SHE ALMOST TURNED around twice. With her fingers coiled around her steering wheel and her foot hovering dubiously over the gas pedal, Reagan questioned if her own stupidity had actually gone and finally turned her brain into mush.

She drove carefully through Olympia's historic district, clicking her tongue anxiously against her teeth and feeling the minutes fly by. She couldn't help but harp on the idea that only a month prior, she would have never believed that she'd be in her current situation.

On a rare day off, Reagan was going to spend it with Dave. The same guy she had promised she would never think of, let alone see, again. Every meticulous promise that she had made to herself while growing up as a young girl had been thrown out the window.

As conflicted as she was, Reagan had determined that it was not necessarily being in Dave's presence that made her nervous. It was more so the fact that she was allowing it to happen. She had never thought this far ahead when it came to intimacy with a guy. Tommy had been the only person she had to be around after having sexual relations, and that had been easy.

Tommy was a goofy guy, the kind of male companion that any girl would have loved to have. Reagan had not felt anything while lying beneath him, his skin on hers in the middle of several different nights. But with Dave, she had. She'd felt unearthly things that she never knew existed outside of fictional worlds.

Maybe you're just an asshole when it comes to men, she thought to herself.

Tommy was a nice guy. To reduce him to the status of a coworker and compare him to Dave felt wrong. But who wouldn't measure up when competing against someone like Dave?

Reagan hissed at herself as she turned a street corner. She had to stop thinking like that — like she already knew Dave and knew the kind of person she was. She had to remind herself that she knew nothing and that he was still just a guy . . . a guy who could physically make her feel amazing.

If her stupidity did not eat her alive, she would keep only that in mind.

Kurt's apartment came into view down Pear Street, a familiar structure to Reagan considering the countless times she had visited. She parked her car down the road, not close to Kurt's front door. She didn't want anyone to be able to look out the window and see her sitting there.

Shutting off the car, Reagan clutched her keys in her lap and looked down. She'd worn blue jeans and in an effort to look decent, one of Kate's lacy lilac tops that apparently 'made her boobs look good.' Reagan winced as she examined the slope of her chest.

She wasn't narcissistic enough to claim that they looked good, but they were surely there to look at.

The sound of a car driving by fixated Reagan's attention back on to why she had ended up on Pear Street in the first place. Dave was inside of Kurt's apartment, waiting to begin the makeshift date that they had both planned.

Reagan huffed through her nostrils. It wasn't a date, as far as she was concerned. A date was what Dave had first suggested. This was just . . . hanging out. Kurt would be there, anyways. It couldn't have really been a date if Kurt was there.

Reagan shrugged into her jacket and got out of her car. She looked both ways down the street before speeding across, concentrating on not slipping on the slick pavement. A morning shower had passed through, making the air simultaneously cold and wet. She pulled her jacket tighter around her.

The steps leading towards Kurt's front door had been a path she'd walked before, but the stroll felt foreign to her now. It was strange to be there not for Kurt, but for someone else whom she did not truly know. As she knocked her knuckles against the door, she stepped back and pulled apart her jacket to take another glance at Kate's shirt.

It was too much. Too dressy. She should have just stuck with one of her band t-shirts, the kind that had been washed so many times that they were blanket-soft and had tiny holes in the neckline. Just as Reagan was about to utter a swear word, the door opened.

"Oh, good," Kurt said, pulling the door agape. He was holding a corndog doused in ketchup in his hand. "You're here. Now he'll shut the fuck up about it."

Reagan opened her mouth, searching for the perfect jest in response, but Dave suddenly pushed his way into the door frame looking affronted. He wore a backwards baseball cap but was quick to yank it off of his head, folding it nervously in his hands.

"Shut up, Kurt." His gaze wheeled itself onto Reagan's face, softening. "Hi, Reagan."

