was fifty percent responsible for anything either of us felt."
Ignoring everything else she said, the blonde took a step towards her in only a pair of jeans and quirked his eyebrow. "So, the sex was good? How good?"
"You would focus on that, wouldn't you?"
"Of course I'd zero in on the compliment. It could very well be the only one you've ever given me before," Jason pointed out with what, if she didn't know better, she'd call a mock pout.
"Ugh," the artist groaned in frustration, "this is getting us nowhere. Would you just put your shirt on so we can come up with a story to tell everyone?"
Complying to her request, he slipped on a long sleeved t-shirt. "Tell everyone," he questioned, "what, do you want to take a full page ad announcing that we had sex?"
"No, what I want is to think of a plausible defense to present to whoever it is who already knows about us….about this."
Apparently, she just kept walking straight into her own set traps. "So there's an us now," the security expert queried. "Interesting."
Snapping her fingers, Elizabeth tried to refocus her sparring partner. "I'm not even going to dignify that with an answer. My guess is that only Lucy and Miss Barrett know about this so far, but, give my boss twenty-four hours to recover from her hangover from last night, and she'll be spreading the news of our….liaison faster than an STD on a college campus. I know that we weren't drunk, but that's what we could tell them."
"I don't lie," the blonde refuted her idea, "and, besides, Brenda would never by that I was too drunk to control my actions. I can hold my liquor pretty well."
"That makes one of us," she replied. Sighing, Elizabeth suggested, "well, I could still tell Lucy that I was at least drunk. She'd believe that about me."
"What, Webber, do you often get smashed at parties and sleep with the first guy who offers you his coat?"
"Screw you!"
"Oh, very mature," he taunted, "but you already did that. Don't you remember?" When all she did was flip him off, he continued. "You can forget that idea though. You're not telling your boss that you were drunk when you slept with me, because then she and Brenda will think that I took advantage of you."
"Fine," the brunette relented, "but that only leaves us with one option. We tell them a version of the truth."
"And that would be…"
"That we got trapped on the roof, I was an icicle in my hair shy of looking like an extra from Titanic, and, to keep me warm, we slept together. It was nothing more than a no strings attached, no feeling involved one night stand between two people who were physically attracted to one another despite their inability to hold a civil conversation."
"Just so I can get our story straight, let me get this right," Jason challenged. "You're attracted to me?"
"The thought of spending one more minute with you might make me want to see if I can scale down a twenty story building, the sound of your voice might make me yearn for an ice pick to jab out my own ear drums, and the knowledge that I actually slept with you might be the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to me, but I am mature enough to admit that you're not hard on the eyes…well, at least, since you shaved. However," the assistant continued, "that does not mean that I want this splashed across the page six gossip column or that I want a repeat performance. If it was up to me, I would never see you again, hear about this night again, or think about what happened between us again for the rest of my life."
He was silent for a moment as he regarded her. "I'm attracted to you, too." However, there was no insult to accompany his comment.
"So then we agree," Elizabeth prompted. "We'll just tell our respective employers a PG version of the truth and politely ask them to refrain from ever speaking of what they saw or know of ever again."
"If that's what you want."
"It's what I want," she agreed without hesitation, but, once she finished talking, they simply stood there, staring at each other, neither moving nor saying a thing. Finally, it was Jason who spoke up to break the silence.
"For someone who wanted to so badly get away from me earlier, you're not really moving so quickly now."
"I don't," the young woman faultered, unsure of how to express what she wanted to say, "I'm not sure what we do now. I've never had a one night stand before. While you were still sleeping, it made sense to get up and get away before you woke up, but, now that you're awake, do we….shake hands and simply say goodbye, and what about all this stuff?"
"Don't worry about it, Midge," Jason assured her. "I'll pack all this up and dump it at Brenda's on my way home. She'll know what to do with it. As for how we do this, it's simple. Just turn around and leave."
"That's it?"
With a chuckle, he waved her away. "I'll see you around, Elizabeth."
"I hope not, Morgan," she tossed back over her shoulder as she passed through the propped open emergency exit doorway, and, before he could say anything else, she was already gone.
