"Get the door, Pacey!" my brother shouts from his room.

"The movie is starting!" I protest.

"Pacey!"

I hit the pause on the VCR and reluctantly head to the door.  "You know just because I crash on your couch does not make me your errand boy, or your butler, or your…" as I open the apartment door I am startled by the vision of Joey Potter, "…doorman." I finish loudly. "Hi." I greet her surprised face.

"Hey, Pace."  She has done nothing but knock and stand there and already I can feel it - that tingling I get in my gut whenever I'm near her lately.  Sometimes it feels nice, sometimes it drives me crazy.  Right now I think I am just really happy to see her.

It must show on my face because she gives me a wide smile and asks "I'm not interrupting any special Witter Brothers evening bonding ritual am I?"

"Me? Dougie? Bonding? Nah.  But if you want to come in - I was thinking of maybe a little bondage later."

She rolls her eyes at me and shrugs, "Not interested."

"Damn! One of these days, Potter - I'm gonna hit on the line that will have you screaming out my name."  I tease.

"Yeah, as in 'Pacey - oh my god! Shut the hell up!'" she volleys back as she brushes past me into my brother's living room.

"Why don't you come in?" I mutter closing the door behind me.  "So what brings you over, Josephine?"

"I was bored." She turns back towards me looking so pretty I could cry.  "So I thought maybe you'd like to do something?"

"Like what?"

"Like…I don't know Pacey - that's kind of what I need your help with!"

"Are you asking me to entertain you?" I leer at her.  I can't seem to stop the innuendo tonight.  I think it's a defense - I've always done it so it makes things seem normal - masks what I'm actually feeling.

And what I'm actually feeling is that I'm not kidding her.  About any of it.  If I didn't think she'd beat the living hell out of me, I would show her right now how I really feel about her.  How thrilled I am that she is here and wants to spend her evening with me.  How grateful I am that she hasn't figured me out yet, so we can have a night like this together - where I can be close to her, and tease her, and laugh with her, and pretend for a little while that my desire for her is not completely impossible.

Instead I say "well I have plans already - I'm watching a movie."  Her face seems to fall a little as she looks towards the TV and notices the freeze-framed image.  "But you are more than welcome to join me - if it isn't too 'Dawson Leery' an evening for you."

"But you've already started." she looks up at me through her long eyelashes, and I wonder if she realizes just what that does to me.  If she understands that she could look at me like that and say "Pacey, could you please jump in front of that speeding truck?" and I would eagerly run right out into the road.

I am so gone.

"Opening credits aren't even over." I assure her as I motion to the couch.

Following my gesture she asks, "You're sure?"

"Absolutely." I grin.  She smiles back at me and heads towards the couch while I take a deep breath once her back is turned and follow her.

"So what are we watching?" she asks as she settles down on the couch.

"LA Confidential."

"What's it about?"

"What's…what's…you've never heard of LA Confidential?!" I sputter.

"I didn't say I hadn't heard of it" she retorts "I asked what it was about."

Why does her prickly attitude - which I've previously always found so annoying - seem so damn attractive now?  I spend most of my waking hours these days trying to trace that particular evolution.

I launch into my impassioned speech about the plot of the movie, its visual and dramatic brilliance, its dark and mysterious narrative, the phenomenal cast.  I end, as I always do in this particular spiel - with my claim that it was robbed of its deserved Best Picture Oscar by Titanic.

"I liked Titanic." she announces.

"You did not!"

"I did too."  She crosses her legs and fixes me with a stare.

"Joey Potter - the most cynical girl in Capeside - hell, in all of Massachusetts according to 3 out of 4 experts - liked Titanic?"

"I cried."

"You did not!" I repeat in disbelief.  "Could it be? Is there actually the heart of a true romantic beating under that icy cool exterior?"

She just shrugs at me and reiterates "I liked it," in a tone that means I should probably not start taunting about a secret crush on Leo.  "So are we going to watch this alleged cinematic masterpiece or not?"

I chuckle as I turn up the sound and take a seat to the right of her on the end of the couch.  "Trust me," I whisper as the FBI warning starts to fade, "you'll love it."

