The Billionaire Brothers

Table of Contents

Racing Heart

Slow and Steady

Trouble in Paradise

Racing Heart

“Erica?!”
Through the bathroom door, and the noise of the shower, Megan’s housemate was somehow

able to hear the plaintive yell. “They’re on the coffee table!” she called back.

It was a morning routine established almost as soon as the two twenty-something nurses had

moved in together: Megan Peterson lost her keys, and Erica Newbold knew where they were.
“Thanks! See you tonight!”

Running late, hair still damp, Megan stuffed textbooks into her bag and danced down the

wooden stairs of the town house which she shared with Erica, and the two Croatian dentists on the
first floor. The car started after its usual whining, and Megan got her day started with coffee which
tasted of plastic, but was packed with enough caffeine to awaken even a sleep-deprived trainee nurse.

“Let’s go, Boston, I’m a little late here,” she said, urging the traffic forward. Megan had been

developing a theory about Boston’s drivers, whose reputation for rudeness she had found very well
deserved; the road layout, not to mention the haphazard, nonsensical traffic lights, generated an
irritation which created torrents of abusive behavior. It wasn’t that Bostonians were assholes; their
roads just sucked.

But growing up here had inoculated Megan against the Boston-accented tirades and ceaseless,

impatient honking. She navigated through the busy morning traffic, passing through a couple of
neighborhoods before grinding to a halt in a sequence of red lights seemingly designed to slow
everyone’s morning commute. Like everyone around her, Megan checked her phone. A recent
innovation was the daily list of ‘things to do’, now as indispensible to Megan as her morning coffee.
It brought planning to a life so hectic she scarcely believed she was able to live it.

. Meet w/Prof. Hunter, 11.30. Piano, Andrea, 3.45. Call Mom. Groceries
Greg Hunter wouldn’t take more than twenty minutes, she thought. This afternoon’s lesson

would mean picking up Andrea from her school; she could grab groceries on the way. Strategizing
like this, Erica had taught her, gave the day structure and ensured against those embarrassing phone
calls of the, ‘Hey, didn’t we say 11.30?’ variety.

Megan battled Boston’s traffic all the way to the University of Massachusetts and steered her

cantankerous Fiesta into the lot. Finding a parking place was an art form long since perfected –
Megan had completed her undergraduate nursing degree at U-Mass – and within moments she was
dashing to the classroom, dregs of her coffee quickly drained and cellphone carefully silenced, lest
she receive another lecture from Prof. Mills on the importance of ‘focus and maturity’.

Pharmacology was a mix of lecture time, group problem-solving and practical experience, and

today’s class included a little of each. In the break after the first hour, with her classmates making a
bee-line for the coffee machines, Megan filed out, rubbing tired eyes, and joined the line alongside
her equally sleepy friend, Della.

“You remember that comic,” Della asked, tying back her long, black hair, “the one where the

kid in the classroom raises his hand and says, ‘May I be excused please, sir? My brain is full’?”
Megan nodded with an understanding smile. “That’s me, right now. I don’t think there’s a cubic
millimeter of brain space left.”

Della had joined U-Mass as part of an exchange program to train Egyptian nurses, and was

finding life in the States enjoyable, if occasionally very challenging. “Relax,” Megan advised her.

“The more we use this stuff, the more we’ll get the hang of it.” She meant it, but felt the same
grinding, constant overload as her classmates. There was never enough time to absorb the sheer
quantity of information, and these important, background classes were only part of their training. As
Master’s degree students, they spent hundreds of hours on the wards, dealing with anything and
everything. No two shifts were alike, which suited Megan just fine, but the work was exhausting.

“Well, I can think of plenty of things I’d rather do tonight than bone up on anti-coagulants.”
Megan handed Della a cup of coffee from the machine; it was barely drinkable, but the caffeine

infusion was priceless. “I hear you.”

Della grinned knowingly. “What about a date with that gorgeous friend of yours?”
Eyes rolling, Megan stood, hands on hips. “We’ve been friends for twenty years, Della. I’m

friends with his daughter, too, for heaven’s sake. Do you really think I want to screw that up just for
a...”

“Much-needed releasing of tensions?”
“Quick roll in the hay,” Megan corrected. She shook an admonishing finger at her Egyptian

colleague. “You met him once, and you thought he was great. And you’re right.”

“So, why not take things further? You both need it. And, well, he’s not just a pretty face.” Della

had a habit of bringing this up, much to Megan’s irritation; she seemed determined to see the two of
them together, despite Megan’s protestations. So did every other friend Megan had, really.

“He’s brilliant,” Megan agreed.
“And rich,” Della added.
“Never really cared about that.”
Della laughed so hard she nearly spilled her coffee. “Oh really, Nurse Peterson? The man is

the emperor of high technology, with a mansion on every continent, and you’ve never cared about it?
You forget that these,” she said, tugging at her earlobes, “may look like ears, but they’re actually very
finely tuned bullshit detectors.”

She shrugged. “I know, I know, Nurse Samaha.” She elbowed Della, risking a spilled coffee.

“Whatever. He’s barely on the market anyway, as you well know.”

Della thought for a second. “Hasn’t it been...” She looked to Megan for a number. “Two years?

More?”

The loss of Tom’s wife Mary had been the lowest point of his life, and certainly one of

Megan’s. “Nearly three,” Megan said quietly, not without sadness. “He’ll decide when he’s ready.
And whoever it will be,” she said, more brightly, “it won’t be me, OK?”

The two returned to the lab and got down to their work. Megan managed to plod through the

experiments without disaster, but found herself oddly distracted, wishing once again that Della would
leave well enough alone. She’s just trying to help you to be happy, the Voice of Reason maintained.
Besides, how many months has it been since...

Packing her battered, brown book bag, she realized with a distinct shudder that it had been a

year and a week since she’d shared a bed with anyone other than the faithful Mario. And he was a
giant, stuffed panda. Holy crap. Maybe Della’s right. A red-hot fling might be just what I need.

Glancing around at her classmates as the professor shooed them out of the lab, she was

downhearted to note that there really wasn’t a single eligible guy in their group. “Della?” she asked,
taking her friend’s arm. “Is it just me, or are we surrounded by a depressing mix... The unattainable,
and the simply unattractive?”

Della sighed, descending the stairs with leaden feet and a tired posture. “All the more reason

to let Tom... or someone else, I don’t really mind... jump you this weekend. God knows I need it,

too.”

“Maybe we should go clubbing on Saturday, pick up a couple of hotties?” The two laughed

their way to the cafeteria for yet more urgently needed, and probably terrible, coffee. She could joke
about it, but Megan found herself feeling, yet again, that need... the very same need she’d been feeling
for a year and a week.

***
Boston’s glacial afternoon traffic conspired to suck just as badly as the morning commute, but

at least Megan had her lesson with Andrea to look forward to. Texting whenever the gridlock stopped
completely while growling at the sluggish traffic, Megan confirmed she was on her way and tried to
move quickly without getting honked at. It seemed that half the soccer moms in Boston had
congregated on the slender stretch of real estate outside Patrick Gavin Middle School, and despite
everyone trying to collect their kids as quickly as they could bundle them into the car, it took long,
frustrating minutes to reach the pick-up zone. Megan’s bright reward was a grinning Andrea who
flung open the door and jumped into the backseat as though finally allowed onto a bouncy castle.

“Hey Megan!” she trilled. “Guess what I did today?” Andrea buckled herself up and pulled her

curly red hair back into its usual ponytail.

Megan loved this refrain and played along, as ever. “Hey, Andrea! Hmmm... Let me think.” The

Fiesta found a gap and was propelled headlong into it. “Did you meet a wizard who turned homework
into cupcakes?”

“No...” the girl answered, her tone rising to encourage another guess.
“Let’s see... Did you find a potion which turns bullies into the nicest people in the world?”
“No, not today...” she said, welcoming another try.
Megan wracked her brains. “Did you see a flying, purple elephant trailing a banner which said,

‘Andrea is Awesome’?”

“Yes!” she cried. “But it was yellow.”
“Yellow, you say? Well, did this flying, yellow elephant help you practice the piano?” There

was silence from the back seat. “Hello?” Nothing. “Earth to Andrea, come in, please?”

“I did a little bit,” she said, unwilling to lie. “But I think I know that piece now.”
Megan chuckled skeptically. “You do? Well, I guess we’ll see about that. How was your day,

sweetie?”

Andrea ran through the details of a school day with the attention to detail, and celebration of

the mundane, known best to nine year-olds and savants. “Mrs. Parker made us sit very still for five
whole minutes!” she reported, alarmed. “All we did was breathe, in and out, in and out.”

“That sounds like a nice, quiet five minutes for Mrs. Parker! Do you think she just wanted a

break?”

“I don’t know! She said we had to try not to think.”
Megan changed lanes and prepared for the turn onto her street in Jamaica Plain, a recently

gentrified neighborhood of Boston. She had liked the area ever since first driving through to look at
apartments, finding a nice contrast here with the intense traffic and bustle of the U-Mass area, and the
barely imaginable bedlam around Andrea’s school. “Maybe she’s right. We all need to take time out.
Thinking is over-rated, I’d say.”

“No way!” Andrea objected. “I love thinking!”
“Too much will fry your brain,” Megan warned, half-serious. “A calm five minutes sounds like

a good way to relax. You should try it before you play the piano, just to calm everything down.”

“OK,” she replied, noncommittally. Megan pulled up outside the apartment building, glad that

her space hadn’t been commandeered by a Croatian dentist.

Andrea waited until Megan had unlocked the door before bounding up the stairs and into the

apartment with an absolute familiarity. “I’m going to the bathroom,” she announced. Megan opened
the piano, ready for their lesson. A few chords showed her keen ears that it had kept its tuning well
despite the changing humidity as winter finally gave way to spring. Andrea had, at the very least,
remembered to bring her music this time, whether or not the pieces had actually been practiced.

A precocious and obviously talented young lady, Andrea had been through a lot but seemed

able to soldier on, optimistic and endlessly curious, her horizons broadening more quickly each year.
Megan very often found herself simply amazed.

“Bach first!” Andrea proclaimed.
“No... What have I always said?” Megan said with a wagging finger.
“Ugh!” Andrea huffed. “Scales...”
“Come on, now. What are scales, really?” she asked, seemingly for the ten millionth time.
Andrea pulled a face. “The building blocks of music,” she groaned in her dullest, most boring

voice.

“But... If you can play scales...” Megan prompted.
“... You can play anything,” Andrea parroted back. “OK, but only the major ones.” She slowly

but assuredly executed C-major, then G-major, before Megan growled at her to play at least one
minor key scale. “I hate the minor ones!” she wailed, but performed a proficient, if slightly halting, A-
minor.

“And if all music was always happy, all the time, we wouldn’t need minor, but it’s not, is it?”

Megan asked, determined that Andrea received the fundamentals, despite her objections. Andrea
harrumphed her way through E-minor before insisting that they turn to the pieces.

They were about a third of the way through a Bach two-part invention when Megan heard the

vibration of her phone in her bag. She waited for Andrea to come to a halt, at a place where her
otherwise decent muscle memory let her down, before starting her off again and checking her texts.

Hey Megan, I’m sorry but I won’t be able to pick up Andrea tonight, but... Surprise! Jake is

coming instead. Usual time. Tom.

The remainder of the Bach could have been flawless and Megan might not have noticed. Jake

McMahon. Old memories quickly resurfaced, images of a geeky, intelligent young man, made shy by
acne and female rejection. Tom had bullied his younger brother as they grew up together, but upon
reaching their late teens, the pair found a grudging but genuine and mutual respect. A flare for
engineering, coupled with newly-acquired marketing and public relations specialties, had formed the
ideal team and, within a year of graduation, the two young men were poised to stamp their inimitable
mark on the world of Information Technology.

“There! Wasn’t that perfect?” Andrea wanted to know, hands above her head in self-

congratulation.

Snapping back to the present, Megan replied, “Much better, Andrea. You’re keeping a good

tempo, but I want you to remember that this isn’t just a string of notes, it’s...”

“A conversation,” Andrea said, repeating a well-worn refrain. “Mr. Right Hand,” she said,

wiggling her right fingers, “is talking with Mr. Left Hand.” She mimed the two chattering to each
other. “I remember.”

“OK, well. Let me hear some of that new piece we tried last time.”
Andrea made a face. “Sure, if you want.”
“What’s wrong with it?” Megan asked, opening the book of Easy Modern Piano Pieces and

placing it on the piano’s music stand.

“I dunno. It’s just a bit boring,” Andrea replied, her shoulders slumped.
“Let me play it for you again, OK? Maybe you’ll like it better.”
Having come close to bullying Andrea into sight-reading the short piece once more, Megan

glanced at her watch and found their time almost at an end. “Your uncle Jake is coming to pick you up
today. Isn’t that cool?”

Andrea’s face was a flurry of happy excitement. “Really? Oh awesome! I love his car so

much.”

“Well, I’m sure he’s got more than one,” Megan observed drily. Jake’s partnership with his

brother had created the industry-leading Goliath range of disk drives, among other runaway
successes, and the two men had become fabulously rich before their mid-twenties.

“You’re jealous because you drive a Fiesta,” Andrea told her.
“I love my Fiesta!” her teacher responded, hurt by the remark. “It gets me from A to B, so don’t

you disrespect it.”

“I’m just saying,” Andrea said, sounding many years beyond her age, as she often did. The

young lady hopped down from the piano bench and wandered into the kitchen for her traditional post-
lesson snack while Megan enjoyed another chuckle at the girl’s precautious dynamism. Never a dull
moment.

“So,” Megan began as she sliced up a ruby-red apple for Andrea, “have you seen Uncle Jake

much, lately?”

Andrea slurped her orange juice. “Sometimes. He visits on Sunday to watch football with Dad.

They always drink beers and throw the cans in the trashcan from across the room.”

“Yeah,” Megan said, “that sounds like boys.”
Then, out of nowhere, “Uncle Jake brought me a panda.”
Megan stared at her. It was these cryptic, inexplicable utterances which added such spice to the

life of anyone who spent time with The Great Andrea McMahon. “Really.” It wasn’t a question. “A
panda.”

“Oh, Megan are you getting so old you’re losing your memory? Can’t remember what a panda

is?”

Megan slid the plate of apple slices in front of Andrea and flicked her ear. “I’m younger than

your Dad, by the way. And I know what a panda is, Missy. This was a cuddly toy, right?”

“Not a toy!” Andrea insisted. “A panda!”
“A real one?” Megan asked, hands on hips.
“Yeah!”
“No way.”
“Way!” Andrea exclaimed.
“Not true.”
“Is so!”
“I call shenanigans,” Megan announced, resolutely.
Andrea cocked her head. “What’s a shenniguns?”
Megan’s bout of giggling was interrupted only by the front door bell. “Better late than never,”

she commented to Andrea. “You ready to go?” Andrea stuffed music books into her bag as Megan
answered the door.

She was not – even in the slightest – prepared for what she saw.
***

“Megan Petersen,” Jake remarked with a broad smile. “How long has it been?”
Jesus, Mary, Joseph and all the Saints. Where along the way did Jake McMahon get gorgeous?
Megan froze in her doorway for an embarrassingly long second before erasing the stunned look

from her face and giving her visitor a warm smile. “Jake, it’s so good to see you. You’re looking...”
Chiseled and mouth-watering? Immaculate and neatly groomed? “Looking well,” Megan managed
lamely. “And to answer your question,” she said, beckoning him inside, “it’s been seven years.”

“You’re kidding,” Jake marveled, regarding Megan closely. “It can’t be. You don’t look a day

older than when we graduated high school.”

“Get outta here,” Megan countered. “If a coupla nursing degrees haven’t put years on me, I

don’t know what would.” They arrived together in the kitchen. “Andrea? You ready to go?”

Jake brought a gentle hand to her shoulder. “Actually, I was kinda hoping we might catch up for

a few minutes. Unless,” he added, “you have things to do?”

Megan quickly took in the sight of him, and found it extremely pleasing. He had kept his wavy,

blonde hairstyle but it was neater and much better kept. A nice, white, button-down shirt covered
what were very obviously fabulous pectorals, as though he’d deliberately pursued anatomical
perfection. Dark blue jeans and apparently brand-new Doc Martens completed the outfit. Mostly,
though, she noticed the fresh, spicily masculine scent of him.

“No, I’m all yours,” Megan replied without thinking. Jake arched an eyebrow. “I mean,” she

said, suddenly flustered, “I don’t have much going on this afternoon.” She turned to call into the small
TV room just off the kitchen. “Andrea, do you mind hanging out there for a few more minutes while I
catch up with your Uncle Jake?”

“Cool!” Andrea replied.
“Isn’t she something?” Jake asked, rhetorically. “I’d call her the apple of Tom’s eye, but that

wouldn’t begin to describe it. Especially since Mary... Well, they’ve been so strong for each other.”

“There’s not a day goes by without I think of her,” Megan said sadly. She had given generously

and often to cancer charities over the last three years, taking part in fundraising walks and
volunteering occasionally at a phone bank to drum up donations. The swiftness of Mary’s illness had
been just heartbreaking but, perhaps, a blessing; those who loved Mary, which seemed to be everyone
she had ever met, were spared the painful indignity of watching her waste away. Megan recalled it as
having been a matter of only days, though in truth it was ten quick weeks; hardly had the dreadful
news sunk in, Mary was gone.

“What about you?” Megan asked, happy to move on from painful memories. “All I’ve seen of

you, apart from a couple of ten-minute appearances at birthday parties, is you opening shiny, new
factories in exotic locales.”

Jake smiled. “The price of being the public face of Goliath, I guess. Still, it keeps me on the

road, which is the way I like it.”

“No settling down for you, then?” Megan asked, but regretted it immediately. He’ll think I’m

finding out if he’s seeing someone. That I want a date. And I don’t.

Do I?
“’Settling down’ hasn’t really been in my vocabulary recently,” Jake admitted. “Too much

travel, too little time.” There was a gale of laughter from the TV room as Andrea found one of her
favorite cartoons. “What about you? Did you find Mr. Right?”

Megan grunted, not the most attractive sound, but an honest response. “Between classes, ward

hours, teaching piano and trying to stop my body turning into a mound of flab, there isn’t a spare
moment.”

Jake chuckled gently, nodding as if he completely understood. “It’s hard. I tried the online thing

too, but mostly I seem to meet people randomly.”

“Yeah,” Megan remarked, “that special someone tends to come along at the least likely

moment, so they tell me.” God, shut up, you idiot. “Guess I should try to create a bunch of really
unlikely moments and see what happens.” Hey, Megan? You know that big, flapping thing on the
front of your face? Close it, right now, before you sound like a demented spinster.

“Keeping an open mind serves us all well,” Jake philosophized aloud.
Next topic, dummy, before this becomes uncomfortable. “How’s the business going? The

media seems certain you’re going to take over the world.”

Jake laughed easily, more than used to accounting for journalists and their hyperbole. “They

fixate on novelty, and can see only a future where today’s new inventions dominate. But,” Jake
cautioned, “what about tomorrow’s inventions? No-one can imagine the future with any accuracy.”

Megan marveled at him. Who on Earth is this guy? She hurriedly discarded, piece by piece,

the Jake McMahon she had known in high-school, and began assessing this newly grown-up, slightly
mysterious young man. Somewhere along the way, he had managed to gain some depth. Megan wasn’t
sure whether to be impressed or intimidated, whether to keep him at arms’ length, or to...

“Look, I’d love to catch up more, but Andrea needs to get home in time for dinner.”
“Sure,” Megan replied, a little relieved that her mouth wouldn’t be given too many more

opportunities to embarrass her, but somehow loathe to see him leave. “You’ve been busy, I can tell.”
It was a flippant comment which hid much.

“You too,” Jake said, glancing around the house. “It suits you here. Just the one roommate?”
“Yeah, Erica is great,” Megan told him. “Best finder of lost keys you could imagine.”
Jake watched Andrea gradually detaching herself from the TV. “Cool... Look, Megan?” His

confidence vanished briefly, providing the first flash of a younger, less certain Jake McMahon. “How
about grabbing a drink with me on Saturday?”

Oh, shit. “Saturday? Well... I’m not sure.”
“One drink?” It was a cute, enquiring, hopeful expression which gave his handsome face a

pleading, almost submissive air.

Before she could answer, Andrea made her entrance. “Spongebob!” she declared. “I found the

new episode!” This victory eclipsed all else for the moment, and was still being celebrated as Jake
guided the chattering girl to Megan’s front door.

“I’ll be right out,” Jake assured her. “Did she play well today?”
Megan pursed her lips. “Not bad, but there’s always more room for practice.”
“I don’t know how she fits everything in,” Jake said. “Her schedule is fuller than mine!”
Something made Megan say, “Not Saturday evening, apparently.” Why did that come out?
“So, you’re reconsidering?” Jake asked. Megan stared at the ceiling, a playful smile growing

as she made a show of weighing up her options. “One drink, I’m serious.” Jake raised his palms in
sincerity. “Then I’ll drive you wherever you need to be.”

Megan scrutinized this handsome, tall blonde. God, he looks good in that shirt. She wavered,

but then her grin spread and she found herself looking away, a little bashful.

“Is that a ‘yes’?”
Megan nodded slightly. “Just like when you’re practicing the piano,” she said. Jake’s confused

frown was one of the cutest things about him, she quickly decided. “Persistence is rewarded,” she
explained. “Saturday at seven?”

“I’ll pick you up,” Jake promised. Andrea called from outside, so he quickly took Megan’s

hand and said, “So good to see you. I’m glad we’ll have some more time together.”

“One drink,” she reminded him as they shook hands, gently but rather formally, before Jake

jogged to his BMW and whisked Andrea away.

Door closed but smile still firmly in place, Megan ambled slowly, dreamily, back the piano

bench and began to play.

***
Nothing gives you perspective like watching someone’s life falling apart.
Megan’s third patient of the evening took an exhausting, teary hour, at the end of which Megan

held Candice for a long moment before sending her on her way, back into an uncertain life.

Volunteering at a women’s health clinic in one of Boston’s poorest neighborhoods was an eye-

opener. In the past three months, Megan had seen it all, or certainly felt as though she had. Every type
of abuse, accident, confusion and heartache had made its way through their doors. Megan wondered,
almost every time she came here, just how much good she could actually do. The tidal wave of
miserable, downtrodden women sapped her strength and, worse, her optimism.

But then again, each shift she would meet someone who reaffirmed her faith in humanity. Like

Zoe, the ex-addict with two kids who came for discount prescriptions and help from the food bank.
Clean for six years, a steady job... She was a success story. It brought a little balance and good cheer.

The waiting room was empty by 11.20. Megan yawned, stretched and brought out her phone to

finish reading an article she had found earlier: Who is the Real Jake McMahon? It seemed mostly to
be poorly-informed speculation, but she had become committed to finding out as much as she could.
Many of the newspaper search results were less than edifying; the tabloids portrayed him as a serial
philanderer, a barfly with winning ways and charm to burn. One website listed, with alluring photos,
all of the models and actresses Jake was rumored to have dated. The page was so long, Megan had to
scroll down six times.

Photographers had made a point of getting shirtless pictures of Jake at the beach or, in one

outrageous invasion of his privacy, in the back garden of his place in London. Organizing them by
date, Megan could follow the impressive evolution of his musculature, from scrawny geek with
glasses, through Boston University point guard, to the buff, self-assured specimen who had so
charmingly asked her out earlier tonight. The sites which promised even more revealing photos were
peddling fakes, she found, quickly closing the window on her iPad before a colleague had the chance
to notice the lurid threesome scene into which Jake’s likeness had been artlessly Photoshopped.

Digging deeper, with the waiting room still unusually quiet, Megan read more about Jake’s

business life, quickly piecing together a more rounded impression of the man. He was a marketing
hotshot, to be sure, and had a way with the press which combined suave charm with indisputably
genuine acumen. While Tom worked largely behind the scenes, crafting the future of digital storage,
Jake handled the negotiations with Chinese suppliers, the sensitive issues regarding outsourcing to
India, and the ceaseless requests for interviews and magazine profiles. He had barely left the front
pages since his famous hint that, “Going public is a real possibility”. Half the investment houses on
Wall Street were clamoring for a meeting, desperate to underwrite the “IPO of the decade”.

Megan stopped herself for a moment. Googling someone before a date, she told herself, was

standard practice these days, but part of her felt that Jake was at a particular disadvantage, given the
wealth of speculation about his love life which floated daily around the Blogosphere. If she’d had a
date with a medical student, Megan mused, there wouldn’t be pages dedicated to his past conquests.
Did it matter, after all, if Jake had played the field? He was a young, handsome man with all the time
in the world to ‘settle down’ with the right woman.

Still, the litany of short relationships unsettled Megan. “One drink,” she whispered to his most

glamorous image, a portrait of him in a beautifully-fitting suit, apparently taken at an awards dinner.
“One drink. Nothing more.”

***
Megan could happily have strangled the scheduling office, but that wouldn’t have changed

anything. Here she was, an hour from being picked up by the legendary Jake McMahon, and she was
only now getting scrubbed after a six-hour ward shift.

“Did Mrs. Bennett get discharged?” her nurse colleague wanted to know.
Megan nodded. “I think we’ll see her again, unless she agrees to use a walker. Three falls in a

month, wasn’t it?”

It had been a busy shift, made yet more stressful by endlessly worrying about whether she

would have enough time to get home and change. And, what would she wear? And, which perfume to
choose? And, should she let Jake kiss her at the end of the night? It was a minor miracle that her only
slip-up was during drawing some blood, when her distracted needle work had condemned a very pale
young man to a marginally more painful experience than was strictly necessary. He’ll get over it, she
remembered thinking to herself. This is hardly the first needle to have gone into his arm.

Fallen grandmothers, mute drug addicts and hassled colleagues all behind her, Megan fairly

dashed to her Fiesta for the drive home. Saturday evening’s traffic was only slightly better than on
weekdays, and by the time she trotted up the stairs to her apartment, only 40 minutes remained.

“You could text him and tell him you’re running late,” Erica advised. She was lounging in the

living room reading the latest Cosmopolitan and making a start on a bottle of Chianti.

Megan was transitioning from shower back to bedroom. “I don’t want to look flaky.”
Erica laughed companionably. “It’s not flaky to give yourself enough time to look fabulous,”

she argued. Still, Megan would not be moved, choosing instead to make her dress selection, perfume
choice and, perhaps most agonizingly, underwear decisions in a white heat of flustered preparation.

“Sexy or slimming?” she asked Erica, holding up two pairs of panties. “These ones are sexy

and empowering, whereas these,” she said, “remind me not to go home with a guy on the first date.”
She held them both aloft. “What do you think?”

Erica closed her magazine and gave the choice some thought. “I think,” she said after a long

moment, “that whichever pair you choose, they’ll be on his bedroom floor later tonight. May as well
go sexy”.

Used to such salacious commentary from her roommate, Megan feigned a shocked disgust.

“You know how many men have had my underwear on their floor in the last year?”

Erica held up a circled thumb and forefinger. “Is that about right? Plus or minus?”
“Yes it is, young lady. But, like I said, I don’t screw guys on first dates. I thought you knew that

about me.”

The two women heard a car pull up outside, but it was Erica who stepped to the window.

“Yeah,” she offered, looking out. “I have the feeling you’ll be rethinking that rule this evening.”

“Oh, really?” Megan replied, fastening a pair of silver earrings to her ears. “Why is that?”
Erica pointed out of the window and Megan followed her gesture to find a gleaming, almost

futuristic sports car adorning their street. A gull-wing door opened in the sleek, silver fuselage and
Jake McMahon stepped out.

“Holy shit! It’s a Back To The Future car!”
Erica laughed and helped smooth down Megan’s dress, a tight-ish, black cocktail dress, short

enough to be sexy but not so short as to risk an immodest display when getting into a sports car.

“You’ll be fine. Be yourself, but no jokes about ‘compensating’ or asking him if he has hair plugs!”

“But you didn’t see that guy!” Megan protested.
“Yeah,” replied Erica drily. “If I remember correctly, you never saw him again, either.”
Megan shrugged. “Yeah, well. He had hair plugs. Who wants to date a guy with hair plugs?

Anyway, Jake looks like a goddamn model. I’ll be lucky if I can talk at all in front of him.”

“Just text me later, OK?” She kissed Megan on the cheek. “Especially if you need me to be,

erm...”

“Out of the way?” Megan guessed.
“Let’s say that. I don’t want to interrupt anything.”
Megan turned to the mirror at the top of the stairs. “Crap! I haven’t done anything to my hair

and he’s already here!”

