Three months after the wedding disaster, for the first time in a long time, I felt in control of my life. I scoffed at feelings and spit on love.  These foolish ideas died along with my hopes of a future with Jaime Knox. 

There was no tolerance in my new reality for fantasy.  I banished thoughts of him from my brain, unable to think of Jaime without being consumed with agonizing guilt over the devastation my actions caused him and his innocent bride. 

I no longer spoke to Harriett.  Steadfastly I refused her calls, which continued to come at least once a day.  Adamant that her betrayal was unforgivable, I refused to discuss the subject each time Lulu brought her up.  But I didn't have much time for Lulu either, seeing less and less of her over the past few months.

Julian, as well, was on my chopping block, for obvious reasons.  But truth be told, he was too busy falling in love with Scotty to even notice my taking our friendship from him.

I reasoned that my friends dragged me down with their constant talk of love and marriage.  Freed from negative influence, I planned to make Maslow's Hierarchy of Need my bitch.   No longer interested in love and belonging, self-actualization was my goal. 

I resolved myself to life as a singleton.  Being that I was going to provide for myself I adjusted my attitude with regard to finding a job.  I woke each morning and scoured the city for work.  I lived life on autopilot, computing my way through my days.  I managed my schedule with tyranny, all work, no time for fun or even to journal.

The only time I ever got emotional those days was when I spoke to God.

"Why is this happening?" I yelled, from my broken position on my knees. "I'm so alone! I can't do this.  Why? Why!  Is this your plan?" I cried, throwing my arms open wide toward the heavens.  "Twenty-five. No husband. Broke. No job. No baby.  Fine, God, fine.  I'll wear this heavy crown of burden.  Fucking fine!" I choked through waves of tears. 

During one of these special talks with God, a knock on my door startled me from my prayers. "Great." I splashed water on my face in an effort to hide the ugly evidence of feelings. Who in the hell could that be?

I tiptoed my way to the peephole and peered through the small, metal circle. 

Jack Swanson paced back and forth like a jungle cat on the other side of my door.  He looked angry or nervous, or both—and very handsome. The sight of him stirred my dead  heart.  I vowed not to answer the door, determined to keep all emotion at bay.  I didn't trust myself enough to risk falling in love with, yet another, unavailable gay man. I stayed mute, pretending to be out. 

He knocked harder on my door.  "Annie, let me in.  We need to talk." 

I didn't move a muscle, watching him silently through the peephole. What does he want?

He knocked again with even more force.   "Annie, I see your fucking feet under the door, let me in," he yelled in anger, causing me to jump back and knock over my umbrella stand with a loud crash.

"Fine," I called back, feeling caught.  What could he possibly have to say that warranted tracking me down in my apartment? Wishing for time to change clothes and apply a bit of make-up, I opened my door to Jack.   

He smiled from my welcome mat.  "Annie, you're the most difficult person in the world to get a hold of. But I'm sure glad to find you."

"You could have called you know." I led him into my living room and plopped down on my couch. 

"Yes, that's usually how it works.  But apparently you never answer your phone.  Or return your messages," he said, obviously having tried. "I'm not upset with you, Annie. I'm here with good news."

He placed a yellow envelope on my coffee table. 
"You got an offer on your book.  You did it!  Mr. Abernathy loves the voice of your journals. He said they make for one hell of a novel.  Annie, you're going to be a published writer." 

I stared at him blankly, confusion clouding my face.
My book?  Journals published? "What in the hell are you talking about?" I asked, unable to make sense of his words.  

The smile faded from his chiseled face. "Lulu never told you, did she?"  Absorbing the truth he sat beside me on my couch. 

"Lulu never told me, what?"

He let out a deep sigh, looked me directly in the eyes, and explained. "Lulu and Harriett gave me your journals a while back.  They wanted me to piece them together into a cohesive story, and show them to my boss, er, Lulu's dad. So, I did.  And Mr. Abernathy loved it.  He wants it published.  I'm sorry, Annie. I thought you knew they gave me your journals." 

