42: A Fabulous Idea

Jesse

     I have a fabulous idea. Tomorrow is Wednesday, and I know Marie has the day off. I also know that she's going to do everything she can to avoid me since she knows I know. I'm going to throw a party tomorrow afternoon. Just a small party. I haven't done one of these in a few weeks.

      However, it won't even be worth it if Marie won't come, so there's my challenge: how to convince her to come without it sounding like I'm only throwing the party as an excuse to spend time with her. I won't lie to myself and say that that's not what it is because that's exactly what it is.

      Hm, Bryce and Erin, Pam and Simon, Lynne, Belinda, Troy, Ginger... and Desmond. Hm. That's just weird. Bryce had told me the other 'hot' night about Ginger and Desmond. I never would've guessed. And Marie.

       I'm being friendly and including the new girl!

       That knows I like her.

       That has green eyes and fantastic legs, I think and momentarily forget myself as I think of what I would do with those legs if I could.
        Lara starts helping a couple of guys rent scuba gear, and it startles me back into reality.

      I groan and chastise myself for letting my mind slip down a torturous path while I'm trying to plan something.

      I'm going to throw it anyway. Invite everyone else first. Maybe then somebody... um, Lynne maybe, or Pam, could convince her to come. Guilt her into coming since everyone else will too. I throw good parties.

      Hm, Lynne. Pam will get all bubbly and start asking question after question that I don't mind answering; it's just I have other things to do!

        I call Ginger first, and it goes straight to voicemail. So, I leave a quick message. Then I call the others, saving Lynne for last. Bryce can't come. I don't know why I forgot he has to work.

      "Lynne..." I say, drawing out her name.

     "What is it, Jesse?" she asks. "Belinda told me about the party already. Yeah. Of course I'll come."

       "Good, but that's not exactly why I called you."

       "Oh?"

        "I have a favor to ask."

       "What?"

       "Would you... ask the new waitress Marie to the party for me?" I ask her, and she gets quiet. "If I ask her, she'll undoubtedly say no."

        "Why doesn't this surprise me?" she teases.

        I whine, "Lynne..." Then I pause for effect. "Please?"

        "You're incorrigible, do you know that?"

        "That's what I've been told." I make another pause before I beg again, "Please?"

        "All right, but I'm not guaranteeing results," she says with a loud sigh followed by a quiet laugh.

         I can't stop my grin. "Thanks, Lynne!"

      A few hours later, Lynne calls me back and says that Marie told her no, that she wouldn't be comfortable coming.

     When I hang up with her, I tell Lara I'll be right back, grab my keys, and decide to drive Martha over to The Flamingo and talk to this stubborn, green-eyed girl with the great legs.

Marie

     I'm getting to know my assistant manager, Simon, who'd been on vacation last week. He looks a little down that he hasn't much to teach me since Bryce covered it all. So, he has me arranging bottles and restocking the bar as needed.
      A few hours go by, and a woman approaches me, telling me her name is Lynne. I think I recognize her as one of my boss's friends, and she confirms my suspicions when she invites me to a party tomorrow night. I ask her where, and she tells me... at Jesse's house. I politely refuse, and she asks me to reconsider, that he throws good parties, and I should join their circle of friends. I tell her some other time perhaps.
     Not too much later, I crouch behind the bar, hoping I'm not messing up Jones' organizational system, when Simon walks around it and crouches down next to me.
      "You know," he says, "I was a little sad when I heard Bernadette was gone, but I think everything turned out better for it." He reaches up and very slowly tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. I look over at him warily as he continues, "Tuesdays are always so long and hard for me because both Bryce and Jones have the day off. I hope you and I can grow to really enjoy each other's company."
      "Uh, yeah," I say slowly and move out of his reach.
       Over the next few hours, we work side-by-side, serving customers, and he bumps into me and brushes against me more often than what I think is necessary. If he doesn't watch it, he's going to find himself curled up into a painful ball on the floor. But I don't want to do that to my boss, well, a boss.
       Another quiet lull comes around, and I stand up after restocking another part of the bar. I don't realize Simon stands right behind me until I'm fully upright.

