♫ You turn up unannounced, at my door step
I'm not letting you in
Coz I don't know where you've been ♪
(Vera Blue—Give in)

While Ryan waited in his car—hoping to avoid confrontation in case Delilah was home—Coralie hurried to shower and change for her shift at the bar. And before she slipped on her shoes, she pulled up her phone's contact list and switched Chester's name to Chess, his nickname from back in the day. She worried that Ryan's behavior—coincidentally finding her at the coffee-shop with a snooping vibe—was one of suspicion. And in case he browsed through her cell, she didn't want him stumbling upon messages with Chester that he might misinterpret. By typing Chester's nickname, it left to the imagination who he was... and what gender.

Sadly, Coralie was used to adopting such tactics. With Jayden, she'd had to employ code names for almost all her male friends, lest he see her texting them and explode. His jealousy and trust issues were outrageous, and Coralie was noticing a similar pattern with Ryan. And she hated it. It was controlling, concerning, and prompted her to revise how she felt about him.

But it didn't deter her enough to get her to make up her mind and discard him from her life. She still wanted him, still loved him, and shrugged off his demeanor as he drove her to work, laughing, teasing her as if they hadn't had a spat, as if the air wasn't slick with tension. He parked by the bar and apologized for being invasive, and stated once more how he regretted being forceful with her about breaking up with Michael. His eyes—that were stormy earlier—had reverted to their kind, sultry ocean blue, and she melted as he kissed her cheek, right near the crease of her lips.

Throughout her shift, she kept sneaking into the back-room and pulling up her chat screen with Chester, hesitating to text him, confide in him, take advantage of his offer to help her. And every time, she grunted, shook her head, and locked the cell to put it away, worried that conversing with him too much would be making room for him in her new life. If she let him in, she risked spiraling out of control again. The partying, the drinking, the blacking out in bar-backs with boys she didn't know and surrounded by drugs—she'd given that up a while ago. Chester hadn't, that much was clear, and she couldn't allow herself to stumble into that lifestyle again. She'd lose sight of her goals, and likely lose her jobs—both of them.

I can't let that happen.

Plus, with Ryan breathing down her neck, she'd struggle to explain hanging out with Chester. She chuckled imagining herself trying.

"Hey, this is my former best friend from years ago that I hardcore partied with, and slept with a lot, and who might be in part to blame for my near-rape. But we made up and we're cool now and he wants to get drinks, you good with that?"

"Fuck." She snorted, so lost in her little world that she almost spilled a drink as she handed it to a patron. "He would not appreciate that," she mouthed to herself as she turned to the register to start the client's tab. "No, he'd throw a fit and believe I was having sex with Chester, too."

Yet she continued to check her phone as the night went on, and again as she returned home. She had a hard time sleeping, tossing and turning, and consistently glaring at her cell. She had another late start at the label the next day, and in her office, she opened her messages over and over when she was supposed to be typing up lyrics. Or when she was supposed to be concentrating in a meeting. Or when she was supposed to be taking notes at a seminar with a renowned songwriter. She zoned out, thinking of interacting with Chester as she recorded a sample for a mixed album the label was putting out. Several times, she had to start over, and the half-hour slot they'd allotted her turned into an hour and a half.

She was exhausted as she fell onto her sofa later that evening, and barely moved when Delilah spoke to her from the kitchen.

"What is up with you?" In her bright yellow work-out gear, Delilah stood in the kitchen's doorway with her hands on her hips. "I heard you fidgeting all night and grumbling in your sleep, and now," she wrinkled her nostrils, "this. You're still a mess about the whole Ryan and Michael situation, aren't you?"

"Shouldn't I be?" Coralie let her head fall into the couch cushions. "Yes, I am still a mess... but there's more to the story. I..." She gulped. "I bumped into another person from my past the other day."

"What?" Delilah's screech of displeasure would be heard throughout the neighborhood. She hopped over to the vacant space beside Coralie and nudged her in the shoulder. "And you didn't tell me? What the heck, dude? You confiding all your problems to someone else? Should I be jealous?"

Coralie jammed her elbow into Delilah's side to shut her up. "No, no jealousy. And I didn't say anything because I was still... processing it. I don't think it means anything, but it's... weird. Weird timing, weird vibe, weird everything."

"Who is it?" Delilah sat sideways so she could stare Coralie down. "Don't make me guess; you have way too many blasts from the past, girl."

"Shove it." Coralie kicked her shoes off and brought her legs up onto the sofa. "It's Chester."

Delilah fell off the couch as if fainting. "Chester." She slouched on the floor and fanned her face. "Chester Chase? The guy I hated because he was sexier than me? The one everyone ousted from our group because they thought he was responsible for that disgusting night we don't talk about?"

Coralie nodded. Out of all their clubbing friends, Delilah was the only one who never outright accused him of putting Coralie in a dangerous predicament. She didn't like him, but she'd never placed blame on him.

"Damn." Delilah set her feet onto the ground, but didn't stand. "He's here, in New York?"

"Not only in New York, but he works in my building, dude. He moved here a few years ago. And he was on vacation in San Francisco the night of the open-mic at The Swirled Lady, and saw me there." Coralie sighed. "All these years, and he never really left my life."

"Wow. And he didn't say anything?" Delilah heaved herself back onto the couch. "That's unlike him; he usually thrives on being the center of attention and would have jumped on the occasion to shock you." She flipped her silky mane and spun to Coralie. "So what happened? He said hello, you caught up, he's your friend again? Explain yourself."