Erica watched this pre-departure chaos with amusement but always wished Megan success,

especially in her stuttering love life. “Just flip your head over and shake it out,” she advised. “The
sexy bed-head look is very popular with guys.”

Megan obliged and then flipped her head back up. “Okay?”
“You look like a friggin’ supermodel. You may both spend the evening incapable of speech!”
Megan spanked Erica’s butt playfully on the way out, grabbed her black leather purse and

slinked down the stair, feeling a little like a model on a catwalk. Her outward bravado hid some
pretty major inner nerves. Breathe, Megan. He ain’t all that, really. Just a world-famous, tech-
genius, Lamborghini-driving serial monogamist.

Oh. Fuck.
Megan opened the door.
“Good evening.” Jake was in a relaxed, dark blue suit with a white button-down shirt, the top

two buttons undone. His blonde hair was looking its best, as if he’d come straight from the barber. He
wore a smile which exuded confidence in an open, rather sexy way. In the two seconds it took Megan
to form an impression, she quickly found herself close to panic. What is this guy doing on a date with
me?

“Well, I have to tell you, Jake,” she quipped nervously, motioning to the sports car, “if this is

intended to impress me, it’s working.”

He seemed slightly surprised. “Oh, this? I’m just test-driving this for a friend. Going to take it

back later tonight. I just thought you’d like to see it before I do.” He stepped back and invited her to
occupy the passenger seat.

The Lamborghini Huracan was built principally for speed, but luxury was crafted into every

aspect of the design. Megan seemed to slide into the seat, the wonderful sensation of fine leather very
much present through her black cocktail dress. Rather than close it in the conventional manner, Jake
effortlessly nudged the raised door downward and it slid into the fuselage like a well-engineered
glove. There was something comforting in that precision, something even attractive in that attention to
detail. He appreciates quality, Megan thought, like a surgeon who knows when a scalpel is truly
sharp. She felt slightly giddy, a little self-conscious, but also pleasingly excited.

“It must feel pretty good,” Megan observed as they slid smoothly along the streets of her

neighborhood, “to be driving around in something that looks like a billion dollars.”

Jake would have been lying if he’d claimed indifference to the turning heads, especially those

of the town’s more than adequate number of attractive women. “I get a kick out of it,” he admitted
with a grin. “I guess, at heart, I’m a showman.”

No kidding. Megan watched him negotiate the traffic and turns of central Boston, not a traffic

environment for the faint hearted. “So, where are we going?” she asked.

Jake was pressing buttons, seemingly experimentally. “Do you know a bar called Circus?”
Megan shook her head, and couldn’t help noticing an odd sensation from beneath the seat.

“Jake?”

“Hmm?”
She paused to check she wasn’t imagining things. “Are you warming my ass right now?”
His hand flew to the dashboard and clicked off a small button. “Sorry...” he said. “I’m like a

boy on Christmas morning when they let me drive one of these cars.”

“If it were Christmas morning, I wouldn’t mind,” she said with a wry smile, “but it’s seventy

degrees out. Come the next nor’easter, though, you can warm my ass as much as you want.”

She cringed inwardly. The Voice of Reason, so often ignored in her chaotic life, expressed its

own eye-rolling distaste. Do you ever... and I do mean *ever* actually take the risk of *thinking*
before you speak? ‘You can warm my ass...’ For heaven’s sake. You’re not even drunk!

Jake seemed either to remember her penchant for blurting out the least appropriate comment, or

was content to be quietly amused, reacting with another indulging smile. Megan’s embarrassment
eased only as they found a parking space in one of central Boston’s quiet back streets. Jake offered
his arm and they walked together down to the street level and around the corner, dodging the early-
evening dinner and theater crowds. The city was very alive at this hour, a pleasant late-spring air
having brought out locals and students for food and a walk on the Common.

Circus wasn’t heaving quite yet, but it was nearly full. A trendy, blue-lit place with scatterings

of grouped chairs around tall, circular tables, the place was dominated by an elongated, curved bar
around which a growing throng was trying, with mixed success, to get the barman’s attention. Jake
spoke quietly to the hostess, a blonde bombshell in an outrageously slinky green number who escorted
the pair to their table, as quiet as one could hope for amid the early-evening din.

“Are you here a lot?” Megan asked, noting that Jake seemed familiar with the hostess. And

immediately wondering if that was a personal, or merely a professional connection.

“A few times a month,” he replied. “One of my software partners introduced it to me as his

favorite place for pre-dinner drinks.” Megan wondered how many flustered trainee nurses his
‘software partner’ had brought here. Looking around, she noticed that a lot of the clientele were
wearing the value of her student debt. Jake though, seemed to be reading her mind. “You look terrific
tonight,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wearing something so...”

Megan let it hang in the air. “So...?”
Jake checked himself, laughed self-consciously. “I was going to say, ‘so grown up’, but then

we’ve known each other a long time, haven’t we?”

Megan glanced at the menu distractedly. “You’d have to say, ‘on and off’ for a long time. You

do have a habit of disappearing.” Most of the drinks cost enough to buy a major nursing textbook.

“The curse of my profession,” he said, almost sadly. “Tom takes care of the technology. I’m in

charge of the presentation,” he added with a flourish. “These days, it won’t sell unless it’s smarter
than Einstein, smaller than the competition, or just plain old sexy.”

Megan picked her drink. “Which one of those three are you?” Will. You. Shut. Up.
“Either number one, or number three, but definitely not number two,” he assured her. “As for

the products, it’s always true that sex sells better than science,” he said with a brief, unconscious but
all too obvious glance at the hostess’ delectable curves.

“And what does that say about us? As consumers?” Megan asked.
Jake made his own selection and lowered his menu. “That we’re human. And that we know

what we want.”

The waitress arrived. Jesus, do they hire exclusively supermodels for this place, or has

Boston’s pool of floor staff suddenly gotten a lot sexier? “Good evening,” the waitress said
cheerily, placing coasters in front of them both. “What can I get for you to begin?”

Jake motioned to Megan. “A dry martini,” she said confidently. “Extra dirty.” She watched as

Jake raised an amused eyebrow.

You don’t even know what that means. You just wanted him to hear you say it. God, you’re

damaged.

“Certainly,” the waitress purred. “And for you, Sir?”
“Macallan, 1824. Neat, no ice.” He quickly added, “Please”.
“Coming right up,” the young woman assured them, returning to the bar with the air of someone

whose tips would pay the week’s rent in this one evening.

Megan glanced back at her menu before closing it up. “A ninety dollar whiskey? A

Lamborghini? Don’t tell me you haven’t changed since you were the nerdy teenager I thought had the
hots for me.”

“Well, some things don’t change,” Jake said. Megan stared at him, and he looked thoughtfully

back at her across the table. Then, as though a switch had been flipped, his charming smile returned.
“I loved sports cars, even back then.”

Megan resisted, only barely, the urge to kick his shin under the table. “You must have seen a lot

of the world by now,” she said, changing the subject. “Weren’t you somewhere in Asia last week?”
Googling him had revealed more than salacious photos; he was truly an international presence.

“Kuala Lumpur,” Jake confirmed. “Tom needs a reliable source for a suite of servo motors.”

Megan’s reaction was a blank stare. “They control the fine movements of robot arms for his new
space station experiment.”

The blankness turned to amazement. “Tom’s going into space?”
His first real laugh of the evening was sweetly resonant, a genuine and pleasing sound. Even if

it’s because I’m a dimwit, I do kinda like making him laugh. “I’m afraid not, although plenty of
people would love to see him go. He’s building an experiment in automated repair for the
International Space Station. The big solar panels are wearing out and space walks would be too
dangerous.”

Their drinks arrived, the waitress doing her best to neither let Jake know that she recognized

him, nor that she’d gladly take him home if his date didn’t work out. “Thank you,” he said, and then
followed her with his eyes. Her back was revealed almost in its entirety by a dress so low-cut it
barely seemed there at all.

“Just Malaysia, this time?” Megan asked, taking the first sip of her perfectly mixed martini.
Jake tried his scotch and took a long moment to enjoy its expensively, expertly created nose.

“We tacked on a few days in Singapore, and hit Tokyo on the way back for a technology Expo. Lots
of fun.”

“Do you ever bring anyone with you?” Megan asked conversationally. “One of your

girlfriends?” His eyebrows rose. “I mean... I mean, I don’t mean that you...” She stopped, flustered, as
Jake cocked his head slightly.

Megan was nervous for all six of the seconds it took for Jake to compose his reply. “What are

the bloggers saying?” he asked, his tone laced with a hint of acid.

“I don’t believe most of that stuff,” she said. It was their first truly awkward moment. Neither

of them could hide the reputation he had earned for himself, no matter that the denizens of the Internet

frequently made much of little. “Anyway, It’s your right to see whoever you want.”

“Well,” he said, taking a large slug of his drink. “I’m not seeing anyone right now.”
“OK,” Megan said simply.
“I haven’t seen anyone seriously for quite a while.”
“Me neither,” she said, normally keen to avoid discussing her own love life, but finding it

preferable to the embarrassment of exploring Jake’s.

The tension lifted and Jake smiled warmly. “That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Makes perfect sense to me,” she said, rather glumly. “I’m run off my feet, the bags under my

eyes...”

He held up a hand. “You look great.” Megan shrugged slightly. “In fact, and certainly in that

dress, you look wonderful.”

Megan’s emotional system had gone from panic to hubris to elation in seconds and she was

finding it hard to keep up. “I bet you say that to all the...”

Another raised hand. “Sorry, but I’ve heard you do this for a long time. You’re hard on

yourself,” he explained calmingly. “And there’s no need to be. Besides, everyone knows the
reputation that nurses have.”

Oh, we’re back to flirting like a pair of horny teenagers are we? Well, I’m game...
“And you believe it?”
Jake drained the last of his scotch. “I’m sure most of the ladies in your class are capable of

being just as dirty as your martini.”

Megan burst out laughing while Jake signaled for the check. “Can I tempt you with a bite to

eat? There’s a new Italian place which had some great reviews.”

Megan simmered down and considered her next move. Seconds apart, a number of notions

made their case. I said one drink, and this would be breaking that rule. But he’s cute, he’s making me
laugh, and I haven’t put my foot too badly in my mouth. Yet.

“I have an early start in the morning,” she found herself saying.
“I understand,” he said, disappointed. “What if I promised to have you home before the

Lamborghini turns into a pumpkin?”

Oh, you smooth, handsome, exceedingly wealthy devil. OK... OK... But Erica’s still dead

wrong about the underwear thing.

“Promise?”
Jake left cash for the check, rose and offered his arm. “Promise.”
* * *
“My mother always said,” Megan related to Jake between mouthfuls of dessert, “that if you

needed to set fire to the food for it to taste good, it wasn’t good to start with.”

Jake took another spoonful of his slender but outrageously rich slice of gateaux. “And was she

right, when it comes to bananas flambé?”

Megan closed her eyes for a long moment as the seared, delicate fruit melted into pure

sweetness on her tongue. “No. She was as wrong as she was about being a nurse. And playing the
piano. And dating boys on a school night. And, oh, pretty much everything.”

Jake set down his fork, as full as he needed to be, despite the call of the sensuous chocolate

cake before him. “The mistakes of our parents are the most important part of the instruction manual.”

“Interesting,” Megan said, resting her own fork next to the nearly-demolished bananas. “Who

said that?”

Jake seemed confused that she didn’t already know the answer. “I did. Just now.”

He had been making her laugh so regularly, and so easily, that she had worried people might

think she’s had too much of the excellent red which sat, empty, between them. It had cost an
extravagant sum, easily dismissed by the loquacious Jake.

He caught the waiter’s attention yet again and ordered Limoncello. “Can I offer you an

espresso also?”

Megan, for all the promises to herself that this would be one drink, and then home, was feeling

on top form after her martini and three glasses of the fantastic red. “Woah, slow down there. You’re
not trying to get me drunk and...”

“Perish the thought,” Jake answered, ordering two coffees from the cheerful and endlessly

helpful waiter.

Actually, I don’t think I will let it perish. I think I’ll entertain it, just for a second.
OK, for a lot longer than a second.
It had emerged, over the previous hour or so, that Erica’s prediction was gaining credibility by

the moment. Megan was as surprised and amused as she was intrigued and aroused to find that, during
her most recent bathroom visit, she would have done well to slip an extra pair of panties into her
purse tonight. It had been longer than she could remember since merely talking and flirting with a
cute guy had created such excitement between her legs. She narrowly decided to dry them quickly and
pull her panties back on rather than go commando for the rest of the evening, just because the chances
of further precipitation were so very high.

The waiter set down two small, ornate glasses in front of them, each filled with an opaque,

light-yellow liquor.

“Wow...” Megan exclaimed as the tangy gush of lemon hit her tongue. “That’s incredible...”
“From Capri, home of the real deal when it comes to Limoncello. I developed a bit of a taste

for it while I was traveling over there.”

It was remarkable to Megan how Jake could drop an exotic, foreign trip into the conversation

without sounding boastful. In fact, he sounded more as though he felt genuinely lucky to have had such
amazing chances to see the world. Since they had taken their seats in La Taverna, a new eatery
committed to authenticity and a quietly romantic ambience, he had mentioned trips to almost all of the
world’s continents but managed never to sound arrogant about it. Instead, he came across as a smart,
fortunate, unashamedly populist front-man, a spokesperson for the staggering novelties of the 21

st

century. His playboy reputation was certainly not entirely fabricated, but he had nevertheless been
maligned by a jealous media. At least, that was what Megan decided to believe.

There was so much more to wonder about. Was he capable of settling down? Could he be

made happy by someone with so comparatively simple aspirations as Megan? Might she be able to
offer him something which all of his wealth could not provide? And, Megan wondered in the
bathroom as she marveled at her wetness: was she actually going to go home with him?

The Limoncello sang its sweet song and Jake told her stories of Venice and Capri, of Salzburg

at Christmas time and of visiting Einstein’s birthplace in Ulm, Germany. He cracked her up with the
story of his first Lederhosen experience at Oktoberfest. There wasn’t a single mention of a girlfriend
or a tabloid news story or a fake Internet scandal. There was just this charming and disarming young
man, a fascinating evolution of the teenager she had known.

“Do you like being rich?” she had found the boldness to ask.
“Sure,” Jake replied, waving for the check. “There are a lot of perks. A lot of responsibilities

too. Mostly, though, I just want to do something good with these opportunities.”

“Like what?”

“Like, I don’t know, put food on tables where it’s needed. Like build a school where there isn’t

one.”

Oh. My. God. First, it’s Playboy Jake the entrepreneur globetrotter with the sexy body and

the flashy car. Now it’s Saint Jake of Cambridge, finder of lost children and friend to the poor.
Megan felt a new flush of excitement. There’s something I never knew about myself: Charity makes
me horny.

“All while having a fantastic time,” Megan added.
Jake signed the check, avoiding any ostentatious flaunting of his black credit card. “What’s the

point,” he asked her, “if you’re not having fun?”

“Exactly.”
As the distinctive shape of the Lamborghini eased into late-night traffic, Jake glanced over at

Megan. In his estimation, she was happily smiling, slightly inebriated and unashamedly impressed.
Even so, he was as nervous as he had been in a long while about what came next.

“Where to, my lady?”
Megan packed away her compact and checked her hair in the mirror. Looking fine, Megs. Real

fine. But what the hell do I say now?

“You’re driving, Jake. You can decide.” She smiled a sultry, flirty smile, not her first this

evening, but the only one which carried her true message: for the love of God, take me back to your
place.

Jake knew, and nearly broke several traffic laws getting them there. Having his own parking

place underneath the building helped, as did the waiting elevator. By the time he was showing her
into the apartment, the arm around her waist had become a hand caressing her ass.

“Want me to give you the dime tour?” Jake asked as he closed the door behind them. Her

answer was a confident, sultry smirk which looked so good on Megan’s face that he made his
decision, then and there. “Or, maybe, in the morning?”

Megan let him nudge her towards the kitchen, a broad L-shape, and found herself pressed back

against one of its black marble counters. Then he was there, his mouth on hers, her hands cradling his
head as they unleashed the tension with a deep, urgent kiss. Overwhelmed for a long moment, Megan
simply let him explore her mouth with his tongue, let his hands wander up and down her sides, and
then welcomed two strong hands on her ass.

“Jake...” She found herself saying out loud the only thing she was thinking. The only thing in the

world she wanted. “Jake... Fuck me.”

He kissed her once more, then said, “Here?” and received a nod and more, hungrier kisses in

reply. “Now?”

Megan reached down to bring up her dress, none too slowly, to her thighs and then a little

higher, showing Jake the black lace panties she was so eager to have removed. “For a smart guy,
Jake, you sure need a lot of...”

He kissed her deeply and she felt his hands at her waist, on her ass, thumbs tugging downward

at the band of her panties, at long last peeling them away from her soaked, excited pussy. He knelt
down in front of her, the better to watch her secrets being revealed for the first time.

His mouth found her inner thigh and a bolt of excitement rose up Megan’s body as he began

kissing her soft, warm skin, an inch or two from her outer lips. Her legs parted of their own accord,
welcoming him. Slow, warm kisses were wonderful, highly intimate, but not nearly quick enough for
her.

“Jake... kiss me... kiss my pussy.”

The first contact was sublime, a tiny tongue-stroke across her clit which weakened Megan’s

knees. Then Jake made love to her wet pinkness with his tongue, a minute of the sheerest pleasure.
Stunned, Megan let him feast on her, exploring between her lips, parting them with his fingers for
deeper, more personal probing up inside her opening, to hit her g-spot. Each time he explored
between her lips, he would return to her clit, licking it up and down before delving back inside her.

“I’m gonna...” Before she could finish, speaking became impossible. Gasping loudly, she let

Jake lead her all the way to a knee-bent orgasm, holding her up by her thighs as he finished her by
licking her clit, hard and rough. She came for a long, memorable moment, shuddering as he emerged
from between her legs, delicately wiping his chin.

“I’ve never... God, Jake.” Megan’s breathing was ragged and uncontrolled, her dress pulled up

high, her wetness now running down her inner thighs.

Jake loosened his belt and attracted Megan’s eyes downward with his own. “Never come from

being kissed there?” he asked.

Megan shook her head. “Never.” It was as though she had doubted it was possible. But not

now.

“Well, let’s see if you can cum from being fucked in my kitchen.” He took Megan’s hand and,

together, they pulled down his pants and underwear, revealing a huge and deliciously erect manhood.
Then he placed her hand on him and closed his eyes as she began to stroke him, rubbing his precum
across his tip with her thumb.

“Oh, Jake... This is going to be amazing...”
They kissed once more, the taste of her wetness still on his lips, as below, she could feel his

cock press against her lower belly, then angle down to slip into the wet folds of her pussy. Jake
grabbed her ass and boosted her onto the counter, opening her legs wide. He drew her dress over her
head and quickly release her bra.

“Megan, do we need some protection?” he asked quietly. “I had my physical last week, and I’m

clean...”

“Don’t worry, then,” she said. “I’m set.”
Jake took a hard nipple into his mouth and sucked sharply, making her gasp once more, before

encouraging her to guide his cock inside her. “Are you ready?”

She took hold of him and pressed his tip to her opening. “Do I feel ready?”
She felt his hardness entering her, sliding easily into her wet pussy. “You feel perfect,” he said,

pushing deep inside of her. They moaned together at the new sensation, of hardness newly surrounded
by soft femininity. Jake reluctantly withdrew for his second thrust, again entering her completely, his
soft hairs pressing against Megan’s inner thighs. Then he eased back to glance down at the fresh
coating of her juice which now covered his cock.

Megan felt him push deep inside again as he began fucking her with a slow, rhythmic motion.

Megan’s hands found Jake’s ass and pulled him into her, willing him deeper, faster. His pace
increased, thrusting into her purposefully, harder. She felt herself begin to tense up around his cock,
her hips responding to him, her body welcoming him, demanding more.

Their sex created the perfect angle inside her. As he thrust forward each time, she felt him hit

her g-spot as though searching for it, as though bringing her pleasure was all that he wanted. Between
kisses and gasps, she encouraged him further. “Right there...” Her juices coated his balls now. “Give
it to me...”

Jake could no longer hold back his orgasm as the gentle warmth of Megan’s pussy coaxed him

onward, to join her at their mutual peak.

When it happened, he wanted to slow down but Megan pulled him into her with her legs

wrapped around him, insisting on a strong, hard finish. Seconds later, he exploded inside her and they
shared a giant, all-consuming orgasm. Pleasure unlike any Megan had ever known tore through her
body, her pussy tightening uncontrollably around Jake’s cock as his cum spurted deep and hot inside
her.

Their first sex slowed to a gasping, naked embrace, right there on the kitchen counter-top.

Neither wanted to part, but Jake gently withdrew and, grinning with satisfaction, ran his fingertips
over her glowing skin as their breathing returned to normal.

“Come on down from there,” he said, lending her a supporting arm. “The bathroom’s this

way.”

Unsteadily, still amazed by the bliss of their sex, Megan found her way through to a generous

bathroom next to Jake’s own bedroom. Moments later, they were relaxing in his king-sized bed
together.

“Are you OK?” he asked with a cheeky smile. “I hope I haven’t ruined your late evening

plans.”

Laying on her side on his soft, white sheets, Megan slid into the crook of his arm. “The only

thing you’ve ruined is my record of being a good girl on first dates.”

“Well, I’m sorry for that,” Jake said, stroking her side with gentle fingertips.
“Don’t be. It was a rule well worth breaking. Just don’t tell Erica, OK? I’ll never hear the end

of it.”

“I won’t tell anyone, if you don’t want.”
Megan stopped short. Does he mean his brother, Tom?
But then, she let it go. This wasn’t a moment for worry. It was, she found as Jake’s fingertips

found her nipple, a moment to lay back and let him touch. Let him kiss.

Everywhere he wanted to.
***

There was nothing, Megan reflected as she coaxed yet warmer water from Jake’s shower, to

make a girl feel more lusted after than being woken up by a man with a gentle tongue between her
legs.

And nothing as likely to see that same man pushed gently aside than a thumping, dizzying

hangover like this one.

Jake had taken the refusal well, and helped her with her symptoms. Water, juice and strong

coffee helped wash down painkillers before breakfast omelets and warm, fresh, artisanal bread filled
them both up. It was only 8:45 by the time she stepped out of the shower, feeling markedly better, but
Jake had already returned the Lamborghini, made breakfast and got himself ready for work.

Unwilling to rush someone recovering both from a hangover and from the intensity of their sex

sessions – which came eventually to number three, he recalled with a wicked grin – Jake gently
helped Megan into her clothes and got them out of the door. His sporty, black Acura waited in his
secondary parking place.

“This’ll have to do, I’m afraid,” he quipped as he opened the door for her.
“It’s no Lamborghini, but I’m sure it gets you from A to B.”
She was, it was now certain, going to be quite late for her 10am Pharmacology class, unless

she chose to show up in last night’s slinky black dress. New underwear were an absolute
requirement, anyway. Dropping her off at her apartment, Jake delayed her for a long kiss before

escorting her to her door.

“What can I say, Jake?”
“’Thank you’ is traditional, but I should be thanking you,” he replied. “I can’t believe after all

this time that we...”

She put a finger to his lips, the better to avoid his putting their evening into words which would

feel only tawdry in the morning’s uncompromisingly clear light.

“Can I call you tonight?” he asked. “I’ll be in New York.”
She rolled her eyes. “Jet-setter... Yes, you may call me. Not too late, though. I think it’s going

to be an early night for me.” If she looked as exhausted as she felt, Megan reasoned, then there could
be no greater contrast between the stunning girl he had picked up in his Lamborghini last night and
this worn-out, next-morning Megan he was depositing back at her apartment. It did nothing to help
her feel attractive, but she couldn’t really care less. If this was to be the cost of such a night, then so
be it.

“OK.” He kissed her cheek. “Thanks, again. I had a great time.”
“Me too.”
Erica was up and watching terrible morning TV, spooning cereal and intermittently brushing

her hair. “Good morning, lover girl!” she said brightly.

Megan padded quietly through to her room, her only gesture a palms-down ‘take it easy’ which

Erica correctly interpreted as sure signs of a severe hangover. There were the sounds of drawers
being opened and a few curse words, probably linked to Megan’s glancing at the clock, before she
emerged wearing jeans and a hoodie with BOSTON STRONG emblazoned on the front.

“Class?”
Megan mumbled something which sounded positive.
“Out tonight?”
This mumble was more negative.
“Need some more Tylenol?”
Megan stopped, checked her bag, found a pack of painkillers, and murmured negatively again.
“OK, sweetie. You go get ‘em. Take it easy, OK?”
Megan kissed Erica’s forehead and made her way down to her car, feeling pretty dreadful. It

was only the glow of last night’s sweet excesses which kept her going through a tough, packed day.

***
Della picked up on her fatigue, bringing Megan coffee as she slumped forlornly at their desk in

the Pharmacology lab. Megan debated putting on her sunglasses as the sun began to break through the
clouds, filling the airy room with unwelcome sunshine.

"Hmm. A big Tuesday night. Let me guess... Someone’s birthday party?”
Megan accepted the cup gratefully and unearthed two more Tylenol from her purse. “No.

Would you believe, I was on a date?”

“A what?” Della asked in only half-feigned shock.
Megan swallowed the pills with a grimace. “You know. A girl, a guy. A restaurant.”
Della slid onto the lab stool next to her, her coral tunic complementing her dark, olive skin and

accentuating Megan’s morning pallor. “And does this ‘guy’ have a name?”

“Jake.”
Della rubbed her hands gleefully. “Do tell, do tell...”
The coffee was going to make her feel incredibly wired, but there was nothing else for it.

“He’s rich, handsome and has excellent taste.”

Della nodded, her attention rapt.
“He picked me up in a friggin’ Lamborghini,” Megan said, trying to suppress a grin.
“What? No, OK,” Della said, head shaking and holding up a hand in protest. “Now I know

you’re just... how do you say... pulling my leg? You stayed up late watching a chick flick and drank an
entire bottle of wine by yourself. You just don’t want to admit it.”

“That does sound much more like me,” Megan nodded, “but this time I’m totally serious.” She

smirked knowingly. “To be fair, though, it was just a loaned Lamborghini...”

“Yeah,” Della quipped. “People lend me those all the time. Anyway, then what?”
“We went to Circus? Do you know it?”
“I’ve heard of it,” Della replied, her eyes widening. “A drink there is supposed to cost a

semester’s tuition!”

“It wasn’t cheap. Nice martini, though,” Megan added, though her stomach churned to think of

it.

“And...?” Della was desperate to know.
Megan smiled at the memory. “La Taverna.”
Della’s hand flew to her mouth. “Is he absolutely loaded, or what?”
“He’s pretty rich. Part of a very successful company.”
Della twiddled her thumbs in silent thought. “Would this be... by any chance... a world-famous

computer software company?”

“It would.” OK, Della, get it over with.
“Oh, Megan... Don’t tell me you...”
“Keep your voice down,” Megan hissed. “There’s no need for the whole friggin’ lab to hear

about this.”

Della stood. “If you weren’t so damned hungover right now, I’d slap you upside the head.”
“Why?” Megan asked, shocked. Hadn’t Della told her to get herself a date, only days before?
“Because you...” She lowered her tone. “That was the wrong brother!”
Megan grabbed Della by the lapel and fairly dragged her into the hallway, behind the coffee

machines. “You don’t get to judge me, Della. All I did was to have a nice evening with a nice man.”

Megan’s friend was red-faced and apologetic. “I’m just trying to look out for you. There’s the

steady, dependable one, and there’s the other one, with the reputation, and ...”

“And how much of that do you think is really true?” Megan was in too much pain to really

chew Della out, though she felt her friend had earned the admonition.

“Well, you know him better than I do.”
“Quite a lot better.” There was the beginning of a smile to Megan now. “We had a very nice

evening.”

Others came to grab coffee from the machines, so Megan led Della back into the lab. “Are you

going to tell me about it, or are we actually going to analyze this chemical reaction?” Della asked.

“I’ll tell you later, if you’re very lucky” Megan assured her. “But there’s one person I’m

definitely not going to tell.”

***

Andrea’s piano lesson had gone about as well as it ever did. She hadn’t even complained at

being asked to play minor scales and, although her Bach was still far from perfect, she was showing a
better attitude. Tom texted to confirm that he would be picking her up as usual, and in the moments
before his arrival, Megan felt a creeping awkwardness. Can I possibly lie to Tom? About something

like this?

In the end, she didn’t have to. “She’s practiced well this week,” Megan reported to Tom as

they waited in the entryway for Andrea to get her shoes on.