Reagan swallowed, willing her mouth not to go dry as it had over the phone with Dave. It was hard to look at him and not feel something. His eyes were gentle and not in the least bit probing, not even when Reagan knew a large portion of her décolletage was exposed. She noticed a faint trace of blooming beard scruff across his chin and decided she liked it on him a lot.

Don't do that, her mind warned her. Don't like the beard scruff because that's only the start of what you'll end up liking.

"Hey," Reagan greeted. She looked back and forth between Kurt and Dave, pulling her mouth upwards into a smile.

"Come in," Dave said hurriedly, stepping aside and holding his arm out.

Kurt scoffed. "David, it's my apartment. I get to welcome the guests in."

Dave shot Kurt a hard glare, probably telepathically begging his bandmate to give him a break, but Kurt only smiled sarcastically. From what Reagan knew about Kurt, he could be as sweet or as vicious as he wanted depending on the day.

"I'll take your jacket," Kurt offered, adopting a formal tone after he polished off the rest of his corn dog. Reagan tried not to laugh when he threw the stick to the ground.

"Thanks," she said, sliding her arms out of her jacket and praying that her boob did not pop out of her shirt. What had she been thinking, borrowing one of Kate's size extra small tops when she was obviously a medium?

Dave stood in front of her, seemingly confused as what he should do with his hands. He hesitated, but finally stepped forward and enveloped Reagan into a hug. She automatically froze, but recovered hastily. She didn't want to be rude.

"It's good to see you again," Dave said, his words coming out in one breath that Reagan felt across her cheek as he pulled away. Goosebumps erupted across her arms.

"Good to see you too," she muttered, hoping he did not notice her reaction.

"Well, I'm not sticking around for this," Kurt announced. Reagan noticed that he'd draped her jacket over the couch next to his Univox guitar, propped against the seat cushions.

"Yeah, you should probably go," Dave insisted with a note of mockery.

Kurt shook his head before pushing Dave's shoulder, to which Dave responded by grabbing Kurt's arm and pinning it behind his back. They scuffled across the floor and Reagan pressed her lips into an amused smile when Dave heaved Kurt off of his feet. Watching them play wrestle reminded her of the little tufts Robbie had gotten into when he was younger. Both he and Richard had play-fought across the living room floor for hours.

"Ow!" Kurt whined. Dave set him down, ruffling his blonde hair. Reagan assumed that perhaps no one besides Dave was allowed to pull a move like that.

Kurt loped off to his room with one more snatched glance over his shoulder. A flash of irritation crossed his face, which Reagan found to be odd after his playful exchange with Dave. He gave them a backwards wave and retreated to his hideout with a slam of his door.

"Is he mad?" Reagan asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Nah. And if he is, we'll just have to let it blow over. I bet you know how he gets."

"Yeah," Reagan agreed nonchalantly.

With a bashful smile, Dave tucked his hands into his pockets and looked around the room. Reagan watched as he kicked another corndog stick under the couch with the toe of his shoe.

"Sorry it's a mess in here. Kurt and I were jamming and I didn't have time to clean up."

"It's okay. I'm used to seeing it like this," Reagan explained. She touched her arm with her hand, feeling for the traces of goosebumps that only moments ago had raised on her skin. She was alone with Dave now and sure enough, they came back, flaring up as a tingle shimmied throughout her body.

"I guess I don't have to give you a tour then," Dave chuckled.

Reagan shook her head no and smiled, but felt a pinch of fear as she wondered what they were to do then. She hadn't thought of the basics when imagining their little get together. Sure, she had assumed they might sit around and talk, but she suddenly had no idea what to say. And worst of all, the only thing she wanted to do with absolute certainty was kiss the smirk on Dave's mouth.

That wish alone scared her into oblivion.

"Come on," Dave said. He took her hand. "I'll show you what I've done to the place."

Reagan tried to keep her hand limp in his, eliminating any meaning to the way his fingers locked around hers, but she was struggling. It felt oddly good to have him touch her. Holding hands was the stuff that even kindergarteners could do, but with Dave, it felt perfectly intimate to her.

