I couldn’t believe it. I was about to go on a date; an actual date!

Not a trip behind a dumpster or an excursion to somebody’s backseat; nothing sordid or perverted, and nothing expected but the pleasure of each other’s company.

A real. Live. Date!

Moreover, it was a date with someone whose company I had actually enjoyed. It had been so long since I had even felt interested in dating—“Perks of the job, eh?” as Candy had put it—and the sensation was something surreal and almost otherworldly. Like something that I might have felt in a dream or from a past life but was certain I’d never come to feel again.

Excited as I was, though, I was also terrified.

Though I’d only been working the streets for a short time, something about it had consumed my entire life and left nothing of what once was behind. Though I’d been on plenty of dates prior to being taken by T-Built, I couldn’t begin to play out a memory of any one of them that didn’t immediately spiral into some memory of a random John. And while I was sure Jace wouldn’t mind getting something from me—Lord knew I didn’t mind the idea of getting something from him—I didn’t want that to be what it was all about. Not like every other night. I wanted this to happen naturally; I wanted it to happen right.

But after everything I’d done, I wasn’t sure I’d be any good at it. Worse yet, I wasn’t even sure if that concern made sense.

Being bad at dating? Was that even a thing?

I supposed it would have to be, right? I remember at least thinking that so-and-so wasn’t good at dating? I could even remember having a chuckle with my old girlfriends from high school about dates gone wrong, but it seemed bizarre that the memory of those conversations should be more memorable than the dates themselves. But even if my own past dates had faded into some strange sort of obscurity, there were plenty of horror stories about dates gone wrong. Such a thing must have, in some way or another, been the fault of at least one of the daters.

And these were the thoughts that held me gripped in the throes of terror more moments after stepping in front of the mirror to get ready.

I frowned, chewing on my lower lip. It was scary enough that I had, in such a short time, begun to think of the bulk of my lifetime as already being “another life;” though it felt right, as I couldn’t help but feel like it was an entire lifetime that had passed since then. It hadn’t even been a year and I felt like I’d already thrown away my old life. It was pretty depressing, actually, and I hated the idea of having these thoughts just a short time before my date. I tried not to think about it, but the more I tried to turn off the thoughts the more powerful they rolled on.

Shaking my head, I looked up into the bathroom mirror. I didn’t even know how long I had been standing there, contemplating everything and working myself into a panic. Though I was certain I couldn’t have been in there for more than a few minutes, it felt like it could’ve been hours. And that only made me that much more panicked, this time that I was already running late. I sighed, swallowing down all the worry, pushing away the pain and regret of my present life and the painfully distant oblivion that my past life had become; mustering all the courage I could, I forced myself to repeat the one simple truth back to myself:

I was about to go on a date! And, before any worry or panic or other shred of negativity could sew itself into the supple flesh of my newborn optimism, I remembered how Jace had treated me on that first night—how he’d talked to me and how he’d actually listened to me—and it felt right.

It all felt right.

And, so long as I was dividing lives, I supposed it was only right to admit that it was the first thing in this life that had ever felt right. Perhaps, since I was feeling daring at that moment, I could go so far as to say it was the most right I’d ever felt in any of my lifetimes.

“You got this, Mia,” I said to myself, hoping I could sound enough like Candy to be convincing. “You got this!”

I looked at my reflection, and for the first time since I’d started looking in that mirror I didn’t resent the pretty face staring back. I hadn’t bothered with a ton of makeup, going for a more natural look, and had swept my long hair up into a simple and functional ponytail. I’d decided on a light-blue blouse that I had along with my nicer jeans. I was trying to get as far from the whorish image I’d grown so accustomed to while still staying true to what I personally felt was a charming aesthetic. One might even go so far as to say “cute.” I dwelled on the thought of a prostitute preparing for a date, and I recalled the image of Julia Roberts walking down Beverly Hills’ Rodeo Drive. The pretty, non-whorish girl in the mirror smiled at the thought, and then, seeing me smile back, she laughed.

The two of us were actually laughing!

It all felt right! It all felt perfect! Just like Julia Roberts in…

I stopped laughing—the girl in the not-a-window stopped, too—and I felt my freshly stretched-sore cheeks tug in a defeated frown. I trembled, uncertain, and, worried that my legs might give out entirely, I sat down on the toilet seat.

“What are you doing?” I asked myself aloud, following this up with “Do you think some white knight—shining armor and all—is going to come in and rescue you from this world; from this awful life?” I shook my head again. “Stupid, Mia. You’re just a stupid…” I sighed, trailing off—unsure if it was out of exhaustion from the mental roller coaster I’d taken myself on or something else—and forced myself to stand up.

This was not a good idea.

Nothing that felt this right ever ended well. Nothing in real life ever did. If living two lives had taught me anything, it was that. I left the bathroom intending to cancel the date, hoping that Jace hadn’t left and that I might get him on his cell before he arrived.

Then Candy stepped in front of me. Candy, normally carefree and smiling, stared at me with her hand outstretched, her eyes hard and unwavering. I frowned, knowing that look, or, rather, knowing that that look meant she knew what my look meant. She’d always managed to read me like I read my books before, and this time didn’t seem to be any different. I gulped, my mouth suddenly dry, my lips suddenly quivering, and my words suddenly gone from me.

“Hold it, girl,” she started, looking me dead in the eyes. “I know you, and I know your brain—your ‘I can’t ever be happy’-brain—and I know that I’m not letting anyone, not even you, ruin this moment. I even know what that brain’s got you thinking, and I’m telling you and your brain to stop right there. You and this guy obviously have something—call it chemistry or stored-up karma or fate, whatever—and I’m not gonna let you just ruin whatever it is just ‘cause you’ve got yourself thinking bullshit thoughts, got it? So what is it, exactly? Is this the whole ‘who could ever love a whore’-thought process? Or is it the ‘I’ve been with a lot of guys, and they’re all the same in the end’-way of thinking? Or maybe, no, it’s the ‘real life doesn’t have happy endings’-one, is that it? Huh, Mia, is that it?”

I didn’t answer, but a red-hot burn took to my cheeks. I felt like that answered enough for both of us.

“Why do you think someone like you isn’t allowed to be happy?” she demanded.

“Like me? Come on, Candy. You’ve got to be thinking it too, right? I mean, what am I doing here? How is this supposed to work? I just go on a date during the day with him and then head out with you at night to suck and fuck anybody who’s got the cash? I mean, sure, you and I know it’s just a job, but how’s he supposed to handle that? How long is he really going to put up with something like that? How long do you think he’ll be willing to kiss me knowing that my lips had been wrapped around God-knows how many dicks just a few hours earlier? How long before he gets tired of some random John’s sloppy seconds, thirds, or—one a ‘good night’—fifteenths? And what if he’s as great as he seems, Candy; what if he’s willing to put up with all of it with a smile on his face? That’s even worse! A guy like that… how could I give him the life he deserves if this is the life I’m stuck in? And don’t you say that maybe he can get me out of this life, because we both know who calls the shots. It ain’t me, it ain’t him, and it sure-as-shit ain’t you! It’s T-Built, and if he gets any sort of whiff of what’s going on then this life—my life—and all its disgusting, sordid depravities will be the last thing he has to worry about!”

“Have you already forgotten that this Jace-guy isn’t exactly living the straight-and-level life, either? If I had to guess, I’d be willing to bet good money that he’d be able to take care of himself.”

“From the likes of T-Built?” I argued.

Candy only shrugged.

I shook my head. “This isn’t some fantasy where I accidentally meet the perfect man, Candy. Something will go wrong,” I insisted, looking down. “It always does.”

“It might not be,” she shrugged. “And maybe you’re right; maybe all this won’t work out. And, if that’s the case, at least you’ll have this moment—a moment that interrupted all the bullshit and rancidness of our lives—and we can reminisce on it together after the shit’s hit the fan. It’ll be a nice memory to look back on, won’t it? But, then again, maybe you’re wrong. Maybe it will work out, and, honestly, I’ve heard of crazier things happening. Either way, you’ll never know if you don’t take the leap, right?”

“You really think so?” I asked as I bit my lip. My heart was racing.

I felt like I was reaching, but I wanted to believe her; wanted to try—wanted to think that this could be real.

I needed this to be real.

The thought jolted me and I bit my lip. While I certainly wasn’t happy with the way my life had been going so far, and while I was quick to assume that everything was just one, big cosmic trap ready to snap shut on my life, was I so ready to jump at the first thing that might not be a monumental disappointment?

Yes, I leapt up to answer in an instant. Yes I am!

I had never been upfront with others. Hell, I had never even really been honest and upfront with myself if I thought back on it. Yet now, when I had already reached what many would agree was, undeniably and without a doubt, rock bottom, it was tough to look anywhere but up. And while the water might have been muddy looking down, from down here everything above was crystal clear. I did want this. I certainly believed I deserved it. And, like Candy had said, would it really be so bad if it did nothing else but distract from the here-and-now? It was a painful thought, but not nearly as painful as the thought of doing nothing.

I felt myself smile, and, seeing this—seeing the change she’d instilled in me—she smiled back. And then, as if on cue, I heard the sound of a motorcycle engine as it came to a stop outside our living room window below. It revved, idled a moment, and then went quiet as it was turned off.

And, as if the snuffing of the bike’s engine had started a new one in my heart, I felt free. I felt for the first time in a long time—in ever, if I was being honest with myself—genuinely excited at the idea of a man coming for me.

“Go on, now,” Candy smirked. “And don’t forget to have fun, girl.”

“I’ll…” I nodded and took a deep breath. “I’ll try. I really, really will. And don’t worry, I’ll meet you at the corner at—”

“Don’t you worry about the corner tonight,” she said with a smile. “I’ll cover for you.”

