For the birthday girls, Dementedx and Greys has become my life, as well as the lovely Valentinas and DoRaM. As always, thank you all so much for sticking with me!

14

There were a million reasons "why not", of course, and you already know them so there's no point in listing them here. But I will add that even as protecting myself became much more critical, I felt myself wanting to give in. Seeing him teach had shifted something inside me, and whatever distance I'd tried to maintain had disappeared in his office, and I was more susceptible to him now than ever. In a strange way, he reminded me of Emma. They were both so good, deep-down good in a way I had never been and certainly will never be. My cynicism, my calculation, my occasional ruthlessness: these things were as foreign to Will as his life of dedication, of service, was to me. It was impossible to see those things in him and not want to touch them, not want to feel them, even if only briefly.

I couldn't help but imagine our two lives as a room walled in glass (not unlike his office), he inside, palm pressed against a clear pane, me on the outside looking in, aligning my hand with his until I can feel a hint of warmth through the barrier. That is the closest I could ever get to knowing what it is to be so good, to have not just a passion but a calling, because that was clearly what teaching was for him, and that is not what music is for me. Music is… Something I must do, something that takes hold of me and won't let go and feels like an addiction, or like both a disease and the cure. And even if no one was listening I would have to create it, because there is no other way for me. But it doesn't feel good, doesn't put a light in my eyes like the one in his. I'd never had a light like that.

If I sound jealous, it's only because I was, but that is neither here nor there. The point is that I think I fought pretty valiantly, but in the end it was too exhausting to push him away and all my ghosts and memories too, especially when his very presence seemed to dispel them. So I gave up, gave in, not for good but just for the night, and I told myself that since my previous plan hadn't worked out, it might be better to just improvise. What was the difference if we said goodbye in the morning instead? Either way he'd be gone and I'd be on a plane Friday and all of this would be nothing more than a pleasant memory. And again, I never believe myself when I lie like that but I do it all the time anyway. Obviously.

So I got into his ridiculous blue sedan (despite my perfectly reasonable fears that the muffler dragging on the asphalt might strike enough sparks to set something on fire) and we picked up Chinese food and then drove back to my mother's house. We set up in the living room, building little pagodas on the coffee table with our many takeout boxes. Will, being a normal human being, had ordered normal food, whereas I, being a female in the entertainment industry, had ordered tofu and steamed brown rice and vegetable spring rolls. He'd teased me about it but hadn't complained, which I thought was very forbearing of him, especially as my additions had ratcheted up the price considerably and he'd refused to take any of the money I'd offered him. I felt guilty about that, since I didn't know how much teachers made but suspected it was somewhat less than the $5 million I took in the year prior, but at the same time it felt good to have someone trying to take care of me whether I needed it or not. And then I hated myself for thinking that and thereby setting feminism back 50 years.

Anyway. We set up our little Chinese takeout temples and then demolished them, eating straight out of the boxes with chopsticks, and Will kept stealing my tofu and pretending he hated it (or maybe he did hate it, but really tofu is not that bad, once you get used to it). It was all so relaxed and normal, which made it completely foreign to me, but it was as much of a distraction from everything I wanted to avoid thinking about as dragging him up the stairs and ripping his clothes off would have been. Perhaps ever so slightly less enjoyable, but maybe not. Talking to him was exciting because he was talented and intelligent and had well-informed opinions about everything, especially in regards to music, though the realization that I'd just as soon have a conversation with him as fuck him was unwelcome and worrisome. Exponentially more terrifying was the fact that I'd stopped fighting it. But then I've already explained that.

After all the food was either devoured (Seriously, Will, where do you put it?) or nestled snugly in the sparklingly clean fridge, we sat together on the couch, me sideways with my legs draped over his lap, his arm around my waist. We talked about nothing, everything, I don't even know what, I just know that we sat that way for a long time, our voices rising and falling, holding and listening to each other. It felt good, Will absently stroking my thighs, me toying with his hair, the two of us saying whatever random thoughts came into our heads and discovering the other found them fascinating. It just felt really good. At some point, our conversation meandered back to our mutual love of music, and he spotted my guitar in the corner.

"Can I play it?" he asked, pure longing on his face.

"If you'll sing something," and hopefully not notice the fact that it's a 1957 Gibson Super 400C because a $15,000 guitar might be a bit difficult to explain away.

He grinned at me, the smile of a little boy on Christmas morning who just got everything on his list, and abandoned me in favor of the guitar without a second thought. I didn't blame him; the Super 400C is sexy as hell, after all.

Strumming it experimentally, he cast me an approving look. "Perfectly in tune… Beautiful tone, wow. What kind of guitar is this?"

"Oh, it's a Gibson. Not sure what exactly, I got it a long time ago," I fibbed.

"It sounds amazing," he said, a note of awe in his voice, and I couldn't help but grin proudly even though, okay, it's not like I built the guitar or anything. But I'd had the good sense to purchase it (well before I could really afford it) and surely that counts for something.

"Thanks. But stop trying to distract me," I added. "If you're going to play that guitar, you have to play it."

Returning to the couch and arranging himself so that he was sitting sideways, cross-legged and facing me, he continued to caress the strings. "Is there anything you want to hear?"

I was distracted by the sight of his long, artistic fingers coaxing various chords out of my guitar. They were, as I'd noticed when I first met him, elegant and artistic hands, and obviously talented. I imagined they could ease music out of anything they touched, including myself on occasion. "Hmmm… Surprise me."