      Suddenly, his arm wraps around me with his hand splayed on my stomach, and his nose moves into my hair as he murmurs quietly, "You smell fantastic."
      My voice sounds stern as I say, "Let go of me, Simon."
      "We could make good use of this little bit of quiet time," he says softly as, instead of letting go of me, his other arm wraps around me.
      I spin around to see that he thinks I'm going to kiss him. Instead, he gets a slap across the face.
      "What's going on?!" I hear Jesse growl menacingly from out of nowhere.
     I ignore him as I watch Simon rub his cheek with the backs of his fingers, a thoughtful look on his features. I move away from him, and his now-creepy eyes watch me.

      "Then again," he says contemplatively, "maybe we won't."
      "Exactly," I snap at him. I am so angry that I'm shaking. My boss! My boss did that! I'm all of a sudden glad Jesse is here as I turn around and mindlessly wipe the tables down once again. At least I have a witness. I glance up at him and see him shooting a deadly glare at Simon. Only a few seconds go by, but they feel like ages.
      Simon clears his throat, and the tense silence continues. I feel like I'm having trouble breathing, and I do my best to take deep breaths.
       Jesse breaks the silence to ask me, "Marie, may I speak to you a moment?"
       "She's working," Simon answers him.
       "You're not busy at the moment," Jesse snarls.
       Just to spite Simon, I direct Jesse to the lower seating area and use that excuse to sit down in one of the chairs. I put my head in a shaking hand.

       "Are you okay?" he asks me quietly as he takes the chair next to me.
       I ignore the question. "What do you want, Jesse?"
      "It doesn't matter," he answers quickly. "What happened?"
      "It doesn't matter," I echo.
      "Oh yes it does," he says almost immediately.
      "Jesse, stop trying to be the hero," I say exasperatedly.
      "I'm not. I'm a concerned friend who wants to tell his best friend to fire that fucker."
      "It's nothing I can't handle," I say. "You would know."
      "That was different."
      "Was it?" I snap the question.
      "Yes," he growls.
      "Did you come here just to argue with me?" I ask as I see a few customers walk up to the bar's front steps.
    "No, I came to beg you to come to my party tomorrow, but something more important is happening," he answers and leans down to try and get in my line of vision. "What did he do, Marie?"

       All he did was make a pass at me, I think with my head still in my hand, feeling ridiculous now. "It's not a big deal. He mistakenly thought that I wanted that."
     "Mistake being the operative word here. Are you uncomfortable working the rest of the day around him?"
      "I can't leave work!" I gasp, looking at him in shock for a second and thinking he's implying that I ditch work to go and tattle to Bryce.
      His expression is stern as he says, "Pretend it's not me asking this. Are you uncomfortable?"
     "Why does this always happen to me?" I say with my head back in my hand, not answering his question and trying not to break down.
     "It's not your fault. You did nothing wrong here, and you can leave. And you have me as a witness to say that something happened."
      "I don't want to be here right now, but I can't leave work."
      "Oh yes, you can!" His eyes are wide and his nostrils flare out. "Please come with me," he requests now in a moderately-calmer, authoritative voice and holds out his hand near my face, asking me to take it. I stare wordlessly at it.
    He sighs and says, "Marie, this is not flirty Jesse. This is business Jesse, and I don't feel comfortable leaving you here."

      This is royally-pissed-off Jesse, I think as I throw my rag on the table and put my hand in his. It's big and warm, and it closes around my fingers tightly as he pulls me towards his old car. Simon looks like he wants to yell at me to come back, but the death-glare in Jesse's eyes stops him.
      We get into his car. It doesn't have seat belts.

      I sit in my seat quietly as Jesse backs into the street and then we head to Bryce's house while he says, "Don't worry. We're going to get that motherfucker fired."
       What a fabulous idea, I think.

41: Burn

Ginger

     It's quiet in the library today. Too quiet. Tuesday is so boring. I finished the hum-drum stuff hours ago.

     I'm the only one here for the next little bit. Anika had to go and do something or other. I only half-listened when she was telling me. Honestly, they don't need two of us here.

     Oh well, I get paid either way, and I have my imagination to keep me company.

     The only problem is that now my imagination does nothing but torture me.

     Grass stains, I think randomly and bite my lip to keep from making some embarrassing noise or something.

     I'm still reeling that Desmond and I have started a relationship. Well, the idea is implied. He never outright asked me come to think of it. I know he's not dating anybody, and I'm not dating anybody. Jesse, haha. He thought I was dating Jesse. 

     I'm going to assume we're in a steady relationship. We're definitely sleeping together.

     Desmond has a very nice house. Mine looks like a little shack compared to his. Well, mine is a little shack, but that's part of its charm.

