♫ Cause I can't spend the rest of my life chasing you around
I want to get much closer
You need to tell me how ♪
(Maroon 5—Feelings)

After a day of reviewing videos—that she looked dazed and drunk in, but no obvious sign that she'd been singing to someone—and scribbling furious thoughts to turn them into lyrics, and listening to praise from the bosses, Coralie sank into her office chair. She puffed out a heavy breath; she was exhausted, overwhelmed, and stressed. And despite her time off the day before she hadn't had an opportunity to figure herself out.

What did she want? Who did she want to be with? Ryan or Michael? Both, or neither?

To make matters worse, yet another blast from her past had resurfaced—former bff Chester, in all his rugged raunchiness, smoky and sultry and insistent on having coffee with her. He'd texted her several times since their encounter, asking about seeing her, and she'd been unable to confirm anything until seconds ago, when Nikita told her to go home. It was three-thirty, and Coralie wasn't sure she had any energy to stick around and catch up with Chester, when she should have hurried to her apartment for a nap before the bar job.

But she wanted to be near him again. The magnetism she'd always experienced in his presence had woken something odd in her gut. A curiosity, a desire to be close, to listen to him, to let his poetry draw her in. He was good with words, and his texts were tempting and troubling all at once.

Chester Chase: Not sure if you're purposely ignoring me or busy working... or you gave me the wrong number? But I'll be down at the coffee shop after four, and I'd love to see you there.

Chester Chase: And not in the stalker-ish way I've been seeing you—I mean I'd love to SEE you. Sitting across from me, sipping on a cappuccino, leaving the foam over your lips to drive me crazy. Remember when you used to do that? You were so cute. You still are.

She groaned. Of course she remembered that; their coffee dates happened when she was sober. It was all the other instances that she couldn't quite clarify. Their benders in run-down, dingy bars in the worst downtown neighborhoods of San Francisco. Or their escapades in nightclubs that played shitty music but served high-class cocktails that messed them up fast enough that they didn't have to spend too much money. And the sheets they'd rolled in together—scratchy or satin or cotton, depending on the locale they'd chosen—and the fun they'd had. It was all so blurry, and she wished she could recall how he'd made her feel, if she'd been truly aroused or only intoxicated. Did they have a blast because they were tipsy? Or had he satisfied her as much as her sore legs and scratch marks attested to?

Clearly, she'd enjoyed him, as they'd slept together on many occasions, in many places, and under many circumstances. But the common factor: they were drunk off booze and off each other, and she rarely remembered the details of their nights. She often regretted not asking him to tell her more. Did he recall it all? Would he tell her now, if she inquired on it?

That curiosity revived in her as she stared at her phone screen, teetering back and forth between brushing him off until she was mentally—and physically—ready to converse with him, or biting the bullet to get it over with. Now that she'd seen him, and now that he knew she'd recognize him, she wouldn't be able to feign ignorance or walk by him in silence. They worked in the same building... and there was no escaping him.

Coralie Amber Watson: It's me, this is my real number. Sorry, I needed to think about it.

Coralie Amber Watson: But... fine. I'll be there soon.

Coralie never drank coffee after three in the afternoon if she could help it; but this occasion warranted a break in her traditional rules. And if she wanted to survive her shift that night, a bit of caffeine would benefit her, anyway.

She gussied up, fixed her lip stain, powdered under her eyes to cover her fatigue, and adjusted her bra, ensuring her boobs weren't dangling out... but still appealing in her lower-cut shirt. She shook her head as she walked out of her office; why was she making such an effort? It was Chester, for crying out loud. He'd seen her in skimpy clothing, and hurling out her guts into a toilet, and naked. And in any case, she didn't accept to have coffee with him to impress him, or sleep with him. She had enough sexual partners to deal with, between Michael and Ryan. This was a friendly hang-out, a get-together, and wouldn't end with anything more than a hug and a promise to stay in touch. This was a brisk session to catch up and reanimate a friendship that had died in the aftermath of dramatic life events.

