College parties are pretty much what I expected: high school parties with easier access to alcohol.  Not that I haven’t had fun at a few, but overall it seems like it is the same event, played in a continuous loop each weekend.  Sometimes the themes change.  Sometimes they don’t.

Tonight’s theme seems to be dim lighting and loud thumping techno music.  Normally just the sort I’d avoid – at least when the music isn’t deafening you there’s the ability to giggle with your friends at the assortment of over developed frat boys loitering around the keg.  But tonight my dorm is sponsoring the party, so I am pretty much under house orders to attend.

“You look nice.” my friend Jess says, coming over to me from the bar, “Here, drink this and maybe you’ll look happy as well as pretty.”

“Ha.” I deadpan, “I don’t want a drink, thanks.” I push the cup back towards her and cross my arms over my chest.

“Christ, Joey.” she puts the cups down and unlocks my arms, “I know you don’t want to be here, I know you are all superior to the kegger crew and only imbibe alcohol when you can sip it daintily from a long stemmed glass at one of the Dean’s soirees, but - ” she holds my hands out and looks me over.  “You are just gonna have to suck it up tonight!”

I laugh as she smiles at me brightly and when she hands me the cup again this time I drink it – the candy coated sweetness of the alcohol sliding smoothly down my throat.

“Good girl!” Jess chirps, then taking my arm in hers she shouts “Now let’s work on the pretending to have fun part!”

I didn’t feel anything in the air change.  Maybe it was the darkness, maybe the beat that pounded across the room – both of them muting my senses.  But I would have thought that I would have at least sensed something – some sort of shift that would have warned me he was near.

As I try to talk to some people I know from Lit class, I feel someone brushing past my side.  Moving to let them pass they stop instead but when I turn to give them a look, they are gone.  Instead my eye is drawn from the empty place where they stood, across the room to a couple that stands in the doorway.

Pacey.

The conversation I was part of continues but I am longer part of it.  In fact I feel like I am part of nothing at all – there is a sudden stillness, a quiet hum in my head that is repeating his name like a mantra – Pacey…Pacey…Pacey.

Pacey with Amanda fucking Graves hanging off his arm.

The cup slips out of my hand and hits the floor.  Around me a few people look over, the drunken ones laugh, my friends start to ask if I’m OK but I break away from them with a hurried excuse to get napkins and tear out of the room.

I don’t know if he’s seen me, saw me watching him, saw me drop my drink and then run from the room like a lunatic.  I just know I have to get to somewhere else and try to start breathing again.  The room is thick with people, they spill into the halls, the stairways, the lobby.  I can’t get very far so I settle for an empty space around a corner – my mind racing with shock, fear, and excitement.  And a very strong wave of desire that I thought was long forgotten.

That is where Jess and Anna find me.  Slumped on the floor of a too bright hallway, my head in my hands – a sticky sheen of liquor covering my shoes and my heart pounding beyond my control.  When I tell them what happened they exchange a look before looking back at me.

“You know about Amanda Graves, right?” Jess asks.

“Shut up, Jess.” Anna urges before sitting down next to me.  As she starts petting my arm I lean my head back and swallow hard.

“Yeah, I know about Amanda Graves – I know all about the bathroom walls on the boys’ floor dedicated to her prowess.” My voice sounds petty and hollow.  “Why is he here with her? How does he know her?  Do you think she knows? Do you think she knows about us and that’s why he’s here??!” my questions come out in a flood and I look at my friends for answers I know none of us have.

Shaking her head Jess holds out her beer to me and looks surprised when I take it and drink it down, “Well, there’s a change from earlier.” she jokes.

“Welll earlier I didn’t know my ex-boyfriend was going to be here with the campus slut.”

“Joey,” Anna says softly, “do you want to go somewhere else? Out, or upstairs to your room or just – anywhere away from here?”

“Yes.  No.” I answer suddenly.  I want to run like hell and I want to stay and find him.  I want to hide in my room and I want to confront him and try to talk to him without falling apart.  I want to pretend this is all not happening and I want to go lay a claim on him, save him from the clutches of Amanda Graves.  “I don’t know.” I say finally.

“I think you should go in there.” Jess announces, “Show him you don’t give a shit if he’s just decided to drop in at your school, your party – I mean, you can’t tell me he doesn’t know you live here!”