“What? Cover for… but what about T-Built?” I asked, shaking my head. “If he finds out that I wasn’t—”

“If the next words out of your mouth aren’t ‘Thank you, Candy’ and ‘I’ll be sure to have a good time,’ I’m gonna smack you upside your head!” she scolded, actually raising her hand as though she would make true on that threat then and there.

I nodded and smiled warmly. “You are amazing, Candy,” I said.

“Damn right, I am,” she said with a smirk as she began to push me out the door. “You can make it up to me by making hunky-boy confess that he loves candy. After all, who doesn’t love candy?” she asked with a wink.

I blushed and nodded, accepting her guiding hand and starting out the door. As I stepped out of the comfort and familiarity of our apartment and into the hall, Candy’s hand fell away from me and a foolish part of me felt suddenly scared and abandoned—I was a little girl again, and Daddy had just taken his hands off the bicycle I was learning to ride.

“You’re flying solo now, sweetheart!”

I sucked in a deep, calming breath and thought Jace—thought of his eyes, his words, of him—and started for the stairs that would take me to the building’s entrance where he was waiting for me.

“No,” I whispered to nobody. “No, I’m not flying solo. Not anymore.”

The afternoon sun hit my eyes, and I had to blink a few times from just how bright it was. I felt a moment of utter shame as I realized that I was advertising to Jace and anyone else who cared to look that I wasn’t accustomed to sunlight.

I might as well have been wearing a sign that read, “VAMPIRE OR WHORE? YOU BE THE JUDGE!”

Then the glare died, my eyes adjusting faster than I would have expected, and my gaze fell on Jace. Suddenly I couldn’t begin to understand what I’d been so nervous about. There was no judgement in his gaze, no doubt or disdain; if anything he looked a great deal more relaxed than he had the last time I’d seen him. He’d respected my wishes and not tried to come up—he knew enough about me and my life without having to walk through it, and, knowing my luck, he would have come in during one of our hallway’s random “mystery smell” days—but he had made a note of climbing off of his motorcycle and waiting nearer to the door. While it was a small gesture, it made my heart flutter all the same. A phantom memory of another first date from long ago came and went: a boy, far from being a man (if the transition ever would happen for him), pulling up in a ratty station wagon, blapping out a few husky cries on the car’s horn, and then just waiting in his car for me to come out. He hadn’t even tried to open the door for me when I’d reached the car. Later that night, he’d asked me to pay for both of our meals, eaten all the candy at the movie, and then tried to shove his hand up my skirt. The moral of the story—one I obviously hadn’t taken to heart—was not to trust a man who couldn’t be bothered to commit to a small gesture of kindness.

Though it wasn’t a car and it had no doors that needed opening or in response to my approach, there’d been no blapping of a horn, no expectant waiting while he stayed perched in his seat, and this gave me even more hope for what was to come. He was, in fact, standing by the door. I realized this because, just as my eyesight adjusted, I realized that he was, in fact, already standing by me. I blinked at this, in part against the still tolling brightness, but mostly at how sudden and right him being there felt. My eyes fell on his face in time to see his lips pull up in a smile in response to me—something in knowing that my arrival had made him smile and that he hadn’t just already been smiling made my own smile curl that much more—and, in a graceful, shrugging motion, a pair of aviator sunglasses were held out before me. In an embarrassing and ironic reflex, I blinked at them, too. Jace chuckled, flipped open the glasses, and eased them onto me. His thumbs grazed my temples as he finished, the rims nestling in behind my ears, and I my entire body shivered.

“Sorry about that,” Jace said, and I knew that he meant it—wasn’t just saying the words out of some socially mandated reflex.

“N-no,” I stammered, still riding on the delicious chill his touch had delivered to my otherwise overheated senses. “It… it wasn’t a bad shiver,” I confessed, feeling myself blush and moving to adjust the lenses—curious if the dark lenses that were shielding my eyes just right from the sunlight might hide my burning cheeks, as well.

“Ah,” Jace responded, his grin returning and actually growing. “Well, then I’m not sorry.”

I couldn’t help but giggle at that.

He presented a hooked arm before me, and I saw for the first time that he was donned in a leather jacket the fit him perfectly. It held his form the same way that a suit that costs thousands of dollars holds the form of a snooty, snotty businessman, and something in the thought of all that attention to comfort and style being applied to such a rugged and rebellious symbol awed me. Here was a man with the money and focus of the crème de la crème with none of the pretentiousness and carbon-copy bullshit.

And this man, like the knights of old, rode in not on a chariot but upon a fiery, chrome stallion.

It was then that I realized that the form-fitted leather jacket wasn’t a thing like an expensive business suit, but like prized armor. The modest, fitted black tee peeking out from behind the open leather, the perfectly faded jeans, and the worn-down-but-heavily-loved boots—all of it didn’t just look good on him, it looked right on him.

Just like a knight’s armor, I thought again, remembering the conversation I’d just had with Candy.

Then I looked back up at him—realizing that I’d been ogling the muscles of his legs where I imagined he gripped the motorcycle’s siding—and saw that he was still holding his arm out to me. Over the past few months, I’d seen plenty of men raise their arms to me. In those circumstances, I knew I was either about to be slapped or that my head was about to be forcefully guided someplace that man thought it would serve a better purpose. Now, however, the arm that was held out to me was neither violent nor demanding. It was inviting. I blinked again, still stunned by just how surreal this all seemed, and forced myself to look up; forced myself to meet his eyes.

“Everyone acts like it’s impossible to read a John at a glance, but it can be the easiest thing in the world if you know to look past the promise of a dollar and consider the value of who’s holding the wallet.”

Though Candy had meant for the lesson to be applied to the job, I’d found it to reach much farther and apply to much more. Moreover, I’d come to find that, yes, it was the easiest thing in the world to read a person—to consider their value—if you could just learn to read their eyes. At that moment, with Jace seeming so perfect—too perfect!—I needed to know what could be read from his eyes…

And I saw Christmas.

A deep, profound green stared back at me; cold, but not uninviting. Like a forest of pines atop a snowcapped hill in December. Just like the forest of pines that my family used to visit on the first of December.

“To start the season off right,” my father would say, axe in hand and wearing a smile that was already festive and jolly.

Started off right, I thought.

“Hmm?” Jace hummed questioningly, and I realized that I’d spoken my thoughts aloud.

“O-oh! Oh my… I didn’t mean—” I groaned, mortified. “I was just thinking, and… it was just something that my…” I sighed, inhaled, and forced myself to calm down. “I’m just nervous, that’s all.”

“You too?” he asked.

I stared at him, confused. “‘You… too’?” I repeated, the words seeming alien to me. Their meaning would have been clear if it weren’t for the person speaking them. It was like Bill Gates asking for spare change or Shaquille O’Neal asking you to reach the top shelf—the source just didn’t match the nature of the request. The idea that Jace—this absolutely certain and perfect man standing before me—should be nervous about anything, let alone the date I’d been wracking my brain over, seemed beyond absurd.

“Sure,” he said, actually giving a nervous-looking shrug with a single shoulder. On him, though, it looked so boyishly cute that it just worked that much against the claim. “I actually spent, like, close to forty minutes trying to get my hair right. Not that it made a difference,” he frowned and started fussing blindly with it, and I realized that the rugged, tussled look had been an unintentional effect from riding his motorcycle without a helmet. I watched his fingers glide through the thick, dark mess, gaping at the marvelous display and distantly surprised at how ignorant he seemed to be of just how perfect he appeared.

Seeing him acting so uncertain with no earthly reason to be gave me a boost of confidence, and it occurred to me that, if he could feel nervous and look like that, then maybe all my nerves were just in my head, too. Who knew? Maybe all his perfectly executed movements and gestures had seemed just as awkward and clunky to him as all of my own actions had seemed to me. Maybe—just maybe—all of this was even more perfect because of that.

“You know,” I chimed, deciding to roll with my newfound confidence, “it is illegal to be ride without a helmet. Especially since I’ve seen how you ride,” I added, taking his arm and joining him in strolling towards his motorcycle.

He offered a smirk in return and asked, “Are we really going to discuss legalities?”

I blushed, ignored it, and chuckled before giving a subtle shrug. “Fair enough. I guess I won’t tell if you won’t,” I said. “So, where are we going?”

He grinned at the question and moved to retrieve the only helmet.

I raised an eyebrow at the sight of it as he held it out to me. “So you do own one of these!” I mock-exclaimed, accepting it, amazing myself with how easy it was for me to slip into a comfortable banter with this man.

He shrugged. “It usually serves as a space holder for my parking spot back at home,” he explained. “But I figured it’d serve a greater purpose if I brought it with me today.”

I blushed at that, feeling strangely flattered. “I take it you don’t give many rides then?”

“Less than you’d think,” he admitted.

I grinned at that and chuckled, finally accepting the helmet. “So how many girls have ridden with you.”

“More than I’d like,” he said with a grimace. Then, seeming pleased with a sudden thought, he added, “But you’d be the first one to wear that helmet.”

I looked down at the helmet for a moment, confused. “I don’t understand,” I said.

Jace shrugged. “I never wanted a passenger before today,” he explained. “All the others were…” he sighed and shrugged again, “Well, let’s just say they were more for appearances than for anything else. You’re the first girl I’ve known would be riding—the first one I had plans to ride with—and, because of that, you’re the first girl I’ve brought the helmet for.”

I caught myself staring down at the helmet again, momentarily stunned by the symbol of the gesture.

Catching me staring, Jace asked, “Everything alright?”

Not wanting to be caught swooning, I said, “It’s just the first time a guy’s bothered to remind me about protection. It’s usually the other way around.”