Avoiding being dragged into a meeting with one of the label's CEO's, Coralie scaled through the hallways, hopped into the elevator, and skidded out the building. By the time she passed the threshold of the adorable Mom & Pop coffee shop next-door, it was a few minutes past four o'clock. She scanned the area in search of Chester, and saw him at a corner booth, having a lively exchange with a barista who'd come to take his order.

Coralie immobilized as she watched their interaction. She knew the girl—she worked the counter most days and usually had Coralie's order out in a flash—but had never seen her so flushed, so intimidated. Chester was leaning over the table, with one hand holding his head up, the other waving to and fro as he spoke. The smirk across his thin lips signified he was flirting with her. There was no mistaking that demeanor, that body language, because Coralie had seen it before... used towards her. That same alluring stare, the forwardness without being rude, the near-contact without actually touching; it was a hypnotic move of Chester's, and rare were those who resisted it.

The barista would be no exception as she stood before him, swishing side to side, holding her notepad, dangling the pen over it while absorbed in Chester's every movement, every breath.

Some things never change.

Coralie hated to interrupt, but she had no time to spare, wanting to get this over with so she could return to her other life dilemmas. So, after a sharp inhale and exhale, she sauntered over and dropped into the booth across from Chester. Her arrival broke the conversation; the barista jotted down their orders, and in her flustered tone she promised to report to them soon with their drinks.

"I was so close to getting her number!" Chester angled against the flower-patterned cushions and winked as he slid his arms behind his head. "You owe me."

Coralie rolled her eyes as she set her purse beside her and glimpsed around the area. No matter how many times she'd been inside, she'd never seen the venue from this angle. Most days she waited in line, grabbed her beverage, and hastened out; but today she had the opportunity to view the details. In the corner, she noticed the pillows on the chairs, matching the flowery trim on the wallpaper. She noticed the paintings of orchids and roses and tulips, and the pictures of long-standing clients holding their coffee cups with their thumbs up in approval. And she noticed the dimmed lighting, the mismatched tables, and the windowed doors leading to a kitchen and shared bathrooms.

"You're the exact same, aren't you?" She fixed on Chester, who'd taken to glancing at the menu, licking his lips as he scoured the snacks section. "Goofy, outspoken, and never afraid to take whatever you can. Poor girl." Coralie spared the barista a brief peek. "She had no idea what she was in for. I had to rescue her."

In feigned offense, Chester smacked a palm to his upper chest. "From me? Whatever for?" He also glanced at the girl, but with a hunger in his gaze and a lust dripping from his mouth that Coralie couldn't handle.

She focused on the table, instead, and on the silver tray of sugar and spices in flower-shaped shakers. The salt and pepper ones were in the shape of tulips, and made her realize there was more than just coffee in this adorable locale. "Because you're dangerous, Chester. You break hearts! You're an alcoholic who devours sweet girls like her whole."

"And boys," he added, lifting a finger to the air. "Though I think I'm done with men for a while. My last one... ugh, let's not talk about that." He slanted over the table and tapped his fingers an inch away from where Coralie had placed her own. "And you're worse than me, anyway. At least I remember all our adventures, no matter how much I drink. I'm guessing you still don't?"

Coralie grimaced—she hated that he still knew her so well. "How'd you figure that out?"

Chester's eyes narrowed and his grin was almost malicious as it widened. "Because you're the one who's bad with alcohol, love. How many times did I carry you out of bars or clubs because you couldn't walk? Or when you woke up at my place without having a clue of how you got there? Then that time when—"

"—Okay, point taken." She glowered at him, and worried the discussion had steered a little too close to the main event that had shattered their friendship. She wasn't ready to bring that up yet. "I get it. You can write a novel about all my misadventures and recount every detail because you're inhuman, with a godly ability to tolerate alcohol better than others. Whatever."

"Truth." His fingers grazed hers, and he arched an eyebrow. "But let's talk about you, hm? Living in New York City, working at a label, still sassy and sexy as can be, but..." He chewed on his lower lip, and Coralie's heart skipped a beat. "You have changed."

A blurry vision came to her. One of a time when they'd been slumped in a similar booth, waiting for a few plates of greasy bacon and eggs to purge themselves from their alcohol abuse. A time when he'd ogled her with as much hunger as he had their food, and when they'd eaten so fast they had stomachaches... that they ignored as they had rowdy sex in his apartment.

