Ok, this was a really quick update, but I'm chalking that up to the fact that I've had such a craptacular day, I need the distraction of Vegas.

Um… this is basically filler, because the plot kicks in next chapter. So I hope you all enjoy the plotless wonder that is Day Two!

Music: 'Banquet' by Bloc Party, 'Dreaming of You' by The Coral, 'Tongue' by Bell X1, and others that I'll pimp out in later chapters.

As I swim into consciousness, I can feel his heavy weight on top of me, pressing me down into the mattress as he plants light kisses along my jaw line. I love when he wakes me up like this – it's so much better than my alarm clock.

He must notice that I'm awake now, even though my eyes aren't open, because he starts moving, the hand on my waist pushing my camisole upwards, rough fingers running over my skin and sending shivers through me. I don't open my eyes; instead I tilt my head back so he can have better access to that wonderful spot right below my ear that he knows drives me wild.

I love that he knows me so well – and not just physically, although that's great, too. But he knows all of my little quirks, all of my likes and dislikes, everything. And he loves me in spite of my craziness. I'm so glad I'm marrying him. And I can't wait for our wedding night, so I can have sex with him again.

Wait.

"Ryan!" My hands go to his shoulders and I shove hard enough that he flips onto his back.

"What the fuck?" He sits up and blinks at me – confused – and I can see his eyes are dilated, breath ragged, body tense. It seems to slowly dawn on him that I've regained my senses, and he shakes his head – I'm assuming to clear the fuzziness.

"Bad!" I get off the bed, because truthfully? I need to get away from him. He's got me all riled up, and being near him – on our bed, no less – isn't the best way to go about resisting him. "Bad Ryan!"

"I'm not a dog!" he argues, getting off the bed as well, and I can see the bulge in his sweatpants that he makes absolutely no effort to hide.

"Well, you're acting like one," I shoot back, hands on my hips, forcing my eyes up to his face.

"If you make any leg-humping references, I'm calling off the wedding," he threatens, running a hand over his face.

"I don't need to make the reference, because apparently you've already gotten the connection. Now, I have to take a shower – alone – because I need to go pick up Summer." I leave and head to the bathroom, and behind me I can hear him clunking around – slamming drawers, throwing things about carelessly – as he gets ready for his day. He's such a baby sometimes.

By the time she gets out of the shower, I don't need my cold one anymore. I decided to screw the cold shower and just go with jacking off. I really thought my sneak attack this morning would work. It usually takes her longer to fully wake up, and I was hoping to get her worked up enough so that when she did, she wouldn't want - or be able - to stop.

She comes out of the bathroom fully dressed – which I'm thankful for, cause I don't need her walking around in a towel, or naked like she normally does. It seems she's gotten over her anger, and now she feels bad for me, because she shoots me an apologetic look. I shrug at her, lifting my coffee cup to my lips. It's not her fault I can't control myself. Although, maybe it is. If she weren't so fucking hot, I wouldn't be having this problem.

A knock on the door thankfully distracts me, and I let her collect her bags while I go to answer it.

"Kaitlin," I greet, and she shoves me aside to move past me. "Come on in," I monotone to her back, but she ignores that too.

"Kaitlin?" Taylor moves forward, looking confused. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," the girl shrugs, crossing her arms over her stomach, and it actually looks like something is wrong. "I'm coming to Vegas with you."

I watch Taylor pause, not getting any less confused. "What?"

"I was at the Cohen's, and they got a call from Seth, and he whined about you and Summer going. I'm going with you." She says it like there's no room for argument, and it strikes me how much she's like Julie sometimes. Except, if you're going to get into a face-off of stubbornness, Taylor may not be the person to try and go up against. Summer either. Or Kirsten. Jesus, are all the women in my life so forceful?

Yeah, pretty much.

To be honest, I'm a little terrified of all of them.

"Kaitlin," Taylor moves forward, looking sympathetic. "It's not that I don't want you to go, but we're not doing anything bachelorette-partyish. It's kind of for business…"

"I don't care," Kaitlin shrugs. "I'm going."

Taylor pauses for a few seconds, before shrugging. "Alright, if you won't be too bored. I'm ready to go now, did you need to stop off somewhere and pack?"

"Nope," Kaitlin nods to the front door, to a bunch of luggage piled outside. Looks like she wasn't taking no for an answer.

"Ok," Taylor moves forward to grab her bags, but I pick them up first. She shoots a smile at me – which is totally the reason I did it. Screw chivalry. All I want is that smile. Somehow I manage to pick up Kaitlin's bags too, and despite feeling like a work horse, I get another smile, so it's all cool. I load the bags into the back of my Rover. I told her she could take it for her trip, because she speeds way too much in her own convertible. I'm worried she'll get herself killed on the interstate.

"Don't work yourself too hard," she murmurs, throwing her arms around me and kissing me soundly.