I sat cross-legged, stoic, allowing Jack's story to settle about me, still struggling to understand. 
Surely he did not just tell me that my friends stole my journals.  My private fucking diaries!  Certainly I misunderstood.  No way would they think I'd be okay with them showing my crazy to the world...right?

It struck me then that Jack must have read every single word I wrote. A crimson blush fired through my cheeks as I wished to disappear. 

Seeming to sense my discomfort, Jack spoke up.  "Listen, whatever you decide I understand.  Whether you publish them or not you should be proud of yourself.  I loved reading your story," he said, smiling honestly at me. "I really did."

Unable to meet his gaze I focused my attention on the thick envelope he'd set upon my table.
'That's it." He rubbed the package of papers protectively. "That's your manuscript.  I guess I'll leave it here. You can let me know what you decide."  He rose from my couch and strode toward the door to leave. 

Before he made his exit, he stopped and picked up my overturned umbrella stand.  He placed it back in its upright position on my floor.  Turning toward me he asked, "Do you have any light bulbs around here?  Half of yours are missing bulbs."

"Uhm," I stammered. "I'm not sure."  I followed behind as he entered my kitchen, opening and rifling through cabinets in search of extra bulbs.

"Found some." He called from under my sink. "I got this."  He launched into the process of replacing each  bulb in my neglected apartment.  I watched transfixed as he stretched his arms above his head, screwing in my lights.  His handsome face crinkled in concentration.  When his work was complete, my home glowed.  "You need a man in your life," he said.

Ain't that the truth, I thought miserably aware of my budding arousal for Jack. Gay, gay, gay, I chanted silently, warding off my feelings and wishing him out the door.  "I'm done with men," I told him firmly. 

"Oh, I guess I wasn't aware that you ever dated one," Jack stated dryly. "I read the whole damn story, Annie.  All you date are boys.  I said you need a man."

"Oh," I gasped, undeniably attracted now to Jack. No you Fag Hag!  No, no, no. Jack is gay! I reminded myself, feverishly protecting my wounded heart. No fantasies allowed. 

"Well, thanks for the tip, Jack," I said, ignoring my desire.  "If you see any men, make sure to let me know."

Jack flinched at my words.  A flash of hurt anger crossed his sexy face as he turned to leave. "One more thing Annie," he said from my doorway, blue eyes smoldering. "Over and over I read that no man will ever live up to your memories of Jaime Knox.   Well, I think you need to re-write your story's ending."

He slammed the door behind him, his words ringing in my ears. I wanted to follow, beg him to come back.  But I did not.  I refused to chase another fairy (tale).

Left alone, I pounced on the envelope Jack left behind—desperate to read my book.     

Thirty minutes and four chapters later I was a festival of feelings.  Tears and snot dripped down my cheeks, mixing together and covering me in moist emotion.  I read through tears, Harriett's image hanging heavy in my heart.  I wept deeply for my past, loud racking sobs of grief.

I missed my friend.

I read without interruption for three hours straight, crying and laughing the whole way through.  By the time I finished the book I was a carnival of emotion.  Love warmed my heart, tears coursed down my face and I realized that no matter what happens in life--it's not worth living without friends.

Frantic desire to hear Harriett's voice compelled me toward my phone.  For the first time in months, I dialed her number.  I barely breathed as my call rang to voicemail.  Harriett's familiarly sweet accent caused a fresh wave of emotion to flood my eyes and I sobbed violently into my receiver, leaving an unintelligible message on her machine. How could I be mad at her?  She's pregnant. Guilt clouded my eyes with tears. 

I dialed Lulu, hopeful she'd help me find Harriett.   But she didn't answer either.  Despondent I lay on my couch and cried aloud, a deep burning ache in my heart.

A knock at my door, again, interrupted my weeping binge. Not bothering this time to hide my tears, I raced to answer the knock, madly willing it to be Harriett as I flung my door open wide. 