He gave me a raised-eyebrows kind of look that clearly said You're no help, thought for a moment and then brightened. "Okay, I've got it. I'll even sing, too."

"It's a requirement," I reminded him.

Smiling softly, he began a rendition of Down, the song the glee kids had sung for me, but slower, sweeter, or maybe it's just that his voice made everything sound sweeter.

"You oughta know/Tonight is the night to let it go/Put on a show/I wanna see how you lose control…" He cast me a wicked glance at that line, and I laughed.

"Those lyrics are ridiculous, you know," I told him.

"Yes," he agreed, still playing the song. "But I'm supposed to be singing right now, stop talking. You made me miss the last half of the verse."

"Sorry," I said, completely unrepentant, and he jumped directly into the chorus.

"So baby don't worry/You are my only/You won't be lonely/Even if the sky is falling down/You'll be my only/No need to worry/Baby are you down down down down down?" The gentle look he gave me as he sang these words was extraordinarily disconcerting, and I was glad when he brought the song to a close after finishing the chorus (which, if you're wondering, involved singing the word "down" approximately 50 more times: this is the lyrical genius I'm competing with).

I leaned into him, looked deep into his eyes despite the way it made me feel like I was drowning in them, suffocated by their depth, and the way it made me feel like I wanted that. He needed to understand that I meant what I was about to say. "You're incredible, Will, really. You could be on Broadway; you could be on the radio. You have a real gift."

He colored and smiled, pleased. "Thanks. I used to think… I mean, in high school I really wanted to try to do something like that but… I don't know, Terri thought econ was a better bet so…" trailing off, he shrugged.

"Do you regret it?" I asked, because god knows I would, and I was really wishing I could strangle this Terri woman with my bare hands. Will had the kind of talent that should never have been buried in an economics department, or anywhere else; I was literally clenching my fists in anger at the very thought.

There was a faraway look in his eyes for a moment, as though he was imagining what might have been, and I wondered what the potential future he was seeing looked like. Did he see himself on stage, performing for thousands of people, changing their lives with his voice? Because that's what I saw for him, what I used to see for myself until I made it happen, and surely anyone would want that. But I was wrong, of course, I knew him well enough by now to know that, and when he returned to the present, he shook his head. "No. I mean, I do regret not taking my chance, but I'm glad I ended up doing what I'm doing. Teaching is just… Everything to me. I'd miss it, even if I didn't know what I was missing."

Honestly, how was I supposed to resist him when he said things like this? I didn't bother trying, just closed the distance between us, placed my guitar very very gently on the floor, and brushed my lips against his. He pulled me close, opened his mouth, and we kissed deeply, slowly, for what seemed like hours. The kiss lasted until all the alarm bells going off in my head were silenced, until all my worries and fears were pushed away, and I was just left with this overwhelming suspicion that if this was the last time I saw him I would regret it. And that knowledge terrified me, but I knew it was the truth, and what on earth was happening to me?

He pulled away finally, lifting his head just far enough that he could look into my face. His lips, which were somewhat thin but in an attractive kind of way, were swollen from the pressure of mine and I realized, not for the first time, that he was so beautiful looking at him was almost painful. Almost.

"Is this against the rules?" he asked, expression serious, and I wasn't sure what he meant by this but I knew it was dangerous.

"You have no idea," I said, because he didn't. This, whatever this was turning into, wasn't just against every single rule of one-night stands, it was against every single rule I'd ever made for myself. But he made me want to break them, and it was… There are not enough synonyms for terrifying in my thesaurus, nowhere near enough to convey how this made me feel.

"Look," he began, voice soft and low. "I'm taking the kids bowling Friday night to celebrate Sectionals. You should come with us. I just…" His expression had morphed into one of confusion, almost, as though he was surprised by what he was saying, which I could relate to because he was surprising the hell out of me. It's not that I didn't think he had enjoyed the time we'd spent together, but I'd never seen any sign from him until now that he'd thought about the implications. There was so much to know about him, I realized, because as straightforward as he seemed I knew he must be complicated. He'd have to be, to be both the man I seduced and the man I woke up with. "I want to know you. I can't really think beyond that, I just… I want you there. With me. For me."

I closed my eyes tightly, reminding myself that I was weak, and looking at him made me weaker, and this was the worst idea ever, literally ever, and if I knew what was good for me I'd be on a plane Friday night as planned. But then, strangely, I saw Emma's face, heard her voice telling me to give myself permission to be happy. What Would Emma Do? She had given that to herself, permission to be excited about a potential future with the man she'd loved forever, and I... I'd never allowed myself that luxury, because if something can fill you with joy it can also fill you with despair and I believed I'd rather just feel nothing at all. But that was before I knew how much better joy felt than nothing, and I couldn't make myself think about how much worse despair felt than anything.

And anyway, whispered that voice in the back of my mind that rationalizes all my bad decisions, It's only bowling. You like bowling.

When I opened my eyes he was staring at me intently, a look of apprehension on his face, and I imagined my expression must be the same but for entirely different reasons.

"Okay," I said hesitantly, and it was the most difficult word I'd ever spoken. "Okay."

There were other things I should have said, I know, many other things, confessions and truths and if ever there was a moment for everything to come out, this was it. But he was kissing me again, and I wasn't thinking clearly, and anyway it was only bowling, and then I'd be going home.

TBC

P.S. New longest chapter... By four words.