"Yeah, yeah." she responds as she gives me a playful shove on the shoulder.  That simple touch burns into my skin so intensely that I actually miss the entire opening sequence to the movie.

And I don't even care.

I wonder if every time I touch him he notices that the contact lingers.  A nudge, a squeeze, a shove like the one I just gave him.  Lately I find myself contemplating all new reasons to have to be close to him - to reach out and make a connection with his clothing, or his hair, or best of all his skin.

The other day we were on the docks, and he asked me to steady him as he reached down to retrieve something from the water.  I gripped so hard he probably thought I was trying to torture him.  In reality I held tight because I was afraid if I didn't, he would feel my fingers shaking as they wrapped against the thick muscled surface of his arm and along his shoulder.

Ok I am losing it here.

"Are you watching the movie, Potter?" he whispers, and I shake out of my reverie.

"Shhhhhh!!!" I scold and as he laughs I can't help but smile a little.  This is exactly what I wanted tonight - to hang out with him and be alone together and just - savor his company - how good it feels to be around him - how ridiculously happy, and warm, and rejuvenated I am with him.

"Well hello, Joey." Out steps Doug Witter from behind the closed door of his bedroom.  Shit.  I was so wound up about seeing Pacey I forgot I heard his voice as I came to the door.

"Hey, Doug."

"Aw, Dougie - now we missed a line!"  Pacey wails as he jumps up to grab the remote.

"Sorry, little brother, how rude of me to have the gall to greet a guest in my own home - what was I thinking?"

"Man now we missed another one!" Pacey hits the rewind as I find myself laughing at the by now familiar bickering of the Witter boys.

"Is he making you sit through this movie, Joey?"

"I haven't seen it." I offer as he takes a seat down next to me on the couch.  Now I am sandwiched between the two and instinctively find myself inching a little closer to Pacey to make room.

"Don't let this film fool you." Doug begins, "The portrayal of law enforcement is not realistic and clearly glamorized for dramatic purposes."

"Yeah, dramatic purposes - because it's a drama!" Pacey hisses.  "Dougie, don't you have somewhere to be?  Like out defending women like my man, Bud White, here?" he nods at the TV, and I assume he is talking about the man on the screen who is currently spending his Christmas Eve threatening a wife abuser.

"No, that's your thing, Pacey." Doug fixes him with a look, but Pacey ignores him. "White is a thug," he continues, "Exley is the one to root for, Joey."

"Don't listen to him, Jo," Pacey nods at me "Exley is a prissy opportunist ass-kisser."

"Oh now - why am I not surprised that you would think that the bad guy is the one character who is actually the moral center of the film?" Doug baits.

"Moral center?!?" Pacey's voice rises - "Listen, Officer Goody Two Shoes…why don’t you…"

"Hey excuse me!!" I interrupt, "I'm trying to watch the movie! I don't even know who Exley is so could we maybe - let me find out for myself?"  I look at Pacey, and he is smirking at me.  Suddenly I realize that I just helped him in his little plot to rid the house of Officer Witter.  I can't help but smirk back pleased at the little secret between us.

"Actually - I do have somewhere to be shortly - police business." he directs at me, and I nod in understanding.  As he rises I nab the remote from Pacey's hand and start rewinding yet again.  "Enjoy your depraved little film kids - and don't do anything depraved yourselves."

As he passes behind the couch, Pacey leans over the back in an attempt to smack him but misses.  He leans into me as he does it, his body taut as it presses against mine.  I actually close my eyes to the sensation but open them when he cries, "Hey you went back too far!" and snatching the remote back from me, he begins searching for the scene where we were interrupted.

Depraved: Corrupt, wicked, perverted.  Synonyms include lewd. Lascivious.  Thank god my PSAT studying gave me so many terms to describe what runs through my head when I'm near him.  What in the hell has happened to me?!? Pacey Witter used to drive me up the wall - the energy, the antagonism, the need to argue with me over every little thing.  Now it's like all those same things turn me on.  He bounds around all over the place, and it excites me.  He challenges something I've said, and I get this thrill from arguing it with him that I've never felt before.  He taunts me with sexual innuendo, and I get a rush wishing he would follow through on what he says.

