Chapter 20

The very first person Jason Morgan ever saw.

Elizabeth scowled at the statement, mostly because she was too drunk to really process it, though she imagined if she were sober it would only confuse her more, doing nothing to fix the problem at hand.

Sighing, she glanced over her shoulder to see Lulu and Johnny huddled next to the jukebox, the blonde clutching her third drink in her hand sans the umbrella. Apparently, once the initial drink was downed the floodgates opened.

Perhaps there was still hope for her, if she'd just give Elizabeth a little more leeway with corrupting her.

She shifted her eyes back to the mirror behind the bar, not surprised to catch Jason's eyes staring back at her. She couldn't remember the last time she'd spent so much time away from a man that she wanted to be next to, and this hardly counted as flirtatious fun. Usually, she could flash a smile, maybe shimmy her hips, and whoever she wanted was at her side, only to be run off by Jason or Johnny, but that was beside the point.

"Okay, Webber," she muttered, pushing herself off her stool.

Oh, hell. She was sloshed. The realization sunk in as she stumbled just enough so that anyone who was looking at her would have noticed, but she would blame the fact that she was wearing the highest pair of pumps she owned.

Maybe Lulu was onto something with all those damn ballet flats.

Flustered, especially when she caught Jason looking at her from the corner of his eye, his face lit up with amusement, she bit back any crude retorts and made her way over. She'd dug a big enough hole at this point, and the last thing she needed to do was keep kicking dirt in his face.

His head tipped in her direction as she slid up beside him, one hand bracing herself on the bar. His eyebrows arched, clearly expecting her to have the first word, and she would have been annoyed at such had she not been too busy noticing just how blue his eyes really were.

"Uh, can I…get you…a drink?" she managed, her cheeks growing flushed as a slow smile spread across his face.

"You going to tell me I'm pretty too?" he asked curiously, rubbing his hand over his chin.

"Um, well…" She frowned, not sure exactly how to answer that.

Pretty wasn't a word that she would apply to Jason Morgan on a daily basis, but there was no way to deny that he was attractive. Most men couldn't pull of the brooding look without coming off as a jerk, but Jason had always settled into it nicely. Women flocked around at the drop of a hat, but Elizabeth also figured that had something to do with how little he talked, and the women he usually took to bed weren't interested in talking. Too bad for them because Jason sure did have lots of wonderful things to say, if only the whores knew just the kind of man they were rolling around in the sheets with.

"You okay?" he asked, when her face fell, the idea of Jason rolling around in the sheets with women from this very bar not sitting well with her.

"I need to sit," she replied, furrowing her brow as she unsteadily hoisted herself onto a stool.

He reached out to touch her, but she held out her hand, mostly because she just didn't know what she would do if he touched her. Normally, the drunk stumble was a great bit at getting an attractive man's attention because for some reason they were just so willing to help a woman in need. Or they thought they had a chance of getting laid.

Jason – well her Jason – the one who was her best friend, was surely the first option, and maybe the latter when it came to every other woman but her.

Oh, wait a second.

Why hadn't he ever tried to sleep with her?

"Can we get a bottle of water?" Jason called out to Coleman, his eyes gentle and worried as they looked at her.

Was she not as good as the girls at Jake's?

"Why haven't you ever tried to sleep with me?" Elizabeth asked seriously, tipping her head back and looking at him.

"What?" he asked, waving Coleman away as he started to approach, clearly not wanting the bartender to hear anything she said.

"You and Johnny try to sleep with every other woman, but me," she shrugged, slurring her words as she rocked back on her stool. "I don't know why I'm not good enough."

"You're drunk," he muttered agitatedly, getting up from the stool and shaking his head.

He was frustrated or annoyed that she'd struck a chord, maybe even embarrassed, which was a rarity in itself. She liked watching him grow flushed, how the redness crept up from the base of his neck and over his cheeks.

Oh, hell. This was one for the record books.

Where was Johnny when she needed him?

She groaned, remembering he was across the room with Lulu, and that maybe she should be asking him the same damn question. Bracing herself against the bar, she slid off the stool, laughing as the room started to spin.

"I am a mess," she hissed, her mind wandering back and forth between the possibilities of her and Jason and her and Johnny.

But never together.

Oh, ew.

"I think I'm gonna hurl," she murmured, tensing up when she felt Jason's hand resting against her, his fingers splayed against the small of her back. She fought the urge to lean against his touch, pulling herself closer to the bar instead. "How did this happen?"

"You drank too much," he said softly, his lips too close to her ear.

She couldn't help but shiver. "Yeah, because I thought you would talk to me if I got drunk and stupid…"

"So this is my fault?"

"Or maybe I thought if you got drunk and stupid, you'd talk to me…"

"Oh," he murmured surprised, "so it's your fault?"