“That’s good to know,” Tom smiled, looking relaxed in faded jeans at the end of this hectic

workday.

“Of course I have!” Andrea chimed in. “I’m going to be a genus!”
“It’s genius, sport,” Tom corrected with a chuckle, ruffling his daughter’s hair. “And that’s for

other people to tell you.”

“But Megan says I’m a genius,” Andrea said.
“Miss Peterson,” her father reminded her, a finger raised in reprimand. “And I’m not sure she

said that,” he added, giving Megan a quizzical look with friendly, deep-brown eyes.

“I might have said that Bach was a genius,” Megan admitted. “Though Andrea is showing signs

of great talent. She just needs to keep practicing.”

Megan saw them out. Tom had either been tactful in not asking about her date with his brother,

or perhaps he simply hadn’t known about it, but either way, Megan was relieved. There’s nothing
quite so awkward, she reflected, as discussing the love affairs of your siblings. Besides, during the
past few years, Megan had been as much a mother to Andrea, and a helpful, younger sister to Tom,
than anything else. Certainly more so than anything romantic. It would have been tragic to spoil their
friendship over such trivia as her night with Jake, the Lamborghini and the Limoncello.

Megan’s phone showed a voicemail which had come in during her lesson with Andrea. Megan

could barely believe the instant excitement of hearing Jake’s voice; the sound of it had a nostalgic and
very enjoyable effect.

“Hey Megan... It’s Jake. I hope you’re doing well.” He sounded slightly hesitant, as though

making the call had required the mustering of considerable courage. Surely not, with a reputation
like his. Maybe he’s just not used to calling women back the next day. “I wanted to thank you again
for such a nice evening on Tuesday. I really had a great time, and I hope we can do it again soon.
Actually, I’m back from New York and wondered if you wanted to maybe have dinner on Saturday
night?”

He included his number and signed off. Megan replayed the message. And then again. There

was something in his voice when he confessed to having had a ‘really great time’ which put her in
mind of their moments of pleasure. She brought her phone through to her bedroom, closed the door
and lay on the bed. Impulses beyond her control seemed to take over, and soon she was fantasizing
their next phone call.

Hmmm... which part was ‘really great’ for you, Jake?
She imagined his voice, husky and low. When you showed me how wet you were. How ready

you were for me.

She put the phone aside and let her hands travel downward. What about when I helped to slide

your big cock inside me?

Skirt up... panties down... What about when you came together with me, that first time?
Hmmm it was so strong... I could feel you tightening... your pussy urging me on...
Fingers gently parted Megan’s warm, wet lips. Or what about the second time, in your bed,

with me riding you?

You looked amazing... Rising and falling slowly on my erection... Your face a picture of

pleasure...

She began a soft circling of her clit. Do you remember the third time?

How could I forget? I’ve never cum that way before...
Her orgasm was a slowly unfolding narrative in her mind, her personal highlights reel from the

wonderful evening of unselfconscious sex they had shared.

So intimate... so special... cumming in each other’s mouths...
Fingers duplicated his deep thrusting inside her, and when it came, the much-needed release

saw her back arching in pleasure as she brought to mind his mouth on her pussy, that first time.

Megan was careful to wash up a little before touching her phone, but got a special kick out of

calling him while she was also gently toying with her clit. “Hey, Jake?”

“I was hoping you’d call,” he said. Background noise told her that Jake was driving.
“So, Saturday night, huh?”
“Yeah. What do you think?” he asked.
She allowed a few seconds’ silence. I think that nothing more than a goddamned voicemail

just made me horny as hell. “I think I’m free,” she said, nonchalant. “I can probably move some
things around.” The smile in her voice betrayed her sarcasm, though she was determined not to appear
too easy, especially after being so intimate on their very first date.

“Great. May I pick you up as early as 5.30?”
What’s the plan, Jake? Sex even before dinner, this time?
“You may, young Sir.”
Jake cleared his throat. “Not that I would ever presume, but... May I also recommend an

overnight bag? I kinda have something special planned.”

***

Erica was buzzing as though she were Megan’s maid of honor before her wedding.
“Try these,” Erica said, tossing Megan a box containing silver earrings. Jewelry wasn’t the

problem, they found. An hour of debate had produced little progress until Erica found a stunning, navy
blue dress with lace cut-outs in the back of her closet and convinced Megan to try it on. After that,
Erica’s advice had been simply for Megan to wear the sexiest things in her underwear drawer and get
her hair into shape. They were so well organized that Megan had time to sit and do nothing before
Jake arrived.

“So, where’s Loverboy taking you?”
Megan shrugged. “He didn’t say. All he said was that I should be prepared to stay overnight.”
“Duh... Yeah!” Erica exclaimed, as if acknowledging the entirely predictable. “I mean, you

could bring him back here, but I don’t know if we’re at that stage in our friendship yet.”

“Stage?”
“I’d try it if you wanted me to,” Erica said demurely. “For the sake of science.”
“Try what?”
“Never mind,” Erica said, swatting Megan away. “Did you charge your phone?”
“Why, are you going to want text updates throughout the evening?” Megan joked.
“I might! Besides, I’ve heard so little about your first date.”
“And that’s the way it’s going to stay,” Megan assured her. A little detail was fine, she had

decided, but she didn’t need all of her friends gossiping about it.

“Oh, come on!” Erica complained, slumping into the sofa. “I’d tell you every last detail if I

had a date with a guy that hot.”

“Well,” Megan explained patiently, “we’re a little different in that particular way.”
They heard a car pull up and, yet again, it was Erica who was first to the window. “No

Lamborghini this time,” she said. “But I think you’ll like it.”

Megan peeked through the front windows, almost reluctantly, and saw that their ride this

evening was a gleaming, black limousine. “Wow.”

“You have to admit, he keeps trying, even after you let him...”
“Enough!” Megan found her purse, attached earrings and smoothed herself down. “How do I

look?”

Erica studied the brunette’s shapely figure, the way the dress accentuated all of her best

features, and the sensuous wave formed by her hair. “If I were a guy,” Erica admitted, “I’d totally
fuck you.”

“Thanks, honey. Don’t wait up, OK?” Megan grabbed her packed overnight bag and headed for

the door.

“No, no. I’ll be fine with re-runs of Veronica Mars and a tub of Haagen Dazs. Don’t you worry

about me.”

It was almost a repeat of the beginning of their first date, and Megan was almost equally

nervous. This time, she saw at once, Jake wore a custom-made dark suit, and had on aviators against
the early evening sun.

“Hi Jake,” she said, doing her best to sound unruffled in circumstances which were anything

but. Always with this one and the fancy cars. Is he still trying to convince me that he’s rich?

“You look amazing... again,” Jake said, kissing her on the cheek, but then dispelled the

formality and softly pressed his lips to hers. He tasted slightly of mint and he smelled amazing. “Care
to take a seat in the back?”

Jake opened the door to reveal a plush, leather interior which was surprisingly spacious, even

given the stretched chassis. Once they were both seated, Jake called through to the driver. “OK,
Manny. Ready when you are.”

“Yes sir, Mr. McMahon,” Manny replied in an eastern European accent. “I’ll have you there in

no time.”

Megan fixed Jake with her gaze as the car took off. “Where’s ‘there’ tonight, Jake?”
The young entrepreneur straightened his deep-red tie. “Would you mind if we retained the

element of mystery for just a little longer?” he pleaded. “I enjoy surprises, especially if I’m not the
one being surprised.”

“OK. I’ll indulge you, just this once.”
They caught up on recent news, though Megan was careful not to mention Tom or Andrea,

despite their importance in her life. “How was the New York trip?”

“Oh, fine. I was meeting with some investors, and they seem eager to sign up.”
“Sign up to what?” Megan wanted to know.
Jake drew a diagram with his fingers in the air. “Well, one of the biggest problems in getting

broadband internet to developing nations is the lack of infrastructure. There’s demand, and plenty of
local companies ready to run the network, but no-one prepared to invest in building the network in the
first place. Right?”

“With you so far.”
“These investors are of the ‘high-risk, high-yield’ variety. Real go-getters. But they’re also

people who are tired of seeing others get cold feet when it comes to working in poorer parts of the
world.”

“Understandable, though, isn’t it?” Megan offered.
Jake nodded. “It certainly has been, in the past. But these days, you’re basically taking no

greater a risk operating in Burundi or in Cameroon than you are in Brazil or China. Part of my
salesmanship,” he said, palms spread in a gesture somewhat resembling ‘jazz hands’, “is to persuade
investors that the old stereotypes are exactly that. These are countries with the rule of law, and real
potential.”

“And it’s working?”
He nodded again. “I’m awaiting some confirmation, but I’m pretty sure we can go ahead and

break ground on the first fiber-optic cables in the history of Laos.”

“Impressive,” Megan said. “Are there many Laotians with Facebook?”
“There will be, once it’s up and running. At first, it’s mainly for the universities and

government departments, so that they can more easily exchange information with the rest of the
world.”

Outside the tinted windows, the sun was beginning to set over Boston. Megan recognized

where they were, though she hadn’t traveled through this area much. “Wait, isn’t this the way to the...”

“You’ll see,” was all he said. Within minutes, though, Megan’s suspicions were confirmed.
“Jake?” she said, her face deliberately dark with half-feigned worry.
The car came to a halt and he reached for the door handle, but stopped short for a moment.

“Please don’t tell me you have a fear of flying.”

“I have a fear of uncertainty,” she countered. “Want to let me in on the plan?”
He sat back, took a breath. “Can we leave it like this? I’m taking you somewhere I think you’ll

love, and I promise to have you back by morning.” He looked into her eyes, hoping to see the trust he
craved. “Deal?”

Megan slid a lock of hair behind her ear and said, “Done”.
“Outstanding. Thanks, Manny,” Jake called through to the driver. “I’ve got your number for

tomorrow morning.”

“Any time you need, Mr. McMahon. I’ll let Phil know you’re on your way.”
Boston’s Logan Airport on a Saturday evening in spring was pretty busy, but Jake led Megan

through a couple of hallways and into a much quieter area of the terminal building. They passed long
lines of people waiting to check in or drop bags, and seemed to bypass anything but the most basic
security.

“Friends in high places?” Megan asked. “Or do you just have so many air miles they don’t

make you check in anymore?”

“Check in for what?” he asked, and opened a door. To Megan’s amazement, the door led

straight out onto the tarmac, where a small, sleek jet was waiting. “No check-in here, Megan. It’s just
us.”

Jake led her up the stairs and into the aircraft. “A private jet,” she breathed. “You’ve got to be

kidding me.”

“Jet, yes,” he said, closing the door behind them. “Kidding, no.” Up front in the cockpit, Jake

warmly greeted a tall man with close-cropped, blonde hair. “Megan, I want you to meet Captain
Harry Murphy, US Air Force, Retired. Cap, this is Megan.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Megan,” said the Captain with impeccable manners. He had the look of

someone who could handle absolutely anything. And probably had.

“Cap, we can push whenever ATC gives the go. We’re on schedule right now but we mustn’t

let things slip, OK?”

“Roger,” he said simply.
“Megan, why don’t we get you strapped in?” Jake led her aft into a spacious sitting area with

two large armchairs, one on each side of the cabin. “Usual stuff. Oxygen masks come out of here, life
vest is under here. But we won’t be needing either of those. Far more important,” he said with a
flourish, “is this.” Jake opened a side cabinet containing a chilled bottle of the best Champagne, and
two glasses.

“Wow,” was all the stunned brunette could manage.
“Would you excuse me for a moment? The FAA insists I help with take-off, but then I’ll be

right back.”

Jake purposely left the door open so that his clipped, professional Air Traffic Control

responses were audible to Megan who gradually, and with an enormous, lasting thrill, began to get
used to her surroundings. Way to impress a girl, Mr. McMahon.

Megan understood nothing of what was being said, until the patently obvious, “Golf Sierra

Three Five, you are cleared for takeoff, runway one five”. The plane’s engines rose from a softly
whining idle to a screeching, roaring full throttle and the jet dashed along the runway and smoothly
into the orange glow of the evening sky.

True to his word, Jake left Captain Murphy to fly the jet, closed the cockpit door –

“Regulations,” he insisted – and opened the bottle of Champagne.

“To us, and to a really nice evening,” Jake said, clinking glasses with Megan.
She looked thoughtfully out of the window. “If the sun is on our right,” Megan was figuring out,

“that means we’re heading south. Right?”

Jake enjoyed her sleuthing. “True. So, you know we’re not going to Maine, or Canada.”
“And you promised to have me back by morning, so we’re not going to some beach in South

America.”

Jake stopped, mid-sip. “No, but that’s a fantastic idea. Let me tell Murphy. I’m sure he won’t

mind.”

Megan grabbed him before he could stand up. “Florida?” she asked.
“Why don’t we make it a game?” Jake proposed. “You guess a city, or a state, and if you’re

wrong, you have to lose one item of clothing.”

Megan blushed beautifully. “I’m not actually wearing that many,” she replied. “Dress, bra,

panties, shoes...”

“Jewelry,” Jake added.
“Five, then. OK... How wrong was I about Florida?”
“Too far south. Shoes off, please.” Jake knelt by her seat and helped slip her heels off.
Megan had thought to object, but decided to do as she was told. She was equal parts excited to

be being whisked away, enticed by the novelty of flirting on a private jet, and turned on by the thought
of sequentially surrendering her clothes to Jake. “OK, let me think... Washington DC?”

“Still too far south. Want some help with your bra?”
She growled playfully, letting him unzip her dress part way. “Dammit.” Her bra came free, and

she wriggled it off.

“What’s next? Remember, your panties are at stake.”
“I was thinking New York but, even for you, it’s a little close for the indulgence of a plane

ride.”

“Is that your guess?” Jake asked, his fingertips tracing her leg.
“No. It’s too easy. Let’s say... erm... something less obvious? I’m going to guess

Charlottesville. It’s beautiful there and they have a lot of good restaurants.”

Jake said nothing, but simply held out his hand.

“Oh, God damn it, Jake.”
“Hand them over,” he said, fingers beckoning.
“Come and get them,” she smiled back, her eyes full of desire.
Jake smiled broadly, lustfully, and then slid his hands slowly up Megan’s dress. “With the

greatest of pleasure.”

***

Megan’s journey from La Guardia to Midtown was partly spent gazing slack-jawed out of the

window, and partly trying to keep her hands off Jake.

There had been just enough time on the plane for them to reach a gasping sexual crescendo

before Jake was required back in the cockpit for landing. Both washed up in the plane’s small but
well-appointed bathroom, and found that Phil’s limo was waiting for them. Since then, thoughts of
food and sex had bonded enjoyably in Megan’s mind; at present, she couldn’t be sure for which she
was hungrier.

Herculeo was a new and ambitious investment by one of Jake’s clients who had seen, from the

outset, something truly to be admired in its up-and-coming chef, Dieter Baumgartner. Young,
crackling with energy and seemingly happy only when making, eating or talking about food, Dieter
welcomed each of the eight highly select diners to his private dining area on the 18

th

floor of a

midtown tower which offered spectacular – Dieter called them ‘commanding’ – views of the world’s
most exciting city.

“This can’t be your first time in New York?” the chef asked Megan, amazed.
“I’ve done the tourist things, but I’ve never really gotten to know the city,” she confessed.
Dieter was so taken aback that he poured himself a comically large brandy, just to dull the

shock. “Well, I’m sure Herr McMahon is more than capable of showing you New York,” he
commented in a relaxed German accent which carried none of the guttural throatiness she had
expected. “I, On the other hand, am here to show you some mind-melting food.”

Dieter did not disappoint, as was his fast-growing reputation. Hot lobster Vichyssoise and an

almost impossibly delicate oak-smoked salmon were their initial starters, brought by a highly
experienced, black-suited wait staff. There were escalopes of abalone, flown in from California that
afternoon. Wine flowed, a small glass for each step of the lavish, almost confusingly sumptuous meal.

“Take little bites of everything,” was Jake’s advice. “Tonight is Dieter’s culinary concerto, in

lots and lots of very short movements.”

Megan got to know her fellow diners both through discussing the food, and their genuine

interest in her as Jake’s partner for the evening. Her only flutter of concern was that she might not
measure up well to the other women with whom they had seen him, but she was able to put her
worries aside. For his part, Jake was attentive and helpful amid the occasionally mystifying array of
dishes and wines, and was at pains to stress Megan’s gifts as a nurse and a pianist. Megan was unsure
whether it was the wine, the easy company, the unbelievable sex on the plane or simply the best food
she’d ever had, but half way through the meal, she decided that she officially felt absolutely
wonderful.

The venison, presented as pan-seared mignon and partnered with celeriac cakes, was Megan’s

favorite. Jake seemed to have some kind of taste orgasm when presented with the hickory-smoked
duck, and then another when trying the braised pheasant with chanterelle risotto. As he and Megan
tried the profiteroles together, and then succumbed to the magic of Dieter’s simply perfect apple
strudel, Megan felt his hand on hers, there between them on the table, and found it the most natural

thing in the world.

The others were moving on to a downtown bar for late cocktails, but Jake made their excuses.

“Simply charming,” one elderly guest commented to Jake, clearly content with his choice of date.
“We do hope we’ll see you again.”

They spent a long moment gazing over the city from this stunning vantage point. A stream of

lights expressed the city’s traffic, silent from up here, while gazing down the ‘canyon’ formed by the
skyscrapers either side of the avenue, Megan could have persuaded herself that this was an alien city,
and not one made so famous by movies and books that she almost felt she knew it already. Reluctant
to rush her, but filled with the need to be alone, Jake made sure they had the chance to say goodbye to
Dieter before taking the elevator down and meeting up with Phil at their limo.

It wasn’t until the jet was airborne once more, and angling back north towards Boston, that

Megan and Jake were able to enjoy the final course of the evening’s entertainment. She knelt up for
him on the generous recliner seat, allowing him to take her slowly, gently, from behind, his hands
smoothing over her skin and delving down to bring a double pleasure to her swollen, receptive clit.
After they had come, strongly and together, Megan’s eyes opened once more and revealed to her the
orange glow of the new day’s sunrise.

“Heavenly,” she said, as Jake kissed her back. “Just heavenly.”
***

After a few weeks, Megan began to realize that she was living not one, but two lives.
There was her regular, daytime life as a nurse, studying harder than ever before, stressing

about upcoming exams, cramming with Della and a group of trainee nurse friends, trying not to kill
anyone during their practical sessions on the wards, and generally holding body and soul together by
the thinnest thread.

And then there was her relationship with Jake, her ‘evening life’, one so distant from the

pharmacology lab and syringes and prescriptions that it seemed, at times, thoroughly unreal. This was
a world of being picked up in a nice car, eating at some of the best restaurants in the country, visiting
museums, going to the opera, and generally being pampered like a princess. It was also, Megan liked
often to remind herself, the time of the greatest physical pleasure of her entire life.

Sex evolves, like a relationship evolves, and her sex with Jake was becoming richer, more

daring, even occasionally experimental. Something had been opened up by their mid-air tryst, a new
willingness to go further, to risk being refused or stared at incomprehensibly, or simply laughed at.
But neither of them ever said no. It was like living the plot of an erotic novel, with scenes of almost
absurd opulence nestling between each astonishing session of breathless, unashamed fucking.

Although he claimed never to have tried it before, Jake turned out to be a master of sexting. It

became the number one reason why Megan checked her phone, and never failed to add a little
excitement, not to mention more than a little wetness, to her day. Hard at work in the lab, the morning
after a particularly open-minded night of lovemaking at Jake’s apartment, Megan received:

Hey sexy... Careful not to work your ass off today. I know you want me inside you there again

tonight. So tight and hot... mmm.

When Jake was traveling, which was perhaps three nights a week, they figured out the time

zone in advance and arranged brief but intensely sexy Skype or FaceTime calls. Megan loved
pretending to be her distant lover’s sex slave, growing through her initial reluctance and shyness to
become an enthusiastic webcam performer. Jake even bought her a top-of-the-line HD webcam to
enhance the experience, letting him see in detail Megan’s acquiescence to his demands.

It made Jake smile, as he sat waiting in the airport lounge, to think that he appeared hard at

work at his laptop, when actually he was directing a porn movie of his own devising. As his flight to
St Louis was called, his personal actress was playing with a whole fruit bowl full of props,
climaxing with the biggest and thickest one deep inside her.

A few hours after this luridly sensual display, Megan sent Jake a selfie which showed her

obeying the one command Jake had not had time to witness; the same long, curved banana being
pushed into somewhere Megan had originally thought too small and tight for the purpose. She grinned
to herself as she pressed ‘send’, and then brought herself to orgasm more conventionally, with a bullet
vibrator Jake had bought her for those nights they were apart.

But then hours passed. Many hours, and then a whole day. She texted him again, hoping for

another webcam session, but there was no reply.

And then a whole, agonizing, inexplicable week passed without a single word from Jake.
It took two days for panic to set in, and five before she plucked up the courage to call Tom. She

had the phone in her hand, Tom’s number ready to dial, for half an hour before calling him. It doesn’t
make any sense. He said he’d just be gone overnight, and that we’d be together as soon as he got
back. In the end, she convinced herself that it wasn’t just vanity or the need for attention; she was
actually worried about him.

“Tom, hey...”
“Megan, how are you sweetie?”
He had called her that for so long that it no longer seemed flirty. Just kind of comforting. “I’m...

Well... Have you heard from Jake in the last few days?”

Tom thought for a second. “Sure, he called in from Manila yesterday with an update on the

meetings over there.”

Manila? He said he was going to St Louis. Who makes a mistake like that?
“Oh, yeah,” Megan said. “Of course. It’s just that he promised to bring me back some fabric for

a dress I’m making,” she lied elegantly and with surprising imagination given her stress levels, “and I
hadn’t heard anything.”

“Well he’ll be back in a couple of weeks, I think,” Tom said, checking his own schedule as he

spoke. “Want me to let him know you’re asking about him?”

Megan toyed with the idea, but decided against it. “No, I’ll just see him when he’s back. Must

have slipped his mind.”

“OK, well I’ll see you after Andrea’s lesson tomorrow?”
“Sure. Bye.”
She ended the call, sat on her sofa by the window, and cried for hours.
Erica came home to find her curled up, eyes reddened, face a mess. Without a word, she

brought over a bottle of good red wine and two glasses, opened the bottle with an experienced twist
of the corkscrew, and set a very full glass in front of Megan. The stricken girl gave her a pleading,
damaged look.

“Tell Aunty Erica. I won’t tell anyone except Ruby Red here, and she’s as good a listener as I

am.”

Megan poured everything out, all of the details she had held back, for fear of being told that

this exact thing would happen. “He treats all women this way, you see,” she explained. “And I didn’t
see it, because I’m fucking stupid.”

“Don’t be hard on yourself, darling. You’re not the one who vanished without saying anything.”
Megan sniffed. “The Internet was right. He picks women up, enjoys himself, plays with their

emotions, and then throws them away.”

Erica joined her tearful friend on the sofa and held her close. “There’s no way this is just a

misunderstanding?”

“What’s there to misunderstand?” Megan complained. “Most guys would have said something

like, ‘hey, this is getting too serious for me’, or ‘hey, didn’t I tell you I’m actually married?’ This
one,” she said, stabbing an angry finger into the sofa, “he just swans off to the fucking Philippines
without even telling me?”

Erica handed Megan her glass. “Then, turn the tables. You’re the one who had fun, who was

jet-setting around and having some pretty amazing sex, by the sounds of it. Think of it that way: you
used him.”

They talked it over until midnight, when Megan decided she needed sleep more than

comforting. Erica sat up alone, finishing the bottle, and was asleep on the sofa when the apartment’s
landline phone rang.

Megan emerged from her bedroom looking awful. “I’ll get it.”
It was Tom. “Megan?”
“Hey...”
“You’re phone’s turned off,” Tom said, almost angrily. “I need your help, Megan. Sorry it’s so

late.”

“It’s beyond late, Tom, it’s three in the damn morning. What’s up? Is everything OK?”
Tom audibly took a deep breath. “It’s Andrea.”
Cold fear gripped Megan’s chest. “Is she alright?”
“I don’t know, Megan. She left here but she never showed up at her friend’s house. I called the

police hours ago and I figured she’d just show up but I’ve been calling her phone and there’s no
answer and I just...”

“Tom? Where is she?” Megan asked very deliberately.
“We don’t know, Megan. She’s missing.”

Slow and Steady

Megan couldn’t remember getting dressed, or waking Erica. The only thing in her mind was to

get to Tom’s place as quickly as she could. It was 4am but the street where he lived seemed alive; it
took a moment to realize that every car there was a police vehicle.

Dashing through the bizarre sea of rotating blue lights, Megan had to explain herself to a

uniformed officer at the front door before being allowed inside.

“Tom?” she called upstairs.
“Up here, Megan. Officers, it’s OK. This is Megan Peterson. I think I mentioned her.”
He was absolutely ashen, the image of a man living every father’s very worst nightmare. There

were cops in almost every room of the house, it seemed; shouldn’t they be out there, looking for her?

Tom held Megan like a life raft in a storm. “Hey, it’s OK. She’ll be back any minute. Must just

have gotten lost or something.”

“Miss Peterson?” asked a gruff, Boston-accented voice from the corner. Megan turned to see a

heavy-set detective in his fifties, complete with grey mustache and notebook. “Would you mind
answering a few questions? At this stage, any information can be critical.”

“Of course.” Another officer took Tom downstairs, where his colleagues had located several

photos of Andrea. They wanted his opinion as to which was the best likeness, to show on TV.

“My name’s Detective Wise,” he said, showing Megan his ID. “When did you last see Andrea,

Miss Peterson?”

The huge, crushing weight of her fear returned for a moment but, with some effort, she quelled

it. Just help these people. That’s all you can do. “I gave her a piano lesson yesterday afternoon...
Thursday.” Megan sat upright on the edge of the bed, despite wanting nothing more than to curl up and
wish it all away.

Wise had taken a chair across the room and was writing continuously. A female colleague – as

per regulations, Megan guessed – stood silently by the open door. “And how did she seem? Happy?
Distracted?”

Megan thought back. “She was chatty, up-beat. She was in a play at school and the first

rehearsal was good. I can’t remember the name.” Tears threatened, but she blinked them back.

“Thank you, Miss Peterson. If I could ask, do you know of anyone who might want to hurt her?”
Megan stared at the detective as though he’d grown a third arm. “For God’s sake, no! She was

an angel.” Megan took a sharp intake of breath and corrected herself. “She is an angel. Her teachers
love her. Everyone loves her.” Now the tears came.

The detective handed her a tissue. “I’m sorry, we have to ask.”
Megan blew her nose, collected herself. “No, it’s OK. Go on, please. I want to be helpful.”
Downstairs, they could hear raised voices as Tom argued with an officer. Wise ignored it.

“Does Andrea have any other friends in her life? Adult friends?”

Megan couldn’t suppress a shiver at the implication. “I don’t think so. There’s her Dad and I,

and her uncle, Jake. But he’s away right now.”

“Where?” the detective asked, not a little pointedly, notebook at the ready.
“He’s in the Philippines. On business. He’ll be back in a couple of days.”
“Have you spoken with him recently?” Wise wanted to know.
“Not for about three weeks. We were... I guess you could say we were dating.” The detective

raised an eyebrow, almost imperceptibly. “But I’d rather Tom didn’t know about that.”

Nodding, the cop looked straight at her. “Dating, but out of contact for three weeks?”
“I don’t see that’s anything to do with...” Megan began angrily, but then stopped. “Wait... You

don’t think he had something to do with this, do you?"

Wise closed his notebook and took a breath, glanced at his watch. “Miss Peterson, I’ve been

working missing persons and kidnappings for twenty-six years.” He shifted in his seat and rubbed
tired eyes. “In all that time, I’ve seen everything a cop can see, and nothing surprises me anymore.
Absolutely nothing,” he reiterated.

“Well, I can tell you that Jake loved Andrea just as much as anyone. Besides, he’s been out of

the country for weeks.”

“In the Philippines,” Wise added pointedly.
“Yes. Why?”
Wise glanced at his female colleague by the door. “Miss Peterson, we don’t want to alarm you

unduly,” she said mildly, “but the Philippines is in the top three destinations for child sex tourists.”

Megan stood, her fists balled. Her mouth opened but nothing came out. Then she sat down.

“That,” she said, “was alarm. And it was undue. I’d sooner believe that you’re both aliens than I’d
believe Jake would hurt Andrea, or do... that.”

Tom reappeared, if anything looking worse than he had before. “They want us to go on TV

together, Megan. They say,” he said, trying to collect himself, “they said that kidnappers respond
better to seeing a mother figure in the child’s life. I explained about Mary, the cancer,” he said,
almost spitting the word, “and they said you’d be perfect.”