“I haven’t seen him since last spring.” I whisper.

“So?” she counters.

“So – he doesn’t know where I live.”  I am suddenly wishing I had never told any of my new friends about how things ended with Pacey – about our painful breakup and his departure from Capeside.  No contact, no calls, nothing until tonight – a night I really should have seen coming but apparently had numbed myself to believing actually would.

For a minute I hear my friends arguing.  Jess the ballbreaker insisting I go back in and ignore him, have the time of my life.  Anna the peacemaker is declaring that this atmosphere is not a good one to try and re-establish a connection.  Suddenly the only decision I can make is that I need another drink.  Something stiff and fast that will lead me to a very quick oblivion.  A place where I won’t have to make the next decision.

I don’t quite know when he sees me.  But I know that he is watching me as I move through the room.  And knowing that makes me bolder.  I become quite the co-ed party girl – gliding from the bar to the dance floor.  I dance, and drink, and take the occasional hit off a cigarette when it’s offered - maybe even a joint.  It is hard to tell after awhile.

Yes, I’m the regular life of the party.  My increased drunkeness doing little to calm the butterflies in my stomach that he is here, he is actually within my reach.  I don’t know if I have any power over what he does with Amanda, but the liquor in my system tells me that if I set my mind to it, I could have him away from her and by my side instantly.

After all – it is me that he loves – isn’t it? One of the last times I saw him he told me he loved me – that he would love me for a very long time.  When he said it it hurt – he loved me but wouldn’t allow himself to be with me anymore was almost worse than not loving me at all.  Now it empowers me.  Now it makes me believe that if I want to soothe this ache that is growing inside me I just have to remind him of it - you told me you would still love me – don’t you?

I laugh loudly at some equally drunk guy’s pick-up line as I see Pacey and Amanda on the edge of the dance floor.  She is clutching him like he is the prize.  Her arms wrap around him and she leans up to whisper in his ear, her hand snaking its way into his hair.  I laugh again at pick-up guy and agree to his offer to refill my drink.  Oblivion is taking far too long to get here.

Pacey laughs and turns to respond to her.  As her blonde curls obscure his face I can feel his breath on my cheek, I smell the sea air on his skin and his words rumble in my ear as he teases me, propositions me, tells me everything I want to hear.

“Here’s your drink.” pick-up guy slurs.  Angrily I grab it and gulp it down.  As I lower the cup he moves, and in that moment I see Pacey.  And Pacey sees me.  And all the cliches about eyes locking across a crowded room, and time standing still as everyone fades away become absolutely true.

I want to cry.  First I want to run to him and fall into his arms and feel him hold me.  Then I want to cry.  We stare at each other for a minute, both seemingly afraid to acknowledge anything past this first glance.  Then pick-up guy moves back into my line of vision and when I anxiously look around him, I see the back of Pacey – as Amanda pulls him away towards the stairs.

“Have you ever done body shots?” I demand of my drinking partner.

“What were you thinking??” Anna hisses in my ear as we stand in the bathroom.  The overhead light makes me squint as she splashes cool water over my face and neck.

“I want Pacey.” I mumble.

“Yeah, we got that part,” she huffs as she brushes my hair off my shoulder and pulls my bra strap back up, “and you think doing body shots with some Neanderthal from the football team will help you achieve that goal?”

From the next sink Jess bursts out laughing, which gets me laughing – our mutual drunkeness urging us both into hysterics. Anna leans me against the sink and glares at Jess – causing only more laughter from both of us.

“He’s fucking Amanda.” I suddenly exclaim – the realization jarring me out of one mood to another, “He’s fucking Amanda fucking Graves right now!!” I push past Anna and head to the door but my legs feel very far away and very unconnected from the rest of my body.

“Oh shit!” Jess hollers, her laughter echoing off the cold tiled walls.  Anna ignores her and catches me before I reach the exit.

“Joey – honey – you’ve gotta take it easy.  You’re really upset, and you’re really drunk, and you can’t go out there and just – steal him from his date.”

“But he’s my…” I start to protest, the words I want to use feel hazy in my head.  Their meanings seem to elude me.

“I know, I know what he is to you – but Joey?  He’s here with someone else.  You can’t do this tonight.  Promise me you’ll leave it alone?”