"Thanks for meeting me," Brenda greeted her accomplice that afternoon. "We have some major damage control to do."
"What are you talking about," the younger woman questioned, frowning deeply while spreading her starched linen napkin across her lap. "They looked quite close this morning when we left them."
"Well, according to a slightly hostile Jason who I just left thirty minutes ago, it was nothing more than a survival screw?"
Confused, Emily squinted at the brunette. "Excuse me?"
"Elizabeth went up on the roof without a coat on, and, because of her coverage lacking costume, a few hours exposed to the elements left her vulnerable to frost bite. According to my moody, very ungrateful friend, they slept together for no other reason than to make sure that she didn't get too cold."
"That's ridiculous! Sex is not something Elizabeth does lightheartedly. I mean…you read those responses I wrote to your questions from when we were still pretending to be Jason and Elizabeth, respectively; there has to be more to their actions." Almost regretfully, she pointed out, "Lucy did say something about alcohol being taken with them up onto the roof."
"I asked Jason about that," Brenda revealed, "but he said they were both sober. Sure, he admitted that they both had a few drinks, hers for warmth and his to get her to take a few sips, but they were not drunk."
"Did he say anything else?"
"Yeah," the older woman confessed. "He told me that last night wasn't the first time they met. They've had two run-ins previously, both due to my business association with Deception, and let's just say that when they're in the same room together, complimentary ear plugs should be distributed."
"So they push each others buttons," the auburn haired woman reasoned. "Maybe their arguing is a form of foreplay."
"Verbal banter is not exactly Jason's style."
"Then Elizabeth brings out a new, more vocal side in him," Emily suggested. "I don't care what they say, there is something there between them. I've read the information you've provided me about Jason numerous times, and he's perfect for Liz, just as I think she's perfect for him, too. All we have to do is somehow make it so that they can see what we've seen about them."
Suddenly inspired, Brenda lifted her bowed face to look her younger friend in the eye. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
"What are you thinking?"
"We have to get Jason and Elizabeth to read the others files from their online profiles," the model answered. "Did you save a copy of the answers you typed up when you were answering my questions, pretending to be Elizabeth?"
"Yes," the auburn haired woman answered slowly.
"Perfect!" Lowering her voice, the older woman leaned across the table before she continued to speak. "Now this is what we're going to do," she instructed, a mischievous twinkle in her eye belying the fact that, once again, she had a plan, a plan that was, contrary to her first one, quite simple and straightforward in nature.
Elizabeth had just finished a very strange, rather scatterbrained conversation with Brenda Barrett several minutes before, only to find herself seated on her couch in her studio with a thin, manila folder resting on her lap. Despite herself, she was curious to see what it held inside. The model had come knocking on her door fifteen minutes before wanting to speak to her in private, despite never having an actual conversation with her before, and had proceeded to explain how she and Emily had met online at a dating service website, impersonating their best friends in the hope that they would be able to finally match them up in a successful relationship. Their conversations through the internet had led the two young women to declare that their best friends were perfect for each other, and, after that, her blind date with Jason had been organized, and, although both she and the bodyguard had refuted the idea of them working as a couple, Brenda was still convinced they would be amazing together. To persuade her, she had brought over a folder of ten questions Emily had asked her, and, according to the older woman, she had answered them as she felt Jason would, and who better to speak for him than the woman who had been his best friend since they were kids. Eventually, Elizabeth had agreed to read the file, more so just to get rid of the energetic model, but even she couldn't deny the slight surge of curiosity she felt at the thought of learning more about the man who had so thoroughly physically loved her the night before. She excused her feelings as wanting to get into his mind so she could one up him the next time they had a fight, but even Elizabeth knew that was a lie. Sighing at her own sentimentality, she opened the folder and began to read.
If you could live anywhere and in any house you want, where would you live and in what kind of house would you make your home?
A place does not make a home; four walls and a roof are not needed to make a home. A home should be going back to someone you love. It's a level of contentment one can only reach by spending their time with someone important to them. As where I would want that home to be, it really doesn't matter to me. I like Port Charles, but, at the same time, I like to travel. It doesn't really matter, and, if I had to pick a physical description of a place where I would choose to live and make my physical home, it would be simple and uncluttered with large, open rooms, lots of windows, and a big yard. Oh, and I'd need a pool table and a garage to work on my bike. Everything else, I'd leave up to whoever I was sharing and making my home with.
