"Hey Betty! Give us a smile and a taste of your cookies!"

Casey groaned. The young guy of about twenty three was pointing a ridiculously large camera lens at her as she made her way back to the parking lot and her car. She wondered if the size of his camera equipment was inversely proportional to the size of his manhood. He muttered some disgusting comment to his fellow photographers with a shared laugh and she decided he was definitely small in the underpants department.

But, Casey said nothing. She had been through enough PR sessions with her publishers to know when not to make a wiseass comment.

She pushed forward, her hands gripping the shopping carriers firmly, wishing she had ignored Derek and worn the headscarf and dark glasses.

Why on earth did he think that simple precautions like that were going to make the paparazzi suspicious?

It wasn't until she was firmly installed in her car, the doors locked and her wheels squealing as she pulled away that it occurred to her to wonder why the guy with the camera had called her Betty.

Derek was in the house gym when she got back. Casey unloaded the shopping and, finding the pack of adhesive tape he had asked her to pick up from the store she wandered through to hand it over. The little gym was in a small outhouse which connected with the house by a short hallway. It was equipped with the sorts of weights and treadmills which would work on the muscle groups necessary for professional hockey players. When he wasn't training with his team, Derek spent a lot of time in this room. Here and in the indoor pool it connected to. Casey remembered the smile on his face, three years ago, when he had told her he finally had his own pool – and could stop sneaking over the Davies' fence.

When she left the kitchen and made for the gym, Casey's only aim was to give Derek the tape. Spotting him sitting with his back to her as she entered the room, however, she stopped and watched him for a moment.

He wasn't as scrawny as he had been when she first met him. She grinned. Correction: Scrappy, not scrawny. As his standard of hockey had risen so had the inevitable physique which came with it. By the time he had been scouted from college, all his muscles were toned and firm – but not excessively. He looked like an athlete, and she knew because she had been around through his development that it had all come from hard work and not steroids.

Right now, he was sitting in sweatpants and nothing else pulling a weight bar up and down. Age and the opportunity for vacations in hot places had given his skin a slight tan which looked good on him. She could see the ripple as his muscles took the strain of the weight, and the light covering of sweat which sprung up, although he made the whole act look easy – effortless. Casey watched a bead of moisture run down the groove of his back and her fingers itched to trap it and brush it away, the way she had one time when her hands had spanned his straining muscles. She remembered the heat from him above her and the feeling of unity between their bodies.

"You know it's one thing to get ogled in the rink, quite another to get ogled in my own home." Derek's voice broke across her thoughts.

"I thought you were supposed to be pumping iron, Derek. Not your own ego." Casey snapped herself out of the trance she had sunken into. He smirked.

"Where were you?" He asked amused but his voice was quiet.

"Wal-mart, I told you."

"I didn't mean earlier, I meant a moment ago. You were in a world of your own."

Casey sniffed. "I realised that I haven't been in here to inspect Sheila's work." She lied.

"Ah!" Derek seemed enlightened. "That would explain the look of ecstasy on your face…you found more of my dirt to wallow in."

Casey frowned. "I'm going nowhere near your dirt, Derek."

"I meant a dirty part of my home that you hadn't got your mitts on."

"I know what you meant." She said with a huff and stepped forward to give him the tape.

"How was Wal-mart?" He inquired continuing with his lifting.

"Fine…empty even."

"Really?"

"Yeah. They had to close the store until I'd done because there were so many paparazzi following me. It caused a hazard."

He chuckled in the warm way she loved. "I warned you."

Casey pulled herself together. "I still don't understand why I couldn't wear the headscarf combo. There was this one guy there who kept calling me Betty for some reason."

Derek's eyes widened. "Oh?"
"Do you think he thinks I'm ugly?"

.

Things were good between them; better than they had been in years. He was reminded of the playful banter between them in that crucial time between school and his decision to marry Chloe. He was reminded of the time they were friends, and when she left him to return to the kitchen, he let his mind drift to thoughts of the few moments when they were at their closest physically and emotionally. It was a pleasant place to be and Derek wondered if she ever thought about him the way he thought about her. The way he remembered her, clinging to him in a way he would never tire of.

He heard a cell ring in another part of the house and braced himself for Casey's reappearance telling him he needed to face the real world.

But it never came.

The ringing phone was Casey's own silver cell phone, tucked in her back pocket from when she was shopping. It jarred with her in more ways than just the ring tone. Casey had lived the last couple of days without reference to her own life. Though they had discussed her life, she had not thought about it. She was not Casey McDonald, author. She was Casey, step-sister…and more.

Jerked out of the faux life she was leading, Casey pulled the tiny phone from her pocket and answered it.

