REAGAN WOKE UP before Dave did. Even while asleep, she was conscious of the heat rolling off of him and the mere fact that for the first time in forever, the shape of his body was fitted next to her between a set of bedsheets.

As she laid on her back staring up at the ceiling, she waited for a seemingly inevitable guilt to fix its hold on her. It never came though, and for that, she was relieved. The declarations she'd exchanged with Dave the night before hadn't taken a recess throughout the night and she was still sure, even as she scrubbed sleep out of her eyes, that she loved him.

She wanted to be with him.

Reagan glanced at the bedside alarm clock, noting that it was nine. Not only did she have to go get Gracie that day, honoring the suggestion for her daughter that everything was normal and nothing had abruptly changed over night (even though it had), but she had to confront Chris.

She sat up slowly, hunching over and grimacing. Knowing Chris, she was never going to hear the end of it. She wasn't even sure that she ought to tell her best friend about the renewed pledge of love that she'd made with Dave, only because it wouldn't have made sense to anyone else but the two of them. It wasn't the kind of decision meant to be made in glitzy hotel rooms after a night of guzzling champagne, but Reagan had done it anyway and was pleased that hours later, her feelings hadn't changed.

Dave snored lightly beside her, one arm flung over his head while the other laid draped around the pillow where her head had been. She studied him, blinking several times to assure herself that it was actually her ex-husband that she was waking up next to.

Without any clothes on, at that.

Not wanting to wake him, Reagan gently peeled the sheets away and crept out of bed, stepping lightly onto the floor on the balls of her feet. She covered her arms over her chest even though no one was looking and glanced around the room, deciding what her next move would be.

There was still a lot to think about — a lot to process. Perhaps it might have even been too much to put her brain through in one sitting, which was why she instead focused on formulating a plan of how she was going to leave Dave's room without looking like a stereotypical key player of a one night stand.

It was unfortunate that he didn't have any clothes for her to steal. He'd booked the room only the night before, or so he had told her, and had gone straight there without even an overnight bag. Reagan smirked at the idea of snatching his clothes and leaving him empty-handed for the day to come, but the baggy cargo pants he'd been wearing would have swallowed her figure whole anyway, not looking any better than her evening-wear from the night before.

Picking her dress up off the floor, she shimmied back into it, sighing when she had to slip her high heels back on. The blister on the back of her right foot was already screaming.

When she walked by the nearest mirror, she stopped in front of the glass in horror. Her hair had morphed into a rats nest, piled high in a mass of messy knots, and her makeup was smeared under her eyes from a mix of sleep and sweat. Reagan quickly combed her fingers through her lifeless curls, attempting to smooth them out, and wiped the sides of each pointer finger beneath her eyes.

Her reflection was still haggard, but there wasn't much else she could do. Chris was certainly going to have more ammunition to pummel her with when she got back to their room.

Reagan walked over to Dave's side of the bed and tucked her tangled hair behind her ears, leaning down to rouse him awake with a small whisper.

"Dave? Dave?"

No response. The closest thing she got to some reassurance that he wasn't comatose was his soft snoring, but otherwise, his eyes stayed close.

She grabbed a hotel pad of paper and a pen and jotted down a quick message for him, explaining that she'd had to leave to go get Gracie. It was better than leaving him with nothing. If she'd done that, she was sure that she would have received a frantic phone call from him later in the day, begging to know why she'd slunk out without a word.

Laying the note on the night stand next to his head, Reagan stole one last look at him in an attempt to process that the previous night had been real. They'd actually talked how they'd used to, through stomach-clenching laughter and long stares that went unbroken. They'd had sex, making up for the three years they'd gone without it together with a tenacity. She tried not to snicker to herself at that. For some reason, she found it more amusing than harrowing.

In the hotel's hallway, Reagan kept her head lowered, studying the lush gold carpet that she walked on in an effort to avoid the eyes of any passerby. She looked a mess and she knew that people recognized that. There was no proper way to explain that she was in fact not participating in a walk of shame, but coming back from a late night tryst with a man who'd once been her husband.

She winced. That sounded worse.

When she got to the door of her and Chris's room, Reagan realized that she didn't have her key with her. She patted down her sides hurriedly despite knowing that after Dave's thorough removal of her dress, there was no place that the key could be hiding. Sighing in frustration, she rapped her knuckles quickly on the door.

It opened after several seconds and there stood Chris, leaning lazily against the door frame with a cocked eyebrow and a hand on her hip. She was already dressed for the day, having ditched her dress from the night before in favor of her usual torn shorts that touched her kneecaps and a ratty brown flannel.

"Well," Chris said, injecting the word with a false note of airiness, "don't you just look stunning?"

Reagan glared, crossing her arms over her chest as if that alone would hide her disheveled appearance.