I added an extra bit of oomph to the last part—driving the punchline home as best I could—and I watched as Jace’s eyes widened at the implication. I caught sight of a blush forming along the stubble of his jaw, and he seemed to be wrestling for something to say in response. No response came.

I giggled at the display.

“You said that just to get a rise out of me, didn’t you?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Maybe,” I admitted.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he sighed.

“Kinda,” I grinned. “I’d apologize, but your response was… cute.”

He groaned at my choice of words and let his shoulders fall in defeat. “‘Cute.’ Just what every guy aspires to be,” he playfully whined.

“Well, if they don’t then maybe they should,” I countered, slipping the helmet on, buckling and adjusting the strap, and then moving to climb onto the bike behind him. “So, what’s the plan? You never told me where we’re going?”

“Guess you’ll just have to wait and see,” he said as he started the bike.

“Oh? Should I be nervous?” I asked, having to shout over the roar of the engine.

“Maybe,” he shouted back.

As he shifted the motorcycle into gear I moved my hands to his shoulders to hold on. Keeping a grip on the handbrake, he reached up with his free hand, cupping it over one of my own. The contact sent a flood of warmth through me, and I distantly wondered what had compelled him to pause just to hold my hand like that. Then he lifted my hand in his and started to guide it lower. My eyes widened, the heat growing in intensity as possibilities and instincts began to take hold. Then, setting the hand at his waist and nodding to the other that still rested on his shoulder, I realized he’d only been readjusting my grip on him. Blushing at myself, I wondered how I might have reacted if things had started to go the way I’d suspected.

I surprised myself by realizing I didn’t hate the idea.

“Hold on,” he said.

And then we were moving.

Though I felt like I already was “holding on,” the sudden jolt of motion—a sensation that something was trying to pull me off of the bike and away from him—motivated me to squeeze myself against him that much tighter. Leaning against the phantom pull, I nestled myself into his back, finding that I enjoyed the feel of him against me. His back was taut with muscles, and I couldn’t help but relish in the power I could feel in them as I held myself there. I felt his body tense and shift around each task as he piloted the machine through the streets; his shoulders rolling and tightening as he accelerated, steered, and worked the grips. His lower back tensed each time he shifted gears, and the slight tug of these muscles against my lower belly had me embarrassing myself with unintentional reactions. Between the sensation of his body working against mine and the vibrations rolling, rolling, rolling on, I realized with no small amount of concern that I was enjoying the ride more than I probably should have been.

He and the bike were thrumming with energy, and it was almost more than I could handle. The wind kicked up as he shifted gears again and sped past a yellow light that threatened to go red. A cry escaped my lips, one of pure exhilaration, and I felt his joyful laughter as it rippled through his back and against my face. We banked right, turning onto the freeway, and the bike jumped into high gear; the machine feeling almost like a living thing that Jace had finally let loose. As we sped up, the energy swelled around us like an aura, seeming to feed each of us while we, in turn, fed back into it.

It was a freedom I’d never known, one I’d never even thought possible, and it was mine.

At that moment, at least, it was mine!

I felt free.

In that instant, I could almost understand why Jace drove without a helmet. To feel this free, to live in this moment of exhilaration, was to hand oneself over to something almost beyond the realm of control. It was the act of running up the front steps of Suicide’s home, ringing the doorbell, and then fleeing like hell before it had a chance to catch you. Without a helmet, every detail and every bit of that delicious wind was his and his alone, filling his senses as he and his machine became one glorious entity and sped through the streets.

I envied the feeling, and a sort of dream-like trance came over me as I tried to imagine what it was like to see as he saw, to feel as he felt. More and more I put myself where he was until…

Until I could almost feel my own hands around my waist; until I could almost feel…

I felt us begin to slow, that glorious, roaring freedom fading into something strange and familiar; something, I realized, called life. Blinking at the sudden shift—what felt like a very real change in the universe itself—I saw that we were turning into a parking garage. Looking over my shoulder, curious to see if I could identify any landmarks and get a hint of where Jace had taken us, I spotted the city library across the street. I gawked at the concrete building, realizing with some disappointment that I’d only ever seen the building from afar and never truly had the opportunity to appreciate just how massive it was. My time in the city had been short lived and, as a result, painfully limited before T-Built had tracked me down and forced my world to shrink to little more than my and Candy’s apartment and my and Candy’s corner. Even our bus route offered only a limited scope of the not-so-scenic downtown area.

My thoughts swirled as I realized that, in such a short time, this date had taken a rather Disney-esque twist—seeming to throw me above the clouds, offering new sensations and perspectives I’d never thought possible. As I wondered if there was a musical number in my foreseeable future, Jace pulled into an open parking spot. I felt myself whimper in protest as the motorcycle finally came to a stop and the rumbling engine died, but I didn’t have much time to mourn the end of our ride before Jace slipped off and held his hand out to me to follow. I took it, and with surprisingly little effort he helped me up—seeming to do most of the work. This, however, I was thankful for—my numbed legs weren’t, as it turned out, quite up to the task of lifting the rest of me on their own.

“That was… exhilarating!” I announced, feeling like I’d said the last word in a gasping, bark-like exclamation.

“Yeah,” Jace said, his voice dreamy and longing. It was the way I imagined a schoolboy fawning over his secret crush. Part of me felt jealous about the bike in that instant; another part of me defensively wanted to claim it as my own before he could. None of me was embarrassed by either of those responses. “It really is something, isn’t it? The thrill of… well, all of it, I mean.”

I blushed and nodded. “Is that how it always feels for you? You don’t, like, get used to it or numb to it?” I asked, dreading the response.

He shook his head and then looked back at the motorcycle, staring at it for a long while. “A friend of mine used to say that riding was like sex: you might get familiar with it, but you never get tired of it. I liked the way that sounded when he said it, but then I lost interest in sex.”

It was my turn to say, “You too?” Then, feeling it was necessary to elaborate on that statement, I added, “I can still take pleasure in it, I suppose, but it’s just been so long since all of it actually meant something that it feels more like work than anything else. I mean,” I chuckled nervously, “I guess, for me, it is work… but I like to imagine that maybe, at some point, I can remember what it’s supposed to be again…”

His gaze shifted to me then, and I saw his expression change. Though it was hard for me to place the emotion, he seemed both shocked and somehow relieved to hear me say that. It was the look I imagined a person giving when they’d discovered something they’d long since given up searching for.

And then it hit me: it was the first time somebody had understood how Jace felt about the subject.

No wonder he doesn’t care about what I do for a living, I thought with a sort of mortified relief. It felt wonderful to know that he wasn’t faking his “who cares”-tone towards me being a prostitute, but I hated thinking that he had to be somehow broken to feel that way.

Then again, didn’t I have to be broken in my own way to not be scared away by the life he lived? Weren’t we, in our own busted, fucked-up ways, perfectly sculpted to understand the other?

The depth and complexity of this thought process scared me, and I forced myself to swim away from deeper, more complex thoughts. Instead, I forced a smile—sincere, but forced all the same—and asked, “So, where are we headed? Can I know now?”

He smirked and nodded, gesturing across the street to the library.

“The library?” I raised my eyebrow at him, “Really?”

He nodded, beaming. “Yup! They have their annual book sale going on right now. I go every year.” He looked back, seemed to consider something, and then frowned. “Why?” he asked, “Do you not—”

I didn’t let him finish. I was already starting out in that direction at a near-sprint. An elated squeal trailed behind me as I went, and, though I knew I should have been embarrassed about that, I felt somehow safe in showing my excitement.

Jace was beside me in an instant, matching my eager pace, and he held his hand out to me. I took it without a second thought, the contact sparking within me and making my smile grow that much wider, and we made our way out of the parking garage. The afternoon sun still hung, bright and satisfied in the sky, and I couldn’t help but think that the day was already going perfectly. Between the amazing ride and now the chance to surround myself in one of my most guilty of pleasures? It was… well, perfect!

Absolutely perfect!

And, in its perfection, I found myself growing evermore curious about Jace. I glanced over at him as we started across the street, my intrigue swelling. Though it was, in my opinion, the perfect choice for a date, I knew that a library book sale wasn’t exactly the first choice many people would make. Truth be told, it probably didn’t even rank in many peoples’ Top-Ten. So what made Jace an exception to that rule? What sort of life had a bad boy, motorcycle gang leader also being an unabashed book nerd? I figured it was no less intriguing than the sort of story behind a person like me—a “booker hooker” as Candy sometimes called me—but, admittedly, mine was a pretty unconventional story, as well.

I realized with some embarrassment that I’d crossed the street, hand-in-hand with Jace, in a total daze. One moment we were exiting the parking garage, the majestic, towering library awaiting us on the other side of four lanes of traffic, and the next we were starting up the concrete steps. Fliers hung around us, and the nearer we got to the entrance the larger these became until we were greeted by four large, hand-written posters advertising the event.

“ANNUAL BOOK SALE!! $5 A BAG – AS MUCH AS YOU CAN CARRY!!”

“Bag?” I asked, following Jace in.

“Mm-hmm,” he nodded, smiling back at me as he moved to hold the door open for me.

I froze momentarily at the gesture, my newer instincts shorting out my understanding of what was happening. Finally, remembering the “old ways”—and suddenly hating that I thought of them that way—I nodded my thanks and stepped through. The entire exchange only lasted a few seconds, but it felt longer to me; long enough to catch me off guard as he continued with the explanation:

“It’s easier to think of this less as a sale and more as an annual book purge,” he said, following me in. “The library winds up with a surplus of old books. A lot of what they get are donations, others are sent in from here-or-there, and the rest of it cycles titles between other libraries. If somebody here wants a book that’s only available, say, two towns over, they’ll request it be sent over. Because of this, the library doesn’t really need to take in a bunch of books, but the donations and shipments come in all the same. All year round. So they wind up with a lot of updated copies, lots of duplicates—you can’t imagine how many copies of Twilight they got a few years back; every day there were, like, a dozen-or-so copies in their donations bin—and the books that just get too old to maintain circulation. So the book sale gives them a chance to move some of that extra product out. So all we have to do is get a bag—or bags—” he winked at me, “and start filling ‘em as much as you can with whatever looks good.”

