"Is Freddie there, though?" Roger asked.

"He is, he's just- preoccupied," I said, gritting my teeth together. "I was about to make breakfast, would you care to join us?"

"Oh, no, I won't stay that long."

"Cup of tea?"

"I'm fine, really- unless there's any BJ in the fridge, in which case..." Roger snickered.

I forced a smile. "The only BJ allowed around here is BJ Thomas, and he's absent. But if you want OJ, there's maybe one more glass full left. It's all yours."

"Nah, I'm just teasing."

"Come on in. I'll go get him for you."

Roger strolled in, and as he did, I absently I let go of my collar. He must have seen have seen the marks of my own personal vampire, because he muttered to himself, with trademark indiscretion, "Hm. He just might at that."

My cheeks burned. I made myself a glass of water (my legs ached horribly and my lips were dry) then climbed back upstairs. "Be right back," I said.

As I trekked up the stairs, however, my knees began to tremble. "One hundred pounds." The words reverberated within my skull. I lifted a hand to my splotchy throat. Shame shot through my veins. I had let Freddie go further with me than I had let any other boy ever try for. So all his little gestures, the escalating affection, his mesmerizing charm- all a ploy. All tactics.

For one hundred pounds.

My trust in him shattered. My face froze; I would not give him the satisfaction of tears. My fists clenched. Such a fool, such a naive fool. What did I really expect of Mr. High-Flying-No-Strings-Sex? The selfsame fellow who said that women, like modern paintings, were such that "you can't enjoy them if you try to understand them."

Well, at least I knew for a fact what I was dealing with. The game was up, and how.

Freddie would not make a fool out of me. I would not let him. I made up my mind. The kisses stopped there. The embraces stopped there. The necking, especially, stopped there. We were friends, and friends only, if even that. And I seriously doubted if I could so much as think of him as a friend now.

Because quite frankly, in that moment, I wanted to absolutely kill him.

When I came back to my room, I found my bed empty. Across the hall I heard the sound of running water; he'd pushed himself into the shower. His bedroom door was open, so I let myself in. I was not too surprised to find the bathroom door slightly ajar as well.

NFO: Freddie doesn't like closing doors unless he's slamming them to make a point. Symptom of claustrophobia or monophobia perhaps?

One thing about it: knowing about the bet and how Freddie apparently saw me gave me back my analytical prowess, cleared up my perspective. It's impossible to see anything as it truly is through a soft focus lens anyway.

So I knocked on the bathroom door. "Freddie?"

No answer.

"Freddie, Roger's here, he wants to talk to you."

No answer.

I blame cocaine withdrawal (Never again, no way, no how, easily one of the stupidest things I have ever let myself do, don't you dare put cocaine in your coffee, it's disgusting) and the bad judgment that comes with it for the dumb mistake I made next: I pushed the door open.

"Are you even in here?" I called.

But the shower stall stood empty, the curtain still drawn back. The water was hot, steam fogging up the mirrors and the tile.

Someone behind me tapped my left shoulder. I turned to the left to see, and saw nobody there. But on my right side, a cool breeze flew past me. Age old trick. I should have known.

As I turned back to the front, there Freddie stood, no more well-groomed than when I last saw him. His dressing gown was drawn loosely around him, the belt untied. He leaned casually against the door frame, still irritated.

"What?" he demanded.

"Roger's downstairs, he wants a word with you." My voice was frosty.

Freddie looked me up and down -with what intent, I couldn't, and wouldn't, decipher- and requested, "Can you take a message, I'm not in the best shape if you'll notice."

"I noticed."

Freddie shifted off the doorway and reached his arms up in a stretch. I don't know why my eyes roved below his waist, but what I saw there as he stretched made them widen in shock. I tried not to gasp, but I couldn't help a sudden sharp breath. Freddie wasn't wearing any underclothes. He looked down as well, following my gaze which had stayed there longer than it should ever have.

"Oops," he murmured, glancing back up at me. The twisted smirk returned. "Well, I mean, aside of that, I'm not in the best- you know."

I took a deep breath through my nose. And he just kept talking, making me more and more uncomfortable. "What's wrong? You didn't mind so much while you were sleeping. I sleep in the buff, you know. I highly recommend it. If you had any funny feelings last night, it was probably me."

I felt my left hand clench and unclench as I weighed the pros and cons of slapping it squarely across those high cheekbones. Civility won out. But, I still had my sanity- and the upper hand. It was these two which prevented me from a complete breakdown.

My face went rigid as I stated, "Roger's only here about a matter of one hundred pounds. Some kind of bet, it seems. Do you know anything about that, Freddie?"

He quit smirking in a trice. "I, uh..."

"Yes, thought you might. Though I dare say it's none of my business, where could I possibly fit into a bet between you two anyway?" I grinned, but my eyes were hard- and, as I was told later, quite frightening.

"I'll be right down," Freddie said, now pale. "And look, Evie, I can explain-"

"Good, I'd love to see you try," I said before turning around and heading for the door. Then, unable to help myself, I looked back at him and said, "And Freddie, please, put some shorts on, or something. You look a little cold."

As angry as I was with Freddie, I still couldn't block my anarchic physical responses to him. My hands shook, and an image of Freddie's body I didn't expect to have today wouldn't leave my head. From out of nowhere this thought shot through me as I began my descent, The man is blessed, oh boy, is he blessed.

The slap I intended for Freddie I gave myself. GOD! Freddie was using me this whole time and I am still so desperately attracted!

I ran my hands over my defiled neck. I had never felt so foolish, so utterly stupid, in my life. Still I took solace in the knowledge that neither Freddie nor Roger had won me. Nor would they, I decided. I was not a prize to compete for, I was not a spoil to boast about. And I was not a racehorse to put money on.

Freddie, I may be physically attracted to you, I stewed silently. I may think you are the sexiest man I've ever had the misfortune to let kiss me. I may want you without wanting to want you. But this one action says more about you than speech upon speech of explanation. And from where I stand right here, right now, you've blown it. Congratulations.

I went downstairs where Roger awaited.