“I’ll do it,” Megan said at once, standing. “Just tell me where and when.”
“It’s too early for that,” Wise advised them. “But we really are hoping to hear from kidnappers

soon, if that’s what we’re looking at. Mr. McMahon is a very successful businessman, and right now,
that’s the focus of our investigation.”

Tom sat down next to Megan on the bed and brought her head into his shoulder. “They think

perhaps a competitor, or someone who got the rough end of a business deal, has taken her as some
sick kind of payback.”

Wise cautioned them. “We mustn’t jump to conclusions, Mr. McMahon. It’s best to wait until

we hear something definitive.”

“Wait,” Tom said simply. “That’s the only thing I don’t want to do right now.”
The cops finished their questions, took pages of notes, and left to co-ordinate the search from

the local police station. Two officers stayed at the house, one at the door and another in the living
room, by the phone, to which an array of equipment was being attached. Media interest normally only
began after a police appeal for sightings, but social media already had word of the police presence
outside the McMahon home. Wise told them very firmly not to speak to reporters until they had more
news and had agreed a statement. He shook their hands, rather somberly Megan felt, and left with his
team.

“Jesus, Tom. I’m so sorry. But look... What’s more likely, she’s staying over with a friend and

forgot to call, or...”

“We’ve called all her friends, Megan.” Tom sounded broken. “And we’ve called all of their

friends. All we know is that she was due at Sarah Jefferson’s house at 7.30 to have dinner and watch
Spongebob. They called at 8.15 to say she hadn’t showed up, and I called Andrea’s phone, I don’t
know, a hundred times. Then it was nine already and I just called the police in a panic.”

“You did the right thing,” Megan said, squeezing his arm. “Look, I’ll stay up and see if I can

tell the officers anything else. Why don’t you try to sleep?”

Tom grimaced, as though the idea itself pained him, but agreed to lay down for a while. “Guess

there’s nothing more I can do right now, anyway.”

* * *

It took an hour for the media scrum to begin. Brookline PD arrived and pushed the crowd to the

end of the street, but it was clear that Tom would need to make a statement, and sooner rather than
later.

The agonizing hours Tom spent alone that night were the worst since Mary’s cancer. He

slumped down the stairs the next morning, looking unshaven, haggard and suddenly ten years older,
but immediately insisted on two things: that Megan should go to her classes today, but come straight
back afterwards, and that he would not spend another minute simply sitting around. He needed
something to do.

He sat with an officer and began drafting their statement while Megan made breakfast. She

found herself forgetting what she had done only seconds before, existing in a fog of worry and
confusion and doubt and hatred and anxiety. When the eggs were ready, and were found somehow to
be edible, she brought plates through for everyone.

“We’re going to go out there at 9.30,” Tom announced. “The longer we delay, the greater the

risk, so they tell me,” he said, motioning to the officer. “Do you think you could do that for me?”

“Try and stop me,” Megan said with false bravado. Facing the media was almost as terrifying

as facing the uncertainty over Andrea’s safety. “Have you heard from Jake?”

Tom nodded. “He’s in the air right now. I think I’ve persuaded the cops that he’s not some kind

of creep, just so you know.”

Megan ate in silence. Did someone tell him about us? She let her mind take a new avenue,

simply to be free for a few seconds of her constant worry. Will he be happy for us? Will he think I’m
a schmuck for joining the ranks of the girls Jake has conquered and left behind? She shook it off,
drank coffee. For God’s sake, not now, Megan. Focus.

Their statement had all the imagery the police needed it to have: a desperate, ashen couple,

pleading with the public for any information about their little girl. It mattered little, to the police and
to the media, that Megan wasn’t the mother; in fact, in some circles, Megan’s presence was the
catalyst for a new round of salacious gossip about the McMahon family. Some editors had better
taste, but others were unable to resist the combination of fraternal jealousy, the floozy girlfriend
migrating from one brother to the other, plus the mysteriously missing daughter. For three hours,
mainly online but increasingly on the cable news channels, it was a frenzy of speculation and the kind
of half-assed factoids which, had they been paying any attention, would have driven Tom and Megan
absolutely crazy. Detective Wise had told them to avoid reading anything online, for their sanity’s
sake, and both Megan and Jake obeyed.

Megan protested for a solid ten minutes but was eventually escorted to her class by a female

officer. She paid absolutely no attention, even shrugging off the concerned Della and other
classmates. What could they say, other than to make her worry more? Even her professor had some
kind words, and Megan was polite, but wanted only to be back with Tom. She pictured his loneliness;
first, a wife taken from him at only twenty-nine, and now this. Her heart broke for him.

Lunchtime became early afternoon, and threatened to become early evening, all without news.

Although no-one said it explicitly, they all knew that there would be a change in the investigation
once they reached the twenty-four hour mark. It would become less of a missing person issue, and

more of a kidnap situation. Or worse.

Megan found some pasta in the cupboard and chopped vegetables like a detached robot. She

was about to put the water on to boil when Detective Wise came through the back door and into the
kitchen. He looked straight at Megan and, in that fleeting second, like never before, she interrogated
his face, his eyes, his posture, for any clue. A dozen scenarios played out in Megan’s mind, all in that
desperate, compressed moment.

Mercifully, he didn’t hold his silence for long.

* * *

Tom cried for as long as Megan had ever seen a man cry. She held him, his sobs shaking her

body as well as his own, his tears running down her blouse. She stroked his hair, let him do as he
needed to do, as anyone would have needed to do.

“Thank... God,” he was saying, over and over. “Thank God she’s alright. Thank God...”
Andrea had gotten on the wrong bus. It was as simple as that, essentially, but then she had

experienced some bad luck, been rather stupid, taken to uncharacteristic shyness and then finally been
found wandering in a park near the airport. It was quite the story and Tom decided that patience and
forgiveness were the right ways to respond, though the father in him – every cell of him, really –
wanted to yell at his daughter at the top of his lungs.

“Mr. McMahon? She’s here, Sir.”
Andrea flew through the door and into her father’s arms, leaving the two accompanying

officers to look on, filled with the same relief which now spread through the neighborhood and, with
lightning speed, to the journalists outside.

At first, Tom said nothing. Megan sat tearfully on the sofa, watching them both, and then felt a

hand on her arm, pulling her in, and she joined the hug. Those with telephoto lenses had just scored
the ‘happiest picture of the week’.

“You’re here, sport,” was the first thing Tom said.
“I’m sorry, Dad.”
“No... It doesn’t matter. You’re here.” Sometimes, Megan thought to herself, we have to hear it

a few times before we believe it. “Are you OK?”

Andrea was exhausted, really rather dirty, and had very tired feet, she said, but was otherwise

unharmed. Police medics gave her a check-up and found nothing amiss, save some dehydration.

“The bus driver said I had to get off at the end, and I didn’t know where I was,” she explained

between sips of water. “I told him I needed to get to Haverhill Street and he said he didn’t know
where that was, and that I had to get off, and then he shouted at me, and I ran up to some kids on bikes
and they just ignored me and I was so sad...”

Six miles from where she intended, Andrea had done her best, but asked for help from all of

the people least likely to take care of her. After being rebuffed for the third time – Megan stared,
wide-eyed, at the thought of people unwilling to help a lost little girl – she had tried calling but her
phone battery had gone dead. At that point, defense mechanisms had taken over and she had simply
clammed up and sat alone on a park bench.

“It went dark and I was so tired and I didn’t know where I was, so I just went to sleep,” she

explained.

Tom kept his mouth shut, the better simply to let his daughter tell the story without appearing to

judge her.

“Then I decided to walk back in the same direction and...” Andrea’s lost, panicked confusion

came through so clearly that Tom had to hold back more tears.

“The important thing,” Megan interjected, mostly because Andrea’s father simply couldn’t, “is

that you’re alright, and back home. Nothing else matters.”

The police finished up their paperwork very quickly and left the family alone, inviting the

media to do the same. It was the most immense relief to simply shut the doors, close the curtains, take
the phone off the hook and be together.

After dinner, Megan offered to bathe the rather filthy Andrea, and then she and Tom put the

exhausted girl to bed.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Megan offered. “You must be ready to keel over.”
Tom held out his arms for another hug, perhaps their hundredth in the last twenty, crazy hours.

“I can’t thank you enough,” he said quietly. “Without you, this whole thing... Well, I just don’t know.”

“You’d have done the same for me. You’re family to me, I hope you know that.”
Their embrace tightened briefly before Tom let her go. “You get some rest. Maybe, once things

settle down here a bit,” Tom offered, “I could buy you dinner to thank you properly for everything
you’ve done.”

Megan kissed his cheek. “I’d like that very much.”

***

“It’s not in the dictionary,” Erica maintained, for the third time.
“It doesn’t have to be in the dictionary. It just has to be in common usage.” Megan had been

trying for the last forty minutes to make Erica concede this simple rule, but progress was minimal.

Erica leaned forward from her seat on the small sofa and removed the word from the board.

Megan, sitting across from her on the carpet, harrumphed indignantly and put it back. “Listen, if I was
texting you about a guy...”

“Texting? You’re bringing texting into Scrabble, now? Give me a break!”
“If you’ll let me finish,” Megan said, rolling her eyes but grinning all the same. “If I were

texting you, and described a guy as H-A-W-T, you’d know exactly what I meant, right?”

Erica threw up her hands. “Of course I would. But I wouldn’t use it in a term paper for a

professor.”

Megan growled in exasperation. “Yes, I know, but you’d understand what it meant. It is,

therefore and by definition, in common usage.”

“Bull.”
“Fine.” Megan removed the word and shifted to another, equally promising area of the board.

“Try this, then.”

Erica watched her friend place the word, took a large slug of rum and coke, and set down the

glass like a judge’s gavel. “That, young lady, is what the rulebook calls a ‘proper noun’.”

“Huh?”
“Oh. My. God. If the word begins,” she explained, as though to someone with learning

difficulties, “with a capital letter, then it’s not allowed in Scrabble.”

“You just want to win,” Megan contended, her green eyes narrowing.
“You’re just a cheat!” Erica countered.
“A cheat?! Says the girl who thinks ‘cretin’ is spelled with a ‘K’.”
“I was mixing it up,” Erica explained tiredly, “with ‘keratin’.”
“Well, then you’re a cheat, and a dim-wit.”
Accusations flew, and a few seat cushions, before the pair calmed down and finished the game

in something approaching a respectful manner.

“You ever played Scrabble with a guy?” Erica asked, a glint in her eye.
“No. But I suspect you have, oh great Dater of Nerds.”
Erica helped her friend to pack away the set. “Remember when you were in Chicago for that

gallery opening with, er... He Who Shall Not Be Named?”

Megan nodded and made the established, extremely rude gesture.
“Well this cute guy from MIT came over, you remember him, the guy from Slovenia?”
“I thought it was Slovakia?” Megan said.
Erica cast her mind back, and came up blank. “Wherever. He was cute. Anyway, we’re playing

Scrabble and he says that any naughty word we can make, we have to act out.”

Megan stared down at the bag of tiles and then plopped them on the table top as if suddenly

discovering, to her disgust, that they were inexplicably sticky. “You don’t need to tell me. I can
imagine.”

“Want a highlight?” Erica asked, wiggling her eyebrows.
“No.”
“He was pretty good,” Erica assured him. “I’d already put down ‘course’, and he had the

‘inter’ and, well, I guess the game kinda petered out after that.”

“One track mind,” Megan said, sotto voce.
They put away the set, found a crappy movie full of hot guys on TV, and poured more vodka

and cokes.

“So,” Erica asked, apropos of nothing, “when’s the big date with Tom?”
Megan made a face. “It’s hardly a date. He’s thanking me for keeping his soul in one piece

while his daughter was missing. If you remember. Erica.”

“You say potato, I say it’s high time you two gave it a try.”
Megan sat up and muted the TV. “Is this not,” she asked pointedly, “the exact same advice you

gave me about a certain brother of his?”

“That was different. Jake’s a playboy. Tom’s the steady, dependable type. A father, a CEO....”
“And a lifelong friend who has had a very tough couple of weeks and who just wants to say

thanks,” Megan added firmly.

“OK, I’ll leave it. But, if something were to happen between you two...”
“Which it won’t,” Megan interrupted.
“...Then there would be a huge crowd of people, with me at the front, singing ‘Thank God,

Finally’ in four-part harmony.”

“Sing whatever you want. He’s a friend.” Megan clicked the sound back on. “And we’re going

out on Saturday, since you asked.”

Erica clapped like a ten-year old. “Awesome!” Then, in a sultry whisper, “Wear the black

lacey ones. He’ll love those.”

Megan growled and stared hard at the TV, but not before a smile crept over her face.

***

“Oh, Tom... for me?”
As bunches of flowers went, these were absolutely sensational, a riot of carefully combined

colors. “You’re more than welcome,” Tom grinned, standing on her front porch in a casual tan suit
and blue button-down shirt.

“Let me put these in some water. Erica?! Fetch a vase or something, would you?”
Her roommate’s part in Megan’s pre-date routine, albeit recently established, had become

indispensible. For this date, they had selected a slim-fitted violet blouse that brought out Megan’s
green eyes, and a figure-hugging, black, knee-length skirt. Reaching the top of the stairs, Megan
handed the bunch to a slack-jawed Erica.

“Fuck me,” Erica breathed. Make no mistake, honey, that is a bunch of flowers,” she gushed.
“Just find a vase and make sure they don’t die, OK?” Megan put the finishing touches to her

hair, which she had decided to wear down, flowing over her shoulders.

“OK,” Erica said, still shell-shocked. “Did you wear the black lacey ones, like I said?”
“I,” she said by way of a reply, “will see you later. Cocktails and a date report to follow,

OK?”

The sense of déjà vu was palpable but Megan, to her relief, found it possible to ignore. There

was, after all, no Lamborghini, but a very comfortable Mercedes. Neither was there the least chance
that the black lacey panties, which Megan was, in fact, wearing – a fact connected more with prosaic
laundry issues than any desire for Tom to see her in them – would end up on her date’s bedroom
floor. It’s just friends, having dinner together, repeated Megan’s inner moral compass. Nothing
untoward is going to happen. Honestly.

“How does seafood sound?” Tom asked as he drove them onto one of Boston’s broad, cross-

town avenues under the final rays of a setting sun.

“Sounds perfect.”
Megan felt calm and comfortable with this man, in a way she’d never felt with any other. There

had been, for a long time, the feeling that Tom would never let her down. Whether Tom knew about
her handful of dates with his brother or not – and he gave no indication that he did – theirs was a
special and distinct relationship, very different from the jet-setting, high-profile antics of Jake.
Without having to worry about sex, they could just be themselves. It was like a knot gradually
unwinding in Megan’s core, and it felt wonderful.

Legal Seafood, that dependable bastion of Boston cuisine, was as packed as usual, but Tom

had obviously requested a table which would give them some privacy while still offering a view of
the harbor. They decided against a quick spin around the Aquarium before dinner, feeling that it
smacked of hypocrisy to enjoy the natural beauty of the seas before tucking into large portions of the
same.

“Now, I want you to just go ahead and order anything you want, OK?”
“I don’t need to be told twice,” Megan said, perusing the more expensive end of an already

expensive menu.

“They have my card on file. I don’t think we’ll even see a check, if that salves your

conscience.”

Starters arrived, and wine, with Megan and Tom finding the background noise just reasonable

enough for them to speak at normal volume levels. “Sometimes it’s a fight to be heard,” Tom
admitted. “I wouldn’t want you screaming at me.”

Provided you don’t talk about Jake, there’s no danger of that. “Tom, how’s Andrea doing?”
“She’s fine,” he said with a heavy sigh. “Really. I mean, I could haul her over the coals and

call her an idiot for worrying everyone like that, but where would it get us?”

“I agree,” Megan said, trying her first spoonful of the lobster bisque.
“She knows what she did wrong, and I don’t need her to go through life weighed down by

having scared everyone to death. Especially you,” Tom added.

“The whole city was scared there, for a moment,” she countered mildly.
“Andrea would hate to think she’d upset you,” Tom continued. “I can’t think of anyone she

respects more.”

Megan smiled beautifully and raised a glass. “To Andrea, our favorite pain in the ass.” They

clinked glasses and laughed together. So easy, so effortless. So natural. As though we’re meant to...

“Don’t you have exams coming up? I didn’t want to pull you away from your books,” Tom

said, “but I had to thank you somehow.”

Megan nodded. “Next week. I think I’m ready. Or nearly. Or something. I guess we’ll see.”
“Do you know what kind of nursing you’re going to be doing after you graduate?”
Their entrees arrived. “Sea bass for the lady,” the waiter announced, “And for the gentleman,

our swordfish special. Please enjoy.”

Megan took a bite. “Wow.” Lemon, fish and capers were among her favorite combinations.

“Er, well I’ve applied to the ENT department at Brigham and Women’s, and I know a couple of
people there, so we’ll see how it goes.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine,” Tom said. “Any hospital would be lucky to have you.”
Way to make a girl feel special. It’s like an evening-long ego boost, she thought to herself. I

love it. “What about you? How’s work?”

Tom caught her up on his business, keeping the complex simple and leaving aside the routine

stuff. Megan had the impression of a working life filled with meetings, with reading proposals and
reports, rather dry but vigorous and ever-changing, all the same. Whatever he was doing, she
reasoned, he was doing it well; the company’s stock price had never been higher, and Tom was being
touted as a potential Time Man Of The Year for 2014.

Desserts were served and, though delicious, only half eaten. “Don’t tell me you’re watching

your figure?” Tom asked.

First I’m a super-hero to Andrea, then I’m super-nurse, medical miracle on legs. Now, I’m a

supermodel? “No... Just very full, is all. You hardly need to trim down, yourself.”

Tom patted a satisfied stomach, made a few jokes about burning brain calories all day, and

settled the check with seemingly little more than a wave. “Shall we?”

The only thing left to decide, Megan reasoned on the way back to her apartment, was what kind

of goodnight kiss it should be. Erica had called it ‘the most sophisticated form of male-female
communication known to man’, and beseeched Megan not to overlook giving it some careful thought.

“It’s been a pleasure,” Tom said. “Thanks for letting me thank you.”
“I was grateful to be thanked,” Megan said, slightly convolutedly. Then he was right there, his

mouth an inch from hers, and as her arms enfolded around him, their lips brushed just for a moment.
Megan continued an inch further and kissed his cheek. Mixed message, idiot. Maybe apologize for
that one? But there was no need. She felt Tom kiss her own cheek, and then as they hugged, just the
slightest, softest kiss on her collarbone, just by the strap of her dress.

“Goodnight, Megan. And thanks again.”
Back inside, pulling off her heels, Megan found Erica standing at attention, a freshly-poured

vodka martini in hand. “Well?”

“It was nice,” she confessed, taking the drink.
“Nice?” Erica exclaimed.
“Yeah,” Megan replied, without a hint of a lie. “It was just... really nice.”

***

“Depression, right?” Della asked, desperation straining her voice.
“That’s one of them,” Megan agreed. “But there’s anxiety and sleeplessness too. Did you put

those?”

Della’s forehead hit the desk and she let out a strangled yell. “They’re going to deport me. I

know it.”

Megan smiled and put an arm around the forlorn slump of her friend’s shoulders. “Oh, stop it.

You’re smarter than most of us, by far.”

Another wail, louder than the first. “So smart I can’t remember a simple set of drug side-

effects. Farewell, nursing career,” she said with a Shakespearian flourish.

Megan pulled, bullied and cajoled her classmate until she agreed to join the others in the pub, a

short walk from the exam building. “Time to take our minds off exams,” Megan announced, handing
Della a potent cocktail with an exotic name she couldn’t remember.

“And drown them in alcohol?” Della asked.
“Absolutely. Besides, it’s Friday.” Glasses clinked, laughter replaced perplexed regret, and

the stress of exams began to ease as the pub filled up with similarly relieved – or despondent – nurses
and their significant others.

“Where’s your plus one?” Della inquired. “Or, was it too difficult to choose just one?”
“Hah! Like I’m the dating machine around here. How many of those young doctors from

Harvard Children’s Hospital have you been out with now?”

Della set down her glass and swallowed quickly. “They all signed up to the same website, on

the same day!” Della explained defensively. “How was I to know they all work together?” She
paused and her eyes went crossed for a second. “What... is in this thing?” she asked, peering into the
cocktail glass.

“It’s a carefully formulated chemical relaxant called ‘Fuckitol’,” Megan explained. “You’ll

love it.”

Della was helpless with laughter. “Just make sure I don’t have too many, OK?”
“When will I know?” Megan asked
“If I start belly dancing for strange men, that’s a pretty good clue.”
Megan was surprised. “I didn’t know you’ve learned how to belly dance.”
“I don’t,” Della confessed sheepishly. “But they don’t know that.”
“I’ll keep an eye on you.” Megan glanced past Della at the hordes of pretty people loudly

celebrating in the main area of the bar. “Speaking of which, check out the guy in the glasses and blue
shirt, seven o’clock.”

Della glanced at her watch. “Huh? That was an hour ago.”
“How long have you lived here, again?” Megan asked rhetorically. She steered her friend’s

attention in the right direction.

Della immediately returned her eyes to the table and fixed them there, a shocked look on her

face. “Been there,” she said quietly. “Done that.”

Megan burst out laughing. “Going to do that again?”
Della glanced round to make sure she wouldn’t be overheard. “He was... umm...

underwhelming, size-wise,” she said, ashamed at the revelation. “I wouldn’t have minded but he was
tiny... and extremely, erm... over-enthusiastic.”

Megan was helpless for a long moment before Della quizzed her on her own romantic life, for

seemingly the thousandth time. “Tom and I are just friends.”

“Tom and I are just friends,” Della parroted in her lilting accent. “Friends who belong

together. Think about it,” Della urged her. “You love his daughter like your own. He’s wealthy and
not given to jetting off to accumulate more notches on his bedpost,” she said, a little unkindly, Megan
felt. That said, she was inwardly furious with Jake, and saw no reason for that to change; his silence
had continued since Andrea’s disappearance, which she found simply unforgivable. Even if the
thought of his body was enough to...

“And...?” Megan asked. If you give me enough reasons to be with him, I might just agree with

you. That’s a good thing, right?

“And he’s handsome. And rich,” she added. “Not that rich matters,” she quickly added as

Megan began to protest, “but you shouldn’t hold it against him. Plus, didn’t you tell me he’s texted
every day since you went out on that date last weekend?”

Megan nodded. It had become a comforting part of her evening routine, something to which the

ever-observant Erica was very much alive.

“Then he’s probably in love with you.”
Megan nearly spat out her martini. “Slow down there, Della.”
“What? You don’t see that?”
“You’ve never met him!” Megan nearly shouted. “How could you possibly know how he

feels?!”

Della drained her drink, already looking a little glassy. “I know you, and I know men, and if

he’s got a brain cell in his head, he’s passionately in love with you.”

There are things which happen by chance. Then there are remarkable coincidences. And then

there’s Megan’s phone ringing, at that precise moment.

She stared at Della. “Do you have witches in Egypt?”
“Huh?”
Megan answered the call. “Hi, Tom, how are you?” Della’s hands flew up in triumph but

Megan shushed her. “It was fine, really. Nothing unexpected.... Yes, we’re celebrating a bit just now,
as it happens.... Really? Tonight? Well... Sure, I can meet you there.... What time is the... OK... Great,
Tom. Thanks. Bye.”

Della was gesticulating at a waiter who was already completely overwhelmed, and said to

Megan, “Don’t tell me, let me guess. You have to go?”

Megan found some cash in her bag and left it on the table. “Sorry but... erm... yeah. I kinda do.”
“Go get ‘em, cowgirl!” Della said in her best, laughably off-key, Egyptian-Texan accent. Then

she was all business. “Hey! Who does a sexy, single nurse have to screw to get a drink around here?”

***

“You don’t think it was too short? Too much happening in too little time?” Tom asked.
They were relaxing over a drink at one of the few pubs in Boston which wasn’t packed to the

rafters with celebrating students. “Well, when there’s basically only one person in the story, it’s easy
to imagine it slowing down too much.”

Tom nodded thoughtfully. For Megan, it was great to see him so relaxed, only a week after the

crushing anxiety, however brief, of Andrea’s disappearance. Tom was also intensely busy almost
every day of the week, she knew. Megan marvelled that he had found the time to watch a movie with
her, and had shushed his apologies for parting her from her student friends on what was a big night for
them all.

“I liked the slowness, though,” Megan explained. “When Sandra Bullock finally reaches the

space station and takes off the suit, there’s that long scene of just her spinning in zero-g and it looks
like the most complete relief a person could feel.”

Tom mimed the slow rotation with his hands. “I know exactly what you mean,” he said.

“Complete... peace.”

“Very restful,” Megan said, imagining the sensations.
“I’ve thought a thousand times of buying one of those zero-g plane rides, you know the ones?”
Megan giggled. “Isn’t there a good reason they call it the ‘vomit comet’?”
“Sure,” he said, “but I’d still like to give it a try. I think I could manage it if you came with

me.”

Megan’s lips pursed, her head shaking vehemently. “I don’t know what you’d need to pay me to

go on one of those things. I’d be terrified.”

“Of what?” Tom asked.
Megan thought for a moment, sipping her gin and tonic. “Of losing my bearings. No up, no

down. No floor to stand on.”

Tom leaned back, steepled his hands. “That’s what I’d be looking forward to,” he explained.

“All the boundaries would melt away. It would just be me, and the universe.”

Megan nodded reflectively. “That’s pretty deep.”
“You wouldn’t want to feel that way? Liberated from all of this?” he asked, glancing around

the bar.

“I’m happy to achieve liberation in more traditional ways,” Megan replied, clinking her glass

against his pint of Sam Adams.

Tom noticed it was nearly empty. “Can I offer you a refill?” he asked, standing.
“That would be most kind.”
Tom grinned and headed to the bar. Of the many things to admire about Megan, he let himself

think as he waited, her peaceable, gentle manner was high on his personal list. He’d scarcely ever
seen her become ruffled or upset by something inconsequential. Such level-headedness was prized in
business, but Tom found that he gravitated towards just such people in his personal life, too. Mary, he
remembered fondly, was not one for yelling or losing her temper; she had taught him equanimity, that
special and hard-won ability to ‘keep your head while all around are losing theirs,” as Kipling put it.

Alone at the table, Megan checked her phone and replied to the most recent of three texts from

Erica asking how the ‘date’ was going.

Saw ‘Gravity’ and loved it. At the pub. Won’t be late.
She barely had time to spot Tom waiting for his new pint to be poured at the bar before Erica’s

reply came in.

Awesome! Wouldn’t it be great to be stuck in space with Tom? All that time and nothing to

do...

Megan rolled her eyes and fired back a quick reply.
I’d spend it figuring out how to persuade you to give me a friggin’ break!
“There you go,” Tom said, setting down her glass and taking a seat. “You know, there was one

thing I didn’t find convincing about Gravity.”

Megan had expected this. “I know, I know, someone said the orbits were wrong, or whatever,

and you’re a space nerd. You were always bound to notice things like that.”

Tom sipped from his pint and shook his head. “No, I ignored that stuff. It was convincing

enough, and that’s more than you normally get from Hollywood.”

“So, what then?”
“When she decided to vent all the air and commit suicide. I just didn’t get it. Why not wait until

she might be rescued?”

“I guess she’d given up,” Megan reasoned. “Wouldn’t you?”
“I would not,” he said flatly. “There’s always a way. You never know how things are going to

turn out.”

Suddenly, Megan realized that Tom might not have been talking about the film. “True,” she said

cautiously.

“Do you think it was just her fear of being alone up there?” Tom asked. His warm, interesting,

brown eyes met Megan’s in a steady, soft gaze.

“No-one wants to feel cut off, separated from humanity,” she shrugged. ”It’s in our nature.”
It was a simple statement but Tom’s line of thought seemed to go deeper. “We all fear being

alone,” he continued. “It goes against our genetics, our culture.” And then, cryptically, he said,
“We’re made to be together.”

Megan’s heart leaped high in her chest. Did he just say...?
“I mean, humans...” he said, clarifying his thoughts with a ready smile. “Humans are meant to

be in groups, in families. In couples, sure. Without them we’re lost.”

Tread carefully, Megan. There’s a lot of hurt – a whole ocean of it – behind these words. She

let the silence last longer than she would have with anyone else. Then, she matched his smile and,
almost afraid to meet his eyes with hers, said, “Tom, is this your way of pitying me because of how
much it sucks to be single?”

