I know, I know, it took me long enough to get this up. But here it is! Chapter 15!

kitty: I'm not quitting on this story yet! Here's your update :) And thank you for reading and reviewing!

Guest: Nope, not even close to how it ends. Thank you for reading and taking the time to review!

A/N: Just a head's up, guys, this chapter has a lot of drama in it. But it's also one of my favorites. And the roller coaster ride towards the end begins :)

Enjoy! And if you like it, please review! :)

Chapter Fifteen

Katie's POV

I may not be much of a cook, but when it comes to steak, I'm damn good at fixing it. By the time James got home at seven that evening, the steak was just about finished, as were the roasted potatoes and vegetables. I had even sautéed some mushrooms and onions to top the steak with. I'd opened a bottle of wine I'd been saving for a special occasion, and had set the table with my nicest plates and silverware. I had even lit some candles and dimmed the lights.

I'd changed out of my work clothes and slipped into skinny jeans, an off-the-shoulder rose pink sweater, and simple black flats. I'd touched up my makeup and loosely curled my hair, before clasping a simple pearl necklace around my neck and slipping match studs into my ears. I felt dressed up, even though it was just dinner with James. My strictly platonic pain-in-the-ass roommate. But for some reason I felt as if I was planning a romantic night with a boyfriend, rather than just dinner with the guy who was sleeping on an air mattress on my living room floor. But he wasn't platonic. Not to me. And I was no longer sure I was platonic to him. So maybe, under the influence of a couple glasses of wine and the gentle flickering of candlelight, something would happen. Or maybe it wouldn't. Maybe he'd be completely exhausted. Maybe one of us would say something to piss the other one off. Maybe Logan would show up drunk. Who knew?

James walked through the door a couple minutes after seven that evening. His first comment was, "Why are the lights off?"

"I'm trying to create a relaxing atmosphere," I responded from where I was pulling the food out of the oven in the kitchen.

"Please tell me the lights are on in the kitchen."

"No. I thought I'd risk burning the apartment down so that I could have the poignant experience of cooking by candlelight."

"You could've just said yes, you smartass."

"Who, me?"

"Yes, you." He walked into the kitchen, hands buried deep in his jeans pockets. Even over the aroma of the food, I could smell the trace remains of his aftershave mingled with his natural scent, and I fought back the urge to bury my face in his neck to inhale. The only actual thing that stopped me from doing it was that I would have to stand on a stepstool, and I didn't have one handy at the moment.

"Dinner smells amazing," he told me, leaning against the counter.

"Thanks," I said, flashing a smile in his direction. "Go sit down. I'll bring you your wine."

"Whoa. We have wine? I feel classy. Almost civilized."

"Go sit down before I dump the wine over your head."

"Better wine than coffee," he grinned, but sauntered back out the kitchen door. My eyes slid down his back and rested on the back of his jeans as he passed through the entrance. He had a nice ass. A very nice ass. I wasn't the kind of girl who cared about a guy's ass, but just staring at it was enough to make me swallow. Not that I was imagining in any way squeezing his ass while he braced himself over me. That would mean that I was fantasizing about sex with him while I was handling alcohol over a hot stove, and that would be an extremely bad idea.

"There goes my virgin mind," I muttered under my breath as I popped open the bottle of wine. "Like I ever had one in the first place."

I poured us each a glass of wine and brought it out to the dining area. I set James' down in front of him, and placed mine at my spot. "That better be there when I come back," I informed him, pointing at my glass. "If it's not – "

"You'll dump the rest of the bottle over my head?"

"I'll dump it down your shirt. Somehow, I doubt that'll be very pleasant."

"Especially since this is cashmere. I don't want to think about the dry cleaning bill for that one."

"Stay away from my wine." I made my way back into the kitchen and dished up our plates, before bringing them back out. I left the kitchen lights on so that I wouldn't bump anything vital when I brought the dishes back in, and took my seat.

"So, what's the occasion?" James wanted to know. "I mean, you're feeding me food that, for you, is fucking fancy. You're using your nice dishes, you're plying me with wine, we're eating by candlelight, and you're serenading me with – is that classical music?" He jabbed his thumb in the direction of my sound system where, I had indeed, slipped in a classical CD.

It's quite possible that I blushed, but no one could prove anything due to the candlelight. "Well, I mean, you got me the job and I'm done with Preston and the Chronicles. I'm just glad to be out, so this is kind of a mix of a celebratory and thank you dinner."

"Okay." He shrugged and began cutting up his steak.

"I wasn't trying to get you into bed," I blurted out before I realized the words were slipping past my tongue.

James looked up at me slowly, his fork paused halfway to his mouth. "No one said anything about you trying to get me into bed."

"Good," I said, definitely blushing for now. "Because I'm not. I'm just grateful and thankful."