“I’m fine.” I say as Jess tries rising from where she’s slid down to the floor.  Anna looks dubious and I stand up straight and do my best impersonation of a sober person “I’m fine Anna – I won’t bug him, I won’t – promise.”  The slurring seems to give away my act but I must be convincing anyway.

“And no more drinking games with scary jocks who have a greater tolerance level than you?”  I give an exaggerated nod of my head and reach for the door.  “I’m just watching out for you, Joey.” Anna calls, “We both are.”  As the door shuts behind me I hear Jess burst into another round of giggles as I head straight for the last place I saw him.

Being on the edge of the dance floor has swept me onto it where I find myself now.  Swaying my body feels like liquid that moves of its own accord.  The people around me dance in a blur of motion and color while the music pounds my ears and the scent of sweat, and perfume, and alcohol coats me.

Some guy slides up next to me and wraps his arms around my waist.  We start dancing and I can barely make out his features under the flashing lights.  Maybe I know him, maybe I don’t.  It doesn’t matter anyway as he soon buries his face in my neck and I use that as an excuse to throw my head back and close my eyes.

Now it is dark.  The lights dance over my eyelids and I feel him press himself against me – an unfamiliar body finding ways to fit over mine.  I don’t know that I like it – I don’t even know if I care.  All I can think about is somewhere in this room, in this house, on this campus – Pacey’s body is close to Amanda’s just like this.  His hands are grasping along her back as his tongue slides over her neck.  He is pulling her closer, tighter, wanting more of her…more of me…this is happening to me.

“Pacey….” I murmur but it is too loud and the stranger groping me doesn’t hear me.  I struggle to open my eyes but they feel sealed shut.  The music keeps on going, and seems louder than before – there’s an insistence in the beat which borders on being frantic.  An emotion I know I should summon but can’t seem to at the moment.

Suddenly the arms loosen around me and then let me go entirely.  I think I hear voices – deep male voices around me as I fall backwards.  A hand catches me and I open my eyes but before I can make out my surroundings I am being lifted, and carried away from the dark, and the music, and the potential date rapist on the dance floor.  It is all fading away behind me.

More voices – ones I recognize.  One is Anna.  She is asking me if I’m OK, and I’m saying I’m fine.  I’m saying I’m totally fine.  But she’s not believing me.  Another voice this one so familiar I actually gasp when I hear it.

“Jo?  C’mon, drink this water.”  It is all he says but they are the most beautiful words I’ve heard in months.  I do as he asks and when I hand the glass back to him he lifts my chin up.

His blue eyes are clouded with worry and his brow is furrowed.  I reach out and rest my hand on his cheek – his skin at once so warm and soft and familiar that I feel myself leaning forward to kiss him.  But he moves his head back slightly – almost imperceptible to anyone but me.

“Pace.” I whisper.  He smiles a little and makes me take another sip.  The stark blandness of the water is a nice change from the thickness of the alcohol.  He brushes my hair back off my face and his hand is rough, probably callused from his months of working on a boat.  At the back of my head he grasps my hair for a moment and I hear him sigh.  The familiarity of the gesture catches us both off guard and he quickly releases it and rises, allowing Anna to come towards me with a washcloth.

When she’s done she moves back towards the sink and she and Pacey are talking.  I want to hear what they are saying but I can’t be bothered actually getting up to get close enough to find out.  As other people come in and out of the bathroom they either lower their voices, or stop talking altogether.

“I’m not passed out you know.” I mutter from where I sit on a bench by the sinks, “I can hear you.”  They are silent for a moment then Anna offers to take me to my room.  “I need him to come.” is all I say.  More silence followed by Pacey assertively telling Anna he carried me up here, he can carry me down the hall.

Wrapped up in his arms again I rest my head against his shoulder and breathe him in.  I’m sure if I wasn’t so drunk I could remember the last time he let me this close to him.  Of course if I wasn’t so drunk I’m sure he wouldn’t let me this close to him.  Which is precisely why there is nothing better than several drinks for impairing your judgement while simultaneously freeing your inhibitions.

In my room Anna flips on my desk lamp and I nervously mumble “The pictures, the pictures.”  Laying me on my bed Pacey asks her what I’m talking about.  I’m talking about the sketches I did of True Love.  Lots of them, some would – and have – said too many.  A few are on my wall and I fear what he will say if he notices.  But if he sees them he doesn’t say anything.