Tom laughed easily, dispelling the heaviness which had briefly settled over them both. “Well,

doesn’t it?”

Megan sipped gin as she answered. “Mmm hm.”
“That’s what I can’t believe,” Tom said. “All those nice young doctors and nurses, and none of

them worth dating?”

“Oh, God,” Megan said, her annoyance merely a pretence. “Now you’re beginning to sound

like Della, and Erica and... Oh, just about everyone I know.”

“Maybe they’re right,” Tom argued.
“They might be right,” Megan conceded, “but what about Mister Right?”
He laughed, but deep down, Tom felt an unpleasant jolt, as if rejected from the pool of men

who might, one day, share Megan’s life. The more time they spent together, he didn’t mind admitting
to himself, the more he saw what had been in front of him – of them both – for many months now.

He had loved Mary with all his heart and soul, both of which had needed a great deal of time to

repair after the brutal pain of her passing. It had been so sudden and so crushingly unfair, coming
close to robbing him of his faith in the goodness of the world. That, too, would return in time, and all
the quicker with a compassionate, loving guide with whom he could share the journey.

Tom saw that Megan was finishing her drink. “Hey,” he offered, determined to keep the mood

light. “What do you say we grab a coffee at my place?”

“Sure,” Megan replied brightly. “But no more talk about my pathetic love life, OK?
“I promise,” Tom said, hand on heart.
“You said that once before, and yet, within minutes, you were making me set up a match.com

profile, as I remember.”

“Just looking out for you,” Tom smiled down at her as he held the door open.
Just like you always have, for Andrea. And for me.

***

The town car Tom ordered took them through an unusually crowded and boisterous Kenmore

Square, where students had virtually taken over, roaming in cheering bands and delaying traffic. Once
they were through the square, Beacon Street was clearer and within a few minutes, they were at
Tom’s house in the plush, green neighborhood of Brookline.

“I’d love to live around here,” Megan commented enviously. “Maybe once I land the perfect

job.”

Tom found his keys and let them both in. The house, set back from a quiet street by a small but

expertly kept garden and swooping driveway, was a late 19th-century family home, arguably far too
large for just Tom and Andrea. Broad windows let in plenty of light, while the generous downstairs
rooms included a large dining room where Andrea’s piano occupied much of one wall. There were
paintings – nothing Megan recognized, but certainly nothing cheap, either – and a beautiful portrait of
Mary, just off center, above the piano. Her kind eyes and almost alabaster complexion gave the room
a serenity, but also an unavoidable sadness. Twenty-nine, Megan thought sadly. Another reminder to
live every day as though it’s your last.

“I couldn’t even guess,” Tom was saying. “We bought the place in an estate sale after an

elderly woman had lived here on her own for nearly forty years.”

Megan was surprised. “All of this, for one person? Sounds unbelievably lonely.”
There was a voice from the top of the stairs. “Mr. McMahon?”
“Hey, Sophia. Everything OK?”
Andrea’s regular sitter – she rejected absolutely the notion of a ‘baby’ sitter – was a plump,

pleasant exchange student from Ecuador. “Yes, Mr. McMahon. She’s sleeping. I read her the story
about the dragon again. She loves that one.”

Megan knew the one, and smiled at the memory of Andrea playing the parts both of the

imperilled princess, and of the handsome young knight slays the giant creature before it had the
chance to incinerate his beloved.

“Thanks, Sophia. You can go, if you’re ready. Here,” he said, paying cash for her evening’s

work.

“Thank you, Sir,” she said politely. “Oh, hello Megan.”
“Good to see you, Sophia. Thanks for looking after her tonight.”
Megan walked her out while Tom found coffee in the kitchen and began working on the

espresso machine. “It is a big place, just for us,” Tom agreed. “I had the same thought, when Mary
died. It was strange. Time and again, I heard people using the same funny expression, telling me they
hated the thought of me ‘rattling around’ in this big, old place, all on my own. I tried to tell them that I
have Andrea, but I guess they were thinking further down the line.”

Tom wasn’t yet thirty-five, and even in the months after Mary’s death, with friends and

neighbors doing their best to tread carefully, there had been the natural assumption that he would re-
marry at some point.

“You’ll always have her,” Megan assured him. “I’ve never seen a closer family.”
Tom prompted an impressive gush of steam from the espresso maker. “That reminds me.

How’s your Dad doing?”

Megan sighed. “There are good days and bad days. Last time I called was a bad day. I’ve

offered to go out there and stay with him, but he says that having Harriet there is ‘trouble enough for

one old man’.”

“How old is he now? Not yet sixty, right?”
Megan’s sister had promised to take care of their father as he continued his slide into dementia.

‘Early onset senility’ was one of the terms for it, an especially cruel fate for a man so sharp and
active in his prime; no sooner had he retired to the more comfortable climate in California, it seemed,
than the first signs had become obvious. “Fifty-eight, next birthday,” Megan confirmed. “He’s
adamant that I stay over here and get along in my nursing career. I just hope he recognizes me when
next I go to Oakland and see them all.”

Tom handed her a fine china cup half-filled with an expertly-produced espresso, and gestured

her through to the living room. “You know, Megan, there’s some amazing work going on now with
Alzheimer’s and the other degenerative ailments. I’m no expert, but I’m in touch with some people...”

“Thanks, Tom,” Megan said genuinely. “Harriet’s been unstoppable in chasing down every

researcher, every lead or drug trial or alternative treatment. She’s got him doing puzzles, taking some
Chinese herbal preparation, you name it.”

“Don’t give up hope,” he cautioned, his hand on her knee, warm through her skinny jeans.

“With Mary, there was never going to be time, but your Dad has years for something to be
discovered.”

Megan took a deep breath and nodded, calmed by Tom’s soft, caring touch. “They always told

me I was an optimist, you know, those personality tests?”

Tom nodded. “And I was always the ‘logical-spatial-kinetic’ type, whatever the hell that

meant. It’s a good thing to hold on to, you know. Optimism. A cheery view of the world, despite it
all.”

Strong coffee and a change of subject brightened their mood. “So,” Megan asked, “it’s not you

who’s going into space, but some invention of yours?”

Tom brightened immediately, his inner geek bubbling to the surface at the least provocation.

“OK. Remember in the movie when the solar panels on the space station get hit, they just shatter into a
billion pieces?”

“Yeah. Looked absolutely lethal.”
“They are,” he confirmed. “Any collision or fracturing and they would become a cloud of

razor-sharp fragments traveling at seventeen thousand miles an hour.”

“Bad news.”
“So, NASA decided that they never wanted to risk an astronaut in a space suit for a repair.

Instead, they asked us to build a robot which would carry out the work, all on its own, with no risk to
the crew.”

“Fascinating. Can a robot really be that independent?”
“With the right software, sure,” Tom assured her, and went into the specifics just enough to

stay clear of impenetrable technicalities.

“When my engineers first drafted their design,” he explained, quickly picking up where they’d

left off, “it looked like a Roomba or something from a high school science project.”

Megan laughed lightly, taking a seat next to him. “Was the second draft any better?”
“No, not at all. But the fifth and sixth were pretty good. It’s an exhausting process,” Tom

confided. “Plus, no-one’s ever designed a machine for cleaning in space.”

“You’re kidding,” Megan said. “How does something in space get dirty?”
Tom’s hand went to her knee as if to help correct her misunderstanding. “Not dirty,” he

explained carefully, “dusty”.

“I see.”
Tom was thoroughly in his element now. “There’s dust everywhere,” he said. “If the panels get

coated with it, their efficiency drops and that’s when we need the little cleaning robot to come out of
its bay,” he said, gentle fingers on Megan’s thigh mapping the machine’s movements, “and slide along
the solar array, vacuuming up all the dust.” By the time his demonstration was finished, his fingertips
were doing a pretty good impression of stroking Megan’s upper thigh.

The combination of Tom’s factual science and his slow, arousing thigh massage was almost too

much to bear, but Megan decided to play along. It’s even sexier if we don’t talk about it, she thought
to herself. Her mouth went dry. In complete contrast to the sensation she was beginning to feel
between her legs.

“So, how long are these arrays? They looked huge in the movie.” Their coffees sat, forgotten,

on the table.

Tom nodded, his fingers drawing slowly outward from the center of Megan’s thigh. “The main

modules are all in the center here, and the arrays are in sets which radiate outward.” Pairs of fingers
traced out towards her knee. “On both sides of the station.” Tom returned to the center and then drew
the arrays, in sequence, first those nearest him, which finished at Megan’s hip bone, and then those
further away. Closer to her growing warmth.

There was a plaintive wail from upstairs. Tom had covered the dozen steps before Megan even

realized he had moved. She followed, and saw Tom cradling his daughter, her face twisted with the
pain of her latest nightmare.

“Only a dream, sport,” Tom found himself saying, again and again. “You want to come for a

ride with Megan and me? Just to her place, and back?”

It was a hastily conceived distraction but it seemed to do the trick. Strapped into the back seat,

Andrea had Boston’s night-time lights and traffic to occupy her, staring out of the windows as if
driving through a movie version of their town. Megan frequently glanced back to check she was OK.

“Erica’s got drinks on standby,” she said, putting away her phone. “I’ve still got enough energy

to celebrate Finals Friday a little while longer.”

“You’ve earned it,” Tom offered. “Have yourself a great time, and... Well, I’d like to do this

again soon,” Tom said. “If you’d like to?”

Megan could think of nothing else in the world she wanted more. Since settling into the

passenger seat of Tom’s comfortable Mercedes, she had let her mind wander into the territory of what
might have been, had Andrea not woken up. Or if they had been at her place. Alone. They were
exciting, reckless, almost forbidden thoughts, and all the more enticing for it. What’s going on? I
spent all this time thinking nothing would ever happen between Tom and I, and now I’m not
resisting when it is starting to happen?

“Tomorrow night?” Megan asked, feeling brazen.
Tom smiled, glanced around, checking his mental calendar. “You know, that might work quite

well.”

“An early bite?” Megan offered.
“Perfect. I’ll let Sophia know.” The Mercedes pulled up outside Megan’s place and she leaned

over to kiss Tom’s cheek. He turned, letting his face press gently against hers for a precious moment.

“Tomorrow, then?” Tom nodded and Megan glanced to the back seat. “Goodnight, munchkin,”

she said, but Andrea was fast asleep.

The scheming, needy part of her brain lit up. Andrea won’t see, if you kiss him again. Why

not?

But her hand was already opening the door. Go back, and kiss that gorgeous man. Her legs

swung out of the car. What are you doing? But she was already waving from the door and on her way
upstairs.

The rest of the evening was divided between drinking to celebrate the end of her exams and

repeatedly pushing Erica away from her favorite subject: Megan’s love life. By midnight she found
herself tired but sleepless, laying in the dark. Her thoughts wouldn’t obey her tired mind, only her
restless body, journeying solely where her arousal directed them.

She found herself thinking back to Tom’s hand on her jeans, to what might have happened

without the interruption. She slid her hand down to her thigh to mimic the feel of Tom touching her,
and then her fingers became his, rising steadily, as if Tom had kept going. In her mind, Tom’s hand
moved higher, his fingers beginning to slide back and forth between her legs as he leaned in for a
kiss.

Megan’s bed became a warm, secret theater where she enjoyed a slowly built, slick-fingered

fantasy of what might have been.

Or what might be. Tomorrow night.

***

It had been an easy decision to have coffee at Megan’s place, rather than at the restaurant,

excellent though it would probably have been. Famed for its ribs and steaks, Garrison’s was on its
way to becoming a Boston landmark, and had been extremely full. Both Megan and Tom quickly
craved quiet where they might talk without raised voices. And flirt without raising eyebrows, Megan
mused.

On the drive back to her place, Megan found herself replaying once more the final, skin-

tingling moments from last night’s flirtation. Daydreaming felt awkward while Tom sat right there,
although, glancing over, she saw that his right thumb had started absently running back and forth over
the supple leather of the steering wheel.

Are you thinking about what I’m thinking about? I sure hope you are...
She broke the silence with a hurriedly formed question. “So, last night you were telling me

about your... space vacuum cleaner?” she asked, searching for the right word. “How is that coming
along?”

Tom changed lanes to avoid an uncertain cabbie and relaxed, enthused into his favorite subject.

Megan was happy to let him chatter all the way back to her apartment and while they climbed the
stairs together; he was a good guide for the uninitiated, and Megan found herself learning a lot about
the challenges Tom faced as an engineer and designer.

The place was lit but empty. Good girl, Erica. There’s a lady who knows the right moments to

make herself scarce.

Megan hung her jacket on the back of the door and headed to the kitchen to make coffee, a

simple but delicious French press version, rather than Tom’s sophisticated home-made espresso. The
place was immaculate, she saw, adding to her list another winning aspect to having Erica as a
housemate; at least she needn’t worry that Tom, taking a moment in the bathroom, would see
embarrassing, girly debris. Megan’s heart warmed at Erica’s unselfish compassion; the dizzy girl had
tidied the place until it was barely recognizable as somewhere they both lived. Even the cushions
were straightened.

The water came close to a boil. In the living room, she could hear Tom checking in with

Sophia. She stepped towards the door with quiet footsteps, but could only hear fragments. Then...

Did he just tell her he’d be ‘very late’? Oh, Tom. Oh, God... Just breathe, Megan. In and out...

Wait, how late is ‘very late’? Maybe don’t over think this right now... But that’s how I always do it!
Does he mean 11:30 or 5am?

Either subconsciously or otherwise, Megan found her fingers undoing the next button of her

blouse. Glancing down, she saw that her short, tight, black skirt already sent the message she wanted
to convey. Beneath were her black, lacey panties.

Hopefully not for long.
OK, he’s off the phone. Get in there and seduce him. He wants you. Just don’t screw it up.
Bringing two cups through, she beckoned Tom to take a seat on their couch and then sat next to

him, close enough so that their knees touched. Tom finished mapping out the little robot’s path on the
coffee table’s glass surface.

“Why do the solar arrays have to be so long?” Megan asked, her voice beginning to tighten a

little.

Tom turned to her and drew the ISS outline once more on her knee. “Well, the ISS experiments

consume a lot of power,” he answered, “and then there’s air conditioning and heating and all kinds of
stuff.”

This was exactly where her fantasy had begun, last night, she noted with a flutter in her chest.

That gentle, warm hand on her knee. Only, in her midnight daydream, as she had accepted the
inevitable and slipped off her sodden panties, his hand had not stayed still for long. And tonight, there
was no denim barrier between his fingers and her smooth, sensitive skin.

“So, how is your little robot going to get up there?” she asked, her voice beginning to tighten.
Tom smiled and, somewhat to Megan’s disappointment, brought both hands into mid-air to

show her something new. Her aroused, bare skin immediately missed his touch and she willed his
hand to return. He mimicked a rocket taking off, complete with lift-off noises, bringing a giggle from
Megan. Then he returned to her leg and began to describe the orbits of the ISS and the arriving rocket,
using two circulating fingertips on her skin which eventually came together for the final docking
procedure.

Megan was finding if gradually more difficult to control her breathing, and had to suppress a

gasp as she glanced over and noticed a definite bulge in Tom’s pants. Hmmm, that wasn’t there
before...

Tom continued to describe the mission, somehow working a continued stroking of Megan’s

thigh into his narrative. Finally, one of his fingers slide beneath the edge of her skirt and Megan
gasped out loud. His hand went still but did not retreat, and his eyes drifted to hers. Megan noticed,
for the first time, nervousness and uncertainty on his handsome face.

“Megan, I...” He seemed unable to finish the sentence.
“I know, Tom... Me too.” She lifted a hand to stroke the side of his face.
“Are you sure? This will change everything.”
“I’m starting to think,” she said, “that change is a good thing. And, for you and me, it’s a very

good thing.”

Tom drew her head towards him and kissed her gently on the lips. Their kisses quickly became

deeper and more intimate as they overcame their collective shyness.

“Oh, Tom.” Their lips met again, simple, slow kisses which grew longer, a little deeper,

becoming a sensual, drawn-out union. And then, not too soon, growing more confident, Megan’s
mouth opened around Tom’s, encouraging him to become bolder.

The first warm meeting of their tongues was an electric contact, Megan slid her tongue over his

and let his hand complete its journey under her skirt, cupping her moistness and pressing lightly with
the heel of his hand. She gave a little start, her body almost unready for the contact but then relaxed
into a soft grinding motion against his hand. Their kiss broke with a sharp gasp.

“Megan...Let’s...”
“Yeah...”
“Bed.” It wasn’t a question. Quivering legs brought her to the doorway, Tom’s hand in hers,

Megan’s body tingling as though carrying a pulsing, erotic current.

She half-pushed, half-pulled him to the edge of her queen bed, its fresh, light-blue sheets fresh

from the wash. As he sat, she brought his hands to her blouse buttons and gave him a sexy,
encouraging smile. Each movement revealed more of her smooth, pale stomach. When they were all
loose, she slowly eased her blouse onto her shoulders, opening it for him.

Tom’s gaze followed her navel up to the line of her bra. He found the catch and it unsnapped

easily, falling forward. Megan shed her blouse, letting it slip down her back and onto the floor, her
bra following. No words were needed; she trusted Tom’s mouth to know where to pleasure her.

She embraced him, offering her breasts to him. It was the first contact which made her shudder,

almost uncontrolled, a jolt of pleasure from such a simple kiss, but it was his mouth gently enveloping
her nipple which made her tense up, surprised. Below, Megan felt the certain beginnings of what she
would later remember as an unceasing, sweeping orgasm which would last as long as their first sex.

Fingers in his hair, she let him suck, and release, and lick, and then suck deeply, almost too

much. The sight of his mouth on her, a red and swollen nipple being teased by his tongue, could have
made her laugh, or cry, or gasp in pleasure, but it was an open-mouthed sigh of pleasure which Tom
heard. No sound in his life had made him as hard and ready as the sound of Megan’s body responding
to him.

The soft, exploring kisses from the sofa had passed, replaced by a hungrier, needier, deeper

connection. His fingertips exploring between her legs brought more gasps, and then Megan could no
longer hold back from unbuttoning his pants. He stood to let her, and there, on her knees, she took in
the sight of his hardness, unveiled and strong. She gave him a long like, up his warm underside, then
moved onto his balls and took his hardness in a tentative, gentle hand.

She wanted to watch. She breathed warm, humid air on his cock, his tip unhooded now, as she

slipped him back and forth, a dozen, slow strokes, and then a little faster. Tom sighed deeply, let her
explore him, let her push him back, strip him off, lay between his legs, all the while her gentle hand
pleasing him.

Then Megan’s mouth was on him. Around him. Letting him push inside.
She wanted to feel every inch of him, and for every inch of him to feel her mouth. His orgasm

was not her goal yet. Her sucking was slow, his cock passing only slightly inside her mouth, her
tongue teasing his tip with little flickers which melted into long tongue-strokes, covering his entire
length. When his cock did slip deeper into her mouth, she simply held him there, letting him feel her
lips around his base, her tongue on his shaft. Released, his cock was wet, and harder than he thought
possible.

A soft hand returned to stroke him. Megan looked up and watched him pull his shirt off, and

then she responded to his beckoning hand. She slid along his body, her breasts pressing against his
legs, his balls, slowing graze her nipples along his cock. Tom drew her up and quick hands unzipped
her skirt and slipped it off. He rolled her quickly onto her back, loving her schoolgirl giggles,
relishing the chance finally to reveal everything. Megan’s skirt joined the scattering of clothes on the

floor. Only then, for the first time, was she shy, covering her panties with her hands with a modesty
which Tom found so much sexier than the simple discarding of her underwear he had planned.

Then, Megan’s fingers began circling her clit and, in an instant, her shyness metamorphosed

into a yet greater arousal. She was pressing the black fabric into her lips, daring him to intrude, to
disturb her display. Instead of her pussy, she showed him her arousal, her willingness to be wet and
open for him, a willingness still hidden but all the more transparent for it. When his hands joined
hers, mimicking her rhythm, she found them relenting their hold, slipping out from under his, allowing
him to press and circle as she had done.

Then he simply had to see her. Tugging downward, Tom found no resistance now. Her dark

triangle was exposed, and then the pink lips which hid within, all coated with an excitement which
had been building since before the restaurant, before Tom told Sophia he’d be late, before seeing and
kissing and sucking him, and which now soaked her panties and her inner thighs. Tom held the skimpy
fabric to his nose and inhaled deeply. As he did so, Megan slid up the bed, arranged pillows behind
her and slowly, with the sexiest smile, opened her legs to show Tom her pussy.

Incapable of words, Tom kissed his way up Megan’s legs with a warm thoroughness which

contrasted his urgent impulse to ravage her with his mouth. By the time he was kissing her inner thigh,
Megan’s pussy juice was leaving smears of her excitement on the sheets every time she moved, and
she moved often, directing her pussy toward Tom’s mouth, desperate to feel him.

He looked up and saw a picture of such lust that he nearly skipped the coming feast and

mounted her, there and then. Barely under control, he submitted to providing the kiss Megan was
dying to feel. Tom placed slow kisses on Megan’s outer lips and then, unable to stop himself, opened
her lips with his fingers and slid them deep inside her pussy as his mouth returned to her clit.

She came in a long, wet sequence, pleasure upon pleasure, heightening as Tom approached and

then devoured the swollen, red nub of her clit. Megan gave full voice to the sensations; she had no
choice. As Tom’s fingers found her deep, aching center, she let go completely. Megan uttered an
amazed, rising wail as she allowed her cum to flow free, her swollen lips newly deluged. Tom
withdrew his fingers, their goal wonderfully accomplished, but kissed and licked Megan’s throbbing
little clit as her soaking climax began to pass, moving down to her lips, and to her sodden entrance.
Then Tom kissed her ass, the smaller opening equally welcoming of his tongue.

While she regained her breath, Tom focused his kisses there, at her hidden entrance, the

sensations to new, and so arousing, that Megan was able to cum again quickly, only slowly emerging
from under the pillow which had stifled her cries of joy. Her ecstasy, given voice without reluctance
or fear now, added to his already painful hardness, which he slowly stroked, careful not to encourage
too far the huge orgasm which lay, always, just under the surface.

Megan breathed deeply, shifting down the bed and lifting her hips to his mouth, opening herself

to these intensely personal kisses, the first her sensitive and more hidden entrance had ever felt. As
her body relaxed, Tom kissed higher once more, returning to lick her swollen, dripping pussy lips
with soft, broad strokes of his tongue.

Megan reached for a towel on the bedside table, thoughtfully prepared for just this reason, a

longed-for eventuality Megan had predicted even last night, as she lay in her wet fantasy of Tom. As
she dried her inner thighs, Tom sat back on his haunches to watch, thrilled at the pleasure he had
given her but still short of the completion his ceaseless erection demanded. Megan slid the towel
under her and took Tom’s hand, pulling him to her and wrapping her legs around his. They would
need no hands, no guidance. Tom’s hardness sought out the center of her wetness, found it easily, and
he pushed inside her as fully and deeply as he could.

“Oh, God...” she cried out loudly. His generous cock filled her completely, sliding in almost to

the point of pain but all the more pleasurable for it.

Tom took her slowly, breathing deep, his own pleasure likely to peak before hers, he knew.

Under him, Megan’s soaking pussy enveloped and massaged his cock, her tongue mimicking his
thrusts, meeting his, sliding past, their mouths locking together as if dependent on each other. A deep,
hard push inside her brought a sharp cry; Tom feared having given her too much and began to pull out,
but she gripped his biceps firmly, her fingernails indenting his skin, pulling him towards her. He
repeated the full, firm thrust and her body seemed to open, to welcome this stronger sex.

From there they built quickly, necessarily, from their initial gentle lovemaking to a harder,

more intense embrace. The word presented itself to Megan, suffused in a cloud of passion and desire.

Fucking.
Her pussy sucked Tom’s penis deep, telling him it was OK, telling him just to do it. Breathing

too hard for kissing now, Tom held her tight and drove deep, again and again, his cock repeatedly
engulfed by Megan’s perfect, soaking pussy.

Fucking... Tom’s fucking me.
Wetness soaked the towel beneath them, ignored. She cried out as Tom’s mouth found her

nipple for a moment and it was almost too much.

Tell him. Let him hear it. Make him come with just those two words.
She stroked his hair and brought his eyes to hers. “Fuck me, Tom.”
“Oh, baby...”
She held his gaze. “Do it... Fuck me hard.”
“Megan, I can’t hold it...”
She licked his mouth. “Don’t hold it. I want it.”
“Oh God, here... here it comes...”
His cock was flashing in and out of her now, his full length withdrawing and plunging in again

with each hard, deep stroke, and Tom did then what he simply had to, what Megan most desired, what
his whole body ached for.

“Yes... Yes... Now, baby...”
Megan’s walls squeezed Tom’s cock as he began to let go. She came, spasming almost

painfully as her lover approached his peak, and then opened her body for him, to let Tom come,
feeling his final strong thrusts deep inside her. His orgasm arrived as the first of many jolts, so strong
that Megan felt every one, her muscles tightening with each waves of cum that flowed into her pussy.
As he climaxed, she felt her entire body tingling with pleasure and let out a long, loud sigh born of the
overwhelming ecstasy she was feeling.

Her man, laying amazed on top of her, his cum overflowing at once, slowed his strokes as the

intensity melted away. His mouth met hers. His warmth flooded her.

She found, as she opened her eyes, that he was smiling down at her. She kissed him, over and

over, and it became a long, sensual kiss which could have lasted all night, so little did either feel like
pausing. It was only the lake which was gathering under her ass which prompted Megan to gently
nudge him aside.

“Wow.” Tom stared down at the towel and soaked sheets below, stunned. It was as if a full

glass of water had been spilled.

Megan grabbed the towel and tended to her soaked thighs. “I should have warned you.”
He caught the thrown towel and dried her wetness off his own body. “No, it’s great... I’ve

found my very own sexual fountain.” Tom’s chuckling continued even after he was shooed off the bed

so that Megan could lay out new sheets.

“Very funny. Really.” No point in being embarrassed, Megan reminded herself. It just shows

him what a great fuck he was.

Tom stopped her, grabbing the sheets away, and slid an arm around her, pulling her close, their

naked bodies pressing together. He kissed Megan’s mouth and face and shoulders before helping her
straighten the bed up. Megan pulled the new top sheet around them both as Tom drew her to him again
and cuddled her, his hands wandering over her ass.

“Oh, wait.” Megan hopped up quickly, pulled simple white panties from her underwear

drawer, and returned to Tom.

“Awww. Why?” he asked. “Don’t tell me you’re feeling self-conscious now.”
Megan gave him a look as she pulled them on. “Because, darling,” she explained with a mildly

sarcastic tone, “for some reason, there’s this huge amount of your cum inside me.” Tom nodded,
grinning ruefully. “I don’t want to mess up these new sheets,” she said, climbing back into bed.

“Not yet, anyway,” Tom offered.
She kissed him. “Yeah, not yet.”
“I hope you’ve got plenty of spares.”
“Lots.”
“Good.”
They kissed slowly, staring into each other’s eyes in an intense, silent intimacy. “Are you

OK?” he whispered.

More kisses were her first reply. Then, “I genuinely believe I’ve never been more OK than

right now.”

“Do you need to sleep?” Tom asked.
She gave him a beautiful smile. “No... Do you?”
“Sleep,” he announced quietly, “is not what I need right now.”
Megan played along. “Hungry?”
Tom shrugged. “Not really.”
She tried again. “Need the bathroom?”
“Not urgently.”
She raised herself onto one elbow and leaned in to him, brushing his lips against her ear.
One more try. “Need to fuck me again?” she whispered.
Then he was on top of her, kissing her deeply as her legs opened to warmly embrace him,

welcoming him between them, melting into the world of sex.

***

It took her a moment to define the feeling which came over her the moment she woke up.
It was a lightness, as if her heart had been swept by a refreshing breeze and opened, anew.

There was a smile, out of nowhere. Just because. And then there was a deep, satisfied glow, down
beneath her navel. It was a warm, curious feeling, a little as if someone had helpfully scratched an
itch she’d been unable to reach. As if the need inside her – one she knew now as a powerful urge, for
too long unaddressed – had been met. And in the most wonderful way possible.

Tom had stayed until nearly 3am. He hadn’t planned on it, but Erica’s post-midnight text had

reassured them that her housemate would, herself, be enjoying some intimacy this evening and would
not be back until morning. Megan hoped Erica had had as much fun as she had found with Tom, but

was sceptical; doubtless, Erica would tell her all about it, and soon.

Just so you don’t expect all of my juicy details in return. Besides, I don’t know if I could put

last night into words. Certainly not yet.