I stared out at all the folding tables waiting inside for us. All of them were littered with old books; not an inch of table surface visible, and each mountain of various titles almost taller than me.

“Wow!” I gasped, feeling myself begin to bounce on my heels. And I can take as many as will fit in a bag for only five bucks?”

Jace shook his head, scoffing. “You can take as many as you want,” he corrected me. “I don’t care how many bags it takes.” Then, considering his words, he offered a shrug, “I mean, we’re gonna have to ride back, so I guess try to keep it limited to what you can carry. But if you wind up splurging I can always get the extras shipped back to your apartment.”

I felt my cheeks go hot at that. “You’d be willing to do that for me?” I asked.

He actually laughed as though I’d told a joke. “I handed over five grand before I even knew you, Mia,” he reminded me, “and, in return, you probably saved my life. Do you think a few five dollar bags of books is going to be a deal breaker?”

My cheeks went hotter.

Jace laughed at my reaction and went to the cashier, paying for two bags—joking that we’d probably be back for more—and handed me one. “Shall we?”

“This is incredible!” I exclaimed again, snatching up the bag and then, unable to help myself, throwing my arms around him. “Thank you! I’ve been wanting to get out this way since I moved here. It just wasn’t on the bus route and my schedule wasn’t…”

I looked down, not wanting to be reminded of my work. I wanted this time with Jace to be ours; to have a chance, if just for even a moment, to forget. For the first time in a long time, I felt like the Mia that I’d been before. Before I became a means for T-Built to make back what my brother had all-but stolen from the Carrion Crew debt; before I was forced into a life filled with one regret after the other.

Candy had been right: even if it wasn’t meant to be—even if it was doomed to failure—nothing that ever happened could take away the moment I was having with Jace.

“You okay?” Jace asked pulled me from my thoughts.

“Y-yeah,” I blushed at being caught zoning out. “Just… thinking.”

“Good thoughts, I hope,” he said, his face beginning to cross a bridge into concern.

Afraid of souring the moment, I nodded quickly and smiled a pure, genuine smile. “Great thoughts,” I assured him.

“Good,” he said, and then started to lead me to the closest of the tables. “Now, come! Bulk literature awaits!”

By the time Jace and I were descending the library’s front steps, three bags crammed with books to show for it, nearly an hour had passed. Though I was certain we could have easily spent more time and filled more bags, we’d agreed that a bag each and a third, “communal” bag of titles that we’d both expressed an interest in would do for the time being. That, and Jace assured me that the sale went on all month, which meant there’d be plenty of opportunities to take advantage of their “purging” another day.

“And, when that day comes,” he’d said, already speaking of it in the definite, “I’ll be sure to bring a truck instead of just my bike.”

He’d insisted on carrying the bags, easily bundling them in his left hand so that he could take my own in his right, and we crossed the street and started for the parking garage. I bit my lip as we drew nearer, a strange dread sweeping over me at the thought that he’d be taking me back home soon. While I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting—certainly not this—I was certain that I didn’t want it to end.

But Jace, being the seemingly perfect, noble, honest, and suave mind-reader that he surely must have been—and not even he could convince me otherwise—not only caught on to my panicked thoughts, but said exactly what I needed to hear to end them:

“My place is about a block from here,” he said casually, no sense of obligation or impatience in his tone. “We can drop off the books, hydrate, and then be off to our next location.”

“Next location?” I grinned, realizing this meant he’d already planned to keep the night going. “Do I get to know this one?”

“Nope. Spoils the fun,” he said with a wink, setting our books into the saddlebags on either side of the motorcycle’s rear before handing me the helmet.

“You know,” I said as I pulled it on and slid onto the bike behind him, “this sort of reminds me of a book I read once. Perfect date with too-good-to-be-true guy who insisted on mystery locations. Not to spoil it, but he turned out to be a vampire and it didn’t end well for the girl.”

Jace looked over his shoulder at me, a grin plastered on his face. “‘Too-good-to-be-true,’ huh?” he asked.

I blushed at that and, trying to keep my cool, forced myself to roll my eyes. “That’s all that you took from that?” I demanded.

He nodded and shrugged. “Sure,” he said, already starting to laugh before he’d had a chance to get the rest of his words out, “makes the murder and blood-drinking at the end of this date difficult if I confess to it now, doesn’t it?”

Then we were both laughing, and, without any prompting, I wrapped my arms around his waist. Jace started the bike, toe-stepped us back and out of the parking spot, and then started out. We began to move through the city at a steady pace—fast enough to graze the whimsical sensation I’d felt on the freeway, but slow enough to not be suicidal in the growing evening traffic—and, before long, we were slowing again, this time pulling into the underground parking garage of a set of condos. I gaped at the place as I watched its entrance grow with our approach and finally swallow us.

Jace navigated us past rows of Jaguars and BMWs and Mercedes, the cars seeming to spike up the value of the building and its tenants more and more with each new space we passed. Then, arriving at an open spot that already wore a few tire tracks from a motorcycle, he pulled in and parked. I paused, gawking around at all the fancy cars that surrounded us, while Jace began to collect the bags. Then, once again consolidating them into his left hand, he reached out his right towards me. For a moment I thought he was reaching out to take my hand—about to lead me up to his home—but, instead, he held his hand up, palm out, in a gesture for me to wait. I frowned, confused, wondering if he was just going to leave me there while he went up. Instead, he walked back, past me, and started towards a small booth manned by a single, formally-dressed attendant. The man, an older gentleman with shiny buttons and an old-timey hat, bowed his head in recognition at Jace’s approach. They talked for a moment, their distant voices an unintelligible pair of hums through the helmet I was still wearing, and then the man nodded again as Jace handed him the bags. A pair of smiles were shared, a few more words exchanged, and then I saw Jace pass something over to the man’s free hand. This, I guessed, was a tip for delivering the bags to his condo. A moment later, Jace was heading back.

“So…” I began, still awestruck by what I’d seen, “you just have someone who can take your bags upstairs for you?”

He chuckled and shook his head, settling into his seat. “It’s not part of his job normally, no. He just keeps an eye on the place, makes sure loiterers and thieves don’t try to sneak in and makes sure that people get safely from their condos to their cars and vice-versa.”

“So what makes you an exception?” I asked.

“I talk to him,” he said with a shrug. “I don’t pretend he’s invisible or act like he belongs there for my wellbeing. Also I never not give him something extra for his trouble.” He paused for a long moment, seeming to juggle a decision to say more. Then, offering another shrug and starting the engine, he added, “And a while back I helped him out of some trouble that he was having.”

I frowned at that, leaning against him and hugging myself to his waist as he started to toe-walk us out of the spot. “What kind of trouble?”

“The Carrion kind,” he said. “Don’t worry about it. It’s in the past, and I’ve got much more important things to think about right now.”

I looked up at that, but only saw the back of his head as he started to drive us back out the way we’d come. “Like what?” I asked.

“You,” he said.

Still swooning from Jace’s words, I was only distantly aware of our surroundings as we zipped and wove through a series of vacant, winding streets. Traffic had started to thin, and the path that Jace had chosen seemed almost ours. There was an occasional set of headlights and the hum of a passing car in the opposite lane, and on a few occasions I saw the sharp, twin eyes of taillights ahead of us a moment before Jace would swing us into the other lane and put them behind us. The exhilaration returned, this time without the almost suicidal “what if,” which had since been replaced with an almost meditative Zen.

The hum of the engine.

The sensation of the bike’s vibrations and Jace’s muscles working in sync against my body.

The scent of the evening air.

It was easy to drift, to lull, into a sense of peace. Buildings and streetlights became trees and shrubs, which then became a scattering of woods divided by quaint little homes, their lights cutting through the branches and creating flashes of shadows as we passed. Then there was water to our left, and I realized that we’d begun following a road that ran parallel to a canal. This canal, I realized, following its path, meandered towards a small village that waited, maybe a mile-or-two ahead; its combined lights seeming to act as a beacon. This, it turned out, was our next destination.

“Wow,” I whispered as we slipped onto the main street, taking in the sights of the small, independent shops and storefronts.

“Nice, isn’t it?” Jace replied. “I grew up here.”

“Why’d you move to the city?” I frowned.

“Needed to be closer for work,”

He sounded so far off that I decided not to push the subject any further and instead, continued to look around the town. I noticed a large banner that had been stretched out between a grocer and a hardware store, extending over the street.

“What is ‘Canal Days’?” I asked, reading it as we passed under it.

“It’s why we’re here,” Jace said matter-of-factly. “It’s a festival they do here. Vendors, artists, food tents,” he shrugged. “Pretty much anything you could think of. There’s plenty to do, believe me, but…” he paused as he pulled over to park along the side of the road beside a pharmacy that advertised over a dozen different types of ice cream floats in the window, “there’s a couple here—a family, I should say—who are here every year selling these candied almonds. I think they’re, like, the second or third generation to carry on the recipe, and I can remember my old man taking us here when I was a kid. Those nuts are something of a tradition for me.”

“So you brought me here to taste your nuts?” I teased.

“No,” he said, smirking at me as he helped me off the motorcycle. “Not mine. Some old dude’s actually.”

I laughed at that, elated that I could actually find humor in something that was otherwise a cruel reality for me, and it occurred to me just how distant this date was making me feel to my other life.

“My other life.”

Only one date and I was already subconsciously distancing myself from all of that.