As soon as she finished the first question, Elizabeth was already looking at Jason Morgan in a new light. He wasn't unfeeling or even emotionless; he simply was reserved which, when she considered how others cheapened their feelings by flaunting and over-simplifying them, wasn't necessarily a bad thing. However, what scared her the most was the fact that she liked his ideal of the perfect home, including everything from a home being a partnership between two people in a relationship to his insistence that the house have a pool table. It would be fun, having a pool table, and, as her mind unwittingly flashed back to the previous night, she flushed when realizing the fun could be had in more than one way. Shaking away her thoughts, the young artist returned to the file and the next question.
If you could eliminate a single type of animal forevermore, which would you choose?
That's easy – little, annoying, yipping, designer clothes wearing dogs.
Now that did not surprise her at all! Stifling her laughter, Elizabeth wiped away the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes at the picture of Jason carrying one of his hated pets around in a wicker basket before perusing the third topic.
If you could keep only one article of clothing you currently own and the rest were to be thrown out, what would you keep?
Hands down, I'd keep my leather jacket. Everything else could easily be replaced, not that I need many clothes to start with, but it's taken me years of wearing my jacket to get it broken in the way I like it, and that's not something you go can go out and simply replace by buying a new one.
It was more than that though, Elizabeth realized. Jason Morgan's leather jacket was a part of his aura, a part of his personality, a part of what made him the man he was. Take it away from him, and it would be like Oscar the Grouch without his garbage can, JR Ewing without his cowboy hat, Jack Nicholson without his sunglasses; it just couldn't be done.
If you could have one specific power over other people what would it be?
I wouldn't want power over other people, because that would take away from their own free will. If I don't want someone to tell me what to do or how to act, then I'm not going to do it to someone else. Having power over other people would mean that I could partially control them, and I want no part of that.
Elizabeth snorted at that response. Little did he know that he already had more than one strong power over other people, over women. He had the power to seduce, and, obviously, she recognized belated, he wielded his power skillfully. While she could admire his reluctance to control other people, some power in the world was used unintentionally, and Jason's looks and cocky charm fell into that category, at least where she was concerned.
If you could choose exactly what you will eat and drink for your last meal before death, what would the menu consist of?
Ruby's chili, a number three, no onions at Kelly's, and an ice cold bottle of beer.
A simple meal for an unpretentious man, Elizabeth surmised. With a laugh, she had to admit that anyone who settled down with him would not have to work that hard to give their man a perfect meal. Not only was Kelly's affordable, but it was also centrally related in town, and beer in a bottle was just icing on the cake, because he wouldn't even dirty a glass.
If you could decide how to spend your last day alive, what would you do?
I'd do the things I love. I'd take my bike out and ride for hours, going nowhere fast, I'd stop at Jake's to play a few games of pool, and then I'd head home with an unknown woman and let her warm my bed. After all, wild sex with no strings attached, what a way to go?
Okay, so he was an unpretentious pig, that was no surprise, but he was also male, she rationalized, so it was to be expected. However, despite her aversion to his casual sexual attitude, Elizabeth knew that if Jason was in a relationship, he wouldn't fulfill the final part of his ideal last day on earth; instead, he would spend the evening in bed holding and making love to the woman who had actually succeeded in taming the heart of the man who seemed to never want to settle down. How she knew that, she had no idea, but she did, and, for some unknown reason, it made her feel better.
If you could have one person you know be your slave for one month, who would you choose?
My employer who just so happens to be my oldest friend, because it's past time for her to learn a very important lesson: paybacks really are a bitch.
Giggling, Elizabeth found herself agreeing with his sentiment. Turning the tables on their pampered bosses and making them their personal slaves for a month would be wonderful payback. However, neither Brenda nor Lucy would ever make it that long without fleeing the country or crying uncle.
If you had to eliminate one season permanently, which one would go?