"Hi Ange!" She said cheerily. Caller display had told her it was her agent and close friend, Angela. "What can I do for you?"
"Well for a start, you can tell me why I have to find out that you are all over the internet from my twelve year old cousin."

"I'm sorry?" Casey was confused.

"I quote: "The mysterious brunette who has provided the third ring for the media sensation which is the current Venturi circus has finally been identified! It is none other than award-winning author Casey McDonald who according to Derek Venturi's representatives has shelved (no pun intended) book-writing to take on a new role as cook to the hockey god! A strange combination, and they insist it is a purely professional arrangement, but lord knows the way to a man's heart (slash money slash manhood) is through his stomach. This journo can't help wondering if the tasty authoress is going to be showing DV her Coq au Vin tonight…"" There was a pause. "Do you have something to tell me?"

"They said what?" Casey gasped. "Oh god!"

"I could have done with a heads up on this Case."

"I didn't know." She said, trying to stay calm. "Where did they get this stuff?"

Angela sighed. "Where are you Casey?"

"At Derek's."

"Why?"

"His marriage is over, I'm making sure he isn't about to slit his wrists."

"Is that likely? He never seemed particularly into her in my opinion." Angela stated. Casey loved her friend for being the one person who didn't buy the media hype. Her pleasure faded. "Read that bit about Derek's representatives again…"

The door to the gym banged opened. Derek dropped the weight he was holding in surprise.

"You told them I was your cook!" Casey shouted at him. Derek winced and not just because the weight had landed on his little finger.

"No. My agent did. We needed a reason for you being here and I mentioned you were cooking meals for me."

"A cook!"

Derek shrugged. "Not me, Case. Tim."

"Why?" She frowned in confusion. "Why not just say I was your step-sister?"

"You know why."
"No…I don't."

Derek took a deep breath.

"Because if we release a statement saying that you're my step-sister, it will take the pressure off, but it won't stop the press digging. I mean, you don't exactly behave like a sister and…"

"And?"
"Casey. If they dig long and hard enough they'll find something. About you…about us."

She bristled. "There's nothing to find." She stated firmly.
Derek looked at her incredulously, unsure whether she was lying or in denial.

"You seriously blanked that out?" he asked. There was no need to elaborate on what "that" he meant.

Casey looked abashed - and something else. "No."

Then her eyes rose to his defiantly, and he saw for the first time the determined look as she lied to him.

"There's nothing to find, Derek."

He stared at her.

"I mean, I told no one." She clarified. He relaxed slightly and sighed. She wasn't lying, just struggling with the truth – the way he was.

"Me either. Doesn't mean that they won't find something, even if it is just a hint. And you can't lie for fucking toffee."

"If it's important enough I can." She retorted.

"Yeah well. Excuse me if I'd rather not take the chance. I have no desire to be branded a freak by the media." Open mouth insert foot, Derek.

Casey's breath caught. "A freak?"

Derek realised his words could be taken two ways - she had taken it the wrong way.

"A freak? That's what you think you are because of…" she shrieked. For a long moment they stood frozen. Casey in disbelief that he had uttered the words, Derek unsure of how to take them back and make her understand. It wasn't that he thought he was a freak – that they were freaks. He just didn't want their relationship to be described that way in the press.

He took too long.

"Fuck you Derek Venturi!"

She stormed towards the door.

"Casey, listen."
"No. You listen. I know what you think of me now. I thought we were mature and comfortable in our…relationship; that we could do the…step-sibling thing. I thought that we had moved on…grown up. I thought that I could help you deal with the whole Chloe crap. Evidently, I thought too much of you. You can't do this. You aren't grown up. You're a stupid, immature school boy Derek and I can't stand to be in the same room as you."

"Casey…"

"No Derek. You can tell Tim to relax. I'm going and I won't be back. In fact, if I never see you again, it will be too soon. And don't worry. It never happened."
"Case."

But the door slammed and she was gone.

Derek ran after her, but she must have left her car out the front, because by the time he reached the front door, all that was visible were the tail-lights as they moved down the drive.

Derek slumped against the wall of his house, drained.

He couldn't blame her, because his words had been wrong. He had said something he didn't mean. Or rather, he meant it, but he hadn't been clear enough in his meaning to stop her thinking the worst.

He could understand why she ran. He had used the term 'freak' and he would have done the same had he heard someone else describe their past in those terms.

Their past.

Crouched on his threshold, he ran his fingers through his hair as he watched the bright reflection of flashbulbs from the gates to his home. When the flashing stopped he knew she was gone.

Two years he had waited to see her again, and just when he thought she was back in his life – hopefully for good - she disappeared again.