He led her out of the living room and to the only other bedroom door into the apartment. He pushed it open and revealed the clutter that had become his living space, complete with a mattress with no bed frame and several instruments strewn across the floor. A crate of records was in the corner along with a stack of clothes piled high in a suitcase.

"Cozy," Reagan quipped, looking around. The last time she had been in this room, it was being used as a space of Kurt's menagerie of animals.

"It is, actually," Dave said. He walked into the room and grabbed a dented Fender Telecaster, outstretching it towards Reagan. "You play?"

"Not well," Reagan admitted. She took the guitar by the neck, allowing herself to sit down onto Dave's mattress. She felt much more comfortable with an instrument in her hand, an extension that she guessed came from playing drums. She strummed out a few metallic sounding chords.

"Mainly a drummer then?" Dave asked. He sat down beside her, close enough that their knees touched.

"Yeah. That's mostly because that's all I had to practice on. My dad was in a band when he was young and he kept his set. I was the first born, so he had to pass down his passion to someone I guess."

"Do I know his old band?" Dave said with a smile.

"Probably not," Reagan laughed. "They never made it out of Olympia."

"Well, it's a good thing he taught you. You're fucking amazing when you play."

Reagan stopped absentmindedly strumming guitar chords, instead looking into Dave's eyes when she registered his compliment. He had already told her she was good at playing drums, but now his admiration seemed to take on a new meaning.

"Am I only amazing when I'm playing then?" she teased, speaking in a low, coaxing whisper.

The tease must have worked, because Dave's face flushed red and he rubbed his chin, smiling with embarrassment.

"No. I wouldn't say that's the only time you're amazing."

"I don't think you know enough about me to conclude that I'm amazing," Reagan said. She passed the Telecaster back into Dave's lap, feeling bold enough to say exactly what was on her mind.

"Hence why I wanted to see you again. To figure you out."

"Good luck."

They stared at one another for a brief moment, trying to guess what the other was thinking. Reagan kept her face smooth, displaying no hints as to what was running through her mind. She had to keep reminding herself that Dave could not be different to her. She would categorize him into the same league as every other guy who'd crossed her path.

"So your dad was punk?" Dave said, changing the subject. He adjusted the tuning pegs of his guitar, looking between them and Reagan.

"Not at all," Reagan confessed. "He was more of like, a Ringo Starr type."

"So where the hell does your taste come from then?"

"Myself. I found all the music I'd been searching for on my own. You just have to look in different places."

"Yeah? What got you started?"

Reagan smiled to herself, wistfully remembering the day she had discovered the first album to ever make her head spin. She'd known from the very first track where her music loyalties lied.

"I was twelve. Black Flag released their first album and I heard Rise Above and it just . . ."

She mimicked an explosion with her hands, finding no other better expression to explain how she'd felt hearing Black Flag for the first time. It had kickstarted almost everything that was important to her outside of her family. It had inspired her.

"I know what you mean. Though, I was really hoping you'd say it was Reagan Youth who got you going. That would have been kinda' perfect," Dave grinned.

Reagan laughed again, finding it easy to smile at Dave and his humor. She'd momentarily forgotten the usual obligations that pestered her mind daily, her thoughts always on a circuit revoking around work and family. Being around Dave made for a nice change that she admittedly enjoyed.

"Sorry to disappoint," she grinned back.

Dave modified the way his guitar sat in his lap, pulling the neck up horizontally and placing his fingers across the frets. He plucked out the first few notes of a song, so fast that Reagan was almost sad when he stopped playing. It had been beautiful even on the busted twang of the Fender.

"I liked that," she said softly, looking down at that guitar before back up at Dave. He met her eyes.

"It was kind of inspired by someone I just met."

Reagan felt her jaw go taut. She didn't need to think any further about who Dave was alluding to. The way he looked at her said it all.