"Maybe I should…" I start to tell him I need to go home.  I have to leave because I think I have officially lost my mind.  Sitting with him here, fantasizing about dictionary terms to describe what I want to do to him cannot be healthy.  But before I can say it he has found the beginning of the video.

"Ok - third times a charm" he announces, "but first - what kind of host would I be if I didn't offer you something from the concession stand?" and he's off the couch and into the kitchen.  I rub my face as soon as he's out of sight and find it warm to the touch.

"Soda? Chips?" he peeks his head back around the corner and I quickly put my hand back on my lap, "You ok?" he asks his brow creased in concern.

He notices everything about me.  I mean - how insignificant was that moment and yet he saw it and he thought about me and he cared enough to ask?  It's those gestures that just make me weak - my heart races a little faster, my mouth becomes dry, my heart practically jumps into my throat.  In short - I become a total mess.  And for someone so observant about me I am consistently shocked that he never sees that - he has no idea how I feel about him.

I guess I’m just be that good of an actress, "I'm fine.  How about some water."

He pauses for a moment and watches me, to see if I'm really alright.  I smile and try not to notice how his navy shirt makes his eyes look an indescribable blue.

"Popcorn?" he offers.

"Definitely."

"Ok then - hold on a sec." and he disappears back into the kitchen.  I announce that I'm going to use the bathroom and as soon as I'm safe inside, I splash cold water on my face and try to get a grip.

The bathroom is immaculate – fastidiously neat.  Totally Doug.  But Pacey has started leaving his mark.  There's the toothpaste squeezed from the middle of the tube instead of from the bottom.  There's a bag of disposable razors next to Doug's high-end electric razor and accessory kit.  And in the shower there is a bar of soap that looks inexpensive and practical - unlike the pearly white soap in a pump that I can't in a million years imagine Pacey ever using.

I can hear him moving in the kitchen as the sounds of popping kernels ricochets around the microwave.  I find myself reaching for the bar of soap, and slowly I turn it over in my hands - it is dry and smooth and nearly bigger than the palm of my hand.  I imagine it fits perfectly in his.

I bring it to my face and inhale deeply.  It smells clean and fresh.  It smells like him.  The name brand has washed away which is a good thing because at this rate, if I knew what it was, I could easily find myself at the market picking up a bar to keep under my damn pillow at night or something equally insane.

I inhale again and am hit with the image of the soap travelling along his body. Bare wet skin, slick and warmed by the water.  Steam rising along the tiles as he rests his hands on the shower wall and leans forward, letting rivulets of water travel over his dark hair and down along his neck, dripping across his torso and over his legs - pooling at his feet.

The bar drops from my hand, and I stifle a gasp.  If he had any idea what I was doing in here, let alone thinking about - I would never live it down.  He would torment me about it until the day I died.  And I'd deserve it.  Something in the air, or spring fever, or something is making me think like this.  I mean, there has to be some logical explanation for why I seem to be falling head over heels in love with Pacey Witter.

I put the soap back and rinse my hands while I examine myself in the mirror - forcing myself to stop blushing.  When I return to the living room he has set out our drinks and brought napkins for our popcorn - a concept that seems so out of Pacey's reach that I am impressed by the detail.

He has sprawled out at the end of the couch and has a huge bowl of popcorn resting in his lap.  "I thought maybe you'd crawled out the window in there!" he jokes.

"Yeah - keep dreaming." As I start towards him, he nods his head at the wall behind me.

"Could you hit the lights?  This movie needs atmosphere."

I stop and do as he asks, not even daring to make a witty retort about him trying something in the dark.  I have to admit surprise when he doesn't make one either.  I step over his legs and flop down next to him, letting myself sink into the soft comfort of the couch.

"Ready?" he asks.

"Can't wait."  I reach over to grab a handful of popcorn as the screen begins to flicker.

Every time she thrusts her hand into the popcorn, the bowl is pressed into my groin, and I have to think of a litany of un-sexy things to prevent a really embarrassing incident.

Sometimes I think she must know it because she digs around for awhile - like in the dark she can find the perfect kernel or something.  That or she's just trying to prolong my agony.