"I won't," I laugh when she pulls away, giving her my best smile. She doesn't know about Casetti or the fact that I may not be able to make our honeymoon.

I really, really, want to make it to our honeymoon.

I'm going to miss him. I hate leaving him for extended periods of time. Although, hopefully this whole thing won't take too long. I don't know how long it'll take to convince-

"Taylor, let's go," Kaitlin sighs impatiently, getting in the passenger's seat. "Let's go pick up the pregnant one and get ourselves to Vegas."

I have a feeling we'll be staying a little longer now that Kaitlin's going. But I roll my eyes, give him one last kiss on the cheek before getting into the driver's seat. "Is Justin ok with you disappearing for an unspecified amount of time?"

She grins at me wickedly. "He didn't protest too hard…" she trails off suggestively, and I giggle. Good for her.

"Because," I explain calmly, resisting the urge to put my head in my hands and scream. Or punch the wall. Whichever. "If we put a room that big on the ground level, the weight of the floors above it will cause the whole building to collapse."

She frowns at me, then at the drawing on the table in front of us, then back up at me. "Well, can't you just put support beams in or something?" I close my eyes, count to three, and open them again.

"That would be a lot of support beams. Or you could make it less floors…"

"No," Ms. Casetti cuts me off mid-sentence. "I have to have five floors."

"Ok, well, I get the basement, the attic, and the up and downstairs, but do you really need the fourth floor? It seems to serve no purpose except for excess bedrooms. Are you planning on running some sort of Bed and Breakfast?" I can't help the sarcasm in my voice, and she sends a glare my way. Luckily, she's not easily offended, and she seems to enjoy our little arguments. And I've got to hand it to her, though; she's a persistent old lady.

"Look, little man," she starts off, eyes narrowing, and seriously? Little man? "I'm paying you to draw lines on a piece of paper, the least you could do is be respectful."

"No," I grit out, leaning both hands on the table and taking a deep breath, "you're paying me to design a structurally stable house so that you don't get killed by electrical fires or collapsing levels. The least you could do is listen to me when I tell you something isn't physically possible." I regret it immediately, because she puts her hands on her hips, trying to draw herself up to her full height – which can't be more than five feet, really. And the image of it – of this tiny old woman looking at me so menacingly – would be funny if she didn't have the ability to screw up my career. Branson likes me, but telling off a client won't make him think too favorably of me.

"Fine." I snap my head up to look at her, and she's quirking one eyebrow, watching me thoughtfully. Then she nods, never once breaking into a smile, "I like you."

"Thanks?" It's the first time in two weeks we've reached some sort of middle ground, and I'm not going to lose it now.

"You're not like all the other spineless idiots around here," she nods again, and I really want to laugh. Have I mentioned we're in Newport right now? And I couldn't agree with her more. "You grow up around here?" she gestures out the window of the office building – our Newport branch. Thank God I don't work in this one full time.

"Kind of," I shrug, going over to my briefcase and pulling out some forms. "Moved here from Chino when I was sixteen. Now I'm in Berkeley." I hand her the papers, and she looks at me intently for a few seconds. Then – to my complete surprise – she signs them without even looking at them. They're the same bunch of contracts I've been trying to get her to sign for days.

She hands them back to me and grabs her purse. "I take it we're done here for today?" I can only nod, and she sniffs haughtily, turning to leave the room.

I shake my head and go to put the papers back in my briefcase when I freeze – because I swear I heard her mutter something about 'wouldn't kick that out of bed' on her way out.

Fantastic.

"So," Kaitlin starts off, sounding bored. Which can't be good – that she's bored already. We've only been driving for an hour. "What's this I hear about you cutting Ryan off?"

I look to my left and glare at Summer, who shrugs indifferently. Kaitlin's taken the back seat so Summer can be more comfortable up front – and by 'more comfortable', I mean 'right in front of the air conditioning'. Then I sigh, and turn back to the road. "Just until our wedding night."

"Why? What did he do?"

"Nothing," I protest. "I just want our wedding night to be special."

"I still don't get it, though," she wrinkles up her nose and leans forward through the gap in the front seats. "I mean, you've made it really clear that you enjoy hitting that." I giggle at her phrasing and shake my head.

"I do enjoy it. And that's why I've cut him off. See," I take a deep breath before launching into my rant, "Ryan and I have done… well, everything-"

"Ew."

I ignore Summer's comment and continue on, "and your wedding night is supposed to be special, you know? So that's why I'm cutting him off. Because then we have all this build-up. If we kept on like we usually do, our wedding night wouldn't be any different from any other night. Does that make any sense?"

"I guess," she shrugs, sitting back in her seat. "Plus, it's gotta be making Ryan angry, which is always funny."

"Angry Ryan isn't funny," Summer cuts in quietly, and I know she's talking about angry high school Ryan. Kaitlin shuts the hell up, and we all get really quiet. Way to kill all our happiness, Summer. I mean, I know she's pregnant, but does she have to go around depressing everyone?