He slowly nodded. "I assure you, I wasn't worried about you taking advantage of me."

"I know. I mean, not that I could. Take advantage of you, I mean. It'd probably take more than a glass of wine to get you naked."

Oh my God, I needed to just shut up. I sounded like a child who had gotten caught trying to steal a cookie from the cookie jar. Instead, I'd pretty much outed my secret intentions – to finally get James in my bed, even though I wouldn't even admit it to myself.

"How much wine did you drink before I got home?"

I stared down forlornly at my still-full glass. "This is my first drink."

He did some more of that slow nodding, but finally forked the steak into his mouth, chewing carefully as if deep in thought. I shoveled some vegetables in my mouth, wondering if he'd notice if I got up and went into the kitchen to bang my head a few times against the fridge.

He finally swallowed. "I was serious earlier, you know. About when I said that you don't owe me anything."

"I'm not offering sex to you because I feel like I owe you anything." Wait. That didn't come out right. That made it sound like I really was offering him sex. I might as well just strip and plop down in his lap to see what would happen.

"You're positive that's your first glass of wine?"

"I'm beginning to wonder. I didn't mean that I'm offering you sex. I just meant, I'm not offering you sex because I owe you anything. I mean, if I'm going to have sex with you, it's going to be for the right reasons, not because you got me a job." Wait. That made it sound like I was seriously considering having sex with him. "That still didn't come out right."

"Let's see if I can figure out what you're trying to say. You're not offering me sex, but if you were to offer me sex, it would not be because I got you a job."

"Exactly."

He ate some more of his food, and I worked on my own dinner. Our plates were pretty empty before either of us spoke again.

"So, I'm confused," James said as he wiped his mouth with is napkin. "Is sex on the table or off it? Because if it's on the table, then I'm going to need a couple of breath mints and a few minutes to find my sexy time playlist on my phone. I can't get down without it."

He was smirking slightly, and I threw my own napkin down.

"You're a fucking asshole," I growled out, jumping to my feet. "You're making fun of me – again."

"It was a simple question." He got to his feet as well, smirk widening as he held out his hands to fend me off while I stalked towards him. "I would never make fun of you. Even after you basically told me you were offering up sex."

I launched myself at him and he caught me. We went flying into the couch, landing on it with me on top of him. For one heart pounding moment our eyes met, and then my lips crashed down to his. A breath mint might have helped both of us after those sautéed onions, but I wasn't focusing on that. His hands slid around my waist, resting on my lower back as his tongue slipped into my mouth. His cashmere sweater was bunched up in my fists as my teeth sank down on his bottom lip, tugging and biting until I earned a little gasp from him. His hands swept under my shirt, the calloused pads of his fingertips running up and down my bare back.

His hands felt amazing on my skin, warm and sensual and intimate, and I already felt like I was losing my mind. I couldn't remember ever wanting someone so fucking badly. In that moment, James was the only one who I needed, who existed on my little cloud of bliss. He shifted slightly, and I felt his arousal pressing into my leg. He wanted me. This was going to happen, and I wasn't going to try to stop it. I didn't want to. I just wanted him, nothing else. And I couldn't remember why this might be a bad idea or the million and fifty ways us sleeping together could go terribly wrong. I didn't want to. All I knew was that I was dying to feel his skin against mine, to feel his breath against my neck, to feel his mouth drifting over my chest and down, down, down…

James flipped me over onto my back, pushing my own sweater up as he knelt over me. His mouth was light and teasing as he pressed kisses up my stomach and over my ribs. He was barely touching me, but I could feel heat tingling in my center, gasping for more.

I yanked him up so that his lips met mine once more, and I tugged his sweater off, tossing it to the side. He must've really been into this, because he didn't even protest that it was cashmere. I hooked my legs around his hips, sucking his bottom lip into my mouth.

There was a loud pounding on the door suddenly, and Logan was yelling, "Open up! I need you guys!"

To be honest, I'm not sure if I pushed James off me, or if he was so startled that he just simply rolled off me, but the next thing either of us knew, he was on the floor and I was sitting up, yanking my sweater down.

Amazing what candlelight will do to a person.

"What the fuck?" James growled, getting to his feet. He looked as pissed as I felt. It was like someone had dangled a piece of chocolate in front of me, only to yank it away when I grabbed for it. So. Fucking. Rude.

He stormed over to the door and unlocked it, yanking it open. "What?!"

Logan staggered into the living room and tumbled onto the couch next to me. His eyes were unfocused and his hair was a mess. I could smell cheap booze on his breath, and groaned.

"He's drunk. James, Logan is fucking drunk."

James' eyes met mine, and I knew exactly what he was thinking: Why tonight of all nights did Logan have to get drunk? Why us? Why?

Grumbling under his breath, James yanked his sweater back over his head and pulled it down. I was a little disappointed when his perfect abs and V disappeared under that damn cashmere.