      I wonder why I've only recently ever seen his house? Huh, the only times I've seen him has been elsewhere. I've even had an occasional party, but never him. I wonder why that is?

     My mind travels over the past weekend, spent mostly at his house... not wearing a whole lot of clothing.

      I had no idea that man had it in him. It's like some dam burst. He hardly let me sleep.

     I feel a little thrill sensation just behind my navel as I remember more. I had no idea my body could bend like that.

      Glancing at my phone, I see that I still don't have any missed messages, texts, or calls. He didn't call me yesterday. It's two o'clock and the man hasn't called me today.

     I hear a giggling sound as Anika comes through the door with someone in tow. I don't recognize him.

     She actually has the decency to look apologetic, and she tells me to go ahead and take off, that she and this random guy will take care of things.

     Fine, I think as I gather my phone and purse, head out to start up my rust-bucket, and drive home.

     Three-thirty. 

    Do I call him? 

    No. I'm not going to.

    I slam the pots and pans around in the sink. I'd made a real mess last night burning my dinner, and I'd left the pots to soak while I was at work. Desmond is a better cook than I am.

    Why hasn't he called me?! I scream inside my head. I just can't believe that he'd go through all the trouble to chase me for YEARS only to spend one weekend with me.

     What if I was a disappointment after all?

      I need some hot chocolate, I think to keep from going down a painful path with my thoughts. I know it's too hot for hot chocolate, but I don't care. I. Need. Chocolate.

      I slam things around and wind up pouring very, very hot water on my hand. As I cry out in pain, my phone rings. I walk over to where I'd laid it down on the counter, holding my hand and crying, and see that it's Desmond. Finally.

      I let it go to voicemail. Fuck you, I just burned my hand, I don't want to touch the phone, and you choose now to call?!

     Stubbornly, I drink the hot chocolate anyway (burned hand or not) on my front porch, holding the mug with my uninjured hand.

      When I walk back into the house, I see my phone blinking. Four o'clock.

      Desmond called again and left me a message. I didn't expect him to actually leave me one, and I smile a little smile.

      My smile drops off my face quickly as I listen to it. He wants me to bring by some obscure reference book.

      I hang up and glare at my phone. I'm not your fucking gopher! Plus, I'm not at work.

      Humph, that was a work call. I'm not at work, so I'm not dealing with it right now.

      Now, if he'd called me about something not work related, I might just call him back, but no.

      I switch my phone off. He should've called me yesterday, and he didn't. He's in trouble for that, and he needs to be punished for it. I sit back in a chair and gleefully imagine all the ways he could make it up to me.

      Burning up now because of the hot chocolate, I decide to cool off in a cool shower, making sure to hold my hand away from the pelting water in my piece-of-crap shower. 

       It sure is making a racket! Maybe I need to call a plumber. Troy. He does everything.

       I decide to go ahead and shut the thing off before I really screw it up.

       It's now that I realize the pounding wasn't my shower or pipes. Someone is banging on the front door. I quickly throw a towel around me and go see what's going on.

      "Ginger!" Desmond barks from the other side of the door. He looks mad. Then he sees me, and he looks even more mad.

       "What?!" I yell at him through the door.

       "Why aren't you answering your phone!"

       "I burned my hand!"

       "What?!"

        I roll my eyes and open the door. "I burned my hand," I say and show him the welt. I need to put something on it.

        "And that's why you couldn't answer your phone?" he snaps out the question.

        What, no 'oh baby, I'm sorry you burned your hand. How can I make it all better?'

         I shrug. "I turned it off." I turn around and head into the kitchen to see if I have any aloe. As I walk, I throw over my shoulder, "Oh, and I got your message, but I'm not at work, so I decided it could wait 'til later... or... your secretary could go and fetch it for you if you needed it so badly."

       "Do you always answer the door wearing nothing but a towel?" he growls after he steps in and closes the front door behind him.

      "No, I save this for maniacs trying to bang my front door down with their fists." I turn around and glare at him as I apply some aloe to my burn.

       "How was I to know something hadn't happened to you? I went by the library and that airhead told me that you'd gone home for the day. You won't answer your phone. Your car is here, but I can't get a response! How do you think I'm going to act?!" He glares back at me, advancing to where I stand in the kitchen.

      "If you needed that book so damn bad, why didn't you pick it up while you were at the library?" I spit out.

       "I don't give a shit about the damn book," he growls, sounding like a very cranky bear.