"Or maybe it's Johnny's for being all stupid and lovey with that tramp – well, she's not a tramp. She's actually very nice, which makes it impossible to hate her, and I really want to hate her. I mean, I have to after everything…" She moaned loudly, leaning against the bar, one hand on her head. "Why is it that when you stand up the liquor just bursts through your body and you suddenly can't remember your name?"

He laughed quietly, that private Jason Morgan snicker that so few people heard, and she would have pummeled him, or at least tried to, had it not sounded so damn adorable.

"I hate you," she muttered, pressing her face into her palm as she swayed back on her feet.

"I return the sentiments," he replied, sliding his arm around her waist.

She felt his body tense up as she settled against him, deciding that if he was offering to hold her up, she might as well let him. "You don't hate me. You love me."

"Sometimes," he admitted, his face turning flushed again.

Oh, hell.

She was flirting with him. Damn the tequila or whiskey or whatever the hell she had been drinking. Maybe Lulu was onto something with the stupid umbrella drinks. She didn't seem particularly wasted from them, having only a nice glow, and she wasn't flirting with the last person she wanted to.

Well, that was a lie.

Ritchie would have been the last person Elizabeth wanted to flirt with, but Jason was a close second, and that's only because she felt like she couldn't control herself around him. Maybe this was what her mother meant all those years ago when she said being friends with boys was inappropriate. But Elizabeth never wanted to sleep with them before.

"Aw man," she moaned, leaning her back against Jason's chest, her head still in her hands. "I do not want to sleep with you."

"Elizabeth," he said, slowly stepping away from her, holding his hands out in case she stumbled.

"I didn't mean to say it aloud, Jason," she replied, as if it were his fault. She moaned again, lifting her head from her hands, and looked at him. "Can you just take me home?" He hesitated, and she rolled her eyes. "I swear, just toss me in the trunk and I won't bring up you, me, and sex ever again."

She groaned again, clasping a hand over her mouth. "Just take me to – No," she paused, correcting herself. "Oh, fuck it. I'll call a cab."

"What are you doing?" Jason asked, digging through his pockets as Elizabeth emptied her entire purse on the hallway floor outside her apartment.

"I can't find my keys," she moaned, dropping to her knees and digging through the pile of shit.

Yes, shit, because that's exactly what it looked like she was hauling around in her bag.

Swearing under his breath, Jason leaned over and waved his keys in front of her face. "I have a key."

"Oh, that's right," she said, wagging a finger at him as she rocked back on her knees. "I'm sor-"

"Stop," he growled, stooping down beside her and doing his best to shove everything back into her purse.

The entire drive over from the bar, she'd apologized non-stop, constantly berating herself for getting so drunk, for using him, and for hanging up on him. She also tossed in the fact that she said she didn't want to have sex with him, but he was trying to ignore that fact because she basically admitted she wanted to, and he couldn't think about that.

Not ever.

Unless it was really going to happen.

It was bad enough to have her talking about it, joking or not, because they had never once uttered the words sex along with each other's names, and he'd be damned if they were going to start now. It wasn't like he'd never looked at Elizabeth and never thought a dirty thought – he really was just a man – but such thoughts didn't matter because he was never going to act on them.

Or rather, he thought he couldn't, but now…

"Oh, there's my artist's knife," she squealed, snatching it from the pile. "And my cable bill. I was wondering where that went, though I have no idea why I pay for cable when I spend most my time watching TV at your house. You have better channels anyway. How much does that package cost you?"

"More than it should," he muttered, dumping everything into her bag and shaking his head. She was actually the one who convinced him to opt for the premium channels or whatever the hell the company called it, which he later realized was so she could spend the weekends watching Lifetime Movie Network and crying her eyes out.

He held his hand out. "The knife, please?"

"I'm not going to cut you," she said, clutching it in her hand.

"I hope not," he replied, his mouth breaking into a smile, "but you could hurt yourself."

"Oh, whatever," she muttered, dropping it into his hand as she pushed herself up from the floor. "You need to have more trust in me and pointy things, like the butter knife, 'cause you know I wouldn't have stabbed her."

She paused, leaning against the wall as he fiddled with her lock. "Or at least I don't think I would have."

Shaking his head, he pushed her door open, waving her inside, and trying to decide whether or not she was overcompensating for the awkwardness with all her rambling about things that didn't matter.

"You cleaned," he said, his eyes sweeping around the overly tidied room. He couldn't remember the last time her couch wasn't piled with clothes, her books were actually on her shelf, and there weren't four-month-old takeout boxes on the coffee table. "Or did you hire a maid?"

"I cleaned," she replied quietly, stumbling over to the couch and throwing herself down face first, somehow managing to kick her shoes off in the process.

