Early Tuesday morning, I drove my car south from Santa Barbara to Ventura along the coast again, but this time with Jake, my coworker and boss, taking over the passenger seat. I was amazed that he asked me to drive.  I think he wanted to do research on his tablet while we were driving the half hour or so to the courthouse.  

The trunk of my car was stuffed with boxes of files, papers, and binders. Major butterflies hit above their weight class in my stomach, and I tried to ignore them. I also tried to clear my brain of all of the work-related anxiety I felt, as I drove and looked at the ocean and watched for pelicans.

We were headed to trial, finally.

Jake's tall, muscular body dominated my car's leather interior. I glanced at him and noticed that he was all spread out, long legs and body everywhere. Guys sometimes sat like they were invading conquerors.

Even though I didn't have a crush on Jake, I would say it: it was hard to be with him in close proximity and remain professional, because he was such a hot distraction. He smelled like a man and was wearing a pristine suit and tie, his blue eyes glinting, his hair tousled but sober. Such a sexy physicality. I told myself that there was nothing wrong with ogling. I was just appreciating the art, people.

Okay, so maybe I was lying about the whole "don't have a crush on Jake" thing. Still, he was no Sun God.

With an energy completely unwelcome this early in the morning, he chattered like a sexy, deep-voiced chipmunk about the trial the whole way, discussing witnesses and evidence. He lived for courtroom work. He wanted to be a statesman-like, Atticus Finch-type lawyer--at least before the second book was published and Atticus was reviled instead of revered.  But I digress.

I wondered if he could talk about anything else. Well, it wasn't like I needed to see him at home over a dinner table, so I guessed it didn't matter.

I struggled to listen to him, still early-morning sleep-deprived. I needed coffee or else I was contemplating serious bodily harm to Jake Slausen, gift to women's eyeballs everywhere. He was probably a gift to gay men too. To stop myself from plotting his destruction, I interrupted his discussion of the finer points of his opening statement.

"Jake, can we stop for coffee before we get there?"

"Sure, Amelia."

Of course a trip to get coffee would lead to an orbit around the Sun God--or at least a chance of being sucked into his gravitational pull.

I was ready.

Maybe.

I was dressed in full lawyer badass gear, not fucking around this time. I donned the blue pinstripes and my hair was in a chignon.

While I was physically put together, I needed to get my brain together for trial.

I pulled into the parking lot at Southwinds and Jake unfolded his long body from my Mercedes and entered with me, holding the door for me like a gentleman.

Again, it was busy in the coffee shop. Again, it smelled divine. Again, there was a long line. And again, Ryan was there.

This time I saw him immediately and I got in line, listening to Jake, who was standing very close to me so I could hear him over the din.

I grabbed a yogurt.

Jake did too.

Ryan lit up when he saw me, but his eyes narrowed when he saw Jake standing so close, leaning into me, and talking into my ear. When I got up to the counter, I learned that Ryan's effect on me was unchanged although I was hopeful that this time I would be able to formulate words and speak them aloud, resulting in an order of a latte without major embarrassment.  It appeared that my effect on Ryan was unchanged as well, judging by the way he leaned up against the counter. This could be interesting.

"Hey, Movie Star," he greeted me.

I said, "hey," and ordered a latte with wild success.  (I said, "I'd like a latte please.")  Jake ordered one too, and put his yogurt next to mine, handing Ryan his credit card.

"Trial today?" Ryan asked. I nodded and went to answer, but Jake interrupted.

"I didn't know you were a regular, Amelia."

I shrugged.

Jake looked at me with interest and then turned to Ryan. "Amelia and I start trial in an hour," he said.

"Good luck," said Ryan politely and then he handed me the duplicate receipt even though Jake paid. "We're having a survey. If you could just fill this out, I'd appreciate it," he said, looking at me straight in the eyes with those greens, ignoring Jake, who had moved to the side, and the mob of people all around.

The paper said "PHONE NUMBER?"

I took it and moved to the side.