It was all so disappointing in a way. Reagan had never expected anything more than lust out of a guy, but there Dave was, staring at her with a kind of hope and admiration she was not used to. It was a million times more intense than the way Tommy looked at her through the glass window of Wilson's. It was a look of longing for more than just touch or spoken words.

She realized that Dave did not share her issue of them both barely knowing each other. It was very clear to Reagan that for Dave, it was as if he'd known her all along.

She was frustrated that he couldn't have made this easy on her. He could have simply wrapped his hands around her waist and pushed her down and tasted every inch of her skin, but he was looking for something else, something she feared she could not give. Of course, Dave had to go and be a good guy.

Reagan couldn't stand it for much longer. Looking into his eyes was making her feel things that both pissed her off and turned her into a wuss. She knew what she had to do.

With no misgivings, Reagan leaned in and kissed Dave. It was a rule-breaker, kissing him, but that she could let slide. It was him looking so deeply into her eyes that she wanted to stop, even if just for a little while.

Dave might have been different than any guy she had ever met, but he was still a guy in the end. He wouldn't refuse a kiss when it was given so readily. With fumbling hands, he set the Telecaster down on the ground and moved his palms to Reagan's neck.

Unsurprisingly, she didn't want him to stop kissing her. When he pulled away, a whisper of conversation close to rolling off his tongue, she silenced him with her mouth and grabbed his hands, guiding them towards the warm skin beneath her shirt. He knew what to do. In seconds, it was over her head and laying discarded on the end of the bed.

Reagan tugged Dave's shirt off and pressed against his chest, tangling her fingers in his long hair and feeling her insides melt. She had not understood until then just how badly she'd wanted him, even longer after they'd left the bar.

With her hands on his chest, Reagan pushed Dave back down onto to the bed, straddling his lap with her legs and moving her fingers to the button of his jeans. Dave caught her wrists, holding them steady.

"Reagan," he began, sounding worried. He was earnestly looking up at her, a mix of aching desire and concern in his features. Reagan paused. This was to be expected -- he was a good guy. She knew that.

"It's okay," she whispered. "It's really okay."

Dave was apprehensive, not understanding how the perfect girl sitting on top of him was choosing sex over small talk. He'd gained an understanding as a young boy that girls liked it when guys got to know them, especially concerning their interests and hobbies. And he sure as hell wanted to get to know Reagan.

But having sex with her wasn't so bad either.

Once they were both undressed, Dave having helped to unclothe Reagan while she worked on his lower attire, Reagan felt like her luck had run out. Sitting in Dave's room, looking at him in the natural light that managed to peek through his closed window, she realized that she was in no way going to be able to forget about him.

Not then, and probably not ever.

She was already out of breath, her eyes moving up and down his body as she hovered over him on her knees. A part of her knew it was wrong to seduce Dave and abandon their 'date.' But it was the only thing she could do to prevent herself from liking him more than her own heart could handle.

Slowly, Reagan lowered herself on to him, using her hand to help guide Dave inside of her just as he'd been on the night at the Comet. He tilted his head back in pleasure, clenching his teeth against the groan crawling up his throat when he was reminded of how good Reagan felt against him.

She moved her hips in a deliberate, lazy circle, enjoying the agony he must have felt over her choice of pace. With her hands on his chest, Reagan balanced herself and tried to pretend that she was not wrong in what she was doing. This is all that she and Dave would ever be. She had sworn so.

In an abrupt jerking motion, Dave was suddenly sitting up, his hands gripping Reagan's lower back as he brought her closer to him. Instinctively, Reagan wrapped her legs around his waist and whimpered when he pushed deeper inside of her. They had already become caught in the mess of sheets tangled around their conjoined bodies.

Dave kissed her, softly and hungrily all at once. His fingers ran down her hair and it felt nice enough to make Reagan tremble. She grasped him to her, holding him as closely as she possibly could while he framed his lips perfectly against hers.

As much as she did not want to admit it, there was no way that she planned on letting him go.