Everything is just right: a great movie, the place to ourselves, sitting close to one another in a darkened room.  The one thing missing is the intimacy - I want to wrap my arm around her and pull her close to me, her head resting against my shoulder, soft strands of hair tickling my neck.  I want to lay my hand on the open area of her shirt where her collarbone is peeking out - spread my fingers over her skin and feel her satiny smoothness melt away underneath my touch.

"Wait, wait a minute." she says suddenly.  I am so lost in the idea of touching her that for a minute, I think she has read my mind and is putting a halt to the imagined encounter.

"What??" I hope that the pitch of my voice doesn't give away the sense that I've been caught.

She reaches for the remote and hits pause.  "Can I ask a question?"  I brace myself for an accusation of some sort but all she does is ask me to clarify a plot point.  I try not to heave a sigh of relief and listen to her carefully.  She has a very serious expression on her face and I can tell the movie already has her intrigued - she's trying to figure it out, and it just started.

That is one thing about her that fascinates me.  That she is so smart and thinks so hard about things.  I never think about anything - I just do it and deal with the consequences later, clean up the mess after the damage is done.  But Joey is different - she thinks everything through and is always curious to learn more, see more, do more.

I answer her question, and she seems satisfied.  Returning to the movie she sits back and somehow ends up closer to me than she was before.  Close enough that if I were to lean just a bit in her direction, our arms, at the very least, would be touching.  I swear if that ends up happening - it will be a good thing that I've seen this movie a few times already because I certainly won't be paying enough attention to answer any other questions she may have.

It occurs to me, as I sit here with her - that I am handling my feelings for Joey in an entirely different way than I've ever handled anything before.  I'm not jumping in head first, I am thinking about every move I make, every word I say, every action I take.  Why this time?  What is it about wanting her that suddenly makes me so thoughtful and rational?

Well for one thing, keeping my feelings a secret allows me to continue to be with her, be her friend and confidant.  As we’ve gotten to know each other better I’ve learned that we aren't so different, at least not as much as we always claimed to be.  A year ago I would have thought that just seeing Joey on holidays back in Capeside would be plenty.  Now if I go a day without seeing her or at least talking to her, I'm climbing the goddamn walls like an addict.

And if she were to know that - know that I dream about her.  Or that I wake with images of her filling my head, left from my last thoughts of the night before.  That I stroll past her English class every day - the one she has with Dawson - to make sure he hasn't upset her in some way…if she were to know any of that, she would put so much distance between us so quickly it would make your head spin.  Mine does just considering it.

And of course there's Dawson.  He would - god I don't even want to imagine what Dawson would do if he had any inkling of what I'm going through.  It would be over - all of it.  My friendship with him, her friendship with me, the strange little circle the three of us have had going for years and years.  And knowing the way he works, he would use my revelation as a way to get back into her life the way he assumes he is fated to be: her boyfriend, her lover, her partner.

And that would be worse - I think - than dealing with what I'm dealing with now.  At least now she is on her own, single and available for me to at least pretend that we could have some sort of potential with one another.  If she were linked to him again, not only would she be out of my reach, but she'd be back in his.  And maybe that would be the one time he wouldn't be stupid enough to let her go.

But I can’t think too much about that now because she has pulled her legs up onto the couch and is sitting cross-legged next to me – her body leaning forward as she watches intently, her knee resting against my leg.

Resting against my leg.

If I wasn’t so excited by this contact, I would be amazed at how pathetic it is to be so excited about it.  She doesn’t seem to notice that we’re touching, or if she does, she doesn’t seem to care because she says nothing and she does nothing.  I don’t know which it is, but I know which one I want it to be.

I silently curse myself for deciding against the shorts option this morning and wearing pants.  As her smooth bare knee presses against the dark fabric of my pant leg, I long for our skin to come together.  Never before in my life has a kneecap seemed as incredibly sexy as it does right now.

My left hand rests just behind where our legs meet and I restrain myself from reaching out for her.  Her long back rises in front of me, thick shiny hair falling over her shoulders, and I want to rub my hand along her spine – feel the skin and muscle and bone pressed up against my palm.  Dig my fingers through her hair and watch my hand disappear into the dark tangle of it.