What he does say is “I’ll stay with her.”  I watch as Anna eyes him with uncertainty.  “It’s fine.  I’m an old hand at the drunken Joey Potter routine.”

Anna begins to argue with him but I pull myself up until I’m sitting and announce “I want him to stay.”  She turns her gaze to me and I stare straight back at her and repeat myself  “I want him to stay Anna.  I really do.”  The words hang in the air and maybe they are weighted with meaning only for me – I wanted him to stay before graduation, I wanted him to stay in Capeside over the summer.  I don’t want him to leave.  I never did.

“Call me if you need anything.” she says as she comes over and gives me a kiss on the forehead.  “Pacey.” she regards him as he nods goodbye.  Then she is gone and for the first time in months we are alone together.

I grip the edge of the bed and don’t dare to look up.  He sits down next to me and asks if I need anything.  Shaking my head we fall into silence.

My inebriation is starting to abate slightly but not enough to make me as self-conscious as I probably should be.  I drop my head a little and look over at him.  He is leaning forward, his elbows on his knees as he slowly rubs his hands together.  His hair is shorter than the last time I saw him and he is incredibly tan.  A summer in the Caribbean has made him a golden brown and given a definition to his arms and shoulders that is revealed against the tight strain of his shirt.

I wrap my arms around myself to keep from reaching out and touching him, I have dreamed about it – relied on memories to satisfy me.  Never once did I imagine he would be more gorgeous and more desirable than when he was mine.  He looks back at me and catches me watching him.  Shyly I drop my eyes to the floor and notice I am barefoot.

“What happened to my shoes?”

“Your friend cleaned them up.  There was a drink all over them.” he says softly, his eyes still on me.  I have a vague recollection of a White Russian spilling down my leg earlier in the evening.

“I dropped it when you came in.”

“Yeah.  I know.” His voice is low and his eyes are dark as they watch me.  I feel myself blush at how aroused it makes me feel, and the fact that he saw my reaction to his entrance.

“You saw that, huh?”

“Kinda hard to miss.”  He looks away from me now and I experience a surge of loss so overpowering that I quickly recline to a horizontal position on my bed to regain my balance.

“Well that’s embarrassing.” I mutter as I watch him straighten up.  Through his shirt I can see the outline of a tank top.  My breath catches as I remember how he always slept in them – how it felt to wake up with the soft fabric brushing against my skin.  How deft I became at removing them from his body.

Slowly he moves backwards until he is lying next to me on the bed, both of us staring at the ceiling marked with the day-glo stars of previous students who believed they had free rein of their dorm ceiling.

“What was more embarrassing, Jo – spilling your drink? Or letting some guy lick a tequila shot off your neck? Or would it be letting a different guy grope you in the middle of a dance floor?”

I suck in my breath sharply and feel a surge of anger shoot through me.  The bastard is here to punish me.  He breaks my heart, he leaves me, and now he is here to make it all that much worse.  I try to sound measured as I respond but in my altered state I think it just comes out sounding shrill.

“What was more embarrassing for you, Pace – nailing Amanda Graves in the stairwell? Or finding out that you were just one in a long line of many? And probably not even the last one tonight.  Or maybe it was having to rush in and save your wasted ex-girlfriend from a series of public humiliations in front of her classmates?”

He doesn’t move or even speak from where he lays next to me.  I feel like the tears are going to start and I don’t want to cry.  I don’t want him to see me any weaker than he already has tonight.  I push myself up and off the bed – stumbling around my room until I reach my dresser.

“It’s college.  I’m pretty sure you’re allowed several public humiliations each drunken debauched weekend.” he says finally.  His voice is so measured I want to scream.  I want him to respond to me with some sort of passion, some hint of what he feels for me.

“And you didn’t even want to stop me?” I demand as I lean against the dresser for support.

“I was trying to break an old pattern.”

“What’s that?”

“Rescuing you.”

“What - you’re out of the rescuing business now?”

“I’m trying to, but you’re making it kind of hard tonight, Potter.”  He sits up and rests on his elbows to look at me again.  I hold his gaze for a minute then look away, unsure of how to respond to that.  I begin removing my jewelry and when I raise my head to look in the mirror he is standing right behind me.