"No," I try to make my voice light, "angry Ryan isn't funny." From the way Sumer groans, and Kaitlin's mouth twitches up into a smile, I know they've gotten it. And what can I say? Angry Ryan equals angry sex equals something that definitely isn't funny. Kaitlin starts talking again, this time about Seth and Summer's latest fight, and I tune out.

I kind of wish I'd known Ryan better in high school. I feel like there's this big gap in my knowledge of him, because he doesn't talk about it. Seth and Summer have told me all they can, but I wish I could know more. I remember high school – I'd been in my own little world.

I remember when he first came to Newport. I'd been talking to this faceless jock – I'm pretty sure he was trying to get me to screw him or something – and I remember Ryan walking by and thinking he was fucking hot. He'd given me this look, like he wanted to take me into the nearest classroom, bend me over a desk, and fuck me senseless. But then I learned that he was attached permanently to Marissa Cooper, and he became invisible, because I tried not to pay attention to anyone that was friends with Marissa. Who I hated, but that's beside the point. I feel bad about hating her, now. I didn't really know her, and now that she's dead, I just feel like I'm being spiteful. But sometimes I feel like she'll always have a part of Ryan that I can't touch.

She has his innocence.

No, I'm not talking about virginity or anything like that. I mean she had his love when he wasn't jaded by life. She had him when he wasn't fully formed – when he was raw. She got to have him when he was discovering that life wasn't so bad – that there were good people in the world. And she'll always get to be the first girl he loved.

I know it's not fair – comparing myself to her. I'm not her. I'm not even remotely like her, except for the fact that we both grew up in the same town and wanted to be social chair. And that we both loved the same man. Although, that's not really true, either. She loved Ryan Atwood, bad boy from Chino. I love Ryan Atwood. There's a difference. He's grown up now. He's… himself. He's not the same, insecure boy he was in high school.

And it's not right, to be jealous of her. Because I know Ryan loves me, and I know that the fact that he loved Marissa doesn't make him love me any less, but I can't help it. She was a huge part of his life, and sometimes I wonder, if I died, would he be that hurt? Would he grieve for me like he did for her? Would Summer? Would Seth?

Julie and Kaitlin certainly wouldn't. How can I replace their family? I know I can't, and it's not like I'm trying to. But I can't help but think that if I died, no one would grieve for me like they did for Marissa. My own mother wouldn't.

And sometimes I wonder if I hadn't pushed him so hard, would we be together at all? Because, through our entire relationship, he's never really fought for me. He's never made that much of an effort. Sure, he wrote that poem for me – which I still have, by the way, in a scrapbook I keep under the bed. And there was that little bear he bought me, and the time he hung on to my therapist's car to tell me how stupid I was being. But he hasn't made the effort that I have.

I was the one to seduce him. I was the one to push our relationship. I was the one who suggested going to the same college – which, by the way, he freaked out over. And I was the one to say 'hey, it's cool, I'll just go back to France', even though I hadn't wanted to. I came back after college and told him we were getting back together. I told him no when he wanted to break up with me. Sometimes it seems like I'm running this thing, and he's just along for the ride.

Sometimes I wonder if he only loves me because it's easy.

Sometimes I wonder if he loves me because I'm easy. We've never really been together and not been having sex.

He was willing to wait for Marissa for nearly two and a half years. He can't even go six weeks for me. Well, to be honest, it's going to be eight weeks before our wedding, but so far it's only been six, and he just won't let it drop.

I'm not going to tell Summer or Kaitlin that the real reason I've cut him off is because I want to see if he really loves me, or if he just loves my body. I know it's stupid, and it's unfair to test him like this. He doesn't deserve it. But there's that little voice inside me – the one that sounds like my mother – and I have to do something to prove her wrong. Prove it wrong, I mean. I'm trying to prove the voice wrong. My mother has nothing to do with this.

"Shouldn't you get in the right lane?" Summer points at the sign we're about to pass. "Our exit's coming up soon."

"Yeah, I was doing that," I try to smile and put on my blinker. Ok, I need to stop thinking so much while I'm driving.

I come home to my scarily silent apartment. I forgot how much noise Taylor makes. Not that it's a bad thing, but she's usually around – talking, doing dishes, cooking, cleaning, talking, working on her computer, talking.

I just got back from Seth's. I'd gone there after work to play video games, and he hadn't been too happy when I left – he wanted to have an all night marathon in celebration of being 'free men'. His phrase, not mine. But Seth doesn't really get that I have to get up for work tomorrow – he doesn't get that not everyone has a job where they can draw and work at their own pace.

Oh well, I should get some sleep. Hopefully Ms. Casetti will be easier to work with now, but you never know.

I just forgot how hard it was falling asleep alone.

Review, people! Make my day less headachy.