Just as I am imagining her tilting her head back in pleasure at my exploration, she lets out a gasp, and again I’m so lost in my own fantasy that for a second I think she is actually responding to me.  Jerking my gaze towards the TV, I realize her exclamation is actually because Russell Crowe just broke a chair in half with his bare hands on the screen.  Lucky bastard – that’s the response that I wanted.

She tilts forward in fascination as the plot starts twisting into entirely new directions and as she does her knee is pressed harder against me.  I nearly echo her noise of a moment ago and resting my head against the back of the couch, I screw my eyes shut and try not to think about how desperately I am in love with one of my best friends.

I didn’t mean to push my knee up against him.  I was just trying to get comfortable because sitting back there, so close to him was unnerving.  I couldn’t concentrate on the movie, and I wanted to.  I wanted to get lost in it and distract myself from the fact that I was near enough that I could actually smell that soap rising off his skin – causing me to blush all over again.

So I moved forward a little to give myself some space without being too obvious.  And I didn’t want to move too far.  Right now I don’t think I could stand being any substantial distance from him.

And then my leg hit his, and I knew I should move it.  Just readjust and act like it hadn’t happened.  And nothing did happen.  He didn’t say anything, and he didn’t move away from me.  And it felt so nice – just a small area of contact but in it was warmth and…sheer bliss.  When you want someone the way I find myself wanting Pacey – any negligible amount of physical contact becomes unbelievably sensual.

My initial plan did work for awhile.  I got engrossed in the story and was even able to stop thinking about my position on the couch for a bit, so much so that I relax enough to sit back next to him again.  Out of some sort of reflex, I pull my knee up towards my chest and immediately wonder why the hell I did that.  Of course now it would be too obvious to move it back so instead I clasp my arms around my leg and sulk at my stupidity.

“Hey move your leg.” he says to me gruffly.  I wonder if it is a delayed reaction to where it was before then realize it must be in his line of vision.

I move it just slightly and he repeats “Move it, Potter!” but in a voice that’s a little more playful.

“Move your head!” I retort.

“Hey it’s my couch!”

“Ha! It’s your brother’s couch – and I’m the guest so you move.”

He exaggerates a sigh of exasperation and says “Now we’re missing dialogue.”

“Then stop talking to me!” I whisper loudly.

Suddenly he grabs hold of my leg and my arms fall to the side.  He pulls it towards him and before I even know what he’s doing, he’s got my leg slung over his, resting against the space where his thigh meets his knee.

“That oughta do it.” he says proudly.  Then just to prove his point, he leaves his hand resting on the top of my knee holding me there as if in a warning.

I quickly look back towards the TV because I can’t look at him touching me.  I can’t see his hand covering my kneecap, long beautiful fingers resting against my skin.  This is the most direct we’ve ever been with each other physically and already it’s not enough.  I want him to be as decisive with me as he just was and pull me on top of him.  I want to stretch my body along the length of his and feel his hands on more than just my leg.

I can’t ever remember thinking this way.  I’ve liked guys, I’ve had boyfriends, and for the most part, I think I’ve experienced attraction to a few people.  But nothing that compares to this.  I have never thought about someone the way I think about him.  I have never so explicitly wanted anyone so much that I find myself dwelling on these images of him – of us – together.

I stay perfectly still because I don’t want him to pull his hand away.  As we experience this intimacy with each other, the action on-screen takes a romantic turn.  My eyes are transfixed on the movie as Crowe’s tough detective tenderly slides his hands up the leg of Kim Basinger’s hooker character.  As if inspired by the erotically charged scene, Pacey suddenly starts to casually rub his palm where it rests against me.  His fingers move in small light circles, and I bite down on my lip in pleasurable surprise.

Instinctively I flex my leg, pinning his under mine as he continues his pattern, occasionally he grips me a little – like a cat kneading a bed – and when he does I feel a slight jolt as his blunt fingernails dig into my flesh.  I can’t help but stare now out of the corner of my eye, stunned by the fact that this is actually happening.  It feels like every ounce of my body is screaming out for him – it is like a buzz in my head, and it actually shocks me that he can’t hear it.

I adjust my position so that our bodies are pressed together.   Carefully I drag my hand along his arm – from above his elbow to his wrist that lays flat against me.  The skin on his inner arm is velvety and plaint to my touch.  I mimic his actions, and he turns his arm slightly so it is open towards me.  I take this as a definite sign to continue, and I eagerly comply.

