Jamie clenched his teeth as he watched Cathy close the door in front of him.

What are you doing, Jamie?

He walked down the stairs.

And tripped.

Barely, but he caught himself on the wall.

I need some liquor.

Walking out of the building, his eyes twitched slightly from the incoming cold, and landed on a certain window on the third floor.

Quite a bit of liquor.

He had no clue what he was thinking. Dinner with her, walking her home, the door in his face – it all made him feel about 2 feet tall. He needed an ego boost. Or liquor. Or any form of alcohol or general debauchery. Well, maybe not debauchery- that could lead to trouble. Maybe just a guys-night of drinking and cursing and being manly.

The walk home was not fun. Not fun because he was grouchy- even worse because he was returning to an empty apartment covered in plastic and white sheets.

Guess its home, though.

After his trek, Jamie collapsed into his comfy chair, beer in hand, and picked up the phone. It amused him slightly that the two things not covered in sheets were his chair and the phone.

Please God just be there

"Yeah?" a low voice choked out

"I think I might have just endangered my mental state indefinitely."

"Jamie? You do realize it's 2 in the morning."

"I'm not kidding. I've royally screwed myself. More than usual."

"Ok, I'm awake. What'd you do?"

"I just had dinner with Cathy."

"I'll be right over."

A brief click was followed by a series of annoying beeps, until Jamie finally put the receiver back on the hook. He sunk deeper into the soft chocolate leather and tipped the beer vertically, not noticing the general emptiness of it. Finally, the door opened.

Tom.

What a guy.

Tom was one of the only friends that hadn't scoffed and turned their nose up at Jamie after he and Cathy split. All the couples sided with her, except for a few that called once his book came out. Tom had been there since, well, he had been pre-Cathy. His first roommate at Colombia before he called it quits.

Tom was a massive guy- very professional athlete-looking; except he managed real estate in the city. He always looked sharp- his short, well groomed dark hair was spiked up ever-so-slightly (with waxy stuff, he had told Jamie, never gel, because that was too greasy car salesman), and he sported trendy faded jeans, a polo, and an overcoat that Jamie assumed was worth more than most of his furniture. He carried a 6-pack in one hand, and a handle of Jack Daniels in the other.

"Choose your weapon" he muttered to Jamie, the bottles clunking as he set them down on the newly finished kitchen counter.

"Where'd you get a handle of Jack at 2 in the morning?"

"Had a spare."

"You had a spare handle in your- - never mind," he paused, looking around for a moment, "I think the glasses are in the box by the corner."

Tom shuffled over to the boxes and began sifting through for something suitable to drink out of- or really, anything that would retain fluid long enough to drink it. About an hour later, after their blood alcohol levels were considerably higher, Tom began the questioning process.

"So what happened?"

Thank God for guys. No screwing around, just straight to the point.

"She called me"

"Why?"

"She read the book"

That turned his head.

"And?"

"I dono. She said it was good. I mean, she thought it was great and well written and everything, but it rattled her."

"Understandable- I mean, you kind of wrote things she probably wouldn't have told a perfect stranger- like that part about the peanut butter, you know? Oh, and the baby names, that one probably- -"

"Ok, ok, I know, but it's not like most of it isn't fiction"

"Liar"

"Ok, so most of it was true… that's not the big deal though"

"Then what is?"

"I asked her out. To dinner. Remember, I told you on the phone."

"Well," Tom furrowed his brow, "Shit."

"Yeah. So we had dinner tonight."

"And?"

"And it was so… so…"

"Bad? Horrible? Disgusting? Never want to see her again?"

"New." Jamie sighed, tipping the bottle and filling his glass again. "It was new."

"Different?"

"Not quite. I mean, a little. But good. Really, really, really… good."

"You're gone."

"What?"

Tom chuckled. "You're gone, man. I guess I figured you two would eventually end up-"

"What?" Jamie scoffed, running his hand nervously through his hair, "No no no no no, you don't understand. It wasn't even a date I don't think and it's not like we're going to be all chummy after this not that that would be a bad thing so just back off, ok?"

"Cool it, Jamie, you're just freaked out." Tom took the glass from his friends hand and took it over to the sink. "You need to figure out what's going on in that head of yours, and you need to do it when you're calmed down and sober."

"No, I think I know now. I think I do, Tom."

"You're drunk, Jamie- borderline smashed- so just go to bed, I'll crash on the couch, and tomorrow you can figure it out."

"No, listen to me! I think- I think I know. I think I know what this book was supposed to do for me."

Tom glanced over his shoulder.

"I don't think- I mean- I don't know if-" he sighed deeply, pulling his legs underneath him to sit "Indian-style" on the oversized chair,

"I think I'm still in love with Cathy."