"Why don't you just get all your questions out of the way now?" she asked.

"Come in first. You're scaring the room service people."

Reagan walked into the room with a sigh, breezing past Chris towards her suitcase. She was dying to get out of her dress and into something more comfortable, concerned primarily with that above Chris's suspiciously calm facade of coolness.

Chris said nothing as she stood behind Reagan, watching as she pawed through her things.

"Have you seen my Motörhead shirt?" Reagan asked absentmindedly, tossing aside the blue long-sleeve she'd worn when they got to the hotel.

"Have you seen your neck and chest?" Chris returned with ease.

"Huh?"

Reagan turned and knit her eyebrows together as Chris smirked slightly, fitting her hands around her hips.

"Look for yourself," she suggested, nodding towards the bathroom.

Cautious of the possibility that Chris was playing a mean trick, Reagan hesitated, but only for a moment. She sped into the bathroom and gathered her auburn hair to the side, craning her neck upwards and allowing the yellow light to bathe her face.

The damage wasn't terrible, but it was still evident. Flashes of red and purple marks lined her throat, some faint while others took on a shadowy darkness. The space beneath her collarbone, near her shoulders, wasn't any better. She even saw the fading stamp of a bite mark imprinted into her skin.

Reagan clenched her teeth to prevent a loud groan from escaping.

Fucking Dave, she thought scathingly. It was seemingly impossible for him not to act like a sex-crazed, horny teenager. They were in thirties for gods sake and yet he was marking her up like they were two guilty sixteen-year-olds coming back from a late night the drive-in.

"Let me get something straight," Chris said, appearing behind Reagan in the mirror and still wearing a smirk that suggested she was fighting back laughter. "Did you fuck Dave last night, or did you fuck a practicing cannibal?"

"Way to be blunt," Reagan muttered, gently thumbing one of the more obvious marks on her neck.

"I'm just saying. Was he trying to tear your throat out or give you pleasure?"

That was the thing. Reagan couldn't recall a single moment that hadn't been filled with pleasure. When Dave had had his face buried into her neck, she hadn't even registered the intense suction of his lips on her skin. She'd only felt euphoria.

"Both," she shrugged. "Maybe he still resents me a little."

"God, you're so predictable sometimes."

Chris finally let out a barking laugh and shook her head, accepting the revelation that Reagan had hooked up with Dave without batting an eye.

"I'm sorry that I abandoned you down here," Reagan offered apologetically.

"The only thing you should be sorry for is leaving me hanging. I was pretty sure you guys were fucking, but I also started to wonder if wineglasses were being thrown at heads," Chris said.

"Fuck. I didn't mean to worry you."

"Oh, I wasn't worried. I was just disappointed that I didn't have a front row seat."

Reagan rolled her eyes even though a maddening blush swarmed through her cheeks.

"You never told me that you were dabbling in voyeurism," she said, angling her face away so that Chris wouldn't see how red she'd turned.

"I didn't want to watch the sex," Chris said, exaggerating the last word with mock disgust. "I wanted to watch you throw wineglass curveballs at Dave's head. I would have loved to see his reaction."

"There was, um, no throwing of wineglasses."

Chris raised her eyebrow again, this time skeptically. "But there were wineglasses?"

"Broken wineglasses."

"I'm not following you."

"Well . . . there was a mini bar, and we kind of-,"

"You fucked on top of the mini bar?"

Chris started to laugh hysterically, wrapping an arm around her abdomen as she keeled forward. Reagan looked away in embarrassment. She'd never taken issue with sharing her sexual exploits with Chris before, but somehow the fact that it had been with Dave, after all they'd been through, made her shy away from being so vocal.

She maneuvered past Chris and out of the bathroom, taking a sudden interest in the clothes she'd picked out for herself. She rapidly changed into them without looking up, still worried about concealing the pinkness of her face.

"What?" Chris taunted. "Do you have a mark on your ass too, from a shard of glass?"

"No," Reagan said firmly, though at the same time, she knew her defense was weak.

"Then why are you acting so weird?"

She paused from straightening her t-shirt around her hips, looking at Chris through squinted eyes.

"Forgive me if I'm being quote unquote, 'weird,' but I did just spend the night with the guy I divorced."

Chris shrugged and made a 'so-what' face. "You still love him. Everyone knows that. Fuck, the polar bears in Antarctica know it and they don't even get cable."

Reagan laughed involuntarily, susceptible once again to Chris's humor. When her laughter faded, she flashed her friend a quizzical look and softened her response.

"That's true?" she asked.

"Of course it is. And you'd have to be blind not to see that he still loves you, too," Chris replied adamantly.

Reagan glanced down at the hem of her shirt, picking at the beginnings of an unraveling thread from the stitching.