"She's marrying him," Logan said sadly, staring at something neither of us could see. "I've tried everything."

"You've barely tried anything," James informed him.

"Why can't she love me?"

I got to my feet. "I have a feeling this is going to be a long night."

"You've noticed? We have a drunk Logan sitting on the couch."

"I'll go make some coffee and get started on the dishes. By the way, I have dessert."

The look James gave me suggested that the kind of dessert he had in mind was very different from the one I had in the kitchen.

"Chocolate cheesecake," I continued on. "You like cheesecake, right?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, good. I got it from the grocery store, but it should be good. I love cheesecake. I mean, who doesn't love cheesecake? Everyone loves cheesecake. Cheesecake could probably save the world." I was rambling. I was rambling so bad.

"Camille loves cheesecake," Logan mumbled.

"Logan, would you like some cheesecake?"

"No. It reminds me of her."

"Okie dokie, then."

I began to clear the table, and James joined me, helping me to bring the dishes into the kitchen.

"Dessert, huh?" was all he said as he began to set plates in the dishwasher.

"Cheesecake. Cheesecake is delicious." I couldn't believe I was talking about cheesecake after we had almost had sex on the living room couch. "And wine. Cheesecake and wine."

"I think Logan's had more than enough alcohol for the night." James stared out into the living room. "Well, for what it was worth, dinner was amazing."

"Thanks." I began scrubbing the pans.

"What do you want me to do?"

I looked up at him. "What do you think?" The words almost came out in a whisper.

"Ugh," Logan groaned from the living room. "I don't feel so good."

James' and my eyes widened at the same time.

"Get him to the bathroom!" I yelped. "I'm not cleaning up his vomit!"

James dashed out to the living room and hauled Logan to the bathroom while I finished cleaning the kitchen and got a pot of coffee going.

Yeah. It was going to be a long night.

And not in the way it had almost been.

James and I got very little sleep that night. Logan ended up passing out on my bed, which meant that I couldn't actually go to bed unless I wanted to share it with my best friend's drunk ex. I curled up on the couch and James joined me. There was a part of me that wanted to finish what we had started before Logan had shown up, but with Logan in the next room, the mood was pretty much ruined. We didn't talk. We just sat on the couch all night, watching stupid infomercials.

I finally dozed off somewhere around 2 in the morning, only to wake up at 6am to my phone's alarm going off. James jerked awake, rubbing his eyes. "I'm going to kill Logan. I'm going to fucking kill him. It took us weeks to get him onboard with the whole break-Camille-and-Steve-up scheme, and then when we finally do get him onboard, he gives up after one day with Camille, gets drunk, and hogs your bed. I'm half tempted to just let Camille marry Steve, just to spite Logan."

I stared up at James. "Yeah, it's too fucking early to rant. I need coffee. A lot of it. Like a tub of it."

"You know I'm right." James followed me into the kitchen. I got the coffee going. "You know he's being stupid and selfish."

"Well, he was being stupid and selfless a couple weeks ago," I pointed out. "You can only have one or the other. You can't have both. Anyway, you're still going to crash the wedding because you're a good friend. And I'm going to help you, because I'm an idiot."

James patted my shoulder. "Don't sell yourself short. You're going to help me because you think Steve is a tool and Camille would be a lot better off with Logan. Also, because you think I'm hot."

"I don't think you're hot!" I sputtered out. "Where the hell did you get that idea from?"

"Um, probably from the fact that you ripped my shirt off last night and tried to devour my mouth. But that's just a guess. I could be wrong."

"Okay, whatever, but not the point. The wedding is next Saturday. Camille's bachelorette party is next Friday. Their rehearsal dinner is the Friday after that. And I have no clue what to do to get her away from Steve. I mean, it's so obvious that she's not happy with him. But she's so fucking determined and stubborn. I'm pretty sure she wants to stick it to Logan. But then there's the fact that that's going to be a lifetime of misery. And who the hell wants that?"

"Masochists."

"Yeah, I'm done reasoning with you."

"Doms. Subs."

"This isn't 50 Shades of Grey. Camille isn't Anastasia Steele, and Steve sure as hell isn't Christian Grey." I considered it. "Though he does have about as much personality as Christian does when he's not throwing a temper tantrum. Maybe he is like Christian Grey. Only not as hot."

James threw his hands in the air. "I'm sorry I ever mentioned this. I am so, so sorry. I regret this so much."

"Maybe that's why Camille's still with Steve, even though he's miserable," I suggested. "Maybe it's because he's good in bed."

"Ew."

"Well, think about it. Why else would she stick with him, even though I'd rather go to a car show with my dad then actually be forced to talk to Steve? He must have something to make up for the lack of personality. Because I remember him when he was in high school, and he was about as exciting as watching paint dry."