      "Then why are you making such a big deal about it?" I give him a look filled with fury at how he hurt my feelings yesterday and today, and he doesn't appear to care that he did because all he wants is a gopher. I turn completely around, trying to mentally dismiss him, and I put the bottle of aloe on the counter.
      Suddenly, his fingers press hard into the front of my shoulder to spin me around before he reaches with his other hand to grab a handful of hair at the nape of my neck. He pulls at my hair to tilt my head up, and he crushes his lips to mine.

      Sonofa... How dare you?! I think as I let out an enraged squeal. I push against him with my unhurt hand.

      "Can't you just allow for the fact that I was worried about you?" he snarls before he kisses me a little nicer this time. Still, it doesn't change how mad I am at him.

       I jerk my face to the side to snap, "Not when the first time I hear from you is for you to ask for a book. What... did you think I was just going to jump for joy that you needed me to bring by another book that you could easily buy and keep?" I get so annoyed when he starts kissing me down my cheek to my neck.

      "I wanted to see you," he explains quietly as he tries to get me to uncross my arms from in front of me. When he succeeds, the towel gets the tiniest bit loose. I can feel it, but no one would be able to tell just from looking at it.

     "Then why didn't you just call me about that?" I ask sadly while he takes the wrist from my uninjured hand and pulls it around his waist and holds it there. Then he carefully takes my injured hand in his and brings it up to his face to inspect it.

     "How did you burn your hand?" he asks, not answering my earlier question.

     "Hot chocolate. I wanted some hot chocolate."

     "I was not aware the preparation of hot chocolate was so hazardous," he says quietly and, gentle as a light breeze, kisses my burn.

      I have a very hard time staying mad at him. Then I remember yesterday.

      He starts lightly kissing the underside of my forearm, and I jerk my arm out of his grasp angrily. The towel loosens a little more with the motion, but one of my hands is still held behind him while I'm busy keeping the other one from him, stalling any attempt to fix the towel.

      A mildly-confused expression crosses his face as he asks, "What?"

      "I'm mad at you," I say and work hard at not pouting.

      "Ginger, you live to be mad at me."

      "Well, I wouldn't if you didn't always piss me off," I quip quickly back at him.

      "What did I do?" he asks, sounding resigned.

      "Let's see... what didn't you do?" I watch him with an expectant, belligerent expression.

      "Yes, let's see," he says, matching my belligerent expression with the tone of his voice. "I didn't turn my cellphone off in case you called because then you might worry. I didn't then listen to my voicemail and deliberately not call you back. I didn't answer the door wearing only a towel when who knows who it could've been at the door. Give me time, I'm sure if I thought about it, I could come up with more." I'd hit him with my free hand if it wasn't the hurting, burning one.

      "You forgot something. You didn't call me yesterday."

      A touch of relief hits the corners of his eyes as he says, "Oh is that it. I was working on a case, and by the time I'd realized what time it was, it was too late to call." As I stand here and contemplate what he said, he takes my hurt hand back in his and says, "Honestly, the first second I had that I could call you, I did."

      "No. Not a text, nothing. I'd started to think I was just some weekend romance or something." He's still in trouble. I've yet to hear an 'I'm sorry.'

      Then the jackass laughs quietly before he says, "Like I could get my fill of you in just one weekend."

       Oh no he didn't! "Your FILL of me? Just what the hell is that supposed to mean, Desmond?!" I screech and try to get free from his grasp. In my struggling, the towel gives up trying to hold itself together, and I manage to jerk free of him and take a few quick steps away. Unfortunately, the towel had gotten caught on him somehow, and it abandons me in the process.

       I gasp, and our eyes meet. I stand frozen to the spot as I watch his eyes darken and he starts walking forward towards me.
      "Would you like for me to demonstrate?" he asks in a low voice as I unfreeze and take steps backward, hoping to reach the bathroom and slam the door in his face. I'm still too mad at him, and I've become quite familiar with that look he has in his eyes over the weekend.