Jace really was incredible!

We started forward on foot. At the next intersection, I saw that the road to the left, what started as a bridge that passed over the canal and continued on towards more stores and shops, had been closed off to host the event. Ahead, the sounds of live music and people filled the air, which carried with it the wafting aromas of popcorn, grilling meats, and—yes!—candied nuts. My stomach growled and I blushed, moving my hand to my stomach.

“S-sorry,” I chuckled nervously. “I guess I’m hungrier than I thought.”

“Good,” Jace said. “Means I won’t be pigging-out alone.”

Then, taking my hand in his once again, he escorted me into the Canal Days.

We made our way into the crowd and I couldn’t help but grow excited at the rows of tents that housed a myriad of different vendors selling all sorts of goods. As we made our way to the first vendor, a photographer, we both looked through their photos. I smiled, enjoying the moment of just looking at the photos with Jace.

“I’ve been here before,” he pointed to a photograph of a small port that looked to be somewhere European.

“Really? Where is this?” I tilted my head.

“It was a small fisherman town in Rome,” he smiled. “My family went on a vacation there before my brother graduated high school. We ended up getting lost and stopped at a small restaurant to get something to eat and get our bearings. The view we had from there wasn’t much different than this picture, actually.”

“Wow, that sounds amazing,” I smiled. “I’ve actually never left the States. I always wanted to travel, but never got around to it.”

“You still could,” he assured me, smiling.

I frowned, looking down, ignoring the pang of reminder of what I truly was and how wrong Jace was. I was trapped in the world I’d be forced into. Assuming I wasn’t killed beforehand, it would take years to pay off my brother’s debt, and that was assuming that T-Built was actually keeping track of what I earned and had any intention of letting me go.

Seeming to notice that the subject had slipped into a sore one, Jace was quick to offer a distraction. “Hey, I thought we were both starving, right?” Jace placed a hand on my shoulder, guiding me more away from my thoughts than towards a cluster of food vendors. “What would you like?”

I looked up into his eyes, realizing he could somehow understand where my thoughts were headed and I offered a nod, smiling in gratitude at the distraction. We left the booth and, as Jace let me take the lead, I headed straight towards a cotton candy stand.

“So you’re a dessert-before-dinner sort of girl?” he jabbed as he bought each of us a bag of cloudy sweetness.

“When I can be,” I confessed, already starting to go to work on my bag. A part of me was nervous about letting this man see me wolfing down an entire bag of spun sugar, but, upon looking up at him, I saw that he already had a giant fistful of his own crammed halfway into his gaping mouth.

A tuft of the stuff hung from his mouth, dancing slightly in a small breeze and looking like a bright, neon-pink goatee against his chin.

Giggling at the sight, I did the same, hoping to elicit the same result. He laughed at the sight, and I guessed that I’d succeeded in the effort.

“I like a girl with an appetite,” he told me.

“Then you’ll love me,” I boasted, then immediately blushed and paused, considering the implications of my words. Not even through the first date and I’d thrown the “L”-word out there. Curious, I gave him a quick glance, wondering if I’d made things awkward just then.

The smile on his face filled me with only confidence.

Going on, I added, “I’ve always loved food, and I was always active enough to get away with eating what I wanted.” I figured it wasn’t worth pointing out that, lately, I didn’t often get my hands on enough food to even worry about what it might do to my figure.

“I love confidence in a girl, too,” he said, and, though I couldn’t be sure, I thought I heard a bit of an inflection on ‘love.’

Obviously my introduction of the “L”-word wasn’t going to be a deterrent for him.

This, however, only got me thinking.

I was more than just a bit afraid of how strongly I was beginning to feel towards Jace. It was something that, whether we were talking about my old life or my new life, I wasn’t at all used to. Before T-Built and Mack’s debt, none of my dates truly held promise of romance. I certainly liked the boys I went out with then, and I never denied that, maybe someday, something might come from all of our movies or dinners or stolen make-out sessions. But, even then, I’d never caught myself worrying about what they’d think if I did this or what they’d do if I did that; the idea of chasing them off didn’t concern me, because I was confident that, even the very next day, I could find another boy who wanted to date me if I was so inclined. Since then—after T-Built and Mack’s debt—the concept of dating and impressions was nothing if not every bit the distracting fantasy as my vampire books.

Johns didn’t buy you books or cotton candy, they didn’t give a shit what sort of things you liked, and they certainly didn’t escort you through magical adventures on a liberating machine made entirely out of every wonderful feeling in the world. Simply put: I had never—never, ever, never!—felt anything that felt even remotely in the vicinity of “love.” As far as I was concerned, it was a word that was universally amplified by writers, musicians, and marketing teams to sell books, records, and just about everything else under the sun.

And that was okay, right?

If “Love”—the grand, god-like appearance of the thing—was just a construct to make people feel good and keep money exchanging hands, then who was the victim?

Hell, was I any less guilty of selling “Love?”

“Son, someday you’ll find a nice girl who will take you behind a dumpster, tickle your no-no bag, suck on your pee-pee, and when she does that means she’s the one and you’ll buy her diamonds and eighteen-hundred dollar dresses and make two-point-five kids with her and mow the lawn while she watches and sings about somewhere that’s green.”

Nicholas Sparks, Miramax, Hallmark, Mia Chobavich: ingenious perpetuators of that infamous myth called “Love.”

I had gotten, while by no means happy, at least comfortable with this understanding of things. Accepting that romance existed more as a sales pitch made everything easier; it had made my teenage years of indifferent socializing less stressful and it made my time on the streets bearable. But now…

Now I was out on a date—a first date—with a man whose very presence filled me with some bizarre energy. I was thrumming on two simultaneous planes of being, feeling a sense of confidence I didn’t know was possible while also scrutinizing every little breath I took just to be certain I didn’t chase him away. I cared about the outcome now—I wanted the night with him to draw on, and I wanted the next date to be with him. I wouldn’t be satisfied knowing that some other boy would be willing to date me. Every normal night for me was a torturous reminder that what felt like everybody wanted a date with me, provided that date kept me degraded, hungry, and unsatisfied in every sense of the word.

Not that I’m sure he meant it, but even on the first night we’d met Jace had joked that if anybody deserved oral sex for everything that was happening it was me. Three guesses how many Johns had offered to go down on me, and the first two don’t count.

Even then, with no reason to care one way or the other, the concept of my pleasure had existed. Before that, I didn’t think anybody would even accept the notion that I still had nerve endings. Hell, I was starting to believe nobody even saw me as a person.

But Jace did. He always did. Even knowing what I was, he never let it stop him from knowing there was a “who” behind the “what.” Moreover, he didn’t care. He saw past everything that not even society could look past and was showing the person on the other side the night of her life; showing a whore the night of her life!

No…

Jason Presley was showing me—me! Mia Chobavich!—the night of her life.

And…

Damn!

And I was falling for him.

“Love.”

More than just a book; more than just a song; more than just greeting cards, perfumes, and heart-shaped boxes with drippy chocolates.

And, for that, I was terrified.

Not aware of the universal crisis toiling in my mind—So much for being a mind-reader—Jace stepped away to investigate a nearby booth. Glancing at the sign hanging over the table, I saw it was somebody advertising themselves as a “local jewelry artist.” The simplicity of the claim, however, seemed to underwhelm the quality of their work. Following after on shaky legs, I found myself gazing at gorgeous designs in gold and silver and gems that made the sort of stuff I’d seen hanging in chain store windows look plain by comparison. One necklace in particular held my gaze: a silhouetted bird hanging in mid-flight from a thin silver chain. Two blue gems that served as its eyes winked back at me in the artificial glow that existed all around us, and I felt my breath catch as I realized that the wings, arched upward to forever catch a current of air, were inlaid with even more glittering beauties. Not even realizing I was doing it, I ran my finger across the necklace, admiring both the work and feeling the piece gave me.

Freedom.

Again, that word seemed to tease me, seeming all at once both too far and already here.

“That’s pretty,” Jace said, and I watched, stunned, as he carefully reached over to pull the necklace from its place on the display stand.

“It is,” I said in a whisper. It was all I could manage. Seeing him handle the necklace, for some strange reason, made me feel like he was handling some priceless and one-of-a-kind artifact that was at risk from my even existing beside it.

Feeling like I was about to hyperventilate, I watched as he passed the necklace to the artist.

Disbelieving, I heard, “I’ll take it.”

The scene played out as if on a movie screen. Money exchanging hands. The still-glimmering necklace beginning to be tucked away inside a blue velvet box. Then Jace politely passing on the box; “I don’t need that,” I think I heard him say. Friendly smiles, nods. A “Have a great night.”

Just like on a movie screen.

I saw it, marveling at the process, without completely connecting what was transpiring with my place in all of it—I was, after all, only a spectator in a theater, right?

Right?

“May I?” I heard him say.

And I nodded, willing the perfect man on the movie screen to continue; wanting to see who the lucky starlet just beyond the camera’s eye would turn out to be.

Smiling, Jace continued—hands reaching towards me, reaching through the sacred divide of the silver screen.

And then the necklace was being clasped around my neck. The fourth wall had been broken, and suddenly a symbol of freedom was suddenly resting at my chest.

“There,” he said, as though it was the smallest, simplest thing for him. “Perfect. It’s definitely where it belongs.”

I felt my fingers dance up my chest as I reached with shaky hands to confirm what the rest of me was telling me was so. The gem-encrusted bird kissed my fingertips.

I think I managed to say “thank you,” but I couldn’t be sure.

With the words “Love” and “freedom” banging around inside my head, all I could be certain of at that moment was the tears that burst forth and the speed with which Jace managed to catch me as I threw myself into him to conceal the full impact of my wracking sobs.

Man, “Love” was a bitch!