“Did you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there?” I blurt out.  A sad smile forms on his lips and he looks down before looking back up at our reflections. “Because I miss you - all the time.” my voice is small and far more hopeful than it should be.

He regards me carefully as he slowly exhales – a breath I feel along my shoulder and right down my spine.  “Yes.  Yes, I miss you, Joey.” My relief at his admission is evident all over my face.  For the first time in what feels like the entire night I smile.

His steady hand rubs my back, soothing my shivering body as I wipe my mouth and squeeze back tears.  When I sit up his other hand releases the hair he’s been holding back from my face as my body purged what seemed like a lot more than it actually took in.

As I struggle to rise both hands slip off of me and the air is cool as it hits the places where we made contact.  At the sink I avoid the eyes of a hall mate who glances my way as she washes her hands.

“Where’s your stuff?” he’s suddenly next to me, blocking my inquisitive neighbor’s view. “Your toothbrush…?”  I nod to a shelf behind me and he heads towards it.  I rest my hands on the edge of the sink and actually lean against the mirror.  The cool surface is a relief to my heated skin.

“Well this is definitely the biggest humiliation of the night.” I mutter when he returns.  He turns on the faucet and runs my toothbrush under it before handing it to me.  Obediently I start the routine and continue gripping the sink for support.

“Hey, it happens to everyone.” he says, “If you’ll recall I once had the unfortunate opportunity to do it in a jail cell - in front of a literally captive audience!”

I laugh at the memory from Junior year and some toothpaste starts sliding down my lip.  He reaches out and wipes it away - his fingertip tantalizingly close enough to taste.  It lingers there for what feels like not long enough.  When he quickly drops his hand I turn to rinse my mouth.  Wiping my face with the towel he hands me, I regard my disheveled appearance in the mirror.

“Guess things really do change – I’d hardly be considered the most beautiful girl in the room now.” my voice sounds strained as I try to joke about something wonderful he once said to me.

His eyes are sad for a moment - then it passes as he looks around at the empty bathroom. “Actually - you really are the most beautiful girl in the room!”  His tone is light but it can’t disguise the sincerity in his voice.

We both smile and genuinely laugh with one another.  With my inebriation dulling my ability to edit my thoughts before they come out of my mouth, I forlornly ask, “Why do you still have to be so perfect?”

He cocks his head and seems to look right into me.  His gaze makes me feel hot, and dizzy - disoriented.  The effects of drinking and intense longing tumbling together in one heady sensation.

“That’s just the booze talking, Jo.” he says finally as he steps away to let me finish.

In the dark silence of my room the sounds of the dying party seem to fade into a muted bass line and the occasional shout or peal of laughter from the hall.

He lies next to me perfectly still.  I couldn’t let him leave and he seemed to want to stay - like he has a reason for being here.  I have no idea what that purpose may be - but it is keeping him close and I’m grateful.  I’ve never been drunk before without Pacey there to take care of me.  There must me some sort of irony in the fact that this pattern has continued into college – but I’m too groggy to find it.

I lay on my side facing the wall.  Behind me he is on his back - hands resting on his chest as he stays firmly within a narrow strip of personal space.  I know the way he sleeps - he sprawls, and turns, and tangles himself around you like an infant seeking warmth.

But tonight he sleeps almost noiselessly - no movement or careless limbs that inadvertently fall against my body.  This makes me sad - and hopeful - and completely unable to sleep.  I want to turn over and slide my hand between his, to feel his thumb press into my palm, fingers wrapping around mine.  I want to rest my head against his chest and listen to him existing next to me.  I want so much more than that but I know I can’t have it.  Ever the gentleman Pacey is not going to do anything to jeopardize the very delicate balancing act we’re barely managing this evening.

I try to make my mind blank so I can sleep, but instead I find myself tracing my finger over the rough textured wallpaper next to the bed.  My eyes occasionally drifting to the faded glow of the make-believe constellations over our heads.  My oblivion never arriving.