"I really don't want to think about what Steve's like in bed. And I think I hear our hung over apartment guest," James added as a groggy moan echoed from my bedroom. "And we have to get to work. Today's your first day at Show & Tell," he reminded me as if I could have forgotten. "I'll get breakfast started."

"Don't forget the tub of coffee."

He saluted me, just as Logan came stumbling through the dining room and into the kitchen. "Coffee," he mumbled. "Nectar of the Aztec gods."

"Yeah, whatever," James said as he poured the hot coffee into two mugs, one for Logan, one for me.

I raised an eyebrow at Logan. "Want to tell us how you even got here last night in the first place? You didn't drive, did you? Because none of us can afford a funeral for you."

"Wow, thanks." He cracked an eye open to shoot me half a glare. It wasn't very effective though, since his other eye was still closed and he was balancing a coffee mug against his mouth, like he was hoping it'd permanently attach itself. "And no, of course not. I walked to the Leap Frog from my place, and then one of the bartenders there called a taxi for me. And I ended up here. Ow. Too much talking. Owie." He rubbed the palm of his hand into his forehead.

"You've got to learn to hold your liquor, dude," I informed him, before stalking out of the kitchen to my bathroom. I shoved into my bathroom and was about to slam the door when a hand closed in around my wrist. I spun around into James and he steadied me, hand cupping my hip. I looked up into his hazel eyes, flashing back to the night before. The feel of his skin against mine had been heaven on earth. I wanted his lips on me, though I wasn't picky about where. And if it hadn't been for Logan – fucking Logan – we would have actually slept together. We would have spent the night naked in my bed instead of fully dressed on the couch. And after having Logan slobber all over my sheets, I really needed to get new bedding.

"Need something?" I asked James, making a strong attempt at bravado, but my voice cracked on the last syllable.

"Yes. You." And then his lips crashed into mine and I was pinned against the bathroom wall, my fingers digging into his shoulders through that damn cashmere sweater he was still wearing. I was once again struck by how hard he was – he had muscles in places I didn't even know existed. But he radiated heat and emotion and passion like fire. Fire. He was fire.

And I was drowning in the kiss, desperate for breath but refusing to stop because if we did we would have to face the fact that this. Was. Going. To. Happen. For real. That we were bad for each other, all wrong, a fatal attraction. But we still wanted each other.

More kissing. Less thinking.

He scooped me up, hands cupping my ass as my legs wrapped around his waist. He kicked the door shut and fumbled for the lock until it clicked. He set me on the sink's counter and pulled back, breathing hard. I knew how he felt. I was gasping for breath like I had just run a marathon. If this was anything like the high that runners were always talking about, I was going to have to take it up. It was a hell of a rush.

"Katie…" His voice was a whisper, hoarse with desire and need. "Do you want this?"

"Yes. But I don't want to talk about this."

"What?" He drew back, brow furrowed in confusion.

"I don't want to talk about this. I don't want – this is so bad, we're terrible for each other. It's a fatal attraction. But I want you."

"You're second guessing this."

"I am not. I already know it's bad. That doesn't make me not want it."

"You're over thinking this."

"How can I over think this? This is a onetime deal, right? No strings attached?"

"What?" He stepped away, hands falling from my waist. "That's what this is?"

"Isn't that what you want? I mean, you're terrible with relationships. I'm terrible with relationships. I've only had one real one, and look how well that turned out."

"Yeah, but that's because the guy was a prick." He inhaled deeply, voice turning sharp. "So, what? You just want a onetime hookup with me?"

"Isn't that what you want?" I repeated. "Isn't that what's best for us?"

"Not when we're fucking living together! I thought – I thought – " He covered his face with his hands for a long moment, and I wasn't sure if he was going to cry or laugh or just roll his eyes. "Forget it, Katie. Just forget it. Clearly we're not on the same page here."

"Same page about what?" I demanded, jumping down from the sink.

"About any of this! About what us sleeping together means. About my feelings. About your feelings. You'd have thought I would've learnt my lesson about you five years ago, but nope. Here I am, still being slapped with the exact same reality as before. I really fucking hate reality."

I gaped at him, open mouthed. I wasn't positive, but I was pretty sure we weren't about to have really hot shower sex now.

"Let's just forget this whole thing ever happened," he said abruptly. "What almost happened last night. What almost happened just now. It never happened. Okay? It's what's best for us," he added, voice turning darkly snarky, tossing my word choice back in my face. "I'm going to go make breakfast. You shower."

"James – "

"If you think this is such a fatal attraction, then you should be glad nothing ever really happened between us." And with that he tried to open the bathroom door, forgot it was locked, cussed at it, unlocked it, yanked it open and stormed out. He slammed it shut, leaving me alone in an empty bathroom with just my thoughts.

He was right. If this was such a bad thing, I should be glad we never actually slept together.

So why did I feel like I was about to cry?