I don't really feel the cold, the heat doesn't bother me, and I definitely don't get worked up over mud puddles or falling leaves. That said, if I had to eliminate a season, I'd go for fall, simply because it poses the most threat security wise. It's easier to hide out in the woods and blend in during the fall than any other season. Anything that would make my job easier works for me.
That question, besides telling her when she should plan her first and only attack on Fort Knox, did nothing to help Elizabeth figure out who the mysterious Jason Morgan was. She already knew he was anal when it came to his work, but, instead of finding herself annoyed with him for being so predictable, she was irked at her best friend for asking such a trivial question. Hoping the next one was more insightful, she went back to the folder.
If you had to give up all sexual activity for one year, how much money would you demand (minimum) in return?
I'd never do it. Money means nothing to me; sex, I like. Whatever idiot offered me this exchange could keep their money, and I'd keep having sex – great sex.
Before she could stop herself, two thoughts, both horrifying in their own way, flashed through Elizabeth's mind. The first was that if she could always have sex with Jason Morgan, she wouldn't give it up for a year in exchange for any amount of money either, and the second was that she hoped Brenda was not adding the last part on her own through personal experience. Why it bothered her to think of Jason in bed with his boss, she didn't want to consider, and, instead of contemplating it, she decided to read the last question.
If you had to describe the single worst thing a friend could do to you, what would it be?
The worst thing someone, a friend, could do to me is betray me and my trust. I don't give either my friendship or my trust easily, and to have that tossed back in my face and betrayed, that would be hard to forget or forgive.
Truer words she had never heard Jason Morgan speak. Closing the folder and holding it against her chest, Elizabeth sank back against the cousins of her old, worn couch, realizing that she and the bodyguard had more than a few things in common. Maybe he wasn't the ogre she had originally pegged him as, perhaps he did have a few redeeming qualities, and, maybe, just maybe, the paint fumes from her studio were starting to affect her thinking process. Rolling her eyes at her own over-romanticizing, she shoved her way up from the sofa, tossed the papers from Brenda aside, and moved to arrange her paints. If nothing else, the evening before had been artistically inspiring, and she had the rest of the weekend to be by herself and paint, the perfect way to clear her mind of all thing Jason Morgan related.
A dating service? An online website to help sexually challenged, backwards individuals find a mate, that's what his supposed best friend thought he needed, at least, according to Emily Bowen, Elizabeth Webber's best friend and Brenda's partner in crime in their whole blind date disaster. What made his boss think that he was interested in settling down, getting married, having 2.5 kids, and adopting a golden retriever, he'd never know, especially when everyone knew that Jason Morgan was all about going out on a Friday night and finding a woman he would have to splurge for a room they could rent by the hour, not a woman he would have to strap himself down to a mortgage payment with. If he had wanted a real relationship, he could have gone out and found himself one, but, no, Brenda couldn't let him live his life the way he saw fit; she wanted him to live it the way she thought he should, and, after a very brief conversation with a skittish, clearly anxious auburn haired younger woman he'd never seen prior to that afternoon, Jason knew just exactly what lengths his best friend would go to in order to find him his very own Miss Perfect. Too bad he didn't want perfection. However, the only thing the whole escapade left him with was a one night stand who couldn't stand to be in the same room as him, a folder of ten questions Brenda had asked to an Emily pretending to be Elizabeth, and a long, formal, black evening coat belonging to his blind date that her friend had just so happened to accidentally leave behind when she dropped off the manila file. Yeah freaking right – accident his ass. With nothing better to do, Jason plopped down on his favorite leather chair and opened the dossier. After all, there were definitely things less interesting to read about than Elizabeth Webber.
If you could arrange for yourself the perfect wedding, what would it entail?
Well, first of all, I think that I should first state that marriage isn't necessarily that important to me. You don't have to be married to someone to be in love, but, if I ever decide to take the scary step, I would want the whole affair to be simple and understated. No wedding party, no gaudy reception, no glossy invitations – just me, my groom, a minister, and our closest family and friends. Actually, when I think about it, a little, whitewashed, clapboard church in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees, natural flowers, and wildlife, sounds perfect. He'd wear a clean, unadorned suit; I'd be in a white, simple dress, something that could be worn again and no one would think it was a wedding gown. Even electricity would be unnecessarily. Candle light would be fine. Basically, my ideal wedding is the J.F.K. Jr./Carolyn Bissett nuptials, sans the designer clothes, famous family, and pictures strewn across the globe from one gossip magazine to the next. Hell, I'd even be up for eloping.