      "No!" I cry out as he suddenly intercepts me and traps me in the circle of his arms.
    "You apparently were feeling ignored. I'm all too happy to remedy that," he says in almost-explanation as his arms tighten around me, and he lifts me, carrying me into my bedroom.
      "I'm still mad at you!" I snap after he deposits me on the bed.
      "Nothing new there," he says with a small smirk, only furthering to piss me off.
      I push against his chest, carefully avoiding hurting my burnt finger, and try to wiggle out from under him. The bastard actually looks excited. I can almost get my foot to where I can push off on his thigh to continue to get away.
      His hands grasp the upper parts of my hips, and he pulls me back towards him. I let out a highly-aggravated noise just before his lips claim mine in an unrelenting kiss. Damn him! I think as I growl and hit him while he kisses me. He ignores me hitting him and wraps his arms around me, continuing with the kiss.
      Just before I wind up kissing him back, I jerk my head to the side angrily.
     "I'm very sorry, oh beautifully pissed off Ginger, that you felt ignored," he says while also traveling all up and down my throat and burying his nose in my hair. "I thought you'd need a break from me, and I had that damn case to work on. It took me longer than normal to get what I needed done because I kept getting distracted thinking about having you on my desk."
      I let out a small gasp as it all finally makes sense. He didn't really need the book.
      "You didn't need the book, did you?" I have to ask while his hands travel over me and he raises up a little off me to run his tongue down my collarbone.
      "No," he quickly admits before he covers my nipple with his mouth.
      "Ooooh," I let out as his hand cups and plays with my other breast. One of his knees parts my legs as that same hand travels down my stomach. I gasp when he cups me between my legs and his fingers start up their skilled movements. He switches to the other breast with his mouth as one, then two of his fingers enter me.
      I let out a pathetic whimper to his answering groan, and I can't help but think he is still wearing way too many clothes. For a few seconds, I try to get hold of the buttons on his shirt, but I have to stop that when his hand moves at an unreal speed.
     I throw my head and arms back against the bed as my mouth opens and cries escape me. In the farthest reaches of my mind, I realize he's watching me, but that's as far as I get with that thought.
     His hand refuses to let up! I desperately try to find some sense of sanity.
     "Let go, baby," he murmurs to me, and it's my undoing. I let out a strangled, keening cry as he presses hard into my sweet spot while my body curls and arches under him.
     I lie here on the bed, quivering in a tortured, yet blissful, post-coital state, and I'm dimly aware of him quickly removing his clothes over me. I barely have time to register the action of him rolling on a condom before he buries himself deep inside me.

     That action nearly undoes me once again, and my need skyrockets when he starts moving. I become like a demon-possessed mad woman as I circle my legs around him and meet him thrust for thrust, urging him deeper. He acts for a few moments like he wants to slow down, but I refuse to let him.
      I look up at him with a burning glare, threatening him wordlessly with dire consequences should he dare to slow down. I feel a deep sense of emotional gratification when he actually looks down at me with an expression of alarm. Then he closes his eyes, and the look on his face changes to one of intense determination.
      He looks so fucking hot.
      I feel him grow harder inside me, and I writhe in exquisite torture as I feel my body tighten around him. We both cry out as we find a shared release, our bodies fused together in a timeless moment.

     My head rests on his shoulder when I absently start running my nails through the hair on his chest. A low, content rumble sounds inside of him, making me smile. He's back too.
     Whoa! I think as he quickly rolls over on top of me and kisses me, his tongue staking its claim of my mouth.
      When he finally lets me breathe, he pulls up to ask, "Am I forgiven?"
      I think for a minute before I say, "I don't know. Have you learned your lesson?"
     "What if I'm a slow learner?" he asks mischievously.
     "We'll have to resort to a harsher lesson plan," I answer with one eyebrow cocked.
     "Then I'll be sure to endeavor to misbehave." He laughs as I hit him with my hurt hand.
     "Ow!" I cry and hold my hand.
      An instant look of concern comes over his face before he asks, "Did you try putting ice on it?"
      "No. Not yet."
       He gets up, mumbling about hot burns, hot tempers, and ice.

      "Hey!" I yell at him and throw a pillow at his retreating back.
       Desmond just laughs and keeps going into the kitchen to get me some ice for my burn while I sit on the bed and think about another burning ache he's already taken care of, mostly, today.
       "Here," he says and hands me a wet washrag that obviously houses a few ice cubes inside its folded interior. I bite my lip and watch his caring expression as he watches me put the ice on the burn on my hand. He lifts his eyes to my burning gaze, and he soon reflects it back to me.
       He leans in to kiss me, and I put the ice aside.
       "Wait," he says suddenly and picks up the ice. "I have an idea..."

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Desmond's house is Vera by ayyuff at TSR
The lighting pic was some random thing I found on GIMP photo-editing software.