A/N: I have a test in one hour and instead of last minute studying I'm writing this story for you guys. Do you feel loved? Well you are!

Steph's POV

I had twenty-eight new messages by the time I got home. Lula, Connie, Mary Lou and Grandma Mazur all called to offer their support.

As Lula put it, " I heard you punched the Italian Stallion at Rossini's. He's fine but it sure does feel good to punch a man in the face. Way to go white girl! Kickin ass and takin names!"

The other twenty four messages were not so supportive. My mom called me at various stages in her tippling. It only took me thirty minutes for my cab to make it from Rossini's to my apartment but in that time poor Helen had gotten sloshed. I was pretty sure I could hear the iron hissing in the background of each message. Tippling and ironing...this was bad. When the messages started, and she was sober they ran along the lines of, "Carolyn Schezkowski's daughter doesn't punch men at nice restaurants." But by the time she had her third or forth sip, she was slurring her speech and warning me not to die alone and barren. Thanks Mom!

As I played the messages I shoved 5 tastykakes into my mouth all at once, removed my dress and shoes and collapsed back onto my bed. Where had everything gone so wrong? I always felt like I compromised a lot when it came to Joe. When he pushed, I shoved back. But it seemed even when I fought it, I still ended up taking a step in whichever direction he wanted me to. But it was never enough. It would never be enough. I'm a grown ass woman, in case no one has noticed and I was so sick of my mom and Joe both trying to micromanage my life.

AND RANGER!!!! I fumed. Ranger was going to see my wrath when...if he comes back. I couldn't believe he had actually collaborated with Morelli in what was truly the dumbest plan of all time. And I happen to know a thing or two...or three about dumb plans. I had to wonder, for just a second, if this wasn't somehow a great scheme of Ranger's to get me to leave Morelli once and for all. I always felt that Ranger knew me better than anyone else. Did he go along with all this knowing it would backfire?

Nah.

It felt a little too conspiracy theory for my taste and was probably just wishful thinking on my part. Wishful thinking that Ranger wasn't that big of a dumbass. Which, if my study of men is accurate is probably true.

I had so much emotion rolling around and I only had one body to contain it all. Confusion, anger, sadness, anger, loss and a little bit of anger. They all came streaming out in a flood of tears. I wasn't really crying, despite all evidence to the contrary. What was the word? Catharsis I think. I wasn't crying because I was sad, or that wasn't the whole of it. It really just felt good to let it all out. These were the last tears I was ever going to cry over Joe Morelli.

I decided right then I was done compromising. If I'm busy trying to make someone else happy, how am I supposed to do myself any justice? I would worry about me first and cross the kicking-Ranger's-ass bridge when I came to it. It felt really good to compartmentalize. If I only had two things to worry about it should really simplify things. I had never been so happy to cry myself to sleep.

I woke up the next morning at 730 and strapped on my running shoes. If I was going to be solely concerned with bettering myself and kicking ass, I guessed I would have to get in shape. Those tastykakes were sitting heavy in my stomach and it was only a matter of days before they showed up on my waistline. Worrying about being able to button my jeans wasn't on my list of things to be concerned about so I would avoid this hiccup by running. Er...Jogging...maybe a fast walk.

I got down to the parking lot, stretched for my run and took off at a steady pace. I was about two blocks from my apartment when I realized I was being followed. I had been followed a lot and had since changed my strategy from pretending I don't notice to outright confrontation. My new strategy was very effective since it was usually a RangeMan on my tail. Sure enough, when I turned to glare at my stalker, it was a black SUV with tinted windows that glared back. I jogged up to it and knocked on the driver's side window. The window rolled and Lester was brought into view covering his nose.

Funny.

"I'm not going to punch you, Santos." He lowered his hand from his face, looking relieved. "Unless you keep up your shit." I amended. This earned me a laugh and one of the sexiest smiles I've ever seen.

"So I'm assuming Ranger asked you to follow me while he's gone but since I'm not exactly his biggest fan right now and this having me stalked bullshit falls under my list of grievances I suggest you haul ass." He looked abashed for a second until the smile returned full force.