Jack stood before me, inches from my face, close enough that his masculine soapy scent buckled my knees.  He took me by surprise with the force of his embrace.  Pressing close, he pinned my body to the wall. "Why not me?" he breathed deeply in my ear. 

Chills trickled down my neck, across my spine, reverberating throughout my entire body, setting me afire with primal lust.  My overwhelming desire made it difficult to focus on the words coming from Jack's enticing lips.  I wracked my brain, trying to make sense of his seduction. "Because you're gay," I managed faintly.

His mouth was on me as the words slipped off my tongue.  His strong hands enwrapped my body.  Braced against the wall, weak with want, I trembled in his arms. 

"Annie," he whispered ruggedly, softly into my ear. "What would make you think," (he roughly kissed my neck) "that I" (he gently bit my bottom lip) "am gay?"

Lost in his embrace, for a moment I had no idea how I ever mistook Jack for gay.  I only knew I wanted to stay close against his solid chest for as long as I possibly could.

"Lulu told me," I remembered weakly. "Her dad only hires gay men."

"Okay." Jack laughed throatily, continuing to hold me firm against the wall. "Three things, Annie.  One, again, baby, I'm not gay." he kissed me deeply, gently moving his tongue inside my mouth and sucking my lower lip, making me mad for more.

"Two, that would be illegal if Mr. Abernathy only hired gay men." His hands moved forcefully across my breast, kneading and teasing my erect nipples. 

"And three, not only am I straight, I'm fucking good at what I do.  That's why Bill Abernathy hired me. And why you, Annie, are going to become a literary star.  Well, that and your undeniable talent."

His confident tone and aggressive foreplay made my body beg for more.  His touch was electric. His fingers traced flames of want, brushing my most sensitive places.

He easily lifted me into the air and walked me through the door.  Using his foot, he slammed it shut with a bang behind us.  "I've wanted you since I saw you on the golf course."  His lips grazed my breasts as he carried me en route to my bedroom.  He flung me across the bed and straddled my body. "And I want you now."  Popping open my jeans, he urgently pulled them down. 

The idea of stopping him, slowing this down, briefly occurred to me.  But I was tired of games and trickery, ready to be myself. And besides the man already read my diary, so virgin he knows I'm not.  Mentally I tossed my Rules book aside and ripped Jack's shirt from his body. 

Tan skin covered his muscled chest and broad naked shoulders. He knelt before me on his knees and I encircled my arms around his neck, pulling myself fervently into his body. "I want you too," I said, my voice hoarse with honest desire. 

He moved quickly pulling my shirt up over my head and snatching off my bra.  His gaze lingered hungrily on my breasts and he took them in his mouth, taking turns sucking gently on each throbbing nipple. Every cell in my body begged for his touch.  Heated blood pounded in my ears, coursed through my veins, a warm and sensual sensation seeming to cultivate between my legs. 

He toyed mercilessly with my cream-colored panties, running his fingers tantalizingly around the top, over the side, and underneath the flimsy, soft material—making me wet, and finally, slowly, deliberately slipping them off.

His mouth blazed a trail of fire as he reined tender kisses and gentle bites across my chest, along my stomach, up and down each trembling leg; his destination was clear. 

Hot breath scalded my center, frenzied my insides, as his tongue flicked against my skin possessing me unadulteratedly. 

Jack stripped away his own jeans in one swift motion, leaving his thin boxer shorts as the only barrier between our otherwise naked bodies.  He held me tight to his chest and I felt him pressing largely against my leg.

"God I want you," he whispered, confirming the obvious, not breaking my gaze. "I've never seen anyone so sexy, Annie." 

My need matched his want and I tugged away his boxers. I stroked and licked and sucked until he called out in desperate want, "I have to have you, Annie, now." 

He pinned my arms above my head with one capable hand, using the other to skillfully stroke and tease.  Smoothly he straddled my body.  I quivered beneath him, aching, longing, craving his touch.  He entered me slowly, deliciously, inch-by-inch-by inch, his blue eyes locked with mine. 