Jason had to admit that, as far as weddings go, Elizabeth's vision of what hers would someday be wasn't that bad. He'd definitely been to worse. However, if he ever decided to get married, her last sentence is what he had in mind: eloping – but not to Vegas, anything but Vegas.
If you had to decide now if you would have kids or not, would you, and, if so, how many?
I really haven't thought about kids that much. Sure, as an abstract idea, I think I would want to be a mom, but it also scares me. I mean, what kind of parent would I be? I'm sure my parents didn't think they'd be too self-involved to take care of their children and love them like they needed, but that didn't stop them from dumping us with any available relative so they could run off and save the world one sick baby at a time. Even though I would want to do a better job at raising my kids than my own parents did, that doesn't guarantee that I'd be a good mom. So, maybe someday I'd want kids, but, for now, I'm too young. I still have too many things I need to learn about life before I can be responsible for another person's life. Plus, I'm lacking a key ingredient – a mate.
He didn't care what she said, Elizabeth would be a good mom. He didn't know her that well, and he knew even less about her parents, but he had been as intimate with her as a man and woman could be, and what he had learned about her was that she was gentle, affectionate, compassionate, and attentive to the needs of others. A man could tell a lot about a woman from the way they made love, and Elizabeth Webber was definitely maternal.
If you could receive one small package this very moment, who would it be from and what would be in it?
Listen to me, I go in one question from insulting my parents to wanting them to want me. I guess my package would be a letter; it would be a long note from both of my parents. They would try to rekindle a relationship with me, they'd inquire about my life, and they would share openly about their own. At this point, it would just be nice to know where they're currently living and working.
His brow creased in fury and frustration. No one, not even a mouthy, impertinent, easily angered, tiny but powerful pixy of a woman like Elizabeth, deserved to be treated by their parents the way she was, and, in that moment, Jason vowed that if he ever met them, he'd somehow pay them back, even if in an infinitesimal way like slashing their tires. It wouldn't help Elizabeth, but it sure as hell would make him feel slightly better.
If you had to lose one of your five senses, which would you give up?
Oh, that's kind of easy. There's no way I'd give up my sight, not as an artist, touch is too essential to life, taste is too much fun, and I love music too much to give up my hearing. Therefore, the nose has to go. Besides, with all the paint fumes I inhale daily, my sense of smell has to be on its way out already anyway.
Although he agreed with her, Jason had to admit that there were some scents he would sorely miss if he lost his ability to smell: the aroma of a freshly brewed pot of rich, Columbian coffee, the clean essence of the mountain air after a brisk ride on his bike through the night, and, he realized, slightly surprised and unnerved, the delicious blend of new snow and peonies, the scent that floated in the air whenever he was around Elizabeth Webber.
If you could be guaranteed on thing in life besides money, what would it be?
The freedom to do what I want, be who I want, and love whom I want, that's really the only thing I desire in life. Too many people have tried to tell me what I should and shouldn't do, and, if I had my way, no one would ever get the chance to do so again.
He lived his life the same way. He was his own man, and, thinking back over his first two encounters with Elizabeth and the night they spent together, Jason realized she was her own woman, too. The easiest way to push her buttons was to act as if you knew how she could live her life better than she could. She was stubborn, independent, and willful, just as he was. No wonder they butted heads.
If a photograph of one part of your body were to be used in an advertisement, which part would you want to be used and for what product or service?
I think I'd have to go with my feet/toes. I know most people don't even think about their feet, but I like mine; I always have. That's my favorite thing about summer – getting to wear sandals that show off my feet and toes, and, if I were in an ad for toenail polish, I could probably work it into my contract that I would receive free sample products for the rest of my life. Plus, no one would ever recognize me for my feet, so I'd be able to remain anonymous.