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“‘Cause… you look like you might start crying again.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“You gonna start crying again?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“But you’re okay?”

I didn’t have it in me to “Mm-hmm” this time around, so I only nodded. After my episode—what I decided to call my “Mini-Meltdown on the Canal Day Stretch” in commemoration of the Orient Express novel I’d loved so much as a teen—Jace had hurried me to one of the many benches that littered the sidewalks along the stretch of road. He’d helped me to sit down, settled in beside me, and gone instantly into trying to figure out what was wrong.

What was wrong, however, was that nothing was wrong. And while that seemed reason enough for him to think that nothing was wrong, nothing being wrong felt pretty damn wrong to me. This, despite not making a bit of sense, he was willing to accept and his efforts to figure out what was wrong shifted to ones dedicated to making me feel better.

The irony of this was that it only reinforced the “nothing’s wrong”-issue.

And so I had a good cry, and Jace made a spectacular show of proving over and over again how not wrong anything was. Honestly, I’d have been laughing if I wasn’t too busy crying. Finally, exhausted and out of ideas, he resigned to putting an arm around my shoulder and guiding my cheek to his shoulder so that I could cry it out. At that moment, I stopped crying—catching both of us by surprise—and I hugged him. No, I embraced him—embraced him the way they do in the books and the movies and in all those commercials that, before that night, I would’ve called “stupid.”

And that brings us back to where we started.

“This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me,” I whispered into his chest, still kissing the bird around my throat with my fingertips.

“I hope you don’t mind it coming from me,” Jace whispered back.

I looked up at him, confused. “Why should I mind that?” I asked.

He shrugged his opposite shoulder, making sure to not disturb my perch. “‘Cause I’m damaged goods. The ‘wrong guy’-sort, you know? The guy that everyone’s friends and parents warn them not to get involved with.”

I frowned, not liking that that was how he saw himself, and said, “If you’re damaged goods then what am I?”

Another shrug. “A working girl,” he said dismissively, then nodded towards a pair of blondes across the street selling giant pretzels. “There’s two more now.”

I bit my lip at that. “So why me? Why aren’t you buying them beautiful jewelry and showing them magical nights?”

“Because girls like that are a dime-a-dozen,” he said.

My lip quivered and looked down. “I doubt that. Meanwhile any guy can have me in the worst kind of ways for a few crumpled tens,” I said in a whimper.

I felt him tense at that and his head shook slightly. “No they can’t,” he scolded. “You provide a service, nothing more. They aren’t getting you. No more than a person gets a masseuse or a physical therapist. I’ve already told you that I’ve been with prostitutes—lots of them, in fact; not proud of it, but I won’t lie about it—and I never believed that I was getting anything more from the transaction than what was being bought.”

I blushed at that, suddenly curious. “Were you rough with them?” I asked.

“Tried not to be,” he said. “I can’t say for certain—those in your profession are better actresses than actual actresses most of the time—so I don’t really know. I certainly never did anything to hurt them or make them uncomfortable intentionally.”

A strange sort of comfort came from that, and I rested a bit more against him. “Did you care about them?”

“What?” Jace sounded startled by the question. “No. Of course not, why?”

“But you care about me?” I asked, ignoring his question.

“Well, yeah! But I don’t—” he paused and then gave a slight chuckle. The hand around my shoulder cupped me there and held firm, solid and reassuring. “Mia, I’m not on a date with a prostitute right now. You need to understand that. I’m on a date with you.” He nodded back to the pretzel-blondes. “If one of them is out on a date, do you think they’re still in a world of salt and dough? Do you think the person they’re with is thinking about getting a snack out of them? Or worrying about who they sold a pretzel to earlier that day?”

“There’s a pretty big difference,” I pointed out.

“Only if you let there be,” Jace pointed back. “I’m not bothered by it either way, and I don’t care that this is what you do to get by. If I mind anything about it, it’s that you’re working for the Carrion Crew, but that’s only because they’re dangerous.”

I considered that for a moment and then looked down.

“And,” he went on, “I understand that it’s not glamorous work. It’s rough on you, I’m sure—probably much, much rougher than it should be—and I’d like to able to provide you with some comfort after all that; I’d like to offer you what you’re missing.”

“What I’m missing?” I repeated back to him.

He nodded and gave me a gentle smile. “Yeah. You know, nice days out. Food. Trips to local events. Maybe even trips to not-so-local events someday. And, you know…” he trailed off, seeming to consider something and then, once more, shrugged his opposite shoulder. Then, nodding back towards the necklace, he said, “And pretty jewelry.”

I blushed at that—at his words and the place I thought his unspoken words went—and once more kissed the bird with my fingertips. “It’s still the nicest thing anybody’s ever done for me.”

He sighed heavily at that and shook his head, taking my arm then. “Come on,” he said.

“Huh?” I gasped, uncertain of what was happening. “What is it? Where are we going?”

“While I appreciate that I could do that for you, it’s a shame that a piece of costume jewelry passes for the ‘nicest’ thing someone’s done for you. Let’s go fix that.”

I stammered for a moment, caught somewhere between the ferocity of his self-assigned mission and the notion that what hung around my neck could be considered “costume jewelry.”

“Fix that? How so?” I finally managed to ask, allowing him to lead me onward.

“Fixing,” in Jace’s world, involved him giving me the reigns to the rest of our time at the Canal Days. By his own urging, I stopped at any and every booth that seemed even remotely interesting and, if I looked at anything for longer than a few seconds, I might as well have claimed it as mine, because its next step was across the counter for purchase. The whole thing turned into a sort of game with me making an effort not to look long enough to wind up being the owner of whatever it was that I saw. I lost every time. I’d giggle, pleading with Jace that I was only looking, and he’d chuckle and tell me that I could look at whatever it was even more now that it was mine. Once again I found myself recalling Julia Roberts and her bizarre, fairytale journey through ‘Pretty Woman.’ Jason Presley, I decided with concrete resolve, was way sexier than Richard Gere.

“So, what’s the plan now?” I finally asked, hoping that the question would motivate an end to the game before I wound up exhausting Jace’s seemingly bottomless bank account.

“Why? Don’t want me buying you more things?” he smirked teasingly.

“Oh my…” I laughed and shook my head. “No. I think I’m good for today.”

“That’s fair,” he resigned. “But will you at least let me buy you dinner? I grew up in an old-fashioned household, and all those snacks don’t count as a meal as far as I’m concerned.”

I blushed and smiled, nodding. “Dinner sounds perfect.”

“Wanna just walk until we find something that looks good?” he grinned.

I nodded. “That also sounds perfect.”

“How’s this for the nicest thing somebody’s done for you?” he pried, offering me his arm.

“Definitely unmatched,” I told him, accepting it and starting along the stretch with him.

“We’ll see,” he mused. “I’d like to have another chance to one-up myself.”

I smiled at that, leaning my head against his arm as we walked. “I’d like that, too,” I admitted.

“How about here? The music sounds nice.” I said as we came across a restaurant that bordered the canal; a series of lanterns on a small wire creating a floating halo effect that only seemed to beckon us that much more.

He smiled and nodded, starting for the door and holding it open, “Here it will be then.”

Accepting the opened door with more grace this time, I nodded my thanks and stpped inside. A band, the source of the music we’d heard outside, was finishing up with the song that had lured us in and, as we were seated, a new one began. The tempo was steady but mood-setting, something I caught myself tapping my finger to almost instantly. I watched them a moment, letting myself decompress from everything the afternoon had shown me so far. I could see Jace looking back at me in my periphery, and the way that his eyes seemed to be tracing my face made me blush and look back at him. His already wide smile extended that much more as our eyes met, and I couldn’t help but smile back. Then, without a word wasted among us—it felt wonderful to just share a moment without the clutter of pointless chatter—he looked down at his menu. Then it was my turn to enjoy the way the light hit his face.

He was really too handsome for his own good.

“Any idea what you might want?” he asked without looking up.

I blushed and shook my head, “N-not yet…” I confessed, realizing I hadn’t even touched my own menu. “I was just taking a moment to enjoy the band.”

He glanced over his shoulder towards the stage and nodded, smiling, “They’re actually pretty good, aren’t they?”

“‘Actually’?” I repeated in a mocking tone. “What? Local bands can’t be good?”

He laughed and shook his head, “Nah. Every band’s ‘local’ for someplace, I suppose. I just meant that, when you’re in a small restaurant in a small town, you sorta take what you can get. A lot of the time it’s easy to just let their music fade into the background, but these guys…” he paused to let them “speak” for themselves. “I’m just saying that we lucked-out tonight.”

“I know I did,” I said, then immediately felt myself blush for it.

“What was that?” he asked, obviously not hearing what I’d said.

I hurried to say “Nothing!” and then made a show of opening my menu. After a moment of genuine scanning—and realizing that, yes, I was still starving—I realized I would be hard-pressed to actually pick something. “There is so much on here that looks good!” I admitted, almost feeling a sense of dread that I couldn’t eat everything. “I’m not sure what to choose!”

He chuckled and nodded, saying, “It does all look good.” Then, grinning up at me, he said, “Why don’t we pick, like, three-or-four of the best-looking entrees and then pick around. That way we don’t have to choose just one thing.”

Once more I found myself wondering if he was a mind-reader. Worrying that he just might be, I forced myself not to think that, being in the presence of a superhuman, I might be in some danger, and nodded.

“That sounds like a good idea.”

As it turned out, “three-or-four of the best-looking entrees” turned out to be quite a bit more.

I gaped as the waitress brought three trays full of food for us. She placed the plates down, asking (for the fifth time) if we were waiting for more guests. Jace seemed proud to answer that, no, we would be eating on our own. Then, stealing portions of food from a variety of plates, we spent over an hour just talking.