A yellow post-it note was attached to her alarm clock. “Send sexy breakfast text”. Megan

reached for her phone with an irrepressible, naughty giggle.

Morning, Major Tom. Pleased to report all docking tests successfully completed. Results

exceeded expectations. Requesting status of your rocket and ETA of next docking.

Piled in the corner, Megan noted sheepishly, were the two sets of bedsheets they had been

obliged to discard during last night’s soaking wet love sessions. Tom had teased about it, but only a
little and, as they lay together, had confessed that he loved her scent. Besides, they would never be
short of lubricant, which was no bad thing.

Her phone beeped and Megan slid back under the covers to read Tom’s reply:
Good morning, mission control. Rocket status is ‘Go’, especially when receiving such positive

reports on the docking tests. Rocket is ready for immediate lift-off, although the testing schedule
necessitates a delay until tomorrow night. Confirm?

Megan’s smile became yet sultrier as she imagined his firm, beautiful rocket, ‘ready for

immediate lift-off’.

Megan toyed with the idea of a selfie, but settled for a reply text intended to keep Tom hard all

morning:

We both know it will be worth waiting for. But, right now, I can’t wait... Requesting

permission for solo, manual docking.

She could imagine his laughter, the head-shaking disbelief of having finally experienced each

other on this new level, a move which could have been anticipated but which seemed also so
unlikely.

Permission granted.
Megan only had time to arrange her pillows and slip off her panties before another text arrived:
Oh, to hell with the rocketry talk... I want you to touch your gorgeous pussy for me, baby. Make

yourself cum.

“Well, if you insist,” Megan purred, fingers finding her already moistened outer lips. One-

handed, she typed:

Want to join me?
Megan pictured him deciding how to respond. It was a Sunday morning, so there was no need

to rush to work, or even to wake Megan until much later...

Mmmm yes... I’m just in bed, relaxing... Naked... Let’s cum together, Megan. Like last night.
Both of the drawn-out encounters they had shared had ended in huge, mutual orgasms. It was a

sign both of their sensitivity to each other – to her tensing muscles around him, to his throbbing and
pulsing cock responding to her, to her rising, gasping cries – and of their desire to please one another.
Megan lost count of the number of times Tom brought her to a moaning peak of gushing pleasure.
Between their first sex session and their second, they made out so intimately, hungry for each other.
Megan believed it would stay etched in her memory as the most wonderful sensations of her life.

Wish you were inside me again... Wish you could have stayed and you were waking up with

me now... Mmm don’t wait baby... I’m not going to...

Tom was in no mood to delay, his arousal doubled by the knowledge of Megan’s own. She

found a good rhythm, using both hands to allow fingers inside and on her clit, both. In her mind, he
was not a text away, but right there, inside her, pushing her to yet another toe-curling climax.

Tom needed only to bring to mind the image of her going down on him, and his excitement

rushed to the surface in thick, wet spurts.

Perfect way to start the day
Megan smiled and reached for her towel before replying.
We should start *every* day this way.
Tom was washing his hands and face, catching his own eye in the mirror and reveling in his

own ready, genuine smile.

Suits me, lover. Text me later?
Megan headed for the shower, relieved that her bedsheets had survived this smaller, though no

less pleasurable, episode. Best excuse for fresh sheets I’ve ever heard of.

Depend on it, Major Tom. Over and out.

***

“OK, just calm the fuck down.”
“Why should I?” Erica’s giddy delirium had bubbled to the surface even before Megan had

shyly confessed to last night’s liaison. Her own date had gone far better than expected, and her
partner had proved himself both a sensitive – and a remarkably muscular – lover, something to which
Erica’s long-deprived body had responded with gusto.

“Just take it easy. We don’t even really know what’s going on.” Megan sat on the sofa, the

picture of relaxed contentment amid Erica’s hysterical glee.

“Really? You don’t?”
“It was only our first time. It’s complicated, you know, his wife and Andrea and that

goddamned brother of his...”

“Screw him!”
“Been there, done that,” Megan muttered.
“I mean, forget about him! This,” she repeated the word for emphasis, “this was the right

choice. Not the playboy jet-setter. The dependable father. Kind, considerate.” She paused for a
moment. “Hung like a stallion.”

“Erica!” Megan barked in admonition. “I’m not discussing that with you, OK? I don’t mind

hearing about Mr. Muscles and his Shining Sword of Victory, but Tom and I have something different.
It’s... well, I think it might be really special.”

“Why do you think I’m jumping around like a lunatic?!” Erica asked. “I know!”
“Well,” Megan offered, “I think you’re jumping around because you got jumped last night, and

loved it.”

“Damn straight.” She grinned, stretched up to the ceiling, touched her toes, and took a seat next

to Megan, arm in arm on the sofa. “The kind of guy who...”

“If you were me,” Megan interjected, “would you want to hear the end of this sentence?”
“Who...” Erica insisted, pushing on, “can just keep... on... going...” Erica’s hips re-lived the

scene, her face a tiny review of last night’s unbridled fun. “Did Tom last a nice long time, too?”

Megan swatted her away. “No way, you minx. I believe I’ve made myself clear on this.”
“Aww,” Erica protested like a spoiled child. “Just a little peek? How else do I know you’re

not making it up.”

It came out before Megan’s mental filter had the chance to censor it. “The laundry’s a pretty

good barometer.” Oh, for fuck’s sake, Megan.

Erica was a shuddering, giggling mess for a long time. Enjoy, housemate of mine. Enjoy.
The rest of the day was spent catching up on a long-ignored and embarrassingly full Inbox.

Megan found new impetus, a new reason to share her life with people. She updated Facebook and
emailed five different relatives and friends, all without mentioning Tom explicitly, but all expressed
in such a cheerful, carefree tone that those who knew her well could be sure that she had found
someone new.

***

Soon enough, they both knew, people would find out, either on their own, or because Megan or

Tom would simply need to tell them. What to tell Andrea...? Well, that was one of the tough
questions. Neither wanted to bring scary change into her life, and Tom hated any notion that Andrea
might see Megan as trying to ‘replace’ her mother. They began to discuss whether or not to tell her
during their very first week together. So far, they concluded, there wasn’t enough reason to bring up
something so unpredictable and potentially unnerving. But if the weeks became months, they would
certainly need to tell her.

It became something so routine that Andrea accepted seeing Megan a lot more in the evening at

their house. Tom had made Megan promise to keep the noise to an absolute minimum, except on those
rare occasions when Andrea was at a friend’s house; then they could fuck as recklessly as they both
wanted to, and it never failed to revitalize Tom’s hardness when Megan moaned and gasped while
touching herself for him, between bouts of sex.

Both knew that this was more than a sexual partnership. As the weeks progressed, it became

very much more, a relationship with a good foundation, a lot of shared experience – both highs and
lows – and a sharing of their lives which felt more natural by the day. As their one-month anniversary
approached, Tom flirted briefly with the idea of offering Megan an engagement ring, but put the notion
aside; there was no need to rush, and what more public an announcement of their being together could
there be?

No, something quieter and more discrete was in order, and Tom chose the end of their

‘anniversary’ dinner to make his own statement. As dessert was cleared away and Tom’s heart
bounced with anticipation and nervousness, he handed Megan a rectangular gift box. Megan
tentatively opened it, and the expression on her face made Tom happier than anything had, in a long
while.

“Jesus,” Megan exclaimed. “Fifteen years does change a few things.” Tom had given her a

framed photo of their high school class, back in 11

th

grade. Megan had forgotten the day, but was

delighted to see Tom standing right next to her, there in the middle of the back row.

“Some things change, some things stay just the same.”
That night, with Tom as ready for her as ever, they opened completely to each other and shared

a passion as yet undiscovered. That was also the night they shared something else, those three special
words which both had wanted to say for so long. Neither could hear them enough. They repeated them
in bed, in the car, in a restaurant.

And they said them, endlessly, in bed. Megan heard them before he pushed her onto her front,

spread her and took her once again from behind. He heard them as she knelt up and opened herself
completely to him and Tom found the excitement of making love, for the very first time, in Megan’s
ass. And again as they cuddled amid the afterglow of amazing sex.

Two days later, alone in her apartment and immersed anxiously in the business of finding

herself a job, there was a knock at the door. Erica was out on an afternoon date with her new guy, and
so Megan trotted downstairs to answer it.

There he was. All six foot two of blond-haired, blue-eyed gorgeousness, grinning at her.
“Hey, Megan,” he said brightly. “How have you been?”
It took a long while for Megan to be able to say anything at all. Then, “What… are you doing

here, Jake?”

“Just checking in,” he said, glancing past her in the hopes of being invited in. “Wondered if you

wanted to maybe grab a drink?”

Trouble in Paradise

Megan rarely had trouble believing her own eyes, but she found herself staring at Jake as

though he had arrived from another dimension. It was his carefree nonchalance, a breezy attitude
which did nothing to suggest that he had disappeared, without a word, without a call, after enticing
Megan into the most passionate of relationships.

Where the hell have you been?
She still couldn’t bring herself to speak. His handsome smile and open-collared sexiness

brought back far too many memories, far too quickly. Their first date and that Lamborghini, the
ultimate in four-wheeled seduction; the expensive restaurant and the earnest way Jake had described
his mission to help the developing world. And then the outrageous, rule-breaking first date sex on his
kitchen counter. Megan shuddered inwardly at the thought of having given so freely of herself to a man
who had taken, and taken, and then... well, nothing.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you,” Megan managed after a silence so long and empty it had

become acutely uncomfortable.

“Well, I hope it’s a nice surprise. I’ve been super busy the last few weeks and, well... I’m here

to make it up to you.”

Megan’s eyebrows arched in wounded skepticism. “Really?”
“Of course,” he said, his tone softer now, less bombastic and confident. “We had a really good

time together and wanted just to see if you...”

“I’m seeing someone,” Megan blurted without a moment’s thought.
“Ah.” Jake was knocked off his stride but, Megan found to her intense annoyance, not for long.

He began again, striking a more sincere tone. “I don’t want you to think that I expect us just to...”

“Someone serious,” she added, hoping to derail Jake’s attempt to creep back into her

affections. She didn’t know whether to find him crass, or absurd, or simply another thoughtless man
whose decision-making took place largely in his pants.

“Well, I’m happy for you,” he offered. “Still, I’d like to catch up. Just a quick coffee.”
Megan took a deep, energizing breath. “Jake, I’m sorry, I can’t. I’d like it if you gave me space.

You’ve been away for weeks,” she said, the hurt of his sudden disappearance adding an accusative
edge to her voice, “and whatever your past relationships have been like, I’m not something you can
turn on and off like a tap.”

Even if you are an evil genius when it comes to turning me on.
Megan silenced the lustful inner demon which, even now, amid pain and resentment, nudged

her towards reconciliation. He’s not worth it, replied her better self. Let this one go. You’ve found
the one you want.

“Megan, I’m sorry about that, really. It was just so crazy and hectic, with all the travel and I

never meant to...”

“Sorry,” Megan snapped. “I won’t be going for coffee with you. And I’m working at the

moment, so if you’ll excuse me?”

Jake was surprised, rather unpleasantly, by Megan’s unexpectedly assertive tone. He frowned

slightly, ran fingers through his hair in a gesture of awkward discomfort, and then simply shrugged.
“OK, Megan,” he said, and turned to walk away.

Even before he could glance back to see if she was watching him leave, Megan closed the door

with a resolute thud.

***

Ten fruitless minutes later, she tossed down her pen on the pile of applications material on her

desk and let out an exasperated groan.

“No ‘perfect job’ yet?” Erica asked, arriving fresh from the shower in her pink bathrobe, her

hair wrapped in a matching pink towel.

“No, not yet. But that’s not even the problem.” Megan plopped her feet on the desk and leaned

back in her office chair while Erica arranged herself on the sofa to paint her toenails. “Did you hear
who was at the door?”

“You’re kidding?” Erica exclaimed when Megan had finished recapping events.
Megan shook her head bemusedly. “I wish I was.”
“How long has it been? Six weeks? Something like that?”
“About that,” Megan agreed wistfully. “Not a single text, and then he just shows up.”
Erica stared, open-mouthed. “The bastard!”
“You said it, girl.”
“What did he want?” Erica asked, genuinely astonished.
Megan sighed. “Me. What do you think?”
“To get back together?” Erica almost screamed. “Just like that?” she added, snapping her

fingers.

The two sat in head-shaking disbelief. “It’s as though his mistakes are erased from his

memory,” Megan concluded. “It’s the perfect way to live a truly remorse-free life.”

Erica was pissed. “He’s a child,” she argued. “You need to treat him like one. Send him to the

naughty corner.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Megan assured her, “he knows full well that I won’t be spending time with

him.”

“Good!” Erica said, thumping the coffee table. “You be strong. Think of what you have now.

What the hell would Tom say if...”

“We’re not going to think about that,” Megan interjected firmly. “I’ve never tried to come

between those two particular men, and I’m not about to now.”

“But what if Tom finds out? What if Jake says something?”
Megan stood and headed for her room. It was time to be alone, to think things through. “Then

I’ll tell them both the truth, and anyone else who wants to know,” she said, checking the points angrily
on her fingers: “I did nothing wrong, I didn’t cheat on anyone, I was never even slightly dishonest,”
she said, pausing briefly before finding the last point in her list, “and Jake’s an asshole.”

“A huge one,” Erica agreed.
Megan puffed out her cheeks. “I’m gonna think about this.”
“I’m here if you need me,” Erica assured her as Megan closed the bedroom door.
She sat heavily on the bed. “Shit.” It was time for a level-headed reality check.
Ok, let’s be rational here. What exactly has happened, and how do we react?
“I dated this complete prick who ditched me when his schedule got too full,” she whispered to

the wall.

Sounds like a bona fide loser. Why did you date him, then?
“He has,” Megan said with the sureness of one speaking only to herself, “lots and lots of

money.” She paused, unwilling to be dishonest to herself. “And he fucks like a rock star.”

She almost giggled at the profanity – one she kept purely for Tom’s ears in those moments as

she approached her climax – but pushed on with the self-interrogation.

Beyond sex and money, was there anything else?
“He seemed like a decent guy. And I felt as though I could trust him, having known him since I

was a teenager.”

He pulled the wool over your eyes, then.
“Yes. He has been deceptive, there’s no doubt.”
There were probably other women, during these six silent weeks.
“Not a lot of doubt about that, either,” she admitted ruefully. “He’s a creature of habit.”
So, how does he stack up to Tom?
“Not at all,” Megan answered in her firmest whisper.
Would you like to back up and re-evaluate that statement in the light of the private jet, the

sports cars, and the half-dozen, unforgettable, insanely orgasmic sexual marathons?

“No.”
I think you should.
“So, he’s a good fuck. And he has money coming out of his ears.”
And is a philanthropist. And a world traveler.
“And a serial monogamist who discards women like worn-out razor blades.”
Good point. Not a stable partner, like Tom. But... do you remember how exciting he was?
Megan ruminated for a long moment, almost despite herself, but permitted the thought in the

interests of a fair and balanced enquiry. “OK, so there were a number of passionate and delirious sex
sessions,” she remembered out loud. “They were fresh and very sexy...” She paused to amend the
record. “Unbelievably sexy.”

That’s right. Remember the plane? Kneeling up and gazing out at the stars while he...
“I remember the goddamned plane,” Megan retorted. Then, the sensations of that night began to

return. “I remember... getting so wet.”

Because he’s a gifted seducer. Who likes pulling off your panties in mid-air.
“And the way he kissed me,” she recalled in a whisper which became softer as the memory

pervaded her ever-willing body, “down there... the way his tongue felt on me...”

Now you’re truly remembering. Put yourself there. He slid your dress up, remember? And

then...

“And then took me, hard and quick, in my big first-class seat.”
And do you remember how you came? After he had finished?
“I was... sucking him.” It was like a confession. Saying it out loud brought no forgiveness,

though, only intense desire.

With his fingers inside you.
“Deep inside,” she added.
Megan?
“Hmmm?”
What are you doing, honey?
Megan suddenly opened her eyes and glanced down. “Oh you bad, bad girl,” she whispered in

self-admonishment. Her panties were pulled aside and three of her fingers were already very slick.

Yeah. What happened to ‘fair and balanced’?
“Shit,” she said again, deciding to spend a few minutes in the bathroom cooling off and

washing the scent of excitement from her hands.

Shall we resume?

“No, it’s true that there is no objective measure by which he compares favorably to his

brother.”

Who you’re in love with.
“I didn’t say that.”
You don’t have to. I’m your subconscious, the true arbiter of your emotions. I know

everything.

“So you’re saying Tom is the right one because he made me fall in love with him?”
No-one made anyone do anything. You love him because he’s ideal for you.
“Couldn’t Jake have done the same, if he’d stayed around?”
Probably. But here’s what I really think... He’d have given you a couple of years of fantastic

sex and a lifestyle most girls would die for. And then... You know exactly what would have
happened.

“We can’t be sure.”
Guess, then. But put it into words. I want to hear you say it.
She sighed, flopped back onto the bed. “He would have ditched me for a younger model.”
Literally.
Why, Megan asked herself in those quiet moments of intense reflection, are men so driven by

their procreative urges? Of all the behaviors which could define them, why were their sexual
behaviors so dominant, so unreasoning and base and hurtful and senselessly self-serving?

Bastards.
“Not all of them. Not Tom.”
Tom’s never going to let you down, is that right?
“He’s human! Like every man.”
So, in that respect he’s no better than Jake? Yet another man destined to screw up.
“Yeah, but,” Megan challenged, “when Tom screws up it will be something annoying but

hardly world-shattering, like forgetting an anniversary until the last moment, or being too busy to help
me move boxes into my new lab. When Jake screws up... Well, there’ll be screwing.”

Under your nose, and behind your back. That is always their way.
“Bastards.”
So, can we reasonably reach a decision here?
“I think we can.”
Do we drop-kick Jake so hard he knows never to try this disrespectful bullshit again?
“I think we do.”
And do you go over to Tom’s place tonight and make love to him like he’s the only man

you’ll ever want?

Megan stood, and brushed her hair in front of the mirror. “Exactly.” She grabbed her phone.

“But first, let’s give Jake the coffee date he wants.”

***

It simply wouldn’t have been Jake’s style, Megan thought to herself, if he’d suggested meeting

at a Starbucks like everyone else. She’d felt obliged to fix her hair and put on a blue skirt and white
blouse before heading to Cafe Firenze, an up-market place near Boston’s Copley Square, and
doubtless one of Jake’s favorite places for impressing a lady.

“Well it’s not going to work on me,” Megan muttered quietly as she was shown to her table. At

2 pm on a Tuesday, the stylish cafe wasn’t particularly crowded. Megan scanned the photographs of
old Italy which hung in a sequence around the walls, forming a contrived, if quaintly atmospheric,

origin story. The steamy hiss of the cappuccino machine and Frank Sinatra quietly crooning in the
background set a tone Megan began to like, at least until she remembered why she was there.

Jake looked somewhat less than his usual, confident self as he sauntered into the cafe. He wore

an eggshell blue shirt and neat, new jeans, somewhere close to under-dressed for a place like this, but
Megan doubted that he cared. He found her with a relieved sigh and took one of the slender, metal
chairs opposite her.

“Thanks for coming,” he offered.
“Sure.”
“Did you order?” They quickly selected coffees and then Megan took a moment to silently

regard the alluring but deceptive young man across the table. There was the immediate sense that Jake
was about to be hauled onto the carpet and told, in no uncertain terms, what the world’s women
thought of him. Part of Megan relished the chance to deliver this reprimand. Another part feared she
would simply clam up, end up having dinner with him while he explained away his strange absence,
and later find herself once more pressed passionately against his kitchen counter.

“Jake, we need to talk.”
“Oh?” He seemed surprised despite Megan’s obviously frosty demeanor.
Her coffee arrived and she ignored it while Jake settled himself by stirring in a sachet of

brown sugar. “You need to know, Jake,” she said, “that women don’t tend to like it when you begin a
relationship and then simply vanish off the face of the Earth.”

Jake responded as it affronted by the accusation. “I was traveling an enormous amount during

those weeks, Megan. You know I was in Manila, and...”

Bad way to start, young man. “St. Louis.” The city’s name was almost a threat.
“At first, yes, and then they sent me to the Philippines and while I was over there it made sense

to hit a couple of other places where we have business. By the time I knew what was happening, a
week had gone by.”

“Six. Not a week, six weeks. Do you know how it feels to be given the cold shoulder like

that?”

He was pleading, his tone becoming a little desperate. “If only you’d seen how crazy things

were.”

Megan finally sipped her coffee, which was strong and bitter, not unlike how she felt at that

moment. “Things were pretty crazy around here, too. You know that Andrea went missing while you
were enjoying your travels?”

Jake rushed to his own defense. “I knew about that, and I was as scared as anyone. You

understand that I called as soon as I heard, right? And I and shortened the trip so I could get back as
soon as I could.”

Megan snapped back. “And then lengthened it again once Andrea was found safe. Am I

wrong?”

Palms open, Jake made a bid to apologize. “You didn’t need me. I’m just the fun uncle. Tom

said that you two had everything covered. To be honest, I thought I’d just be in the way.”

“In the way of caring for a distraught girl and a father – your brother, Jake – who had been out

of his mind for a whole night and a whole day... You didn’t seem what it did to him.”

Jake’s hands were up in a defensive, but also conciliatory, gesture. “No one cares about them

both more than I do, Megan. Please understand. This is my family we’re talking about. I genuinely
believed that things had settled down, and that I’d catch up once I’d finished the trip. Important things
were happening over in Asia... I know you don’t care, but some of this stuff has really global

implications and...” Jake found himself silenced as suddenly as if there were a knife to his throat, all
because of Megan’s intensely stony glare.

“Shut up.”
“OK.”
Megan was furious, pale fists balled on the table top, her back ramrod straight, her eyes

condemning him as though vile and unearthly. “You’ve been an asshole. And I want you to damn well
admit it.”

“Freely.” His hands wiped the slate clean in mid-air. “I admit that freely. I’ve been thoughtless

and distracted by the Asia trip, and I’ve taken you for granted. Worse, I let down Tom and Andrea.”

Megan’s rock-like posture softened slightly at this open apology. But then, her suspicious side

insisted on knowing more. “And were there any female distractions on your Asia trip?”

Jake’s face was a picture of genuine surprise. “Now, that’s below the belt. Just because I have

a reputation... I mean, I may be a poor communicator, and a thoughtless S.O.B, from time to time, but
that doesn’t mean I’d do anything like that.”

Lips pursed, Megan’s skepticism hardly needed voice. “Like you say, you do have a

reputation.”

“Megan, please!” he said, his body language suddenly firm, as if he meant to stand. “You can

call me all the names you want, but I never saw anyone else while I thought we were together. I
promise you.”

She glared at him, as furious as ever. “I take promises like that very seriously, Jake.”
“So do I,” he said firmly, “and that’s why I made it.”
Clattering spoons, chattering clients and Frank Sinatra were the only sounds for a long time.

Both took a sequence of deep breaths. Finally, Jake offered the best and simplest solution. “I’m sorry,
Megan.”

“Good,” she replied, quieter now. “This was avoidable, you know.”
Jake took a long, refreshing pull on his coffee, as if dependent on it. “Regret is a killer, Megan.

I’m going to have to live with that.”

“You are. But don’t let it kill you.” The very first hint of a smile made Jake feel better than he

had since showing up at Megan’s door.

“And I’ve blown it so badly that you’re with someone new now. Got to live with that, too.”
Be careful. One wrong step and the whole thing could come crashing down. “I’m not the girl

for you, Jake. She’s out there, but she’s not me.” Megan seemed faintly apologetic. In truth, she felt
sorry not to be able to offer Jake what he needed, especially as he had provided exactly – and very
memorably – what she had most desired. At least at the time.

“So, where did you meet this lucky man?”
Megan harrumphed dismissively behind her coffee cup.
“Oh... I’m sorry... Is she a lucky lady, in fact? I didn’t know you...”
Megan smacked down her porcelain cup in a sharp interruption witnessed by the whole cafe.

“Do you like morals, Jake?” she asked almost primly, in stark contrast to her violence with the cup.
The clientele returned to their conversations, some rather disappointed to be deprived of further
spectacle.

“Morals? Like, helping the blind across the street, that kind of thing?”
“Fables,” she explained patiently. “Little moral principles which can guide us in life.”
“Er... Sure.” Having done so well, Jake felt things slipping away from him.
“My favorite one,” she told him, “is this: If you’re walking on eggs,” she said, eyeing him

closely, “don’t hop.”

“No hopping,” he assured her. “No, Ma’am.”
“Then quit asking and satisfy yourself that you’re not the only nice man in the world.”
“So it would seem,” he said rather sadly.
“And I’m not even sure you’re nice,” she said, teasing him.
Jake took her hand, to Megan’s surprise. “I’ve done the wrong thing, and I’ve paid for it. You

don’t have to forgive me, because you’ve found happiness elsewhere now. I’m going to try not think
of what might have been, and just go on, like everyone has to.”

Who the hell is this guy?
Megan patted his hand in a gesture intended to be much more friendly than anything romantic.

“Thank you for saying that, Jake. I’ve been angry with you, and I’m still angry, but provided you shut
up now and don’t say anything else stupid,” she said, piercing the word with emphasis, “then we can
be amicable friends.”

“I’d like that very much,” he said, contented.
“Friends with no benefits whatsoever,” she articulated clearly.
“Hearing that loud and clear.”
“And friends who never ask about each other’s love lives,” Megan added, stating the only rule

which mattered at the moment. The less you know, the less you’ll talk to Tom, and the less chance
he’ll yell at me for being idiotic enough to date you in the first place.

Jake held up his hand. “Scout’s honor.”
“You were never a scout,” she countered.
“Junior astronaut’s honor,” he tried again.
Megan found herself laughing, wagging a warning finger at Jake. “Don’t you be getting funny

with me. I know your sort.”

Behind Jake, Megan noticed the door open and man wearing a suit enter the cafe. The change in

her facial expression was so shockingly sudden that Jake turned to follow her gaze.

“Oh, well, how about that?” He stood. “Tom? Over here.”
Oh, fuck.
Tom approached their table looking cautious and uncertain, a vibe which was decidedly un-

Tom. “Hey, Megan... Hey, Jake... I didn’t know you’d be here,” he said to his brother. “I’m between
meetings in the John Hancock Building and I guess I wondered if Megan was downtown.”

“Wow,” Jake exclaimed. “You must have Megan-radar or something. That’s uncanny!”
“No,” he explained, face still furrowed with worry and confusion. “You checked in on your

phone app.”

“I did?” Megan asked, amazed. She checked her phone. “It’s set to automatic... Sorry, I didn’t

know I had to change it.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter, it’s just nice you happened along, Tom.” Jake said breezily. “I was

actually on my way out. Why don’t you take my place?”

Megan swallowed a bilious knot of distaste. “Great.”
Tom took Jake’s seat as though expecting it to drop through the floor into a fiery pit. “Thanks,

Jake.”

“Ciao, you two. Tom, see you at Connaught’s office for that breakfast on Friday?” His brother

nodded slowly. “Megan... Good to catch up. See you soon, I hope.”

He left with his usual breezy energy and then Megan was faced with a Tom who was very

obviously perplexed. And very rightly so.

“This is a nice surprise, Tom,” Megan said, leaning across to kiss his cheek.
He smiled thinly. “It is... I was hoping I might find you alone. Sorry if I was interrupting

anything,” he said carefully.

Now you’ve done it. Next time, switch off your goddamned phone.
“No, Jake was really about to leave when you arrived. We were just catching up.”
Tom regarded her curiously, as if somehow trying to read her aura, or to hear the echoes of the

conversation just passed. “Megan, I’ve got to ask you... And I’m sorry to do this, but...”

Oh, fuck.
“What?” she asked, hoping an earnest manner might deflect the question outright. But no.
“Is there anything you think I might need to know?” he asked. Megan was silent, holding his

gaze. “About you and Jake?”

The silence continued but Megan’s eyes fell to the table. You just gave him the guilty look. He

knows, whether you tell him or not.

“I think maybe there is,” she admitted quietly, her eyes downcast. “But you need to listen to the

whole story before you say anything, OK?”

Tom nodded, his gut knotted with that singular and piquant emotion caused only by the sense

that his lady might not be entirely his own. It spread outwards from his solar plexus as Megan
described their meeting, that seemingly innocuous moment when Jake picked up Andrea from
Megan’s apartment after her piano lesson. And the date they went on afterward. When the critical
moment came, Megan could barely open her mouth to utter the words.