"Zoning out? Damn, you need that coffee bad," said Chester, once more eyeing the barista. "Which is great, because it would give me an excuse to go talk to her again... I can ask her to rush your drink?"

Coralie flicked her wrist at him. "Stop it. Tell me about you. Boyfriend, you said? Moving from San Francisco? Lots of changes in your life. I'm intrigued."

As their drinks appeared—and the barista blushed at Chester's charming chit-chat—he told Coralie how he was an online reporter writing art and book reviews and critiques, and sometimes critiquing restaurants and bars. He still painted and drew, and sold some of his art-work on the side, to pay for his luxurious tastes. And best of all—he was a published poet, and had recently released a book of ominous but passionate poems called Explicit.

"Explicit, huh?" She sipped on her cappuccino and wiped the foam from her upper lip with a quick flick of her tongue. "Why that name?"

Chester's gaze concentrated on her mouth for a few seconds before reverting to his mug. The steam slithered up to coat his nostrils in a shiny film as he expanded them. "Because they contain a lot of profanity." He chortled as he tipped his cup to drink from it. "So instead of putting an explicit sticker on it, I figured I'd name it that. It's a flashy warning that whatever's within... is shocking."

"Shocking, huh?" She admired him as he swallowed a few gulps of his mocha, wondering how he could ignore the heat burning through his tongue. "Well, that's impressive. You were always so damn talented, but never took anything seriously."

"Still don't, most days," he said, reaching for his spoon to scoop up the whipped cream clustered over his drink. "It took a lot to push me into sharing my craft with anyone."

Letting the subtle sweetness of her beverage melt onto her tongue, Coralie nodded. "I feel that. I remember how long it took me to post my songs online, let alone reveal myself as I sang them. And I still struggle with it sometimes. But I have been performing on stage recently."

She'd expected Chester to blink in surprise, to quirk an eyebrow, to interrogate her. He, of all people, knew how hard she'd labored to show her talent, and to overcome how shy she'd been, how unsure. And while he never listened to her when she told him to divulge to the world how incredible he was, he always urged her to let everyone hear her sing.

And yet, to her shock, he grinned and peeped into his cup. "I know."

"Huh?" She sat up straight.

"You think I haven't been watching all your YouTube videos?" He shoved a wild strand of blond hair from his face, before it dipped into his mug. "You're amazing, Cora. Such talent, such progress. Oh, and I saw you in San Francisco, too, a few months ago. Open-mic night, or something? You belted out a fantastic version of Chasing Cars... brought me back."

"Whoa, wait a minute." She gripped the edges of the table. "San Francisco? But I thought—"

"—that was one of our favorite songs, back in the day. Did you pick it on purpose?" He avoided looking at her, glimpsing the ceiling as if admiring the clouds in the sky. "Remember when we rocked out to it while driving to the beach? Damn, those were the best days."

"Chester." She snapped at him, and used her other hand to bang onto the table, desperate for his attention. "You were in San Fran? When did you move here?"

"Oh, years ago." He finally granted her a glance of his emerald and evergreen gaze. "But I was on vacation in San Fran, visiting my parents. I happened to be at that bar... The Swirled Lady, yeah? Nice place. Then I saw you on the stage—I mean, there was no way I wouldn't recognize you. That icy hair, those bright eyes, that voice... beautiful."

"What?" She grabbed his wrist, causing him to wince, though he didn't wriggle out of her grip. "Why the fuck didn't you say anything? Why didn't you talk to me? Show yourself or wave or something?"

"Cora." He scoffed, then bunched his lips. "Come on. Accost you at a bar, after years of not speaking? Nah. Plus, you had some guy coming up to hug you, and then I detected you sneaking outside with another one, so..." He slipped his free hand around his mug and wiggled his eyebrows. "How's that going, by the way? Did you choose one of them? I imagine you were seeing both at the same time? What a me thing to do; I always thought you were the monogamous type."

Coralie's jaw dropped, and she barely managed to hold on to the table before her body slumped under it.

♥♥♥