Unable to look away, I called out in pleasure as he filled me entirely—moving inside with mounting force. I groaned a heady mix of primal pleasure and carnal desire as he thrust deeply, furiously, taking ownership of every part of me.  He moved forcefully inside and I matched him thrust for thrust. Violently he filled the ache within me.  His breathing was ragged, matching mine. Our bodies melted together and we converged as one, lost in the passion of the moment.  I entered realms of pleasure never known before and we climaxed as one in rolling waves of blissful sensation.

He collapsed breathless across my naked chest and I enjoyed the flesh to flesh contact, the weight of his body pressed to mine.  I could still feel him inside me as we lay in perfect silence allowing our pounding heart rates to slow, neither in a hurry to leave the bed. 

"I can't believe you thought I was gay," he said finally, shaking his head with laughter.  "That makes it better.  I was beginning to think you weren't interested in me."

"Me either," I told him honestly, thinking back to all the time and tears I wasted chasing Mr. Wrong.  Never had a man inspired the myriad of feelings blossoming in my chest. My mind tripped and fumbled to string together coherent words.  I was intoxicated by his proximity and a peaceful thrill flushed my body.  I felt undeniably comfortable in his embrace, although my heart continued to erratically pound, aroused by his all engulfing nakedness.

"Why did you think I tagged along to Lake Texoma?" he asked feigning outrage.  "Were y'all trying to hook me up with Jewls?"

"No!" I said, "That trip was all for Harriett."  A heavy lump formed in my chest at the mention of my friend's name and my bubble of euphoria evaporated. 

"Yeah, I was actually surprised to find you here today," he said, squeezing me tight.  "But I'm sure happy I did."

"Where did you think I'd be?" I asked, snuggling deep against his warm chest and inhaling his soapy scent. 

"I figured you'd be at Harriet's wedding." 

His declaration shocked me out of cuddle time.

"What?" I said, gaping openmouthed. "What do you mean? Harriett's getting married?  When? Where?  To Nick?  Oh my God! Jack you have to tell me what you know."

He looked amused as he explained. "Well, Annie Paige, I know if you ever answered your phone or opened up your mail you would know these things." Smiling, he plucked a thick envelope bearing my name in fancy calligraphy script from the enormous pile of unopened mail resting on my bedside table. He tossed it into my arms.  

Tearing it open I read:

In a celebration of love
Mr. and Mrs. George McNeal
request the honor of your presence
at the marriage of their daughter
Harriett  Margaret McNeal
                  to
Nickolas Robert Masters
on Saturday, the fourth of November
at seven o'clock in the evening
Ashton Gardens Chapel
2001 Ashton Gardens Drive
Dallas,Texas 75229

Glancing hurriedly at my alarm clock I realized I had exactly thirty minutes to make it to the chapel in time for Harriett's wedding.  Not a minute to waste,  I jumped from bed, determined to stand beside my friend as she married the man of her dreams. 

Jack watched on with a grin as I raced naked around my bedroom, throwing on random items of clothes. 

Somehow, in the midst of my emotional tornado I noticed a pink envelope had fallen from my mail pile to the floor. It glared up at me accusingly.

How did I not see this before?  The letter bore the sender name of Miss Kate Oliver.  Clammy handed, I stuffed it inside my purse.  "Why are you just sitting there, Jack? Get dressed quick.  You're coming with me."

To his credit he followed directions well in a crisis. We were dressed and ready in record speed—flying out the door, together on a mission.  But this time as I rushed to a wedding it was love, not fear, that propelled me forward.  And that makes all the difference in the world.

Hello gorgeous, so very glad you're here :) please remember to vote!

Also, I am taking part in the Brigade Watty Awards, and I'll be in love with you forever for voting for Fag Hag in the contest. It is chapter 83 and here is the link:

http://my.w.tt/UiNb/io0KGX0lkv

Thank you so very much!!