"I'm sorry Beautiful, I really am. But you know I can't do that. As afraid as I am of you, I know you'd only rough me up a little. If something happens to you when I was supposed to be watching, my ass would really be in a sling." I tried to be mad but he did really look sorry.

"All right, but if you're going to follow me, you either drive behind me with the music going really loud or you get out of the car and jog with me." I knew it was a compromise (something I promised myself I wouldn't do) but if it was on my terms it didn't seem that bad.

"I'm nobody's Ipod." He removed the keys from the ignition, pulled open the back door and grabbed a duffel bag from under the seat. He propped it up where he could get to it and removed a pair of basketball shorts, a pair of Nike Shox and a muscle shirt.

Before I even knew what was going on I watched him kick off his shoes and shuck his shirt and pants. He was standing before me in only a pair of red silk boxer briefs. He was almost as hot as Ranger. His skin was a little lighter and seemed to glow in the sunlight. He radiated like a tan god. Where Ranger was bulkier in his muscle, Lester was lean and sinewy. Don't get me wrong, his arms and chest were big enough and he was covered in cut muscle, but his waist was smaller and more pronounced. His torso was a perfect triangle, ending in that "V" that looks so promising on a man. My scan of his body ended abruptly at the red waistline of the boxers worn low on his hips. I would have inspected further but I was scared to.

And I was staring.

Once I admitted as much to myself I could feel the hot wash of a blush come all the way from my toes to the top of my head, surely leaving me looking like a cherry tomato. I moved my eyes back up his body just as slowly as I had on the way down. If I was going to be caught staring I was going to make it worth my embarrassment. My gaze landed on his eyes and though I was still blushing he certainly wasn't. His eyes had gone so dark and the look on his face promised a thousand dirty things. Or that was my own lecherous interpretation of the set of his mouth, the tug of his brow.

He reached for the hand lying rigidly by my side. The other one was clutching my own stomach in an effort not to reach out and touch him. He held my hand in his and gently uncurled my fist. He smoothed his hand over the four red half moons where my nails had bitten into my palm.

My breath hitched as he pulled my hand toward him more and placed it on his hard stomach. His muscles twitched under my touch and my hand acted of his own accord, splaying out against his abs and circling around to his waist, up his back and over his shoulders onto his chest. He was so hard, so smooth. My mouth acted on its own too, pointing upward to him, offering a kiss. Our lips met and I could feel the heat of his body against my own. I was molesting Santos for the second time in as many days. It was so unlike me to react this way. I often had dirty thoughts but very rarely actually went through with them

I gave myself a mental slap. Do you have no self control Stephanie?

In that instant, I had another knee jerk reaction. This one wasn't as much fun as my last couple impulses. I shoved against Lester, breaking the kiss. He landed on the SUV, causing the alarm to sound. I tried to run and Lester grabbed my arm to stop me. We bumped into each other and I tripped, bringing him down on top of me. The alarm was still sounding and now I had the object of my turmoil pressed the length of my body. All sense of self control went out the window. He pressed more deeply against me and I wrapped both arms around him this time. Exploring with my hands everything my eyes had surveyed earlier. He ground against me and I lifted my hips to return the favor. Our lips met again and this time I slipped my tongue into his mouth to smooth along his own. He moved his hands up my body and under my shirt. He had just made his way into my bra when I was startled by the "blip" of a police car.

ShitFuck!

Joe Morelli was parked curbside, apparently to look into the car alarm. It could easily have been a public indecency complaint though. He had a bandage on his face that looked like it was hiding a small melon. Oops! He walked halfway to us, recognized me and clenched his jaw. He looked like he was about to lose it for a second before he visibly calmed himself. I thought about pushing Lester off of me to make things look less bad but that would be me moving when Joe pushed. I didn't owe Joe Morelli shit. I turned away from him and as much to Lester's surprise as Joe's, continued where I left off with Lester. I didn't hear him walk away and I didn't care.

The only thing I heard was the car alarm and the sound of my own small victory. Not only had I been able to piss off Joe by a second and exceedingly more thorough molestation of Lester but I imagined myself pissing Ranger off as well. Two birds with one stone, I figured.

One very hard, very sexy stone.

A/N 2:Still a Babe HEA, fear not! I hope we're all open minded enough to enjoy some Santos smut in the mean time!!