It was not even a debate whether I gave Ryan my phone number. I had never been more affected by another person in my life. I am usually so closed off. Normally it takes me a long time to warm up to people. I pretty much have only Marie to tell my secrets, Hugo, to flirt with (or not), and people at work to talk to.

Ryan got through to me immediately. If I gave him my phone number, this meant that he would have access to me on his terms, not mine.

I thought about it for a second more.

That was fine with me.  I wanted to see where this would go.

I found a pen in my purse, wrote down my number and grabbed my latte from the barista. On my way out the door, following Jake, I handed the receipt to Ryan, saying "here is my survey answer."

He took it, opened it, and smiled.

Then he took care of the next customer.

#

At lunch I checked my phone. There was a text from an unknown number.

Slay them. --Ryan

I texted back: I will, echoing his words when he kissed me.  I remembered my snark while texting.  Good.

#

That evening, I dropped Jake back at the office, where I had picked him up in the morning, and headed home, exhausted.

I was so done.

We had a good first day of trial. So good, in fact, that we were feeling confident, which was dangerous. Still, we were prepared and we needed to rest up for the next day.

Having a trial was like studying for finals. It really wasn't a good idea to cram. You had to know what you were doing well ahead of time and you had to get a good night's sleep so that you would be on your toes.

I pulled up to my house and saw a package on my front door.

Oh yeah, next day air.

The night just got a little more interesting.

The Swedish website said that it was waterproof. Right now, a bath, followed by a naughty book and a vibrator to ease the ache caused by Ryan, sounded like a good thing.

I grabbed the package, opened my front door, sorted through the mail, and sat on my couch to open up my present to myself.  Discreet brown box packaging lead to an elegant upscale black box. I opened it up.  It looked like a wand.

Naughty Harry Potter thoughts immediately came to mind.

I got my phone out and took a picture, texting it to Marie with the caption Ollivander got me a special wand. Then I immediately deleted the picture in case my mom saw my phone.

I waited to hear her response, while I went to the bathtub and started to fill it up with warm, scented water.  My phone vibrated with her response:

I solemnly swear that I am up to no good. 

I laughed and went to text her back and looked at my phone and then I felt like I was going to faint. I had not sent that photo to Marie. 

The text was from Ryan.

#

Oh, fuck, I had just texted Ryan a picture of my new vibrator.  This was definitely on the minus side.  On the plus side, he appeared to know his Harry Potter. I did not know how to handle this.  Luckily, he did it for me.

Dinner. Friday. Your place.

Sheesh, he was bossy.

Then I realized that he had asked me out on a date. Or a stay at home date. Whatever. I was going to see him again.  But not before I messed with him a little bit, to get him back for seeing my new vibrator.

You need to say "please"

He immediately responded:

Gorgeous Movie Star, I would really like to get to know you better. Are you available this Friday for me to bring you dinner?

Seriously? I melted.  

Yes.

Mischief managed.

Oh, fuck, what was I getting myself into?

#

The second day of trial, Jake and I drove separately.  I guess he wanted to do something after the trial, I was not sure.  Unfortunately, I had also left very late. So I had no time for seeing Ryan that morning, despite being in the neighborhood.

I raced to court, parked, ran through security, and hoofed it up to our courtroom.  Jake stood there in the hallway with a strange look on his face.

"We settled."

I was completely taken aback and it took me a moment to process his words.

"What? What do you mean, we settled?"

"The other side caved. We're going to put it on the record and then we're done," he said, with a combination of relief and disappointment.

This was another part of being a lawyer. The stuff you go to law school to do--to be in court--rarely happened because it was just too expensive and risky.  In settling a case and not going to trial, a lawyer felt a disappointment somewhat like a surgeon consulting with a healthy patient who did not need surgery. In other words, the client was not displeased to avoid court. Just the lawyer.

A half hour later, we were done with finalizing the settlement in court before the judge and Jake gave me the rest of the day off. I knew just where to go. I texted Marie that I had the evening free and we arranged to go drinking that night.  Then I headed to Southwinds for some excellent coffee and orbit around the Sun God.