Coralie detailed their bumping into each other in the building's lobby, and the phone number exchange, and his texts to lure her into having coffee with him. Then their discussions, and his confession that he'd seen her with Michael and hurrying out to greet someone else, and that though he'd admired her, he also offered to help her see clearer in it all.

"I mean... I already told you what to do." Delilah had fetched them glasses of wine by that point, and she tipped hers into her mouth, taking a few gulps before licking her lips. "Ditch Ryan and return to Michael and act as if nothing ever happened. But... well, I guess there's no harm in getting Chester's advice, too. He's been in that awkward position, no? The whole other man thing. He's dated monogamous folks who had no clue of his ways. And he's dated guys, too, ones that aren't too different from Ryan or Michael." She squinted at Coralie. "I think you should take him up on that drink, and soon."

Coralie clutched her wine cup close to her chest. "Yeah, but... it's Chester. Him and I, out and about, with alcohol? That has never ended well. When we hung out I was single... now, I'm entangled in two relationships. I can't get all mixed up with him and his bad influence again."

"Honey," Delilah squeezed her shoulder, "it's a drink. I doubt he'd drag you into his old habits; I even doubt he partakes in all the crazy stuff we used to. He's a grown-up now, like us. A reporter and a published poet, right? Nah." She clinked her cup with Coralie's and took another sip. "What's he going to do, take you into some underground club filled with ecstasy and get you wasted on shots of vodka? Or get you so doped up that you black out and sleep with him and forget about it all, like back in the day? No."

"How can you be sure, though?" Coralie sneered as she recalled his attitude the day before, at the coffee-shop. "He hasn't changed, I'm telling you. Still a flirtatious little shit who wants to fuck anything that moves. And he told me he still doesn't take most things seriously. I'm unsure."

"Okay, but he invited you out to discuss your current issue, which is that you're involved with two guys and can't make sense of which one you want to be with! He won't get in the middle of that, Cora, come on!" Delilah's drink sloshed so close to the rim of her glass that it nearly spilled into Coralie's lap. She'd had several refills in little time, and Coralie wondered why she was the one drinking so much.

Aren't I the one having difficulties? What's her problem?

"What's the worst that could happen, realistically?" Delilah's words slurred, and Coralie hesitated to heed to her advice. When inebriated, Delilah was more unhinged than usual, and her inhibitions faded. And she had few inhibitions to begin with.

Plenty of messed up outcomes played in Coralie's mind. Chester could spike her drink to get her to have fun—yes, he'd done that before, and Coralie had screamed at him for it—and relax. He could draw her into an alley and try to make out with her, as he'd done many times in the past. Or he could abandon her at whatever locale they'd meet up at and leave her vulnerable to predators. In envisioning these bad endings, she realized she hadn't gotten over her last evening with Chester, and how he'd flurried off to take care of himself, abandoning her to her demise.

So perhaps, after all these years, she still harbored a bit of a grudge against him.

"He's wild," she said, keeping her voice low, speaking into her cup as she brought it to her mouth. The liquid lapped onto her tongue, dulling her senses, playing with her head. She cringed at the image of him ditching her, and tightened her free fist at the thought of him putting drugs into her drink. But the making-out scenario somehow soothed her, because it didn't disgust her. It didn't bother her. It... aroused her.

That was why she couldn't see him at night. The allure of him still lingered, even after many moons away from him. She'd felt it when bumping into him, when sitting across from him, when watching him walk away. She'd felt his appeal awakening her senses and bringing her back, way back, to places she thought she'd forgotten a long time ago.

"Yeah, but you're not, not anymore. You're responsible, girl. I mean, adultery aside, that is." Delilah rubbed her shoulder. "Just do it, will you? Listen to what he has to say, and then you can leave. You're a grown-ass woman, Cora, and he doesn't dictate your decisions. Neither does Ryan. Nor Michael, for that matter. Be the bold chick I know you can be." She got up and drained her glass. "You can choose to get out before he puts any moves on you, though I don't think he will. Take off before he can touch you; give him a taste of his medicine, what he did to you that night. Hm... and the more we talk about this, the more I can see value in what he might have to tell you. He knows you, a different side of you, and with our energies combined... ugh, I'm too intoxicated for this shit." She wobbled over to the kitchen. "I need a snack. Text him."

To the sound of Delilah rummaging through the kitchen for something to eat, Coralie plucked her phone from the coffee-table. She opened the chat, glowered at the last message she'd received from him—it was good to see you, beautiful—and let her fingers press onto the screen.

Coralie Amber Watson: Hey. So... I thought about it, and maybe I should accept that drink with you. I could use your input, for sure. But ONE drink, and that's it. No funny business like in our younger days.

She hit send, then set the phone down to finish her wine; but to her surprise, the device buzzed seconds later.

Chess: Yeah? You're down?

She snickered. "Was he waiting for me to text? Sheesh. That's abnormal."

The phone vibrated again.

Chess: I'm actually going to an exclusive rooftop bar tonight. Some party for a colleague in my office. Fancy-ish, top-notch open bar, luxurious. Too soon?

"Ugh. I said one drink, dude," she groaned, beginning to type out a response.

But he sent yet another message before she could finish.

Chess: Upper-class clientele, so no "funny business", I promise. You, me, a jazzy ambiance, and ONE drink. ;)

Though she disliked his winky-face, Coralie rolled her eyes and changed her reply.

Coralie Amber Watson: Fine. What's the address?

As Delilah strolled into the living room with a bag of veggie straws and a bowl of popcorn, Coralie told her what she'd done. And Delilah all but threw the food onto the coffee-table and hurled Coralie off the couch. "We have to pick out your outfit! A rooftop bar in NYC? Fuck. You need something out of my closet for that."

♥♥♥