“Joey…” his voice is a whisper and takes me by surprise.  I open my mouth to answer but my drowsy senses leave too much time for a response.  It is in that silence that he continues - apparently thinking I’m asleep.  Maybe even hoping that I am. “Nothing happened with Amanda.  She was at an event on the boat, and she asked me out.  I wish I could say I accepted solely based on my attraction to her and my interest in seeing her again…”  He stops and I don’t dare to move, don’t want him to stop talking to me, even if he’s doing it only because he believes I won’t hear him.

“…but the truth is I said yes based on my attraction and interest in someone else.”  He pauses and takes a deep breath.  Just the sound of the air filling his lungs as he expresses the words I haven’t hoped to listen for are enough to make me ache.

“I didn’t know what the hell to expect if I saw you tonight.  I just know I was hoping to get the chance - and you definitely gave me the unexpected.” he chuckles softly and I smile to myself in embarrassment. “And I just…” I can tell he’s watching me now - head turned slightly as soft blue eyes seek me in the darkness, “I want you to know that I’m glad I did see you.  And you still…” his hand reaches over and barely touches my hair, “…you still take my breath away, Jo.”

His hand floats over me, not daring to actually make the physical connection, “And I needed to know that.”

And with that his hand slowly draws away and he is quiet again.  I am barely breathing.  Did I dream it?  Hallucinate it?  Am I really passed out somewhere at the party, drunkenly inventing this entire night?  To catch my breath I listen quietly for his.  Soon it is deep and steady - he has found some sort of peace in this chaos and is truly asleep now.

And I am even farther from it than before.

Somehow sleep catches up with me.  As the streetlights start fading into the light of early morning I find myself waking from a very brief and probably restless sleep.

But old habits die hard and in the intervening hours the delineated space between Pacey and I has disappeared.  Now I find myself in the crook of his arm.  His hand draped protectively over my back as my head nestles in his shoulder.  He smells like all the sleepy mornings we’ve woken up together before and I snuggle closer - my body pressed against him - my leg close enough to throw over his.

He is still asleep and doesn’t notice my hand resting on his stomach.  Through his shirt I feel the smooth firmness of his muscles.  I don’t open my eyes but let my touch lead me.  His steady breathing lifting my hand as my fingers gently press against the silky surface.

In my sleepy daze my hand wanders, across his stomach to his side - my arm is across his torso and gives me greater contact.  I move slowly, not wanting him to stop me - and he doesn’t - and I find that I can’t stop myself.

From his side I travel to his chest.  The top buttons of his shirt are open and underneath is his tank top.  I dawdle at the material, reveling in how much I missed the feel of it.  My fingertips graze his skin and it feels so electric I have to move my hand before I slide it up to cover his neck - eager feel his skin in my hand.

Coming to rest again on his chest I sigh deeply and don’t consciously realize my fingers are lightly rubbing him, the material of his shirt slipping under my fingertips as my nails scrape a little against his body.  I don’t want to wake up, or move, or ever leave this space right here.  My entire being has missed him in every way possible and I need this moment more than I thought I could.

I feel his shoulder shift as his other arm moves and suddenly his fingers are trailing up my forearm resting against him.  When he reaches my hand he takes it in his and before I can even feel disappointment that he is going to move it away - he brings it up to his face and slowly sucks my index finger into his mouth.

Plunged into his warmth I do nothing but experience the thrill of his tongue sliding along the length of my finger.  It glides over my fingertip, my knuckle, down into the tender crevice of skin between my index and middle fingers.  He sucks lightly at first, just a gentle urging that stuns me with its softness.

As he removes the first finger his thumb presses into the heel of my palm, tilting my hand so he has better access to me.  The pressure sends shivers down my spine as the sensation of my fingers scraping lightly against his scruffy chin send even more.

His desire grows stronger as evidenced by the more insistent attention paid to each subsequent finger.  He is slow and eager - but there is nothing anxious about his actions.  His teeth drag along me - biting just enough to make me crave more.  Teasing me with the hot wet insistence of his mouth.  His exploration is so erotic that I can hardly bear to remain still. I slip my leg over his and push apart his legs with my knee, finding a way to wrap myself around him.

I gasp as he continues, his other hand moving from my back over my waist and capturing my hip.  He kneads me there as I am suddenly struck by the thought that he doesn’t know what he’s doing.  Or even worse he knows what he’s doing, but he doesn’t know who he’s doing it to.  He might think I’m Amanda…or someone else…someone from this summer...the thought momentarily makes me balk and my eyes snap open.