"I would hope so after everything that just happened," she murmured.

"So . . . is this it? You guys are going to get back together?" Chris asked, emphasizing the dangling question mark at the end of her sentence with a curious look in her eyes.

______________

As Dave rushed to yank on his pants, hobbling in place as he stuck one foot after the other inside each leg, there was only a single repetitive exclamation of joy pounding through his mind.

We're getting back together.

He'd had his momentary doubts after waking up. When his eyes had parted with protest due to the light shining into the room, they'd been soon to snap wide open upon his realization that Reagan had spent the night with him.

She'd done more than that. She had fulfilled every single damn wish that he'd been yearning for over the last too-many-months to count. She'd made it clear in every physical, emotional, and verbal way possible that she still loved him like he still loved her, and he'd fallen asleep to the sound of her reassurances that they'd be together again ringing in his ears.

But that had been before he'd noticed that the bed was empty. The spot where she'd laid, curled next to him all throughout the night, was void of her and left with nothing except the delicate impression of her body.

Dave had admittedly panicked. He'd lurched upright and swung his gaze across the room, his heart quickening in pace as he'd considered that it might have been all a ruse. Either that or she'd changed his mind some time when he'd been asleep, out of reach as a means to convince her otherwise.

When he'd turned to his nightstand, relief had swallowed him once he'd seen her handwriting scrawled out on a slip of the hotel's paper.

She'd apologized in it, stating that she'd had to sneak out in order to go get Gracie — and Chris — for the day. After reading the note three times to ensure that he'd gotten it all right, Dave had launched himself out of bed, convinced that he'd be able to catch her before she left the hotel.

It was already ten and he knew that his time was dwindling to see her again, when they were still encased in their shared bliss from the night before.

With his shirt barely pulled all the way over his head, Dave dashed out of the room and sprinted down the hallway, nearly taking out a bellboy pushing a cart full of luggage in the process. He knew that he was automatically forgiven when the bellboy stared at him, recognition dawning across his face in a mask of awe. Dave kept going, deciding that it was a rare time he couldn't spare for introductions or autographs.

The elevator ride down to the lobby was agonizing. He jammed his hands into his pockets and tapped the heel of his foot up and down, jimmying his leg as he waited. In the back of his mind, he wished that he'd stuck a piece of gum in his mouth to ease some of the tension ebbing and flowing in his body, all the way up to his jaw.

He needed to see her. He knew that it was ridiculous when he had her address and could have easily driven over to their old house later in the day, but he wanted to know that before she walked out of the hotel and the last twelve hours faded away permanently, she still meant what she'd said.

When the elevator dinged and its doors parted, he scrambled out and tore around the corner into the brightly lit lobby full of milling visitors that toted their baggage and pricey purse dogs of the same size of the steaks he favored. He looked out of place, halfway tripping across the gleaming tiled floors as he ran, but the least of his worries was what the L.A. jet-set thought of him.

Dave couldn't fathom his luck when he saw her. She was standing next to Chris, a pinched look on her face as she tried to drag her suitcase wheels over the thick entryway carpet in front of the lobby doors. Chris was laughing at her, one of her hands on the suitcase as she tried to help pull.

"Reagan!" he called out. It came out as a shout, reverberating off the hotel walls and earning him some disgruntled looks. Some quickly changed into expressions of excitement and shock as they realized who he was, a thread of enthusiastic whispers starting to buzz, but Dave couldn't pay his audience any mind.

The only face that mattered was hers as she looked up, stunned and in search of the direction from where she'd been beckoned.

When her eyes locked with his eyes, Dave broke out into a wide grin.

He jogged the rest of the way over to her, satisfied when she didn't edge away in order to put distance between them as she'd been doing since the divorce.

"Hey," he said breathlessly. He looked down at her suitcase, grabbed the handle, and heaved it over the flap of carpet it had gotten stuck on.

Chris snorted with laughter and Reagan presented him with a tiny, uncertain smile.

"Hey," she said back, followed by a "thanks" as she glanced at her suitcase.

"I'm glad I caught you before you left," Dave said energetically, practically bouncing on his toes.

"I left you a note," Reagan reminded him.

"I know. I still wanted to see you."

Chris looked back and forth between them silently before interjecting.

"I'm going to take these out to the car," she announced, gesturing to their two suitcases. "You guys have a nice chat."

Reagan nodded understandingly at her friend, allowing Chris to drag the two suitcases out through the automatic doors. Without her there, the hotel lobby was still flooded, but the corny idea that he and Reagan were the only two people in the room loomed over him.

"You're out of breath," Reagan pointed out. He picked up on the vague jeer in her voice as her smile inched bigger in width.

"I hauled ass down here to get to you. I'm surprised I even got my pants on right," he answered.

