A/N: Angela Bower, you messy bitch. You're so full of surprises.

Chapter Fifteen: New York Public Library

Friday, November 30, 1990

Andy called Angela from the car. "Come down and meet me at the curb. You can change at the hotel. We're spending the night in the city."

"Really? You're amazing. I'll be down in five minutes."

When Angela appeared, Andy popped the trunk to let her put her briefcase inside. She saw her favorite garment bag suitcase alongside his duffel. Once in the passenger's seat, she took a moment to appreciate Andy's finely tailored suit and tie. His hair was neatly combed and gelled. "Where are we staying?"

"Near Bryant Park. A little boutique hotel called Morgan's. There are a few places with live music around there."

"Can we visit the Public Library tomorrow? It's been ages since I went."

"Of course, honey."

Andy checked in and allowed Angela to use the bathroom first. She stepped out looking like a dream, a cloud of blonde swept back on one side, glints of light emanating from her tightly-clad perfect body, and an endless expanse of leg. When he looked back to her face, he saw her megawatt smile. "Guess I look OK?"

"Let me just grab an extra handkerchief for all the drool, " he joked. When she turned away to get her purse, he saw the low back. "Christ, Angela. How am I supposed to control myself around you?"

"Discipline," she said in a husky tone, pulling on her coat.

The two walked arm-in-arm to a club a couple of blocks away and entered the basement, where a jazz quintet was already playing. They sat at a small table along the wall and drank brandy sidecars. Andy was a big fan of hard bop, and he recognized one of the players as a sideman from his favorite obscure album. After the set ended, they stopped at an Irish pub where a talented middle-aged man was playing acoustic guitar and singing covers.

Angela was drunk enough after three whiskeys, neat, to order potato skins. She listened to Andy talk about music while he ate fish and chips. After their meal, she persuaded him to relocate closer to the stage. They sipped Guinness and sang along to Hey Jude and Little Red Corvette, not caring that they didn't know most of the lyrics.

Around 3am, they walked back to the hotel. Angela threw herself onto the middle of the bed and kicked off her shoes. Andy sat down and started to rub her feet before realizing she had passed out cold. He undressed and brushed his teeth, then made an attempt to rouse his partner. Frustrated, he flipped her over to give himself enough room to sleep. She suddenly sat up, then ran into the bathroom and heaved.

Andy sighed and asked "Are you ok in there? Do you need anything?"

"I'm fine!" she called out.

The shower was running. He kicked himself for letting her drink so much. She obviously couldn't hold her liquor. Ten minutes later, she came out for her toothbrush, wrapped in a towel. He slid into bed and waited until she walked out stark naked and barefaced, then turned down the covers. "I had a good night with you, Angela. I hope you enjoyed it, too," he whispered, kissing her cheek.

When Andy woke up at 9am, Angela was talking in her sleep. "Please," she said several times. The covers had fallen to her waist, and she brought a hand up to cover her breast. After a few little sounds of pleasure, he decided to join in. First, he palmed the other breast and kissed her shoulder. When that was well received, he leaned over to lick her to stiff peaks, then pulled back the covers completely and parted her legs to make room for himself. He kissed her inner thighs and made his way toward her center.

Going down on a woman was one of his favorite things to do, and Angela was his favorite woman to do it to. He stroked her pubic hair and planted little kisses all around. She was already wet, and he licked into her slit to taste her unique flavor. Her response was to pivot one knee to the side, allowing him to reach into her with his tongue. When he rubbed his lips across her clit, she began pleading again and reached her hand out to rub at herself. It was a beautiful sight, this mostly-asleep woman taking her own pleasure. He kneeled up to watch her face contort, adding two, then three fingers to amp up the effect. She clenched lightly a couple of times, then came to full consciousness.

"Please don't stop," she asked him, relinquishing control. He swirled his tongue around her clit and continued curling his fingers inside her. After a minute of rhythmically sucking at the swollen organ, she held his head and bucked her hips into his mouth. He felt her spasms from the inside, then pulled his hand away and lay on his back next to her.

Angela wasn't satisfied, reaching for his hand and sucking her fluids off his fingers as she mounted him. She rocked hard against him, first planting her hands on his chest, then gripping the headboard. He fed on her, drawing as much of her breasts into his mouth as he could. She began to falter and get frustrated, telling him "I need to come. God. Please, Andy. Make me come." So he pressed his thumb to her clit, allowing her to grind it between their bodies with each roll of her hips. She picked up speed again, finally crying out in relief. "Get on top," she told him.

Andy rolled them both without pulling out. He was ready for release, too. She wrapped her legs around his, pushing her feet against his calves while he thrust steadily into her. And then he came with a guttural sound. The two of them fell asleep in the mess and slept for another hour.

Checkout was at 11am, so they rushed to shower and pack their things, stowing them in the car before walking to the public library together. "Bryant Park is going to be so pretty when the renovations are completed," she said.

As they approached the Fifth Avenue entrance, Andy turned to Angela. "There's something I need to tell you," he said.

"I have something to tell you, too, Andy."

"You go first."

"No, you go."

"No, I insist."

"Please, Andy."

"Let's say it at the same time," he suggested, feeling strongly that they were in agreement. When Angela nodded, he said it. "I love you."

"I forgot to put in a sponge," she blurted out simultaneously.

"Oh my god." Andy began pacing the sidewalk in the cold, first-of-December breeze.

"I'm sorry. This was all so spontaneous," she said. "Wait. You love me?"

He stopped pacing and looked at a building in the distance, over her shoulder. "I love you. But you don't have to say it back. I should have waited."

"It's so soon. Are you sure?"

"I've never met anyone like you. Not even close."

"I'm not ready, but I'm getting there. It just takes me longer," Angela argued.

"Don't worry about forgetting the sponge. It's not likely anything will happen. And if it does, we'll know by Christmas."

"Andy, I think I want to go home now."

The drive back to Connecticut was quiet. Angela looked out the window and counted the days in her cycle, coming to the same conclusion as Andy. It would be the better part of a week before she was supposed to ovulate. Not to mention, she was no longer in her prime childbearing years. It had taken months of trying to conceive Jonathan. Everything would be ok. She hoped.

"Do you want to go back to my place or home?

"I want to go home. It would be good for me to see Jonathan."

"Why don't you bring him over sometime? I'd like to get to know him."

"Let me think about it."

When she got home, nobody was around. She left her briefcase on the desk and carried her garment bag upstairs, placing it on the foot of the bed and fiddling with the luggage tag. The picture was a palm tree and a beach with a full moon over the water. The superimposed text said "Moonlight Motel." It hadn't been there on her last trip. Tony must have switched it out with the one now hanging off her other suitcase.