Just talking!

It was the longest and most wonderful conversation that I’d ever had. And, best of all, I couldn’t even remember half of it afterwards! There was no pressure, no demands, and no sense of the right-or-wrong thing to say. With an effortless flow, the subject of music became the subject of poetry. Poetry (somehow) turned into the subject of vegetables and which ones we couldn’t stand as kids. That, reasonably enough, slipped into childhood antics, which evolved into aspirations of future antics.

And on and on and on we went.

As the hour rolled by, I was surprised to find that, despite all of my justified doubts, we had, in fact, nearly cleaned off every plate in front of us. I blinked, not even realizing that we could eat that much.

“Wow! I wasn’t expecting to eat that much,” I chuckled nervously.

He smirked “Well, you started to flake out a bit halfway through, so I had to pick up the slack.”

I laughed at that and thanked him for not making me feel like a pig.

He laughed back and thanked me for not believing that he was a pig.

As we shared another laugh, the band announced that couples were “not only free encouraged to” use the open space in front of the stage to dance. This announcement motivated a bit of movement from all around, and I watched as a number of couples took to the call. As my eyes finished the journey back to Jace, I realized that he, too, was beginning to stand.

“Want to dance?” he smiled warmly.

“I’m a horrible dancer,” I confessed with a blush, but nodded and took his hand all the same.

“So am I,” he laughed. “So let’s be horrible together.”

I smiled, following him out onto the small area they had designated for dancing and moved my hands to his shoulders. He wrapped his arms around my waist as a slower, piano-driven song began to play and a cover to Frank Sinatra’s Fly Me to the Moon began. I enjoyed the slow melody as Jace began to lead me around the small area we had. I smirked as he led me perfectly and I worked to follow his steps.

“Bad dancer, huh?” I teased.

He shrugged and made a show of looking genuinely shocked. “Maybe I have a good partner,” he defended.

As the song began to speed up, he lifted me, spinning me around, and then setting me back to my feet. I gasped and continued to follow his lead. I hadn’t even realized that the other dancers had begun to give us more room, some even going so far as to stop and watch, but as he led me in a slow spin I came to realize that most of the eyes in the restaurant were on us. I blushed under the attention as Jace leaned his mouth to my ear.

“Don’t worry about them, just focus on me,” he smiled, continuing to lead me.

I nodded, continuing to follow his rhythm, falling under his spell as we continued to dance. As the song reached its end, I was startled into a gasping jump as the entire crowd erupted in applause.

“W-wow,” I blushed. “This is amazing. It’s like something out of a book or a movie.”

Jace only shrugged, not seeming to notice or care about all the attention on us. He only looked back at me.

“All fiction is based in reality,” he said. “At least that’s what my mother said.”

“I guess I just never thought the happy endings could be real,” I confessed.

“Neither did I,” he said, “but I think we’re learning otherwise.”

Once more I found myself walking with Jace back to his motorcycle, and once more I found myself not wanting the night to end.

“What time do you have to get to…” Jace sighed and trailed off, shrugging, “Do you mind me calling it ‘work’? I know it’s a touchy subject for you.”

“It is,” I acknowledged, “but I’ve got tonight off. My… uh, friend—partner? Mentor? Roommate? Either way—said she’d handle it.”

He paused at this and looked at me, eyebrow raised quizzically. “So you’ve got the entire night free?”

I nodded, blushing, not sure what to make of his look.

“Well, I’m something of a night person. I’m having too much fun to see the night end just yet, so, if I’m not pushing my luck, how would you like to keep this going? How about we head back into the city? Maybe check out the theater?” he asked, actually sounding uncertain and nervous.

I practically squealed “I’d love that!”

We slipped free from Canal Days and casually strolled back to his bike. The laid-back nature of things contrasting against the usually hectic tone that my nights typically started with. He handed me the helmet and I watched as he straddled the motorcycle. I enjoyed the sight a bit longer, mentally photographing it for me to “admire” later, and then settled in behind him. I moved my arms around his waist, relishing in how quickly the process had come to feel natural and right to me. It all felt right; felt comfortable and, best of all, unpressured. All throughout the night we’d been making contact—me holding his waist or hugging him on the bench, us holding hands as we walked, and the intimate closeness we’d shared during our dance—but he’d never once seemed to want more. I’d caught him staring, and I knew from our prior meeting and the things he’d told me that he was interested in women. And yet, despite this, I hadn’t once found my hand being moved to any part of his body even though he’d had so many chances to do so. He hadn’t made a move to grab me; hadn’t even made any lewd or suggestive comments.

“I’d like to offer you what you’re missing… nice days out. Food. Trips to local events. Maybe even trips to not-so-local events someday. And, you know…”

In that moment he could have said anything. I’d even caught myself wanting him to say those things—more and more I was beginning to want that with him—but, even with the stage set and the opportunity to bring it up, he hadn’t.

Because you’re not just a whore to him, I thought, and that thought urged me to lean further into him as we rode back to the city. And that means you’re not just a whore.

I knew that, at some point, I would have to return to my life. Or, rather, that life. My life as a prostitute. Logically, “at some point” meant tomorrow. Candy covering me for one night was risky enough, and I knew that all sorts of trouble would come crashing down on us if I wasn’t on that corner tomorrow night. And then I’d have to be Mia the whore; not this carefree Mia that I had almost forgotten all about; this carefree Mia whom Jace had managed to coax out in only a few short hours. I held on tighter, wanting to hold onto the moment and make it an eternity I could visit anytime I wanted—something I could return to whenever I needed it—and worked to completely forget about that other life. I told myself that I would never leave this bike, never not be holding this man who seemed to have it all figured out. Like the way he handled the machine that carried us through the night, he seemed to take life itself by the throttle and turn it however he pleased. I wanted nothing more than to stay on that motorcycle with that man forever, but…

But…

“Mia?”

“Huh?”

“We’re here,” Jace said.

And that was when I realized it: but the motorcycle had stopped, and the man had gotten up.

Nothing was forever.

Blinking, I glanced up to see Jace’s worried gaze looking down at me. I chewed my lip, wanting to find some excuse that wouldn’t lead to me having to admit what I truly had been thinking. Not that I could even properly express exactly what I had been thinking. Either way, I’d definitely made an impression that Jace had noticed.

“I’m sorry,” I said, feeling my face tighten in embarrassment. “I got distracted.”

Jace nodded, looking embarrassed, too, but not for me. “It’s fine,” he told me. “Riding has a way of distracting me, too.”

“Oh?” I asked, relieved to know I wasn’t alone in that. “Were you distracted this time, too?”

“A little,” he admitted, and then he did something strange. He looked away from me and up the street that we were parked on the shoulder of; out towards the streetlight that now glowed red in our direction. He neither seemed to be looking at the light nor anything beyond it; he seemed to be looking at the intersection right below it, as if expecting to see something there. Then, without looking away, he said, “but not as much as I usually am.”

“Oh…” I said, not sure what to make of that. “Why do you think that is?”

“Because of you,” he said, finally looking back at me and giving me a smile that was more relieved than joyful. “And I don’t think that; I know.”

I smiled back at that. The entire night I’d been seeing him handling everything like a man who just seemed to ooze perfection and grace, and I felt like I had just gotten a glimpse of something as broken and uncertain as I’d been feeling. Somehow this made it all seem so much better; so much more perfect. Knowing that he had to work for all of this made it feel even more magical than something coming to someone who got it all their way naturally.

“So…” he pressed, hurrying to change the subject, “You have any opinion on what we should see?” he nodded towards the theater’s front board. “Looks like we’re just in time to catch either a comedy, a horror, or the newest superhero movie.”

I giggled and smirked. “Funny enough, those happen to be my three favorite genres. What would you like?”

“How about superhero?” he suggested. “The comedy I’ve already seen, and horror gives me nightmares.”

“Superhero it is,” I said, following him inside and raising my eyebrow at him. “But why did you suggest the horror if it would’ve scared you?”

He shrugged. “I figured a girl who reads vampire books would like horror.”

“And, what, you would just suffer through it for me if that’s what I’d chosen?” I teased.

He shrugged again and, without missing a beat, said, “I’ve got a nightlight if the jitters get too bad.”

I was laughing too hard to even speak as we stepped up to the ticket booth.

Finally calming down just as we stepped up to the clerk, I frowned as he pulled out his wallet to pay for both tickets.

“I can grab these…”

“Don’t worry,” he smiled. “You can get the snacks.”

I looked up and then smirked, “Still hungry after all that?”

“Are you not?”

I looked down, not wanting to admit that I was actually still hungry after all that. Having acknowledged my silence as an agreement to letting him buy the tickets, Jace finalized the purchase and led me inside. We snagged a large tub of popcorn and large soda along with a box of chocolates. I explained to him as I paid—making a mental inventory of what I was spending to be certain to earn it back as soon as I could—that I liked to combine the chocolates with the popcorn. He looked at me like I was crazy, but I assured him that he’d be a believer before the opening credits had a chance to start.

Sure enough, once we were in our seats, settled in, and I’d had a chance to work my magical concoction into being, I had him hooked.

“Opening credits nothing!” I joked with a laugh, “You didn’t even last past the first trailer.”

We sat there, watching the previews and after finished the snacks, Jace had wrapped his arm around my shoulder. I enjoyed the feel of him against me and leaned against him, watching the screen. While the movie played, I tried to ignore the feel of Jace, tried to ignore watching him verse the movie. I didn’t want to admit just how much of an effect he had on me, but I also didn’t want to lose this feeling.

The feeling of freedom.

When the movie had finished, we took the long route back to Jace’s bike, neither one of us wanting to part, it seemed. It was a little past eleven and I knew that Candy would’ve only been two hours into her shift. If the night ended now, I’d either have to sit alone at the apartment until she came back or join her for the remainder of the night.