“After the date I... stayed over at his place.”
Tom recoiled. Jealousy’s knife lacks the clean quickness of a razor’s edge, he immediately

found. It is, instead, the dull, numbing gut-punch of a rusted steel. This, too, spread through his body
and froze him in a pained statue of shock and anger.

“Megan...”
“Tom, listen to me. You said you would listen,” she beseeched him. Tom nodded gravely,

steadying himself for worse to come.

“We went on a few dates, all very extravagant, you know... Jake likes to throw money around.”

Tom was staring, motionless, at the tablecloth. “And then he just disappeared. You remember?”

Tom was holding back a great deal when he spoke, Megan could see. “I speak to Jake about

twice a month on the phone, and around once a month face-to-face. Even that is in a meeting with a
dozen other people. Every time he calls, he’s in a different time zone. If he’d disappeared, I’d almost
be the last to know.”

This is not getting easier. “Well, he disappeared from my point of view. Six weeks went by

without a word.”

Now Tom began to see. He met Megan’s eyes for the first time since the beginning of her

painful disclosure. “Even for him, that’s pretty callous.”

“And then he just turned up at my door this afternoon as if nothing had happened.”
“Expecting to get back together?” Tom asked.
“I don’t know,” Megan half-lied. “I was very frosty to him, but I guess I decided he deserved

the chance to explain himself. Did I do the wrong thing?” she asked, her eyes pleading with him not to
be angry.

Tom rubbed his face slowly. “I can’t say I like the idea of you together,” he said. “It’s... Well,

it’s very new, and it hurts.” He fixed her with pained eyes. “It hurts a lot.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, feeling tears beginning to well up. “I wasn’t dishonest with you, I

promise. When we first got together... that was weeks after I’d last seen Jake, and I was certain he’d
just dumped me, like the others.”

The hurt and confusion on Tom’s face gave way to something worse; jealousy and anger were

conspiring to overwhelm him.

“So, you figured you’d just switch to the other brother? Never even break up with the first

one?” Tom’s anger flared like a fire given fresh oxygen. “And then, knowing how this would upset
me, you just kept it a secret? Would you ever have told me?”

Terror and shock gripped Megan’s body like the cold grip of a malicious giant. “Yes...” she

managed to say. “Of course. I just... “

“I really thought we had something there, Megan,” he said more mildly, reaching back for his

jacket. “I thought that we trusted each other enough to be honest.”

Aghast, frozen in disbelief, Megan couldn’t breathe. She wanted to scream at him but no sound

came.

“And you didn’t feel that I deserved to know that...” He stopped and leaned in close to her,

lowering his voice. “That you had just been fucking my brother, weeks before we got together?”

Tom stood abruptly, slid on his jacket and left in a cloud of red anger. Megan watched him

cross the street, walking hard and fast.

Within her own cloud, Megan slowly found breath. It came in, but she could barely exhale, and

it became a sob, then another, and then she was crying at her table as though broken in pieces.

***

Erica busied herself with the traditional last-minute preparations for date night. Tight, green

cocktail dress – check. Perfume fit for seduction – check. Hair up, perfectly in place and smelling of
that new herbal concoction Erica had given her on her birthday – check. Keys, phone, tiny purse... All
set.

Now, where the hell was Megan?
Her friend had been hidden in her room since before Erica returned from the early shift. She

hadn’t knocked, assuming Megan was just taking a long nap, but as 6:30 rolled around, she began to
worry just slightly. She checked the time, made sure she wasn’t going to be late to meet Kevin at the
bar, and gave Megan a soft knock.

“You OK, hun?”
There was a sniffling sound from behind the door. “Yeah, fine.”
“I’m going to be out with Kev, OK?”
“Have a good time,” Megan said flatly.
“You sure you’re OK?” she asked, prepared to be yelled at rather than risk leaving Megan in

some kind of emotional distress. She’d already gone through a few permutations in her mind, but
assumed things with Tom were as wonderful as ever.

“Yeah, just got the flu. Feel a bit miserable. I’m just going to sleep, don’t worry.”
Erica checked her appearance one last time, found it sexy beyond that which any mortal man

deserved, and headed out.

Megan was curled in bed, the very image of self-pity. Discarded Kleenex littered the floor; she

had more in one hand, and her phone in the other. It had been this way for about an hour. The
conversation she was being obliged to hold with herself was circular and unproductive, resulting only

in new waves of emotional pain. But it continued, seemingly despite her, and would not stop.

You blew it.
“It was bad luck. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
Tom doesn’t see it that way.
“He’s angry, understandably, and needs time to process this. He’ll come around.”
What if he doesn’t? What if you’ve really crossed a line here, and there’s now no going

back?

“He’s a reasonable person who loves me,” Megan argued, determined to gather the actual

facts, rather than speculate. Her imagination was too vivid for her guesswork to lead anywhere other
than fresh pain.

He’s a complex man who has already been through the worst trial imaginable: losing his

wife. You’ve given him reason to believe he was betrayed, only a month into his first new
relationship. Way to go.

“What did I actually do wrong?” Megan asked her naysayer side.
You should have been honest with Tom from the outset.
“He’d never have gone out with me if he thought he was playing second fiddle to his brother,”

she argued, correctly. “Besides, Jake was a quick fling. We never talked about the future.”

Which makes you look all the more shallow and avaricious.
“Fuck you.”
She dried her eyes and took a long, deep breath. Sitting alone like the girl in the anti-depressant

commercials, crying by her window while a rainy, grey afternoon dragged on, would not, Megan
convinced herself, be in any way helpful. What she needed was to take action. She needed advice,
and to plan the way forward, not sit and stew in her own regrets.

‘Need to talk to you about something. Are you at home?’
She swung out of bed and drank a whole glass of water in one refreshing pull.
‘Of course. I hoped you’d reach out. Want me to pick you up?’
Megan grabbed a towel and fresh clothes and headed to the shower.
‘No, I’ll find my way there. A drink would be nice.’

***

Jake answered the door with one hand, while the other held a crystal wine jug which sparkled

with boozy promise.

“You know what a girl needs,” was Megan’s choice of conversational appetizer.
Jake smiled, a little surprised. “That’s never a bad thing to hear.”
She showed herself in and slumped into Jake’s gigantic black leather sofa. “I have had,” she

explained slowly, “a seriously shitty day.”

Jake set the jug and two tall, stemmed red wine glasses on the coffee table at the center of the

sofa’s huge L-shape before taking a seat next to her. “Argentine Malbec. Supposedly it won ‘best in
show’ somewhere important. To be honest, I just liked the label.” He poured two very generous
glasses and handed one to Megan. “What shall we drink to?” Jake asked, raising his glass.

Megan shook her head sadly. “Here’s to drinking until it don’t hurt no more.” They clinked

glasses and Megan took a large draft of her wine. “Thank God.”

“Not bad,” Jake opined. “Nice balance of fruit and spices.”
“What I enjoy most about this wine,” Megan said candidly, “is that it has alcohol in it.” She

curled up on the sofa, legs tucked under her, and pulled down her skirt to cover her knees.

“That it does,” Jake agreed. He would never have been seen dead wearing the sweatpants and

baggy MIT shirt he’d been wearing when Megan called, and so had changed into jeans and a casual,
russet button-down shirt. He noticed that Megan had taken some – but not that much – time to get
ready before heading out. He’d always enjoyed it when her hair was still a little wet.

“So, you and I kinda bumped into your brother there, in the cafe.” Megan winced at the

memory, yet again. “We need to talk about him, and me, and... me and you.”

Jake set down his glass, his brow furrowed. “Well, I didn’t know about you two, but it makes

so much sense that I’m catching up quickly,” Jake said. “But he didn’t know, did he? About us?”
Megan shook her head and took another large gulp of wine. “I’m sorry it was secretive,” Jake
admitted. “Maybe we should have told him, at the beginning, but it wasn’t an easy choice.”

“The way I thought of it then,” Megan explained, “was as if I were something like his sister,

telling him that I had dated his best friend.”

“Yeah,” Jake nodded. “Awkward as all get out. And there’s Andrea.”
Another massive gulp. “Which would be weirder? My dating her dad, who employs me to

teach her piano, or dating her uncle, who she sees as the fun, single, jet-setter?”

Jake shrugged without looking dismissive. “I literally don’t know. It’s an impossible

situation.”

Megan had nearly finished her glass, so Jake topped her up. “Here’s what I want to

understand,” she said, turning to him. “You two are business partners, and for all the world the
closest team there could ever be. But it’s not like that, is it?” Megan endured the silence and felt the
need to clarify. “You barely speak, actually. Isn’t that true?”

It was Jake’s turn to drink deeply. “We’ve had our differences.”
“About women?” Megan asked.
“Not exactly... More, well... Lifestyle choices. The way we spend our money. The way we like

to be portrayed in public.”

“You’re different characters,” Megan conceded. “Couldn’t be more different, in some ways.

Yet you work together so closely.”

Jake hurried to swallow and then quickly countered. “Our teams work closely together. We

have very little actual face time at work. It’s always been that way. Might sound dysfunctional, but
it’s actually very effective. The personal stuff stays out of the office and we’re able to give our best to
our projects.”

OK, this is becoming a little clearer. “But, listen Jake. You need to know how angry Tom is

about this. He said...” She bit back a resurgence of the afternoon’s tears. “He said some really
terrible things. I don’t know if he meant them all, but he must have a very low opinion of me, now.”

Jake’s concern was genuine. “I’m sure he’s angry and disappointed. But he’s also realistic, and

he knows there aren’t a lot of girls like you out there.”

Her second glass was almost done. “Flatterer,” she said, smiling but dismissing him with a

wave. “I’m just some nurse who teaches his daughter piano.”

“Oh, come on,” Jake said with conviction. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’re beautiful and

smart.”

“Pshh”, was Megan’s slightly tipsy response.
“You grace everything you wear. Especially your little black dress.” He reached to refill her

glass, and top up his own.

“Seriously,” she said, “any girl can pull off that look. Just need to get your hair right,” she said,

tidying her own locks, “and put on a pair of fuck-me heels.”

“If that was all that mattered,” Jake said, “you’d be right. But you’ve got style, Megan. You

can’t buy that. You’re unique and accomplished,” he added. “Look how comfortable you were among
the glitterati at Dieter’s restaurant in New York.”

She gulped more wine. “That was a fun time,” she said, smiling at the memory.
“And when Andrea went missing, you were the rock. I know you were.”
Megan reached for his hand and gave it a grateful squeeze. “Alright, enough building me up,

already. What we need to do is calm Tom down.”

Jake held her hand and the two turned a little, Megan’s knees on the couch, her skirt rising a

little up her thigh. Jake tried not to glance down but, as Megan reached for her wine glass once more,
he noticed how pale and pretty her skin was. Unknown to her, and not without a jolt of guilt, Jake
stroked her inner thighs with his gaze.

“He’s a sensible man. In a couple of days you’ll get a call apologizing for over-reacting, and

calling me a bunch of names. You’ll go out to the best dinner of your life and he’ll take you home
and...”

Megan smirked a little drunkenly. “And...?”
“And take you to heaven,” Jake finished, a little tamely, reaching over to empty the wine jug

into Megan’s glass.

She immediately took another big swig. “I like heaven,” she said. Her head met Jake’s

shoulder and she relaxed into the big couch, leaning into him. Their hands were still intertwined and
Megan drew lazy, circular patterns on Jake’s palm. The soft electricity of her fingertips was more
than enough to begin a genuine arousal.

“What do you like about it?” Jake asked softly, his mouth only inches from her ear.
Megan sighed. “The closeness,” she said. “The openness. Sharing yourself with someone.”
Jake gently kissed the top of her head and felt her slide in a little closer. “Sharing completely,”

he agreed. “It’s the best, isn’t it?” Sure that he could glance down without being seen, Jake took in the
view offered by Megan’s ever-rising skirt; her pale inner thighs were a little open, and he let himself
look further. A strong surge of excitement lifted his cock as he saw that her panties were a pretty pale
blue.

He kissed her head once more and cleared away strands of dark hair from her forehead,

placing a gentle kiss there and stroking the side of her face with genuine affection. Her face rose to
him slightly and he saw encouragement in her body language; below, her thighs had unmistakably
opened a little further. His kisses traced her eyebrow, to her cheek, to her nose.

Then his lips were on hers.
They entered a world of slow, intensely sexy kissing. He chose not to pressure her, waiting

until he felt her tongue on his to begin deeper kisses, and then waiting until her hand wandered over
his chest and stomach before placing his own on her knee.

But from there, the pace instantly quickened. He felt real passion in her kisses, felt her

responding to his fingertips exploring her thigh, her skirt now around her waist, her tongue ever
hungrier for him. His fingertips began to explore higher, searching out the warmth between Megan’s
legs.

Hey, Megan?
“Hmm?”
You know you shouldn’t be letting him do this, right?
“Touch me?”

All that Jake heard was an encouragement. His fingers traveled higher, within an inch of her

panties.

If you let him, he’s going to fuck you. Is that what you want?
“Oh God...”
Megan’s indecision was too easily mistaken for its opposite. Aroused to an almost

uncomfortable hardness, Jake was within seconds of touching where he most wanted to.

“No... Jake... Please... I think we have to stop.”
For a moment, Jake’s fingers were still. “Are you sure? We’ve always had amazing sex,

Megan... Don’t you want it just one more time?” He kissed her again, his arousal unwilling to have
him give up so easily, and his fingers sliding along the soft skin at the very top of her thigh.

“I can’t...”
“We can go slow,” he said, seductively licking the tip of Megan’s tongue. “As slow as you

want to.”

“I said I can’t.” The refusal was more confident this time.
Jake’s erection was giving the orders. “I can feel how warm you are, Megan,” he said, his

fingers dancing at the edge of her panties. “And how wet...” Their kissing resumed. Megan tried to
turn away but found a strong hand cupping her chin, turning her back to Jake’s probing tongue.

“Jake...No. Please.”
Megan heard his voice, dripping with sex, right by her ear. “Let me fuck you, Megan. Just once

more.”

Her pussy tensed, but not in pleasure. In rejection. “No. I need you to let me clean up.”
With the greatest reluctance of his sexual life, Jake’s fingers bid a fond farewell to Megan’s

aroused pussy and he helped her to sit up on the couch. A few moments later, at Megan’s insistence,
Jake helped her very slowly to her feet. “I can manage,” she said, dismissing her escort half way to
the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, somewhat refreshed but drunk and guilty, Megan emerged. She fixed Jake

with a glare which belied her intoxication, a firm, hard stare. “You shouldn’t have done that,” she
said angrily.

“I’m sorry.”
“You really, really shouldn’t.” Then she left him standing there, mouth agape, and closed the

door with a thud which resounded through the building.

***

Erica sat back on the sofa and rolled her eyes. “Is so.”
“Is not!” Megan protested from her seat next to Erica’s.
Erica grabbed her phone and set about establishing the truth. Moments later, she had it. “There!

‘Instagram’ is a company’s name, and therefore needs a capital letter and therefore...” Her gestures
bullied Megan into the admission.

“Therefore it is not allowed in scrabble,” she whined. “But it’s a verb, too!”
Erica nearly spanked her roommate’s butt in sheer frustration. “So you think you can

‘Instagram’ someone?”

“Sure you can,” Megan insisted.
“Bullshit!” Erica sang.
“Is not!”

“Is so!”
“Well,” Megan said, changing tack, ”what about this one? How do you actually spell

‘cognizant’?”

“Like that,” Erica maintained. With a ‘scent’ on the end.”
Megan burst into exaggerated laughter, holding her belly and slapping her thigh. “It’s a ‘z’,

dumbass!”

“You’re a cheat!” Erica shrieked.
Megan went quiet and her face fell. “At least one person thinks so,” she said sadly, their usual

banter abruptly derailed.

“Oh, honey.” Erica pushed the board away and put two comforting arms around her friend.

“Megan, I’m sorry.”

“Nah,” she said, moving to push Erica away.
“Stop it. You need a good cuddle every now and again. Recharges your self-confidence.”
Megan closed her eyes and settled into Erica’s concerned hug. “Thanks.”
“You deserve it and you need it. Have you heard from either of them?” Erica asked.
Megan shook her head. “I don’t expect to, either.”
“Who knows?” Erica countered.
Megan slipped out of Erica’s arms and stood, heading to the side cabinet for a drink. “If I may

give you some advice,” she said, uncorking a bottle of port, “never get involved with two brothers.
They all secretly hate each other.”

Erica nodded sagely. Watching Megan go through this complex, ever-changing, three-cornered

soap opera was certainly an education in relationship dynamics, and one which had required as much
patience and understanding as any of her friend’s guy troubles ever had. The two brothers, she kept
finding, were just such different people; not only was Tom a father, and Jake a playboy, but their
varying attitudes to Megan seemed to run the gamut from the predatory to the hopelessly romantic.

Megan handed Erica a glass brimming with ruby port. “Well, we live and learn.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Erica added. “Even if some of us learn a little more slowly than others.”
“Who, me?” Megan asked, shocked.
“No!” She set down her glass. “Remember the guy I went on a few dates with, last week and

the week before?”

“Sure... Michael, wasn’t it?”
“Mikhail,” Erica corrected. “From Belarus. Or Ukraine. Somewhere over there.”
“Oh, wow, you’re just a master of geography,” said Megan, teasing her friend.
“Well, whatever. He was nice, drove a sexy sports car and had a little habit of... Well, he liked

to do Viagra and Ecstasy before a night out.”

“Holy shit, Erica,” Megan breathed.
“No, he wasn’t an addict or anything, just liked to feel on top of the world,” Erica said grandly.
“He can’t feel that way by being on top of you?” Megan asked wistfully.
Erica wore a naughty smile. “However he felt,” Erica winked, “he could screw like an

Olympic champion”.

“Wow. I Hadn’t realized there was screwing at the Olympics. Is that summer or winter?”

Megan quipped.

Erica pressed on. “So, we’re in bed after an Olympic marathon,” she reminisced purringly,

“and there’s this sound outside, and all of a sudden he jumps out of bed like he’d been electrocuted.”

“Don’t tell me...His wife?” said Megan, already two steps ahead.

“Close, his fiancé.”
“Shit...”
“And his fiancé’s massive, weightlifter brother, and two of the brother’s friends.”
Megan covered her eyes as if cowering from a horror movie. “Did he survive?”
“No idea. Just glad the apartment had a back stairs. I had to climb over some trash cans but

there was no harm done,” Erica said, matter-of-factly.

“I want you to be more careful,” warned Megan. “At least neither of my two are married.”
“Yeah, we all make bad choices sometimes.” Her sultry grin spread like a salacious rumor.

“Great sex, though.”

“Oh God, here comes another lurid play-by-play report,” Megan whined.
“Only if you want it,” Erica offered, teasingly.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, the next chapter in our ongoing saga: The Endless Erections of Erica,”

Megan announced.

Erica wagged a finger at her. “Don’t make me out to be some kind of slut, OK?”
Megan leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Sorry babe... Do go on...”
Sailing past any hint of a moral problem, Erica began with, “Well, you know what those little

blue pills can do, right?”

Megan allowed a lustful smirk, to match Erica’s, but then her phone beeped twice. She checked

her texts. “Guess who?” she asked.

Erica glanced over at the incoming number. “Your own, personal Olympic champion?”
“Champion of jealousy, fury and indignation,” Megan countered. “He wants to have brunch

tomorrow.”

Erica raised her glass of port in a genuine salute. “Go, listen to him, hear him out. A heartfelt

apology can be the measure of a man.”

Megan quickly texted her reply. “Aren’t I the one who should be apologizing?”
Erica shook her head with conviction. “He’s not going to play it that way. Just let him show

you what he’s made of.”

***

Megan checked her watch and glanced around. Most of the other tables were full in this

popular, medium-tempo ‘brunch’n’lunch’ place which was, she’d found, almost exactly half way
between her Jamaica Plain apartment and Tom’s Brookline mini-mansion.

She returned once more to her reason for being here. You’re here to listen. And to give a

decent man a break.

For all his faults – and there were certainly many – Jake had rightly predicted that Tom would

call to straighten things out. Megan reflected on how hurt Tom had seemed, and reasoned that, were
the roles reversed, she’d have felt the same. Not that Megan’s sister was ever likely to date the kind
of guys that Megan liked, but...

OK, ground rules. One: Shut up and listen. Two: no touching until he’s apologized, to your

complete satisfaction. And three: try to forgive him. Really. You know it’s the right thing to do. But
first, what are you going to have for lunch?

She was so completely focused on reading the specials board that Megan didn’t notice Tom as

he quietly came into the restaurant. Would it be the Spanish omelette, or the asparagus and chorizo
frittata?

“How are you, Megan?” Tom asked.
She jumped slightly as Tom took his seat. “Hi, Tom,” she cautiously replied with a tentative

smile. Megan noticed that neither of them had offered a kiss or a hug. That all depends on what he
says next.

Boston’s spring weather, having threatened snow in late March, had finally brought sunshine

and Megan had chosen a light blue dress fit for the warmer temperature.

Tom’s expression as he sat down would set the tone for brunch. It was conciliatory, his earlier

anger gone. There was a question in his eyes: If I forgive you, will you do the same for me?

“It’s been...” He reached for the right words. “A difficult couple of days.”
“Yes.” Megan put her menu aside and sipped her water, ceding the floor to Tom.
“When I first found out, I just...” Tom’s fists tightened, but then released. “I didn’t know what

to think, and I was angry. I felt deceived.”

“But you weren’t,” Megan told him. “We had a few dates, Jake and I, and then he went

‘missing in action’ in the Philippines.”

“I know, and I’m sorry I doubted you.”
“Why did you?” she asked. I gave you every reason to trust me. I opened myself to you. Why,

Tom?

Tom pulled his chair closer to the table and leaned in a little. “It really wasn’t you.” Megan

read his gestures, his facial expression, and it seemed that Tom was ready to divulge something long
kept secret. “I have some experience with Jake’s attitude to women.”

What did this mean? “Really?”
“He isn’t some kind of sociopath, or anything,” he began. Hardly a ringing endorsement. “But

he just doesn’t respect women, Megan. That was my very first thought when I was dealing with the
idea of you two together.” Across the table, Megan’s gaze flickered between Tom’s eyes, his hands,
and the tablecloth. “Well, perhaps not the very first,” Tom admitted.

“Which was?” she asked.
Tom was sheepish. Megan immediately found it cute, but tried not to show it. “My first thought

was to hope that you had never taken him into your bed.”

Flushed, Megan replied, “Tom, I mean... We were together for a few weeks, so naturally some

things happened...”

“No, I mean,” Tom said quickly, unprepared to hear detail, “your bed. The place where we had

our first time, Megan.”

She softened at once, debating for a moment whether to break her own rules on physical

contact and take his hand. “Oh, Tom.” Part of her found him sentimental, another saw him as petty and
jealous, but her dominant reaction was a warm nostalgia for the uncomplicated, open trust they built
in those midnight hours when she had let him see, and touch, her whole self. “I didn’t,” she said. “And
before you ask any more – which you shouldn’t, by the way – let me tell you something.”

Women’s magazines were adamant that she would worsen the situation by adding imagery to

his visualizations of her tryst with his brother. The less he knew, the less clear a picture he could
build, and the quicker those moments would fade away. Tom was already making his excuses,
assuming that it was his brother who had all the bedroom skills. “He’s been with a lot more women,
you know, and I haven’t even... Since Mary, I haven’t...”

Megan’s fingertip was on his lips. Kindness and understanding met in her eyes. “Don’t ever

tell him this,” she said as her eyes quickly swept the restaurant, “but he could never come close to
what we had.”

Tom’s eyes sank to the table. “’Had’?”
Megan took his hand. “Have. What we have.”
Fingers entwined on the white tablecloth. “It feels a little better knowing that. I know it’s

stupid.”

Megan shrugged. “You two have been in competition in a thousand ways for a long time. I

guess this is the first time you’ve both been intimate,” she said, choosing the word very carefully,
“with the same woman.”

“Yes,” Tom confirmed. “And, Megan... Let me say that it was your right to spend time with

him. You’re a grown woman and a ‘consenting adult’, after all. I had no power – and I still don’t –
over who you see or what you do. It was wrong of me to imply anything different.”

“That’s big of you, Tom. Thanks.”
“But there’s something else I need to say, and,” he said, glancing around, “it’s very delicate.”
Her curiosity piqued, Megan offered a quick solution. “Why don’t I finish my frittata, and we

can take a walk.”

It was a midday sunshine which warmed the sidewalks. Megan was certain she could sense an

optimism to the town, as if Boston’s beleaguered trees and grass knew that winter would soon be
over. They walked, mostly hand-in-hand, slowing as they approached the gate of the Arnold
Arboretum, a broad, indispensible, green expanse. Sweeping pathways took tourists, cyclists and
families through the parkland which, on this bright week day, was busier than it had been all winter.

Tom motioned for Megan to take a seat on a bench under a huge oak, just off the path where

there was no chance of being overheard. “Can you know something,” he asked, “something dreadful
about someone, and resolve that it won’t change your behavior towards them?”

Leaden fear brought a trembling to Megan’s stomach. “Did he do something...?” She thought

back to Detective Wise and her throat tightened so hard she could barely ask it. “Something to
Andrea?”

Tom’s every movement rushed to convey the negative. “Absolutely not,” he said very firmly.

“Please, Megan. He’s not a monster.”

“Well, that’s something.” Her first fears were easing, but a flutter of concern remained. What

should I have known, Tom?

“Jake was in a relationship with a college student at about the time he was taking his SATs,”

Tom began. “Our parents didn’t know, and he only told me after they had... Well, you know.”

“Consummated the relationship?” Megan offered politely.
“Sure, let’s say that,” Tom said, sensitive to any mention of Jake’s sex life. “And,

unfortunately, for whatever reason, they failed to use protection.”

Megan quickly built an image of the fearless, supremely confident Jake, his bedpost

accumulating notches even before beginning college. You were man enough to seek out the pleasures
of being an adult. Let’s see if you were man enough to accept the responsibilities. “What
happened?” she asked, though a good part of her didn’t want to hear it.

“He denied everything.” Jake had lied to his parents, and the girl’s parents, and to Tom,

insisting that the child could not be his. “This was before DNA testing, and Jake made the claim that
his girlfriend had been sleeping around. Which was a lie.”

Megan bit her lip. “Pretty low.”
“He would have stuck to his tune, if not for my parents. They absolutely put the hammer down.

Dad went ahead and blocked his access to bank accounts and credit cards, took away his car keys,
imposed a whole bunch of sanctions. Jake was facing a grounding which might never end, and he

knew it.”

“So, what did Jake do?” Megan asked.
“He buckled and confessed,” Tom recalled. “Once he was honest, our folks made him promise

that he would stand by her, help raise the baby. Maybe even marry her, if her parents wanted that.”

Megan nearly guffawed out loud at the idea of Jake marrying at the age of eighteen. “So, did

he?”

“No,” Tom reported. “Her folks were furious with him, but they came to an agreement about

support and made some rules about how involved Jake would be.”

Megan was stunned. “So, Jake helped to raise a baby?” she asked, incredulous.
“No, he didn’t, and... This is very sad, Megan and I’m sorry, but the baby didn’t make it.”
“Oh, God,” she sighed.
“Stillborn. Everyone was heartbroken,” Tom recalled.
“Including Jake?”
Tom turned to her, his face serious and intent. “I said he isn’t a monster, remember? He was in

tears for the first time since he was a little boy. I didn’t see him cry again until Mary’s funeral.”

In her mind’s eye, the youthful, carefree Jake became a wiser, quieter man, chagrined by his

own thoughtlessness and forced to mature, more quickly than any of us would want, by tragedy. “So,
the kid became a man, all of a sudden.”

“He did, and after it all happened, he showed real signs that he had learned a lesson. He

worked harder, went to parties a bit less. He even formed what I would call a ‘relationship’ with a
girl.”

“So,” Megan said, trying to tie together Tom’s strands of thought, “you saw him lie openly

about being the father of his girlfriend’s baby, and then for you there was... Well, let’s be fair, there
was a sin of omission about being with me. You’re seeing a connection?”

“A pattern,” Tom said, engineer’s fingers already sketching out the relationships on his hand.

“A theme, in Tom’s behavior, of selfishness and disrespect. I could handle it, once he’d agreed to
support her and make an attempt at being a father, but with you, I couldn’t. I just...”

Tom became aware that his voice had raised almost enough to bring unwanted attention from

passing joggers. He took two deep breaths and pressed Megan’s hand in his.

“I just couldn’t deal with his having disappeared on you like that. For me, it was another

symptom of Jake’s disease: a pathological childishness. He won’t take responsibility. He almost
laughs at the idea. You see how blasé he was about jetting off to Asia and then showing up six weeks
later, imagining you’d just slide straight back into his life?”