"I'm glad you did. MTV would have had a field day if you'd shown up down here in your boxers."

"Eh. It would have been worth it."

She continued to smile without replying, leaving the floor open for him to continue although Dave had inherently wanted her to lead the conversation. It was her reassurance that he sought and while he wasn't too averse to begging for her, he preferred not to. She had been the one after all to confirm that they'd be together again.

"So," he led, elongating the word offhandedly. "What are you doing with G today?"

"Chris and I are taking her to the movies. We have to pick her up from her friend Lily's house," Reagan replied.

"Oh yeah, Lily. Mom's name is Jeanine, right?" Dave asked. It was a determined attempt to keep her talking to him, but he figured he could simultaneously impress her with his bookmarked knowledge of Gracie's friends and their families.

Reagan rolled her eyes lightly and scoffed. "Of course you'd remember that."

"What?" he asked defensively. "Is it a federal crime to know who my kid is spending her weekends with?"

"You only remember Jeanine because she has big tits."

"Her tits are pretty big."

He'd gone out on a ledge with that one, hoping it wouldn't bite him in the ass and end up offending her, but she laughed. He smiled, pleased to have had evoked a reaction out of her that he'd badly missed seeing.

"It's almost eleven," Reagan said after her laughter died down. She looked over her shoulder and out the glass doors. "I should get doing."

She offered him one last smile as a parting goodbye and started to turn, but the lightning strike of fear that pierced Dave down to his bones made him reach for her hand, stopping her.

"Wait," he said. "Hold on. Just a second."

She eyed their conjoined hands before looking back at him, her eyes questioning as if she didn't know what he was about to say. Yet, he knew that she knew. Behind the emerald green irises that he saw clearly in his mind's eye at every waking moment of the day, he saw that she understood where he was headed.

He took a steadying breath, scanning her up and down in hopes that it would calm him. It had the opposite effect. She just looked too tempting, standing there in her tight jeans and tiny shirt that revealed a strip of skin at her waist. And the shirt had 'Motörhead' branded across the chest, which was presently being pulled tautly across her breasts — it was like she'd worn it specifically knowing it would drive him crazy.

Two of my favorite things, he thought nonchalantly. Motörhead and her boobs.

He shook his head, sending the thought away. If there was any time to focus, it was now.

He just didn't know where to begin.

"I . . . I hope we can do this again," Dave said, immediately regretting his choice of words with an internalized groan.

Reagan's mouth twitched around her smile. "Have a redo of last night, you mean?"

"No," he replied hastily. "I didn't mean it like that. I want to see you again. I mean, I know I'll see you again. I've gotta' see Gracie. But I also want to see you — just, not at the front door. Maybe we can . . . go on a date? Fuck. Not a date," he rambled, feeling the monologue he'd had planned slipping fast from his fingers.

Dave couldn't have asked her the real question that was lingering on the tip of his tongue. What he really wanted to say was, when can I fucking marry you again, but the chance of it bringing on a case of cold feet for her stopped him.

There was only one thing that he wanted to take away with him from that weekend besides the memory of what it had felt like to have her back in his arms.

He needed to know that that place, her place against his chest and wrapped in his embrace, was the place she was going to be from there on out.

"How about . . . tonight?" she asked slowly.

Dave raised his eyebrows. "Tonight?"

"I can cook something for us. Gracie will be home."

"You're . . . okay with Gracie being there?"

Reagan's sigh was small as it escaped in an exhale. She glanced away momentarily before looking back at him.

"We'll play it straight for her. I don't want her thinking things are set in stone between us when we can't even predict that right now," she said. "It's better if we just ease her into it. Don't give her any ideas."

He nodded wildly, feeling the muscles in his neck turn to jelly. That statement alone had him convinced that she'd been telling the truth. They were going to get back together.

"Okay," he agreed. "Fair enough. What time should I come over."

"Is six okay?"

"Six is perfect. Want me to, uh, bring anything?"

He wasn't against whipping up something on the grill for them. He would have cooked for the entire National Guard, he was so happy, feeling the most truly settled that he'd felt in too long.

Reagan smiled coyly, taking a closer step towards him. "Just yourself," she said softly. "I have something in mind."

A wave of heat flooded Dave's chest. "Yeah?" he pressed, eager as ever to delve into her mind and sift through all her secrets.

"Yeah," she affirmed, brushing back her hair to reveal her neck, which was patterned with fast-fading spots. Dave almost stammered out a laugh. She didn't have to say anything to recall the memory of how those had gotten there. He remembered it plenty for himself. He reveled in it.

"I'm getting you back for this," she whispered past her grin, standing on her toes to convey the message right into his ear through a breath that sent goosebumps erupting over his skin.