The idea of being alone in that apartment gave me the creeps…

But the idea of finishing this night on that corner with other men using me for their pleasure was…

I shuddered.

It seemed sacrilegious.

There was no other word for it.

But there were only so many places that Jace could take me at this time of night, and I was tired of forcing him to spend money on me when what I really wanted was…

“Can we go to your place?” I blurted.

He glanced over, looking both surprised and relieved at the same time. “You want to come over?” he asked. “I… I mean, there’s not really much to do there.”

“I don’t care,” I admitted, suddenly knowing that if I wasn’t open with him, totally honest in that moment, then the other two options might become a likely reality. “I don’t care what we do, so long as I get to be with you.”

He stared at me, the surprise-relief combination growing stronger. “Really?”

“Really.”

“I don’t want you to feel obligated to do anything you don’t want to,” he said, seeming to resent himself for saying it even as he did.

“I don’t,” I assured him, taking his hand. “Please, Jace. I really don’t want this night to end. Even if we wind up falling asleep or just watching TV all night, I just want to finish off this night with you before I have to…”

I looked down, unable to finish.

Jace watched me, reading me, and nodded. “Yeah. Okay. We can… um, I mean, hell, either of those sounds great, actually.”

I smiled, my shoulders sagging in relief. “That sounds perfect.”

“I’ll be honest,” he started, handing me the helmet, “I’m glad you asked. I wasn’t ready for the night to end, either.”

I felt myself start to blush and, deciding I’d blushed in front of him enough that night, hurried to pull the helmet on. “It’s still alright if…” I started, stopping only because I wasn’t certain I was going to be able to commit to my own words.

He glanced back, curious. “Hmm?”

“It’s just, I mean… you wouldn’t be disappointed if… you know, something didn’t happen tonight?” I asked, trying to word it in such a way that, if I decided I (needed!) wanted something to happen I wouldn’t wind up contradicting myself.

Jace shook his head and smiled reassuringly. “I won’t say I don’t want something to happen, because I won’t lie to you. But, no, I won’t be disappointed at all. If we got to my place and fell asleep on the couch I’d still consider this one of the best nights of my life.”

I bit my lip at that, feeling like the answer was too good to be true; certain he was just saying this to make me feel better. “So how long would you be willing to date me if I wasn’t putting out?”

He paused then, hand hovering over the motorcycle’s ignition, and seemed to genuinely think about that situation. Finally he took a deep breath and said, “Way I see it, there’s two options for me in that case. I can either go out and buy a hooker when the mood strikes or I can become bestest buddies with my hand.”

I blinked at that answer, strangely honored at the idea that he’d sooner pay a hooker to relieve his tensions than expect anything from me. Though I’d be lying to myself if I said that I wasn’t a (a lot) a little jealous at the idea. But there also seemed to be a missing third option…

“Why not just pay me to be your whore if that’s what you need?” I asked.

He awkwardly turned to face me at that, looking shocked and disgusted. “Because,” he said, his tone already telling me from that word alone that it should be the most obvious thing in the world, “I will never treat you like a whore.”

I decided then that it was a good thing that I’d already put the helmet on, because the blush that took me then likely turned me the color of a boiled lobster.

Jace finally started the engine, and, with his words still ringing in my head, I leaned into him and hugged him.

That I’d been holding his waist all night seemed only to serve as a warm-up for this moment.

Though it was my second time in the parking garage of Jace’s building, it was no less impressive. If nothing else, the addition of more expensive cars—those who’d come home since we’d last been there, I guessed—only made it seem that much more grand and luxurious. Then, following Jace into an elevator, I watched him punch the button for one of the highest floors.

The elevator gave an angry, indignant whine at the command.

Jace lifted his keys and inserted one into an available slot below the rows of buttons.

The angry, indignant whine cut out with a pleasant, agreeable chime.

And then we were ascending.

“You need a key just to use the elevator?” I asked.

“You do when you have your own private floor,” he answered with a smirk.

“Wow. Ritzy,” I grinned.

“It was my brother’s place,” he explained. “I was a bit skeptical about moving here, but I guess it has its perks.”

“And the Crow Gang can afford all of this?” I asked.

He nodded. “This and more,” he told me. “I’m sure you don’t get to see it, but from what I hear the Carrions are doing really well, too. Contrary to the old line, crime does pay, and usually pretty well.”

I frowned at that, but decided not to tell him just how right he was in how little I saw of what was earned.

The elevator dinged then, and as the doors slid open I was forced to blink. I’d been on my fair share of elevators, and I’d come to have a preconceived notion of what to expect when the doors opened. When Jace said that this floor was his and his alone, I’d been expecting a hallway leading to a single door, or maybe even a lobby that, on any other home, would function as a garage. I’d been expecting something that would then lead to his home. What the elevator doors opened up to, however, was his home.

Ding.

And I was standing in his living room.

I looked back, confirming to myself that I was, in fact, still standing in an elevator. Based on what I saw before me I was certain that I’d suddenly lost a few seconds and maybe forgotten that I had already stepped out of the lift. As it was, it felt like a badly edited scene in a movie:

Mia steps onto elevator, rides it several floors up, and then steps out into…

INT: JACE’S LIVING ROOM.

“Oh…” I murmured, feeling like my brain had just rebooted itself.

“Yeah,” Jace said, sighing. “It’s weird, right? All chrome and then—BOOM! But you’ll get used to it.”

“I will?” I asked.

He looked back at me. “Provided you keep coming over, I guess.”

I smiled and nodded, deciding I liked the idea of getting used to it.

I followed after him into the living room where an HDTV nearly took up an entire wall surrounded by different pieces of technology. A huge sectional surrounded the living room with a large coffee table resting in front of the sofa.

“This is definitely ritzy,” I blinked.

He smirked. “Come on, relax; get comfortable. I’ve got a bunch of movies over there by the TV. Why don’t you see if there’s anything there you’d like to watch? I feel bad for getting my pick back at the theater.”

I nodded, not bothering to point out that technically we’d both gotten to watch what we wanted at the theater, and began to inspect his movie collection. Almost instantly I spotted the 1931 Bela Lugosi Dracula film. I smiled, carefully pulling the disc free and placing it in the DVD player and bringing the rest of the entertainment system to life. As the menu title opened, Jace stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the TV. I frowned as I noticed that his face had gone pale and I moved towards him.

“Jace? Are you okay?” I bit my lip.

He nodded slowly and said, “Y-yeah… vampires. They just kind of freak me out.”

“Really?” I bit my lip. “Then why do you have… nevermind. I can change it.” I started to move towards the DVD player to take out the disc when he caught me, holding me back.

“No,” he shook his head, smiling. “Let’s watch it. It reminds me of my mother, actually. That’s why I own it—it and a bunch of other vampire stuff, actually.” He stared at the screen again, shivered, and then moved to sit down on the couch. “She loved anything vampire related. Had a room with all sorts of old posters and books and such. I guess you two would’ve gotten along.”

“Oh,” I nodded and bit my lip. “Is she gone then?”

He nodded and looked down. “I was really close with her… and after she died, it was just hard, I guess.”

I nodded, “I understand. My dad died when I was in college; Mom didn’t take it well and decided to move, so I felt like I lost both of them at once.”

“That must’ve been tough,” Jace said, sounding genuinely sympathetic.

The one stirred another one of those shadowy thoughts—He actually cares about a whore’s story—but then I reminded myself who I was talking to.

“I guess,” I said with a dismissive shrug, though it wasn’t such an easily dismissed subject. “We still talked on the phone, but distance has a way of eventually cutting back on the contact you keep with people.”

“I suppose that’s true. Do you still keep in touch at all?” he asked.

I looked down sadly and shook my head. “Probably for the better,” I added.

“Any siblings—other than your deadbeat, jailbird brother—or…?” Jace tilted his head.

“Nope,” I said with a sigh. “Mack’s all I got in that department, I’m afraid.”

Jace reached out and took my hand, giving it a light squeeze. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

I only nodded.

The movie played on in the background, but Jace and I continued to talk, telling each other about our family and past. Before we even realized it, the end credits were rolling.

“I’m not crazy in thinking there’s something happening between us, right?” Jace asked as he retrieved the remote and turned off the TV.

I blushed and shook my head. “No. Not unless I’m crazy, too; but then again, I guess our two crazies would still make us sane in this regard.”

Jace smiled at that and nodded. “So I wouldn’t be out of line in saying I wanted to see you again? That I’d like to do this again?”

I shook my head again. “Not at all.”

He blushed, looking down—thinking—and then nodded. “I know that tonight was a special circumstance. I can’t expect you to get off… well, uh—I can’t expect you to be able to do this all the time, but, without sounding desperate, the sooner the better.”

A bittersweet wave of emotions crashed over me and I nodded. “I’d like that, too. And… and if you give me a few days I think I might be able to take the night off again. I’ll… well, I’ll make it work.”

“I’ll be counting the seconds,” he smiled.

“Yeah right,” I forced a lame chuckle.

“You’d be surprised,” he smirked, “but, in the meantime…” he trailed off then, leaning in and capturing my lips against his.

I gasped, caught off guard by the kiss.

My world was spiraling as Jace wrapped his arms around my waist, seeming to understand that I felt dizzy. Catching myself as well, I wrapped my arms around his neck, returning his kiss fervently. This was nothing like working with clients, this was real.

Real desire.

Real passion.

Real feelings.

I got lost in his kiss, holding him tighter as we both seemed to refuse to part. Eventually, however, the need for air overwhelmed us, and we finally pulled back. I fought to catch my breath and could see that it had impacted him in a similar way, as well. Then, as if to punctuate the act, he leaned forward again, kissing my forehead.