"Why?" he asked flatly, kicking the door closed with his foot and dropping her purse to the floor.

For the first time ever, he felt out of place in her apartment, like he should wait until she told him to sit or that he might stumble onto something he shouldn't, like underwear.

"I was mad," she groaned, her voice muffled against her pillow.

She rolled over, her camisole riding up and her pants riding down. He was fairly sure he saw the glimpse of lacy panties peeking out from the back of her jeans, which was exactly what he was afraid of. She shifted again, rolling around awkwardly, allowing him another peek at her underwear, which were in fact very lacy and black, and almost made him groan. The entire drive over, he did his best not to admire her, telling himself that he just couldn't, but to see her withering around in front of him made such thoughts impossible to control.

"Stop looking at me like that," she murmured, rubbing a hand over her face as she sat up, bracing herself against the couch arm.

Sighing, he made his way over to the couch and sat down on the end farthest from her, leaving several feet in between them.

"Jason," she whispered weakly, suddenly sounding scared. "Are you going to make me talk about what happened?"

"No," he answered, shaking his head. There was no point in getting into what exactly happened that night at the hotel or to even start analyzing why. She was drunk and wouldn't remember a second of it. "Not unless you want to."

She rested her head on the couch arm, pulling her legs onto the couch and tucking them beneath her. "Lulu said something to me tonight."

He tensed at her words, not sure if he liked where this was going, not wanting Elizabeth to be caught up on Johnny anymore, and not willing to face why he felt this way.

Son of a bitch.

What he wouldn't give to be drunk right along with her.

"Do you wanna know what she said?" Elizabeth asked, lifting her head of messy curls and giving him a tired, drunken smile.

"Lulu's said a lot of things to you," he replied, shrugging it off as if he could hide his annoyance. Thankfully, she was drunk and wouldn't be able to read him like an open book. "What did she say?"

"She was asking about you, and for once it wasn't in that nosey, condescending way that she just loves to ask questions," she said, rushing through her words in a nervous way that worried him.

He didn't know if he wanted to know what Lulu said to her.

"She asked about the accident and stuff," she continued, holding a hand over her face. "Saying that we're like a movie or something, and it was weird because I never looked at it this way."

"You and me?" he asked, not sure if he was following correctly.

She nodded, dropping her hand from her face and giving him a long look as if she was searching for something. "I don't want to upset you."

"What did she say?"

"She said…Well, she asked about the accident, what it was like when you woke up."

"Yeah," he swallowed hard, not sure if he liked where it was going.

There had been far too many Jason Quartermaine references for his liking in the past few weeks, and he was left on the outside, fumbling to put the pieces together whenever another one was tossed his way.

"She said it was romantic that we're together. I mean, we're not, but she thinks…" She grew flustered as she slurred and tripped over her words. "She said I was the first person you ever saw."

"Well, you were," he shrugged, never really having thought about it either.

On one hand it was something special, but on the other it made him feel uneasy, and he couldn't figure out why.

She sat up slowly, pushing herself closer to him. "Do you remember?" she asked, drawing her knees up and hugging them to her chest. "You know, when you…"

He nodded stiffly, leaning his head in her direction. "Yeah."

It was one of the clearest memories he had, maybe because it was his first. He remembered how bright the fluorescent lights were, and to this day he still couldn't stand them. The stagnant smell of the hospital room and the sound of hushed voices in the hallway, but he would always remember the girl sitting beside his bed the most.

Elizabeth looked smaller then, more weak and tired, and she had the bluest eyes, so full of hope, which he crushed the second he opened his mouth. She left his room so abruptly, her eyes filling with tears the second he asked who she was, and he spent most of his day worrying about her, even amidst the chaos of his former family. When she finally came back to his room and confessed that she knew who he was before, he felt terrible, like he'd done something wrong by not remembering.

He spent months pushing her away, feeling guilty and angry every time he looked at her. Partly because he believed she wanted him to be Jason Quartermaine, and partly because he just felt so bad he couldn't be.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, pressing her cheek against her knee. "I just…"

"It's okay."

"About the other night," she said, lifting her eyes to his.

"We don't have to talk about it."

"We do," she murmured, letting out a shaky breath. "And I'd rather do it now when I'm drunk and won't necessarily feel it or realize it or…"

"All reasons as to why we should talk about it later."

"But we won't. We'll just avoid one another and…I shouldn't have – I wouldn't have kissed you had I known how it was going to make me feel."

"How's that?" he asked, stretching his arm over the back of the couch, hoping if he took some initiative she wouldn't be so worried.

Frowning, she scooted closer until the tips of his fingers grazed her shoulder. "Like he did," she confessed, blinking back tears as Jason's heart sunk in his chest. "And it scares the hell out of me."