Megan snorted. “As if he’s the only man I could ever want.”
“Exactly.”
They enjoyed the breeze in the trees for a long moment, allowing it to be the only sound. The

rolling landscape of the park had at its center a hill, to which most of the paths seemed to lead, but
Megan seemed content to stay on their quiet bench.

“Tom?”
“Yeah?”
“Want to put your arm around me?” Megan asked, almost like a teenager on her first date.
“I sure do.”
Megan reveled in the additional warmth, sliding her arms around Tom and joining them in an

embrace which both needed. She breathed him in and found herself wanting to kiss him.

“Is Andrea at your place?” she asked.

Tom grinned to himself before answering. “No, she’s building a model rocket with some

friends.”

“Really? That sounds like fun,” Megan said.
“Should take her a few hours.”
“Hmm.”
“Plenty of time, then,” Tom said simply.
“For what?” Megan asked with feigned innocence.

***

Afternoon sunlight streamed into the French windows which looked out onto the small lawn.

On the dining room table, two plates had yet to be cleared away, and a bottle of red wine sat, re-
corked but almost empty. The open kitchen was unusually messy, with dishes and pans scattering the
worktops. The living room, with its views of the front lawn, was also in a bit of a mess, with
cushions on the floor and two or three pieces of clothing draped over the arm of the sofa or just left
on the carpet.

Among these was a pair of red, lacy underwear, still slightly warm. And extremely wet.
The sounds of lovemaking had been echoing through the house for much of the afternoon.

Breaking only for much-needed water, and to grab more towels, the couple were exploring heights of
pleasure which embraced an almost encyclopaedic variety. Right now, muffled little screams
revealed that they had begun yet another sex session, but only a peek around the top of the stairs and
into their bedroom – both of them had been calling it ‘their’ room for a few weeks now – would
reveal the truth.

Megan was laying on her back with two pillows under her butt, as bed rocked steadily with the

motion of Tom’s thrusts. He set an indulgently slow tempo, unrushed during this, their third session of
the afternoon, but Megan raced on ahead, her fingers circling hard on her clit. Below, her entrance
was a river of wetness, while yet further below, within the hot, hidden place whose pleasure they had
discovered together, Tom’s erection slid snugly back and forth.

“Don’t stop...” she breathed to Tom.
“Oh, I won’t,” he assured her with a lustful smile.
He knew already that, when her fingers were doing the talking, all Megan needed was a steady

thrusting, in whichever place, and her orgasm was as certain as it was overwhelming. He always
looked forward to feeling her come while buried inside her ass. The tensing muscles around his cock
were heavenly, as was the warm gush from her excited pussy. This orgasm built quickly, Megan
twisting her head away as it approached, and gasping loudly into the pillow as her body was taken
over by the dizzying peak of their sex.

“I’m... coming... Tom...” It was a rising, pleading tone, as much an entreaty for him to keep on

fucking her as it was an announcement of her climax. Her body tensed for the twelfth time today – or
was it the fifteenth? – and just from her pussy dripped down to liberally coat Tom’s already-slippery
erection.

As her spasms eased, she gently led him to let his cock slip out of her ass, and together they

washed him in a bedside basin and took a towel from the pile to dry him off. As he did so, he checked
his phone. “It’s Andrea,” he announced, reading her text. “She’d like to stay over at Karen Fisher’s
place,” he added as though posing a knotty, philosophical quandary. “What do you think?”

Megan made a show of lengthy deliberation. “Do you know Karen’s parents?”

“Sure. Her mother is a lawyer for a company we deal with. See her a few times a year. Nice

people.”

“Any downsides to her staying over?” Megan asked conspiratorially.
“Not a single one,” Tom replied. “But lots of upsides.” He glanced down at his half-faded

erection, wrapped in a towel. “All clean again,” Tom declaimed.

“Good,” Megan said, and within seconds, her mouth warmly enveloped his cock.
Tom and Megan relaxed with the realization that their sex could be unhurried. They took their

time in finding and experiencing their orgasms, trying new positions and combinations. Megan came
the hardest when kneeling up to let Tom fuck her and pressing a vibrator to her clit. Tom gave thanks
that his house was 60 yards from any neighbor’s property, as Megan wailed through a string of intense
orgasms. The last shuddering peak was a mutual one. Megan’s face twisted, almost as if in pain, as
Tom exploded inside her yet again.

He pulled her onto her side as they breathed in tandem and cuddled, still joined, relaxing

together.

After getting their breath back, both drank deeply from the carafe of water Tom had

thoughtfully prepared. “What do you think about going out to dinner?” Tom asked.

Reclining, nude and juice-smeared on his bed, Megan was not full of opinions. “Take-out?”
“Sure,” Tom laughed. “Although I think we already have stuff to make starters.”
“Really?” she asked, lazing like a satisfied feline.
“I’m thinking of having the ‘shaved, aroused pussy’ for my starter,” Tom said, parting Megan’s

legs and moving to kiss between them.

“I think I’ll have a cocktail to begin,” Megan quipped, nudging him until he saw what she

desired. A one-eighty degree turn, and their next lovemaking could begin.

“Ah, the classic ‘soixante-neuf platter’. An excellent choice,” he offered, slipping his penis

between her lips. A muffled but contented sigh was his answer. Eyes closed at the sudden warmth and
pleasure on his cock, Tom began his own starter, a long and juicy exploration, with his fingers and
tongue, of his girlfriend’s ever-willing pussy.

***

She normally hated Boston’s Monday morning traffic, but today felt a little different.
It was much less stressful from the passenger seat, and Tom bore the burden with practiced

ease.

“There in three minutes, sport,” he called back to Andrea. “Did Mrs. Fisher give you a good

breakfast?”

“Pancakes!” Andrea confirmed gleefully.
Megan turned to smile at her. “Oh, those sound good!” Her own breakfast had been coffee,

bagels, and a quick fuck in the shower.

The traffic seemed to open for them, like a wave receding from a tranquil beach. Perhaps, she

mused, just being around Tom helped her relax; she certainly felt amazing this morning. Her body had
a glow, an inner contentment known only to those who have tested the upper limits of sexual pleasure,
and not once but many, many times. She couldn’t but notice a slight ache between her legs – certainly
not from lack of lubrication, Tom had joked earlier. She attributed it to having come so hard and so
many times that her g-spot was urgently in need of a rest. She planned on giving it until after dinner
tonight to make its recovery; Tom had already promised a swanky dinner out together, after which he

announced his intentions to take Megan’s pleasure receptors, once more, to their outer limits. It made
her slightly wet, just to imagine it.

Andrea disappeared, squealing her goodbyes, into the mass of little people beginning a day at

school. Megan’s more relaxed, post-exam schedule allowed her the morning at home, but Tom was
due at the lab in Cambridge, and then for a sequence of meetings downtown.

“I should be done at around 6:30,” Tom said. “Shall I pick you up at 7:30? Sophia’s going to

look after Andrea again.”

She kissed his cheek. “Sounds great. But make sure you spend time with her, as well as with

me.”

Tom nodded, grateful once again for Megan’s unselfish kindness. “Wear something fabulous

tonight,” he requested.

She grinned and stroked his knee seductively as the car pulled up outside Megan’s apartment.

“Any special requests?” she asked, turning his face and giving him a deep kiss.

“Yeah, two. First, wear the red lacey panties tonight, OK?” Megan nodded and kissed him

again. “And second, please don’t give me a boner when I’m going to be thinking about science all
morning!”

Megan giggled naughtily, a sound Tom found he adored. “You sure you don’t want to come

upstairs?”

“Megan!” he complained. “Look at the time! I have to get going. Please.”
She resisted the temptation to squeeze his growing erection, which would surely have led to

him chasing her up the stairs and enjoying a quickie, all the more delicious for being so inappropriate.
Instead, she kissed him goodbye and took a long, hot shower, narrowly deciding to give her slightly
sore clitoris a break, despite how amazing the shower-head felt when sprayed directly on her
exposed bud.

Dressed and feeling on top of the world, Megan decided to clean up. Throwing open the

windows and shoving laundry in the machine, Megan brightened and cleaned the little apartment,
throwing away old flowers and going so far as to finally unload the dishwasher. She was just relaxing
on the sofa, admiring the neatness of her work, when there was a knock at the door.

“Hi Megan,” Jake said. He stood in bright sunshine, tall and handsome. “These are for you.”

He proffered an expensive-looking bouquet of flowers with a hopeful smile.

“Jake, I really don’t think you should be here,” was her disappointing reaction. “I think you

know why, and I hope you respect me enough to give me space.” It came out confidently, smoothly,
almost as if rehearsed.

“At least,” he argued mildly, “let me come in for a moment? I’ve got something for you.”
“The flowers are more than enough,” she said warily, “by way of an apology.”
“I can do better than flowers,” he promised.
Megan folded her arms, standing impassively in the doorway as though deliberately blocking

it. “A man with your resources can do anything he wants,” Megan replied. “That’s not the point. You
need to understand that things have changed.”

He ignored her, like a salesman who only wants to hear one answer. “Come to Paris with me.

Tonight,” he said, looking deeply into her eyes as if somehow trying to hypnotize her.

Paris?
She stared at him in shocked confusion. “Jake, be serious. You know I’m with Tom, now.”
Why is it that the only guy ever to invite me to Paris has to be this childish idiot?
“Three nights. The opera, the Eiffel Tower. The Louvre. The best wine in the world. What do

you say?”

Megan frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re not listening to me. And I find that

really rude. You can’t just dangle things like this in front of me, and expect me to beg like a hungry
puppy.”

Jake was still the salesman. “The best hotel in the city. Already reserved.” He grinned. “A

four-poster bed.”

Paris? A nice big bed and amazing sex with Jake? How can you refuse?
Megan refused. “I’m not going to Paris with you, Jake. Or anywhere else. Please try to

understand.”

His confident, nonchalant smile began to fade. “I hope you reconsider.”
“No, Jake. I’m seeing Tom tonight,” she advised him. “And tomorrow night, hopefully.” Her

strength of feeling surprised her, emerging in a rush of words. “And many nights and days and months
and years after that.”

He was glaring at her now, his expression darkly telling. I am not used to being spurned, young

lady. He said nothing, but Megan knew it was time to close the door.

“Jake, I’m going to go inside now. I’m sorry to waste the flowers. Please let me be.”
Megan pushed the door closed but, just before the lock could connect, the door was shoved

back, hard, almost knocking her off her feet. “Jake, stop!”

“I’m sorry!” he called out. “I didn’t mean to push so hard...”
She grabbed the edge of the door and flung it closed. Unbalanced from his efforts, Jake was

tipped back and very nearly caught his fingers in the door as it slammed shut, the frame shaking.
Megan yelled through the door. “Go away or I’ll call the cops!”

“I’m not going anywhere!” Jake replied, suddenly much angrier, his fist pounding on the door

as though trying to punch through it. “You come out here and talk to me!”

Megan fled up the stairs and grabbed her phone. “Tom? I’m sorry to call at work... No, not

quite alright... Listen, can you come over right away?” There was another, insistent pounding from the
bottom of the stairs. “Yes, right now. I’ve got Jake on my doorstep and he won’t leave.”

Megan closed the inner door at the top of the stairs and retreated to the sofa. Even from the

living room, Jake’s yells and intermittent banging on the door were all too audible. Megan debated
calling the police, as she had threatened, but something stopped her: the thought of Andrea’s sad,
confused question, “Megan? Why does the Internet say uncle Jake was taken away by the police?
What did he do wrong?”

Instead, she sat and tried to breathe deeply, letting the minutes pass. The noise abated as Jake

began to realize his pounding was having no effect, but he began calling up to Megan’s living room
window.

“Megan? I’m sorry I got angry. Can you please just let me in?”
She sat up straight and took deeper breaths, focusing only on them. The noise outside receded,

out to the periphery of her attention. Soon, she found she could ignore it, as the sound and sensations
of her breathing became the only things in the world.

In.... Out....
“Megan? You can’t just lock me out. We’re great together, you know that. And you know I

make you happy.”

In.... Out....
“This is ridiculous, Megan. Please open the door. At least let me give you the flowers. Then

I’ll go, I promise.”

In.... Please, Jake, just fuck off.... Out....
“I’m serious about Paris. We’ll take my plane,” he called out. “Remember?”
In.... I did really love joining the mile-high club.... Out....
Then he was quiet. There were voices, quieter and less distinct, and Megan couldn’t tell whose

they were. She finished a final cycle of deep breathing and rose to go to the window.

Tom was standing by his car, having just arrived, speaking intently with Jake. The younger

brother, bunch of flowers still incongruously in his hand, was gesturing to the house, then to himself.
In turn, Tom pointed strongly to Jake’s car, seemingly ordering him away. Tom’s face became angrier
as Jake refused, becoming the petulant teenager Megan had previously taken him for.

When it came, Megan was as shocked as she was horrified.
Jake lifted the flowers and swiped them down at Tom. Petals and leaves exploded around

them. Jake followed with a strong right hook which thudded against Tom’s skull, but seemed to hurt
Jake more than his brother. As Jake shook his hand back to life, Tom bruised the younger man’s solar
plexus with a hard upper-cut. Winded, Jake was sent staggering back.

Megan was at the door even before the last petal hit the ground. “Stop it, both of you!”
Tom followed the sound and quickly raised a hand to warn her away. Using the distraction,

Jake tried again with his right and this time thumped Tom hard across the face. When he staggered to
his feet, Tom was spitting blood.

“Stop it!” Megan screamed.
Jake lunged in again but Tom stepped back to avoid him, using the forward motion to trip him.

Jake recovered too slowly and, while still on his knees, couldn’t avoid a savage, direct punch, right
in the center of his face.

It was like watching a house of cards collapse. Jake tipped heavily over onto his back,

sprawled in an ungainly heap on the grass, and was still.

***

Megan sheepishly nodded a hello to yet another passing nurse. There was little chance of

keeping this embarrassing debacle on the down-low if classmates and their friends kept passing her in
the waiting room, and after the third time, she simply accepted that her whole class would soon know
all about it. She hid behind a copy of House & Garden and pretended to be invisible until the doctor
returned.

“Miss Peterson?”
Megan rose to speak with the young, black doctor tasked with repairing the two brothers.

“How are they?”

The doctor, at six foot six, perhaps the tallest medic she’d ever seen, led her into a quiet

corner. “It seems to have quite a fist-fight,” he offered. “Jake was knocked clean out, and you did
everything right by putting him in the recovery position and calling for an ambulance.”

Megan shrugged. “I’m a trainee nurse practitioner.”
“Well, you helped a lot. He’s mildly concussed and will need a couple of stitches. Right now

he’s got a thumping headache, so you might want to wait until his mood improves a bit.”

Megan couldn’t suppress a broad smile at the idea of Jake snarling at the medics as they tried

to help him. “What about Tom?”

The doctor flipped to another page in his chart. “Doing better. His nose is broken, but it’s a

relatively clean break, across the bridge. We’ve got ice on there to reduce swelling and he’s on

painkillers. We’ll know more once the swelling has come down and we can get Tom in for a CT
scan. We do suspect that he might have damaged some cartilage, but we won’t know until the scan.”

Megan frowned. “So, how long will you need to keep him in?”
“Two or three days, at the most,” the doctor replied. “Just to be sure. But you can see him now,

if you want to.”

Megan followed the doctor through a half-dozen hallways, all with the same light-blue color

scheme, and found Tom sitting up in bed. His room had two beds, though the other was empty. A
nurse was taking his vital signs and he tried to smile around the electronic thermometer stuck in his
mouth.

“Looking good, Tom,” the cheerful, young nurse said brightly. “And you’ve got a visitor. I’ll

leave you to it. Call if you need anything.”

“They just took the ice off,” he explained, the blue cold pack still in his hand. “It felt amazing.

How are you?”

Not, ‘how’s Jake’, but ‘how are you’? Is this one concussed, as well?
“Oh, just thrilled to be the reason for a fight between two brothers.” She was being only half

sarcastic, as Tom well knew. Whoever had started it, and however it had happened, Megan didn’t
deserve to witness this fraternal fallout.

“I’m sorry,” he said glumly. “It’s all so stupid.”
“You got that right.” She sat on the bed and held his hand. “Jake’s woken up and is shouting at

people. They say he’s got a concussion.”

“No surprise, really,” Tom commented. “I did hit him pretty hard. Just the way it turned out, I

guess.”

Megan hated violence. It spoke of a loss of control, and a lack of imagination. For two brothers

to raise their fists, communication must have been particularly poor. And for them to commit to
hurting each other, in front of a woman both professed to love and respect... It beggared belief, the
more Megan thought about it. And, though Tom was hardly the aggressor, neither had come out of the
incident covered in righteousness.

“You knocked him out. On the front lawn of my apartment building.”
“Yes, I know.” Tom was downcast, despite feeling a certain pride in his undoubted victory.
“People saw, you know. I can’t believe the cops didn’t show up until after the ambulance did.

Thankfully, Jake isn’t pressing charges.”

Tom sat up even straighter in bed. “Jake isn’t pressing charges? What about me?” He gestured

to Megan. “What about you? Threatening behavior,” he checked off the crimes on his fingers, “public
disorder, invasion of privacy, assault...”

“Being an asshole,” Megan ventured.
Tom stopped his legal harangue and smiled at her as best he could until pain from his nose

made him wince. “You got that right. But, still, I’m sorry you had to see that. When I get out of here,
which I hope is soon...”

“Two or three days, they told me.”
“Shit... Well, once I get out, I’ll make it up to you.” He thought for a second. “Could you pass

me my phone? I need to speak with Sophia.”

“Already taken care of,” she said, leaving his phone where it was, among his clothes on a chair

by the bed. “All you need to do is relax. Andrea’s going to visit a little later.”

Tom’s face fell with worry. “What does she know?”
Megan had called her even before their arrival at the hospital. “That Uncle Jake and you were

driving through town to a meeting and a tourist hit you with their car.”

Tom nodded gratefully at the hastily-built subterfuge. “Nice. Although you could just have

blamed one of Boston’s drivers, and not a tourist.”

“Ain’t that the truth. Anyway, I think it’s all smoothed over. Just never do anything nearly as

embarrassing as this ever again,” she said, poking his stomach for emphasis.

“I swear it,” he said, chuckling and trying to hide from her attack. “Peace and quiet from here

on.”

Megan glanced around quickly and ensured they were alone. “The only place I want you being

physical,” she added, a certain longing in her voice, “is in bed with me. Then you can whatever you
want.”

“Except maybe knock you out.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Except maybe that.” She reached across to find the growing bulge under

Tom’s bedsheets, and gave it a subtle squeeze. She leaned down to whisper to him as her hand
pleased him. “Although that doesn’t include fucking me until I pass out.”

Tom laughed out loud and glanced at the door to make sure no-one would be able to see. “I

think I’ll be the one passing out if you keep that up. You know how many painkillers I’m on?”

Megan took another moment to enjoy the hardness under her fingers before kissing Tom’s

forehead.

“I’m going to check on the other guy,” she said.
“OK,” Tom said warily. “But keep your hands to yourself.”
Megan found Jake’s room at the other end of the busy hallway. Patients waited on gurneys

while staff exchanged information in a terse, clipped lexicon which was at once alien but also
intimately familiar.

“Are you awake?” Megan asked as she entered Jake’s room.
He was groggy and his eyes seemed a little unfocused, but he looked straight at Megan and

sighed. “What have I done, Megan?”

“You were a fucking idiot,” she shot back. Megan took a breath and then sat in a black, plastic

chair at his bedside, it felt more appropriate than sitting on Jake’s bed.

“Is Tom OK?” he asked, genuinely worried.
“Yes, he’s fine. They’re going to hang onto him for a couple of days but he’s awake and

sounding like his old self.”

Jake was downcast, and bitterly angry with himself. “I made all of this happen. I didn’t know

you were dating him, when I was in Asia, but I should have said something about us before I left. Why
didn’t I?”

Megan narrowly decided against taking his hand. He may be remorseful, and going through a

difficult growing experience, but he still had strong feelings for her, and Megan was determined not to
give the wrong impression. “That would have been like announcing it formally,” Megan said. “I don’t
know how often you’ve done something like that,” Megan lied, “but it’s quite a step.”

“It is.” Jake frowned glumly.
Commitment, Megan knew, was a concept almost entirely unknown to Jake. She could condemn

him as a playboy, if she should chose to, or perhaps instead, simply accept that Jake feared being seen
as a ‘one woman man’. What would the Internet say? How would his reputation change? Much as she
despised womanizing, Megan understood Jake’s unwillingness to announce to the world – or even
just to his brother – that he had found someone special.

“I need you to understand the situation, Jake.” She was firmer now, looking directly into his

eyes, ignoring the ferocious bruising which surrounded them. “What you did today, I can forgive and
forget. But what’s going to be true in the future... that’s something I need you to get your head around.”

“You mean, you and Tom?” he said, no less sullen than before.
“Yes, Jake. We’re going to be together. You do understand that?”
His face gave away only a fraction of the pain he felt, and for this kind of pain, no medication

could help. “I understand,” he said through gritted teeth. “I do want you both to be happy.”

Now Megan took his hand. “That’s a big thing to say, Jake, and I’m very happy to hear it.”
He turned to her. “Could we have... I mean, if I hadn’t screwed everything up, do you think we

might have...”

Megan slowly shook her head, and Jake’s final rays of hope died. “I’ve made my choice.”
Wounded, embarrassed but proud of his own persistence, Jake swallowed this truth as

manfully as he could. “And I respect that.”

Megan promised to visit him again before his discharge, scheduled for the afternoon of the next

day. She returned to Tom’s room just as the cheerful nurse was leaving.

“He’s in a good mood for a man with a broken nose!” she enthused. “Must be in love!” she

said with a wink at Megan.

“Must be.” She entered the room, closing the door behind her, and found Tom sitting up in bed,

looking a little battered but quite comfortable. “How are you feeling?”

“Ten times better, now,” he said brightly. “What about ‘the other guy’?”
Megan sat on his bed, the gesture already becoming familiar. “He’s sorry, and he’s bruised.

But he understands what’s going on now. I have the feeling he’ll deal with it like a man, and not the
teenager who was banging on my door.”

“We all live in hope,” Tom quipped. “But thanks for speaking with him. That can’t have been

easy.”

“He’s not a bad person,” Megan reminded him. “Just a little selfish. And sometimes he lets his

Johnson do the driving. Maybe too often.”

Tom chuckled. “We’re just men, you know. Most of our lives are spent trying to keep our

Johnsons happy.”

Megan gave another furtive glance around the room and shifted slightly to make sure she would

block the view of anyone walking in. “What makes yours happy?” Her hands slid under the bedsheets
and found Tom’s quickly-developing hardness, slipping it through the gap in his hospital pajamas and
gently stroking him.

“You do, Megan.” Tom settled back as his girlfriend, her face adorned with a naughty smile,

pleasured him.

The taboo of their illicit circumstances super-charged his arousal and it was only a minute

before Megan could feel that his peak was close. She glanced once more at the closed door, gave
Tom another sexy smile, and kissed him gently, careful to avoid his painful nose.

Then her head disappeared under the sheets.

***

April turned to May with a string of bright, blue-sky days. Shaking off the winter with their

accustomed enthusiasm, Bostonians took to the Common, the Public Gardens, and every other green
space in the city like animals emerging from an unreasonably long hibernation.

Two blonde kids ran past, racing each other to the edge of the Frog Pond. “We should bring

Andrea here again tomorrow,” Megan said. “Remember last time?”

Days earlier, Andrea had seized upon Tom’s new top-of-the-range digital camera and set about

taking the perfect portrait of her father and... Andrea’s piano teacher? Her daddy’s ‘friend’? Andrea
had eventually felt the need to ask what to say, and Megan was embarrassed not to have pre-empted
this awkwardness.

“Well, I love your Dad, and he loves me. Could you think of me as his girlfriend?”
Andrea had exploded with excitement, as though this were the best possible outcome. Over the

next few hours, she had worn a perpetual smile. “Will you come and live with us?” Andrea asked at
dinner that night.

Megan glanced at Tom. “We haven’t really talked about that yet”. Then he turned to Andrea.

“Would you like that, sport?”

Andrea nodded so hard that Megan worried her head would fly off.
Later that night, with Andrea soundly asleep, the master bedroom next door was filled with the

sweet but necessarily muffled sounds of sex. Megan cuddled Tom after bringing him to his third, and
most overwhelming orgasm. It was then, as he lay breathing hard, amazed once more by her
generosity, her kind thoughtfulness, her unfailing, unconditional love, that Tom made his decision.

***

They watched the blonde siblings dashing headlong towards the Frog Pond and took the path

which skirted its edge, heading into the quieter areas of the park. “Hey, check out this tree,” Tom said
as they approached a giant, ancient oak. “How old do you think it is?”

Megan examined the bark and looked up into the thick branches which stretched out, green and

verdant, to shade them both. When she looked back, Tom had gone.

“Tom?”
“Right here.” He had taken one knee and was holding something in his hand. A small box.
“Are you...” She stared at him. His eyes were clear and earnest.
This can’t be happening...
“Yes, I am,” Tom answered the half-question. “I’m asking you to marry me, Megan.”
It’s happening...
She said nothing. Her mind, stunned but suddenly very alert, began casting itself into the future.

She saw Tom in ten years, and in twenty, and still liked what she saw. There was Andrea, growing up
with two devoted, loving parents. She saw the happiness and togetherness of raising Andrea’s little
brothers or sisters. She looked and looked, but all she could see was a lifetime of love.

“Yes.”
“You will?”
“Yes. Yes!” she exclaimed more loudly. “Yes, Tom. I’d love to marry you.” Tom stood up and

placed the ring on her finger – the perfect ring, and a perfect fit, they both soon found. Megan threw
her arms around his neck, kissed him deeply and held him close. Losing herself in his embrace, she
was deaf to the smattering of kindly cheers from Boston’s watching public.

Hand in hand, they walked blissfully across the Common, together in the warm spring sunshine.

The End

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review on Amazon so you can help others find it. You may also enjoy these other series by Victoria
Villeneuve:

Falling for the Billionaire (The Complete Series)

: Tina's spent years of her life running, running from

her ex boyfriend Brandon. When he finds her once more she ends up in the hospital, bemoaning her
luck, when a handsome stranger offers her a cup of coffee and, strangely enough, a new hope for her
future.

Emboldened, Tina packs her things and moves to New York City, regretting not having gotten the
chance to thank the man she refered to as "Her Stranger". Working as a receptionist in Manhattan,
Tina begins to live the closest thing she can to a normal life.

But all that is about to come crashing down on her when she meets the head of her company,
Alexander Lidstrom, and finds that the billionaire is none other than Her Stranger, the man she
revealed all her deepest secrets to in a hospital waiting room.

But as Tina and Alex find their lives intertwining, and find themselves getting closer and closer to
one another, Tina also discovers that running from her past is harder than she ever thought possible.

This 45,000 word work contains all three parts of the Falling for the Billionaire series by Victoria
Villeneuve.

The Billionaire’s Command (The Complete Trilogy)

: This novel length collection from Victoria

Villeneuve includes the following three stories:

Seduced: When Caroline's company won an all expenses paid trip to Hawaii, she thought all she'd be
doing was lying on the beach drinking mai tais with her best friend Lisa. Little did she know her life
would be turned upside down when she ran into Mark Selzer in the elevator.

Expecting their one night of passion to be only that, Caroline is shocked when Mark shows up at her
door two weeks later. Will she be able to open up enough to let him into her life? And how will she
react when she finds out he's the heir to the largest resort company in the country?

Claimed: When Caroline decides to risk everything and move to San Diego to live with Mark Selzer,
the billionaire she met in Hawaii, she has no idea how much her life is about to change.

Not only does Mark ask her to do something she's not sure she can do, but when she meets his family
Caroline discovers Mark's family secrets run as deeply as hers. But what happens when Mark
decides to finally confront his demons?

Loved: Caroline and Mark have to work together to try and figure out how to get control of Mark's
charity back when his father swindles him out of it and disinherits him.

But just when they think their problems are gone, Caroline's mother finds her once again. Will
Caroline have to leave Mark and run away from her new life to get away from her mother once more?

About the Author

Hi! I’m Victoria Villeneuve. I’m a small town girl at heart, with dreams of living in a cabin in the

country with my two dogs and my amazing boyfriend Mike. When I’m not writing you can usually find

me enjoying a nice mocha in my local coffee shop, reading some of my favourite books by the lake or

playing soccer with my friends.

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