I don’t know what the hell came over me.  Scratch that – I know exactly what it was – months of pent of sexual frustration and unresolved yearning for a completely unattainable woman.  That is what led me to ignore all the warning signs that told me to back off and now I find myself mauling her leg and getting far too aroused by her touch on my arm.

And that touch – oh man it is even better than I dreamed it.  I have actually caught myself observing her gesturing with her fingers and wondered what it would feel like to have them on me – grasping through my hair, dancing along my skin, digging into my arms, my chest, my back.

This is…insane.  I should stop it.  I started it, and I should stop it.  But I know I won’t.  I won’t because she hasn’t shown any intent to stop it herself.  And what the fuck does that mean? I know what I want.  I want her.  I’ve wanted her for months and some days I even wonder if I’ve wanted her since we did that snail project together for Bio a couple of years ago.

But what does Joey want?  Because right now she is snaking her right arm between us so she can reach up to stroke my bicep.  She stays on the outside of my shirt but occasionally her hand slides tantalizingly close up under the sleeve, and I nearly groan at the tease.

Both her hands are on me, and our bodies are pressed together, and she still stares straight ahead as if the movie is the most interesting thing happening in this room.  All I can focus on is her, and more of her, and letting this completely surreal moment go as far as she wants it to go.  As far as I can handle before reality jerks me back, and I remember the truth of this situation.

I pull her leg up a little higher on mine and start to slowly run my right hand along her shin – leaning forward a little so I can have greater access.  Only seconds pass before she has shifted next to me and thrown her other leg over mine – effectively sitting in my lap.

I don’t let my total surprise stop me from starting a similar path on her other leg.  I am completely enraptured by them – how long and smooth to the touch they are.  I can’t believe for all the scraped knees she got when we were kids, and all the tumbles she took out of trees and jungle gyms – there’s no evidence of scars.  She is flawless.

The movie is forgotten as she stretches out along the back of the couch.  I let myself travel higher up her legs, sliding my hands over the hem of her shorts but stopping there as I let my eyes wander up the rest of her body, finally reaching her face.  Her eyes are fixed on me and even though she appears slightly out of breath, she manages to whisper my name.

“Pacey?”

“Yeah?” I wait for her to answer while I start mentally preparing myself to back off of her and let it go.

“Can you come here?”

His eyes, so dark with I don’t know – fear, or worry only moments ago – become electric as soon as I speak.  He thought I was going to say stop.  In fact I thought I might too.  But as soon as our eyes met, I saw the hunger in them, and it matched the sensations rushing through my body.  I didn’t want him to stop.  I only wanted him more.

He turns his body to face mine and parts my legs, gently moving the right one to rest against the back of the couch, placing a sweet kiss on the knee as it passes his face.  His other hand begins running up the length of my leg that still rests against him.  He moves slowly and deliberately, and I actually hold my breath in anticipation.

When he reaches my waist he holds me firmly and rises up out of his seat.  Pulling his body up over mine he supports himself on the back of the couch and as he holds himself above me he whispers “Are you sure about this?”

I reach up and touch his face, and he looks at me like he might cry.  “I have no idea what I’m doing.” I whisper back.

“You don’t have to know what you’re doing.” he says, his eyes never leaving mine, “You just have to know if you feel ok about doing it.  And if you don’t – we can stop right here, Joey.  No hard feelings.  Nothing happens that you don’t want.  And nobody knows anything but us.”

I smile at his words.  They are perfect and just what I need to hear.  “Really?” I drawl, “This seems like exactly the sort of thing you would be more than happy to advertise around school!”

“Jo, I would never do that.” he says softly, and I know it’s the truth.

“I know.  Hey,” I say raising my arms to wrap around his neck, “I thought that this sort of thing was supposed to be fun – I mean isn’t that why they call it ‘fooling around’?”

He breaks into a grin and lowers himself closer to me, “It is fun,” he breathes against my ear, “if you do it with the right person.”