But when his hand reaches up from my hip to grab hold of my hair I know that he is fully aware of who I am.  He touches me in every way he knows I like to be touched.  And when I look up at his face I see him - I see the man I love.  The man who still loves me.

Drawing my pinkie out of his mouth, he traces it along his lips.  I am panting in anticipation now - eager to feel those lips against mine - his tongue slide along my own.  That same hunger meeting mine.

I actually whimper as my fingers dig against his cheek.  Drawing my knee up along his thighs I find myself literally thrusting against him - desperate to create a heat, a friction - anything to take this farther.

Without warning he releases my hand and grabs hold of my wrist.  In an instant he has pulled me on top of him.  One hand still holds the back of my head, threads its way down to my neck, squeezing me gently.  The other moves over my back and down along my ass, pushing me harder against him - his arousal fitting perfectly against mine.

I struggle to touch him.  My damp fingers grasp through his hair while my other hand holds his face.  God how I’ve missed just being able to reach out and feel him.  As I go to finally kiss him I whisper his name.  It isn’t a question or a plea, I just want to say it and hear it come from my lips.  I want to know he hears it too.  After all these months this is the first instance where it doesn’t hurt me to speak it.

He brings my head down to his and the moment our mouths meet I lose myself completely.  It is like the most amazingly intense first kiss imaginable.  I feel more, want more, than I have in ages.   Mine is a desire so overwhelming that it threatens to obliterate every sane thought, belief, or understanding I’ve ever had.  I want to strip down and lay naked with him.  Let him inside me, let him cover me and take me to all the places I haven’t been since he left me.

Our bodies are a mass of movement as we explore, and breathe, and try to experience every single part of one another.  I rise slightly as he pulls my shirt over my head - his fingers teasing the lace of my bra, hands roaming over my breasts as I moan with pleasure.  I try to pull his shirt away - anxious to have my skin against his.  But he isn’t cooperating and only buries himself tighter against me.

When I manage to reach the waistband of his jeans he pauses and I realize maybe he needs assurance: “My roommate…” I murmur as I kiss the pulse points along his neck, “…has some…lemme get…” I start to pull myself away to go grab a condom but his hands still me - stop me from leaving.

Wrapping his arms under mine he turns us over so we have switched places.  Before he can readjust his position above me I take advantage of the small break between our bodies and slide my hand further into his jeans, unhooking the top button as I go.

A low groan sounds from his throat and I whisper “Whatever you want.” as a smile spreads over my face.  But he only presses back down against me kissing me softly before giving a little shake of his head. “What?” I ask, suddenly terrified that this is going to end right now.

But he just smiles back at me before winding a trail of slow, lazy kisses along my face and down my neck, over my breasts.  Every space he touches tingles with excitement.

The room is soaked in a faint light from the morning as it seeps in through the shades.  The only sounds are our heated breaths and my small cries as his hands and mouth move in tandem to please me - bathe me in pleasure.

As he pays luxurious attention to my stomach I make my first plea of the morning - at least the first verbal one: “Your shirt.” my hands pull at his collar, “Please, Pace?…Please…” I can’t even finish as he looks up at me without stopping his kiss.  His eyes practically dare me to make him stop what he’s doing long enough to do my bidding.  But I must look desperate enough because he relents - rising over me just enough to reach behind his back and pull the shirt off.  He grins at my reaction which is the very definition of raw desire and moves back down to continue his path.

I watch the muscles of his shoulders flex as his arms move lower, bringing his hands to rest at my waist.  I reach for him, eager to run my fingers along the hollow spaces where his shoulder blades meet his neck.  His strong fingers tug the top of my pants down just enough to place a series of tender little kisses along my hidden skin.

I hear a soft snap and the unmistakable sound of unzipping.  He props himself above my hips and rests his hand at the base of the zipper.  The heel of his hand teasing me with its provocative positioning.  He spreads his fingers along the exposed section of my panties - fingertips seeking to release me from the restraints of the elastic.

I dig my nails into his back - fingers slipping over the ribbing of his tank.  Thrusting my body up against his I give him the answer we both want.

When he slid my clothing off my hips, over my thighs, across my knees, and down my ankles - he took great care to continue touching me.  Never once breaking our physical connection.