She did have nice feet and toes, thin and petite, graceful and sexy, delicate and utterly lickable. As quickly as the thought entered his mind, Jason banished it. Elizabeth had made it quite clear that they weren't ever going there again, and it would serve no purpose for him to think about her in that way…at least not consciously. What he remembered about their night together or imagined in his fantasies while he slept, that he couldn't control.
If you could only have one piece of furniture in your house, what would you want it to be?
I could answer with the issue of comfort in mind, but I'm sure I could get used to sleeping and eating on the floor if necessary. I could store my clothes in piles along the wall and organize my art supplies without a table. However, no matter what, I have to have an easel. Sure, some people might not consider it a piece of furniture, but, for me, it's really the only thing necessary in my apartment. As an added bonus, I'd get more work done, because no one and especially – insert my best friend's name here – would come to visit me.
If Elizabeth needed her easel, he needed his toolbox that housed everything he needed to work on and fix his bike. Like she said, Jason agreed, everything else in life could be accomplished by using the floor. It might not be as comfortable, but, just like she would, he'd adapt. However, he would miss his pool table, but there was always Jake's.
If you could change one thing about your first sexual experience, what would it be?
I guess this would be the portion of the questionnaire where full discloser would be appreciated. When I was a teenager, I was raped, so technically I guess you could count that as my first sexual experience. If so, I would make it so that I wasn't sitting alone on that park bench that night, therefore; I would never have been attacked. However, I don't like to think of that as my first sexual experience for obvious reasons. With that in mind, I'd change the fact that I fell asleep during my first consensual experience having sex. Let's just say that it's not the best way to keep a relationship going.
If Jason thought the truth about her parents had made him mad, the knowledge that someone had raped Elizabeth when she was teenager made him see red. It was several minutes before his breathing leveled off to a normal rate, and, when he regained his ability to think and observe rationally, he realized that the blunt nails of his left hand had poked holes in the arm rest of his favorite leather chair. Never before had the urge to kill someone been so strong within him, and he had also never felt the pull to protect someone as strongly as he suddenly found himself wanting to take care of Elizabeth Webber. She would hate that reaction in him, but he didn't care. His only comfort was the fact that he knew she wasn't broken or damaged from the rape. The woman he had slept with the night before found comfort in a man's body, enjoyed sex, and never once showed signs of being haunted by a violent past. However, that still did not alleviate his unexpected longing to be with her again in order to show her just how beautiful she was, to show her how a woman's body should be cherished, how, if it were up to him, no one would ever hurt her again. Elizabeth deserved that, but the only thing Jason could do was hope that someday she found someone to be with who realized that.
If you won the lottery, what is the first thing you would do?
I'd tell Lucy to give her own damn duck a bath! This action would be two fold. Not only would it make me feel better, but it would also make her fire me. Talk about killing two birds, pun intended, with one stone.
Emily Bowen had no idea what she had just given him: perfect blackmail material. With this file in his possession, Jason would forever be able to hold Elizabeth's response to the ninth question over her head. He now held her job security in the palm of his hand, and he quite enjoyed the idea of making her dance to keep him happy and entertained. As an added bonus, her shapely legs would look good dancing.
If you could invent one new home appliance, what would it do?
It would stretch canvases. True, the inventor and manufacturer would go broke, because there would only be a few people who would want to purchase their appliance, but it would definitely save me from a lot of frustration, headaches, and splinters.
As he came to the end of the file, Jason set the manila folder aside and looked around his living room, his eyes almost automatically landing on the coat Elizabeth's best friend had so calculatingly left behind. Fours hours before when he had watched the petite artist walk away from him, she had made it clear that she never wanted to see him again, but Jason knew he would not be able to stay away, not after what he had just read about her. She was no longer the woman who made him so angry he wanted to spit nails, she was no longer the cause of the worst migraine he had ever suffered from, she was no longer the latest notch on his long list of one night stands. Instead, she was….Elizabeth, unique, passionate, talented, beautiful, infuriatingly stubborn, sexy, life altering Elizabeth Webber, and, if nothing else, he was not going to sentence her to having to deal with Brenda by leaving the evening coat with his employer to return to the artist. He would take it to her himself, and, maybe, they'd be able to have their first real conversation without actually fighting. Crazier things had happened.