His voice makes me shiver, and I run my hands through his hair, pulling him down till we’re nearly touching, “I have a lot of fun with you, Pace,” I murmur as his lips hover over mine, “and now I want to have some more.”

Kissing Joey Potter is the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.  She starts tentatively, opening her mouth slowly to mine, our tongues darting carefully around one another.  I take every single second slowly because I don’t want to scare her – don’t want her to think that this is something that could get too out of control.

Because as much as I want to bury myself in her right now – I realize that this may be nothing more than an experiment on her part.  A confusing mixture of attraction and curiosity that will end shortly and never be discussed again.  Whatever it is, I’m grateful for it.  Because it gives me an opportunity to express to her just how deeply I feel about her.  Every move I make is filled with just the sheer pleasure of being able to touch her.

She can feel it too.  Her kisses become deeper, more demanding – she moans softly when I pull away to kiss her chin or her nose and eagerly pulls me back down to meet her mouth.  Her tongue thrusts harder against mine as her hands travel over my shoulders and down along my neck, spreading out against my skin as our legs become tangled together.

The sounds of the movie become a murmur in the background as we kiss, and touch, and explore – both of us surrendering to the urgent need to connect to one another in ways we never thought possible.

“You’re a great kisser.” I whisper as I lay on top of him.  My finger traces over his lips as he chuckles and kisses my fingertip.

“Thanks.” he says, “Good to know I’ve got at least one talent.”

“You’ve got many.” I murmur, “Although now I would have to say that kissing is definitely top of the list.”

He smiles at me and is almost shy as he asks “What else do you think I’m good at?”

“You’re good at building things – look at your boat and the B&B, you're good with kids, you’re a good listener, a good friend, a good guy to have around if you want to feel better, and safe, and happy…”

I stop myself but it’s too late.  He is looking at me so intently I know that I have given myself away.

“But you hate me, Joey,” he says softly.

“I know,” I shrug, “I’m thinking I have a chemical imbalance.  Maybe I need to be checked out.”  I can’t contain the grin that starts forming at the corner of my mouth as he starts to tickle me in retaliation.

“Yeah, well, you know what else I'm good at, Potter? Tickling!" he cracks as I laugh and try to stop his hands.  After some struggling I shift from my position on top of him and lay my head down against his chest.

As his hand runs through my hair I finally feel my heart rate starting to return to a somewhat normal level – at least normal under these circumstances.  Underneath my cheek I can feel his still beating loudly.  Its steady rhythm reminds me of the first time I could hear my own blood pumping as a child, and I mistakenly thought there was a drummer marching outside my window.

“I can hear your heart.” I whisper.

“What does it say?”

“It says…” I press my ear harder against his chest as if I am taking an accurate reading, “it says you like me.”

“I don’t like you, Potter.” his voice is low and I can feel it rumble underneath me.

“I know,” I say playfully, “you like me, like me!”

He is silent for a long moment and there is an instant where I almost believe he is holding his breath.

“Yeah,” he finally says so softly I can barely hear him, “something like that.”

She is silent after my admission, and I think I’ve blown it.  Whatever she was after tonight – me revealing what I feel about her was not it.  I continue rubbing her head and wait for her to make the next move.

“Thanks for understanding,” she suddenly says, “you know - before.”  She means when she asked to slow things down, and I complied.  It was incredibly difficult but it was the only thing to do – no question.

“I told you, Jo – I’d never do anything to make you uncomfortable or scared.  That’s not what this is about.”

Raising her head from my chest she looks up at me and asks “What is it about?”

“I don’t think that’s something we can have a coherent conversation about right now.”

“Why not?” she asks wrinkling her nose at me.

“Because tonight has been really bizarre and I think we need to – process it or something before we can figure it out.”

“Pacey?”

“Mmmm?”

“Do you want to kiss me again?” she moves back up my body as if she is going to kiss me again anyway.

“I was thinkin’ about it.” I murmur against her cheek.

“Me too.” she whispers into my ear, “I think about it a lot.” I almost don’t recognize her voice – it is like a growl coming from a part of her that I only discovered tonight.

“You do?” there is no hiding the surprise in my voice.  She kisses me again and in that kiss is the answer I’ve been waiting for months to hear – the one I never thought I would get.  The one that says she loves me too.