As he backed down my bed and lowered himself to me he gave me deliriously warm open-mouthed kisses all along my sensitive flesh.

When he lay down between my legs and guided my hips to rise up and meet him he looked right at me - his eyes telling me to trust him, to love him, to believe in those truths.

And when his smooth fingers found entrance into me and my body shuddered at the sensations of his mouth tasting me - his tongue coaxing me to the ultimate heights of desire - I called his name and told him just how very much I loved him.

Exhaustion overwhelms me.  The final vestiges of alcohol creating the beginnings of a hangover as the thrilling waves of satisfaction lull me to sleep.

Pacey’s head rests on my bare stomach and the scratch of his stubble gives me goosebumps whenever he shifts.  My fingers lazily run through his hair and pause at his neck, gliding down to rub the taut skin of his back.

I want to please him - do everything to give him the fulfillment he has given me.  But with his weight against me it is hard to move - and he doesn’t seem ready to rise from his position with one arm draped over my leg, the other holding me at the waist.

So we stay this way in the gentle haze of our intimacy together and I hear him murmur “I love you, Jo.” just as I drift off to sleep.

When I wake up I am alone.  The sun has fully risen and the light glaring around my shades is sharp and too damn bright.

“Pacey?” I raise my head to look around but the full effect of what I drank last night knocks my head back down to the pillow.  I curse under my breath and make another attempt to slowly open my eyes.

The sounds of a waking dorm assault me.  Doors open and shut as voices wander past my room.  Somewhere a phone rings while a stereo starts to thump out a beat.  I roll over and stare past my bed.  He’s gone.  He’s left me again.  My hands run over my body trying to capture where he touched me, where he kissed me, where he reminded me in every conceivable way that I am his.

But there’s nothing there.  Only a fading reminder of what I have lost once again.  A comforter covers my naked body - but does nothing to replace how exposed I feel.

I manage to get up out of my bed and wrapping a sheet around myself I slowly scan my room.  He can’t have just appeared back in my life like that then disappeared again.  There has to be a note, a phone number, something.

Because if there isn’t - I don’t know that I can handle it.  I struggled to survive it once but I have no strength to do it again.  But there is nothing.  My jewelry rests on top of the dresser and when I pick it up I remember him telling me that he missed me.  As I flip over my pillows looking for some sort of token I hear him saying how I take his breath away.

Gaining momentum I turn to my desk and start pulling it apart. There has to be something - anything - god Pacey please…there are pens and paper everywhere - why isn’t there a note telling me where to find him??

All that there actually is is a mess.  A mess I made as I tried to keep him again.  A mess I’m starting to think will never be cleaned up.

I drop myself into my chair and try taking deep breaths.  I feel physically sick and emotionally wrecked.  Putting my head on the desk I bite my lip to keep from crying.  But it’s useless - a single tear escapes my eye and I blink back the rest.

When I open my eyes again I notice something is different on my wall.  Standing up I move closer to it - my hand skimming the surface until I find what I’m looking for.

One of my sketches is missing.  One of the True Love.  The one that had two still figures standing on the deck - arms wrapped around one another as they both looked out to sea.  In its place is a photograph of a sailboat- shiny and freshly painted.  Its sail rolled up tightly as it bobs gently at its slip.

Squinting I can read that the boat is named Permission Granted and crouched down next to it is Pacey.  His face is wide with a satisfied smile and his eyes are happy and content.  He looks so strong, so proud and proprietary of this beautiful vessel.

I gasp and my hand covers my mouth.  This is his boat.  Pacey’s boat.  Suddenly I am flooded by the memory of the last time I ever saw him before he left Capeside for good.  The night he asked me if I would ever set sail with him again.

I pull the pin out of the picture and tear it off the wall.  Flipping it over I see his unmistakable scrawl and I read aloud:

“You once said I wouldn’t have to ask - but I need to know - what are you doing this summer? ”

I don’t even hear the knock on my door or notice that my friends have come into the room.

“So what happened??” Jess demands, “Spill it, girl! It must be good – you’re only wearing a bedsheet!”

“Are you alright?” Anna asks as she sees the tears that come spilling down my cheeks.

Clutching the picture to my heart I tell them “I just made my plans for the summer.  I couldn’t possibly be any better.”